Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts

Monday, 3 November 2014

Birthday



























For a Daddy who left his family and his broken land when just 16 to find a better life. Who takes his girls to ballet early every Saturday morning so Mummy can rest and read and write. Who makes up impromptu songs on his guitar for the dancing feet of five. Who takes me for coffee every Sunday afternoon and generally puts up with being outnumbered by women 7 to 1 (because even the dog and cat are girls)
We love you much.

Monday, 1 April 2013

Anniversary



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 Belated but still makes me smile putting these pictures up here. Remembering, that last ray of sunlight slipping behind the horizon and the church bells ringing in celebration, it seemed.
And how God  has sustained our life together in many different ways. Ways beyond the reach of these words and this small page.



Thursday, 18 October 2012

Embracing Autumn... and other Life, Death, Life Cycles

The leaves are beginning to rust and rustle, gold and red shells of what was only but months previous, tender and green.
Every season brings it's own wisdom and Autumn is the great teacher of the letting go lesson.
We will all reach an Autumn in our life somehow. Physically, emotionally, spiritually... Maybe one and all.
And like the leaves we will be blown along roads we don't recognise.
We will begin to feel the damp earth beneath us, then surrounding us, then above us.
We will become softer somehow.
Then we will go back to our roots, our core, our own truth. And it will be enough.


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Every Autumn brought with it a little death.... And ever Spring a rebirth.


And I began to see that love is not linear, it is cyclical, like a wedding ring.
And I began to see that without the little deaths of those Autumns there could be no re birthing come Springtime.

Autumn and Spring are seasons of transition.

They neither carry the heat of Summer or the bitter frost of Winter yet they hold the key that unlocks both.
In their suspension, the times of transition in life almost always the hardest points.
Just ask a mother in labour. Transition (the time of complete cervical dilation that precedes delivery) is always the most overwhelming point in the birthing process.
Yet it is also the most trans-formative.
It is the very threshold of both the end of one thing and the beginning of something else.

But first comes the letting go.
Only the acceptance of death can embrace the promise of life.

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‘To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth?

10 I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it.

11 He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.’

- Ecclesiastes 3:1-11

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Verily, verily I say unto you, unless a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.’

-John 12:24

Monday, 3 September 2012

Birthday - {Weekending}

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 Saturday:

Quiet, early morning crafting,

My favourite time of day to make and create.

I channeled some of the creative energy that has been building up over the last week or so into my newly carded and plant dyed Lincoln Long wool, oh, the bliss.

House stepped a little over the comfortably messy mark into the just too messy mark while I was lost in my creative "zone".

This Mama grumbled a little about it while scurrying about shoving little pieces of wayward chaos into cupboards and drawers, And then internally grumbled about grumbling.

Some outdoor refreshment was required, garden play and an impromptu dolly tea party with invitations and everything.

The girls get lost in their own world so quickly, and often the less adult intervention the better.

Beatrix Potter Rabbit Tales before bed ended the day on a gentle note.

Sunday:

Tani and I went to The George in Stamford for afternoon tea as a birthday treat (for him)

We had full high tea with sandwich selection, some Victoria sandwich and scones with cream and jam finished off with a lovely glass of champagne.
 Does teatime get any more special?

A pianist was playing as we sat in the courtyard which created a beautiful ambiance.

Afterwards we went for a walk by the river and identified our future house with it's own little moored up lugger.

Sharing this post with Amanda @ Habit of Being


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Friday, 27 May 2011

Like Bread Upon the Waters




Sometimes i feel like I'm forgetting everything.

There are the little things, the extraneous such as...

Forgetting the laundry's on the line before it rains.
Forgetting how to spell a word,
Defrost the fish,
Post the mail.

Still sometimes I worry that I'll forget the big stuff like...
What it felt like to fall in love with you.

You know the first time we met
I looked into your dark, beautiful eyes
And understood
That I recognized you.

And still, when I look into your eyes I see my love wading out there.
Unafraid among the current and surge.

Days woven of unnoticed, ordinary moments.

Un-spun and abandoned, like fleece on fence posts.

Like unprocessed negatives of photographs we'll never print.

And I worry no more
About laying them down upon the waters.

In the days to come,
When we are old,
They'll moor like luggers.
Along this river.
And feed us memories,

Warm as bread.

Monday, 16 February 2009

Veni Pater Pauperum

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When we'd finally got a house of our own after being in temporary accommodation for months, the rooms seemed so big and empty.

There was nothing but floorboards, a few pieces of recycled furniture and donated pots and pans! Boo was crawling but I had to carry her everywhere because of upturned nails and splintered wood. Our garden a shock of dead thorns and rubble. No place to play.

Then when Tilly was just four weeks old, Boo came down with the worst fever. As I undressed her hot little body for a bath I noticed a rash. I'd read about meningitis rashes years before so I called the after hours surgery straight away. They told me to phone A & E.

The doctor on the other line told me to come in immediately. My mind raced...
"I haven't got a car. " I stammered.
"Well get a taxi." She replied, dead pan.

I had only one ten pound note and no cards or bank accounts at the time.
Ten pounds would not have covered the taxi there and back.
It was now pitch black outside and snowing hard. Tani was working nights at a pub and our neighbours, the only people we new in the area at the time were out.
In those days we didn't even have a mobile phone.

I tried calling the pub on the landline but it was a dodgy line at the best of times.
Nothing, no connection.
Just a monotonous, lingering note.

I called the hospital again and tried to explain.
"Haven't you got any family that can bring you in?" said the doctor, clearly irritated.
I didn't. In fact I had no one to call.

"Would it be possible to get a home visit?" I ventured.
No it certainly would not.

Finally she said... "Listen if you don't care enough about you child and your husband just can't be bothered enough to leave work it's not my problem. If something happens it's out of my hands, it's your own fault".

Hands shaking and numb I put the receiver down.
Then without knowing what else to do I called an ambulance.

I carried my fragile post partum body and a baby in each arm along the icy path to the ambulance door while Emmy brought the bags behind me.

Thank God Boo did not have meningitis just a horrible fever from which she quickly recovered.
Still I will never forget how people who often need the most, people with very little support and security are often treated.

I have always noticed such a difference in the way I have been treated depending on other's perception of "my class." Or the amount of money I might (or might not ) have.

An even bigger emotion that I take away from experiences like this is how when things are hard it's like seeing through a fog.
You can't make out where the light source is, you can't even make out your own hand.
Everything seems but a shade of gray right to the end of the road.
Sometimes it's not until the fog lifts just a little that you can see just what has been done and how much it has meant.

We started our family when we were but kids.
So much wonder in hindsight of the hurdles we had to jump.
And if there is not a God we could never have done it. So I believe hard.

And I reach for the light even the fog falls and seeps through every surface.
Rising only as dampness and the residues of dreams.
Because I know light is there.

God is with us "Emmanuelle"(the name of my first born).

There may be much against us, but that is not God. God is for the mourner, the meek, the poor, the dispossessed, the persecuted, the slandered, the lonely, the childlike pure and all seekers of goodness and truth. This is my God.

So when days and nights are hard, and there is no one to call, no shoulder but his and His.

 I remember that the poor in spirit are blessed.

Because it is only when we are at our most alone and empty that there is nothing else to come between our soul and His spirit.

There can be only God then.

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