People who can ask if one hopes to be a mother...

• A person who believes (with good reason) that they would parent alongside you.
• Medical professional while discussing specific medical interventions.  
• No one else

PS - aren't you lucky this is a short blog and not the full on rant that it could be. I'm fed-up of people asking the "Do you want to be a mother?" question. It hurts, there isn't an easy answer and do they not realise they are actually asking about a couple's sex life, their reproductive organs and body in general, their hopes and dreams, their fears, their financial situation, their lifestyle choices. One more piece of advice - if a statement starts with "at least" it probably isn't helpful. 

What a week to be a woman

We are coming up to Mothers day so I’m raw about that already and then the rest of this week has happened!

Monday was international women's day, and I heard a woman when wished a happy IWD say “I don’t know why we need that” and I don’t know what you say to that.

Wednesday evening I was inexplicably drawn to twitter, the heartbreaking allure of women sharing what feels like it should be horror stories, but are actually just the day to day life of women. It seems strange to want to share the stories twitter reminded me of; the person who kissed me on the cheek to say goodbye at a workplace, the awkward moments I’ve had at train stations, on trains, in cities I don’t know. When I have had to quickly work out who I can trust for a lift home and whether someone when asking me where I live is just passing time or might want to stalk me. Some of it feels like particularly sexual harassment, some of it just harassment and some of it gets put down to unfortunately sitting next to someone high on drugs on a train. All of it wrong and not the world we would want to create. And that is just the stories I’ve remembered from the top of my head and am willing to share.

The solidarity of women sharing stories, knowing we aren’t alone in our fear was really powerful but incredibly sad. I’m also reminded how grateful I am for the people I can call when I’m walking so I don’t have to experience the fear of walking in the dark alone.

It’s Thursday night and I’m working with a group of my peers on a Mothers day runaways service. Tonight I’ve shared my why I hate mother’s day testimony. This is the story I’ve told this evening.

“This is the dress I was wearing when a church member came up to me to ask if I had any news. I’d nearly been married for 5 years so it was about time really. That question hurts because how do you say, no, that’s the one piece of news I’ve longed for for years, that I fear everyone is expecting me to share when I ring up people to tell them anything else. When I go to a baby shower and someone says “it’ll be you next” without knowing the truth that probably it won’t be, maybe it never will be. So you joke about the great roast dinner you’ve just eaten, try to tell them that wasn’t an appropriate question in the first place, and remember not to wear this dress again. But you are the God who sees me”

As a group we’ve discussed what makes it difficult the different sides we all come from, I talked of how much I hate flowers on Mothering Sunday, the let me give you something to remind you you aren’t a mother – cos all women have to have them. I am incredibly grateful for this group (of mostly but not exclusively women) sharing their pain and stories just like the night before. The creative response was to put food colouring in the water for some flower and leave white flowers in it, knowing that our lives colour the world as we see it and in a very small way redeeming those flowers for me.

Thursday afternoon I was in a lecture and we had to share our favourite hymn as the ice breaker I was reminded of For everyone born which I have sung often with Methodist Women in Britain and the chorus goes - 

God will delight, when we are creators of justice and joy.

What a week to be a woman, where women are celebrated and murdered, in danger yet loved.

We have to keep going, not just by walking in the dark to not let the criminals keep us in our homes but keeping being the caring nurturing types to create a world of justice and joy and share our stories.

The Ifs of right now

 I feel like life currently has a big if caveat. Or maybe more correctly lots of little ifs:

• If we aren’t ill
• If the government rules don’t change
• If I’ve not made too many other risky decisions this week
• If God and the Conference wills it

And most recently

• If the internet plays ball.

See its not just a covid thing for me. This is something I’ve been holding on to for longer.

Just over a year ago I started the candidating process. That is the Methodist Church’s discernment process for me and they to decided if I really am called to the ordained ministry – basically should I be a minister or not. Throughout the whole process I talked of the if, and when I didn’t it was implied. For so many things, any plans I wanted to make it was held in the IF of if this is God’s will, if I am right, if the church makes a decision the way I hope they do. I very much had to live in the moment, the now that we do know.

Many people thought they knew for certain this is where I would end up. When my Mum met someone who is part of the community where I am now training and said she was my mother back in the early spring, they said “Oh yes, She’s moving to Queens in the summer” when actually no one knew that for certain.

People assumed I was doubting myself when they asked about the next stage and I would say if I get through all these things, but I wasn’t doubting myself, or the process but trusting that it wasn’t on what I wanted alone but also the many ifs that hold the process together.

There were many moments when I thought and hoped that the ifs would be over. Once Conference had willed I was a student presbyter then I would know with more certainty what my life would be like, at least in the short term. However, candidating wasn’t the end of the ifs, because this process of discernment and formation lasts for many years to come but also we live in a pandemic.

In Early October I will for the second time this year not see Rachel Parris. In May they moved the tickets to October this year and just a few weeks ago we heard that our tickets are now valid for October 2021. These tickets remind me of the ever ongoing if, if we get through this and things can be more normal then hopefully I will use these tickets – and really extend the Christmas 2019 celebrations. But right now we have to live with all the Ifs and hold on to the now of what we do know.

Things I've learnt from moving

 I've spent the last two days moving house. This is what I've learnt.

Have a friend who rings you to check you've had breakfast. In non-covid time that is the person who would have been with you for every box they could. Those sorts of friends are worth their weight in gold and you'll be so glad that technology means they aren't really an extra two hours away.

Removal men arrive early but still cope with all the things you hadn't done.

For the amount of times you think "It's not going to fit Sug" it will. 

It takes as long to pack the car and get out as the removal men took to pack a lorry with everything you own.

Sitting in an empty flat on garden chairs is odd,  but the longer you do so the more like home it will feel.

Neighbours who give you toilet roll when you can't find any are brill. 

Don't try to get a GP in person, fill in the online form.

Creating a video of the empty flat passes the time and let's your parents see where you are. 

Papa John's tastes exactly the same in the new place too.

Make at least 3 plan As for where the furniture might fit. 

Every time you go through your front door you'll discuss, but without any real suggestions, what you could put on it to represent you both.

The friends who message excited you live in their city are awesome reminders that you aren't alone.

Always check you have the air bed stopper.

Apparently your first response to not having the stopper shouldn't be "shall we get a Travelodge?"

A late night drive to a local supermarket is a really fun de-stress together. 

You will call it home sooner than you'd think, probably helped by returning to it a number of times already. Also your Emmet alarm clock will help to make it homely by bedtime.

Sleeping on the newly bought air bed is actually ok, waking up at 3.30 thinking you've had a whole nights sleep is less so.

Using the awake time to look up chest of drawers will make your Facebook ads full of furniture. Also have deep thoughts about tipping removal men.

When you worry the van is bigger than the flat and go back to saying "It's not going to fit Sug" you'll make it work. 

Papa John's chocolate scrolls are perfect moving day part two breakfast. But try not to drop chocolate on the floor.

Having a best friend who lets you go on and on about where everything might fit (and hundreds of other thoughts) as you process these strange times is vital.

You will be so proud when you manage to plumb the washing machine in.

You will have left something really important at the house, that you didn't think was urgent so left to get on Wednesday. For us it was all the bins!! 

Despite the fact about 1/3 of your boxes went into storage you maybe still didn't downsize enough. You'll realise this sitting surrounded by boxes when there are still more things in the van... 

Where the tv is going is a really important decision and more important than many others!

"In the kitchen" is the go to answer for "where shall I put this box" for everything. No one needs to get in the kitchen 

It will all fit but who knows where it's going to live outside of their boxes. 

Putting the bed together won't be easy but it will be a chance to show how much you trust the one you share a bed with by letting them insert the slats on your side while you theirs with the phrase "slide click click" 

Having the bedroom done even though there are boxes everywhere else feels amazing. Try not to worry that most of your clothes are still in the kitchen though.

You'll start a shopping list when there are more things than you can remember to go on it.

Sometime later you'll remember and yell "clamp lamp" at your spouse and they will totally get what you mean.

Unpacking is just new decisions and lots of stretching.

Friends who offer garage space and collect things the day you move in are totally wonderful, and especially when they bring scones! 

Trapping your fingers in a drawer is painful

Putting books in a bookcase is glorious. And a friend who rings up to check in and who knows the order of the NT letters is perfect timing.

Running out of books before book shelves is the dream.

Facebook reactions and comments will remind you how lucky you are to have a beautiful home and many caring friends.

Everything is shattering but knowing the bed is made is such a comfort

The toolkit (or anything else you need) will always be in the wrong room even when there is only 3 rooms.

Be reassured in everything you've achieved in such a short amount of hours. Yes there is still lots to do but it's only day 1.

Have a Matt, seriously could not do any of this without him. <3 And he went to the shop for bin bags and came back with chocolate and flowers (knowing I'd already found the vase)

The gift of furlough

Life is incredibly strange right now, I get that.
I also know I'm writing from an incredibly privileged place.

Husband and I am are both well, both working in our separate offices in our safe, comfortable house. There are two of us and I couldn't imagine going through this time on my own. I do get all that.

Yesterday the trustees at the charity I work for decided to furlough the entire staff team for the month of July. The staff weren't consulted on this because the leadership seemed to believe that all the staff would jump at the chance to have a month off. But for me furlough is a gift I do not want.

I've never been good at responding to unwanted gifts, I can not hide the disappointment in my face at a gift that I do not understand or think I don't want. I am often surprised (even Rev that Husband bought me years ago might appear on my to watch list soon) and I really hope with this that it is a gift that is good for me, I just fear that it is not.

I'm scared of weeks with no structure, of no reason to be out of bed for a certain time, of endless days in my onesie, of giving up on even a weekly walk, of not having things to talk about as my work fills many of my conversations, of not having my colleagues to get alongside each morning, I'm scared I'll lose some of who I am - when I feel I've lost so much already.

It's not like there isn't things for me to do. I'm about to become a full time student again and therefore spending time reading will be really useful. I do need to pack my whole house down to move, July just feels too soon, too imposed, too out of my control. And if you are a long time blog reader you'll know staying in control is important to me, and change is difficult.

I've spent the last year exploring what God wants next for me, and its culminated in me going to theological college in September to train to be a Methodist Presbyter. I know this is the right thing, being a minister is who I am to be in the next stage of my existence. I sat in a church on Ash Wednesday and had the longing that when I return to dust I want to be a minister.  I've spent the whole of last year living in the "if." Being really good at not assuming anything was going to work out till I had it on paper. What I wasn't expecting was to have three different people doing my review meetings at work 3 months in a row. The masses of staff change at work since January and of course a global pandemic have all just made this time so so strange.

I've gone from three months to go at work to realistically 6 and a half weeks, with 5 weeks off 2/3s of the way through that.

I'm sad that this is how I'm leaving the charity I've loved working for over the past four years. I'm sad that we won't get to go out for a goodbye lunch cos working in the office is still a long way off. I'm sad that I'm stuck on 2305 trains as my total for my time there. I'm sad that my July plans are going to have to be crushed into June or August.

Most of all I'm sad cos leaving is difficult and this really isn't how I wanted to leave.

To my pregnant friends,

To my pregnant (and recently pregnant) friends,

Thank you
For how you've told me you are pregnant via message or in a 1-2-1 chat before you announced your happy news to a group of our friends.
For being honest about the fertility journey you have been on too. It's great to talk periods, contraception, struggles, hormones and how no one told you about the folic acid you could have been taking for months already.
For asking how I am.
For not making everything about babies but also not being afraid to talk to me about them either.
For inviting me to your baby shower and not being offended if I don't come (I've been, it's not fun)
For letting me be part of your baby's life, for letting me cuddle and feed them. I do love babies.

To my non-pregnant friends,

I see you.

Thank you
For sharing your stories with me, I'm honoured.
For being a safe place to go to with jealous thoughts and in my sad moments.



To all my friends,

Thank you
For journeying on this thing we call life with me.

Rach

The Child(less) of Christmas

Christmas is all about children.
Or so it seems as a childless adult.

Both in church, where it’s nativity season telling the story of the holy baby, and even in my sign choir where during “silent night” again and again I’ve signed holding the holy child, representing that special mother.
And in the rest of the world, adverts, facebook, the latest exploits of that naughty elf on the shelf that my many parent friends are sharing.

The season is all about children.

Also many of my closest friends have given birth this year, including to my beautiful God Daughter, so this Christmas more than ever before I seem to be surrounded by babies.

Now I’m childless for a myriad of reasons, most of which are completely out of my control, and I’m not going to go into right now, it's not the why that is important but just that I am childless not by choice, you need for the context. I also have a number of close friends facing fertility issues this year, and I’m sure I have in previous years but maybe without knowing it.

The thing that struck me most was deciding which Christmas card to send to which of our friends. “unto us a child is born” feels like a mockery to those not holding a child this Christmas, so if you got one of those you have probably had a baby recently, and we do hope for you that this is a very special first family Christmas with your own special baby to celebrate.

I’m preaching tomorrow on the other baby of Christmas, the one born to an old barren mother, the one who’s father was so shocked his wife could get pregnant he was totally speechless. The Bible is full of miracle babies, but then it wouldn’t tell the story of baby-less women as there was no child to grow into someone remarkable.

Maybe it’s because I just turned 30, maybe it’s everything 2018 has held (ups and downs, lots of change, death and parties) and maybe every Christmas has always had a baby to its centre. But this year, like when I was aged 7 and upset I didn’t get to be Mary in the nativity, this year I’m very aware there is no child in my Christmas.

I don't want this to turn into a, "it will all be ok cos Jesus" blog. Because right now I'm sad and jealous, and my Christmas feels a bit empty.

However, there is of course a baby in my Christmas, Jesus, and tomorrow I will preach about joy in all things. The deep seated God given happiness, looking on the bright side of life's journey, and I do truly believe that, as I hold on to that baby, that most important baby of Christmas that all will be well. That doesn't mean life will be easy, that tomorrow I will wake up and all my dreams will come true, and that joy is not coloured by the sadness, anger, fear and disgust that life also carries. (Can you tell I found the Inside Out film very helpful in understanding emotions?)

So this Christmas I seek joy through sadness, in the children and adults I get to journey through life with and in the Saviour I seek to serve who came to earth and dealt with being a human with all our complex emotions.