Peer pressure

When I was a teenager, our family went on holidays in the northern mountains of Pakistan - to Hunza, the fabled land of 'Shang-ri-la'.

The mountains are incredible, the views are amazing, and the 'walks' (I use that term loosely) are for mountain climbers.

My father is a bit of an adventure-lover. And needless to say, he wanted us all to go on a particular walk he'd heard about.

"It's just up to a shepherd's hut," he said to convince us. "It'll take a few hours - just a day's walk."

We children were always less keen than Dad on such things, and voiced our dissent, but he convinced us, saying, "Look, Deb and Eunice went on it last year, and they made it, so you'll make it too."

Deb and Eunice, while the most wonderful people you can ever imagine, were not the doyennes of fitness at that stage of their lives, so we figured that the walk would be possible.

We set out early the next morning, and on the beginning of the track met some friends, also holidaying in the area. This intrepid couple had two little children with them, whom they were carrying in packs on their backs. We decided to walk together, and set off.

To be completely honest, it was the most horrendous hike. The track started out flat but quickly changed to vertical. It was a climb - over rocks, up landslide scree, past and over steep angled rushing rivers.

My legs began hurting within 25 minutes, and the pain didn't stop for the next three days. There were times when I thought I would have to sit down and die because it just wasn't possible to go on.

We climbed and climbed for four hours or more. But then we got to the top. And it was a sight to behold. The view was unbelievable - snow caps in the distance and such a blue sky. It was like we were at the top of the world in clear fresh air. I will never forget the feeling of having made it, sitting there panting in relief.

Going down was almost worse than climbing up, but at least we knew how long it would take, and that bed was waiting at the other end. (Embarrassingly: as we climbed down, at 4 in the afternoon, we met a climber cheerfully jogging up the path, whistling. It turned out he was at a base camp, a little higher up than the Shepherd's Hut and had 'just run down to town for some supplies'.)

The next day, hardly able to walk due to lactic acid build up in every single muscle we possessed, we groaningly met up with our friends, the pair who had carried their children up that horrendous hike.

"You'll never guess what it said in the guide book about that walk," our friend said. "We just read it - it's recommended for experienced hikers only."

We could believe it. We had suffered up that hill and back.

But here's the interesting thing: not one adult ever suggested throwing in the towel and turning around, even though they were in agony with every step.

Why not?

"Well, we thought, if they could carry their children up that path, we ought to be able to walk it," said my dad.

And, "we thought that if your parents who were 15 years older than us could do it, we ought to be able to do it, being young and fit and in our prime", said our friend.

"Anyway," they both added, "we thought we'd never live it down if word got out that we quit when Deb and Eunice could make it."


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I share this story to illustrate the positive pushing power of peer pressure. A friend with little kids blogged today about how she couldn't believe what some other mothers do, with more than two children, let alone interests and hobbies and cooking to juggle. She felt quite inadequate and slovenly in comparison.

My comment was that she has articulated the despairing cry of every woman with little children on the planet! All of us feel we can't do it, can't make it, can't continue, almost every day. But we look around and find the person who looks like they have it all together, and say, "Well, if she can do it, I can!"

We forget that she's also looking around going, "I can't do it, can't make it, can't continue... but I'd better because that woman over there can do it."

And so the world goes around.

Follow my train of thought here

In the last couple of days I've only been able to think about death and autism. So to take my mind off it, I borrowed a book* from the library. I picked it because of the interesting cover, and then found out it was all about death and feminism. Great.

Well, actually, it was great. It's particular focus was the suffragette movement led by Mrs Pankhurst at the beginning of the last century.

I was moved to think that I can now vote because women who believed strongly enough in their cause had the courage to stand up against society and even go to prison for their beliefs.

Nowadays, it's a no-brainer that women get the vote. Back then, it was shocking, unseemly, even un-Christian.

My mind went off on two tracks: firstly, would I be willing to stand up for my beliefs and even face persecution for them. Sometimes, I'm not so sure.

My second train of thought is around family and causes. In the book, Kitty fought for suffrage, but her daughter and family suffered because of it. It reminds me of Nelson Mandela's biography - his two marriages broke up because of the strain of the apartheid cause. The story of the great missionary William Carey is similar. His work in India was groundbreaking, but his wife went mad.

It seems like many 'great' people have difficult family lives. Their personal relationships get swamped by their cause or their business or their calling. Often, the less powerful in their families suffer as a result of their one-eyed dedication.

The question is: is that ok? Is it just part of life? Does someone always have to suffer in the wake for great and worthy things to be done? Is Nelson Mandela any less great because of his broken relationships? Is William Carey's work still worthwhile, even though his family life was a disaster? Did Emily Pankhurst's suffragettes achieve a greater good for women even though those around them suffered for a while?


*Fallen Angels by Tracey Chevalier. Fabulous.

bereavement

It's an odd sort of thing, having someone die.

Since my nanna died on Wednesday, we've had some wonderful family time. I spent the weekend with various aunts, uncles and cousins at Poppa's house.

We swung wildly between happy normality as we enjoyed our time together and intense sadness as we remembered the reason we were all together. Half the time we were laughing and splashing in the pool, the other half we were crying as we wrote eulogies, accepted condolences over the phone and put together pictures of Nanna for her funeral.

And it was a great funeral. Over 250 people came together to celebrate Nanna's life, and to honour her God.

The words that were said over and over again to describe Nanna were: prayerfulness, time for people, generosity and commitment. Nanna was always one to challenge us to follow Christ more. And even at her funeral, she was still challenging me by the testimony she left behind.

We came home with 20 minutes to prepare for youth group at our house. And I decided that rather than say, "It's all too much for me", I would do what Nanna would have done, and make the chocolate milk, smile and welcome the young people and extend myself to serve others.

I want to have the sort of funeral that Nanna had. So I'd better start living the sort of Christian life she led.

Praise God.

A tribute to a wonderful nanna

Today my beloved Nanna, Mary Rowland, died suddenly.

If you ever met her, you would remember her. She was the sort of person that you couldn't ignore. Words to describe her: feisty, fierce, fun-loving, loyal, loving, prayerful.

With my wonderful Pop, Stan Rowland, she was generous with her time, her energy, her money, her possessions and with her faith in Jesus Christ. She shared everything she had. She always had time for people, and she always had a wonderful way of pointing you back to Jesus and to words in the Bible.

At the age of 83, she was still running a Bible study every week and was an active leader in her church. A couple of years ago, she decided to help out in the creche at her church's playgroup so she could get to know the young mothers and encourage them. Up until just a few years ago, she and Pop could still beat all of us in the younger generations in a competitive game of doubles tennis.

Many people of her age end up having small funerals, but hers will be enormous because her world and her reach and her outlook were so wide.

I can't believe it's happened. And I'm really going to miss her.

Love you Nan xxx

Puzzles... but no solutions

Here's the dilemma that's been at the top of my mind over the last month or so.

1. Campbell only eats fifteen different foods.
That sounds like a lot, but it's really pretty limited for a nearly four year old. Here's the entire list Pasta, beef sausages, ham, cheese, vegemite sandwiches, apples, watermelon, cereal, milk, sultanas, crackers, chocolate cake, yoghurt, icecream, tomato sauce. (You'll notice no vegetables...)

2. No wheat, no milk
Campbell is autistic. Something that helps autistic children a lot is a diet that is gluten and casein free. That means, no wheat, no milk. It's because their bodies don't digest the proteins well enough and they go up to the brain and act like morphine, drugging them out.

The wheat bit is easy enough to substitute, even though everything tastes a bit dodgy. The milk part is much harder to substitute. There are soy milks out there, but see point 3 for the problem with that. From the list then, here in italics is what has to be modified if I follow this diet:

Pasta, beef sausages, ham, cheese, vegemite sandwiches, apples, watermelon, cereal, milk, sultanas, crackers, chocolate cake, yoghurt, icecream, tomato sauce.

3. Low copper, high zinc
Another problem he has is his mineral levels are out of whack. He has incredibly high copper levels and really low zinc in his body. This causes 'undermethylation' of the brain and autistic-like symptoms. So he's supposed to avoid foods with copper in them. What's got copper in it? Well, ham and pork for starters. Then dried fruits and chocolate and soy. So if I substitute milk for soy, I'm pumping copper into his body.

So once I remove the foods high in copper, we're left with this:
Pasta, beef sausages, cheese, sandwiches, apples, watermelon, cereal, milk, crackers, yoghurt, icecream, tomato sauce.

4. ADHD and salicylates
As well as autism, Campbell has a touch of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. The diet they suggest for that is different from the autism diet. This one takes away all preservatives and colours and foods with salicylates in them. Out of his diminishing list, we must remove apples and tomatoes and sausages.

What am I left with that he'll eat?
GF pasta, GF bread, butter and jam, watermelon, GF cereal and GF crackers.
Cheese, milk and yoghurt are not recommended but I can't find a low copper alternative.

And when I say 'he won't eat it', I'm talking loud screaming if it's on his plate, running away from the table and hysterics.

I wish I'd studied nutrition at uni! I'm doing a crash course in it now.

Any brilliant solutions?

In two years time....

Remediating autism is a long road. Results are small and gradual. That's why the RDI program makes it a priority for parents to set goals for themselves. They call them 'Mission previews' and it's meant to keep your aims fresh in your mind as you work with your child each day.

Here's my 'mission preview' for two years time with Campbell. I can hardly even imagine it, but it would be great to see! Try to pick the bits which are in sharp contrast to his life right now.

It’s the end of the Campbell’s first week at school. We’re all walking home together.

“What did you do today?” I ask. “I did a great painting,” he says. “And then I played with two boys at recess. It was really fun.”

We walk calmly through the front door and head in for afternoon tea.

“Can I have an orange please Mum?” he asks. “Sorry, I don’t have any oranges left. Would you like a banana?” I say. “Ok,” he says.

After they eat, Campbell says to James, “Let’s go ride our bikes. I’ll pull you in the wagon. Jemima, do you want to come too?”

The three of them run off together to play quietly outside with no yelling.

Fussy eaters: beware

I'm resigning!

I'm sick of being the cook to my children. From now on they can plan their own meals, balance their own diets and refuse to eat what ever they give themselves.

Yes, I'm whingeing. But you would too! At 4.30 every day, my stomach sinks as I ask myself, "What will I cook that they'll eat tonight?"

Child Number 1 has always been a fussy eater. She's coaxable with threats and rewards now, but she eats unwillingly unless it's pizza or some other combination of white flour and cheese. She will never eat tomato sauce on anything.

Child Number 2 won't eat anything he doesn't want to eat, which is most things. He will sometimes eat a combination of five different foods, none of which are vegetables or meat apart from specific sausages. He requires tomato sauce with everything.

Child Number 3 hands back what he doesn't want to eat and spreads the rest all over his face, hands and clothes. He then stands up in his highchair, having worked out how to get through the barrier, and yells for his drink.

I was not a fussy eater. I do not come from a family of fussy eaters. I have tried not to encourage fussy eating. I am sick of fussy eating. If you are or were a fussy eater, I'm sorry for your mother, or for the person who cooks in your household.

Why don't men go to church?

If you've seen this month's Southern Cross, the newspaper of Sydney Diocese, you won't have missed the feature on 'Why don't Men go to Church?'

Here's my response:


Dear Editor,

Your feature this month on ‘Why Don’t Men go to Church’ raises a very good question, but unfortunately not many good answers.

One quote featured big and bold says: “Christ’s masculine command, ‘Follow me’ is now ‘have a relationship with me’. Men want a leader, not a love object.”

But what’s so masculine about following? A group of women also followed Jesus around. And one gospel makes sure we know that John was the disciple ‘Jesus loved’.

It’s asserted that most Christian ministry opportunities are ‘feminine’. Singing, for example: Have you heard the Welsh male choirs? More than half of the Top 20 artists are male. Would anyone dare call Placido Domingo ‘feminine’? Caring for children. My husband cares for his littlies, and sometimes even babysits. That doesn’t make him feminine. As for organising social gatherings, women have no monopoly on this, although some of us are good at it. My male friends are just as good at getting together as my female friends.

Then there’s the problem of church style, namely silence, sharing, sitting and singing love songs. Silence: Orders of monks have been silent for centuries. And being mischievous, one could argue that silence is not a feminine trait. Sharing: to be honest, not much of this goes on in my church. And most times it’s as awkward for women as it is for men. Sitting? If you’ve ever watched a man fishing, you’ll know he can sit for hours. Singing love songs: Again, women have no monopoly on the language of love. Would we call great poets like John Donne feminine?

The next alleged problem is weak leadership. Men learn best through mentoring and being mentored. True enough, but let’s be real about this: women do too. There’s nothing peculiar to the male gender in desiring good leadership. If leadership is weak (and that’s an amazingly broad-brushed accusation to make), it’s a problem for the whole church, not just for half of it.

Then we get into the boredom factor. Church is boring, safe and not risky, and men like risk. That may be true. Some men do like risk. But so do some women. And lots and lots of men like safety. Why else do we have local corner pubs? Why do men buy Volvos?

‘Men at church don’t get their hands dirty’. This is a class issue, not a gender issue. The much maligned ‘caffe latte’ set is not just made up of women. There are men coffee shoppers out there too! Yes, the ‘Backyard Angels’ sound great. They’re meeting a community need and giving certain men an outlet for their gifts. But not all men. In our family, I’m the one who owns the tools and fixes the toilets and drills the holes. This ‘male issue’ is really a class issue.

So how can we really answer this question of why men don’t go to church? Southern Cross is right to remind us that this has been an issue for at least a hundred years. The answer may be found in problem number 4: “church doesn’t relate to a man’s world’.

Nancy Pearcey in her book ‘Total Truth’ gives perhaps the best explanation I’ve heard.

She argues that since the industrial revolution, western life has been split into two spheres: public and private. Some things belong to the public sphere: the market, business, the law, science and facts, for example. Other things belong to the private sphere: for example, emotions and friendship, family, sex, morality and the idea of home as a refuge. Religion, belief and things that are empirically unprovable are things that belong in the private sphere.

Unfortunately, genders have been separated in this split. Men belong in the public sphere, and women belong in the private sphere and it’s hard to cross the divide.

The problem of why men don’t go to church requires far bigger solutions than just making cosmetic changes to the services or the style of leadership. It’s a cultural problem which can only change if religion and belief are taken back into the public sphere, or if men become part of the private sphere, or both.

On a final note: I’m mildly alarmed by the idea of Jesus being the ultimate male. Yes, he showed these wonderful qualities: authority in teaching, resoluteness, bravery, wit and compassion. But if these are seen as truly and only male qualities, where does that leave me as a woman?

friendship and power

I've been reading in preparation for these talks on Friendship that I'm giving in July, and I thought a good place to start would be the Bible.

The obvious story of friendship is David and Jonathan. But as I read it, I realised we should really talk about the friendship of Jonathan and David, in that order.

It's very clear from the account of their friendship that Jonathan, not David, was the mover and shaker in their relationship. He was the one who 'had great affection for', who 'took a liking to' David. He was the one who gave David gifts, initiated covenants and kept the friendship moving along.

But realistically, it needed to be that way. David was nobody - a younger brother shepherd. Jonathan was the king's son. He was the one who wielded the power, so naturally he was the one who initiated and established the friendship. For David to have done it would have been utterly presumptuous.

Power and friendship are not two words I would have necessarily put together. Can a real friendship co-exist with power? I would have thought not, but I'm changing my mind.

Now I'll have to get into the idea of being 'friends' with God. If ever there was a power imbalance in a friendship, here it is!

preschool today

Today our little boy went off to preschool. I was very uptight and nervous about it, but I needn't have worried. He was happy the whole time, ate like a horse and said to the teacher, "I need to change your nappy." He gets his pronouns mixed up.

Kudos and thanks to the wonderful staff at Mittagong Preschool who have welcomed him with open arms and are bending over backwards to accommodate his special needs.

things I read

If you're interested, here are two other blogs I check regularly.

www.jacobs-journey.com.au
This is one mother's story of her son's autism. They are doing the Relationship Development Intervention (RDI) program that we are doing with our son, so it's been great to hear the progress her son has made. She's also doing homeschooling. The thought of that gives me the terrors!

www.blog.cbeinternational.org
This is the blog of a Christian egalitarian group. Lots of food for thought.


Reading this week has included a few recipe books focusing on cooking from scratch and saving money, a book about how babies communicate pre-language, and a very interesting historical novel, "The Other Boleyn Girl". It's a fictional account of Anne Boleyn, but it takes a whole different angle from the biography I read at the beginning of the year.

In that one, she was a devout woman in a very difficult position, with a sister who was a rampant whore. In this one she is the ambitious, calculating uncaring woman who will stop at nothing to get power. Her sister is the misunderstood, sweet girl with no choice but to do what her family tells her and become the king's mistress.

It's in the same list

I've talked a lot in this blog about how to learn things like patience and perseverance. All the 'hard' things, that don't come naturally to me.

But then it struck me the other day that patience, perseverance and self-control are in the same list as the things that should be 'easy'. Love, joy, peace and kindness. They are all the fruit of the Spirit.

Theoretically if I need to 'learn' patience, I also need to 'learn' joy. But that goes against all I've ever thought about it. To me, joy shouldn't be something you have to learn. It should come naturally.

It's a good theory, but then I have a truly grumpy, cranky, horrible-person-wants-to-bite-everyones-heads-off week, and I think, well, joy isn't always as natural as I'd hope for.

How do you go about learning joy? I'd be interested in your ideas.

the computer was down...

Yeah, it's a good excuse isnt it! A poor worker blames her tools, blah blah blah.

But seriously - one major reason that I haven't posted for so long is because our computer has been in great need of some TLC. It was signalling its distress by constant crashing, and then one morning just stopped. Or rather, wouldn't stop. I couldn't turn the stupid thing off.

When we finally took it to the shop the poor fixit man was appalled at us.

"Did you know that you had two major viruses with no up to date anti-virus programs? You had 300 dodgy files, 10,000 errors and 600 something elses and you had 31 Windows updates to download!"

I sounded suitably apologetic and sheepish on the phone, agreed to pay for all the necessaries and will go and pick it up tomorrow.

So there will be no more excuses from me!