Our Divine Principle scripture teaches that we should mature our own heart by connecting to God’s love. This is how we prepare for nurturing the hearts of our children or those who are influenced by us.

Here is a profound STORY for all of us, sometimes angry parents, to be careful how we treat our children:

The Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, took a child to sit on his lap. While on his lap the child urinated. The prophet then asked for some water to clean himself. The father of the boy took his child and shouted “you stupid boy, what have you done,” and terrified child recoiled in fear. The Prophet hugged and consoled the child, and told the father: “My clothes can be washed. But watch how you treat your son. If you deal harshly with him like this, who can then restore his self-esteem?”

I heard this story on the radio from Abdal Hakim Murad he concluded by saying: “in its earliest years, the soul is vulnerable. Our greatest duty as parents is to preserve it from harm.”

remember kids don't think like adults, and thank goodness for that.

It has been good to get away for a few days and especially to spend time with my parents. We spent 3 nights together right up in Snowdonia National Park.

True Father is right when he talks about the strength of 3 generations living and being together.

half way up the Roman steps

Good to get the boys off the TV and into nature; running in the sea and across mountain streams. Playing with the lambs, the live ones and the dead ones. Not sure which fascinated them more. They saw how nature wastes nothing, and ran back to the house to tell us about developments on one of the dead lambs which had had its eyes taken by the hovering birds.

The Easter egg hunt got a bit out of hand; too competitive. But I was amazed at how good and patient the boys were in the long car journeys. Just the usual “how far is it now?” was more funny than annoying, especially when I had only just turned onto the A40 and was not even on the motorway yet.

Watching Damon one morning I got to feel a bit what maybe God feels when he watches over me. God tends to give us a nudge in the right direction and then moves aside to let us take responsibility for making decisions, and developing our path.

Damon wanted to check out an old broken down stone house on the other side of a river but couldn’t figure a way to cross over. I told him about a bridge a bit further up stream and watched him disappear into the bracken. Then once inside the cottage I remembered how the bridge was basically a couple of slabs of mountain rock and probably slippery after the rain. I kept an eye out of the window to see if he had made it across. I remembered how cold and fast the stream was that ran under the bridge, thought of how Damon is a strong swimmer for his age, but wondered what would happen if he fell and hit his head.

mountain stone bridge

By now I am standing outside the cottage waiting to see if he was coming into sight on the hill side over the river. And finally when he did he caught my eye and waved, and I went back inside at ease and with a touch of pride.

It was good for me to get away; a chance to get some perspective, take a break and look at myself with a little less pressure than I usually feel. My parents enjoyed themselves and we had some good talks together. It means a lot to me to have a better relationship with my parents again. I can have more confidence in who I am, and that is good for the boys too.

Amy and Chieko also enjoyed it.

grandfather with his granddaughter

sideways trees

a few clips from Harlech beach and up in the hills:

“Mama,” said David as he was playing with his lego/duplo blocks. “I’m building an angel.”

Natasha looked up and saw that David was assembling the blocks to create a figure that resembled a large person.

“Wow, that’s nice,” Natasha replied. “Have you ever seen angels?”

“Yes.” David’s response was confident and convincing. “Especially during the study group.”

David discussed angels as naturally as you would discuss squirrels or pigeons, an everyday occurrence.

“What do they look like?” asked Natasha inquisitively.

“Angels are tall men. They wear helmets and they have windows for eyes.”

“And what do they do?”

“They look after people. And they work in study groups.”

I decided to join in the discussion: “What colour are angels?” I asked.

“Red and white,” said David.

I continued, “What colour is Mama’s angel?”

“Blue and green,” was David’s response. Olivia’s angel, apparently, was also blue and green.

David took his completed model angel and balanced it on the window sill, where he usually places his lego creations for onlookers to see. Normally there are dinosaurs or boats or cars lining up along our front window. Today there was an angel, standing at the window as if it protected the boundary between the outside world and our home.

I definitely believe that children are more sensitive to the spiritual reality than adults, a sense which diminishes over time perhaps due to overexposure to a spiritually dull environment. I’m happy that David is able to share about these things freely: Imagine if a teacher told him that angels don’t exist and that he shouldn’t let his imagination get carried away? Hopefully David’s natural spirituality will continue to be nurtured by his environment. Whether he retains this sensitivity or not, it’s nice to know that we’re being looked out for.

A few snap shots of something very special in my life. Last Saturday (20th March) at 1.20am Chieko gave birth to a baby girl. Babies tend to look a bit odd when they first come into this world, and it’s not surprising that after having been squeezed out their faces tend to be squashed. Not having considered this properly I was a bit worried for a minute. But that was just another great example of my ignorance. She is gorgeous. Take a look:

sleeping through Sainsburys

pretty in pink

We are feeling very blessed to have another baby and especially to have  a girl after having four boys. Chieko is bionic, she already came home Saturday afternoon. Am doing my best to be a helpful husband/father and do more than I usually do. She does need to rest more.

The boys are properly blessed. They needed a sister. Eddie is not the youngest any more, and seems much bigger all of a sudden.

Here are a few clips from their first moments with their little sister:

I will remember this birth. Well especially if I put something down here now. Chieko went into hospital on Thursday night, and told me what to put in the packed lunches for the boys. The contractions became less frequent but they kept her in and then on Friday evening they started to get stronger again. After having taken the boys to McDonalds for dinner…fridge was a bit bare, I left them with a a friend of ours at home, and was planning to go and see Chieko and then pop into Lancaster Gate: we were doing an evening reading of the Book of Acts, all 28 chapters. But I never got there. Chieko was saying, “why don’t you go to LG, the baby wont come for a few more hours….” Felt like that would not really be the right thing to do. I mentioned this to Dolores Read on the phone who was helping with the prayer for the baby. She said: ” Well, there are a lot of people to join in the reading at LG, but Chieko only has one husband.” Enough said.

Anyhow, I read along in the delivery room from my little Gidean, while Chieko waited. William Haines pointed out to me it’s a good chapter to read at such a time, since Acts all about the birth of the church. It felt special to think of the 21 people reading in LG while we waited for the baby to arrive. The next thing I knew it was about 1am, I was just waking up in the rocking chair (yes they had a rocking chair in the delivery room – v comfy) and Chieko was getting ready with the midwife to give birth. I called Dolores to let her know for the prayer. I was still kind of waking up and then the baby came. It all felt quite calm and peaceful, just the three of us and then well I guess it was four of us in the room. The midwife asked me if I wanted to cut the chord. I had to have two goes but managed it in the end.

Chieko was amazing all 9 months. Also, the midwife was great, looked like she could have helped deliver the baby in her sleep. After a while I held the baby for 30 minutes while Chieko had a much needed power nap. And then at about 4.45am I came home. Woke Damon up and told him he had a little sister, he smiled or said something. And then I crashed out for a few hours, bit tired.

Still thinking of a name. I think we are getting there. It’s hard after four boys to get into girls names. And I just feel like she should have a name no one else has. I guess that is why the names True Father used to give to families for their children are so special, cuz you will not find them anywhere else other than in that individual’s passport.

Having been matched with Chieko by True Parents and then receiving the marriage blessing from God through them, everything that happens in our family starts from True Parents. So, when we celebrate and experience the joy of new life, I remember and give thanks to God and True Parents because with out them this family would not exist.

waiting to record

Last month Chipmunk’s manager, Vash, from Playhard Ents, called me up and asked if we could help put together a choir of children for Scorcher’s new crossover single. So I called around a few of our church members, and some of the kids from our boys’ school to find some singers.

They all worked hard and sang well – let’s hope Scorcher does well with this new single.

This is just some clips from the day in the studio and it looks like they want to ask them to come back for another day to make a proper music video.

“it’s my time and nothing gonna get in my way…”

(thank U to Réa for fitting the editing into his v long To Do list!)

and then from 6 minutes 20 seconds in to 7mins 17secs in Kritikal’s mini documentary you can check out a bit more what the children sound like once they have had all their voices properly recorded and mixed. (if you watch prior or after the above times you may find some bad language)

recording

Feeling a bit like I need a day off, but tomorrow is Monday. You know when you just need something to lift you up and help you see the glass half full?

If you have had a long week and are not quite ready for the new one round the corner, then you could try listening to Marian Reynold’s version of the Mariah Carey song, Through the Rain.

She sang this before the message at our Lancaster Gate church. It’s always better when you are there rather than on a cheap camera, but I think this might just move you:

Also a big thank you to Kenta Barrett for making the back drop for our worship service, and to the music team for putting so much time in during the week to get things together. We had quite a few brothers and sisters join us online for worship which was inspiring. Thank you to Ajay and Réa for making that go fwd and develop.

our new backdrop for sunday worship

the music ministry

We are still developing this so be patient with us, but here is the latest from our online worship. The sound doesn’t kick in for the first 20/30 seconds, and just before the second song the computer died cuz it wasn’t plugged in, so….., there is an awkward 2 minutes of dead time, while we got the lyrics back up on the screen. But the beauty of the live recording is that you can just click on the time line and go fwd a few minutes when it’s not gripping you.

The message was a bit long in my opinion, and my main take away is: reduce my notes by 70%, be more concise, and hopefully allow the important points to have more impact.

Main theme: you can only effectively come to God on His terms, because He designed you. And two qualities that make all the difference are when we are willing to trust and be humble: Genesis Ch.12 and 15 (Abraham believed the Lord), and Matthew Ch.18 (unless you change and become like little children). Incredibly challenging but so true.

My son David has recently gone through an obsession with pirates.  It started when he received a collection of books summarising the plots of some Pixar and Disney films, one of which was Peter Pan.  (That I don’t like Peter Pan can be shared in another blog.)  During his recent drama class lessons, there had also been a game or skit about pirates.  It seemed innocent enough, but I noticed that David was drawing pirates, playing pirates, acting pirates; I was rather disturbed.  He would ask me, “Papa, which pirate do you want to be?”

“I don’t like pirates,” would be my initial response.

Innocent fun?

After some failure to convince David of my distate for pirates, another response evolved: “David, pirates are glorified criminals.”

Why do adults continue to peddle a myth to children that pirates are a bit of fun?  Children wearing pirate costumes are not cute.  The jolly roger represents the antithesis of joy.  Pirates are theives.  Pirates are rapists.  Pirates are murderers.  Pirates are barbaric and cruel.  Notice I use the present tense: I’m not talking about a Johnny-Depp-caricature prancing around in the 18th Century Carribean, nor am I talking about someone who sells dodgy DVDs hidden in their jacket, because piracy – criminal violence at sea – is very current.  Somali pirates are currently holding captive 130 people, including the British couple Paul & Rachel Chandler.  Captain Pugwash they are not.

I remember visiting the Willesden Green library as a young boy, borrowing books about pirates.  The history of privateers and piracy is very murky.  I remember asking my father what keelhauling meant; click on the phrase to look up the meaning if you don’t already know.  This was just one example of the many horrifying things I discovered about pirates, easily dispelling the romance attached to piracy.  Reading about the likes of Blackbeard and Henry Morgan made me realise that instead of heroes (and indeed many were honoured and knighted as such) these people lived dark, sad lives.

A very low spirit world surrounds anything to do with piracy.  This must be the main reason why I prefer my children not to play pirates.

Romantic nonsense

A real threat

During a conversation with Chieko over a cup of coffee last week, the topic of homeschooling was mentioned. I have to be honest and say that I’m not a big fan of the idea. I’m not against the idea of getting an education at home, but rather the idea that parents need to “shield” their children from the evils of the world that irks me to no end. I was raised on the principle that “your children are not for you but for the future world.”

One of the most defining pieces of advice from my childhood that my father gave me was “What do you think it means that Jesus was in this world but not of this world?” At the time, I had just returned from a Unificationist boarding school in Korea and was thoroughly convinced that everything the “outside” world had to offer was evil, from shorts to interacting with the opposite sex to school dances, thanks to the theological interpretations of 12-year-olds. The 8th grade dance was fast approaching and my father had insisted that I attend with my friends (the only condition being that I didn’t slow dance with any boys).

I thought he was crazy for insisting such a radical thing. Most of the parents of my church friends were bribing their children not to go, and here my father was trying to force me to go! But when I asked him why he wanted me to go, he posed that question about Jesus to me. When I answered that I wasn’t sure what it meant, he proceeded to explain the meaning of it: Jesus was a part of this world. He did things and participated with other people in things, but he had a different motivation and purpose for everything that he did. By gaining such experiences with the view to relate to others, he was better equiped to help them. Of course, he also never lost his standard while being involved in such experiences, but that’s not the point. The point is: By isolating ourselves from the common experiences that everyone goes through, we’re less likely to be able to relate and build the good influential relationships we need to help others.

In science, antiviral drugs like flu jabs are made from a piece of the actual virus itself. The virus and the cure share something in common but behave differently in the body. If our children are born to help the world, then it’s vital for them to experience the hypocrisy and some of the evils in the world and be able to overcome or see through it. How can we learn to love others who hurt us if we avoid situations where we can be hurt? (“…the most beautiful thing is to forgive your enemy, move forward with a loving heart and be embraced by God.“) How can we teach others to do the same if we haven’t experienced the difficulty of it ourselves?

I hope that Matthew and I can always raise our children with the purpose of teaching them how to serve the world and help their fellow man as best as they can. That is what inspires me most about this religious community: that we live for the purpose of serving the whole.

Besides, from my experience, Unificationists tend to be strong-natured people. And when a strong-natured person lacking experience with the “outside” world is first thrown into it (like at university), there can be something of an explosion – and not in a good way, like when you drop a Mentos into a bottle of Coke and put the cap back on.

Seasons are like children in a large family. Each one is so different from the others, it is hard to imagine them coming from the same two finite parents.

Spring is the baby of the family, so easy to love, and is given license to be hot-tempered because its eyes are so big and its smile does such a number on your defenses.

Autumn too is nice to be around, talented and complex. Autumn is where life and death meet, where art and intellect make another attempt to occupy the same time and space. It speaks its mind and you never know what Autumn is going to say. There is a fragile intensity and a brilliance there; sometimes Autumn dies young. Nobody forgets Autumn.

Summer is a blue-eyed blonde. Being a born romantic, Summer can be the best child or the most troublesome. Seems like never in between.

Winter is easy to discount and put to one side. Winter seems sullen but that’s because what Winter offers is deep and hard to get to. Everyone hopes Winter will latch onto a path and destiny that won’t wreck the world. But there is a hero buried inside Winter that will emerge when the world needs it. Winter can melt your heart faster and more thoroughly than any of the others because the thoughtfulness is so unexpected, the utter selflessness so profound.

My son John is called “Phish” by everyone. Some people don’t even know what his real name is. The moniker has no reason for being except that his older brother gave him the nickname when he was 13 and it totally stuck.

John B. Moffitt, John the Boy, Phish, Pescado got his learner’s permit a month ago, late at age 18. The upside is that he is lightyears more mature than he was at 16. He was also a much better driver the first time he got behind the wheel than his brother or his sisters before him. That’s because he practiced in his mind for two years.

I Picked him up tonight at the karate dojo where he works after school. It was dark and rainy. He wanted to drive home.

I told him, “I think I should drive, you don’t know how to drive in the rain at night.”

“How am I supposed to learn if I don’t do it?”

Good point.

So he drove, did a good job, and we stopped at the supermarket on the way home. Normally I reach over and take the keys whenever we get out of the car. I didn’t this time. I didn’t say anything because I wondered if he would think it kind of neat to park the car, keep the keys, buy milk and bread, and then get back in the car and drive away. It was much better than neat.

I thought it might be because for two seconds as we pulled up to the supermarket I remembered my own first drives back in Midland, Texas at the dawn of time. Get in the car, drive somewhere, get out and do something. Something adult, independent. Then come back to the car where you left it. Put your hand lightly atop the door. “Whoa, easy there, big fella.” Unlock it, start it and drive — anywhere you want. Go do another errand. Drive west until you run out of west. Or just drive home.

All that was filling up his heart as we walked into the store. We got the shopping cart and were pushing it through the produce section. John was grinning like a raccoon with rabies as he jingled the keys dangling from his fingers.

“Why don’t you put the keys in your pocket so you don’t lose them?”

“If I carry ‘em people know I’m driving.”

That’s how new this is for him. To let him carry the keys around is something it wouldn’t have occurred to me to even think about except for that fortunate flashback as we drove up. But it was huge for John and a reminder for me. Raising kids is all about nuances, a game of inches. Between fathers and sons, every word, touch, glance matters.