Walk with me....

Walk with me....

Not holding back from the pace you'd rather be walking at....

Not walking ahead, then waiting for me to catch up, then walking ahead.....

Not in a gang ahead of me as though I don't count....

Actually with me, shortening your pace to match mine, your speed to match mine,
almost as though you're needing to keep up with me, rather than hold back for me...

Please, walk with me.

Just once.

Walk with me.

It's quiet.... A little too quiet...

Tup-towers is quiet.

Too quiet.

Since the wee man started school for the 1st time, and Mr T has gone back into full time paid work, the house is quiet most of the day.....

Nice to have my space back? To have my timing back? To be distraction free?

Actually, no.

Words that harm....

My 'baby' has now started "big boy school" - he looks all grown up in his uniform,  and despite my fears that education will ruin my beautiful,  kind,  considerate, loving son, he seems to be thriving.

However, a word has entered our vocabulary and I really don't like it.  This word puts a strain on our relationship, makes me feel that I've failed in some way,  and generally upsets me.... 

The word?

Hurry....

Since starting school we are in a hurry: 

not getting dressed quickly enough - "hurry up" 

not putting his shoes on quickly enough - "hurry up" 

not getting in the car quickly enough - "hurry up"

not walking down the path quickly enough - "hurry up" 

And before you tell me to set the alarm earlier, yes the alarm is early enough.  The pressure still remains, that we are now working to a strict timetable and cannot be late.  We are clock watching like never before.  We have no time to "stand and stare", but must be there.  And I don't like it.

Bishops - Men & Women....

There's an old saying:  "You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig...." 

Yesterday (14th July 2014) the 'governing body' of the Church of England - the General Synod - passed a motion to enable men and women to serve and minister across the whole of the CofE: to be ordained as Deacons, Priests and now Bishops.  The Legislation has been passed, and now goes before Parliament and then the Queen for their assent.  It then becomes Law, and those who are part of the selection of Bishops can now consider both men and women according to calling and gifting, and not be restricted according to gender.

Good news for those of us who - after a thorough engagement with scripture - believe this to be the right thing.

So why the pig in lipstick?

There are those who believe that to be a woman priest is impossible,  the very phrase is an oxymoron, that a woman can no more be a priest than a pig in lipstick be a lady.

So, the legislation passed contains an anomaly.  The Law will say that I am a priest and able to be a Bishop.  It will also say that I am a lipstick wearing pig.  Why? Because it contains promises of safeguarding against my porcine ministry.

Not sure I have any more words for the minute...

New beginnings...

So, we have moved!  When God says, "Time to go," then you pack up and move.  In our case, 6.2 miles from where we were.  Over a parish border, into a different Diocese (and a different Province - so now I am accountable to the Archbishop of York - although if were being pedantic I am ultimately accountable to God!)

All of this means a new house which is to become a home, a new community to find our way around and belong to, and a new church (just the one this time) in which to flourish.  Oh, and the way we got to know our immediate neighbours was when we asked them to help us manoeuvre the caravan onto the driveway by hand, and there's not enough swing on the road to use the car (unless I demolish the church wall... which I nearly did with the car... hence knocking on doors... as the school run was about to start...)

Chris levelling the caravan outside the Vicarage - the driveway slopes more than you can tell from the photo

So, 5 weeks into the post (of which nearly 2 were wiped out when I suffered the whole-body effects of pulling the muscles in my 'good' leg during the moving process), how are we doing as a family? Well, there were several cries of "we are never moving again!".  And that seems to accurately sum up how we are.  We belong here - home, community and church.  And here we are - until God says, "time to go..."

Nemeses....


Time for a quick rant - all justified if you don't mind...

Here are some of the things in life which I consider to be my own nemesis:

Gravel.

 

In any form.

I don't care how pretty and convenient and cheap it is.

It moves.  Under all 4 of my feet.  Particularly my crutches.  And it gets stuck in the 'feet' of the crutches and the minute I'm back on a flat surface the sticking out bits of gravel make me slide and skid - and risk ending up on my back with all 4 legs spread about...  And that's just rude.  So please, people, bag up your gravel paths, driveways and other foot-fall byways, and get a proper floor covering.


And whilst we're on the subject of unhelpful and potentially dangerous flooring -

Marble.

I mean, why? 

Firstly, it looks slippery.  And for those of us with a dubious sense of balance and co-ordination, the appearance of a slippery surface is enough in itself to make us seek out a big detour. 

Second, it gets slippery to easily, and there's nothing to absorb any liquid spilt/walked onto it.  So now it looks and is slippery.  And I've got 4 legs (count them, 4) to potentially skid on the floor.  So do me a favour, and get a carpet.

Buffet.

Everywhere I go, there's a Buffet.

Let's do the maths - plate, one hand; glass, one hand.  Crutches x 2, 2 hands.  So now I'm up to 4 hands.  No, no, no. 

And it's not humbling to say to some willing and lovely person, "I say, would you mind carrying my food please?". 

No my friends - it's humiliating.  I can't carry my own food, or drink. 

I can't stand around with said food and drink chatting lightly about this and that.  I apparently need to trail around after you like a small child with you deciding what and how much I should eat.  Having stood awkwardly in a queue for the privilege.

Thanks, but no thanks.  I'll ring for a pizza ta.


And finally - for the minute.....!

 

No Handrails...

Have you ever used crutches? 

They're not designed to weight-bear.  Legs are. 

So now I've got a leg that works, and leg that should but doesn't, and 2 long poles which are ok on the flat (except for on Marble or Gravel...).  And when I meet steps and stairs that have no handrails, I have to control 3 variable 'limbs' but up a sequence of trip hazards and against gravity, with no additional support? 

Thanks.

The most insulting scenario is a staircase with a handrail that stops half way.... WHY?  That's just sticking 2 fingers up and saying, "thus far and no further - get legs..."

I was having a think about Mothering Sunday - the highs, lows and pitfalls of being both Mother and Priest on this most marvellous day, holding my own thoughts, a weight of Church history and theology, and a pastoral awareness of the mix of people in (and resolutely not in) the congregation for the Mothering Sunday service.

 To be honest - it's a minefield! And I think a fellow priest and blogger writes about it far more eloquently than I.

parttimepriest.blogspot and click on the heart saying 'special mum'


Happy and joyous Mothering Sunday - wherever, and however, you are.