Letter to... the sower

Today I am linking up with Sabrina and Ruth with their “letters to…” prompt. They have been studying the parables of the Bible and decided to incorporate this into their weekly link up.

This week - a letter to the sower... The parable can be found here in Matthew 13.

 

Dear Youngest Son

Today you helped your Grandad in the greenhouse and although it wasn’t your favourite way to spend the time I hope you will one day look back fondly on your afternoon.

As I stepped in, taking your place when you got bored, I remembered a time in the garden so very long ago when your Grandad entrusted me with my own patch of ground. 

I was younger than you are now and working towards a badge for Brownies. It may have been a passing phase for me too, I can’t remember my interest lasting more than one season, but recently I’ve come to love the garden more and more. 

You appreciate things in a different way as you get older, one day perhaps you will understand.

Watching plants grow is amazing, especially when you know you have played a part in the nurturing.

Digging the soil, sowing seeds in a row and a splashing down water from the watering-can. Simple really.

Some plants grow regardless, weeds spring up out of nowhere, how dare they grow so fast and strong? Holding back the green shoots you have planted.

You have to take care to pull them out, not easy when their roots run deep and you have left the garden untended for too long.

And sometimes the things you plant just don’t grow. Wrong type of soil, too wet, slugs, birds or you just neglect to water them and take the proper care. 

But seeing something sprout that you have planted and watching it flourish against the odds is so satisfying.

A few years ago I planted something that looked no more than a stick but it has grown into a magnificent sweet smelling honeysuckle and every year it flowers it brings a smile to my face.

Youngest son, I don’t expect you to understand all these things now – the things your hold dear and "grow" are so different, like collecting diamonds in a virtual mineshaft. You were so upset when they were wiped out, like a gardener whose entire crop has been devoured. There was nothing I could do or say to comfort you.

Whatever you decide to “sow” and nurture in your life I hope it produces good fruit. That at the end of the day you can rest and watch in wonder as it grows.

Just as I watch you.

Mum x

To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow - Audrey Hepburn

A letter about being stuck...

I’m scared but from somewhere there’s a tiny voice that urges me on.

Then as I start to type the inevitable tears flow.

I thought I’d left this behind. I thought I could move on from here and re-invent myself as someone new. Someone who didn’t splurge her thoughts all over the page!

But some things can’t be boxed up and hidden away forever.

I guess I knew that really, deep down, I knew I’d come full circle eventually.

Now every writing idea I’ve held in my head for the past couple of months is clamouring to get out of my brain.

·         A fairytale – how did that one end?

·         The memories that made me smile and cry all at once.

·         A piece where I once more stamped my feet in desperation.

·         The fantasy that weaves its way through my brain before I sleep.

Oh such stories, so many words I’ve written in my head but haven’t dared commit to typing on my blog.

To say “I’ve been a bit stuck lately” is quite frankly an understatement.

At first I made a big show of giving up my writing daydreams, I spoke of the foolishness of declaring myself to be  a writer. I decided I’d be “ordinary” instead – whatever that might mean. Not always pushing to the front but hiding someway back away from the limelight. 

After Christmas I even lost my familiar front spot in my exercise class and after a week or so found I didn’t mind, I could still see the instructor and giggle with the girls at the back.

At the grand old age of 46 I reasoned it is time to grow up and live in the real world.

But my “growing up” has only led to a growing resentment. 

I’m stuck alright but on closer examination most of it is self-imposed. I’ve dug my heels in so deep I need help to get me free.

“When are you going to write again?”

“I’ve given up!” I say with tears threatening to bubble over every time I answer the question. A sure sign this is not what I really want at all.

However there are some people who sagely nod and agree it’s probably for the best. This writing process has been cathartic over the past few years but perhaps it’s best to move on. Step away from the blog!

Others tell me how sad it is, how good my writing is and how much they enjoy my words.

I almost laugh at that – sometimes I don’t believe I’m good at anything except making macaroni cheese and cheese scones! To be honest sometimes they don’t even turn out quite as good as I hope. I’m very self-critical knowing I could do soooo much better if I really put in the effort.

To write or not to write? I wish I knew what to do and in the absence of a clear strong voice I have let me heels sink defiantly in the mire.

And this is where I’ve been…if you’ve been wondering.

I recognize I can’t stay stuck forever. I long for sunny days when there’s a bounce in my step.

I don’t want to be a burden, I don’t want to be a pain, I don’t want to be the friend that ALWAYS whinges.

Of course I would love to be the leading lady in my own fabulous fairytale but I’m trying to be more content with being just an extra. Another face in the crowd. The girl at the back of the exercise class.

Perhaps it’s been good for me to re-evaluate my writing and my reasons for it.

No longer am I seeking to write my bestselling definitive guide to coping after the death of a loved one. I certainly don’t have all the answers. 

Having said all that I know my words have helped a few in the same way other people’s writing has touched my life.

But I’ve made the decision to no longer share all my blogs with everyone.

I long since gave up on my stats and finally I can honestly say I don’t care if only one person reads this. That’s more healthy isn’t it?

I'm writing for my pleasure and if my words speak to you that's great.

My thanks go to the people who have persevered in pulling me out of this mud – you know who you are and I am grateful for each word of encouragement. They have slowly dripped into my brain!

And thanks to God, who’s always there, somewhere, even if at the moment I get very little sense of Him near.

Because deep, deep down somewhere, I know for certain this is a gift that I can’t hide, that somehow, if I give it back to Him, He will use…and the details I will leave to Him!

Every Tuesday, Sabrina and Ruth link up for Letters To.  This is a prompted link-up, which means they provide a theme to base your post around and a space to share what you’ve written. This week’s prompt is A Letter to the Stuck

A letter to... home

Where would I send it to? My letter to home?

An odd question perhaps when I sit here in my house, surrounded by my possessions, so much stuff accumulated through the years making my house a family home.

… and yet …

We’ve not long returned from my parents where we celebrated Christmas with four generations of family under one roof. Anywhere your heart feels snug and wanted – that’s got to be more homely than a pile of bricks and a mountain of objects.

Every time we visit my parents there’s a point as we cross the invisible line between one county and another when my heart soars as I feel once more drawn into a homely embrace. This is where I grew up, even Andrew would remark that I changed when we got there, getting louder and more excitable.

But then as we leave and after a long drive northwards there’s a similar spot where I knew without a doubt that I have returned to another home. These familiar twists and turns of the road are the ones I drive almost daily and I smile thankful for a safe trip back to my own front door.

I know I am blessed to have two places in the world where I feel so loved and secure.

However I have reached a curious moment in time where I have lived half my life in the south east of England and half in the north east.

Pinpointing exactly where I feel I most belong is hard.

What exacerbates the confusion in my mind is that the house where I live feels less and less like a home. It has become a big burden, a place of memories with too many overwhelming responsibilities. A house too big for only three of us, not quite as cosy and warm as I want my home to be.

Oh it’s welcoming, accommodating, you’ll always get a cup of tea when you visit but that is down to the family that lives here who throw open the door. 

This is still our home because this is where we live, it is a part of us.

I remember the day we moved in, the plans we had, the work we’ve had done, the laughter, the hassles, the plaster that fell down with a loud thud, stripping woodchip from ceilings and painting every spindle.

But I am ready to move on, I need to move and establish something new.

We won’t be far away, we are tied to school and college and friends and church…

… and so I wonder, if I were to write another letter home in a couple of years’ time, just where I would send that letter to?

Once again linking with Ruth and Sabrina for the last ever Letters to... prompt!

And this is why selling my house is my number one priority for 2014, if you like it is my New Year's Resolution. Of course there is much more to it that I have written here and moving is a daunting prospect. 

Please pray for a buyer, pray that I can find somewhere new for us to live and that I have the strength to sort out all the "stuff", much of it Andrew's, and the wisdom to know what to do with it! Thanks x

A letter to start anew... or rather some excuses to postpone New Year to a more convenient date!

FACT: in 4 years, 5 weeks and 1 day I will be 50 - not that I'm counting! 

When I reach my 50th birthday my sons will be 21 and 18 and maybe they won’t need me so much.

Does it seem as if I’m wishing my life away? Sometimes I feel like I do, I wish I could enjoy the moment more and stop daydreaming of a future when I will allegedly be “free” to do whatever I please.

We celebrated Christmas at my parents, a bit of a houseful with four generations under one roof for almost a week. There were surprisingly few fallings out and a great time was had by all. 

I went to visit some old school friends while I was in the area and dipped in and out of Facebook catching up on the goings on of my online community.

On 30th December my dad was 70 – family and friends drifted in and out all day, including cousins I’ve not seen for years. We used to meet regularly for family weddings and parties but the family has grown so large we’ve come to accept we will never all get together again but Christmas is a great time for getting back in touch at least with a few.

New Year’s Eve was a quiet affair spent at my in-laws. We played the Pointless board game, watched the spectacular fireworks on TV at midnight and then I went to bed.

Oldest son stayed up with his cousins playing FIFA on the Playstation until 3am! Those days seem a distant memory to me although I later found out my parents stayed up until after 2 having their own party! 

I’m caught somewhere in the middle with all the responsibilities of being the sensible adult. I didn’t even have a drink.

However I was glad of the full night’s sleep and a clear head because yesterday I had a long and very wet drive home. The car aquaplaned a few times which I admit was scary and I am thankful we returned home safe.

But youngest son was definitely off-colour on the journey – I’m thankful he wasn’t sick in the car over the coats and Christmas presents that were on the back seat beside him. However he was sick at 4am and he’s lying on the sofa now watching Home Alone.

I too feel drained, exhausted, shivery and full of cold. And coming home to the reality of a mountain of washing and last year’s left over paperwork to sort out depresses me.

It’s doesn’t feel like a HAPPY New Year but that means things can really only get better, right?

Facebook is obviously filled with New Year’s resolution but the big question appears to be to plan or not to plan and instead go with the flow?

I’ve always been a plotter and a planner – I had a few ideas in the pipeline before I felt sick. Now I wonder what the point is and that’s probably why I recalculated the number of days until my fiftieth birthday. It’s a definite point on the horizon, far enough away that I know some things will have changed by then – at least I hope so, I really do.

I know I am too tired to think rationally, too exhausted to set realistic goals for 2014. Besides who said resolutions should be set in stone by yesterday to count?

I’ve tried before with mixed success.

And so I've decided NOT to have a new year's resolution - this in NOT to say I've stopped planning or that I'm just going with the flow but at the moment I feel too sick and tired to think about it!

New Year with all its hopes and fears is postponed – maybe until my birthday, which is after all only 5 weeks and 1 day away – FACT!

I am linking up with Ruth and Sabrina again with this post and their "Letters to..." challenge. Just click on their names to see what wonderful words they have written on the subject.