Having lost Zoe at 37 weeks, you can understand that I was bound to be rather paranoid during this pregnancy. In discussion with my gynae, we decided that a good route to giving myself peace of mind would be to buy a baby Doppler machine. These machines allow you to hear the baby's heartbeat from about 12 weeks onwards, but in the comfort of your own home.
We looked into it, but they are frightfully expensive in SA, particularly if it's only going to be used for one pregnancy. A very kind friend then offered to buy one for us in the USA, as they were quite cheap there. We were thrilled. Unfortunately, the one she bought can only be used in the 3rd trimester (from week 30 onwards) and despite trying several times, I haven't been able to get it to work at all.
I then had the scare around 22 weeks where I was convinced the baby had died. I didn't rush off to the hospital, as everyone would have assumed I would, because I am (surprisingly) a bit of a pragmatist. Even if the baby was in trouble, they would not have induced or given me a caesar, because a baby that young has little chance of survival outside the uterus. My attitude was - either he will live, or he won't; medically, there is very little that can be done. So I kept my mouth shut, suffered in silence (I didn't even tell Graeme for the first 24 hours) and waited for our scan on the Monday.
At that appointment the sonographer told me that I will find it difficult to feel him move, since my placenta is in the way. It covers most of the front of my uterus, which is where the nerves are that allow you to feel movement. (There are relatively few nerves inside the abdomen in general, most of which are not involved in pain reception, but in innervating digestive muscles, which is often why people can develop tumours and not feel them.) That gave me a lot of peace of mind, because I could calm myself with the knowledge that, this time around, it's okay not to feel a lot of movement.
Since then though, it seems baby boy has decided to co-operate in the grand scheme to keep me sane. He has been steadily kicking his way through my bladder and lungs - the only other places where pain can be easily felt. On the one hand, I've been so grateful - at least I know he's alive; on the other, I've been annoyed - it's not fun having your lung capacity decreased to such an extent that you can't stand and talk at the same time, or feeling like you're about to wet yourself.
There have still been moments though when I've had anxiety. I won't call them panic attacks, because they've never got that bad. I've usually been able to distract myself and calm myself down, and a short while later he has kicked again. However, as the danger period (from now onwards) these anxiety spells have been increasing. Most often, they occur when I wake up at night, and I can't remember when last I felt him move.
So I decided that, since I've not been able to get the other machine to work, it was time for us to fork out and buy a proper Doppler. In conversation with our home group members about my anxiety, they generously (and spontaneously) clubbed together and gave us some money to buy the machine. Last weekend, we found a second-hand one that was (while still expensive) in good nick and less than the full amount for a new one.
Since then, I have learnt a lot about my little man. For example, he REALLY does not appreciate the eavesdropping. No sooner do I put the machine on, and find his heartbeat, than he will determinedly turn away so that I can no longer hear it. Very annoying! Also, I discovered just how much he is actually moving. Even when I can't find his heartbeat (and yes, that does have tremendous potential to freak me out) I can clearly hear him moving around in the amniotic fluid, practicing his kicking and punching. What amazes me is that even while I can hear him, I honestly can't feel it. That has been a great source of peace to me - that even when I can't feel him, the likelihood is that he is still moving around.
The Doppler also has the function to allow you to record the sounds you hear on the computer. I haven't tried it out yet, but I will. When I do, I'll post the recording here, so you can hear him too.
Other than that, I guess we're doing well. I'm feeling more and more certain that he's going to make an appearance before the induction date (which will be 10 June), and that's already early. I say that because I'm already feeling as uncomfortable as I was with Janel (she appeared of her own accord at 33 weeks) and with both girls I went into labour at 33 weeks (Zoe's stopped spontaneously after prayer). I'm 29 weeks now, so if my 'magic' number is 33, then I've got 4 weeks to go! There's a scary thought!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Not just a pretty face
We have a flea problem. A serious flea problem. Despite dipping, flea collars, and spot treatment, our dogs have fleas in their hundreds. Last night I took about 50 fleas off each. The night before that was the same. I've been combing the dogs every 2nd night or so, to help kill as many as I can manually. As a result, the dogs have learnt what to expect when I pick up the flea comb.
Last night, Alyssa was either fast asleep or out of ear shot when I called them for their combing. Baggins rushed to me and we started the combing routine. A few minutes later Alyssa became aware of the fact that Baggins was getting a combing. Normally, Alyssa goes first, then Baggins, and then Alyssa again (because she always has more fleas than him). Needless to say, she was frantic to get in on the action.
Initially, she tried to lie on top of Baggins. When I pushed her off, she then ran outside and started barking at the gate, in the vain hopes that Baggins would come out to see what all the fuss was about. I had a good chuckle over that. Then she went and found his hoof and brought that inside. She put it down just outside of his reach, so that he would have to get up to retrieve it. Again, all this to no avail, but I was amazed at her ingenuity. In desperation, she finally resorted to going to Graeme in the hopes that he might intervene and re-establish the natural order of things. Of course, that didn't work either, so she went off to sulk on her bed.
Whatever else you may say about our beautiful, small dog, she is not just a pretty face, I've discovered. Underneath her fear of humans, there lurks a very intelligent problem-solving brain. Now, the question is just: how do we tap into that brain and train her properly? (It would be great if she could pick up her own poop, for example!)
Last night, Alyssa was either fast asleep or out of ear shot when I called them for their combing. Baggins rushed to me and we started the combing routine. A few minutes later Alyssa became aware of the fact that Baggins was getting a combing. Normally, Alyssa goes first, then Baggins, and then Alyssa again (because she always has more fleas than him). Needless to say, she was frantic to get in on the action.
Initially, she tried to lie on top of Baggins. When I pushed her off, she then ran outside and started barking at the gate, in the vain hopes that Baggins would come out to see what all the fuss was about. I had a good chuckle over that. Then she went and found his hoof and brought that inside. She put it down just outside of his reach, so that he would have to get up to retrieve it. Again, all this to no avail, but I was amazed at her ingenuity. In desperation, she finally resorted to going to Graeme in the hopes that he might intervene and re-establish the natural order of things. Of course, that didn't work either, so she went off to sulk on her bed.
Whatever else you may say about our beautiful, small dog, she is not just a pretty face, I've discovered. Underneath her fear of humans, there lurks a very intelligent problem-solving brain. Now, the question is just: how do we tap into that brain and train her properly? (It would be great if she could pick up her own poop, for example!)
Friday, April 17, 2009
Britain's got Talent 2009
If you haven't yet seen or heard of Susan Boyle, then you really need to get with it. Her story is a modern fairy tale, a dream come true. It also is a story that makes one realise just how cynical and materialistic our world is. Her video, on YouTube, is the most downloaded video EVER. Embedding it in other sites has been disabled. So, you will just have to follow the link and watch it on YouTube for yourself.
Today, I saw another video from the same programme: Stavros Flatly. This one is just as unusual, but for a completely different reason. Again, embedding it has also been disabled. Again, it's worth clicking on the link, going to YouTube and watching it for yourself. Amazing!!
Today, I saw another video from the same programme: Stavros Flatly. This one is just as unusual, but for a completely different reason. Again, embedding it has also been disabled. Again, it's worth clicking on the link, going to YouTube and watching it for yourself. Amazing!!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Meme time again
Imagine you've been told you have less than a year to live. What would you do with the remaining time allotted to you?
I ask because tonight G and I watched 'Bucket List'. It's the story of two old guys who wind up in the same cancer ward, and are given the same diagnosis - you have less than a year to live. One starts a 'Bucket List' - a list of things to do before he dies. The other then starts adding to the list. They then embark upon this crazy tour of the world, ticking off their items. The movie is generally very funny, with moments of real poignancy. I think I'll add it to my list of favourites.
The underlying question of the movie though is about how we choose to spend the time we have left, since most of us have no idea how long we have left to live. Of course, the thought of me dying, and leaving Nellie to grow up without her mommy is enough to have me balling my eyes out and leaving snot trails bigger than a slug - so let's not go there. (Graeme's a big boy; I know he'd cope without me. I hope he'd find someone else to love.)
But it got me thinking - what would I do with my life if I knew I only had a year or less left? I've been pondering some of the things on the main characters' bucket list - like to kiss the most beautiful girl in the world (I won't spoil it for you if you haven't seen the movie... how they go about achieving this one is a beautiful miracle! What I will say is that I have already done that one, and I'm not vain enough to think that kissing my own reflection in the mirror as a child qualifies!), see something majestic, skydive.
So I'm going to create my own list... although it will probably take me a few days. When I'm done, I'll post it for you, probably, if I have the guts.
I challenge you to do the same - come up with your list and post it somewhere. Really think about your life & what you would do if you had a year or less left. I don't want pie in the sky stuff - like becoming the first woman president - nor do I want dreams you know will never be fulfilled (like getting to walk your daughter down the aisle - if you were to die in the next year, that probably wouldn't happen unless your daughter is already dating her one true love). I want real stuff, achievable stuff, but stuff that also has real meaning to it. OK, I know we all have to work to earn a living, and that does rather put a damper on the amount of time and resources we would have available to really make the most of the fictional year we have left. Still, give it your best shot. What would be on your list?
I ask because tonight G and I watched 'Bucket List'. It's the story of two old guys who wind up in the same cancer ward, and are given the same diagnosis - you have less than a year to live. One starts a 'Bucket List' - a list of things to do before he dies. The other then starts adding to the list. They then embark upon this crazy tour of the world, ticking off their items. The movie is generally very funny, with moments of real poignancy. I think I'll add it to my list of favourites.
The underlying question of the movie though is about how we choose to spend the time we have left, since most of us have no idea how long we have left to live. Of course, the thought of me dying, and leaving Nellie to grow up without her mommy is enough to have me balling my eyes out and leaving snot trails bigger than a slug - so let's not go there. (Graeme's a big boy; I know he'd cope without me. I hope he'd find someone else to love.)
But it got me thinking - what would I do with my life if I knew I only had a year or less left? I've been pondering some of the things on the main characters' bucket list - like to kiss the most beautiful girl in the world (I won't spoil it for you if you haven't seen the movie... how they go about achieving this one is a beautiful miracle! What I will say is that I have already done that one, and I'm not vain enough to think that kissing my own reflection in the mirror as a child qualifies!), see something majestic, skydive.
So I'm going to create my own list... although it will probably take me a few days. When I'm done, I'll post it for you, probably, if I have the guts.
I challenge you to do the same - come up with your list and post it somewhere. Really think about your life & what you would do if you had a year or less left. I don't want pie in the sky stuff - like becoming the first woman president - nor do I want dreams you know will never be fulfilled (like getting to walk your daughter down the aisle - if you were to die in the next year, that probably wouldn't happen unless your daughter is already dating her one true love). I want real stuff, achievable stuff, but stuff that also has real meaning to it. OK, I know we all have to work to earn a living, and that does rather put a damper on the amount of time and resources we would have available to really make the most of the fictional year we have left. Still, give it your best shot. What would be on your list?
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Perception is reality
While crime can be quantitatively measured, it is very difficult to gauge the reality of crime because many crimes are not reported. Having lived in London for some many years, I can honestly say that I personally experienced more crime living there, than in my entire life living in SA. If you were to ask me whether SA or the UK had more crime, I would say the UK.
However, that is just my perception. My perception is my reality.
While living in the UK, several tourists died as a result of crime in SA, mostly in Cape Town. In reading through news reports, it became obvious that these foreign white people were in areas that no local white person would ever visit, because we knew they were unsafe. Similarly, we realised that we had come to identify the areas of London that were unsafe. How did we identify these areas? From information gleaned from friends & newspapers, & in some cases from a gut feeling we picked up while visiting those areas. In other words, our perceptions were formed from the information we gathered, and those perceptions became our reality.
This weekend we helped our maid (domestic worker) to move furniture into her new shack in one of Cape Town's very large black suburbs (I use that word quite loosely). There are several of these suburbs around, so I asked her which she thought was safest. She commented that she thought her area was getting safer, because she now felt she could walk around at night without too much risk. However, she said her brother was still so scared of her area that he wouldn't venture there in public transport. Similarly, she said, she was so scared of the area her brother lived in, she wouldn't visit him very often either.
When we offered to help her move, she was taken aback that we would venture into this suburb, because we're white. She asked whether we weren't scared. Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to me to be scared. We were moving during daylight hours. We would be travelling in a beat up old van, not a vehicle likely to be hijacked. We would also be travelling with her and her partner. Yet, after she asked the question, I found myself pondering it frequently. Should I be scared? Was my perception correct? Would we be safe? Or was she still living with the old Apartheid perceptions of her own suburb (i.e. that any white person entering would immediately be attacked)?
As it happened, we were perfectly safe. However, we did attract a large crowd, and complete strangers would wave at me and greet me as I drove past. (Graeme and I were in separate vehicles.) I think it was such a novelty for these black locals to see a whitie around.
The only time I felt a bit nervous was on entering the squatter camp section of this suburb where our maid's shack was. The dirt roads are so narrow you can't turn a car around easily in them. I was aware that if someone did want to hijack us, this would be a good place to do it, because you have to drive slowly as a result of the poor condition of the road, and because the shacks are so close to the road you wouldn't have time to see someone stepping out from between them with a gun. If you did see them, you wouldn't be able to react in any way.
I was struck afresh by the lack of sanitation, the open sewers, the mangy dogs and the children playing in amongst all this. As I'd dewormed the dogs (and us) only that morning (Baggins brought up a lovely 10cm roundworm on the carpet during the previous night), I was very aware of parasites. It struck me, watching these kids playing in the street with the mangy dogs and around the filthy water running openly in the street, that they must all be infected with parasites of one sort or another.
When I was chatting to my maid later about the coming election, she commented that the ANC has done nothing for them (meaning the poor black communities of Cape Town). As COPE is made up of ANC people, she said it's pointless voting for them either, as they'll do nothing differently. As a result, she hasn't registered to vote. (Clearly, she doesn't think any of the other parties are worth voting for either.) I was very surprised to hear her say this. My perception had been that all poor blacks loved the ANC, and I realise now what a ridiculous generalisation and stereotype that is.
Another truth I was confronted with is just how rich G & I are. Our maid has bought a 2nd hand shack on the edge of a squatter camp where she will have no running water and no private toilet. She does have electricity though. Her shack already smells of damp, and the winter rains haven't yet begun. (Granted, that may be because the place is seldom aired properly for security reasons, and not because the place actually leaks.) While I'm thrilled that working for us has enabled her to purchase this shack and move out of her mother's house (where she, her kids, her sister, her sister's kids, her brother and her mother were all living together), I was horrified to see the conditions in which she has moved.
They have 3 rooms - her bedroom, a bedroom for her daughter, and the living room cum kitchen. Her son will be sleeping in the living room. The house is still a shell - bare concrete floors (newly laid though, so hopefully will prevent water leaking in from the ground) and no ceiling (just corrugated sheeting for the roof). She plans to buy carpets and put in a ceiling. Her entire house could fit into my bedroom & Nellie's bedroom, maybe less. Even our 'new' house (which I consider to be as small as I'm prepared to go) is easily triple the size.
I suppose one of the positive things to come out of this trip is a realignment of my perceptions about my relative wealth. The entire day I kept thinking about her little boy, who is now 5, living in that dank home, amidst the dirt. I can foresee him, and the rest of them, getting seriously ill this winter. I can also foresee him becoming infected with parasites, assuming (possibly falsely) that he isn't already. I kept comparing him to Nellie, and thinking about how I would feel about Nellie in those conditions. I can't afford to give them enough money to buy a proper house (i.e. one with brick walls, a tiled roof, and proper sanitation), or to move out of the squatter camp. Never the less, I feel desperate for them, and I worry for them in the coming winter. Will they be okay? Will the winter rains wash them away? Will they all get bronchitis or pneumonia from the damp in their shack? Will there be a fire (as there always are in winter in the squatter camps) that will burn down their shack and leave them with nothing? Will they be attacked one night (as she fears) and have all their valuables stolen?
I guess I always knew this was the way she was living, yet because I was not faced with the cold, hard truth, I could conveniently ignore it. Now, my perception has changed, and with it, my reality. No longer can I fool myself into being a bystander. Now, I have to be an active participant in helping this woman and her family survive, because if I fail to help, I am actively participating in enabling her poverty to continue.
Her experience of crime is different to mine. While I feel perfectly safe in my house, alone, with all the doors and windows open, and often with the security gates open too, I know that I only feel safe because my perception is that I am safe. This is because the house has never been burgled since the perimeter walls were raised, and because even the guards from the security company won't jump our front fence to check on the house if the alarm goes off. My perception is that if they won't, then criminals are unlikely to try. Her perception is completely different. When she's on her own, the slightest noise makes her anxious, and she has to go and check it out. I know this, because she's told me so. Her perception is based on her experiences in her own home in the squatter camp.
In our new house, I know I will feel less safe, because I know that house has been burgled 3 times in the time we've owned it. I know that means I will probably feel more anxious being at home on my own. I'm hoping that by beefing up the security on the weak points of the property (following the renovations, there will be a few new vulnerable spots), I can allay those potential fears, but my perception is that the houses in that area are more vulnerable to crime, and like it or not, that will be my reality.
But is any of this reality? What is reality? Reality is that you can live in the most crime-ridden area and be safe because of God's protection. Reality is also that you may live in the safest of areas, and still experience crime. Reality is that people who don't want children, or who aren't fit to have children, pop them out like microwave popcorn. Reality is that the people who are desperate for kids never have them. Reality is that good stuff happens to good and bad people alike - and that bad stuff happens to good and bad people alike.
So how do I respond? How do I live in this world in such a way that my perceptions are based on eternal truths? Christians are constantly berated for living in a dream world, a world in which it's supposedly obvious that Jesus was a fraud or a hoaxers, or even a mythical being. The events of Easter are vilified. Every way you turn, Christianity has apparently been debunked. Perception is reality.
And yet... the reality is that not only is there a God, but that he came to earth as a baby, that he died on a cross and that he rose to life again. This should change my perceptions of the world, the reality in which I live. Does it? This Easter has been the least Easter-like I've had a in a long time. Our new church isn't a traditional one, so there are no Holy Week services. Friday's service was not the traditional Stations of the Cross. Rather, it was a celebration of the work Jesus accomplished on the cross.
The Easter service itself was a disappointment in many respects. Although they made good use of media, to me it felt like an anti-climax. I guess that I'm so used to having the build-up throughout Holy Week that I was expecting more. (Of course, nearly passing out during the service did rather put a damper on the whole thing!) Having said that, it was still a moving service and it still impacted on my life. This weekend, despite all its faults, has definitely left its mark on me. What remains to be seen is whether that mark is enough to change not just my perceptions, but my reality. Will I be more open to the Spirit? Will I read my Bible with more fervour? Will I pray 'constantly'? Will I allow the reality of God to permeate my reality more deeply? Time will tell, I guess.
However, that is just my perception. My perception is my reality.
While living in the UK, several tourists died as a result of crime in SA, mostly in Cape Town. In reading through news reports, it became obvious that these foreign white people were in areas that no local white person would ever visit, because we knew they were unsafe. Similarly, we realised that we had come to identify the areas of London that were unsafe. How did we identify these areas? From information gleaned from friends & newspapers, & in some cases from a gut feeling we picked up while visiting those areas. In other words, our perceptions were formed from the information we gathered, and those perceptions became our reality.
This weekend we helped our maid (domestic worker) to move furniture into her new shack in one of Cape Town's very large black suburbs (I use that word quite loosely). There are several of these suburbs around, so I asked her which she thought was safest. She commented that she thought her area was getting safer, because she now felt she could walk around at night without too much risk. However, she said her brother was still so scared of her area that he wouldn't venture there in public transport. Similarly, she said, she was so scared of the area her brother lived in, she wouldn't visit him very often either.
When we offered to help her move, she was taken aback that we would venture into this suburb, because we're white. She asked whether we weren't scared. Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to me to be scared. We were moving during daylight hours. We would be travelling in a beat up old van, not a vehicle likely to be hijacked. We would also be travelling with her and her partner. Yet, after she asked the question, I found myself pondering it frequently. Should I be scared? Was my perception correct? Would we be safe? Or was she still living with the old Apartheid perceptions of her own suburb (i.e. that any white person entering would immediately be attacked)?
As it happened, we were perfectly safe. However, we did attract a large crowd, and complete strangers would wave at me and greet me as I drove past. (Graeme and I were in separate vehicles.) I think it was such a novelty for these black locals to see a whitie around.
The only time I felt a bit nervous was on entering the squatter camp section of this suburb where our maid's shack was. The dirt roads are so narrow you can't turn a car around easily in them. I was aware that if someone did want to hijack us, this would be a good place to do it, because you have to drive slowly as a result of the poor condition of the road, and because the shacks are so close to the road you wouldn't have time to see someone stepping out from between them with a gun. If you did see them, you wouldn't be able to react in any way.
I was struck afresh by the lack of sanitation, the open sewers, the mangy dogs and the children playing in amongst all this. As I'd dewormed the dogs (and us) only that morning (Baggins brought up a lovely 10cm roundworm on the carpet during the previous night), I was very aware of parasites. It struck me, watching these kids playing in the street with the mangy dogs and around the filthy water running openly in the street, that they must all be infected with parasites of one sort or another.
When I was chatting to my maid later about the coming election, she commented that the ANC has done nothing for them (meaning the poor black communities of Cape Town). As COPE is made up of ANC people, she said it's pointless voting for them either, as they'll do nothing differently. As a result, she hasn't registered to vote. (Clearly, she doesn't think any of the other parties are worth voting for either.) I was very surprised to hear her say this. My perception had been that all poor blacks loved the ANC, and I realise now what a ridiculous generalisation and stereotype that is.
Another truth I was confronted with is just how rich G & I are. Our maid has bought a 2nd hand shack on the edge of a squatter camp where she will have no running water and no private toilet. She does have electricity though. Her shack already smells of damp, and the winter rains haven't yet begun. (Granted, that may be because the place is seldom aired properly for security reasons, and not because the place actually leaks.) While I'm thrilled that working for us has enabled her to purchase this shack and move out of her mother's house (where she, her kids, her sister, her sister's kids, her brother and her mother were all living together), I was horrified to see the conditions in which she has moved.
They have 3 rooms - her bedroom, a bedroom for her daughter, and the living room cum kitchen. Her son will be sleeping in the living room. The house is still a shell - bare concrete floors (newly laid though, so hopefully will prevent water leaking in from the ground) and no ceiling (just corrugated sheeting for the roof). She plans to buy carpets and put in a ceiling. Her entire house could fit into my bedroom & Nellie's bedroom, maybe less. Even our 'new' house (which I consider to be as small as I'm prepared to go) is easily triple the size.
I suppose one of the positive things to come out of this trip is a realignment of my perceptions about my relative wealth. The entire day I kept thinking about her little boy, who is now 5, living in that dank home, amidst the dirt. I can foresee him, and the rest of them, getting seriously ill this winter. I can also foresee him becoming infected with parasites, assuming (possibly falsely) that he isn't already. I kept comparing him to Nellie, and thinking about how I would feel about Nellie in those conditions. I can't afford to give them enough money to buy a proper house (i.e. one with brick walls, a tiled roof, and proper sanitation), or to move out of the squatter camp. Never the less, I feel desperate for them, and I worry for them in the coming winter. Will they be okay? Will the winter rains wash them away? Will they all get bronchitis or pneumonia from the damp in their shack? Will there be a fire (as there always are in winter in the squatter camps) that will burn down their shack and leave them with nothing? Will they be attacked one night (as she fears) and have all their valuables stolen?
I guess I always knew this was the way she was living, yet because I was not faced with the cold, hard truth, I could conveniently ignore it. Now, my perception has changed, and with it, my reality. No longer can I fool myself into being a bystander. Now, I have to be an active participant in helping this woman and her family survive, because if I fail to help, I am actively participating in enabling her poverty to continue.
Her experience of crime is different to mine. While I feel perfectly safe in my house, alone, with all the doors and windows open, and often with the security gates open too, I know that I only feel safe because my perception is that I am safe. This is because the house has never been burgled since the perimeter walls were raised, and because even the guards from the security company won't jump our front fence to check on the house if the alarm goes off. My perception is that if they won't, then criminals are unlikely to try. Her perception is completely different. When she's on her own, the slightest noise makes her anxious, and she has to go and check it out. I know this, because she's told me so. Her perception is based on her experiences in her own home in the squatter camp.
In our new house, I know I will feel less safe, because I know that house has been burgled 3 times in the time we've owned it. I know that means I will probably feel more anxious being at home on my own. I'm hoping that by beefing up the security on the weak points of the property (following the renovations, there will be a few new vulnerable spots), I can allay those potential fears, but my perception is that the houses in that area are more vulnerable to crime, and like it or not, that will be my reality.
But is any of this reality? What is reality? Reality is that you can live in the most crime-ridden area and be safe because of God's protection. Reality is also that you may live in the safest of areas, and still experience crime. Reality is that people who don't want children, or who aren't fit to have children, pop them out like microwave popcorn. Reality is that the people who are desperate for kids never have them. Reality is that good stuff happens to good and bad people alike - and that bad stuff happens to good and bad people alike.
So how do I respond? How do I live in this world in such a way that my perceptions are based on eternal truths? Christians are constantly berated for living in a dream world, a world in which it's supposedly obvious that Jesus was a fraud or a hoaxers, or even a mythical being. The events of Easter are vilified. Every way you turn, Christianity has apparently been debunked. Perception is reality.
And yet... the reality is that not only is there a God, but that he came to earth as a baby, that he died on a cross and that he rose to life again. This should change my perceptions of the world, the reality in which I live. Does it? This Easter has been the least Easter-like I've had a in a long time. Our new church isn't a traditional one, so there are no Holy Week services. Friday's service was not the traditional Stations of the Cross. Rather, it was a celebration of the work Jesus accomplished on the cross.
The Easter service itself was a disappointment in many respects. Although they made good use of media, to me it felt like an anti-climax. I guess that I'm so used to having the build-up throughout Holy Week that I was expecting more. (Of course, nearly passing out during the service did rather put a damper on the whole thing!) Having said that, it was still a moving service and it still impacted on my life. This weekend, despite all its faults, has definitely left its mark on me. What remains to be seen is whether that mark is enough to change not just my perceptions, but my reality. Will I be more open to the Spirit? Will I read my Bible with more fervour? Will I pray 'constantly'? Will I allow the reality of God to permeate my reality more deeply? Time will tell, I guess.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Holiday? What holiday?
This was supposed to be my last chance to REST before the baby arrives. Certainly, once he's here, there will be no rest. Once school is back next week there will be no rest either - too manic to get exams prepared, and then marked, before I go off on maternity leave. Sigh!
This week has been a whirlwind of activity. We've managed to choose the tiles for the bathroom and kitchen, the cupboard finishes for the kitchen and bedroom, buy all the bathroom and kitchen bits and pieces (sinks, basins, taps, mixers, shower doors, etc), meet up with contractors to get quotes for under carpet heating, meet with the cupboard man to discuss our plans for the kitchen (with the result that we're going to gut it completely... which was not part of the original plan!), and source some out of date tiles to fix part of the other bathroom.
In between this, we've also managed to do some gift & grocery shopping, meet with friends/ family for lunch, sort Graeme's scooter's service out, visit the vet, have an anniversary breakfast at Kirstenbosch, and get some reading in after Nellie's in bed. I'm shattered.
Tomorrow we're going to church, and then we have a friend's birthday party tea in the afternoon (yay!). Saturday we're helping our maid move into her new shack. Sunday is church, then family lunch, then other family tea. Monday we're taking the day off as a family and going to a kiddy petting farm near by (that also has a chocolate factory) (double yay!). Tuesday will be more house chores (meeting more contractors, etc) and some nappy business stuff. Then Wed it's back to work, and I already have a long list of things to do when I get there, not to mention 4 classes worth of work to mark or the exams I need to set, or all the PTA meetings that will take place in the following 5 school days. In addition, we're hoping to move house before I go on maternity leave. Hmm... I'm a lunatic, right?
So, with all that in mind, I think I'm going to head off to bed now.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel though - if all goes according to plan, then I will have 10 days of rest between finishing school and the induction. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
This week has been a whirlwind of activity. We've managed to choose the tiles for the bathroom and kitchen, the cupboard finishes for the kitchen and bedroom, buy all the bathroom and kitchen bits and pieces (sinks, basins, taps, mixers, shower doors, etc), meet up with contractors to get quotes for under carpet heating, meet with the cupboard man to discuss our plans for the kitchen (with the result that we're going to gut it completely... which was not part of the original plan!), and source some out of date tiles to fix part of the other bathroom.
In between this, we've also managed to do some gift & grocery shopping, meet with friends/ family for lunch, sort Graeme's scooter's service out, visit the vet, have an anniversary breakfast at Kirstenbosch, and get some reading in after Nellie's in bed. I'm shattered.
Tomorrow we're going to church, and then we have a friend's birthday party tea in the afternoon (yay!). Saturday we're helping our maid move into her new shack. Sunday is church, then family lunch, then other family tea. Monday we're taking the day off as a family and going to a kiddy petting farm near by (that also has a chocolate factory) (double yay!). Tuesday will be more house chores (meeting more contractors, etc) and some nappy business stuff. Then Wed it's back to work, and I already have a long list of things to do when I get there, not to mention 4 classes worth of work to mark or the exams I need to set, or all the PTA meetings that will take place in the following 5 school days. In addition, we're hoping to move house before I go on maternity leave. Hmm... I'm a lunatic, right?
So, with all that in mind, I think I'm going to head off to bed now.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel though - if all goes according to plan, then I will have 10 days of rest between finishing school and the induction. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
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