Happy Christmas

Well Hello once more,

Christmas, Christmas, Christmas, Turkey Turkey Turkey, munch munch munch,

It all get a little bit bloated don't you think?

I always get a little bit sentimental at Christmas and probably a little bit more so this year as it is the first one without my dear father being around. Christmas at the Frost residence alway evokes happy memories although there was little Christian references during the festive proceedings. The only 'Christian' thing I vaguely recall was a knitted jumper from Granny which depicted camels going around my torso to an unknow destination. It probably would be quite trendy these days but back in the eighties was no mean look for a teenager. 

One of lifes pleasures as a boy was going through the radio times with a pen marking all the 'must see' television programmes, things like Willy Wonka, The Wizard of OZ and a personal favourite Oliver Twist. As a family who embraced technology the Christmas Eve delivery of our Sony Betamax video recorder was a real treat and remember fondly recording the film Rollerball and watching it with the family the following day. It is fair to say Jesus was no where in sight.

It's funny how Christmas experiences live long in the memory, I remember being in the Worsthorne school Christmas production of 'The Time Machine' and I was cast as a time traveller, which basically involved spending a considerable time in the PE Storage cupboard that was doubling up as the Time Machine, it was rather uncomfortable particulary as me and my fellow travellers were intrigued by a large elastoplast with the equally large scab still in place resting with intimidation on the pommel horse which nobody had the courage to displace. Where was Jesus in all this?

I recall the nearly 30 years  experiences of Christmas working in retail for Independant and National retailers, I recall the 'shit' I used to sell in the world of Catalogue clearance, I recall the weight of the back breaking televisions I used to deliver in the world of a family run business, and I recall and still experience the might of one of the Uk's biggest retail establishments. The memories are vivid and full of happy times. 

I recall the thousands maybe even millions of people I have served, the disputes, the gratitude, the service, the joys the stresses of working and serving the general public. I recall the responsibilities that come with being a Manager, the people who have come and the people who have gone Is this the ministry of Jesus?

I recall the people who I worked with the people I still work with, I recall those have have passed away, colleagues, friends, customers. I recall a lovely old man called David, he used to visit our television shop in Nelson, he was elderly and frail but every morning he would just pop in and say 'Can tha lend me owt?" Me and me old mate Glynn would just say, "Not today Dave" the conversation was brief, and often concluded by David saying, "Thanks lads, see you tomorrow". After a a long period of time David stop coming and we learned that he had passed away. Jesus where are you?

I recall the drinks, not the volume but the rather feeble intake in the Frost household, Cinzano and Bianco, the snowballs and the Babycham and if we really pushed the limits a Shandy Bass or two could be consumed in a moment of indulgence whilst pretending to be drunk on nothing more than gas and carbonated water. These days I notice the regulars who wobble between the two public houses that I pass on my way home in the evenings and observe with sadness some of Burnleys human beings who have turned to drugs and prostitution to 'get by' whilst judgementally considering they live too close for comfort to the safety and security of my own bricks and mortar. Oh Jesus!   

I recall Christmas with family, We were never over endulged as a family, something that Sarah and I have instilled with Joe, Holly and Rachel, we give them something nice, but we try to ensure, never too much! I recall the huge joint of beef purchased, cooked and carved by my dear 96 year old Granny who by Gods grace will celebrate Christmas with us at 'Frost towers' on the 25th of December. My Mum will be with us, she WILL get emotional, she will talk about my Dad, how she misses him, how he loved Christmas and his family and how it will never be the same. Jesus?

I suppose what you might get from this blog is my feeling that in these very short and brief reflections of Christmas, is maybe just maybe Christ was always there simply walking alongside me like a speech bubble just sitting on my shoulder waiting for me to notice he was there. The times I looked and saw nothing, the times I was hearing and not listening, the times I was joyous and not grateful. The New Year will continue to, prod and proke and challenge me in my formation towards Ordained ministry, but the past, the experiences the challenges, the tears, the laughs, the anger, the education is I feel part of Gods masterplan for my future. The New Year will continue to prod and proke and challenge you as well but  I urge all of you with faith and also those of you without, to take just a few moments prior to Christmas in a moment of stillness and tranquility and reflect on your 'life journey' and give thanks to whovever you owe that to, be it, Jesus, Mum, Dad, carer, brother, sister, husband, wife, son or daughter, friend or foe. In the meantime I offer prayers and thanksgiving for all those who have impacted my life and wish you all a really great Christmas,

Till next time love and peace,

Alextheanglican.

 

Between a rock and a hard place.

   Hello,

One of my favourite lunchtime meals is the extravagant concoction of Beans and Sausages on a bed of sliced up a toast with triangles on the side, Never Heinz mind, as that would be far too posh and over the top! Occasionally I indulge in a Asda smart price strawberry cheesecake and priced at just 35p it provides an inexpensive lunchtime treat to my sweet tooth or teeth as the case may be! I often take my lunch break sat at my desk reading The Church Times, The Sun or The Daily Mail. In my ‘business’ drawer I have a bottle of Smart Price Tomato Ketchup, a substantial supply of Paracetamol, an endless supply of Argos pens, and a copy of the New Testament.

Beans and Sausages

A few years ago I was sat in Blackburn Cathedral specifically in The Cafe in the Crypt, at a meeting to prepare the Statement of Needs for the then unappointed new Bishop and those present were asked to consider what they wanted from the new “main” man. There was much said about the individual needing to be prayerful, wise, considerate, etc etc, and then one chap piped up and said ‘We need someone that can not only appeal to The Daily Mail readers but to The Sun readers as well’.  I thought to myself, So we don’t do that already?

Recently  a friend simply pointed out to me, “The Church of England is just so middle class” and on reflection I can’t really disagree. “Middle Class” hmmm! And here lies the problem, What am I? Am I working class or middle class? Can I appeal to ‘middle’ England and do I have the potential to instigate some success and enthuse the ‘working classes’ to come to church? Let me see. One of my great passions in life is music, I love music but I am not sure my taste would be middle class although the first record I ever purchased was The Floral Dance sung by non other than Terry Wogan, a very pleasant  tune, with the lyrics, fiddle, cello, big bass, corn and flute and the euphonium suggesting a rather middle class interest from an early age. However just some months later I was very much intrigued by the lyrics of The Sex Pistols when I heard Anarchy in the Uk for the very first time, what I catchy chorus I thought!  I also have a love of some classical music, I am a big fan of Bocelli and Watson and Co but sometimes feel I let myself down by over enjoying my hooked on classics CD which brings a significant ‘pop’ sound to some of the worlds greatest composers!

The Television is another issue, Should I even be watching a TV? Should I not be reading a literary classic from, Bronte, Dickens or Cartland, it’s unlikely particularly as my favorite book is, The autobiography of Les Dawson and my favourite author is Sue Townsend who put together the very funny Adrian Mole diaries.  I seem to go from one extreme to another, I often tape Songs of Praise, I really like Question time, I love the historical documentaries but I can often be found having a sneaky look at Keith Lemon being completely outrageous on ITV2 and occasionally glimpse in on the world of Jeremy Kyle and I just love Deal or No Deal with Noel Edmonds.

Just what is going on here?

 

The Greatest Author ever Published ?

Back to the news, I love the BBC channel I love news, I love politics, I love debate, I love The Sun…… What I love The Sun, with page 3 ‘exploitation’ and all? Yep I can’t deny it, It can take as much as ten minutes to read it sometimes, It doesn’t feed me socially, academically, or nourish me in any way, but it has a cracking sports section and it tells me what’s on the telly! All I need to interrupt the working day is a bit of ‘shit’ to help switch off for brief moment or two.

Laughing is one of my great pastimes, I was raised on a diet of Jim Davidson, Hi Di Hi, Keith Harris and Orville and legends of comedy Cannon and Ball. There probably what would be described as traditional comedy acts aimed at a particular audience, I remember with great affection sitting in packed end of pier theatres laughing with great gusto at a loveable green duck and Jim Davidson doing politically incorrect impressions of a black friend of his named Chalky! These days I find I enjoy comedy with a bit more intellect and very much enjoy the way good scripts and comedy is constructed and delivered.

Socially I take great pride in my nice home, not extravagant or decorated by Marks and Spencers but enough for me to reflect on what I have achieved alongside my dear wife, and as a boy who left school with pretty much nowt but a pleasant personality and a happy go lucky approach to life should feel rightly happy. However I get angry and frustrated at overweight kids, poor role models, shoplifters, bad language, people who can’t be arsed to help themselves, people who defraud the benefits system, otherwise known as spongers, I can’t bear racist behaviour, I hate that people have to live in poverty and struggle to just get by.

Oh it’s all such a caffuffle which I can’t solve and at this moment in time I have no idea where my future will be and my wife encourages not to worry about this at the moment but one thing I am clear about is this, I have no desire or plans  to be a Bishop but  If the Church of England is very middle class, then I of course will serve these people to the best of my ability and encourage them in faith on their journey with God, but also clear in mind is this man I have come to know, who’s name is Jesus. He served and worked with those on the fringes of society, he worked with the poor, the sick, the sinners, he washed the feet of his disciples there was no one beyond the open arms of Christ. If I am to truly answer the call of God, I have to be prepared to serve him anywhere and at anytime, to anyone and anybody and so if by eating smart price sausage and beans, enjoying Keith Harris and Orville and by reading  red top newspapers is my pathway of preparation for the journey ahead then so be it,  

In Christ with you all,

Alex.

Tick Tock

Hello and peace be with you,

Well as the days and weeks zoom by the reality of the future draws closer and closer although to  others they can’t quite believe I don’t already have my dog collar, a church, and a leafy lane Parish to take care of.

There are two questions I am posed more than any others, the first being, Aren’t you a Vicar yet? And what made you want to become a Vicar? I think I have addressed the latter in previous blogs, but the first, Aren’t you a Vicar yet has a more simpler answer, NO !

However it feels close enough to occasionally be frightened to death but at the same time far enough away to be relaxed and unconcerned about the future. People (mainly third year Ordinands) tell me that being a second year Ordinand is a ‘good’ place to be, no decisions to be made, no clergy frocks to order, no essay deadlines to hit! Yeah right if only.

The time of ‘Vicar training’ is also referred to as a time of formation, and I often wonder what that looks like, what is the tangible evidence to convince myself and others that I am becoming a man worthy of such a respectable and distinguished position as a man of the cloth. On the instruction of ‘her indoors’ I went to a works do and seriously let my very short hair down! Part of me had decided to enjoy the posh tea and quietly slip away for prayers and a early night. But with instructions from home ringing in my ears I did the opposite and consumed full bottle of beer, indulged in a posh pudding and headed for the dance floor with an old work mate who had considerably more energy than me and a lot, lot more rhythm than my good self. I danced myself in a state of exhaustion and was ready to gracefully leave the arena, when I was inspired for ‘round two’ by the pop star, Alexandra Burke who I am sure had been reasonably funded to entertain a large group of Retail Managers! Not being huge Burket…. I tried to sing along and give the impression I knew every word to every song. As she sang Hallelujah, I raised my arms to praise the lord and displayed my crucifix on the outside of my cravat and passionately swayed with pride as the crowd sung along.

As I got back to my room, high on nothing other than adrenalin, I sat on the bed removed my very sweaty dinner suit, and sat on the bed and reflected what a very pleasant evening I had enjoyed with some delightful company.I reflected on some of the conversations I had during the day and night. I would never ever break a confidence, but there was enough in a few moments of words and concerns from others for me to understand a little more about the time and period of formation I am experiencing.  

As I sat on my bed I looked across at the unoccupied single bed opposite, and among the defrocked dinner jacket and shirts, the deodorant, the dirty clothes and the spare socks and knickers (thats what we call them in our house) was my daily prayer book. This little hardback maroon book has become a bit a companion, it seems to never be far away from my side, It often lives on the kitchen table, or somewhere around the house, getting under Sarah’s feet but never far away from me.

Feeling rather fatigued from my John Travolta exploits sleeping was probably the preferred option to praying but a little part of me just wouldn’t allow myself to retire for the night without spending some time in prayer, and so I hit page  333 of my prayer book to ‘do’ Compline!

The prayers were private, but in those few moments I learnt a little something new about myself, a little something I may have known already but something I certainly know now. My life is heading in a different direction, by Gods will, I shall become an Ordained person in the spring of 2015, and between now and then I shall continue to be prepared for the many years of serving Christ as a Deacon, Priest and then Vicar, I shall be ‘formed’ as a priestly person!

So what is ‘formed’? Well if it is changing ones personality, losing ones sense of humor, being offended by a swear word or two or maybe taking exception when the word Jesus or God is used out of context, then  it aint happening. But if it is about, listening, responding, encouraging, reading, learning, teaching, loving, holding, rejoicing, friendship, laughing, crying and praying then I concede that through the love of our Lord Jesus Christ I am slowly but surely being ‘formed’ into the person God wants when the day of Ordination finally arrives.

As the ‘tick’ ‘tocks’ people say they see it, they hear it they feel it, and with humility trust me when I say that is both humbling and incredibly moving. The journey is hard, the road is long, the experience is just wonderful, in a rare ‘night off’ from the way of life, I  found people I could express love and joy to, whilst downing tools, letting my very short hair down and remaining absolutely committed and incredibly proud of my discipleship to God the three in one.

Peace and Love brothers and sisters

Alex

Linda Lusardi and a Ferrari

Hello,

        It's not easy to forgive is it? When someone had done you wrong, when someone has stabbed you in the back, when someone has taken advantage of you, when someone has left you feeling upset, when someone had diddled you, when someone has cheated on you, or any other, 'when someone' has left you feeling badly let down and frustrated.

About four years ago a strangely familiar man was shopping in my place of work in Blackburn and as our eyes met he quickly engaged in conversation. "Frostie", he said. I wasn't sure for a moment who he was, "Urgh hi", I replied hoping he would spill the beans and remind me who he was. I didn't have to wait long to find out.

"I'll never forgive you Frostie for what you did to me", he said in a slightly comical yet serious manner.

The penny dropped rapidly, I knew full well who is was and why he may still not have forgiven me over twenty years after the event took place.

In my late teens I worked for a now defunct electrical business in Padiham a small town in East Lancashire, we served the local community with rental televisions and video recorders and much of my time would be spent visiting customers’ homes and emptying meters that customers fed with 50ps to ensure they met their rental payment commitments and it was my job to maintain and service these appliances.

PADIHAM

 Within our small workforce of just five people were, myself, the shop manager/engineer who was on his day off, a clerk named Mary, the service technician called Nigel also on his day off and another teenage assistant who for the purpose of this blog will be known as Paul. 

Paul was a confident, slightly cocky, handsome young man who had an eye for the ladies and had self-belief in abundance. After a period of time I became more and more frustrated with his 'style' and he struck me as the type of character who's arrogance needed putting in place!

One particular morning, Paul came to work full of beans and his usual swagger was in full bloom, and he informed us all that he had entered a telephone competition in the Daily Mail using the shops contact details to win a Ferrari. Paul was feeling very confident this would be his lucky day and the supercar was destined to be his!

As I checked the morning jobs book, and planning my meter emptying route, he went on and on and on and on, until Mary sent him packing to make our morning cup of tea. Myself and Mary agreed he was becoming a bit tedious with all this 'Ferrari' talk. This was when I had an idea to cut him down to size, and after sharing my idea with the 'mature' Mary, she just about agreed to go along with my master plan!

 

A RED CAR

An hour or so passed, and I decided to set off on my route convincing Paul to stay in the shop and help Mary with some jobs and so left the retail establishment alone. 

After a few house calls and as this was before the concept of mobile phones I found one of those unique buildings affectionately known as a red phone box. I rang the shop and Mary answered, "It's me Mary, tell Paul there is a call for him and it’s David from the Daily Mail". Mary went along with it, as I heard her very seriously call Paul over to the phone, calmly explaining to Paul who was on the line for him. "Hello", he said. "Yes hello I replied, is that Paul"? Paul confirmed it was. "Oh good", I said in a very effective cockney accent that I had acquired after many hours of practicing the various accents of the British Isles. I continued, "Yeah my name is Dave, from the Daily Mail, am I right in understanding you have entered our competition to win a Ferrari"? 

Paul response was very unsure he used a number of expletives, culminating in the suggestion, "Frostie, is that you"? I thought I had been rumbled back just about managed to keep my composure and carry on with the spoof. "Sorry I have no idea who Frostie is, my name is Dave from the Daily Mail and I am ringing to inform you that you have won our Ferrari and we want to travel to the North this afternoon to make the presentation". I had him hook line and sinker, he voice trembled with excitement, I heard him address Mary, " Mary, Mary, I've won the car, I've won the car, they want to come up this afternoon". Mary went along with things and  managed to hold it together. The call continued, "Yes Paul, you have won the car, is it okay to come to your work this afternoon"? Paul asked for permission for the Daily Mail to come to Padiham with a Ferrari that very afternoon. In the managers absence Mary reluctantly agreed. Paul excitedly confirmed that would be okay. I continued, "Just one other thing, we have arranged that Linda Lusardi would be travelling with us to make the presentation". Linda Lusardi was a page three ‘stunner’ and I told Paul it was for the press shots the following morning and the team would be there for about 4pm. I left a very excited Paul, full in the belief he would be travelling home that evening in his brand new state of the art automobile.

LINDA LUSARDI

I continued my jobs and arrived back at work sometime around midday, I was met with an overwhelmed and trembling work colleague bursting to tell me that he had won the car and Linda Lusardi was en route to Padiham to present him with the keys He also informed me he had made calls to friends and family who would be at the shop to watch the big event with their very own eyes. I kept a quiet counsel slightly concerned in the knowledge, that Linda Lusardi was about as close to Padiham as I was to the moon. 

As the afternoon progressed Paul’s excitement increased, as did my anxiety, I couldn't let this run it's full course, could I?  At about 3pm after much discussion with Mary I concluded the 'joke' needed to stop. This was not going to be easy. "Paul, have you got a minute"? As I led him to a quiet corner. "Yeah what's up"? He replied. Here we go I thought. "Erm the car, the er Ferrari". Paul replied, "Yeah what about it"? Here we go I thought again, "Erm, you haven’t won it". Sadly it didn't register on the first attempt, Paul strongly disagreed and almost convinced me he had actually won the car and it was I that was sadly mistaken. "No Paul, you haven't it was me". He still didn't believe and it was only when I entered into the character of Dave from the Daily Mail did the crushing realization hit him that it was a set up and he was the butt of a rather extravagant but humorous setup. 

Paul was not happy, what would his family say as his hastily made the calls to cancel the celebrations, a slight whiff of tension and violence was in the air as Mary sent me on last minute call out with strict instructions not to come back to work until the dust settled. 

Paul left the business, as did I not long after the event and our paths did not cross again until many, many years later. 

Although no physical hurt had occurred, and whilst it is was indeed a comical event, Paul will never forget that day as he so vividly reminded me just a few years ago.  Does he forgive me? I don't know, I hope he saw it as a practical joke and nothing more, but our actions can often leave a scar, a hurt, a memory that lingers like a bad smell for years and years and probably forever. There are events in my life where I have felt wronged, hurt and damaged. Forgiveness is very hard, and I mean very hard, but as a Christian that is my duty, I forgive others the mistakes they make, and I ask for forgiveness for the frequent times I badly cock things up.

 

To forgive and to be forgiven is the message, in the name of Christ.

See ya!

Alextheanglican.

    

Summer

Summer

Ah the aroma of summer is in the air, cut grass, barbecues, flowers and sweat. It really is a key time of year that one should choose carefully an adequate and suitable deodorant to ‘keep it all in!

Primary school was always a key aspect of my favorite season of the year, Would the sign be green? Allowing us little ones the permission to be the first to charge onto the school field and play army or some other game of warfare like kisschase or tig! I wasn’t too fond of kisschase but enthusiastically participated in army and I can still make a credible impression of a machine gun to this very day.

I rather enjoyed making daisy chains but got considerable chastisement from ‘the lads’ as it was a female pastime and to participate in such feminine entertainment was an experience I never fully indulged in, so army it was, and it was incredible what healing powers confectionary such as Refreshers, Tabs and Tic Tacs could have after being shot down by an imaginary Ak47 assualt weapon. By taking on board a ‘sugar kick’ it miraculously brought one back to life and gained a return to the battlefield until the dinner lady called you in for your turn at the dinner table.

As I had and still do a deep love of the delicately iced Chelsea bun I have mixed feeling about the dining area at primary school particularly in summer, the gestapo led supervision by those overlooking mealtimes did so we sniper like accuracy and could spot a left ‘blade’ of white cabbage at a 100 hundred yards and would strike with devastating effects if you attempted to conceal it under ones knife and fork or attempt to stick it to the underside of the table. The consequences could be devastating! The schedule for meals was intense and hard hitting, braised steak with mulched vegetables affected by a dessert of white custard and a sponge of some description was not for the faint hearted and difficult to swallow and if it wasn’t for my skill and anticipation to time my runs to the slops bin I swear I would still be sat there now whilst ‘mine fuhrer’  dinner lady watched over me as I wretched on a brussell sprout that had been burnt to a miniscule of its original purpose in life and just wouldn’t go down!

Somehow I made it back to the school field where the adolescents would be ‘playing’ in the long grass, a game of ‘you show me yours and I will show you mine’. I never went for that one and took refuge in a one man game of ‘roly poly’. I recall spending many afternoon classes covered in cut grass with a stench of creosote from where I had rolled so far down the field I went right through the rounders triangle and into the long grass where the infantile genitalia was being displayed and compared!

Afternoons were meant for studying, but I spent many a Summer pm gazing out of the window watching the ‘corporation’ cut the grass. I wanted to do that job and was alway intrigued by the big blades and the smell of workmen! Summers always seemed to be hot then, I spent endless hours leaning back on my chair, using the long suffering and dirty curtains as my support, occasionally the chair lost it balance and I would crash to the floor to hails of laughter and much embarrassment as another curtain ring pinged out of its intended location. The water fountain in the boys toilets was woefully inadequate and  as I crouched to get some refreshment and fluid on board to get me through to hometime, the dribble from the tap did nothing much more than dampen my shirt collar and wet my chin.

Yes Summer at school was both fun and frustrating, if it wasn’t  100 degrees the field was always out of bounds and coats were always to be worn in case of rain and the yard we frequented was both dangerous and incredibly tedious which the big boys controlled in dreadfully violent games of football and army sometimes at the same time!

Summer these days are different, I watch rather than participate in sports days, I observe my children playing, I supervise my wifes intake of wine or cider, I cut the grass, I walk the dog, I look out upon the countryside, and I make the tea. We have the BBQ on standby for the slightest hint of summer,  We cook our ‘local’ produce badly, its either parched to the point of being unidentifiable,  Am I eating a chicken breast or a deceased sausage from Iceland? I neither know nor care, alternately my consumed chicken leg is dripping blood and still quivering and has placed my entire family at high risk of contracting salmonella or a dreadful dose of the shits, all in the name of embracing a Lancashire summer!

Our garden is a festival of Summer,it’s like Glastonbury without the drugs, we have a badly worn trampoline, that probably irritates the neighbours, we have a gazebo, a swinging deck chair, we have a bird bath with no water, we have a solar powered water feature which drips at similar ratio to the primary school water a fountain, we have floodlights that  come on at four in the morning,  we have a washing line with an impressive array of family linen and underwear, we have a wonky shed full of garden tools we don’t use, we have a orange bistro set for the incredibly rare evenings where my wife and I can sit out with a romantic glass of red wine and watch the sun go down over my Asda ‘Y’ fronts and my wifes slightly faded knickers! We have a gnome, a pen for the large mice otherwise known as guinea pigs, we have an old toilet converted into a ‘garden feature’ we have a ornamental cat and numerous other bits and bobs that bring our garden to life. Not bad considering our garden is is only 12ft by 12ft!

Yes summer is very different these days but the recent warm weather has reminded me how joyful summer was and still is. Listening to my children playing, bouncing, shouting and being generally annoying  is a reminder of my own childhood and how much I love the Summer months. The buzz of lawnmowers, the sound of aircraft and the whiff of a burning quarter pounder, the racket of a water fight and the aroma of flowers is enough to make one put on the speedos and flip flops and indulge in the pleasures that the sunshine brings.

God gave us the seasons he gave us each other, he gives us the sun and he he gives us the rain. Whatever he gives is let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Till next time

May peace be with you all

Alex the anglican