My sister and I pinched a good idea today

Today my sister and I did something we wouldn't have dreamt of doing a week ago.

We put small chunks of dark chocolate in the apple crumble's topping.  (No, I don't have pictures!)  And while that may sound like an extravagant thing to do, we have a large apple tree in our back garden.  This apple tree drops lots of apples at this time of year, and so we eat lots of apple crumbles.  Crumbles are quick to make, but they can get boring after a while, so any new twist on them is appreciated in this house.

Anyway, it tasted very nice.  I'll note that we added the chocolate to a topping with oats in, rather than a simple topping of flour, sugar, and butter.  Oaty toppings are nice; with chocolate, even more so.

I have to say that it wasn't our idea, though—we saw a recipe for crumble topping with chocolate bits in it in a free magazine from a supermarket, and thought we'd try it.  I know, I know:  we really should get creative with crumble toppings by thinking of our own ideas and not pinching someone else's, but it's far too easy to continue to make the same thing day in, day out if we do that.

Quick blog post

Well, I haven't blogged for almost two weeks. What have I been up to while I haven't been blogging?

Nothing, actually. Well, nothing that's greatly hindered my ability to blog. I have attempted to blog and not posted a couple of times.

Last week I stayed with my grandparents for a couple of days—I went down on Monday, and they sent me back on the train on Wednesday. While with them, I managed to persuade them to take me to see a cathedral, and it was beautiful. I even survived climbing up hundreds of stairs to go to the top, where the views were pretty good. Of course, we did some other things as well—but the cathedral was best.

When I came home, it turned out that the rest of my family had been enjoying the quiet meal times while I was away, and were miffed that I only got back in time for tea and proceeded to tell them everything over the meal table. Well, some of them were miffed. I didn't know that meal time conversation was lacking without me, but that would actually make sense because my siblings greatly enjoy running away from my chatter at the first possible moment.

Mum hasn't been particularly well, so I have cooked dinner for three days in succession. That was just the first course on two days; the first day there was mum's crumble, the second day we ate ice cream, and yesterday I got my act together and made a fruit salad. I expect that I shall have to make dinner again today, but my sister appears to be making a pudding currently. I will note that we don't have elaborate first courses, and so very little effort is required to produce a meal in this house. I should also note that Sunday's stew was not the best, but I should have known that omitting tomatoes was not clever.

And I've been keeping half an eye on Britain's achievements this Olympics. As I'm only interested in the equestrian events, I have spent far too much time keeping track of Britain's progress. All the equestrian events are over apart from the individual show jumping—that's tomorrow—and Britain has won two bronze medals in the eventing (that's a team medal and an individual medal), nothing in the Dressage (to be expected), and nothing in the team show jumping (a little disappointing). I don't think they'll win more medals in equestrian events than they did last Olympics; in Athens, they won team silver in the eventing team competition and gold and bronze in the individual eventing competition.

Oh, and I've been playing chess with my brother. Even though he's five years younger than me and we're pretty evenly matched, he has the edge and beats me slightly more often than I beat him.

And that's all for now. I will try not to leave it as long before blogging next time, and I will try to say something more interesting next time I blog.

The privilege that is a like-minded friend

Like-minded friends are very much not a right.  They are a privilege and a blessing, a gift from God—but a right and a need?  No.

You have to understand before I proceed any further that by 'like-minded friends', I mean friends who you can associate with perfectly happily.  Friends which you would not have any worries about copying, friends whose lives you could make your own with almost a totally clear conscience.  Such friends are few and far between for people like me.

To understand why such friends are few and far between, you have to understand that I've been brought up from a young girl on the understanding that girls do not wear trousers unless it's sports.  You also have to understand that there was a time when I would have gone to trousers and left skirts if I left home—I couldn't do that at home, I have too much respect for my parents—and that that time has passed.  You have to understand that though I haven't always felt this way, I now agree with my parents that girls and women should wear skirts and that there are sound Biblical reasons for so doing.  Of course, wearing skirts only won't save your soul, but it's certainly sound Biblically, along with modest dressing in general.  Anyway, I digress a little.

You also have to understand—another digression follows—that I am of the opinion that rock music just isn't something a Christian should listen too.  Again, my parents taught me this but I chose to take their thinking: rock music just isn't glorifying to God.  It is polluting.  There are few Christians today who think this—after all, classical music isn't cool—but I am one of them by choice.

And then there's the home schooling and the as many children as God sees fit to bless us with and the no TV mindset and the outspokeness...start seeing exactly why it's hard for my family to come across like minded families?  If not, I don't think I can say anything more to try and convince you of the severe difficulties in so doing.  If you can see why it's difficult, you may be scared at the idea that there might be a remotely like-minded family out there...maybe I should note that Christianity is very much about the internals as well, but there's no point saying that you must love your neighbour if you aren't prepared to love your children enough to protect them from harm, the man walking down the street enough to help prevent his lust, the Christian in the church enough to warn him of his questionable ways, and the bloke next door enough to ensure that your music doesn't send him mental...

To get back on topic, like-minded friends are a privilege.  I am currently blessed with some like-minded friends, and while they're not a carbon copy of my family we certainly have enough in common that most would label us the same kind of Christians.  For instance, they are skirt wearers—and believe me, this is not common in most Christian circles!  You may think me batty for putting importance on this, but I find it very reassuring.  And they dislike rock music—again, this is reassuring.  Also, they're really nice people to know—friendly and warm, as well as good, solid Christians who attend a good church.

I, however, am very much inclined to view like-minded friends as a right—as something that I'm entitled too.  And while there's no denying that they're nice, I'm certainly not entitled to them.  After all, we don't follow Christ for all the friends we're going to gain through doing so...we are called to be different from the world, a peculiar people.  And people tend to be suspicious of those who are different from them; also, human nature is to be like everyone else.  Like them.  But no, we need to be different—and if the average unsaved person off the street can feel totally comfortable in our presence, it may be that we're doing something wrong.  Oh, I'm not saying that we should go out of our way to make the unsaved person off the street feel uncomfortable.  No, we should be kind to them, kind and friendly, perfectly normal.  Rather, they should be uncomfortable without us trying to make them so.


And so, we cannot assume that we will have like-minded friends.  We could if we were unsaved—but we're saved, and the very fact of us being saved makes us different from most.  True, we could blunt our Christian testimony by trying to blend, chameleon like, into those around us—but why would we want to blunt our testimony in that manner?  Believe me, it does blunt our testimony, because if we're no different from the unsaved how will they ever understand their need for salvation?  How will they ever see that they need Christ, when they look at Christians and see someone who acts just like them?  After all, if being a Christian doesn't cause noticeable difference from being a non-Christian, what exactly is the point?  Why alter anything spiritual when it won't cause any difference to external behaviour?

For the Christian, who like me, cannot assume that like-minded friends will always be there, maybe instead of complaining about the severe lack of friends—and I have been known to do this—we should give thanks that we also lack foes?  After all, Christians in Turkey gain enemies for going to a decent church.  Muslim converts gain enemies—real, I-want-to-kill-you enemies—for converting from Islam.  And we don't have this here—although most people are not like-minded, most people are not enemies.  We can get on with being Christian without fear.  And for that, we must give thanks.  This, in itself, is a privilege that we should not take for granted—and while we have the privilege of no persecution, shall we complain that we do not really have the privilege of like-minded friends?  I think not.

Smugness and a fall

I stepped out of the house in an ankle length dark denim skirt, a tee shirt that was a pink-purple colour, and a bandana that was beige with little pink flowers. I was going to town, and I was pleased with myself because I was not scared to go into town in that garb, pleased because the thought did not scare me, pleased because I knew that this time last year I'd have collapsed in tears at the thought of going anywhere dressed like that. In case anyone's interested, last year I'd have whipped off the bandana—in fact, I probably wouldn't have had it on in the first place—and raced away to replace my long skirt with something a lot shorter (think knee length), and hence more acceptable in my eyes.

I was even more pleased when I unhesitatingly went into Superdrug—for those who don't know, Superdrug is a chemist frequented by the young; it's a sort of cheaper Boots—because I could have so easily gone to Boots instead and shopped with the old ladies rather than the young people. I find old ladies are much less threatening than young people. Anyway, I went to Superdrug for the prices rather than the people there, but still.

And after that, I spotted someone who I used to know. Now, normally I'd have been aghast to have been seen in the clothes previously described by anyone who might possibly know me; however, this time, I was not. It didn't matter anyway, because I was on the other side of the pavement and the only person who has any contact with him is my brother (I don't mind being the embarrassing big sister, for some reason) but I was still pleased with my confidence.

So I was feeling rather smug while walking home. The only time I'd been slightly worried had been when I'd seen a group of youths, but they ignored me and my strange garb. Well, maybe it's not strange if you're forty, but I'm not forty.

And guess what? A woman on the pavement ahead of me toppled over like a skittle!

Now, I don't have a clue what you do when a woman on the pavement ahead of you topples over like a skittle, so I stopped—I was a way behind her—and waited to see if anyone was going to help her. Did you get that? I stopped, and waited to see if anyone went to help her. I did not go to help her myself, to my chagrin.

Well, it was in town, and so someone emerged from a nearby shop and told her to lie still and that she'd cut her head. She seemed in no hurry to get up—perhaps she was ill?—and the woman from the shop—a very expensive shop which I wouldn't dream of entering—rang 999. Another person stopped, and went to the woman.

And so, I went on my way. I reasoned that she was in capable hands, and that I'm not capable hands—both true, as when my sister sliced her foot open on a stone in the garden and it was dripping blood everywhere, I went upstairs and watched her in a worried way from an upstairs window while mum and dad were sorting her foot. Talk about being worse than useless! I should point out that I don't like nasty cuts very much. They bleed a little. I don't mind that. They bleed a lot. I mind that.

But...and this is a big but...I should have stopped just to check she was in capable hands, even though I knew that she was. I should have said something. I should have asked the woman if she was okay—pretty useless, as she obviously wasn't—or asked the women helping her if they needed any help. I should have offered them my bandana to press on the wound (admittedly I only thought of this one after I'd got home!) but I didn't.

I walked on.

And that ruined my day. Yes, I know. I couldn't have done anything. But I could have said something, asked something, just checked that there was nothing that I could have done.

After all, it's not very Christ like to do nothing. By doing nothing, I betrayed Christ. Just as I had owned him when I stepped out with covered head and modest clothes, when I walked on I betrayed him. After all, it was probably obvious that I'm a Christian or something, and by just walking on I must have made Christians seem cold and heartless.

And that I'm shy with people I don't know is no excuse. I can talk for England when with people I know and who I feel kindly disposed towards (much to their horror, as I am tactless), but with people I don't know saying things like "Excuse me" when they happen to be standing in my way is scary enough. Although I seem to be getting better at that, too.

Oh well, hopefully by the time I'm forty I may have learnt what to do when someone topples over. However, it's much more likely that when I'm forty I will have been the person who topples over, because I could conceivably do that one day. And I should note that I have recovered from my horror at my behaviour, although it did deserve horror.

Continuing things

No one cares if we begin things.  If—for example—we begin to write a novel, no one cares.  After all, one and a half pages of text is not that exciting.  If, however, we finish our novel and see it published, that's different.  And why is it different?  Because we completed what we started.

Yes, beginning things is important—after all, if we begin nothing we can finish nothing—but finishing things is better, because to finish something we must have continued what we begun.  When we finish something, we have continued with what was begun until its conclusion.

Paul speaks in Hebrews of running the race that was set before us with patience.  Patience is there for a reason.  Patience is there because, after we have examined an issue according to the Bible and determined the course we will follow, we are duty bound to follow it.

However, beginning to follow it and then deciding, after the novelty has worn off, that we're going to relapse into our former behaviour or mindset is madness.

It doesn't matter that no one else does it.  We were never told to be conformed to the world—in fact, quite the opposite.  It doesn't matter that we don't know of another Christian who does it.  We were called to obey Christ, not blindly follow other Christians.  Not that there's anything inherently wrong with the other
Christians, or anything, but acting for the sake of copying is not what we're meant to do.

And yet, somehow, even though we know it doesn't matter, it does.  Approval of man seems more important than approval of God.  Peer pressure weighs in, and we wonder why we continue when to stop would not take the effort that continuing does.

But we know that we must hold fast.  We didn't make a snap decision or even a 'wacky' decision.  It was based on study of God's Word, reading what other people had said about the topic, and following the promptings of the heart.  And while other people can be wrong, and the heart is deceitful, God's Word is another matter.  And so we are duty bound to retain our views and practice unless clearly shown otherwise.

Fortunately, peer pressure is not an acceptable argument for doing or not doing something, thinking or not thinking something.  A reasoned argument showing us otherwise from God's Word, of course, is totally different.  But when peer pressure is the only real thing against it, we must hold fast.







Finally, and on a lighter note, I'm not sure if this makes any sense at all to anyone other than me.  That doesn't worry me, as I wrote it for myself, but it might worry you.  And no, I shan't tell you what the issue is, so there isn't any point asking or hinting.  Maybe I'm the only person nosy enough to desire to know things like that, though.  Anyway, what I was saying was it doesn't matter if you can't make any sense of it.  And I have nothing against people who start novels and don't finish them, lest anyone gets upset.  In fact, starting a novel is something my brother should do...he hates writing, but writing 100,000 coherent words all about the same set of people would be a better past time for him than computer games.  No, I've never written a novel, that was my example.

And having finished worrying about misunderstandings that may result from what I wrote, I've finished my post.

I am home alone

Dad is at work.  Mum took my brother swimming and little sister went with mum.  Other sister has a music lesson.

This accounts for all the other members of my family; I am home alone.

I like being home alone.  It carries with it a sense of power; if the phone rings, I, and I only, dictate whether or not the phone is answered.  If someone knocks on the door, I, and I only, dictate whether the door is answered or whether it isn't.  Normally I'm mean with those on the phone and let the answer phone take it; it's rare that someone knocks on the door, but I'm mean again.  My rule of thumb is that if the phone rings twice or thrice in succession I will answer it, but if it rings once it wasn't that important.  The same goes for those who knock on the door.

Also, I know when everyone is due back.  I know this, and I will know if they're not back when they're due back.  Those who are out won't.  They won't even think about it: I know when I'm out, I never think, "Oh, mum is due home now."  It's pretty pointless.

I have to say, though, that I don't like the lack of people noise when I'm home alone.  It sort of makes me feel that no one else is around.  And although no one else should be around, I'm used to people.  However, the piano is a very adequate noise producing machine.  The radio or a tape is better, because then I'm not causing the noise.  I love quiet when people are around, though, so why should I decide that I like noise when people aren't around?

Of course, the best bit about being home alone is that no one ever tells me what to do.  I can do whatever I like, and there won't be a voice from the next room saying, "Rachel, please get the washing in." *pause, while I try to finish wrong noting my way through a page of simple piano music* "[name of other sister] please can you get the washing in? Rachel seems to have gone deaf."  No, I haven't gone deaf, I'm just trying to finish one thing before starting another.  And, unless it's raining, the washing won't get hurt if it waits two minutes.  Of course, when I'm older I shall probably do things like that to my children, and—in a twist of meanness—laugh at them and say, "Yes, I know I'm annoying, but you need to learn patience, self control, and the meaning of the word 'now'."

Anyway, I should probably go and wrong note my way through something on the piano while I'm free to do so without interruptions.  I could read a chapter of a book, but I'd rather play the piano; books can be read at four in the morning with little danger.  The same can't be said of playing the piano.