Curacy!!!

Right, as promised in Thursday's post, here is a post about my Title Post. Also known as my Curacy. Or 'the mad Parish who wanted to take on me as an Apprentice Vicar - the fools!'

It is the Benefice of Holy Trinity, Bridgwater with St Hugh's, Durleigh. More info here...
http://www.achurchnearyou.com/bridgwater-holy-trinity

The conversations started in November when Paul and I realised that moving to the Diocese of Bath and Wells would be a practical, sensible and grown-up thing to do both in terms of being near family and being slightly nearer to Bristol Children's Hospital than we would have been in South Devon (at 10 weeks old Arthur made it clear he was in charge, so this move is all his fault!)

We visited in November and were immediately impressed by the potential Training Incumbant and his ministry.

We visited a service in metaphorical hat-and-dark-glasses, which was actually slightly easier than previous 'covert' visits to potential curacies. When people asked where I lived I just told them where I grew up, which is a mere 8 miles away! So it involved almost no lying at all!

It seems ideal. There's a sense of being outward looking and prioritising the wider community, which is absolutely essential to me. The actual liturgy is just about what I'm used to (what 'A Church Near You' calls 'Low End of Catholic') which is great.

We'll be living in central Bridgwater, outside the Parish but within easy walking distance. It'll feel very different to Cuddesdon. One fellow ordinand said to me last week "the thing about Cuddesdon is you can't even go and buy a pen without using your car." My pen buying opportunities will now be abundant. In fact, I'll have Morrisons, Wilkinson, the Works and WHSmith all within a 10 minute walk of the house, which stock a range of pens of all textures, colours and qualities. Also within the specified radius, a terrifying number of restaurants, cafes and takeaways which may pose a problem.

Anyhow, I just cannot wait. In the spirit of prayerful reverence -  "bring it on!!!"

One Year On

Well, the end of term 'Bright Hour' is done and oh what fun we had. But I'm in rather a contemplative mood as Hilary term Bright Hour marks one year on from that day which must have been the oddest of my life.

If we go by calendar date, the actual anniversary is tomorrow, but I'm not sure I'll have time to write a Blog post tomorrow so I'm doing one now.

Our appointment was 1pm and we went in ten minutes late. Which means it must have been about 1.45pm on the 15th March 2012 when those immortal words "there's just one thing..." were uttered by the sonographer.

In the last year, life has changed a lot.

Mr A and I could now give you a full and thorough definition for all of the following terms: mylomeningocele, hydrocephalus, ventricular-peritoneal shunt, Arnold Chiari, laryngomalacia, vocal chord palsy and many many more.

"Did you drain the baby?" is also a common question in our household and I think nothing of walking into the Doctor's surgery and requesting "a tube of KY jelly, on repeat prescription, for my son who is 7 months old." We also know exactly which car parks at the JR are the least clogged up at which time of day, and have tried most of the products on offer at all of the cafes. We have spent 30 days in Critical Care and lived to tell the tale.

One year ago, I stood outside Bright Hour sobbing, unable to go in and participate in the jollity. Nothing seemed worth it any more.

If only I could have glimpsed today. I got up and went to morning prayer. I came home and Mr A was feeding him Weetabix and mashed banana in his high chair. He smiled through the banana which was both disgusting and charming. We all went to college breakfast, then I went off to preaching class. Then I took Arthur to baby & toddler group. After a delicious lunch of sweet potato and pear (Arthur, not me) I went to prayer group, and came back to find Arthur and Mr A napping on the bed. Arthur and I went to tea at 4. Then we came home and Arthur sat in his Bumbo and watched Pointless, then had his dinner and went to bed. And I went to Bright Hour and only sobbed with laughter.

Life is entirely normal. Catheterisation 5 times a day. More medication than your average baby. But that's really about it.

Here he is tonight getting ready to go to sleep. I wish I could have seen this when I was sobbing outside Bright Hour last year.

I'm able to officially announce my Curacy now, and I'll post about that in a few days. But for now I'd like to take the time to bask in the joy of an entirely normal day.

 

I feel so blessed.

What am I doing?

At the moment I am mostly wandering around asking myself what I am doing.

In my last blog post I bemoaned the confusing situation whereby I am guilty that I cannot be both 'maternity leave Mummy going to baby groups, providing thoughtful development activities and cooking wholesome organic purees' and 'final year ordinand working hard on MTh and preparing earnestly for ordination' at the same time.

But enough of that already. This week I am looking to the future and wondering exactly what it is I am letting myself in for. What is full-time ordained ministry? What will I be doing? What exactly has skilled me for this job? What will life look like?

I can list what I know ordained ministry is not. A 9-to-5 job. Some may say it is not even a 'job'. It is not salaried in the strictest sense - a stipend is, by definition, an amount of money you are given to free you from financial worries and allow you to do church work full-time. Ordained ministry is not exclusive from personal life - whether you like it or not, there is overlap - you are in a sense 'on duty' as you go about your daily business.

A Priest is required to teach, but I am not a teacher. To listen, but I am not a counsellor. To tend to the sick, but I am not a nurse or a doctor. To co-ordinate, but I am not a manager. To have an awareness of finances, but I am not an accountant. As I contemplate every aspect of church work, I feel completely de-skilled. I'm glad I get 4 years of Curacy to continue my learning, but even then I won't be a teacher or a doctor or an accountant.

Perhaps the Priest's special 'skill' is that they have no implicit skills at all. Faith in God and time to spend doing His work. Prayer is so important, and I'm all to aware that prayer ends up being the thing to slip down the clergy 'to do' list, but without it the Priest has no foundation. The Priest brings what he/she is. Mother. Occasional Blog writer. Average maker of purees.

Anyway, the big update this week is that the Curacy seems to be making steady progress. Yes, I know, I have been saying this since June, but there is actual progress now. Things have been signed. Letters have been sent. I think there are a few more things to sign and letters to send and a Bishop to meet and an announcement to be made at the Churches and then it's official.

We had a good weekend visiting Mum and Dad this weekend just gone, and managed to take the time to look around a nursery for Arthur. We have come to the conclusion that Paul, Arthur and I spending our days under the same roof is not constructive to getting anything done. I just can't leave Arthur alone, as much as Paul assures me he's very happy to look after him for as long as I need every day to get on with some work. Work and homelife feel very mish-mashed together, with Arthur's constant care always winning, and while he is top priority I will be no good to a Parish if I let this situation go on next year. The plan is he will be in nursery part-time with Paul working part-time and caring for him part-time. My training incumbant seems very understanding of our situation, and the priority that family takes. My plan is that, unless there is something specific I have to go to, the time between Arthur getting home from nursery and going to bed (4.30pm to 7pm) will be mostly spent with him. And I'll be very strict about my day off every week. Feels good.

We also might have a house! The Diocese were talking about buying or renting one in the Parish, but they have now identified a vacant property they already own about a 15 minute walk from the outskirts of the Parish. We went and wandered around the outside and it looks pretty good. If we're able to have this one, it at least takes the stress of not knowing where we will live off our minds.

Coming up next week we have Arthur's assessment with Orthopaedics. A lot of people have asked us about his prospects in terms of mobility and it's a question we've never been able to answer properly other than to say that, to us, his legs seem strong and he can certainly move them very well! But we're no experts. So I guess we'll go in with open minds and hope. While we've always hoped they'll say he's just fine, we know that leg braces might have to be an option. There's worse things in the world than leg-braces.

And for the moment all Arthur cares about it that he's in his baby walker and there's a lovely bowl of pureed butternut squash for tea.

In-vestments

I have a small problem this term, it is this. I have quite a lot of lectures and college commitments. I also have a small baby who sleeps from 7pm to 7am, for which I am eternally grateful. I am also eternally grateful for hardworking husband who looks after small baby while I am in lectures and daily offices, as well as doing all the washing, cleaning, shopping, washing up and most of the cooking. So far, so good. Even so, I cannot seem to find time to settle down to work (by which I mean a sustained period of quiet work on essay, dissertation or sermons) until after dinner at around 8pm, by which time I am far too tired to work. To do any significant work in the day would be to sacrifice valuable never-to-be-gotten-back time with small baby, and my maternal instincts just won't let me do that. If he's in the flat and I'm in the flat, I want to be hanging out with him!

Hmm... The dissertation will suffer, but does that really matter? I want to be a Priest, not an academic. But I do also quite like getting a job done well. Nursery is surely the answer next year, when I have to do actual proper work, but until then...

Anyway, I digress, I was going to write about clerical wear.

So, we've got the so-called 'tack fayre' in a couple of weeks, and my mind returns to what, exactly, I think of the clerical uniform I am required by Canon Law to attire myself with from June.

I am approaching it with some trepidation. The first question is, when will I wear it? There are some clerics who wear their collar all the time, no matter what they are doing, some who will only wear it when they are doing 'official' church work, and some in particular traditions of the church who barely wear it at all. For me, it's a given that I'll wear it whenever I'm doing my actual, diarised church stuff. But what of the school run or the trip to Tesco? What about when I go and see friends? I've had a good old think and my broad opinion is that if I'm doing stuff around the parish, any stuff, I should aim to 'be seen' which means wearing the collar. I'm sure a trip to Tesco will be an interesting experience, but it's too good an opportunity to miss. A female 20-something vicar battling with a toddler in a buggy in a public place is probably an image that will stick in people's minds, and hopefully in a sort-of good way. I won't, however, be wearing it on meals out with University friends or in the bath, you'll all be pleased to know.

The second question is - what? Google clerical wear for women and the choice is bleak. There are plenty of clerical shirts avaliable, and with some careful hunting I'm sure I'll find one which is nicely cut (i.e. not for a man!) but a friend and I spent a full hour last week trying to find something like a tunic with a clerical collar, which might be worn over leggings for a casual look, and only found a designer in Sweden at a cost of £100 per item.

It may sound vain to be concerned about 'casual looks' and 'shirts being cut well' - but ultimately it's a concern to preserve my own identity as well as entering into the sacrament of ordination and the changes it will bring to my life and the life of my family with the utmost seriousness.

Then there's stoles to buy, and other assorted garb. Fortunately I get a grant from the Diocese to cover most of this. Also, I'm so green to Anglicanism, having been not-an-Anglican for 83% of my life, that my lack of opinions might prove a bonus. I've no idea which traditions certain colours of shirt or styles of collar or stole are associated with, so I'll probably just choose what I like the look of!

That's probably all I've got to say on the matter. Oh now here's some good news - I got my official offer of a Title Post a couple of days ago, and have already written back to accept. So, all being good and well I'll be able to make it so-called 'Facebook official' in not too long. I am so, so excited about my Curacy. But I'm also excited about my final 4 months or so at college. 4 months to prepare for ordination!

Eeek!

Milk and Solid Food

"I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for solid food. Even now you are still not ready". 1 Corinthians 3:2

Oh St Paul you do crack me up. This week, what is occupying my brain can be broken down as follows:
1.24% - I wonder if overt evangelism is necessary for mission?
2.77% - I wonder what the Body of Christ would look like if it truly acknowledged itself as broken?
10.48% - What shall I have for tea tonight?
85.51% - What should Arthur have for tea tonight?

As I sit in Morning Prayer I try and push all these thoughts out of my mind and focus on what I'm meant to be focusing on. And then the Lectionary comes up with this little gem.

Given his opinion on marriage, I'm assuming St Paul never actually weaned a baby. He is therefore to be applauded for getting so succinctly to the root of the weaning problem - WHAT oh WHAT are you ready for?

You see, the question 'What should Arthur have for tea tonight?' is simply the headline. There are a vast, vast number of secondary questions including, but not restricted to...

Should I make my own puree or should I buy it? Was spending £12 on an electric blender a sensible purchase? How many spoonfuls of food can I feed him? Does flapping arms/crying between each mouthful/saying "ah-boo!" in a loud and enthusiastic tone mean he likes it or not? When do I start to give him less milk, and how much less? Can a baby live by butternut squash alone? What of meat and dairy products? Would he like a drink of water with his meal? Am I a bad parent if small child is not offered a range of imaginative, homemade, organic meals? How long does asparagus keep? Is his nappy meant to be that colour? Does it matter if lunch and dinner are at a different time every day? How on earth does a baby learn to use a sippy cup? Can I puree a Tesco value horseburger?

These and many other questions spin round my head as I'm trying to concentrate on what I'm meant to be concentrating on. Dissertations and experiential projects and the whole thorny issue of my ordination in just over five months.

Oh, to go back to just feeding him milk! Those were the days weren't they? Ok, me and Mr A were obsessing over fluid intake and catheter frequency/volumes but once I'd got past the sad fact that the neuropathic bladder meant unlimited breast milk was off the agenda, at least there was no choice of meal. "A bottle of milk, sir?" "Don't mind if I do..."

Possibly I've unwittingly stumbled into a theological reflection, or possibly not (I'm still not entirely sure what theological reflection is). Probably what St Paul is trying to say is that introducing solid food to a 5-month-old is flippin' impossible. Well, what he's actually saying is that grasping the message of the gospel when you're engrossed in worldly things is flippin' impossible, but I decided to take the former reading this morning.

But we press on, Mr A and I. And while, to use the language of St Paul, the 'worldly' thing to do might be to slip quietly back to milk (or give him butternut squash for every solid meal. He loves butternut squash) we will press boldly on, with a spoon in one hand and, in the other, a world of exciting liquified flavours just waiting to be discovered. Arthur, we're in this for the long run. And even though you insist on weeping through mouthfuls of lovingly-home-pureed carrot and swede two days running, we will not be disheartened, oh no. The remaining swede has been frozen, to reappear at a time of our choosing. A time which you do not know. A time which not even Mr A knows. Only Mummy knows. But the swede will come back. Oh yes, Arthur, it will come back.

Swede. Carrot. Ordination. The future's bright. The future's orange.

Dear Arthur

Dear Arthur,

If I'm honest, I'm a bit jealous you were born in 2012. I mean, since when has a year been so eagerly anticipated? And what year is going to go down in history like this one? Even when you're an old man, mention "twenty twelve" to anyone, and they'll know what happened then. At least I like to think they will.

And, what's more, being born during those Summer weeks. It's really quite special.

2012. The year of the London Olympics and Paralmpics. But as the next generation lit those 204 petals on the night of Friday 27th July, we were awaiting a quite different next generation.

By the time of Team GB's first medal on July 29th, although we did not know it, you were on your way (and Daddy was on his way to London!) It was a time for pride, for patriotism, for sheer celebration of life.

But Monday 30th July 2012 at 3.10am stands out for me, although all Olympians would surely have been tucked up in bed.

2012. The Queen's Diamond Jubilee. And next year that family will celebrate a whole new generation. Around the time of year you were born, it would seem.

2012. The year the world lost some great people: Neil Armstrong. Clive Dunn. Patrick Moore. But were many great people born in 2012? We're yet to see. Will you be one of them? That's up to you.
It hasn't been an easy year. A year which started with me, 8 weeks pregnant, in bed and asleep on the stroke of Big Ben. I knew it would be a year of great highs. But I couldn't imagine the lows. March 15th and June 29th were to be the deepest of these. Not to mention the sea of uncertainty between October 13th and November 12th.

But I couldn't have imagined the highs either. No new parent can. That amazing journey of learning and loving in a relationship with a new person. Those first smiles. Seeing that personality develop.


What does 2013 hold? Funnily enough, those dark dates of March 15th and June 29th are already filled in on the calender. On March 15th we will be heading off to a weekend to spend time with other families of babies and toddlers with spina bifida at a Shine Charity weekend away. I've no doubt it will be a weekend of fun and laughter. It shows how far we've come. On June 29th I have the privilege of being bridesmaid at the wedding of Jen, a dear friend, your godmother. It will also be the eve of my ordination, taking all our lives in a whole new direction.

Anyway, sorry for the sickliness and the cliches. At least I didn't mention that 2012 was the year the Snowman and the Snowdog came out, otherwise I'd be whimpering. Oh, I just mentioned it.

Well, Happy New Year Arthur. Wishing you a happy and healthy 2013.

Mummy xxx

10 Reasons why I am not the Archbishop of Canterbury

I haven't blogged for absolutely ages. Not since THAT VOTE actually. It seems silly to dedicate an entire blog post to it, with nearly a month gone by. I've got various things I ought to write about, but rather than make them a collection of unrelated paragraphs I think I'll structure them around a tenuous framework.

10 reasons why I am not the Archbishop of Canterbury

1) I am of the female gender. Fortunately, I have no career aspirations in this direction (and I'm not just saying that in the "I couldn't possibly ever be a Bishop, but if God ever wanted me to how could I argue with God?" mock-humble way. See the final episode of series two of Rev!) That level of management and politics would bore me, and I couldn't imagine not being directly involved with a specific worshipping community. So when I approach the Woman Bishop issue, I approach it as would anyone, male or female, clergy or lay, who wants to see equality in their church. If we lack people of both genders, as well as all races, ages and sexualities, throughout our church, we lose some reflection of the Kingdom. That's my opinion. Nothing more, nothing less.

2) I only pretend to be an Academic. I was jolly pleased a couple of weeks ago to get a higher-than-expected mark in my most recent MTh essay, but I'm well aware that I'm a master of jumping-through-hoops rather than a master of theology! I'm also entirely realistic that my next essay marks won't be nearly so high because...

3) I don't seem to have any time! Archbishop Rowan manages to be an Archbishop, an academic and write quite good poetry. It's all I can do to look after a baby 50% of the time while keeping myself and Mr A fed. Not to mention the never-ending battle to leave the house in mostly clean clothes that mostly do not have traces of baby bodily fluids on them.

4) Actually, having said that, my eyebrow care is better than the average Archbishop.

5) I'm still working out what I think about, well, everything. Two weekends ago we had Arthur baptised. This came at the end of a themed study week on Liturgy, including most of a day on Baptism. As I mulled over, academically, what I was to put my small son through at the end of the week, especially the sacramental aspects, I realised that many of the reasons I was doing it might easily be termed 'folk religion'. A major reason was to make a public commitment to bring Arthur up in the knowledge and love of God. So far, so good. But a huge aspect was simply because, well, we're over the moon he's here with us - I don't think this can be found anywhere in baptism theology!

6) Talking of, Arthur had a really superb Paediatrician's appointment a couple of weeks ago. Of particular interest, she could see nothing wrong with the reflexes in his legs and feet. A little brisk, perhaps, which could mean stiff legs, but to me this sounds better than floppy legs. She also recommended he goes onto solids, which he's been really enjoying. She complimented his alertness and good tracking eye movements. This came off the back of a perfect kidney scan, and a urodynamic assessment which Arthur became the first baby in the memory of our very experienced urology nurse to sleep through! With all that has happened this year, it's lovely to come to the end of the year on such a high. (I'm aware this has nothing to do with me not being the Archbishop, so it looks like the framework is crumbling already...)

7) I'm about to be appointed to a Title Post, but it isn't the Archbishop. That's Julian Welby. Still having to be schtum about where I'm going.

8) I've never been to Canterbury. Looks nice though.

9) I am just toooo excited by Christmas I would hardly be able to maintain the decorum required of an Archbishop! Honestly, first Christmas with a baby is going to be GREAT!

10) Insert reason 10 here. Happy Christmas!