Promises, promises.

Thrupp Lake

Escaped for a couple of hours, revelling in the luxury of nurses here for Mog. 

And despite the weather forecast promising sleet, snow, rain and general misery, we had an hour of absolute beauty. 

Geese honking, ducks flying, pooh sticks swirling without a current. 

Damaged fences, footpaths feet under water, the Thames having long since burst its banks and occupying much of the surrounding countryside. 

But this small part of one tiny corner of England was just peaceful. Soft ground to walk on, a brisk wind to keep us moving, other people's dogs to laugh at. 

An unexpected bonus gift of a morning.

Taking time out of looking into the future in order to appreciate the present. 

I'm for it, 

Tia 

To err is human...

I've been pondering forgiveness since we left Blaze on Saturday (talks available here if anyone fancies a listen http://www.new-wine.org/node/1704 )

I think it's safe to say Arianna Waller didn't mince her words. We talk a lot in the church about how awesome it is that Jesus has paid the price, how thankful we are to have been forgiven, that each and every single one of our transgressions has been wiped clean until we are whiter than the snow. And it is awesome; grace and mercy, truth and love; freedom in Christ. 

But we don't always talk so much about the other side of that. The fact that we just as we are forgiven, we must ourselves forgive. More than that; Jesus said - and we pray in the Lord's Prayer - that as we forgive others, so shall we be forgiven. 

And Arianna - who works with young women who have been massively wronged by the world around them - had for me a new insight into what that forgiveness is. 

It is not forgetting. To forgive does not mean pretending there was no wrong, no harm done. 

It is not taking responsibility for the sin myself - although where I share the blame, I need to forgive myself too. 

And for me, the part I really needed to hear, it is not necessarily a once for all time thing. Arianna used the analogy of a pair of scissors. Every time you choose to forgive someone - and it is a choice, an act of will - you snip away at the cord which binds you to their debt, and transfer that debt to God. We forgive - and go on forgiving - until the memories of the sin are no longer painful. Not because we are numb, but because we are freed of the burden. No longer defined by that act. 

It's a challenge. There are things in my past I tend to skip over, try not to think about. I have pretended I am ok with things, turned real hurts into dark jokes, not allowed myself to feel the anger. And in order to forgive, I have to acknowledge that there was wrong done. Ouch. 

But, as I'm snipping away, new memories are surfacing. As I allow myself to see the sin for what it was, rather than attempting to work out what I myself did wrong, I can sort out the middle and see more clearly. A recognition of a fault, an act of will to forgive that specific wrongdoing, and as I did so, so God reminded me of a loving act of grace from the very same person. 

Removing the blinkers is helping me see people through God's eyes. Forgiving, cutting the ties, is clearing the way for me to see people - including myself - the way God sees us. 

It's hard. But its good. It's an ongoing project, and I need the Holy Spirit to open my eyes to the truth of situations. To stop attempting to justify or minimise the hurt, but instead to see it for what it is, and forgive it. And keep on forgiving it, until it doesn't hurt any more. 

We've only been home a few days, and perhaps I'm still floating on a high God tide. But I can already see how this makes a difference. To forgive, that I might be free. Free to love. Free to be the child of God I was created to be. 

Arianna's book "From Pain to Pearls" is here http://mercyministriesuk.oxatis.com/Mobile/MBSCProduct.asp?pdtid=13523247

and I'd recommend it. This isn't a sponsored post though; it's the thoughts of a woman awake at 2am who knows some of what she needs to do, and hopes it might help someone else too. 

Tia

Tea and Truth

It's a good thing my friends know me. Surprisingly, I was actually early this morning when meeting a friend for coffee. Early enough that as 10,000 Reasons hit the speakers, I thought I'd turn up the music and sing, rather than turning off the engine and getting out of the bus. Note for future reference; always a good idea to check your friend wasn't even earlier than you, and isn't in fact watching you through the window. Laughing. 

Oh well. It broke the ice. 

A child-free cup of tea; mine at school and respite, and hers one grown and the other much grieved for. 

I remember first meeting my friend's jewel of a daughter; she and Mog were at a holiday club together. And I realised this was the precious child whose photo sat above Mog's on the almost empty hospice board (a board now full to overflowing). Dancing hands and a hidden smile, full of secret joy. 

We became friends, her mother and I, over shared outings without children, and shared "oops she's really poorly this time" stays in hospital and hospice. It cuts through some of the clutter which gets in the way of building friendships when life is so caring-busy. 

And then Ruby got sicker, and it was clear she wasn't going to get better. And life slowed right down for my friend, and for a while her world shrank to the four walls of her daughter's bedroom, with brief escapes to check the rest of the world was still around. 

We buried Ruby the same day another friend's son died. Last year was utterly relentless. 

And now Mog is still sick. And whilst she did, technically, have a very successful op last month, it didn't have the effect we were hoping for. And now we are going to have big meetings about what we think we should be doing for the best for her. It's a road my friend has travelled, and it is good to have someone who has walked it. 

As another friend says, I don't know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future. That has to be enough, but friends who have walked this route know how hard that is. 

And this past year has been tough on my friend. Things don't stop when your child does, there are still 24 hours in every day, and the world out there still moves to its own rhythm. How do you deal with the disconnect between our world and the wider world? 

My friend has found a way. 

A collection of poems, from Ruby's life, and from the life which will insist on going on, even when your child doesn't. It's a beautiful book. Raw, real, precious. (And available here 

http://www.lulu.com/shop/julie-forth/jewel/paperback/product-21339856.html

if you'd like to read it for yourself). 

So we talked life and poems, practicalities and dreams, and then it was time to come home and get on with the next bits of life again. But because we'd had our chat, when the next professional helper phoned, I was all ready with my next suggestions, knowing what I needed rather than trying to work out what might be helpful. An instantly useful outcome, as well as the soul-food which is time spent with a friend. 

I'll take that, 

Tia 

It is a truth universally acknowledged

That a single woman, in good company, must be in want of a cake. 

I do accept the irony, in the light of my previous post. However, in my defence, this was not just any cake, but afternoon tea at Cassandra's Cup, the ye olde tea shoppe opposite Jane Austen's old house. And it was the last day of our wonderful weekend. And I had just walked a whopping four miles (ok so that's really not far, but considering my lack of fitness and the extreme mud, I don't think it's bad!) on a very lovely circular slopey squelchy route full of geocaches. Yes, having gratuitously insulted a number of friends for their interest in caching, I am now humbly (and publicly) eating my words. For it was fun. Even if I am now a muddy soggy windswept mess. 

So, having made ourselves sufficiently muddy to appear as village peasant extras in a low budget Austenesque costume drama, we stopped for a terribly traditional and elegant afternoon tea, before tramping the mud around Jane Austen's house in Chawton. 

And it was good.

This bedspread, made by Jane, her mother and sister, out of their old dresses. Not much white muslin there.

Jane Austen's prayer.

Most exciting of all, the very table (but not the very chair) which she uses to write her manuscripts. 

Plaque on the wall outside.

<strike> Mad </strike> wonderful friend.

And a piece of lace made by Jane herself.

Muddy or not, a most excellent end to our weekend away. 

Tomorrow, I'll step back into real life when I pick up the girls and start the merry round of nursing, hospital visits, meetings and everything else. But today, the rain held off until we reached the coffee shop, and stopped again by the time we'd finished. The sun shone, the wind blew, and we were very very happy. 

An oasis, a beautiful bonus day once more after the New Wine Women's Day on Saturday. Still unpacking everything from that one, still sifting through what was thrown at us, and lots of extra reading to be done. 

But once again, God was so good to us. With floods and storms all over the coast, He made it possible for us to arrive in brilliant sunshine. A wonderful lunch, and the giggles started. And only a mild drenching whilst chasing a rainbow before heading into Fawlty Towers for the weekend. 

Blaze itself was awesome. Can I rise to the challenge it set? I hope so. I think I have a bit of a path, I know I have a God who loves me, and I'm absolutely certain He can take whatever I dare to throw at Him, if that's what I need to do. And I know He's given me truly awesome friends who will be walking alongside me whatever our future holds. 

A ridiculously silly evening. Laughing until it hurts, over inappropriate and inexplicable nothingnesses. I am so thankful our God has a sense of humour, and chose to share it with us. Walking silly distances and climbing viewing platforms in horizontal rain; there is nothing like weather to reconnect us to the power of God. Excellent food, tasty wine, offbeat waitresses, and stupidly slidey bedclothes. Creaky floorboards, cracked walls, and terminal silliness. 

And then, today, an Austen day. 

Now I'm home, and tired, and going to soak my blistered feet. But I have remembered how much I used to love walking outdoors, and am resolved to find a way to be out there more, no matter what Miss Mog may need. So many God Breezes this weekend, so much more than we could ever have asked for, and the knowledge of so much more to come.   

Fighting fit?

A little under two years ago, I stepped on the scales, and the number underneath me started with a 14. I didn't stop to read the rest, but jumped off fairly quickly, and stopped for a think. 

Two years to go until the big four-oh, and I did not want to enter my forties getting ever larger. 

I joined a gym that same week, a nice, friendly, small and unfashionable gym, ladies only and full of gentle encouragement from staff and fellow members, many of whom made me look like a spry young thing. 

And I ate healthily (well sort of), and I found I had far far more energy, and things started feeling pretty good. And I lost two and a half stone (35lbs for my American friends), and I was starting to notice a difference. 

And then tLP had surgery, and then the very week she went back to school, Mog got sick. And eight months on, she's still not well, and I've rarely left the house, and I turned forty fatter and less fit than I had been the year before. 

This week, I went back to the gym. And it has changed, and it is scary. But the people are still friendly, and the personal trainer who went on maternity leave as I left is now back with a bonny eight month baby. And I will have a new review, and we will set targets again, and maybe at some point in the next few years, I will shed this extra weight - shockingly, I am overweight by the weight of my not-small eleven year old girl. 

Imagine how much more easily I could carry her if I were only carrying one of her?

Working together.

Saturday morning started out like any other, a slow and gentle beginning to the only day we have which is truly just ours, no carers or nurses and so no particular timetable, just freedom to take things at our own pace. 

And then a crunchy squishy mess where a solid bone should be, and our plans for the day came crumbling down around us. 

Abandoning Mog to a friend, we headed for hospital, where an X-ray confirmed our worst fears - despite no obvious injuries, no bruising and no marks (on a child who is usually covered in marks and bruising), a femur was fairly impressively snapped in half. 

Unexpected hospital stays are hard on any family. As a single Mum with more than one child, a single night away with one child takes some planning for the other. Depending which child I'm with, we have a network of family, friends and professionals who can help out with the other. 

Planned hospital stays are stressful enough. We can usually work them out, although this usually takes multiple phone calls to multiple agencies, and has involved friends both locally and nationally stepping in to fill the gaps. 

tLP's surgery in May had Miss Mog spending time in hospice and respite, together with a night at home with friends of mine. She has in the past spent nights with me at the Ronald McDonald House, and I have in the past spent nights at home, leaving a sobbing child on a hospital ward, tearing my heart in two as I leave one girl to keep the other safe. It all works out, but it is so hard. 

So, having seen the X-ray and realised that the crunchiness wasn't a stray screw or re-dislocated hip which could be left for a few days, wasn't a strange infection which could be treated non-invasively, wasn't an overreaction, and wasn't a simple easy-to-splint fracture, my mind started to melt at the thought of all the work which would need to be done to sort a safe place for Mog, still fairly fragile herself post tonsillectomy, or alternatively of the additional therapy tLP would be needing if I had to leave her in hospital and relegate Mog and myself to daytime visitors. 

In the minutes we had between discovering the break and waiting for the ambulance, I phoned our respite centre, a home run jointly by the local authority, the NHS, and Barnados. 

It was a Saturday, it is fairly soon after the Christmas Holidays, I was sure they would be full. They called me back in two minutes and said they would take Mog as soon as she could get there. 

My friend packed Mog's bag and sorted a handover. My Dad drove our bus. Mum met us at the big hospital, and I went with tLP in the ambulance. 

All sorted for Saturday night. 

On Sunday, our community children's nurse was working, as was our nursing respite coordinator. Our home carer got in touch when she turned up at home and realised we were gone, and she contacted her manager. 

I stayed with tLP. 

On Monday, emails started flying around the county, plans were put forwards, hospice, respite, respite nursing and Homecare all communicating with each other to come up with a plan to help us. 

And so it continued. 

Visits to hospital from the Homecare team; someone to spend a while with tLP so I could pop and see miss Mog in her lovely respite centre, based just beyond the hospital grounds. 

Support for the respite centre by staff from Homecare and by our respite nurses, to enable Mog to stay at the centre without needing to cancel respite for any other child. 

Additional training from the specialist nurse at the hospital for all the nurses at the respite centre in order to meet Mog's newest needs. 

Community nursing visits to our ward, to ensure everything was happening as it should, and that we knew what plans were being made. 

And I stayed with tLP. 

Within the hospital itself, continuity. A nurse accompanying tLP to theatre who has taken her down before, and taken miss Mog, and even supported Goldie through similar surgeries. Play specialists who know and understand tLP's fears. Doctors willing to listen to my concerns, and communicate with each other across different teams to make the perfect plan for tLP. 

And I stayed with tLP. 

Hospice making space for Miss Mog for the weekend, and then expanding that plan to include all of us when I realised just how tired I am at this point. 

And I stayed with tLP. 

Continuity on HDU; a four day/three night stay (unnecessarily, but no beds on the ward), and in that time just three named nurses for tLP. The same night nurse for all three shifts, and a nurse who knows tLP extremely well, so that after an uncomfortable night on a reclining chair, I was able to drive home to sleep for the following two nights, and be back before morning, knowing that tLP was not only safe, but also secure if she woke and I wasn't there. A few hours' sleep in my own bed being worth a dozen in a chair. 

The working together continues. OTs from hospital liaising with school, with home OTs and sending information through to the hospice before I'd even seen it myself. Plans for the next few weeks, an early return to school, and everyone working together to minimise the stress caused to both girls. 

2/3rds of us are at home tonight. Miss Mog has one more night in respite. Our home carers turned up this afternoon, and worked to turn tLP's bedroom from mostly storage room with a bed in the corner to fully accessible nursing bedroom with bed in the centre of the room, clutter relocated and rubbish binned. 

Tomorrow, we get to go to the hospice, and the girls will both be cared for, and I shall be able to sleep. And I will get to stay with both girls. And cuddle. And persuade Mog to start speaking to me again. And tLP will lose her hospital smell, and we will be together, and other people will bring us food and drinks and clean clothes. 

And then we will go home again, and start picking up the pieces again. Mog will be able to start going back to school, not having managed regular attendance since July. TLP will start back at school too, and I will start thinking about the new things we might need to start putting in place once this fracture has healed, to prevent another. 

But we will be together. 

And I cannot begin to tell you how much it has meant to know that we have such a huge team of supporters behind us. To know that there are safe places for both girls, to see that if I ever ended up ill myself (I don't plan on it), we have friends and family, volunteers and statutory providers who can and would take up the load. To see them all talking to each other, working together and then letting me know the plan, rather than waiting to hear my own suggestions and then picking the flaws. It has been huge. 

I shall sleep tonight. I am not indispensable. I love my girls, and I never ever want to be without them. But now I know that if things were to fall apart again, there are people who will catch us. This family has life rafts. 

Thank you, a huge thank you, to every one of you who has helped, whether that's been by giving me a five minute loo break or by sorting out the logistics of this week. You don't know what it's meant to me. 

Tia