Our broken bus was a surprising blessing to me last week. For 4 months our bus had been sat in the Ford garage awaiting parts, finally on Thursday morning Phil went to collect it. The excitement in the children was palpable, at last we were all going to be able to go out together. The 5 seater car they’d loaned us had helped, but it was sorely inadequate for transporting our tribe.
Phil arrived at the garage to collect the bus and the mechanic immediately came out, with a less than happy look on his face, oh no, what now? The brake light had started flashing as he had driven it out of the garage! You couldn’t make up the sorry tale of our bus, but this new revelation was the mouldy cherry on the mud pie. We were going to have to wait again. Phil explained to us the situation and, after some frustrated outbursts from the children, we accepted our fate.
Phil kindly offered to take the children to gymnastics, which left me with just Timothy. He was disappointed that he’d been left behind and so I suggested a trip to the park.
It wasn’t until we arrived at the park and I was helping three year old Timothy to climb a ladder that I had a flashback…
The last time I remembered taking just one 3 year old boy to the park, I was 17. I realised I was reliving a moment from my teen years but with the perspective of time and experience.
All those years ago I’d moved to London and was eagerly seeking employment as a nanny. I had had my place at Norland College confirmed but in the meantime I had just over a year to fill. I’d left home, A-levels and friends and had headed for the Big Smoke. After scouring the pages of ‘The Lady’ magazine, I’d come across an advertisement for a position caring for one little boy. Thankfully his mum wasn’t put off by my age and after an interview she offered me the job. I was to take a bus ride there each morning, an hour and a quarter each way, but I didn’t mind, I loved getting to know the London streets, the bus routes and of course my youthfulness meant I was afraid of nothing.
It was an awesome responsibility and a huge privilege to care for George, to arrange his day, take him on picnics and to parks, to visit the London museums and to watch his wide-eyed wonder as he took in everything we saw.
I was exhausted at the end of each day, but I knew, without a doubt, that I’d found my vocation.
I have been blessed to keep contact with the family and to hear how well George has done in life. I am so grateful to have been able to play a part in his life and in so many children’s lives, whether my own children or other people’s. Children are an enormous gift.
Perhaps more now than ever, with the perspective of time, I see the blessing they are. For that brief time in the park with Timothy, it felt like time had stood still. There I was again, encouraging a little boy to keep going, to climb higher, my job was to fill him with the confidence and security needed to do whatever he’s created to do. When we care for children, we aren’t just doing a job, we are raising a future adult, someone who can impact the world. As is often quoted, ‘Children are not a distraction from more important work. They are the most important work’.
Reflecting back on the journey God has brought me on is a powerful reminder that he had a good plan for me. Little George was the beginning of a wonderful adventure caring for so many children. I hope I always have little ones in my life, my own precious children, perhaps grandchildren or other people’s children, for they light up my world and they give purpose to my days.
