Who needs a cup anyway?

I didn't go to church today, because it wasn't what I needed.  I needed to look after myself...

For almost as long as I can remember, there have been times when I've struggled with the daily routine - and I mean, really struggled with it - things like cleaning my teeth, shaving, showering, and so on.  At others times I perform such tasks en bloc without giving it so much as a thought, much as I imagine most other people will do; but on days like today, all of these things are like huge boulders that are blocking my pathway.  Instead of a continuous, almost effortless, routine; every stage uses a massive amount of my energy - much as I imagine heaving and shoving a boulder off my path might do.  Every stage needs to be planned, and I need to psyche myself up, sometimes several times over... 

My instinct is to give up - go back to bed, drink more tea, play another game of solitaire - maybe even consider suicide.  Yes, it is that bad - be under no illusions, dear friends.  And I usually end up doing most of these - several times over - and once I do, I have to start the psyche myself up for it process all over again...

On a good day, I manage to convince myself that it really isn't the end of the world if I go out unshowered, unshaven or if I haven't brushed my teeth properly.  I might manage to bargain with myself - such as by having a good swish out with mouthwash instead, or wiping my face with wet wipes.  It's not perfect or even satisfactory - but it often makes the difference between getting myself out through the door - or not.

Many years ago, Charlotte Elliot wrote the most helpful hymn, Just as I am; in which she underlines the fact that it is better to come before God in exactly the state we're in, rather than try to cover up all the bits we'd rather not bother him with:

Just as I am, though tossed about
With many a conflict, many a doubt
Fightings within and fears without,
O Lamb of God, I come...

Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind
Sight, riches, healing of the mind,
Yet, all I need in thee to find
O Lamb of God, I come...

Insightful words indeed - used even by The Salvation Army, no less!

Yes, that's what I needed to do this morning - just go to church as I was...

But there's a problem.  It's called a Salvation Army uniform:

Wear it and everybody's happy, no matter how uncomfortable you might be feeling inside.  Increase your comfort by wearing some of it, and they start whispering, or even making comments.

But, don't wear it when you normally do - and all hell breaks loose!  Last time I did so, at least three people enquired whethere I had backslidden (backsliding being a particularly unhelpful term used by older members of The Salvation Army to describe those who may have lost the faith or reverted to their former ways).  Several others demanded in shocked, almost offended tones, to know, "Where's your uniform?!!"

Now in all honesty, had it not been for the uniform issue, I could easily have made it into church this morning - and yes, it would probably have helped me to have done that.  But with all these loaded questions - well, it doesn't amount to looking after yourself, believe you me...


What I did do was go to Sainsburys, in Just as I am mode.  I almost talked myself out of it at one point; but I brushed my hair and teeth, rubbed some soapy water over my face, got dressed and went - where, just as I expected, two of my elderly 'girlfriends' greeted me enthusiatically - just as I am.  I doubt whether my absence of uniform even entered their heads; and in our subsequent discussion I was able to share some of how I've been feeling lately, and that was fine too.  No judgement, no jumping to conclusions, no offence, no demands - just loving acceptance, support, and encouragement.

A few of us go there after church most Sundays, and put the world to rights.  As might be expected of elderly ladies there is sometimes a good deal of repetition within our conversations - including the communion issue.  To cut a long story short, they just don't get The Salvation Army's interpretation of holy communion, and some of them exercise their right to attend the local Church of Scotland every now and then to participate in what they call 'The Sacrament of the Lord's Supper'.  And that's fine - the Army has no major issues with individual members doing that; even though there's a big division of opinion about how it should be taken - e.g. in uniform or not, and so on.  And if you happen to say you're doing it in the wrong company, well again, all hell can break loose when the self-appointed judges say what they think about it - and those who feel the need to partake of it...

The old ladies' regular cry is, "well, it does say in the bible that you should," and of course they're right - except that, it also says, "every time you eat and drink."  And that's the Army's main poin really - communion is a constant process, not just a special celebration...

I'm not qualified to say what's right and what's wrong folks, but I am qualified to say this: I get far more out of having my Sunday lunch with these dear friends each week, than I ever get from attending any church you might care to mention.  Oh we eat what we each prefer to order, and drink from individual pots of tea - there's not always bread and never any wine; but we sit, we share, we support, we share testimony, we talk about how we understand all sorts of bits of the bible, as well as our morals, experiences and beliefs.  And we do it in the cafe of our local Sainsburys store - sometimes in Salvation Army uniform, sometimes not.  Unlike our Salvation Army hall - and I daresay many other churches, our meeting place is filled with other people, coming and going.  They recognise us, they expect us, they have a laugh and a joke with us: they accept us as part of their community, they know we'll be there for them if they ever need us.

I don't always need church, but I do always need such communion!

Water come a me eye...

"Come back Liza, come back girl, water come a me eye,

Come back Liza, come back girl, water come a me eye."

That was a song I learned in primary school. I'd no idea what the 'water come a me eye' bit was about at that time at all - or even if I'd heard it properly. It certainly wasn't a phrase I'd come across before - so it was one of those songs when I'd just sing something that sounded right, and hope for the best that it was...

You see, I don't know what it's like nowadays, but when I was at primary school, a lot of the audio stuff that was around was recorded by English voices (and we're talking in terms of those big old-fashioned tape players here, with two tea plate sized spools...). And I for one just couldn't get my head round their accents at all - I mean, was I meant to be singing about water, or was it their way of saying 'what a', and in any case, what's 'me eye' when it's at home? So far as I was concerned, it could really only have been 'water come a me eye', or 'what a comma me, I' and neither of these made much sense to me. Naturally I blamed the English voices, reasoning that they should learn to pronounce words properly - as I had done...!

Water has always come to my eyes surprisingly easily. Emotional scenes in films and TV programmes, the sight of members of the royal family on state occasions and now, Long lost family, are all examples of what cause me to absolutely howl! No matter how hard I try to be strong, the tears flow involuntarily, and I end up not being able to even see, so stained do they cause my glasses to become! It is totally daft. I mean, I've never lost anybody, save for through the usual means.

But, back to songs. Probably out of a desire to be sure I know what words I'm meant to be singing, I've always preferred songs whose words come across very clearly and say exactly what they mean. A conversation with a young friend who was particularly taken with Charles Wesley's hymn, And can it be at Roots Scotland last weekend - set to a new tune, has prompted me to reconsider such things - not least because many of my favourites are also of a religious nature.

But not all of them. I think it was William Booth, founder of The Salvation Army, who is credited with the famous saying that it's be wrong to let the devil have all the best tunes; and although I'm not sure I agree that all non-religious tunes have anything to do with the devil, there is something to be said for considering who your audience is, when singing a favourite song.

Take love songs, for instance. You may sing them to another human being - real or imaginary, or a pet - and how about Jesus? If you find a song that says the kinds of things to him that you want to - well, why not? Why not use it as a prayer? Methinks that at times, churches make life a lot harder for themselves than it needs to be...

I've always been more than a little out of date when it comes to musical taste. I don't really remember much of the 1960s (although I can remember Sandie Shaw on Eurovision with Puppet on a String - and Cliff Richard's Congratulations when it was new); but I do like a lot of sixties music - mainly because there were a lot of harmonic groups around in that decade. For the same reason, I enjoy a lot of 1970s stuff, and maybe one or two numbers from the early 1980s - but not much, since!

I developed a liking for The Seekers at an early age. That's the original, Australian group with Judith Durham as the lead singer - I didn't mind The New Seekers either, but their early 70s music seems sickly sweet by comparison, now! I probably enjoyed Judith's group because my mother owned some of their records - you know, those vinyl circular things you used to get... They split up and went their separate ways in 1971 I think, but happily reunited for a season in the early 1990s; and it was as a consequence of that brief revival that I learned one of their lesser known songs that would for me, serve as the most perfect prayer to Jesus, as I prepared to become a soldier of The Salvation Army:

I can't seem to get my sleep now any old night,

Mister Sandman passes by the door;

Life has changed since you've been there to say it's alright,

You taught me to understand what I thought couldn't be

Don't mind losing sleep, if I can see.

Colours of my life, you've got love to fill my heart

Loving you has shown me, colours of my life...

Colours blend with love to show I'm happy with you,

I will never be the same again,

Now my life is looking past the life I once knew

I'll be shedding black and grey, to take on red and blue;

Colours I can see, from loving you.

Colours of my life, you've got love to fill my heart,

I don't need a rainbow, colours of my life...

As for intentionally religious songs - well, I like so many, it would be quite impossible to choose any favourites, but at various points in my life, the following ones have been particularly meaningful:

My original testimony is outlined in a verse of I will sing the wondrous story: I was lost and Jesus found me, found the sheep that went astray; then shortly afterwards I was particularly impressed by the middle verse of Onward Christian Soldiers for a while: Like a mighty army moved the church of God, brothers we are treading where the saints have trod, we are not divided, all one body we, one in hope and doctrine, one in charity...

You see, I was called to The Salvation Army long before I ever went there. I was 17 at that time - and at the lowest point of my life. I had moved from abusive, mental hospital regimes and staff to the care of Her Majesty's Prison service. I felt very strongly drawn to The Salvation Army shortly after my release - but I didn't know it was a church you could walk into on a Sunday, just like any other; because well, it doesn't really say that...! I thought you could only go in you joined up - and I was pretty sure I'd not qualify, and that they'd not want me there...

I was one of four new soldiers who were enrolled together at Gosport Corps 20 years later, in May 2003; and probably because there were four of us, we weren't given the opportunity to choose our individual songs, as we might otherwise have been; and I must admit to having felt a little short-changed by that! I didn't know the song the officer chose on our behalf at that time, but oh, so often its words have reasonated for me in the years since:

If doors shall close then other doors will open,

The Word of God can never be contained.

His love cannot be finally frustrated

By narrow minds or prison bars restrained.

I'll not turn back, whatever it may cost,

I'm called to live, to love and save the lost...

Around 18 months later, the first of several modern worship songs took on some very real meaning, as I attended a vocational discovery type weekend - seeking confirmation of what I'd thought might be a lifelong calling to ministry:

Here I am, wholly available; as for me, I will serve the Lord.

The fields are white unto harvest, but of the labourers are so few -

So Lord I give myself to help the reaping, to gather precious souls unto you...

You see, Christianity's not a personal religion, in the sense that it's not designed to be kept to yourself! For this reason I also particularly like,

Filled with compassion for all creation, Jesus came into a world that was lost;

There was but one way that he could save them, only through suffering death on a cross!

God you are waiting, your heart is breaking, for all the people who live on the earth,

Stir us to action, filled with compassion, for all the people who live on the earth.

Great is your passion for all the people, living and dying without knowing you,

Having no Saviour they're lost forever, if we don't speak out and bring them to you.

From every nation we shall be gathered, millions redeemed shall be Jesus' reward,

Then he will turn and say to his Father, "Surely my suffering was worth it all."

There's just so much in there. For apart from writing stuff like this and talking to individuals when the opportunity arises, I'm no great evangelist: without God's help, I'd be pretty useless in that respect, actually! But I do have compassion - especially for all those people who live and die without knowing him, for that surely is a great waste! Although there are many people in the world today who choose not to relate to a God, they do at least know of his existence and have that choice, hence they're vastly rich by comparison, in my view.

The "Truly my suffering was worth it all" bit deserves its own paragraph. I don't imagine I'll ever be responsible for converting large numbers of people, nor even solely responsible for converting anyone at all. But, if my writing or my conversation - if my example or any other aspect of me makes anyone stop and think twice about these things, then yes - all my effort shall have been worthwhile, no matter what it might have involved.

Some years ago, the Church of Scotland published an addendum to its Church Hymnary, in the form of a little book entitled, Songs of God's People. Above all else, this was probably a response to rapidly declining church attendance numbers - particularly amongst younger people; as it clearly seeks to modernise, as well as restore a few old favourites that had been lost. Including several Taize chants and a number of Iona-type songs that, invariably, seek to raise the profile of justice issues as well as to deepen one's personal experience of God; I used the following as a daily mantra for many months:

Christ be beside me, Christ be before me, Christ be behind me,

King of my heart.

Christ be within me, Christ be below me, Christ be above me,

Never to part.

Christ on my right hand, Christ on my left hand, Christ all around me,

Shield in the strife.

Christ in my sleeping, Christ in my sitting, Christ in my rising,

Light of my life.

Christ be in all hearts thinking about me, Christ be in all tongues

telling of me.

Christ be the vision in eyes that see me, in ears that hear me

Christ ever be.

Set to the tune of Bunessan (Child in the manger, Morning has broken, etc), I find this adaptation of St Patrick's Breastplate particularly easy to memorise; and it really does say it all...!

Will you come and follow me if I but call your name,

Will you go where you don't know, and never be the same? is another song from the same book, again set to a Scots folk tune, Kelvingrove, which continues to challenge me. As I've said in an article I was asked to write for the current edition of our corps newsletter, in many ways making the decision to get up and follow the Jesus who calls your name is the easy bit - it's the going where you don't know and never being the same that is the real crunch...

Another such song - also from the same book, is Go tell everyone. I first heard this sung by the primary seven class when I was in primary one at Craigie School in Perth; and I was so pleased to rediscover it in this book - for its lyrics are, well - see for yourself...

God's Spirit is on my heart, he has called me and set me apart

This is what I have to do, what I have to do:

He sent me to give the good news to the poor,

Tell prisoners that they are prisoners no more,

Tell blind people that they can see; and set the downtrodden free,

And go tell everyone the news that the kingdom of God has come,

And go tell everyone the news that God's kingdom has come.

Just as the Father sent me, so I'm sending you out to be,

My witnesses throughout the world, the whole of the world.

Don't carry a load in your pack, you don't need two shirts on your back,

A worker can earn his own keep, can earn his own keep.

Don't worry what you have to say - don't worry because on that day,

God's Spirit will speak in your heart, will speak in your heart...

You've got to admit, it does have quite a WOW factor, doesn't it? And yet, I've never heard it used in church! Interesting that, eh...? For me, the third and fourth verses tie in particularly well with my point about going where you don't know and never being the same, in the previous song I've mentioned: they directly challenge our materialistic world and bring it all back to pure faith - and I think that's just wonderful!

Now, I could go on all day - it has taken me three days to complete this post as it is! So perhaps the best thing I can do is publish this one, and maybe I'll resume the subject on another occasion. Thank-you, dear reader, for indulging me, and sharing in these wonderful things. I do pray that you'll also find some blessing within them!

Time to Band Together?

You know, we're really fortunate - those of us who are familiar with the letters of St Paul, addressed to the early churches; recorded and reproduced for us in the bible. For there's really not much that went on then that doesn't also go on now: most of it is really just as relevant today as it ever was when it was written...

Take his famous discussion in the 12th chapter of his first letter to the people of the church in Corinth for example, which is often entitled something like, 'one body, many parts':

Now the body is not made up of one part, but of many...

If you asked a small child to draw their parents, there's a good chance they'd draw matchstick characters, with a trunk, two legs, two arms, a head - and just possibly an expressive face and/or perhaps some hair, to differentiate between the sexes. They draw only these features, because that's what they see. Once they're a bit older they might attempt to draw the actual features rather than just rely upon the matchsticks, but the chances are the features would remain much the same.

Just because they don't draw them, doesn't mean they don't recognise that other features exist. Some might indeed add such details as ears, feet and hands - and they might dress parts of the body up in some way.
But unless they're really good at drawing, they'll just represent them all with what they consider to be the most familiar features.

If you asked them to draw The Salvation Army nowadays, I suspect the majority would need to ask the adults around them for help and, having done so, I suspect most of them would attempt to draw a band; or at least a couple of brass instruments and a drum.

Now, here lies a problem for the whole of The Salvation Army, for just as with the human body, it is not made up of merely one part - i.e. a band; but of many parts. The trouble for most people who don't already have some connection with it is this though: what exactly are the other parts? What do they look like? What are they for - and how do they relate to each other?

Many people are well aware of the Army's charitable works, and especially social work services associated with the homeless. Quite a few older people know of work the Army did during the last world war, in supporting the troops and services with mobile canteens, friendly faces and listening ears. A surprising number will tell you that their grannies attended The Salvation Army's Sunday Schools. Some people know that some kind of family tracing service exists. A few might be aware of other services, such as overseas missionary work.

But the vast majority imagine that the band they see is employed to do all of these things. If they encounter one or two of us out and about in uniform - collecting money on street corners or during the annual door-knock appeal; they'll often ask, "do you not have the band with you today?"

People really respect the band - but maybe not always for terribly accurate reasons. While it is certainly true that the band does an enormous amount of work and really sacrafices a great deal of what would otherwise be personal time spent pursuing individual interests, few if any of its members are employed full time by The Salvation Army! Salvation Army officers apart, they all have day jobs too, that financially support them and their families - from whom they spend a good deal of time apart in their numerous practices, worship meetings, community services and, for their interest, occasional concerts. Many of their members are heavily involved in other aspects of the Army's work too - as songsters, young people's workers and so on - all of which involves then giving up even more of the time that they might otherwise use pursuing their own interests.

But the fact remains, the band is just a band: it isn't by any means representative of the whole of The Salvation Army! And, just as Paul illustrates in his first letter to the Corinthians, all the parts of the body are just as important as each other. He tells us,

A body isn't really a body unless there is more than one part. It takes many parts to make a single body. That's why the eyes cannot say they don't need the hands. That's also why the head cannot say it doesn't need the feet. In fact, we cannot get along without the parts of the body that seem to be the weakest. We take special care to dress up some parts of our bodies. We are modest about our personal parts, but we don't have to be modest about our other parts.

God put our bodies together in such a way that even the parts that seem the least important are valuable. He did this to make all parts of the body work together smoothly, with each part caring about the others. If one part of our body hurts, we hurt all over. If one part of our body is honoured, we are all honoured.
(1 Corinthians 12, verses 19-26, Contemporary English Version)

The Army's challenge is, how on earth can it get people to recognise those of its parts that are not a band, and moreover to place equal value upon each of them?

Robert Burns offers us quite a clue in his well-known poem, To a Louse:

O Wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
And foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
And ev'n devotion!

Just as The Salvation Army isn't just a band, Robert Burns wasn't just a poet. He was a man, a Scot who came from the south-western part of the country and spent much of his life there, a farmer. He was a womaniser, yet a loving husband too. In the eyes of some he was a loveable rogue, to others a cheeky tax-evader, to others still he was a sinner. He was a nature-lover, a romantic, definitely a people-watcher, at times a comedian. He was these and many other things - and, oh yes, he was also a poet...

It probably isn't the Salvation Army Bands' fault that so many people see them as the most obvious, most important feature of the whole Army - and it certainly isn't their responsibility alone to sort that issue out. Rather, the responsibility lies with the whole of the body that is The Salvation Army. Personally, I think that whole body would do well to keep a very close eye on how others might be seeing it - for in this world at least, is seems unlikely they'll ever receive the gift of such automatic insight. For I suggest it would indeed free us from many a blunder and foolish notion; and perhaps if we paid more attention too, to how our near obsession with how we dress and present ourselves impacts upon others, we'd re-order and re-prioritise those things that require our greatest devotion!

And we also need to be real. Not just a warm, romantic aspect of a Dickensian Christmas scene; but something that actually lives and breathes in a manner that others can easily relate to! We need to become a warts and all Army, fully prepared to relate to a warts and all world!

Brass bands pull crowds, almost like no other tool other than bagpipes - which don't really have the same effect in Edinburgh as they might elsewhere, as they're too commonplace here. (I recall taking part in a small demonstration in Winchester some years back - just a crowd of 40 or so people with various forms of disability in the middle of a busy road, that would certainly have gone unnoticed were it not for the bagpipe-player up front. My goodness, it got us noticed...!) So our bands will always be very important to us. We'll always need them, and they're a finite resource, so perhaps we need to consider how and where we most need them. And in closing, thank-you, Salvation Army band members everywhere - you're doing a grand job. The rest of us are here to compliment what you do - don't you ever forget that!

More Roots: the Mini-Presentations

There was a bible knocking about while I was a child, which I think belonged to me. Presumably the gift of some well-meaning relation, back in the mists of time - in fact, I've a feeling I know which one, of my long-departed great aunts. A King James, authorised version. Written as it is in old-fashioned language, it meant very little to me as a child - words often having been used quite differently to how they are now; and so most of the time it gathered dust: just a book with a slightly floppy, black cover that extended over the gold-edged pages that was also to be found in the darker shelves and recesses of equally dusty old Sunday School buildings, and suchlike. I've a feeling it may still be lurking somewhere in my mother's attic, as I have set eyes upon it or something very similar, within living memory...

Then at some point in the 1970s, I acquired a Good News Bible. I've a feeling it was probably launched around that time, and the school I was at promoted various book clubs, from which I made a few purchases, of which it may have been one. Its cover was bright and golden with large font lettering and some illustration, and its pages omitted most of the thees and thous that seemed to dominate the confusing tomes of my old bible! I may have read a few little passages from time to time - but with no direct religious instruction or encouragement by that point in my life, I'd no idea where to start in such a hugely thick book - the thickest and scariest book that not only I, but that almost all of my known family seemed to posess; and before long it began to gather the dust, too.

Though it did have the occasional outing! Even if I didn't actually read it much, I did recognise its value - together with that of at least occasional church attendance - boring in the extreme though that mostly was; and I actually quite valued the odd occasions where we'd learn hymns at school - mainly at the beginning and ends of terms. I think most of my contemporaries thought this most odd - but I didn't really care; to me there was a cause worth holding onto and if necessary, defending...

In my early teens I used to run away from home a lot. Eventually, this attracted the attentions of various authorities including child psychiatrists; and before long I was running away from hospital, too. There used to be an advert on TV around that time - one of those public-information type ones, about hypothermia: a poorly equipped or dressed (for the occasion) man was seen walking through the hills, all the time getting colder and colder, and slowly losing consciousness; and for many years, I wanted to be that man. I'd no idea why I wanted to walk and walk until I not only lost my bearings but also my consciousness - I just did.

So I'd often head for the hills. I had one of those bright orange, aluminium framed rucksacks you used to get for one of my birthdays - probably my 13th or 14th, and I can still remember trudging up towards the Cairngorm chairlift at Coire Cas where I'd once been with my parents years before, wearing that rucksack containing I don't know what - except that my Good News Bible was slotted into one of the external pockets, fitting so perfectly that it seemed to have been designed for that purpose. I'd written my name inside it; and had taken it as a symbol of all the Godly, Jesus stuff I knew vaguely about but otherwise had no connection with - convinced it would protect me in some way - even though the activity I was engaging with might have resulted in my death.

And I remember too, how as the hill got steeper and the load heavier, how I made the decision to throw away my rucksack and it's contents - reasoning that I'd not need them when I was dead, and that if for some reason that didn't happen, I could always return for them at a later date. I also remember removing my precious bible from its pocket and holding it in front of me, as tears welled up in my eyes, for I didn't want to part with it nor all it represented for me. I remember lovingly putting it away again - taking extra care to ensure the pocket was properly zipped up so that it wouldn't become too damaged.

In the event, I encountered some workmen on the hill, who carried my frozen body into their hut and summoned help from the police, who eventually arrived and took my by landrover back to Aviemore and at length, to Craig Dunain Hospital in Inverness. Weeks later, I remember being back home with my mother and receiving a package containing the damp rucksack and wet bible - which I still have on my bookshelf now, its cover hanging off after years of being sellotaped together once it had dried out!

I was twice given pocket-sized new testaments by the Gideons - in August 1976 when I started High School; and in November 1981, just after I'd been admitted to the assessment unit within the old Polmont Borstal. I carried the former in the pocket of my blazer throughout my school years in much the same way as I'd done with my Good News Bible; while the latter was chiefly responsible for my Christian conversion during my time at Polmont, as I'd decided to makr off the passing days by following its daily reading plan. I also continued to carry one of them almost everywhere I went, for many years afterwards.

Then my next bible purchase came in 1995: a compact-sized NIV Study Bible, which I bought in the Exeter Cathedral Bookshop, whilst staying with friends in Tiverton. It cost me £25 - the largest sum I'd ever spent on a book, and one of the largest single gifts I'd ever made to myself, to that point in my life! It has been on a few travels too, and its hardback cover is looking a bit worse for the wear - not to mention the soiling of the edges of many of its pages. Unlike the others, it hasn't been abandoned for weeks in the Cairngorms or deliberately soaked; and it hasn't gather so much dust either - even though there has been periods when it has been left to rest on my bookshelves. This is partly, but by no means exclusively to do with the emergence of such online facilities as biblegateway.com.

Then on Saturday at Roots, I bought myself another bible! Paperback, it had for some reason been reduced in price to £10.99 - though the price was immaterial really: I was attracted to its title: the poverty and justice bible...

Inclusive of a 32-page 'Core' section in the middle and numerous sections highlighted in orange that have particular relevance to the title; I reasoned that this modern, Contemporary English Version might help resurrect my flagging bible-reading habits, as well as increase my knowledge and understanding of its content - and many worthy subjects of which I remain largely ignorant.

Now, the programme of Roots Scotland included a surprisingly good selection of 'mini-presentations', of which I attended four. Housed mainly in the warm rooms of the upper floors of the Edinburgh International Climbing Arena and therefore a bit of an effort to get to (i.e many stairs or a single, somewhat tempremental scenic lift), these were not well attended from what I could see - which was great shame, as a lot of good preparation had been put into them. Indeed, I was the only participant in two of the four sessions I attended - which for an event with over 550 delegates seems pretty shocking, really. Anyway, I digress...

I used to be very passionate about lots of things and in many ways I still am - but because my passion has perhaps become spread too thinly over the past few years I'm less aware now of what exactly my passions are, than I was seven or eight years back. And I'd been asking myself that question during the weeks running up to Roots. One thing that does clearly spring to mind emerges from a frustration I have with my particular corps of The Salvation Army, in that it does not in my opinion, connect sufficiently with the community in which it stands. There have been some improvements - with some leafleting of local houses and the like; but as far as I'm aware, the golden connecting opportunities that are the Premier League football stadium - to which our corps owes its very existence actually, the national rugby/concert stadium, the local shops, several large supermarkets, the various community and health facilities and other local churches, are largely unexploited. With the exception of a single march of witness that is always along the same route, each Easter Sunday and participation in the football club's Remembrance Day service; our large and rather good Salvation Army band may as well not exist, so far as the people of Gorgie are concerned - for they never have any casual opportunity to come into contact with it.

Unless, that is, they happen to be shopping in a particular area of the West End of our city, on the Saturdays leading up to Christmas - or indeed live in the two or three, very affluent streets where evening Carolling takes place each Christmas. Or with luck, they might just end up in one of the handful of old folks homes we visit each Sunday morning - and retain enough faculties as they do so, to have any idea of who we actually are...

Hence I was pleased to attend a presentation entitled, "Benefits of Understanding Your Community." In common with most of the other mini-presentations it really was much too mini - for as well as the short presentation of the project that the Army has centrally commissioned to offer some support to those corps wishing to gather data on the needs of their communities and use it for developmental funding applications and the like; it would have been good to explore some of the ideas further, share what's going on in the corps that were represented and how they might be improved upon by using the ideas being presented, and maybe even establish some network links. But it was a good starting point - and a link with one of my passions.

Employed as I am by an organisation that provides services to people with learning disabilities, I was immediately attracted to the presentation by Ivy Blair of Prospects - a wonderful organisation that supports churches in Scotland to become more inclusive to encompass the faith and worship needs of those members of our communities who are not necessarily able to communicate or comprehend in what we might consider to be the normal ways. In fact, take a look at their website www.prospects.org.uk which will no doubt tell it far more eloquently that I can. Somewhat depressingly, Ivy shared with me that the only people attending her presentation were those who already had a connection with people with learning disabilities - giving rise to yet another demonstration of what the General is observing of large swathes of The Salvation Army at the present time.

I attended what turned out to be little more than an impersonal lecture on the development and operation of a befriending project on one of the Scottish islands; and then lastly - set against Intergenerational Worship first thing on Sunday morning, I was the only person to attend the only opportunity of the first-ever presentation or involvement of Tearfund, at a Salvation Army event.

Now come on folks, get over yourselves! Weren't you listening to what the General said about worship, just hours before? Have you not read my previous blog entry? Worship's great: we all love it, we could sit and sing all day with that wonderful band - but hey, it's not what we're called into existence to do. Not just what we're called to do at any rate. And in any case, haven't you read Romans 12? Don't you agree with Paul's assertion that you should offer your whole bodies and lives to God, as your Spiritual Act of Worship?

Let me tell you, I attended worship on Sunday morning at Roots Scotland. I just didn't attend the same worship as everybody else, that's all!

Now, members of The Salvation Army, let me tell you a thing or two that I learned about Tearfund. They have never, ever taken part in a Salvation Army event before. They didn't seem too impressed about having to compete with Sunday morning worship. They are available to give talks and organise events within local churches - and have worked with many; but in Scotland at least, they have never, ever been invited to work with The Salvation Army. Now don't you think it's high time we changed that?!!

They don't do white man going in to fix black man's problems. They do bible study - they teach it, as part of their mission, to those in need in third world Africa. In so doing, they help people discover and value their own strengths. In other words, they don't do for - they support, they encourage. They promote dignity. They don't just give tools then leave folk to work out how to use or make the best use of them - they transform lives. They transform lives that in turn, transform other lives. Is any of this sounding familiar to you at all - maybe not so much from what we actually do, as from what we're supposed to?

Visit their website too www.tearfund.org Invite them to come and speak to you - to take part in events in your corps and halls that you can invite many people to, who would not normally be there, or who would not attend an event featuring The Salvation Army alone. Don't be indignant - this isn't about you or what you do or believe in. Really - it isn't!! It's about meeting people where they're at - hosting and inviting them to the kinds of events that's likely to interest them; including them. It's about being fishers of men - and I know the Lord said he'd do that for you if you just followed him, but goodness me, don't just wait for him to do all the work...!!!

I've just read Isaiah 61 in my new bible - just before I began writing this blog posting. Verses 5-7 say this - and I think sum up beautifully all I'm tring to impress upon you about Tearfund, and the other mini-presentations I attended:

They will hire foreigners to take care of their sheep and their vineyards. But they themselves will be priests and servants of the Lord our God. The treasures of the nations will belong to them, and they will be famous. They were terribly insulted and ill-treated; now they will be greatly blessed, and joyful forever.

Just in case anyone's in any doubt, we are the foreigners it refers to.

Heading back to my Roots

I did an historic thing the weekend just gone - I attended a Salvation Army Roots event for the first time. Historic for that reason in the personal sense, yes - but the event itself was also historic, in that it was the very first such 'Regional Roots' event ever to have taken place, and certainly the first of its kind in Scotland.

(Until 2009, it always took place in Southport, you see. Now, I've nothing against going to Southport- it is a pleasant town indeed; but because it's a long way from home, I'd need accommodation - and transport - and, added to the cost of the event registration itself; well, it's always been beyond my means. Besides, I was always told that regular attendeed booked up from year to year, so it might prove difficult to get accommodation there anyway. In other words - in that ever-so-unintentional way that such good Christian folks often have in relation to such things - Sod off, we were here first...).

Words just about fail me - and I say that as one with a reputation for always having something to say. Certainly there are no single words that come to mind as even remotely adequate, to sum up just how wonderful it all was; and so I feel I must record my thoughts about numerous aspects, save I should forget their detail in my efforts to make some sensible semblance of them all...

Now, I've already doing some stuff that's pretty out of character for me - as a direct consequence of my attendance, and involvement at this Roots event! Last night, I posted a religious prayer - a verse of a song I've known for a while and used on-and-0ff by myself, for many years - within my facebook status box. I know some people do that kind of thing all the time - but, be honest, don't you think that's a bit weird? Because I do - if I was a non Christian or at least a non practicing one, more often than not leaning towards the sceptical side and given to using the questions around the absolute mysteries of faith and the many apparent contradictions of the Bible and the existence of God versus the troubles of life arguments as obstacles that prevented my fuller subscription or participation to it all; anyone I met who not only calls themself a Christian but who also does such weird stuff as constantly post religious texts in the facebook status boxes in what seems like a direct attempt to get right up my nose where they've not been invited - well, let's just say they'd not likely win much of my favour...

I am the kind of Christian who absolutely embraces what Christians refer to as the Great Commission - those lines found towards the end of the Gospels that quote Jesus Christ's instruction that we should not keep it all to ourselves, but go out and share our experience and knowledge with the whole world. But, unlike many Christians, I am realistic enough to know that with many people, there is barely a single chance - and if, by coming across as too weird and outside of their experiences I botch it up, then the task will surely be all the more difficult for those Christians whom they encounter after I'm gone.

I therefore don't normally use the biblical tracts and public prayers approach. I want people to be able to recognise me as a man of faith, a follower of Jesus, a regular worshipper and - some way down the line, a soldier of The Salvation Army; whom they can readily identify with! I want them to be able to look at me and think that if I can be and do all of that and yet, still appear reasonably normal - then maybe, just maybe, so can they! I don't want to be distant or aloof, I don't want to appear disapproving, or any kind of kill-joy; I don't want to imply you have to jump through a thousand hoops and lose most of the things in life that you value, in order to truly come into a really good relationship with Jesus Christ and be filled each new day with God's presence and life-giving Holy Spirit - because you know, you don't! You don't have to change who you are or how you live, to have these things!! I want people to know that my God is no more distant than I am; and that he's even more prepared than I am, to go to where they're at in their lives, share their values and do the the things they like doing. I want people to know that if there any any hoops to jump through, then it's God who will be doing the jumping...

Linda Bond, the current General of The Salvation Army, absolutely rocks! See - I told you I had begun doing things I don't normally - for saying somebody absolutely rocks really isn't part of my usual vocabulary. But my goodness - that woman is something else; the likes of which I've never seen or heard before. At various points over the weekend we were encouraged to identify what had been the highlights for us; and I think the General's input is pretty near the top of everyone's lists. For me, it wasn't just what she said; but also the way in which she said it - authoratively, yes - but not in a bossy way. Not angry, not flippantly: just very, very matter of fact -ly. This is the Salvation Army that we have, she repeated over and over; and it's not what we're called to be! This is the 21st Century - she reminded us of that fact many times over too, and how it is completely wrong to keep referring to those things that blessed us as an organisation 75 years ago. "You'll all have been blessed by your Easter celebrations last weekend," she told us. " But that was then - and this is now. You've got to move on..."

"The Holy Spirit refuses to be contained. He just refuses to be contained in time, or in any event - for He's here, now." "It would be great if we could have all middle-class, high-earners; all the best-educated people. Really, it would be wonderful. But that's not who God calls us into being to be there for! God calls us to be there for the people who nobody else wants."

"I love worship. I could sit here and sing all day with this band - really, it is so wonderful; but that's not what we're called to do."

Her examples went on and on. Fortunately, most of her (and other) speeches were recorded and sold to delegates so that we could come home, remind ourselves of them and share them with others - thanks to modern technology. Thank God for it, in fact.

She spoke at length of her vision for one army, moving together, now in the 21st Century. She spoke of examples of corps where people are turned away on the basis of their age, others where they're judged, not welcomed, or that they can't relate to because of all the religiosity - and in her very matter of fact, not quite blunt and not emotive other that a clear sense of disappointed kind of way. They may share our symbols, wear or uniform, look like us in every way, have wonderful bands, wonderful songsters, she told us. "But they're not The Salvation Army."

'Religiosity.' That's a wonderful word, isn't it? That's why I don't normally use my facebook status box and suchlike for outwardly evangelical purposes - for me, that would be religiosity - and frankly, I think it turns people off!

I could listen to my CDs and quote so much more - and over time I likely will do so. But for now, my thoughts are turning to lunch - the thoughts of a plain, ordinary sort of man.

Today is a public holiday where I live in Edinburgh, and I had thought as I approached the Roots event that it would be my recovery day - for no matter how positively, these events can be so draining - physically, mentally, emotionally. Yet I really feel pretty full of energy today - suprisingly so, in fact! Sure - I'm using the time to just stay home, take it easy and digest it all; as well as take such risks as the facebook status, writing this blog - and thinking about what I need to share with others, and apply myself to in due course. And yes, I was so saturated with information I could barely speak to anybody last night and would probably still struggle in conversation even now - so forgive me, those friends whom I've directed here: I want to share all my experiences with you, I just need some time and space to disseminate it all so that I can do so more effectively...

I awoke early this morning with the same phrase I'd had in my mind as I drifted off to sleep:

The Spirit of the Lord is on me; he has annointed me to preach the good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives, and release the prisoners from darkness. (Isaiah 61: 1)

Along with a large number of others, I prayed at the front of the tent which was our worship hall yesterday, that God would transform my prayer and bible reading experiences, from something that often seemed just like mere words, yesterday afternoon. I prayed he'd give me a real sense that his Spirit was with me: a sign of confirmation, as he's sone before. I can only conclude that he heard my prayer indeed - for why else would I have awoken with sufficient fragments of such a passage in my mind that I was able to fully identify by simply typing a phrase into Google?

At some point, I shall be back, dear reader. Thank you for taking the time to read what I have to say!

Barometers of Wellness

How familiar does your front door look to you? What about the pathway up to it, or the stairway? What about the street?

Mine is up three flights of stairs, with a communal main entrance to the street that is shared by 15 other flats. My street always looks much the same, but sometimes the stairs and corridors seem distorted in some way, or perhaps the wrong way around. I know when this starts to happen, that I'm probably not very well...

Many, many years ago I was probably abused in the end-of-garden wash-house of a neighbour. I don't have a clear memory if it - only a flashback; but what gives the game away is the position of that wash-house within its garden: it too, was the wrong way around - my logic being that the wash-house at the end of my garden was the right way round!

Whether these are at all connected I don't know - although it's certainly true to say I get a bit panicky when I think things are the wrong way around, so who knows?

Oh, and as you've probably already worked out - my stairwell's all distorted just now.

Scrabble and all that

Sometimes life feels a bit like a game of Scrabble. You rarely have all you need for the kinds of things you'd like; you have various things that seem heavy, but that can pay off generously if you just carry them for a while and use them when the circumstances are right; you're often completely dependent on the unconsious generosity of others; most of the time, you have to put up with far less than you'd otherwise choose; and, just occasionally, you have a big victory!

Right now, I don't have the letters to spell the words I feel I need to. Today has been quite good on the whole - work wasn't busy, but busy enough; and I've had a visit from a supporter this afternoon and beaten him twice at Scrabble. But, my life feels really - well, shall we say empty, for starters...?

I'm lucky: I have friends, I have caring relatives, I have work, I have a home, I have enough money to live a reasonable existence; and I have many other good things. But I don't have love - not the personal, individual love that seems to be enjoyed by many. I don't have anyone to love as I'd like to - and the result of that is that I often lust after others, and feel bad about it afterwards...

I never used to have the ability to cope with that kind of love - neither to give it, nor receive it. I like to think I could give it now; but I remain uncertain of my ability to receive it. Such uncertainly is the product of the abused young man within my ageing body: the body I almost unconsciously keep as unattractive to others as I can. My search for a suitor is therefore almost impossible - a search for someone so determined that he'd repeatedly refuse to be deterred by the barriers I place in his way...!

It's not my desire to have people play such games of course. But how else can I be sure they'll not also abuse me?

On the nightshift

Okay, so it's cabin fever...! But why is it, that so few people do daylight hours? Is it really any wonder they're all so depressed??

I had a couple of hours out with another friend last night - missing and riding on buses, getting pissed off by hooray henrys who seemed to think they were in an Oxbridge cricket pavillion, not our favourite local pub, and getting rained on - that sort of thing. But it was better than sitting in alone - a LOT better...!

I toyed with the idea of arranging a day out to Peebles or somewhere - bus ride, lunch, walk by the river/poke round the shops, nice pub for a couple of hours, sort of thing. But the weather was awful, so I decided not. Another friend had suggested a mid-afternoon outing to a gallery by then anyway - which is a poor substitute, but a generous offer, nonetheless. Shame it'll be almost dark by the time we get there. But, once more, a LOT better than sitting home alone. And tomorrow, I shall take great delight in returning to work!!

Symbolic beard-trimming

Some people blood-let - which in the distant past, has included me. Some people go out and get blind drunk, or stoned - ditto.

On this occasion, I trimmed my beard.

No kidding - it never seems to grow like other men's do anyway - it just gets long and thick, so you feel like you're going around with a thick straggly rug on your face. So, I took the hairdressing scissors to it and, hey presto, it feels good!

I guess I might just head for the barber's, in the morning. Exciting stuff, eh? Well, hardly. But, less messy than blood-letting.

Is it just me....

Is it just me, or do others experience life as I do? I don't mean special events life, I mean the everyday, routine life that I assume we've all got - if there's any difference, that is...

Christmas has been and gone. It wasn't exactly as originally planned, but it was okay. Return to work is the day after tomorrow, and that'll probably be fine too.

It's the in between time that I struggle with. I mean, what do you do, exactly? Okay, so I sent out a text message to a few friends earlier, and one of them came over for a couple of hours. As I say, I'm fine in company - I can do company.

I'm not so good at alone, though. Maybe that sounds daft, when you consider I've been alone most of my life - for years, I've lived alone; and mostly evaded close relationships. Hence, it's not exactly unfamiliar.

But, it's still difficult. For far too long now, I've comfort eaten when I feel the voids, and trawled the internet for people I know (or occasionally don't) to chat to. But it's not good. I'm now so overweight I'm really not enjoying life, as everything is so much effort; and fewer and fewer people (it seems) use the 'net in the ways they used to. And, if I'm not careful, I end up having one-way conversations. Monologues. Is it coincidental that rhymes with blogs, at all?

I've just watched Tom Brown's Schooldays on TV, and had a weep. It's not original, but it's a change.

But, is it just me? Am I the only one whom everybody thinks has a good life - but whose life is actually completely out of his control? And if I'm not - well, so what? I don't suppose it'll make much difference to how I feel just now.

So, answer the question if you want to - or not! I'll try and cheer up for tomorrow...!!

A Time to Weep?

Sometimes I wonder if life has brought me to a place where I'm really hard-hearted. Or if I'm actually just so deeply entrenched in denial, I'm not aware of the difference anymore...

One of my uncles seems to have lung cancer. Well - he's got an inoperable tunour the size of a fist, at the base of his right lung actually; and the reason it's inoperable is because there also appears to be infection elsewhere. My mother was at the hospital with him yesterday and they did some final diagnostic tests, but the writing's on the wall for all to see.

Now, I should explain that although as my mother's youngest brother he is technically my uncle; the two of us were always together as I was growing up, and we were often mistaken for brothers. We were each other's confidantes on family and various other matters. He made a great point of passing onto me what his older brothers had passed onto him: a love for, and a knowledge of the countryside, which has always been his greatest passion. In years, he is closer to me than my mother, or his older brothers; and as I'm an only child, he's always the nearest thing to a sibling I've had.

As the years have passed and my own life again has some order to it, my need for his support has lessened; but I've always taken comfort from the assumption that he'd always be there if I needed him. I've always known who I'd turn to in the event of any serious problems with my mother, for example.

Understandably, she's absolutely devastated - and probably all the more so as she offerred to help him break the news to their other siblings, and has had to witness them crying for the first time since their childhoods.

As yet though, I've not felt the need to cry. I feel very sad about it - and very unsettled; but for as much as I often cry over silly things, I've not shed many tears over late relations since my maternal grandmother died when I was in my late teens. Indeed, my counsellor remarked recently how he'd never heard me grieve for my father, and how he's left wondering if I've even begun that process. And, I don't know the answer to that, really...

I shed a few tears at the time of course, and I had several months of disturbed sleep, palpitations and other severe anxiety symptoms. And I often speak fondly of him and his ways - and take pride in perpetuating some of them. And occasionally I've wished we had a grave to visit or even a plaque: some quiet place where I could just go unannounced, and in secret, and maybe feel close to him (we had him cremated and my mother's grief was so apparent that no decision was ever made regarding any memorial). But actually grieve his passing? Maybe I'm just too pragmatic for my own good at times, for I'm not sure it would actually make a lot of difference to how I feel...

If and when my uncle leaves us, I'll have the opportunity of returning to those woodland paths and waterside tracks we tramped so often in our younger years. I expect I might weep then.

Lemon-scented Cillit Bang

Well, I made it - though it took me a good hour longer than I'd imagined it would. This is because the water stank. No, I don't mean the drains - I attack them all with Domestos on quite a frequent basis. I mean the water...

If you've ever wondered what the difference is between an irrational thought and an hallucination, this is probably as good an illustration as any: hallucinations make it appear real. It looks real, it sounds real - and in my case, it smells real. The only thing I have to suggest that it might not be real is logic. As in this case - for tap water doesn't usually smell - smelling isn't one of its known properties (although I have to say there is a bit of me that wonders whether the reason it doesn't smell is because we've all been brought up to believe that - and in actual fact, it might smell; but I digress).

For as long as I can remember, I've had problems with smells. Olfactory hallucinations, to give them their Sunday name. The mere sight of almost anything that is shit, or looks like shit, sick, piss, snot, blood, rotting food or flesh, or other types of bodily excrements other than my own; has me heaving up almost instantly. My eyes stream, I have coughing fits, I feel faint and see stars - it's pretty dramatic. I love dogs and I love walking; but if I see a dog squatting ahead, I need to turn around instantly, or cross the street and look the other way. And, even worse, if I see a dog owner clearing up after it, and/or carrying their little bag afterwards - well, the results are predictable indeed. Actually, I'm beginning to react right now just by visualising it...

Needless to say, I often can't use public toilets. For this reason I have a RADAR key somewhere as, because disabled loos tend to be kept locked except while in use, they're not so well patronised, shall we say; and there's more chance I can use them. That said, I can't remember last when I needed to, and I don't regularly carry my key with me these days.

Likewise, my kitchen often smells. Because there's no window, there's a electric ventilation thing in the ceiling that causes quite a considerable draught, and I therefore have to keep the door closed during the winter months; but during the summer it stays propped open, as it's just easier, that's all. It's not unusual for me to have to literally run out and hang my head out of the window...

One of the best quick-fixes I've found - which only works when there's just a smell and nothing to see that looks as though it could be the source, is replacing it with my own smell. Hence, a quick bowel movement tends to ease the toilet issue; and keeping some Dettox air freshener spray within arms reach of the kitchen door can help with the kitchen - even if I do have to wait for a while, to let the vapour dissipate enough to prevent me choking...

But when water smells, I have a bit of a problem - because of course, you can't clean supposedly clean water - at least, not if you want to use it to clean yourself with!

So, to cut a long story short, I had to grab the Cillit Bang and scrub every possible surface to replace the unpleasant smell with a pleasant one. So not only did I have my shower, shave and brush up; the bathroom did too - and for the first time in ages, the shower tiles are gleaming once more. Not a bad bonus, eh? I was quite pleased with myself, actually!

Then I made it to Sainsbury's (gosh, it was cold out there - no wonder we've got lying snow here this morning); got a few bits and pieces to keep me going ; watched the final of I'm a Celebrity, Get me Out of Here and settled down for the night, which passed without further incident.

Boulder-blocked pathways

It was late morning when I wrote my last post, and although the sunshine was becoming a little hazy, I did still hope to go out during the afternoon. Alas, that's not happened...

No - the foot isn't the main problem. It's a lot more complicated; and has all the characteristics of a huge boulder blocking the path ahead. This isn't a new phenomenon in life - in fact, it has happened on and off for years and thankfully, more off than on these days. But when it happens I'm just as stuck as I always was...

It's a bit like the old woman who swallowed the fly - in reverse. My revised goal is to go out to the local shops and get some food, as my fridge is now completely empty, bar half a carton on milk and a little margarine. Also, I've no bread, no cake (I had the last of it during today), no biscuits, no rice pudding, no chocolate or sweets. I have some basics such as rice and pasta - but nothing to liven it up with...

Only, you can't go out before getting dressed; and you can't really get dressed without getting washed and shaved - and there's my dilemma.

This is where the good folks that assess disability benefits claims and suchlike; some doctors and medical practitioners; politicians, definitely; family members and even some friends really don't get how mental illness can affect you on a day-to-day basis. The DWP's claim forms are really only interested in your physical ability to walk down the road and buy the goods - they just don't get that on a bad day, there's often not a cat's chance in hell of getting there anytime soon...

It's daft, isn't it? What can possibly be so hard about getting in the shower, having a shave and brushing your teeth and hair; I hear you saying? And the answer is - I haven't a clue. It is daft - but it's also real, and right now its preventing me from doing any of the other things I want and need to do.

I'm hoping that by writing it down here I might be able to even get around it in a small way, maybe just wash face, swill out with mouthwash and comb hair for now. It's dark, and although it'd just putting off the inevitable, at least I'd get some much-needed provisions in for the rest of the weekend.

It's quite simple really: I'm a bit depressed, and because I'm a bit depressed, my energy and motivation levels are poor, my view of myself is decreased, I'm finding it hard to concentrate, I'm more anxious than usual, I'm finding it quite hard to make conversation with people, I've lost any real interest in food, I'm craving intimacy: all of these are classic symptoms of my depression.

And I usually end up demonstrating my depression in one way or another. In the past, I'd have cut up or overdosed; nowadays I usually neglect myself or my immediate surroundings. It's one of the few outward signs actually - and of course, because only a few people ever come into my personal space, not many folk are ever aware of it. So - in the hope that it might help me move on a little, I'm describing it to you now. It's 7.15pm. 'Think I'll give myself until 8 o'clock; and I'll come back later and let you know the results!!

(Not) In the Mood

I didn't feel too clever earlier today - it's been a pretty busy week, and I probably overdid it at times. So I didn't go out. Apologies are due to my Salvation Army colleagues, as I was due to help collecting with their carolling efforts; but I expect they'll understand. A few months back, I was diagnosed with a painful foot condition called plantar faciitis, which would have meant I'd not have been able to do it for very long anyway - at least, not if I want to be able to walk for the rest of the week...

Having started to receive Christmas cards I'm thinking I ought to get round to writing some myself, but the truth is my heart's just not in it, as yet. I normally write a circular letter insert, and I just can't think what to put on it right now. These things are hard when you're not at your best.

I also had a stab at sewing my new S-badges onto my uniform. I can't do it for toffee though, so I soon gave up, and just used safety pins to hold them in place for now. I can see I shall have to speak nicely to friend with a sewing machine - she did offer, after all!

Rice Pudding and Nightmares

Thankfully, I've not had any nightmares for years. Well, at least I hadn't - until last night. The first woke me at 4.45am, so I did what I used to do when I got them more frequently - got up, put some lights on, and had something to eat; which on this occasion was a tin of rice pudding...

Yes, I know, eating rice pudding at 4.45am probably isn't very good for me, but you know what? The reality is that almost everybody resorts to unhealthy habits under times of stress - and sometimes it's best to just do whatever it is you need to do in order to get through these times; don't give yourself a hard time - and don't let anybody else do it, either.

I was more concerned about being awake at 4.45am actually - but I soon returned to sleep, albeit sleep with recurring variations of the same nightmare, of which about all I can remember was some homeless girl who seemed to know me, trying to steal money form me and otherwise get me into trouble.

Thanks to the public sector strikes, I'm not working in my usual base today; and instead attending a 'development day' at what is for me a more accessible venue. So I have a few minutes longer at home. Every cloud has a silver lining of sorts, eh?

At work...

The operative word in the title is 'at' by the way. Not 'in'. I've been here since 0850, it's now 10.30 and so far I've answered the phone once, and addressed and stamped one letter, which I'll post on my way home.

Oh - and struggled with the computers. We have one of those daft remote server systems, such that you can't access anything unless you're signed in - which is all well and good, if the technology works. Over the past couple of weeks, alas, the laptop on my desk has got slower and slower such that today, it took from 0850 to 1013 to get properly powered up, and signed into the remote server. Or so I thought...

Having decided there was an error on the said remote server (I should think it probably just got fed up waiting and timed out), it then told me it couldn't connect me, and that I should phone for assistance, which I did. They'll get back to me within 2 hours apparently - though I'm not holding my breath just yet...

And we now have the rather wonderful game of it taking forever to sign me out of the remote server - in order that I can use this desktop to sign back in! Hence, I have nothing to do - and right now, that's not good, as I really don't feel good in myself, and I'm desperately in need of something to take my mind off it.

But, these are the present-day realities of work in the social care sector. I think I might just have to go and put the kettle on now!

I'm really struggling just now...

It's the hardest thing in the world to admit, you know. There are loads of services, helplines, and places to say it; loads of (mostly) supportive people who are willing to hear or read it; and maybe even loads of ways to say, or write it...

You don't want to be a drama queen, you don't want people to over-react, you don't want to make it any bigger than it is already - and you certainly don't want to do yourself any major dis-service by watering it down too much.

So, when you're having thoughts and urges to take yourself off somewhere dark and lonely, and then take various substances that'll probably knock you out for a while and yes, maybe even kill you if it goes wrong; just what on earth should your opening line be?

It can't be "I feel like killing myself," because I don't! It can't be "I feel like I want to hurt myself," because that's not true either. It can't even be, "I feel I need to blot it all out," because I don't feel that way...

I certainly feel like blotting it all out for a while at times - quite often of late, in fact; and you might say I'm being tempted if that's how your belief systems work. Sometimes I feel like burning it, or even drowning it. Invariably, I end up stifling it by eating until I feel so sick, that I almost stop feeling anything else.

I probably need asylum. But I don't need institution - and all too often, that's the only type of asylum that's on offer. It's certainly the only type that things like doctors, sick notes and employers generally recognise. Amd in truth, if I can't get any other sort sometime soon, I might end up needing asylum so much that the institution part won't really matter any more. Which would be a shame really, wouldn't it?

Diazepam 'R' Us

Well, diazepam, chocolate, ice-cream, sausage rolls and quite a few other things actually. Emotional chaos 'R' Us: need I say more?

And, as the painkillers begin to do their jobs....

I forgot to add tags to my last post, which is pretty apt when you think about it. I might add them to this one if I remember - which I expect will really confuse some people, but hey, I'm sure you get the idea!

I've always believed that everything happens in the way and in the sequence it does, for a reason. I mean, these blogs - I don't really plan what I'm going to write - it's just thinking aloud really. Or whatever the word is that describes the writing equivalent of 'thinking aloud', to be more precise. And so, here I am - having just referred to Ecclesiates 4:9, which says, two are better than one because they have a good return for their work, and then, quite unwittingly, I reveal I've taken some painkillers for my headache, and that they're now beginning to do their work. And how many painkillers did I take? Two...

Sometimes it's very hard to imagine what possible reason there might be, for life's events. I mean the kinds of events for which the painkillers don't work...

Just a couple of years ago, I had the pleasure of making contact with a young relative whom I knew suffered from a life-shortening illness. His immediate family (with whom I'd also had relatively little contact up to that point) were getting kind of desperate, as he was already choosing to not use the drugs that could prolong his life by a few years; and what I thought I saw was a situation whereby he didn't really feel he had anything sufficiently desirable to try to live on for.

For you see, this is where western society really can't see the wood for the trees. They want to solve problems and cure illnesses, and, while nobody could ever fault the worthiness of their intentions - quite often, life's just not like that. As I shared the other day, I'm a male survivor of childhood sexual abuse: and all the counselling and therapies under the sun aren't going to change that. What's done is done - some of my wounds might heal up a bit in time, but they're not going to be erased from history: I am damaged, and that's that. And my relative is going to die as a young man. It's horrendously tragic, and so sad that his loved ones can hardly bear to think about it - but it's fact: it's going to happen, whether we like it, or not.

So as a society, would we not be better diverting some of our energies into supporting people to live with the lives that they have? Ever since I made personal contact with him, I've tried to respect my relative's choices. It's mighty hard, but it's the right thing to do. Concentrate on the here and now, worry about the future when the future comes - and for pity's sake, let go of the past. Inevitably the past will have shaped what you have to work with in the present anyway; and you can't re-live the past - you can only live in the present. So, let's help people to live with what they have, eh?

Minor tribulations, major headaches

I seem to have lost one of my 'S' badges. You know - the lapel patches that appear on the tunic of a Salvation Army uniform? Well, I've only got one - and I've not had any shoulder trimmings for quite a while - as apparently, the corps has run out of them. So I am now lopsided. Is that a sign that I'm only half-salvationist...?

If I thought I could get away with keeping it that way, I probably would - because I'm quite rebellious about that sort of thing; and actually, I think half-salvationist is probably a label that fits me very well! Although I'll qualify that: it depends where the particular bit of the Salvation Army is, that I'm engaging with at the time.

For the last year or so, I've openly said to quite a ot of people that the only thing that keeps me engaging with Gorgie Corps is the fact I'm a songster. Now, I'm going to qualify that too, because I also have lots of nice friends whom I enjoy being with who also go there; I have one or two opportunities a month to share some ministry with elderly people - whom I've always got on with very well; I usually get to carry the flag in front of the band on the rare occasions it leaves the comfort of it's hall; and actually - it's just where the corps is right now that I don't really care for - it's been different before and has the potential to be again!

Yesterday, our songster brigade was in Govan. For some reason we'd been chosen to sing for an hour, following the local songsters and the West Scotland Youth Chorus, whom I have to say were excellent; and after that we were treated to an evening event by Regent Hall Songsters, which is just so stuffed with professional singers and students of all of London's best music learning centres that I end up thinking it's just as well I live where I do, as I'd have no chance of belonging to anything like that!!

If you've read my previous post - the most recent one, it'll probably come as no surprised to you that my emotions are all over the place right now. I've somewhat unwillingly and unhappily woken up with a headache, which I've already started battering with painkillers; and as soon as I remembered about my missing 'S' I did consider not going to church this morning. But no! That'd be the start of a slippery slope - half a salvationist is surely better than no salvationist; and if anybody can't cope with that, then that's their problem, isn't it? And with luck, there might be somebody around who can sell me some replacement badges!

(And in the meantime I'll probably share the half-salvationist joke - which doesn't have to be a joke at all if you think about it; and could certainly form the basis of my next prayer meeting - perhaps accompanied by Ecclesiates 4:9, where it says that, two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work. I mean, think about it - single people, of which I'm also a member...

People - especially traditionalist church people who think they know and have seen or done it all, need to be made to think about these things...!!!