Home and Away.

PART ONE. Plenty to stimulate my old brain at the General Assembly today, but it was very much my emotions that were stimulated by a police representative from the Child Exploitation and Online Protection (CEOP) Centre who showed a very powerful DVD that is used with young people to warn them of the dangers of being groomed in chat rooms on the internet. I'm sure I wasn't the only one to well up as the film progressed and my heart went out to all victims of paedophiles.

The CofS's Safeguarding Committee reported today and it was interesting to listen. They are continually striving to improve the already thoroughgoing commitment to protecting the vulnerable and disclosure-checking all our many many volunteers, as well as developing good systems of practice for those working with kids or other vulnerable people. I have met a few perpetrators in prison and I appreciate how calculating and scheming they can be.

The churches, tragically, used to be a fertile ground for paedophiles to operate in at times. Even more tragically there were sometimes cover-ups. I am not aware of such in my own denomination but it may have been so. I hope not. However much more often, I think, churches were just too naive and too trusting, and, like the rest of society in general, were less switched on to the subject.

I often tell prisoners at their induction session that the chaplain is someone to whom they can talk "reasonably confidentially" and I elaborate by telling them that obviously if they tell me they are going to blow up the jail I will shop them but also that I am legally bound to pass on matters to do with child protection (and have done so). The general prisoner population are no friends of "beasts" as they call them and are happy to agree to that.

PART TWO. On a happier note my heart was warmed by the speech given by a visitor to the General Assembly, the Special Commissioner to the UK for Malawi. Many countries were discussed this afternoon including Zimbabwe, Israel, Kenya and of course the recent disasters in Burma and China. But it was lovely to have this erudite Malawian (who in his day job is a linguist) speak of the very close friendship there has historically been between Scotland and Malawi.

When I was a wee girl I was a late developer when it came to pop music. My parents didn't have a record player and it was a while (probably secondary school) before I got my first transistor radio to listen to Radio Clyde and Tiger Tim (who once played a request for my friends and me. Woohoo!) At a younger age I knew all the words of Marie Osmond's "Paper Roses" but only because I'd heard them in the playground, and when my friends were all obsessing over which of the Bay City Rollers was the best, I had a different hero - David Livingstone.

I grew up within cycling distance of the David Livingstone Memorial at Blantyre in Lanarkshire and we visited it often. I had a book (one of these gigantic non-fiction books you get as children) called "The Great Explorers". I knew about them all but it was David Livingstone and his story (and, okay, Henry Morton Stanley too) that I loved the best. In that book there was a picture depicting the scene where David Livingstone was found dead, kneeling by his bed, having died at prayer.
I nearly became a missionary in the late eighties (a Bible translator with Wycliffe Bible Translators) but much as I still HUGELY respect missionaries today, even they would agree things aren't quite as tough as they used to be pre-aeroplane and pre-antibiotic etc.. So likely was it that malaria or other tropical diseases would kill them, the early missionaries took their coffins with them on the boat. And Mary Livingstone, the wife left at home, is at least as much a hero too. Wave upon wave went to Malawi and the Church of Scotland still contributes support to work going on there today and maintains many friendly links, as do our two countries generally. Judging by the length of the applause given to the Malawian commissioner, I wasn't the only one to have my heart warmed by this warm hearted African from the so-called "warm heart of Africa".

Numb-Bottomness Ahead.

The Church of Scotland, the denomination I happen to be a member of, holds a week long annual business meeting in Edinburgh. The clergy take turns to go, normally once every four years. There are an equivalent number of elders at the meeting too. It's called the General Assembly, it starts today, and this year I am one of the "chosen ones". I will be commuting by train to Edinburgh for a week (four kids and a puppy and the laundry call me home each day). The downside of the Assembly is that it's often desperately boring - interesting subjects get made boring by the style of the thing - all deliverances and amendments and addenda and counter-motions. But it's a necessary service to the church, and is a feature of the presbyterian style of church government that the CofS adopts. But on the upside you get to see pals you haven't seen for years and go for coffee with them. Yippee!

You're not here to enjoy yourself. However...

"Penny Poker" by Max Mannix

Recreation is defined by Wikipaedia as follows: "Recreation or fun is the expenditure of time in a manner designed for therapeutic refreshment of one's body or mind". I quite like that definition.

In prison, it's called "rec" and time for rec is built into the regime. The amount of rec is limited by a number of factors. Cost is one (the prison service is not rich). Security considerations are involved too, limiting the amount of association between groups of prisoners, and the size of the groups. Prisoners are notoriously their own worst enemies, and snooker themselves (excuse the pun) by, for example, tearing the baize on the billiards table. The gym is usually well used, though I sometimes worry that future victims of violent offences won't be very grateful to the prison service for aiding and abetting their assailant's muscle development. However, I can see that the gym has lots of advantages and is a Good Thing, on balance (that's not meant to be another pun).

In the jails in which I work, I realise now that I have the option, as chaplain, of creating the occasional "rec" activity. Anyone care to suggest serious or not-serious ideas for things I could do? My main limiting factors are: (1) my budget - I don't have any money to spend on it; (2) will guys who have to wear a mask of being "hard" and "cool" be willing to be seen dead at the event? and (3) the Big Paradox that we are faced with all the time - for some prisoners jail is awful and they never want to come back but for others jail is much better than their lives outside. For the latter group, we really don't want to make rec too wonderful!

However, notwithstanding that last sentence, rec is still important. All human beings need recreation. The clue is in the name - it re-creates us. I'm all in favour of prisoners not being allowed to lie in bed all day. I'm all in favour of work parties around the jail and, for those assessed as suitable, work placements in the community. I'm all in favour of education in prison too. Anything that will help them to change their ways and make plans for living legally and decently in the future. But they need rec too. Not because they deserve fun. But rather, for one thing, it takes their mind off taking drugs and occupies their time. And for another it gives them opportunities to practise social and other skills. If left to devise their own rec, gambling and other less desirable activities are likely to feature strongly. Idle hands and all that. Lastly, "training" prisoners to watch television in their cells for all their free time isn't really equipping them for life on the outside.

I'm thinking of a "Pub Quiz Without The Pub"! I may also be able to find church football teams willing to come in and play five-a-sides. Beyond that, silly suggestions (to amuse me) or serious suggestions (which I might use) would be welcome...

Send in the Clown

Sometimes I feel like I'm a bit of a clown. I don't even like clowns so I don't like the feeling. Being a Christian is pretty fab. I get to enjoy the real hope that this world isn't it, I get to enjoy the belief that I am forgiven for my sins, I get to enjoy a bond stronger than a family bond with total strangers just through knowing that they share my faith. I begin to experience love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.. However, the slight downside is that I get to feel like I'm a clown, sometimes. Sometimes, for example, as I read the venom of some atheists on their blogs, the thing that comes through is that they think we are really STUPID. Of course this sort of stuff certainly encourages that viewpoint, and makes me cringe.

And yet, that's my lot as a Christian. Sometimes I will be viewed as a clown. God's wisdom is different from man's wisdom. Sometimes I spout my own "wisdom" and it deserves to be seen as foolish, as per the cringe-making comments in the link at the end of the last paragraph. But I believe that when I do occasionally hit the mark and utter not my own "wisdom" but God's, it will also attract derision and scorn. I believe that is the case because of my own experience, because of the kind of vitriol I see on some atheistic blogs directed against brave Christians who put their head above the parapet to comment (disagreement's fine but there's no need to be rude, as I tell my kids) and because I know lots of us experience it.

I do accept it's my lot, and I accept it cheerfully knowing that clowns do bring amusement to others! They laughed at Jesus and mocked him too. So it's okay. "If anyone among you thinks that he is wise by this world's standards, he should become a fool, in order to be really wise. For what this world considers to be wisdom is nonsense in God's sight" (1 Corinthians 3:18,19)

Too Sad.

The earthquake in China and the cyclone in Burma are truly awful. There was a point I came on here to make in relation to them but it seems completely wrong to "use" these human tragedies to make any kind of point. So all I want to say is that these catastrophes are truly awful. And I know you know it already. Let's just grieve with those who're grieving and put our hands in our pocket too.

Kindred Spirits

My cyber-friend, Ruth tagged me with this meme on Wednesday and I've thought about it off and on since:

Books are scarce in the world. They are illegal in some provinces. They are not easily replaced, if not impossible to replace if lost in many if not most circumstances. If you can replace a book or buy one, it is usually through the black market at astronomical costs that you cannot afford. Yet you have been able to maintain one of the best collections in the world. If your entire library was about to burn up (think of the firefighters in Fahrenheit 451 invading your home) and you could only have one* book to take with you other than the Bible, what would that be and why?

Simple Rules: Answer the question. Offer one quote that resonates with you. Tag five people whose response is of genuine interest to you and inform him or her that they have been tagged. Cheers!

*And it cannot be an entire series of something, that’s cheating.

In my thinking about this, I have tried to come up with something that would be really impressive (and failed). So I've decided to go for honesty instead - honesty being the best policy and all that.

Probably my all time favourite book other than the Bible is Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen but I would have no need to take that as I probably have most of it off by heart now. Although various books have obviously influenced me or moved me or entertained me as an adult, I think it's the ones you love as a kid which end up the most precious. So, leaving aside The Famous Five by Enid Blyton and Milly Molly Mandy by Joyce Lankester Brisley, and remembering with shame that so many of the books aimed at girls then were about orphans that I wished I was an orphan (I don't now, mum and dad), the winner hands down is Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Mongomery. (Most of you will now have run for cover!)

Maybe it was just because she was another Anne (a manager in a place I worked in the eighties, in the days of Adam Ant style frilly shirts, used to call me Anne of Greengairs - Greengairs was a village near where I lived at the time). But I think I just identified with things about her - she's a total dreamer and so am I. Actually I think I'm more like her now than I was then, which is either worrying or just reflects that after all it was an adult who created the character. Anne also wants a world where everything is lovely. So do I. Well we all do, but I don't even watch gory films. I'm a wee bit of a romantic but I disguise it well.


Here's some good Anne quotes:

"Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There'd be no scope for imagination then, would there?" Maybe Anne would have loved blogging - so many different kinds of lives to read about...

"Marilla, isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?" I call that "hope".

"There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so interesting." I don't like routine. My handwriting changes a lot. Kind of fits with this I think.

"It's all very well to read about sorrows and imagine yourself living through them heroically, but it's not so nice when you really come to have them, is it?" Too true.

"Look at that sea, girls--all silver and shadow and vision of things not seen. We couldn't enjoy its loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds." I LOVE scenery, certainly better than money, though money's useful if you want to buy something.

Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it. *SHIVERS*

"What a splendid day! ...I pity people who aren't born yet for missing it. They may have good days, of course, but they can never have this one". Sweet!

There is no blood and guts in the Anne books. No car chases. Not even any real baddies. The closest is Mrs Lynde, a crabbit old neighbour. The next two quotes involve her:

"Mrs. Lynde says that sound doctrine in the man and good housekeeping in the woman make an ideal combination for a minister's family." Yikes! I'm letting the side down in this family.

"It seems so funny and horrible to think of Diana's being married," sighed Anne...
"I don't see what's so horrible about it, when she's doing so well," said Mrs. Lynde emphatically. "Fred Wright has a fine farm and he is a model young man."
"He certainly isn't the wild, dashing, wicked young man Diana once wanted to marry," smiled Anne. "Fred is extremely good."
"That's just what he ought to be. Would you want Diana to marry a wicked man? Or marry one yourself?"
"Oh, no. I wouldn't want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't. Now, Fred is hopelessly good."
"You'll have more sense some day, I hope," said Marilla. Hee hee. Me too, Anne.

Oh, now I've to tag some others. Feel free to ignore this you folk but I'm tagging you, Holy Famoley, Shannon, Noddy, and Tom.

2 x 1 = a party!

World's Best and Cutest Nephews had their first birthday party today. Woo hoo! It was lovely. Clearly they hadn't a clue what all the fuss was about but the rest of us who were gathered know they're well worth celebrating. Happy birthday you two, from your Droid cousins, auntie and uncle.

Grief Plus

It is a normal part of being a human that we face grief. Grief is the price we pay for loving. Of course we grieve when a loved one dies but we also grieve other losses, such as the loss of a relationship through divorce or personality-changing illness, or the loss of a job, or through a move to another area, or the "empty nest syndrome" when the kids leave home, or... well the list is potentially endless.

Grief is work that we have to do. We all know that avoiding doing the work of grief isn't good for us. We need to feel the numbness, the sadness, the hopelessness, the guilt, the whatever. We need to talk it to death with our family and friends. Gradually the feelings calm down a bit and we are able to face the future without whoever or whatever we've lost.

Disenfranchised grief screws up the normal processes, though. Disenfranchised grief has been defined as grief that isn't openly acknowledged, isn't socially accepted, or isn't publicly mourned. The relationship, the loss, the griever are unrecognised. The mourners are cut off from social supports and don't get the chance they need to do that grief work, to express their grief, and reach a resolution stage.

Disenfranchised grief comes into play in all kinds of situations. For example, if one participant in an illicit affair dies suddenly, the other party can't grieve publicly and his or her grief is therefore "disenfranchised". Similarly if an unborn child is lost through miscarriage or abortion, people may not know and so support will not be offered, though I think things are improving a bit in this area. A loss that is not seen as a "proper" bereavement comes under this heading too. For example, an old person whose much loved pet dies may not really be regarded as being bereaved, though they are feeling all the pain of the loss of a human relationship. People have also experienced disenfranchised grief at the loss of an idolised celebrity.

One of the common problems that prison chaplains get involved in, in the life of a prisoner, is bereavement. This is true for clergy and others on the "outside" too. But for us in Jailworld, there is an added complication, which is the disenfranchised nature of their grief.

Even when the loved one of the prisoner has died of natural causes, and their relationship prior to that had been a good one, prison is a very difficult place to do the work of grieving. Prisoners have to try so hard to maintain a hard shell to avoid appearing vulnerable and ending up as victims in some way or another. They don't have space to grieve. The regime carries on as normal regardless of their feelings. They may have a cell mate and nowhere to have a private cry.

But it gets worse for many. Lots of prisoners have hitherto dealt with all problems by getting drunk or taking drugs. Even those who've been clean for a while can find that their bereavement makes resisting the temptation to look for a "fix" (fixes nothing, so I don't know why it's called that) to help get through.

For many, their relationship with the person who was died was complicated and flawed, perhaps as a result of the index offence, or offending behaviour in general over many years, which tried the patience of the mother or partner or whoever and stretched the relationship to breaking point. Now it is too late to put all that right.

The distance from the death is also a big feature of disenfranchised grief. When my uncle died in Canada it took me years to take it in properly as it happened so far away. I rarely saw him anyway. I wasn't at the funeral. And so on. This is true, of course, in jail too. Even if the prisoner gets out to the funeral (most probably in handcuffs) he'll only be there for an hour or so. He won't be there for all the endless reliving of events and chat that goes on amongst bereaved family and friends and which is such an essential feature of grieving. Even if he does have folk in the prison to talk to, they won't have known the person who has died.

Another serious complication is when the prisoner himself is responsible for the death, such as when he is in jail for driving recklessly and causing a road accident in which his own loved one died. This is clearly terribly difficult. And if the person who died was a child, he'll probably need to be put on protection too, which isolates him further.

Incidentally, it should also be mentioned that the bereavement which the prisoner is affected by could have happened many many years before. If you are bereaved at age 13, say, and start blotting out your grief with drugs and alcohol, and then don't get clean until age 30, say, well you still need to do your grieving. You haven't done it, just postponed it.

I know that many people have little or no sympathy for prisoners, and actually I understand that. Many of their crimes are horrible, and they can be a selfish and ungrateful bunch to work with at times! However, and this is important, EVEN if you feel like that (and generally I am able to love them, which to me is clear proof that God must be at work) then you should still want to help prisoners deal with their disenfranchised grief. Why? Well, if they DON'T deal with it, there is far less potential for staying out of trouble in the future. Hurt people hurt people.

Kidding...

Krish Kandiah over here has blogged on 4 May about his experience of conducting a Sunday School class. I heard him recently speaking at a conference run by Evangelical Alliance in my home church (see his post of 25 April) and he is a powerful communicator, well worth listening to. I (completely wrongly - I'm so ashamed) was hugely encouraged that this really gifted leader found working with the kids a challenge. Moi aussi, moi aussi.

My mum's a retired teacher and I have teacher friends (two of whom have been teaching Penultimate Child this session - how embarrassing).

Me? Well, I've "helped", after a fashion, and when I felt I had to, with Sunday School (the longest half hour of my week at the time - how do teachers do that full time?), play group, Parent and Toddlers, Creche, Boys' Brigade, Church Holiday Clubs and school Scripture Union over the years. And (whispers) I really don't like it (well Parent and Toddlers was good - the clue is in the name).
It's not that I don't like children. I've got four of the ankle-biting rug rats at home after all. The thing I don't like is the whole issue of discipline. Church clubs don't have the sanctions that school has (and we know that discipline's not an easy business nowadays even at school). We are in the business of being loving and welcoming to the children as much as we can. And yet we obviously don't want to let one or two wild ones (who're usually lovable when they're in their right mind) spoil it for the rest.

Anyway, Krish is asking for inspiration in his comments page, so go ahead and share yours.

Meanwhile, give me Bad Men in prison any day. Much better behaved and more respectful!

But a big THANK YOU and metaphorical bouquet for my children's teachers, Sunday School teachers, Scripture Union camp leaders and so on. Penultimate and Youngest's Girls Brigade Display on Tuesday was very sweet indeed, and I do appreciate the leaders' hard work and dedication.

Today I was at a buffet lunch in the centre of the city next to one of the jails. It was organised by a group of Christian leaders in the city (who have kindly included me in their group). The Lord Provost (kind of like a mayor really) and a Councillor and another of the city's executives were invited along to give them an idea of the amazing work the churches and other ministries across the city were doing. When you see it collated together in a powerpoint slide show, it's a lot. And of course (music to the ears of the councillor of course) the most wonderful thing is that it's all done for free. Lots of it includes work with kids, many of whom are from difficult backgrounds, and some of whom will be exhausting to work with for the leadership.

Sometimes I get a wee bit fed up with the abuse from many atheists, although I can see that we deserve an awful lot of it. But our churches are full of unsung heroes (many of whom have full time jobs but turn up week in and week out to love the kids for free) and, although it's sad to see the numbers of kids roaming the streets causing trouble, I'm pretty sure the numbers doing so would be a whole lot higher if these heroes weren't doing what I've, at least for the moment, given up as totally beyond me.

PS For those not from the UK, "STOP CHILDREN" is nothing to do with birth control. It's what our school crossing patrollers traditionally had on the lollipop-shaped sign used for ushering school kids across the roads. (I believe it's now been replaced with STOP and a picture of people crossing the road, "children" being clearly too big a word for us nowadays).

Shed any light?

The artist Cornelia Parker created this installation, with the help of the army, whom she called in, as you do, to blow up a garden shed, the pieces of which she then gathered together and suspended around a light bulb, as you do.

Could an intention to be artistic be the motivation behind the following crime which I read about in Tuesday’s local paper: “Police are keen to hear more about a bizarre crime in B---------- at the weekend.
At 10.30am on Saturday a man was seen dismantling a shed at D------ Hotel on B----------‘s P---- Road. The shed was then left, in bits, in the hotel grounds.
The man seen was 25 years old. He was wearing camouflage clothing and possibly a fluorescent jacket”.

This makes me laugh a lot and it’s not the bizarre crime but the last bit... The witnesses are sure about his exact age and that he was wearing camouflage clothing. However they are not sure if he was wearing a fluorescent jacket. Seems back to front. I don’t mean the maybe-or-maybe-not jacket is back to front. I mean that the clothing just wasn’t doing its job was it? The camouflage wasn’t doing its job if it was so clear and memorable, and the fluorescent jacket wasn’t doing its job if it was so unnoticeable that it can’t be certain if it was even there at all.

Meet Flora.

Meet the newest member of the Droid family. Flora joined us this morning. She was welcomed to the neighbourhood by some neighbours (obviously - who else has the authority?).

She had a bit of a play. Perhaps the Droids will at last learn (we've failed to so far) not to leave stuff lying around.

She had a good look round and then fell asleep in her new Command Central base from which she will quite clearly wind our whole family round her little paw in no time.

She's incontinent. She's not very bright. She's a lot of trouble. But she's SOOOOOOO cute!

Not The Good Shepherd.

Heroin is my shepherd
I shall always want
It maketh me to lie down in gutters
It leadeth me beside troubled waters
It destroyeth my soul
It leadeth me in the paths of Hell for its name's sake
Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death
I will fear no evil
For heroin art with me
My syringe and foil shall comfort me
Thou strippest the table of groceries in the presence of mine family
Thou anointest my head with madness
My cup runneth over with sorrow
Surely hate and evil shall follow me all the days of my life
And I will dwell in the house of misery and disgrace for ever.

There are various versions of this on the go and more than one story about who wrote it but they make the same point and make it well, although thankfully the last line isn't necessarily always the case and I've spent today in the company of a number of men who've moved house from that particular house of misery and disgrace, even though they're still in "The Big House" (jail).

For those unfamiliar with it, here's the original Psalm 23:

The LORD is my shepherd;
I have everything I need.
He lets me rest in fields of green grass
and leads me to quiet pools of fresh water.
He gives me new strength.
He guides me in the right paths,
as he has promised.
Even if I go through the deepest darkness,
I will not be afraid, LORD,
for you are with me.
Your shepherd's rod and staff protect me.
You prepare a banquet for me,
where all my enemies can see me:
you welcome me as an honoured guest
and fill my cup to the brim.
I know that your goodness and love will be with me all my life;
and your house will be my home as long as I live.

As Unique as it's Common (just like me).

It has rained and rained and rained and rained here today, which has put water in my head (as opposed to water on the brain which is a lot more serious).

Water is amazing. It has lots of unique and very surprising properties without which life as we know it couldn't exist on this planet. We take it utterly for granted as there's so much around us, but it is such an unusual molecule.

Hydrogen Bonding and the Anomalous Properties of Water

Most solids expand when they melt. Water expands when it freezes.
Most solids are more dense than the corresponding liquids. Ice (0.917 g/cm3) is not as dense as water.
Water has a melting point at least 100 degrees C higher than expected on the basis of the melting points of H2S, H2Se, and H2Te.
Water has a boiling point almost 200 degrees C higher than expected from the boiling points of H2S, H2Se, and H2Te.
Water has the largest surface tension of any common liquid except liquid mercury.
Water has an unusually large viscosity.
Water is an excellent solvent. It can dissolve compounds, such as NaCl, that are insoluble or only slightly soluble in other liquids.
Water has an unusually high heat capacity. It takes more heat to raise the temperature of 1 gram of water by 1 degree C than any other liquid.

Because water has such a great capacity to absorb heat, and as both the earth's surface and the human body contain a huge amount of water, this property is really useful for regulating the earth's climate, and in the human body, for regulating our own temperature.


Because water is less rather than more dense in solid form, unlike the norm, we are in the fortunate position that ice on lochs doesn't sink to the bottom, killing off the plant and animal life and snookering the food chain.

Because of the great surface tension and some of those other properties, great big tall trees are able to defy gravity and suck water umpteen feet above ground to keep their leaves nice and green.

Amazing stuff, water, eh? You can wash things with it too. And make coffee of course... Apparently some people even drink it neat.

From Inside to Outside.

We had a cool day today visiting The National Gathering, a weekend festival under the banner of the Church of Scotland's "Church Without Walls" movement. As well as lots of great music and interesting speakers and seminars, churches from all over Scotland, including ours, could buy a tent (ready pitched) in which they could create a display reflecting their church's story/life.

The weather stayed good and there were lots of reunions with long lost friends from the past. There was stuff for the kids, stuff for the youth, and generally something for everyone. I went to a seminar in the afternoon where two MSPs (Members of the Scottish Parliament), one SNP and one Labour were speaking and taking questions on the future of Scotland. Wonderful, according to them, if we all vote SNP/Labour/Delete as Applicable! They got some challenging questions from the audience though...

At the end of the weekend the tents will be taken down and given to an aid agency for use in disaster relief.

The reality of being a churchgoer in 2008 (in the UK anyway) is that, although you are part of a worldwide body of millions of people, you can feel a bit isolated as you toil away in your small corner being thought bonkers by your secular friends and family. We cope with this, of course, and indeed understand it, but it is lovely now and again to get together in a big old jamboree with other like minded folk.

We were greatly amused by this fellow. A number of congregations who are currently without a minister had a notice on their tent to kind of advertise their vacancy (lots of ministers were there today, all incognito though of course...) This guy, though, had gone the extra mileS as he walked around all day wearing this sandwich board. If you can't see the detail, there's a picture of a clerical collar and it says: "Wanted. Someone to Fill This Space. Dead (crossed out) or Alive. Reward. The blessing of leading a loving committed family of God". Good for him. Hope it works. Interested clergy go to Stonehaven Fetteresso!

Caffeine, my Drug of Choice.

White With Two Sugars (Please) by Steve Turner

Coffee gives you
a legal shot of
energy when your
eyelids are feeling
down.
Coffee kills time
when you’re washed
ashore on the streets
of London.
(Coffee can even
help rainstorms
disappear.)
Coffee is something
to dangle your lips
in when conversation
is scarce.
Coffee is a good
place to take a
new friend.
(Coffee is an excuse
to stay half an hour
longer).
Acquaintances end
on the doorstep but
friendships begin
with a coffee.
Coffee can be
appreciated by all
generations.
Coffee is a multilingual,
multi-racial, liquid Esperanto.
Yes.
There’s something quite
religious about coffee.

On Being Dubbed up in a Peter

On my first day in my job I asked a prisoner how he was getting on and he said, "Well, I'm dubbed up in my peter and I don't like it". I hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about. Now I speak fluent "jail" (the other day, in fact, I was trying to tell a friend about a relative who has terminal cancer and is on morphine and I couldn't remember the word "morphine" at all - I kept wanting to say that she was on methadone, which is a word I hear every day). Anyway, for those of you in blissful ignorance, your "peter" is your cell, and if you're "dubbed up" it means you're sharing (doubled up). Most prisoners would rather have a single cell and so they eagerly follow the progress of other prisoners being liberated or shipped off to another jail, in the hope of getting their cell (rather like those who look at the obituaries in the newspaper to see if any council houses in their area have become vacant!)

It's not just peace and quiet that's appealing about the single cell. If you have to share a cell, you have little say in who you share with, and it doesn't take much imagination to see that that is a scary prospect. Imagine this scenario: You don't take drugs/ you don't take drugs any more. You are keeping your nose clean in the hope of parole and all is going well. A drug-user is put in to share your cell with you. He hides his drug paraphernalia in the cell. The officers find it and he denies it is his. You can "grass him up" and perhaps be slashed for your trouble, or you can take the rap and endanger your parole/ be downgraded to a stricter regime. There are various versions of this story but it's a common concern in jail.

It may be that the cell-mate you are given has a mental illness or disorder, of which nobody explains to you the details, and you are worried that he may be dangerous. It may be that the cell-mate you are given plays his music loud at all hours. It may be that he snores incessantly. Or he may just be a soap-dodger, which is pretty unpleasant if you're locked up together for long periods.

So, what's my point? Should all prisoners get a single cell? No, I'm not saying that at all. I'm not of the view that jail should be easy-peasy and delightful, though I don't think it should be degrading or dehumanising either. I just thought some readers might be interested (as I was) to think about another aspect of what it's like in jail. Especially for those of us reared on the happy banter of Godbur and Fletcher in the BBC series Porridge! It ain't necessarily so in real life. Some ex-prisoners do a good job going into schools telling kids all the down sides of life in jail, and being dubbed up with Who Knows Who in your peter can definitely be a down side.

Cheesy? Soppy? I say it's lovely.

I first read this somewhere more than twenty years ago (you can tell it's old as nowadays it would be an email or text, not a letter) and I've kept it ever since. Some might think it's embarrassingly cheesy or soppy but I think it's rather lovely.

Letter from a Friend.

I just had to write to tell you how much I love you and care for you. Yesterday, I saw you walking and laughing with your friends; I hoped that soon you'd want me to walk along with you, too. So, I painted you a sunset to close your day and whispered a cool breeze to refresh you.

I waited - you never called - I just kept on loving you.

As I watched you fall asleep last night, I wanted so much to touch you. I spilled moonlight onto your face - trickling down your face as so many tears have. You didn't even think of Me; I wanted so much to comfort you.

The next day I exploded a brilliant sunrise into glorious morning for you. But you woke up late and rushed off to work - you didn't even notice. My sky became cloudy and My tears were the rain.

I love you. Oh, if you'd only listen. I really love you. I try to say it in the quiet of the green meadow and in the blue sky. The wind whispers My love throughout the treetops and spills into the vibrant colours of all the flowers. I shout it to you in the thunder of the great waterfalls and compose love songs for birds to sing for you. I warm you with the clothing of my sunshine and perfume the air with nature's sweet scent. My love for you is deeper than any ocean and greater than any need in your heart.

If you'd only realise how I care.

My Father sends His love. I want you to meet Him - He cares too. Fathers are just that way. So, please call on me soon. No matter how long it takes. I'll wait - because I love you.

Your Friend - Jesus.

Don't let the "service users" grind you down.

I have observed that:
1) Prison would be great if it weren't for the prisoners.
2) Schools would be great if it weren't for the pupils.
3) The health service would be great if it weren't for sick people.
4) Churches would be great if it weren't for the churchgoers.
5) Public transport would be great if it weren't for the public.
6) Police work would be great if it weren't for the MOPs (Members of the Public).
7) Family life would be great if it weren't for the kids. NO cancel that. Too far, anyway they might read this one day.

Shiny new institutions are set up, or old institutions get new direction and purpose, and everything starts out great. All those working in them are signed up to the vision and really believe they can make a difference. The training helps them to feel equipped and ready to serve. There is a great sense that the world can be a better place.

And then along come the "service users" and reality kicks them in the butt, hard. The service users are not overcome with gratitude. The service users are not playing by the rules and following the path it was envisaged they would follow. The service users are, goodness me, critical. They moan and whine and complain, so far from the expected gratitude are they.

And the service deliverers?

Do they/we rise above it?
Do they/we turn the other cheek?
Do they/we hang onto the vision of what we're about, through thick and thin?
Do they/we resist bitterness and cynicism, knowing that all that that will achieve is an exacerbation of the problem?
Do they/we encourage each other to keep our chin up and our head down (however those things are simultaneously achieved!)?
Do they/we resist the urge to start squabbling amongst ourselves, department against department within the institution?
I know the answer to those questions that should be, is, a lot of the time, not the answer that is. I know that prisoners, pupils, patients, church members, the public, may manipulate us and try our patience to its limit, but... BUT, if we can keep our head when all about are losing theirs, and keep the faith, and keep the vision, and aim high (even when all evidence points to the contrary and people laugh at our naivete) I think we'll be prouder looking back on our "careers" than if we give up and just endure the working day for the sake of the pay and the pension.

IF you can keep your head, when all about you
are losing theirs - and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself, when all men doubt you,
but make allowances for their doubting too;

If you can wait, and not be tired by waiting,
or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
and yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise.

If you can dream, and not make dreams your master;
if you can think, and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet triumph and disaster,
and treat those two imposters just the same.

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken,
twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
and stoop and build them up with worn-out tools.

If you can make one heap of all your winnings,
and risk it all in one turn of pitch and toss -
and lose, and start again, at your beginnings,
and never breathe a word about your loss.

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew,
to serve your turn long after they are gone,
and so hold on when there is nothing in you,
except the will which says to them - "Hold On".

If you can do all this and more -
you'll be a man, by son, you'll be a man.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

It's a Good Book.

Today two representatives of The Gideons International came along to one of the jails I work in to give out free New Testaments to any prisoners who wanted one. It was interesting to be a fly on the wall as the offer was made. Some prisoners said "no" straight out. Some said "yes". Some took one thinking it was a free diary and hurriedly gave it back when they discovered it wasn't. Some took one automatically because prisoners (like most of us) like free stuff and then, on seeing what it was, acted as though they'd been handed a red hot coal and couldn't get it out of their hands quickly enough. Some who said "no" will probably sidle up to me in the next week or two and ask for one and admit they didn't want their pals to see them take one. Some of those who took one may use the pages as skins for their roll-up cigarettes (apparently this happens though they've had the grace not to do it before my eyes thus far). Hopefully some may have a wee look at their copy.

Chuck Colson, erstwhile prisoner following Watergate but subsequently a committed Christian said this: "The Bible - banned, burned, beloved. More widely read, more frequently attacked than any other book in history. Generations of intellectuals have attempted to discredit it; dictators of every age have outlawed it and executed those who read it. Yet soldiers carry it into battle believing it more powerful than their weapons. Fragments of it smuggled into solitary prison cells have transformed ruthless killers into gentle saints. Pieced together scraps of Scripture have converted whole villages of pagan Indians".

I am not fond of "Bible bashers" (God wants spiritual fruit, not religious nuts). I have made a particular point of never being a "Bible basher". But in my enthusiasm for avoiding being seen as such I probably go too far the other way and, far from wearing my heart on my sleeve, have it hidden away in an underground bunker. So just for today I would like to put on record that I ACTUALLY really really like The Bible.

Did you know...? (Did you want to?)

I've been tagged. Thanks, Noddy. So I've to give you seven fascinating facts about moi, (mmmmm), but then I get to tag seven of you (woo hoo!)

Here are the rules if you decide to play along:
1) Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3) Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4) Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.


Re me:

1) I've flown a helicopter (briefly, during a lesson I was given for my nth birthday). I felt nauseous for an hour afterwards but it was one of the most exhilirating experiences I've had.

2) I used to be a turkey plucker. I've also been a hospital cleaner (domestic assistant), a delivery driver for a Chinese takeaway, a care assistant in a Night Shelter/Day Centre for single homeless men, a sales assistant in a jewellers, and various other random things.

3) When I was a wee girl, after the Morris Minor and the Vauxhall Viva, we got my grandpa's old Riley, registration number 491 EVD. Then we had a dark turquoise Triumph 2000 followed by a yellow Triumph 2000. I can remember their registration numbers too but I can't retain my current car's.

4) One of the reasons I became a minister is that I was working in the Department of Social Security and one day had to interview a woman who, I discovered during the interview, didn't usually leave her home following being gang raped about five years before. She wanted to talk. My boss was in a hurry and was waiting outside the booth, wanting to sit in on my next interview. Was I going to say, "Ah never mind that. About your benefit..." to people for the next 36 years till I retired?

5) I used to drink gallons of tea and if I drank coffee at all took lots of milk and three (!) spoonfuls of sugar in it. Now I don't like tea and drink (too much) black coffee. This was one of the lasting effects of my first pregnancy (as was my eldest daughter).

6) I love caravanning and the Scottish countryside, especially in the sunshine. I fully appreciate that if it didn't rain so much it wouldn't be so beautiful and green so it's a price worth paying.

7) Today the chaplain of Manchester United is coming to speak at our church and then coming to our house for lunch. I wonder if he's heard of my fave team, Airdrie United?

Now I'm going to pick (on) seven of you at random. As I'm normally the end of chain emails etc, and this may be the first time I've not been, I can hardly be offended if you don't take me up on this...

I hereby tag: Doorman-Priest, Ruth Hull Chatlien, From The Inside, Purpleplus, That Hideous Man, Roland,
Endlessly Restless

Bring Back the Clown and the Jelly and Ice Cream.

Last night I took Firstborn, who is nearly 13, to her first Teen-style party in a local nightclub. This was a traumatic experience - for me. She's into hockey - think Sporty Spice with the tracksuits - and I had to talk her into glamming up a WEE bit. However, when I dropped her off I felt (to be quite honest) a leaden feeling in my stomach at the sight of some of these 12/13 year old girls with the make up trowelled on and outfits that a prostitute would draw the line at. (Not all of them, but some of them). I understand that they are innocent and don't realise why it makes some of us adults feel uncomfortable.

And I know she's past the soft play area stage and the princess party dresses. I'm not naive. But I'm scared for them all.

Kids are sexualised so young nowadays - look at their tv choices, their clothes choices in the shops, the celebrity culture obsession with image and the associated eating disorder problems. I just want to stand up and say it's wrong. I need to stand up anyway - I'm off to the cinema to see Horton Hears a Who with the younger contingent of the Droid family. One of the characters in it has 96 daughters and 1 son, so his worries are definitely greater than mine!

Frustrated Biker Chick (or probably Hen, now)

We like to encourage the prisoners to set realistic goals and work towards them. Very sensible. Do I do that? No, not really. I bumble along happily, one day at a time, and am pleased if at the end of the week I have coped with another seven days of family plus full-time work. And my goal? My ambition? Totally UN-realistic! I would love to cross America coast to coast on a Harley-Davidson. Today I modified that and thought I fancied a trike rather than a bike, for some reason. This is NOT a realistic goal for my life. I've never even been on a (moving) motorbike. In the nearly fifteen years of my married life I haven't needed a passport as we've not had the money to go abroad. And just where on my motorbike would I stow my four kids and husband? But perhaps along with our sensible and realistic goals we also need a dream or two to while away boring moments.

Death warmed up? The opposite in fact.

This caught my eye this week. You can be cremated or buried, or perhaps you can now go for promession in a prometorium and be frozen and then the resulting dust buried. Mmmm. My gut reaction was, "Oh no. I hate being cold". And yes, I did immediately think how ridiculous. To my knowledge I don't like being set on fire or buried six feet underground either. So, yes, my reaction was silly. I suppose it doesn't matter which option is picked since I won't know anything about it.

On the subject of death, it amuses me, though I do it myself sometimes, that folk say, "If something happens to me..." meaning "When I die". IF? IF?!

Statistics of Death
by Adrian Plass

Here’s a cheery thought. Only one thing in life is absolutely guaranteed. We are all going to die. I think you’ll find the statistics are very clear on this point.

You are more likely to die travelling by train than by plane
More likely to die in the winter than in the spring
More likely to die in a car-crash than from cancer
More lilkely to die watching Eastenders than The Weakest Link
More likely to be murdered than to win the lottery
More likely to die in China than in Spain

You are more likely to die if you starve than if you eat
More likely to die at Old Trafford than in an ice-cream parlour
More likely to die in the morning than in the afternoon
More likely to die in Luton than in Milton Keynes
More likely to die in a Polish sentry-box than a Morris 1000 Traveller
More likely to die of cold than of heat

You are more likely to die in blue than in green
More likely to die in bed than in Birmingham
More likely to die intestate than on a tandem
More likely to die in company than alone
More likely to die on a Monday than on a Friday
More likely to die where you are than where you have been

You are more likely to die if you are tall than if you are short
More likely to die of hate than of love
More likely to die choking on a marble than to spontaneously combust
More likely to die facing south than facing east
More likely to die on land than on sea
More likely to die from leisure than from sport

You are more likely to die doing the twist than the jive
More likely to die at home than in any other place
More likely to die with friends than with strangers
More likely to die with an apology than with a blessing
More likely to die with a question than an answer
You are most likely to die if you are alive

To free or not to free...

WARNING, by Jenny Joseph, 1961.

WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN I SHALL WEAR PURPLE
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

That's a very well known poem, and it's a good 'un. It just summarises so beautifully the lovely "don't care any more" thing that we start to enjoy as we get older. Now I'm in my forties (I know it's hard to believe from my Shy-Anne picture) I am already finding I don't care a tenth as much as I used to what people think of me, though I still care. The growing confidence, which I suppose is what it is, is such a liberation.

Yesterday I watched the prisoners being "libbed" (liberated) and embracing their waiting relatives (please God help them stay on the straight and narrow and not be back) and it is a moving sight, actually. Liberation, of any kind, is amazing. The liberation that a hip replacement or other operation can bring, the liberation of escape f