Quiet Leadership I

I've just finished another book which will change my life, especially the way I talk to people. It's called 'Quiet Leadership' by David Rock andI'll feed you bits at a time.

The first three points seem obvious:

People are more motivated to act when it's their own idea.
Everyone's brain is different.
Most people react against being told what to do.

However, we hardly ever put these things together and let it change the way we act. Most of us will take someone's dilemma, feed the information in to our own brains, come up with a solution which would suit us, and strongly insist that the person should then do what we tell them.

We forget that our brain is different from their brain, and what works for us may not work for them. We forget that they will not be motivated to change unless they find their own solution, and we forget that the fact that we are telling them what to do will almost certainly result in them not doing it!

The point: Giving people solutions does not work. But helping them to think for themselves is always going to be more useful.

The question: How do we help people think better?

The answer: Coming in the next few blogs!!!

So easy to forget

Oddly enough, in the week in which husband finished four years of theological study, I had a mini crisis of faith.

It happens every so often. Questions come up. Is God really real, or just a nice construct to make me feel better? Am I wasting my life being a Christian? Do I just 'do' Christianity because my family does? Why aren't there more people who follow Christ? Why is each day a struggle for holiness?

In these times I have to think logically and rationally rather than rely on feelings and emotions.
I sat down, remembered and verbalized the reasons why I am a Christian. Just for the score, here they are:

- If you were trying to invent a god, you wouldn't invent the Christian God. He's so far from what we humans want. Giving up a son for an enemy people? Dying to bring life? From a human standpoint of power, victory and prestige, God looks like a loser. In our natural mindset, love is not strength, and his character is love. You couldn't make him up if you tried, which tells me there's got to be something in it.

- Creation is so incredibly incredible. Let alone what I see around me in nature, the things I know about the human body are astounding, and the things I don't know about the human body are innumerable. It can't have just happened. There's got to be someone behind it.

- The historical evidence for the life, death and resurrection of Christ is considerable, and the accounts of the gospels are what anchor me.

- Christians are in general, the most giving, unselfish, wholly transformed people I've met. I hasten to add that there are of course, generous and loving people who are not Christians, and also that there are Christians who are not generous and loving. However as a whole, I think the character of God does come through Christian people, better than I have seen of other peoples as a whole.

- In my own life, there is so much evidence of God's provision and so much answered prayer, I'd be a fool to say it's all coincidence. And I have felt the warmth of the Holy Spirit, and I have had weirdy kind of conversations with God on the odd occasion. I can't say my own experiences were wrong and not valid.

- Am I wasting my life? Well, if I wasn't a Christian, what would I be doing? Living for myself I expect. Even if God is a fairy tale (which I'm sure he's not) the way people live 'for God' is a good way to live.

I am convinced of Christ's divinity and I follow the Christian evangelical faith because I believe it is true, real and essential to understanding myself, God and the world.

If you're not convinced, it's a good time to think about it. Ask God for some answers. You might be surprised.

Semantic observations

Harmless.

Harm - hurtful or bad consequences following an action.
Less - the lack of.

This word technically has quite a positive meaning. Something is harmless. It doesn't cause hurt. It has no negative consequences.

But I've yet to hear it used with a positive connotation. It's the sort of word that's tossed away with a tiny sneer. "It's pretty harmless" can mean anything: unimportant, useless, silly, inconsequential. At best, it won't hurt you.

If we say someone is harmless, we are usually describing people with low social status or value (children, old ladies, the village idiot). It's an insult to be called harmless. It means you are passive and undervalued.

The subtext of all of this? Simply not causing harm is not enough to be considered good. Passivity is better than intent to hurt, but it's not a positive thing in itself.

searching to belong II

Missionary kids returning to their home countries often feel like they can't make real friends. No friendship seems as real or as personal or as deep or as important as the friendships they have left behind.

Before I read Joseph Myers' book 'The Search to Belong' I would have tried to solve this problem by helping improve someone's interpersonal skills. After all, that's what makes a friendship isn't it?

The language of the 'four spaces of belonging' has got me thinking though. Perhaps MKs personal skills are actually fine. They already do know how to belong in the 'personal space'. If they could just find a few people they clicked with, they'd have friends.

But how do they find these people? In both 'social space' and 'public space'. Relating in these two spaces are where MKs have most trouble. However they don't have the framework to recognise this and wrongly put their feelings of not belonging down to 'not making friends'.

My challenge for my talks next year is to help MKs recognise the different ways to belong in each space, work out where they already belong, and help them to find better and more harmonious ways of belonging in every space.

Searching to belong

I recently read a great and mind-stretching book entitled 'The Search to Belong' by Joseph Myers.

He says that there are four 'spaces' of belonging.

The first space is public space
Public belonging occurs when people connect through an outside influence. For example, you might be a fan of a particular footy team, a member of a political party or a regular at bridge or bingo. It might even be when you are with others in a traffic jam or neverending queue. Even though we don't personally know the others in the public space, these are still significant relationships in our lives.

Then there is social space
Social belonging occurs with people we see regularly, such as the bank teller or the local pharmacist. It might be at the work place, or at a party. In this space we share ‘snapshots’ of what it would be like to be in personal space with us. 'First impressions’ apply. Social space is important because it provides the space for ‘neighbour’ relationships, where you know someone well enough to ask for or provide small favours. It is also a ‘sorting’ space for those who you want to get to know better and invite into your ‘personal space’.

Obviously, there is personal space
We share private (but not naked) experiences, feelings and thoughts here. We call these people ‘close friends’. They know more about us than an acquaintance (who belongs to social space) yet not so much that we or they feel uncomfortable.

Intimate space is the final space of belonging
Here we share naked experiences, feelings and thoughts. Very few relationships are intimate.

Myers' theory is that a harmonious sense of belonging can be written like an equation: P8S4P2I. In other words, for every one intimate belonging, there are two parts personal, four parts social and eight parts public.

A healthy belonging may not exist in someone who has, for example, six intimate relationships and no public or social relationships. It will also be skewed in a person who belongs everywhere publically, but nowhere personally.

I wonder if you can add another space of belonging - a physical place? Perhaps that goes with the public sphere, but I think it might be different. There are certainly physical and spatial ideas of belonging in many people's lives. It's one of the 'missing links' for children who move around the world a lot and who often feel that they don't connect to a certain place.

I'm giving a series of talks next year to returned missionary kids, and thought I'd speak broadly about 'making friends', but this book will give me some added food for thought. More on this tomorrow!

Blessing in disguise

Autistic Spectrum Disorder is not something I'd think of as good, but it has done me a great service this week. We're starting to do the RDI program with Superboy (www.rdiconnect.com and also www.jacobs-journey.blogspot.com for real-life examples of how it works) and I've been challenged to re-examine the way I interact with not just him, but all my children.

My attitude has been sneaking into the realms of avoidance. "It would be easier and a lot more efficient and a lot neater if they would just get on with their thing so that I can get on with my thing" is my unspoken thought.

I was shocked recently to realise just how much I would prefer them to be quiet, separate and no bother to me so that I can do 'important' things on my own. I think I've always had the attitude that 'you have children as a regular part of life, but that's not what you really do'.

But God calls himself father, and us his children. And clearly, his whole purpose with the human race is to be with us, to be close to us, to be engaged with us and to love us. He's come into the whole messy human arena and mucked in so that we will call him Father. It says a lot about parent-child relationships that perhaps I have been inwardly missing with my own children.

Today I didn't worry about getting the washing done early so I could get on with the day. Instead, I made the washing 'the day' and did it with my Superboy. He learned some relationship skills, I slowed down and we actually enjoyed each other's company.

Praise God for autistic spectrum disorder, for RDI and for his own love for us as parent to his children.

just thought I'd share my idea of a good lookin' man

People aren't like bank accounts

This is a line I've heard a number of times over the past few years:

"I'm only going to be at this church/in this situation for a year or so, and I'll be moving on soon. I wonder if it's really worth investing my time and energy in the people I'm meeting now."

From the number of times I've heard it, I think it must reflect a set of assumptions about friendships that is very prevalent in my christian sub-culture. The assumptions are these:

1. Long-term relationships are the only ones worth having.
2. I should be able to choose who I 'invest' in.
3. The idea of 'investing' includes both putting in, and getting back. Investing asks the question: is it worth my while, and what will I get out of it?
4. Life can be planned.
5. People are just darned hard work and not the first priority.

Frankly, I think all of the above is rubbish. Let me explain.

1. Long-term relationships are the only ones worth having.
The longest friendship I've ever had with someone in reasonably close proximity is about 6 or 7 years. Most of my proximate friendships have lasted 1 to 3 years. I've had wonderful friendships with people which lasted as little as two weeks before we moved apart.

Right now I'm missing a friend I met this year. We spent probably 20 hours together in total, but I consider her one of those rare gems of a friend - someone I understand and who understands me. She lives in Russia, so it won't be a friendship of frequency.

With the number of times I've moved in my life, I have never had the luxury of being able to only plan for long-term friends. And if the people around me had not considered it worth their while investing in me, given that I have always known I'd be moving on, I wouldn't have any friends at all.

Friendships come in all shapes, sizes, types and models. Length of time spent proximate to someone is not the most important thing to consider!

2. I should be able to choose who I invest in.
This is an assumption borne out of wealth, urban living and a culture that says that the greatest good is to have choice. I think it's a culture that is anti-Christian. Paul doesn't talk about Christian unity with the people you choose to be unified with. The church is the church. The people in it are the people we've got. There is no choice. But it's for the good of everyone. If we have choice, we will end up excluding those who somehow don't fit our criteria.

3. The idea of 'investing' includes both putting in, and getting back. Investing asks the question: is it worth my while, and what will I get out of it.
If my friends are in it for what they can get from me, I'm afraid they're not on a winner. I never end up remembering to take morning tea with me. I only have one type of tea in my cupboard, and I'm frequently bemoaning my dirty floors. Sometimes (actually, often) I'm grumpy, a little pessimistic and a touch cynical. I'm sometimes over-sensitive and take offense. Recently I haven't had much energy for other people's problems, and I don't always listen well.

The reality of any relationship is that there's a frequently shifting balance. Sometimes you put in more, sometimes you get back more. In some relationships you put in a lot and get a little, but that doesn't mean it's not worth putting in.

Treating a relationship like a bank account doesn't seem to cut it in God's economy.

4. Life can be planned.
Ha! Since when?

5. People are just darned hard work and not the first priority.
If people are not the first priority, then God got it wrong when he sent Jesus.

Yes, people are hard work. We are all messy, complicated, conflicting little beasts, but we are also, with God's grace, capable of immense love, and made specifically to love each other.

It's a slap in the face to God to say that someone might not be worth the trouble to get to know. Who's to say that person you're avoiding because they look like too much hard work might just be the greatest friend you'll ever have in your life? If you never make the effort, you'll never find out.

All that remains to be said is that tomorrow, we all might get run over by a bus.

And if you know you're going to die tomorrow, do you stop loving people today?

Pirate Ned

Pirate Ned:

Or

The Story of How a Boy Called Ned Became a Real Pirate

and Married Maggie, the Sweet Love of his Life.

~ A Short Story~


“A ship in a harbour is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.” - Anon


If there was one thing that Ned had wanted more than anything in the world, ever since he was a little boy, it was to be a pirate. Well, to be more specific, he wanted to be a real pirate. After all, he already was a pirate. In fact, his whole family were pirates. All his friends were pirates too. Everyone he knew was a pirate. They all lived in a pirate village filled with other pirates, on an island in the middle of the ocean that was called, appropriately enough, Pirate Island.

Now here, even just one paragraph into this story, I have to stop for a little confession. You see, I haven’t quite told the truth, dear reader. I said that everyone Ned knew was a pirate, but actually, he did know one person who was not a pirate. That person was Maggie, and Maggie is a very significant person in this story.

You see, Maggie was the sweet love of Ned’s life.

Maggie lived with her father and mother in the village. They owned one of the most popular shops in the village, Yo Ho Ho Apparel. They sold hats and boots and swords, made to exacting standards and premium quality. Pirates who aspired to look authentic – or really really piratey - came to shop at Yo Ho Ho.

Most people were impressed by what you could buy at Yo Ho Ho, but Maggie was bored by the pirates who came in to try to look more ripped or more weatherbeaten or more scarred.

“It doesn’t matter if they have silver cutlasses, or torn-away breeches or parrots on their shoulders,” she told Ned privately. “They still aren’t real pirates.”

Ned felt uncomfortable when she said it, but he knew that what Maggie, the sweet love of his life, said was true. And that was the whole problem with Pirate Island.

There were lots and lots of pirates, but none of them were real.

They had silver cutlasses but they didn’t ever fight with them. They said “Ahoy there, me hearrrrties” but they didn’t know what it meant. They hung impressive looking treasure maps on their walls, but they didn’t go looking for the treasure. They bought expensive pirate ships but they didn’t sail them out to sea.

All the pirates on Pirate Island did was talk about being pirates. But they weren’t real pirates, and Maggie and Ned knew it.

In fact, Ned had known it in the back of his mind ever since he was a little boy. As soon as he was old enough to talk, he asked his father, Captain Blackbeard Pratt, lots of questions.

“What do pirates do, dad?” “When are we going to go out to sea and have an adventure, dad?”

“If we’ve got a treasure map on our wall, why aren’t we out looking for the treasure?”

And Captain Blackbeard Pratt would look up from his copy of Pirate Weekly and sigh. “Oh, Ned, do you have to ask so many questions? I’ve had a hard day at work.”

When his mother, Cutlass Kathryn, asked him, “What do you think you’d like to be when you grow up, Ned?” he would answer, “A real pirate, Mum.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she would laugh. “You already are a pirate. No, I mean, would you prefer to teach swordplay at school, or sell pirate ship insurance? You know – a real job.”

And Ned would mumble something under his breath, sigh, and go and throw stones at the skull and crossbones flag which flew from the roof of his house.

Or, he would go and play with Maggie.

Because Maggie was the sweet love of Ned’s life, he wanted to marry her. In fact, he had always wanted to marry her. But ever since she was a little girl, Maggie had only ever wanted to marry a real pirate.

“Yes, I love you too Ned, but ever since I was a little girl, I’ve only ever wanted to marry a real pirate,” she told him whenever he asked her to marry him, which was nearly every week.

It was very discouraging. And as time went on, it became even more discouraging. The only two things that Ned really wanted to do weren’t happening. No-one would let him be a real pirate, and Maggie, the sweet love of his life, wouldn’t marry him.

And Ned would walk home from Maggie’s house, kicking rocks and feeling miserable and sorry for himself.

Now like most people on Pirate Island, Ned owned a parrot, because, as you well know, dear reader, parrots are the pet of choice for pirates. Like most parrots on Pirate Island, Ned’s parrot was trained to say piratey things like “Blow me down” and “A bottle of rum”. Ned’s parrot was named Percy, and most of the time Percy stayed in his cage (which was big enough for him to fly around in). However, one day Ned decided to take Percy with him to visit Maggie, the sweet love of his life.

As usual, Ned and Maggie had a lovely time together, until as usual Ned asked Maggie to marry him, and as usual Maggie refused.

Ned left her house feeling miserable, and slightly annoyed with himself. And as he walked home, he started to feel even more annoyed. You see, Percy was enjoying his excursion out into the village so much that he wouldn’t stop talking.

“Blow me down,” he yelled across the street to some girl pirates. And “a bottle of rum” he squawked to the shopkeeper in the milk bar. And then he started to repeat his favourite phrase, over and over again.

“I’m a pirate,” he whistled. “I’m a pirate,” he squawked. “I’m a pirate,” he chanted.

Percy went on and on and on. “I’m a pirate I’m a pirate I’m a pirate I’m a pirate I’m a pirate I’m a pirate I’ma pirate I’ma pirateI ma pirateI mapi rateI mapi rate I…”

“Be quiet Percy,” Ned said. “Be quiet.” And then, “Oh, just shut your beak, you squawker.”
But Percy kept going on and on and on.

And then, suddenly, something extraordinary happened. Ned began to join in. “I’m a pirate,” he said. Softly at first, so no-one would hear him. And then a little bit louder. “I’m a pirate.” “Yes, me, I’m a pirate.” And then he jumped for joy and yelled so loudly that everyone on the street could hear him.

“I’M A PIRATE!”

Percy slid off Ned’s shoulder in amazement and landed in a feathery heap on the cobbled stones. He was so surprised by Ned that he stopped squawking, but Ned kept going, talking very fast to himself, with an enormous smile on his face.

“I’m a pirate. Yes, me, I’m actually a pirate. I can be a pirate. I can be a real pirate. All I have to do is go and be a pirate. What’s stopping me? I’m a pirate. Yes, that’s right. Me. Ned. I’m a pirate.”

And down the street he raced, followed by an astounded, waddling parrot, trying to keep up.

Dear reader, do you know what happened to Ned? I’ll let you into his secret!He suddenly realised that he could be a real pirate if he wanted to be. He didn’t have to be the same as the other pirates around him. They didn’t want to go to sea, but he did. They didn’t want to have adventures, but he would. They couldn’t be bothered finding treasure, but he could!

With this big thought swelling in his heart, Ned raced off. He suddenly knew where he could find help in becoming a real pirate.

Down in the replica pirate pub on the replica pirate wharf, where all the replica pirate ships were moored (by the way dear reader, ‘replica’ means looking just like the real thing, but not quite real), Ned found Old Salamander Bill.

Old Salamander Bill was the sort of character that in a normal pirate village full of real pirates, would have had one leg, a patch on his eye and a bedraggled parrot on his shoulder. He would have sat in the pirate pub all day with a half-drunk cider in front of him, and he would have said, “Aargh me hearties, listen to the old, old stories from the high seas” in a croaky sort of voice with a dreadful accent. He would have been the person that everyone laughed at as the crazy old-timer who always exaggerated his stories.

In fact, Old Salamander Bill was the person whom everyone laughed at as the crazy old-timer who always exaggerated his stories. But they also laughed at him because he wore a t-shirt and jeans and steel-capped boots! They laughed at him and said that he might have had a few pirate stories to tell, but he wasn’t a real pirate like the rest of the village. After all, he hardly looked like a pirate – not like them!

Ned had met Old Salamander Bill only once – when he was six years old. He had been down on the docks with his mum and dad, taking a pirate-like walk next to the moored pirate ships and enjoying the salty breeze. Captain Blackbeard and Cutlass Kathryn were admiring a particularly fine ship renovation they had seen in a feature in Better Boats and Gangplanks and weren’t watching Ned when an old man in funny clothes came up to him.

Ned was extremely surprised when this strange old man bent down in front of him. He looked him in the eyes, cupped his hand on Ned’s shoulder and spoke in a gravely voice: “You’ve got something, me boy. You’ve got something. You’ll do it, alright. You’ll do it.”

And with that, he had walked off again, with Ned staring after him. It had been so quick that his parents didn’t even notice.

Ned had put the whole incident out of his mind, but now it came back quickly and forcefully. He knew Old Salamander Bill was the one to help him.

He found him down at the docks, ignoring the parade of passing pirates and ignoring the flotilla of fancy boats. Instead he was sitting on a post, staring calmly out to sea.

Ned walked gingerly up to him. “Are you Old Salamander Bill?” he asked, a little nervously. “Can you help me be a real pirate?”

It took a minute for Bill to turn his head. In fact, he didn’t look at Ned when he replied.

“Can you say that again? What was it you asked me?” he said slowly, still looking out to sea.

“I’m sorry,” said Ned. “I just wanted to know if you could help me to be a real pirate, but if you’re busy…”

“Busy? I’m not busy,” said Old Salamander Bill. And as he turned his face to look at Ned, there was a tear shining in the corner of his eye. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to be asked that question. And you, you have something. You really have something. You’re the one to ask it.”

For the rest of the day Ned talked non-stop with Old Salamander Bill. He asked questions, and Bill gave answers. Things like, “How do I start?” and “What do real pirates actually do all day?”

And then it was Bill’s turn to ask questions and Ned’s turn to think about his answers. Things like, “Once you’re a real pirate, you can never go back. Are you ready for it?” And, “Things can get really tough out there. Are you sure this is what you want?”

The two of them laughed and cried and talked and planned until sunset, and then the next day they talked and planned some more.

“The first thing you must do is to not worry about appearing like a pirate,” said Old Salamander Bill. “All these people here in this village just think about what they look like, and whether their boots are genuine dragon-skin. But a real pirate is who he is. He doesn’t have to worry about getting the outfit right. The pirate-ness of who he is just comes through.”

Here Old Salamander Bill had a sip of his cider. He set it down on the table and took a deep breath. Ned braced himself for another long important-sounding speech.

“The second thing you must do,” said old Salamander Bill, “is find a ship. Any pirate worth his salt has to have a ship.”

“That’s more like it,” thought Ned to himself.

The two of them walked out to inspect the lines of boats moored at the docks. There were sleek looking brigatines, garishly-painted square-riggers and huge shiny schooners. Ned was dancing up and down with excitement but Bill kept walking right on, past the beautiful boats and down to the other end of the docks where the wrecks were kept for spare parts.

He finally stopped in front of a small, ragged looking ship. It was a small, two-man sloop, compact and neat in the water. But its paint work was bedraggled and its sails were torn.

“This is the boat for you Ned,” said Old Salamander Bill with a triumphant wave of his hand.

“She’ll serve you well. She’s just what you need.” Ned had time for just one tiny wistful look back at the fabulous boats behind him, before he remembered what Bill had said about not worrying about looking right. If Bill recommended this boat, this was the one to have!

Ned and Bill fell to work over the next few weeks, painting, polishing and scrubbing the decks. They mended the torn sails and wound the ropes. They touched up the figurehead and tightened the masts. And then, Bill handed Ned a brush loaded with red paint.

“What are you going to name your ship?” he asked.

Without a word, Ned reached over, took the brush, and painted ‘Maggie’ on the prow of his ship, in his best handwriting.

And soon, very soon, the good ship Maggie was ready to sail. And Ned was ready to be captain on his very first pirate voyage. He had asked Old Salamander Bill to be his first mate and the two of them had stocked up on food and treasure maps. As they hoisted the skull and crossbones flag up the mast, Ned breathed in a great breath of anticipation. He was going to be a real pirate after all.

Dear reader, I’m sure you can see, through the eyes of your wonderful imagination, the blue skies and even bluer waters that Ned journeyed through. I’m sure you can smell the salty wind whipping around him and Bill as they stood navigating at the helm. I’m sure you can feel between your toes the sand that Ned trudged through, following his map and looking for treasure.

I’m sure you can also feel the tears that Ned cried inside on the days when the wind and rain wouldn’t stop and the little ship was pitched from side to side. I’m sure you can understand when he hugged his coat around him for warmth in his hammock on those cold nights. I’m sure you can feel the gnawing of Ned’s stomach as the rations began to run out on the way to new ports.

Being a real pirate was not quite what Ned had imagined. He had thought that his days would be completely filled with adventure and derring-do. Yes, there were some days like that, full of joy and exhilaration, but there were many more days of ordinary sailing on the sea. And there were even some days of sheer terror as the ship was caught in storms.

Sometimes, mostly on the hard days, Ned found himself wanting to be home in his village, looking like a pirate but not being one. But even though it was tempting, he knew that his new life, even though it was not always easy, was the real life. He was a real pirate. And his pirate-ness was beginning to show through.

Dear reader, it was a fabulous day when Ned’s treasure map finally yielded its secrets.

He had landed at Frisk Rock Island, moored the boat, and gone ashore. He had strode 50 mid-size paces to the north, jumped three metres South-south-west, turned around on one foot and pointed to his left. There, just sitting under a bush, and not even buried in the sand, was a chest absolutely completely full, even chock-a-block, of gold coins, necklaces, jewels and fine china.

It was the find of Ned’s life. He and Bill hoisted the heavy trunk back to the ship, grunting and groaning. That night they divided up the spoils and drank toasts to Frisk Rock Island, to pirates, to maps, to fine china, and to the good ship Maggie.

“To the good ship Maggie!” chortled Old Salamander Bill. And “To the good ship Mag…” started Ned, but he could not continue. He turned suddenly and fiercely to Bill.

“We have to sail home tomorrow,” he said. “We have to. There’s something extremely important I need to do.”

And Bill nodded gravely. He completely understood.

The very next day, with their treasure safely aboard, Bill and Ned set off for Pirate Island. The voyage lasted about five days and every day Ned seemed to become more and more anxious. On the very last day, he started pacing the decks. And as the good ship Maggie sailed into the harbour, Ned was wringing his hands.

Now to see a ship actually sail in to the harbour was a rare sight for the good people of Pirate Island, and as the sails of Ned’s sloop fluttered into view, everyone came out of their shops and offices to watch and wave. Even the people in the most popular shop on the island, Yo Ho Ho Apparel, gave up looking in the mirrors that lined the walls and ventured out onto the street to see Ned’s ship sail through the harbour entrance.

And it was then that Ned heard a tremendous yell and a scream and saw a young lady came running at full pelt down to the docks, waving her apron and jumping up and down for joy.

“Ned! Ned! It’s really you. Ned!”

Yes, it was Maggie, the sweet love of Ned’s life. She was yelling and shouting and waving at Ned as the boat approached the docks.

At first, Ned had to strain his eyes to check it was actually her, and then as he could see that it was, and that she was pleased to see him, he started to wave back and jump up and down himself.

And finally he was so excited that he stripped off his waistcoat and boots and dived off the gangplank into the harbour. He swam up to the docks, hoisted himself out of the water and fell, wet and dripping, straight into Maggie’s embrace.

Then he stopped. He disentangled himself and removed a small starfish which had caught itself in his mouth. He looked right into her eyes and he took her hands.

“Maggie. You are the sweet love of my life. I am Ned the Pirate. Will you marry me?”

Maggie looked right back at him. She ignored the piece of seaweed that was hanging from her hair, and she gripped his fingers tightly.

“You betcha.”

So Ned and Maggie were married, and there was great rejoicing all over Pirate Island. But it didn’t last for long, because the very day of the wedding, Captain Ned and his first mate Maggie boarded their two-person sloop and headed out of Pirate Island, in search of more pirate adventures.

(Just so you know, their lives were long. They had happy days as well as hard days. They sailed the world and lived the life of pirates. And when they grew old and looked back, they were pleased that they had done it. They had become real pirates, and they had loved each other.)

And that, dear reader, is the story of how a boy called Ned became a real pirate and married Maggie the sweet love of his life.


The End

James is 1

My little third child turned 1 today.

The year has flown. Poor little thing. His milestones have come and gone, mostly unremarked upon because his big brother and sister have louder voices and push in for more attention. So I decided that for posterity's sake, I would publish his birthday in the blog - at the very least so that in years to come, when he complains about being neglected, I can assure him that his birthday was noted publicly.

We held a morning tea. I was full of big plans to make yummy spinach and fetta pastry triangles amongst other things, had put them in the oven and was feeling really great about the whole effort until 10 minutes before they were cooked, when I forgot about them completely.

Thankfully I didn't burn all of them but when I tried to get them off the baking paper, most of them had stuck to it, leaving a sort of pastry/paper mishmash.

I think cooking was invented to keep me humble.

Actually, come to think of it, that's what children are mostly good for too!

Good grief

Here's an article I wrote recently for our college women's magazine.

I was 19 and on the phone to my mum when she told me my aunty had died suddenly at the age of 50. I remember my knees feeling weak, a breathlessness and then an overwhelming urge of of tears that seemed to tear up my body. I remember repeating ‘no, no’, as though somehow mum must have been mistaken. For days, weeks and months the tears reappeared out of nowhere. Even now, many years later, at family gatherings, many of us carry around lumps in our throats.

Facing grief is one of the most painful things we do on this earth. We all struggle with pain, loss and questions. And at some point we will all watch our neighbours wrestle with their own grief, and wonder how we can bring comfort.

What is it?
Grief is the emotions and feelings that follow a loss. The first stage is protest. Many people say, as I did, “No, no!” Others may go numb and internally deny it.

Next comes bargaining, where we try to change reality. This is often seen in people who are recovering from serious illnesses: “God, if you heal me, I promise I’ll be a nicer person/ give all my money away/ pat the dog every day etc…”

The third stage of grief is despair or giving in. We understand that reality is not going to change and we hit bottom. Often we will try to ward off this despair by going back to more bargaining or protest.

The final stage is letting go and saying goodbye. After many many tears we become available for new things. We say, “I will never have it, so I will let go of the wish.”

Type of grief
The most obvious and extreme loss in life is death. However, grief is extremely versatile. Loss is broader than we might think.

Loss of innocence and trust can come from abuse. Loss of vulnerability or a sense of self might come from emotional suffering. Losses are part of moving and miscarrying. You can experience a loss if your child is sick, disabled or just struggling in life. You can experience a loss if you are disappointed by others. Single people may carry around a pervasive sense of loss at not having their expectations of marriage and family fulfilled.

Even joyful things can have associated griefs. In marriage you gain a spouse, but lose some independence. In parenting you gain a child, but lose your sleep and free time. With every choice you make, you lose the options you had previously.

Is expressing grief ok?
Expressing grief at losses of these kinds may look ‘unchristian’ on the surface. A mother with a new baby who is finding it incredibly hard 24 hours a day, seven days a week with no respite may not understand herself at all. On the one hand, she is happy and thankful for her child. On the other hand, as she experiences the natural stages of grief - protest, bargaining and despair – she may think she has a sinful, selfish heart. But if she understands the need to grieve the loss of her former independence, she is far more able to embrace the joy of the baby.

Many people are uncomfortable with grieving. They think that to feel the pain is somehow to not trust God. It can be hard to realise that grief and faith are completely compatible, but just read the Psalms! Grief may make it harder to vocalise that God is good, but it doesn’t stop you knowing it is true.

Grief may be the answer to the rut we sometimes find ourselves in. Perhaps we are still denying or protesting something we lost long ago. Maybe it is time to give it up and mourn so that our hearts can be made happy again.

How do we grieve?
Part of the way God allows us to grieve is to provide us with people. Grief can only be accomplished in the context of relationship. If there is not enough love to sustain us, inside and out, then we cannot let go of anything, even something bad.

The Bible says to ‘mourn with those who mourn’ (Rom 12:15). It is the reason tear ducts are in the corner of the eyes. Grief is expressed best as we look into the eyes of another person.

There will be many times we will need to comfort our grieving neighbours. Start by acknowledging that other people’s losses and griefs hurt. It’s too easy to minimise their pain by saying, “At least he’s gone to heaven,” or, “You’ll feel better tomorrow”. Those things are true, but sometimes they stall the grief process.

We need to give others the permission to cry and feel bad, and to not necessarily cheer up immediately. We need to give them permission to express themselves in ways we may not be comfortable with. Let’s look in their eyes, and as they shed tears, give them the time, the support and the love they need to be able to move on.

Grief lasts for a period but the point of it is to allow us to move on. We won’t forget what we’ve lost, but we’ll be able to accept with joy the new gifts that God has to give us.


Some ideas for this article were pinched from the very fat tome, How People Grow, by John Townsend and Henry Cloud.

Memories and what they are made of

It's seven o'clock and husband and daughter are in the next room working on their Bible memory. They've decided to memorize the first chapter of the book of James together, and frankly I think she's doing better than he is! Little brains are like sponges, soaking it all up.

I think it's a wonderful thing to do, even though I'm taking the lazy option. As an 11 year old I had to memorize long Bible passages as part of our regular school curriculum. I can still recite two of them word for word - interestingly enough, they are the first two I learned for the year.

"How can a young man keep his way pure? By living according to your word. I seek you with all my heart, do not let me stray from your commands..." etc is from Psalm 119 (and no, we didn't learn the entire thing).

I've promised her that I'll buy her an icecream when she gets to 10 verses recited perfectly. It won't take long!