Spring, sparrows and shoes

You know how sometimes in life you think that you've begun to get something sorted out, you're doing better at it, then something comes along to prove to you that actually you aren't as sorted as you'd like to think? Something along the lines of "pride comes before a fall". That's happened to me over the past couple of weeks; just as I start to think that maybe I'm not so bad at this coping thing and at surviving feeling awful day after day, I feel worse than normal and struggle to cope at all. It's not been the best couple of weeks ever, I've had a nasty infection and it's taken it out of me recovering, lots of days of exhaustion and pain and feeling miserable and bored. And days of feeling so tense I cannot relax or get comfortable anywhere or sleep properly. I wish I could say I had borne it all with cheerful stoicism or beautiful and gently inspiring patience, but in reality I am all too human when it comes to these times. There have been tears, grumps, snapping, yelling at God, saying sorry to God quite a lot, misery, self pity and rather a lot of headaches. Thankfully God is very forgiving and understands me better than I do and loves me a very great deal and I am trying to lean on Him and just be with Him and rest and relax.

Hopefully things are looking up now though and it has not all been bad, for a start God is good and loves me a very great deal. For another there are small stirrings that spring is beginning - or to quote an ancient joke from I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again "spring has sprung *boing* [sound effect]". We have miniature daffodils open in a couple of the tubs on the doorstep, crocuses, cyclamen, primroses and miniature irises flowering in the gardens front and back and in various tubs and window boxes. Dad regards them with great pride and is forever calling my attention to the progress of this or that plant.

Meanwhile the birds are keeping things in the garden lively, a constant stream of blue, coal and great tits haunt the feeders, robins sing their hearts out and a pair of blackbirds scavenge on the ground getting rich pickings from under the feeders where food has been dropped. It is amazing to watch the way the birds learn means of finding food from one another - the g

reat tits have been hopping around on the ground picking over the leaves for food and systematically turning them over in just the way the blackbirds do. When they find something they differ from the blackbirds though, in that they pick up the entire leaf, take it to a branch and hold it in their feet, as they usually do with a titbit that needs a bit more work, and peck away at the food on the leaf, finally letting it drop when they are done.

God has answered a very small prayer to do with the birds this week; it's going to sound a little silly that I was praying about this, but anyhow... We have not had any sparrows in the garden for a bit, despite having one here for much of the winter, so I was praying that they would return and on Monday morning, after a horrible weekend, I opened the curtains just as two sparrows flew onto our back fence! They stopped there for a moment before one dropped down to the ground to peck about and they were around for much of the day. It was such a lovely, beautiful encouragement and precious reminder that He does answer prayer and that He can make things happen and bring change in this sad, broken world. Small but exquisite - as I was reading recently in Luke

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Luke 12.6-7

Such are the things that life is made of, the big, the small, the painful and the beautiful.

One last small excitement has been my new shoes, from Cath Kidston - with stars on! I'm not normally a shoe person, in fact I generally hate buying them, but these have stars on, it makes all the difference. Seen here modelled with my latest pair of socks - Duckies, in Trekking 6ply (for those who take an interest in these matters) I would recommend both pattern and yarn.

I hope you all enjoy the unfolding spring.

A granny a day

Helps develop my crochet skills, makes use of bits and pieces from my yarn stash and helps people in Australia who have lost everything in the recent natural disasters: full of win all round. The crochet squares are for crochet designer Sarah London's Crochet a Rainbow project and I urge you if you can to join in with this fun and helpful initiative. Even if you cannot yet crochet it is not that hard to learn (if I can learn you can too!), very relaxing and useful, a great way to play with colour, as much of Sarah London's work shows.

I have pledged myself to make one square a day this month as my charity project for the month. As my stamina for crochet still runs out fairly fast - I've done comparatively little of it and it uses different movements to my usual knitting - I am sticking to the one a day to save doing myself an injury, already it's getting easier to do. To avoid having to sew in hundreds of ends when changing colours I am using Lucy from Attic 24's handy tutorial on crocheting the ends in as you go, which I highly recommend, it's not at all difficult.

So far my squares look rather Christmassy in colour, tomorrow I think I'll dig out some more colours and go for a bit more variety. Get crocheting and bring some more colour into the world!

An inauspicious start to February

Today I reached the point in the crash from going out for dinner on Saturday night with some church friends where I was wishing I'd not gone. At the time I did enjoy myself and was pleased I'd overcome the anxiety about it sufficiently to go, though the meal went on for longer than I expected and involved all the usual stressors like noise and uncomfortable chairs. Now I'm utterly fed up, with it always being the same story, with always having to pay so heavily for so little fun, with myself for letting it get me down, with the world for there being so little sympathy or kindness in it, with myself again for feeling sorry for myself... I could go on, but I won't bore us all to tears.

To compound matters I got stressed about a discussion I was having with some others about sickness, work and whether one should just "tough it out" or stop. It's an area in which I am incredibly sensitive; I loathe that I can't work, I feel guilty about it, all the things I wanted to achieve that are not happening and that may never happen. I tried the "toughing it out" or "pushing myself" approach and did myself terrible damage. So getting into a discussion on the topic on a day when I already felt awful and low, was not the wisest decision. Getting into this discussion on-line, where all nuance of voice, expression and body language - was an even worse decision. Naturally being very physically stressed and unable to relax lead to the inevitable migraine. Mercifully the migraine tablet (once located, in the waste paper basket, to which I had consigned the box thinking it was the empty one), worked its miracle and I feel largely better except for the usual weird aching joints that accompanies them.

So what to learn from this catalogue of misadventure? Not to get into argumentative discussions because I simply do not have the strength to deal with them. To try not to be so over sensitive to every nuance of what someone is saying. That everyone is different, every situation is different, therefore what is right for one person is not necessarily right for another. That I still have a lot of things I need to straighten out. That no person is utterly reliable and that Jesus is still very much the one to turn to and cling to and trust. All the storms of this life seem to blow me in His direction, thankfully. Therefore repentance and receiving His forgiveness, love and understanding awaits and I'll try to learn from my mistakes.

Phew, quite a lot of moaning there, sorry. Got to "talk" to someone though and it has helped getting my thoughts in some sort of order and out of my head, instead of buzzing around inside. I'm going to listen to Ed Reardon's Week now, his curmudgeonly grumpiness will be just right to help me relax before bed!

Now we are (twenty)-six

I turned twenty-six a couple of weeks and I'm still trying to adjust to being a really very adult age. It is the sort of age where one should have one's life beginning to be on track and heading somewhere, career, own place, own life; only I don't. Yet another birthday has come and gone and I'm still here, still sick, still at home, still seemingly going nowhere. Once again I need to look to God and remember that He "knows what He's a-doing of" and that He looks at things differently. Looking to Him, trusting in Him, pressing on to know Him are the things that matter, whether I have an independent life or not and remember that He loves me just as I am.

I also need to return to looking at the small good things of life, the

perspective that can bring sanity and even content to hard times. I was very blessed on my birthday, my mother and sister collaborated to make me a cake and I received many lovely cards and presents and was even sent flowers - via Interflora! My supply of reading matter for the next couple of months is assured, though I have already savoured and enjoyed Henrietta Sees It Through by Joyce Dennys - an utter delight and brilliant evocation of the small things in life, much in the same vein as Jan Struther's Mrs Miniver.

Naturally my haul included knitting related items, my good friend Peppermintpenguin (her ravelry name) sewed me a lovely project bag, and I had several gorgeous knitting books including More Last Minute Knitted Gifts and Alice Starmore's famous Fair Isle book (reprint, not the original). So as you can see, I have very little to complain about really.

While I am twenty-six I must re-read A A Milne's excellent book of verse

Now We Are Six, a book I remember with affection from my childhood - as a passing note I would recommend Milne's writings for adults as well as his renowned Winnie the Pooh books. I can still remember turning six, in pre-prep 1 at school, feeling tremendously grown up and having a lovely party. On that note of nostalgia I shall return to my knitting as I need to get more socks made.

Tum te tum te tum te tum...

This past couple of weeks I have been wallowing in Archers nostalgia following the 60th anniversary episode on the first Sunday of the year, in between incandescent fury at the content of that particular episode, the outcome of which must now be well known. Why Nigel? One of the nicest characters in the programme, I loved episodes with him in, you always knew that he would be up to some fresh plan, full of his latest enthusiasm, be it allotments, wine making or his shire horse. The ineptitude with which the episode was written has only added to the sense of outrage, it was third rate melodrama, or like a bad detective novel in which the average reader can surmise the entire plot within the first chapter. Nigel's death was as meaningless as Grace Archer's death more than fifty years earlier, only she was given the dignity of a decent send off. Having recently listened again to that episode, timed co-incidently for the night ITV started, it was a good, well written piece of drama that crucially rang true in a way that Nigel's accident did not.

Vanessa Whitburn (programme editor) et al have not shown themselves at their best through this entire incident, in the storyline, the writing, the way that actors and listeners have been treated or their feeble attempts to gain listeners through sensationalism. This is The Archers, not Eastenders: no one tunes into The Archers for sensational happenings and unending woe, it is the quiet everyday rhythm of life in the countryside that is so attractive. Phil and Jill competing in the cake baking at the village fete, lambing, harvest, Joe and Eddie Grundie attempting to make a dishonest buck, chat outside the village shop, even Lynda Snell interfering and posing, are the sorts of storylines we love. I am also mystified as to why a programme that attracts more than five million listeners feels a need to employ cheap tricks in an apparent bid to gain listeners. What about the existing listeners, or are we not important?

I'm now aware that I have gone on for a considerable period of time about a radio programme, however, I do feel incredibly strongly about this, not only have I listened since before I can remember, but my father has also listened since before he can remember. My grandparents listened, many of my friends listen; it is a part of my life. The Archers truly matters and "the powers that be" need to remember that they are not just running a radio programme but a national institution that plays an important part in many people's lives.

12000m

A bit over a year ago I registered for a website called knitmeter.com which, as the name suggests, is a tool for recording how much yarn you have knit up over a period of a week, a month or a year. As a bit of fun at the start of this year I decided to see if I could knit 1000 metres a month during this year and yesterday I hit my ultimate target of having knit more than 12000m in 2010 - 12040m to be exact. I may stop using the site though, because at times it made knitting a little bit stressful - worrying that I hadn't hit my "target" for the month, even though the target was utterly meaningless.

So there is one of my plans for the year achieved, if an odd one. My other 'resolution' or aim last year was to knit a pair of socks a month, which I almost achieved - I made 11 socks over the year - though I've still got half a sock on the needles. As of today I have finished the seriously warm knee high socks I started on Christmas day so that should help in the next cold spell.

For 2011 I would like to knit at least one item a month for charity - probably for St Mungo's mainly - and also keep developing design ideas. In non-knitted areas of life I would like to get back on the Weightwatchers waggon, having fallen off in a spectacular fashion over Christmas, and keep living more healthily and losing weight. It would be good to make up the Clothkits bag kit I bought ages ago and generally improve my sewing skills, learn to use my new camera and I would like to keep blogging and keep writing. Otherwise generally keeping on building on the CBT skills I learned earlier in the year and be able to be less at the mercy of my mood, and be more sociable and probably most importantly keep walking closely with Jesus. I pray I can keep pressing on into God, rather than just drifting along, get to know Him better and study His word more, grow as a Christian.

Most of all I'd like to get better, but that's more in the "pipe dream" end of things! I have no idea what the next year will contain or whether I'll manage the things detailed above, I sincerely hope so, but I know that God will be with me through the year and that He will never leave me or forsake me, so that's the important stuff covered.

Merry Christmas!

I'm afraid I've been rather lax on blogging of late, been horribly tired and struggling to keep up with Christmas preparations. There's just so much to do in the run up to Christmas and lots of meeting up with people, though I've been doing less than most people I suspect!

However, now decorations are up, fairy lights that work have been located, cake has been made and iced and presents have been knitted and even wrapped up. I'm sad that I've not been able to make it to church or to do many of the things I'd wanted to do for Christmas or in the run up to Christmas. But the extra time I've had to think has been helpful and has led me to realise that we put far too much pressure on ourselves over Christmas. There exists this mythical "perfect Christmas" that we've seen all over the media, from tv adverts advising shopping at a particular supermarket for "the perfect Christmas" to magazine fronts emblazoned with "top tips for that perfect Christmas you've always dreamed of". However, the truth is that the perfect Christmas has already happened, more than 2000 years ago, in Bethlehem and the main celebrants were a group of shepherds and some "magi from the east". Nothing can ever better that Christmas, prepared with infinite care and yet some apparent glaring omissions (such as hotel bookings) by our gracious, loving Father to bring us the best gift ever. All we are doing is celebrating that this has already happened, marking the occasion, so no pressure. If the gravy is lumpy and the presents held up in the post and the Christmas tree a bit askew, it doesn't matter.

What matters is Emmanuel - God with us, made flesh, coming to save the lost. So have a lovely Christmas, if you want to. I leave with you with John Betjeman's poem Christmas, which puts what I have been trying to say far better than I ever can.

The bells of waiting Advent ring,

The Tortoise stove is lit again

And lamp-oil light across the night

Has caught the streaks of winter rain

In many a stained-glass window sheen

From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.

The holly in the windy hedge

And round the Manor House the yew

Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,

The altar, font and arch and pew,

So that the villagers can say

'The church looks nice' on Christmas Day.

Provincial Public Houses blaze,

Corporation tramcars clang,

On lighted tenements I gaze,

Where paper decorations hang,

And bunting in the red Town Hall

Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'.

And London shops on Christmas Eve

Are strung with silver bells and flowers

As hurrying clerks the City leave

To pigeon-haunted classic towers,

And marbled clouds go scudding by

The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,

And oafish louts remember Mum,

And sleepless children's hearts are glad.

And Christmas-morning bells say 'Come!'

Even to shining ones who dwell

Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true,

This most tremendous tale of all,

Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,

A Baby in an ox's stall ?

The Maker of the stars and sea

Become a Child on earth for me ?

And is it true ? For if it is,

No loving fingers tying strings

Around those tissued fripperies,

The sweet and silly Christmas things,

Bath salts and inexpensive scent

And hideous tie so kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,

No carolling in frosty air,

Nor all the steeple-shaking bells

Can with this single Truth compare -

That God was man in Palestine

And lives today in Bread and Wine.