Musketeer Madness and Finding a Hero

Over the last few weeks I have been captivated by the new BBC One drama the Musketeers. I have been swept up in the adventure and romantic tales. And I’ve fallen in love with the scenery, the storytelling and…. who am I trying to kid I fallen in love with the Musketeers – all of them, it took me a few weeks to figure out my absolute favourite but I’m not telling you here!

my current laptop desktop pic :-)

I also love it because it’s something we can watch together as a family. Often programmes are just a bit too rude or adult for youngest son, or too dull for oldest son to watch.

Oldest son has even lost interest in Dr Who and never even bothered watching Atlantis with us (or Merlin underwater as I renamed it – although the plots never seem to be set by the sea – didn’t Patrick Duffy have flippers and gills when he lived there or does my memory just stretch back a bit too far – I hope someone out there is keeping up with me!) 

We do watch Sherlock all together but I am sure much of that goes over both their heads. I found the wedding episode hilarious; they looked at me bemused. But with only three episodes in a row it’s over almost as soon as it’s begun.

The Musketeers has been on for ten glorious weeks – it’s the last one tomorrow and then what shall we do?

Youngest son does groan when there’s a lovey dovey scene and pulls a blanket over his head as he snuggles in beside me in his PJs ready for bed, his action makes me smile but he sits up again fully engaged in watching the fight scenes. Oldest son meanwhile has commandeered the other sofa and usually the remotes are stuffed behind a cushion nearby. “Turn it up a bit!” I call across the coffee table not wanting to miss a thing.

I just sometimes wish it wasn’t on quite so late on a Sunday evening when it’s school the next day but then again I do delight every Monday morning in discussing every detail with my best friend when we are out for our Monday morning walk.

There are scenes I can recite line by line which make me smile and some which have touched my heart.

“Anyone can tell a woman she is beautiful,” states Aramis, “But making her believe it is where the genius lies.”

Oh so true – I’m not sure I’ve ever truly believed than one – well maybe once but it seems like a dream it was so long ago.

And then there was Porthos falling in love with the beautiful widow Alice Clerbeaux , “A year is a long time without a kiss.” He says tenderly.

I melted, “…and three years is almost intolerable.” I desperately wanted to whisper back. But no one hears me.

Where’s a Musketeer when you really need one?

Despite their obvious character flaws we love them as heroes and I’d be happy for any one of them to sweep me off my feet and rescue me. But considering I am old enough to be d'Artagnan's mother and they are all fictional anyway it seems unlikely - Musketeer Madness!

But last week there was a very different scene that didn’t just make my heart flutter but caused my soul to sing.

Athos and Aramis were holed up in a convent protecting the queen. Things are looking bleak and desperate.

The mother superior asks Athos if there is anything she can do to help protect her convent in the coming battle.

“Can you load a pistol?”

Taking the weapon from him she begins to recite “Blessed be the Lord my God,” all the while expertly continuing with the task in hand, “who teaches my hands to fight and my fingers to battle. Psalm 144.”

Even though Athos’s smile barely touches his lips you can see it in his eyes – he is impressed!

Meanwhile I am smiling broadly on the sofa. We had read that very same psalm that week in a prayer meeting. There is something very special about hearing the word of God. It really is like “honey to my soul”.

I looked it up in the Message this week, a paraphrased version of the Bible with imagery that often challenges and inspires me. These verses were no exception…

Blessed be God my mountain

Who trains me to fight fair and well

He’s the bedrock on which I stand,

The castle in which I live

My rescuing knight

The high crag where I run for dear life

While he lays my enemies low.

Can you guess my favourite line? 

God is my “rescuing knight”! 

This is the language of romance and adventure I love so much.

I may have spent the last ten weeks daydreaming, getting distracted and yes I’m not really sure what to do when there’s no Musketeers to watch on a Sunday night but it’s reassuring to remember that there is a hero who will always be around and his words will draw me in every time.

God is my hero – maybe a little bit like a musketeer but actually a whole lot better! And He will be around long after this Musketeer Madness has ended!

Occupation versus Passion

Inevitably it happened again, the form asked for me to fill in my occupation.

SIGH

What do I write? I don’t work so I write “full time mum” then add “part time charity shop volunteer” for good measure as a way of showing I am not really so boring and predictable.

I want to write sooooo much more – that must be the writer in me!

How do I sum up what I do, and why oh why is it so important for everyone else to define it?

I noticed on my car insurance my occupation is listed as housewife/husband – hmmm I strangely like that, at least it sort of values, even unintentionally, that I am both mum and dad - actually!

Then this tweet appeared on my twitter feed

If I asked you, instead of what you do for a living, what your passion is in life, what would you say?

“Great question” I tweeted back, which then begs the next question – how would I answer the first one?

Obviously my greatest passion is my boys, they are EVERYTHING to me, even when they are complete pains.

I was yelling at oldest son the other day in the car, complaining yet again that I have no freedom to do what I want and haven’t had since the day he was born – OUCH!

“I’m sorry I’ve ruined your life!” He said back – he’s much calmer than me!

Then I had to hastily take it all back – how did I get to be so cruel? If it wasn’t for the boys where would I be? Without them my life would have completely collapsed on 13th November 2010. There would have been no reason to get out of bed or carry on in the days/weeks/months and now years that have followed.

I am very passionate about my boys. I want to see them succeed in what they want to “do” – the irony of that is not lost on me!

I want them to enjoy life, to have friends who love them, to grow up to be compassionate and caring. I want the world to see how amazing they are the way I do on a good day!

No children should have to lose their dad aged 13 or 10 and yet they are growing into fabulous young men before my eyes even without a major male role model to look up to.

I am also passionate that they know Jesus, who is actually the most perfect role model they could ever follow.

But I can’t make them share my beliefs and I pray that one day it will make sense to them too. 

God’s got a bit of work to do to convince oldest son especially that He is a loving God even when He allowed their dad to die. I just trust God is big enough to sort that one out some day because I have NO answers!

However it is not just my own children who I want to share the Good News of Jesus with. This morning I have been in school again with the Open the Book team to tell another Bible story.

It is evident I am passionate on a Wednesday morning as I almost bounce Tigger-like into school. I love the dressing up, the story telling and I enjoy interacting with a whole room full of kids and making the Bible come alive for them because to me the stories are very important, yes because they are the Bible but also because I love telling stories in whatever form.

I’m passionate about my writing and I have friends urging me to continue my Esther story and I know I need to just keep writing regardless of who reads this.

Writing is just something I DO whether or not it is my career or occupation; I enjoy it too much to stop. And whenever I do stop I get grumpy and horrible to live with.

Which brings me full circle to shouting at the boys – I only shout because I care and I care because these things are important to me.

These things are my passions and they are far more important than my occupation!

Now how do I fit all that onto your little form?

The Musings of Martha

I have always had a soft spot for Martha in the Bible. 

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my great grandmother was called Martha and you can read a little bit about her and see a photo in this old post from unravelling-edges.

Perhaps it's because I can relate to Martha's practical nature, the attitude of getting things done albeit sometimes grudingly!

Last week at church the gospel reading was from John 12:1-8.  It gave another glimpse into Martha’s world.

After church I decided to write some more to the story, imagining her thoughts as she remembered her encounters with Jesus. I thought I would share it with you as we begin Holy Week and we remember.

The Musings of Martha

When I wake at my normal early hour the lingering scent of expensive perfume makes me smile as I vividly remember the furore of the day before.

It had started off so ordinarily, I was busy with my extra chores readying the house for the Passover. I’ve become more content recently in my daily routine, accepting that Mary is the daydreamer and I will always have the greatest share to do. Besides I wanted everything perfect, Jesus was coming to stay again. He is such a dear friend to us all. How could I not want to please the man who had raised my brother from the dead?

While the men reclined, as is the custom, I served the wine and made sure our guests wanted for nothing. Suddenly I became aware that Mary was missing from our gathering, when Jesus is around, she usually hangs on his every word.

Then she appeared with a jar, I recognised it at once as the expensive perfume we keep in our room. Sometimes we would open the lid just for a moment to inhale its glorious aroma.

My sister resumed her position at Jesus’ feet and proceeded to pour the oil on them. Not just a few drops either but the entire jar was lovingly spilled out.

Well I wasn’t the only one who gasped at such an act but this was only the beginning.

She hadn’t thought to bring a towel; it’s typical of her to be ill-prepared. Instead she undid her hair, it tumbled freely and she shamelessly used it wipe his feet.

Such extravagance, such love. I have learned over the past few weeks that my sister has never deliberately tried to win Jesus’ favour over me, this was just the way she was. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I watched wishing I could be so daring.

Then Judas spoke up, denouncing this wasteful act. 

“The money poured out here could have been better spent on the poor and needy.”

As the one responsible for our household budget, I know the cost of this oil and once I might have agreed wholeheartedly with Judas. 

But Jesus is so wonderfully special; he brought my brother back from the dead. I’ve seen his miracles but more than that he has looked into my eyes so deeply I know he sees my very heart and loves me in a way no other ever has.

Jesus reprimanded Judas saying he will not be here with us for long and I am fearful of what the days ahead will bring. I don’t know how this story will end. 

But as long as his fragrance fills this place I will always remember.

Doodling with Jesus

I always have been the sort of person that loves nothing better than having a good cry at a weepy movie. As a teenager I remember crying every week watching the Waltons yet it was still one of my favourite programmes.

I cry quite a bit in church services too, worship song lyrics particularly set me off depending on my mood and there have been a several sermons over the years that have touched me so deeply the tears start to flow. 

However I can’t remember a time when I’ve cried as I read the Bible, until today when I could have sobbed I was so overwhelmed.  

The problem was I was in a prayer meeting and I’m not sure I could have explained my tears there and then so I surreptitiously dried them trying not to make a fuss and draw attention to my emotional outburst.

But all day I have been left trying to unpick the verses we read wondering why they squeezed my heart so and because it’s what I do I shall write it down to clear my thoughts and if I’m typing it anyway I may as well share it with you in the hope my thoughts may be helpful to someone else.

The passage we read was in John chapter 8 verses 1 – 11. You can click on the link to get read it on BibleGateway.com or read what I’ve paraphrased it here:

A woman is caught in the act of adultery and brought before Jesus by the Pharisees, they are hoping to trap him and ask should they stone her for her sin as it says in the law of Moses.

Jesus stoops down and starts writing in the dust.

The Pharisees grow impatient and keep asking for an answer.

Eventually Jesus stands up and says, “only those you have committed no sin may stone her,” and he returns to his doodling on the ground.

One by one, starting with the oldest, everyone leaves and when Jesus looks up again he finds only the woman is left.

“Did no one condemn you?” He asks.

“No sir,” she replies.

“Then neither do I. Go and sin no more.”

What totally overwhelmed me this morning was the tenderness of Jesus to the woman, he was so gentle with her, never publically rebuking her or treating her harshly as the Pharisees had.

I could palpably feel his compassion poured out on this woman and thereby poured out on me. I may not be an adulterer but my sins are just as black when compared to the sinless Jesus. Like everyone else in the crowd I can’t cast a stone at her. 

What also struck me was the fact that Jesus deflected all attention away from her by drawing in the dust. His actions were strange, he seemed to be taking very little interest in what was going on and yet his words as usual are profound and have stuck as common parlance.

But his drawing in the dust also puzzled me and this is the bit I’ve been stuck pondering all day.

He is seemingly doodling, ignoring everything else that is going on. Was the woman just a tiny bit annoyed by his actions? I know I would be.  Actually I know I am often cross with Jesus,  he doesn’t seem to be answering my prayers, instead he’s tinkering with other stuff and I don’t really understand what’s going on.

As much as I sense Jesus’s compassion in this story I also have a sense of frustration that nothing is happening here.

So just what is going on down there in the dirt?

The Bible says Jesus was writing, my friend said today maybe he was doodling – well I understand both of those being an avid doodler and writer!

Essentially they are creative pastimes.

Right at the start of the Bible it says “in the beginning was the WORD.” God spoke the universe into existence. Words are incredibly powerful.

So was Jesus writing the woman’s story, drawing it, creating something new from the dust?

When he finally spoke to her she was alone and maybe that was the most special moment of all. Did she see his whole picture; get a glimpse of his plans for her marvellously put together?

My wise friend, who first suggested Jesus might be doodling, said maybe Jesus wants me to join him on the floor for a bit of scribbling  – just imagine what we could draw and write together? 

Now that makes me smile and my tears for now are wiped away.