Tenth Birthday Celebrations (WARNING - SHOCKING AND UPSETTING SCENES)

Picture the scene.  Your son is days away from his tenth birthday.   Double figures at last!  What a milestone!  You've been busy planning the celebrations for weeks and he can't sleep for excitement.  All he knows is that he will have to complete a series of challenges - and ten year old boys love nothing better than a challenge!  Everything is in place for a perfect birthday.

When he wakes up (far too early, of course) on his birthday morning, shaking with excitement, you swear at him.  Not just the odd 'not too bad' swear word either.  In fact, your whole speech is littered with foul language.  He's not sure what to think, but as you're the Dad he goes along with it.

"Come on then!" You shout to him as you prepare to begin the celebrations. "Get in the *%$* car!"

Armed with guns (real ones, not the nerf variety anymore), you set off on the birthday adventure!  First stop?  The local dealer.

No, not the antiques dealer.  You pass a spliff to your son and you both inhale deeply.  Today you're going to need some extra oomph.  First challenge complete.

It doesn't matter that you're now feeling a bit high, you drive off anyway.  Your son takes all his direction from you, and follows your every move.

The second challenge looks exciting!  Flashing lights decorate the doorway and your son wonders where you've brought him to.  Is it a shop that sells Christmas decorations?  Entering the strip-club, you are shown to a room.  Your son sits down with you as two women walk in, clothed only in G-strings, to perform a special birthday dance.  If he wants to touch the women, he is very welcome to.  He follows your lead as you drool and eat up the women's bodies with your eyes.  Second challenge complete.

Your son is a little bewildered.  He's not sure if these were quite the birthday challenges he'd had in mind.  But maybe this is what it means to be a real man.  And he really wants to be a grown up man.

Leaving the strip-club through the back door, you pass a man and a woman in the yard being filmed.  Completely naked, there is nothing left to your imagination.  And your son wonders why they are shouting.  Third challenge complete.

As you climb back in the car, a van screeches round the corner.  There's no time for seatbelts.  You put your foot down on the accelerator and give your son a gun to shoot out the window at the chasing van.  He shoots, several times, and the van veers into the side of the road - a crumpled, bloody mess.  He wonders why the van was following them, but has no time to ask questions.  He trusts you, his dad, to guide him.  You're proud.  Fourth challenge complete.

You park up outside a block of seemingly empty flats.  Your son wonders when he might have his birthday cake, but there's no time as you leap up the stairs to the very top.  He follows you, unquestioningly.  In a deserted room, you find a man tied to a chair.  In this last challenge, your son must extract information from this man in whatever way he can.  He electrocutes him, pulls out teeth and fingernails and waterboards him.  Each time he looks to you for approval, you nod your head and smile at him.  He's just being a boy, right?  Eventually, exhausted and in agony, the man in the chair gives up the desired information.  Challenge five complete.

Driving home after a day of birthday celebrations your son is confused.  What happened to the games and the party bags?  Where were his friends?  Shrugging his shoulders he accepts the fact that if his Dad thinks this was a great way to celebrate a birthday, then it must be ok.

Feeling a little uncomfortable reading this?  Wondering if this Dad should be reported to Social Services?  All these scenes, and more graphic ones I couldn't bring myself to write about, are straight from Grand Theft Auto 5 which is bought for and played by ten year olds and even younger.  If it makes for uncomfortable reading, then it surely must make for uncomfortable playing and viewing.

Dads, you have an enormous responsibility.  Your sons look to you.  They watch what you view on screens, what you read, what you laugh at and the way you treat women.  Whether you like it or not, you are their role models.  You are the ones who have this unique and privileged opportunity to guide the next generation of boys and show them how to be real, compassionate, loving, strong men. 

Please make your opportunity count.  Or we will all have to face the consequences.


(NB - I am very aware that not all video games have such a profound negative effect.  I am simply writing about an 18-rated game that is freely bought (by parents) for such young children who are not in any way old enough to cope with the content.)

Did you have a 'good time'?

If you have asked me this question in the last week you may well been rewarded with a confused face and a non-committal answer.

The short answer?
 
Yes.


 I have never been so proud of my boys since becoming a mother 12 1/2 years ago. 

I watched them embrace change like professionals. 

I saw them roll up their sleeves and get stuck in to the middle of lives so far removed from their own.

I saw the love of Jesus being displayed in my own children.


I never knew they were capable of such fierce, practical compassion.

I didn't realise they would throw their hearts open wide with such abandonment to people they never even knew existed before.

I saw the adventurous spirit we have worked hard to deposit in them becoming a reality. 

We laughed, a lot. 

We were in it together, and it brought us closer with shared memories. 

We saw prayers answered - impossible ones too. 

It was truly an incredible walk on water for our whole family.



The long answer?
 
No.

Faced with the intensity of raw poverty and injustice that isn't even hidden, my heart has been so ripped to shreds that I have no idea how to piece it back together again.  And even if I manage to, it won't ever be the same shape again. 

Common scenes like this one, where pedestrians walk past a tiny little girl fast asleep on the street, haunt my waking hours and my dreams at night.  Stray dogs and stray people litter the streets - treated with the same indifference. 

No value, no love and no hope. 

What will become of this little girl, so cherished by her Maker yet so ignored by society?

What will happen to the family who live in a car-boot liner outside the gate of our guesthouse?  No home to speak of, yet wide smiles for us as we gave them our pizza.

What will happen to the delightfully bright street-girls to whom I taught English?  Who will protect them from being sold into prostitution?  Some as young as eight....

Who will love the unlovely?

Who will bring justice for those who face violence every day?

How can we turn the other way now we have seen with our own eyes?

And so, rather than having answers, I am faced with yet more questions.  Questions which burn at my already inflamed heart and for which I have no reply.  Ferocious questions which punch me in the stomach and leave me gasping for breath.  Unrelenting questions which produce tears from a deep well inside me I didn't know was there.  Questions which I can't even begin to put into words.

So, if you ask me if I had a 'good time' and are baffled by my answer.  So am I. 

Dear Mr Gove

Dear Mr Gove,

During their half term week, their two days of unauthorised absence and their five days of 'difficult to authorise but ok then we'll do it' absence my three boys have been on a learning curve of a lifetime.

A trip to New Delhi and Kolkata in India has taught them more than they could ever have learnt during a week trapped in the prison of the classroom becoming robots to pass exams.

We've compiled a list for you, just in case you thought that classrooms were the only environment in which children can learn.

1. Science.  Having never flown on an aeroplane before (no, we are not in the habit of taking them to exotic places during term time) they were extremely interested in the workings of the aeroplane, the levels of oxygen at different altitudes and the engineering which went into making a heavy metal object fly so high in the air without falling.

2. Maths.  Oh yes, maths can be learnt without sitting down!  Having fun haggling in the markets in a different currency forced them to think quickly.  Mental maths at its finest!  And one particular child who struggled with telling the time has learnt how to not only work out different time zones but also can now tell the time at home too.  

3. Geography.  Well, this goes without saying.  Exploring the plants and animals in a completely different country was fascinating.  Geckos, chipmunks, parakeets and all sorts of weird and wonderful creatures were discovered.  

As soon as we left the airport and they saw the signs that said 'No spitting', the realisation hit them that other people live very different lives to us.  

The cultural exposure was life-changing as they helped at a school for street children, caring for their physical needs as well as teaching them Maths and English.  The students became the masters and they loved it.  

4. Language.  There's no substitute for being immersed in a foreign language in order to learn it.  All three of them learnt and used Hindi.  No boring lists of verbs and adverbs here.  It was real, alive and exciting.  Body language was also a challenge as they discovered that not everyone nods their heads in order to say 'yes'.  

5. PSCHE. This is the biggie, Mr Gove.  Children can't learn about personal, social, citizenship and health tied to a chair and a desk.  They need to see and serve those around them.  

Everyone knows about 'Delhi Belly'.  My boys finally (and to my enormous relief) learnt that personal hygeine is vital.  Instead of waving at the tap before mealtimes, they actually washed their hands with soap because they knew that if they didn't they'd be sick.  

They grew in a confidence I have never witnessed in them before.  To quote my nine year old "I'm braver than I thought!" They met new people, tried new foods, embraced change like true Indians and unlocked new capabilities that were hidden beneath the layers of textbooks and spelling tests.

Safety.  My three boys are extremely adventurous and safety is not something they usually prize - rather the opposite actually.  But visiting a crowded city full of danger, they learnt that being safe is important.  Crossing roads with seemingly no traffic rules brought a new meaning to 'road safety' too.

Serving those who live with injustice, poverty and degradation, they learnt to love the supposed 'unlovely'.  Society gives no value to the street children, but my boys helped to bathe them, feed them, dress them, teach them and they played with them as though it was the most normal thing in the world.  The lessons they learnt on that day with children who live such different lives to themselves will stay treasured in their hearts for the rest of their lives.

6. English.  You wouldn't believe it, Mr Gove, but my boys actually hold a passionate hate for writing.  They've been put off, you see.  Packing notebooks for them to record their adventures, I wasn't convinced they would ever be used.  But used they were.  I have never seen them write so much!  Opening their eyes to a whole wide world inspired them to write, and write, and write!  Sometimes I had to force them to stop - a new experience for me.

And so, Mr Gove, I hope I have managed to show you the benefits in the education for children who might be forced to have 'unauthorised absence' on their school record.  Education is so important, but if is a choice between sticking like superglue to your narrowly focused rules and stifling classrooms or giving my children the opportunity to have their eyes opened to the world around them and learn lessons of a lifetime, I'll take the latter.  Every time.

More than sincerely yours,

Helen Hodgson

Cotton wool and precipice of social media

I never had a problem with being over-protective.  When the boys were little, I trained them to do all the play equipment in the park on their own so that while other mothers were hovering over their precious ones, I could sit and read my book.  When they wanted to jump from the top of the climbing frame (and I mean the very top, the bit that you're not meant to climb on), I cheered them on.  From the age of seven I began training them to cross the road on their own.  They used kitchen knives, axes and other dangerous paraphernalia from about the age of three.  I was satisfied with my 'equipping them for life' programme.

Cotton wool wrappping was not for my boys.  Oh no, they were made of tough stuff.  And so was I.

Or so I thought.

It was easy then.  The dangers were real enough, but in some strange way I was still in control. 

And then 'social media' began to beckon it's bony finger towards Toby.  Suddenly I began to rummage in my bag of motherhood for the cotton wool I had never used before. 

Of course, Facebook helpfully has a lower age limit of 13, so we could easily say 'no'.  But Twitter brought us to a standstill of discussions.  'All' his friends were on Twitter.  He was missing out on social arrangements and 'in jokes'.  He could make his privacy settings very strict. 

The dangers were staring me in the face.  I knew, more than Toby (although that isn't, of course, possible), that he was standing on the brink of something damaging.  Everything in me wanted to pad him out with as much cotton wool as I could find, transforming him into a well-protected Michelin-man. 

Then I realised that just as we had taught them to climb trees and cross the road, walking through the perils with them step by step, so we could teach them to navigate their way through the danger-zone of social media.  Taking a deep breath, we agreed on some Twitter rules, wrote a contract and signed it together.

We can't just leave them to work this out on their own.  It's our job to train them and equip them for life.  They might be hurt.  They might encounter difficulties.  We can't protect them forever, and I'd prefer to teach them myself than have them learn from their friends.  I'd like to keep our communication airwaves open so that when they see a tweet that shocks them, we can talk about it.  Just like when they wanted to leap, arms wide open, from the highest branch of the tree, I have to keep my eyes open and teach them to land squarely on their feet.

No cotton wool allowed.  However tempting.

Planning

For an extreme 'planner' like me, the next few weeks are completely terrifying.   Two weeks in India with our boys (all of whom have never been on a plane before) when I struggle to even take them to Worcester City centre feels a little bit stupid.  When there is a lovely, well-thought out plan and a list of what I will need, I feel safe.  Perhaps I am more like my father than I thought!

Attempting to pack for every single eventuality yesterday, I realised it was futile.  How can I even write a list of all we will need when I don't know exactly what we'll be doing?  

Suddenly the ground underneath felt wobbly.  My safety in planning was being rocked.  I couldn't be in control and the unknown future loomed up, mocking my attempts to take charge.  I felt tripped up.  Normally I can write a list and grab hold of myself.  But there was no 'normally'. This was outside of 'normal'.  Scurrying from the chemist to the charity shop to poundland and back to the chemist again, I desperately tried to regain control.  But it was useless.  The unknown was just too big.

LIke the shock of a nerf-gun bullet in the face (I don't care what the advertising says, they DO hurt), I suddenly realised what I was doing.  My safety had been in the planning when it should have been in the trusting.

I am scared.  I feel like I am tentatively tiptoeing through a dark cave, not knowing what I will step into next or where the end will be.  That's the truth of my feelings.  But God's truth tells me He has already walked ahead of me and it's ok.  Wherever my feet tread, it's ok.  He already knows the unknown.  It doesn't mock him - He's in charge of it.

And so I try to breathe out again.  I stop writing one thousand lists per day (and night).  And I rest.  And  I trust.

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High

Will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of The Lord 'He is my refuge and my fortress',

My God in whom I trust.

Psalm 91

The Graveyard Walk

Wandering through a graveyard the other day (yes, I know how to live life to the full!) I began looking at the gravestones.  Memoirs of loved ones, scattered across the lush grass.  I felt the love and care, and pictured lives being lived.  Some were simple, some more elaborate but all were people who have been loved.  

I began to wonder what would be on my gravestone.  What would I like people to write so the world will know I once existed?  A life so fleeting as a breath in the wind surely has to be commemorated somehow.  I thought of phrases I might write down for the boys so that if they were ever in the position of organising my gravestone, they would know what I'd like.  Or should I leave it to them to decide?  In 100 year's time when someone walks / flies past my gravestone, what do I want them to know about me?  How will I be celebrated?

And then, like a blow to my windswept forehead, it hit me.

It doesn't matter.

What others say is not important.  What others think is not important.  Even in death, here I am trying to live for the approval of others.  

Whether they write 'Wonderful mother, grandmother and wife' or 'grumpy old bag' has no significance.    

The only approval I need is that of my Father in heaven and He says I am accepted, loved, cherished and secure.  He delights over me with singing.  Seriously?!  He sings songs of love and celebration over me.  

My significance in this world and the approval I need to live for doesn't come from my friends, my family or a random person on twitter who might retweet the odd comment.  It comes from my God.

And so, beautiful gravestone or not, when my life's work is done, I will be satisfied in Him because He is satisfied with me.

A Story of Faithfulness

I like telling stories.  I especially like telling ones that are true (I'm not so good at the made up ones). I like reading stories too, and last week I read the story of George Muller.

Originally from Germany (or 'Prussia'), George Muller set up an orphanage for tens of thousands of children in Bristol without ever doing any silly marathons, skydives or mountain climbs for fundraising.  He never once asked anyone for any money, and yet he had none himself.  This man believed in a God who was faithful.  He took what his God promised to be true and built his life, and the lives of those in his care, on those promises.  He believed in a God who answered his prayers.  And so, instead of setting up a Justgiving page, he prayed.  He prayed for every single need.  He prayed for shoes for the children, for bread for breakfast, for beds for them to sleep in and for staff who would be happy not to accept any salary.  He never took a salary for himself.

And every single prayer was answered.  Every single prayer.  For more than sixty years.  

I related to his story in so many ways.  I understood his compulsion to 'do something' for the children in so much need, despite the fact that he didn't have much to give.  I celebrated his simple obedience to God.  I was inspired by the small stories of food arriving just in time for breakfast.  I felt excited that this normal man could achieve so much just by believing in a God who was so much bigger than we sometimes expect.  And his faith was truly astonishing.

And it became part of our story too.  Ten days ago we were wondering if we had made some rash decisions.  Money was more than tight.  A trip to India was looking like a foolish thought when we didn't even have enough to pay the mortgage.  So, in true Muller style, we prayed.  Oh boy, did we pray?!  "Come on God,' we pleaded, 'you've got to show us you are with us in this.'

A week ago, an envelope plopped onto our doormat containing £500.  Weeping with joy and thanksgiving, we were amazed.

But there was more to come.

Three days ago, another envelope was pushed through our letterbox.  Max ran to the door and opened it.  £400.  He slid down onto the floor, thanking his God.

But there was more.

Two days ago Jonah woke us up in the morning telling us he'd heard a funny noise downstairs.  Yep, you've guessed it!  Another envelope.  £100. We sat on our bed and thanked our God.  

But there was more.

Just yesterday we were given another envelope whilst meeting with our church.  £200.  Coming home in the dark, we opened the front door to discover another one!  £200.

Overwhelmed by generosity and overflowing with thankfulness we have learnt one enormous lesson this week. 

"So do not worry, saying 'what shall we eat?' Or ' what shall we wear?'....  Your father in heaven knows that that you need them.  But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. "

Great is His faithfulness.