In my Prime!

I am a prime number again. Yesterday was my 29th Birthday. I am not big on birthdays but I had a lovely day. I was due to be in college all day but our ICT lecturer was poorly so I had a free afternoon.

Now no girl should have to study on her birthday so I used it wisely!

James was on a day off so he met me and a few of my course mates in a lovely pub in Wandsworth called The East Hill, where we had a yummy lunch (BLT with Sweet Potato Chips anyone?) The beer is good, and so is the atmosphere. It was fun.

After lunch James and I caught the train into town for a trip to the National Portrait Gallery. I am not a big cluture vulture. I can't tell you who my favourite artist is, or what museum does the best coffee. But occaasionaly an exhibition comes along and I think that it would be fun to see.

I love photos. I am not great at taking them but I love to do so, and to see them, feel them and study them. Annie Leibovitz is a world reknowned phtographer. Mainly she takes great pictures of famous people for magazines like Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair. Whenever I see her pictures in the press, or a magazine I am intrigued by them. They are beautiful and poignant. Some of her most famour pictures include Demi Moore pregnant in 1991 and The Queen in 2007. This exhibition is called Annie Leibovitz. A photographer's life, 1990 - 2005. What made it really special is that it is not just showcase for all her amazingly famous stuff, but interweaves her personal collection. Pictures of her parents, her siblings, her daughters and her friend and lover.

Wandering round it suddenly struck me what it is about photographs that fascinates me. It is something to do with a moment being caught in time. A moment that cannot be recreated, that will not happen again. And more than that: looking back at photos the people in them could not know what would happen to them, how thier lives would pan out, how they would play a part in history.

In a side room off the main corridor of the gallery there were two portraits hanging on the wall. Side by Side. Two men in Military Uniform. Norman Schwarzkopf and Colin Powell. Taken in 1991. Colin Powell's eyes are glossy. Was he crying? What was he feeling? Norman Schwarzkopf is proud. Chest puffed out. I am too young to remember the detail of the first gulf war but I know both these men played a part. Were they thinking about that when the camera went click? Did Colin Powell realise he would be Secretary of State. That he would see planes fly into the Twin Towers? That there would be another Gulf War?

THere are beautiful pictures of non famous peopel too. I love the one of her mother taken in her later years. She is not smiling but peers curiusly at the camera. Her age, experience, elegnace and knowledge is etched on her face. It is a beautful picture.

I took James with me to the exhibition. He likes art more than pictures. It was good to have him there to muse over my thinking. To share my thoughts and ideas. As we were leaving he pointed to one (the one on this blog post) and said

'I like that one best?'

'Why?' I asked.

'I just do,' he replied.

And that is the beauty of pictures, love, life and everything.

Sometimes you just don't need a reason.

Eulogy

I gave the Eulogy at my Grandma's Funeral this morning. You will recognise alot of it. People liked it. Lots of people commented on it. That and the fact I look like my Grandma. She was beautiful, I'm glad I look like her:

"My Grandma died last Monday and I've not yet shed a tear.
My Grandma was a woman of God, and last week He called her home to be restored to Glory with Him.
My Grandma had Alzheimer's disease. This meant that her true character and her soul have been fading for many years. This has been sad to see and experience. There was nothing any of us could do except feel frustrated and helpless. I am thankful that my uncle, my mother and my father spent time with her towards the end, just being with her.
My Grandma was a great woman, with a strength and grace that used to scare me until I eventually understood what it was. As a child I remember her as always being immaculately turned out, hair done, make-up on. She was sometimes stern but always compassionate and I was never in any doubt as to her love for me and my sister irksome as we were!
She had the most amazing experiences throughout her life, as a child in Ireland, a young woman coming to England, as a passenger on a boat torpedoed and sunk in the Irish Sea, in the East-end during the Blitz (although I can’t imagine her as an extra in Albert Square), as an army nurse in the Queen Alexandra’s Royal Army Nursing Corps, at the D-Day Landings – how many people can say that both their grandparents were there? as a wife to my grandfather Tony and a mother to my Uncle John and my mother Aeileish and finally as a grandmother to both me and my younger sister Alice.
Throughout her life she stood strong in her faith and worshipped with conviction and duty. When Alice and I were young we always came to church with her. We were both baptised in this very church. Around the age of nine I stopped coming to church. I remember the feeling of dread telling my Grandma. I’m not sure if she was cross but I have a feeling she kept praying for me.
I came back to faith at the age of 21 and my grandmother’s example has always been an inspiration to me.
As the Alzheimer's began to creep onward, stealing more and more of her essence I began to pray more to God for her. Not for healing but for her restoration.
When I was about six years old I stood in the kitchen of my Grandma's house as she prepared supper and said
"Grandma how long will you live?"
She looked at me, pinny on, tea towel in hand, and said:
"Well I might live long enough to see you married."
To a six-year-old girl, that seems like a long long time.
As I prepared for my wedding eighteen months ago I asked God to let her know that it was OK. I was getting married, and if that was what she had been waiting for, to keep her promise to me, then it was all OK she could go now.
A few months ago she had a fall and broke her hip. Her Alzheimer's made it difficult for the medical staff to communicate with her, they are unprepared and under trained. I prayed that she wouldn't be in too much pain and that God would give her peace and rest.
I hadn't thought about her for a few weeks until last Monday morning. Sitting at the bus stop thoughts of her came into my head and I prayed.I prayed that God would call her home soon. That He would restore her, that he would end her pain. As a caveat I said "Well maybe not before Christmas though, however your timing is perfect Lord. Your timing is perfect."
My Dad's phone call last Monday afternoon was not a surprise and I have felt an enormous sense of peace since. God's timing is perfect.
He put her on my heart and then He called her home and I am thankful that she is safe, healed and restored.
I have not shed many tears; my sadness is outweighed by my awe and wonder at the power of my God, my Grandma's God and our Saviour.
Your timing is perfect Lord.
As the words of my favourite worship song say
"Till he returns, or calls me Home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand.""

Angel

God sent me an Angel yesterday morning. The Angel was my father in law.

Let me explain:

I am in my last week of my teaching placement (more about that later) and I am struggling to fend off the lurgy. I am tired. James is working nights which means he gets home at 3am.

On Tuesday night I showered before bed and treated myself to an extra 20 minutes in bed. At the incessant ringing of my alarm I hit the snooze button and as it trilled out a second time I hit off. An hour later at 7.20 am I woke up. Train leaves at 7.49 at least a ten minute walk away.

My hair looked like a hedgerow in a hurricane and I had to have tea to function.

After rushing around, straightening hair, gulping tea and packing lunch and brekkie I was about ready to leave when I had a knock on the front door.

" Who the heck is that? Where are my keys? What do they want?" I thought.

On opening the door I saw my father in law with a bit of carpet - don't ask - long story. Thinking I don't need this right now I tried to be bright and breezy.

Then my father in law utters the word:

"Would you like a lift to the station?"

YES!

So I get transported to the station, giving me time to put my hat and gloves on.

And I get there 2 minutes before my train is due to leave.

I called James to let him know I was OK and what had happened.

"So God answered my prayer then? " he says.

Yes I guess he did, an Angel at my door.

Hannah x

Advent

This year my church has joined the Advent Conspiracy. This is a challenge to take back Advent. It is a challenge to use Advent as it was intended, as a time to prepare for the coming of Jesus, not Christmas!
Our church booklet says:
"Advent is a time which we set aside, to call upon God to break into our lives and our world, to renew and restore us, and to rid the world of evil and establish the new heavens and earth. We look for that breaking in of God in the coming of the Messiah in Bethlehem, and in the coming of the Messiah at the end of history....... Advent is a time of pilgrimage and spiritual preparation – not just a time to plan the practicalities of Christmas! Enjoy this opportunity to be refreshed and revived by God."

In addition to resources to help us pray at home, there is also an Advent prayer room accessible 24 hours a day but additionally with times of led prayer. I am going to spend some time in there this Advent. I might join commuters prayer tomorrow morning at 7am. I might take a night watch as James watches over London on his first real shifts. I want to spend time on my knees, waiting, watching and listening. I want to hear God, and what he has to say to me. I want to invite Him back into my my heart this Advent and take Him with me wherever I go, and give His love to whoever I meet. Come and join me?

Hannah x
Check out Advent Conspiracy for lots more about this - watch the video on the home page. It will make you think.

Friendship

Wikipedia says that


"Friendship is a term used to denote co-operative and supportive behavior between two or more beings."


The Cambridge Advanced Learner's Dictionary says a friend is


"someone who is not an enemy and whom you can trust" and "a person whom you know well and whom you like a lot, but who is usually not a member of your family"


Once again it's Facebook that has got me thinking, and blogging about Friendship. On my Facebook I have all sorts of friends. there are people I was at Uni with, my mooses, my SSAGS friends, and some of the rugby girls. There are the Beccs Ladies. There are people on SCITT with me this year. There are lots of my church friends, and friends from Croydon. There are also a small number of friends I went to school with. They are my 'friends' because I share, or have shared some sort of an experience with them. I have met every single one of them in the flesh. There are some people on there I know much better than others. There are some I see and share time, food, and laughter with regularly. There are others who are further away geographically but whom I'm love dearly and Facebook allows me to keep in touch with them, their lives, their lows and their highs.

There are people who are my friends on Facebook, whom I have not spoken to face to face with for a long time. Lots of these are the people I went to school with. At school I had very few close friends, and my best friends came from my Venture Scout Unit. It was with them I had the most fun and formative years of my life. However looking back through my wedding photos I was a little saddened to see that there was not one person with whom I had shared my school days there, apart from my sister. On the other hand I have achieved so much since I left school, and even university. I have changed enormously as a person and I love the me I am now much better than the me I was at 18, or even 20. Does this mean that I should ditch or ignore those people who were part of the fabric of my past? Does it means that people I shared experiences with at that time, should no longer be considered 'friends'?

A few weeks ago the opportunity arose via Facebook Chat to 'talk' to someone who I have not had any real contact with for about 8 years. This person and I were friends at school, never best friends, but we shared experiences, and laughs together. 8 years ago this person helped me out when I was in quite a low place. Shortly after this I did something that hurt this person. I am not proud of my actions, my timing or my behaviour. A few months later I met James, and by the time that year was out God was in my life. Although I had made my peace with God for what I did, I had never fond the strength, courage or opportunity to apologise to this person, this friend. The virtual conversation we had on Facebook was not easy, pleasant or jovial. Some long hidden truths and anger came out. I was forced to face the consequences of my actions from a different phase of my life. I apologised. I have forgiven myself for what I did but asking for someone else's forgiveness, when it's 8 years late, is not fun and appears to be a very pathetic exercise. I am glad we had our conversation, for me it feels like I have shut a door that was still slightly ajar.

So does that mean that me and this person can continue being 'friends'? Have the last 8 years without contact destroyed this status between us? Or is it that by trying to shut a door, I have in fact opened it wider, leading to more pain and questioning? I now find myself somewhat under attack from this person. They do not understand my faith, or the journey I have been on in the last 8 years. Our lack of shared experience in this time seems to have destroyed the friendship we had before this time.

I like having friends. I like the variety they bring to life. I feel lucky to have gathered so many shared experiences during my life so far. It would be sad to lose one but if the rift is too deep, if our differences are greater than our similarities, if we cannot understand how each other has grown and changed then maybe we find ourselves sharing nothing more than the past and staring into a future without each other.

Hannah

Mrs Gordon

(Thanks to Rach for the photo idea!)

So I am a week and a half into teaching practice and enjoying it. I have become Mrs Gordon, year one teacher!
I am teaching in a class of 5 and 6 year olds. They're lovely. I am still unsure, still feeling my way, still not quite getting it, but it feels OK.
I feel safe and like I can make mistakes. I feel like I am learning, by watching and being in a classroom, and by trying little things out.
I took my first little part of a lesson yesterday, which wasn't so bad and later this week I am taking Guided Reading. My teaching partner is lovely and our mentor's style really suits me.
It all feels a bit surreal quite a lot of the time. I looked around today and thought "This is my life! This is what I do now!"
I thought I would spend half term doing my first assignment, due in early January, and generally beavering away but I mainly rested. I did some prep work for the assignment, and then just mooched. I took a much needed trip westwards to see my sister, and receive her bargain shopping assistance, I had lunch with friends, I dinner with more friends. It was good.
And now I am back in school. In four and half weeks time phase one teaching practice will be over. I will have made a start to my teaching career and I will be ready to step up a gear and get stuck in to my favoured key stage.
I can't think about that too much right now, it scares me and I'm not quite ready for it yet. But I know that it will come and I will be ready. At the moment Year One is where it's at, and I feel that as the thirty children in my class learn new things and have novel experiences so do I. We're all in this together. H x

Wholeness

Last Sunday night's service at church was a service of healing and wholeness. This is something that we do regularly and is encompassed in the regular service. It is a chance to be prayed for with the laying on of hands and to be anointed with oil.

The service more generally was part of a series called 'The Provocative Church' and looked specifically at Christian Community.

During the time given over to prayer and reflection after the sermon I spent time thinking about what Wholeness means and its relationship to healing.

How am I supposed to know when I should be praying for someone to be healed, or if being made whole might mean God calling them home, where they will get rid of their failing earthly body and be restored. How do I pray for someone who is a shell of who they used to be? Someone whose deeds and witness has been locked away in a bosy and mind that can no longer communicate them? What am I praying for? Can I pray for what I want to pray for, can I be brutally honest with God? I want to be, but I am also drawn to pray a pithy 'not my will but yours' prayer. Is this sort of half hearted prayer even worth uttering, does it waste the time of my creator God who knows what is truly on my heart?

I'm not sure I know what to do, or how to pray. All that I know is that I am called to pray and petition God. Perhaps that is all I need to do right now? Acknowledge that I am struggling on this one, and that there is an issue close to my heart that I don't know how to pray through.

Hannah

Doesn't Time Fly

Well it's been well over a month since I walked through the doors of Wandsworth Primary Schools' Consortium to start my journey as a SCITT Trainee. In many ways my old life seems a long way away and I am beginning more to identify myself as a trainee teacher. I struggle with what that means, what is expected of me, what I should be doing and how I should be doing it.

I've had to meet 34 new people, my peers, my fellow SCITTs. These are the people who I am going to go through the ups and downs of the next nine months with! We are a good mixture of people, a wide range of ages, and we bring a wealth of past experience, from teaching assistants, psychologists, OTs, children's tv programme makers, musicians, artists and more. We are all people who have achieved in our careers and made a positive decision to change.


But now, we're all back at square one. We are all starting again. I am confused by how this makes me feel. In some ways I feel grateful that I have decided to change my life. I know that God is right beside me and this is the path He has me walking right now. I know that His will is perfect and pleasing. Starting a new career, a new training has put me back at the bottom of the pile. I feel deskilled, and whilst I don't feel stupid, I don't feel special either. I feel like I've lost my voice, and my identity.

There's a lot of new information too, but nowhere to use it. At the moment it's in files, on my shelves and in my head. I know that's OK and that when I need it I know where to find it. I have learnt and re learnt some stuff and on the whole I am excited

But my overwhelming emotion at the moment is anxiety. Next week is the start of my first phase of school experience. This represents another great unknown. I'm on a paired placement, with another trainee in the same class, and there are four other trainees in the same school. I am not alone! In my head I know that it will be fine, fun and frenetic. It's time to do some real learning, but looking at my School Experience Handbook in back and white with it's tasks and official forms scares me.

I need to get back in touch with the professional, competent, ambitious me. The one who applied to be a teacher, the one who believes that every child has the potential to achieve, the one who knows that all children are special, and given the right opportunities, goals, and chances will succeed. If she comes on teaching practice then it'll be a whole lot easier.

H x

Bye Bye Trixie

Three years ago after my housemates moved to Australia and my sister came to stay for the summer I decided that I needed a furry companion.
Living in a flat at the time I wanted a house cat - one that doesn't go out much. And I wanted an old cat. Kittens are for houses where they can run around and go outside and there are people to play with them. Old cats that find themselves without an owner are difficult to re home. I wanted to give a loving home to an old cat, and give it love, comfort and companionship in its last years.
So at the end of August 2005 Trixie came to live with us. Her owner had gone into a care home and so she needed a new place to live. Her paperwork was immaculate and her vaccination certificate said she had been born in March 1991. This cat was already 14.
She was great fun, enjoyed playing with bits of string, and anything that she could bat across the floor. She wasn't much of a huggable cat, but she liked company on her own terms.
The first night she stayed with us we kept he in the sitting room as instructed. Periodically throughout the night Alice and I could hear her wailing. We'd take it in turns to go in to see what was wrong. We were met by a low warm rumble of her purring and rubbing round our legs. She was lonely.
As she grew to know the flat her favourite place to sleep at night became the bed. On top of us. Or on our heads, or on our pillows. She knew when breakfast time was and was very good at walking on us and giving our heads a gentle tap to ask us to get up and wield the tin opener! In the day she lounged on the big fleecy cushion by the radiator, occasionally letting out little meows as she stretched and caught her paw on the hot metal.
The summer after James moved in he decided that she should go outside. So she did, enjoying the grass, and dust of the garden. She never wanted to stay out long, and would occasionally pop out to see if the outside world was still there. As she got older she did less, and played less and became more grumpy. She was my grumpy old lady.
She wasn't very happy when we moved, and she became noticeably older. She found stairs difficult and was more grumpy.
When we went on holiday last week she went to a cattery. It was sad dropping her off and she looked so old.
Last Monday the cattery phoned and I had a very tough conversation with them. Trixie had become more poorly. She was a very sick cat and we had to make a decision about what to do.
With very sad hearts James and I decided that it would be kinder to let her go there and then, rather than hospitalising her for a week until we came home. The vet who saw her said he thought she had a brain tumour.
It was very sad, and I was upset. I am still sad and the house feels a bit empty. I keep expecting to see her in the mornings or hear her on the laminate downstairs. But she's gone. After 17 and half years.
Tidying away the kitchen I found some cat food. Senior, it said on it, for cats aged 8 plus. It struck me that Trix had been Senior for more than half her life, and that's pretty good. I am glad that she came to live with us and was part of our family. I loved her very much, but I'm glad she's out of pain. H x

Time to turn the page

On Friday I will leave my job after nearly four years. I have had this date on my diary for months now, and I have known I was leaving since 28th November last year. But as I sit here now it all feels a bit real, a bit odd and I am unsure. On Sunday in church as I was praying I had an image come into my mind. I was standing on a huge book. I looked behind me and I could see the fold down the spine and the facing page in the distance. I was quite close to the edge. It felt like I had to step off so that the page could turn over. I was scared but I knew that God was there with me. And that's how I feel. People ask me if I am excited about SCITT but I am not ready to look at that yet. It's on the next page.
I have recycled masses of paper, sorted out files, written handover documents, deleted emails and computer files, handed over the keys to my filing cabinet and now I'm sitting here reflecting.
What does four years of a job look like?
The information in these files cannot possibly convey the conversations I've had, the relationships I've built, the anger I've felt, the good times I've had. It's even hard to portray the progress I've made. What I do is very qualitative, its been about changing attitudes, making links, talking to people and getting people to think differently.
I have changed enormously in the last four years. I started here at the end of August 2004, aged just 24, only one 'real' job under my belt. I have had to change and develop, learn a new jargon. I have grown to understand how things work, how to behave in meetings, how to address professionals and service users. I've learnt to work with people I don't like and to like people I work with. I have learnt not to take things personally. A few weeks ago I found myself chairing part of a meeting with some fairly high level professionals in it. I had a heated discussion with a service user who upped and left saying "I am not being insulted by some young girl." And as he walked out, I held my cool, took a deep breath and carried on. Some young girl I am not anymore.
I am leaving this job as a young professional woman. I hope that I have earned respect from my colleagues. I hope that I have been able to share some of what I have learnt, and worked on. I hope that I have been a good and amiable colleague. I hope that whoever comes in to do this job after me (Watch out for the advert in Wednesday's Guardian, as well as 4 other jobs) has energy and passion and refuels this project to achieve its potential. My time here is done. I am finished. Time to turn the page.
Hannah