The Day that Death Died

No matter how many times I watch the films
It always amazes me that the taunting was so extreme.
Did this happen only to Jesus?
Was this common place for criminals at the time?

The Roman soldiers certainly didn’t like him,
The challenge to authority may have fuelled the power struggle
Or was it his lack of resistance,
That turned the violence up.

Oh how the Devil cheered and jumped for joy
Jesus, dead, never to influence any more!
Did he not wonder why he didn’t struggle?
Did he not realise that He had the victory?

Oh how I wish I’d seen his face
When the tomb stone was rolled away
I wonder if he had needed any explanation of the promise
"They will kill him, and on the third day he will be raised to life.'"

Death has now died
Life eternal is promised for all who believe
'I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; 
and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.'"

Good

Good is an over used word particularly with education.  It’s mediocre, what does it mean?  I remember when parents or teachers used the word either for behaviour or work.  I was always pleased but only for a short while.  My thoughts often wondered into “what did I do that was good?” and the cynic in me felt that it was just a word to keep me quiet. It’s a bit like the word “sorry”, an easily used word but often without meaning. What did I do to get the label good and what exactly am I saying sorry for or in fact what is the person who is saying sorry to me actually apologising for.

Today is the only day in the year that is labelled “Good” and people use it just as a label.  Good Friday, what does it mean, why is it Good.  Some people will say it means the Eater Eggs will soon be here, some that it’s good because in the UK it’s a Bank Holiday so we get a day off but for me the title is strange.  Good Friday is the day that Jesus was crucified, for some this doesn’t make sense, why was that good?  Things happen for a reason and on this occasion without Jesus dying then the resurrection 3 days later, the most significant day in the Christian calendar would not have taken place. 

Good Friday for me is a period of reflection and preparation.  The “sorries” that were never said during the year, the acknowledgement of my inadequacies and realising the promise that “I am forgiven” to move forward into a new year, a fresh start, a fresh awakening of hopes. 1 Peter 3:18 tells us, “For Christ died for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God. He was put to death in the body but made alive by the Spirit.”

The Break

Holidays are usually considered to be breaks.  I really need this one!  The previous 12 weeks had been full on with a work life balance that didn’t exist.  I was tired and the work wasn’t completed; I was facing rest, relax and then return to the pile of work, how I would have preferred to complete the tasks and walk away for the holidays!

Packing the cases and car was like wading through treacle however we eventually arrived and settled into the ‘very old cottage’.  Our friend arrived late in the afternoon and we spent a pleasant evening at the local dog friendly pub overlooking the valley.  What a night! Olympic diving on the telly when we got back and good company, what more can a person ask for.

The following day we had plans to visit the coast, take the dog for a swim and spend some time with other members of the family.  My sister arrived with my niece and nephew and after coffee we decided to set off, but where to...   I went upstairs to get the map, unfortunately there was no internet in the cottage so we had to resort to the old fashioned method of map books.   As I reached the top of the stairs I tripped rather spectacularly, falling against the wall grazing my face, damaging my glasses and twisting my left leg under my body as I landed on the old floor boards. 

I don’t know what it would feel like to be shot but I can say that the sensation was of an explosion happening just above my left knee.  Pain, unbelievable.  Embarrassment extreme, although I could do anything about it I had now ruined all the plans and I knew that there would be trouble ahead.

Five Mins on REAL

I only have five minutes before the Solar Eclipse so I am really going to need to meet the deadline for this.  I have been considering the topic for about two hours and found this quite hard.  In the UK the Five Min word is issued at 2am and I knew I couldn't wait up until then so any thoughts this morning have been through a fuzzy, "first thing in the morning blur" but her goes.

I realise that I lack the confidence to be real.  This isn't a new experience.  As far as I can remember I have always tried to be someone to please others and often miserably failed.   John Powell's quote "I am afraid to tell you who I am because, if I tell you who I am, you may not like who I am, and it’s all that I have." has always been hanging over my head.  Insecurities and feeling that I am close to letting others down have meant that for most of my life I have remained in the shadows except in one aspects of my life.  When I am teaching I feel most relaxed and at home,  here I feel accepted.  Recently in a mentoring session a student told me that "You're ok, coz you're real, you say things as they are and you accept us as we are."  Best compliment ever paid.


The last few years have taught me so much.  I have mixed with people who have "status" and greater "intellectual ability" and at first I was so over awed, wanting to participate but so frightened that I would say the wrong thing, and often I did, that I froze and sat as far away as I could and still remain within the group.  I've realised that I do have something to offer even if my only claim to fame is that a student thought that I was OK.  I'm learning to be more emotionally open, and understand how people adopt roles and play psychological games to protect their inner selves.  I'm not the only one and whatever status we might have we all need the courage to be our real selves, to develop and begin to grow.

Real Poetry

I have been experimenting with different structures.  Publishing them on the blog is just a way of recording the journey, I certainly don't think that they are good exemplars.

This is my Acrostic. 

I also tried to write a Diamante poem on the same topic but I don't think I have got the hang of that system yet.

Five Mins on RED

A little boy, sits on his own in the sitting room.  His eyes are shut and he is lost in a world of his own.  His looks small and fragile but his face tells a different story.  His blond hair cut in a bob, his red football scarf wrapped round his neck and his feet sticking out over the seat. The record player is sending out the chants from the Kop.
"Wouldn't it be great!" he said, his eyes still shut.
"What would be great?", I said,
"If I was Kevin Keegan and I was walking on to the pitch right now. Listen to the Kop, my heart is pounding and I just can't imagine what being there would be like."
I left him in the world of his own to savour the moment. He was seven years old and Liverpool were his team.  He would watch them on Match of the Day, lying out quietly behind one of the chairs so that no one was aware that he was still up.  I remember my dad having to pick him up and carry him to bed every Saturday, often before the programme had finished but he would have been asleep for quite a time.

Forty three years later he is still a red supporter, his heart still pounds when his team plays.  Hopes are invested in the team, ambition and statements like "This will be the season" are regularly made and the day he listened to the Kop album often referred to.  Family memories are made of things like this.

You set my heart alight.

I stood here for years

Away from the main path

Providing the shade for the bulbs and squirrels

The environment changes

Children call out and play games

The allotments are busy

But people don’t notice me.

I stood here for years

The seasons passed by

And my girth just grew thicker

The wrinkles deepened

And my veins began to rot

But people still don’t notice me.

I stood here for years

When I notice the changes

And my outer skin begins to break down

Smaller creatures take up residence

My core is beginning to break down

But people still don’t notice me.

My time here is limited

It’s lunch time, I hear the bell ring and children call out

There’s a strange quiet

Footsteps approach but only one person

The spark surprises me, but the warmth is surprising

Now people are noticing me.

I stood here for hours

Whilst water covered me

My core disappeared but my girth intact

My charred centre and smoke filled air

I’ll provide a home to different creatures whilst I wait to rot

Then people might notice that I have gone.

The Statue - Albert Rec 2014

Plan for New beginnings

We are just embarking on a major move away from the City and into the countryside in the UK.  Along with other members of the family, we have discussed this idea for a number of years and always had reasons why we wouldn’t or couldn’t do it.  It was a dream that I thought would never become a reality.

During the last summer we began looking in earnest and decided that we would move south of London.  Easy, I thought but this was possibly the hardest part.  We weren’t moving for work, we didn’t need to be anywhere in a hurry or meet any deadlines, we just had a dream of a different quality of life.  For a number of weekends we drove around looking at properties and realised that we really didn’t know what we were looking for.  Moving from the city we were taken up in the dream of living in ‘chocolate box style cottages’.  They look wonderful on the outside but never felt like homes or met our requirements in terms of required space, particularly the garden.  In London we have a small garden and we all felt that we needed space to breathe, enjoy the fresh air and for Jazz, our family dog, to have space to run and play and enjoy more freedom that she currently has.

The time came to plan.  What did we want, what were the essentials and non negotiable and what could we compromise on? It was surprising how varied the requirements were until we saw the house that we have chosen.  Our only problem was that as usual we had chosen to be unconventional by finding a house before we had sold ours.  Now the planning has to start.  Selling our house, having a survey carried out, deciding on a moving date, saying goodbyes to friends, packing, moving and finding a new job for my daughter and new customers for my work. 

If my mum had been around she would have sat me down and helped me to create countless lists to ensure that everything went well.  Just for you mum, I have started a ‘relocating’ journal to keep everything organised and make sure that we accomplish our goal whilst maintaining our sanity.   The adventure begins, within 6 months I hope that I will wake up and look out of our sitting room appreciating the view of open and uninterrupted countryside.

View of the Dorset countryside

Day 1

What a day!  I am starting a journey that I never thought I would ever embark on.  English was my worst subject at school, I really envied people who could express themselves.  My mum was a secretary who only ever wrote short, concise letters.  Less was more!!  Whenever I wrote something descriptive she would say, it's 'too flowery'.  

I rarely read books when I was a child, there was never time! We were an active family, we rode horses, swam, were members of the local athletics club,  played outside and walked for miles across the fields that were behind the house. As I grew older, I studied Maths and Computer Science so my reading became very technical and it was only many years later that I began to appreciate books.   I read a lot, especially during school holidays, however my daughter was a very active little girl and as she grew I was lucky if I managed to read the front page of the newspaper.  Work became more demanding and the majority of my reading was technical documents and software manuals and my writing generally involved the creation of worksheets or the production of reports and planning.  I was defeated, confident in motivating others to attempt things that they thought they couldn't do, but unable to put my own words into action. 

I don't want to allocate blame to anyone about my lack of courage, but I think the fear of failure has always been my master.  My motivation to became a teacher grew from wanting to help make school a better place for those students who struggled and for whom learning did not come naturally.  When I was at school only the academics ruled,  I wanted to be able to read out loud like Sarah and remember historical facts like Deborah.  I really wanted to become a Vet and I can still remember the look on the teachers face as I explained my ambition.  She looked me squarely in the face and said your not clever enough, you need to think again.  I think I was about 13 at the time, by the way she also said I would never become a teacher either.

I now know that I am a kinesthetic learner, shown something once and I can generally repeat the task. At school we did very little practical work, it was all reading and learning by rote. The only subject that I felt confident with was Maths, again very little practical work just applying rules and theorems.  It wasn't until I was training as a Maths teacher that I understood Pythagoras's Theorem actually meant the 'Square on the Hypotenuse is the sum of the squares on the other two sides'. I was challenged to make the two squares on the opposite sides from the square on the Hypotenuse.  I looked at the tutor in total disbelief.  "Paper and scissors are you really being serious.?"

So I begin my challenge to explore writing.  As I sit here my heart in pounding and I really don't know how the journey will progress, if at all.  I am happy doing the technical components, designing the covers, formatting the text into ePubs and creating the eStores for promoting the finished products.

Now I am being challenged to write. Linda just sits and writes so confidently and Caroline has been encouraging and told me to "just get on with it".   I am not saying that I am happy about the challenge but I don't want to be a wimp and bow out without trying.  Publishing on this blog means that the writing has a chance to have an audience and if anyone out there does read these musings please feel free to offer comments that might improve the quality of my work as I continue on the journey.

Thanks for reading - if you have.