Tweenagers

Over the weekend, I attended a Children's Ministry Conference in Eastbourne, a once grand town by the sea. It's the only beach I've seen in England. I've been told to go to Wales or Norfolk for the best. Eastbourne has beautiful Victorian hotels lining the seafront with a boardwalk, bandstand and pier. The conference is during the off season, so it's cheap, but the weather was nice enough for a brisk walk if one decided to ditch one of the workshops.

The conference was a great place for six married ladies to recharge their batteries, get re-energized for children's work and get to know each other a little better. They had a brilliant worship band that led us in songs every morning and evening.

One track that ran through the entire weekend was working with tweenagers, the new number one marketed-to consumer group of 9 to 14 year olds that has unseated teens as the people with the most expendable income and the most pester power. These people are still children but spend their money to look and act like teenagers. It would be a huge insult to call them kids. They're leaving church in droves because they've outgrown their idea of what God is and church is boring! This is my group! It seems an insurmountable task to try to keep them engaged and excited about developing their relationship with Jesus as their personal saviour!

But this is my son's age. And even though I don't see him as sophisticated and grown up as the demographic info suggests, he's at the point where he's asking tough questions, like "My friends are good people and they don't go to church, why should I?"

I came away from the weekend with some great ideas, hopefully enough to keep them interested. I'm going to start employing more technology, send out termly newsletters via their email address, and possibly starting a chat room on MySpace, or IM on certain days of the week. Either way, I need help and prayers. I'm feeling a little obsolete. Any ideas?

We Got Snow and Snowdrops!

Okay, okay, I know that Texas beat us to the winter precip punch, but we got REAL snow, about 1/2 inch of it overnight on Tuesday. By 9a.m. yesterday morning, the dazzling sunshine was quickly melting it away, but not before Brendan and I got in a snowball fight! I love this kind of snow. You wake up to a beautiful white blanket of the stuff, and by the end of school, it's practically gone. Finally the thermal socks, ski jackets and gloves we bought to go to Lapland are coming in handy again.



I wanted it to snow again today. I went walking in the gardens at Castle Ashby with a friend, and saw the first sure signs of Spring - hearty little Snowdrops, popping up under the shelter of the big trees. Spring is such an event here. After months of dark, cold, wet weather, those little signs of rebirth are so welcome. It does my heart good to know the good weather, the best part about living in England, is just around the corner. Soon the crocuses and daffodils with be up, and the tulips won't be far behind.


I have had such a leisurely week this week, I feel almost guilty - almost. I had lunch with two friends on Tuesday and had a nice long chat, walked in the snow with a friend on Wednesday and had a nice long chat, and walked through the gardens on Thursday and had a nice long chat over rich, decadent, hot chocolate. Tomorrow, I'm going to a children's leaders conference in Eastbourne for the weekend with about six women. This time of year, when you're forced to stay inside, is a perfect time to catch up with friends. I never would have had time to do this when I was working. But I AM still working. I've got three new craft articles just about ready to go, and am starting to research middle-grade novels for girls so I can begin writing one of my own.

The first thing I remember...

Books on my nightstand:
Clarice Bean, Don't Look Now by Lauren Child
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
Praying the Scriptures for your Children by Jodie Berndt
AA Citypack for Istanbul

You can tell a lot about what's going on in a person's life by what's on their nightstand, I think. For instance, I'm reading Tom Sawyer to Brendan at bedtime, slowly but surely. It's a little dusty because we don't read together as often as we used to. We're taking a trip to Istanbul, Turkey during half-term break so I'm studying up on the history and top 10 things to see. I'm hoping to start working on a new middle-grade novel that features a female hero, so I'm reading a few current girls' novels, such as Clarice Bean, to get in the zone. And, my sister-in-law gave me Praying the Scriptures for your Children as a Christmas present which has already helped me find the words to pray for Brendan's latest fainting incident.

I don't think we'll ever be a bookless society. You can't curl up with a good laptop or an iPod. It doesn't give the same satisfaction. And nothing can replace snuggling under a blanket with your child while you read a bedtime story and talk about the pictures and what will happen next. I feel sorry for those who have never experienced that type of connectedness with their child.

I'll redo my nightstand list as I add new books to the stack. Some may still be there for a while, and continue gathering dust.

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Dad has been confined to the house a lot lately due to recovering from bladder surgery and a freak Texas ice storm. So, while Mom is busy with her projects of sewing curtains and doll clothes, Dad is on a "write my memoirs" kick. I've read a few of his childhood stories and I have to say, they are a riot!

Now, he's asked me to write what I remember from my childhood, which is what I worked on a little with the biography assignment from my correspondence writing class concerning my brother, Wayne. I wrote quite a bit, but let it go to work on fiction and articles. Dad asks, "What's the first thing you remember?" I thought it might be a fun exercise for this posting.

I was born in Cameron, Texas, but I don't remember anything from there. I know from stories they've told, darling pictures and a tiny uniform that Mom saved that I was the mascot for the Buckholts Bulldogs.

My first memories are not much more than snapshots from Taft, Texas. I must have been about three or four years old. Things like, I was deathly afraid of thunder and would hide under my sheets frozen with fear even thought all I wanted to do was run to Mom and Dad's room. I don't know if I remember so much as I've seen photos of the aftermath of Hurricane Celia. Our favorite climbing tree was uprooted and the church Dad served at was demolished. We got a cool, two-story playhouse complete with a slide from the second story from the salvaged lumber. I have lots of good memories of that. It followed us from Taft to Kirby to the country, and we all spent many hours playing in it.

I remember being bored one afternoon, and sitting on the front porch trying to sell squares of carmel and water to passers-by, sort of like a poor man's lemonade stand. But there were no passers-by. I remember sitting on the kitchen floor Sundays after church in our underwear, so we wouldn't get our good clothes dirty of course, waiting for Mom to fix lunch. I bet I could draw the layout of the house, even. Did we ever re-visit after we moved away? I remember Michael Box had a black and white Boston Terrier named Suzie (I think). We did visit them once or twice after we moved.

There was a mobile skating rink that came to town and unfolded a wooden floor under a canopy. We had roller skates that attached to the soles of our shoes and tightened with a key. I remember challenging Dad to stop smoking if I stopped sucking my thumb. I finally did, but he kept on with his pipe. And I remember Mom washing Wayne's and my mouth out with soap for saying a bad word. Yes, it actually does happen. I bet it was Wayne's fault. He was always gettting me into trouble!

I remember more from our time in Kirby, a suburb of San Antonio. I started kindergarten there.