Tears in our hearts

The heart-breakers in the news are closer to our home today.

The mother inside me wants to hug, console and take away all the pain from my adult-child.

But when she asks whether she should come to me or go to her friend, I say
‘No. You must go and be strong for your friend. There will be time again for me to console you.
You know you have my love.
Right now, your friend needs your presence more than you need mine. The arms where she belongs are too broken to hold her now.
Run to your friend.
Be strong and courageous.
And know, that when the time is right, you can return to my arms to be refilled with the love you have given out; when your need is greater than the one who needs you.’

God don’t do math

Some of us love numbers!
More than one of us in our home love to play with numbers, whether it be in a Sudoku or more recently, working out equations about the force of water. Unfortunately, in our house, none love to balance the books or pay the bills, reconcile accounts or collect info for the tax man.

But, in more than 20 years of paying bills, feeding a growing family and surviving on grant funding (and very generous family) there has only been one time when we almost went hungry – at the same time that we didn’t trust God enough to give Him a tenth of what we had.

This was only one instance that has helped me come to the conclusion that

“God don’t do maths”.

Please pardon the grammar – but I can hear my African-American friends singing this in chorus! Certainly, God’s method of mathematics is not taught in any conventional business or accounting course.
Let’s look at some examples:

Many parents expecting their second child have told me of their fear of not being able to love their next child as much as they’ve loved their first. Every time, God has shown them that He is the God of multiplication – not division.

Ask any parent of multiple children and you discover an incredible capacity to love more – not less, with each child.

Love grows the more you give it away!

It’s a bit like Elijah and the widow who was about to make the last meal for her son and herself, from the tiny bit of flour and oil that she had. She gave to Elijah, and her flour and oil never ran out. It’s like Jesus feeding the 5000 (plus women and children) from 5 loaves and 2 fish – and collecting 12 baskets of left-overs. God don’t do maths!

What about time? Yesterday was one of those days when I had more things to do than minutes in the day. I had no choice but to stop and take a breath prayer.
I breathed, and God-incidentally, I remembered Elisabeth Elliot’s words,
“I have only one thing to do today. That is God’s will, and He will enable me to do it.”
“OK God!” I breathed and my heart remembered,
“Be still and know that I am God!”
“What’s going to happen about the catering tonight? I’m handing that one over to You, Lord.”
I settled into what I was doing, taking a quick break for lunch when a couple of youth leaders arrived to do some pre-event planning.
“We’re going shopping for supplies for tonight. Would you like us to pick up something?”

The next morning, Jan from my favourite coffee shop, where I’ve been going for four years, offered her un-sold muffins for our youth group on Friday nights. I’d not asked – and she’d never offered before. It wasn’t until then that I realised that God had answered my prayer – twice – without me even acknowledging Him. I’d been so caught up with how much time I didn’t have, that I forgot to notice that God had taken over what I’d asked Him to.

We get so caught up following two little sticks chasing each other around a dial we carry on our wrists that we forget that our best friend is the creator of the universe. God is not bound by the rules of our human-measured concept of time. If our universe was limited to our meagre understanding of how it works, what a small universe we would inhabit.

We live in a very weird period of time in that “If we don’t understand it – we can’t believe it!” There goes the theory of relativity, space, gravity, healing, my lap-top computer, the egg I just ate for breakfast…the children I bore.

We argue about periods of time, about budgets, about our capacity to do things. In our determination to work things out mathematically- logically, we diminish the world’s capacity to see God because we diminish Him.

We limit God’s work to our own imagination.

As Elisabeth Elliot once said, “The God who is small enough to be understood is too small to be worshiped”.

Whether or not it fits into a mathematical equation or our understanding, God’s will, will be done. Our capacity to love Him and achieve great things in His name can only grow as we take the opportunities He gives us to learn to rely on Him, rather than on our budgets and imagination.

I guess it works in reverse too. Look at the lives of the rich and famous who hoard up stuff for themselves and end up having to cocoon themselves away for peace and quiet. Those who gather everything for themselves tend to diminish in what they really have. Life seemingly implodes.

Look at a church that limits itself to the same budget it’s had for years. It makes as much sense as a flower keeping its petals in its bud to conserve energy, or a chrysalis deciding to stay where it is safe and dark, rather that breaking out to become a butterfly.

Mathematically, a butterfly cannot fit into a chrysalis.

Mathematically, a flower cannot fit into a flower-bud.

Mathematically, faith as big as a mustard seed cannot move a mountain.

Mathematically, forgiveness doesn’t add up.

Mathematically, we cannot love and keep giving it away.

What would happen in our homes, in our congregations, in our communities if before we set out to do something, we stopped to take notice of God’s economy?

As I heard in a sermon a couple of weeks ago, “God’s economy is different. It’s upside-down.”

Love grows the more you give it away.

God gives.

God gives everything.

God is glorified in His generosity.

God loves everybody – and His love of everybody enables Him to be generous with His love.

What would happen if we stopped counting the wrongs anybody had done against us, and loved and forgave them anyway? What would happen if we chose to love because God first loved us?

This week, this month, this year, let us together consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, and trust God – Rely on Him – and not on our own mathematical equations.

 

Originally published as:

“God don’t do maths” in The Lutheran, May 2010 Vol44 No4 P154-155

Pooped, Purple and Perplexed: Looking to Easter

I’m pooped, purple and slightly perplexed.

Pooped is an accurate description of how I feel right now. Gabby and I decided to go for a walk at Morialta Falls this morning. Well…falls is something of an overstatement. Perhaps they could be re-named  Morialta Puddles.  I’m sure my legs will be reminding me tomorrow and half way through next week of our little adventure.

Purple – well that is a slight exaggeration. Purple is the colour we believed we would be by the time we returned to our car judging from the amount of blackberry bushes we were pushing through at one stage.

And perplexed…well… the maps and signposts along the way were rather ambiguous. There were frequent maps and posts with arrows for particular walks. But halfway along the walk we’d chosen, the signs for our walk became peculiarly absent. Missing was some very vital information … where to go next. So we chose the path we thought we should take – the only one that still had an arrow pointing to it.

Having trekked through unchartered blackberry territory for several hundred metres, we figured that since the path we had chosen was one of the shorter walks, it should not feel as though we needed to get our machetes out to get through the jungle – especially in suburban Adelaide. So we re-traced our steps back to the most recent map and used our powers of deduction.

Though there were no directions at that stage, there were steps that led down to the top of the waterfall (aka puddle), and steps going up the other side. My high-school memories of the same walk prompted us to brave the steps across the puddle and eventually guided us back to the car park.

The walk was great. The weather was perfect, the company and conversation was stimulating and we both feel invigorated. It’s as though we’ve been on a mini-holiday – even though it only takes 15 minutes to drive there.

But the ambiguous instructions got me thinking. One of the most difficult aspects of going anywhere new, meeting and mixing with new people, or trying new things is discovering the things that nobody tells you about; the stuff that nobody explains; the pieces of information that would have made life a whole lot easier if only somebody had said “You need to know this first” or “This is how to do it” or “Ask me. I may know!” or a simple arrow that says “This way!”

I recalled a young man, a friend of our teenagers, who we’d taken to church for the first time in his life. When it came time for communion, he leaned over to me and said

“What is this?”

Try explaining in 20 seconds or less, the meaning of communion! That lesson was a good lesson to me of the things I take for granted; our belief, our rituals, our traditions, the things we do for God and the things we do for the sake of doing them, and the things we do simply because that’s the way we’ve always done them.

Most of us can relate to visiting a new church, going to a new school or moving into a new community. There are some places that make us believe it is the loneliest place on earth. Where is the front door? Am I supposed to sign in somewhere? Is there a toilet close-by? Will anybody talk to me? If I put my name down on this piece of paper will I end up getting a bombardment of emails?

Fortunately, there are some places where you feel as though you are welcomed and feel ‘at home’, straight away. Somebody comes up to you when you arrive because either they are really friendly, have been trained really well and have practised to greet everybody, or they simply recognise that look of “lost” on your face, and have come to rescue you. They introduce themselves with something simple such as

“Hi, I’m Jim. Great to meet you. What’s your name?”

If they’re really well trained, or have practised, they might continue with “How do you spend your time?” or “What’s your favourite ice-cream?” They give you any information you might need, including where to find more information, and offer to sit with you. Or they introduce you to somebody else who they know has a similar interest to you.

“Hey Fred. This is Steve. He’s visiting from Gonunda. He’s interested in the sound system. I thought you might show him around later.”

This last Christmas gave us the opportunity to have some of our friends from different cultural backgrounds celebrate Christmas with us in our home. Because of my experience with the 20 second- introduction- to- communion, I wanted to make sure that our friends would not leave our home without knowing why we celebrated Christmas.

Just as we were about to ask a blessing for our food, which was already foreign to many of our visitors, we brought out our bible and read Luke Chapter 2. I hope we began a tradition – or perhaps, re-instated one. I hope that it will be a ritual that continues in our family to consciously dedicate our time and effort into introducing to our family and friends what is important to us– not taking what we know and believe for granted.

As we look to Easter, there are many people who don’t understand what Easter is about. How many Australians recognise the significance of Ash Wednesday – other than a horrible day of fires in 1983? Do our children understand  the meaning and purpose of Good Friday and Easter Sunday ? It is up to each of us to make sure that those around us know why we commemorate Easter, of Jesus life, death and most importantly, his resurrection.

At a local high-school about 20 years ago, a Christian group acted out the story of Easter. At the end of the play, a student went up to the Principal and said,

“That was a great story. Do you know who wrote it?”

So this Easter, no matter where I am or what I do, I want to be making sure that I do not take knowledge of the Easter story for granted. I do not want to behave as though it’s just a long weekend. I want to make sure that others will know that we celebrate Easter because, as the angels said, “He is not here, He is risen!”

Originally published as:

‘Pooped, Purple and Perplexed’ in The Lutheran, April 2012 Vol46, No3, P102-103

The farm in the front yard

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Chris has been busy gardening. He grew up on a farm, and he is the true-life evidence that you can’t take the farm out of the man. He loves it!

Our half-pug dog Shelby loves to help him. Wherever Chris has been digging, Shelby loves to dig too. And wherever something lush manages to grow (and is not too prickly), Shelby sits on it, as if to give her approval. We can’t get cross at her because she looks up at us with her big, brown eyes, wagging her tail as if to say, ‘Thank you so much! This is a lovely new throne for me!’

Gradually our small backyard has been divided into two domains: Shelby-friendly territory, and the garden. Currently there are all manner of fences, netting and even satay sticks protecting Chris’s precious garden from one small, aging, curious and territory-protecting Shelby. But somehow Shelby still manages to pick Chris’s peas.

2016Pic.ShelbyBev_n
Shelby – photo by Bev. Eckermann

By wangling her half-pug half-snout into whatever angle the fencing allows, Shelby grips onto the nearest pea pod. If it’s a snow pea, she’ll eat it all. But if it is a snap pea, she grabs the whole thing, deposits it on the ground in front of her and shells it. Very occasionally she won’t be able to get the last of the peas that are left in the shell. But she is determined. So she takes the entire pod into her mouth, somehow manages to extract the peas, and spits out the rest. Perhaps she could qualify for Australia’s Got Talent.

I too love gardens. A couple of years ago, inspired by a ‘metre-square garden’ book, I prepared a metre-square in the front yard. I had visions of having a Vietnamese salad garden in my one-metre square. In my head I had it all planned, and off I went to the local garden shop to purchase my seedlings (and have a cup of tea and scones). Evidently I was gone long enough for Chris to see that I’d been digging, so he decided to help.

When I returned, instead of my perfect metre-square ready for picture-perfect planting, half the front yard had been turned into a ploughed field. To write down in words what I felt, in a way that would not embarrass my dear one, is too tricky. Let’s just say that one of our teenagers refused to have any of her friends over anymore. She was already ready to leave because of the possums that had taken up residence in our roof and wall cavities. Now she was disgusted that our front garden had been turned into a farmyard.

Thankfully, Chris and I had grown together long enough for everything to be okay. I could recognise that he had done what came naturally to him. His love language of ‘Acts of Service’ had kicked in and, combined with the gardening and physical activity, he’d had a great afternoon. He was justifiably proud of his efforts.

I, on the other hand, had to swallow the words that had crept to the front of my mouth. In the past I would have said something like, ‘What did you do that for? You always do what you want! Why didn’t you ask?’

A blessing of being married for a couple of decades is that through doing, getting it wrong, forgiving and then trying again, we’ve learnt that our marriage certificate is not a certificate of mind-reading. I hadn’t told Chris about what I had envisaged. How then could I expect that he: had any idea about the book I had bought, would ever think about planting a Vietnamese salad garden, or ever had heard of the concept of a metre-square garden? Fortunately, I had learnt (the hard way) the blessing of choosing to hold my tongue.

So, for a season or two, we had what looked like a farmyard in our front yard. Inside renovations and the eviction of our resident possums altered our daughter’s attitude, so she no longer felt the compulsion to leave. And life was a little too busy to worry about pumpkins replacing petunias. The farmyard survived, and so did our relationship.

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One day, I visited the home of some dear friends. In their front yard were garden beds of pretty flowers and lovely foliage. When I looked more closely, I saw that the foliage was in fact different types of lettuce and herbs. Tomatoes were beautifully staked and attractively presented. Their garden looked gorgeous, as well as being practical. I asked our friends if Chris could come to see their garden, and they were gracious enough to invite us over for pizza.

If a picture paints a thousand words, a garden speaks an entire book to a garden-loving husband. Given a way to combine his love of gardening with his love for his wife, he has now spent weeks redesigning, digging, composting, paving, pruning and planting our front yard, so that now it is both pretty and practical. Yesterday he and I together put in the last touch: spreading lovely mulch among the freshly planted pansies, petunias, cyclamens and gazillion bulbs that he had divided, sorted and replanted.

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In pride of place are his meticulously varnished garden stakes, proudly supporting his precious peas, which are pleasing to the eye and safe from the snout of our pea-plucking pug.

 

 

Originally published as:

‘Shelby, the pea-plucking pug’ in The Lutheran, July 2012, Vol46, No6, P214-215

Priority Number One

I read in a leadership post the other day, that in order to get where you want to go, you have to prioritize and let nothing get in your way – especially other people.
Yesterday, I read about putting your ‘future self’ as a priority.
So, today, I made my list of priorities, in accordance with the unwavering directions of the leadership coaches.
I began working towards Priority Number One.

The phone rang. So in the next few minutes, my daughter will arrive here, crying.

Where is leadership then?

In this mother’s heart, mothering is the leadership path I will take; today, tomorrow and into the future.

In the words of John Lennon’s song ‘Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans’.
I’ll be truly living – not fighting against the plans I may have made, but believing that what I choose to do today is the best I can do to show love – and that must always be my priority.

Possums: Ideas for New Books and Movie Titles inspired by our evictees

New ideas for book/movie titles: inspired by our uninvited and now evicted guests.

 

Further suggestions welcome.

 

Books

  1. Possum Mischief – Mem Possum
  2. War of the Possums – H. G. Wells
  3. The Curious Incident of the Possum in the night-time – Mark Haddon
  4. The Girl with the Possum Tattoo – Steig Larsson
  5. The Fault in our Possums – John Green
  6. Possums and Prejudice – Jane Austen
  7. To Kill a Possum – Harper Lee
  8. Lord of the Possums – J. R. R. Tolkein
  9. Tomorrow When the Possum began – John Marsden
  10. The Importance of being a Possum – Oscar Wilde
  11. Little House on the Possum – Laura Ingalls Wilder
  12. The Possums Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams
  13. The Game of Possums – George R. R. Martin

 

Movies

  1. Mad Possum
  2. Possum Wars

 

 

Welcome to my blog

01D_7112 - Copy (2)
Welcome to my blog.

I write, quilt, draw, and try anything vaguely creative to connect people to community, and concepts to action.

Why a blog?
Because I find myself  ‘in-between’
. caring for kids and caring for parents
. science and religion and politics…Can they ever work together?
. career and vocation and stay-at-home-parents and carers
. being available and staying focused

…and I spend a lot of time wondering about it, and find it helpful to write out my thoughts.

I sit on the fence a lot of the time. It’s not usually a very comfortable place to sit. But hey, it gives me a great opportunity to experience both sides of the same sandwich and a lot of the stuff in the middle that keeps life interesting.

16 years ago, I accidentally discovered that others wonder about the same things – when they began to read my articles in ‘The Lutheran’, the national magazine of the the Lutheran Church of Australia. It’s because of the readers’ response that I’ve begun this blog.

Stay a while – even if it’s just long enough for a new taste or a different perspective.

And let me know what you think.

Julie

The Possum Diaries (From Facebook posts)

[email protected]!!!!
A week or so ago, we discovered a new possum hole in the wall behind my quilting cupboard. This morning I decided to check whether they had left it alone – and especially that they hadn’t decided to nest in my stash.
There was a 6″ x 6″ hole (twice as big as last time) and inside was/is a sleeping full-sized [email protected]!!! Visions of Colin Thiele’s books coming to life .Do any greenies have any ideas how we can evict probably up to 5 families of possums from our house? There are already 2 possum boxes in the trees within 20 metres of our house, … We have poorly fitting concrete tiles which shift – or get shifted by the possums. All the neighbours have the same problem.If they don’t move out, I might just have to
Oh Poo!
RIP possum which has decided to die in our bedroom wall .
And RIP another one – perhaps the one I was laughing at a couple of days ago because its backside was sticking out into my sewing room, has died in the sewing room wall – or just left a dreadful smell…..Chris’s gyprocking skills will be used to their utmost today I think – as will our paint matching skillsWe can’t see where they are getting in! And the Possum man requests aren’t getting through. He might be a bit busy methinks.Memory Lane candle place at TTPlus will be getting a visit from me today for de-stinking the house.

 I have an addendum to the book…

“the very hungry possum” who ate the walls of the Hahn house.

How can a day be so full of contrasts?
Possum mischief and yukkiness
to one of my favourite things – Singing and playing piano for a bunch of people at Strathmont with the Salisbury Lutheran Ladies Guild. I had a lovely time…hope they did too! I hope they’ll have me back!
NIMBY – I have always tried to resist being a NIMBY (Not In My Backyard) – BUT as of today, I’m becoming a NIMRAP (Not In My Roof Anymore, Possums). Hope the neighbours don’t mind too much – or should I take out shares in the company who are sealing our gutters?
24 hours without the sounds of possums in either the roof or wall cavities. Hoping the whiff of something I smelt yesterday was the result of the dog’s belly-ache, and not something stuck inside the roof…If this gutter-sealing works as a possum antidote, the 2 companies will be getting referrals here

Julie Hahn was feeling annoyed.

Apr 15, 2015 12:18am

Well the possum saga continues…Now in Noah’s wall
Dear fellow possums, The renovations are going splendidly. After months of hard work, our outlook suddenly grew from dark and dingy, to expansive, colourful – and, unfortunately, noisy. The humans do not take into consideration our sleep requirements, and bang on the walls during the day.
Today, the humans added an extra room to our palace. It is quite decorative, though not very private. We believe it must be a particular eating place since they have kindly placed an apple into it. We actually preferred the extensions with sky-lights that they had in place last week. But they were faulty – and only allowed us to go out at night. Somehow we managed to lock ourselves out of our own apartments.
Never mind.
We made alternative arrangements and our kind neighbours showed us other entry points which we have been utilizing since then. We’ve begun working on another section for Mama possum and her little baby.
Unfortunately, the humans keep thumping. So much for the sleep. Oh well. It’s time to go out to meet the other neighbours. Good night.
2015-04-18 23.07.07
Dear Possum friends, The humans have been very kind. The latest addition to our room was furbished with lovely fresh apple which was delicious. While I was eating, one of the humans popped up to say hello.
I didn’t realize until then that the new room was indeed a possum gymnasium, complete with obstacle course. The degree of difficulty factor was not too much for me on the first attempt.
Having decided to abandon the second attempt when the human shone his shiny bald head into our apartment I waited until the noisy humans had settled for the night before I made the third attempt to retrieve the apple. To my great delight the human head had rewarded me with more apple. However, my gymnastic ability had gone and I discovered that I was stuck. So I made an enormous racket and woke the humans. I didn’t expect that they would transport the entire gymnasium out to my favorite tree and release me. Freedom! If you’d care to join me, try for some of that lovely juicy apple! It gives you quite a trip! Bon voyage!
All clear! No possums and no health worries either! Thank you AquaGuard for sealing our gutters with extra-tough anti-possum stuff, and Thank God for Doctors and medical treatment.
Update on the pitter-patter of little feet. Having hired a very expensive possum removal company, and having installed much more expensive (but evidently effective) gutter guard (Aquaguard), Chris made a friend by giving some lovely fresh apple, then removed the cage from the house and opened it on the back-lawn.
The possums have not only stayed out of our roof, but there is no current evidence that they are coming into our yard at all. It seems that if our roof is no longer a holiday destination, they’re not interested in visiting at all.

You can probably see that the possum who took longest to depart from her luxury upstairs apartment was not at all shy. She came right up to us as if to say
“So long – and thanks for all the (apple).”

 

Possum Antics

 

‘Ssh! Be very quiet. Come with me.’

My husband Chris gently took me by the hand and led me to our son’s room. I hesitated at the door, knowing that our home had recently hosted at least one family of uninvited furry guests which had eaten through the tiles in the adjacent laundry.

‘It’s not mice … or …?’ I asked, wincing and not daring to name what I dreaded more than mice.

‘No. Trust me. Ssh!’ he said.

He went over to look behind where our son’s pillow usually lay — uncovering a hole in the wall that I’d tried to forget about and we’d all tried to ignore. It had been temporarily covered up with several layers of board and a pile of books.

I looked from afar with trepidation. Chris went right up to the hole in the wall and signalled for me to follow.

There in the hole was a pile of soft grey fur, still attached to its owner — a sleeping possum. Chris poked the possum. I could envisage a frenzy, like I’d read in Colin Thiele’s novels about a possum ravaging the house. But our possum just rolled over and continued its sleep.

The nurturing, maternal greenie in me went, ‘Aaw! Isn’t that gorgeous!’

But the rest of me — the part that likes to be at least in some control over the order of the household — was already experiencing a state of mortification at having found mouse droppings in the laundry. This had been exacerbated by Chris’s discovery of a mouse-house in an old sneaker we kept for crabbing expeditions.

‘I’ve had it! We need to move. We need to sell or we need to bulldoze this house. I can’t take it any more!’ I yelled — out of range of the sleeping possum.

At about the same time as we discovered the sleeping possum in our wall, I made a discovery of my new favourite TV program, late on Friday nights. ‘60 Minute Makeover’ is an English television series in which house designers revamp homes in 60 minutes real-time. Teams of people with strict and detailed instructions invade a home, often while the owner sits next door sipping a cup of tea. In 60 minutes, up to four rooms are renovated — gutted, painted, carpeted. In one episode an entire bathroom was renovated — with a little tiling that still needed to be completed after the episode finished.

I dreamt of the ‘60 Minute Makeover’ team coming to my house. There were so many things that had deteriorated. Several rooms had non-functioning lights. There were at least six holes in our gyprock. There were holes in our floors. Ceilings dripped water by the bucketful every time we had a decent downpour. Different coloured patches of paint decorated the walls where creative young adults had waited while their mother decided — or, more precisely, didn’t decide on the best colour for a makeover. And all of us were suffering from lack of sleep due to possum parties in our walls and ceiling. The house had become a place we all wanted to escape from rather than a place of refuge.

Life’s priorities in other areas had taken over our care of the house. Our lack of knowledge of home maintenance had meant even further deterioration due to procrastination: Where do we start?

In what I can only put down to a God-incident, the book I was reading at the time was Women Who Do Too Much by Patricia Sprinkle. On the day of the sleeping possum, I read: ‘… I became more and more overwhelmed by the chaos. One day as I sat hopeless, considering the mess, our kitten walked daintily into the room, sat down, and looked at her dusty paws in distaste. Then she gave me a withering look that plainly said, “You could at least sweep!”’

Inspired by the kitten’s wisdom, Chris and I decided to take a step — even if it was a baby step— to alleviate our possum problem. Chris phoned our friendly neighbourhood gyprocker and paid him for an impromptu lesson in repairing gyprock holes. An hour and a half after he began to repair the holey walls that had plagued us for years, Chris finished.

Motivated by the ease of doing that job well, once he had the equipment and knowhow, Chris ventured down to the local hardware store to purchase metres and metres of gutter-guard mesh. Several hours later, he climbed off the roof and said, ‘We’ll see what happens!’

None of us remember what happened because we slept through it — the first night for years without the interruptions of thumps and bumps and possum fights. It’s amazing how much less grumpy a whole family of Hahns became after the possum eviction. For the first time for a long time, we were almost happy to stay in our house.

Since then, we’ve made more changes — some minor, some major. We’ve even saved up our pennies and paid professional renovators to come in and make our house more family-friendly. I enjoyed watching them, just to see that everything that painters, tilers, carpenters and plumbers do happens with little steps. It is while the tradesmen take meticulous care in their little steps — the precision of measurements and preparation, hammering in each nail, grouting every tile — that big changes happen.

We’ve learned lots about making house changes. But the most profound lesson was from that kitten. Sometimes it’s making the first little step that leads to bigger accomplishments.

 

First published as ‘Minute Makeover’ in The Lutheran, November 2011 vol45 no10 p379

SMS Reply YES

To anyone who has made and kept annual specialist appointments, our hats go off to you. They require the skill of an orchestra conductor to co-ordinate and choreograph.

First up, you have to remember them. That means having some system of diarizing events that occur only once a year.

That might seem easy to those of us who have reliable computer systems, with even-more-reliable personal assistants. And easy if your reliable computer system doesn’t crash, leaving you completely out of not only diary records, but also, all contacts.

Or easy if you’re happy to carry around not only this year’s calendar, but also next years, committing yourself then, to march around the world with two calendars/diaries, or an electronic version and back-up paper version which will not fail, but may not be conveniently next to you, or within the vicinity of a working pen, when you arrange a visit with Aunt Mary.

So, you end up double-booking other events, vowing to yourself to keep doing the double-shuffle between paper & electronic gizmos each night, or each morning

…until your child phones in distress and needs to be rescued, or the husband calls and announces that he is stranded at the beach because while he was swimming, some needy person has taken the bag that he left on the beach complete with his clothes and car-keys.

And somehow, the diary gets ignored and so do several appointments that you may have been looking forward to but can no longer remember.

IF the office of the specialist is particularly effective at communication, they may have a system of reminders – such as the one we received last week with an option of replying with an   SMS – REPLY YES, or calling to make a different appointment time or date. Sounds easy enough?

Until you remember, within 24 hours of the appointment, that despite the hospital’s Emergency Department having made the initial diagnosis eight years ago, the specialist requires a referral from the local GP – who in all likelihood has never met the patient, but needs to refer the patient who he’s never met, to a specialist he may never have heard of, to review again the situation that the specialist has diagnosed and may/may not have informed the GP about – if in fact the GP is available, and his computer system has not crashed – which, in this particular circumstance, has happened.

Eventually, you are able to make an appointment to see unknown GP who will make referral about unknown patient to unknown specialist about unknown condition – and all the boxes are ticked for the government to approve Medicare payment with the assurance that their system is preventing the specialist from over-servicing.

As parent you also need to ensure that the other parent is informed with adequate warning so they can arrange the morning off.

The child, who is also now old enough to not want to visit and undergo the annual testing regime unnecessarily and remarks ‘If I am a fascination to them – then they can at least ask me!’ also needs to be informed of appointment with new GP and old specialist.
And the school needs to be informed that the child will be late for school to which they respond, ‘Could you please inform your child that they need to report to such and such a place when they arrive then?’

Of course I can.

So, in total,
An SMS to say YES means

Phonecall to husband
Phonecall to GP who has lost computer, so could we please check to see it’s absolutely necessary
Phonecall to specialist to see if the visit to GP is really necessary
Call back GP to make appointment
Inform child of appointment tomorrow
Inform child of appointment with unknown GP today
Inform school of child’s late arrival
Inform child of what to do on late arrival
Then, at last, remember to pick up the referral letter sometime between the GP appointment and specialist appointment (during business hours) and take it to the specialist in the morning.

So, those who doubt that being a parent-at-home gives valid Professional Development and work-experience may be interested to follow around a parent in the process of negotiating a simple annual specialist appointment. They may begin to understand why parents do not find it simple to Reply – YES.

It’s MUCH easier to just respond to a pre-booked annual appointment

SMS REPLY – NO!