special

If, like me, you have recently downgraded Jimmy Carr (along with Messrs Boyle and Gervais) from "Tolerably Amusing Comedian" to "Unkind Person who makes Unfunny and Offensive Jokes", I want to share a couple of lovely stories with you. The first one is called "The Smile That Melts Misconceptions" and features Taya, a little girl who has an extra chromosome and a modelling contract. After that, I can guarantee an honest, touching and articulate read on Alice's blog, Play on the Word. Alice and her husband Dave have three children, one of whom joined their family when he was nine months old. Mikey has Downs Syndrome, and Alice and Dave chose, specifically, to adopt him. This post, written in honour of World Downs Syndrome Day on 21st March, is beautiful. I don't need to add anything to it because it speaks for itself, but I have to say that in an age when so much is written and said about rights and choice and viability, it is truly a privilege to read something based so much on love and joy and the notion of blessings rather than burdens.

About 95% of children diagnosed prenatally with Downs Syndrome are never born. Alice, who is mother to a child who has Downs and so knows what she's talking about, says that "every fight, every nappy, every tantrum, every stare, every disastrous outing, every invite turned down is outweighed a thousandfold by the complete and utter joy and wonder of having Mikey." And the more I think about what it means to be pro-life, the more I believe that it needn't - and indeed probably shouldn't - involve arguments and placards and statistics, but instead an emphasis on joy and wonder and love. Mikey, Taya, the Prime Minister's late son Ivan and thousands of other children who have extra needs are precious and special and inspirational to those around them. They deserve to be born, they deserve to live and they deserve the opportunity to give and receive love. None of us are without needs and challenges, but we all have the chance to experience and share with others the richness of life, if only it is given to us in the first place. As Mikey's mother says, "We are poorer when we refuse to allow people with Downs Syndrome the chance at life". Who'd want to be poorer? Choose riches. Choose joy.

give thanks

Last week, I learned about the Thankful Villages. According to BBC News online, these are British settlements where all those who served in one of the World Wars returned home, and those places who lost no one to either war have become known as "Doubly Thankful". The heartwarming article I read described a handful of villages who welcomed home every single young man who had bravely set out to fight all those years ago. Though none avoided the full horror and psychological or physical after-effects experienced by so many of the soldiers who did return alive, these villages were spared the disproportionate loss of life wreaked upon other parts of the country. How blessed they must have felt, especially those who had cause to be doubly thankful. How wonderful to be able to give thanks for the fact that someone precious has not been lost to you. What a simple, yet profound, gift is that of continued life, even though those returning from war had certainly not escaped unscathed.

Recently I visited a large shopping centre for the first time in many months. I dislike the crowds, noise and queuing associated with shopping in person at the best of times, but add two small children to the equation and the thought of entering the Metro Centre during the run-up to Christmas practically brings me out in a rash. However, Ben needed to visit the Genius Bar in the Apple store, and the ratio of adults to children promised to facilitate a comparatively pleasant shopping trip. As we strolled through John Lewis and purchased Christmas pyjamas for the children, I was reminded of how consumer-based life can become if it's allowed to do so. There were so many lovely things on offer! It would be really easy to give in to the temptation of wanting to own more stuff than we already do, and justifying it by telling myself that the children need even more clothes (which they don't), or that we never get to go out in the evenings so we deserve even more DVDs to watch (despite being LoveFilm members), or that it's about time I treated myself to a load of new post-pregnancy clothes (although I still have plenty of weight to lose before I ought to be buying any new clothes).

My dad has worked with Habitat for Humanity since his retirement, and every time he goes on an expedition to a different country and helps to build houses for people who need somewhere to live, he returns with stories of how grateful they are simply to have a roof over their heads. Many have experienced hardship, poverty, bereavement and challenges beyond anything I can imagine, but are still incredibly grateful for the little they have. These people, and those who lived in the Thankful Villages in the twentieth century, are such an inspiration to me. They challenge me just to be grateful for what I have at the start of each day. To try and stop myself from imagining how much easier and better my life would be if I had this, that and the next thing, and instead to start giving thanks for the many things, both astonishingly wonderful and simple, with which I have been blessed: the promise of salvation and eternal life, a lovely and loving family, friends who I so much appreciate, a home, food on the table and good health, to name only a few of those things. I regularly follow a blog called Lemonade Makin' Mama, whose Christian author has hanging in her kitchen a chalkboard inscribed with the words "Give Thanks" (1 Thessalonians 5v18). I need the daily reminder to be grateful in all circumstances, and am grateful to have received it this past week. Go and read about the Thankful Villages; you'll be glad you did.

reasonably virtuous cookies

Readers of my family blog will know that in the weeks surrounding Daniel's birth I embarked upon a quest to discover the perfect sultana cookie, aka the cookie rated most highly by Ben. The best I've managed so far is a cookie which provoked the response "Mmm! Can I order some more of these?" and whilst this in no way implies perfection, I feel encouraged in my journey! These very cookies are in fact featured at the top of my blog, accompanied by tea and the wherewithall to drink it. They are not made from my own recipe, but an amalgam of two others: one a lowish-fat oat recipe I found online, and Nigella Lawson's cranberry and white chocolate cookie recipe featured in her lovely book Feast. In the spirit of sharing, here's how to make Reasonably Virtuous Cookies - enjoy them with a cup of tea as the weather gets colder!

85g butter or Stork

115g soft brown sugar

115g self-raising flour

1 beaten egg

55g porridge oats

100g white chocolate chips

100g dried cranberries

Beat together the butter and sugar, then stir in the flour and egg and cream everything together to form a firm cookie dough. Mix in the oats, then add and mix in the chocolate chips and cranberries. Dollop medium-sized spoonfuls of the dough onto lined baking trays, and bake at 180* for about 20 minutes until the cookies are golden brown and springy to the touch. Makes between 10 and 16, depending upon your size preference. Eat at least one whilst still warm!

obvious to you, amazing to others

This week, I came across this fantastic wee animation on a blog post by Jon Acuff, author of Stuff Christians Like. He captioned it with If you have 1:37 today, spend it watching Derek Sivers' video "Obvious to you. Amazing to others". I was busy, but not so busy that I couldn't spare a minute and a half, so I watched it. And I would warmly encourage you to do the same, especially if you're feeling a bit rubbish about yourself today.

I love the last sentence: "Are you holding back something that seems too obvious to share?" and it challenged me, which is why I'm sharing it with you. It's so easy to downplay our own talents and gifts and to keep them to ourselves rather than use them, for a variety of reasons. The worry of appearing arrogant. The prospect of being laughed at. The idea of failure. The fear that someone will trample all over what you've offered to them. But after watching this little video, I was struck by two truths. The first was "Everybody's ideas seem obvious to them".

This week, I emailed a musician at our church and mentioned that I was in awe of brass players because I found the thought of playing the trumpet or trombone or euphonium to be too much of a challenge; I just don't relate to brass instruments. He reciprocated with "I'm in awe of pianists as I can't get my head around multiple lines of music!" Now I'm an okay pianist. I'm not the worst in the world, but I'm a million trillion billion miles away from being the best. I manage all right on the keyboard in church on a Sunday morning, but am afflicted with major confidence problems regarding performance, so in all honesty would really rather not ever play in front of anyone. I even shut the door when I'm playing at home. I have very little regard for any ability that I might have as a pianist, and the idea that playing multiple lines of music is difficult is laughable to me. If I can do it, anyone can! It's obviously the easiest thing in the world! Yet my brass-playing email correspondent doesn't think so. In fact, to quote Derek Sivers' video, "Maybe what's obvious to me is amazing to someone else".

I have recently become a huge fan of "The Big Bang Theory", which features a quartet of physicists. I barely understand a word that such people say (I only passed GCSE Physics because at the time I had a kind and highly intelligent boyfriend who efficiently drilled the entire syllabus into my unscientific mind), yet every thought that passes through their super-scientific brains about atoms or particles or frequencies is entirely obvious to them. They use this ability to make a difference, even a small one, to the way in which we understand the world, and find this very easy to do, although people like me might marvel from afar and feel intimidated that they can consider such an "amazing" thing so "obvious". In addition to physicists and brass players, I am also amazed by people who can speak other languages fluently, programme computers and wire up sound systems. Yet I am assured by friends who can do these things that they are simple. This is proof that "amazing" is a relative concept, in earthly terms.

Which leads me to the second truth. When I haven't had enough sleep or am feeling particularly low about life, it's very easy for me to slip into thinking "Right! I'm a terrible pianist, and the whole church knows it! I am, forthwith, going to resign as the keyboard player!" Often I come quite close to carrying out my sleep-deprived intention. Yet if everyone did this, just because they were fearful of using a skill about which they are deeply insecure, nothing would ever get done. Sermons wouldn't be preached, cars wouldn't be designed and great pieces of music wouldn't be composed - and the list goes on and on. The fact that I can string a few notes together on the keyboard will never be amazing to me, but in this one context, it's potentially a bit of use to someone else. If I can play the piano even passably I should keep doing so for the glory of God and to serve others who like to sing and to worship, and furthermore should do so graciously, willingly and happily.

"We're clearly a bad judge of our own creations; we should just put it out, and let the world decide." That's what has challenged me today, and I need to keep watching that animation and remind myself that whatever I do, even if I haven't much regard for my ability in that area, I should just put it out and let the world decide.

What talent do you have that you downplay? What is obvious to you but amazing to someone else?