Good intentions

I'm running late, Lord.

A day or two behind schedule. I've been ill and I'm not keeping up very well. 

But here I am. 

Shrove Tuesday this year was a bit of an effort, if the truth be known.  The children wanted pancakes (because it's Pancake Day, not because they particularly like them) and I was keen to do the talk about why Pancake Day and Ash Wednesday and what Lent is all about, not that I do it particularly well, I think).  So I ate paracetamol and ibuprofen and cough medicine and inhaled menthol and decongestant sniffy things and there I was with my frying pan and milk and flour and a box of eggs. 

I love making pancakes. I'm sure that's part of my motivation too, but it's not as noble as the one I mentioned first. Both are true. 

I love the way that the pan has to be so hot - almost smoking; and then I love the noise that the batter makes as it sizzles into the pan. I love the twisty turny manoeuvre that you have to do with your wrist tilting the pan to make the small, thick puddle of batter spread out into a large, thin one, while keeping it's shape. I love the way the edges rise slightly to let you into the secret that it's time to flip and I love the delight on the children's faces as it lands again. I love that one side is swirly and the other is spotty. I love that the best filling is lemon and sugar despite everyone's attempts to make it more sophisticated. 

Miraculously, I had lemons, even though I haven't been shopping for days. 

So we ate our pancakes (or played with them) and we talked about Lent and I did my best to explain but I suspect not much of it penetrated the minds of a six and four-year-old who were intrigued with the proximity of Easter. 

The idea of giving something up for Lent certainly seemed to capture their imaginations, however. 

Elizabeth has decided (and persuaded Katy) that they are going to give up for Lent:

• Chocolate, sweets and all food that has no nutritional value
• Being mean to each other
• Forgetting their manners

Forgive me if I'm a tad sceptical. 

Touched, but sceptical. 

I suspect that my daughters have bitten off more than they can chew. Don't you? In a manner which I hope was encouraging and appreciative and approving and nurturing I suggested that perhaps just one thing, one achievable thing, might be a better bet than three whopping resolutions,  but it fell on deaf ears. They were set. 

How much nicer was an Easter Egg going to taste if they had fasted from chocolate for the whole forty days? I agreed that it would indeed. 

And how much happier would they be if they were nice to each other instead of being mean and hurty?  Of course, how could I disagree?  

And how much happier would I be if they were polite and well-mannered for the next forty days?  Indeed. And less naggy. 

Their faces were alight with good intentions. At that moment they were ready to take on the world. How could I dissuade them? Should I have tried? 

So they are off. Ships in full sail. Rocks a-waiting just offshore.

I love them. Maybe some people's six and four-year-olds are more tuned into Lent and grasp the concept better than mine; I don't know. Perhaps I haven't been consistent in my explanations - or my modelling of appropriate Lenten behaviour - over the years. Still, I have to start somewhere. 

Nobody asked me what I was doing for Lent. 

I've had trouble deciding, to be honest. Last year I gave up Facebook for Lent and I rediscovered lots of time, some of which I gave back to you, didn't I? (Logging off for Lent) It was a humbling experience. I learned a lot. This year the same thing doesn't jump at me as it did last year when I knew from the moment someone suggested it that I had to give it a go. So I've been searching.

I've decided to do something, rather than not do something. I'm feeling poorly and vulnerable and not very brave so I wanted to make it small, achievable and meaningful. Something that I had an outside chance of managing. 

I'm going to write in my prayer diary every day. Each day I'm going to write something positive from that day. It might be a short thing - a list, or it might turn into a prayer. It's like half the Examen; the life-affirming half. For someone like me who tends to the negative, the pessimistic, it should be good for me. 

I am so poor at a regular prayer time that I toyed with saying that I would make sure I had a time with you every day, but I haven't really solved the problem of when and where to find peace each day with any sense of regularity or rhythm. I have resolved this so many times over the past year or so that I feared that it would simply be a meaningless echo until I find the thing that's missing (discipline? energy? insight?)  that means I can do it. So my aim got smaller and that's what I came up with.

I will visit my prayer diary each day and tell you what the best thing of the day has been. 

With your help, I will.  Without it, I'm incapable of even the little things.

I shall try to steer my girls away from the inevitable shipwreck and when it happens I shall preach never mind, let's try again (maybe just with the chocolate?). When my own personal shipwreck happens, I will climb back on the horse straight away (now there's a lovely mixed metaphor) and try again. 

I am emotionally and physically frail at the moment. I feel as if I'm not capable of much. 

Bless our little attempts, Father. Even those destined for failure. Hold my little girls close to you, please. Give me the words to be much better at telling them about you. 

As Lent starts, Lord God, give me your hand to lift me out of this place of ill health and inertia and claw my way up through the low cloud to a place where I can see a bit more clearly. 

I know from experience that when I manage to give you just a little, you give me so very much. Bless my attempt to open my hands this Lent, Lord. 

Prepare my heart for Easter. 

Pancakes and dancing bears

Oops.


Lord, I'm regularly unsure what day of the week it is but today I nearly missed a big one.  It was brought to my attention today that it was Shrove Tuesday, and so, quickly putting two and two together in that quicksilver-like manner to which you are accustomed, God, I realised that tomorrow must be Ash Wednesday, which did ring a bell as there's an Ash Wednesday service at Church tomorrow so that must be why. Lent is about to begin.  Of which more later...


So, following on from the realisation that today was Shrove Tuesday came the heart stopping moment when I realised that I had eggs, flour and milk but no lemons.  We all know that pancakes are impossible without lemons, or at least one of those squeezy ones, as a pancake with any other filling but lemon and sugar is not a Real Pancake at all.  To those who put golden syrup or jam or guacamole on a pancake, I say you're just plain wrong.


So, the local shop happily supplied a squeezy lemon and pancakes were made.  How wonderful was it to toss a pancake in a frying pan to cheers from two small girls  (who then went on to add sugar and golden syrup to their pancakes, mess around with them for ten minutes and then run away to play with Buzz Lightyear).  


I love how the girls can exhibit such joy at such simple things. It reminds me to look for pleasure and delight in everyday things.  Today I could very easily have not bothered with pancakes as it seemed a lot of trouble, though it wasn't me who trekked to the shop for the lemon (thankyou Mum).  But Lizzie and Katy, despite clearly not actually wanting to eat the pancakes, were full of delight at the cooking and tossing of them.  It made me smile. 


And then it made me eat the pancakes.


It was the same on Saturday as we went to Brewster Bear's for Katy's fourth birthday party.  A group of friends and she clambered about on the soft play, did pass the parcel (Katy won!  Imagine the chance of that! She won a pair of Brewster Bear socks that she has barely had off since) and then they had a meal (I turned a blind eye to the nutritional content since it was Brewster Bear). Little Kate got to sit at the head of the table and wear an immense crown made of balloons twisted into a hat shape and she was made up. The Bear himself made an appearance with a birthday cake after the meal and the little ones queued up for a hug from him.


It was a woman in a bear suit.  Or a smallish man.  Though the mannerisms were decidedly feminine. But anyway, whoever it was did a great job dancing, making the children laugh and hugging them in turn.  My two girls were transfixed and entertained and just loved Brewster Bear.  I don't know where they get it from; I would have run a mile from someone in a bear suit when I was four and am not that disinhibited four decades later.  But they embraced it.  They hugged and laughed and jumped about and had a lovely lovely time.


You once told it to us in no uncertain terms. You stood with some children and said:


'The kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these'.  
Matthew 19:14


Just because I am grown up doesn't mean I have all the answers. Sometimes the exact reverse is true. 


There are many ways that my little girls can show me what's what in this life and their capacity for innocent joy is one of them.  


I'm far too cynical. I'm doubtful and suspicious and self conscious and scathing and sarcastic where they are open and accepting and honest and straightforward.  I look for the catch when they just see the wonder.  


They wanted to make pancakes!  
They wanted me to toss them!  
They wanted to smother them in sugar!  


I, on the other hand, wanted to leave  the kitchen clean and tidy and not smelling of frying and make a cup of coffee and sit and nurse my poorly eye and maybe have a quiet surf on the internet....


But they were right. It was fun.


I want to see the joy in life and stop seeing the fly in the ointment all the time.  Make pancakes and throw them in the air.  Cuddle Brewster Bear. Dress up as Buzz Lightyear.  OK, maybe not the last one.  Or the Brewster Bear one, actually.  See?  There I go again.


You know what I mean.  Its the half full/half empty thing again, but with a new dimension.  


Joy.  


Not just a wry smile or an arched eyebrow. I just want to be the sort of person who can relish life, not groan under the weight of it. 


May it be a long time before my children grow out of their innocent capacity to make fun. 


So show me, Father God. Show me the pancake tossing moments in each day.  Give me the grace and the energy to laugh at things, to join in and celebrate what needs celebrating. No, more than that.  To find things to celebrate. Because life is a gift that you gave to me to enjoy, and to trudge through life with seriousness and a furrowed brow all the time is to fail to grasp something that is beautiful and full of surprise and wonder and brilliance.  


And that would be a real waste.