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 from a violent relationship, the liberation of leaving a job you hate, the liberation from worrying about what other people think, and - one of my interests as a Christian - the liberation from guilt. Jesus said he came to set people free and that if he sets us free we'll be free indeed. It's so sad that people don't seek freedom when they can. Freedom is surely worth the seeking. (Unless you're a prisoner, in which case absconding or escaping's not such a good idea as waiting till your're libbed legally!)

William Wallace: Aye, fight and you may die, run, and you'll live... at least for a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willin' to trade ALL the days, from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take... OUR FREEDOM!
[crowd cheers]

Jail Birds (Bird=female in Scottish slang)

This picture is Elizabeth Fry visiting a woman prisoner.

Now here's an interesting quote: "The system is gendered - far too few women are held accountable and the proportion of female to male prisoners is too low. From general social attitudes, to police, to COPFS, to judges, women are infantalised and pathologised but not held criminally accountable. Think of the children who really should be protected!" So says the first comment here.

This really has made me think. I have always bought into the widespread belief that too many of the women sent to jail are poor souls who shouldn't be there, victims themselves really, and so on. This is the first time I've thought about the possibility that perhaps as this commenter says, "women are infantalised and pathologised but not held criminally accountable". Mmmmm. I'm going to think more about this. I have visited a women's prison in the past but today I was visiting a men's jail which has about 1,500 prisoners in it (more than it is designed for). The chaplain there led me through the area where the families who were in for the visiting time were congregating. He was saying that quite often the women cause fights and arguments and are difficult for the staff to deal with. I've often heard officers say that working at the female prison is harder in many ways than working with male prisoners.
I guess ladettes who want, for example, to drink like lads at weekends and get into brawls in the street need to be treated fairly. And fairly works two ways...

But aren't chaplains supposed to be nice? Not seeking to get more folk locked up! Well chaplains are supposed to speak up for what seems to them morally right as best they can. Our governors usually tell us they want us to be knocking on their door if we see unjust or unethical practices in their jails. If I do, on reflection, conclude that what this commenter said is true, then maybe I'll end up with the view that more rather than fewer women should be locked up, but that'll be ethical and moral if it's because I'm standing against infantalising and pathologising women.

Tell it to the judge (afterwards)

We had a judge for lunch yesterday. Not literally. Probably literally having a judge for lunch would still warrant the death penalty under some little known law. We had a judge in our house yesterday to whom we gave lunch. This is not something that has happened before and I had been wondering earlier in the week what to feed him. At the end of last week our prisoners produced a jail magazine and it had a recipe page in it. Ah ha!

So, we fed the judge, who is very nice and was not wearing his regalia or his wig (to the kids' disappointment) a meal cooked from the jail magazine recipe! Seemed beautifully appropriate and/or ironic. We didn't tell him till afterwards where the recipe had come from but he took it well. He is doubtless responsible for a number of our jail's inmates being in prison (well, no he's not - he didn't commit the crimes, but you know what I mean). The recipe was for chicken marinaded in a concoction including 7 Up (believe it or not) and was actually delicious. It was submitted to the magazine by one of our Education Unit staff. I shudder to think what recipe the prisoners might have come up with had they known it was for a judge.

Trip down memory railtrack, this one.

In a former life (no, I don't mean I believe in reincarnation - I just mean it feels like it was in a former life) I travelled into and out of Glasgow by train, for school, work, uni, off and on (no pun intended) for various periods between 1974 and 1990. From time to time (!) over these years there were delays and boring, cold waits at train stations. The station in the picture is one of the ones I waited at, though it had the benefit of a bus stop outside to which I could bail out and try my luck at. It was during this time that I found this poem and think it is just fab. Enjoy. Can those in other countries relate to it too, I wonder?

British Rail Regrets, by Steve Turner

British Rail regrets
having to regret.
British Rail regrets
it cannot spell.
British Rail regrets
the chalk ran out.
British Rail regrets
that due to a staff shortage
there will be no-one
to offer regrets.
British Rail regrets, but will not be sending
flowers or tributes.
British Rail regrets
the early arrival
of your train.
This was due to industrious action.
British Rail regrets
that because of a work-to-rule
by our tape machine
this is a real person.
British Rail regrets
the cheese shortage
in your sandwich.
This is due to
a points failure.
The steward got
three out of ten.
British Rail regrets.
Tears flow from beneath
the locked doors of staff rooms.
Red-eyed ticket collectors
offer comfort
to stranded passengers.
Angry drivers threaten
to come out in sympathy
with the public.
British Rail regrets.
That's why its members
are permanently dressed in black.
That's why porters stand around
as if in a state of shock.
That's why Passenger Information
is off the hook.

British Rail regrets
that due to the shortage of regrets
there will be a train.

It's not every day you get to go to a 101st birthday.

Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday my dear gran
Happy Birthday to you
101 today!

2. Wheat and Weeds

As well as thinking about the lost sheep, or more particularly the partying on high, at the jail service this afternoon we also looked at the small print, in a way. It's another of the surprising and interesting things Jesus said, and I was particularly interested in the reaction.

In Matthew 13 we're told a story (I love stories): "A man sowed good seed in his field. One night, when everyone was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and went away. When the plants grew and the ears of corn began to form, then the weeds showed up. The man's servants came to him and said, "Sir, it was good seed you sowed in your field; where did the weeds come from?" "It was some enemy who did this," he answered. "Do you want us to go and pull up the weeds?" they asked him. "No," he answered, "because as you gather the weeds you might pull up some of the wheat along with them. Let the wheat and the weeds both grow together until harvest. Then I will tell the harvest workers to pull up the weeds first, tie them in bundles and burn them, and then to gather in the wheat and put it in my barn".

The wheat and the weeds story's about church, mainly. If you go to a church, any church, the people in it, while possibly being either cat people or dog people, are definitely either wheat people or weed people (not weedy people, that's a different thing). We can't always decide whether people are wheat people or weed people, and most of the time it's unhealthy for us to be trying to - that's judgementalism. But it's as well to remember that's the scenario. I explained that to the guys. I paused half way to check how much they grasped it. Some of them said they had no idea what it meant at all. Others said it was obvious and self-explanatory. Point proved I guess! Incidentally Jesus explained it better than me.

1. Little Bo Peep.

Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep and doesn't know where to find them. Unlike this cartoon what the rhyme says is "Leave them alone and they'll come home bringing their tails behind them" (I nearly put "tales" there instead of "tails" - how much more interesting that would be!)

The phrase "lost sheep" has entered our language. I like to think this comes not from Little Bo Peep but from the illustration Jesus used: "Suppose one of you has 100 sheep and loses one of them - what does he do? He leaves the other 99 in the pasture and goes looking for the one that got lost until he finds it."... and then he goes on to say that once found, there would be a real celebration. But the most surprising bit is the punchline. (Jesus said some very surprising things). "In the same way, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 respectable people who do not need to repent).

In other words if, just for example, a chav (or ned as they're known in Scotland) as depicted in the Chavopoly board of a recent post below (13 April 08), were to repent (genuinely) there would be a party in heaven such as would not happen for the good guy who's always been a good guy.

Just astonishing. No wonder those on the outside find what we Christians believe totally offensive.

Incidentally, we looked at this at the service in the jail this afternoon, with the aid of a box of Celebrations to reinforce the point. I gave the (very) few leftovers to a couple of officers afterwards. I did not mention Little Bo Peep this afternoon btw - not really the thing to do in a macho environment.

Hurt people hurt people (sometimes)

I wrote this for work purposes but thought it might be worth sharing here. The main resources I used are credited in the last paragraph.

Bitterness

Bitter people often:
- have an amazing memory for the tiniest detail
- wallow in self-pity and resentment
- catalogue every offence and are always ready to talk about how much they've been hurt
- seem calm on the outside but inside are about to burst with pent-up feelings
- defend their grudges constantly
- feel they've been hurt so deeply or so often they are exempt from the need to forgive
sometimes have hearts so full of bitterness they're no longer able to love at all

Bitterness is more than just a negative outlook on life. It's a very destructive and self-destructive power. It's just like a dangerous, poisonous mould or spore because it thrives in the dark recesses of the heart and feeds on every new thought of spite or hatred that comes our way. Or it's like an ulcer which is aggravated by worry or like a heart condition that's made worse by stress. It can affect you physically and certainly it affects you emotionally. It also affects those around you.

Forgiveness

On the other hand, forgiveness is a door to peace and happiness. It is a small, narrow, hard-to-find door, and can't be entered without stooping humbly. But no matter how long the search, it can be found and it has the potential to lead to the most amazing freedom.

Forgiving has absolutely nothing to do with human fairness which demands an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, and it doesn't mean excusing and brushing things aside. When we forgive someone we still recognise the hurt for what it is, but instead of lashing out or biting back, we try to see beyond it and to view the person with good will rather than ill will, whether they deserve it or not, because forgiving them makes us better.

Forgiveness maybe won't take away all our pain, but the letting go will help. It might not even be acknowledged or accepted - but forgiving will stop us being sucked into the downward spiral of resentment and it can guard us against the temptation of taking out our anger or hurt on someone else.

Forgiving doesn't mean forgetting or condoning a wrong. It doesn't depend on a face-to-face meeting with the person responsible for it, which might not even be advisable. But it does mean making a conscious decision to stop hating, because hating can never help. Sometimes, even when we recognise the need to forgive, we're tempted to claim that we can't. It's too hard, too difficult - something for saints, maybe, but not for me. But it IS possible, and it IS worth it.

For further reading, you could try Jesus' thoughts on the subject - look in the Bible for Matthew, Mark, Luke or John, or if you are anti-Bible for some reason, I also recommend "Why Forgive?" by Johann Christoph Arnold, which has powerful and painfully moving and heroic stories of forgiveness in the most extreme circumstances.

Hanky Panky?

One of the tools of the trade of a prison chaplain is a box of tissues. When the said prison chaplain also has a cold she's had so long she's forgotten when it started, the need is all the greater, to have a box handy.

On my way to work this morning I called in at the village shop near the jail where I spotted five boxes of a well known brand of man-size tissues (wouldn't they be huge if they really were man-sized? And which size of man would they be the size of?)
The boxes were identical, and had the price already printed on them by the manufacturer. Four of them said "99p". The other, exactly the same in other respects, said "Special Price. £1.69". Isn't "special price" supposed to imply a discount not a Whatever-It-Is-Per-Cent increase (please someone work that out for me as I'm not fond of arithmetic) of 70p"?

And talking of man-size, it was my privilege to facilitate the provision of a pair of overalls to a very tall prisoner today (not really part of my job description of course) who was unable to fit into any of the overalls provided by his Work Party. A local minister found me a pair in his garage. You know who you are, M. Thank you. He's terribly pleased.

One cool thing about being Scottish...

One cool thing about being Scottish is that every now and again you get to see your flag in the sky.

I'm from Venus and He's from Mars but that's fun!

WICOE (Women In Charge Of Everything)

Is proud to announce the opening of its EVENING CLASSES FOR MEN! OPEN TO MEN ONLY. ALL ARE WELCOME.

Note: due to the complexity and level of difficulty, each course will accept a maximum of eight participants

The course covers two days, and topics covered in this course include:

DAY ONE

HOW TO FILL ICE CUBE TRAYS
Step by step guide with slide presentation

TOILET ROLLS- DO THEY GROW ON THE HOLDERS?
Roundtable discussion

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN LAUNDRY BASKET & FLOOR
Practicing with hamper (Pictures and graphics)

DISHES & CUTLERY; DO THEY LEVITATE/FLY TO KITCHEN SINK OR DISHWASHER BY THEMSELVES?
Debate among a panel of experts.

REMOTE CONTROL
Losing the remote control - Help line and support groups

LEARNING HOW TO FIND THINGS
Starting with looking in the right place instead of turning the house upside down while screaming - Open forum


DAY TWO

EMPTY MILK CARTONS; DO THEY BELONG IN THE FRIDGE OR THE BIN?
Group discussion and role play

HEALTH WATCH; BRINGING HER FLOWERS IS NOT HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH
PowerPoint presentation

REAL MEN ASK FOR DIRECTIONS WHEN LOST
Real life testimonial from the one man who did

IS IT GENETICALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO SIT QUIETLY AS SHE PARALLEL PARKS?
Driving simulation

LIVING WITH ADULTS; BASIC DIFFERENCES BETWEEN YOUR MOTHER AND YOUR PARTNER
Online class and role playing

HOW TO BE THE IDEAL SHOPPING COMPANION
Relaxation exercises, meditation and breathing techniques

REMEMBERING IMPORTANT DATES & CALLING WHEN YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE
Bring your calendar or PDA to class

GETTING OVER IT; LEARNING HOW TO LIVE WITH BEING WRONG ALL THE TIME
Individual counsellors available

Chavopoly!

Apologies for the bad language. I found this on Purpleplus's website (click link on right) and shamelessly nicked it. It's too sad to be funny, but it's really clever and well observed.

The dog is dead. Long live the dog(s)?

While away on a short family holiday in Edinburgh this week I had the sad task of taking our old dog, who was suffering from cancer and other ailments, to the vet to be put to sleep. I volunteered because Him Indoors was much more attached to her than I was - or so I thought. However I found it very distressing anyway and all six of us cried a fair few tears that day. She was a great old thing and gave us 14 years' unconditional love.

Next morning? The kids were discussing getting a new dog, possibly two (the theory being they'd be company for each other) and most of the rest of the week was spent coming up with possible names for these Potential Puppies. This seemed very disrespectful to have moved on so quickly, but children are like that. However, before we left the caravan site we were staying at, the kids made what could only be described as a kind of shrine to poor old Chloe, which looked exactly like a grave and led to us then having to go and explain to the wardens before we left that the dog was in fact left at the vet for cremation and was not in fact buried, without permission, under the tree in their woodland!

Incidentally suggestions for the names for the Potential Puppies are welcome. We may get two black labrador bitches or one black and one brown. Current suggestions (not all serious) are: Treacle and Toffee, Jack and Vera, Bennett and Darcy, Cheese and Onion, Mrs Thompson and Mrs Wallace (the head and deputy head at the kids' school)...

Randomness? Fate? God? Vote now.

My outlaws, sorry - that should read in-laws, last year celebrated their golden wedding. But before they met, as a young man Father-In-Law nearly emigrated to New Zealand. If he had, of course, their four sons would never have been born and neither would my four kids.

I find that sort of story interesting. I have lots of them, as no doubt you have too. Is it all just random? I tend to think not, of course, but lots of people would say yes.

I'm also interested in how couples met, as so often it seems they could just as easily not have done.

A few years ago I conducted two funerals, about a year apart, of an elderly married couple. I asked how they met and loved the story. He was a shepherd. She was a maid in The Big House. They were expected to get all spruced up (as you did in those days) and go to church on a Sunday. During the service, he bent down to pick up a dropped hymn book, and as he came up, banged his head off the book-rest shelf thing on the back of the pew in front. She, being only about eighteen, got a great fit of the giggles which carried on for ages, and led to them speaking after the service!


But for me personally here's a cracker of an "It could all have been so different" story:
A long time ago, an ancestor of mine once emigrated to America. He bought a bit of farmland and worked it for a while but then decided he was homesick, so he sold it and came home. The bit of farmland was part of Manhattan Island!!

Freedom!

Freedom!
by Sharron R. McMillan

The door is wide open
And yet the bumblebee
batters itself against the front window,
the side window,
and finally the window on the open door.

It amazes me
That a creature made to be borne
on the breezes of outdoors
does not instinctively fly
to the source of those breezes
flowing through the open door.

Instead
It batters itself
On the closed illusion of freedom.

The door is wide open
Yet people
batter themselves against their sin,
their own created religions,
and their unbending wants.

It amazes me
That those created to be borne
on the gentle moving of God's Spirit
do not instinctively go through God's open door to freedom.

A Disgrace to Women's Lib, I am.

I apologise to my cistern, er, sisters.

Today I took Penultimate and Youngest children for a bike ride. Well, they were riding the bikes Santa graciously brought them at Christmas but I was walking with Truffle, a chocolate (chocolate coloured not actual chocolate, sadly) labrador we are looking after for the week. About half way round, the chain came off Youngest Child's bike.

Did I even look to see if I could work out how to fix it? No (head hanging down in shame). I did not. I looked round to see if a man on a bike might come along who I could ask to fix it. This plan worked almost instantly and, ignoring all previous instructions not to talk to strangers, Youngest Child was asked, "What do you say to the kind man for fixing your bike?"

It is only now, hours and hours later that it hits me. What kind of 21st century woman am I? It's the fact I didn't even LOOK at the chain to see what to do... although when the gallant stranger fixed it in a nanosecond I did have the grace to be a WEE bit embarrassed.

The thing is, although I want equal pay and all that, I find it very delightful to leave all jobs I don't fancy (especially anything potentially involving getting dirty) to men. We caravan and I have never yet learned how to empty the loo, nor I have I the least intention of so doing. I have mysteriously forgotten how to cut the grass. And I'm not good with sick - dog sick or child sick.

I thought of telling you the truth - that it all started when I got a Christmas job in my last two years at school as a turkey plucker. You had to kill your own turkey. But I, and the only other female turkey plucker, let one of the men kill us one too. I thought of telling that story but in view of my post about the pheasant the other day it might be too much. I don't want folk thinking I'm anti-bird. So I won't mention it.

The only thing I have in my favour is that I ALWAYS vote, even when I've no idea who to vote for - my mum drummed it into me that women had fought so hard to get the vote I'd better appreciate it - and of course I do.

Yesterday, today, for ever...

As I've said before, I enjoy reading the blogs of police, paramedics and teachers, as many of these people are feeling the same sort of bewilderment I am (and no doubt you are too) about the ills of society.

Here, however, are some quotes from the days when blogs were presumably kept on paper or even parchment rather than in cyberspace:

"In every department of our nation, industry, commerce and agriculture, there is no hope."
Disraeli in 1852.

"The world is passing through troublesome times. The young people of today think of nothing but themselves. They have no reverence for parents or old age. They are impatient of all restraint. They talk as if they know everything, and what passes for wisdom with us is foolishness to them. As for the girls, they are immodest and unwomanly in speech, behaviour and dress."
Peter the Monk in 1274.

"When I look at the younger generation, I despair of the future of civilisation." Aristotle, in the year 300BC.

A long time ago a very wise man, in his interesting wee book called Ecclesiastes (found in the Jewish and Christian Bibles) said this: "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun."

I find that oddly comforting.

Three cheers for C.S. Lewis

C.S. Lewis is one of my favourite writers. Here's some quotes to illustrate why.



From his great autobiography, "Surprised by Joy" a fun one about a dog he used to have: "I think he had one friend of his own species, a neighbouring red setter; a very respectable, middle-aged dog. Perhaps a good influence; for poor Tim, though I loved him, was the most undisciplined, unaccomplished, and dissipated-looking creature that ever went on four legs. He never exactly obeyed you; he sometimes agreed with you."


Also from his autobiography, talking about his conversion, this one appeals to the Calvinist which lurks beneath the surface of me: "Amiable agnostics will talk cheerfully about 'man's search for God'. To me, as I then was, they might as well have talked about the mouse's search for the cat."


There are loads more I could mention, and may do another day, but here's a great one from "The Lion, the Witch and the "Wardrobe":
"'They say Aslan is on the move - perhaps has already landed.'
And now a very curious thing happened. None of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do; but the moment the Beaver had spoken these words everyone felt quite different. Perhaps it has sometimes happened to you in a dream that someone says something which you don't understand but in the dream it feels as if it had some enormous meaning - either a terrifying one which turns the whole dream into a nightmare or else a lovely meaning too lovely to put into words, which makes the dream so beautiful that you remember it all your life and are always wishing you could get into that dream again. It was like that now. At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump in its inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realise that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer."

Twisted thinking

Prisoners' thinking can be very twisted.

Recently I was talking to a prisoner who was arguing that if he had his way all "junkies" would be given an injection in the neck and put down. This man is an alcoholic. In my usual diplomatic way (!) I pointed out that alcoholism was an addiction too. He wasn't pleased and said that no, alcholism is a disease. I was unable to persuade him that there were any similarities between the addictions.

But jail's like that. There is a pecking order of crime. In a jail containing only sex offenders, the rapists (i.e. rapes of adult victims) see themselves better than the paedophiles. In other jails, prisoners classify themselves as better than some other class of offence. Prisoners often lie to one another about the nature of their offence to make it more "acceptable". Incidentally, murder, which we might (hopefully DO) see as very bad, isn't looked down on so much in jail whereas other offences, like mugging an old lady, are seen as beyond the pale.

I have found this very interesting, and yet I have also found myself wondering if perhaps ALL human beings do exactly this. According to our own various personal measuring schemes we rate others as above or below us. A dear and very ancient relative of mine openly judges people on how good their speech is (she once studied elocution herself).

I heard a prison officer recently refer to all the prisoners collectively and dismissively as "scrotes" - I think he validates himself, in a way, by finding a group of people he feels superior to.

Do I do it? I hope not, but I fear I do.

Admiring God's Creation, Return of

Just for balance, for male heterosexual readers of this blog I thought I'd make up for yesterday.
This, if you didn't know, people, is Deanna Troi, ship's counsellor on Star Trek in the days of Jean Luc Picard's leadership. I used to find her a bit annoying because I felt her role was much less important than all the others busy on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise trying to save the universe. However, occasionally at work I find myself thinking of Deanna Troi and wondering if, as a prison chaplain, I'm perceived in the same way - a wee bit purposeless! Not by the guys, I don't think, but perhaps by some staff. Once a month I sit at the Top Team management meeting and listen to all these very experienced managers trying to work out how to run the jail and tick all the thousands of audit boxes whilst still doing it all on twenty pence a year. My job is so very different from theirs, and since much of it involves apparently chatting (in reality very committed listening) I appreciate I must seem kind of superfluous. And not only that but at least Deanna Troi was a feast for the eyes - I'm just concerned that if the SPS eventually brings in corporate dress I might have to wear that outfit! Time to get back on the diet?

Admiring God's Creation...

Which Mr Darcy is the best? I like 'em both, for the record. It's the character as written by Jane Austen that I really like, actually, though these two fine examples of God's creation do a good job in the roles.

I was discussing with a friend the other day our favourite classics (hers is Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy) and I was saying that my daughters are all hooked on Pride and Prejudice too. Indeed they've now also discovered the brilliant Bollywood version, "Bride and Prejudice" and we've been enjoying it too recently.

What I'm now wondering though is whether I'm doing the right thing, as a mother. The thing I like most about P and P, and perhaps to some extent it reflects where I work, is that it's all so NICE. Even the baddies speak like gentlemen and there's no swearing, no violence, no gritty reality at all. But life's not like that. Should I be preparing these girls for the general absence of Mr Darcy's out there, or should I be encouraging them to set the bar high? I don't know.

Dangerous killer on the roads.

I decided to go the scenic route to work today, and killed a poor pheasant which walked out from the hedgerow at precisely the wrong moment. I felt bad. So, since confession's good for the soul I'm now telling the world. (Don't think this means from now on I'll be telling you all my sins though). However, I don't feel so bad about the chicken whose death contributed to my chicken salad sandwich at lunchtime. What a hypocrite I am. Perhaps I'll become a vegetarian.

The Devil's Beatitudes

Here are the "devil's beatitudes":
Blessed are they who are too tired and busy to assemble with the church on Sunday; for they are my best workers.
Blessed are they who are bored with the minister's mannerisms and mistakes; for they get nothing out of the sermon.
Blessed is the church member who expects to be invited to his own church; for he is important to me.
Blessed are they who do not meet with the church on Sunday; for they cause the world to say, "The church is failing."
Blessed are they who are easily offended; for they get angry and quit.
Blessed are they who do not give to carry on God's work and missions; for they are my helpers.
Blessed is he who professes to love God but hates his brother; for he will be with me forever.
Blessed are the trouble-makers; for they shall be called the children of the devil.
Blessed is he who has not time to pray; for he shall be easy prey for me.

Incidentally, the right version, for those of you unfamiliar with it, is as follows:
Matthew 5:3-11 (The Message)

You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
You're blessed when you're content with just who you are—no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.
You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.
You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full,' you find yourselves cared for.
You're blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.
You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.
Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.

Hello Dad I'm In Jail

Hello Dad I'm In Jail by Was Not Was is just great. Watch it if you've never seen it. Weird, was not was it?!

I'm struck by the line, "I like it here". It was probably meant sarcastically but the truth is some of our guys do like jail better than life outside. If you've been in jail for years, being outside is seriously scary and even crossing the road or catching a bus is pretty daunting. Above all, in jail, everyone else is in the same boat as you and there's a sort of "fellowship" there. Yesterday I was talking to an officer about a certain prisoner and we were agreeing it's kind of a shame that when his sentence is over he couldn't just be given a job and allowed to stay! He gets on fine in jail but makes a pig's ear of life outside.

20 years ago I worked as a visiting officer for the Dept of Social Security at the time when under "Care in The Community" institutionalised adults with learning difficulties were being put out of their institutions into flats in the big (and in places wild) council housing estate. Good news for those on the look out for vulnerable people to relieve of their benefit. Some of them perhaps should never have been in an institution but, given that they had been, the transition was tough. Many had the mental age of children and just because they had been taught to shop and cook and clean didn't mean they were going to be happy living by themselves.

Before that I worked in a night shelter/ day centre for single homeless men. One fellow, D, had done really well and was drug free. Aged 34 he was allocated a flat and I was sent off to The Barras in Glasgow to help him spend his DSS grant of £500 (this was before loans came in) on everything he needed for his flat. I said, "Right you definitely need a cooker". "Oh no", says he, "I'll just light a fire". "D, you can't do that, you're on the twelfth floor of a multi-storey block. You must have a cooker". "Okay, but can I light the fire on top of the cooker?" He had lived in children's home followed by List D school (as it was then called) followed by Young Offenders Institution followed by jail followed by the Night Shelter. He was definitely institutionalised. And yet D actually did really well and got on fine, even with his cooker!

Lots of guys (and women) do get on fine, even if they've been institutionalised for a long time but an awful lot don't. I know prisons are overcrowded as it is, but sometimes I just think, you know, can't we just keep this guy and give him a job and a home? I'm not really being serious. Obviously we can't. But, expensive as it is to keep folk in jail, how much more costly in every way not just financial, to have them out wreaking havoc on themselves and others?