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I learned what the cause of struggling noises was the other night when my husband was changing our bedsheets for AGES.

It turns out (and to be honest I should have guessed immediately) that the long delay and funny noises was caused by an air guitar session.  Why change bedsheets when you can plug in your ipod and listen to something loud and play along (in your rock god mind)?

I have to say I’ve never played air guitar in my life.  Actually no, I think I did it once and felt so stupid I stopped immediately.  I have, of course, sung into my hair brush but that’s different  somehow – I didn’t feel too stupid anyway.  I remember me and my sister used to take it in turns to be the singer on the stage (our bed) and would make up songs as we went along.   Anyway, my husband’s a great air guitarist, and I tend to find him lost in music anytime his ipod’s plugged in and he’s meant to be doing something else entirely.  How great to be able to do that, just tune into another world.

From bedsheets to pretending to be a singer-superstar … there’s a tangent.

What did you used to pretend to be?  And have you ever played air guitar?


Well today (like many days in my life, it seems) I’m sick.  I think I’ve caught the bug my daughter was so poorly with last week.  After feeling a bit odd at various points yesterday and managing to dismiss them as the outworkings of a busy weekend and not enough sleep, I spent last night feeling increasingly yuck and then trying and failing to get myself functioning this morning. 

As is the way with these things, I find it’s often when I need the most sleep that I get the least.  So during my sleepless hours last night when I awoke feeling unwell I found myself ruminating on the kind of random tangents that the 2ams are so well known for.

One of the random tangents came from a conversation we’d had with a minister friend of ours who was round with his fantastic family on Saturday afternoon.  We’d been joking about my increasing interest in the idea of communal living and how this works itself out in communities we’ve come across.  After considering the areas we’d find most challenging about communal living (pretty much all of it) our friend said that they had approached it from the other direction and basically let people know they had an open house for anyone, whenever.  I wondered if this was an expectation of their role in the church he leads, but apparently not – so many of his congregation had never been inside the church manse until he took up post.  Marla has also spoken in various places on her (fantastic) blog about having doors open to whoever needs them.

As I lay tossing and turning in bed, head and body aching, mind whirring, I began to wonder how I would find communal living, or living with ‘open doors’ when, like today, I was unwell.

Would it be great to know that if I needed something there would likely be someone around to help me out?  Or would I struggle with feeling my space was restricted, that Iwould need to make conversation when I just wanted to lie or sit quietly?  And in terms of reciprocity would I be willing to go into someone else’s house when they were sick and be there for them? I would, but being the over-empathiser that I am, I tend to imagine others share the same feelings as me and wouldn’t welcome my presence.

I am full of admiration for those who open their homes to the world, and can see that actually the physical act of letting someone in the door is not always the big deal.  It’s the opening and sharing of lives which follows which is the real challenge, the real joy and the real act of servanthood and love.

I haven’t made any resolutions this year.  But this area is something I am challenged by and challenged into doing and not merely thinking about.  I intend to work on it this year.  I suspect it will be a lifelong project

July 2018
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