Would a disaster be good for us?

The more I read, learn and talk about sustainability, the more apparent it is that we are not doing nearly enough, with nearly enough urgency, to address the very substantial risks that climate change and natural resource depletion pose to the earth and to life as we know it. I’m no scientist, but I understand enough to know that we are in uncharted territory in terms of the impact of human activity on the planet. This shouldn’t really surprise us given how much the world has changed over the last 200 years, how many more people it has to support and the demands those people place on natural systems. It’s clear that rapid, radical action is needed.

What is less clear is exactly what will precipitate the necessary action (which, in a nutshell, includes important physical dimensions such as eliminating fossil fuel use and finding a way to systematically turn waste into raw materials – underpinned by cultural aspects such as learning to enjoy life in less materialistic ways than we do at present) – never mind at the scale and with the urgency that is needed.

There has of course been progress in recent years, and ‘sustainability’ is higher on corporate and governmental agendas than it used to be – but it’s nowhere near central enough. Current policy (even assuming it is followed) will achieve outcomes that are far short of what is needed to move the world back onto a ‘safe’ footing. Meanwhile, the marketing spiel for a presentation I attended recently on the need for an industrial strategy to accelerate the transition to a sustainable position insightfully asserted that unless our plans for the future include sustainability, we might find those plans are rudely interrupted. I couldn’t agree more. And I was intrigued by one of the questions posed during the presentation: Do we need a catastrophe (along the lines of the financial crisis, for example), before we will take radical enough action? My increasing sense is that we probably do.

At the moment I just can’t see anything less than an obviously climate-related environmental disaster snapping us out of the collective sleepwalk we’ve been ambling about in for years. At the moment, everyone can justify their inaction, and everyone thinks it’s someone else’s responsibility. Individuals (understandably) don’t want to change their lifestyles and don’t feel it would make any difference anyway; companies are constrained by a focus on growth, short-term targets and satisfying shareholders; and politicians believe that a focus on sustainability will win them neither favour with the corporates nor the next election.

Arguably, of course, climate-related disasters are already a tragic reality in many parts of the world, as evidenced by devastating storms and other extreme weather events, and the melting of polar ice caps. But, crucially, we in the more ‘developed’ nations live detached from our global neighbours, and we choose to exercise ‘the right not to know’ what is happening on their shores. If it isn’t happening here, to us, then it isn’t happening and we don’t have to do anything about it.

But sooner or later, if we carry on as we are, the reality and impact of climate change will affect us too. I have no special insight into what this might look like, but scientists around the world are warning that climate change is happening faster than anticipated, that many of our natural systems are already overwhelmed and that we are rapidly approaching a number of ‘tipping points’ – thresholds beyond which dangerous trends may become irreversible. It’s a question of when, not if, the impacts of climate change turn up on our doorsteps and we can no longer bury our heads in the sand.  

Of course, being motivated by fear isn’t particularly helpful – and too much doom-mongering and finger-pointing may be one of the reasons why we haven’t made more progress than we have. And we may well ask whether a climate-related disaster – whatever it looks like – would actually stimulate purposeful, positive action. As someone at the presentation pointed out, humans don’t always respond rationally, effectively and in the collective interest in moments of crisis. Such situations create distress and uncertainty that can make us particularly vulnerable to selfishness, knee-jerk reactions and poor decisions.

That said, there are examples that give cause for optimism about the potential for catastrophic events to prompt positive change, such as the so-called Great Smog of London in 1952, which delivered a rude wake-up call to politicians and people of the effects of air pollution and ultimately led to the Clean Air Act of 1956. It is certainly possible for such unforeseen events – and the disruption they cause – to create an appetite for change and a previously unthinkable opportunity to do things differently. Perhaps a question for us to reflect on – notwithstanding the fact that a crisis event would, by its nature, be unpredictable in timing, character and scale – is what steps can we take now to be ready to ‘take advantage’ (if I can put it like that) of the doors that may be opened by such an event should it occur.

I hope I’m wrong about the need for a crisis and that it proves possible to transition to a sustainable world in a less dramatic fashion! But against the somewhat pessimistic backdrop that I have painted, do I still believe that individuals have a contribution to make? Yes, to a point – though I think our role is less about the tangible impact of our actions (not that those actions don’t matter) and more about (a) modelling and ‘norming’ certain behaviours; and (b) exerting collective influence and pressure on policy makers. Perhaps, if more of us are prepared to play a part in this, we can minimise the chances of a disaster and make a more controlled transition more likely. I do think the answers are out there, if we can be open-minded enough to look for them and brave enough to try them out.

Whose responsibility?

During and since doing my MSc in Sustainability & Responsibility, I’ve had many conversations about who bears the responsibility for shifting the world onto a more sustainable track.  Even among those who are the most persuaded that urgent action is necessary to avert planetary disaster, objections abound along the lines of “it’s the job of governments”, “individuals can’t do anything”, and the particularly doom-laded response that “it’s too late anyway”.  This post is a response to those conversations and an opportunity for me to consider and share some brief thoughts.

I think it’s clear that action at the government and corporate level is critical.  As someone who’s increasingly trying to adopt a sustainable lifestyle (by which I really mean I aim to tread lightly on the planet), I can testify that it can be pretty difficult.  The structures and values of our society don’t encourage it, and at times seem to penalise it.  From the high cost of public transport to the removal of many renewable energy subsidies, and from our society’s culture of consumption to the fact that many of the products on which we depend are designed for rapid obsolescence, it can feel like swimming against the tide.  

Structural changes are needed, and governments need to do much more to consider the implications of their policies for shaping people’s behaviour, to enable and support people to flourish in less materialistic ways, to set more appropriate legislation, to be consistent in their messaging, and in general to expand their time horizons beyond the next election.  And of course we also need businesses and other organisations to play their part – to recognise and take seriously both the threats and the opportunities presented by climate change and the many other connected issues, to plan for the longer-term, to design products for longevity, and in general to factor people and the planet into their strategies as well as profit.  Many organisations are rising to the challenges, embracing the opportunities and demonstrating strong leadership – as evidenced by the growing ‘B Corp’ movement, for example – but for many it is simply not a high enough priority.

Any number of blog posts could be written about the roles of government and business.  But having said all that, I do believe that we as individuals (and voters – let’s not forget that) and communities have more power than we sometimes realise.  Firstly, we have the opportunity to send a signal to governments and companies about what matters to us through where, how and on what we spend our money (or not).  Governments and corporations reflect our choices as well as shaping them.  I subscribe to Ethical Consumer magazine, in which I read recently: “We need to consider our money as a vote which we use every time we go shopping.  Even small everyday purchases are a vote for something.  By making positive choices when you shop, you can bring about lasting change.”

Although when it comes to buying stuff the most positive impact we can have for sustainability is obviously to buy less (and most of us could do that with relatively little sacrifice), we can also be more thoughtful about what we do buy.  Responsible consumption can stimulate a positive form of demand.  If no one had bought the first electric cars, for example, there would have been no stimulus for the development of further energy efficient vehicles.  While it’s difficult to make ethical purchasing choices consistently, small changes are better than nothing and are a good place to start.

Secondly, we all play a part in modelling and ‘norming’ certain types of behaviour – and we get to choose the behaviour we model.  Environmental activist and ‘ecophilosopher’ Joanna Macy – in her excellent and highly recommended book ‘Active Hope’ – says: “Each of us has a reference group of those we compare ourselves to in determining what is normal or appropriate behaviour.  We also feature in other people’s reference groups, so when they see us taking steps to live more sustainably, they are more likely to take these steps too.” 

And not only that, but small actions become much more significant when combined with those of others.  Macy goes on to say: “To see the power of a step, we need to ask, ‘What is it part of?’ An action that might seem inconsequential by itself adds to and interacts with other actions in ways that contribute to a much bigger picture of change.”

Many large-scale changes start with an individual or group of individuals – just think about the end of the slave trade or women gaining the right to vote (to take admittedly quite extreme examples).  It was the American anthropologist Margaret Mead who said: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.”  In the last year I’ve signed up to a couple of campaigning sites – 38 degrees and change.org – and I’ve been astounded at some of the things that been achieved simply through individuals coming together and applying their collective weight to a situation.

So my New Year challenge to anyone reading this is to do something.  Maybe just one thing; small, gradual changes don’t need to be difficult.  Buy less.  Buy better.  Cut your food miles (and support local trade) by buying veg from a local greengrocer (mine delivers to my front door each week).  Eat less meat (and watch the documentary Cowspiracy if you’re prepared to be shocked about the high environmental impact of meat eating, never mind the health issues).  Sign up to a campaign site and sign some petitions.  Email your MP about an issue you care about.  Or go bigger – install solar panels, or go electric next time you buy a car.  Our power may seem constrained – and in many ways it is – but we have more of it than we realise.  

And at the end of the day, I would rather live by my values – and be able to look my children in the eye and tell them I did what I could to leave them a healthy world – than throw up my hands in defeat and decide it’s not worth the effort.

Home is where the heart is…

I remember looking back on 2013 as a non-descript and frustrating year, coloured by exhaustion and endless (futile) attempts to sleep-train son number two. 2014 is turning out to be anything but non-descript.  A single fortnight in July/August saw Mum get remarried (and me acquire a step-family), Alex leave nursery in preparation for starting big school, me leave my workplace of the last seven years and – hardest of all – the sale of Conifers, our family home for 34 years. 

Selling Conifers was a strange experience.  Of course, I haven’t lived there for several years, but I spent my entire childhood there so it has always been ‘home’ to me.  And, having lived there for so long, I had 34 years’ worth of sorting to do - box after box, representing different phases of childhood.  It was like reliving entire chunks of my growing-up years in fast motion with no opportunity to press the pause button, and having to make instant decisions about what to keep and what to consign to the bin.  Memories of friends, places and experiences long since forgotten came flooding to the surface – not to mention the sobering realisation that my memories now span well over three decades!

I dreaded bidding my final goodbye to the house. A lovely friend who had recently had to sell her own family home suggested spending time in each room and praying for specific memories from each place – a wonderful, therapeutic and at times surprising idea.  Some memories were mundane, some more significant (my 21st birthday party in a marquee in the garden; my first kiss with Bryan(!); my last conversation with Dad). Weirdly, many of the memories featured the two ‘boys’ – now 40 and 37 – who last month became my stepbrothers!  Life is strange…

A few weeks on, and ‘losing’ my family home has felt a bit like losing a part of myself – something that may not make much sense to anyone who moved house a lot as a child - although in many ways easier than I'd expected.  The memories will always remain, of course, and the sense of loss is tempered by a recognition of how lucky I am to have had the stability of growing up in a single place.  Following a great deal of prayer, I have also had a strong sense that I needed to hold the house lightly and be prepared to let it go (and not to move into it ourselves – an option my Mum had graciously offered us).   “There is a time to keep and a time to throw away,” says the writer of Ecclesiastes.  And the Bible verses that kept coming back to me as the house sale reached its conclusion:

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal.  But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Matthew 6:19-21)

The end of each era heralds the start of a new one, and I pray that I and the rest of my family can trust in God’s sovereign plan, and move onwards and upwards in life and faith as we embark on our various new beginnings.

Gethsemane - an Easter challenge

'My father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.'

When (or if) you think of Jesus, what image or event comes to mind? Jesus performing a miracle, or healing an invalid, or teaching people, or – maybe at this time of year - Jesus on the cross? Or perhaps the picture many people grew up with, of 'gentle Jesus, meek and mild', walking amongst the flowers and cuddling a lamb (that one's not in the bible, by the way).

This week, in the little time I've set aside to re-read the story of Easter, I've been drawn to the scene in the garden of Gethsemane where, the night before he died, Jesus prayed and pleaded with God to take the 'cup' of suffering away from him - in other words, to rescue him from having to endure the agony of death on the cross.

Here the human meets the divine. Even Jesus, who had spent his life being obedient to his Father and knew what it was all leading up to, when the day of reckoning came desperately sought a way out. Who wouldn't? It must have been a terrifying prospect, especially because his suffering was to be more than physical; in going to the cross he would carry the weight of the world's evil on his shoulders – sacrificing himself on behalf of humanity.

And at this point in the narrative, his betrayal at the hands of Judas was in full flow and his best friends, who couldn't even stay awake to support him in his hour of need, were soon to desert him when things got ugly. Hard as it is to admit it, I doubt whether I would have managed to remain faithful. And yet, after wrestling in prayer Jesus surrendered to God’s will and chose to fulfil the task ahead in order to save people such as these and reconcile them to God- such was the depth of his commitment to the human race.

A commentary I read this week put it better than I could: Gethsemane demonstrates the depth of human need and the costliness of the divine response.  This passage of the bible has challenged the extent of my own faithfulness, and makes me question how different my life would be if I said to God – more regularly, more thoughtfully and more sincerely – ‘not as I will, but as you will’.

The great Facebook fast

As I write, Bryan and I are approaching the end of our second Facebook ‘fast’ for Lent – having this year extended the ‘ban’ to using mobile devices at home in the evening.

A brief thought on why we give things up for Lent.  There are two reasons that I’m aware of: Firstly, ‘fasting’ from something for the 40 days of Lent commemorates the 40 days that Jesus spent fasting and praying in the desert at the start of his ministry, where the Bible says he was tempted by the devil.  Secondly, to practise self-discipline and sacrifice, in preparation for Good Friday when we remember Jesus’s sacrifice.  Incidentally, many Christians now prefer to ‘take up’ something for Lent instead – such as daily Bible readings - to help them get closer to God.

So why this particular fast? Considering that, not many years ago, I couldn't understand why anyone would need or want mobile email access, I have very quickly become addicted to constant email checking and instant response.  So this exercise was, in part, an attempt to restore some of my focus to connecting with the real world, not least my husband and children.

Speaking of which, as a mother of two boys who, at 4 and 1 are already displaying a frightening dexterity with all things mobile, I am well aware that we will need boundaries around the use of electronic devices in a world that will expect them to be connected every second of the day – and that’s before we get onto monitoring what they’re actually looking at.  I find it sad that many youngsters’ social lives are conducted via a keyboard and screen, and I want the boys to grow up knowing that real social interactions are much more satisfying than virtual ones.

Yet I also know – because I have fallen into the trap many times – how easy it is to whip out the phone while feeding the kids, or bathing them, or even playing with them, as if my life depended on not missing out on another string of pointless selfies or reading what my second cousin twice removed had for breakfast. And in so doing I have sometimes failed to give the boys the attention they deserve or to make the most of the two small bundles of fun right in front of me.

Giving up Facebook has, in fact, been relatively painless, which indicates how futile much of my Facebook surfing is.  Granted, I have probably missed some interesting blog posts, which – to me – is one of the more appealing aspects of the site, as well as a couple of birth announcements.  But my life is none the poorer for missing out on 90% of it.

Refraining from using my mobile/iPad during the evenings at home has been more of a challenge and I have not always succeeded, which again demonstrates the extent to which I have bought into the need for constant connectedness.  I am now so used to instant everything that I feel genuinely twitchy at the idea of being offline for any length of time – worse still – keep people waiting overnight for a reply to an email! 

I wouldn’t say I’ve experienced any great epiphany as a result of this minor sacrifice over the last few weeks.  But clearly my world hasn’t ended through not reading (or responding to) every email within seconds of its arrival. And I do think our family time has benefitted from keeping a bit more distance from our phones – something we'll be striving to maintain.

Living wholeheartedly in the 'now'

There’s something about human nature that hinders us from fully embracing the ‘season’ of life that we’re in.  It seems to be a common aspect of the human condition: Children can’t wait to grow up, while many adults wish they could turn the clock back.  We tend to look forward eagerly to the next phase of life, only to lament the passing of the previous one.

While I wasn’t, in fact, the kind of child who was always desperate to grow up, I can certainly relate to this in my adult life.  I looked forward to finding a husband and then to having children – and I’m thankful to have been blessed with both!  But now that I’ve got them I sometimes fall prey to the temptation to romanticise the past – the things I can no longer do now that children are in the picture - or idealise the future - when the boys are older and (I hope) family life will be easier than it sometimes is at the moment. 

Don’t misunderstand me: I enjoy my life and I feel incredibly blessed, and there are days of absolute contentment.  Like Saturday, when I had the boys all to myself all day (which wouldn’t be my choice at the weekend) and it was one of those rare days when everything went right (it helped that I’d had an unusually good night’s sleep).  But of course it isn’t always like that!

Every season has its beauty and its burden – as a speaker I heard recently so eloquently put it.  But he also spoke about the importance of living wholeheartedly in the phase of life we’re in if we want to live fulfilled and fruitful lives.  And I think it would be fair to say that I cannot truly honour God with my life – as I hope to do - if I am yearning for a different season as I will fail to see the blessings and opportunities he has placed before me here and now.  Although some days I would give my right arm for five minutes’ peace and a little more sleep, I know how quickly it will pass.  It won’t be long until I am no longer the centre of the boys’ worlds – and then I will doubtless want to turn the clock back to the days of broken nights and endless demands from little people!

As I’ve thought about my hopes and goals for the year ahead, learning to live more in the present and make the absolute most of the chaotic, exhausting but incredibly special time of life I’m in is a high priority.  What will 2014 look like if I can learn to fully embrace the season I’m in – mess, exhaustion and all - and to be thankful and faithful on both the good and the challenging days?

Jesus - the reason for the season?

I love Christmas.  I love most things about it – the parties, the presents, the pretty decorations, the cheesy Christmas songs, the fact that (most) people are happier and friendlier.  (As it happens, I’m not particularly fond of either turkey or Christmas pudding, but that’s a small price to pay for all the other wonderful things about the season.)  But most of all I love that it is an opportunity to celebrate God coming to earth in the person of Jesus.

For some reason, this year I’ve become more keenly aware of how far we as a society have moved from what I would say is the ‘true’ meaning of Christmas.  Maybe it’s because my elder son understands and absorbs so much more these days, not to mention that he is more susceptible to influences from outside the home.  Keeping him – and us – focused on the real point of Christmas is really hard. Virtually all the Christmas parties he’s attended focus on Santa, reindeer, snowmen and presents.  His nursery school Christmas play – in which he played the part of a soldier – was all about the coming of Father Christmas, not Jesus. 

Don’t get me wrong – I want Alex, Ben and the rest of us to enjoy all that the season offers.  I for one am enjoying the excuse to indulge in plenty of mulled wine and festive treats, and I’m excited about seeing the looks on the boys’ faces when they open their gifts.  What’s more – and I know some Christians will disagree with me on the basis that propagating a belief in a fictional character amounts to lying to our children – I’m very happy to indulge their belief in Father Christmas for as long as it lasts.  To me, Mr C is part of the magic of Christmas, and magic is a special part of childhood.  When I learned ‘the truth’ about Father Christmas I didn’t feel betrayed or lied to, nor did I have any problem continuing to believe that Jesus was real even though Santa wasn’t.  I simply felt a bit wistful about closing the door on that particularly magical aspect of childhood. 

But I do want them to know that Father Christmas, trees and stockings are not the point of it all, but rather the humble beginnings of the Saviour the world had been waiting for for centuries.  The story of ‘Immanuel’ – God with us – is where Christmas began and where its real, true and lasting magic lies.  How have we ended up in a place where many people don’t even make any association between Christ-mas and Christ?

The other day one of my colleagues was mocking the signs that tend to spring up outside churches around this time of year with cheesy slogans like ‘Jesus is the reason for the season’.  Now I have some sympathy with the mickey taking – some of these slogans are so cringeworthy it’s embarrassing – but what I should have said (had I had the presence of mind) is, “Well yes of course he is - the clue is in the name!”

The distortion of the true meaning of Christmas is, of course, just one symptom of how challenging it is now to bring up children to hold ‘traditional’ Christian beliefs and values, which are often seen as out-dated.  As my children grow up, I obviously won’t be able to force them to take on my beliefs about God or about anything else.  But my observations over this Christmas period have reminded me that we will need to be intentional about teaching them what we believe to be the truth and the best way to live, and exposing them – as best we can – to people and opportunities that will nurture and encourage their faith.  Not easy but totally worth it from the perspective of eternity. 

To have or not to have

I had a conversation with a friend recently about the pressure kids face to keep up with trends and to own the ‘right’ stuff, the spending required to indulge this desire, and the dilemma this creates for parents.  My friend’s children are a few years older than mine, so she’s already immersed in the world of ‘I want …’, ‘So-and-so’s got…’ and so on, while I’m hoping I’ve got a few more years before the peer pressure to own this or that comes into full force.

Nevertheless, it made me think about what my approach will be when the boys start asking for ‘stuff’ that they don’t strictly need. Obviously, no one wants their child to be the odd one out, or to be alienated because they haven’t got the latest whatever-it-may-be.  I remember being teased at school once because I didn’t have a certain type of lunchbox – yes, really! 

Obviously everybody’s definition of ‘need’ is different.  I’d like to think that Bryan and I are not especially materialistic, but we’re certainly not immune to a touch of the green-eyed monster when it comes to the lives and possessions of those around us, and it would be unrealistic to think our kids will be any different.

But I also want my sons – as most parents do - to appreciate what they have, to realise that you can’t have everything and to learn to distinguish needs from wants. I don’t want them to be slaves to fashion, nor to put their security in possessions, nor to continually envy what others have.

The apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Philippian church: “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation.”

Paul wrote this knowing what it meant to really be ‘in need’ – something we are unlikely to ever know. But he also knew what it meant to be content regardless of what he did or did not have – and evidently contentment is something that can be practised and learned.

Somehow, we will need to balance the desire to bless the boys and to be generous to them while teaching them to be content whatever they have or do not have, and to care more about people than things.  This will involve two things at least: teaching them to practise generosity – a good antidote to greed and materialism – and opening their eyes from a young age to the reality of the world they live in and to how incredibly prosperous we are compared to the majority. 

Incidentally, I remember vividly an occasion when I was about ten which taught me a great deal about money, its value and thinking before you spend.  The in-thing to have was a Nintendo Gameboy, and I really wanted one, but they were about £70 – a significant amount for a ten-year-old 25 years ago.  My Dad wanted to be sure it wasn’t just a passing fad so he worked out a strict saving plan. It took many weeks and a lot of car-washing before I could afford that Gameboy - and I have rarely appreciated anything more when I finally got my hands on it!

How to talk so kids will listen...

“Why didn’t you listen to mummy?” 

“Because I don’t want to.”

Where do you go from there?!  This time it was about yanking on the lounge curtains.  If I had a quid for every time I’ve said, “Don’t do that, you’ll break it,” I’d have retired by now.  This time the curtain rail finally buckled, and Alex was banished to the ‘naughty step’ and banned from his usual bedtime treat of watching model train videos on the iPad (yes, I know, my son is a geek).

After his requisite three minutes on the naughty step, I attempted to engage him in a discussion about his disregard of my orders.  To be fair, he is generally a good kid and I don’t think his answer (above) was deliberately belligerent.  What possessed me to think that my question was likely to elicit an answer from a three-year-old that was acceptable to me I’m not entirely sure.  But my adult logic sought a reason for his apparent amnesia when it comes to parental instruction.  At one level his answer amused me of course, but it also raised yet again that perennial question about the best way to bring about cooperation and obedience from one’s children - as the book* I’m currently reading eloquently puts it: One of the built-in frustrations of parenthood is the daily struggle to get our children to behave in ways that are acceptable to us and to society.

I’m probably getting carried away – he is only three after all.  But I was also left reflecting on how often I doubt myself and the appropriateness of my reactions.  Was I too soft or did I over-react?  Is it the right battle to fight?  Is the ‘naughty step’ a suitable sanction for a three-year-old?  I spent the rest of the evening wondering whether I should change my mind about the iPad: would a change of heart appear to be ‘giving in’, and make him think he can always get his own way, or is it a good thing to show willingness to negotiate?

For some reason I think I assumed that once I became a parent I would instinctively know how to handle these scenarios.  As all parents will know, of course, nothing could be further from the truth.  And obviously there isn’t always a right way and a wrong way, but if there’s one thing I have learned it’s that it’s important to be as consistent as possible (and – as in other fields of life – to appear confident in my decisions even if I don’t always feel it!).   Both easier said than done of course. 

Incidentally, after one half-hearted request for the iPad at bedtime - which I declined - Alex actually settled down to sleep remarkably easily.  I’m inclined to be glad I stood my ground on this occasion!  Maybe next time he’ll listen to his mother - although I’m not holding my breath!

*‘How to talk so kids will listen and listen so kids will talk’ by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish – highly recommended!

Deciding what is most important

I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with social media. Computers and I have never been the best of friends anyway, and conducting one’s social life online has always struck me as a bit odd.  But, much as I hate to admit it, the social media world is slowly and insidiously gaining a hold on me. First Facebook, then LinkedIn, and then a blog.  My latest discovery is Pinterest. 

On the one hand, Pinterest is an ingenious solution to what to do with all those ideas, inspirations and ‘how-to’ guides that would otherwise lie forgotten in an in-tray, and on the other an easy way of wasting a great deal of time.  Nonetheless, I’m having fun unearthing (mostly) useful titbits of information on two of my favourite topics – faith and parenting – and my latest fascination is pinning ideas for craft and cooking activities to do with the boys, and advice on how to get boys interested in God.

I’ve discovered, however, a hidden peril of learning too much about how other people spend their time: it points out the kind of mother I am not, and all the things I am not doing with and for my children. I am already far too prone to feeling inadequate, without the added pressure that comes with such ready access to all manner of information about what other mothers are and do. 

That is clearly not helpful and, as God has chosen me to be Alex and Ben’s mummy, surely I am to believe that I am the best person for the job!  I cannot be anything other than who I am, but I want to be the best version of me that I can be for my kids.  It led me to think about what I think is most important in the task of parenting and what kind of mum I really want to be.

Perhaps most importantly, I want my children to know that they are ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’, to quote the well-known Psalm, and that they are loved unconditionally.

I want to be my boys’ biggest fan!  I want to encourage and help them to discover their gifts, focus on their strengths and pursue their dreams, and to create an environment in which they feel safe and able to explore all these things.

I want to raise kids who are kind, caring, compassionate and others-focused and – the biggest challenge – that means they need to see those characteristics modelled in their home.

I want to raise grateful children who enjoy the blessings they have but know how lucky they are.  I want to foster a spirit of generosity in our family, where giving to others – financially and otherwise – is natural and automatic.  I want them to learn to hold people dearly and things lightly (again, quite a challenge to me there).

I want to allow them to embrace the freedom of childhood but teach them to take appropriate levels of responsibility for themselves and others.

I want my kids to know that I value and respect their opinion, and their right to disagree with me sometimes!  And I want to be prepared to acknowledge when I am in the wrong or have handled something badly.

I want to say yes more than I say no.

And lastly, I want to bring a little bit of magic into my kids’ childhood.  They are only going to be kids once, and I’ve only got this one chance to make it the best it can be – and enjoy it with them!

An unhealthy dose of maternal guilt

So, for three days a week I'm back to the rat race - running for trains, jostling on the platform and drowning in a sea of emails.  And so the time has come for Ben to join his big brother at nursery two days a week - how did we get to this point so quickly?

For some reason the guilt at leaving them is worse than last time - in fact, I don't remember feeling particularly guilty at all when I went back to work after having Alex, although perhaps I've chosen to forget!  I'm not entirely sure why this time is different, although part of it may be that Ben will probably be my last baby,  so I'm more acutely aware of the need to cherish each moment of each phase of babyhood/toddlerhood.  With Alex, there was always the assumption that there would be another maternity leave to enjoy.  Ben is also a proper Mummy's boy and clings, limpet-like, when dropped off at nursery, putting on his best 'you're so mean to me' wail, complete with lip quiver - although I'm told that he's as happy as larry the minute I walk out of the door.  Cheeky monkey.

As far as Alex is concerned, my Facebook news feed has this week been full of wistful parents waving their kids off to school and lamenting where the time has gone.  That will be me this time next year - school applications are looming and just today my 'guide to school applications' dropped through the letterbox - so I'm also conscious of my desire to cherish every moment with Alex, too, before he heads off to big school and fully embarks on his journey towards independence.

I think I also feel a bit guilty that part of me likes working.  It's an opportunity to be the old me - to expand my world again, have adult conversation, enjoy 30 glorious and uninterrupted minutes to read my book on the train, and the chance to finish a whole cup of coffee.  Ridiculously, I would also feel guilty if I wasn't working, worrying that I wasn't contributing financially to the household income, and even that I wasn't contributing enough to society - although I know that the very act of raising a child wisely is one of the greatest contributions to society that one can make.

On the positive side, having two facets to life does make me appreciate both more than I perhaps otherwise would.  I revel in putting on make up and going to work, but I'm also enjoying more than ever the chance to muck around with the boys, play trains and spend a bit longer in our PJs on my days 'off'.  In some ways, the boys have the best of all worlds - one special day each week with their Nana, which they're very lucky to have, two days at nursery and four at home.  Not a bad life.

Unfortunately, I'm  one of those people who will always feel guilty about something!  But I'm sure things will settle down and we'll all get used to the new status quo (and at the same time the novelty of working will wear off!).  I guess there is no 'right' way of doing things, and each family finds the solution that is right for them.  In the meantime, I know the guilt is not from God, so I'm praying that he will help me to find freedom from it and to make the most of every opportunity in my diverse and varied week.

Praying for my children

I am not as good or frequent a pray-er as I would like to be.  I think about prayer a lot, and I know how important it is in the life of a Christian, but talking about it is a lot easier than doing it, and I'm far too easily distracted by urgent-but-in-the-grand-scheme-of-things-not-very-important activities.

But when I do get around to it, prayers for my children occupy a large portion of my prayer time, and I've been thinking recently about what I tend to pray for them. Not necessarily in order of importance, but here's what's on my heart for my boys:

That God will guard and protect them - physically, mentally and spiritually 

That they will always know Jesus as their Lord and Saviour, and that they will never be afraid or ashamed to testify to their faith in him

That as they grow up they will discover and celebrate their gifts, talents and dreams; that they would dream big dreams and have the courage to pursue their passions

That they will use their time, energy, gifts and resources to serve and bless others, such that the world will be a better place for having them in it

That they will always have a good relationship with each other, and help and encourage each other to be the best they can be (speaking as an only child, who would have loved a sibling, having a brother or sister seems to me to be a special gift that I hope they will learn to cherish)

Appreciating the now

Another article that has given me pause for thought in recent days and which I am determined to take on board as much of the content was uncomfortably close to home - though I think banishing those two words from my vocabulary entirely may be a step too far!!

http://www.handsfreemama.com/2013/07/16/the-day-i-stopped-saying-hurry-up/

Re-defining productivity

Trying to make the most of the time to write while I have it, as time is slipping away all too quickly... back to work in just over a week.  

People keep asking me how I feel about going back, and my default, sitting-on-the-fence answer is 'mixed'.  In the last such conversation I was listing the positives about returning to employment, citing among them 'the desire to be productive', to which my questioner's (gentle, not scolding) reply was 'there's nothing more productive than raising children'.  

I know that in theory, of course, but her words have really stayed with me - perhaps partly because of the change of pace and focus that my life is about to undergo.  My predominantly home-based existence is about to change in favour of a partially-office-based one that often feels more productive in the short-term (and will certainly provide a different focus and element of sanity that is not to be sniffed at) but in the end cannot compare with the responsibility, privilege and joy of raising two boys into (hopefully!) strong yet kind, caring and responsible men who will (again, hopefully) put their trust in God, discover their gifts and take their place among God's people in the world. 

The conversation, and my subsequent musings, reminded me of a line from 'The Great Mystery of Motherhood' blog post I posted last time - the one that sums me up so perfectly:

'That you believe and know that motherhood's the most important job you'll ever have, and yet struggle to feel content with the doing of it'.

May God help me understand and appreciate the amazing role, responsibility and blessing he has given me in my children, and cherish every moment of it!

My gorgeous boys!

Yes I'm still alive...

Well, so much for resurrecting the long-lost practice of diary-writing. I know I've still got a good excuse - even after the exhausting newborn phase is over babies are still pretty demanding creatures, especially when they have a big brother too - but 11 months? Really?

I'd love to say I've spent every minute of those 11 months cherishing and relishing every last mundane, revolting and downright weird motherhood experience - that wouldn't quite be true, but suffice to say the year has been quite an adventure, and mostly a good, albeit somewhat sleep-deprived, one. I kind of wish I'd managed to record the year in a bit more detail, and one of these days (well it's going to have to be soon, as I'm back to the work grindstone in 2 weeks - where did that time go?!) I will try to note the highlights and the (mercifully few) lowlights.  

But for now, I read this blogpost the other day and had to preserve it for posterity, as it perfectly captures my often-paradoxical emotions about the draining yet wonderful thing that parenthood is, and reminds me that, even on days when I feel I've done nothing but change nappies and puree food, even this has infinite value and is all part of the process of raising my little boys to become the men of God I hope and pray they will be.

http://www.gracelaced.com/2013/07/03/the-great-mystery-of-motherhood/

Benjamin and big brother Alex