Blame

 Maybe this is too similar to my last blog musings, several months ago.  

Maybe I still need to hear it.

Maybe you still need to hear it too.

There is a Christian tradition of blame.  There, I've said it.  We all know it isn't biblical, but we do it anyway.  Especially if your children 'go off the rails'.  It must be our fault, somehow.  We must have raised them wrong.  There is even a charity that holds workshops and writes books to help parents 'raise kids without them hating God'.  

So, by default, if your kids do hate / question / ignore / disbelieve God, you must have raised them wrong?

Maybe I should have read that book 15 years ago.  

Or maybe, just maybe, it's not my fault.

(And as an aside, if you have kids who are still on the God-path, don't let blame creep into your heart for the Mums like me.  Please.  We have enough disappointment and sorrow to deal with already.  Tell us we are good parents.  Pray with us and for us.  Pray for our kids.  Send us flowers.  But don't give us a book on 'how to raise your kids without them hating God'.  Because its not our fault.)

I was (and still am) a bloody good Mum.  I did the whole Christian-mum thing.  If you read my last blog, you can see for yourself.  I'm not going to start defending myself here.

I haven't 'turned them off God' or made life choices that have caused my boys to live the way they are living.  Poor mental health in my child is not my fault.  God isn't punishing me in some malevolent, revenge-filled way for the times I shouted at my boys or locked myself in the bathroom for some peace (and chocolate).  God hasn't doled out 'justice' to me for those dark, post-natal depression years when I couldn't even feel love for my child.  

God. Doesn't. Blame. Me.

So I shouldn't blame myself either.

And I shouldn't accept the default position of Christian tradition that whispers into my heart all my failings as a mum.

It's simply not true.

I can't change my boys' lifestyle choices.  At 19 and almost 17, they are young men with their faces set towards a whole world of adventure ahead of them.  I've done the groundwork.  I've helped to dig their foundations.  Exhausting and grueling it may have been, but that digging was good.  Their foundations are full of love, acceptance, grace and truth.  And now it's up to them to build the rest of their lives.  

Of course my mum-heart grieves.  Their rejection of all that I hold close to my heart is painful.  Debilitating sometimes.  Their blasting sweary music that celebrates violence and crime.  The smell of tobacco and cannabis.  The noisy nocturnal lives that they lead.  The debates we have with them over the nature of God (how can He really be good?).  The way they sleep all Sunday mornings instead of joining to gather with our church family.  I know that ultimately this path they have chosen will not bring them the fulfilling joy they are seeking.

Mums always want the best for their children.  And this isn't the best.

And do you know something?  I'm still proud of them.  I'm proud of the men they are becoming.  I'm proud of the way they think about their choices.  I love their humour.  I love how they are changing me, shoving me into a life of not judging but accepting.  I'm proud of the way they protect and cherish me.  I squeeze every last joy-drop of hanging out with them.  They make my heart smile too.

But I have to leave them with my Jesus, who promises to redeem.

My Jesus grieves with me too.

He weeps when I weep.

And he hears my prayers; my heart-murmurs, my shouts, my stomps around their bedrooms, my whispers, my groans and my tears full of unsaid words.  He hears it all.  And he's not ignoring me.

He sits in the shit with me.  His heart for my boys laments right along with mine.

And, let me just say it again for good measure.

God. Doesn't. Blame. Me.

So, I accept where we are now and I sit in the shit with Jesus.  I allow myself to feel instead of rushing past the emotions and declaring it's not real.  I don't pretend.  

I cling with every last bitten fingernail on to that faith-hope that tells me my Jesus will redeem this.

His love pursues them.

His goodness and mercy follow them all the days of their lives.  Even when I can't.  Even when they turn the tracker off their phones and disappear off on a bike.  

My boy who is 'stuck' and trapped by his poor mental health will not be a prisoner forever.  This heart-pain will not last.  

My Jesus is already on the case.  And I don't have to do anything to make this happen.

I wait for his rescue.

I wait for his redemption.

And I allow the whispers that tell my heart I'm a good mum to drown out the accusations of blame.  

It's not the end.

Train a child in the way they should go....

I don't know who else needs to hear this today, but this verse from Proverbs 22 isn't condemning you:

"Train a child in the way they should go and when they are old they will not depart from it."

Here's what it's not saying:

This proverb is not a magic formula.  

It's not a prosperity gospel - do this and all these amazing things will happen.

How do I know this?

Because I need to hear this too.

Here's what we did:

👉Daily family morning bible and prayer times

👉Teaching our boys to pray and listen to God

👉Seeing the sick healed

👉Telling others about Jesus

👉Memory verses

👉Instrument-learning for worship times

👉Encouraging them to engage during church meetings

👉Going to God first whenever there's a problem

👉Seeing God answer prayers - huge ones too

👉Experiencing the weight and heavy glory of the presence of God.

Here's what we also did:

👉Teaching them to question and find answers for themselves

👉Teaching them to take risks and succeed or fail well

👉Giving them choices and helping them to make wise ones

👉Accept and love them when they're not so wise

And this has led to them asking their own questions about faith and the world.  

It's led to them making their own choices, which aren't the ones we'd hoped for.  

They've made mistakes.

They are their own people, with their own thoughts and values.

Watching this can be crushingly disappointing.  

The fear can be paralysing.  

The internal accusations never-ending.

But isn't this how Father God parents us?

He didn't make us robotic, following sets of rules and loving him because we have to.

He gave us choices.  He made us free. Our lives are messy.  We make mistakes.  We do things in ways that grieve his heart.  We find the real meaning of grace when we discover that we are still accepted and loved by him, despite our choices.  And in the end, we love him because we choose to not because we have to.

So, if you're in this shitty gritty season of watching your babies who used to sing and pray in church now reject all those things you taught them....

Well done.

Because you've trained people who are thinking for themselves.

You have taught them how to make choices, how to mess up, how to be real.

You've succeeded in giving them the freedom to find out what they really believe about the world.

Every time you tell them you love them or find a way to encourage them, you are modelling grace and love and acceptance to them.

You are rocking it.  

When you can't force social distancing...

I am mum to one almost-teenager and two teenagers.

One of these teenagers is very complex.

As well as ADHD, he also has something called Oppositional Defiance Disorder.

I know what you’re thinking, because I used to think the same thing.

It’s just another term for ‘naughty, undisciplined, badly parented’.

Until I realised that my parenting seemed to be vaguely successful with my other two children.

Not this one though.

Tell him that something is off limits, and he’ll be there in a heartbeat.

Say no and he’ll go ahead anyway.

Give a consequence and he won’t care.

He’s not just naughty and undisciplined.  In fact, he more disciplined than any of the others.  It just doesn’t seem to make any difference.

So, having a teenager (think ‘no fear, risk-loving, rebellious, self-centred) combined with ODD (think off-the-charts-actually-you-probably-can’t-even-imagine-it) when the government give guidelines to stay at home and social distance from each other means that my life over the last few days has been pretty shit (excuse the language, but this is how we roll these days - #likersgonnalike #hatersgonnahate and all that).

If you see a teenager out and about right now, please don’t judge the parents.  If they are anything like us, they will have attempted Every. Single. Known. Way. of explaining the situation to their teen and it will have, quite literally, gone through their selfish ears and out again before you can even cough.

“What if you try to stop him at the door?” you might ask.

He would actually punch us. 

“What if you locked him in his bedroom, or locked the front door?”

He would jump out of the window.  He’s done it before.

So, we know we all have to ‘to do our bit’ and we really are doing our best here.

We know that we have to flatten the curve and protect the invaluable NHS.

We know that saving lives is vital.

But please don’t judge us because our teenager is out and about.

And please don’t give us any parenting advice.  We’ve had more advice than you can stockpile toilet roll.

We know he shouldn’t be out.

We don’t know how to stop him.

Please be kind.

Just be kind.

When courage doesn't feel courageous.

Last summer we had a sunshiney family holiday.  Incredibly we were able to go to Santorini in Greece and we loved the water, the heat and, of course, the food.

As a treat, we booked a day out on a boat to visit the local hot springs, tour the beautiful island and jump in and out of the sea.

The trouble is, I don't really like jumping into water.  The rest of my family seem to be able to fling themselves into water from any angle possible.  Not me.  It's too scary.

So I spent the few days leading up to the boat trip practicing.  I jumped into the swimming pool, first of all with my lovely Jonah there to pull me up in case anything went wrong.  Then, as I was more confident, I managed to jump without anyone there at all.

When we finally reached the big day, I was determined.  As expected, the boys spent the whole day backflipping, somersaulting, pushing and dive bombing into the sea.  

I mostly (ungracefully) climbed down the ladder on the side of the boat.  Until we reached the hot springs.  I wanted to be able to jump in.  I knew it would be safe (ish).  Jared was next to me.  But as I stared at the water, it felt like an enormous drop.  I was scared.  So, instead of jumping, I took a step off the boat and slid into the water.  It wasn't very ladylike and I resurfaced spluttering.

But I did it.  

And that's how courage feels.

I wasn't feeling full of energy.

I didn't have the 'ooomph' and 'pump' to do it.

I was still scared, even though I'd practiced.

The water looked too deep.

My brain was telling me not to do it.

I didn't know how it would end.

I wasn't feeling like Wonderwoman.

But the Disney and Pixar version of courage isn't real.  To have all you need before you make that scary jump just is fictional.

Courage is making the jump anyway.

Courage is waking up each morning, without knowing all the answers, but getting out of bed anyway.

Courage is loving that person who can't return your love at the moment.

Courage is crying and wobbling, but going ahead with the decision you've made.

Courage is knocking on a door and not knowing what's on the other side.

Courage is saying no when you can't do it all.

Courage is taking the scary feelings, piling them out in front of you and then stepping over the pile.

Courage sometimes means we resurface spluttering.

Courage doesn't ignore the 'you can't' words.  Sometimes courage takes those words along on the ride.

Courage is persevering when everything inside wants to give up.

Courage does not feel all the Hollywood feels.  

Its a tiny stubborn spark of determination that, despite the reality of the circumstances, propels you to make that jump.

Post-Christmas Musings

And so we come to the end of another Christmas. 
The decorations are down (sigh of relief) and the choccies are all gone (love/hate feelings...).

I decided to set my expectations low for Christmas this year, knowing that in the past I have seriously believed that my family could be the same as the perfect ones on the telly and then being bitterly disappointed when someone threw someone else's toothbrush out of the window or someone else used all of someone's lynx to light their own farts.

Some people may think this is a pessimistic way to approach the holidays.  I prefer to believe it is realistic.  I kept everything extremely simple. No baking, no home-made decorations, no bible-versed advent calendars at breakfast and even no turkey! And it worked. 

Rather than look back over the last couple of weeks and feel weary and discouraged because we didn't all play instruments together for our own family Carol Service (seriously, I made them do this more than once) or manage a 10 mile hike up the nearest hills on Boxing Day, I can actually point to several triumphs of our time together. 

So, for my own benefit mostly but also in case it encourages you, here are my 2019 Christmas triumphs:

1. We played a game all together without anyone falling out.  No board-throwing across the room.  No stomping out and slamming doors.  There was laughter, banter and even the occasional encouragement!  It was a Christmas miracle and one that this mum's heart will treasure.

2.  Christmas Dinner was enjoyed by all.  Instead of turkey, we had bought a few different smaller joints of meat and we created a carvery.  Everyone chose their own food and piled it on their plates. This meant that they ate the lot and if you've ever seen my face when food is wasted, you will know that this pleases my little soul immensely.

3.  We slept.  Thankfully long gone are the days of waking up in the middle of the night with little ones.  These days it's the other way round as we are awake late waiting for the big ones to come home. But having two weeks off work meant that we could sleep in late each morning.  And it was delightfully decadent.

4.  We had chance to re-connect.  Without the pressures of school and work, the reminders to do homework, the checking for letters in bags, making sure everyone is where they need to be at the right times, we could all relax and remember why we actually like each other.  Time spent chatting about the important life stuff meant that we could appreciate each others' hearts again.  Realising that, whilst they make choices I don't always agree with, my older two young men have minds and thoughts of their own gave me a fresh gratitude for them and the way they think.


I'm not the kind of person who makes New Year's Resolutions.  (Apart from one year when I resolved not to look for anyone's stuff anymore.  It worked, by the way.  I still don't look for their apparently lost stuff unless they are desperate.  It's usually right in front of them.)  So, I won't harp on about goals for the year.  But 2020 is going to be a year of change for our family with one boy completing GCSE's and leaving school and another boy completing 'A' Levels and heading off to University.  My plan is to be a mum who chats.  I want to make time to chat over after-school snacks three-course-meals.  I want to accept and not judge.  I want to be an ear to help them process the stuff of life. 

I'm bracing myself, yet again, for, well, I don't quite know what for. 
But life moves forwards, and so must we.

Honesty Over Silence

Two years have passed since my last post.  Thankfully and incredibly, we didn't need a Plan B.

Charity status, funding and a full-blown-proper-grown-up job-running an organisation ensued and the last two years have been a learning curve that has sometimes felt impossible but always breathtaking.  Hope at Home has now been operating for almost two years and we shake our heads in wonder at the journey God has taken us on.

But this blog has mostly been about the realities of family life and our attempts to raise our boys to be worldchangers.

And so, two years on, we now find ourselves parents to an 18 year old, a 15 year old and a 12 year old.  Muddy forest walks and tree climbing have been replaced by x-box games, driving, girls, expensive trainers and part time jobs.  Our lives are unrecognisable from those years of marbles, ice-sculpture-making and breakfast bible reading.

I decided that honesty over silence might be beneficial, not simply for me (as writing helps me process) but for others who feel the weight and sometimes shame of family life not being the one you'd expected.

So, here's our current reality (prepare yourselves for some eye-watering honesty):

1. Despite years of solid faith and foundations, two of our young men are not living a life that we expected them to live.  They don't come to church with us.  We don't pray as a family anymore.  I don't know if they pray when they are on their own.  They drink. They smoke.  They do other stuff that we find unbearable to watch.

2.  Good mental health is a daily battle. We have both seen a therapist over the last couple of years.  Depression and anxiety tap us on the shoulder continuously as we wade through the trenches of life.

3.  We are still waiting for promises to be fulfilled.  Promises over our boys, our marriage and our life.  Currently, they look impossible.

4.  Working together, living together and parenting together has been one of the hardest aspects of running Hope at Home.  Our marriage has suffered.

5.  All those smug feelings of being a good Christian parent have come back to bite us on the bum.  Did all our efforts work?  We don't know.  That feels scary.

6.  We swear.  I know.  Those naughty words that we didn't allow the boys to say are now regular features of our conversations.

7.  Speaking of conversations, our mealtime chats (when everyone is actually there) aren't about dinosaurs and zombie apocalypses anymore.  They're about gender identity, feminism, terrorism, human rights, the death penalty, masturbation, atheism and sex toys.  (I warned you it would be eye watering.)

8.  We wait up at night to see if our young men will stick to their curfew or not.  And when they don't, we worry.  And when they do, we still worry.

9. An ADHD diagnosis has brought understanding but also more challenge as we navigate life with a new lens.

10.  It all flipping hurts.  And we cry.  Lots.

(And even while I've been writing this blog there has been a blazing row about the whens and wheres of going out.)


We know we are doing the right thing with Hope at Home.  It's progressing at a pace.  It's changing lives and sometimes even saving lives.

Everything else?  It's (insert swear word or other more polite word of your choice).

But.

I have a choice.

Do I bow to the sadness, the shame, the feelings of despair?
Do I give up and give in?
Do I stop loving the One who made the promises?
Do I decide it's not worth it?
Do I still believe God is good?

I have to choose to keep going.
Keep believing he keeps his promises.
Keep trusting my boys are in his hands.
Keep declaring he is good.
Keep lifting my eyes up to his goodness and mercy above the depression and anxiety.
Keep remembering his faithfulness over the years.

So, we choose vulnerability and honesty over silence and shame.  

We open up our bruised hearts, allowing others to stand with us, and we wait for the Promise Keeper to do what he says he will do.

Plan B

I’m a pray-er.  

I totally and utterly believe that my God can do the impossible.  (Letting you into a little secret, sometimes when I pray I feel like Wonderwoman taking ground in enemy lines.  It’s pretty exciting.)

But I currently find myself in a period of waiting for a really important answer.  I’ve prayed about it for so long that I think even God must be getting bored of my prayers now and I’m certainly running out of words.  My prayers have become an inner longing, a groan.  In the waiting I find my praying has become a minute-by-minute closeness with my God.

We’ve given up jobs and time and, quite honestly, our whole lives preparing for the answer we are waiting for.  The last three months we have spent slogging over policies, procedures, website content, forms and things so complicated that I still don’t understand them as we are in the process of setting up our new charity, Hope at Home.  We have lived and breathed it.  It’s been a full time job for both of us and one we know, without any doubts, that God has asked us to do

But if we don’t receive the charity status we’ve applied for or manage to find an insurer who agrees to insure our scheme, all our efforts will grind to a halt.  We can’t operate as a charity without those two things.

It’s completely out of our hands.  All we can do is wait.  And pray.  Really pray.

I think about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego; three characters found in the book of Daniel.  These guys lived in Babylon with a dictator of a king, Nebuchadnezzar, who forced the whole nation to bow down and worship him.  The three men refused.  They would only worship their God and they could not compromise.  And so Nebuchadnezzar decided to throw them into a fire.

Now, I know my tendency is to be somewhat dramatic.  Clearly if our prayers aren’t answered, we are not going to be thrown into a fire and burnt alive.  But there will certainly be ‘fire’ in the disguise of difficulties, decisions that need to be made, financial struggles and wondering what our God is doing.

But Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego didn’t have a plan B.  They told the King that they were absolutely certain their God would deliver them BUT EVEN IF HE DOESN’T, they would still not bow down and worship anyone else.

I was struck by this.

What is it that my anxieties about the future cause me to bow down to?

Fear?

Discontent?

Knowing the outcomes?

Lack of trust in my God?

Self reliance?

Supposed job security?

In the waiting, I choose to be like Shadrach Meshach and Abednego.  I refuse to bow down to these ‘idols’ because I am confident that my God will answer my prayers and deliver us.  I know he will make a way.  

BUT EVEN IF HE DOESN’T, I am still not going to make a plan B.  I am still not going to worship the cultural idols of job security and self-reliance.  Even if God does not answer my prayers in the way I think he should (and that’s a whole other blog), I still choose to trust him.

Why?

Because I know he is good.

I know he works all things together for my good and ultimately for his glory.

I know he loves me

I know he is faithful – he has proved this to me over and over again.

I know that he already has the victory.

I know his heart beats for justice.

I know his plans are perfect and that he always completes what he starts.

So, without a plan B, I choose to trust.  I choose to put my hopes, my dreams, my time, my finances, my family and my future into the hands of the One who knows what is coming next.

And I wait for his answer.