MISS MOOX: kids

A few months ago, I spent a week living with a family who kindly offered to take me in when my then-residence was overrun by relatives, necessitating appropriation of every available sleeping space. So for a week I inhabited the second family's basement guest room.

Living with anyone is an interesting and educational experience: you quickly get an honest and intimate portrait of who they are as people that is simply not possible any other way. It is rawer, realer, and sometimes drastically different than their social face. In their accustomed habitat, it is impossible for people to hide themselves. Everything from eating habits to leisure time to handling conflict is an open book to those with whom you share living quarters.

This can be a good or a bad thing. The revelations range from the trivial (they eat a lot of sugary cereal) to the shocking (she's been viewing online dating profiles even though she has a boyfriend). Sometimes they can verge on the unbearable (she keeps using my things, leaving the window open in the freezing cold, and bossing me around about everything I do).

Having lived or stayed with many different people, for differing periods of time, over the past several years, I've had plenty of up-front opportunity to avail myself of this education in humanity.

But I digress.

One of the things that surprised me the most about this family I stayed with was the leisure-time habits of their three young boys. Ranging in age from five to eleven, they came home from school every afternoon and promptly flopped down in front of the TV. Flicking it on, they lost themselves in rapt contemplation of kids' programs, movies, or video games until bedtime. Even things like eating or doing homework seemed to be viewed as interruptions to tube time: they'd reluctantly get up, quickly do the task assigned, and released, flop back down in front of the TV. Nearly every waking moment not taken up by absolutely necessary functions was devoted to the television. I don't mean they did nothing else with their leisure time: but their attention almost inevitably gravitated toward the TV at any given opportunity, like some kind of invisible but invincible pull of natural law. Even though the weather was nice, I never saw them play outside.

I suppose the reason I was surprised was that it was so different from how my brothers and I grew up. One of the quirky policies of my family that I am thankful for (amid the many I am not), was the banning of television from our home. Even though it was done for reasons I would not necessarily agree with now, I am deeply grateful that it was because I'm convinced it contributed to our intellectual and physical development.

Deprived of mindless entertainment, we were forced to turn to other occupations. Every waking moment not taken up by school was spent outdoors when the weather was fine. Joining up with our neighbourhood friends, we organized ourselves into teams to play the sport of the moment (football, baseball, basketball, dodgeball, road hockey, 4-square, obstacle courses, hide-and-seek, or one of many others depending on our mood). Our choice aligned itself with whatever big-league play was on at the time or simply our latest fad. Apart from sports, we often constructed imaginary play scenarios and acted them out together, or built legoes and created elaborate storylines for them.

Even bad weather was no hindrance. On rainy days, we'd gather inside to play board games or just to talk. Winter presented us with unique possibilities: snow-fort construction, always striving for the biggest and the strongest. Snowball wars, divided up into teams and with rules about permitted materials (ice not included) and body zones to avoid (head shots didn't count). "Sledding" down the meager mounds we built from the snow shoveled off the driveway. When we couldn't feel our toes and fingers anymore, we'd collect inside to drink hot chocolate and play Monopoly.

Darkness didn't stop us. On those endless summer nights of fireflies and seductive warmth we amused ourselves with a much trickier variant of hide-and-seek called "flashlight tag". The person who was "it" wielded the flashlight, and anyone caught in its beam was out. This necessitated much more inventive hiding and commando-like sneaking through the brush. Strategies included black clothing and face paint for camouflage.

Sometimes, we'd just sit outside and look up at the stars and wonder at the universe.

The nearby creek represented endless discovery. Despite the shallowness in summer, we waded into the deepest part to "swim", carefully avoiding the multitudinous crayfish and their tiny but vicious pinches. We constructed dams out of rocks and congratulated ourselves on the deepness of the pools that resulted. We caught crayfish, utilizing the most accurate method (carefully and slowly sneak a net or container down behind them, then scare them from the front, making them shoot backwards). We netted small fish: once I kept a stickleback for several months, until it slowly nibbled away at a tadpole I added for company. We went fishing, despite the fact that our most impressive catches rarely registered over six inches. We waded across and explored the woods on the other side, using a downed tree as a "fort". Once three of our most adventurous friends constructed a raft and floated down the creek into the pond, nearly capsizing themselves in the process and having to be rescued.

We spent entire days hiking through the forest and swinging from the ponderous hairy vines that hung from the trees in a way that would have credited any tropical forest. We climbed trees: one in our yard was so perfect and climbed so frequently that I could swing up it as smoothly and as quickly as a monkey. One of my favorite spots to read was perched on the low branch of another tree. The giant willow with its two tire swings amused us endlessly until it came crashing down in an ill-fated windstorm.

There were also more solitary pursuits. I was an inveterate collector and our yard represented collector's paradise. We theorized that it must have been a colonial dump due to the number of glass bottles, porcelain pieces, doll parts, and rusted iron implements we dug up. Once I found an African coin complete with a full-masted clipper on one side and a hole through the top (sadly lost long ago). I had a lovely collection of intact glass soft drinks bottles, including Pepsi and the famous Coke bottle. Ours was also an area rich in fossils, and my entire room turned into a display of my prized collection. Finally, fed up with dirt and stray rock bits, my mother made me move the impromptu museum into the basement: a transgression I have only recently forgiven her for since they all disappeared.

Because we were solely responsible for coming up with our own entertainment, we were nearly unlimited in our inventiveness. My two younger brothers and I had to be forcibly pried away from spending every spare moment with our friends and outdoors. When we were (our parents were of the opinion that too much time with them wasn't good for us), we mourned. Nobody had to put us into a summer program, or convince us that physical activity was a good thing. We were lean and strong as whips and happily self-motivated. We got messy and dirty and cut and bruised and gloriously tired out. And we enjoyed it.

When I look back, this part of my childhood seems like paradise: the writer's dream of a long, lazy, free existence owned by a gang of kids who roam at will.

In a typical memory, it is summer. The sun has come up through the tree outside my window with the promise of another blazing-hot, perfect day. We will gather together with Casey, Mike, Dave, and if necessary, our wider circle of friends, and we'll plan what to do for the day. We'll pick teams, and go. All day long, until we are reluctantly called home for supper, we will play. We'll make plans to gather up again after supper. And we'll play again until our curfew cuts us off and we have to troop home, with assurances that we'll do it all again tomorrow.

I never thought I was old enough for this kind of nostalgia. But when I compare our healthy lifestyle with the children who spend most of their time in front of a computer or a TV, I feel very lucky indeed. We were fierce and wild and untameable, but mostly innocent, and we had lots of fun. Thanks to my parents, for one choice well made.

I wasn't sure where to start with this post as it's so much more than a professional rebrand. When I married Bill nearly four years ago I kept my maiden name. There were many reasons for this, which I won't bore you with here, but I always said I'd change my name if the time ever came for us to have children. Well, four years later we still don't have any so I kept thinking, 'how long until I do this?'.
Aside from the kids thing, I always wanted to use my name for my work but was loathed to do it only to then change my name a year or so later and have to do it all again, so I chose the moniker Hey Jo as a stop gap. It has served me well but I am more than ready for a change so I recently made the decision to stop the waiting and get things going. I am starting the name change process once and for all. And if kids come along at any point then it's all done already... ha!
It's a rather long and dull process to change a name legally (what with all the banks, businesses, passport etc) but I'm hoping that by early Spring it'll be all done and I can finally enjoy this new beginning.
Which brings me to the images above. They're various design elements I am going to be using as part of my new brand, and while they're not finished yet I hope they illustrate the new direction I'm moving in. I'd love to know your thoughts!

PS I've also just realised it's exactly 5 years ago today that Bill proposed to me in New York! I don't know why this is relevant, but it seemed kind of timely, given the subject matter of this post!

This morning I came across an article via Fark.com titled "Evangelical Group's Motto: Breed to Succeed."

It's a long article, but for those who aren't interested enough to read it in full, here's a brief digest: a small but growing number of conservative evangelicals, mainly in the United States, subscribe to the belief that a married woman's main function is to bear children. They oppose all forms of birth control, believing that it's "obedience to God" to allow nature to take its course, and, in their view, to allow God to determine how many children they have. Logically, he will then take care of them financially, because if he gives them, he has to provide. Women stay home and take care of the children, including homeschooling, while men are the sole breadwinners. Patriarchalism is a given, with the man the head of the home.

The reasoning behind this? Well, the more children Christians have, the more Christians there will be. Conservative (Republican) voters will be raised up, outnumbering liberals who are disobedient to the God-given mandate to reproduce. A Christian army will be launched who will vote red, fight the culture wars, and take the mission to the next generation. America will once again return to its "roots" and become the godly nation it was intended to be. The growing threat of Muslims, who often have large families, is a stimulus.

This movement is called "Quiverfull", from Psalm 127, which reads in part, "Sons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one's youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them."

This all sounds eerily familiar to me. That's because I grew up steeped in this reasoning, and I watched its effect on not only my family but countless others in our homeschool group and circle of friends who subscribed to this philosophy.

My parents had five children and homeschooled. We were among the smaller families in our group—10 or 14 children was not unknown. Large extended vans with stacking-doll-like gradations of the same physical type spilling out were common. My parents' best friends were a couple, the weary wife-half of which produced a child about every year for as long as I knew them. Homeschooling was a given: if you were righteous you didn't expose your kids to the evils of the godless public school system. You taught them at home where you were free to indoctrinate them as you chose. The assumption was that if you raised them right and sheltered them enough, they'd turn out believing what you believe.

Patriarchalism was also the norm. Men were the heads of their homes, and depending on the man, this could be a good thing or a very bad thing. Taken to its extreme, some men, my father among them, believed this conferred the right to do whatever they pleased to their wives and children—including ordering them around, shouting at them, and beating them. The men worked outside the home, and no matter how financially or materially deprived the family was, the wife never, ever did.

Of course this was all backed up by certain well-worn verses from the Bible, interpreted by the men, and wives believed their duty was to submit.

But I'm not interested in writing a story about my experiences. I'm more interested in explaining why I believe this mentality to be so sadly wrong. I don't write with any rancour against the people who believe this; I'm well-familiar with the reasoning and, at one time, would have swallowed it myself to some extent. However, I believe it to be a radically flawed system based on a very faulty understanding of the Scriptures, and that's why I don't subscribe to it and never will.

Before I begin, a caveat: I realize with any response like this there's a danger of stereotyping or lumping all people in a certain belief system together. I certainly don't believe all "Quiverfull" families are headed by abusive men; or that they're all militant, hyper-legalistic, or naive. I'm sure there are many if not most who are gracious, well-intentioned, and lovely people. However, I do believe the reasoning itself to be misguided at best; and it's that which I'll attempt to address.

The belief that Christian families are required to have as many children as possible and to leave birth control "up to God" is an Old Testament one. In Genesis, Adam and Eve were commanded to "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it" (Genesis 1:28). Abraham was told that he would be the father of nations and his offspring would be as numerous as the stars of the sky (Genesis 15 & 17). Psalm 127, as quoted above, states that children are a blessing and implies that the more one has, the more blessed.

In Old Testament Israel, that was true. The Jews were God's "chosen people" out of all the nations of the world. To birth more ethnic Jews was literally to increase the number of God's people (outwardly speaking, at least). Added to this were the practical implications, not unique to Jews but common to every agriculturally-based society both ancient and modern, that the more children you had, the more labourers to work your fields and herd your flocks. Children were also the ultimate "old-age security", guaranteeing a future of provision when you were too old to take care of yourself.

Barrennes was considered the ultimate curse. In Psalm 113:9, God is praised as the one who "settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children." Barren wives such as Sarah (Abraham's wife), Leah (Jacob's wife) or Hannah (Samuel's mother) were grieved and deeply distressed by their failure to have children. In each case, God miraculously intervened and gave these women a child, sparing them a lifetime of dishonour. Often, however (as with Sarah and Leah), the ancient custom of giving the husband a female bondservant to bear him a child on the wife's behalf was practiced. This was seen as a better alternative than no children at all.

The Jews were not unique in these beliefs and practices. However, one factor unique to the Jews was that the Messiah was expected to be born to a Jewish woman. Every Jewish woman hoped that she could be the one to bear the Messiah, or at the very least, to further his line. She was doing her duty to her people (and possibly bringing great honour and blessing upon herself) through childbirth.

However, all of this radically changes with the New Testament. What was implicitly stated throughout the OT is now made explicit: that membership in the true people of God is no longer tied to ethnicity, but belongs to those who repent and have faith (e.g., John the Baptist's preaching: Matthew 3:9-10). In fact, we're even told that all along this has been the case: not everyone who was born an Israelite was a true child of God, but only those who had the same faith as Abraham (Romans 2:28-29; 4:12). The Jews' idea that by the simple fact of membership to a physical nation they were guaranteed right status with God, was knocked on its head repeatedly by Jesus (e.g., Matthew 8:10-12).

All of this may seem rather pedantic and irrelevant, particularly to those who don't claim a Christian faith; but it's central to the reasoning behind this modern-day movement.

Going further in the New Testament, we nowhere find commands to Christians to "be fruitful and multiply" in a physical sense. We do find very clear and explicit commands to be fruitful and multiply in a spiritual sense. In the so-called "Great Commission" (and in other passages throughout the gospels), Jesus commands us to "go and make disciples of all nations" (Matthew 28:18-20). The people of God are now the church, those who receive the mysterious new birth by the Spirit, those who repent and cast all their faith on Jesus. This people grows not by physically reproducing, but as those who've experienced it go out and share it with others, teaching and proclaiming what Jesus taught, accompanied by physical demonstrations of his power. In this way, the kingdom extends.

If, as "Quiverfull" advocates state, a Christian's main duty is to produce children to grow the kingdom of God, then why is Jesus, the Lord and Head of our faith, completely and totally silent on the subject? He blesses children (Matthew 19:13-15), but never commands us to bear them. Even on this occasion, he uses it to teach a spiritual lesson. One would think if childrearing was a main goal of his church, he would have said something about it somewhere. Something to the effect of, "Blessed are the fertile, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." But there's nothing.

When Jesus does mention offspring, it isn't with the kind of positive spin that the "Quiverfulls'" beliefs would indicate. A sample: "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple." (Luke 14:25-27). Jesus is not talking about hatred in the sense that we normally understand it, but a willingness to put him first, above even our closest family, to the extent that we'll suffer their loss if obedience to him requires it. Surely we'd expect that given Jesus' very limited discussion of earthly families, he'd devote the time he did spend to ideals like having lots of children! Instead, when he does mention the subject, it's to tell us that even this area of our lives is to lie in subjection to him. Jesus is paramount, not procreation.

As we move into Acts and follow the apostles' example, the pattern continues. They go out, preach the gospel, heal the sick, raise the dead, cast out demons. The church grows. No word in Peter or Paul's preaching about the duty to have kids. 3000 were saved in one day as a result of Peter's first sermon (Acts 2)! Pretty effective church growth strategy: it would take a long time to achieve those kinds of numbers through physical birth.

Moving on to the rest of the New Testament, we find nothing, anywhere, commanding Christians to bear children, or to have as many as possible. There are brief commands to women to love their husbands and children and to care for them (Titus 2:4-5); commands to fathers about how to treat their children (Ephesians 6:4); and a command to Christian children to obey their parents (Ephesians 6:1). The New Testament does not direct but assumes that many if not most of the new believers come from families. The kingdom, this new way of life, has its bearing and effect on every aspect of life, including how one treats one's offspring. Family life is important. But considering the proportion of importance the "Quiverfull" adherents give it, there is remarkably little about it in the NT.

Instead, the primary thrust of the New Testament, and most of its commands, is about how we are to treat one another in the church. The church is the family of God. Even single people and widows have their rightful place in this new community. Spiritual ties, our common Father God, our Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit indwelling us, are stronger than physical ties. There are clear warnings to those who neglect their families (1 Timothy 5:8), but the main focus of the NT is the newly-created family of God, made up of Jews, Gentiles, men, women, young, old, married and single. This family is to love one another, care for one another, practice family life as commanded by Jesus, and grow the family by telling others.

In summary, the method of growth for the kingdom of God is this: preach the gospel. Make disciples. Do the works of Jesus. This kingdom will affect how we treat our biological families, but the family of God is our primary allegiance.

But outweighing it all for me, is one striking factor that I can't help but believe the "Quiverfulls" don't take into account: the simple fact that Jesus, our Lord and Master, was single. He didn't ever bear children (extra-biblical speculation like Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code notwithstanding). Paul, the greatest apostle, author of most of the New Testament, was single. Not only that, both Jesus and Paul state explicitly that some will be called to singleness for the sake of the kingdom (Matthew 19:11-12 & 1 Corinthians 7:1-9). Paul even says that if one can accept it, singleness is a better option because it allows undivided devotion to the Lord (1 Cor 7:32-35)! So were Jesus and Paul, and single Christians today and throughout the ages, radically disobedient? Were they missing the purposes of God, not furthering the growth and cause of the church, by not having kids? What would all the churches Paul founded say? What would Christians throughout two millenia of church history, myself included, who have benefited from the fact that Paul was single and free to travel and risk his life to spread the gospel, say?

I think I know. I know what I would say.

There are questions I'd love to ask the Quiverfulls. Like, how can you assume that by having children you'll further the kingdom of God when membership in the kingdom is not by physical birth but spiritual? Can you assume that all of your children will be Christians just because you are? Because you "raise them right"? What if a majority of your children choose to rebel (as so many do), and live their own lifestyle? What if they grow up outwardly conforming but inwardly empty? What if they carry on your values but never know God? How tragic!

What about single Christians? What about Christian couples who are infertile? Are they somehow disobedient to God? What about women whose lives will be endangered if they bear more children? Are they "rebellious" if they undergo tubal ligation? Or should they simply "trust God" and risk major health problems or death?

How are you living Jesus' radical call to leave it all and follow him if your main goal is a steady job and a nice home life for your kids and you wouldn't even consider getting up and going to another nation to give the gospel, perhaps to people who have never heard? How can you justify having little to give because your limited income is stretched to its capacity by the needs of multiple kids? How do you explain the fact that no New Testament command exists to have children?

What about adoption? If the main goal is to raise kids who will carry on your Christian faith, why not make room for those who otherwise wouldn't have a chance by not having so many of your own? Why not show mercy by giving family life and the privileges of education, culture, and health care to a poor child from a third-world country? Why not adopt a child from another ethnicity? If you're white, take in a black, Asian, or Latino child. Why not help those who are already born but destined to a lifetime of disadvantage, rather than producing so many of your own?

Please understand I am not saying it is wrong to have children. I am not even saying it is wrong to have multiple children, if a particular couple feels that is their calling from God and they have the desire, energy, and resources to care for them. I can't help thinking it's excessive and unnecessary, but then, that's my personal opinion. What I am decrying is the notion that equates having lots of children and raising them in a particular way is somehow integral to the purposes of God and advances his kingdom. It's not and it doesn't. It misses the point of the New Testament entirely. It's trying to build a kingdom on earth, and well-intentioned as it may be, it's never going to happen. Not only that, a lot of the kids raised in these families (like myself, my siblings, and many others I know) are going to see the emptiness and fallacy behind this mentality and either reject Christianity entirely, or discover a Jesus whose kingdom is not of this world. Like I, I'm thankful, did.

The Round-up:

• Food - 3.5 out of 5
• Service - 3.5 out of 5
• Decor - 4 out of 5
• Overall - 11 out of 15

Let's start with the good: Tangerine is a tastefully decorated bistro that has added a healthy dose of personality to the strip of shops on 14th Avenue between Lorne and Cornwall streets. The restaurant seems to be doing a very good business over the lunch hour. Ladies who lunch, business folks, and university kids are all common sights.
Service is very fast - as it should be at a bistro that depends on the lunch hour to survive. My meals have arrived within minutes of ordering during both of my lunchtime visits. Considering that ordering is done cafeteria-style, that is up at the counter, there is no reason for service to be slow.
The menu, written in chalk on a large wall next to the deli case, has a good mixture of proteins, grains and greens, and it changes often. Tangerine also brews coffee and serves up homemade biscuits and sweets. All of this lends an urbane feel to the place - Tangerine would fit right in to New York's Lower East Side or Vancouver's West End. But it's all ours and we should be proud to have it.
As for the not-so-good: Tangerine needs to work on portions and prices. The other day I ordered the $11 Greens and Proteins: a six- or seven-ounce piece of salmon atop a bed of greens with a light dressing. The dish's modest size left me feeling hungry, and that I'd paid too much. Consider that Siam Thai restaurant downtown offers an all-you-can-eat lunch buffet for $9; or that La Bodega serves a mean sandwich with fries for about $12.
As for the salad, I have a strong suspicion that the lettuce mixture I ate was store-bought. This is a bit of a shame in the middle of summer when fresh local produce is everywhere.
Finally, Tangerine could play more heavily on the "food bar" theme that it uses as part of its name. At the moment, the restaurant is open until 7 p.m. on weeknights. But give the place a liquor licence, dim the lights, put on some groovy music, and you could have a very cool evening hangout. Of course, this may come as Tangerine matures. Owner/chef Aimee Schulhauser is wise to take a "walk before you run" approach to the place.
The verdict: give Tangerine a try for your next business lunch, or if you happen to be hanging around downtown on a gorgeous summer day.

Last night, I took part in the Global Night Commute, organized by Invisible Children. The purpose of the event was to raise awareness of the nearly 20-year-long rebel war in Northern Uganda and the horrific toll it has taken on the civilian population, of which 1.7 million people are displaced; 20-50,000 children have been abducted and forced to serve as soldiers and sex slaves; and 130 people die each day due to violence.

Each night, thousands of children commute on foot for miles from their homes in rural areas and sleep in city centres and "safe" areas to avoid abduction, only to repeat the commute the next morning. By doing the same for one night, thousands of people across the US, Canada, and several other countries including Ireland and Singapore, hoped to draw attention to the issue and force the hand of their governments to act.

I took part in the march in Durham, New Hampshire, on the University of New Hampshire campus. We met in a parkinglot on the west edge of town. As the time approached, busloads and carloads of people began accumulating, clutching backpacks and sleeping bags. By 7:00 we'd gathered the 200+ who'd signed up for the event. Most were UNH students; some were from local high schools; a few stragglers showed up from elsewhere, including the four from my church who took part. A couple of people had walked all the way from Dover, a distance of ten or twelve miles, starting their walk at 1:00 that afternoon.

After a few organizational remarks and a reminder about why we were all there, nine slow shots from a starter pistol set us off, and we started walking. The two-mile route mapped out for us wound around the centre of Durham. Two hundred plus people walking attracts a lot of attention; we made a long parade. People in passing cars stared, waved, yelled, honked their horns; a few asked what we were doing. A police escort watched over us and blocked off traffic till we passed.

Once we'd arrived at the designated spot, a grassy lawn in front of one of the UNH buildings, we threw down our sleeping bags and marked out our spots. The sun was going down and it rapidly grew chillier. Volunteers handed us each a stapled bunch of papers including instructions and three blank sheets: one for a letter to be written to President Bush; one for a letter to our Congressman; and one for an art project to be included in a yearbook-type of publication about the event. My two friends and I wrote our letters but opted out of the art project, for lack of enthusiasm and lack of light.

A video clip was shown; an informational presentation; a couple of people spoke; and in the end the Invisible Children documentary was played again. At one point the organizer of the event got up to warn us that the temperature was forecasted to drop below freezing that night. Did any of us want to sleep on an indoor track that was made available to us? A few tentative hands went up; the body elected to stay where we were. The feeling seemed to be that we'd committed ourselves; we might as well go the whole way.

As the night came and the chill grew deeper my friends and I cuddled down into our sleeping bags and snuggled together for warmth. A kind friend from another group lent us a tarp to spread under us, warning that the ground would get very wet. We struggled with our sleeping bags, tried to find the most comfortable and warmest position, talked and laughed, and eventually, as it grew late, fell asleep.

The best of us slept lightly. It is never comfortable sleeping on the ground or in a constrictive sleeping bag at any time. The high school and college kids laughed, talked, played baseball and guitars loudly till very late. I woke up a few times during the night and opened my eyes only to realize with chagrin that it was still dark and there were more hours to endure. My toes froze. My hips grew alternately sore as I rolled from side to side. It's a wonder any of us slept at all. It was a long night.

But we endured it. As the sun came up the next morning and the sky lightened from black to blue we woke groaning with cold, stiffness, and tiredness. We realized that frost was covering our sleeping bags, our backpacks, and even our pillows where our heads hadn't lain. Eventually the whole mound of people other than us had gotten up, packed up their sleeping bags and tarps, and sleepily stumbled off home. Finally Kyle, the lone guy in our number, bravely got up, sprinted back to his house, got his car, and drove back to give us a ride back to the parkinglot where we'd left our cars. We drove off our separate ways to shower and change and (in my case, at least) sleep another couple of hours before meeting up again for church.

And that was that. If it makes a difference, I'm glad I slept out one night in weather far too cold for any sane person to do so out of choice. One night of discomfort is nothing compared to what the kids in Northern Uganda suffer every night; and we had no fear of being abducted or marauded by any but rowdy college students. I'm thankful to have had the chance to take part, and I hope and pray it makes an impact that is felt permanently and significantly in Uganda.

Top: Frost on my backpack

Bottom: Frost on my pillow

Earlier I blogged about an organization called Invisible Children which is acting to end the war in Northern Uganda where kids as young as five are abducted to serve as rebel soldiers. This is a very cool music video they've just released to promote the Global Night Commute, a one-night sleep-outside event designed to raise public awareness and lobby the government. Watch!

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All images taken with my iPhone via Instagram

This weekend we looked after our young niece and nephew, which while tiring, was nowhere near as scary as I thought it would be! I always imagined I'd be such a soft touch when it comes to kids and that I wouldn't be able to cope, but it turns out I'm a lot more in control than I ever thought I would be. Watching Bill with them was charming and heart warming - he really will make a wonderful father one day. Gives us hope for the future! Ha! We also spent time with the best of friends and their 9 year old son who is the best behaved, cutest boy. You can't buy good parenting! Aside from that we enjoyed some evening sun, good food and I did some painting (a snippet of which is bottom left). I hope you all had good weekends (and good Mondays). Here's hoping the summer arrives this week, yes?! (although I realise this only applies to the UK...not that I'm jealous or anything...)