Author: fionacharisbrown

Real and raw. 

/ fionacharisbrown / Leave a comment

Sam is a fellow Mum at my boys’ school. English is her second language, but I think it’s fair to say that Sam has a fairly good handle on the ins and outs of English. Three weeks into her brand new life here in New Zealand, Sam made the comment to me that ‘this flag debate. It is hot button topic, yes?’. 

Yep. This ole flag business is indeed a hot button topic. 

Sam’s English is just fine.

Anyway. Today at school drop off, which was more eventful than the norm because some fiddle fingers fidget managed to set off a fire alarm right before bell time so that all the doting parents who were either lingering  over a final kiss on young Johnny’s cheek, or, those who were deep in conversation with another parent, were stuck on the school campus too. 

I’m embracing the doting parent gig right now, so I was one of the stuck ones today. But so was my new friend Sam, so we chatted a bit while we stood on the top field and from a distance we watched the firefighters come and do their checks. Spring has sprung in these parts but someone needs to tell the wind to warm up a tad. Our conversation today began with the grumps over this stupid wind and the stupid coldness that just can’t seem to dissipate. Stupid stupid. 

Then Sam mentioned something to me that has been burning away quietly in my brain for the whole day. 

With a gentleness and earnestness, Sam said to me that she ‘always saw me with a calm face’. 

Now I laughed that off straight away and assured her, that no, my face was not always calm and my voice does get louder on occasion and sometimes I do overreact and definitely do not display lovejoypeacepatiencekindnessgoodnessselfcontrol all the time. Nah. Not this chick. I then told Sam that even if my face looked calm, then certainly my heart wasn’t. And Mother to Mother. Friend to Friend. Sister to Sister. Sam got that. I didn’t need to find a simpler way to say it. I didn’t need to think fast and reach for synonyms that she may have come across before. She got it.

But after I had made sure I had put her straight, and after I had secretly high fived my kids in my head for being the amazing kids that they are, I kinda felt a little teeny bit crushed. I’m not one to wear my heart on my sleeve, but I also don’t ever want to appear to be someone that I’m not. 

Ya know? 

What you see is what you get. That’s healthy, right? 

There’s this new hunger for people to be real and raw with each other. Which is great in my mind, but only sorta. It’s sorta good, but you can’t just spew your deep and meaningfuls to everyone, all of the time. Filters, people. Filters. 

So how do you approach this whole being real with people about your life – all parts of your life; the good, and the great and the not so great, but come out of it all with your heart intact, trust still strong and intact, and your feelings validated? 

One key I’ve only lately discovered is to listen for the right questions. 

Sometimes in your group of friends you may get lucky with a friend who asks you the right questions. Actually they are sometimes the wrong questions, coz they may make you unexpectedly tear up or reveal more of yourself than you ever intended, but that means they were the right questions. 

So listen for the right questions, and when you’ve got someone asking you the right questions, you know they are genuine. You know they are safe. You know you are safe. Because if someone is asking you the right questions, they are most likely listening to the answers to their questions. Your answers. 

Anne Lamott says that she thinks that ‘closing down is safe, but really staying open and loving is safer, because we’re all connected to all that life and love’.

I’d like to one day be remembered as one who asked questions. Questions about the big stuff, but also questions about the little things, and all the in between things. And as I navigate through life I know it’s important to encourage others when things are going well, but when things aren’t good…..when life’s challenges come and stress nips at my ankles, like a persistent dog who doesn’t know that playtime is over and his drooly jowls that were once cute are now unwelcome at my ankles, then it’s ok to not have my calm face on. And then, it’s time to seek out those who ask the right questions. 

That’s being real and raw.

  

When breathing is a struggle.

/ fionacharisbrown / Leave a comment

Sometimes when my littlest guy isn’t feeling the best he’ll creep into my bed at night and snuggle in. With his ninja like ability to sneak under the covers, avoiding Dad’s side of the bed, he ensures that his place beside me is secure. 

My boys are for the most part pretty healthy little dudes, but the youngest, if he’s not going to be well, it does always seem to affect his breathing.

So sometimes he curls into my side, and I wrap my arm around him. I let him know I’m there. He doesn’t need to worry. I can hear the tightness in his chest. The crackling deep down. Sometimes it takes a bit of soothing before there’s a better flow to his breathing, before there’s an ease, and once again he’s breathing deeply and evenly. 

Grief can sneak up on us, just like the struggle to breathe. 

Sometimes we just don’t expect it. We’re moving forward, just getting on with life, when all of a sudden, the simple things, like breathing, just don’t seem so simple any more. 

We grieve for the past. For losses and offenses, for misunderstandings and misconstrued situations.

We grieve for the present. For wrong choices and missed opportunities, for having to live with less than our ideal.

And we grieve for our futures. For that which won’t come to pass.

When we lived in Oregon we were only an hour and a half down the road from Roseburg, where a terrible shooting took place last week. We have friends in that town and many of our immediate circle of friends have close ties to that town. To say this has rocked theirs and our worlds would be an understatement. 

Today the University in the town immediately next to our American home town has been shut because of an unconfirmed threat. Yesterday the community college and library in our town was evacuated because of a bomb threat. Even here in New Zealand, authorities have been investigating threats at three of our Universities. There is madness all around us it feels. 

My social media feeds are full of opinions of all the extremes, in regards to guns and laws and restrictions. I know enough about the bigger picture situation to know that there is so much I don’t know. While I know I’m entitled to  an opinion, my own social media posts will never be about that for I feel we need hope more than we need opinions.

Perspectives are so varied and everyone feels justified and riled up and the need to be heard. 

But in the meantime, people are struggling to breathe. 

People are grieving. 

While opinions surround us, let’s give the gift of presence.

 Let’s be that shoulder, that strength when there is no strength. Yes, for people affected by recent tragedy, but in a broader sense too. For the people around us, wherever we might be. 

When my little guy seeks comfort in the night, when his chest is tight, I find myself holding him close and even though I am perfectly healthy, before I know it my chest is starting to feel a little tight and I feel a little pain, as I sync up with his breathing pattern. 

And so it is with people. Feeling each other’s pain. Being there for each other. And in a greater sense, I know that as we grieve, the Father grieves. The Lord is near to the broken hearted, and saves those whose spirits are crushed.

Whatever grief you’re facing, whatever hurts are held deep down in your chest, making it hard to breathe….you’re not alone. There’s a loving God who is hovering close, who wants to embrace you, to let you know there’s no pain too awful for Him to bear with you. Ask Him, seek Him, invite Him near. He longs to come close. 

Opinions can wait, presence can not. Presence helps the breathing to flow, deeply and evenly. This I know. 

  

Permission.

/ fionacharisbrown / Leave a comment

I wanna be like Penny when I grow up.

With her beautiful twinkling eyes, ever present smile accompanied by love crinkles, feisty spirit, and good natured jesting with her husband, Penny is just the kinda lady I want to be.

Penny was a guest speaker at a conference I just attended. She shared from her wealth of knowledge and experience. She encouraged and she blessed. She told wonderful stories from the early days of the Vineyard Church movement, but the biggest and bestest take home nugget of gold I got from her, out of all the other truths she shared, was permission to just be a work in progress. And isn’t that what we’re all crying out for these days?

There’s this thing out there in the big wide world, that says we need to do it all.  And be it all.  We need to have ‘it’ all sorted, and have it sorted yesterday. 

And sometimes we can do it all.

Whatever ‘it’ is.

But none of us can do all the things we may wish to do, all of the time, no matter how hard we try, no matter how constant the pressure is, whether is it really there or simply implied…..

If you’ve been reading my blog for any amount of time, you’ll know I am a Christ follower. I love God and I love walking my Journey with other Christians. But even in some church circles, there’s sometimes this belief that you should have your life mostly ‘together’. And often this belief is accompanied by the thought that you should only share your struggles from a place of victory, a place of overcoming. 

But the fact is we’re all on a journey. Whether you’re a christian or not, I believe that we are all at different stages. We all have things we can do, we can’t do, things we shouldn’t do, things we should do, to be the healthiest and happiest versions of ourselves we can be. 

And I think we can all do with hearing what Penny had to say at a session yesterday. A panel of women were asked how they deal with anxiety and worry, and I felt like Penny gave us a very real and raw answer. She sat on the stage and very graciously admitted that she didn’t cope with anxiety and worry very well at all. That this is something she struggles with, and she relies on others to help her get through times when worry consumes her. 

This was in a nutshell giving us permission. 

Permission to not have it all together. Permission to have areas in our lives where we need to lean on others. Permission to be works in progress, no matter how far along our christian walk we are. Permission to be real and raw and honest. Permission to be ok with our flaws and troubles. 

Time and time again I’m reminded of community. Of friendship. Of reciprocity. Of people standing in the gap for others. And yesterday Penny reminded me of   the importance of vulnerability, of not ever having to appear as if life is always easy and good. Permission for that is a gift, and a gracious gift at that. 

I wanna be like Penny when I grow up. Just like Penny. 

  

Soundtracks.

/ fionacharisbrown / Leave a comment

When I was a young teenager my family spent many weekends and holidays visiting my Grandad, in a very beautiful part of the world. The drive from Invercargill to Queenstown was very often accompanied by cassette tapes from artists like David Meece and Kenny Marks, Amy Grant and the dcTalk. When I think of every turn and straight along that road, of the majestic mountains in the area, and the beautiful weeping willows lining the rivers and lakes, I also think of the songs that so regularly accompanied my journey.

When I was a University Student I was able to travel a little bit overseas. I remember buying Rich Mullin’s cd ‘Songs’ at a music store in America, then I played it all the way from America to Singapore, then on to Nepal. The air miles ticked away while I happily listened to Rich’s glorious anthems. 

When I was pregnant with my third child, the only real time I had to myself was when I was driving from one end of our small town, to the other end of the town right next to ours for my obstetrician’s appointments. And when some complications occurred and those appointments became more regular, that driving time became more regular, and that driving time was always accompanied by the same favourite CD of mine at the time. If I started with track one as I was pulling out of our driveway, I was usually on track four when I was exiting the interstate, and track six took me to the doctor’s car park. 

Soundtracks. Looking back at the last thirty years of my life, I can remember the musical soundtracks I have listened to, the soundtracks that influenced me and accompanied various ages and stages of my life.

You know just like music has changed over the years, and my musical taste has changed over the years, thank the good Lord……so have the other voices I have listened to changed….and I’m realising that I need to constantly look at who and what are the voices I’m listening to. Who and what are the influences in my life. Who and what are the things that form a crowd on the sidelines of my life. Are they my cheering squad? Do they cause me to love better, to live better and to hope more? Or are they my Debbie Downers? Do they cause my life to be more inward looking, negative and highlight the worst in circumstances?

I realize that right now I’m so fortunate to have amazing people in my life. People who have my back, people who see the gold and can impart Godly wisdom into my life. That’s such a gift and I’m so grateful.  But it takes intentionality to make these things become the soundtrack of my life. 

And just as we can give permission to others to speak into our lives, as a Christian I know I need to constantly be giving God an even greater space to be the main soundtrack in my life. 

It takes determination to listen to the voice of truth. 

It takes decisiveness to believe we don’t need to be afraid, as He is in control. 

It takes a certain resolve to choose to believe we are who He says we are. 

And when we do, that’s  the very best soundtrack for my life that I know I can have. 

God’s word, God’s voice and God’s people,  that’s a recipe for the perfect three part harmony to be our soundtracks for sure. 

  

More than a can. 

/ fionacharisbrown / 5 Comments

I spied with my little eye, some cans of Libby’s Canned Pumpkin, and my heart fluttered. I smiled at the stranger pushing her shopping cart down the same aisle as me.

At my local supermarket, here in little ole New Zealand that’s a bit of a find you see. We use pumpkin more in savoury dishes..like soup, and as a side with roast meat. And if we want it puréed in any way, shape or form, we’re more likely to do that ourselves…none of this canned business….

But when I saw the can of Libby’s, I didn’t just see a can filled with an orange vegetable, and I saw more than an ingredient for a very important  component, of a very important meal.

Two years ago when we left the land of the brave and the home of the free,we flew downunder via a brief stop in Fiji. It was tough having to be there for a family wedding, but if needs must. We’ll always remember the questioning looks the Fijian Immigration Officers gave us as our suitcases went through the X-ray machines. For part of our precious luggage were some cans of Libby’s Canned Pumpkin….The Fijians were familiar with canned corned beef, pumpkin; not so much.

Why was precious luggage space and weight occupied by such items? Why did I rejoice so much upon discovering the cans in my local supermarket recently?

Well you see, we learnt and saw many things in our four and a half year stint of living Stateside.
My family and I discovered the delights of peanut butter m& ms. Of root beer floats, the convenience of gluten free bisquick mix and the joys of Sonic Hot Fudge Sundaes.
We used to say  that our favourite ‘American’ food was ‘Mexican’.
And we would also say that our favourite American holiday was without a doubt Thanksgiving. We loved learning about the first Thanksgiving  as our children learnt about it at school. We were thrilled to be invited into other families celebrations, to feast with them at their extended tables. We beg/ borrowed and stole special Thanksgiving recipes that had been passed down from generation to generation. But most of all we embraced what’s at the core of Thanksgiving; of taking time to take stock of God’s faithfulness, of remembering His goodness and blessings in our lives and actively recalibrating our hearts, to be thankful.

We moved from America with five suitcases in hand, five carry-on pieces and six cubic metres of belongings were shipped by sea. We left America with a whole bunch of beautiful memories, amazing experiences behind us and wonderful friendships established. But the most important American ‘thing’ we left with, is our very own little American.
And so he will grow up knowing about the town he was born in, being familiar with our friends and adopted family there, and we’ll delight in celebrating with him , the wonderful holiday that is Thanksgiving.

And while I’m perfectly capable of puréeing my own pumpkins, why would I, when I now know where to buy a can of Libby’s which is exactly the right consistency and texture for pie?

I’m a pretty simplistic kinda gal, but I sincerely believe the world would be a better place, if we could all sit down together over pie, with hearts centred on thankfulness. It does something to your innerds, when you take time to take stock of all we have, of the richness we’re surrounded with, and when you actively decide to live a life of thanksliving.

Canned pumpkin may be something you can easily get your hands on, or it may be more of a treasure search depending on where you live. I’ll always look at it, and fondly anticipate a certain meal in November, and with that, center my heart on God’s goodness and graciousness, no matter what else is happening in my life.

This year, I’m gonna eat my pie, and my soul is gonna soar, singing these words to this song;
Your goodness knows no bounds

Unfailing Love in you is found

Your faithfulness and truth remain

Through every age

(Lyrics to ‘Your Love Remains’, Grace Vineyard Church, Christchurch, NZ, 2014).

Who would have thought that canned vegetables have so much to offer? But they do, friends, they do.

pumpcake3-2

The trip gift.

/ fionacharisbrown / Leave a comment

I’m being given the gift of a trip. For when I turn 40. Which isn’t soon, but soon enough. It’s the kind of gift that people never expect to fall into their laps. But it is happening to little ole me.

Seriously.

I get to pick a place in the world, anywhere in this wonderful, beautiful world we live in, and I have a bit of flexibility in what time of the year to go, and to celebrate my birthday, my brother is taking me, to my chosen destination.

Gobsmacking stuff, right?

Anywhere.

My kids think I’m a little crazy that I don’t have a set place to go to yet.

You see there’s a lot to consider. This is my one big chance to go wherever. Wherever.

For a mere day I toyed with the idea of choosing something radical like signing my brother and I up for a half marathon in some amazing historical city like Prague (and yep, a marathon is held there, I got as far as googling it). But who am I kidding? I can’t even run to the corner and while a challenge would be good for me, I’m not that gal that needs to prove herself through that kinda challenge. If I say that three times fast then I may begin to believe it.

I’ve also thought about doing something adventurous like climbing something…..or cycling something….but that’s not really my cup of tea.

The fact that it’s my brother and I on this trip is neat. I like him a lot. My brother. And not just cos he’s uber generous. But it also rules out a few destinations that would be what my romantic self would prefer to go to with my Spunky Hunk.

I’m also taking into consideration that I have coeliac disease and really don’t want to be in a foreign country and be hungry the whole time, because of the food limitations. A hungry Fiona would all too quickly become hangry.

So yeah. I’m thinking practically. But I’m also trying to engage a part of my  brain that hasn’t been used in a while. That part of me that allows herself to dream.

Yeah dream.

I think that somehow, somewhere, in amongst the demands and expectations of everyday, normal life, the ability to dream has somehow, somewhere leaked out of me. How about you? When was the last time you had a dream about something you wanted to do, something you desired to be? Something just for you. Not for your spouse/ partner/children/ siblings/ family/ friends. But you.

The book club that I’m part of is reading Bill Hybel’s book ‘simplify’ at the moment. The book looks at ten practices to unclutter your soul. I think most people these days are over scheduled, exhausted and overwhelmed at times. If any of those words are niggling away at your conscience , then I recommend giving this book a go.

Last night the chapter we looked at was talking about harnessing your calendar’s power, of how a calendar can be the primary tool for helping you become who you want to become. Hybels gives examples of people who by prioritising something enough to make room in their calendar for it, were able to make drastic changes to their lives. ‘If you start by plugging in the time slots on your calendar that determine who you want to become – and then fill in the other stuff around it, you’ll gradually become the kind of person you want to be’.

John Grisham was an attorney until he put the word ‘write’ into his calendar.

What’s your word?

What have you forgotten about, or put aside, in the hustle and bustle of life? What word have you left on the train, a by-product of your daily commute? Has your word been left on your baby’s change table? Is it in the pile of newsletters and communiques that you’re quietly ignoring weeding through?  Is your word stuck in your car, because you’re in and out of that vehicle all day, between the demands of your job, and maybe caring for elderly parents?

Maybe it is time to pick up that word, from wherever in your world you’ve cast it to, and it is time to remember what that word stirs in your soul.

I’m pretty sure my word for the moment is ‘dream’. To take some time out from the demands of raising a young family, to forget about the restrictions of budgets and schedules, and to relearn how to dream. And I’m hoping that with that, will come a very strong desire in my mind for a destination for this trip of a lifetime.

My fortieth is going to be epic, wherever I end  up going, whatever I end up doing, but the journey I’m taking in getting there, is maybe worth as much as the trip itself. This rekindled ability to dream. That’s kinda priceless.

dreampic

Desperation.

/ fionacharisbrown / Leave a comment

Desperation is seeing a word on a train, mistaking it to be a destination in a country you’re hoping to get to, and boarding that train amidst a pressing crowd, and against the authorities wishes.

Desperation is pushing your wife and infant onto railroad tracks and grabbing hold of them of them and holding on for dear life, with gritted teeth literally biting your wife’s clothing. Attempting to stay together, attempting to reach a desired destination, against all odds.

Desperation is passing your terrified child over the heads of a surging crowd, willing your child to make it onto the transport out of your miserable no mans land.

Desperation makes people do desperate things.

I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely desperate for anything.

If you’re reading this, I imagine you’re the same. You know you live in a completely different level of comfort than many of our brothers and sisters experiencing displacement right now. And you’re moved by the stark images you’re seeing of the refugee crisis. You truly are. But you don’t know how or where you can help.

Here are some things you can do. I’ve collated some things that little ole me, and little ole you can do. Many years ago I wore a shirt that bore the words ‘when desperation exceeds our fears, progress begins’.

Friends, it is time for progress. 

  •  If you’re in New Zealand, please sign this petition to increase the refugee quota.
  • If you’re in Australia, please sign this petition, urging the Australian government to take in 20,000 Syrian refugees.
  • Tear Fund New Zealand makes these suggestions: Write to your local MP or the Minster of Immigration.  Donate to us as we help the refugees in practical ways. Take part in a protest march (details on www.tearfund.org.nz). Volunteer with a refugee agency here in NZ.
  • And Ann Voskamp gives five examples of things we can do in her recent blog post here.

photo-1433321768402-e8ed97b0324c

Lessons from gecko poop.

/ fionacharisbrown / Leave a comment

Gecko poop, piles of dog hair, a drug den and hard, hard, hardwood floors. These are some of the ingredients that mixed together formed a breaking point of sorts in my soul and taught me something good and well.

We were brand new to Australia and had moved into a rental house we’d applied for without having seen in person. Within a short time of being there we were told that the previous tenants had been arrested for drug dealing and people still drove by, hoping for a deal or two to go down.  Mmmm. That’s a comforting thought with three children underfoot. The house was filthy. Years of grime filthy. So I spent a good amount of time trying to de-grime it. We were in the middle of a five month stint of homeschooling, as we had just come out of an American Summer, then had weeks of visiting family and had weeks to go before the new school year started in Queensland. So we had this beautiful homeschooling routine, which brought structure to our lonely days, but we had no furniture, so would sit on these hard wooden floorboards. I could go on, but I won’t. All in all it was a full blown recipe for some ‘character building’ moments.

Character building seasons are all very well and good, for a time.

For a time.

But I quickly discovered that if you’re in one of these character building seasons, but happen to leave the back door of your heart open to some stinkin’ thinkin’, well then.

Well then indeed.

I’ve never really been one to think ‘woe is me’. That wasn’t my dealio. Nah. My problem was more to do with entitlement and thinking I/ my family deserved better.

That thinking in me, didn’t last, thanks be to God. But I see a lot of it all around me. And have decided that nothing good comes from it.

There’s a lot of people out there thinking they are ‘deserving’ of stuff.  And from my experience, that just opens up a whole can of worms.

If you’re not a Christ follower then entitlement completely makes sense: you work hard, you do your best in whatever it is you’re doing, you work your way up the ladder and good stuff follows. You deserve the salary, the houses, the cars, the holidays. You get stuff, because of what you do.

If you are a Christ follower, then things in your world are a little or a lot more topsy turvey. The last shall be first. A goal to have is to ‘act justly, love mercy, walk humbly with my God’.  The bible encourages us to look out for others, especially the widows, the orphans and the poor. There’s not a whole heap of self establishing going on in the bible, but there is a lot of outward looking, community building, watching out for others shenanigans.

And so, this is where I found a big disconnect with those, including myself, who have thought that so and so ‘deserves’ such and such.

I now believe that there’s actually nothing in the world that I really deserve.

Everything I am and have, is through Gods grace. Through God’s goodness. You see if I were to believe, as a christian, that I deserved such as such because I’ve done such and such to earn that, then isn’t that putting our own economy of scale on something we have absolutely no right to do? Because the minute we do, it all blows up in our faces. I can’t ever say ‘I deserve’ this…..when it discredits others I know, who are doing incredible God stuff.

Friends of ours who selflessly and tirelessly foster children. Time and time again they open up their home and their hearts, creating space for just one more.

My christian doctor friend who over and over, didn’t charge me what she could have, when I was on a cocktail of painkillers and never ending appointments.

All the christian teachers I know who plan and pray and do their best to protect the children in their care.  The job where enough is never done, there’s always more to do.

You see all these people, and countless more, are just getting on and doing stuff,  coz that’s what they believe in. So how can we say that one is more deserving of ‘stuff’ than others? This is the body of Christ getting on and doing stuff. If you’re to single people out and say that what one is doing is more worthy than others, that they deserve stuff, then aren’t you in a way discrediting all the stuff others are doing?

And I don’t think that’s the best way for this world to operate. We need each other. We need to know our callings and we need to be operating to fulfil them and encouraging each other, all the way. And the best way I know of how to keep this entitlement business far from entering the back door of my heart, is to see each and every thing in my life as a gift. Beautiful gifts.

My children.

Spunky hunk of a husband.

Our health.

Food in my fridge.

Friends who love and support me .

A church family who care.

Enough money to pay for electricity, water and gas.

All precious gifts. Anything more would still be a great gift. But nothing I’ve done or will do, ensures the gifting of these things to me. That’s the glory of grace.

Don’t we normally try to look after our gifts, just that extra bit harder? And don’t we think fondly and lovingly towards the giver of our gifts?

I know when I close the back door of my heart to any feelings of entitlement, and just concentrate on the glorious gifts in my  life, then all my attitudes and perspectives are that much healthier, happier and satisfied. Funny how it took a large amount of gecko poop to teach me this.

Finding the delightful in the different.

/ fionacharisbrown / 4 Comments

image

This is for any parent who has ever had to sit through an ‘assessment’ on their child.

For every parent who has had developmental milestones clearly spelt out for them and been told their child fits outside of the normal parameters.

Gulp.

For every parent who has sat through an ‘indivualised education plan’ meeting, appearing as their child’s advocate as best they know how.

That’s never easy, not even for those who have walked this road for years.

The size of your child’s gap between what’s considered ‘normal’ and where they actually are, doesn’t actually reflect how big or small your feelings towards this situation could or should be.

Feelings are feelings, reality is reality.

What you have to shoulder each and every day, is no light load.

The grief you may face, knowing your child’s future will quite likely be rather different to their siblings realities, and the hopes and dreams you may have had for them, have had to morph into something different, to your early dreams for them.

I don’t know what challenges you face in your daily life. I don’t how how hard you have to fight to keep a smile on your face, to keep one foot walking in front of the other. I suspect that you rarely get a break, that sometimes people don’t know how or what to say to you, that you’re used to living in a constant state of exhaustion.

However there are parts of your story that I do know. I suspect if you were to sit me down and share your heart with me, I have an inkling that there are certain things you’d want to make crystal clear for me.

I think you would freely share that even though the tiredness is never-ending, there are still snippets of joy and of hope in your days.

I suspect you’d say that yes the appointments, assessments, meetings and therapies are ongoing and are costly in more than one way, but you’ve come to realize that these professionals are (mostly) on the same team as you, with your child’s best interests truly at heart.

I reckon you’d state, with eyes blinking away the tears, because you’re real and you’re raw, that you’ve come to find the delightful in the different. You see that what sets your child apart from others in how they see the world, or how the world sees them, and you can find some true delight in that.

And isn’t that the thing that makes every parent’s heart swell, in each and every child ? Your child is delightful. Your child has a purpose, your child has a place to belong, your child has unique giftings and talents and abilities.

Your child may well be different, but often, that’s the true beginning of real delight.

Space on my sofa.

/ fionacharisbrown / Leave a comment

I couldn’t tell you what was served in the buffet at our wedding reception. I know it was fun choosing the menu, but I can’t for the life of me remember what was placed on my plate that night. (I do have other wonderful memories of that joyous day though). However, I can describe in great detail the meal we had at the top of the sky tower, celebrating an anniversary with dear friends of ours. As the restaurant moved in a steady 360 degree pirouette, we repeated the same conversation every time we came to the same point again. And again. And again.

There’s a building in this city, that I try to avoid driving past. It isn’t a bad building, it isn’t filled with bad people. It’s to do with what happened in that building, many many years ago. When medical professionals begin a sentence with ‘I’m sorry’, you tend not to have warm fuzzy feelings associated with that place.

The day that glorified dragonfly of a plane delivered us to a new city that was to become our new home, in a new land, my family took up half of all the seats on the plane. As I lugged a sleeping preschooler up to my shoulders, and held on for dear life to the handrail on the stairs,for more than one reason, the heat from the hundred degree day embraced me in moments.

Memories sure are a strange cast of characters in the story of our lives.

I’ve just read a beautiful, soul stirring book, prescribed for me by a Doctor friend. A collection of memories written in a most exquisite manner. Normally when reading such gold, I’d want to share the nuggets of truth and wisdom with all my friends in all the lands. But I’ve held off doing so this time, and instead relished the very personal nature of these memoirs. From one broken soul to another.

But there’s one delicate thread that the author has delicately woven throughout her essays. And it stood out to me, as if this thread was coloured highlighter yellow, against a background of white and grey. Anne’s writings are full of companionship; of facing life’s trials, joys, highs and lows, but facing them with others by her side. And it’s this presence thing that keeps blasting me from every direction.

Some of my memories make me breathe deep and even. Pulse steady and eyes bright. Other memories cause my breath to be short and shallow, with my pulse quickening, my heart racing. We’re reactive beings. Being a bible believing, Holy Spirit filled person, doesn’t stop your body from reacting as it naturally does. But the memories I have that cause my spirit to lift, that bring out all the wrinkles around my eyes, are nine times out of ten the memories I have that featured people by my side. Circumstances may have been hard,  but I was not alone.

This reminder I’ve been given about the importance of companionship, makes me want to have space on my sofa for more. I want my living room door to be one that opens freely and frequently. I also know that there may be times when I need to curl up on my sofa, and have someone else place my snuggly, soft blanket evenly over me. There may be days when someone else potters around in my kitchen, boils my kettle and brings me something warm and nourishing, to be placed on my sofa arm. But what I really long for, is to create a space for others. I want to rearrange the cushions around you. I’ll even hide the one that’s dirty. I know it’s there. I’ll whip up something tasty for you, and I’m working on growing my tea collection, to find something that will just tickle your tastebuds. If you need my snuggly, soft blanket, I’d be delighted to place it over you.

If I ever write a book of memoirs, then I’d like a photo of my sofas on its cover. I know the importance of companionship, I know the blessing of ‘presence’, I just hope and pray I can live it. That I can reach out beyond my four walls, that I can see and respond to others who need my hand of friendship. Come, come friend, come and sit over here. Along with that I hope and pray that I will know when to swallow my pride and step into the unknown with all its vulnerable fragileness during those times when I’m the one who needs to have someone put the kettle on for me.

Memories and companionship. That’s a good mix, right? There’s room on my sofa for you, my friend.