Band of Brothers

The boys had swords and torches.

They'd discovered that once the door to the walk-in wardrobe in our bedroom was closed, it made the perfect Dark Cave. 

I sat at the computer in my Study just down the hall and listened to the adventure unfolding.

There was thumping and laughing, squealing and shouting.

Deep 'pretend' voices were scheming and plotting how to rid the world of evil.

Every now and then this band of 3 brothers (aka my grandsons) would emerge from the Dark Cave and I’d catch the drift of the adventure that was underway.

I'd smile to myself and keep tapping away at my keyboard.

In and out of the Dark Cave they went, over the bed, under the bed, up and down on the bed. Every now and then they would tear down the hall, and bump and tumble their way down the stairs whooping and declaring war, then they’d return to the Dark Cave.

After a while though I noticed the tone beginning to change.

As they stood in the hallway I overheard, 

“Ohhh… why can’t I be the Good Guy?” (Rome, 4 yrs old)

“Because we can only have one Good guy.” (Zion, 7 yrs old)

“But why can’t it be me?” (Rome)

“Because we need someone to be the Baddie.” (Zion)

“But I’m always the Bad Guy!” (Rome)

“Alright then, Knoxie can be the Bad Guy!” (Zion)

“Yah! Yah!” (Knox, 2 and 1/2yrs old, making sword-swiping noises)

The 2 Good Guys ran into the Dark Cave and slammed the door.

“Let me in!” (Knox)

“Do you know the password?” (Rome)
“What?” (Knox)

“Do you know the password?” (Rome)

“What???”(Knox)

“Do you know the p-a-s-s-w-o-r-d??” (Zion and Rome, yelling)

“What???” (Knox yelling back)

“D-o  y-o-u  k-n-o-w the p-a-s-s-w-o-r-d?!”

Silence.

“Let me in!!!” (Knox yelling extra loudly)

After this exchange the Dark Cave door flung open and Zion declared:

“I know, PA can be the Bad Guy!”

“Yeah!” shouted the other two in unison.

Problem solved, the 3 Good Guys then flew down the stairs in search of Pa yelling:

“Yah! Yah! Yah!” and swiping their swords through the air.

Children.

I love being around children.

Throughout my teaching career, motherhood, and now grandmother-hood, I have never ceased to be amused, and enlightened, by having these little people in my world!

They come in different genders, different shapes and sizes, different talents and abilities, and different personalities.

But they all come with their honesty and unpretentious expectations from life.

I love their perceptions of the world, their curiosity, their unquenchable thirst to know why? how? when?

They are so willing to trust.

They have astounding insight into spiritual truth.

Jesus loved being around children too.

He must have found it so refreshing sometimes – like the time his disciples were arguing as to which of them would get the highest rank in God’s Kingdom.

On this occasion, Jesus took a little child in his arms and said:

                         “I’m telling you once and for all, that unless you return to square one, 
                          and start over like children, you’re not even going to get a look at the 
                          Kingdom, let alone get in.                                                                  
                          Whoever becomes simple and elemental again, like this child, will 
                          rank high in God’s kingdom.” (Matthew 18:2-4 MSG)

Kingdom Life.

Simple and elemental.

Trust. Faith. Honesty. 

Curious. Unpretentious.

Band of Brothers.

Goodies vs Baddies.

Save the world!

Goodies vs Baddie

Pa, with the Band of Brothers

Kingdom Life is an adventure

The Great Basketball Challenge

We all decided to go to the park.

Ross and I needed the walk, our three grandsons needed the space to release their energy, and our daughter and her husband were keen on some exercise. We took a basketball.

We left the house, crossed the road and wandered down the pathway into the park while the boys raced ahead and claimed the basketball court. 

Then the game was on!

When it came to teams, I think it was basically Joel (son-in-law) against the rest of us (actually, them - I was the cheer-squad). 

Which was SO unfair - for the rest of them. Joel stands well over 10ft tall and his wingspan must be several meters in both directions. AND he broke all the rules .. well, that's the way this Nanny saw it from the sideline :)

There was a lot of running, shouting, puffing and panting, and laughing.

Rachel, reliving memories from her High School Basketball days, was amazing with her defence, securing the ball many times, and landing some outstanding goals! Even Pa managed to impress his grandsons (and me) with a few awesome shots.

The boys, Zion, Rome and Knoxie gave the game 100% and just kept up momentum hounding their dad for that ball. But he was too fast, too big, too fit. (and maybe a tad competitive?)

But after a while, the boys' enthusiasm began to wane. There was less laughter, and tears of frustration began to emerge. Little Knoxie wandered off to play on the slide, and few comments like "it's not fair!" and "you cheated!" began to change the tone of play.

And then the game changed.

Joel, after showing his boys how it should be done, now got alongside them to show them it could be done. 
They'd experienced enough failure, now it was time to experience success.

He 'let' them snatch the ball from him, and lifted them up so they could succeed at throwing the ball in the goal. It's amazing how the boys responded  - suddenly there was hope!

A new energy came from somewhere, and the game regained its enthusiasm with shouts of "Yesss!!" as ball after after ball landed through the hoop.  Finally light began to fade and it was time to go home for dinner.

As I looked over my not-so-clear photos later I thought about how much our family basketball game reflected God's heart when it comes to the game of life.

God has specifically designed a life-purpose for each of us, and deposited gifts within us to help us achieve that goal.  He shows us how to play the game, and comes alongside to help us reach our potential.

He loves to watch us 'have a go'. Although He doesn't expect us to get it right every time, He does expect us to develop our gifts and bear fruit from the investment He has deposited in us.

He positions us amongst more experienced people - parents, grandparents, pastors, teachers, friends - so we can learn from those who have gone before. 

And He places us amongst peers - our  family, the Church - so that we can learn the value of teamwork, and experience the exhilaration of living for a cause greater than ourselves.

Family times.

Life lessons

Purpose.

Success.

"Stories we have heard from our fathers, counsel we learned at our mother's knee.
We're not keeping this to ourselves,
we're passing it along to the next generation -
God's fame and fortune, the marvellous things He has done."
(Psalm 78)

To Thelma, from George

      

The Mark Twain Birthday Book that sits amongst my collection of old and treasured books, once belonged to my great grandmother, Ellen Hayward.

This little book proved useful to my great grandmother for remembering birthdays of family and friends, and also for recording family weddings and deaths, and the occasional interesting family event. After Ellen died, her daughter Doris, my grandmother, inherited this little book and added to the record of our family history from her generation. My mother has also added her contributions and handed me the book a few years ago. Likewise, I continue to add to the family record.

I cherish this little book. Every now and then I take it off the shelf, make myself comfy on my lounge with a cuppa, and pour over its pages. Reading through the ebb and flow of generations of my family's lives  always evokes something deep within me.

It's a sense of belonging, a sense of having been passed the family baton, and a desire to play my part well in running this family race in my generation. 

The pages of The Mark Twain Birthday Book are now discoloured and stained with age, and some are no longer attached to the binding. Although in places the ink is fading, the beautiful handwriting is still visible, reminding me of an earlier age when life was not so rushed, and penmanship was a valued craft. 

Slipped in between its pages are yellowed newspaper cuttings. 
There are records of weddings - 
                         "... the bride was given away by her father and wore a white mousseline 
                          de soire, trimmed with lace and insertion, and an embroidered tulle veil
                          arranged over a coronet wreath of orange blossoms ..." (19 Sept, 1900)
Of births - 
                        " HAYWARD - April 20,1906, to the wife of George W. Hayward, Mildura,
                          Elswick St., a daughter, Thelma Jean." 
Of deaths - 
                        "HAYWARD, Ellen, November 3, 1954, widow of the late George W. Hayward,
                          mother of... grandmother of ... and great grandmother of ...... and Julie.."

One newspaper clipping dated 1944 relating to my uncle is headed "U.S. Awards to Australians", and reads :
                        "The War Dept. has announced the award of the Legion of Merit to six 
                         Australians for exceptionally meritorious conduct".

Amongst this memorabilia there is one very special sheet of notepaper that I delicately open every time and it always moves me to tears. 

The edges are frayed in places and the folds deeply imprinted. This page has been opened and closed many times since it was written. There is a poem on the page. Handwritten. The handwriting is beautiful and the author has taken special care in writing each word, spacing them just so. The ink is smudged in places hinting that many tears have fallen on these words over the years.

The poem begins, To Thelma and concludes with from George. 
Thelma is the daughter born to my great grandmother in 1906, and George is her brother. Thelma was married to Alan and they lived in a little cottage in Leura, in the Blue Mountains, NSW. They loved their little home, 'Birdswood Cottage', with its beautiful garden that they spent hours creating together. Although they had been married for many years they had no children. 
Thelma's life changed forever the day her beloved Alan died. It seems George was moved deeply by his sister's grief, and put pen to paper and wrote her this beautiful poem.

                               To Thelma,

                               When sunlight brightened your garden,
                               With your lover hand in hand,
                               Came peace and love to this garden,
                               In a world that seemed so grand.
                               Now all alone in this garden
                               As the petals have left the rose,
                               The sigh of the wind seems to whisper
                               Like the voice of the one you chose.

                               You must live again in that garden,
                               With flowers so sweet and rare
                               Let thoughts be full of its beauty
                               And the love you had to share.
                               The birds may be hushed in the garden,
                               And the shadows near sunset fall,
                               With light and joy at the dawning  
                               Come memories that are shared by all.

                               The birds will awake in your garden, 
                               And their melody tune to the breeze.
                               His presence will ever be near you,
                               In the quiet of the murmuring trees.
                               He will come again in the moonlight
                               And gently press your hand,
                               For he's just ahead in the gloaming
                               Of that far eternal strand.

                                                                  From George


Beautiful - isn't it.

And isn't it amazing that lives that were lived generations ago, still reach out and impact those of us who follow.

There is a verse in the Bible that I have memorised.

"When David had served God's purpose in his generation, he fell asleep." (Acts 13:36)

I have memorised this verse because I realise that God has given me a purpose in my generation and I want to be sure to fulfil it. 

One day my children will inherit the Mark Twain Birthday Book, and continue to write our family history within its pages.

I want to be vigilant in sowing good seeds today so that the legacy of my life will be such that their generation, and those following, will enjoy great blessing and be positioned to take all the remarkable opportunities that will arise for them to fulfil their purpose in their own generation. 

To Thelma, from George

'Birdswood Cottage' Leura

Thelma and Alan, with my young mother, Enid.

Solitude, Our Long Lost Friend

I have an old suitcase. 

It’s battered, but loved.

It’s been with me since the beginning, travelled many roads with me, and it’s the keeper of my experiences. 

It lives in the attic of my memory, and I visit it often. I can’t resist the invitation to climb those familiar stairs, turn the key in that old lock, and fossick through bygone days.

I’d like to take you there today.

You've been on my mind.
I've had a stirring in my spirit these past few days, and I need to find some images, some recollections of the past. There’s something I want to show you, snapshots of experience.

Come. Sit for a while.

Ah, here’s one.

That’s me, 18 years old, walking late at night along a foggy street. Those street lamps are glowing like eerie sentinels and it's cold. Winter. I’m accompanied only by the sound of my own footsteps. I feel a little nervous being on my own, but not so much that I hurry. I'm enjoying this aloneness. Solitude allows me to contemplate the future.

Here I am sitting on the deck of Triple 888, watching stars blink out their messages in secret code, listening to the gentle, rhythmic slapping of the sea against the hull. The sea is so vast, the sky so infinite, and I am just a speck. This experience was such an unexpected and timely gift. We hardly knew the man but he offered us 3 beautiful days on his luxurious $4 million boat, complete with captain and hostess, and so we've set sail around the Whitsunday Islands. I’m loving the isolation. Solitude refreshes my soul.

That's me standing at the window of an old mountain cottage staring at all those incredibly beautiful leaves drifting down, settling on the mossy rocks strewn across the garden. Autumn has always been my favourite season. The sunlight is blinking through skeleton branches, and I feel its warmth on my face. It’s refreshingly chilly outside, but so cosy inside. Ross has just got the fire going and it’s crackling, and hissing. You can see my journal there, on the window seat, and my hot chocolate on the table sending up smoke signals. This secluded moment of Solitude is offering me time to reflect on decisions that need to be made.

And here’s another Autumn, about nine years ago.

That gorgeous lake – with the stunning trees lining it, is Lake Okareka, in New Zealand. Our newly married son Ben and his wife Bec, have organized this beautiful weekend for the 4 of us. They have moved to NZ to take up Youth ministry, and they’re keen to have us see their new world. I sit at this window seat early each morning and bask in the love we have for each other, and find that my mother heart is beginning to refocus - less on what I have lost, more on what I have gained. Solitude convinces me that this ‘empty nest’ stage of life won’t be so bad after all.

This memory is very old. I'm sitting in a field at night. It was such a clear night. You can see the moonlight casting shadows around me. And the stars! So many stars! I once heard someone describe a star-studded sky as being holes in the floor of Heaven… I love that! I can sense the descending dew dampening my hair, and I can hear the rustling sounds of grazing cattle. This experience of isolation helps me re-evaluate my purpose in the scheme of things. Solitude is allowing me to enjoy where I am in life right now and remember that Heaven is my home, and my time on earth is precious.

There’s many pictures like this one in this old suitcase. It’s 2am and I’ve just made myself a cup of tea. My journal and Bible are there on the table. This is my favourite time of day. It was hard to keep this daily appointment at first, but after a while I found I wouldn’t miss it for the world. My children are young in this season, and I’m teaching fulltime, and this is the one  hour every day that I know is completely mine. This Solitude refreshes my soul, keeps me intimately connected to Jesus, my source of life. The gospel writer, Luke told me, "At daybreak Jesus went out to a solitary place", and again, "Jesus often withdrew to lonely places to pray". Jesus understood the value of solitude amidst the constant pressures of life.

And this one … another early morning snapshot.

It’s about 3am, and I’m lying on Rachel’s couch. Wow! What a day it’s been. My daughter Rachel has just had an emergency caesarian, and my first grandchild Zion has been born 9 weeks early. I’ve flown down from Qld a couple of days ago. Rachel’s husband Joel, and I have just returned from the hospital. We were not allowed to spend time with her because she was so ill. And Zion has been placed in ICU. Lying on this couch, in the early hours of this morning, alone with all manner of emotions vying for my attention, there is a moment, a split second, when a peace, a supernatural peace, washes over me. In that moment I know everything is OK. This Solitude silences the fears and gives me Godly perspective.

Oh.... Is that the time?

I could stay here for hours, but I know you have plans. Seems we need to close this old suitcase. Appointments are calling, people waiting, things to be done...

You’re probably wondering why I brought you here.

Well…

I've noticed you’ve been busy lately.

Really busy.

You’ve been doing so many amazing things - getting through the relentless, mundane, every-day pages of life, planning, solving problems, caring for others, meeting challenges, moving mountains ...

And now you are spent.

You’ve been giving, chasing, working, doing, doing…

And you’re struggling to stay on top of it all.

You’re running on empty.

Your soul is weary.

You need a taste of Solitude.

You need to find an empty street, a boat, an open field, an Autumn window, a comfy couch, an alarm clock…

You need Solitude.

“I don’t have the time", you say?

The good news is - there actually IS time for Solitude.

There is.

It’s not that hard ... try it.

Turn off the laptop, close the lid … and walk away.

Leave the ipod on the table, and walk around the block.

Try walking from the car into (and around) the shopping centre with the phone switched off and in your pocket.

Turn off the TV. Just sit.

Find a park.

Schedule a Saturday to go to the country, or to take the ferry around the harbour,

Keep the car radio off for a week and drive to work in silence.

Say no (politely) to that invitation, and that request.

Set that alarm – trust me, that 1 hour, in the middle of the night, when no one else is vying for your attention, will become addictive.

It’s just a matter of being intentional.

Making that choice to keep the Inner You healthy. 

Give yourself time and space to think, analyse, dream, create, answer the nagging questions, make that decision, or simply let go of the pressure and relax, refresh, refocus…

You will be surprised just how many opportunities there are in your day to catch a slice of solitude!

Don’t think of Solitude as a luxury. Consider it a necessity.

It's time to live a more balanced life, perhaps become acquainted with more of that unlived life within you.

It's time to become reacquainted with your old friend.

The Masked Crusader

This morning my 2 yr old grandson, Knoxie, came to me and asked for my help. 
He was trying to put a mask on his face. Knoxie's toybox has all manner of superhero masks, but this wasn't one of them. This morning Knox had found a different kind of mask to wear. 

It was one of those masks you are given on aeroplanes to help you sleep. He had the right idea about placing this mask across his face, but he just couldn't manage to get the elastic bands over his forehead and positioned around the back of his head. 

So I bent down and helped out.

"There you go!" I said as I stood up.

Knoxie turned around, poised to walk off down the hall.

"You can't walk around with that on Knoxie," I said, You'll bump into something."

"No, Nanny", was his response as he set off down the hall.

It came as no surprise that about 5 seconds later I heard - THUMP!

Followed by -  "WAHhhhh...."
The Masked Crusader had hit the wall.

I found him sitting on the floor in tears, still masked. I picked him up, hugged him and repeated my earlier advice, "Knoxie, you can't walk around with that mask on. You'll bump into something."

Taking the mask off his poor little head, I put him down on the floor and looked at the egg that had appeared on his forehead. 

Still sniffling, he took the mask out of my hand and attempted to put it back on, once again asking my help.

So I obliged, repeating the same warning, with added emphasis.

"Now don't walk around Knoxie or you'll bump into something again."

"No Nanny," came the reply, again.

Off he went. Before I could stop him he tripped over the pram which was lying in the hall.

And this time he cried even louder. One of those I'm seriously hurt  cries. I went over and picked him up. My poor little masked crusader cried like his heart would break. He buried his little face (still masked) into my neck and sobbed. 

I felt his pain. 
Tears welled up in my own eyes ... but I'm rather ashamed to say at this point that the tears flowing from my eyes were not the result of empathy. Rather they were caused by a desperate attempt to stifle an incredibly irresistible urge to laugh hysterically. 
Heartless grandmother.

I removed the mask and examined the damage. Not only did Knoxie have an egg on his forehead, he now had one across his eyebrow to match. And a cut on his eyelid.

We went to the freezer, I got some ice, put it in a cloth and applied it to his eye. We then sat on the lounge while he calmed down and watched the end of Playschool.

After a few minutes, deciding  that eating the ice was a better option than holding it on his head, he jumped down from my lap and set off, maskless, to play something else.

So funny, yet so sad.

Knoxie wanted so badly to wear that mask and to do all the things the masked action heroes do in the cartoons his big brothers watch on TV.

He just didn't understand what I understood. And he decided not to heed my advice.
He couldn't see the relationship between being masked and the pain which he was bound to experience in the very near future. His lack of experience and understanding created a lack of foresight. He was setting himself up for failure. His noble intentions to save the world were thwarted by his failure to listen to sound advice! Twice.

Knoxie, the Masked Crusader, reminded me later in the day of how easy it is for me to be lacking in foresight. It's possible for me to make wrong choices in life simply through lack of knowledge and experience. It's possible to ignore warnings or advice because my desire to reach that goal, to fulfil that dream is more important to me than the preparation of the foundations that will be needed to support it, or of my understanding of the cost involved. How dangerous is it to wander through life wearing a mask of ignorance!

I'm blessed to have wise friends and family members who are willing to impart into my life from their wealth of experience and knowledge.  
But what's an even more important source of wisdom to me is the Word of God, the Bible. This provides both the foundation and the framework for every aspect of my life. I'm committed to studying it continually so that I don't make the same mistake Knoxie did -  bumping my way through life sustaining unnecessary injuries.
I want to be able to see clearly as I move forward on my crusade through life to save the world!