Mad Juggling

I haven’t posted much since we returned from holiday nearly a fortnight ago. The juggling of family and ministry has been crazier than ever. Two days after coming home, Debbie had to go down to our house in Sussex. The tenants had moved out and new ones were moving in last Friday. Although our handyman and his trusty sidekick had put in a fortnight’s hard work, there were still other tasks to be done. I had the joy (?) of looking after the children while trying to do some ministry. We managed to get our regular babysitter for the Wednesday. We had thought it being August it wouldn’t be too bad.

However … on the day we went away, one of my church members died. After some texting and mobile voice calls while we were on holiday, we set up the funeral for the babysitter’s Wednesday. I also fitted in a filling at the dentist’s that day. I moved a stewards’ meeting on the Monday night from the vestry to the manse – although none of the stewards got my message!

Well, I tried to do some work whilst fighting a Canute-like battle against the increasing tide of toys. I was late to bed every night, either with tidying up, or when Mark spent two nights coughing. Then on the Wednesday tea-time, having seen the dentist and taken the funeral, an Anglican colleague phoned. He had a chest infection and couldn’t take a funeral on Friday lunch-time. He had tried several other ministers to no avail, please could I help out? I agreed. The babysitter wasn’t available on Thursday night (when I was going to see the widow), but her mum was. So that funeral was set up.

Then on Thursday lunch-time, the hospital rang. Our daughter Rebekah was put on a waiting list for minor ear surgery at the beginning of the month. They phoned to offer a cancellation for the next day. More babysitting required while I took the extra funeral, and Debbie went to the hospital with our little girl.

During Thursday, the car started playing up. The tick-tock sound of the indicators was on all the time, even when not flicking the indicator stalk. My mechanically-minded curate next-door neighbour thought the relay switches were on their way out. He tried disconnecting the battery and reconnecting it, but the fault reappeared. We left the battery disconnected that night, and next morning I phoned the funeral director to cadge a lift at short notice to the crematorium. The undertaker kindly obliged: it was one of those still-independent family firms where the personal touch is evident. “If we can’t help each other, what are we about?” he said. “Besides,” he added, “I might see you at the crem one day and say, ‘I’ve got a job for you. Another vicar hasn’t turned up!'”

I spent the rest of Friday finishing Sunday’s sermon, and I took Saturday as my day off. We were having a belated third birthday party for Mark. Rebekah’s old child-minder and her family were due to come up and help – except Pat phoned at 10:30. Her daughter and boyfriend had been involved in a car accident. So they didn’t make it. It was whiplash, and the other car drove off before they could get details. But the party went well, and by that evening Debbie and I breathed a sigh of relief that everything would now start returning to normal.

Not on Sunday morning, though. I reconnected the car battery. The ignition fired. All good. But then I released the handbrake, and the car wouldn’t move. I had to borrow Debbie’s car to make a church service, and that afternoon called the RAC. Their patrol man diagnosed a seizure of the rear brakes. Today, it has gone into the garage, and I have had to restrict my movements to when I can borrow Debbie’s car. Some pastoral visiting is having to wait.

Monday was a Bank Holiday (i.e., public holiday) in England and Wales, so a day off. We went out to a large park fifteen miles away, where there was also a market. It was there that the headache began. By the time we got home that afternoon, all I could do was retire to bed and occasionally vomit. Often these headaches attack me on days off, and it can look to the family as if I don’t want to spend time with them – nothing could be less true, but things catch up with me when I relax. Somewhere I have to start taking the mishaps less seriously.

Years ago, my sister gave me a poster. It had a photo of an elephant sitting under a waterfall. The elephant appears to be smiling. The caption read, ‘Life is too important to be taken seriously.’ If only I still had that poster, I’d put it up again.

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