Failure

If I close my eyes, I can still perfectly picture the moment.

Freya (one of my best friends in year 7 and still now) was going around the corner at her usual blistering pace. She hugged the curve like spanx. Watching her intently, I counted down the moments until I needed to launch off. We had a good 5-10 metre lead on the next class, and I knew I could take my opponent easily on this last leg, as I had earlier on that day in the individual sprints.  

I set off, victory in my sights.

Maybe I was too early. Maybe too late. Maybe too fast. Who knows.

All I remember was scrabbling around the floor looking for the baton.

I made up part of the gap, finishing third, only to see that we were disqualified for lane interference. I remember getting a “pity point” for some hopefully self-esteem building reason by our teachers who could see my whole world had come unravelled in that event.

I wasn’t the prettiest.

I wasn’t the smartest.

I wasn’t the  best musician, or actor, or artist, or anything else.

But I was the best runner.

“Was” it seems being the operative word.

This was the first time I remember failing.

---

I sobbed all the way home from the test centre after failing that first test. In hindsight, it was not the best idea to take it just two weeks before my due date. Unsurprisingly I had failed due to not being able to adequately check my blind spot as my burgeoning bump restricted my movement. I confessed to Steve that passing my test was my “present” to our unborn child, and now I felt I had nothing to give them, nothing to offer.

I was a bag of nerves throughout the second test. My legs physically shook as I attempted to negotiate my way around the city. Three minutes in I felt I had failed, and I remained silent, on the verge of tears, as I continued to confuse my right from my left and miss turnings on roundabouts and on the independent driving section. I wanted so badly to have a sense of worth. To not be the one that everyone had to give a lift to. To not be overwhelmed by the fact at the age of 29 I hadn’t achieved something 17-year-olds had. To not have to traipse around the city with Zella and another future baby on public transport on rainy winter days. My future family depended upon it, and I could no longer be a free loader to my husband, family & friends; I HAD to pass.

At the end of the test, the tears rolled like thunder, as I was faced with the reality that it wasn’t my inability to navigate that I had failed on, but a simple manoeuvre around a corner that I hadn’t controlled my nerves on.

Sometimes the fear of failure is the very thing that will cause you to fail.

Once again I found myself scrambling around on the floor looking for a baton, with victory racing off ahead of me.

---

I’ve always liked to win.

Growing up in a city full of athletic cousins with a penchant for competitive games, our days were spent competing on Alex the Kid megadrive games, and then running outside for sprints down the streets. With our parents excelling in athletics and boxing amongst other sports, it was in our blood to aim to be the best.

I excelled in school with perfect attendance eleven out of thirteen years (only marred by a lengthy trip to Jamaica in Year 3 and a stomach bug upon my return from an all-expenses trip to Leon, Nicaragua as an official representative of Oxford, it’s twin city, in Year 10).

I accumulated awards for sports and drama and captained many teams.

Besides misadventures in Graphic Design and Biology, my exam results have always shown A’s & B’s; I set my sights on university early on, and was ecstatic to graduate, and graduate well.

Until returning to England in 2011, there was never a job or course I applied to and wasn’t successful in.

I remember being told by a dance teacher that I wasn’t the best dancer technique wise, but I more than made up for it in my performance.

If I couldn’t win the thing, then I would win you.

I get things done.

But sometimes

I come undone…

When I can’t control the pressure.

The pressure created and fashioned from the dangerous workings of a mind weaving words that hadn’t been verbalised by none other than a dark and unconfident part of my psyche.

The things that keep me awake at night are not the reflecting upon my highs,

But on musing upon the lows,

wondering where I went wrong,

desperate to not repeat history.

Harsh words, failed attempts from weeks, months, years ago even

Still lie heavy at the front of my mind.

99 good things happen,

but you go home thinking about

the one that got away.

And in the desperation for that that to not happen again,

The winding up of pressure begins.

---

Around the same time as preparing for my second driving test,

Game of Throws was birthed.

I saw the advert for a recreational netball league in Birmingham

and realising that it would be cheaper price for me to be part of a team than register as an individual, I decided to create a team.

(The thought that I would have more control and not be subject to the whims of another leader on some random team was also a motivation.)

In my head, we were going to be amazing. Top of the league.

On the court, we were average. On a good day.

Rusty as it had been twelve years since some of us had played.

My stomach was in knots as we played, each game.

Nervous, desperate to win, and sick at the anticipation of failing.

But something happened

Amidst a season of 4 losses, 1 win on a technicality, and 1 genuine win (against the bottom team), I still loved every minute.

In the face of repeated weeks of failure, the team remained phenomenal, never giving up, playing respectfully, willing to try different positions, communicating well, encouraging each other, and even drawing the refs to make jokes with us at half times and after the games, such was our passion and fun.

I even said one night, “I am actually enjoying losing for once.”

Failure doesn’t have to be miserable.
Failure doesn’t have to be awful.

Failure doesn’t mean there’s no hope.

Do I want to win?

Of course.

(and always!)

But I refuse to let my world fall apart around me when failure comes.

Failure doesn’t mean it’s the end.

Slowly, slowly, my competitive side is getting my head around it.

And I’m finding freedom in the grace I give myself,

When I allow it to be ok,

If things don’t turn out perfectly.

It’s all part of the journey.

Mater

Cars 2 came out today.

11:30 am.

There we were with

Fav 6 year old twins in tow

Gibby & Gabby

I have realised with Steve and I we think ahead the way organised parents do.

Last night, Steve went and bought the tickets, knowing it would almost definitely be sold out.

I have also realised that Steve and I are not as organised as parents are.

At 11:31, we struggled in the dark to find a seat in the crowded auditorium, climbing all the stairs to the second to top row, only to find out that the seats were “saved” and we needed to climb all the way back down to the third to bottom row to find a four seats in a row.

The twin’s mother deems the movies “crack”

Disney Pixar is to pre-teens what Starbucks is to teens.

Excitement build in anticipation

Transfixed they are in awe

And when it’s over

They desire to go back for more and more.
And more.

But the sweet taste of Disney Pixar

Lasts longer

Than the calorie and caffeine laden venti’s,

No spoiler alerts necessary

(though prepare yourself for lots of English and Italian accents!)

But my focus was on Mater throughout

The rusty, wayward, eccentric

Old tow truck

Said the most profound thing 

When an attempt was made to remove his dents

He refused to be changed.

Mater values each and every dent he has

Earned during escapades with McQueen

His dents are precious

His dents are important

His dents represent more than just a random bump

They represent an adventure

My arm carries the faint reminder

Of when my husband nearly killed me snowboarding

And the fun we had

Doing something neither had done before

A new adventure together

Steve’s right leg is riddled with scars

Everyone a memory

Most prolific for me

The one that went green inside

From motorbike impaled in body

In Australian outback

A reminder of an adventure, a coming of age

The tummy roll, the fat that won’t shift

Loudly wobbles of your adventure in childbirth

Mark on chest, obvious to all

Reminds you of adventure and survival of surgery

Resenting your dent

Resents that chance

That opportunity

That adventure

That changed your life

Mary

“God has a surprise for you: You will become pregnant and give birth to a son and call his name Jesus. He will be great, be called ‘Son of the Highest.’ The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David; He will rule Jacob’s house forever—no end, ever, to his kingdom.”

She knew the beginning

and the end of sorts…

…and that was it.

No other recorded details

Not fully knowing the impact child would make

No guidelines

No instructions

Just a random angel’s words:

“God’s getting you up the duff, and the baby’s going to be a superstar.”

When curveballs rage

Dark tunnel ahead

Where do you go?

Where do you head?

How do you parent the Son of God??

Do you make Him do chores??

Do you make Him do homework??

If He falls over and bangs his head on the coffee table,

do you just let Him heal Himself??

Starting line up

End point in sight

But what of the hurdles that lay inbetween?

Bread on both sides

Filling unsure

But we can rely

That sandwich taste will be sweet

Trust divine

Complete reliance

Clichéd words that must be found true in this

Stress

Spirit guiding through the mud

Bring my heart to carefully notice

The things that would remain unobserved otherwise.

For nothing is by chance.

We live by faith, not by fate.

Taking heart of smallest and largest

All building from a ponder

To pave a way through

Born is certain for you read these words.

Death awaits us all,

Our time of judgment will come.

But what of the center?

What of this life?

What of my daily grind?

Which steps do I take?

I know so little

But of this I am sure

Of the hand of Father

Providence upon our lives

Plans to prosper

Plans of grace

Plans of trouble

Struggle of a journey

Destination in the daily

Embracing right now

None of us have arrived,

Desperate striving to untangle

the messy strings

that make up our

this so called life.

Take care of each thread between

The dawn and the dark

For who knows what a pull

A tug of string

Will unravel. 

147

First comes love

Then come marriage

Then comes the baby in the baby carriage.

This is how we have been trained to see life.

A picture of a couple settled in holy matrimony,

making a planned decision to bring one or more children

into the world.

A baby is welcomed into the family

With a shower of

Gifts

Hugs

Words of encouragement for the first timer

The belly swells with joy

Pride

Because this is what they have been waiting for

This once traditional ordering is being played around with so much in society

So lets just mess around with it some more.

Lets throw another way into the mix.

A couple with several children open their home to foster children

Adopted children

Not with the usual baby shower

But a “Gotcha” day

And a step out into an unpredictable world.

One of a variety of emotions.

The multicultural smiles around the table,

remind them that this,

though a hard decision,

Is a beautiful one.

The children interact with love

This is what they have been waiting for.

While we are mixing with the non-traditional

Can I suggest something even more different?

A couple, married for a few years, think about a new arrival

Or two

Or three

Not of their own womb, but still to be

Their own

Surprising as they scan the internet, they see so many sibling groups

Twos

Threes

Fours

Even a few fives

What is their story the couple wonder?

Abandoned, abused, neglected, malnourished...

But the story doesn’t seem to matter

It’s the faces that matter.

The faces that say:

“Will you be our family

Forever?”

The hands that hold one another tight and say:

“Please, keep us all

together”

The eyes that don’t quite make contact as if to say:

“I don’t know if we can trust you

but

we want to”

The couple discover on their journey,

It’s not just the cute, little newborn that needs a home

It’s the bigger ones

Those “bigger” in age

Those “bigger” in emotional issues

Those “bigger” in developmental and mental health needs

Those “bigger” in grouping

When the world has 147 millions orphans

147 million individual lives

needing a home

a family

a mummy & a daddy

Why make another baby?

Why bring a life into this world,

when they are so many in need already?

Is it selfish to want a child that looks likes you

Sounds like you

Came from you

When there are so many who still need you?

What defines a child

Your child?

Is it that they came from you,

made with your DNA?

Or is the time that you spend with them

Developing them

Training them

Playing with them

Investing in them

and Loving them?

What makes a mum and a dad?

Is it merely genetics?

Or is it something else

Something more

Something greater

Steve and I step into a journey of working out

What are we called to?

Why is this becoming something that we grow passionate about?

When will we be parents?

Who will be our children?

Whether they come

From us

Or to us

They

We know

will be like us. 

Good

Whenever you go through difficult times you need to do two things to claim the "positivity" that is in those situations:

1. Think about/meditate on/read positive things
2. Be around positive people

A few weeks ago when we were at Oak Hills Church in "San Tan" (as I affectionately renamed San Antonio) they sang my favourite song, "Lord you are good" - its one of those happy clappy black church songs that gets your feet stomping and butt shaking in a way that is borderline inappropriate for church!!

So i got thinking about God's goodness, which was really hard to see following "Gladney-Gate", and decided to read a Bible verse everyday talking about God being good.

In Psalm 143 it talks about God's spirit being good, but that is not what struck me this morning.

"I remember the days of old;

I meditate on all Your works;

I muse on the work of your hand"

So I got thinking about my "days of old"...

• Teaching "Shakedown Dance" in a broken community where these beautiful but struggling kids would come and we would shake and body pop and I would talk about self-esteem and Father's love...and dancing IN TIME with the music...
• Time at Keele University spent talking with my friends...how I went to uni finding it hard to trust anyone, but especially girls, not believing I would really bond with girls and then leaving with more "sisters" that you could shake a stick at...and we frequently did in K2!!
• My prayer wall, where anyone at any time could give me a request and I would seek Father for them...and the amount of non-christian friends who used my service...
• Writing, journalling for hours and reading book after book...
• Being outdoors playing rounders, BBQ's...
• That desire in me to have a job where "everyday was something different", swearing i would "never be stuck in an office"...
• When Ruth told me on the second day of uni, that I was the first Christian she had ever met (besides some weird Jehovah's Witnesses) and the realisation that there was a purpose for my life and people that Father God would put in my path that I HAD to speak truth and love into...

And then I though about "all Your [God's] works"...

• Healing me from an unhealthy dependence on boys - helping me to see you as my Father...
• Kaream's birth uniting our family...
• Luke getting saved after a year of praying and hanging out and letting him crash at our apartment because his housematers were mentalists...
• Convo's with Yat, Roger, Fran, Nick, Ed...sometimes about ER...sometimes about needing to borrow the iron...sometimes about the love of God...
• Missions week on Keele Campus where people came for free lunch but left hearing your word...
• The amazing man Kaream is today...
• The softening of my mum's heart...
• Restoring my confidence in myself, in who you made me to be...
• The impact of Pais - lives being changed ETERNALLY...
• Bringing Steve & I together (after that ROUGH first year in different countries) and the heart we have together for the Kingdom and for families...

I could go on and on...there are so many...such a realisation that no time is ever as bad as you think it is...

So do I feel like I have a clearer picture of what the "next step" is for my life??

Nope. 

Do i wish I did??

Kinda.

But in the meantime Steve is getting lots of nice cooked dinners, the laundry is getting done quicker, I'm less grouchy and I'm exploring my creative side (stop asking - no cushion cover orders are being taken!!)

But am I secure in the fact that Father God has a clear path for me, and actually this tangled mess of craziness of life at the moment is the exact part of the path that I'm supposed to be on

To some it may look as if I am by the side of the road, disorientated, raggedy clothed, with my thumb out, desperate for a ride. 

But to Father I am driving in a car, with the top down; wind in my hair with no idea where the Sat Nav is taking me, but pretty content and enjoying the journey. 

This path is good.