These are the days of Miracle & Wonder!

Greed, and How to Eat Less

I like food.  Under the approving eye of my pseudo-Epicurean wife, I have been moving from the category of 'trencherman' to that of 'connoisseur', but nevertheless, among the Deadly Sins, greed is an issue for me.

And, as with all sins, I don't want to be enslaved to it.

How can I be free?

Don't know about your motives, but I eat for several reasons, including nutrition, enjoyment, communion, escapism ('comfort-eating'), and boredom.  The first three are decent motives, and the last two probably not - eating for the good of the body, the good of the soul, and the good of community is clearly the way to go.  But none of these motives are greed itself.  Greed is the unsated, never-truly-satisfied use of food (or anything) to fill us up, to make us feel whole.  It's a vain pursuit, and commonly (but not always) leads to addiction.  

The Roundhead in me wants to evade greed by chaste pietism and asceticism - mortifying the flesh - while the Cavalier wants to affirm that every good gift is from God, and that to avoid enjoying them is ungratefulness and heresy.  Both are right.

So that's my theology sorted.  But I'm still eating too much.

And it's at this point that I realise that in my right-brained desire to have a thoughtful, contemplative discussion about everything, I've forgotten some basic nuts-and-bolts.  Whilst thinking through the concept of greed, I have omitted the fact that I never set out to eat or drink excessively - I just get nibbly, and one nibble leads to another.  Rather than focus on my fallen, sinful gluttony, I need to go to a physiological level and stop my nibblyness.

These are my resulting conclusions, helping me, in the last few weeks, to eat less:

i. Eat Eggs for Breakfast.
If I choose, say, porridge in the morning, my desire for a little smackerel of something at 11ish is overwhelming.  But if I eat eggs, I don't get nibbly until early-afternoon.  It's to do with the absorption of leptin, but you knew that.

ii. Snack on Meat.
If I open a bag of crisps, I pretty much always finish it, and still feel nibbly afterwards, and reach for something else.  But if I nibble dried meat (I like chorizo myself), this spiral is avoided.

iii. Drink Rather than Eat.
A lot of 'hunger' is actually thirst; so drink.  And drink good stuff: ale, cider, water, wine, tea. 

iv. Avoid moreish stuff.
Biscuits, popcorn, crisps, chips, bombay mix, chocolate. Sidestep that blood-sugar spike etc.etc.

That's where I've got to so far.

Things I Have Enjoyed Today

1. EASTER EGG HUNT FOR ADULTS
For the second year running, I have shared in Easter Sunday with the Gavan family: yes, the lunch was lovely, but the main attraction was always going to be the egg-hunt.

The adults hide stuff around the back garden for the kids to find, and then go into the front garden to hunt down what has been hidden there.  A great tradition.

2. THE SOUND OF WHITE PEOPLE CLAPPING
In my role of worship-leader at church, I chose to start us off this morning by forcing the congregation into a bit of epic, stadium-rock, arms-in-the-air handclapping.  Brilliant stuff, really worked.

Except that within 3 bars, a noticable number had switched from the (gospelly, soulful) off-beat to the (WASP) 1st/3rd beats of the bar.  Oh, white people.

3. HUGO BUSH THE HIP-HOP MONSTER

4. RADIO 5 FOOTBALL COMMENTARY
Safe in the hands of Ian Payne, Graham Taylor, Alan Green & Mike Ingham, a quiet afternoon in football-land is perfect for the peopled-out David.
In the Arsenal-Man City game, Arsenal went 1-0 up with a few minutes left.  Immediately, Alan Green said, "I'm going to watch Mario Balotelli now - he's the sort of player who could lose it in a situation like this."  Literally 45 seconds later, Balotelli gets sent off.  Ah Radio 5, you really are very good.

5. SILENCE
At 5:45am, in an unlit church, my vicar and me sitting in vigil, waiting for the Resurrection and the rising of the Sun.

How to be RICH!

We're off to America (in case you hadn't heard), and that means starting from scratch again: stuffing as many of our favourite books, clothes & Dimitar Berbatov memorabilia into suitcases as we can, and hopping the Pond.

Maria has already gone - 9 days ago - and I have been left  with the job of vacating our flat (I'll be lodging with friends until my visa comes).  One of the great things about moving out of anywhere is the chance to evaluate your possessions; to decide the degree to which your future life and exploits depend on them.  This winnowing process is amplified by the added limitations of transporting those few things with you over an ocean: bookcases, mixing bowls, and musical instruments need not apply.

I finally handed over the keys to our flat yesterday. It's called The Thimble, and is well named: a small, one bed, one bath apartment, with a tiny boxroom and a kitchen-lounge.  Even so, it was far from 'full' - we have not been particularly wealthy of late, and such spare income as we've had has tended to go on the odd 2 for £12 meal at ASKItalian, rather than the accumulation of stuff.

We were kind of hoping to sell as much of our furniture as possible and maybe raise a couple of hundred quid or so, then give away the rest.  Then at church on Sunday, it was suggested to me to ring a fella called Owen (a bit of a local legend) who collects and distributes furniture in our bit of Cornwall.  When I did, Owen said to me:

Yesterday I went to see a lady, to ask what she needed.
When I got there, I saw that she had a plastic garden chair and, well, that was it.

Suddenly, deciding whether to ask £20 or £25 for our sofa didn't seem like a real question at all.  I've been 'poor' ever since I left uni and, with a whole flat's-worth of 'you can't take it with you', became instantaneously rich.

I've known for a while that, in the Bible, the word 'poor' is not used to describe those on low incomes or who don't have much.  Instead, it is used of people who, in order to live, are dependent on support (ie. widows, orphans, the disabled etc.).  I knew that.  But I'd forgotten to make the obvious application: I am rich.

Views from the Office

Sometimes, life can be hard.

For example, I used to get up at 6am to give out Metro newspapers on the streets of Edinburgh, with two pairs of gloves, three pairs of socks, and a whole lot of financial necessity to ward off the bitter cold (and the gloomy commuters).

Contrast: Today my work, supporting people in tertiary education, meant that I spent six hours in Newquay Zoo.

Life wasn't hard today, and I was so thankful I took photos!!

[you're probably wondering what the top one is - it's a Fossa from Madagascar]

When Miracles actually, genuinely HAPPEN

Like most Christians, I believe in miracles - ie. I believe that they exist - although I don't really expect them to actually occur a whole lot (and therefore, I am generally to be found wearing my cynical hat when I get told about one).

But listen to this:

Two or three weeks ago, Maria was asked (by a girl from the exercise class she teaches) if she could pray for a friend: a young guy who had just been told he has two cancerous brain tumours, one completely inoperable.  He was about to start radiotherapy/chemotherapy and so on.

Maria said, 'sure', told me about it, and we prayed.  Probably for a combined total of twenty-five seconds.

And a week ago today, Maria was given the update: the tumours have both completely, miraculously disappeared.  The doctors don't know what to say or think.  They will keep checking on the guy, but he is fine and free to carry on with life.

It's a miracle.

How are Maria & I feeling about this?  Very weird.  We know that God answers prayers - we've seen inexplicable things happen before - but we have prayed for so long for so many things that we have come to expect His answer to be 'no'.  We presume that God won't be interested in what we think would be a good plan.  And therefore we tend to feel distant from Him, because being turned down all the time has that effect, doesn't it?

I am not happy to be in this situation.  I want to be more childlike in my intercession: to ask with faith and hope, but without feeling obliged to explain or understand the results.  I want to trust God more.

DIETS: the cause of all war & suffering on Earth

Maria & I are going Paleo for a month - see here.

Which gives me the perfect excuse for a gratuitous PG Wodehouse quote:

It has sometimes seemed to me (said Mr Mulliner, thoughtfully sipping his hot Scotch and lemon) that to the modern craze for dieting may be attributed all the unhappiness which is afflicting the world today.

Women, of course, are chiefly responsible.  They go in for these slimming systems, their sunny natures become warped, and they work off the resultant venom on their men-folk.  These, looking about them for someone thay can take it out on, pick on the males of the neighbouring country, who themselves are spoiling for a fight because their own wives are on a diet.

Before you know where you are, war has broken out with all its attendant horrors.

[from 'The Juice of an Orange' in Blandings Castle]

Spring

I was out for a walk this morning - probably about 11 miles of Cornwall passed under (or stuck to) my boots.  After about an hour and a half of being oblivious, I started to notice that nature is busy having babies: daffodils (some out, most not), buds appearing on the hawthorn, catkins on the hazel.  As you can see.

Usually we think that Spring begins when leaves start to unfold, but it's not true: the new life of the new season is poking through now, whether or not we spot it.

Theological application: many of the things we have been hoping for, praying for, acheing for have already begun.  They are already here.  Don't be overwhelmed by the absence, keep your eyes open for the presence.

Yeah, but No

A bit of a turnaround.

After being 'in discernment' for 18 months, I found out last Wednesday that, since Maria & I want to spend time living near our family in the States in the not-too-distant future, the Church of England can't sponsor me for ordination training (regardless of whether they think I'm a good candidate or not).

So all our plans have to change.

Just in case you're worried about our consequent mental state, I should add that we're not depressed by this news, even though it isn't what we were hoping for. We're actually feeling very positive, especially since it opens up new possibilities.

[For example, we'll probably be leaving Cornwall and moving across the Pond before too long (I'll look into pursuing ordination from that side, almost certainly), which is exciting because we won't have to wear thermal socks quite so much.]

Sorry if you heard about this in such an impersonal way.

This is what Charleston, our probable future home, looks like from space:

[click for bigger]

Hedge Rowe

I must have eaten 60+ blackberries this morning.  Is this normal for the 2nd week of November?  Nature's generosity seems to know no bounds for me.

Today (Monday) is my day off, so I went for a walk.  Or to be more accurate, a wander: I knew where I was aiming for (home) but allowed myself to discover the route as I went.  The idea is to become an explorer and a frontiersman, within miles from my door.  This was today's amble:

The secret is to let your life be planned enough that you actually get home, but unplanned enough to allow yourself to be surprised and delighted at the things you discover.  For example, today I saw a herd of cows (with their bull) being herded by Range Rover.  Fricking brilliant.  If I had got their 20 seconds earlier, I'd have got it on video.

There is lots of lovely stuff out there if you expect to find it :)

A Theology of Dusty Springfield

This post has two purposes:
i. To make a slightly vulnerable autobiographical confession.
ii. To make more people listen to this song.  It may be the best in all history.

 

Question:  How would you feel if your best friend abruptly stopped talking to you?  And even when you asked them what was up, they still basically blanked you - acknowledging your existence, but not doing a whole lot more?  How would that feel?  Maybe you know already; I do.

My life used to be so so different, for one primary reason: God & I were on good terms.  I would talk to Him, and He would talk back.  I'm not really one for recalling whole conversations, but I distinctly remember being out walking (this was in New Zealand) and God telling me a joke.  We both laughed.

And then it stopped.  It stopped because He stopped; not just stopped talking, but stopped being - as if He withdrew all the tangibles of our relationship, all the 'presentness'.

It was very much a turning-point chapter in my life anyway.  Mid-2006: I had just left NZ, was in America, and Maria & I were in the midst of deciding to relocate our lives to be in the same place together.  So to suddenly go through that (and everything that came after) without my friend/guide/confidant was both weird and hard.  And that's how it's been ever since.

Point 1:  I totally respect God's right to be different to how I want Him to be, and even to change from one 'persona' to another.  As I've said before, He's my King, not my butler.
Point 2:  It hurts, very very much.

Dusty Springfield

[Have you listened to the song yet?  The following will make little sense unless you do ...]

Dusty in Memphis is one of those albums I have intentionally waited before buying - other examples are Astral Weeks, Blonde On Blonde, and Dark Side of the Moon.  Not sure if other people do this, but I do; it's kind of like leaving some of the best bits of the meal to the end rather than gorging yourself straight away.  Anyway, I finally got around to buying it about 6 weeks ago.

I had never heard 'Just One Smile' before, and it instantly stood out for me - a brilliant, brilliant song.  And then, about a fortnight ago, I was listening to it again and realised that I was welling up.  Why?

I don't ask for much; a look, a smile, a touch...

Just one smile - the pain's forgiven

I had tears in my eyes because these words say what I want to say to God.  It's not that I want everything to be exactly as it was (although that'd be nice) but that sometimes, all I long for is a nod or a smile from God to remind me that He still likes me, and that it'll be alright in the end.  I could endure virtually anything then.

26 things I love about Maria

 
1. The Eyes - they were the first thing that grabbed me, and still do.
2. Brain - from theology of glory to football stats.
3. The Goofy Dancing - not that she can't dance properly, but the goofy stuff kills me.
4. Massage Skills - she knows what my neck and shoulders need!
5. Perfectionism - aka 'inability to put up with crap'.


6. Love of Animals - from calves to bunnies to crustacea in rock pools, but especially Buster.
7. The Family #1 - Gary, Stephanie, Paul & Nick.
8. Being Silly Together - dancing in the car, dancing in the kitchen, dancing at a ceilidh ...
9. Americanity - giving me a chance to experience, know, and love the US.
10. Entrepreneurialism - she don't want no job working for the Man ...

11. Tastes and Preferences - see above [Berba + Glee + Single Ladies + Twilight = ?]
12. Musicalness - playing and singing together, in our lounge especially.
13. Grace - have you seen Maria dance/lead an exercise class/do some stretches?
14. Beer - for her, it's strong ale, porter, or nothing.  What a find!
15. Football - verging on idolatry?  Ha.

16. Being Lebanese - best flag in the world? possibly. Most loving people? I should think so.
17. Making up for my weaknesses - the list is long and the gratefulness immense.
18. The Hair - is BEAUTIFUL.  Short, long, straight, curly: all of them.
19. Voice - I got to know Maria via phone/Skype; I fell for her voice completely ...
20. Making Stuff - pottery, silversmithing, knitting, woodwork and many more to follow.

21. The Family #2 - all around the flipping world, from Sitty to Mary Kassis via Najib and Tony.
22. Sun Worship - well, someone had to introduce me to vitamin D, didn't they?
23. Style - Maria makes clothes look good.
24. Cooking - SILKZ.
25. Quality Time - how do we spend so much time together and not get bored or annoyed?
26. Dimitar Berbatov - it's kind of an extra-marital affair we are both involved in :)

 

Hooker is my Homeboy

I've been given 'Being Anglican' to read, and never has a book with such an unpromising title been such a pleasure.  It's basically a survey of the thoughts of people who have made significant contributions to Anglican tradition: William Laud, Josephine Butler, George Herbert etc.  Great stuff.

But Richard Hooker is my favourite (and not just because I've walked past his statue at Exeter Cathedral hundreds of times).  His doctrine of participation; the interplay of scripture, reason and tradition; the steering clear of all claims to infallibility; the concept of tradition as a developing story - it all makes me relax and feel released and encouraged.  Well done him.

a contest I have no chance of winning

Maria & I are presently having our existence complimented by the presence of her brother, Nick Shahid (international tramp extraordinaire).  And seeing as we all had a free day today, a competition was in the offing.

THE CONTEST

Each player gets £10 and, starting at Newquay Car Boot Sale, must turn it into as much money as possible as quickly as possible.  Whoever gets most wins.

[At this point, you may wish to reflect on the fact that Maria & Nick are Lebanese, and therefore genetically incapable of not turning every circumstance into a business opportunity.  My chances of victory are slim.]

FIRST BUYS

Me: 1989 Gameboy with SuperMarioLand
Price: £3 [bartered down from £5]

Nick: Lions rugby shirt (2009 Tour), brand new
Price: £7 [down from £10]

Maria: 3 volume edition of Lord of the Rings, paperback, new and wrapped
Price: £4 [down from £10]

So, who do you think will win?  I know who my money is not on ...

LIVING THE DREAM

I spent this afternoon playing cricket.  We had drinks breaks every 10 overs (due to the INTENSE heat), and our tea-break included bread pudding, scones, sandwiches, ginger beer, chocolate cake etc.  The gorgeous ground has nestled in Perranarworthal for 120 years and Maria came along to sun-bathe and do her knitting.   The fact that one team won and the other one didn't is basically incidental - cricket is more a complex metaphor than a sport in any case - because the truth is, in our quiet way, we were living out the fantasies of countless caged urbanites.

Whenever we tell people we live in Cornwall (eg. last weekend, in SE London and Kent) we are generally greeted with jealous sighs and 'oh lucky you's.  They, doubtless, are remembering halcyon childhood holidays pottering around in rock pools and on bodyboards, or maybe just episodes of Coast or Countryfile.  Living here is not really like that - frankly, it's often difficult, limiting or boring - but there are occasions, like this weekend, when it would be foolish not to stop and recognise the Holy Grail while you're drinking from it.  So many people long for what we have, often working their whole lives in the forlorn hope of maybe someday retiring down here.

Yesterday morning, Maria taught an exercise class while I walked on the beach.  Later, we sat out on the grass in front of Epiphany House eating a celebratory (free) lunch due to our friend's ordination.  Then we went to another fabulous home to eat a cream tea (plus wine, plus cake, plus raffle in which we won some Prosecco) in order to raise money for our friend Georgie working with orphans in Kenya (the fact that the house over-looked a creek on which a 100 year old regatta was taking place is just just by-the-by).  In between we walked in the fields, talked to the horses, and generally communed with creation.

It's idyllic, it's wonderful.  Nature is glorious, the gentle peace is epic, and the food is worth writing lengthy mouth-watering descriptions of.  Not a bad life.  And yet we are also (effectively) homeless, and severely lacking in income; life is often so stressful that we don't know what to do with ourselves.  This little blog-post is an attempt to wallow in the goodness, milking it rather than rushing on to the next important, anxiety-inducing thing.

But why does it make me CRY?

We don't have a TV - it protects us from bad stuff, like watching TV - and so I generally miss out on whatever's fantastically au courant or unmissable or whatever.  And so it is via youtube (or, very occasionally, iPlayer) that I discover what everybody else knows about already.

 


I have never watched a whole episode of Britain's Got Talent, but have managed to discover (all on my own!) Paul Potts, Andrew Johnston, Susan Boyle and all the other ugly ducklings who have come to light.  This morning (through a Facebook link from an American in New Zealand) I watched a song from Korea's Got Talent - Choi Sung Bong doing Nella Fantasia - and cried the whole way through it, just like I cried (and still cry) through Andrew Johnston et al.  Why does that always happen to me?

This is what I think at the moment:

Man judges by outward appearance, but God looks at the heart.  Our society says that looking good is better than being good, so when that deception is shown up for what it is (and in front of the Pop Idol judges, no less) there is a breath of wonder that blows into the room.

Because these are the ugly ducklings - the mobile-phone seller, the bullied choirboy, the middle-aged spinster - who have never been told how good they are, or had the chance to grow into what they could be.  They are the beauty rejected, the hidden treasure, the pearl of great price, and had started to believe the whispers of the Enemy that they are worth no more than a crap job, a dull existence, and contributing little of worth.

And then, there they are - on the stage, being themselves at last.  Rewatch Paul Potts first audition, and he spits out the words.  You can almost see the bile and bitterness, built up over years of being thought of as nothing very much, streaming out of his mouth.  It's an amazing cathartic experience, more punk than punk: spiritual warfare against the Accuser.

Because God knows us, and knows what He's made us to be.  I've always loved the reactions of the loved ones to these performances, because these (the spouses, parents etc.) have probably been the sole, lonely, barely-convinced believer - they have been the voice of God, saying "You're amazing - don't give up."  So when the world notices that their beloved is as brilliant as they have always thought, they almost burst with joy and pride and relief.

And in amongst all that, it just makes me cry - it cuts straight through my tired, cynical brain and fills my heart again.  The glory of God is man fully alive, and I've just seen the Glory.

Poop-Poop!

Glorious, stirring sight! The poetry of motion!
The real way to travel! The only way to travel!
Here today - in next week tomorrow!
Villages skipped, towns and cities jumped - always somebody else's horizon!
O bliss! O poop-poop! O my! O my!

Ah, the famous Toad: he knew a thing or two.  And tomorrow I shall be joining his noble vision, traversing our fine nation by road, and all at the cost of the public purse too!

Explanation: as a shortly-to-become marker of the youth of today's GCSE papers, I have been summoned up to the Midlands for a day's training in how to correctly do a tick (we will be doing the downstroke in the morning, the upstroke in the afternoon).  My expenses (inclusing meals) will be paid, and my wage will be over double my normal.  But that's not the best part ...

I get to drive up my favourite road of all: the Fosse Way.

I LOVE Roman Roads - they are beautiful, cracking to drive on, and join up all the prettiest (ie. pre-industrial) towns in Albion.

The Fosse Way starts near my parents' house (originally it linked Exeter and Lincoln) and will take me all the way to my B&B (in a chicken farm with its own water wheel) just by Leamington Spa.

And on the way I get to pass through some of the pearls of English nomenclature and quaintness: Stow-on-the-Wold, Cirencester, Moreton-in-Marsh, The Shoe, and Bath.

And here is my point: if I went by motorway, I would miss these.  The journey would consume less time, yes, but what are the accumulated riches of the motorway?  Tarmac, Burger King and brisk monotony.  I prefer the Roman way.

what people on Twitter have been giving up for Lent this year

[Click for a larger image]

As you can see, it's an interesting snapshot of (western) humanity.  Apparently, more people are sacrificially giving up 'Religion' and 'Church' than they did last year, whilst 'Jesus', 'Christianity' and 'God' are not being fasted quite so much.  There's probably an interesting point in there somewhere.

Anyway, here is the Top 100 list (inc numbers and ranking change from last year):

1.	Twitter	4297	0
2.	Facebook	4060	0
3.	Chocolate	3185	0
4.	Swearing	2527	+1
5.	Alcohol	2347	-1
6.	Sex	2093	+3
7.	Soda	1959	-1
8.	Lent	1493	-1
9.	Meat	1352	-1
10.	Fast food	1303	0
11.	Sweets	1252	0
12.	Giving up things	778	+7
13.	School	768	+27
14.	Religion	745	+1
15.	Coffee	707	-3
16.	You	675	+6
17.	Social networking	665	+15
18.	Chips	664	+3
19.	Junk food	594	-1
20.	Bread	571	+6
21.	Smoking	555	-4
22.	Candy	541	-8
23.	Charlie Sheen	511	NEW
24.	Work	482	+4
25.	Stuff	467	-2
26.	Catholicism	436	-10
27.	Food	395	+3
28.	Shopping	363	+1
29.	Marijuana	358	+31
30.	Beer	346	-10
31.	Fried food	307	-7
32.	Homework	306	+27
33.	Cheese	297	+4
34.	Cookies	293	+11
35.	Red meat	285	-10
36.	Masturbation	285	+8
37.	Virginity	253	+26
38.	Pancakes	252	+20
39.	Rice	236	-5
40.	Booze	235	+2
41.	Coke	234	-3
42.	Boys	229	+24
43.	Sugar	229	-16
44.	Sobriety	226	+10
45.	Procrastination	226	-10
46.	Nothing	219	+21
47.	Winning	219	NEW
48.	Ice cream	211	-7
49.	Caffeine	203	-16
50.	McDonald’s	195	+27
51.	Church	188	+28
52.	Wine	188	-3
53.	TV	184	-7
54.	Starbucks	183	-15
55.	Texting	182	-12
56.	Liquor	181	-1
57.	Negativity	180	+26
58.	Carbs	179	+10
59.	Christianity	177	-12
60.	Justin Bieber	176	+9
61.	Pizza	175	-11
62.	French fries	159	+2
63.	Me	157	+9
64.	Losing	155	NEW
65.	Men	152	-13
66.	Fizzy drinks	151	NEW
67.	Porn	147	+4
68.	Lint	147	-11
69.	Trophies	144	NEW
70.	Tumblr	144	NEW
71.	Desserts	142	-15
72.	Chicken	140	+15
73.	Pork	139	-3
74.	Cake	132	+8
75.	Tea	127	+19
76.	Sarcasm	127	+14
77.	Diet Coke	119	-16
78.	Laziness	118	-13
79.	Sleep	117	-6
80.	Jesus	115	-4
81.	College	111	NEW
82.	Internet	110	-46
83.	Complaining	108	-9
84.	Breathing	103	NEW
85.	Takeout	98	NEW
86.	Beef	98	-8
87.	People	96	+11
88.	New Year’s resolutions	96	+1
89.	Him	94	-5
90.	Tiger blood	92	NEW
91.	Makeup	91	NEW
92.	Juice	90	-7
93.	Clothes	89	NEW
94.	My phone	88	NEW
95.	God	87	-15
96.	Abstinence	85	-15
97.	Stress	84	NEW
98.	Chipotle	82	NEW
99.	Myspace	81	-48
100.	Eating out	81	-25

RUGBY IS BEST

I'm enjoying Rugby a fair bit just now - not just because England are winning, but that is certainly a part of it.

Sport has always been a pretty big bit of me, starting off with athletics and the Tour de France in the mid-eighties, through years of obsessive football-fandom and the desolation inherent in years of supporting England's worst ever cricket team (1992-1998). 

Then, when I was 16, Saracens moved to nearby Watford and, due to trying to 'build up local support', offered season tickets at £60 for an adult (my Dad) and £30 for me.  Every week we put on our collective fez and watched Philippe Sella, Michael Lynagh, Richard Hill, Francois Pienaar et al.  A proper education.

The centrality of rugby in my world was then established when I moved to NZ and had to put up with being an Englishman in a nation that checks the All Blacks' score before deciding on its mood.  I was there (at 1.30 in the morning) when we won the World Cup.

But anyway, that's all a preambling way of saying 'I love Rugby, and here are some reasons':

- Fat, thin, tall or short, there's room for all in the 1st XV.
- Driving mauls on a wet day.
- Players who are more articulate (after 80mins of hell) than their post-match interviewer.
- Tonga vs Georgia, Argentina vs Australia, Samoa vs Scotland.  Where else can you find these?
- Old clips with Bill McLaren or Cliff Morgan commentating.
- Lions tours.
- Scrums (when they're a proper battle, or when the Aussies are getting battered).
- The little jinky players: Barry John, Jason Robinson, Shane Williams etc.
- 'Ireland's Call' - might be the best national anthem of all, if only it didn't lack a country.
- Ways to skin a cat #1: tries, penalties, conversions, drop-goals, penalty-tries ...
- Ways to skin a cat #2: dominating up front, slick handling, solid set-pieces, diamond-hard defence, kicking for territory, subterfuge in the front-row, pace and power ...

To me, sports like football, basketball or rugby league struggle to get anywhere near the depth and variety of rugby union, and while cricket has variety in spades, they are spread over five days (which is never going to inspire mass-singalongs down the pub).  Plus there is always something gladiatorial and warrior-like seeing mud-covered men nobly wrestling in front of 80,000 people.

see no evil, hear no evil

Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world
to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom?  James 2:5

Today, I met a guy who is both blind and deaf.  I won't say a whole bunch about him - I don't want to abuse his right to privacy etc. - but I'm struck with the privilege of the experience.  I'm really lucky.  Most of us will never meet someone like him; someone for whom the whole range of human normality (especially in terms of communication, building relationships and so on) means so little.  I would call it 'eye-opening' if that didn't show up how even our language is limited to those with a similar 'normal' to me.

So I am grateful, but I am also struck with the need for other people to have this kind of opportunity, or at least to know that it would be an utter privilege if they did have it.

If you want to know more, a good place to start would be to read this, written by my brother-in-law Matt (before he was my brother-in-law) about a similar experience of his.  Click HERE.

An embodiment of the Kiwi spirit

God Defend NZ

Transfer records involving British players from Trevor Francis to Andy Carroll

TREVOR FRANCIS - £1.18m
Birmingham to Nottingham Forest, 1979


STEVE DALEY - £1.43m
Wolves to Man City, 1979


ANDY GRAY - £1.47m
Aston Villa to Wolves, 1979


BRYAN ROBSON - £1.5m
West Brom to Man United, 1981


MARK HUGHES - £2.3m
Man United to Barcelona, 1986


IAN RUSH - £3.2m
Liverpool to Juventus, 1987


CHRIS WADDLE - £4.25m
Tottenham to Marseille, 1989


DAVID PLATT - £5m
Aston Villa to Bari, 1991


PAUL GASCOIGNE - £5.5m
Tottenham to Lazio, 1992


ANDY COLE - £7m
Newcastle to Man United, 1995


STAN COLLYMORE - £8.5m
Nottingham Forest to Liverpool, 1995


ALAN SHEARER - £15m
Blackburn to Newcastle


RIO FERDINAND - £29.1m
Leeds to Man United, 2002


ANDY CARROLL - £35m
Newcastle to Liverpool, 2011

Be Yourself (Only Better)

I just read this:

'New Year's resolutions are shorthand for wanting to be someone else.'

Well, I don't want to be anyone else.  No, I'm not satisfied with where I've got to, but I'm glad to be me.  I hope you can say something similar.  Happy New Year!

Now with God's help I shall become myself.
Søren Kierkegaard

 

 

beating Australia brings us together

Sometimes being English can be hard, especially when living abroad (cos there's always someone to apologise to).  But occasionally, the sons of Albion can stick out their chests (and stiff upper lips and beer-bellies) in pride without guilt.  That's the joy of beating Australia at cricket.

To illustrate, here are some messages from delirious Englishmen spread around the nations, as found on various ball-by-ball commentaries:

John Smith: I am an Englishman living in China.... oh what joy, what bliss just to hear the deafening silence and to read the front page of the Aussie papers in the coming days………

Rod: I'm following the action from Sabah in Malaysia, thats the former British North Borneo for those who don't know. I keep updating every 5 minutes on my phone, so its hard to get much work done.

Dale from Billericay, living in Austin Texas: Well, I don't know which demolition job was more thorough - the English bowling attack or the thirteen family members that we had round for Christmas Dinner!

Geoff Purdy: I am sitting on an oil rig in the Arabian gulf and until this morning bemoaning my lot about having to fly out here on the 23rd of Dec and missing Xmas. Don't care now. 

Dave Foster: I'm an Englishman in Jakarta. Just waiting til we get the lead and then go and meet some of my Oz friends(?) down the pub and give them some stick.

Chris West: Spending Christmas in Maui where 99.99% of the population doesn't have a clue what's going on just 3 time zones away at MCG. Come on England!

Stuart Cornberg, ex-Brummie in Israel: Woke up, looked over at Jerusalem heard the score and went back to bed. My best dreams were not as good as this, checked all possible ways to ensure that that I was alive.

Melanie Clegg: I'm tired, I'm living in a foreign country, and I'm beginning to lose my grasp of the English language.  Here I sit, nearly as far north as you can get in Norway, diligently following OBO while I repair dog harnesses. Difficult to share either joy or despair with a Norwegian, when they don't have the faintest idea about cricket. Here it's all handball. Why make a sport out of a foul?

John Butler: Christmas day in New Delhi: tried Indian port - absolutely disgusting. Tasted like off Vimto. Crawled to the TV at five holding off the urge to vomit - a few hours later I've made the perfect poached eggs. Deep saucepan, water simmering, splash of vinegar, spin the water, as the vortex slows gently drop the egg in, leave for three minutes then pick it out with a spatula and check white is hard yolk is soft. Slam it on toast cracked pepper, a grating of cheese and a generous helping of Aussie wickets. Absolutely divine.

Ed, Essex: Let's face it cricket fans, the best present at Christmas comes right at the end of the day and is most certainly the Boxing Day Test at the MCG.

Richard: Just finished Christmas dinner here in the Cayman Islands and while the rest of the family are watching some film that I have never heard of, I am following the cricket on TMS but I cant help but wonder if anyone knows of a sports bar open in Grand Cayman that I could sneak off to under the pretence of going for an after-dinner walk.

Gerard Ross, in sunny Yorkshire: Best night shift ever.

Tom: Just taken a helicopter flight up to view the Himalayas in Kathmandu. Logged on and saw something even better - Australia all out for 98! Does it get any better than this?

Brian in Siberia: You've got to hand it to Straussy... what a call to put the Aussies in again after getting hammered doing it in the previous Test!

Lee Westwood [via Twitter]: Will somebody please pinch me! I must wake up soon! I knew I shouldn't have eaten all that cheese! 98 all out? Have there been any calls for a Shane Warne comeback yet? It's about that time!

 

what care work has done to/for me

Since moving to Cornwall, my main job has been as a care-worker, supporting a guy with learning difficulties (and various complicating factors).  Apart from the need to find work, the reason I chose to do this was 'to see what it did to me' - I wanted to find out how I would come out of it, what I'd learn about myself etc.etc.

Well, five months on, what has it done to me?

An observation:  There's something in us, in our society, that measures our worth by looking at what we've achieved or contributed.  We meet a new person and ask, "What do you do?"  We discuss our hopes and schemes for future conquests, desperate to succeed and look good.  Great people do great things.

Most believers know (in their heads at least) that God measures value differently - that His love is unconditional and therefore a complete contrast to what I've just described - but we still live burdened by the need to achieve and look good.

When you are working with someone who cannot earn a living, who cannot care for himself, who cannot self-improve, and who, frankly, can be quite annoying, it messes with the success-oriented bits of you, because, since they cannot achieve value, it undermines your quest.  Babies may be entirely dependent too, but they don't threaten us in the same ways, since at least they can contribute cuteness and gradual development.

The guy I work with will probably never be independent, and will probably never become a 'net contributor to society'.  And yet, through all the frustrations and what-have-you, it's been slowly creeping up on me that it doesn't matter: it doesn't define him.  In God's eyes, he would not be more valuable if he'd just won the Ashes and found a cure for cancer - he is already worth more than any money and is precious beyond words.  And he doesn't even have a job - shocking.

I don't think I could have learned this without care work.  The love of God is terrifyingly relentless, and so far above our own.  I can run around trying to be successful and impressive and whatever, but if that's out of some need to earn acceptance, then it's the most ridiculous waste.

Those unable to compete in the Rat Race or achieve religious advancement show us up for the shallow frauds that we are.

Not in the mood for Christmas? Try these ...

Firstly, the angelic Kate Rusby: Here We Come A-Wassailing

Next, the not-exactly-angelic Bob Dylan reads 'Twas The Night Before Christmas'

Some chestnuts roasting on Judy Garland & Mel Torme's open fire:

 And finally, one from me.  I just wrote it today ...