Time to start blogging again!

My goodness, the last time I wrote on my blog was in 2015! It really is feeling a little on the neglected side. So, I think it's about time I started up my blog again and with the recent launch of my new fiction book, '5IVE,' the timing couldn't be better.

This book is about five women who all carry dark secrets and are struggling with emotional pain and anguish. I loosely based most of the characters on experiences I've gone through and this made them more relatable and real.

I wanted to explore a range of emotions that have laid dormant in me for many years. So writing this book was extremely cathartic. Better than an hour's therapy with a psychologist I think!

The storyline follows the women's individual lives and they all eventually meet through a Christian women's support group called 'Apples of Gold.' Here they find healing and build strong bonds of friendship. My aim was to demonstrate the power of female friendship combined with God's healing touch on even the deepest of wounds.

I wanted to write a book that would really get into the nitty gritty of women in emotional pain and how they can find healing. My prayer is that women who read my book and are struggling with emotional pain will find healing and restoration. Our God is good, merciful and kind and he is always waiting with open arms for us to run to him.

Since I launched '5IVE' a month ago, I have had some incredible reviews which have really touched my heart. If my book helps women overcome their emotional issues then in my mind it's a success. I am now working on the sequel which is called 'HIDE' and is a suspense novel.

I have quite a few writing projects in the pipeline. I am also working on my autobiography called 'WHEN A SPARROW WEEPS.' I gave it this dramatic name as I have cried many tears throughout my life starting with a very dysfunctional and painful childhood. This book is taking a long time to write as I'm really having to dig deep into my emotions and even face certain things which I would far rather avoid.

I am also hoping to launch my children's book called 'NIGEL.'  This book has been in the pipeline for several years since I won a children's book writing competition. I have recruited a very talented illustrator to do the drawings for me and at present he is working on the cover of the book which is very exciting.

Okay, now that I've updated my blog, I promise to post more regularly. If you like hearing from me, please follow me and leave comments as I'd love to hear from you.

Love and blessings,

Janine xx

Motherhood aint for the faint hearted! This is my journey...

When I gave birth to my first child, I was ill prepared for the exhilerating, wonderful, exciting but also sometimes terrifying journey of parenthood. I was catapaulted into this strange, kaleidescope world of sleepless nights, gummy smiles, chubby fists and play dough! Overnight, I would have to shed my childless status and all the freedom and lack of responsibility which comes with it and embrace the sacred mantle of "motherhood."

As I found myself lying awake during the early hours of the morning after a midnight feed, I would find myself wondering if I was equipped to fulfil the mammoth task before me. It was now my responsibility to help my precious daughter navigate her way through the pitfalls of life. Would I be able to mould her character and help her develop emotionally in a healthy manner, whilst at the same time enforce firm boundaries and discipline? If I disciplined her too much would I break her spirit? Or, would I end up reaping the rewards of my investment into my child?

As day broke and sunlight began to filter gently through the curtains, I watched her sleep. Immediately, I was filled with a deep, reverant awe. God had entrusted this tiny, delicate creature into my keeping and that thought alone both amazed and terrified me. Clearly, he had given her to me because he believed I had what it took to be a good mother. The Master of the Universe believed in me and surely that was enough. But if so, why was I besieged by so many doubts about my competency? Were these mired in the fact that I had grown up in a dysfunctional home where my mother wasn't always available to me? Were my concerns that I wouldn't give enough, love enough or sacrifice enough?

I sifted through the insecurities which barked in my mind like a rabid dog, a gentle whisper reminded me that I was not alone in this journey. God would take my hand and partner with me as I walked the long challenging road of motherhood. This knowledge warmed me like a thick blanket on a cold winter's night. With this assurance I knew I could do it. I would give my all, my everything, my very life if necessary to ensure my child experienced the fullness of a loving, devoted mother.

Rebecca Jade was nothing less than a pure "bundle of joy." The first time she smiled at me, I was overcome with love. My connection to her was so intense, so deep and all abiding and in that moment I knew I would do anything for her. I watched over her like a lioness guarding her cub. When she was bullied by an over zealous child at daycare I felt as if a volcanic rage would erupt and spill over me. But, after a few deep breaths I realised that his is all just "par for the course" and her exposure to a bully at such a tender age was a opportunity for me to teach her some valuable life skills. She would have to learn how to defend herself without compromising her dignity. I found myself educating her about setting firm boundaries without anger and malice; and how to forgive and move on from a hurtful situation.

When Rebecca was three years old, she began to ask me if she could have a little "brother" or "sister." It didn't take much coercion from my side and before I knew it, I was giving birth to my second daughter. Gabriella Rose was born wide eyed and expectant, slightly underweight and a week early. Immediately, the doctor was alerted to her fragile condition. She had been born with "myconium asphixiation" and was immediately rushed to ICU. She developed pneumonia and for the first twenty four hours of her life, my husband and I weren't sure if she was going to survive. The first time I visited her, I was overcome with emotion as I saw her lying in the incubator like a little spatchcock chicken. She was extrememly jaundiced and attached to so many wires and monitors, it was challenging to keep up with exactly what the function of each one was. The ventilator assisted her with her breathing as her delicate lungs attempted to heal themselves.

My heart would constrict with sheer terror when I contemplated life without her. Already, she consumed my entire being and the love I felt for her was so large that it couldn't be contained. The countless ways I loved her couldn't be measured. The fact that her little life could be snuffed out like a flickering flame, was an ever present fear which hovered on the outskirts of my mind. After ten days of round the clock care and with the help of anti-biotic she eventually recovered. On the day I was allowed to take her home, I was nothing less than elated. She had survived and my precious baby was on the mend.

As she grew into a boisterous, busy toddler, I was amazed as her strength and iron will. Perhaps her fierce determination to live life to the full was born out of the adversity she had faced at such a tender age. The Bible says "God works everything together for good." It has continuously amazed me just how often I have experienced this to be true.

Gabriella was born with a penny sized birthmark on her hip. One day, as I was bathing her, she drew my attention to it. "What is that, mommy?" she asked in her little sing song voice. "Well, my darling," I answered. "When you were so sick in the hospital Jesus was so sad that he asked one of his angels to kiss you. When the angel kissed your hip, he left behind this mark to always remind you of just how special you are." She looked at me with glistening eyes and said. "Mommy, I am so glad as I bet you no one else has one."

I hugged her with all the intensity of a heart flooded with love and gratitude. So many times I have looked at that little birthmark and smiled. This was just another reminder to me that God believed in my ability to be a good mother. I could have lost my beloved child and yet I didn't. God not only gave her back to me, but also left a reminder that his kiss of love was upon her. He had marked her and chosen her for a wonderful destiny which was beyond anything I could imagine. And, in order to see the fulfulment of that, he had not left me alone. The realisation of that fact birthed an unshakeable confidence in me.

With God's help, I am more than equipped to fulfil the path God had chosen for me as a mother. So often I have gone to God in prayer with the many concerns I have regarding my children. When the fear that I am not doing a good job has consumed me, I have been lifted by his gentle reminder that his grace remains. Even when I blow it and come up short, he is there to take my hand and partner with me. That knowledge alone is enough. And, not only does he allay my fears, but he rewards me with the enormous joy I derive out of being a mother.

Modern means of communication: Friend, foe or both?

Communication, what does the word really mean? The Oxford dictionary holds two definitions. The first states that communication is the sharing or exchanging of information, feelings or ideas with somebody. The second definition says communication is ways of sending or receiving information, especially via telephones, radio or computers.

We can all testify to the remarkable progress communication has made over the past few years. The world has become considerably smaller since the introduction of the internet. This in turn led to the birth of social networking websites such as My Space, Facebook and Twitter. Skype is another remarkable means of communicating over the miles. Friends and family members can converse with loved ones all over the globe. In the space of a few years global communication has evolved at a staggering rate. Although the merits of this phenomenal media growth are clearly obvious to all who partake of the glittering fruit, there is also a dark under belly that stalks as a hidden menace.

The days of receiving a cherished hand written letter from a special someone are long over. At one point in history, the sending of letters, telegrams and post cards was the only means of communication. There is something to be said for the long awaited letter that arrives in the morning post. Is it endearing to know that someone who cares about has taken the time to pen a letter on carefully chosen, sometimes scented writing paper. There is also something heart- warming in the recognition of the distinct hand writing of a much cherished friend or family member. I have never known of any two people to exhibit the exact penmanship. A person’s handwriting is as unique and special as their very fingerprint. All of this individualism is lost through modern technology and the ensuing emails and text messages.

Has humanity now evolved into a seething mass of cloned individuals who have been stripped of their individual voice through handwritten and verbal communication? Telephones have grown silent as texting has become the preferred means of communication. It is so much easier, quicker and cheaper to send a hurried, impersonal text message than pick up a telephone.

I have a wonderful aunt who diligently telephones me just because she wants to hear the sound of my voice on the other end of the line. But she is one of the very few who chooses to communicate this way. Most people prefer less intimate means of communication. Walls are erected and people are held captive to the clinical, cold voice of modern media. I have heard of ‘Dear John’ text messages! How sad it must be to be informed that the relationship is over through a text message. How insensitive and tragic. We are all so busy reaping the benefits of a smaller world and increased means of communication that we have forgotten to take stock of the importance of true one-on- one verbal communication.

Facebook has become an outstandingly effective means of communication. I have found long lost friends from my past through this internet medium. I have also ‘cyber met’ many wonderful people who I hope to one day meet in person. My best friend lives in London and thanks to email, Facebook and Skype, I am able to keep in regular contact with her. Even so, nothing quite compares to sitting down face to face and sharing a heart to heart conversation with her. Up close and personal enough to read the emotions mirrored in her eyes and hear the familiar sound of her laugh.

Last year, my eldest daughter was diagnosed with sudden onset Type 1 diabetes. She was admitted into Intensive Care on the edge of coma through acute ketonacidosis. I spent a nerve wracking night alone with her. My husband was out of town on business and during those long dark hours I texted all my family and friends to inform them of the news. I am pleased to say I was incredibly blessed by the supportive messages that poured in from all over the world. But there was one thing that disturbed me greatly. Various family and friends living nearby sent text messages. I am sure they had no idea just how reassuring I would have found the sound of their voices on the other end of the line. Better still, I would have greatly welcomed a visit.

My experience of human nature in these situations is that people generally don’t know what to do and so instead respond via text message, or even not at all. This elusive response only further added to my sense of isolation and loneliness. After that experience, I vowed that I would endeavour to make real contact in the form of verbal or physical communication wherever possible. A friendly hello or a comforting hug would go a long way to ensuring this world becomes a better, less frightening and lonely place.
I have also known people to text condolence messages to grieving people instead of taking the time to attend the relevant funeral. I sure hope that on the day God chooses to take me home I will have touched enough people’s lives through authentic ‘real’ communication that they feel connected enough to me to want to attend my funeral.

The lines of communication have been thrown wide open in recent years. But just as in the aftermath of a giant earthquake, many are left heartbroken, alone, stranded and lonely. The fragile threat of true intimacy has been eroded and humanity is suspended in nowhere land.

It would be wise to remember that every truly great advance in technology comes at a cost. We are losing our individual and unique voices through modern media. Although I applaud these massive advances in communication, I am also weary of becoming a cloned slave to the communication machine.
In closing, I have decided to continue sampling the many treats contained in the cookie jar of today’s communication matrix. But, at the same time I have deliberated to always communicate my authentic voice wherever possible. There are a myriad of ways I can do this. I can make a simple phone call to a grieving friend or take the time to travel a few miles out of my way to visit a relative.

I am very aware that at times I may unwittingly offend someone. Be it through sending a text message instead of making that important phone call, or neglecting to visit a friend as promised. But, the important thing is at least I have the ambition is to conquer the clone like sameness and choose to be different. And, in so doing somehow make a difference.

We are created to be nurturing, supportive and caring of each other. Sadly, modern technology in lacking in its ability to truly convey a message of love quite as affectively as a warm hug or a listening ear on the other end of a telephone.

Don't be deceived by the apparent confidence of a novice writer. A first novel requires humility, refusal to be afraid, expectation of rejection and having to face the possibility that no one will buy the book. Writing a gripping novel requires years and months of blood, sweat and tears too. Authors like anyone else, need copious amounts of support and encouragement. Most especially when it's a debut novel!

Well, here I am again, on my soapbox and full of conviction about what I need to say. Bear with me, as I take you into the dark under belly of an author's world. Writing a book is not as easy as it seems.

Any author will tell you that many hard lessons come with the territory. Most are already broken and humbled by the amount of times they are rejected before managing to secure a publisher who is willing to print the book in question. That is just one aspect of the various mine fields that need to be skillfully navigated. There are also the bad reviews which are written from time to time. Trust me, I have had one or two cruel, uncalled for reviews of various chapters of my book, which left me reeling and full of self doubt and insecurity for weeks. One of them was on Fanstory, the writer's site where I post my work. Fortunately, you can report anyone who you feel is being unfair and the administrator removes a bad review if he agrees it's uncalled for. In my case, he did agree with me and fortunately, my work was redeemed. When something like that happens or when I receive a great review for a chapter, it puts me am on a high for months. Then it's all worth it.

Please understand that I don't claim to be anything but a novice writer. My vision for Crimson As The Sun is varied. I want to pay tribute to those who died in the Rhodesian war; educate others about the history of Rhodesia; derive enormous enjoyment through the writing of the book; bless others and ultimately glorify God through my story. I owe it all to Him. He gave me the talent, perseverence and passion to write. As I have said before, I am truly humbled everytime someone tells me they want to buy my book. It always amazes me!

I owe so much to my husband Kevin, he has been such a wonderful support throughout the process and I could not have done it without him. We spent many hours brain-storming the plot, debating character names, dialogue and character descriptions. Alot goes into ensuring they are plausible and not phoney. I think he is as relieved as I am that the book is finally finished.

Through my involvement with a writer's club, I have learnt so much about the writing world. 'Fanstory.com' is full of so many wonderful, encouraging and inspirational people. I have made many friends and learnt so much about what it is to be a authentic writer. One of my fans is Fred Collingwood, He is an accomplished, published author who writes thrillers. He has helped me to polish my writing in areas where I was blind to the faults. Another of my critics is eighty-one! She is a wonderful, talented writer who I admire greatly. Her invaluable advice and wisdom is gained through many years of writing. I have another critic who has stretched me and taught me to be thick-skinned. On occasion, I have felt torn down by her frank and honest appraisal of my work. But after spending a couple of days licking my wounds, I realised she was right and my fragile ego was preventing me from growing. Now, we are good friends and I always seek her opinion.

Now onto my children's book. Some of you know it's about a runt of the litter rat, called Nigel who lives in the squalor of the London Underground. On the tracks to be precise. He is small and has a deformed ear and as a result his brothers and sisters mock him. He is a dreamer (Joseph and his techni-colour dream coat theme here) and has a bright waistcoat (see picture at top right of my blog). He comes up with a cunning plan to save himself and his brothers from a terrifying fate. Without giving away too much, it ends with him becoming the unlikely hero.

I bounced it off Gabriella, my youngest six year old daughter for valuable feedback. She laughed at the drawings of Nigel and loved the story. So, based on the fact it received great reviews, won a competition and the kids love the illustrations, I am hoping it will be a success. I managed to secure the services of a brilliant young student who is busy finishing the drawings. If all goes well, I hope to publish 'Nigel' sometime in 2011. I pray this is the year it will all happen.

Until next time.

Janine x

Another stay in the hospital...

Rebecca caught a simple chest cold and as a result her blood glucose levels were off the chart. The sad thing about diabetes is that anything can affect the glucose levels, at any given time. An infection, stress or hormonal changes. I have yet to look forward to puberty. I was amazed to hear that Rebecca would start going through hormonal changes soon. She is only ten years old, but my paedetrician informed me young girls start menstruating as early as eleven. Something to do with today's healthy lifestyle, hormones in food etc.

Managing diabetes is just like 'trying to hold jelly in my hands.' Just when I think I have a handle on it, the variables change. It is my responsibility to become a professional juggler and instead of allowing the ominous disease to control both myself and my daughter, I have to bend it into submission. Always ensure I am one step ahead. Education, education, education. I research the disease and read as much material as I can get my hands on.

I have grown to respect and admire my darling, brave and resilient child. I monitor her daily and can pick up on every emotion, mood change and sugar fluctuation before she tells me. When she's low she looks like Casper the ghost and starts to slur like she's drunk. Her legs shake and her eyes sometimes roll back. That's when I jump around and force feed her anything sweet.

Thank God, we have only experienced two of those such episodes in the past eight months. She is still struggling to come to terms with her new diabetes status and daily she grieves for her old life. On numerous occasions she says to me "Mommy, I want my old life back..." These words were like a knife through my heart. But I always counteract it with something positive. I try to encourage her by telling her that technology and research is very advanced and there will be a cure in a few years time. I also tell her that she will grow stronger through her ordeal and help lots of other diabetic children one day. I look for nuggets of wisdom to impart to somehow ease the sting of this wretched disease. But behind closed doors, I am left exhausted, emotional and heartbroken. It is there that I cry over my daughter's shattered dreams and wrestle with the suffocating terror I face on a daily basis.

After three days off school with a cold, I decided to take her to the doctor. As a result of the flu virus, her blood glucose readings were 20+, which is far too high. My paedeatrician advises I admit her straight into ICU! Her ketone reading is high. Ketones are like toxins that develop in the blood when the glucose levels are too high for a sustained period of time. Ketonacidosis can be fatal. Ketones can affect her brain and kidneys. A drip is inserted to flush out the ketones. This proceedure is traumatic for her as the skin on the top of her hand is thin. She screams when the needle is inserted. I bite my lip as once again I inwardly rage against the injustice of this illness. Sudden onset Type 1 diabetes! A illness she was never supposed to have. An otherwise perfectly healthy child who developed complications from mumps. Pancreatitis which developed into diabetes because the doctors didn't treat the pancreatitis. But that, in itself is a whole other story. I am not yet brave enough to write about it as it is still a bitter pill to swallow. The proverbial 'pandora's box.' A large festering, livid can of worms that is too big to dissect or come to terms with. So I just leave it alone. Pandora's box is on a shelf in the cupboard of my broken heart. One day I will truly forgive and forget. When I'm ready.

I spend an uncomfortable night sleeping in Rebecca's bed with her. Whenever we find ourselves back at the hospital, she seems to regress. She is no longer a ten year old child but a tiny toddler who needs her mommy's comfort. Perhaps the trauma of her experience in ICU when first diagnosed with diabetes is responsible for this regression. I indulge her and decided to sleep at the hospital. I arrange for my younger daughter Gabriella, to stay the night with friends.

Rebecca recovers and is sent to the paedeatric ward. The nurses are helpful and cater to her every whim. I shower her with presents and affection to take the edge off her hospital stay. It has become like a second home as she has had to be admitted once every four months so far. But, the down side is she has extensive blood tests for the next two days. She is doing well and tests are clear, until the third day, when her readings are high again and ketones are +4. Excessively high. She also starts to vomit and this is a bad sign. I start to stress and send a bulk sms out to all my friends, who faithfully pray for her.

Two hours later, the doctor comes back and does a second urine test. His findings are that there are NO ketones. He tells me that he thinks the first test was faulty, but I know better. This is nothing less than a miracle and I am eternally grateful and thank God for his gracious reply to all the many prayers.

We have never packed up so quickly to go home. We are elated and on a high and can't wait to just be home. The next day I wake up and greet the day with a happy heart and feel full of gratitude.

I am teaching Rebecca to embrace diabetes and find the good in a terrible situation. Now, we appreciate each other and our loved ones more. We treasure the small things in life. Warm cuddles and soft, wet kisses at night. Our favourite cat's purr in the morning and a delicious breakfast. Walks on the beach, the smell of roses, having fun together and learning more about each other and God.

Thank you to all you wonderful people who continue to faithfully pray, encourage and support us. A special thanks to one of my best friends Moira, who saved me in the most simple way. She plied me with good food and wine and had Gabriella for the night, when Rebecca was in ICU. Now that's what I call a good friend. There are far too many of you to count, but you know who you are.

Thanks for reading...until next time.

Motherhood is a daring adventure, a roller-coaster ride of extreme highs and lows...

Well, here we go again. I may as well just camp in the Paedeatric ward at our local Medi-Clinic permanently. The nurses know me well now, we've become old friends, which helps somewhat.

This morning Rebecca fell and hit her head, hard. Of course, Kev blames the mutt, and to a degree it was her fault. She is afterall an exhuberant, attention seeking ADHD puppy. At the mere whiff of a little action she springs into hyper mode. The kids are full of fun and excitement because exams and school are almost over. So you get the general gist of what happened. Zoe, or Bat as I fondly call her was chasing the girls down the passage at full throttle. Rebecca tried to scale the sofa to escape and fell with a resounding thud onto cold, hard tiles. She screamed like a banshee for ages and Kev and I thought she was being the drama queen she usually becomes to avoid a spanking, when she's naughty


The poor little sausage! I eventually coaxed her into lying on my bed with me. But, I immediately noticed something wasn't quite right, she was rambling incoherently and didn't seem to know who I was. Her eyes were glazed and her pupils dilated. I phoned her doc, who told me to keep a close eye on her. Half an hour later she was vomiting, so we were advised to rush her to emergency. It was a clear indication of concusion.

There is some sort of strange thing that happens to me, when in crisis mode. I become calm and practical. I switch onto auto-pilot, sargent major like, I jump around organising everything. Poor Kev had that 'rabbit in the headlights' look and Gabi jumped on the band wagon asking for a sweet, purely because she was scared her sister would die! Talk about capitalising on a dramatic situation. That child will make a ruthless business woman one day! In a way, I'm proud of her.

Anyway, raced to the hospital...it was like something out of a movie. Rebecca on my lap,clutching the vomit bag and praying she wouldn't puke on me. We arrive and have to wait half an hour for the Paed. Rebecca refused to be soothed, crying and beligerant, still confused. The doc arrives and calls for a CAT scan. I try my level best to convince my daughter she's going on an adventure, like when we watch Dr House. Kevin says wouldn't it 'be great if Dr House were here?' I grin at him and say, 'there's no need, he's grouchy enough to pass as a pretty convincing Dr House himself!' He reluctantly agrees. I switch into Dr Cameron mode and hold her hand as she goes through the CAT scan. It is a beast of a machine and makes a racket, like a washing machine. It's difficult to get Rebecca to keep still, eventually it is done.

Back to the Paed ward, and we anxiously wait for the results of the CAT scan. The doc arrives and says he needs to call the Neurosurgeon, just to be safe. He says the X-rays look clear, but is a little bit concerned about a shadow on the left side. I start writing this blog to distract myself, while Rebecca dozes and Kev takes Gabi to a friend's house. He has to rush to the airport to collect a client. I think it's a good thing as he's like a 'cat on a hot tin roof' in the hospital. Understandably he hates them, as do I. I have a little more tolerance though. It's an inbred thing a mother's intinctively acquires when her kids are born, thank God.

I log off to speak to the Neurosurgeon. He is so nice, comforting and kind. We go through the X-rays on the screen and I am rivetted. Amazing to see the brain and learn about that strange blob that looks like a cabbage. He is certain there is nothing to worry about. I am so ecstatic I almost kiss him. Now I just have to wait for the Paed to get here. Looks like Rebecca will still have to stay overnight.

I really, really don't want to spend the night. I'm a sucker for punishment and usually camp out here, because I feel it's my motherly duty. Kev and Gabi hate it of course. If you know of any really good, creative excuses why I shouldn't, let me know. I was supposed to go to a ladies only dinner tonight. Really don't want to miss it, but maybe I'll make a plan after all.

Thanks for listening and caring. Until next time...

Envy & Jelousy...

How do I begin to speak of these sinister twins? They are alike and yet not, the same, but different. They certainly cause havoc and untold misery, for the sufferers; and those who are ambushed by envious people.

Jealousy…it even has an ominous sort of hissing sound to it. It brings to mind the typical ‘green eyed monster,’ or even a big, black snake. After all, it is considered one of the seven deadly sins, right up there with murder, gluttony, stealing and the rest. And yet, each and every one of us, is guilty of it, at some stage of our lives!

I have been guilty of envy and jealousy over the years. The two are inseparable. My feeling is envy is the small, wiry, ugly looking one who goes ahead of his bigger, even uglier counterpart. His job description is to whisper words of discontentment and misery, into the ears of the target. That way, the once happy, otherwise content person begins to murmur and compare him/herself to his friends, family, neighbors. In this day and age, it’s a question of ‘keeping up with the Jones’, Smiths, Joe Soaps…whoever. Once the seed has been sown, and firmly taken root, jealousy appears on the scene, all shifty eyed and deceitful. He then points out everything that is lacking in the target’s life. Looks, status, athletic ability, artistic ability, career, education, spouse, children, (or in some cases lack of children and spouse). The list goes on….house, car, neighbourhood, dog or relevant pet, boat, plane, jet-ski, flat screen TV, entertainment system, play station, laptop. My goodness, I could go on forever with the list, but I’m sure by now you get the point?

Once all those thoughts are firmly embedded in the target’s brain, everything and I mean everything, begins to look worn out tatty! The wife/husband, the house, car, furniture, TV, career, looks, status…it all starts to wilt, under the stern, penetrating magnifying glass of discontent. How sad! Of course, by now ‘envy and jealousy’ have slithered back to their dark lair, having finished their assignment. And, they can rest easy, as they know full well, their work will have the desired ripple effect. Because, hot on the heels is their small, weasel like cousin, called ‘gossip.’ Now he is small, but far from insignificant, he’s cunning and ambitious, and knows how to do his job with polished skill. He begins to talk to the target, about all the people who need to hear that particular person’s discontent. As a result, the target goes out to visit his/her friends and family. They are all drawn unwittingly into a gossip feast, where they too begin to find fault with their lives. Suddenly, the day turns dark, from sunshine and roses to dismal and dreary.

The change is so well disguised; they don’t for a minute attribute it to said unhappy camper. Instead, they begin to fervently believe what they have been told, and like well controlled puppets, they in turn visit their circle of unsuspecting victims and so the pollution continues.

I will be completely honest, when I tell you exactly, when and how I was visited by this nasty pair. The first time, I was around eight years old. I was passionate about athletics; and had won the one hundred meter sprint on many occasions. I was in the team, so I thought I had it made, until a bigger, faster, more competitive girl joined the team. Well, I was utterly consumed with envy. I was furious, I had my position usurped. Walking up to the podium; and standing in the second place was nothing less than agonizing! My little heart broke, and I am ashamed to say, I had hateful thoughts towards that poor little girl.

Only later on in life, once I had been blessed with two little girls of my own, and I found my eldest child Rebecca, to be a keen, talented athlete did I learn a hard lesson. Only then, in hindsight, did I realize the error of my ways. She too was the champion runner for three years in a row, until she switched schools. Now, she comes in second and I have watched her cry agonizing, heartbreaking tears of shame, anger and envy. But, I teach her the importance of running for the joy of it. There is an art to learning how to grow through losing; and consequently being a ‘good loser.’ I encourage her to bless; and congratulate the winning girl. She must use the opportunity to stretch herself. She finds it hard, but she is slowly catching on. Now, she’s latched onto Hockey and is very good at it! She scores countless goals and is the new champ. Of course, I am exceptionally proud, because she is a diabetic on top of it.

The second time I tasted the acid of envy and jealousy, was when I was twelve. I had a best friend I loved dearly, until a second girl joined out threesome and I was ousted. Thrown away like an old discarded box, or so I thought, because that’s how it felt. I never really got over that; and I still feel the sting of rejection, when a close friend hurts me. I use the term ‘best friend’ very loosely, and encourage my daughters to have lots of ‘best friends.’ Not only will it potentially safeguard them from getting hurt, but I have explained how they too can hurt others. It takes years of dedicated and loyal input and investment, before I label anyone a ‘best friend.’ To this day, my best friends are counted on one hand, and most of them go way back into my past, some even twenty years or so.

I was also ambushed by envy and jealously throughout my teenage years. Young love snuffed out ruthlessly by a more attractive, pretty, sexy girl. Having my heart broken a few times in that cruel manner, was enough to put me off love for a lifetime! Until I found the proverbial Prince Charming! I could have written the book ‘Princess and the Frog,’ as I have unknowingly kissed many frogs, who turned out to be just frogs anyway.

To hell with Prince Charming! I would imagine him riding gallantly, through the lush meadows on his white steed, with his coiffed hair standing stiff in the wind… But no, stop the movie...revind to the frog infested, stinking swamp...to where the bloated, lazy, stupid toads live, complete with their limp handshakes,smarmy smiles and crocodile skin briefcases. Toads tend to always have wide grins and fat, flabby lips, don’t they?

When my second child was born deathly ill and we almost lost her, I was pounced on by envy and jealousy once again. Reason being, I couldn’t go home with my precious baby, like all other the mothers. For the first ten days, whilst Gabriella’s little life was hanging by a delicate thread, I had watched her linked up to all the machines, ventilator, heart monitor etcetera! I cried angry, lonely, bitter tears, purely because I couldn’t hold her for longer than an hour, to breastfeed her. But, I was truly blessed! She did recover completely, and I must tell you, I was a very proud Mum, the day I walked out of that hospital with my baby girl in my arms. I was walking on air and jealousy and envy, had no choice but to huddle in the shadows like wiped puppies.

One thing I have learnt over the years, is the best way to deal with those pesky monsters is to be thankful, and grateful, always looking for the wonderful blessing you do have, and refusing to go ‘ghost hunting’ for the things you don’t possess.

It wasn’t long after that, when my husband and I went through one of the most difficult patches in our marriage. My husband’s business partner absconded with all our money, after a business deal turned sour. He was an incredibly slick, intelligent con man. He had done his homework, had all the signed paperwork and we were pulled in hook, line and sinker. To cut a long story short, to robbed us of all our money, we had to sell our house and we were left heartbroken, stripped, bereft, gob smacked and ashamed. We limped through those years, like cripples through a minefield. We were very wary to trust anyone completely. Our trust in humanity was shattered. It was an incredibly lonely, desperate and hurtful time. Friends and family were few; people can be so cruel at times like these. Always very quick to ‘kick a dog when it’s down’…I truly learnt the full meaning of these words.

I am pleased to say we weren’t down there in the gutter for too long. Our kids inspired us to keep going, and reach for the stars. I find the stars they call to you, and twinkle so much brighter, when you have further to climb. So, we started again. With God’s help and the support of a few faithful friends and family, we eventually recovered. The difficult part though, was envy and jealousy was always hiding in the shadows.

Without fail, every time a friend proudly showed us their new house, I was gripped with those awful emotions. I would smile and nod and serenely say I was "so happy for them," but the truth was I felt like I had been stabbed through the heart! Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that I didn’t truly feel pleased for that particular friend; it was just that it hurt so badly. The loss of losing our own home and the envy and jealousy I felt because they now had a home, was just overwhelming. It took many years for me to process these emotions and conquer them. But now, after many years in the boxing ring with those two hefty fellows, they don't have power over me anymore. I genuinely, sincerely am pleased, when someone succeeds at buying a property, especially in today’s current market.

Well, God is never really finished with us is He? Just when I thought I had gone through enough ‘character building’ boot camps, I was hit by another low flying curve ball. This one hit me full in the face...Wham baam, thank you Mam! It flawed me, decked me in fact. I was left bleeding and unconscious for many months. I have only recently come out of the coma and am still struggling to come to terms with the loss.

As some of you know, my eldest daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. So now, the great big ‘envy and jealousy’ heavy weights were pushed into the ring. The two are of a completely different caliber and they get you where it hurts most, through my children. Their strategy is to point out to me how terrible it is to have a sick child, and how envious and green with envy I am of those who have healthy children. Now just how terrible is that? This is something that has been a journey of sorts, as the frustrating thing is that I normally notice the people I am jealous of are a particular type. The ones that have everything, material possessions, financial security, and healthy, happy, secure and intelligent children….and yet, all they ever do is complain! They mutter about their children, how difficult they are, how annoying their devoted husbands are, and so it goes on.

So my friends, that in a nutshell is my latest challenge. How do I deal with these two heavy weights you ask? I remind them that the very people they are painting as poisonous, are in fact, just naïve and immature. They haven’t been smacked around by those curve balls as much. And, then I tell them to leave me alone and remember that I now know the difference. I may have lost my healthy child, but my sick child is so brave, courageous and inspiring. And, on top of it all, those poor souls I have envied need my help, support and advice. They have someone like me who have been there before them and can say, ‘wake up…count your blessings and be grateful. Celebrate every day with your darling children, don’t ever take anyone for granted, and that is where you will find peace and happiness. And that is where I find harmony and contentment.

I am walking in a beautiful, happy, sunny, garden, where the sun shines and the birds serenade. The best part of all, envy and jealously can’t survive in the light. They are like bottom feeders…roaches that thrive in the shadows. They watch and sneer, furious, as they can’t come to the garden of light. And, get this, the biggest irony of all, is they are the ones who are inflicted with the leprosy...of ENVY AND JEALOUSY, and boy, does it hurt!