The Invisible Cage

I meant to write this yesterday. I wrote myself a note to remind me to write it but I forgot the note. This is part of what I now think of as my invisible cage.

I know who I am, and I know what I want to do, but I am kept from doing it by some invisible cage.

I forget things, I lose things, I put off doing things and nothing ever gets done. And even when I manage do something I get exhausted and have to spend a lot of time sleeping afterwards. What a life!

May God help me and the Psychiatrist I am seeing next week to break down these awful bars.

His Deedes are done

Two writers have influenced my style more than any others: George Orwell and WF Deedes.

Bill Deedes died last night at the age of 94 with pen in hand, or rather with keyboard at fingertips.

May I go the same way.

Thank God for such a gentleman journalist.

Who Am I?

Searching conversation at the breakfast table yesterday:

Audrey Who are you?

Me I am Pete McCabe and I'm a writer. I'm interesting and I make a positive contribution to all my relationships.

On thinking about this during the day I realised that in all our 29 years of marriage I have never described myself in such a positive manner before.

My self-image is improving.

Thank God for that.

The Dream Goes on and on

As I walk through this valley of anxiety and depression, led by the Good Shepherd of the sheep, there is one light that shines into the darkness and gives me hope. It is the Shrimp Light.

In my depressive nightmare the Morecambe dream goes on and on. I've seen them win at their home ground, Christie Park, and get through to the Conference Play-off Final at Wembley. I've seen them win in that mighty arena in fantastic style. I've seen them hold good League Football opposition to a hard-fought draw and now I've seen them beat Preston North End at Deepdale in the Carling Cup.

Yes, we beat Preston on their home ground because their people understimated us. The ground staff underestimated the size of support which would come from Morecambe, and the team underestimated the strength of our footballing skill. We dominated them. We beat them. And we deserved it.

Look out Wrexham. Here we come!

George Hope

George Hope was the name of a Scottish farmer and writer in the 1800s.

It is also the name of a character I am going to write about in the future.

He cares about England, like I do.

His name came to me this morning at 07.51 a.m.

The Battle

Yesterday I felt so low that I didn't even want to go to church at IMC. Now that really is low.

But I made a choice. I had two options. One was to stay at home and be miserable. The other was to go to church and welcome people.

23 years ago yesterday our eldest son Matthew was born. It was a Sunday so I gave out the hymn books and the news of his birth. I decided to do it again exactly 23 years later.

So I went to church yesterday and I took over the welcome duty from Arthur Allen. And instead of moping at home I welcomed people with a smile, a handshake, and a hug (for some!).

So that was a spiritual battle won by the grace of God and the choice of man.

Can't work, Won't work?

Last night I was amazed to open two envelopes from the Department of Works and Pensions. One letter announced that I had been awarded Incapicity Benefit and the other told me that the money would be paid into my account on a two weekly basis.



I was both amazed and thankful to find this out. Amazed because I thought I was still making my way very slowly through the application process, and thankful to God for providing this income.



But why is there such a stigma asociated with this?



I got two phone calls this morning telling me of a vacancy for a job I used to do - working nights at Jenkin Lodge, a residential home for three people with learning difficulties and physical disabilities. I did that for a couple of years when I first went to the doctor's with depression and it was really good until one night I suffered severe back pain which led to heart palpitations and to a short stay in hospital. I told both callers that I wasn't interested.



Am I embarrassed by getting Incapacity Benefit? No more so than when I was unemployed for 18 months after we left Epping and got Unemployment Benefit. I still see it as a way in which God is providing for our needs.



Why is work so important anyway? Why do we humans, especially men, get our self-respect mainly from work? Why can't we just be ourselves whether we can work or not?



I must read "Unto this Last" by Ruskin.