What is a Christian?

"So you're a Christian?"

That is a question I am sometimes asked, followed by people stepping back as though I am going to eat them alive. Once many years ago I gave a lift to a colleague at my new school in the pouring rain. She gratefully climbed into the car and then thanked me profusely whilst adding that she was so surprised that I would offer her a lift. I was thoroughly bewildered. Even more so when she told me why. She had announced that day that she was to have a lovely baby. This, it seems, was why she thought I would not let her into my car. "Well I'm pregnant and not married - and you're a Christian" she said. I really could not believe that anyone could think I would be such a judgemental prig. Later she often laughed about it and said "Well you're not exactly a normal Christian are you?"

Which brings me to the question I am asking in this blog. What is a Christian? We once had a vicar who gave a sermon about this and informed us that if he asked everyone in the church he would not get the same answer twice. I really don't think he would. So if we are all so different then why do we get the same label? Probably because, as with everything, it's only the negative side of things that gets the publicity and is then classed as 'the norm'. I don't think I can ever be accused of fitting anyone's 'norm' in anything.

So today I am going to explain what being a Christian means to me. You can read, find out more and then at least choose to avoid me with the truth rather than an imagined idea of who I am.

Well first of all I believe that a Christian is a follower of Christ's teachings - or at least what his friends remembered and wrote down about his teachings. From what I read this is based on tolerance, forgiveness, understanding and, before you start to have a go at others, accepting that you're not so great yourself! So I will not judge you,I have no right, because I have made plenty of mistakes of my own and am sure to make plenty more. I believe that we are all here to help and support each other wherever possible. I don't manage to get that right always but I try my best. It's all I can do.

So do I believe all that is written in the Bible? I am afraid that I do not. The Bible was written by humans, simple fallible humans, making sense of the world as  best they could.  As with everyone I choose to follow the parts of the Bible that speak to me and that I feel make me a better human being - there are a lot of those. I am an evolutionist, rooted in scientific fact and I am afraid that I do not believe in the virgin birth, I believe the resurrection was probably because medical standards then could not determine a death as we can now. This may shock many other Christians but to me this does not make him any less of a person whose teachings are worth following. He preached about ways of living that I still believe to be right today. Yes, he was called the son of God but he taught all to call God Father so I don't think it lessens my faith if I believe him to be just a wonderful human. Yes I still feel happy accepting the Trinity - I follow the Father, the teachings of Jesus and I sure get a lot of help from somewhere so I count that as the Holy Spirit giving a little help.

I also believe that Jesus would have taught far more acceptance than my Church allows today. Don't tell me that there were no women followers or that he would have let gay people be punished etc because I do not believe this to be the case. His story was written by friends who had watched their leader put to death in the most horrific way. I am sure that if I was trying to spread his teachings then that I would have been careful what I wrote too. The truth is that we do not know but I try hard to love my neighbour as myself and I don't believe that should have a lot of exceptions added.

So what about God? Do I believe in an invisible, all seeing being who answers prayers? Yes, I do. Do I believe that he/she is full of wrath and judgement? No, I do not. I believe him/her to be a loving God. And, before you ask, no I cannot explain all the suffering in the world and, yes, I do get very angry about it all very often but that doesn't stop me believing or praying. I am sorry if this makes you feel uneasy but it is just the way I am. Do I believe that only Christian prayers are answered? No I do not. I believe that we all pray to the same Deity just in different guises.

So, that is what being a Christian means to me.  Now, if you still choose to avoid me, at least you are doing it knowing who I am and I respect your decision.

Make Time For Yourself

I often complain that the world is too fast, that businesses rush their staff around the country and the world and work doesn't allow for family time - that everything is just too fast and this is leading to stress and anxiety. Just recently I realised that I am as guilty of that as everyone else. My husband often tells me to just sit down and read a book and stop bustling about, stop volunteering for things, stop trying to do everything perfectly. I say that I have to complete the day's tasks and still feel a failure - Why? Because it is impossible to achieve perfection - in anything, and why would we want to?

My mother had a saying - 'The Dust Will Be There Tomorrow' - she was right. I get stressed and worried that everything isn't getting done. When what doesn't get done can be done later. This year I shall live by my Dad's phrase 'A house should be clean enough to be healthy and messy enough to be home.'

A big clear out of books and DVDs will help ease the work and restock the charity shops. There is decorating to be done but it will be done in a paced manner not charged at in the first month.

There will be more time allocated for walks and cycling. I love doing these things but have become house based and social media addicted. I shall get out more this year and breathe fresh air. I stress that our teenager has hit the 'don't get me out of bed before 3' stage. She is nearly 18 and doesn't have to come with me. If she doesn't want to get up, then she can stay, just like every kid her age around the country. Hills, woods, moors and coast - here I come.

There will be more time for my tai chi and zhan zhuang workouts, So many days I have missed practice because 'there isn't time anymore' When there is time I am calmer, I accomplish more and realise that a day that starts with a workout is easier. A world of relaxation and strength awaits.

I shall be spending much more time in my garden from now onwards. I love my garden. It is one of the most relaxing places there is, I love working there and I have some very big plans for it this year. I am really looking forward to summer tea in my new masterpiece.

On days when I am indoors there will be more time for reading, music and enjoying time with my family. The children grow so quickly I want to treasure every moment. The time with my husband when he is not at work is to be cherished and I intend to do just that. Cherish them all.

So, the New Year will not be filled with just housework, though that needs to be done. I shall be saying no more often when asked to do things. I'll still be walking the dog, going to football and martial arts classes but I shall be spacing everything else out and ensuring plenty of time for meditation, relaxation, and, of course, visits to my beautiful beach.

In short I have woken up and smelled the daisies (my favourite flower), realised that I have let my life become too busy and too fast, which is stressful and not good for my family or myself. I am taking time for me this year and that will mean extra time for my lovely family - and, hopefully, a much calmer wife and mother.

A Happy New Year to you all. Take time to slow down your lives a little and make some time for yourselves - you are worth it and, if you are happier, then everybody wins.

My Life As An Olympic Swimmer

Swimming has always come naturally to our family. No wait a minute, swimming has never come naturally to our family. My mother, to the day she died, never learned to swim. It wasn't her fault. She attended swimming lessons with her school. She went every single week. But she also felt the cold more than most. She would get into the pool and the instructor would give out instructions to the class. By this time my mother would have turned blue and would be ordered out of the pool. This was the case week after week and so my mother left school never having learned to swim.

Over the years she developed a, I suppose in her case healthy, fear of water. Every year we would travel to the Isle of Man for our summer holidays and while my older brother and sister were diving from the floating board and swimming for England, I was to paddle to my mid calves and go no further. You should never get out of your depth Janet or the tide might carry you away!

Then one summer my Dad decided that it was time that I learned to swim and we all trundled to the swimming baths, Mum watching from the spectators' area. Dad had been explaining to me about water giving you buoyancy and how I would always float as he gradually, without my realising, took his hands away from me and I was floating unaided, at the age of five! By 1984 I would have been ready for Olympic gold! Well I was floating until, from the spectators seats my Mother's voice screamed "Oh my God he's let her go!" Then I realised that he had too and plummeted like a stone! From this point my mother regarded my dad as an unsafe swimming instructor and that was it for swimming until I was ten and had school lessons.

School lessons, unfortunately, did not go to plan either. Remember I was a child scared of water, I mean with a healthy respect for water. Well week one I climbed into the learner pool (4ft deep) full of enthusiasm. The instructor, a man who thought he was teaching Mark Spitz, marched across and said "Right, all put your heads under the water" I looked in horror. Surely this madman could not mean me? I would most definitely drown! I ignored him and stood shaking in the water. It was obviously a test to work out who the fools were. The madman, not being one to suffer wimps, then put his hand on my head and pushed me under! After considerable coughing and spluttering I retreated to the middle of the pool, where the madman could not reach me and burst into tears. We were then divided. The good swimmers were taken to the main pool with the madman - who my friends assured me was perfectly sane and an excellent swimming teacher who they all adored. Us duffers remained in the learner pool with the lovely Mrs Mott who was so good she taught me to swim within four weeks. I realised, however, that if you could swim a length you were moved up to the big pool with the scary man who tried to drown me (okay he didn't actually try to drown me, but I was ten and I saw things differently then) so as Mrs Mott said surprisingly I could swim seven widths straight off but could never quite make a length without having to stop halfway. I didn't manage one until the very last lesson, so I never made it up to the main pool. Surprising that.

I rarely swam again until a friend at school decided we should get fit together and off we went, gradually building up to twenty lengths quite quickly. I was surprised how much I enjoyed it. We went a few times every week and I became a good swimmer. Er well sort of.

We ensured our children learned to swim and I actually taught our youngest myself. Now that is how I found out that I was not the fantastic swimmer I thought. An instructor was in the pool one day and decided to help my son improve his strokes. As he corrected every fault I realised that I had taught my son every one of them. Quite an achievement. I bet none of you could teach as many bad strokes as I managed. Mind you it is difficult to swim perfectly whilst holding your head clear of the water.

After my disastrous attempt at running, and the various injuries I've had over recent months, I have decided to recommence my swimming career. Next week I shall be back to the pool , I may dip my head in the water as far as my chin and build up those lengths and my perfect strokes. So if there are any talent scouts out there looking for a future Olympic swimmer I should be ready by about 2054!

My Beautiful Coast

Whenever I start to talk to people who live some distance away about how I live in a small suburb of Liverpool and that we have a beautiful beach they look at me as though I have lost my mind. "You live near a big city with docks, your beach must be in your dreams!" When they eventually come to visit our coast they are always pleasantly surprised and often amazed that we have this small piece of heaven so close to a big city.

I have loved my beach since I was a small child. My mother and sister would pack a bottle of lemonade and sandwiches and off we would go for a day at the seaside with buckets and spades, collecting shells, looking for starfish. The magic and fun never ended.

My Dad would also take us down to the beach and he would tell us about all the ships coming and going, where they were from, where they were heading and the cargo they carried. He managed to make it all sound so amazing. He had been in the Royal Marines and sailed around the world but sometimes he would show me the ships and tell me how, when I grew up, they would take me anywhere I wanted to go and that I would see places that he had only dreamed of. Somehow I have made it to fifty and not sailed anywhere further than France but I do intend to rectify that and go visit some of the places my parents dreamed of.

As a teenager I used to go for beach picnics with my friends and sometimes, in the dead of winter, we would don wellies and waterproofs and go paddling in the rain while we put the world right and made future plans.

When I married I moved with my husband closer to our places of work and for four years I was unable to walk to my beach. I missed it so much. Moving back to Crosby was truly wonderful. It felt like a  real homecoming,even though we had lived a relatively short distance away. My husband loved the town immediately and asked me why I hadn't talked him into moving back much sooner.

We now have Antony Gormley's In Another Place on our beach and the Burbo Bank windfarm in the distance and, for someone who doesn't like change, I have been perfectly happy with both. The Iron Men are like family now. After all they do support the same football team as me. I have seen them wearing the shirts!

But above all my beach is my head-clearing place. Even now, when I have something to think about or my head needs clearing I go down there and, whether sunny or stormy, it sets me right. My sands, my waves - at least that's how it feels, constant and unchanging, always there waiting to wash my worries away.

I love my beach, if I have a spare ten minutes before I have to be there I drive down just to sit and look out across the bay at the ships coming and going and to see the waves rolling in. Maybe one day I'll buy a beach house to watch the sun rise and set there every day. In the meantime I go when I can and it always makes me feel welcome.

My Journey Through The Land of Books

The other day I was trying to decide which book I should read next. While considering this, I began to think about all the books I have read and what started me off on the journey through the wonderful land of literature. When I was a small child my dad always had a book in his hand: Kidnapped, The Count of Monte Cristo and Goodbye Mr Chips are three I remember him lying on the sofa reading. Yet it was not my dad who started me off on the land of books, it was my lovely Mum. I can remember her always producing books as I went to bed and then me lying there so happy reading them.

The first book I ever remember reading was the one above. My original copy was red. I think I was about four or five but I read and read it and loved it and, with Bunny Hopwell I waited for spring. My first book obviously stayed with me because I talked about it often enough for my husband to scour the internet and track the above copy down in America. From here I think I must have had every Ladybird book in history and read them till they fell apart.

When I was seven my top infant teacher read Black Beauty. I adored the story and my mother bought me the above copy. As you can tell it was very well read. I loved every page, every word, I passed it on to my daughter. She loved it. After Black Beauty came What Katy Did, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Pollyanna, Ballet Shoes. I adored them and as she grew up I read every one to my daughter at bedtime. She loved them too.

In my teens came poetry, courtesy of my English teacher who would not accept that I thought Keats overblown and soppy. As you can see he was successful. By the time I started A level I had bought all the above books and had spent my summer lying on the beach and in parks reading them. It was at that point that I decided that I would definitely marry a poet an if he did not write poetry then he would not do. I fantasised about Keats. I even dragged mother to Rome to visit his house and grave. Having taken her there I didn't actually have the courage to knock on the cemetery doors and ask to come in but at least I had walked the same streets as my beloved romantic.

In my twenties crime fiction became one of my favourite things to read, in particular Dorothy L Sayers and her wonderful Lord Peter Wimsey. My friend was a big fan too and we scoured the charity shops looking for clothes that would make us look like Harriet Vane. I think we actually hoped to find an aristocratic amateur sleuth. Alas we did not but the one in the books was quite enough for us both and we read and read those books. If you haven't, give them a try. If you want romance too go for 'Strong Poison' 'Have his Carcase' and 'Gaudy Night' 

By my mid twenties I moved on to romantic classics. Initially starting with Jane Austen, who I had studied for A level and then discovering the Brontes. I had read an abridged Wuthering Heights in my early teens (I still have that now) and been unimpressed. This time I adored every word of the sisters' books and began to  read their letters, biographies etc to a point my mother said was bordering on obsession. Once again, however, my mother acquiesced to my obsession and travelled to Haworth with me to visit the Parsonage. My obsession with the Brontes has never left me and every year my wonderful husband takes me back on that pilgrimage. He has even read the sisters' novels and while unimpressed with Emily was quite taken with Charlotte, my heroine. I shall work on introducing him to Anne next.

The next poet I struggled with was Ted Hughes. I loved his romantic words but for a long time struggled with his detail and tooth and claw descriptions of nature. I still struggle with some of his work but he has become quite a hero for me and his famed picture hangs in our hall. If you have never tried any Hughes, I would suggest that you begin with Birthday Letters, about his beloved wife Sylvia Plath. Crow is also a fine collection and maybe more suited to the less romantic hearts.

So have my obsessions subsided as I get older. I am aftaid not. About five years ago I discovered Simon Armitage. He is completely different from my usual choice of poet and truly wonderful. My husband often jokes that he is the only poet he worries about and that next time I go to a reading I must maintain a 250 yard exclusion order from said poet! He writes with heart, humour and truth. Black Roses made me sob for an hour. He walked the Pennine Way like a troubadour, reading poetry along the way to pay for his board and lodgings then the poetry he had written was carved in rock along the way. My family have been dragged on part of the Stanza Stone Walk and will be completing the rest soon. His latest work 'Considering the Poppy' was a limited addition publication - only one hundred printed, one of which I sadly was unable to find, despite my searches. 

Well, it was impossible for me to find, but not my wonderful husband. He presented me with the perfect Christmas present this year. Copy number 62, signed by poet and engraver. And so my collection is complete.

But the most perfect book of all is the one written especially for me by the poet I married.

For all its faults this is still a beautiful world

Today I read something really, really sad. According to a press report, a man fell to his death from a building. That in itself is a dreadful piece of news but  the article went on to say that, as police were trying to talk this poor man down, onlookers were shouting for him to jump. These people didn't even know the man, they had no idea about what had driven him to such a desperate position, they didn't care, they just watched with no empathy whatsoever and shouted such hateful things. How on earth did society fall so low?

I don't watch much television, and avoid reality programmes like Big Brother, and I'm a Celebrity totally. Soap operas seem to be full of hate, trauma and infidelity. I once asked a friend if there were any happily married couples who had a good life in any of them and was told "Don't be silly, that doesn't make good telly!" But why not? Why is people being happy, kind and understanding poor television? And if this is all people see as they grow up is it any wonder that they can become emotionless and detatched and have no feeling for a fellow human in need?

When I was growing up, my Dad would not even allow me the luxury of sulking, he would kneel down to my level and tell me "You can stop that young lady, you will smile at people. Some of them have dreadful lives and your smile may be the best thing to happen to them all day" I didn't dare sulk in front of Dad, poor Mum got that. But do you know something, my Dad was right. I have had many a bad day turned around by a friendly smile or a kind word. My parents always told me to try to see things from others' points of view and not to judge when you have no idea about people's lives.

In my lifetime I have seen terribly sad things happen but I have also seen wonderful things and true acts of love, some of them major things, some small ones that still have an impact on people's lives.

The day we moved into our Avenue one of our neighbours popped over to introduce themselves and to ask if we had unpacked the kettle or would like a tray of tea and biscuits bringing over, another brought a potted plant and we were left a nice bottle of wine. None of them overstayed their welcome but all made us feel truly at home within a few hours. All these people have become friends through sheer niceness. In our avenue everyone looks after everyone else, that is as it should be. Nobody is nosey or oversteps their place but they are supportive and are there at a moment's notice if needed. When you move here you become part of a caring community. That is what the whole world needs. People who care.

Over recent years we have had family losses that have broken our hearts, our neighbours have supported us and helped us through difficult times, some have had similar experiences and were able to empathise and guide us, those who hadn't, brought flowers and kind thoughts. My children have had support from their friends who are also very young. It is a wonderful feeling seeing human nature at its best and knowing that here cannot be the only place in the world with such compassion.

Indeed it is not. A few days ago I read about an elderly lady who makes a beautiful dress every day, adding an individual touch to each one to be sent out to the poorest children in the world, another act of pure love. Yesterday on Twitter I read a thank you from a Mummy to another mother who had donated her child's organs to keep her child alive. The world is full of these amazing, loving people.

Every act of kindness, no matter how small has a ripple effect, whether it is a smile, a kind word, taking time to help a neighbour, friend or stranger, all change the world for the better and I for one think that is a pretty amazing thing to do.

My Mum used to have a saying "Don't let the world drag you down" She was right. Sometimes we watch television dramas or news articles and believe this world to be a horrible place. Maybe it is, but it is also a truly wonderful place, full of good, kind people who make a difference and ensure that this is a world in which I wish to live and one in which I am happy to raise my children. So next time you find yourself telling somebody about an awful thing that has happened in the world, remember that there are also some pretty fantastic things happening out there, being performed by ordinary people who care a hell of a lot and, let's face it, are real superheroes.

Spring, new hopes, new beginnings, new you!

When winter came my mother used to shut down. She hated winter, She would be in bed before 9 pm, (when she was a child she would go up and settle at 5 to escape the dark nights and sleep right through). She said it felt like the world was dead and it made her sad. I could never understand this. I loved every season, autumn being my favourite of all, such rich colours and abundance of fruits. I loved crisp winter walks. Mum said it was too cold, too dark and there wasn't any colour to lift your moods through the gloomy, drizzly days. She would begin to come alive as spring arrived. I suppose in this day and age you would say that she suffered from S.A.D. - my mum just said that she was designed to hibernate like bears, /To be honest, she practically did!

As I have grown older, and particularly these last few years, I have become more like my mother. Little by little I have lost enthusiasm for my beloved autumn, it now seems sad, almost as though the year has grown old and is dying. Far too many people have died on me these last few years and autumn now seems to remind me of that. Last autumn I could still admire the beauty but I just felt sad. Even Christmas, which I still used to get excited about, has finally lost its sparkle.

The above may sound sad but I don't think that it is. I think that I have finally grown up and moved on to a new phase of my life. Maybe autumn was the season of my youth and spring is to be the season of my adulthood.

As spring has approached this year I have started to feel so much perkier and more positive. The plans I have. So much to do, so many new experiences to try. I have stopped dwelling on the past for the first time in god knows how long. Everything I think is about the future. My daughter told me the other day that I seem happy and confident these days. I do actually feel it. Talking through things with someone has made me realise that I have always tried to fit other people's view of who I should be and felt guilt about letting people down when it was no fault of my own. I am viewing myself and the world through a whole new window - and I like it. I have the courage to say no without explaining myself to people and I have the confidence to say yes when I want to as well. It is tremendously freeing. But oh how much time I have wasted just not being me. I would recommend everybody tries being themselves sometimes. It is truly wonderful. And, surprisingly, people like it too. One of my friends actually told me the other day that I have changed so much in recent years, becoming so much more confident and independent. She says she loves it!

And, as this spring approaches I am beginning to feel excited about all the new possibilities and, like the bluetit above, am making future plans and that future is so bright. My husband and children are the focus of my life but, I now also have a little bit of time to explore being Janet and that is oh so much freedom. My husband is probably already beginning to panic at the possibilities but I am just very excited. Who knows where my dreams will take me? Spring is a time for new beginnings and this year I intend to make the most of it!