I Keep A Book of Commonplace

I was showing my husband some beautiful blank books recently, available from a UK publisher and explaining to him what was meant by a 'commonplace book.' 

A commonplace book is a blank book that you use to jot down thoughts, quotes, notes from the day, reminders, newspaper clippings, recipes, souvenirs, anything you can think of really. It is not a journal. It is not a place for introspective thoughts and minds. It is really, a personal reference book. Things you want to remember. Things that impacted your life. Things that mattered. It is a tradition that apparently goes back as far as the Middle Ages.

"I would love to have one of these and do this," when he turned to me and said, 'but you already do."

It took me a few seconds to realise that it is a habit that I've had since childhood and blank books being one of my favourite things, I have lots of them stored away or scattered about the house in bookshelves or cupboards. It's not anything I am really intentional about, it just happens. I do love the idea of being intentional with it, as my Grandmother was, which I will show you.

My latest common-purpose book is filled with study notes, recipes, Christmas shopping lists, a knitting pattern, quotes I loved and doodles and lots of other little, random things.

This red book was my first commonplace book that I had when I got married. I bought it on my honeymoon in a bookmaker's shop in Oamaru, New Zealand. It has notes from our honeymoon and the birth of our first baby.  My latest commonplace book is not so pretty to look at and it is full, so it is time to buy a new one and I might treat myself to one of the beautiful English books linked above.

My grandmother kept a commonplace book. This is one that she gave to my cousin, covered in the wallpaper of one of their bedrooms. It's full of poems, quotes, hymns, newspaper clippings and other little things. A real family treasure. It doesn't have to be a fancy book, it can be any kind of blank notebook.

A newspaper cutting taken from the local paper when my grandparents had their 65th wedding anniversary and words of advice, my mother, 'nurse Spencer' mentioned in a tiny newspaper clipping and lots of notes in my grandmother's own handwriting.

When my grandfather got awarded by the Queen, Nana has kept the instructions for those attending the Investiture in 1967 at Government House in Wellington. 

A commonplace book could be a real glimpse into someone's life from another era and insight into the personality who kept it.

Here are some entries from my commonplace books that I've kept over the years.

Death notice of a beloved work colleague from my teenage years.

Notes and doodlings from a university lecture by the late, much-esteemed Moana Jackson.

Charting a knitting pattern.

I leave you with some words from my Grandmother's commonplace book. I would love to know if this is something you do also, and if so, what do you write in?

"We do not exist to be counted. We count."

The Man in the Brown Suit and the meaning of the word 'Adventuress'

Anne Beddingfeld is an adventuress. After caring for her genius but hopelessly impractical father for many years at home in their sleepy English village, his untimely death means Anne is now free to experience life.

Managing to avoid the marriage proposals of some local and very respectable men, she runs off to London to look for an adventure and sees a man killed at the railway station which sets a train of events into place.

This is an enjoyable read - along the same lines as the Tommy and Tuppence series. I especially liked the travel in this story, setting off from England on a ship and then to South Africa. Agatha sets the scenes very well.

Anne finds a mystery in England that all starts with a man dying at the railway station, a phony doctor, a mysterious piece of paper that needs deciphering, and a murder. It's very light-hearted and a nice, cosy read with plenty of excitement. 

Agatha Christie originally titled this, 'Anna the Adventuress' but for whatever reason, her editors changed it.

I have heard the word 'adventuress' a few times recently on various media outlets and commentary and it peaks my interest in what that word means. I first heard it listening to the YouTube channel of Lady Colin Campbell, a royal commentator and member of the British aristocracy. She uses it to describe Meghan Markle, but I thought it an interesting word.

The definition according to Merriam-Webster is:

Anne Beddingfeld certainly fits this description, seeking excitement and change. Adventuress is an old fashioned word and an old-fashioned term, but does conjure up images of excitement and danger, a thrill seeker, a fortune hunter who throws caution to the wind and sees where their gamble at life lands them. 

It would be interesting to explore women in history who might have been adventuresses. Do any spring to your mind? I'd be interested to know.

For Anne, she has all her wishes granted for adventure, danger, friendship, experiences, new scenes and romance granted to her. Her gamble pays off - in the end.

I do recommend this book if you are in the mood for some light reading, an old-fashioned thriller that will keep you guessing to the end.

The Thing With Harry - an analysis

It's like an altered fairytale. Some weird alternate universe where instead of the frog turning into the prince, the prince has turned into the frog!

I wasn't going to write anymore about Harry and Meghan. The frustration with all of this is the ability to see the behaviour and have no power to do anything about it. But I changed my mind last night after watching his interview with Tom Bradby because while I have been firmly on the side of the King and the Prince of Wales, and I still am, last night while listening to Harry's own words, a small smidgen of sympathy for him began to creep in. For weeks I have felt anger at his behaviour, at his unfair attacks on his family, our royal family, our late beloved Queen, anger at his selfish, gauche, un-princely actions, but last night that changed as I listened to him speak.

It was a minute, tiny moment that showed me what I think is going on here. So tiny, that unless you know what it is to be in this place, you would miss it. It was a moment of recognition, a fleeting pulling back of the curtain, a shared-experience moment. A moment of empathy. I will get into that, but first I have to lay the foundation of what I want to say.

The account of his experiences around the death of his mother, Princes Diana, is truly moving and as an 11 year old boy the trauma of that altered the course of his life. I understand what trauma does to children, because I have seen it in my own children when they watched their father essentially 'die' before their eyes with his cardiac arrest - he survived, but a traumatic event in a child's life is irreversible in the damage it does. No matter how much you try and protect your children from the harsh realities of the world, sometimes events are out of your control as it was with William and Harry experiencing the death and loss of their mother. William, because he was older, was able to cope better. This is not minimising his experiences at all, but rather putting into perspective how time and age and maturity makes a huge difference to internal emotional development. My eldest child at 17 years old coped better with his father's cardiac event than my youngest child at 9 years old, and this is purely due to the age and maturity factor. Prince Harry's development was arrested and altered at the age of eleven upon experiencing the loss of his mother and he probably did not receive the help he needed. This is not anyone's fault - therapy in those days was not seen as important or as accessible as it is now, there have been huge developments in psychology over the 25 years since Princess Diana's death.

So, I start with this as a baseline. This is an explanation for his behaviour now. This is why he sees killing Afganistan soldiers as 'chess pieces' and not as humans. This is why he says he 'couldn't cry' at his mother's death. This is why he always thinks the world is against him. This is why his behaviour and words are seen as childish. It's not because he's a raging psychopath - though these traits can be characteristic of psychopathic behaviour, I personally don't think he is, but because he has arrested development due to childhood trauma. There is perhaps another diagnosis, but I am not going to go there.

My own sympathy began to creep in for Harry while watching the interviews because while taking this all into consideration, the tragedy of Harry's life - the sadness of Harry's life, is something that is all too familiar to me. I recognise the hallmarks of it. I feel the blinding loyalty that comes with it. I cower remembering the hurtful, lonely place that this is. I remember in ways I don't want to remember. It's a visceral, devastating place to be. 

I also know what it's like to be the pawn, the victim, the toy of the narcissist.

I know what this is like and I see it in Harry.

This is why I can find some pity for him, in my heart.

This is also why I think, surmise, guess -  that the Royal family are trying to leave a crack open in the door. I think they understand, on a deeper level than the media and the general public do what is really going on, and they know that one day they'll need to be there for Harry. To love him, to give him a place to go back to when the bottom drops out from under his world as it ultimately will. 

I posted this picture on my Instagram last week as we were drip-fed excerpts from his early-released book, 'Spare.' Harry claims to love his family, but everything this verse says, Harry has been doing the opposite of. Why? Perhaps, as I see it, because he is in the grip of a narcissist and he cannot see anything else, or any other perspective. This was excruciatingly revealed in the story of his argument with Prince William after their grandfather's funeral, where William is seemingly desperately trying to get through to Harry, and Harry chooses to not believe him. This is what a narcissist does - blinds you so much to outside perspectives, pulls you in so much so that all you can see is the narrative being fed to you. When I was with my narcissist, friends also tried to get through to me, expressed worry about me. It didn't work. My default was to defend the narcissist.

What I took away from the interviews is that Harry is telling himself - making it his 'life work' to bring accountability to the press, to the media. He kept on and on about it - to the point that at times he wasn't making much sense and you could literally see the frustration on Tom Bradby's face.

So what is going on here? Is Harry really that concerned with negative stories about himself and his family in the media; ie, Meghan and the children, and the stories not being corrected by the Palace?

I don't think so. In my experience of life with narcissism, my opinion would be that this is the narrative that he is telling himself, trying to desperately convince himself, prove to himself that it is the media, the press, the journalists that are all at fault here - but I believe he is projecting because he knows deep down that the real issue here is his wife and he doesn't want to believe it. He doesn't want to see it. He doesn't want his brother and his father to be right. His intuition is telling him and he's not listening.

I saw it. I saw it in that tiny, minute fleeting nano-second. 

It's almost like that saying, 'he doth protest too much.'  

If you go back through the interview and exchange every mention of the British Press or media etc with his wife's name, it puts a whole different perspective on it. Now, of course he is not going to do that. He is still deeply entrenched in the narrative that is being told to him. At the moment his current way of life depends on him believing this and he still wants to believe the best of his wife because he is still in love with her. He tells himself (and the world) that he is the happiest he's ever been, but happy men don't go on television and trash their family. 

I noticed that he was fighting against emotions when he was talking about how he used to hope that he and William and Kate and 'whoever' he married would get on well and work together. He held this dream. We have seen him when it was just the three of them - yes he was sometimes the third wheel - but his brother and sister-in-law seemed to include him happily and have a good time with him. He wanted this. He wanted this dream future. He wanted a partner that everyone would love and get on with. He wanted the fairytale. But it didn't go as well as he had hoped and it hurts him.  

Narcissism is an evil beast. It is cruel and relentless. It destroys families. It's abuse turns you into a shadow of your former self. It makes you paranoid. It makes you believe lies. It makes you see others as the enemy. 

It makes you sacrifice yourself to protect the narcissist.

Is there any hope for Harry?

The only hope lies in his family back in the UK. 

Eventually, he will either come to a realisation and admit to himself that he has been groomed and used by a narcissist (I believe this is unlikely, but I did see a glimmer of hope in that interview). 

Someone could potentially get through to him and like a leaking tap, keep drip, drip, drip with love and reminders of who he is and who he could be. A good therapist would do this - this was how it worked for me, but often it is a close friend just keeping at it and not giving up. In Harry's case, this seems unlikely because his close friends have been isolated and he views them with distrust.

Finally, the narcissist will eventually move on. This is inevitable.

Why do I think the only hope lies in his family back in the UK? Because they know the real story of what went on before. They know Harry and they love Harry genuinely, authentically, not as a narcissist loves. 

They have been the true definition of I Corinthians 13 and this is why King Charles is reluctant to cut all ties with his younger son. He loves as a father should love, unconditionally, with forgiveness and in the end, Harry will need this to repair his life.

Opinions expressed in this post are my own.

Death Rituals

One of the sad parts of my job is having our patients die. It is inevitable when working in healthcare, but it isn't something I was prepared for when I started the job.

Because I'm not a doctor I never imagined that doing an administrative role as a receptionist would mean that sometimes I would have to come into contact with death, and it's not easy, not easy for anyone, but it also impacts on us non-clinical staff.

In the past week we have had three patients pass away. On hearing of the death of one in particular, it made me cry a little because I had come to know this person for the brief moments (sometimes not so brief if the doctor was running late) while they sat in the waiting room and we would chat and laugh. We talked about family and Christmas plans and how they were coping with a tough health diagnosis, and it became a warm, superficial relationship that somehow didn't feel superficial because we shared so much and I grew to like them and care about them. 

And then they died. 

It dawns on you that you'll never see them again. They're never going to walk through those doors and pass the time of day with you ever again. They knew your name and you knew theirs, and now that is gone.

Processing a death in a medical centre as an administrator felt like such a cold, heartless procedure when I first started in this job.

Upon hearing of the death, you immediately have to attend to it. It stops texts and recalls and notifications going out to the person's phone who has died, which could be distressing to the family. I understand why it has to be done but at first it seemed cold and heartless, ruthless even.

But I've become accustomed to it now, and now I consider it an honour. One of the last administrative tasks that is performed for a life that saw medical events and procedures and physical challenges and a documented relationship with a doctor. 

I've made it into my own little ritual. When I was a child and teenager, I used to keep a book with all the names of people I knew who had died. I don't know why I did it, I just thought it was a nice thing to do, to remember them.

Processing a death at work feels like something similar.

First you have to un-enrol them from the healthcare system and record the date of death. You have to pull their enrolment form with their signature from the files and it often has a photo attached to it, and this brings back memories of your own encounters with that person. I like to think about those times for a bit before I move onto the next stage. I like to think and remember who they were and the times I interacted with them, and I think of their family and the sadness they must be going through as they process a sorrow far deeper than mine.

The final stage is finding all their medical history. Where I work, this means going into the dark storage room and finding the folder that holds the tangible evidence of their birth, life and now death. It is all bundled together and placed in a file.

I write their full name carefully across the top with the date of death, and then I carry it to another place where it is stored for 10 years. This is a legal requirement. Writing their full name feels important. Like a statement saying this person lived. This person had a name, a family, a connection with people and community and they were somebody.

It's such a small job. A small, last ritual. An important one, but such a small one, but I like the privilege of carrying it out - one of the last services I can do for them. 

Listen to the Rhythm of the Rain

It has rained here all week.

Perhaps it is the ancient Scots blood in me, born down from my ancestors that acclimatised to gloomy, dark weather living up in the north of Scotland for all those centuries, that makes me feel comforted in rain. Rain has always felt soothing to me and this week I have been grateful for it calming my soul because this week has been difficult for me on a few fronts.

Justice has always been my driving force, although I didn't come to realise that until late in life. Learning that I love justice and hate injustice is what led me to study sociology and understanding how the world works, how it turns, how sociologists are passionate drivers for change in society. A passion for a just world and a believer that one person can impact the world for better. To break the darkness with light. 

But this week it has been tested because I had unfair and untrue accusations said to me, from both my workplace and an extended family relationship and in the past it would have been in my nature to cower and submit and give in and quietly walk away, letting it go, absorbing that shame and injustice, or as Erin Hanson says in her beautiful poem, that I "gave them what they wanted..... gave them life with endless sun."

Standing up for yourself is not always very easy. It is stressful for me. It still impacts negatively on my health but I have learned better how to deal with it and how to mentally process it.  I have learned how to confront bullies. I have learned what happens when you do. I've learned not to be controlled by others. 

I have learned that it is not always the healthy way to stay silent. 

Sometimes, though, it is necessary to be silent (such as dealing with personality disorders as I mentioned in my last post) and knowing the difference is part of this journey.

I've had to do both this week - confront unfair accusations and also to ignore the raging of a narcissist.  In doing so, working through these challenges, I realise how much I've grown personally and spiritually. Able to stand in the confidence of my belief systems and values and integrity, while partnering with God through life to grow closer to Him and lean on His strength through difficult times, to be sheltered by Him and heard.

So, I've been grateful for the rain this week, that has brought a calmness to my day, a solace of cool, quiet, refreshment, a steady presence and reminder that nothing beautiful would ever grow if it wasn't for the rain. 

Here is Erin Hanson's poem in full. You can find her wonderful work here on Instagram.

A Tiny Shift

This summer, I'm working on a book. 

Because of the nature of it, I'm finding I'm being drawn back to old arts centred around home and family. It's more of a challenge now to focus on home, because I work 4 days a week and I'm studying, but there must be something in the air that is making me turn my focus back onto this. 

I find as I get older that I take comfort in old, familiar things and old, familiar faces. It is probably because we as a family have been through so much in the past 10 years and I reach for peace and safety and familiar. It is possible to crave that and yet still have ambitions, as I do with my study and future. A check list, if you like, for the second half of my life. The things I want to do are things that I have chosen for myself and even at my age I still have dreams.

I think I know what precipitated this shift.

At the beginning of the year we visited my home province in Marlborough for a summer holiday. It was one of the loveliest holidays filled with warm, sunny days walking through old familiar streets and haunts in Picton, the seaside town and Blenheim, my hometown, where old friends I've known all my life still live, and a remnant of relatives. Once it was full of my grandparents and cousins and parents and great aunts and uncles, but we grew up and moved away and grandparents passed away, but the area holds so many dear memories for me, still full of atmosphere and fragrance and textures and sounds and somehow this year I felt like I wanted to hold onto that forever.

I'm writing a book about this very special part of New Zealand and my memories of growing up as a Marlborough girl.  A collection of recipes and stories and connection with the people and places of this province. It is a nostalgic project and I'll be invoking the food of the 1970s and 1980s that left indelible an imprint on our collective family history as well as generational food passed down from the matriarchs.

As part of the writing and creative process, I have decided to incorporate weekly videos for my youtube channel. I plan on doing this every Sunday. Food is such an intrinsic part of who we are and is intertwined with the stories of our lives, so while I am more of a writer than I am an orator or camera person, I felt it was important to record the process of creating a book about life and memories and connection. These videos will reflect the person I am - the introvert and lover of quiet in a world that clamours for attention and noise. It's a place for other introverts - to slow life down and enjoy the beauty around us and to remember and reflect on what is important - connection with people and with places.

I would be interested to know what you think and your own thoughts around this subject.

My Introverted Life in the Goldfish Bowl of a Waiting Room

Four years of human nature training. That's what I call it. 

I have learned more about human nature in the four years of doing this job as a Medical Receptionist than I learned anywhere else.

I was trained by one of the best in the industry and I'm pretty confident when I say that, even though I don't know any other medical receptionist trainers. She is someone with such a knowledge of people and human behaviour that after I interviewed for the job and was successful, I asked her why she knew I'd be good for the role, because I literally had nothing going for me unless 20 years as a stay at home mum or a school hockey club secretary counted. Her reply: "I liked you." Coming from someone who has a radar like a policeman, was and still is, one of the best compliments I've ever received. My husband Rob is like this too and I always put it down to his experience as a probation officer and the work he does with convicted criminals. You get to see the worst and the best of humanity, and being in a medical centre is not dissimilar. Over the years, you develop an intuition about people and between the lady who trained me and my husband, I'm yet to see them get it wrong. 

Being a medical receptionist is the kind of job where you have to be a people person if you want to be good at your job. Now, I would have said I was the kind of people person described by Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice: 

I am introverted. I love my space and the quiet for internal, personal reflection. I hate being put on the spot for my opinion or thoughts. I hate being asked questions without preparation. I'm not good at small talk - I abhor it. I hate the telephone and I hate being around people all day long and I hate being on 'show' - like a goldfish in a goldfish bowl. All of these qualities are not suitable for a medical receptionist. Every day, every encounter with a patient is a question, or someone wanting something from me. Small talk is the lifeblood of a doctor's waiting room, "How are you today, Mr P," "isn't it a beautiful day outside?" or "when is the rain going to stop," or "I love your beautiful cardigan, Mrs S," all day long, and the telephone! I have never liked talking on the phone. My friends know this about me, because I never call. The phone is a huge part of being a receptionist and in a doctor's surgery it literally never stops. I had to jump in the deep end on this one when I first started the job. I was terrified of the phone and I hated it, "just suck it up Rachel and deal with it." Four years down the track, I still don't like the phone, but at least I usually have the answers now for any caller or know who to pass it on to if I don't.

My office is in the middle of the waiting room, and it does feel like a goldfish bowl some days and I get comments on my clothes or jewellery which I don't mind, or old men telling me I "look great in those pants" which I do mind.

In spite of all of these things not fitting with my introverted nature, I find that this is one of the most interesting jobs I have ever had and that it suits my personality. I used to think being a nurse aid when I was 17 at a convalescent hospital for geriatrics was one of the most interesting jobs I'd done, but this one tops that even, probably because it's less physically demanding work. 

I had reason to think about this lately when considering my job after one of our patients in their late 80s said to me randomly as they were leaving the other day, "don't you ever leave this place." They meant it as a compliment and I took it as one, ("I won't if you won't," I replied cheekily), but because of the introverted, reflective thinker I am, I had to think through why they said that to me. What was it about me, an introverted, melancholic, suspicious minded, hater of telephones and crowds, that made them say that?

I'm interested in people. I am a people person. I can't believe I'm admitting that, but it's true.  I'm interested in their lives and who they are and what makes them tick. 

After four years of doing this job I have realised that to be an effective receptionist in a community practice, you have to be a people person. The job is managing people all day long and sometimes this takes a delicate balance, especially when it comes to people's health and medical needs, so knowing the patients, knowing who they are and their story, is an important, if not vital part of this job. 

But what is a people person? I've had plenty of extroverts tell me that they are a people person, but they wouldn't know the first thing about getting past that superficial layer of social niceties and conversations. Their idea of being a people person is being around people, but it's for themselves, not for that person, and if you're like that in this job, you'll just end up pissing people off.

So what makes a genuine people person? I think it doesn't matter if you consider yourself an extrovert or an introvert, what matters is genuinely caring about another person, and being interested in them. The superficiality of relationship is more than just a 'hi, how are you?' "How was your day?" "Have a great day!" in a loud voice with a big smile (shudder).

A genuine people person will take the time to get to know you, who you are, what makes you tick, will remember your story. Always - it's not about me, it's about you. 

It's knowing, in my job, when a person walks in the door, what to talk about with them, be it their Christmas plans, their house being built, their grandchildren, their kid's first day at school, or the new job they started recently, or whether to actually just leave them alone in silence. It's knowing how unwell they are that day, because they're not their usual self.

I like working in a practice in my own community. I like running into our patients at the grocery store and passing the time of day or waving out on the street when I'm out walking my dog around the neighbourhood. It makes me feel a sense of belonging in this community, and I think it helps them too when they come to the doctor to have a familiar face and voice, someone who cares about them, even if it is just the receptionist, especially when they're not well and needing care. 

It's a job I love and care about and I've been so grateful for the education in humanity that it has given me. 

Republic vs. The Crown

No other country in the world does ceremony like the British.  As we've seen recently with the funeral of Queen Elizabeth II, the formalities surrounding this was spectacular, moving and sobering, fitting for a state funeral and reflected the sadness and grief of the nation. 

This week it was announced that next May, 2023 we will have another ceremony in the state occasion of crowning the new King and Queen in a happier event, so more uniformed soldiers, gold coaches, spectacular music and clothes and crowns to look forward to.

I personally love that our own country of New Zealand is linked with the Crown, especially when the jewels and music and parades are brought out - it's a wonderful link with a rich and interesting history, and it truly would be a shame to do away with the hundreds of years of tradition, even though we think of ourselves as so 'modern' now and don't need this. It's true, we don't have to parade our Kings through the streets on horseback as they might have done in medieval times in a display that served as both an introduction and assertion of power in a time when Kings held political power. We no longer have to go to battle to the death for our Kings to sit on the throne, but by committing to a formal ceremony we are not only reminding the realms of the importance of the Crown, but the validity they give to our democracy. 

The Westminster democracy that our country's political system runs on, is one of the best in my opinion. 

My reason for this thinking is because republics - even with checks and balances in place still gives room for power-hungry people to jostle for position and it attracts people who want power, leaving it wide open for corruption and difficult for anyone who does not have huge wealth. Historically, republics tend to eventually descend into chaos and implode. The Roman Empire gives us an example of this. Ambitious men hungry for power began to not care about the rules and the laws, putting themselves forward as saviours, making up the rules, mocking the democratic processes and democracy descends into autocracy. 

Imagine if we were adopting such a republic system in New Zealand. Our current Prime minister Jacinda Ardern would be President Ardern. There would be no Governor General. In actual fact, New Zealand operates from the best of this system, because of our distance from the UK, the neutralness of the Royal Family and their non-political stance which makes them figureheads rather than rulers, and we function fairly independently and on our own anyway. I get irritated with people who argue that we need to become a republic because we need to grow up as a country. Grow up to be what?  

As a student of Sociology and a student of Forensic Psychology, I hope to channel my education and ultimately research into this area of power - and explore the science behind power and why certain people seek powerful positions. I can tell you that I have learned that all world leaders need to have a degree of narcissism - or a kinder way of putting it would be - self-belief confidence - to become a leader of a nation, be that a President or a Prime minister. On the psychopathy scale (which is different from narcissism), the top 4 historic leaders with strong psychopathic traits included King Henry VIII and Adolf Hitler. No surprises there perhaps. We also looked at the last fifty years of American leaders which was more a matter of who didn't have psychopathic traits than who did. While it sounds terrible to have psychopathic traits, it's actually not all bad. Some psychopathic traits can be beneficial in certain circumstances and an advantage to a nation who needs someone confident enough to make difficult and sometimes quick decisions.

The Westminster system works as a true democracy because no ruler - neither the Prime minister nor the Sovereign can have total power. One yields to the other and the Royal Family exist only at the consent of the people, for the people as our late Queen Elizabeth II said, 

“I have in sincerity pledged myself to your service, as so many of you are pledged to mine. Throughout all my life, and with all my heart, I shall strive to be worthy of your trust.” - Speech on her Coronation Day, June 2, 1953.

The position of Sovereign is inherited, which means the baton of power in the Crown is not sought by personal ambition, unless you're a malevolent second son; however, if second sons yearn for the power of the Crown - and we have seen a few famous second sons - Henry VIII was a second son, Prince Andrew, Prince Harry, they can only take the crown through a family tragedy or a dastardly deed. It has been done in history before (not by Henry VIII though, his was due to his brother's untimely death through illness) - and sometimes second sons are the ones who don't want the crown and end up with it - as the Queen's father did. 

But regardless of these reasons listed above, the main reason I think New Zealand needs to stay with the British Crown and the Westminster style of democracy is because of the Treaty of Waitangi (Te Tiriti o Waitangi).

The Treaty of Waitangi is unique to New Zealand and Great Britain and though its history is long and complicated, it was signed in 1840 between some Maori iwi (tribes) and the British Government representing the Crown (Queen Victoria at the time). 

There are legal disputes over the language used in the treaty which I won't get into here, but because of our agreement with Great Britain and the Crown, the Treaty of Waitangi protects Maori. If we do away with the Crown and our legal obligations under the Treaty of Waitangi, what becomes of those safety nets for Maori? In 1995 Queen Elizabeth II apologised to Maori for the injustices done to Maori after the Treaty was signed, among those land confiscations which has had a significant detrimental impact on the wellbeing of Maori, because they were displaced and lost their way of life. 

What followed after this apology were financial settlements from the Crown towards Maori iwi and is ongoing today as Maori still dispute many of the historic injustices. There is recognition that the Treaty of Waitangi was used against Maori, but there is also acknowledgement now that the Treaty obligations can be honoured, must be honoured. Maori strive to always remind the New Zealand government of this. The Treaty is sometimes an 'inconvenience' to government, but because of that sacred pact between Maori and the British Crown, it must be adhered to. It is a unique agreement and I believe safeguards Maori against exploitation, further oppression and racism. 

To do away with the Treaty would mean one of two things: either the newly formed presidential government would have to give Maori what they want - full sovereignty and the authority to govern themselves or they would have to enter the Treaty of Waitangi into the new constitution and this could be tied up for years in debates and Maori would need (have) to be key players in all decisions.

I recognise that Maori ideally would like their sovereignty back, and in an ideal world this would be my preference, but I don't trust people in power to stay altruistic and the Treaty of Waitangi under the Crown, gives us a safety net. 

I Remember His Goodness

We were in the middle of the lawsuit and everything was stacked against us.

We had already had to withdraw it because of statute of limitations issues and other reasons and now Bill Gothard was threatening sanctions against us for even filing a lawsuit in the first place. Sanctions that involved paying him money and what he called 'biblical reconciliation' among other things.

I couldn't understand it.

God had given me specific direction years before that this was what He wanted me to do. Not just me, but a few of the others also. Why was He now not coming to our rescue. Why did He not intervene? I was getting angry with God. It was my go-to reaction when things got bad. It's God's fault. He doesn't care. He doesn't listen. He won't even answer prayer.  He doesn’t do what he says he will do - in his own Bible, no less. 

I was mad, angry, disappointed, hurt that God would tell me to do something and then leave me all alone. 

The experience of the lawsuit allowed me to see God in a different way. I thought that, because I’d grown up in a pentecostal church, I understood spiritual battles, but this was a completely different experience to what I’d ever seen before. It was as though I was shoulder to shoulder with God fighting something so dark and oppressive and the onslaughts never stopped. They just kept coming and we just kept fighting back. It began in 2014 (for me in 2012), and didn’t stop until 2019. This was the period of time personally for me that was fraught with danger. My husband nearly lost his life through cardiac arrest, our finances were decimated, my children faced health issues-we’d just get through one thing and something else would slam us. It felt like a Job-of-the-Bible experience. I would never, never, ever recommend anyone going into something like this without reckoning and understanding that your life might be shattered.

Why were the onslaughts so powerful? Why did it feel that we were up against an evil so great we weren’t going to survive to the end, literally? 

And where was God? Why was He not helping?

Then the answer came. It came in the morning one day and I was pleading with God for help. Not just for myself, but for the other amazing women who were also on this battlefield. We were being pounded and we were battered and bruised. We needed help.

That still, small voice - those old words hidden in my heart from childhood.

“No one comes to the Father except through Me.” John 14:6.

It was like a light went on that day. “No one comes to the Father except through Me.”

Why had I not seen that before?  Was I guilty of ignoring Jesus?

“For there is one God and one mediator between God and mankind, the man Christ Jesus.” 1 Timothy 2:5.

Once I understood this and processed it, my belief system began to make sense and change, but it was small steps at a time.

I changed my approach. I began praying to Jesus, not God. I began asking Jesus to stand in the gap for us girls. To go to our Heavenly Father and ask Him to help us. Every morning, faithfully, I would pray the same thing. I also asked Jesus to shelter each one of us under his wings of protection. I took our names, one by one, to him, every day.  I asked Jesus to remind God of us fighting down here for Him.

“He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust… He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge: his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”

I prayed this every day for two years.

We began to climb out of the battlefield. We began seeing victories and triumphs, ultimately leading to our finale in the court room in January 2019. We were safe. We had done what we needed to do, what God had asked us to do. God had stood with us and fought along side us. The battle was over.

This experience for me, was more than this fight though. It was getting to know God in a different way, a new way. It allowed me to process the doubts and questions and showed me what had been missing for so long from ‘organised religion.’ 

Jesus.

I know that is a bold thing to say. I know that it will cause many to recoil and look askance at me. But it’s true. The church, both liberal and conservative has lost its way collectively and found ways to circumvent Jesus. While it doesn’t deny Jesus, it struggles to accept him.

They’re ignoring Jesus.

They’re going straight to God. Trying to understand God. Trying to reconcile the Old Testament God with the New Testament God. Does God have a personality disorder that in one time in history he’s horrible and in another he’s merciful? If you understand God through the eyes of what is written, and man’s trying to understand it, it would seem so.

But if you start looking at everything through Jesus and what he stands for, it changes everything.

I come back to the question I asked before, because it’s important and needs clarification.

“It was as though I was shoulder to shoulder with God fighting something so dark and oppressive and the onslaughts never stopped. They just kept coming and we just kept fighting back. Why did it feel that we were up against an evil so great we weren’t going to survive to the end, literally?”

The modern day church has forgotten about Jesus. Both the liberal and the conservative.  It has set the culture of its own christianity as an idol before the people. It is arrogant. It speaks for God as an authority. Men and women interpret the Bible from their own cultural perspectives.

This was why our battle was so fierce. We were exposing some of the greatest hypocrisy and heresy and abuse the christian world had ever seen. It hadn’t just gathered in the confines of a cult, it had spread widely across all denominations. The fingers of this heresy, had touched many places, many people, ruined lives and turned people away from God. Slowly, subtly, over generations, the darkness had undermined the very cornerstone of faith and belief through men who were hungry for power and lusted after glory and it had warped the true message of the Gospel. 

Jesus.

And God was angry.

I don’t think I will ever truly understand the implications of our little group of women going up against something so dark and evil and much more powerful than us, or the man we were fighting in court. I have tried, but I don’t think I will ever know the significance of that in the spiritual. 

But what it did do for me was open my eyes to Jesus. Somewhere I had lost him. Somewhere between the years of 5 and 45 I had lost Jesus. 

Why had I lost Jesus? Because I thought I knew who Jesus was and the battle in the lawsuit showed me I didn’t. My construct of Jesus was man-made and idol-like. 

I needed to find him again.

Tiny Ordinary Days

 I'm not new to blogging but I've missed having a place I can come to and write about life.

The name of my blog; tiny ordinary days, reflects where I am in life at the moment. I'm a mother to four children - two at university, two at home. I work 4 days a week to support them. I study part-time at my local university towards a Bachelor of Social Science, which I'm very passionate about, but I miss having a place to write just for the fun of it.

In this busy season of life it is hard to find the time to do the things that bring me happiness. So this is what this new blog is about. Recording the little, ordinary things of my life that make me happy.

Writing is part of that happy. So is dabbling in watercolours. Nature journaling. Gardening in my small suburban garden where I am trying to cultivate edible plants to sustain my family and so I can make my favourite recipes, like lemonade and elderflower syrup. Rhubarb pies and Feijoa ice cream and a good supply of my own garlic, tomatoes, lettuces and cucumbers, herbs and berries. 

Sometimes I make things on a sewing machine. Sometimes I like to try out making breads and cakes. Sometimes I go to pottery class. This is going to be my place to journal about all this. Just tiny, ordinary things that fill my days off and my seasons of life.