Inconvenient, unexpected places

Bloom where I’m planted? 

                Walking is a mandatory activity now that Maisy is in my life.  That’s because our flat (apartment) is on the first floor and requires that I take her down stairs to get outside. 

Just to clarify—in Britain we live on the first floor, because below us is the ground floor.  In America we’d live on the second floor because the ground-level floor is called the first floor.  Therefore when we want to go outside we either access our small balcony or have to leave the flat and take the stairs to use the doors. 

Anyway, “Maverick” and I must take “Little Britches” out every few hours.  I usually take her out the back quad if I’m in a hurry.  However, at least once a day I take her over the street to the park.  She loves a good sniff around, chasing the birds and barking at people and other dogs. 

Some days while I am walking I get lost in thought and even forget to make sure Maisy does her toilet business.  Other days I am totally connected with the environment; observing the leaves changing colours, the latest blooming flowers, the people waiting at the bus station, and the latest billboard ads on the buses. 

The other day I observed something that stopped me in my tracks.  I was glad I’d remembered my phone so I could take a photo.    Laughter and astonishment mixed as I studied a tree growing underneath a park bench. 

By standing there and taking in this peculiar sight, I found it easy to surmise this short, young tree had actually shot up from some seeds that had fallen from nearby trees.  The ground around the concrete base of the bench had accumulated enough dirt to allow the seed to sprout and take root.  Eventually, the drive within the tree to grow made one branch curve around the back of the bench.  I could imagine the branches trying to grow up through the slats of the seat. 

But ultimately I had to ponder on what would become of that tree.  Would the gardeners take the simple, straightforward, expeditious approach and cut it down?  Or would some patient groundman study on the problem, finding a way to excavate the tree with its roots and transplant it?  Over time I will discover the answer. 

Thoughts in my head wondered to possible illustrations in life.  Have I found myself in an inconvenient place, but dared to put down roots and grow—even if it meant that my work would be discarded later by someone who had no idea as to how much effort I’d put into it?  I would say yes.  That is the nature of life.  For me it has been spending two years in Texas, two years in Scotland, two-and-a-half years in Carlinville, Illinois.  I was a missionary in Texas and Scotland.  I was a student in Illinois.  On all those occasions I knew I would grow as a person—emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually.  I also knew it was for a short time—a bit like the tree under the bench. 

In some respects YWAM and college were not inconvenient places, because I chose to follow the direction I believed God was leading me.  It wasn’t inconvenient, because of all the training and experience I would gain. 

 

The inconvenience came in other ways.

• Financially I had to trust the Lord for staff fees, personal expenses and tuition for college.   
• Emotionally, because in missions and college/university there is the constant turn-over of people which means making friends for a short season.  They will move on, as I will. 
• Spiritually challenging because I had to trust God on deeper levels.   
• It meant being away from my family, specifically my mother and sister.  Communication had to be by phone and e-mail.  I couldn’t just jump in the car and get to them in an hour or two. 

Yet, it was worth it for me invest of myself for those short seasons.

Under the bench those seeds were protected from birds who would eat them.  They were protected for the hot sun, which could have dried it out and made it unable to sprout.   They were protected from too much rain, but in a good place to have enough water to absorb moisture to thrive.  Most likely, once discovered by the council’s landscapers, it will be removed without being replanted. 

Under the protection of big organisations I was protected while I took risks.  

• Travelling to places I’d never been before, I didn’t have to worry about being assaulted, kidnapped, robbed or harmed by ill-intentioned people.  I could see and taste new cultures without fear.  
•  Should I fall ill myself, resources were available to me because of my association with the missionary training centres and the college.  
• Pastoral care, spiritual fellowship and supportive friends were at hand, which allowed my creativity to thrive and produce.  However, instead of fearing my life being cut off, I could rest in knowing that God’s gracious hand would lift me up from one field, tend to my roots and place me in another field to grow. 

There have been unexpected results—like being grafted into a large family.  A search on the internet, a connection through a website seemed like an unlikely way to fall in love.  For almost two years friendship and love grew—with “Maverick” planted in England while I was planted in Illinois.  Those roots developed, with me knowing that I was growing under a bench.  Yet I was excited by the idea of being transplanted to a new nation. 

Moments of emotional storm, great fear, were encountered during those days of transition.  Yet, it was tempered by faith, love and support. 

Just like I don’t know the future of that little tree under the park bench, I really don’t know how the coming years will unfold.  But I know that the Loving Hands that planted me, pruned me, provided for me will also be faithful to place me where He knows I can dig my roots deeply, and reach toward heaven and become the most fruitful.

Serving Jesus, Author of our faith. 

"Lady Helene"

Double stitching

Pfaff on the left and Frister+Rossmann on the right

                The past couple of weeks my studio/guest room has had the look of a sewing workshop.  That’s because I’ve had two sewing machines set up, using them in turn to make a dress for one of my granddaughters. 

                One model is a Smart manufactured  by Pfaff.  It is made of plastic and has 27 stitch options, plus button hole maker capabilities.  I got it in 2013 from my friend down the street.  She’d had it for over a year and never had it out of the box.  She decided that she was happy for me to buy if from her. 

               The other model is a Cub Twin-Dial manufactured by Frister+Rossmann.  This model is metal with only a straight and zigzag stitches.   I think it must have been made in the 1980’s based on the illustrations on the instruction manual. 

                Here is how I came by the Frister+Rossmann.  “Juliana”, with whom I attend church, will take used books, knickknacks, collectables and clothing in good condition for her favourite charity.  I had books to donate to her and so we scheduled a pick-up.  The day she came, “Juliana” had made a previous stop.  The woman had given “Juliana” a box of clothes, other bits-and-pieces and a sewing machine.  When she told me what it was, I asked her if the machine worked.  I was told that it did.  I asked her how much she wanted for it, as it was to go to the charity shop.  But she gave it to me—and so I told her I would let her know how I got on. 

                After carrying it upstairs I immediately got it out of the fragile cardboard box.  It had everything—which was very exciting.  I discovered that the bobbin-filler spool did not turn, and that the tension was out, as the bottom stitches were looping.  Even when I adjusted the tension the machine did not sew properly.  But those were the only problems with the machine and so I knew a service would set it all straight.

                I rang Mike Brown, who serviced my 1870’s Singer treadle sewing machine.  He came and collected it, bringing it back in ten days.  The repair and service was £51. 

The finished dresss

                I was working on a dress for my granddaughter “Tigger”, using orange thread for the bodice and black for the sleeves and skirt.  It was great fun to sit down and sew without having to change the thread on the machine every time. 

                My next project to sew is a wall-hanging for the Christmas Fayre in November.  I’ve found my design for this appliqué project, but have not picked out the colour and fabrics yet. 

                Tomorrow is a writing day—working on the Missions Prayer Magazine I do for our parish.  But I’ll be pondering over my next sewing project in the back of my mind. 

Serving Jesus, Author of our faith

“Lady Helene”

A friend, flowers and fun

               “Go look at my cactus on the window sill.”  Amy said as I walked into her flat.  I take the newspaper to Amy on Mondays and Thursdays.  So, I handed her the newspaper and took the shopping bag into the kitchen.  I would put the vegetable spread away while I was in there. 

                To meet my gaze was a blooming Christmas cactus.  Although October, it was in bloom now.  From the lounge Amy commented: “It’s supposed to bloom at Christmas time, but mine never does.  It always does it before.”

                Amy is 97 and lives alone, which most of her friends find amazing.  I met Amy through church.  A mutual friend with whom we attend church looks in on Amy on a regular basis.  When I first became aware of this, our friend was seeing her daily.  To provide a break for our friend, and give Amy another visitor,  I volunteered to take the paper twice a week. 

                Occasionally Amy will ring me and let me know that one of her daughters is coming and that I don’t need to get the paper.  But most weeks I ring her before going to the shops to see if she needs milk, bread, or any other item besides the paper.  

                Once I’m there, I take my coat off and stay for a chat, listening to her share about her life.  It means hearing a few stories again and again.  But on the other hand, Amy and I always have a laugh.  She likes to cook, and we’ll discuss food. She’s given me a couple of recipe books and shared recipes with me.   

                 Amy went into service when she was 14 years of age.  Her first job was as a mother’s help on a neighbouring farm.  At age 18 she went to London.  She met her husband there, and she found work in offices or shops.    

                Spending time with Amy is like spending time with my grandmother. 

                Occasionally Amy’s granddaughter will visit and bring flowers.  Amy very kindly and generously shares them with me.    

Amy shared these with me today:

First of all, I must define a term, knocker-up, 

Per Wikipedia  “A knocker-up (sometimes known as a knocker-upper) was a profession^[1] in Britain and Ireland that started during and lasted well into the Industrial Revolution and at least as late as the 1920s (mid 50s in Manchester, England. UK) before alarm clocks were affordable or reliable. A knocker-up's job was to rouse sleeping people so they could get to work on time.^[2”  

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knocker-up

Tongue Twister

Our knocker-up has a knocker-up to knock him up.  And our knocker-up’s knocker-up  didn’t knock our knocker-up up, so our knocker-up didn’t knock us up.

Riddles

1)      What goes up a chimney down but won’t come down a chimney up? 

2)      What goes up when the rain comes down

Answer to both:  an umbrella

        Amy has many memories from World War 2.  The other day she was reminiscing about watching the plans flying over during the blitz, at which point she looked over at me and asked; “Do you remember that?”

        “Amy, I was only born in 1958!”  At that we both laughed. 

  I think that is an indication of how people’s lives can intermesh, regardless of age.  It is sharing common interests, time and laughter.  I know my life is richer for knowing her.

 

Serving Jesus, Author of our faith,

"Lady Helene"