Skip to main content

Number 1 Dad... Not!


Fathers, do not exasperate your children...

Ephesians 6:4

Well… that is yet another Biblical command I have broken…
This week I noticed that the number of unique hits on my blog had suddenly increased. That was unusual since I had been at conference last week and hadn’t been posting anything regularly… I will post a few reflections on the conference over the next few days, but I’ve been too busy until now… So I was a bit surprised to see so many new visitors in such a short period of time.
Then last night my poor, long suffering, eldest son, Owain, informed me that someone in his class had stumbled on my blog when googling the names of other members of his class, and, having found various references to Owain, had promptly circulated them around the whole class… So, at least temporarily my average hit rate is up, but the average age of my readers is way, way down…
But it made me rethink the reason I blog…
There is no doubt that part of it was originally a cut-price, electronic form of vanity publishing. A number of things I had written had either languished in a publishers in tray for an annoying length of time, while others were too ephemeral to be bothered killing a tree for, so committing them to virtual immortality seemed a reasonable way to make them accessible to anyone else who might want to use them. Most were originally written for a particular context, so I don’t need or want to make any financial profit from them, so if anyone else wants to use them great… Although maybe in years to come I too will be involved in outrageous copyright litigation like the many claimants to the “Footprints” poem…
The second reason was that for years people I respect have urged me to journal, but in much the same way that I turn up to play football because there is a team of people expecting me to be there, whilst I can always find 3 million excuses to put off the solitary experience of going to the gym, a journal which is only ever going to be read by me requires too much by way of self-discipline. Whilst this blog can hardly be described as a deeply reflective spiritual journal, it is probably as close as I am ever going to get, with my small but regular readership keeping me posting…
But now I have a third reason for blogging… Winding up my teenage son! It is a formative part of the father-son experience…
So, for the benefit of all my son’s googling peers… Owain Campton… Owain Campton… Owain Campton…


ps. I had toyed with the idea of dropping a baby-photograph of Owain into this blog, but then I thought he probably wouldn't speak to me again for a number of decades!


Comments

Anonymous said…
You are correct I would not speak to you for Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades... And Decades

owain campton

ps. ... And Decades... And Decades

Popular posts from this blog

A Woman of no Distinction

Don't often post other people's stuff here... But I found this so powerful that I thought I should. It's a performance poem based on John 4: 4-30, and I have attached the original YouTube video below. A word for women, and men, everywhere... "to be known is to be loved, and to be loved is to be known." I am a woman of no distinction of little importance. I am a women of no reputation save that which is bad. You whisper as I pass by and cast judgmental glances, Though you don’t really take the time to look at me, Or even get to know me. For to be known is to be loved, And to be loved is to be known. Otherwise what’s the point in doing either one of them in the first place? I WANT TO BE KNOWN. I want someone to look at my face And not just see two eyes, a nose, a mouth and two ears; But to see all that I am, and could be all my hopes, loves and fears. But that’s too much to hope for, to wish for, or pray for So I don’t, not anymore. Now I keep to myself And by that

Psalm for Harvest Sunday

A short responsive psalm for us as a call to worship on Harvest Thanksgiving Sunday, and given that it was pouring with rain as I headed into church this morning the first line is an important remembrance that the rain we moan about is an important component of the fruitfulness of the land we live in: You tend the land and water it And the earth produces its abundance. You crown each year with your bounty, and our storehouses overflow with your goodness. The mountain meadows are covered with flocks and the valleys are filled with corn; Your people celebrate your boundless grace They shout for joy and sing. from Psalm 65

Anointed

There has been a lot of chatter on social media among some of my colleagues and others about the liturgical and socio-political niceties of Saturday's coronation and attendant festivities, especially the shielding of the anointing with the pictured spoon - the oldest and perhaps strangest of the coronation artefacts. Personally I thought that was at least an improvement on the cloth of gold canopy used in the previous coronation, but (pointless) debates are raging as to whether this is an ancient practice or was simply introduced in the previous service to shield the Queen from the TV cameras, not for purposes of sacredness, but understandable coyness, if she actually had to bare her breast bone in puritan 1950s Britain. But as any church leader knows, anything performed twice in a church becomes a tradition. All this goes to show that I did actually watch it, while doing other things - the whole shooting match from the pre-service concert with yer wumman in that lemon-