More on Ordination

I have now been a Reverend for nearly 4 weeks.

My, how time flies! It still feels weird when people refer to me as "Rev", but I guess I'll get used to that soon enough.

I thought it's probably about time to post some pictures of the ordination service for those of you, dear readers, who haven't already seen these on my Facebook profile. (and I thank the lovely Michael Kregor and Barry Liersch, who took these photos during the service).








Sharing my story






























Making my vows






















Ordination by prayer and the laying on of hands.




















"... accept this stole as a sign of the joyful obedience you owe to Christ."




























The Rev Caro Field, enjoying the moment.

Sermon for April 25 (Psalm 23; John 10:22-30; Revelation 7:9-17)

The 4th Sunday of Easter is traditionally known as ‘Shepherd Sunday’. From listening to the lectionary readings we heard this morning, you will note they all have a shepherd theme:
- The Revelation reading speaks of the ‘lamb that was slain’, becoming the shepherd of those who have been through a great ordeal;
- in John we see Jesus as the Good Shepherd, who knows his sheep, and they know his voice, and the assurance that they will never be snatched away from God.
- and then we come to Psalm 23, which for many is the ultimate word on shepherding and shepherds.

Psalm 23 is one of the best known passages in the whole Bible- familiar to people both within and beyond the church. In fact, I’ll bet most of you would be able to recite Ps 23- whether in its entirety, or in part. It’s little wonder, then, that this Psalm is very popular as a reading at funerals, and in fact, of the dozen or so funerals I have conducted since I’ve been in ministry, probably 4-5 of them have had Ps 23 as one of the readings.

In the context of funerals we often focus on the verse (in the old language): “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil”. The direct reference to death can bring comfort to those people who are experiencing the harsh reality of the death of a loved one. In fact the psalm as a whole is a psalm of comfort, and this is partly due to its familiarity, because, let’s face it, if we are going through a difficult time, don’t we derive comfort from the familiar?

But, outside of that context, is there the danger of familiarity breeding contempt? We know the words of the psalm, but how much of the meaning sinks in whenever we hear, read, or rattle off the words? This is one reason why I chose a translation of Psalm 23 in unfamiliar words to be read today; to get you thinking about what the psalm is actually saying. (the translation from the original Hebrew text is by the Jewish Publication Society of America, rendered fairly recently, in the 1970s)*.

So, as we chew over these unfamiliar words of a familiar psalm, I want to focus on v. 4: the ‘valley of the shadow of death’ line. In the reading we just heard, this verse reads: “Though I walk through a valley of deepest darkness, I fear no harm.” If we take it out of the funeral context into the context of our own life and experience, what does it have to say to us?

Whatever translation we look at, the language is highly symbolic, and the more traditional “valley of the shadow of death” is meant to represent the worst possible times of life- not necessarily limited to literal death. Because, death is not always the worst, or most difficult thing that can happen. During my life, I have had two friends who suffered from long-term depression, and eventually committed suicide- one fairly recently, just over a year ago, and the other about 10 years ago. For them, death was not the worst thing, because by their reckoning death was preferable to the living hell they were experiencing in their depression. So, to associate this verse with literal death, can in some ways, rob it of some of its meaning, and to instead use the term, “valley of deepest darkness” can thus encompass a wider range of human experience than just the fear of death. Something else that is important to note in this psalm is the different ways in which the psalmist refers to, and addresses God. At the beginning and the end of the psalm, we see a more formal form of address, referring to ‘the Lord’, and ‘he’; effectively speaking about God. However in the middle, in vv. 4-5, the psalmist speaks to God directly, addressing God as ‘you’ (eg, “you are with me… you prepare a table…” etc).

And this more personal and intimate form of address comes precisely at the point of greatest danger (in the dark valley; in the presence of enemies). This speaks of intimacy and a personal relationship of trust between the psalmist and the shepherd he or she trusts; and that trust in the Lord’s provision and protection is not just something the psalmist knows about, but is part of a personal experience, emanating from a personal, intimate relationship with the Lord. It is this trust and relationship that allows the psalmist not to fear.

Now, this is all very well for the psalmist (whether King David, or someone else) all those years ago, but what does it mean for us today?

I want to tell you a story about my friend, Mark. Before I start, I need to tell you that he has given me permission to share this part of his story with you . When I asked him about it, he said, “I’ve never featured in sermon before… it’s like being an extra in Neighbours”. I’m not quite sure what experience he has as an extra on Neighbours, but he has given me permission to share his experiences with you (and to publish it on my blog).

I first met Mark when I was working with Fusion in Sydney, and he played in a band that we used in some of our outreach work, and the band rehearsed in our drop in centre for a while. I got to know Mark, and the other guys in the band, we became friends, and I went to some of their gigs in local pubs (and discovered on one of these occasions, that in the 80s it was not the done thing to order a mineral water at Wentworthville pub- in the western suburbs of Sydney).

I remember Mark as a talented singer/songwriter/muso, and a deep thinker; what I would describe as an artistic soul. Around the time I moved to Hobart, about 20 years or so ago, I lost touch with Mark.

Recently, about a week or two ago, I received a message from Mark via Facebook. Now I know that some people scoff at the social networking websites like Facebook and Myspace, but I have found Facebook to be very useful in keeping in touch with people I don’t see very often, and in fact, a number of people who attended my ordination service yesterday wouldn’t have been there if not for contact via Facebook.

So, hearing from Mark was a delightful ‘blast from the past’, and we have exchanged a number of messages over the past week or two, sharing some of what’s been happening since we last saw each other.

His comment was, “I’ve been around the universe and back since we last met”.
- In the late 80s/early 90s, he was on the verge of rock stardom, with a recording contract.
- Then he was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder (manic depression) and was subsequently sued by the record company when he was unable to honour his contract with them due to his illness.
- He ‘lost’ his marriage, and spent around 10 years living as what he describes as ‘a mad hermit’, isolated, alone and feeling like he was on the verge of losing his mind.
- He later formed a new relationship, and subsequently ‘lost’ that,
- and sometime in all of this he also walked away from his relationship with God.

I am convinced that in all this, Mark experienced first-hand what it is to ‘walk through a valley of deepest darkness’ (perhaps even more than one valley). He commented about his illness, that when he was younger, he tended to be more manic, but as he gets older, he tends to be more depressed (something he has become a little philosophical about as he contemplates turning 50 later this year).

For a long and painful 10 years (or maybe longer) Mark’s life was lived in the darkest valleys, and he felt very alone and miserable. About a year or two ago, he started to come out of the downward spiral (I think he saw losing that subsequent relationship as a kind of ‘wake up call’, and started to take positive steps to reclaim his life). So life is gradually starting to look up for Mark, and part of this process, has involved him recognising God’s love and presence, and walking back into the loving embrace of the Father.

Life is still not easy for Mark, and he still has his times of darkness, but through it all is the reassurance that he “needs fear no harm, for God is with him”.

Back in my Sydney days, Mark and I were mates; I liked him a lot (and if truth be told, when I was 19-20, I had a bit of a girly crush on him- well, he was tall, dark, handsome and played in a rock band; what is a girl to do?)

When he shared his story with me, I cried when I heard what he’s been through, and is still going through. I wanted to rant at God, and shout, “It’s not fair for one person to suffer so much!” I’m sure that many of you would also have been in situations where you wanted to scream at God because of the unfair suffering of people you know and love.

Rabbi Harold Kushner, in his book about Psalm 23 says these words:
“God’s promise was never that life would be fair. God’s promise was that, when we had to confront the unfairness of life, we would not have to do it alone, for He would be with us.”

This is the message of hope this psalm has for us today. When we go through the darkest, unfairest valleys: of depression, broken relationships, illness or other dark passages of life, we are not alone.

But even more than this, the Shepherd who travels with us is the same Good Shepherd who gave his life for his sheep, the same ‘lamb that was slain’, who became the shepherd for those who had been through a great ordeal; whose journey to the cross and back means that he knows and understands our pain and loneliness because he has walked through his own dark valleys.

Because of this, we can truly rejoice and join with the psalmist in saying, “Only goodness and steadfast love shall pursue me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for many long years.”

Thanks be to God. ……

* Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd;
I lack nothing.

He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me to water in places of repose;
He renews my life;
He guides me in right paths
as befits His name.

Though I walk through a valley of deepest darkness;
I fear no harm, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff- they comfort me.

You spread a table for me in full view of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
my drink is abundant.

Only goodness and steadfast love shall pursue me
all the days of my life;
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
for many long years.

Translation: © 1972, The Jewish Publication Society of America

From Tas...

I'm conscious that I've been a tad silent of late, this is partly because life has been busy for a while, and also because for the last two weeks I have been on holiday in Tasmania, after my ordination, on April 24, and have had intermittent access to the internet and even mobile phone coverage (gotta love Optus mobile coverage in country Tasmania- NOT!)

Anyway, I will eventually get around to blogging about my ordination- and maybe even posting some pics that a friend took and posted to his Facebook site (for those of you who are my FB friends, you will be able to view them on my site, under "Photos of Caro").

The day after my ordination, I was privileged to lead worship at Sandy Bay Uniting Church (my former 'home congregation', from which I candidated, and where the ordination service was held), and in my next post, I will publish my sermon from that occasion (not that I'm in the habit of posting all my sermons to my blog, but I feel that this one was pretty special for a number of reasons).

So there you have it, a brief reminder that I am still alive in teh blogosphere, and a promise that I will eventually get around to blogging about my ordination and holiday sometime Real Soon Now.

Really.

Promise :-)

Today's the day!

Well, after what seems like aeons of discernment, study, formation and ministry practice, today I will be ordained as a Minister of the Word.

As I look out my hotel room window, I note that it is raining in Hobart- which seems to be a bit of a sign (showers of blessing? :-). When my colleague Martin's service of recognition was held in Rochester, about half an hour before the commencement, the heavens opened and it teemed. Almost exactly the same thing happened just before my service of recognition in Myrtleford, and the then chairperson of the Presbytery commented that we interns had brought the rain with us to break the drought in the north east of the state (Vic).

So, rain on a significant occasion seems to be de rigeur and I'm glad to see that the pattern seems to be holding for my ordination day (and can't wait to see if it rains on the day of Martin's ordination too :-)

I have been feeling a tad twitchy with excitement and indescribable emotion for a week or so now, as I have been preparing to come away to Tasmania for this event (and a holiday that follows). When I woke up this morning I cried; but as a dear friend (and Anglican priest) assured me, tears of joy are allowed today, so I guess that's ok.

I have been overwhelmed by people's response to this whole ordination thing. From those who have insisted on travelling long distances (from Sydney and various parts of Victoria, not to mention around Tas) to be here today, and the many emails, Facebook comments and physical cards, gifts etc that I have received from a wide range of people; it's all been a bit much really. One friend even brought her husband and kids over from Melbourne, and we enjoyed some great catch-up time on the boat on Thurs night (and then breakfast at the House of Anvers... mmmm... chocolate :-)

When the room service man from the hotel brought me my breakfast this morning (yes, I know it's decadent to have room service breakfast in a city hotel), his parting comment was, "have a great day". It's not going to be just a great day- it's going to be a stunner!

So I guess I should get off the compter, and jump into it- have to have a shower, and spend a bit more time in prayerful contemplation to prepare for what is to come later in the day.

Wheee! :-)

Flags and Funerals

Before all my Uniting Church clergy readers break out in a cold sweat: don't worry, it's not what you think.

I learned something new yesterday. Myrtleford is a smallish country town, and in the middle of town we have a flag pole which flies the Australian flag.

It is the custom in this town, that whenever there is a funeral in town, regardless of where it is, the flag is lowered to half-mast as a sign of respect and community mourning.

Yesterday, when enjoying a late lunch in a local cafe, I was approached by a woman (who I do know) who happily informed me that her husband is now "the flag man". I must have looked at her blankly, as she then went on to explain that he is the one who is in charge of lowering the flag to half-mast whenever there's a funeral. I must have still looked blankly at her, as she then went on to explain the tradition, and that apparently Myrtleford is the only town in the state that still keeps this tradition, and that the reason she was telling me all this was because in order to lower the flag, her husband needs to know when a funeral is to be held, and the funeral directors she contacted told her to talk to the ministers in the town, rather than them, about passing on this information.

So, after just over a year, and about a dozen funerals under my belt (although not all of these in Myrtleford), I now know about this tradition, and have filed away in my brain (a scary place sometimes) the information that next time I have to conduct a funeral in Myrtleford, I should contact this fellow so he can lower the flag.

So, it seems, you learn something new every day.

An interesting week

I know I haven't blogged for AGES, mea culpa and all that... but life has been a tad busy.

In the midst of all this busyness, I needed to make a quick observation: this week has been amazing.

Holy Week, traditionally the busiest week of the year in the church, lived up to its traditional reputation, with 5 services (all different, so I couldn't cheat and repeat any) across the weekend from Thurs night to Sun morning. I certainly felt like a cup of tea, a Bex and a good lie down afterwards (but opted instead for two whole days off! Well I figured if most people got to take a 4-day weekend over Easter, the least I could do was to take a 2-day weekend- being Monday and Tuesday- for a change :-)

Following that, I managed to double-book myself for a funeral on Friday morning, when I already had a hospital service (but for some reason it wasn't in my diary), so survived this by getting a parishioner to take the hospital service- I have always said that my idea of ministry is to encourage people to discover, develop and use their gifts for the Kingdom, so this was a great opportunity to put that into practice.

So having averted a possible disaster from the double-booking, the funeral on Friday went very well, with many many people present to farewell a lady who was a bit of a local legend in the town- well known and much loved. I had the privilege of visiting her in hospital before she died, and her profound faith, and desire to go and be with Jesus was a great inspiration.

Amid all this, though, also came the very sad and shocking news that a lay preacher who had conducted many services for the congregations of Myrtleford, Beechworth and Yackandandah, died suddenly and unexpectedly of a heart attack on Wednesday, only days after leading Easter worship in Beechworth and Yack. I think we're all still pretty stunned. His funeral is on Monday, and I expect it will be a huge and very emotional event.

And now, I am putting the final touches on tomorrow morning's worship for Beechworth and Yack- we are having a special ceremony to welcome some newish people in Beechworth who have decided that they want our congregation to be their spiritual home, so mixed in with the joy of the Easter season and the celebration of the welcoming ceremony, there will be a sombre note as we lament the loss of our friend Norm, who left us so suddenly during the week.

Life in ministry certainly is a mixed bag, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

A prayer for today

Today is the anniversary of the Black Saturday bushfires. In worship this morning at Myrtleford, we marked this anniversary with a special act of lighting candles of remembrance as part of our prayers of intercession.

Below is the prayer that I used. I wrote the opening preface and the part relating to the lighting of candles, and the rest comes from Uniting in Worship resources.

It was a very special time; emotional, sombre, and I hope, healing, as people hugged each other when they moved to the front of the worship space to light a candle, and returned to their seats.

Loving God,
a year has passed since our community cowered
under the weight of the Black Saturday bushfires.
There have been losses:
of lives,
of homes,
of property,
and of spirit, that has crumbled under the pressure.

There has been hard work:
in adjusting to a new reality,
in cleaning up,
in rebuilding,
and in supporting one another through this time.

Loving God, hear us
as we offer these prayers in love for ourselves and for others.

For those who lack love
because their hurts are too great –
Silence
Through Christ, may we be your friends and servants,
bringers of love and life.

For those who lack hope
because their ideals have been shattered –
Silence
Through Christ, may we be your friends and servants,
bringers of love and life.

For those who lack life
because their weariness is too overwhelming –
Silence
Through Christ, may we be your friends and servants,
bringers of love and life.

As we remember specific people and situations,
for others, and ourselves,
we bring these before God in the symbolic gesture
of lighting a candle.
(people come forward to light tapers)

Fill your people with love, hope and life.
Cause us to celebrate with the joyful,
mourn with the sorrowful,
sit quietly with the weary,
and encourage the eager.
Touch us with the power of resurrection
through Christ our Lord...

Something to remember...

Just over three weeks ago, I had a mole removed from my lower back, because my GP didn't like the look of it and wanted to be on the safe side. As it turned out, the mole was benign, was completely excised, and all was well with the world... or at least so I thought.

When I returned to have the sutures removed, the nurse commented that it was a bit red, but no sign of infection, and I should leave the wound site uncovered to encourage the drying/healing process. Again, all seemed to be going fine...

A week later, as I was getting ready for bed, I noticed that the site had been bleeding and weeping, the evidence of which was on my clothes, so after much contorting, I patted it dry as best I could, and put some bandaids over it (one bandaid was not big enough to cover the whole site, so I needed to put two across it). Next morning I rang the surgery and made an appointment (that afternoon) to have the practice nurse take a look at it.

The nurse was a bit uncertain and called in the doctor, who ordered a swab, and prescribed a course of antibiotics, got the nurse to dress it, and told me to come back in a week for the nurse to have another look at it.

The nurse's dressing didn't last as long as she advised me it should have, and when I replaced it after that each day with the particular kind of dressing she recommended, the wound was still bleeding (the fact that it was in such an awkward position on my back that I couldn't really see properly to put the dressing on, meant that on at least one occasion, a bit of the 'sticky' part of the dressing went onto the actual wound site, so when I removed it, it ripped off the top of the scab, and made it bleed even worse).

Also, during the week, the course of antibiotics gave me diarrhoea, which was really pleasant- NOT!

Speaking to my mother the other night, she was astounded that this was going on, as she (a veteran of many mole removals) was adamant that it should have been well and truly all healed up by now. I am also feeling a bit over it all, and the bleeding, the pus, and the fuss.

So today, when I returned to the nurse, she redressed the wound and used a special gel, designed to 'eat' away at the icky bits (a bit like a modern day leech!) so that the wound can heal up cleanly. Back again next Monday, so I hope that this will be the final visit.

All this to-ing and fro-ing has gotten me thinking. The other day, I was whingeing to God about the frustration of the whole process, but then was struck with the thought of how fortunate I am to live in a country where this kind of medical treatment (for what really is a minor thing, in the whole scheme of things) is actually available to me, and I am in a position to afford to access it. And for that I certainly give thanks.

I started thinking of people, like a lady I visited in hospital yesterday, who injure themselves, and take MONTHS to heal from a similarly small and insignificant wound, battling infection after infection and just the lack of healing 'grunt' in their tired and ageing bodies.

I am not doing too badly after all...

Back from holidays

Yes, I'm back from a fortnight of holidays that makes me sound like a bit of a jet-setter. First to Sydney, to visit Mum (and catch up with a few friends), then on to WA for a week with Mum in tow.

We spent 4 days in New Norcia, attended the Ecumenical Carols Service there (the first Christmas service that I didn't have to lead, or do something up front), did some touristy things around town, and then headed to Perth, where we stayed in a rather flash hotel in the CBD for three days.

In Perth we visited Fremantle, shopped till we dropped (well, actually, Mum shopped till I dropped! ;-) visited AQWA, and had my traditional dinner with Adrienne at Han's Cafe in Belmont (something I always have to do when visiting Perth).

Now I've been home for almost a fortnight, and it feels a bit like I was never away. Trying to get back into the regular rhythm of my work and ministry here, when the weather is still screaming "holidays!" is not easy. I have already conducted my first funeral for the year, which takes my total since arriving up to 8, and now I am procrastinating, because selecting hymns for Sunday morning is the thing I find hardest in worship preparation.

However, this week has been rather special, as on Sun evening -Tues arvo, I shared with some fellow-interns in a pre-ordination retreat at the lovely St Julian's Retreat Centre in Cheltenham (Vic). It was good to take some time out to meditate on the ordination vows we will all be making sometime soon, to spend some solid time in silence and prayer, and to share with each other some of the insights that God gave to us during this process.

Wednesday was the funeral (which was a bit emotionally draining, as funerals tend to be), so I spent some time afterwards wombling around Beechworth, and ended up in the old Schoolhouse Craft gallery where I enjoyed a delightful Devonshire Tea, in the back room.

Yesterday was a treat- in the afternoon, Alan and Chantal arrived, en route from Canberra to Melbourne, and I met up with them at the Gapsted cellar door (Alan has been known to buy Gapsted wines from Aldi supermarkets, so it was nice to introduce him to the source). We then enjoyed much fruit of the vine, with some great Tassie cheese, and then dinner at my local. It was great to have them stay here and see even a little of my local patch.

And now, I think it is time to bite the bullet, stop procrastinating, and pick some hymns!

God's love is amazing

Christmas Day is almost over, and I can't help but shed a tear or two of joy as I reflect on the last few days.

Being minister to three rural congregations, I have to spread myself about a bit at special times in the church calendar such as Christmas and Easter, so this week saw me leading the regular Sunday worship at Myrtleford, then an early Christmas Eve service on Thurs at Yackandandah, followed by a 'midnight' candlelight Christmas Eve service at Myrtleford and Christmas morning at Beechworth.

Being my first Christmas in this ministry patch (and also my first Christmas as a minister!) I took as much advice as I could from the locals about what is usually done, who attends these services, and what they would like, (as well as gleaning ideas from various resources and colleagues with more experience).

For the Christmas Eve services, I opted for a slightly modified version of the traditional Lessons and Carols format, allowing the readings and the carols to tell the story in their own way, rather than preaching a sermon, and also allowing the opportunity for members of the congregation to light a candle of remembrance for loved ones absent this Christmas.

It has struck me that Christmas is often also a time of sadness for people who are struggling with relationship breakdowns or who have experienced the death of a loved one in the past year or so. Some congregations hold 'Blue Christmas' services, which are quiet, reflective services, providing space for the grief and less than 'bubbly' feelings to be acknowledged and expressed. After talking to a few people, I decided not to offer this as a separate service in my congregations, but to incorporate a time of reflection and remembrance in the evening services, and this seemed to work well.

Another pastoral practice I commenced, (after a suggestion from a colleague) was to send Christmas cards to the families of folks whose funerals I have conducted during the year. I printed a special message which I pasted inside the card, saying:

The first Christmas after
the death of someone you love
can be difficult.

My thoughts and prayers
are with you and your family, that God’s peace
may be with you this Christmas.

I received a few responses from these, which indicated that people appreciated the fact that I had been in touch.

Another pastoral thing I trialled (and I think I will make a regular thing) was the 'open house' I mentioned in a previous blog entry. People have commented how much they enjoyed the opportunity to drop in, and a number of folk who didn't get there on the day have said that they would have loved to come, but had other commitments. I'm thinking of making this a bi-annual event, as I really do enjoy having folks around, and think that offering hospitality is an important part of my pastoral ministry.

So now, Christmas is over, there was much joy and celebration, tempered with some sadness - I still miss Dad, and I think it will take some time before I get used to the fact that not only is he not around, but unless Mum comes to me down here, I also won't see her on Christmas Day (but I'm looking forward to seeing her tomorrow when I head to Sydney for holidays :-).

Jesus was well and truly welcomed in this corner of the world, and may it be so everywhere.

Tis the season to be... hospitable

It never ceases to amaze me that when it comes to hospitality, no matter how much I give (or even seek to give), I seem to receive so much more in return.

During a recent conversation with members of my lay reflection group (members of my congregations who have met with me monthly to provide pastoral support and encouragement during my first year in this, my first placement), the comment was made that many of them felt that they weren't sure whether they were welcome to drop into the manse. This was especially the case for those from Beechworth and Yack, who do often have cause to come to Myrtleford, for shopping or other errands, and have sometimes thought of calling in to say hello or have a cuppa, but weren't sure whether that would be presumptuous, or seen to be 'invading' my privacy or personal space.

I suspect this perception may go back to the days when there was a shift from seeing the manse as the centre of parish life, to seeing the manse as the private residence of the minister.

In the 'old days', church meetings were always held at the manse, and there were always church folk dropping in for various reasons to see the minister or his/her family, and there was an expectation that offering hospitality of all kinds went with the territory of being a 'manse family'. Whereas, these days, there is a stronger emphasis on the importance of self-care for ministers, so that my generation of ministers is encouraged to take regular time out from ministry, and not make ourselves available 24/7, except for genuine emergencies, and the sense that the manse is the home of the minister, and that the parishioners should respect the minister's privacy and need for 'down time'.

I suspect that the pendulum may have swung too far to the latter extreme, and I am keen to find a way to balance these two important values of hospitality and self-care. So I have made a deal with my parishioners, which involves the following statements:

1. There are certain times when they know I will be unlikely to answer my phone (ie before 9am on a work day, because 8:30-9 is my prayer time), and on Monday, which is my day off. I tell them that the machine will usually pick up calls at these times, and if it's urgent, I'll get back to them.

2. People are welcome to drop in for a chat and/or a cuppa, as long as they are prepared to take me, and the state of the manse, as they find it (i.e. I am not by nature a tidy person, so if I need to shift a pile of papers and books so they can sit down on the couch, they need to be able to cope with that); and I promised them that if I am busy with something that I need to get done in a hurry, or am about to go out, I will tell them that it's not a convenient time, and ask them to call back another time. This way they know that they don't need to try to second guess whether it's a good time to call in or not, because I will tell them.

Everyone I've spoken to about this seems to be quite happy with this arrangement, so we shall see how it goes in the long run. To kick things off, and to reinforce my desire to welcome people to the manse, I had an 'open house' this afternoon from 2-5pm, and invited people from across the two parishes to drop in any time during that period, for an informal cuppa.

During the course of the afternoon, I had more than 20 people drop in, and at times my loungeroom was packed, with standing room only, and other times there were just a few of us, but I think overall it was a resounding success, and people seemed delighted to have the opportunity to come and visit me in the manse (which also involved meeting and chatting with folk from other congregations that they might not have known, which was also a bonus).

I think I will make this a regular thing, maybe a couple of times a year, because, as I implied in my opening sentence, whilst it might have looked like I was the one being generous and offering hospitality, I also got a lot in return; the pleasure of chatting with people in a relaxed and informal context (and my collection of Christmas cards, hanging in the living room also seemed to expand too :-)

Amusing Christmas greeting

One of my Facebook friends, who I haven't actually seen for probably around 10 years or so (and is known for his rather dry and sometimes odd wit), sent me the following FB message today:

Merry Christmas
All the best for your employer's birthday and the new year.

Made me grin :-)

(although the concept of the Christmas services I'm currently planning being effectively my boss' birthday party did tend to increase the pressure a little :-/ )

A marvellously meandering Monday

One of the things I really love about my current ministry lifestyle is my weekly day off. I am apparently being a little 'old fashioned' in my practice of taking Mondays as my day off (some colleagues have told me that these days they prefer to take a different day of the week off, and some of them don't take a whole day in one go, but rather blocs of time across a couple of different days).

Be that as it may, and call me old fashioned if you will, but after the emotional energy of Sunday, I really hang out for my Monday: a day when I let the machine answer the phone and don't think of work or ministry related stuff at all.

Yesterday, I had intentions of getting up (relatively) early, and heading to Wodonga for some retail therapy. There's a particular shop there that I wanted to visit, and so the idea was to set out early, hit the shops at Centro Wodonga, have some lunch there, then head home to potter around the house, do some washing, and write Christmas cards.

Well, folks, you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men; well that seems to apply doubly so for clergy women. I ended up having a rather lush sleep-in (for once, NOT interrupted by parcel deliverers, or a certain parishioner who seems to have a radar for ringing my doorbell when I'm either still in bed or in the shower on a go-slow morning). I crawled out of bed around 11am, had a leisurely shower and breakfast (by which time the mail had arrived, so I read that over brekky).

A little more pottering, dropping off some letters to the postoffice, watering the plants on the back porch (and noting with glee that the chilli plants are budding!), then I brought in the line full of washing that I had put out on Saturday, and then started thinking about the rest of my day.

By this time it was approaching 2pm, and I decided that perhaps I needed to revise my plans for retail therapy- Wodonga might be a bit far, so a visit to Rivers in Wangaratta could be the go (as I wanted to get some summery, sandally shoes that are a little more presentable than my current 'beachcomber' style sandals).

As I hopped in the car, I thought about lunch. Given the lateness of the hour, maybe I should aim for Maccas or Hungry Jacks at Wang?... as I set out, I changed my mind, and decided to divert via Milawa and the Gourmet Food Trail, and visit the Milawa Cheese Factory to see if I could do lunch there... as I turned off onto the Snow Rd, I changed my mind again, as I remembered a rather interesting looking winery a bit farther past Milawa that I had passed many times and had been tempted to check out- this could be my opportunity!

So, with that in mind, I headed to Sam Miranda winery where I stopped and enjoyed a lovely lunch and a glass of their Sparkling Snow Road Pink. After a relaxing repast and read, (with a lovely view out the window, and friendly conversation with the girl managing the cellar door front of house), I continued on my way to Wang.

Fortuitously, I found a parking spot right outside the Rivers outlet (must be an omen! :-) and went inside to channel Imelda. I found a number of pairs of shoes that met my requirements, and as I was leaving the shop, I bumped (almost literally) into my Wangaratta counterpart, Ron Manley (who said he had not long ago been joking with the chair of his church council about how long it would take before he bumped into me on the streets of Wangaratta).

He invited me back to the church for a cuppa, and I enjoyed a lovely time catching up and comparing notes with Ron of our respective Carols by Candlelight experiences, Christmas services, holiday plans etc (among other things).

By this time it was nearly 6:30 and I headed towards home, feeling like I'd had a great adventure on my day off.

The day concluded with takeaway pizza for dinner, and writing Christmas cards in front of some trashy TV episodes on DVD (I seem to be going through a vampire phase at the moment, having just finished watching the first season of True Blood, and am now revisiting the first season of Moonlight. What is it about Aussie actors in American vampire TV shows? - Ryan Kwanten in True Blood, and Alex O'Loughlin in Moonlight- oh well, it makes for nice, familiar scenery anyway. Once I finish this current season, I might dig out my old Angel eps, because after all, Angel and Spike really are the vampires' vampires! :-).

All in all, it set me up well to commence my working week in a relaxed and joyous frame of mind (after all, we are in the week of JOY in Advent Season, so it's all rather fitting! :-)

Aye... aye... AIDA!

I spent my day off yesterday en route to Melbourne, to go and see the latest Opera Australia production of Aida, with Barbara, a friend from Tas. Some months ago Barb sent me an excited email, saying that a rather wonderful production of Aida was coming to Melb, and wondering if I could escape for a night to go with her to see it. So, after a bit of research into dates, times and ticket prices, we had a date.

Barbara flew to Melbourne on Saturday, and caught a bus up to my neck of the woods, to spend the best part of the weekend in Myrtleford, and then we set off for Melb on Monday. En route, we called into Seymour, and enjoyed a relaxed lunch and catch up with Linley and Barry, before making our way to the Crowne Plaza Hotel in the heart of Melbourne's CBD (a bit flasher than my usual accommodation options in Melbourne, but we were able to take advantage of a special offer that Barbara and her husband had, which worked out very nicely indeed).

We were a bit like two giggly schoolgirls, enjoying the opulence around us (our room on the 6th floor had two double beds and a stunning view of the river, and the lights of the city after dark), and treated ourselves to a drink in the bar, and dinner in the hotel's Chinese restaurant (which, was a step or two up from the local Chinese takeaway in Myrtleford), before heading to the Entertainment Centre for the opera.

The set, costumes and everything was so lavish and 'shiny', it was wonderful (and I could even almost believe that the dashing tenor Radames could prefer the rather dumpy, middle-aged looking soprano 'slave-girl' Aida to the stunningly attractive -and very shiny- mezzo Amneris- which proves yet again the rule of opera that no matter how attractive she is, the alto never gets the guy!)

Barb and I had a great time, and when I got home at lunchtime today, after this experience, and the earlier bliss of the weekend, it felt like I'd been away on holiday for a week, and it took a while for me to get my head back into 'work' mode.

Given how busy I am going to be over the next couple of weeks, this is probably a good thing; a kind of recharging, and girding my loins in preparation for a busy time.

Ahhh blissss...

Yesterday (Saturday) I had the most blissful day I've had in a very long time (which, given how generally happy and excited I am about being here and doing what I'm doing, is really saying something.)

My friend and colleague, Martin, was visiting from Rochester, and we spent the day exploring my local ministry patch. We started with a trip to Beechworth, where Martin worked hard to single-handedly prop up the rural economy with a bit of retail therapy and Christmas shopping. I teased him mercilessly about this, but he got the better of me in the end, which will become apparent soon.

We then swung by the Beechworth church, where we were both impressed by the liturgical elegance of the worship space, decked out in its coordinated Advent purple. (I'll try to remember to take my camera next time I go to Beechworth, and post a pic here for your edification). It's really nice to have someone in the congregation who has such a great liturgical and artistic sense. I had had a conversation with this woman a few days prior about how we might use seasonal purple around the sanctuary, and no sooner had we spoken about it, than it was done! :-)

On the way out of Beechworth heading for Yackandandah, (and hello to the old bears who I am guessing will be reading this after my mention of Yack triggered your Google alert :-), we took a detour via the Beechworth scenic drive around the gorge- something I hadn't done before. It was great to see the vastness of the gorge, and enjoy the scenery.

Then on to Yack, to inspect our little stone church; followed by some well-earned morning tea at the Yack bakery (although by this time it was around noon). Then a wander down the main drag of town, and another new discovery- a fantastic little gallery called Spiritus, housed in the old Yackandandah Motor Garage Premises at the bottom end of the main street.

The ambience and kind of items on sale there reminded me very much of the gallery shops lining Salamanca Place in Hobart, so I felt very much at home. I even discovered some jewellery by a Hobart metal sculptor, Bruce Pringle, whose work is very distinctive (I have a pendant and earrings he made, which are favourites).

But by far the most eye-catching item in the place was the very large wooden cross (about 1.5m high, I think), with a stylised metal representation of Christ on it, which was displayed in the window. Martin and I spent quite some time admiring this, and wondering about its presence so prominently in this place. I couldn't help myself, and had to ask the gallery owner about it, wondering who had made it. She told me about the artists (one local and one from Lithuania), and in the process of this discussion, I noticed a smaller version of the cross (about half the size) propped up near the larger one.

The cross, shown in front of my fireplace

At this point, I was reminded quite acutely of the fact that neither the Beechworth nor Yackandandah churches have a cross of any kind in them, and my mind started wandering down the path of contemplating how magnificent this (smaller) cross would look in a church. The gallery owner offered to let me borrow the smaller cross to 'test drive' it in the Yack church, to see what the congregation thought about it, but I was so struck by the artistic beauty and liturgical elegance of the piece, that I just had to buy it, and this way, it will remain my property, which can hang in one of the churches for a while, and when I leave, I can take it with me.

The fact that it's not a bare, or 'empty' cross, but has even a stylised Christ hanging on it might pose some problems for some of my parishioners (as in the Uniting Church, and most Protestant churches, it is not our tradition to use a 'crucifix', depicting the body of Christ hanging on the cross, but rather an empty cross, symbolising the fact that "he's not here, he is risen"), but I guess the best thing to do is see what happens. It is a beautifully evocative work of art, and I think introducing it at Easter time could be a good move.

More detail of the metal sculpture

After the purchase, Martin became my 'cross-bearer', carrying said item as we made our way up the street to the car. We discovered that carrying a large cross up the main street of a country town is a great conversation starter (funny that!). The price tag on the cross was significantly more than the total Martin had spent on his purchases during the morning, so we agreed that I 'won' the prize for propping up the rural economy the most that day.

So we took our purchases home to Myrtleford, where I packed the eski with a picnic lunch (and of course, some lovely Gapsted Moscato) and we headed for Buffalo River Dam. The weather was perfect for a picnic, and we found a picnic table in the shade and enjoyed our lunch, with a luscious view of the lake and its serene surrounds. We had packed a lot into the day, and it would have been wonderful to stretch out on the grass and have a snooze in the shade for an hour or so, but Martin needed to head home, and I needed to head to Wangaratta to pick up my next house guest, Barbara, from Tassie.

The blissful scenery of Buffalo River Dam
(oh, and Martin in the foreground! :-)

So all in all, it was a fabulous day, and despite being full of activity, was very refreshing and relaxing. Have I mentioned recently how much I love living here in the north east? :-)

Coolness of the day- The Muppets do Queen!

This is the coolest of cool YouTube videos- the Muppets performing Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. Just love it, and wanted to share the cool.

Just call me St Francis...

It seems there is no limit to my attractant powers over our furry and feathered friends.

I have already banged on incessantly about my 'possum whisperer' status, when my Brunswick bathroom became something of a right-of-way to local possums seeking to get from the trees and rooftops back down to the ground again.

Well, now it seems the birds are starting to feel strangely called into my orbit. First, I have been woken up at obscenely early hours (well, before 7am!) by a bird that I suspect must be nesting in the eaves just outside my bedroom window. At the appointed time each morning for a couple of weeks, I was woken up by the sounds of scratching, scraping and flapping of wings that sounded, to my half asleep brain, to be disturbingly close. Fortunately, this unique alarm clock seems to have desisted, but last night marked the latest in my adventures in animal husbandry.

There was an Elders' meeting in my lounge room, and as we were spending some time in prayer at the start of the meeting, we were confronted with a loud scruffling noise, coming from the fire place. "Sounds like Santa is coming early!" I quipped.

More scruffling, and a few puffs of soot emanating from the vent of the wood heater firebox indicated that there was indeed some poor critter trapped in the flue of the wood heater.

Being a group of 4 women, we discussed our options- call the local shire ranger to deal with it? No way they'd come out at night... a chimney sweep? (who just happened to be the former tenant of this house)- didn't answer his phone... well, maybe we'll just continue with the meeting, and see what happens.

By the end of the meeting, and after a few more instances of fluttering and puffs of soot out of the vents, it became evident that it was indeed a bird that had managed to get into this sticky situation, and that it had actually managed to free itself from the flue, and was now happily perched on the piece of wood inside the wood heater.

So, our intrepid group sprung into action, closing off all doors, so that the only way was out, and armed with a towel, to humanely try to grab the bird, we opened the door of the wood heater. The bird didn't come quietly, and rather than allowing us to gently capture it in the towel, it flew out of the firebox, and floundered sootily around the loungeroom for a bit, perching first on the blade of the ceiling fan (and was I glad that we thought to turn the fan off first!), then on top of the curtains... and finally managed to find the door to the hallway, and then the open front door to safety.

I think it will be an Elders' meeting that will be remembered for a long time (for the entertainment value, if nothing else)!

Feeling rich

With this week's Gospel reading about the widow's mite (I grew up with the KJV, so sue me!), it got some of the members of a liturgy email list I'm on asking questions about good illustrations about money or giving to use in this week's children's talk in their churches.

The discussion then led to poverty, and the idea of how privileged we in the west really are. One member of the list shared a link to a website called the Global Rich List, where you enter your annual wage, and it tells you where you stand in the world's economy.

Now I know lots of people seem to think that a ministry stipend is not the most glamorous income in the world, but when I entered the figures (converted from AUD to USD), the Global Rich List told me that I come in the richest 2% in the world.

Makes you think really, doesn't it?

I'm loaded. It's official. I'm the 129,565,218 richest person on earth! How rich are you? >>

In the hot seat

A few months ago, as a bit of a lark, I filled in an online application to become a contestant on Channel 9's Millionaire Hotseat quiz show.

A couple of weeks later, I received an email, congratulating me that I had passed that first stage and was invited to attend an audition in Melbourne a week or so later.

So I did.
And I got through to the final stage, where I had my photo taken, and a video interview with the contestant coordinator was taped.

Some time passed, and then I received a call to say they wanted me on the show!

So on Monday this week, I found myself again in Melbourne, this time at the studios of Channel 9, for the taping of the show.

The process took all day, from 8:30am till about 5pm (the original wrap time was supposed to be 6:30, but we were let go early). I got the full treatment, with hair and makeup, wardrobe had to approve my clothing choice (which took two goes to get right, the first top I wore had too many small dots on it and would strobe on camera, so I had to change), and a rehearsal, to get us used to the set and what would happen on the show.

Finally, after lunch, we began taping the shows. Five shows were taped on Monday, so there was a group of 30 contestants (6 per show) that formed a bit of a community as we watched each show being taped, and cheered on as people won, and gasped when they came close, but not quite there.

Finally the time came for my show to be taped. My friend and former neighbour, Alan, was my 'friend in the audience', and we were set. It was a lot of fun, and as much as I have never really been a big fan of Eddie Maguire, I have to say that in person he really is a nice guy, and very good at what he does.

Did I win a million dollars? Well, I signed a piece of paper that says I won't disclose that till after the episode goes to air. So if you want to know how I went, you'll have to watch the show on Friday 6th November.

*sigh*

Friday is the 2-year anniversary of Dad's death. It's been interesting to monitor my feelings as this date approaches, and I was particularly surprised by my very negative reaction to the whole Fathers' Day palaver this year.

As the TV ads, junkmail and various email promotions bombarded me with the "perfect gift for Dad!" messages in the lead up to September, I became more and more agitated and likely to burst into tears for no apparent reason.

I was in New Norcia on study leave on that particular day, and remember a woman who was a fellow participant in the weekend retreat making a scathing comment about how the priest who presided at Mass on that Sunday prayed for "the fathers" but not for mothers. Someone else pointed out, "that's probably because today is Fathers' Day," and that almost subliminal mention of fathers in the prayer of intercession was the only reference to Fathers' Day in the Mass.

My response to hearing that comment (as I hadn't quite realised the significance of the date) was, "Finally... thank God it's finally come, now the advertising will stop".

It's not as if Fathers' Day was anything special when Dad was alive- we never made much of a deal of Mothers' or Fathers' Days. My usual filial duty consisted of a phone call on the day, and maybe a card, if they were really lucky (and I remembered to send it... they often would have arrived after the fact, as I'm a bit vague about such dates). But for some reason, this year, even more than last year, the fact that I was fatherless on Fathers' Day hit me.

This year, I won't have the opportunity to do anything particular to mark the date, as I will be spending Friday travelling to Canberra, and participating in a seminar on music and liturgy. (Last year, I watched the DVD recording of Dad's funeral, and then rang Mum and we cried together over the phone). This year, Mum will be in Newcastle, with my aunt and cousin, so at least she won't be alone, which is a good thing. I imagine we'll cry at each other over the phone once we both get back home and have the chance to catch up with each other.

It's hard to believe it's been two years. I still miss you Dad.

Floral update

I realise that in being such a slack blogger in recent times, I have neglected to share the progress of my potted bulbs.

I enjoyed a lovely crop of daffodils and jonquils (the last of which are now in a vase on my dining table), and also some delightful tulips, including some dark purply-black blooms which were pretty spectacular.

These have all now pretty much finished blooming, and in their place, the rinunculi and anemones are taking over, and looking lovely, with the freesias also starting to bloom. Just gorgeous!

Here are some pics of the early jonquils, some tulips and the early stage of the rinunculi and anemones.





I'm also discovering lots of flowers popping up all over the place in the manse garden. In addition to some amazing daffs and jonquils, there have been bluebells irises, winter roses, and now some freesias, and some rather colourful things that I have no idea what they are, but they look pretty.

The heavens are telling the glory of God

This afternoon I had a "Life is Beautiful" moment.

I was driving home from Beechworth, on the Buckland Gap Road, listening to Classic FM on the car radio. Geoffery Lancaster (amazingly talented harpsichord/fortepiano etc player and musicologist) was being interviewed, and was asked what was the most memorable or favourite of all the recordings he had made.

He nominated a performance of Haydn's The Creation, in a restored rococo church somewhere in Europe (can't remember where), with an orchestra and chorus whose members read like the most talented musicians in the world. He cited a particular moment in this performance when they were performing the chorus The heavens are telling, and he looked up from his fortepiano to the paintings on the ceiling of the church, and was so moved by the combined beauty of the art, the amazingness of the music (so perfectly performed) that he was overcome with emotion, and was literally crying his eyes out as he played.

They then went on to play that particular chorus (The Heavens are Telling the Glory of God- in German this time) from that particular performance. As the chorus started up on the radio, I began my descent into Buckland Gap.

As I started down the rather steep and winding road, through the black and brown trees (as the Gap was burnt out during the Feb bushfires) I caught a glimpse of a low-slung and somewhat elusive rainbow through the trees.

I caught only a fleeting glimpse, and as I tried again to see it (looking back once I'd turned a bend was not advisable on that road), I couldn't, and was left with a bit of a "did I see that, or just imagine it?" kind of feeling.

The whole scene moved me- the Haydn on the radio, and the elusive rainbow peeking through the desolate trees. The heavens were indeed telling the glory of God at that moment.

Interesting that this morning in church I preached on God's revelation through creation, and I have just started reading a book which explores the concept of theophany (God visiting, or manifesting himself to humans), which has so far been quite intriguing. I think this moment today was my own personal theophany.

It’s interesting what makes you snap

During the week, I received a mail out from the Synod, which contained a poster advertising an event on “Global Warming and the Love of God”, with John Bell as the keynote speaker. Now I have nothing against the church running events to raise awareness and discuss such issues, in fact, I think it's part of our prophetic role to keep such issues in the minds of everyone (and this is especially timely, given my current focus on the Season of Creation in worship over the next few weeks), and I have the utmost respect for John Bell, who is a fantastic speaker and faithful minister in the church.

However, what made me snap was reading the ‘biographical’ details about John Bell, which included the line: “He does not have a mobile phone, driving licence, camera, i-pod or wife”. Wife?... WIFE?!! I was gobsmacked. The inclusion of ‘wife’ in this list of what appears to be gadgets of the current age that one can be seen as noble for doing without, is surely indicating that whoever wrote this considers a wife to be a chattel.

As a single person, I will be one of the first to advocate that it is not necessary to be married in order to have a good and fulfilling life, (and yes, I confess to occasionally joking about the fact that I need my own wife to do all my domestic chores for me) but there is something about this casual disregard for the value, dignity and humanity of wives that is just plain wrong.

Because I’ve been preparing worship based on the Season of Creation theme, I didn’t pay much attention to the regular lectionary readings for this week, until a colleague mentioned that the Old Testament reading is from Proverbs 31, the “Ode to a capable wife”. At this point, I think I laughed hysterically at the timing of my little snap, and the irony of stumbling across these two, seemingly diametrically opposed views of a wife in the same week.

Perhaps it would be helpful for whoever wrote that biog for John Bell to read Proverbs 31:10-31, “A capable wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels…” (or mobile phones, or cameras, or i-pods).

Selfless spirit

This morning I had a call from a lady asking me to visit her husband who is receiving palliative care in the local hospital. When the lady told me the name of her husband, I remembered I had actually visited this gentleman once before, not long after I arrived here. During that visit, I had left one of my business cards with him, and it was upon discovery of my card that his wife called me today.

He has had a long struggle with cancer, and is rapidly approaching the end of that struggle. In the course of my conversation with his wife, (who sounded quite distressed on the phone), she explained to me that they were "amicably separated". On my last visit, this man told me that he had chosen to live apart from his wife, in supported accommodation, as he wanted her to be free to live her life, and not to be tied to his illness. I remember thinking at the time that this was a rather selfless gesture on his part, and one that not many people would make.

When I visited him today, he asked me about my conversation with his wife, and if she'd mentioned anything about funeral arrangements. I commented that she sounded understandably upset, and he winced, as if even at this advanced stage of his illness, he was still seeking to protect her.

He said to me, "your job must be taxing, having to have these kinds of conversations with people," but I reassured him that I consider it a privilege to be able to travel with people at such significant times in their lives, when they are often hurting and vulnerable.

It was certainly a privilege to share some conversation and prayer with this gentleman, and I hope I get to see him again.

Vale Keith (25.12.1905 - 20.7.2009)

This morning I am sad, after receiving word that a dear friend in Hobart died last week.

Keith Welsh died in his sleep in the early hours of last Monday morning, aged 103.

A member of my home congregation in Sandy Bay, I have many fond memories of Keith. In the early days, he would always sit with his mate Jim in church, and being two elderly, and rather deaf gentlemen, their running commentary of the service was rarely as sotto voce as I'm sure they thought it was. (The pair reminded me of Statler and Waldorf, the two old guys who contributed comments from the peanut gallery in the Muppet Show).

When Keith was in his late 90s, I asked him if he was excited about the prospect of reaching 100, and his response was pretty typical:

"You know Caro, I'm not all that fussed about it, but so many other people think it's important, so I suppose I should make an effort!"

When he did indeed reach the ton, his daughter and son-in-law threw a huge and joyful party to celebrate. There were many people there from various eras of his life, and numerous speeches paid tribute to the different aspects of his life: the footballer, the serviceman, the journalist and the churchman.

When I was about to leave for Melbourne, just after he turned 100, I gave Keith another challenge. Since he had made it to his century, I told him his next goal was to aim to be around for my ordination, in 4 years' time. He chuckled, and said,

"I think that might be a bit optimistic Caro".

Nevertheless, every time I have seen him since then, we have continued the countdown.

The last time I saw him was in February this year, and as we realised it was only a year to go, and that he might actually make it, we gleefully started making plans to book a maxi taxi to get him from the nursing home to the church for the ordination service.

Well, it's now three and a half years since I issued him with that challenge, and although he didn't quite make the distance, he came so close- so maybe there's something to be said for optimism after all.

Vale, old friend, enjoy your rest, you deserve it.

woo-hoo! we have shoots!

This past week or two I have been very excited to see some luscious little green shoots poking their tentative tips up from my pots. Of course, I was so enthusiastic when I planted the bulbs that I forgot to label the pots, so I have no idea what flowers are in what pots... so I guess that will be a surprise to come when the shoots become fully formed plants and then flower.

Can't wait to see how they all look. :-)

We plant the seed, nature grows the seed..

Well, I may not be quite as bad as the Young Ones (extra points to those of you who picked up the reference in the heading)... but I am relieved to say that I have finally gotten around to planting my bulbs in the pots that have been sitting on my back porch since mid-March.

In a fit of energy and enthusiasm, yesterday afternoon I went to Dahlsens' and bought some potting mix (after carefully consulting with a staff member, who gave me some very helpful advice) and came home to plant the bulbs.

I discovered that I had far too many bulbs for the pots, so I went out today and bought more pots and potting mix, so will have a total of 8 large pots and two smaller, hanging pots, that will hopefully be a wonderful show of colour come springtime.

I will still have some left over bulbs, but will plant these in the front garden bed, which I have been told is quite shallow (created over the concrete of the old church tennis court), but that the anemones and ranunculi should cope there quite nicely, as long as I don't let them get too dry.

I'll have to remember to take photos when they flower, and post them here.

You know you live in a small town when...

I have run into (figuratively, not literally) my old car not once, but twice around town in the past little while. The first time was in the Myrtleford hospital car park, when I was there to conduct a worship service, and the second was today, when it was parked across the road from my manse.

I suspect the new owner must be a nurse or other staff member at the hospital, who also does some work for the Ovens and King Community Health Centre (which is next door to the manse, in what used to be the old Presy church building).

It's kind of strange to keep encountering the little white Festiva, and having to remind myself that it's not my car any more (even though it still proudly sports my Friends of New Norcia sticker on the back window. I wonder if the new owner has any idea what that means? :-). It's also reassuring to see that it's still going strong, and I hope the new owner is enjoying it.

Warning: I feel a Julie Andrews moment coming on

The hills are alive with the sound of music!
(ahh- ah-ah-aaahhhh ;-)

As I have been driving around the countryside these past few days, I have so felt like breaking out into song as the beauty of my locale has overwhelmed me.

Driving home to Myrtleford after worship in Yackandandah on Sunday morning was an especially fine treat. The rolling hills around the place have all greened up with a lovely lush carpet of grass after the rain we had around ANZAC Day, and driving on a sunny day, with the small, green hills in the foreground, and the bigger, balder mountains in the background, with the sun hitting at just the right angle to make the mountain backdrop almost gleam, is just too much.

I initially kicked myself that I didn't have a camera to capture the view, but then remembered from past experience, that such scenery is best appreciated in person, as photographs always seem unable to capture that special sparkle that makes it so breathtaking.

So, I am continually thankful that I don't need a camera to capture the views, because I live and work in this funky scenery all the time!

Whatever happened to Caro's Nutrimetics thing?

For those of you who have known me for a long time, you will remember that quite a few years ago when I was still living in Hobart, I signed up as a Nutrimetics consultant. I did this primarily because I loved the products, and wanted to be able to access them quickly, easily and cheaply.

Then, I got a bit involved in the business side of the company, going to training, where I learned a lot about getting the most out of the products, and also marketing and promotion. So, for a while there, I was full-on into things, actively seeking customers, doing monthly brochure mailouts, doing Nutrimetics 'shows' for friends, as well as potential customers I met through various marketing ventures. I quite enjoyed it all, and made some friends, but eventually, the reality of having a full-time job and lots of other commitments got the better of me, and I had to pull back a bit.

Then, when I moved to Melbourne, as my life took a different direction, I had to let go completely of the 'business' side of my Nutrimetics involvement (but I still have an active account, as I still like to get products for myself).

In more recent times the Nutrimetics company has introduced a new promotional strategy (which I know other direct marketing companies have also had for a while), so 'consultants' such as myself can have a personal Nutrimetics website. After a bit of uncertainty, today I decided to sign up for one of these sites.

What this means is that my friends and family who may have bought product from me in the past (and cursed me when I moved to Melbourne, or later to Myrtleford, because it all became too hard) can now place orders directly through my personal website, and the product will be sent straight to you, rather than having to get it from me.

My personal Nutrimetics website can be found at: http://www.my.nutrimetics.com.au/carofield

This site will be updated regularly by the company with the latest special offers. I don't plan to promote it vigorously (will probably mention it in my next email newsletter, and place a link on my blog home page, but that's all). As I said, I'm no longer actively pursuing the business, and don't do 'shows' (or 'Spa Experience' as they are now called). But I hope that this site will be useful to my friends and family who really like the products and would like to still access their favourites despite not having a local consultant of their own.