who knows?

2006-11-20T13:24:00.000Z

Brazilian Orange

A rich, dark chocolate ganache infused with Brazilian orange oil, encased in dark chocolate

Has a real zest for life and is very squeezable

*****

That's the published description of the chocolate I'm still savouring. All I can say - all I was saying, even sitting in my room alone - is "Mmm... mmm... mmm..." Seriously mmm...

That's all I can think, except that I'm not sure whether the italicised bit is supposed to describe the chocolate itself, or the person who favours the chocolate...

2006-10-28T08:42:00.001Z

Happy days

[NB: I wrote this Saturday morning.]

The Langdale household had a very exciting day yesterday. The most exciting things that usually happen in our house are that Kirsty has made brownies, I'm home from hospital early (although the excitement then is more curiosity and/or concern) and Hollyoaks has been cancelled. The latter hasn't yet happened, but I live in excitement that it one day could! Ok there's probably other exciting things that happen, but it's only half 9 and I can't remember.

But I can remember yesterday, so let me tell you. Charly's parents and brother and sister were visiting, and they did some wonderful things.

*****

Charly's Mum bought us a vacuum cleaner, that works in real life and everything! Thankyou Charly's Mum! And so, charged with the prospect of being able to clean the floor, I set to work, little knowing what madness would befall me. I vacuumed my room, which didn't take long; I vacuumed the upstairs and downstairs communal areas; I vacuumed the stairs.

While on the stairs, I noticed that (k, this is going to be hard to explain) the "corners" of the stairs - where the vertical bits meet the horizontal bits, and where the edges meet the walls - probably hadn't been vacuumed in a decade or so, so I got the vacuum tubey thing and vacuumed them too. Those of you who are aware of my Monica tendencies can predict where this is going...

Becoming intimately acquainted with our stairs yesterday evening led me to notice that the skirting boards both sides, the dado rail, and the entire banister thing probably hadn't been cleaned in a decade or so either. Out came the hot soapy water and a cloth, and I spent the next 3 hours of my life cleaning the aforementioned offenders.

Amusing as this may be, the real excitement lay in the newly discovered fact that spending a lot of time in a stairwell is a very sociable thing to do. I could talk to my upstairs and odwnstairs housemates all at once, and most of my housemates spent at least an hour sitting on a very clean stair, chatting to me and everyone else. It was a very social event.

And after we housemates had finished our various tasks for the evening, we had an impromptu house night in the lounge, and talked... well we started on painting the bathroom and making a calendar (not going to elaborate), were on the delicacies of Brighton society at half 12, and were just moving on from the Thatcher years when I gave in to sleep...

*****

Charly's Dad, to move on, spent his afternoon yesterday in our house:
1) bleeding the radiators
2) fixing the whatevers that didn't now work because the radiators had been bled (something to do with pressure?)
3) fixing the radiators that were still holding out defences
4) teaching us how to set the boiler to come on etc.

Thankyou Charly's Dad!

So, this morning at 8am (would have been 7:30 but one thing wasn't set right) we had an hour of blissful warmth. And, although my room has 3 outside walls, 1 of which is permanently wet, my Daddy was right in that, being a little spaciously challenged and containing the boiler itself, my room really does get... well alright not "warm" in the objective, global sense of the word, but warmer than the rest of the house!

So I'm happy, and strongly considering conducting all my business henceforth with my housemates, the medical faculty and anyone else via telegrams back and forth under my door, so that I don't have to open it and let the warmth out. And my housemates will be happy, when they wake up or get back, because they've been waiting a while for the heating, and clothes might not take a week to dry any more!

What an exciting day!

*****

This morning, I emerged from my warmish cocoon (no pretty wings though) to find that one of my housemates had already left with her future to liaise with her past for a while and another two housemates were just leaving for the library, at half 9 on a Saturday! NB: Not Normal. Tonight we're having a planned house night, and Kirsty's getting some ice-cream and facepacks for the occasion. And today I have to get myself a grounding in the general medicine apertaining to cancer. And wash some clothes. And eat breakfast. I'll do that now - I'm hungry and I think that for once we actually have milk...

xxx

2006-10-13T14:37:00.000Z

What I didn't know this morning...

and probably could have gone quite well without knowing, but oh well...

I am worth $1,613,058 on HumanForSale.com

2006-09-18T09:57:00.000Z

God holds the key

God holds the key of all unknown and I am glad;
If other hands should hold the key, or if He trusted it to me,
I might be sad, I might be sad.

What if tomorrow’s cares were here without its rest!
I’d rather He unlocked the day, and, as the hours swing open, say,
“My will is best, My will is best.”

The very dimness of my sight makes me secure;
For, groping in my misty way, I feel His hand, I hear Him say,
“My help is sure, My help is sure.”

I cannot read His future plans, but this I know;
I have the smiling of His face and all the refuge of His grace,
While here below, while here below.

Enough! this covers all my wants, and so I rest!
For what I cannot, He can see, and in His care I saved shall be,
Forever blest, forever blest.

Joseph Parker 1830-1902

PS: Such the FIEC girl.

2006-05-26T22:46:00.000Z

Leg or wing?

Sorry to those of you (and myself) who have been anticipating not-so-patiently a long-awaited new post from me. The following is not what I had in mind, but is rather an impulse ricocheted from Tom's latest blog-post (see bottom left bar) and will be quick to write. He is one of my favourite people, normally...

As a disclaimer, although not as an apology for I am not ashamed of my political beliefs (if you allow me to explain/debate them!), it is late, I am tired, I do not have my political head on, should not engage in politics on very little sleep and a baited impulse, and this net-test may be influenced by all sorts of bias which may result in its not reflecting my true views (especially as I had to ask the Oracle of Delphi - Wikipedia - for a breakdown of one or two political terms before I made my quickfire choice). But here goes.

You scored as Republican. <'Imunimaginative's Deviantart Page'>

Anarchism

75%

Republican

75%

Socialist

58%

Democrat

58%

Green

58%

Communism

42%

Nazi

17%

Fascism

What Political Party Do Your Beliefs Put You In?
created with QuizFarm.com

In conclusion I appear to break the mould a little, but my underlying tendencies are republican. Hmm, maybe I shall comment on that when I've considered it longer.

2006-03-19T21:45:00.000Z

York, York, so good they named it twice, three, five times?

*****
Lesson 1: I’m a geek. You knew that.

Lesson 2: I’m a geek for words and their derivations. Etymology, to be precise.

Lesson 3: I’m a geek for etymology who love to amaze all around me with my findings. Just ask my parents.

*****
My Mum’s off to York next week with her school class. They’re going to walk around the city walls and do other historocultural things to broaden the children’s education. You may or may not know that the Latin name for York was Eboracum, a fact that has intrigued me since I learnt of it years ago, the two words not being obviously linked. So with this reminder, I took the opportunity while on skype with my Mum to google it. How did Eboracum become York?, was the question...

Eburacon (Ebur/acon)
The place now known as York was originally named Eburacon by the native Brits. Eburacon means “place of the yew trees”. Yew tree = ebor/eburos; a sacred Celtic tree.

[Another theory says that Eburacon means “estate of Eboros”, supporting a claim that Ebracus was the founding king, but this meaning doesn’t seem to me to sit right.]

Eboracum (Ebor/acum)
The Romans invaded in 43AD, and it only took them 28 years to make it north and realise the strategic position of Eburacon, being on high ground in between the junction of the two rivers, Foss and Ouse. Thus in 71AD they occupied and fortified Eburacum, and either by mispronunciation or deliberation her name was Latinised to Eboracum. As with most other things the Romans did, it kinda stuck.

Eoforwic (Eofor/wic)
Well, the Romans moved out and the Anglo-Saxons moved in. They made the former Eboracum the capital of the Northumbrian sub-kingdom, Deira, and either by misinterpretation or deliberation, confused the Celtic ebor (yew tree) with their own eofor (wild boar) and renamed the place Eoforwic, meaning “wild boar settlement”, hence the boar is often seen as a symbol of York.

[Another theory says that it was the Roman general big cheese, Legio IX Hispana, who thought that Eboracum meant “place of the wild boar”, thus the boar symbol and ebor/eofor confusion. Those at the top never do seem quite aware of the truth down on the ground, do they… but, although I quite like this story for the satirical comment, I’m afraid I can’t believe it. First, it would be a fairly startling coincidence for both the Roman guy and the Anglo-Saxons to make the same yew/boar mistake. Next, remember that the Romans left in c4AD and the Anglo-Saxons didn’t arrive until c6AD, so I don’t see how one general’s misunderstanding would so directly affect the Anglo-Saxon naming 200years later. Also, the Latin words for boar are aper and verres; not easily confusable with eboracum in the first place. Anyway…]

Jorvik
In c8AD those bearded Vikings in longships arrived, who also liked York. Either by mistransliteration or deliberation, Eoforwic became Jorvik. The written and spoken f, v and w letters have long been interchangeable in old Germanic linguistic variations, so a change of this kind does not seem to me unlikely. Incidentally the change from the Saxon f to the Viking v can be seen in the evolution of the Saxon seofan to the Viking seven, which remains today.

York
The Vikings pronounced j as y, thus Jorvik was pronounced Yorvik. Further to this, I cannot find a better explanation for the change from Yorvik to York other than that it is not an improbable linguistic leap. Even with my limited knowledge I know that there is evidence of many more, far greater linguistic leaps than this achieved by the powerful plebeians and their (mis)pronunciations, so this assumption satisfies me.

Eburacon, Eboracum, Eoforwic, Jorvik or York, I trust my Mum and the kids will have a nice day; after all, the city has a very hospitable history.

2006-02-26T21:59:00.000Z

PG

And another thing...

My parents have brought us three kids up with wisdom and self-denial. They are sensitive to our needs for privacy and the latest example of this is that my Dad said he doesn't comment on my blog in case he "cramps my style". While I recognise and am thankful for the respect of my space, I want to say you guys can comment any time you like, although somehow I think my Dad may have the same issues as I with brevity... something I've managed quite well today.
.

*****

Proverbs 17:6

Children's children are a crown to the aged

And parents are the pride of their children.

Not many people can say that these days.

2006-02-26T21:43:00.000Z

A Nutshell

Bill spoke today: am Esther 4; pm Romans 8. Key verses for me:
.

*****

Esther 4:14 (easily one of my all-time favourites)

"For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews

will arise from another place, but you and your father's family will perish.

And who knows but that you have come to royal position

for such a time as this?"

*****

Romans 8:28

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those

who love him, who have been called according to his purpose"

*****

Those of you who know me well will realise why today has been an encouraging day for me, sermon wise. Those of you who aren't that privileged (?!) will either have to try and work it out, or ask me... the explanation will be long though, so only ask if you really want to know...!

Either way, those verses are rich with meaning for all of us, so give them some prayerful thought for yourself.

2006-02-20T16:39:00.000Z

The Sun has got his Hat on

...his thick Russian one, and his coat, and by rights he should have scarf and gloves on too.

What I don't get... that sun is however many thousands/millions centigrade hot, so when there's nothing much between me and it, why is it still so cold?!

*****
I have many musings on the sun, especially since being in Burkina, where the sun is so hot it is physically crushing, mentally oppressing and spiritually sapping. All the Biblical references to sun and heat and desert became strikingly real to me when out there, and have changed me in many ways...

More visibly and trivially -as visible things are- I can now proudly down a pint (of water), when my parents will testify that as a kid I used to drink painfully little, painfully slowly.

De toute façon, my complaints about English sun are short-lived and very tongue-in-cheek, because I actually believe it gives the most beautiful kind of sunshine. It's kind, it's good, it's nurturing, it does no harm but just provides an exquisite light by which to see the rest of God's glorious creation in this land of unpretentious, undulating beauty. It's purely lovely to sit in, to walk in, to talk in, to play in... I love the sunshine.

It does peculiar things to my outlook on life.

My friends here in Liverpool have fairly quickly established that even after 20+ years, I have not learnt that in England, in February, even when the sun is out it does not mean it's warm... But I don't care. I'll wear my flip-flops anyway. When the sun's on my skin, I'm warm, whatever the actual temperature.

Until I sit in church, i.e. when the sun's not on my skin, and I realise humbly I have misjudged the season, and start to freeze, as per yesterday.

*****
Anyway, the peculiar things... I don't really have an answer to this, by the way.

Most often it makes me happy. Lighthearted, playful. All is well when the sun is out. I want to wear summery things and sit in the sun, and even run around (something I'm not exactly famed for). Often it feels very epic; I feel like I'm a character in a novel, and that something momentous should happen. It rarely does, but I like to imagine that it might.

But just sometimes it makes me feel low. It makes me miss home, and my loved and lost ones, and makes me want so much to go Home. Not cause there's anything particularly bad or lacking about life down here; just cause something in me rises up and protests against there being seasons of good and seasons of bad, past things, future things. Good things should just be.

Well, I could go on, but I'll restrain myself.

And by the way, English sunshine is the most beautiful, when it's out and warm, but it's not out and/or warm for very long, so the whole "I was born for the Med thing" still stands. Just had to clarify that...
.

*****

Today's daily bread is...

I know not what of good or ill has been reserved for me

Of weary ways or golden days before His face I'll see

But I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to take that which I've committed unto Him against that day

**********

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;

my hope comes from Him.

He alone is my rock and my salvation;

He is my fortress, I shall not be shaken.

My salvation and my honour depend on God;

He is my mighty rock, my refuge.

Trust Him at all times, O people;

pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge.

Psalm 62:5-8

2006-02-11T14:42:00.000Z

Dancing in the Moonlight

I will write a proper post detailing everyone's dress/suit, the chandeliers, the food, the music, the moonlight, romance... (ok not so much the last two) when I have more time, but for now, although I should be working I'm just going to quickly post some photos of last night's Annual CU Ball.

This is the crew I went with - from left, that's me, Claire, Hannah, Krit, Kate and Laura

*****

Me and Beth, who both arrived on time!

*****

Laura and Jacinth, looking stunning

*****

Laura, Sharon and Cairine, medic lovelies

*****

Me and Gemma;

Gemma unwittingly advertising Nghia's exquisite dress-making skills in this gorgeous golden number.

*****

Just to prove there were guys there too!; James, Adam, Matt and Krit

*****

Ooh look, and two more; Steve and Jon

*****

Dresses, jewellery, lots of attention, chandeliers, balloons, confetti, white wine and profiteroles with two kinds of chocolate sauce...

Guys - this is a what a woman wants...

*****

About 1:30am.

*****

Bashed (nails), blistered (underneath), bruised and bleeding.

Cerveza de passion.

*****

If anyone has any photos of... my Bridge buddy Rachel, Paul & Charly (by the time I remembered, lovely Charly was barely standing for fatigue), Miss Kirsty in pink, any of the guys, lol (I swear I saw some around) or anyone else whose photos I never got round to taking, please can I have them? Thankyou.

And thankyou to everyone who made it such a good night.

2006-02-05T23:15:00.000Z

A good day

Last night I watched my newest favourite film, The Count of Monte Cristo. Haven't done this in a while, so I did it properly - tucked up in bed, hot chocolate in hand, laptop on legs (therefore "leg-top"?), and it was bliss. There's a reason God invented DVDs. And quiet Saturday nights. And for the first time in about a week and a half, I slept pretty well. (Don't worry, it's normal - occasionally I do have an insomniac week/month.) Praise God for sleep - a beautiful invention!

8 hours later I woke, not feeling too grand healthwise, and mused about whether I should go to church, or go to "Bedside Baptist" and go to church later. I don't think it's dreadfully heathen to decide against going to church once in a while, but today I went. Twice! (I know!) And, as always, I'm glad I did.

Bill spoke on Esther 1 today, and I'm really up for the rest of the series. God really encouraged me to set my standards high and stand up for them, even if it means being divorced by the king of Persia (although somehow I doubt that's a risk). He also showed me, again, how even though people do wrong things, and I do wrong things, and there's no excuse for it, God can and does sovereignly use our mistakes, and us, in His plans.
E.g., it wasn't right for the king to get drunk and randy (in the Bible!), and it wasn't right for him to divorce his dignified queen, but God used it all to bring Esther on the scene, and that, methinks, was quite the good move.
If you don't know the story, it's in the Bible, in the Old Testament, and it's called Esther, unsurprisingly. It's really good - I recommend it - the action film, pretty ladies, fine palaces, conspiracies, death-defiance, a big rescue op, kings, queens, baddies, goodies etc...

Anyway, after the morning service, and after talking to lots of people I haven't seen in a while/ever, a proportion of the good old student community trundled off to Paul's house, where we ate pork, and chicken, among other things, discovered the space-chair (well, Gemma did), and played Uno, with some amazing new rules I'm going to subject my home-people to at some point...

Back to halls; prepared tomorrow night's hall group study of Joshua 5 and 6 in an hour and a half (fastest yet!); prayed a while; got ready to meet Rachel to go out to church again. Her parents had just brought her back from a weekend at home, and they gave us a lift to church. Going to church in a car... felt quite the aristocrat!

Bill spoke on Romans 7, and really I can't give a synopsis here! But sometimes the Bible seems to be written to me. The apostle Paul says "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good... For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do - this I keep on doing." Quite convoluted, but it does make sense if you follow it. It's about our being stuck in a personal civil war; you want to do good, but somehow you always manage to screw up. This passage shows us that it is the Law that shows us how/where/how badly we've screwed up. It is only Christ who can set us free and give us the strength to break the cycle. Read it for yourself though.

And after the evening service, and after talking to lots more people I haven't seen in a while/ever, and after starting to book up my March, a different proportion of the good old student community trundled off to Christoff & Sarah's beautiful home. There we covered a whole lot of topics between us, and generally had a rollicking good night.

It's funny, reading back through my Burkina diary (gap year #1). The more depressive entries had no-one's name in, apart from the kids'. The entries which mentioned, the kids as always, but also many other names of people I had spent time with that day, were also my good days, my uplifting days that I love to remember. I didn't notice this correlation at the time, but now I know that without fail, a good day is a day with lots of people in it. Praise God.

Praise God that He didn't "only" call us into a relationship with Him, but also He called us, from the creation of the world, from the birth of His plans, into relationships with others, into His multi-coloured family. I love that that's not just a bonus of church - it's half the whole point.

2006-02-03T19:52:00.000Z

Jehovah Jireh
.
I remember, years ago now, as a kid at Bible Club at Rugby church, singing a song whose words I can now not remember past the first line. I just looked it up on the net and here it is...
.

Jehovah Jireh, God will provide

Jehovah Rophe, God heals

Jehovah M'keddesh, God who sanctifies

Jehovah Nissi, God is my banner

Jehovah Rohi, God my Shepherd

Jehovah Shalom, God is peace

Jehovah Tsidkenu, God our righteousness

Jehovah Shammah, God who is there

.
Weirdly, I vividly remember my friend Rebekah's Dad teaching it to us kids with his guitar. I may have been impressed that he could remember the meaning of all the Hebrew words, and also the order in which they came in the song.
.
But it's the first line of the song that God has brought back to me time and time again since I learnt it.
.
Jehovah Jireh, God will provide.
.
**********
There's another song of which I only remember the first line. I think we used to sing it at school, and it was one of those ridiculous ode-to-the-weather type songs they make you sing when they've gone off singing to God. This may be why I don't remember it, and can't find it on the net, but here's the first line anyway:
.
January days are long...
.
Slightly lacking in theological profundity compared to the first, but nevertheless both first lines have been true for me recently.
.
**********
How good is God that He not only prepares good, pleasing and perfect (Rom12:2) trials for us, but that He wonderfully prepares us for our trials. Read again Moses' story, Peter's, Esther's, David's, Amy Carmichael's, Hudson Taylor's...
.
At the beginning of last month, January, after my "exams", I had the wonderful opportunity to go back to my Worcester for a few days. I stayed with my second host family, who I raved about in a previous post, and thoroughly enjoyed catching up with them.
.

- Ben has recently been initiated into manhood via a relative's gift of a playstation (sorry guys, I know it's not true of all men, but I do know a good proportion of (otherwise good!) men who would themselves admit to spending far too much time behind a screen of one sort or another... And there is a significant difference in the proportion of women I know with the same problem - i.e. I don't know any... oh no, I do know one.) Anyway that's Ben; and he's getting better at reading, and getting me to read to him, which happens more often.

- And Emily is initiating herself into girlhood via her ever increasing vocabulary and urge to talk! (sorry girls, it is true of pretty well all women; I'm not even going to try to mount a justification for it.) It's really cool. She chats away now, is very sharp, endlessly amusing, and even talks about things she remembers from back when she wasn't talking much, which just shows how frustrating it must have been to be completely comprehending life, yet unable to verbally partake in it! I got to go to her dance lesson too, which she got the swing of eventually.
.

I also went back to the youthgroup I was leader of. They were leading the church prayer meeting that night, and it was marvellously uplifting to hear the kids leading in prayer, saying what they wanted prayer for, and sharing in prayer in other people's requests. Also visited the lady who first hosted (hostessed?) me in Worcester, and caught up with her which was fab. On Sunday I got to go back to my church, which I must say, I know I was only there for a year, but Woodgreen is my home church. I do miss her. And will post about her at some point I'm sure. Sunday afternoon we had another family round for dinner, the parents of which I am good friends with and respect very much. And... I must add, although it seems obvious to me, that I had a very blessed time talking with Tim and Becky (hosts #2) and catching up with them.

**********
But most markedly I got time to spend with God. I sat in my old room and remembered prayers I had prayed, concerns that tried to bridle me at the time, and praised God for His blessings at the time, for keeping me, and reflected on the miraculous answers to many of those prayers. Jehovah Jireh. He did provide. Financially. Spiritually. Emotionally. Socially. Academically. From the creation of the earth He had ordained that I should feel like I belonged in Worcester, in the host family #2, in the church, in the college.
.
God provided. In difficult times, in uncertain times. That is my Ebenezer. It is my grace-story, or one of them. God help me to remember those times. When I came back to Liverpool, I put this verse of a song on my wall:

His love in time past forbids me to think

He'll leave me at last in trouble to sink;

Each sweet Ebenezer I have in review

Confirms His good pleasure to help me quite through.

Little did I know how much I would come to need those reminders in the second half of January. Like I said, January days were long.

**********

When I had malaria, not generally considered a healthy state to be in, I didn't stress. I did what I had to do, and let God's purpose (which was for me to live...) work itself out. When I don't have employment, ok it sends me stir crazy to be doing nothing, but I don't stress about finances. That's not because I'm great - it's because God gives me faith based on the numerous times He has provided in the past. Academically, ok apart from last year, I usually don't stress. I just get on with it. Might not sleep much, but I don't stresshead half as much as I do about housing. You might need to see this to understand how little I stress about everything else comparative to housing.

I've been in "Where on earth am I going to live?" quandaries several times now, and every time, God has provided. Sometimes His sovereign provision has been hard to cope with, but He has kept me, and sometimes His sovereign provision has been very hard to leave.

So why oh why must I stress about housing?! I lay awake one night recently, half of my brain very low and drained with the housing happenings of the weekend, and trying to figure out what in the world I could do about it ("nothing, Cathy, go to sleep" is too defeatist for me), and the other half arguing it's socks off, desperate to go to sleep, telling me that worrying could not add an hour to my life or a housemate to my house, that Jesus provides for the sparrows and the grass, and am I not worth more than these? (Matthew 6 - I know it well), reciting verses to me of His promises to provide, recounting the numerous ways God has provided in the past, and mounting formidably logical arguments to the effect of "Shut up and go to sleep! Jehovah Jireh!". But alas there is no ON/OFF switch to my head, it just goes on and on.

**********

Called my Dad in the morning, knowing full well that on about an hour's fitful sleep and stressheading about housing I wasn't going to get any work done anyway. Cried down the phone at him (seriously, I know this is ridiculous; but hopefully this will encourage you somehow!). In my slight defence, there was other stuff getting me down as well, but we don't need to go into that here.

My Dad is a godly and gifted man in many ways. One of his gifts, which has been both his curse and blessing over the years I'm sure, is wisdom in how to deal with his eldest daughter. Like you don't normally remember the details of your own surgery, I don't remember the details of what he said, but I know he prayed down skype for me (I wonder what the skype people would think to that?!). I had been praying a whole lot myself, but having someone else pray for you is remarkably uplifting and calming.

**********

God's mercies are new every morning. He is faithful. Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow... I am thankful that before He started to answer my prayers practically, He answered prayers for my faith. There were a couple days there when superficially things did not improve, but praise Him, He gave me a measure of faith every day. He uplifted me. He led me beside quiet waters and restored my soul. He put friends in my way to encourage and uplift me. He whispered His peace and His promises to me. And I slept.

(A Christian I am getting, very slowly, to know, was in conversation ages ago about the things in his life that would cause your ordinary saint to stress, at least a bit. But when not sleeping came up, he said something that ended with "The devil's not getting my sleep!". I am awed by that assertion. It's brilliant. I aspire to be able to say that one day.)

And when He had done work in my heart, He did work in my life. Things started to come together. Options started to appear. Surprise surprise, it looks like Jehovah might just Jireh again. Things are not signed, sealed and delivered yet, and there's a good reason God tells us not to trust even in princes, but to put our trust in Him, and I am. As my Dad prayed, God is helping me to "hold these things more lightly", to roll with it, and trust Him for and with the end result. This is His work in my life. Glory be to Him.

May I try next time to remember...

Jehovah Jireh.

2006-01-17T00:07:00.000Z

Rule of Three

(or... Bladder Workout)

Right. Where were we?

I had a fabulous Christmas at home (Rugby). 3 weeks that felt like 3 months, and I was glad of it. Didn’t do a whole lot...

Besides actually travelling to one place or another, I think the extent of activity was:
- dancing around the kitchen madly (to Jack Johnson – lovin it) with my brother;
- playing “Scene It!”, which I suck at, but quite enjoy anyway;
- walking with my sister and her dog;
- sitting in Frankie and Benny’s with a cocktail far too many times;
- sitting in Costas with a mochaccino far too many times;
- shopping with my Mum/Dad;
- stressing at my Mum/Dad about numerous things;
- receiving wisdom and courage from my Mum/Dad;
- walking along the Thames with my girlies;
- doing girly things in shops on Oxford Street, enough said;
- sitting in Wetherspoons with a Strongbow far too many times;
- oh, playing lots of Articulate, which by the way I’m not very good at after 2 pints of Strongbow. My stomach is female then. Good to know, I guess.

What else? Anyway the point was that although I didn’t achieve great things or make the Guinness book of records (one day I will, but it may have to be for time spent in beverage serving establishments), I had a great time. Muchly blessed. Praise God. Actually my Dad, my sister and I sat in a little teashop in Wem for a while too. I really do do too much of that!

I love my family. I love my friends. Somehow they find the strength and patience to love me!

I also revised a little for the “OSCEs” (only practices this time so not too stressed).
And… I spent quite a lot of time with God, processing last term, making some decisions, and setting some objectives for this one. Read some helpful books, drank a lot of tea (there’s a theme here) and prayed. I was praying before Christmas that I’d have time and motivation to do all the above, so praise God.

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With some reluctance I returned to Liverpool. There’s nothing wrong with Liverpool, and I praise God muchly that I’m here at all. There are many many things to be thankful for, as God has thought of everything, again. It’s just not home. Not yet at least. There are too many unknown trials, and not enough known safe havens.

But return I did, with much prayer and trusting. I took the first days easily, didn’t rush into anything at all, and at some point I’ll post about taking life one day at a time. Not an easy one for me, historically!

And God was with me. He helped me through the “exams”. Can’t vouch for the results, but I was pretty calm through them, and able to see them for what they were – helpful practice. And I do feel randomly more confident and motivated now. But better than that: He started to answer a prayer of mine. Never mind what the prayer was/is, because in explaining that I would ramble far deeper into my psyche than we need go.

But God started to answer it, with 3 lovely days and 3 lovely friends.
3 lovely days of catching up with my hall-mates, and feeling like I belonged. I guess exam time brings people together!
And 3 lovely friends, who I spent time with individually and clicked with again, or properly. One lovely friend confided in me when she felt she could not in anyone else. Another rambled harmoniously with me for hours about what God has been doing in our lives. Another was very patient with me, as I have been with her! Thankyou honeys. God’s been using you to answer some prayers - hope that’s ok! I do thank God for you.

How good is the God we adore
Our faithful unchangeable Friend!
His love is as great as His power
And knows neither measure nor end.
* * *
'Tis Jesus the First and the Last,
Whose Spirit shall guide us safe home,
We'll praise Him for all that is past
And trust Him for all that's to come.

2006-01-16T00:17:00.000Z

The Importance of Being English.

[By the way, I have a backlog of posts I’ve been meaning to publish, and I’m a freak who can’t do things out of chronological order, so pardon me while I fill cyberspace with new cathyjunk. I’ll catch up with myself in about 5 hours...]

The first two days of 2006 I spent in a completely different country. Everything was very fast; completely un-English. No tea shops. No time for tea. Everyone speaks a different language; every other shop is of a different nationale. You get on a bus, and find you are one white person in a crowd of off-whites and nowhere-near-whites. All the food places are foreign. There's no time for meeting up with someone for a cup of coffee and a chat. Everything moves too fast. Could well be Tokyo, but there are too many Africans about.

And yet... there's something indefinably, undeniably… British about this place, underneath the drowning wave of foreign-ness. You see it in the organisation of public transport, in the statues, the heritage buildings, the parks, the roads. Unmistakable, but almost invisible to the untrained eye.

Where did I go? London. Country within a country. Country where the people who feel most foreign are the English.

Yeap, at 8:45am on the very first day of this year I road-tripped to our schizophrenic capital with a couple friends of mine from high school, which, we realised to our amazement and slight horror, we started 10 years ago this September! High school, this is. How time flies when you’re having fun…

It was a fabulous couple days. I do like my friends. And I do like London. Couldn’t live there, but love visiting. But it struck me for the fiftieth time how absurdly misleading it is as a “representative” of England. I have many non-Brit friends, and you can really tell by their comments whether their experience of England comprises of London alone, or whether they have been a little more thorough in their research.

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You see there are differences between Britishness and Englishness. I am still enjoying discussing this with fellow-Brits/Englishmen, but here are my thoughts so far.

A good Englishman is best pictured sitting outside under the shade drinking tea with friends. I am peaceable and kind, and keep myself to myself. I might like to live in a big house in the country (lol, Oasis memories, or was it Blur?) where there is grass aplenty for my children and me to roam in at our leisure. I like walking alongside rivers and the like, and the cities I am most at home in would have to be Cambridge, Worcester, Chester and many more cities and towns like it. Think Shropshire, Hertfordshire, Derbyshire, Warwickshire, and all the other green and civilised counties. I read good literature and poetry, but tend to keep out of politics if at all possible. I like my comfort, wouldn’t dream of going anywhere hot and dusty; and spiders, I just call my butler to deal with those. I don’t trust foreigners much, I’m fairly opinionated and “ethnocentricity” is my middle name; as long as I’m comfortable and my well-behaved children are clothed and clean, the world is right. On the other hand, I’m quite sociable - I love to chat with the neighbours and have all the time in the world for hospitality. I’m polite, dignified and peaceable – a hobbit, I guess. Think cricket, crochet (both types), embroidery, did I mention tea? The perfect Austen world.

(Those who know me now realise why I don’t make a very good Englishman in some respects, but am undeniably, quintessentially English in others!)

But a Brit is best pictured at wartime, or when the underground is bombed. I cannot absent myself from world politics and global affairs. I have a responsibility to the rest of the world and I take it seriously. I will go to uncomfortable places, and I will endure discomforts. Think rations, darning socks for soldiers; think stiff upper lip and gritting one’s teeth for the fight. I will pull together with fellow Brits, and with anyone else on my side, and make an organised team effort. Remembrance Day is close to my heart, and I love to see the statues, plaques and medals that pay tribute to our heroes of old. London is undeniable British in its statues and heritage museums, and even in its much-maligned but organised public transport. I am resilient, resolved, indefatigable and a good team worker. I am polite and I know my place in society, readily giving up my seat for someone of higher rank or lower physical capability.

I love being English – I love the comfort of my moderate country and would infinitely rather sit peacefully, be familial and sociable and enjoy God’s good gifts, but there is a world outside our window, and I am proud to be British, endure hardship and pull together to serve where there are needs.

I guess you could say that there is a childlike faith and gratitude in Englishness, but Britishness is where the rubber hits the road, as it were, and nationally we used to go forth in this faith to do God’s will.

Hmm, that was an interesting ethnosociospiritual thought there, but this blog is too long already so I’ll stop. Either way both cultural trends have changed somewhat now, and as we move further and further away from our spiritual heritage, Englishness becomes more self-centred and ungrateful, and Britishness subsequently becomes a disliked duty, relegated to fighting for or against the police after football matches.

Interesting. Either way we have the best chocolate.

2006-01-01T00:20:00.000Z

An Ebenezer

I seem to remember that at this time of year, we kids would often find ourselves sat quietly in the front room watching “A Christmas Carol”, a film based on the book by Charles Dickens, which extols the virtues of gratitude and generosity. In brief, three successive spirits take a miserly old man, Ebenezer Scrooge, on a dream-journey to see his Christmas Past, Christmas Present and Christmas Future. It’s a rocking good yarn that we used to love. And still do…

The name “Scrooge” is now synonymous with the unpleasant characteristics of greed, selfishness and unkindness, but have you ever wondered what the name “Ebenezer” means?

Well, this being the point of this blog, I’m very pleased to enlighten you… The word “ebenezer” is Hebrew for “stone of help”, and notably appears in the first book of Samuel in the Bible.

God’s chosen people, the Israelites, were having big problems with the enemy Philistines. In final desperation they remembered God, and realised that they had been ignoring Him and putting other things before Him. They confessed their wrongdoing to God, started putting God first, and also cried out to God for help against the Philistines. To cut a long story short, God intervened miraculously and saved them from their enemy. At which point Samuel (leader guy) did this: “Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying “This far has the Lord helped us”. (1Samuel 7:12)

This is a rocking good yarn an’ all, although this one’s true, and you can read it in the Bible. Book of 1 Samuel, chapter 7. You can do this, and look up the word “ebenezer” , right there.

An “ebenezer” has come to mean a physical symbol which marks and reminds of God’s special help in a certain time. Samuel’s was a big big stone (“eben” means “stone”); mine is an entry on a weblog. Same God; different method of praise!

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I lay awake one night recently, thinking about my 2005. I cannot believe how much has happened, and how amazingly good God has been to me. God is always good to me (every meal; every friend; every prayer), but sometimes it’s just more… noticeable, miraculous. Like my 2005.

Here and now, I’d like to mark God’s special help to me this year, and remind us both of God’s goodness, faithfulness and loving provision. This is going to be long, so avail yourself of a drink and a few nutrigrain bars before you decide to continue...

This time last year I had just completed my first term in Worcester College of Technology. After my first year out in West Africa, I was taking a second one in Worcester (my home town is Rugby) to re-sit my A levels. In its entirety that is a long and difficult story that I’m not going to tell now.

But this time last year I was preparing for important January exams, and for a January move into the house of a family in the church. I couldn’t afford conventional student accommodation, and the pastor of the local church and his wife and family had kindly offered me lodgings in their spare room for the first term. As the first term was ending they helped me to find suitable accommodation elsewhere. Having prayed to God for Him to provide, a couple in the church offered me lodgings in their back room. Their names were Tim and Becky, and they had two kids. I spent an evening with them, accepted their kind offer, and was now preparing, slightly apprehensively, for another move.

There followed a fabulous seven months. Here follows a loving rave about the family K (probably shouldn’t put their name on the net without their consent!). Ben was a sociable and loving 5 year old, who didn’t much like colouring, but would sit happily for hours in front of cartoons - Scooby Doo, ideally. He loved fruit, and sweets, and was coming to enjoy swimming, computer gaming and strutting round the house in a mini Darth Vader suit. Emily was a 2 year old bundle of fun, independent and decisive, who loved anything pretty and pink, and didn’t much like sitting down. She loved mashed potato, gravy, frankfurters, custard, rice pudding, chocolate… and was getting quite good at painting, singing, chatting and peeing in the right place.

And their parents truly made me feel part of their family. I like to think that I became good friends with Tim and Becky, who were lovely, very down to earth and endlessly welcoming. Even when I melted their slow cooker, I was only thrown out for a week. I’m kidding. Tim came back minutes into my airing the house out (it ssstank, in a word), and at my explanation and apology he only said “Don’t worry about it, the lid was cracked anyway. And we’ve both accidentally melted sandwich bags”. I didn’t then bring to his attention the obvious difference between a 0.5p sandwich bag, and a £30 slow cooker with wires and a mains plug, which I narrowly avoided exploding.

Anyway I spent a lot of time with them all. I was happy to empty their dishwasher and do other domestically helpful things, to pick Ben up from school from time to time, babysit and cook for the kids when needed – it all made me feel part of the family. Becky gave me endless support, advice and encouragement, and brought me on leaps and bounds in self-esteem; Tim helped me with my laptop and introduced me to such home-cinematic wonders as Band of Brothers, The Rock, The Core, The Day After Tomorrow, and super-duper scary-Mary surround sound. It was with Becky that I discovered Sweet Home Alabama and Love Actually. And as for the kids – they used to come into my room, dance around to my music, play with the wooden ladybirds I had stuck around randomly (well, they used to be sticky), ask endless cool questions about my world maps, and play in/on/through/under my bed.

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As for life outside of the house, I loved the church there, Woodgreen - the people, the ministry, the music, the prayerfulness, the openness, the obvious love there, and I loved being involved in Contraflow, the church youth group for 11-14 year olds, both of which I will rave about lovingly in a future blog, I’m sure. But I must say I learnt to mountain-board (eventually), to calm twelve 13 year old girls in a leaky tent in the middle of a Devonshire mudflat - I mean field!, and to relax again.

The college was good and supportive of me, and the staff were behind me all the way in my mission to get into Medicine. And as for Worcester itself, it’s still my favourite city. The main high street has all the big name stores, and is so well kept that there are always people meeting up on one of the many benches that line it both sides. A parallel street has lots of old black and white houses which whisper and creak of heritage, now home to many different boutique-y type shops and restaurants. And parallel to these streets is the River Severn, which runs about 30foot below the stunning red cathedral and adjacent royal schoolhouses and gardens. Some towns are ugly no matter how blue the sky; Worcester is pretty on a dark wet night.

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Nevertheless, life had difficulties. Given my strange set of circumstances, academic life was stressful and precarious, social life could be lonely, and financial life was tight – I budgeted a healthy £10 a week to cover all stationery, toiletries and activities. But I knew God. I spent so much time with Him in prayer. An amazingly strengthening and constructive way to spend time, and He was so close to me.

Sometimes it seemed as if parts of life, and my entire future, hung on a long strand of gossamer. It’s surprising how strong God made gossamer.

After my exams and a youth group holiday, mid July saw me leave Worcester, richer (not financially!), blessed, and very sad to leave. That summer was very tough. Dad had been made redundant from MG Rover back in April, so life was uncertain. Another strange set of circumstances meant that the church I attended that summer was new to me, and through it all I was waiting for my exam results. AAA meant I could take up my offer to go study Medicine in Liverpool, as I’d been wanting to do the first time around. Medicine was the only thing I wanted to do, the only thing I wanted a career life in – it meant to me security and future. Liverpool had a selection of good churches and a good CU, so I’d heard. And I wanted the uni life. I knew the results would be very close to the wire, whatever happened, and I couldn’t bear the thought of all that work and energy and emotion coming, in effect, to nothing. I can’t explain it to you here, or maybe anywhere, but I had a black few weeks of it that summer.

Thursday August 18th arrived. I travelled with my parents back to the beautiful small city. It was a warm and sunny day, and Worcester looked amazing. I collected my results, walked down to the river where my parents were waiting on a bench, and prayed for what must have been the millionth time so far that year. I tore open the envelope, bracing myself for the news of my entire future, one way which I wanted so much, the other which I feared and didn’t know how I would handle. Often in times like this, I’ve found that God gives me the scariest road to walk. And so far I’ve walked it, with God by my side, and He has blessed me.

But this was not one of those times. I had done well in the modules I’d retaken, but because of my previous results, it was indeed close to the wire, but with God, and with Woodgreen, and with Tim & Becky, Ben & Emily, and with my parents, and with my family, and with a whole lot of heart-wrenching, sinew-stretching, gut-busting effort, I had done it. The paper read AAA.

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There followed a madness in which I presume I prepared for another move, to the bigger and louder city of Liverpool - my last move now for a few years, hopefully. Needless to say, I was very thankful to God, for everything He had given me and done for me that year – and crucially, for everything He’d been to me. This blog has really not done justice to the pain and trial, the blessing and the joy; the impossible prayers answered impossibly, the detail of God’s provision and plan, and His sovereignty, wisdom, love and faithfulness.

But here I raise my own blog ebenezer, saying “This far has the Lord helped me”. Thank you Lord. You have been my everything. You have fulfilled all your promises, even the ones I forgot, better than I could ever have dared imagine. I can never praise you enough; I can never thank you enough; I will never even realise the intricacy of your plans, or the purpose of your ways. Words are not enough. Actions will not suffice. I cannot do justice to your goodness or pay you back in any way. And you knew that before you blessed me. So, just thank you. Father God, I thank you; I love you.

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As all good stories must, “A Christmas Carol” ends with resolved happiness. A repentant Scrooge finds endless opportunities to give of his wealth to those around him, and the immortal line “God bless us, every one!” is asserted by the crippled Tiny Tim.

I must add this disclaimer: Not being a Dickens fan, I can’t vouch for my knowledge of the original story because I haven’t read it, so the only version I know is the Disney remake we used to watch (sorry, did you think we were high-cultured kids?!) where Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim are Mickey Mouse and Morty Fieldmouse respectively, and Ebenezer Scrooge is a duck whose name escapes me.

But, as Ebenezer Scrooge had to realise, blessing has to be followed by gratitude, and gratitude simply must give way to generosity. I want my generosity to be fuelled by my gratitude for God’s goodness. And we’ll build on that in my next post… lol.

Happy New Year, one and all.

PS: Sorry but you can’t have a decent new year’s celebration without at least a little bit of cheese.

2005-12-09T19:52:00.000Z

My first post was going to be somewhere between poignant, memorable, thought-provoking and profound, and maybe include the lyrics to a favourite song, but instead I find myself just wanting to find out how this thing works. So this is it people. Anti-climax, I know, but it'll get better, I... almost promise!