Live Hardcore

We have just got back from a wonderful family holiday in Spain. It took us seventeen hours to get there in the family minibus, and twenty hours to drive back. The bus was at full capacity. Full of kids, obviously. It would have been a major parenting "fail", if we'd left one behind, even if 'Home Alone' is one of our family's favourite films. I think that's purely because they're allowed to watch humorous, justifiable (it seems) violence to those pesky burglars! Although for one of them, Kevin may actually be living their dream...Home Alone with ice cream, sweets and pizza...instead of a crazy road trip with all their siblings...

In addition to kids, the bus was full of pillows, blankets, activity packs, magazines, sweets, water, juice, crisps, Brioche, Frozen colouring books, pink pens, Dot-to-Dots, chewing gum, electronic devises and anything else which could come under the 'bribery' or 'coping' title. And that's not even mentioning everything a 5month old baby might need, especially one which had runny nappies on the journey home. Such fun. I messaged a friend, when we got to Spain, with the quote from School of Rock, "You're not hardcore unless you live hardcore". 

The kids weren't allowed to ask if they were nearly there yet, as there were one thousand and thirty five miles to cover. Although one did had a chart to tick off every fifty miles. Some kids just like that kind of thing. The husband had recorded all of his tunes onto a stack of CDs, and as designated driver,(I did offer, but that got turned down for some reason) he alone was allowed to choose which music went on. Thankfully he saved Radiohead for the dead of the night when we were all attempting to sleep. 

It was great fun. It really was. Sure there were moments when we laughed hysterically, or when one of us adult types had to remind the other one that everything was OK, and that we would indeed survive this journey, the holiday itself and even the journey home. That we would make memories, one way or another... I got to sit in between the girls, when they were at their 'most tired, but not going to sleep' part of the journey. One of the boys had dutifully served his time, submitting to their 'dummy dropping' needs, and their high pitched shrieks of delight and boredom. So he got to sit up front with dad, and go through the tolls and have the iPad to himself. And I got to entertain the redhead and her sister, with stickers and my phone and milk, and hand holding, but hand holding in the right way or it caused tears, and blankets, but the right kind of blanket or it caused tears. 
There was a moment on the way home, when I was desperately trying to sleep. I couldn't ask the husband to turn his music down, as that was keeping him awake. I couldn't swap seats, because the other passengers were in car seats, in strategically placed positions. My hand was bent to an acceptable hand-holding angle. My bra had been removed, from its attempt in trying to kill me. (Female readers will understand). The Air Con was broken and of course, the baby was smelling a shade of green.

At this point, the husband said "wake up (ironically), look in front of you". I rubbed my eyes, sat forwards and peered out into the drizzle. There was the Eiffel Tower. He had decided we were making good time, so a trip around Paris was added into the journey. He explained it was definitely a Selfie moment. So I got a little more suitably dressed, and joined him outside the van, for a photo opportunity, as you do at 4am.

I was amusingly changing the baby's hideous green nappy and car seat on the edge of the road, while the husband had taken some tired, but willing minions to look at the Arc de Triomph, and I thought about how there is always more...

People joke with me that there is one more space in the minibus, for one more child. But actually its reserved for Kevin. (Sometimes the Minion version, sometimes the son's' friend version). But we could have taken more in the mini bus, its got a massive boot. 

There's always more we can take in, on the journey. I don't mean there is always more to do. That's a very different thing altogether. Sometimes, there just isn't anymore we can do, and that's okay. Some of us are still learning that it is indeed okay. What I mean, is that there is always more to take in...there is always more of God that we can take in. There is always more of His presence, His joy, His love that we can take in. There is always more of His beauty that we can take in. there is always more knowledge of Him for us to grasp. There is always more of Him to experience. And that doesn't mean you have to do something deemed as crazy, like an all-night journey to Spain with a million kids in tow. Not everyone does life that full on, and that's OK. But there is more for us to experience, whoever we are.

I was glad that the husband had added something else in, something spectacular. And I know he's that kind of character, but I believe it speaks to all kinds of characters. There are many times when I say "That's it, I've reached my limit, I'm overwhelmed." And I'm learning in those moments to come to the peace and provision and mercy of God. 

I need to live my life, knowing there is always more I can take in from Him. There is always more of His Grace that I can run into. There is always more of His love, I can rest in. There is always more of His Holy Spirit, I can be living in. There is always more of His truth I can be dwelling in. He just has so much more for me to take in. He wants to show me new things. He wants me to go on detours with Him, and He wants to show me wonderful things, whether I'm ready and asking for them, or sometimes as a complete surprise.

"...and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to all the measure of God. Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work in us". Ephesians 3v19-20

#Compassion

You go on Facebook, scroll away, look at some pictures, laugh at some things, shake your head at other things, like a few things, see who likes your things, throw in a comment or two, occasionally delete a comment before its too late, and you're into a discussion you don't want to be in, post a funny or cute picture now and then, (or all the time for some of us). And you can escape the humdrum of life or pass the time away quite nicely. 

Then you see a photo of a little boy, drowned on a Turkish beach. And you have a choice; scroll on or stop and take it in. I scrolled on. I didn't really want to take that image further into my conscience. I was on Facebook to have a little break, to escape a bit, not to dwell on bad stuff or have to think. Then I saw it again and again, and it became a bit blase....picture of a cat, a talent show link, that drowned boy, funny status from a friend, a baby photo. 

But then I gave in and clicked on the link, and I decided to read. That Syrian little boy was three years old, his name is Aylan Kurdi. Him, his five year old brother, Galip and their mother Rehan, drowned. The only one to survive, was their completely broken father and husband, Abdullah. 

They were trying to flee to relatives in Canada, via Greece. Isis have been terrorising Syrians; opening fire on everyone and anyone, setting off car bombs, blowing people and places up, kidnapping people, and other terrible things that we daren't even know about. Aylan's dad had paid 2,000 Euros to board an overcrowded boat, only for that boat to capsize, less than ten minutes into their hope for a better life. Aylan, then had to fight for his life in the sea, until he lost that fight and ended up washed ashore on a beach and on my news feed. His devastated dad told of the moment he had all three dead bodies in his arms, how dark and terrifying it was.

Then I stopped for a minute to relate this to me. I have a nearly three year old, and she has a six year old brother. And I know the husband would do anything in his power to protect us. Imagining that photo to be of a redheaded little girl, dressed in pink instead of a dark haired boy in a red t shirt and blue shorts, brought it home to me. 

And then I cried. I repented of my lack of care and compassion. I had to stop and tell God that I was sorry for being numb to such atrocities. I had to ask Him to help me to be more compassionate, which isn't a comfortable thing at all. But Jesus didn't live a comfortable life, did He? He was, and is full of compassion and love for the outcast, the broken, the foreigner, the orphan, the fearful, the abused, the abandoned, the widow, the downtrodden. He has compassion for me, a sinner. He has love for me, a hypocrite. He chose to die for me, that I may be forgiven and welcomed in to His family.

And the word of the Lord came again to Zechariah: “This is what the LordAlmighty said: ‘Administer true justice; show mercy and compassion to one another. Do not oppress the widow or the fatherless, the foreigner or the poor. Do not plot evil against each other.’" Zechariah 7v8-10

There are many different opinions on whether refugees should be accepted into different countries, where they would be housed and cared for. Petitions can be signed on a global level, food and clothes can be gathered to help the masses. But I know that God is also personally interested in my heart, throughout it all. He saw my apathy. He saw my sin and lack of compassion. And if I am to be more like Him, then I need to be broken with the things that break His heart, and I need to check myself with what I become immune to. I need to say sorry to Him, and I need to personally show love and care towards the outcast and broken, and I need to teach my children to do the same. 

It is but by the grace of God, that I live in England, that I am safe, that my children are safe from daily fear and terror, that I do not have to make decisions based on life or death. That I had the privilege of coming through the Euro Tunnel from Calais, in our stocked, air conditioned car, from our wonderful family holiday, as a free woman, not fighting for my life, or my kids' lives. We went to the beach, to have fun and get a tan, not to escape terror, and find death. We spent our Euros on ice cream, and pancakes and Tapas, not on a robbed chance of freedom. 

I am thankful that God the compassionate Father, spent His son for me, for my kids, for Aylan. God have mercy on us all. And bring your peace. 

It's A New Day

We have just got home from Newday, a Christian Youth Festival. It is a wonderful mix of fun, tiredness, carbohydrates, God's presence, grubby kids, sweets, worship, friends, late nights and cups of tea. It can have a crazy start to it; one year we bought a car off of eBay for the husband's team to spray paint, as part of an obstacle course and we all came home in different vehicles. This year he travelled up first and left me a note of what to bring with me, which of course included slugs, lard and a pig's head. (I have noticed over the years, how God has given me certain grace for the man he put aside for me). 

The kids loved it; up late most evenings, running around the campsite in their onesies, with their buddies. Their two outfits they wore, covered in grass stains. (Still better than poo though....a friend had an interesting moment with her shorts). They especially enjoyed the Retro cafe; sweets, fun adults, Popcorn, pink ice cream and Disney movies. They visited the skate park and basketball court, and had a battle with their Dad in the Nerf arena. They queued for delicious milkshakes in the Cowshed and listened to some funky tunes in the Rhythm Factory. 

For the first time in many years, I had a reason to visit the pink Bar with my princess, where we got our nails done and had hair extensions put in. And every morning, they watched their dad encourage young teenagers to eat cricket fritters and pig's ears, cover themselves in lard and glitter and stuff their leotards with turkey stuffing ready for Christmas day. (There are no answers to the questions of Why? in the 12-14yr olds venue). 

Parenting is a funny one at Newday. The kids naturally have more freedom, but living in a caravan or tent means you naturally use a lowered voice to tell them off. (Albeit, stronger eye movements). The kids don't see much of their dad, so I allow them sugar on their cocopops. Their boundaries are extended...mine don't tend to be allowed into 'town' at 10pm, but everything feels a little safer. And their sleep patterns are late nights and ever so slight lay ins. Unless you take a baby or a two year old, then you're just distracting them with milk and dummies and silent songs until you deem it a reasonable hour for other people to hear them. 

The highlight has to be watching or hearing thousands of young people, make decisions to follow God, to worship Him, to make a stand for Him, to accept His love for them, to live in the light of His forgiveness of them, and to grasp more of who He is and what He has done for them. Whether I was in the big top in person, (kindly served by my friend who took on the Dawson kids for me) or if I was back at the campsite, feeling the bass line through the caravan walls, I knew God was doing something. I knew Aslan was roaring, calling people to Himself. And they were hearing and responding. I had a couple of those moments myself and I know some of my kids did too. 

And now we are home. I'm prone to the Holiday Blues, (whether Newday felt like a holiday or not), so I always have a little lull driving home. My poor girlie one sobbed for a good ten minutes as she said "goodbye caraban", "I've lost my caraban". But sleep and a McDonald's Happy Meal helped. The washing machine is continuously on, and the kids are in closer proximity to me and each other, which as you can imagine is a wonderful adaption. 

The mistake would now be to assume that I left God back in Norfolk, that I left His presence in the Big Top, that His righteousness can only be grasped if the band are on stage. It definitely felt easier to acknowledge Him at Newday, to step into His loving presence and worship Him every day. It's what we were all there for. But of course, that's exactly what we are all here for everyday. To acknowledge Him, to step into His loving presence and worship Him every day. Yes He was wonderfully and powerfully in the Big Top, in a showground in Norfolk. But He's also right here, with me, right now. The lion still roars, I may have to tune in more finely that's all. He's still speaking, I may have to be quiet enough to listen that's all. His presence is still wonderfully available, I may have to actively walk into it that's all. Each day is a New Day to spend with Him. 

Better is one day in your courts

    than a thousand elsewhere;

I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God

    than dwell in the tents of the wicked.

Keep Calm & Party On

In the space of two weeks during July, we have celebrated three of our kids' birthdays. (We should have obviously spaced out our 'evenings in with a bottle of wine' during November and December over the last few years). We also hosted a Year 6 leavers' BBQ, which turned out to be pretty much a birthday party, just without the cake.

We have had games galore of course, being married to Mr Newday! (Newday is a youth event, which the husband helps to lead, inevitably making young people do ridiculous things in order to lose their pride and win a milkshake). We have thrown the wellie, and jumped over the wellie while its been spun around on a rope. We have eaten doughnuts off of string. We've done the classics; the three legged race and the wheel barrow race. We've bounced off each other in blown up zorbs, tipped water on our heads when the music stopped, and had various fun with tissue. Lots of fun! Lots of noise! And lots of people! We do like people, us Dawsons.

And then there was one party which wasn't as party-like as the others. One of our lads took a couple of mates bowling. There was orange squash. His brothers were invited in a 'Please come to my party, but not actually get involved. In fact, please just play Pool in the background' kind of way. It was quiet. We didn't even look at a wellie, let alone jump over one. And there was no water involved. 

We realised that as a family, we're quite 'people people'. Some may say a few of us are slight extroverts. But we've come to realise that just because we are from the same family, it does not mean we are from the same mold. This came as quite a surprise to us. We thought it was just how we all were. But then we had a son who didn't find eye contact as easy, and really doesn't need more than two people in his life at any one time. 

I think he stands to show just how different we actually all are. Our family has people who are ordered, and others who are not so. People who love the correct answers that maths gives you, and others who are creative and happy for any answer. People who take risks and those that play it slightly safer. People who like jeans and others who like joggers and now of course, ones that wear dresses. People who are savers, and others who are spenders. People who cry more easily and others who might shout. People who have teddies and others who don't see the point. People with wonderful imaginations and others who prefer scientific, structured play. People who like their music loud and will sing along as if they're on the stage. (Actually that's just the husband) and me who hears music as more of a background thing. People who have many words, and those who speak just a few. (I'll leave you to guess which one I am). People who like crazy parties and one who doesn't. We're a mixed bunch under the slightly loud surface of it all. 

I love that we are all made in God's image. Not one of us is the odd one out in that. God is beautifully creative and yet mind blowingly scientific. He is ever so ordered, and yet does not get flustered when order isn't present. He made the crashing seas to roar and yet calmly brings His peace. He is all powerful, and to be greatly feared yet He is gentle and kind. He can be extremely serious and yet wonderfully joyful...


The mixed bunch living under this roof, relate differently to each other too. There are the sparring pairs, the strong friendship pairs, the imaginative pairs, and the clashing pairs, to name a few. Some of the kids are easier for me to parent. Some, the husband finds easier. I'm sure some of my lot would prefer to talk things through with me, while others probably don't get me at all. We all need grace for one another.

A bit like the church really... we're all a bit different from each other, and have different views and different ways of doing things. And there are some we get along with more easily. Some, we maybe clash a little with. We're all wonderfully, and sometimes annoyingly unique, but we are all in the same family. And our Heavenly Father, fathers us all the same way, with His perfect love and His gentle forgiveness. 

Me and the husband often say, "It's different, not wrong", especially during Marriage Preparation, with other couples. It's quite easy to see our contrasts as wrong, because we don't understand them or like them. But if we are all made in God's image, if we are all in His family, if we have all received the same Grace from Him, then surely it's a good thing to take a moment and see the other person how God sees them. He made them unique for a reason. He made you unique for a reason. And we can usually learn more about His vast character if we see others how He sees them. It helps me too, to parent my mixed bunch better, and to see their unique giftings.

"Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.  If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever." 1 Peter 4v10-11

Hidden Treasure

I have four boys, they have two feet each. Each foot, needs a sock. So that's eight socks at any given time. (Not including the girls' socks...mainly because the little one's socks are tiny weeny and the two and a half year old wears a lot of sandals, ballet shoes, princess shoes, flip flops...you get the picture). I say 'any given time', rather than every day, because if left to their own devices, they just wouldn't change their socks. They do not see it as a necessity in life. They would keep them snuggly on their feet until fungus grew in them, evolved legs and walked themselves into the wash basket. One of my boys, used to get out of the bath and put his dirty socks back on. He would have slept in them and worn them again the next day, if we hadn't protested.

On Friday, my wash basket stunk. The heat and those eight socks multiplied several times over, made for an awful stench. I was very pleased to get that particular wash into the machine, seeing as the wash basket is in my bedroom. It's not until I've washed the socks and dried them, do I tend to find the huge holes in them. Maybe this is due to the tree climbing or the walking about without shoes on. Or maybe the smell and dirt just erodes them. (I should probably take my friend's advice, and let them live the South African way; no shoes & no socks).

When I have done a mass wash, I need a pairing plan. I'm not too fussed about odd socks but the husband God blessed me with, is more at 'one with the world', when the socks are paired, when he, I mean they, are ordered. So as a rule, we tend to try to only wear pairs. The boys occasionally grass on me, when their dad questions them about today's sock chaos. I hear "Mum said it was okay". So I had a genius plan which involved some godly teaching. I'd love to say my motive was to keep dripping the Bible into their lives, but I honestly just wanted to get the socks paired. 

So I spent the amount of time it would have probably taken me to pair them, to fill different socks with coins from our loose change pot. When I had run out of loose change, I put some packets of super noodles in, some mini cans of Fanta, some jelly packets and a sweet or two.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6v19-21

I put the basket in the middle of the lounge and asked, "who would like to serve me, by pairing these socks?" The rush of help wasn't immediate. No one was going to get an award for their speed and willingness. But then one of my boys said, as joyously as his heart would allow, "I'll do it mum". I said thank you, and said that I appreciated his willingness to serve me.

So the slow pairing started, one eye on the TV, and one finding the colorful matches first. He heard a jingle in a sock, pulled out a coin and pocketed the findings. He then found another, "muuuum, there's money in here". "Oh is there?" I replied. "Mmm, maybe that's because when you serve other people, you're actually storing treasure up in Heaven". His eagerness picked up some speed, as he hunted through the socks. He seemed to forget it was all about making pairs, so I had to quickly remind him. (This isn't just a fun treasure hunt you know. I do have ulterior motives). And then came the gloat, "Boys, there's money in here and its all gonna be miiiine". One by one, a brother took interest in the new activity unfolding before them, until they were all on the floor, pairing those socks. 

I added another little quip about the first son's willingness to serve when there wasn't a reward, which is of course, pleasing to God....that God had made a note of the son's serving heart, and put aside treasure for him in Heaven. And I pointed out that once they knew about the rewards, they were more likely to get involved. So, as christians, we should tell people what awaits them in Heaven, so that they too can get in on those rewards. I walked into the kitchen for my own caffeine induced reward and wondered if there will be socks in Heaven? 

"Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ." Colossians 3:23-24

Living Life Abundantly

Resurfacing after the birth of baby number six, and I'm holding John 10v10 very close to my heart. "The thief comes only to steal and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly".

My house is definitely full of life; eight people breathing, eating, talking and doing, certainly makes my house feel full of life. On Saturday, there was Origami folding, swimming, successful pottying, tree climbing, cookie making, DVD watching, picnicking, minecraft creating, Cinderella viewing, roof top climbing, play doughing, bike riding, Duplo building, fly catching, fly nurturing and eventually fly burying. (RIP Rosie) 

Doesn't that all sound so wonderfully full of abundant life? Yes it does, but what about the days when it's the eight of us squabbling, moaning, crying, arguing, puking and unsuccessfully pottying (okay, so not all eight of us on that one). That doesn't feel quite so full of life. It feels more like a life sentence. So how can I let this verse shape me on the days where I'd rather not do life abundantly? When I'd rather just do life, under a duvet to be honest.

Well, I've realised that this verse breathes life into me in different ways; not just 'take one house, add two people, add a further four boys and finally two girls into it, and you have abundant life'. True, but there is more as there usually is with scripture.

A friend of mine brought it to me that I was being quite negative with my words, in regards to my big family. I was jokingly apologising to the newest addition, for the family she had been born into. And I kept referring to my family in slightly derogative terms, focusing on the 'crazy', and the 'overwhelming' side of it all. And both these words at times, are completely the right words to use. But I know that my heart was panicking..."What do people think?", "Are we going to manage?" "Have we made a ridiculous choice to have another?" And it was coming out as jokey put downs, as if to jump in defensively before others confirmed the thoughts I was having. 

My friend showed me that I was indeed allowing 'the thief in to steal and destroy'. I wasn't speaking life into my family, quite the opposite. I remember emailing a mother of many, nine to be exact, seven weeks in and saying 'Help'. She said that the overwhelming thoughts she had had, would suck the life right out of her. She was spot on at lifting my chin and reminding me that God had given me faith for a big family and He would therefore give me the abundant grace for it also.

Living life abundantly, doesn't mean having a mini bus full of kids. Life is also lived abundantly by the person with a quiet house, and no kids. It means dwelling in Jesus' goodness for me, no matter what my circumstances or feelings. Dwelling in His joy, His peace, His provision, His forgiveness, His hope, His help, His love for me, and even His work for me to do. That is what brings me life. Come rain or shine, come fun, full days or 'under the duvet' days, come pleasant chats or slamming doors, whether the poo is found in the potty or out of the potty...

Last week, a great example of this came from a friend of mine, who text me a verse about being refreshed. She test me from hospital, after she had just come out of an operation. The operation was to drain her lung, and ease her respiratory problems. Fluid had built up due to the breast-cancer cells, which had been found in the lining of her lung. I would most definitely allow for, even expected her to feel a little destroyed. But nothing is stealing the hope she has in Jesus, away from her. Her text was encouraging and challenging, about how God wonderfully refreshes us, and asks us to bring that refreshment to others. She was and continues to be so full of life, abundant life. She too is holding that verse close to her heart.

Thank God for Monkeys

So if I'm going to be thankful...I'm going to take the kids on the grateful train with me. 

I am the mum; one of the most influential beings in my little people's lives. Me and the husband set the standard in this house. Whether it be with our tones, our quickness to apologise, (his) dance moves, how much we play on our phones, how we talk about people, how we store Tupperware or the moans and woes we verbalise around them. I recognise that if I've not been overly thankful lately, then my little copycats may well have picked up on this. I do feel kind of sorry for this last baby. She is getting the blame for everything... "Mum, are you crying cos of the baby?", "Mum are you stressy cos of the baby?", "Dad, is mum sleeping again cos of the baby?". 


Yesterday when we got in from school, we sat at the table, and I explained that I had been a bit moany and cryey lately. They nodded their heads, in complete agreement and said something about it being the baby's fault. (Oh how well I've prepared them for when they have their own emotional, hormonal wives). And I said that the best way to stop being moany, was to be thankful instead. 

I explained that we were going to write or draw everything and anything we wanted to thank God for. I explained that "every good and perfect gift is from above..." James 1v17. If anything good in life is a gift from God, then we shouldn't ever be able to run out of things to thank Him for. I said that although I was achy and the baby made me feel cryey at times, I was very thankful to God that I am having this baby. 

We had pens & paper, a bucket, a choc ice each, and then it was all systems go, go, go... Those who liked to draw, drew. Those who liked to write sentences, wrote. Those who liked to pretend the pink pen was lipstick, puckered up and those who would only comply with one word per piece of paper, (because "we've finished school for the day") did just that. 

 It didn't take long for the bucket to be filled with things we were all thankful for. Sometimes we read our paper out to everyone, sometimes we just popped our own personal gratitude in the bucket for God to see. It was great to ask each other qualifying statements, like "why have you written 'boxes'?" And to hear the answer of a time when we taped one of the brothers up in a box and then knocked that box over. That is definitely worth thanking God for. He loves fun.

I was intrigued to see that three different boys had thanked God for monkeys. Yep, can't say I've ever stopped to thank God for them. And Granny's roast potatoes deserved the recognition they got for sure. People, and things, and treats, and Science and the beloved cross all got a mention. Because God is good. He loves to give His children good things, and He loves when we stop to delight in His generosity.