Cheap Date

I had another long work day yesterday so booked today off in order that Fionnuala and I could go shopping for new outfits for her brothers wedding next week. We hardly ever get time together alone so vowed that we would make the most of it. A romantic lunch perhaps? It was pay day after all so the world, or at least Belfast, was our oyster. I hate oysters by the way. Most seafood actually.

I think the last time I went clothes shopping was 1998. It was a Tuesday afternoon if my memory serves me right. I used to be a right clothes horse. I would only wear designer brands. Everything was a label. I thought I was Noel Gallagher. In reality I was a bit of a prat. But clothes shopping was a major pastime for me. I knew where to go for all the best brands and bargains.

Fast forward twenty years and I am clueless. All the shops I knew are gone, replaced by retailers that mean nothing to me. I’m less fussy now. I just want a blue or a grey suit. That fits me and is machine washable. As quickly as possible please. With the minimum of fuss. And none of that skinny fit nonsense. I want to be able to walk around without flaunting my junk for the world and her auntie to see.

Fionnuala guided me through the fitting room hell with the patience of a saint. Eventually we agreed upon a reasonably priced grey suit with white shirt and purple tie. I couldn’t get out of the shop quick enough. My days of being a fashion doyen are long gone. Nowadays my wardrobe consists of 1) loungewear 2) running gear or 3) work clothes.

I have no ‘going out’ clothes probably because we never go out anywhere. But we resolved today to ‘do lunch’ together. So where did we end up? You guessed it. Sitting in the car eating sandwiches we bought in a garage and sharing a packet crisps. Listening to 1980’s ‘golden oldies’ on the radio as we stared out at the rain battering against the windscreen. With the heat on full blast. It is late April after all.

And you know what? We were as happy as two pigs in a big pile of poo. If we could have changed into our pyjamas we would have. An hour alone with food (which we chose ourselves), music (which wasn’t the new Shawn Mendes song played for the billionth time) and best of all not having to separate three hatchlings from tearing each other’s throats out. What’s not to love about that.

We all have hopes and aspirations. Fionnuala and I are no different from anybody else. But we should also appreciate the simple things in life as well. Sometimes it’s nice just to pull over and let life flash past for a while. It can wait for an hour. When your every waking moment is fretting about family issues or work worries. When you’re pushing yourself to run marathons or write books.

Sometimes doing nothing is the best choice. Or as little as possible. I constantly feel like I’m running out of time rather than appreciating the time I have. I’m falling over myself straining to see what’s down the road instead of looking around me and enjoying the moment. Who needs fancy restaurants and designer clothes when you can share a bag of crisps in a deserted car park?

What’s the cheapest date you’ve ever been on?

What are your simple pleasures?

Happy Birthday Fionnuala

A short blog to wish a very Happy Birthday to my incredible wife, Fionnuala. She holds this family together and I am blessed and honoured that she chose me to be her husband. She is the bravest, strongest and wisest woman I know. She will always be beautiful to me, inside and out. We love you Fionnuala xxx

Slam

Happy Christmas Eve everyone!

I hope you are all looking forward to spending the holiday period with family and friends. AFracturedFaithBlog will be taking Christmas Day off as there is much present unwrapping and food consumption ahead of us. I’m particularly excited about that little pest Elfie the Elf returning to the North Pole. I’ll be writing Santa a strongly worded e-mail about his antics in our house these last few weeks.

Fionnuala, the kids and myself will also be thinking about those less fortunate than ourselves this Christmas. It can be a sad and lonely time for many and our thoughts and prayers will be with those who need them most. Amidst the excitement and merriment we will also be remembering the first Christmas over 2000 years ago when a scared, heavily pregnant teenage girl and a tired, penniless young man trudged into Bethlehem desperate for a roof over their heads for the night.

The village was packed to the seams, however, given the upcoming census. The scene must have been chaotic with people and animals scurrying through the packed streets. Joseph had many doors slammed in his face that night and eventually had to desperately accept a smelly, dirty stable. Beggars can’t be choosers right? At least it was dry and Mary had somewhere to rest and recover from the arduous journey they had undertaken from Nazareth. No such luck. There followed a painful and uncomfortable night which culminated in the birth of their first son.

They called him Jesus. He would grow up to change the world.

He had every right to grow up with a chip on his shoulder. Born into squalor and poverty his formative years were lived as an immigrant on the run from a bloodthirsty Herod before the family could return from Egypt to Nazareth. He worked hard learning his trade as a carpenter but when he launched his ministry around the age of thirty he faced three years of verbal and physical abuse, betrayal, rejection and endless mocking. All the way to the Cross. He knew a bit about doors being slammed in his face. Not to mention hearts and minds.

His response to a lifetime of this was as follows:

John 14:2-3: ‘My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you may also be where I am.’

Jesus and his family deserved better that night in Bethlehem. SLAM.

He deserved better than the life he led culminating in a brutal, humiliating death on the Cross. SLAM.

We lie. We cheat. We covet. We mock. We steal. We sin again and again and again. We laugh in his face. We don’t deserve better.

He opens his door and welcomes us with open arms.

Matthew 11:28-30 – ‘Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.’

He turned his back on nobody, even though this was all he knew his entire life. A turned back is a lost opportunity. A slammed door is a full stop on relationships and friendships that do not have to end. If he can do it then so can you. So can I.

My hope and prayer this Christmas is that you fling open your doors, hearts and minds to the world. To a broken world that sorely needs you.

Happy Christmas from Stephen, Fionnuala and the kids.

All I Want For Christmas….

Fionnuala and I celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary today. We have decided this year not to buy each other presents but instead are going later this afternoon as a family to the Christmas Market in Belfast. I’ll be blogging about that adventure later so stay tuned for photos of the Black family there. Probably eating. A lot.

Fionnuala loves to sing. I don’t particularly love to hear Fionnuala sing but that has never stopped her before. She also loves Christmas so the house has been rocking all month to her festive soundtracks. One of her party pieces is her variation of the Mariah Carey classic ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’. Fionnuala, instead belts out ‘All I Want For Christmas Is Glueeeeeeee’. I’m not quite sure what this means but, anyway, the kids find it hilarious.

Fionnuala is our glue. She has held this family together for many years. She has fixed broken relationships and hearts. It has been sticky and messy at times but she has persevered and overcome every adversity thrown her path. When I was broken she could have shovelled up the pieces and thrown me in the bin. Instead she held me together until I mended. She fixed me. She healed me.

She is the unsung hero of the family. She deserves so much yet asks for so little. She has a heart the size of Ireland and would fight to the death for her family. She would give her last penny to someone in need. Whereas I talk and write she acts. She gets stuff done by hook or by crook. She organises, budgets, schedules, never stops. She brings her A-game 24/7 even when she is tired or sick. She always puts others needs before her own.

She is kind, wise and beautiful. The latter on the outside but, more importantly, on the inside. She puts up with the insanity of being married to me. Without her there would be no me. She is my best friend and is always there for me. Even though I drive her insane on a daily basis. She often tells me that she wanted a husband and not a fourth child. She also says that the world doesn’t revolve around me. I know that now. For the kids and I are mere planets. She is our sun.

She provides the light, heat and energy that we need to survive. We orbit her and rely upon her. She is indefatigable, indestructible and invincible. She never gives up on us and is the driving force behind all the stories and messages on this blog. She is as perfectly simple as I am imperfectly complicated. She loves God and she loves her family and friends. She is my gravity, keeping me firmly rooted to the ground whenever I start to drift off on flights of fancy.

I can’t give you expensive presents this year, Fionnuala, but I can give you my thanks and my heart. You are my wife and my best friend. You are my everything. I love you. Happy anniversary.

Homemade Christmas with Love

It is no secret that Christmas is hands down my favourite time of year. I could watch Christmas films from 1st January to 31st December. I love the smells that fill the house – cinnamon, ginger, fresh pine and the turkey and stuffing cooking in the oven. I love the cold weather bonus if it snows. I love the shops at Christmas, the music and the wrapping of presents. I love Christmas Eve when the kids are bathed and in their new jammies; excitement buzzing round the house, counting down the hours until Christmas morning. So yes I’m Christmas’ biggest fan.

After the year we have had as a family I am so thankful that we are spending this Christmas as a united family and not a broken one and intend to make good, happy lasting memories for the kids and hopefully start new family traditions that they can continue with their own children.

This Christmas I’m doing things differently and am having a go at making gifts, decorations and home made baking. I’ve watched enough Christmas films in my life so think I should be able to fully succeed at this one.

Tomorrow myself and the girls will be baking homemade shortbread to give out as gifts to their teachers and classroom assistants. We had a trial run last weekend and Stephen and Adam devoured the lot. Today I made Christmas stove top Pot Pourri and the smell throughout the house is amazing and through doing that I decided I would share some of my creations with you all throughout the week.

To make this Christmas Pot Pourri you need:

2 cups of fresh cranberries

3 sticks of cinnamon

1 teaspoon of cloves

3 nectarines quartered or halved

1 inch piece of fresh ginger

1 cup of cranberry juice

1 small piece of fresh pine

Put all the ingredients into a saucepan and cover with water. Bring to the boil and reduce temperature to simmer; remember to keep topping up with water as needed. I would normally burn a lot of cinnamon candles this time of year so this is a new favourite for me.

If you make this let me know what you think of it and if you have any other homemade creations I could have a go at let me know.

Fionnuala 💕

A Special Day For A Special Girl

Today is a very special day in the Black household. Our eldest daughter, Hannah, is celebrating her 14th birthday. This makes Fionnuala and myself feel very old but it also fills us with wonder as to where all the years have gone. It seems no time since that exciting, frightening day when Hannah was born. Hannah was born with spina bifida and hydrocephalus and underwent many operations in her early life with great bravery and dignity.

How many of us could undergo neurosurgery one day and be sitting up in bed, relying on paracetamol alone for pain relief, the next. Hannah has a heart the size of Ireland but is as tough as they come. Her courage and positive outlook on life have humbled me on many occasions. She loves life and is developing into a intelligent, beautiful and talented woman before our very eyes with every passing day.

Adam is the sporting star of the family and Rebecca the bookworm and aspiring blogger. Hannah, however, loves drama, song and dance. She performs on stage with incredible confidence and her talent shines bright. This amazes Fionnuala and myself all the more given you wouldn’t catch either of us dead or alive on stage.

Hannah is a loving daughter and a loyal friend. She also loves her brother and sister very much despite the ever so occasional fallout they have. Her smile could melt the coldest of hearts and lights up every room she enters. She refuses to be defined by her disability and since the first day of her life has defied surgeons and doctors alike with her spirit and desire to live a normal life.

With every passing week she reveals new skills to us. First it was her theatrical panache, next her flair for make up, hair and fashion. And this week has shown she has inherited her mother’s baking skills; her scones, shortbread and gingerbread biscuits were heaven on earth. I will have to run a few extra miles this week to burn off all the excess calories.

I embarrass her on a daily basis with my cringe worthy dancing and appalling rap skills. Her sighs and eye rolling are a sight to behold. But we are blessed to call her our daughter. She inspires and motivates us every day to strive harder and reach higher. She is a living testimony to the adage that nothing is impossible. She is unstoppable….especially in her new, motorised wheelchair!

Hannah, thank you for the joy you bring to our lives. Thank you for the singing, the laughter and the tantrums. Thank you for the gift you are. Thank you for being you. You are perfect to us and our hero. We cannot wait to share this magical, special day with you. We will never leave your side and never let you down.

All our love.

Mummy & Daddy

Happy Christmas Even Though It’s Still November

Like General Custer at the Little Big Horn I had fought long and heroically against overwhelming odds but had reached the point where I realised I was hopelessly outnumbered and defeat was inevitable. My only saving grace was that my opponents were slightly less bloodthirsty than Crazy Horse and his war braves. I raised the white flag and surrendered to Fionnuala and the girls. Yes I am going to get the Christmas decorations out of the attic later today.

Over the last few weeks they have gradually worn me down utilising a series of subtle and not so subtle psychological operations that would not have have looked out of place at CIA Headquarters. Pulling on my heartstrings one moment and then threatening to throttle me with them the next. These ladies could teach Jason Bourne a trick or two. The women of the Black household put the Black into Black Ops.

Our attic is akin to the Land that Time Forgot. Every time I reluctantly pop my head up there I fully expect to be dive bombed by a baby pterodactyl. Our step ladder is a step too short so in order to get into the attic I have to risk life and limb by teetering atop the top step and hauling myself up into the roof space itself. This involves contorting my body into positions that a man of my years was not designed to do. Before pulling down any Christmas decorations I invariably have to pull a few muscles first.

Gaining access to the attic is only Phase One of the operation however. I then have to battle through a minefield of bric-a-brac and discarded toys from years gone by in order to locate the boxes and bags containing the prized decorations themselves. With this bridgehead established I solider on, ignoring aching muscles I never knew I had, in order to haul the decorations down to the impatient little (and no so little ones) waiting below. Getting back down to terra firma is a whole blog post in itself but I’ll save that for another day.

With that my work is done as the more artistic and creative members of the family take over. If you were waiting for me to assemble and decorate a Christmas tree I would certainly have it ready for the big day; but by that I mean Easter as opposed to 25th December. Fionnuala loves all things Christmas and her enthusiasm has certainly rubbed off on Hannah and Rebecca. Before the end of the weekend we will have maintained our title of being the first house in the street with their decorations up. Bah Humbug I say to all our grinchy neighbours.

I want this Christmas to be a special time for us, as close to perfect as I can make it. A lot has happened since the decorations were put away last year. The same decorations may be coming out of the same attic this year but they are being put up within a different environment. This year they are being put up in a home as opposed to a house. This year we are going to celebrate Christmas as a family and look back on how far we have come these last twelve months. There have been ups and there have been downs; sometimes it has been one step forward, two steps back but we have made it. We are together and we are strong.

I wonder if Joseph and Mary felt the same as they looked down at their newborn baby boy all those years ago in that Bethlehem stable. They had just experienced a pretty crazy year (visitations from angels and miraculous pregnancies anyone?) and the birth itself was no exception. But, worried and exhausted as they no doubt were, they had battled through it and come out the other side, stronger than ever. A proper family. They trusted God and he guided them through the good times and the bad. He had a plan for both of them and they followed it to the letter, no matter what that entailed.

I hope I am following His plan too. The words have flowed this week and I am now 30000 words into my first novel. 30000 words that will require no end of polishing, trimming and reordering but I am excited by them and proud of them. I never realised I could run until I started running. Likewise I never realised I could write until I started writing. I have wasted so many years but I hope that period of my life is over. I want to follow His path now as nothing is impossible. We will enjoy this Christmas but if anything I’m more excited for what the year brings ahead for us as a family.

Now where did I put those stepladders?

When do your Christmas decorations go up?

Are you excited for 2018? What plans do you have?

Fionnuala’s Faith

Today’s blog is a showcase for the true talent at afracturedfaithblog, my wife Fionnuala. Here are some of the faith inspired images that she has created. I think they are amazing but then I’m bias You can see a lot more of Fionnuala’s work on our Instagram account. Just click the relevant link on our blog site and have a wonderful Wednesday.

Power

The day that we have been waiting for for a very long time has finally arrived and I don’t mean Stephen actually sitting at his desk to start writing his book more importantly Hannah got her new all singing and dancing power chair.

The regular readers of our blog will know about all the trials and tribulations we have had over the year regarding pressure sores and unsuitable wheelchairs and we want to thank all of you for your prayers and encouraging words and comments they have all been a massive blessing and support to us.

At church yesterday a lady approached us and told Hannah after speaking with her earlier she got a word for her “POWER” we just looked at each other and laughed and told her that Hannah was getting her power chair today and it was very appropriate Thank you God 😊

Today has been a very emotional day and I am so blessed to see how much this chair has brought comfort, independence and the biggest smile that I’ve ever seen on my amazing daughters face in quite some time. My heart feels like it could burst today Im that proud and happy for her.

At a top speed of 0.8MPH Hannah was treated by an extra proud Granny to a new handbag to match her chair and some lunch in Belfast before heading back home to show off her wheels to her Daddy.

Hannah is now watching the clock for Adam and Rebecca to come home so she can take Charlie Our dog out for a walk and this has really got me thinking about how much we take for granted and about the little things we grumble and moan about.

Today has most definitely been a #ProudMummyDay one which I will never ever forget.

‘I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well’ Psalm 139:14

Attention To Detail

I work in an investigative environment. My job invokes asking lots of questions and finding stuff out. I analyse, assess and dissect. In forensic, minute detail. To miss a tiny piece of information can have serious repercussions. It is fascinating, but painstaking, work. But I’ve been doing it for seventeen years now so I guess I’ve picked up a bit of expertise along the way. 

I’ve been told I have a gift for drawing learning and teaching out of the Bible. I enjoy researching and studying it from different angles and presenting well known stories and passages from new and different perspectives. I’ve been fortunate enough also to have been given the opportunity to share my thoughts at house groups, youth cells and in church itself.

The same applies to any challenge I tackle. I am currently training for my seventh marathon and am sticking rigidly to a training plan. I do exactly what is required of me every day. The same applies to my writing. I blog every day and have started on the strucure for my first novel. My investigative background has been of great benefit to me. I’m determined and recognise that attention to detail is essential in order to reach my targets.


Yes, if you asked anyone who knew me they would probably place attention to detail near the top of my skills set. I wish the same could be said for my home life. You see, I have so much junk whirling about my head that I often neglect those I love the most who are right in front of my eyes. The kids ask me questions and I am miles away, thinking about something else. I am oblivious to basic household chores that require attention.

I would walk through a darkened room without the metaphorical light bulb in my head telling me that the literal one above my head needs replaced. The time went back last weekend and there are still clocks in the house that need adjusted. The list goes on. I am a nightmare and drive Fionnuala nuts; too busy brooding over my past and daydreaming about my future to focus on what really matters – the present, the here and now screaming in my face.

I am flawed and frustrating. I know that. I am a work in progress. I know that also. I want to become a better person and make up for decades of lost time. But I guess I need to learn to walk before I start running. Today I was going to write about the blog reaching 2000 followers but God has a way of bringing us back down to earth with a resounding thud. Yes, we can reach for Heaven. But only if we keep our feet well and truly on the ground. 

Pay attention to your loved ones. Never take them for granted. Or one day they might stop paying attention to you.

What is your biggest flaw?

Do you pay attention to your loved ones? Or is it an area of your life where you can improve?

Funderland 

Today is Pay Day which, for a limited time only, makes me the most popular member of the Black household. This will of course not last and normal service will no doubt be resumed before the end of the weekend. It is also the start of the half term holidays and Funderland is opening in Belfast. Funderland is an annual, outdoor carnival and the kids have been chomping at the bit to visit it this year and spend Daddy’s hard earned money. I mean, what else would I be doing with it.

So tonight after work I am taking Adam, Rebecca and two of their friends to the greatest show in town. Unfortunately Hannah is a little under the weather so is staying at home with Fionnuala. At face value I cannot say I am jumping up and down with excitement at the prospect. Carnivals combine many of my pet hates. Rollercoaster rides (terrified of them), possible clown sightings (even more terrified of them) and unhealthy food coming at me from all angles.


The kids are excited, though, and that is all that matters. This is another positive memory that Fionnuala and I, as parents, are creating for them. These memories are the building blocks of a happy childhood; they are laying foundations for their lives ahead where they may face tough times but can always fall back upon a  strong, solid upbringing that taught them right from wrong. Amongst the candy floss and toffee apples tonight we hope that bonds are strengthened and relationships deepened. 

Our children are a blessing to us. They are our legacy. As parents we too often find ourselves screaming at them to wash the dishes (our washing up rota is a literal war zone most evenings) and bring their dirty school uniforms down for washing. Homeworks, constant demands for money and sibling warfare are a drain on the most patient parent. And our house is no exception. There are times when we are both driven to despair by their antics. Surely we didn’t behave this badly when we were kids? 

I’m pretty sure God blessed me with kids for reasons other than keeping the Black family line intact. They continue our education as human beings long after we have left school. They are little professors who reside in our homes and teach us values that we have either  forgotten over the course of time or never quite figured out in the first place. They help untangle the roots of selfishness that take hold in our hearts and chip away at the layers of bitterness and resentment that calcify our souls.

I look at our son and learn about patience and humility. I look at our eldest daughter and see courage and determination. And then I look at our youngest daughter and experience humour and fun. Fun – a word that I somehow lost from my adult vocabulary many years ago. Don’t get me wrong they are no angels and there are days when we want to string them up but would we have it any other way? No, I don’t believe we would.

Jesus hit the nail on the head when he said ‘Whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God like a child will not enter at all.’ As we grow up into adults we all too easily slip into a life of complacency and mediocracy. We pick up bad habits and stumble along, oblivious to the warning signs all around us. As we grow more physically mature, we become more spiritually immature. Instead of progression there is regression. Little teachers are placed in our lives for a purpose.

We need to ensure that the inner child within us all lives on. We need to ensure that the daily grind does not destroy the values we were born with; the purity, faith and unconditional love of a child. We need to remember that life is to be lived and not merely endured. For it is only when we reconnect with the inner child that the outer adult can mature into the person God created us to be; and fulfil the plans he has set out for us.

We need to remember that Funderland can be every day and not just a once a year experience.

When did you last have fun?

What do you learn from children?

Who washes the dishes in your household?

The Butterfly

Im a very proud mummy tonight our Hannah sang in Belfast City Hall for her school’s 60th Anniversary in front of Royalty and it really got me thinking about everything that we were told she would never be able to do or achieve. 

When we first started this blog I wrote a bit of testimony about our experience then and I thought I would reblog because we are busting with pride for Hannah tonight.

Well done Hannah don’t let anything dull your sparkle.

Fractured Faith Blog

This is my first time blogging, normally it’s my husband’s witty blogs that you read and it looks like I’ve caught the blogging bug whichthankfullydoesn’t require medical attention asI’ve seen enough of doctors, therapists and hospitals this week. I want to share a bit of testimony with you about a small part of my journey but somebody who is a HUGE part of my life; our daughter Hannah.

In March 2003 we discovered I was pregnant. We were really excited we had already ason Adamwho was 8 months old. We were looking forward to our two children being really close together and good company for each other as they grew up. My pregnancy was progressing really well. I was healthy and had gone back to work after my maternity leave with Adam. Lifewas good and our baby was due on Christmas Eve. We were really looking forward to our big…

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The Dark Hedges 

Sometimes even bloggers need a day off. Fionnuala and I took the kids on a Game Of Thrones tour today. She looks like Daenyrs Targaryen. I don’t look like Jon Snow.



Are you a Game Of Thrones fan? 

Who is your favourite character?

Books or TV series?

Don’t Give Up 

For what seems like forever we have been battling with our local health trust to acquire a new wheelchair for our daughter,  Hannah. Hannah is 13 years old and was born with spina bifida and hydrocephalus. She has outgrown her current wheelchair to the extent that it is now dangerous for her to use. She has been out of school for six weeks (and counting) and is largely housebound as we fight an ongoing bureaucratic nightmare with the medical authorities to obtain the essential equipment Hannah needs to live her life.

It’s got to the point now where he have decided to raise the funds ourselves to buy the chair that Hannah needs. Kids with disabilities should be at the very heart of our society. They should be loved, cherished and protected, not exiled to the fringes and seen as an inconvenience by some medical professionals. They deserve better.

As do their carers. I will have known my wife Fionnuala for 21 years this summer. She is an utterly devoted wife and mother. To the extent where she has given up her career to care for Hannah and our other two kids. The problems with Hannah’s chair have had a devastating ripple effect on the family. Fionnuala has been affected most of all. She cannot leave Hannah’s side so is effectively housebound herself. 

Every day for her is ‘Groundhog Day.’ A mind numbing routine of housework and hospital appointments. She has a heart as big as a house but it is breaking at present. Breaking for her daughter but also breaking for the life she had which now seems so tantalisingly out of her reach. A year ago she had an important job and had a hectic social life. She was very involved in our church.

Now that she has had to give up her job and we have decided to step down from church life the phone has stopped ringing. She gives so much and expects so little in return. Yet people forget. People disappoint. And she sits and looks out the window as life appears to pass her by. 


It’s easy, at times like this, to think that God has forgotten as well. When the loneliness is overwhelming and the obstacles seem insurmountable. We have prayed long and hard about this. Fionnuala has cried, pleaded and screamed. She will fight tooth and nail for her family. She always puts the needs of others before her own.

They say an untested faith is a useless faith. Well our faith is being sorely tested of late. My wife is a proud woman. An intelligent woman. And a patient and forgiving woman (she did marry me after all!). I know this is just a season of her life and that God has incredible plans for her. Just around the corner. But we round the corners of our lives in his time and not our own.

I feel Fionnuala’s corner is close, very close. But that is little consolation to someone who feels at the bottom of the pit, at the end of their tether. Words are cheap. As meaningless as chasing the wind. But prayer is powerful. And just as light always overcomes darkness so love will always conquer despair.

Fionnuala as you read this I pray for you. That your light keeps burning, that your flame never goes out. You are deeply loved and the heartbeat of this family. We are nothing without you. You are strong and beautiful, a warrior. A Daughter of the living King. My best friend, my earthly salvation, my number one fan. Yes cry, scream, swear and shout.

But do not give up. As I will never give up on you and us.

Philippians 4:13 – ‘I can do all this through him who gives me strength.’

A Different Story

In my last blog I mentioned that God spoke to me through dreams and one dream that I had years ago has been popping into my head a lot this week so after chatting to Stephen about it he thinks I should blog it because that is Stephen’s answer to everything these days since he’s got his writing mojo back!

I was brought up in the Catholic faith my mum had and still has a very strong faith. When I was about 5 or 6 we were going to mass on Palm Sunday and my mum told me that if you stand still during the Gospel that God would let a soul out of purgatory and into Heaven. Looking back at that now I know she told me that so that I wouldn’t get bored or fidget during mass, clever parenting. I used this parenting technique myself on our children and told them for years that if an ice cream van comes into the street with music playing that means that the ice cream isn’t nice and so they never asked for ice cream, I must pray for forgiveness for this. Getting back to my story sorry, for those of you that aren’t familiar with a Catholic Palm Sunday service for a young child it seems to last an eternity but there is a fun part and that is the congregation response which I used to enjoy and look forward to. I had heard a lot of stories about death and going to purgatory before you got to Heaven so I really wanted to help a soul get through the big pearly gates.

As a child we had the Saturday night ritual of getting bathed, hair washed and combed through with the big silver metal comb, on a Sunday my mum always dressed us in our best clothes for going to mass and she always wore her fur coat to mass which I loved. I would sit next to her and stroke her arm or rub my face on her arm just to feel the softness and comfort from the fur.

In my dream I was this young child again sitting alongside my mum in mass on Palm Sunday running my hand across the sleeve of her coat. Just as the priest was about to read the Gospel the roof of the church opened up and there was a white beaming light shining in and a huge staircase of light spiralled down in front of me. I felt somebody take my hand and bring me towards the staircase as I looked up at I saw it was a man and I knew it was Jesus and he said to me “Let me tell you a different story” and took me up the staircase with him.

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I had this dream not long after I became a Christian when I was learning a lot about the Christian faith and was trying to break off the Catholic rituals that I had grew up in.

The one thing that I was shocked about was how easy it is to pray. I was brought up believing that you had to pray to Saints and dead relatives and you went to a priest every two weeks on a Saturday lunchtime and confessed your sins. There was always a middle man/woman that you had to go through to get your prayers put across.

Being a Christian to me is not about religious rituals, rules and regulations it is about the love that my Heavenly Father showers me with continuously, it’s a relationship that I have with my best friend Jesus who died for me so that I can live this life that I now live – THERE IS NO MIDDLE MAN. Being a Christian is so easy it’s so simple that even a child can understand it. If my children need something or want to speak to me I don’t have an assistant that they go through first to get to me they come directly to me I drop everything and listen to them. It’s the same with our Heavenly Father he doesn’t want us praying to anything or anybody else he is there waiting to hear from us, he wants to hear from us directly. It really is that simple.

Exodus 34 v 14
“You must worship no other gods, for the Lord, whose very name is Jealous, is a God who is jealous about his relationship with you”

Fionnuala

What is your favourite childhood memory?

Have you ever told a little fib to your children?

God Is Real

Today our guest blogger is a very special young lady who knocked us over the other week about a conversation she had at school. Our daughter, Rebecca. I will hand you over to her now….

Hi my name is Rebecca and I am 10 years old. I love playing football and I support Manchester United like my daddy. My favourite player is Marouane Fellaini because he is really good at headers and has curly hair like me.

 I think God is amazing, real and alive. One day at school a boy at my table said that God wasn’t real. I said that yes he was. The boy said no he wasn’t as you can’t see him and you only believe what you can see. I asked him then did he believe in air. He said yes. I asked him could he see air. He said no. I told him if you don’t believe in God and you can’t see him then how can you believe in air. I felt happy that I stood up for God.


Beauty and the Beast 

I read a lot of Christian literature about evangelism and talking confidently about your faith. But I have yet to come up with a better definition of the complex issue of faith. It’s about looking beyond the visible and trusting in the invisible.

Thank you God for our kids. Jesus spoke about how we had to become more like our children. Our little ones can teach us so much about our struggles with faith. They keep it simple. They trust. They believe. And they let God do the rest. 

Matthew 18:3 – Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Have you ever been asked to prove God exists? What was your response?

What have children taught you about your faith?

Who is your favourite sports star? 

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