Hospital Visiting

Every week this year I'm spending an afternoon with the chaplaincy team in one of the hospitals in Oxford. I've wanted to work alongside a chaplain since I worked as a nursing assistant up in Aberdeen. The chaplains there were amazing. After the Piper Alpha Disaster in the North Sea the chaplains provided a safe space in the chapel where relatives could wait for news and then have someone to fall back on whatever the outcome. I found it fascinating, to see people go to the depths of human devastation time and again and still be happy, smiling people, usually with a fantastic sense of fun. It just seemed so illogical, surely being surrounded by all that suffering would harden you? That you'd lose your sense of joy in it all? But I never saw that.

I've often wondered if there is something in that. If travelling through 'The Valley of Sorrows' with people, as one of my favourite psalms puts it, really does bring a sense of peace that goes beyond all explanations. It's something I feel drawn to wherever I see it. So when the opportunity arose to do a placement in hospital I knew it was one to go for. I'm afraid of it, that's for sure, but I seem to have an irrepressible urge to go into those fearful places. As I spoke to one of the chaplains today she smiled when I said that and responded 'that's what chaplains do'. That combined with my love of being out in the world, on the cutting edge, left us mulling over if there might be some chaplaincy work in my future. Watch this space!

Today I visited the Childrens' Hospital. It's purpose built with play rooms in every ward, chill out rooms on the teenagers floor and bright colours everywhere. Of all the time I've spent in hospital this was the most upbeat and uplifting environment I've been in. Thank goodness for that for the sake of those children that call this place home whether for a few weeks of cancer treatment of an unexpected trip to surgery after a nasty fall. The bravery was palpable in the air. Heroic kids, Mums and Dads worthy of awards for just being there and keeping a smile on their face.

The chaplain was inspiring, wearing a dress covered in daisies and popping her head round the curtains to say hello, hear stories and to let people know there is someone about should they need them. We talked about her day to day, the literally life saving work of helping someone back from the emotional brink at the loss of a child. I've never seen a minister involved so much, so often, in the darkness of human experience and I couldn't help but think that if Jesus was about today that is where you'd find him. What a relief from all the infuriating technicalities and politics of church. This stuff really matters.

If you're the praying sort then do remember these kids and parents in hospital tonight, I know I will.

It's all Greek....

I'm learning Greek as part of my course, a few people have asked me why and it's because that is the language that the New Testament is written in. With that in mind most of the sentences I'm learning would sound pretty odd in modern Greece (and the modern language is a variation) but hey, should I want to announce 'Jesus is the light of the world' on the beach I'll be all set. Probably not quite so useful as 'Can I have an ice cream?' but there are.

I am quite excited about the cross over potential though. I love Greece so very much and fully intend to keep going there for a long time to come, even more so with the financial trouble. There is a real level of poverty as well as breathtaking beauty in the country and it feels good to leave a trail of Euros in exchange for souvlakis that I know keeps someone going over the winter.

My love affair with Greece began when I was eighteen and hopped on a plane to Athens where I spent the summer lolling about on the beach and nursing sick turtles. I remember wandering along the beach and feeling this most intense feeling of freedom. Here I was on what felt like the other side of the world, all alone, but feeling utterly exhilarated.

22 and in Greece again!

I suppose that is why Greece has been my go to place in the Summer. (four birthdays there and counting..!) I love the feeling of sitting facing the setting sun, beer in hand thinking 'look at me eh? Living life!' and secretly hatching plans of how I might avoid that flight home. When we went to the Peleponnese last summer we were driving along the coast we saw a little house of an English man who had passed away. He had been a spy based in Greece during the Second World War and they rewarded him with land for a house anywhere he chose in the whole country. He went back and forth to it all his life eventually retiring there where he spent his days reading books, teaching English and looking out of the turquoise sea. Clever man.

If that isn't enough there's the food (abundance of feta and olive oil, need I say more?), the people (all wonderful, every single one..!) and the amazing cultural heritage. So learning Greek is really rather exciting. I'm definitely hoping to do a language course in Greece on one of our trips to try and convert my ye olde Greek into modern Greek and I'm quite convinced that there is no better place to learn about the letter to the Corinthians than up the road from Corinth, right? Put that together with long uni summer holidays and a dissertation to write and....hello! Now where is that passport.....

Wave your flag

All this book learning is turning me into an extremist. Now before you send the men in white coats (or some other more sinister government agency) round for me, let me explain myself! I'm talking about extremism for good ends, extremism for equality. I'm getting more and more riled up about it, sitting here at my kitchen table with piles of reading for my latest essay around me.

Being a woman in an institution that fundamentally discriminates against me may seem like utter lunacy to most people. It probably is really but as I've said before I have this odd attachment to it, this bizarre thing called church, like holding a broken bird in my hand and I just want it to get better with everything in me.

Having an attachment to the Bible probably seems like an even greater lunacy (here come those men in white coats again) but I've always loved it since I picked it up for the first time seven years ago and read it cover to cover. Yes, it contains the verses that are used to bash me and many other over the head and into submission but if someone hits me over the head with a spade does that make the spade the problem or the person who is using it all wrong?

So what is getting me particularly excited is having this time to steep myself in the New Testament. To dwell in all those sticky passages, all those places people get hot under the collar about and to find there, with great excitement and the companionship of some fabulous scholars, that this faith, this book, this message, is fundamentally one of equality. Yep - race, sex, background. Forget it. Irrelevant. THAT is how it should be.

Of course this isn't the first time this has dawned one me and likewise I've got it massively wrong many times, said so many dumb things, made dumb judgements, that I wish I could take back. But now I'm finding the hard evidence for this very real conviction, that I so want to live out, from much more intelligent people than me. It is utterly liberating.

Now you're probably thinking, 'Equality? Doesn't look much like any church I know.' Trust me there is a great irony in making these intellectual discoveries alongside being at a University where the mantra is 'you are the elite!' and a church where status is way too often everything. Here we are again with the broken baby bird. With a nasty nip when you try to help her. Oh yes, there is some healing to do but I feel like I am making foundations, in my life at least, for everything I attempt to do in that area with all my own frail, fudged up attempts.

So there we are, waving my flag, Extremist for Equality!

Colour

You know when you get busy, the first thing that seems to go out of life is colour. You don't notice things anymore. When this happens I take pictures, real ones, mental ones, word ones. Here's todays spotted while reading for my essay.

For some proper photography to get you in the autumnal spirit, check out Hannah's brilliant blog!

Keeping it Simple

The seasons are changing and with it our habits. Where we wanted to be outside with a chilled glass of wine, the bottles of red are being dusted off and the sofa is the location of choice. Box sets are our friends, cups of tea our staple. It won't be long before the mulled wine is brewing again. This week was ripe with challenges and by Friday I'd lost all energy for them, just wanting to curl up as the season demands and let the world pass me by for a minute. But luckily this weekend has been everything that this week hasn't been, an antidote to all the confusing, complicated strangeness where I've desperately longed for simplicity.

Last night I cooked a huge lasagne, is there anything more rejuvinatingly simple than that? Two of our best friends sat around our dining table and we laughed and chatted. We all have responsibilities now, shoes to fill and worries that our feet are not big enough to fill them. Like toddlers walking in our parents shoes. For a while it was good to realise that life can be as simple as the popping of a cork and leaning back in your chair and laughing.

This morning I went for the first time to my placement church where I will be each Sunday for the next year. After all the theorizing, the debates on how church should work (and frankly all the sheer complicated nonsense that surrounds that!), I could finally breathe again. It's an almost comical irony that training for church ministry takes you so far our of the world you are training to be in. Vicar School is so earnest, so slick. Does that sound ungrateful? Perhaps it is. But I've been missing the roughness, the patched togetherness of ordinary church services, of life in the community.

That is the Kingdom of God to me and where I know I belong. I'm a thoroughly ordinary person, constantly saying the wrong thing and laughing far to loudly. These are my people! At church today the children took to the front and sang a song with beaming smiles on their faces, gifted little things full of happiness and possibility. We celebrated someone's 100^th birthday with a posy of flowers. We talked about chicken recipes over coffee. Glorious simplicity.

I realised this week how much I need those moments. Like a shaft of sunlight cutting through the clouds on a grey day. It's a well needed reminder of what it is all for. As the lady who lead the prayers at church today said 'There are so many divisions in church, remind us that what you ask of us is so simple. To love you, to love our neighbour, to include and put up no barriers that stop people from knowing you.' I'm holding on to that this week. To going for it with the abandon of children, to caring less when I get it wrong, to looking for the heart of the matter. To a bit more simplicity.

Tired and Inspired

I've been itching to write a blog post since I started college on Monday. But as it is this week has been planned down to the last minute, nay second, with meetings, tours, warnings, encouragements all neatly packaged into twelve hour days. Tired doesn't cut it!

The church in Cuddesdon - the site of much damp, chilly prayer this week! (from www.oxfordcitybranch.org.uk)

 

Tired, yes but also inspired. Every corner of college is a piece of history. Samuel Wilberforce, founder of the college and son of the great emancipator William Wilberforce, looks down on us as we eat our meals. The wings of the building are named after past principals, vice principals and benefactors each with their own fascinating story. All of them innovators, lots of them the thorn in the side of their contemporaries because of it. Each of them standing up for something different, for higher ideals that they refused to compromise.

Samuel Wilberforce, what a legend.

The history is as winding as the staircases. I'm captured by it, a bit entranced. Ready to be a tiny little bit of the history of this place and very thankful for it. The library is a slice of heaven, volumes and volumes lined up around perfect reading nooks all looking out onto the rolling hills of the Oxfordshire countryside. Study has begun in earnest, my first essay is due next week, but I'm smiling to myself as I leaf through the reading list. I'm finally here at last!

Today we visited some churches, barely a few days in I can't help but wonder about the end when I'll be back in the community, ordained with a ministry of my own. We visited a couple of churches near Oxford ending up at Dorchester Abbey. Every ordained role is so different, every community so unique and for the first time I feel inspired by the people I meet. I want their jobs. I've never felt this way. I've always been the one in the training rolling my eyes and thinking 'man, I DO NOT want your job!' and despairing that I feel that way. Wondering if I will ever find my 'thing'.

But oh am I tired! My legs feel like planks of wood from cycling up and down the hill. I have a cold coming and I know it's only getting tougher, busier, more challenging from here. But I AM HERE! For the first time I have a bubbling excitement at my work, a rising hope in me for the future. I've got a secret smile and that wonderfully happy-making feeling sneaking up on me in quiet moments that this is exactly where I am meant to be.

Our new home

It's taken three weeks, with a slight pause for some sunshine in Portugal, but the house is finally unpacked and sorted. I really wanted to get this done before college started so that home would be a relaxing place to come back to (when I actually so get to come home!!) rather than somewhere that more work is lurking.

I got totally ridiculed my in laws and husband when I brought this table and jug but I LOVE it. It's right opposite the sofa and I just stare at it thinking, 'that looks utterly brilliant!' I'm modest, right?!

I love the feeling of the place. It's so light and we felt comfortable here from the first moment we arrived. Now it has a bit more personality stamped on it and has those all important little reminders doted about the place. You know the kind of thing, a gift from someone that reminds you that you are cared for, or a postcard with a slogan that reminds you why you're doing what you're doing.



The lantern in this picture was a gift from a friend at Uni. It says 'Let your Light Shine', a pretty good message to read every day!

I sewed this picture at the old house and it now lives on my dresser. I love this dresser. It was an old brown Ikea thing I picked up from Ebay and after about a year of looking at it and wondering I painted it bright blue. Best thing I ever did! It came alive and now it looks like it was made to be in the new house.

Isn't it gorge? The chair was a fiver from a local listing site and the crockery were all gifts or charity shop finds. The heart picture was an engagement card from a friend I met in Greece so it always reminds me of her and of how much fun it was being engaged. Speaking of Greece we found this lantern there on a recent holiday and I'm so happy it finally has pride of place somewhere. It took up my whole suitcase so I wore about fifteen layers to the airport but it was SO worth it!

 In the bottom right you can see a wedding pic and a black and white one of my beloved Nanny who passed away last year. I love the picture, she looks so independent, ready to face the world. The world was a different place then and she didn't have half the opportunities I have now. When I see it it reminds me to go for it, that it's good to have that same look in my eye!

One of the best things about the new place is that it has a garden. I love growing and most of them were in containers at our last place so, much to my Dad's dismay on moving day, I brought them all with me. There have also been some new additions like this gorgeous orchid.

I'm determined not to kill it. I've even been reading books about it! I know! Dedication! (Speaking of gardening books for total dunces, check out The Virgin Gardener by Laetitia Maklouf, all her instructions are so basic and for people with small amounts of space to grow like windowsills or patio gardens.)

I have a new lovely lavender to replace the bush that lived at our old house. It's such a deep purple colour and smells heavenly.

The garden is still very much in progress what with going into autumn and all but this is our little sun trap to sit in with a cup of tea and a good book.

Craft has been a big feature of this house move. I am so glad I bit the bullet and bought a sewing machine. I am also so glad that I googled 'how to make curtains' because they are SO easy. Seriously, if you can stitch vaguely in a straight line then you can make them. The fabric is so much cheaper and nicer than buying ones from shops. I used this tutorial to make these:

...for the office and these.....

...for the bedroom.

I also made these simple tab top curtains for the bathroom using Cherry Menlove's tutorial.

All this crafting is now very much assisted by having a craft desk. Every time I see it I swoon.

And of course the house is packed full of obligatory daftness. I have a particularly absurd sense of humour and I like having things around that break any tension I'm carrying and make me laugh. If you can't have it in your own house than where can you eh?!

Note this sign is conveniently located next to the books of church liturgy and a Greek New Testament. No further comment required!!

Ha! Hilarity!

And that is our new pad! :)

Best friends, beach bars and cheesy bananas

I spent last week in Portugal (ooh err what a jet setter eh?!) with two of my best friends. It was absolutely blissful. The sea was within touching distance from our pretty swanky but very cheap apartment, a white sandy beach with the world's coolest beach bar was a fifteen minute ferry ride away and there were more restaurants than we had hours to enjoy them. Best best of all was the chance to get away with two people I think the world of. To have a chance to laugh, talk about the future, to be silly and not have to think twice about it.

On the second day we discovered the aforementioned world's greatest beach bar. The island itself is largely untouched, just a lighthouse, an unspoilt beach and a handful of holiday homes. The sound system pumped out Jack Johnson and other silky voiced beach crooners as we laid back in our multicoloured deck chairs sipping pina coladas. One of my friends wants to open a bar in the sun one day. We decided I would come and do the décor and she would pay me in cocktails. 

I pretty much believe my friends can do anything. In fact, I know so. We've known each other since we were kids. When the discussion opens up to the future the chat nearly always comes back to the shared imaginings we have had of each others futures. They so often correlate, 'I always thought you would live abroad', 'Me too!'. There is a depth of knowing that has great hopes for one another, greater than we can even dream for ourselves. True friends are cheerleaders of the highest order.

On the last night we ate dinner in an Italian restaurant, bemoaning that we would soon be in the UK, cold and thinking of Portugal. We ordered a bottle of Mateus (when in Portugal...!) and scoffed our way through a carb loaded feast. When dessert came my friend decided to be adventurous and went for a 'Top Hat' having no idea what it was besides the fact that it contained bananas.

Oh hilarity. It arrived in an earthenware dish, two bananas, dusted with cinnamon and covered with what looked worryingly like cheese. It took my friend four mouthfuls to decide unequivocally that, dear readers, it was cheese. I have never laughed so much in all my life, side splitting, tear streaming, gasping for air laughing. Man, did I need that! That's a true friend for you, they'll even take on a cheesy banana to give you a laugh!

And so I've been reminded that the best thing in my life is my people. Those girls that are like a gift straight out of heaven for me. When I'm holding my ground on being a young woman in leadership, questioned and challenged to stay true to myself and what I believe in or taking the next step on a road that scares the life out of me I know where my confidence comes from. Those people that have got my back and let me know it. Friends, where would we be without them?

Loved

So we've arrived. We are in the new house and semi-unpacked. The decorating has begun in earnest and the place is already shaping up just how I imagined it (A post on that to come of course!). You'd think this would make for a great week but quite frankly it's been a bit of a 'mare. I can't say I ever find change that easy but this time it has been accompanied by the dawning realisation that after all the talk, all the interviews, all the explanations it is finally happening. I am going to start training for ordination.

Now logically I know that this is cause for celebration, that many good things as well as challenges are on the horizon. All that planning, prayer, thought and preparation have been for this end. But all I have felt this week, as I have been painstakingly unpacking each box, is 'What on earth have I done?' Suddenly I'm overwhelmed by the feeling that I might fail, no that I'm going to fail. I'll not be strong enough or clever enough. I'll let people down, worse than that - I'll let God down.

All the logistical problems associated with my STILL not being able to drive feel insurmountable, There is a big hill between me and the college that I am way too unfit to cycle up. I don't even know how I'm going to get there on my first day. It feels like a giant neon metaphor for this whole endeavour, all I can hear is 'You can't do this' and I'm inclined to agree.

And so tonight, after the first day I've had at home to just potter about the house, I sat down in my arm chair, unpacked my favourite cushions, brewed up an earl grey and took my shaky heart to God. After all these years of praying, all these years of 'getting to know' who God is, even being an advocate for how loving, how all together wonderful God is I still found myself creeping towards him on my hands and knees saying 'I'm going to let you down' and expecting a rebuke for not being strong enough.

But what did I get? A reminder of the journey so far, of the great big yes I have given to every challenge thrown in my path and the still, strong voice telling me that that means something. And even more than that the reminder, like a flood of light into the soul, that nothing else matters than what I already have, I can be loved no more than I already am. Every thing is going to be all right.

The challenges haven't gone away, I feel no more confident in my ability to get this right but I feel like I'm standing on the rock again. Knowing that succeed or fail I already have everything I need. And isn't that the point of this whole ministry lark anyway? Love, acceptance, some solid ground? For all of us? It is good to be loved, necessary. And with that love there is just enough in me to say another quiet yes. Let's do this. I will climb that hill.

If these walls could talk

This morning as I was doodling in my Scribble Diary one of the spaces to fill was a speech bubble with ‘If these walls could talk’ written above it. This is what I love about the Scribble Diary, it prompts completely random thoughts that often have legs and helps you to consider things a little differently. And this one really got me thinking.

 

We’ve been in our current house for three years now. It’s a house converted into two one bed flats on the end of a lovely terrace. We live in the bottom one and it’s got a little patch of garden around it where I took my first tentative steps into fruit and vegetable growing, so many happy afternoons spent there. But what about these walls? The more I think about it the more I realise how much has happened here.

 

lovely little house...

Perhaps the walls would talk about the day we moved in when it wasn’t a ‘we’ arriving but just a ‘me’ as Ben had to stay up in Aberdeen for another three months to finish his teaching placement. After the movers (and my ever handy Dad) departed I sat down and wondered about this new place, feeling half forlorn to be without Ben and half desperately excited to be in this beautiful city at the start of a new adventure. I had no idea what a big adventure it would be! A few hours later one of my best friends from home (now just an hour away) appeared on my doorstep with a bottle of wine and one of the main features of that house was born, it was an open house, full of laughter and friends. By far my favourite thing about it.

 

Perhaps the wall would talk about the day I came back from church in deathly silence. Silence isn’t something I do very often! They might say that the silence lasted for two weeks. Every time I tried to talk about what had happened at that service the words stuck in my throat and not a squeak came out of my mouth about it. My brain was whirring and I kept myself busy but Ben knew something was up.

 

Perhaps the walls might talk about the first prayer that came out of my mouth after those weeks of silence. About the flood of tears as I said to Ben ‘I think God wants me to be a Priest, isn’t that ridiculous?’ He smiled and said, ‘No, not at all.’ And so a long journey began of interviews, job changes, new people and places. There was more laughter, more tears, everything all at once, a rollercoaster.

 

Perhaps the walls would talk about when the house became an administration station for the church. About my desperation as I scanned the clergy list and realised I had no idea how to address any of these people and one week to get them invitations to come to the institution of our new Vicar. Perhaps they would tell about team work making the dream work as Ben helped me sticker hundreds of envelopes and convinced me that after a long six months of looking after the church while we were Vicar-less that I could jump this final hurdle, exhausted as I was. Perhaps the walls would talk about vocation tested, about the last stamp going on the last envelope, a job done.

 

Perhaps they would talk about darker times. About someone climbing through our bedroom window who wasn’t invited. About me coming home and finding glass everywhere and possessions gone. About not one but two sets of police officers being kind and calming. Neighbours and friends, shoulders to cry on. Perhaps they would tell about my final forms for my final interview that were due in the day after we were broken into. How a large glass of wine and a cheerleading team in the form of Ben and our upstairs neighbours got me to put pen to paper and get them finished despite my head being anywhere but on interviews.

 

Perhaps they would tell about the day the letter arrived, the shock as I sunk into one of the kitchen chairs and read the words‘recommended for training’ and thought ‘what on earth is going to happen to me?’ They might tell of the cassock arriving and getting its first whirl before the mirror or the quiet afternoons, a breeze coming through the window ruffling the pages of the latest theology text book as I tackled the mammoth reading list from college.

 

And now they would probably talk about boxes. So many boxes. We live in an obstacle course! They would talk about paint and sewing and people making plans. And now this house will have new inhabitants, new stories to tell. We head off soon for another three years in a new home, for another great adventure. After everything that has come in this place what will the next three years hold? I’m looking forward to finding out!

Four Days

After today I have four days left at work. FOUR DAYS! I’m off from tomorrow for a week and then to Kent we go to catch up with family, do some bargain hunting and participate in some general seaside merriment. Then it’s back home, pick up the keys for the new place and we move! All of this is tremendously exciting and just slightly nerve wracking. I am categorizing my wracking nerves, thus:

Country gal

I was chatting with a fellow student-to-be yesterday about my interview for Vicar-dom and mentioned that the location of the interview freaked me out because I’m not a fan of rural locations. He laughed as our college is right in the middle of the country. This had occurred to me but now the time to start is creeping up on me and the boxes are all packed for village life I’m starting to stare longingly at Starbucks and the cocktail bar about two minutes from our front door and think crikey! What am I going to do with myself?

In reality we can hop on a bus and be in Oxford in half an hour but I am one of these people who gets a bit out of sorts if I can’t walk everywhere. Blame that on being utterly spoilt growing up in Windsor where everything is on your doorstep and perfectly lovely. I’m thinking I need to embrace it, lots of country walks and all that?!

Wild Card

You know on those house programmes where they show people a load of houses that meet their requirements and then for laughs put one at the end that is like nothing they’ve ask for? I’m feeling a bit like a Wild Card as I enter college. Probably because even going to a theological college is a serious Wild Card in my life. How could it not be when I only went voluntarily into a church for the first time seven years ago? I never thought I would be here.

But I am trying to embrace the slight randomness of my being there. As I’ve said before I think that is kind of the point. It’s wonderfully unexpected and though my experience might not be conventional they have a bit of oomph behind them for that. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t really, really think it was the right, no make that only, thing for me right now. More than anything I know I’ll achieve very little trying to be someone I’m not (and I find that basically impossible, what you see is what you get and all that!) I may not know my alb from my surplice but I must be there for a reason, right?!

Essay fear

And lastly it has suddenly occurred to me, do I remember how to write an essay?! This is further compounded by the general doom-saying associated with my course about how hard it is and how people basically DIE when they do it. As far as I can see most people are still standing and I was firmly informed at interview that for the sake of the future church and women EVERYWHERE I need to get myself educated to the best of my ability so I can represent (innit) my kind. As a fully signed up flag waving champion of equality I can hardly back down from that challenge, now can I?!

So there we are, just a few teeny concerns there! I think I need to sit and build some sandcastles for a while, get windswept and eat a ’99. Until next week...!

House to Home

I’m having a truly brilliant time at the moment as I get ready to move house in just a couple of weeks time. My philosophy with most life events is to just go with it full pelt and get the most out of any experience. If you’re going to be a student then get yourself a satchel and dedicate yourself to take-out pizza like it’s going out of fashion. If you’re getting married spend hours of guiltless time perusing wedding magazines and (if you're anything like me) wandering round bridal fairs asking the prices of things and cackling with glee that you’re making your own for a fraction of the price.

When it comes to moving house there is almost too much potential excitement. There are the home magazine and blogs, the shopping – endless shopping – and if you’re going the frankly superior thirty, crafty home route the many hours ‘winning’ on ebay, the charity shop one-off-wonders, the DIY furniture makeovers and the feeling of being utterly pleased with yourself as you say once again ‘that was a fiver, that was. Destined for the bin before I saved it.’ BRILLIANT!

Charity shop find, re painted and the draw lined from my craft stash!

It has got me thinking though about whether all this nest building can be justified. Is it all a bit keeping up with the Joneses, a bit materialistic? As regular readers will know our house was broken into this year and I blogged about my heart not being in treasures stashed in my home but in bigger things. This is something I believe in and hold to. But does it stay true as I amass more things? When I actual own my own washing machine and bedroom furniture?

A few things have struck me about this. Firstly the really wonderful experiences I’ve had in other people’s homes. I call this the ‘House Hug’ effect. When you walk in somewhere and feel immediately welcome and rejuvenated. Being the hippy wannabe that I am I think this has a lot to do with the heart of the home, do people care more about their beige furnishings or you being at home in their home? Do people have truly generous hearts, cheerfully giving of what they have to you? When they do there is nothing better than curling up with a glass of wine in the lovingly decorated home of a good friend. I love seeing their personality stamped on a place. It is something unique and wonderful to be a guest in that kind of home.

My second thought is creativity. I love to create, whether it’s food or stuff for the house, clothes or a new eyeshadow. It all comes back to creativity for me. I love the ascetic, making things beautiful. I’m a messy creative. I want my garden to be full of bees not to be in regimented lines. Nothing I make is perfect, it’s very definitely ‘home spun’ but I like it that way. When I was doing my Masters we did a personality test as part of the final careers advice. Being a science course everyone else’s traits came up with things like accuracy and thoroughness. Mine were ascetics and creativity. I can say I looked mighty frivolous in front of those scientific types (and a bit of a heads up that I might not be in the right line of work!) It can be seen as frivolous to love beautiful things but isn’t it part of our nature to create, to admire, to feel awe and pleasure when we see something lovely?

My third thought is thrift. Often lovely things come at a price, the cost to the earth of more mass produced rubbish that will be quickly discarded, the cost to the producer who is paid a pittance. Beautiful things become quickly ugly in this light. But the brilliance of reusing, thrift and charity shopping (and fairtrade, handmade, green and locally crafted!) means giving a new lease of life to unwanted items. I long to do this more and escape the now, now, now mentality with each piece having a story of its own and how it came to you rather than being a flatpack from a warehouse. I’m going to go hippy on you again but I think that resonates something into the home, a certain kind of unique appeal. If you’re still not convinced then check out this brilliant kitchen renovation over at Lulastic and the Hippyshake. Isn’t it stunning?

So that long winded blog post is coming around to the fact that I’m guiltlessly celebrating creating a home packed with mismatched but well-loved items. That I’m thinking of the people who will come there, of creating a haven of hospitality that our own lives can operate from and that can bless people that come into it. And that now I’m off to make a bird garland from and old British Birds book, oh yeah!

An ode to chairs

When I was in Zambia I spent a lot of time sitting on the floor or on logs. This was partly because women in Zambia don't get chairs and have to sit on the floor (don't get me started about THAT) but also because chairs were in short supply while we were camping. One evening one of the leaders emerged from the van with a camp chair and offered it to me and I nearly fainted with joy. 'Oh sweet bottom support, how I missed you' I cried. He walked swiftly away.

So now that I am back home the packing for the big house move is in full swing and this also means that the search for furniture and other miscellaneous items that I just know will look amazing has reached fever pitch. The charity shops have been good to me yielding some brilliant items from ornate, sapphire glass bottles to bargain basement photo frames that have been painted and filled with our holiday snaps. Ebay has also been my faithful friend and today came up with a real jem, a monks bench.

Now for those of you not in the know a monks bench is a carved, wooden indoor bench. It opens up into the base for extra storage and looks just plain fab in a kitchen with some cushions scattered across it. Ours is going to be painted light blue and I'm going to sew some cushions for it. I already have it's location perfectly planned, right next to the patio doors so friends can come sit and chat to me while I cook or on sunny days I can study at the dinning room table with the patio doors open.

Already the monks bench is a happy addition to our house in my minds eye which got me to thinking what a sound investment a good chair is (beyond that all important bottom support of course...). My last chair purchase was an olive green Parker Knoll arm chair (another ebay find) True it wouldn't look out of place in a nursing home but my goodness I love that chair. It's so comfy and I fit into it perfectly, almost like I was made for the chair. It has wings so you can rest your head and it practically spurs me on to read good books and think important thoughts. The chair demands it!

The fact that it's old in some ways makes it even more special, as the legendary Gilmore Girl's put it when moving in to their renovated old Inn – 'It's less like it's part of our lives and more like we're part of it's life for a little while.' Gilmores, that's wisdom for you! So get yourself a good chair, one that's built to last and has never heard of mdf. You won't be sorry!

In which I paint too much furniture and get a bit high

The quest for second hand furniture has reached new, dizzy (literally) heights. I have had several pieces furniture sitting around waiting to be transformed from sad brown creatures into gleaming, shiny multi-coloured wonders for some time now. The last few weeks have seen our little flat turned into somewhat of a furniture restoration yard and me into a hunchbacked purveyor of Satinwood.

Some particularly desperate pieces have been salvaged from, in my opinion, the worst of all furniture crimes, bad shabby chic-ing. Now I understand that to some there is a great allure in slopping on paint and then bashing a piece of furniture with chains but not for me. I have just restored a nest of tables sanding off a union jack theme (Yes. Really. Think ‘The Apprentice’) and turned them gleaming, classic cream. Beautiful.

In my quest for second hand heaven I have come across an absolutely brilliant resource that, if you are in Oxford, you absolutely must go to. No excuses. It’s amazing. The place in question is Orinoco, basically a big storage space at the back of a community centre in a suburb west of Oxford that takes in leftovers from DIY jobs and anything else that people are chucking really and re sells them to crafty types.

Think boxes full of old jars, scraps of fabric, rows and rows of half empty paint tins in every colour of the rainbow, plugs, books, paper – EVERYTHING! By redistributing what people would otherwise throw away tons of rubbish is saved from landfill every year. The price is deliberately kept low to keep scrap from landfill so I left with two litres of paint, some tile grout and sandpaper for three pound!

 You have to be willing to climb over boxes and get a bit dirty but that really is part of the fun eh? Ideally coerce someone to come with you and hold your basket by promising them a lunch at Jacob and Fields deli after which is just up the road in Headington. My technique of saying to my husband ‘I have a plan that ends at Jacobs and Field but you have to agree to all of it to get the food,’ worked a treat and is highly recommended!

Tile grout was on my list so that I could try this brilliant idea by Lulastic -  homemade chalkboard paint. The result is a row of little jars with brightly coloured chalk board labels for all my stationary. So brilliant! These will sit proudly on my mini shelves saved from a charity shop  and painted very middle-class but very lovely duck egg blue, lush!

One will never need search for pins again

I have also created this with an old frame my parent were chucking, some blue satinwood and some scrabble tiles left over from my handicraft sale. The idea is that it contains words that sum up God for me. I’m going to hang it over my desk and when I’m staring at another essay or feeling overwhelmed by the task ahead of me I can look at it and remember why I signed up for this crazy lifestyle in the first place.

I love craft!

Poverty, responsibility and not hacking phones

I’ve been thinking this week about responsibility. When the news about phone hacking first broke I remember feeling really alarmed for the people caught up in that culture of journalism. It’s not that it’s not despicable to hack people’s phones, of course it is, but how easy is it to enter a culture like a work place and just tow the line? What everyone is telling you is normal and acceptable become normal. Now we are seeing these people, and their PAs and chauffeurs, facing jail sentences. It is right, they did the wrong thing, but the thought keeps ringing in my ears – how easy was it to end up there?

It’s all a matter of integrity, of course, and taking responsibility for your own choices. A couple of nights ago I was at a talk run by the aid and development charity Tearfund. It made me wonder if the dramatic inequality in the world that we accept as normal is comparable. As an entire nation have we been caught up in a culture where inequality has been accepted and our responsibility abdicated?

I don’t think of God as an angry disciplinarian hauling you up before a cosmic court for every wrong decision you make. That wasn’t the kind of God shown in the life of Jesus who forgave when others were ready to throw stones. But I am absolutely certain that God is justice itself, particularly when it comes to the cause of the weak and the poor.

So I tread a careful line, knowing full acceptance but remembering the standards of the one to whom I appeal. What does he make of our communal acceptance of starvation when we throw yet more food in the bin? Of polluting the earth and allowing the poor to pay for it when their harvests fail and villages flood? So that’s the situation, what of the answer? That’s where it gets tricky eh?

And this brings me back to personal responsibility. Were the people who hacked phones any less responsible because it wasn’t there idea in the first place? Or was the error in colluding with something that they knew, really, was wrong? Standing up against a dominant culture is hard, there is no doubt about it.

And when it comes to global poverty it is even harder. Rather than just NOT hacking a phone we don’t know what to do. We encounter so much suffering through the news or charity campaigns that the sheer volume of it becomes a barrier to acting. Trying to single handily deal with the crises of the world is, like the Tearfund rep last night said, ‘like turning up to an earthquake with a dustpan and brush.’ We can’t change the climate or get clean water to everyone in the world on our own.

My thoughts on this over the last few days can be summed up in the phrase - ‘circle of influence’. I can change everything but I can change what goes on in my ‘circle’. I know I can reduce my own impact on the earth. I can urge the decision makers to hear the voice of the poor. I can grapple with the issues of my day, think things through, seek out opportunities to act. Most of all I can question, is this right or have I just accepted 'normal'?

Rather than living with startled rabbit syndrome brought about by the vastness of the situation I’ve found that accepting that the only thing I can change is myself to be hugely empowering. And more successful. Rather than being startled into inaction, recognising personal responsibility liberates into action. Rather than waiting for the world to change, I change. So there it is, my little contribution to the debate. What’s your take?

Homemade Home – the challenge triples!!

I posted a while back about how I’m trying to furnish (and decorate – naturally!) our new home near college with all recycled, homemade and second hand items. This is partly because I like the look of mismatched old items with a history (so nothing virtuous about that!) and partly because visiting a landfill site as a Biology student has left me permanently scarred. There’s also a bit of being keen on giving charity shops a boost and finally because I’m pretty cheap and don’t want to spend £100 on a table when I can spend £10. 

The original plan for college was to move into a two bed flat so I could have a study in the second bedroom. This was quite the lap of luxury as we’ve never lived in anything but a one bed. Though a lovely one bed it is. Since being broken into my priorities have changed a bit with houses. Double glazing and sturdy locks have shot to the top of the list so the new build flat was just fine (if a l little cosy!)

I had only just finished figuring out how to get the maximum out of the space and re acclimatize my herb plants to the indoors when a call came from college asking me to come and look at another house that had unexpectedly become available. This one is owned by them so living there would save a huge amount of hassle with a commercial landlord and agent (hurrah for THAT!) AND it had three bedrooms and, drum roll please, a courtyard garden. 

Now none of these things are essential and I really haven’t earned it in any way so I feel a bit jammy really. Jammy and bloomin’ giddy! I’m anticipating a busy and demanding time at college and to have a guaranteed home for three years where I can sip a martini and stare adoringly at my blackcurrant bush in my own garden is HEAVEN. Pure HEAVEN.

This has raised some exciting conundrums about decorating though. I now have a lot more space to fill and the place is totally unfurnished. A call round is being made for any unwanted furniture at the college from students who are moving on (that eclectic taste comes into its own again…!) and rather than a couple of rooms to think about I have a whole range of decisions to make. Just think of the many uses for old jam jars that I can concoct in a PROPER house! With stairs and everything!!

First things first it’s onto the sewing machine to make some new cushion covers and bunting (have we had enough bunting this weekend?! Nah!) and then it’s charity shopping galore. Yesterday uncovered a brilliant set of mini shelves that I’ve painted and am going to put jam jars on (see!?) full of stationary essentials and old school reference books. And that only cost £3.50, took half an hour to collect on foot and attracted only some odd looks from people in Starbucks when we stopped for coffee with our furniture. No worries eh? 

The quest for cheap furniture require a high embarrassment threshold!

Cassock Woes

On Friday the letter from my college arrived complete with details of the items I need to purchase before the start of term. I'd been warned that some 'clergy dress' was required but I hadn't bargained on how expensive it was going to be. After a quick browse of stockists it quickly dawned that I was to be the Ron Weasley of the 2012 Cuddesdon intake and be bringing some decidedly dodgy looking robes with me as there is no way I can afford new ones. A desperate search for 'make you own cassock' unsurprisingly didn't yield many jems either.

Having been dressed up in a cassock and surplice (black coat with a big white sheet over it basically...) at one of my placements before my interview I knew what those were but was promptly lost when mention of a 'Cassock Alb' came up. Luckily my premier purchase of the year, nay decade, came into it's own again – The ABC of the Church. Think a child's dictionary but with all the obscure details that you can imagine coming up in a 2000 year old institution. And what is chapter 5, why a dictionary of Clergy Dress! This book is going to SAVE me!

I used to be unconvinced by special dress for ministers in church but I've changed my tune. Being part of a more traditional church has widened my perspective. It doesn't have to be jeans and t shirt to be relevant. In fact there is something about church being a bit different from what you encounter every day that appeals to me much more now than it did before.

Special dress is hardly required to stand before God, he takes us as he finds us I've found, but where it's used it's about reverence and respect, a nod to the amazing heritage of the church and a sign to the world (in my currently uneducated opinion!!). Like the dog collar its a statement about who you are and what you have been commissioned to do. It hints at the specialness, the majesty of God. I'll be proud to wear it. Proud and a little intimidated! It's often said that a bride is most likely to freak out when she puts on her wedding dress. The realization dawns of the huge commitment she is about to make. I'm anticipating the same feelings when my cassock (and alb!!) arrive.

The last few months have seen a number of amazing occurrences. Literally at the moment I've realised I need something (and usually can't afford it!) it has suddenly been provided for me. Within hours of receiving the letter from college I had an offer of an old cassock and surplice – for free! The kind benefactor is my size and height so I'll be in style rather than giving Ron Weasley a run for his money! Hurrah! Thank you God!

Jubilation for the jubilee

I’m really excited about the jubilee weekend. Yes, this may have something to do with five, uninterrupted days off (a way to enthuse people about monarchy if there ever was one) but also because the predisposition to getting excited about such things has been well entrenched in me since being a tiny tot. 

As a born and raised resident of Windsor not a year went by at school without us being called up for flag waving duty at Windsor Castle for some ambassador or other.  We learned the history of the castle at school. We watched it burn in ’92 with huge sadness. My wedding was next door to the castle (complete with tourists wandering into the ceremony and taking pictures!!) My novel, that I like to consider is maturing like a good cheese (rather than temporarily set aside!), is about monarchy in Britain.

A Windsor Wedding!

Then there was the highlight of primary school, the year your class got to go to the parade for the Knights of the Garter. All the royal family walked or drove past as we sat in the baking heat (it’s always baking in childhood memories isn’t it?!), waving our flags and cheering. On the day I went to the Garter service I had a packet of vanilla chewitts in my pocket which went all gooey in the sun making them even MORE perfect. The two things will be forever linked in my mind, just as celebrations to do with the royal family and having a jolly good time are.

Crafts for all occasions!

 I know there are many reasons to hop up and down about monarchy but I have a lot of time for the Queen (Windsor indoctrination speaking…!) It’s not often that you have an example of someone who was called to a way of life, that perhaps she wouldn’t have chosen, and has fulfilled that unceasingly with such grace and skill. 

When I was Head Girl of my school in Windsor (I’ll give you a moment to chortle about that…..) the Queen Mother passed away. We lined the streets in silence as she was driven past to her resting place with her husband in St George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle. It was a very moving moment, full of dignity, and for the first time I was touched by how important that is, for any life to end with respect and thanksgiving. Standing there as a representative of our school and community at only 17 years old was one of those moments that I look back on as a flag being staked in the ground. A hint at my future where issues like service, death and dignity in it will be part of my thinking and even my day to day.

So I’ve learned a lot from growing up around monarchy. And it still gives me a kick to have a woman on the throne (and as the Supreme Head of the Church of England - what with all the dramas we’re still having about female Bishops!) when we as women can still face such opposition when taking up positions of leadership. Our Queen models what it is to be a woman in leadership, and faithful to a calling, very well indeed and I, for one, am very thankful for it.

So Happy Diamond Jubilee everyone!

Lest you think I've thrown myself off a bridge...

.....here are a few things that that made me smile today.

A big bunch of yellow tulips and needing sunglasses to pop out and collect them.

Reading in my new amazing new granny-chic olive green armchair by an open window....

With this view.

It could be worse eh?

All my strength

I've had a taxing morning. Mondays for the last six months have been blighted by the dreaded driving lessons. Everyone has told me that at some point it will click into place and my confidence will come. Well, yes. But then the next challenge arrives and it feels like square one again. My current nemesis is large roundabouts (shoddy lane discipline on my part, yes, drivers feel free to silently seethe against me. I'm the idiot cutting you up) and dual carriageways. What's even more frustrating is that 99% of the population seem to be fine with this particular skill. The accident I had is always looming in the back of my mind. Right now it all feels insurmountable.

This is further complicated by the fact that for me driving is inextricably linked to the process of going forward for ordination. If I weren't doing that I would be still be happily (ok, well slightly grumpily) walking to work. I need a car for college, for placements, for the next step in my life. When driving is hard (or studying, or leading in church or any other skill I'll need for that matter!) I quickly look up to the looming mountain of responsibility and think – 'if I can't do this, then....?'

When Jesus was asked what the most important part of the law was he said 'Love the Lord your God with all you heart, all your soul, all your mind and all your strength.' (and love your neighbour as yourself, we forget that one easily eh?) To me this means giving the very best of what I have to God and where he is calling me. All my mind to study, all my strength to the journey, all my heart to the process, all my soul in prayer. And arguably all my mind to big roundabouts and all my strength to slip roads.

At the end of today's lesson I ended up in a bit of a heap and uttered those often thought but rarely vocalised words – 'what if I can't do this?' And that's the big fear isn't it? That when you push yourself to the max, using the very best of what you have to offer, then what if it's not enough?

Here lies the comfort of the comfort zone. It's a false comfort really because who wants the wake up call one day that life has passed you by and you've no idea what you've done with it? I don't. And so I find myself somewhere in the middle, with the fear of failure hanging around like a bad smell as I wistfully look back at the comfort zone (ah, what did that felt like again?!) and on the flip-side looking to the future with excitement, pushing the boundaries, sometimes succeeding sometimes not.

Because if you don't push yourself to the limits then you can't really fail. You can always say, 'I didn't really try anyway'. When things go wrong, it's not you it's your circumstances. It's harder to say, 'that was my fault, I'm still learning. I've not go this down yet.' I can see myself saying that so many times over the next few years but it takes such confidence, such strength to say 'that was me' and still believe you can do all the things you know you have to. That is plumbing the depths of strength.

I know I'm not alone. The one who call also equips. (As an aside I actually found myself genuinely jealous that Jesus was born in the time of donkey travel the other day when praying. A donkey on the A40?!)

A novelty donkey picture to lighten the mood. These chaps live at The Donkey Snactuary (http://www.thedonkeysanctuary.org.uk\)

Right now I'm having a wistful look back at the comfort zone, tomorrow will probably look brighter. But that's the journey I suppose, one foot in front of the other. All my strength...