Days of Gratitude - Three Days, Three Places, From A Butterfly To A Bucket

It was a strange week.

I slept in four beds in four places.  This is not a usual thing for me.  These three days include three places.  Crawley, Greater Manchester, and Newcastle.  It all felt very strange.

Notes:

I will probably not be allowed to live down my statement to the effect that we didn't need a coat.  In my defence, a coat wouldn't have done much good against the storm.  A hermetically sealed diving suit would probably have leaked against that much rain.

The last picture here shows one of my favourites out of any photo my dad took and exhibited in his years of exhibiting photos in the local camera club and sometimes further afield.  It shows a little girl called Vanessa.  We were camping somewhere near the France-Switzerland border.  Each day the girl was sent out to fill a bucket with water from the slow running tap.  One day my dad said hello to her, not worrying about the language gap.  And he took some photos.  They probably won him a prize.

The day after these was the start of a brand new experience for me.  One that has proved to be something of a confidence boost.

September 13^th


Grateful to have left Crawley. All the necessaries are done for now. My parents' house is on the market. I hope it sells easily.

Grateful that Amanda and I didn't drown. We were out in the worst of the storm. A little wet! A wall of water between us and her door as if the house had been replaced by the torrent of Hardraw Force.

Pictures:

A butterfly at Crawley station.

And Amanda and myself on a bus in what was still a gorgeous hot and sunny day in Salford. 















September 14^th


Grateful to have been able to see Amanda. Just for a night. But one night is better than none.

Grateful to be home now. I have a whole day to recover from being away and my head is informing me of how tired it actually is.

Grateful the house in Crawley is now officially for sale and has viewings.

Photos:

The house used to be the Jesus Army community house in Salford. I detoured in the morning to see it. It's a place I used to visit 20 years ago.

A picture I see when passing through Leeds on the coach. This time I remembered to take a picture when passing and was fortunate to press the button on the phone at the right time.

September 15^th


Grateful for a day of rest. It is desperately needed.

I have unpacked most of the boxes from Crawley and put up some of my dad's prints.

I think I need a week to get over Crawley. I have had a day. Tomorrow will be very unrestful and totally unknown. Eek!

Why I Am Ashamed To Have Marched In Newcastle For A Good Cause

It is very hard for me to march and attend rallies. It's hard to explain how hard it is for my head to cope with the noise and crowds and the fact that 56 hours later I have not recovered from being there. For me to attend such an event and stand up for equality, fraternity and liberty and all those nice things is a big sacrifice. 

I would still want to attend. Because there are things I believe in that trump the difficulties of being the owner of my lovely little autistic brain - and the shaking and tears and pain I've had the last couple of evenings as a pretty direct result of putting myself through the event.

But I am not going to attend. My conscience is such that I must in future stay away from them unless things change.

See if you can spot why I can no longer attend these rallies. Clue: It comes about 1 minute into this video:  https://vimeo.com/184366522

Newcastle Unites, "a broad coalition of the left" have shared the video on Facebook.  It's called "The English Defence League v Newcastle Unites."  A great title for a football match.

Answer: The call for people to commit suicide.

I cannot be associated with that. Ever. It's evil.

 

I don't care who the people are.  I don't care what they say.  I don't care what they have done.  It doesn't matter.  Shouting at them to commit suicide is never justified.  Never.

I am rubbish at social initiation. But I did it on this occasion. Telling them just how vile the chant is. The response I got was, "Well they say bad things so we can too." I felt physically sickened by that response.

Others disliked that chant too. But there it is in the video as if this is something that supposedly nice people should be proud of. It isn't. Newcastle Unites should be profoundly ashamed that such things happen on their watch. Not proud. Ashamed.

Other chants distress me too:

Calling people scum. Yeah, they might be wrong, they might be racist. But is anyone scum?

Saying they're "our streets." Er, no. They're everyone's streets. Because we live in a free society. This isn't some gang warfare, Jets versus Sharks. This is a call for unity, for the celebration of the dignity of all human beings.

So yeah, no more marches and rallies for me unless I can be assured that this awfulness can be consigned to the dustbin of shame where it belongs.

 

I strongly dislike the English Defence League and the things they believe and proclaim.  I believe their brand of racism, like any other brand of racism, is cruel, ignorant and inhuman.  Earlier today I watched the video the EDL produced of their rally.  The ignorance is plain.  The hatred is plain.  The fear of other people is plain.

 

Some of their members even proclaim these things while carrying banners claiming to be "Christian" defenders.  I'm not sure they had read the parts of the Bible about how to treat the alien in your land.  Or the parts of the Bible in which Jesus - an interesting middle Eastern guy whose family were forced to seek sanctuary in a foreign land - talked about love and mercy.

Yes.  I'd love to see every member of the EDL give up their ways and wear nice "Refugees Welcome" badges.  It would be wonderful.

 

I am proud that I stand, as much as my head and variable abilities allow, against the hatred and racism that organisations such as the EDL churn out.

But.  I am ashamed to have walked in a parade and stood at a rally where the encouragement was given for those members to commit suicide, to shoot themselves.

I am ashamed.

And I won't be doing it any more.

Days Of Gratitude - The Final Four Days In The South

These were not the easiest of days.  I don't want to go into details of why they weren't the easiest.  Just accept it, they weren't.  I am glad these days are over.

They weren't easy for more reasons than expected.  The circumstances mentioned below were very sad ones for everyone concerned.  Others had a great deal more to cope with.  For myself the shock was great.  For those closer, the shock was much greater.  Very sad.

And yet even in these days there were things to be grateful for.  And some big surprises too.  The opportunity mentioned below was stunning and a total sudden surprise.  It meant that a week later I found myself not in Newcastle as expected but in Edinburgh.  But that can all wait for a future post.

September 9^th


The circumstances are not what we hoped. Not at all.

But I am grateful to be able to see the relations that I like.

I often visited this place as a child, the home of my favourite uncle and aunt and their children.

We would always walk into the village and often take pictures of the child angel.

We would always be fed well.

Things are different this time. But the angel and the feeding remain. As does the view.

September 10^th

Grateful the day is over.

That's all.

Except grateful for an opportunity presented to me unexpectedly.

September 11^th


Grateful for a surprise lunch with my ex church pastor from Crawley. I learned solid, literalist, Biblical homophobia in that church. Things have mellowed a lot since then.

Grateful too for water features at a Crawley hotel.

September 12^th

Grateful that we got the necessary things done today.

Grateful to have got through this time in Crawley. In 12 hours I will be gone.

Photos were taken tonight in the darkness of what was my parents' back garden.

Grateful too for a surprise contact and the promise of meeting a friend at the weekend for the first time in 20 years.

A Short Thought About Christians Going Into The Ministry

Is find myself annoyed at the commonly used term of Christians "going into the ministry."  My annoyance arose from the reports I read yesterday of our local assistant bishop who is "retiring from the ministry."  Bishop Frank is a lovely man and when I was re-accepted into membership of the Church of England four years ago I was happy that he was the man at the front doing the accepting.  I wish him well in his retirement.  And yet, I found myself getting more annoyed and the phrase got stuck under the surface of my brain.

My annoyance is this:  It isn't THE ministry at all.

It's A ministry. One of many.

Every Christian has a ministry to go into, in which they should minister as Christ in this world, light bearers to others. Every Christian will have their own ministry.

Being an ordained priest is certainly a form of ministry but to refer to it as "the ministry" is unfortunate. If it is THE ministry then this automatically relegates the lives of all laity from being Christian ministry.  It posits a system in which some people's service of their God is more important and better than the service most people give their God.

 

And although I'm sure most people don't mean to do it, by calling an ordained hierarchy THE ministry they linguistically make the service of Christ, ministry to the earth and all who dwell upon it, to be a second class service.

All Christians should be in ministry. All should be ministers. And though the form of ministry may vary widely, they should all minister love.

In fact I believe that - although non-Christians may use different language and may not centre their lives upon the life and way of Jesus - all people should be in minstry and minister love:

 

If Christ is the light of the world then all people should seek to be Christ-bearers.

 

If God is love then all people should seek to be reflections of love.

If the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of creativity, of reconciliation, of transformation, if the Spirit is the encouraging paraclete and the model of faithfulness then all people should seek to be Spirit bearers and speak the words of the Spirit.

 

If the life of the Spirit is wonder and awe, service and excitement, rejoicing and mourning with others, and living the fullest lives possible then all people should seek that way of being.

If the Gospel is of hope and peace, if it is good news, then all people should preach and live it.

That's what the ministry is.  Not gaining a dog collar and a place in a hierarchy.  The ministry is to follow the commandment of Jesus to love one another.

The ministry is for all of us.  Christians.  Non-Christians.  Even anti-Christians.  All of us, preachers.  All of us, examples.

That includes me. And I, like all of us, sometimes am a good minister and sometimes (often!) fall short.

 

I am not a Christian right now.  [Although I think a few people would disagree with that statement.]  I am not a theist right now.  But I want to grow in ministry.  I want to be a Christ-bearer.  I want to preach that Gospel in word and deed - and in silence too.  I want to walk in the wholeness of God and fullness of being which is love.

Please bear with me while I keep getting it wrong and keep exploring to find out what my ministry might be and might become outside of believing the old, old story, outside of dogma and doctrine, and outside what most people would recognise as Christianity.  Please bear with me as I learn to walk in the wholeness of God while not believing in a God.

Yes.  Please be patient.  This woman is going into ministry!

As for Bishop Frank:  He may no longer be a bishop of the Church of England.  But I don't believe he is retiring from the ministry.  Those reports were erroneous.  He's just retiring from a form of ministry he happened to have.  He'll still be in ministry.  It'll just be a different form of ministry.

Days Of Gratitude - Boxes and Beacons, Cemeteries and Chai in Crawley

Hard days.  I have been visiting the town where I grew up.  It's the last time I will ever stay in my childhood home.  Being there is hard but I have found the setting easier than expected.  The house is nearly empty so it doesn't feel much like my parents' house.  It feels more like a shell.  There aren't things everywhere that speak of them, just bare walls, bare shelves - at least where there are still shelves.

My brother and I have a table.  We have a chair each.  A bed each.  A fridge.  A kettle.  And not too many other things.  Once we're gone everything else will be cleared.  The house will be sold.  And hopefully someone else can enjoy living here.  It's a good house.  If it was in Newcastle rather than Crawley it would be a much better house!

I knew the visit would be difficult for quite a few reasons and as I type this, a couple of days before I leave this town, my head is struggling to keep going.  I'm glad that today is quieter.  And I am glad that it's a sunny day too.  It means I have a day when I can be quiet and be out doing things on my own.  I've been masking like crazy, hiding my head and forcing myself to be appear functional and happy.  I hope that I won't be collapsing afterwards, especially since it turns out I have a single day to recover when I get home before going to spend a few days somewhere else unexpectedly.

Hard days.  And there was some shock family news too just a few days ago that has hit everyone pretty hard.  But there have been plenty of good things.  Today there will be more, especially as I go and visit the nicest park in the town.  I am looking forward to that.  I always liked wandering there.  Today I can take Blob Thing and Winefride with me and they can visit the nice animals.

September 5^th

Grateful to have made it here without melting too badly.

Grateful that I won't be here for very long.

I grew up in this house. And this is my final visit to it.

Grateful to have brought down a few little happy making things from home.

September 6^th

I am allergic to Crawley. Not grateful for that!

Grateful that I won't be here long.

Grateful too for unhealthy giant chai latte.

For wandering in a Catholic cemetery.

And that my friends enjoyed the driverless train at Gatwick Airport.

And for cheap eyebrow waxing and a pretty roof in the shopping mall.

September 7^th

Grateful to have sorted out my travel arrangements to leave here next week.

Grateful to have sorted boxes to be couriered back to Newcastle.

Almost my entire physical inheritance from my parents in two boxes. That's okay. There isn't a lot from my past that I want to take into my present, let alone my future.

[Note - I've since sorted out two more boxes that should be in Newcastle by the time this is published.  They're mainly filled with photo albums.  There were many photo albums.  Between the four boxes there are some old things I'm glad to have and some useful things too.  Forks!  Because for some reason our forks keep vanishing.  I'm also taking back some pictures in my case and a very pretty piece of wood if I can get it to fit.  Some of the pictures are prints my dad made when he was entering photographic competitions.  They are good prints and some of them won prizes.  I think these pictures will finish my job of filling the walls of the new art room.  I'll have filled all the walls with good things for less than ten pounds including a very expensive picture that cost me three pounds!

We visited a relation last night (as I type this) who now has quite a lot of furniture and useful things from my parents' house.  She is very welcome to it all.  It's good to know that they will have a life there rather than being thrown away.  It was nice to use the plates I grew up with for one last meal.  My relation has also been able to take some furniture and household things for refugees who have moved into the area.  I think that's pretty brilliant and I know my mother would have completely approved of it.]

September 8^th

Grateful that today we went to the South Downs and managed to do something we've needed to do for a while.

[Panorama of a view from Ditchling Beacon.  Last time I was there was with my child and my parents.  That was a happy day - at least, that's what the photos suggest.  I'd post one but my laptop is missing three or four years of photos from my parents.]

Later we saw my dad, who was able to say some words. Just knew that even at this stage of his dementia he would still have opinions on the best route to an uncle's house.