Dear Cam and Scott
A bunch of regular life stuff has been
keeping me out of the blogosphere. But I don’t want anything lost from your
archives, so this is to fill you in on what I’ve learnt from the regular life
stuff – the laughter and tragedy and honesty and disappointment and
Lola-going-to-the-vet and miracles and fear and reaching-our-internet-cap and sadness
and hope and endings and beginnings.
Human
nature in the bath and the power of honestly being you
Last week you were both in the bath and
I came in and there was a swamp on the floor and Scott, you were holding a cup
and looking chuffed.
Me (hands on hips): Who did
this?
Scott (pointing to yourself,
pleading guilty): ’Cott.
I approach
for the spanking because pouring water on the floor is a
no-warning-first-offence smackable misdemeanour but –
Scott (lighting quick accusatory finger
points to – ): Cam!
It’s also hard for grownups to be
honest, sometimes. Like, in our cell group we’re sharing our life stories and
it can be awkward and sore to go back to some distant bits. But there’s such
power in turning around and seeing that the struggles have become flares of
grace and that the journey is lit.
I even struggle to be honest with myself
in regular life stuff like redecorating the lounge and worrying what others
will think because maybe I don’t have any style. But just maybe I should back
myself a bit and do what I think is beautiful because our home is a place of
peace where Christ is King and I can trust that God will use it as a refuge
from the crazy world for us and for those he brings to the door.
Sometimes-people-just-don’t-want-to-play-with-you-anymore
and other shattered dreams
There’s a boy in your class, Cam, who is
mean to you. He pulls your shirt and runs away and won’t play with you and for
some reason you desperately want to be his friend. You’re sad and you ask me,
‘Why won’t he become un-mean?’ We’ve tried to draw the hurt from your heart and
to equip you with super-grownup social coping mechanisms and mostly we pray and
pray for God to surround you with some mighty little schoolmates in years
coming. But vasbyt for now, my brave
man. You are growing in all sorts of miraculous ways.
When you were born, Cam, something weird
happened to my heart. I could suddenly rush into other people’s pain too
quickly, too easily. Sometimes I battle to disentangle and get on with living.
That’s also been part of the regular life stuff that has kind of overwhelmed my
creative impulse. Like, in just a few weeks I’ve seen too many casualties with
bleeding wounds from dream shrapnel. Some push you away when you try to stitch
them up. Some can’t stop parts of themselves dying forever. Some are trying to
grieve dead dreams and all I can offer are dead words that don’t help.
The
art of untwisting a sleeping bag and other reasons to go camping with kids
We camped with the Lenhards and Le Roux at
Sondela over the half-term. For me, camping was always the thrill of fires
under the stars and roughing it with ground sheets and gas. But camping with
kids brings a whole range of… fresh experiences. Like splinters and a lot of
dirt and tantrums at the pool and not being able to find anything despite
regimental packing procedures. The gearing-up-to-go and hosing-down-at-home wedges
of the weekend’s pie chart were ridiculously too big. But from a gung-ho
parenting perspective, it was justifiably worth it. Because discovering tent
pegs and termites is part of living a rich life. Plus, we all had a good time. You
played bike-bike and iPad-iPad with Abi and Jo-Jo. Scott, you fell asleep
asking for ‘Animals!’, and ‘Animals!’ was the first word out when you woke.
Cam, you spent dizzying hours of bliss in the pool, confidence and colour
freckling your cheeks. As for us grownups: when you’re doing life together, conversations
over rooibos in the rain sometimes beat cappuccinos in the city.
Salads
and selflessness
Our priceless friend Pam – intrepid
Zimbo with bits of her heart on various continents – came to stay this week.
She reminded us that it’s a privilege to live in the country of your birth and
that there is real trauma in being part of a displaced generation and that every
salad needs fresh lemon juice and basil and that life is hard and choices are
harder but we serve a God of hope. I was proud of you both because you (mostly)
behaved like gentlemen and you loved Pam and included her in your Lego and your
home-space, both of which you protect quite fiercely. (You also broke her
Kindle cover. Not so great.) Pam took over my kitchen – oh happy day! – and
there was bottomless tea for us and whoever rang the doorbell. She was also infinitely
patient in the face of unremitting questioning (Cam) and a raucous dawn routine
(Scott).
That’s about it. I’m celebrating how
regular life stuff is happening today. Cam and Dad are riding bikes in the
cul-de-sac and Scott is watching Noddy. Earlier, you guys destroyed the playroom
(in a good way). Cam, your current imaginary passion is scuba diving. Scott,
you’re into puzzles, and running, and hugging, and Lola. I guess, as regular
life stuff happens, there’s God’s glory in planting
our gardens and working for the peace
and prosperity of the city (Jeremiah 29:4-14).
Thanks for so many cheek kisses these past
weeks.
All my love
Mom
xx
My crazy wonderful colleagues
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