Back-to-back pregnancies put UAE Womens’ health at risk

Back-to-back pregnancies put UAE women’s health at risk

This article is not based on Western styled living nor is it one woman telling another how many children she should have.  As the headline states, it is directed towards UAE women, of whom roughly only 16.5% are local Emirati/Bedouin. The rest are classified as expats and come from other GCC countries, India, Pakistan, SE Asia, Europe, Africa and the Americas as well as Australasia etc. When you take these statistics in to consideration, you can see how the number of average children is  2.37 but I have yet to see a Bedouin family with so few children. The average is, I’d say from experience, 5,6, or 7 per woman with the birthing process starting as early as 15 or 16 years of age. In such cases, what I’ve see is many of these families, too, have at least one child with a physical and / or emotional and mental disability which, as yet, perhaps because of the area’s remoteness has yet to be defined using any western special needs requirements and education plans used in the UK.

It’s also a world apart from UK/USA styled Jeremy Kyle lifestyle choices as it is directed at Emirati/Arab women living in remote areas in the Abu Dhabi region which stretches all the way across hundreds of miles of sand towards Saudi and beyond and in which the Bedouin people are inhabitants. Jeremy Vile demonstrates how the West have taken things like free medical care, welfare, education for all, sanitation and personal health for granted and created an entitlement state worlds apart from where I live. Just last week I had a conversation with a local woman who didn’t realize that chewing gum was not a substitute for brushing your teeth and that too much sugar was what was making everyone’s teeth turn black.

Here at school on the Saudi border, many of our colleagues were married off at 14 and/or 15 years of age and had babies each year until their husband married wife #2, #3 and #4. Some were subsequently divorced when no child was produced within a year of marriage. Some went through a marriage ceremony only to be told on their wedding night that their husbands wanted a divorce and the marriage was never consummated.

Many of the women, as a result of having poor understanding about pre and post natal care are suffering from physical disablements like pelvic and hip, problems. You have a case of children bringing up children. Our western colleagues in the senior schools talk of 14 year old girls being excited about leaving school within the next year to get married so they can have a mobile phone. Understanding towards western women who choose to not have children is limited as girls are brought up with the idea that they are here only to procreate. Situations like our Egyptian colleague who fled her home town to come and work out in the sticks as her first born child was a girl and was subsequently beaten up and thrown down stairs by her husband highlight the difference in understanding between our western idea of relationships, marriage, home and family and the cultural norm out here. (He has yet to grant her a divorce as he says he wants to punish her for the rest of her life for not giving him a son but has since married wife #2 who has produced the son within the year).

When women are not educated on the importance taking a daily contraceptive pill or of pre and post natal care and those vital trips to hospitals because the hospital is a 2 or 3 days’ drive away then it’s really not a question either of whether the problem comes back to the physiological strength of a woman to birth a child. And when the women can’t read the instructions on the medical packets, then you’re pretty much filling up a bucket with holes with water.

The article also states that family interference, health insurance and work commitments hinder medical check ups. We see men stay at home or disappear off to the shiny, city lights of hedonistic Dubai for days at a time whilst the women stay at home to work and bring up the children with a Filipino / Indonesian/ Bangladeshi maid. The lack of understanding as to how medical appointments must be paid for (not like UK where it is all provided gratis on the NHS) and families who live in large compounds (think our back yard with the sheds all housing 1 man per family with 2,3,4 wives and many, many children all bringing each other up) all contribute.

I’ve seen first hand how women sit in hospital waiting rooms with 2 or 3 children hanging on her whilst the young mother (and they are young!) stares blanky ahead, not interacting whilst the children fight and tustle for her attention (and it can’t be from not lack of sleep as there are many maids and many adults around in the extended family looking out for the little people). In our schools you will, unfortunately, witness first hand children who can’t use their fine and gross motor skills to feed them selves or speak articulately as there is no one sitting one on one with them teaching them how to do these vital developmental things in their homes.

Living out here and working in this remotest of remote areas has taught  appreciation of freedom and education as a woman that we take for granted. Thank God for the final line in this article where the suggestion has been put forward to build a women and children’s hospital. There needs to be not just one W&C hospital based a million miles away in Dubai but a section in each of the newly built grandiose hospitals in local tows for women and children’s medical care.  This is not criticism, it’s daily observation.  All views my own.

The Palindromic Valentine’s Day of 14-02-2014

Today marks a rather special date in this year’s calendar: Valentine’s Day. But this is no ordinary Valentine’s Day. This is a Palindromic Valentine’s Day (almost…)

Yes, it may sound as catastrophic as having our noses rubbed in the smugness of those coupled up beings surrounding us, but this date has a depth to it this year which overrides the somewhat superficiality of the bling which normally accompanies the annual doling out of flowers, chocolates, dinners a deux and tacky, shiny cards.

A palindrome is like the word ABBA or AHA. It is the same written forwards as backwards (but you already knew that). If we apply that to the all concepts of LURVE, to include romance, friendships, families, relationships, we can see that love knows no beginning, knows no end, is the same yesterday as it is today and comes around once in a lifetime. Love is a unique experience between two people. The relationships we have with each friend, brother, sister, colleague is unique. We don’t behave in the same way with each person. It’s a natural human instinct to behave in a different way with each person, allowing certain features of our complex personalities to really show. Why do we do this?

Fear is the opposing factor to love. They fight a battle within each one of us each day. Fear will say that we can’t truly be ourselves with people; that we must only put our best selves forward to allow them us to gain popularity and respect. But it is in destroying the lie of fear that our true selves can really shine through. Our vulnerabilities are our strength. They show we are human. They encourage others around us to open up and share experiences and truth about human survival in the face of exposure when we take a gulp and say how we really felt when something happened to us.

St Valentine was an early Christian martyr, beaten and stoned to death before being beheaded and buried on 14th February 269 AD. The reason? He helped persecuted Christians and married Christian couples!

Love is a risk. And it’s a choice. In putting our faith in love, we are putting our faith in opening ourselves up to change. Love will change us. It will break us. It will build us up and tear us down. It will remove things from us that hold us back. It will empower us to move forwards. It will still the storm raging within. It will give us hope for a peaceful future. It will change perception of fellow humans, workmates, family members, world circumstances, and the concept of our time on earth and our very existence. Love will never end. It will make us lay down our lives for others.  It knows no beginning and knows no endWe can’t explain it. We don’t know how it got here or how we deserve it or if it will even be reciprocated when we allow ourselves to express it towards others. But what we do know about love is that it covers a multitude of sins. It allows us to forgive as we have been forgiven and to forge ahead with peace and joy in our hearts as a result. We won’t understand what has just gone on, but we will have the courage and the strength to live to fight another day.


Pray and Shway – Updated 5 February 2014


Life living in the desert can ever be described as a)colourless b)monotonous c) straight forward.

From the mutant hour daily get ups at 4.45am before a 90 minute journey in the dark up to the Saudi Border, the day begins and ends in a fog peppered with exhaustion and bewilderment.  I’d be lying if I said that there weren’t recent moments of emotional paralysis where the frustration has seemed engulfing with private tears and public rants more prevalent than before.

Don’t get me wrong: this country is most definitely my home and I love it here. I am grateful each day for the patience and love of my fellow Arabic colleagues who are so encouraging and big hearted in my attempts to chat with them using my few dodgy Arabic phrases. However, my heart truly longs for the day when I can sit and listen properly to their conversations and hear what is really going on in their lives.

I often feel like I resemble Stan Laurel in my many facial expressions during the situations I find myself in where 1 out of every thousand or so words is comprehensible and my limited phrases and words can only get me so far. My eyes frequently twist and turn and my eyebrows definitely move like Jagger. Gormless is most probably the less glamorous word I could use here, but I shall move on as we all know that the power of life and death lies in our tongues and the words we speak, ahem. (See previous postings.)

I have attached some of the Stan Laurel moments from the past year below. They are in no way intended to mock anyone or show any disrespect in any way to anyone living or working with me who is from the UAE or the GCC. They are written to share the wonderment of this habitation of the daily bizarre during this particular jigsaw piece of our lives.

It is my sincere wish that these musings a) encourage some who are in similar situations to keep going and to b) make others in far (and not so far) away lands with cream sofas and Starbucks and Malls and shiny pretty things on their doorsteps to think outside their boxes and stop taking things like cream sofas and Starbucks and Malls and shiny pretty things for granted.

But most of all, I want just people to read these postings and smile.

Lord, help us to Pray and Shway.  We are always telling the children to ‘shway shway,’ in order to calm and slow them down. Help us, Lord, to apply this to our own lives and the every day learning experiences and frustrations we find ourselves in. Help us slow down, throw up our prayers and keep going knowing that you are in control and everything will be ok. In your name we pray. Amen.


Wednesday 5th February, 2014

So, today in a classroom in a far away land filled with sand, I dropped a piece of paper on the floor. The response from little Wildcat ‘friend’ (who looks like a mini Arab Idol contestant with his HUGE bouffant mullet hair, back combed and hairsprayed, and who often is caught combing his mane whilst sitting in class) was this:

‘Ohhhh sheeetttt!’, both palms up raised heavenward, both shoulders squeezed way up to his ears, face gasping then scrunched up in very, very dramatic way.

So, English obviously spoken at home then. Is my job here done?

(He is 5 but can write the word ‘Butterfly’ without help, so can be forgiven, right? He was also wearing his brown leather jacket zipped up to the neck and when he walks, he has that ‘home boy’ swagger thang going on. Was also caught yesterday jumping from one table to another. Maybe not forgiven, just yet?)

January 27, 2013

Somewhere, somehow, today in another (NB this is not the first) Arabic Lost in Translation Moment, my classroom was interrupted by a gasping Arabic lady asking (too mild a verb, sorry),”Meeez Choood!! Meeeezzzz Chooooodd!! Your daughter eeezz DYYYIIINNNNGGGG????!!! Where weeeeellll you go??!”

Erm, no. Sorry. No daughter and I would like to stay here, please? As I stood there with facial expressions resembling Stan Laurel (he was the skinny, dopey one, right?), about 4 other Arabic ladies, having heard the shrieking from the first lady and obviously concerned about what was going on in the doorway of my tiny classroom, had arrived.

I explained in very broken Arabic that I didn’t have a daughter and so everything was ok, no one was dying and that it was a good day, Mashallah.

However, they began to look even more horrified and I became even more afraid that the first lady was about to collapse.

‘Noooo daughtarrrr??!!’ they all cried in unison, going up way too high at the end of each of their words, eyes popping out of their shaking heads accompanied by much tutting and hands being raised heavenward.

‘No daughter,’ I replied meekly, shaking my head and almost closing my eyes in shame.

‘HAZZZZZBBBAAAANNNNTTT?’ They gasped-their voices becoming louder and much more shrill. Gasping for breath continued.

‘No. No husband,’ I whispered.

Shrieks (of horror?) from all the women now. Much more tutting and grabbing my cheeks and kissing my face, stroking my hair and shouting at each other. Were they blaming my short hair for my marital status? I don’t know. Were they were happy for me? Saddened? Excited about fixing me up with their brothers, cousins, uncles, sheikh friends? I. Don’t. Know. I feel like Stan Laurel. Am glad that the little wild kittens managed to get on with their work in the midst of such theatrics and produced some great pictures and words about aeroplanes (they’ve never seen a train before).

March 27, 2013

Quote from Land of Sand today: Meez Chood, pliz I take pikchar? Your face like kitty kettt…

May 20, 2013

Small child, pointing to her head/hairstyle: Meeez Choood! Looook! Cake!

Me: No, bun.

October 22, 2013

Small lispy, high-pitched Wildcat today, aptly named Essa (translated into English: Jesus), holding door open for me (I am, therefore, already suspicious): Tha-lam-al-ay-koom ha-bee-thee. (Roughly translated: How you doin’ sweetheart, eh?)

Then winks.

I look down at him and say: Imti hamza, Essa? (Aren’t you only five years old, Essa? Should you really be saying that to your teacher?)

Essa: La. Arba. (No. I’m 4). Winks and runs off.


October 24, 2013

Week starts with car accident which narrowly misses us. Week ends with the little nocturnal Wildcats playing hide and seek in the pitch black outside the apartment despite pot-holes, glass and traffic and I am drinking shiraz from a mug because nowhere out here sells wine glasses, of course. Stay classy, world. No surrender.

November 18, 2013

Today in the Land of Sand everything was going ‘well’ until, whilst attempting to share the genius of drawing different shapes with a collective of non English speaking Wildcat-Bedouin 5 year olds, I managed to slide off the wee green chair I was sitting in. No one noticed until after about a long minute (probably less, who knows in this time-free, shawaya shawaya zone), when I heard a little voice announce to the class, ‘Whirrrr MeEeEeEEEEEzzzzz Choooodddd”. “Here. On the floor, habiti’, I said, raising my hand and lowering my head, wondering how in my 30,000 years of teaching across continents and varying academic establishments it had taken me this long to slide to the floor without alcohol. The Wildcats, for the first time this year, showed no expression. They simply didn’t react. They just looked at me like I was so dumb. So very, very stupid. Yet, each day, I see one of them, at least, attempt a handstand on the carpet before we sing songs or try to pull someone’s nose off their face. Or kick them in the head. Or jump off a table. So, really, Wildcats, game on if you want to get competitive. — eating Dahl which was originally intended to be a lentil soup but I got it wrong.

November 19, 2013

When travelling long distances each day to work, interesting conversations often pop up both as a way to stay awake and as a possible manifestation of the slight insanity which both accompanies and is a pre-requisite to desert living. Today, the topic of conversation included how many more Arab men seem to be taking Asian women as their 4th wives and how some of us had seen more mixed race Arab/Asia children in malls etc.

So far, so shaway. I arrive back into the village I call home and then head off to get my spuds and avocado (which I had been thinking about cooking since about 7am this morning – another survival trick) from the local Lulu’s when who should I see but an Arab man with super curly long hair, a flat cap, khandora, Ray Ban shades and a larger Asian wife. They proceeded to put my potato and avocado into their trolley. ‘Mafi mushukula’, I said, and they gave it back to me.

I then toddle on home and open up the kitchen window and proceed to go out of the flat to the rubbish shoot when I hear a bang. When I get back to the flat, the door has slammed locked shut behind me. I am horrified. I am wearing my pyjama bottoms and my work top. Thankfully, my bra had not been taken off for the night. So, after three trips up and down the stairs to check if Mr Advil (yes, really, as in painkiller brand) or Mr Jamal (yes, really as in Camel) our friendly maintenance men are around, I head off and walk across the lovely green garden outside the 4 apartment blocks, past lots of looks from the dear Muslim ladies and walk towards Mr Jamal, our maintenance man who, thankfully, I see across the car park. “Hazir kabir mushkula, Mr Jamal,” I exclaim.

We head back to the apartment and he knocks on the door of the Jordanian family who live next door and walks into their flat while my neighbour takes this opportunity to comes out into the corridor and starts to ask me about my day as I sit on the floor in my pyjama bottoms and work top, thankful that I am still wearing my bra.

Suddenly my door opens from the inside and Mr Jamal looks down and smiles at me. ‘Helllo Mz Chood techerrrr!” He says with a grin.

I am astounded and ask him how he managed to get into my flat but he doesn’t reply and looks at the ground and shakes his head. He is obviously embarrassed but my neighbour proceeds to explain that Mr Jamal has gone into his flat, stepped out on to the window ledge and WALKED ACROSS THE THIN WINDOW LEDGE to my open kitchen window (the cause of all the nonsense and suction/air vent rubbish in the first place) and let himself into my apartment.

Mr Jamal, at this point has walked off, obviously embarrassed and so I run after him to give him a 5 pack of noodles (all I could find in the flurry of excitement and bewilderment which ensued). I later see him standing across the car park looking towards our apartment block, I hope congratulating himself.

Spiderman lives on, people. He is truly alive and well here in this part of the Land of Sand. And yes, he was wearing a red t shirt.

January 20

Stan Laurel moment #(oh, a thousand and something, at least…)

“Mz Chood! Plizz. You gif me five minute I go uzzarr kless problem zay mik baby in za kless.”

Now, had I been in those hazy, halcyon days of teaching in Slough or glorious inner city London, innit, I might have been more concerned. This, however, is pretty standard Land of Sand daily chat.




As the end of the year draws quickly to a close, we expats across the world have already begun packing our bags to return home for Christmas. Expectations and tensions can run high at this emotionally charged time of year and, as adults, it is difficult to not wish that life could just this once rekindle a child like expectation of the excitement and wonder of Christmas Eve stockings, presents and selection boxes for breakfast. If only everything were as exciting as when we were children and Santa’s letter was sent up the chimney whilst our little legs measled against a roaring fire and our hearts fluttered.

Sometimes, prayers can seem like a will-he/won’t-he-bring-me list to a God who seems as real as Father Christmas. “Has He actually heard this prayer I’ve been groaning for the past ten, twenty, thirty years?” we wonder.

Unfortunately, more often than not, our words and hope just simply run out. We’ve reached the end. Our prayers take too long to get answered and we grow weary, just like the end of the year, when our dinner consists of biscuits and toast and our throats grow raspy.There seems no answer in sight. While our bodies ache for some kind of closure to prayers we have whispered in the dark and cried out in the silent, lonely places only we know, the all powerful God who made us is on silent. We’re left feeling confused, angry, bewildered, exhausted and despondent.

Disappointment and sadness envelop the child like hope and light within and we just give up. We’re left sitting alone in a big, drafty room in a vacant, dark, haunted house.

And then, ever so quickly and subtly, something inside us just switches off because, let’s face it, there really seems to be no response from a Santa like God sitting in a distant, imaginary land full of elves and wooden toys.

In this talk, we hear how any amount of faith, no matter how small it is, is enough. Let me write that again. Any amount of faith, no matter how small it is,  is enough. It is enough. 

A Christmas Prayer List for God for Expats:

1.Help us have faith to just believe that you’re working behind the scenes

2.That you haven’t forgotten us.

3. Please, Lord, send us all true love, peace, happiness and joy this Christmas.

4. For those of us travelling home to family situations, Lord, we beg you for short queues, simple check ins, upgrades, spacious seats, and swift travel. May we all think before we speak to those we haven’t seen in a while, remembering that the power of both life and death lies in our words.

5.  To those of us away from family and friends at Christmas, please send loving, happy people to encourage and nurture us during this reflective time of year.

6. But most of all, help us, Lord, to speak to the mountains in our life with the confidence and hope that only you can miraculously give us.

Thank you, Lord, that you will bring us so much wonderment over this Christmas time to allow us to return in January with so many stories of your goodness and blessings upon us. 

Pax vobiscum.


So, how does God guide us, anyway?

Well meaning people and their well meaning advice can sometimes put us off life’s tracks in more ways than one. Here is a talk by Paul Cowley in which he clearly points out ways in which we can listen for God’s direction in our lives. It is part of the Alpha Series taken from the Holy Trinity, Brompton, London, webpage.

Food for thought…

Like a fine bottle of French champagne must (hélas) come to an inevitable end, so, too, are we nearing the end of the summer holidays.  As we think about the impending academic year, the following poem by Rudyard Kipling (written in 1895) can provide food for thought both for la rentrée and throughout the year. Growing up, it was pinned to our kitchen wall and used to sit just above my Dad’s head as we tried to eat our family meals in perfect harmony. Enjoy! 

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

Eat, Sleep, Do: Venice


With so much to see and do, travelling doesn’t give us enough time to write plenteously, but it does give us time for reflection. In a further bid to simplify life, here are 3 things to do in the cities I have visited both this summer and at other times. I hope they help you plan and discover a little bit more of both the world, yourself and mankind. 

Eat, sleep, do: Venice

Sleep at the Santa Magherita Guest House. Why?

  • Clean & Safe
  • Next to a monastery. You will be able to listen to the monks practising their canticles and arias as you lie in bed at night. If you’re lucky, like I was, you might get the sights and sounds of a glorious thunderstorm thrown in for effect. There is a little bridge right next to the guest house which I stood on and watched the lightning as Mozart’s Requiem was rehearsed. Really…
  • Breakfast table right by the front door so you can grab some fruit and biscotti as you run out the door to start your day’s sightseeing.

Eat at the little trattoria behind the Rialto Bridge to the right hand side. I can’t remember the name but I stumbled across it whilst following the signs for the W.C. (it’s across the little piazza where the loo is situated).


  • It’s quiet and clean.
  • They do a mean pasta carbonara and a perky glass of chilled white wine without the hustle of the crowds and hassle of the pizzeria waiters near to the bridge.
  • I had lunch here with a bunch of locals (which included 4 gondoliers in their stripy tops) and not a tourist in sight. Hurrah!


  • This is the city to walk in. Take a left, take a right or go straight. Wherever you wander, you will see something beautiful (or find a place to stop and buy some more gelato).
  • Obviously, you’ll want to wander over towards St. Mark’s Basilica but there are so many unique places which will touch your heart and imagination.
  • Hop on a boat and take a cruise on the cheap around the city. Don’t take a taxi boat or a gondola as they are expensive. Take the metro boat for the same views at a cut of the price.

Eat, Sleep, Do: Istanbul

Aya Sofya, Istanbul

Eat, sleep, do:  Istanbul

Sleep at the Berce Hotel. Why?

  1. Clean & Safe
  2. Central location – easy to walk everywhere
  3. Delicious breakfast on a rooftop terrace with views of the comings and goings of the Sea of Marmara.

Eat at the Ottoman Kitchen. Why?

  1. A delicious selection of Turkish dishes
  2. Clean & Cheap
  3. Not far from the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofya (keep the Blue Mosque on your left hand side and walk straight up the hill, keeping the tram line on your right hand side. You will eventually come to the Ottoman Kitchen. It’s right next to McDonalds).

 Do a Bosphorous Sightseeing Bus Tour. Why?

  • 48 hrs ticket for 40 Euros (negotiate if you are paying in Turkish Lira) which includes a Green and Blue Line tour as well as a night time tour.
  • It is the only tour bus which crosses the Bosphorous River.
  • Do the tour the moment you get to Istanbul and have seen the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofya.  The buses are right next to the square. You can then plan when/where to hop on and off for the rest of your stay in Istanbul and you’ve already paid for your ticket. Simples!

What is Love? (Baby, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me…)


Recently, I have been pondering what the true meaning of love is. If you love someone, set them free.  All you need is love. Love is a many splendid thing, indeed, but how do we really show someone that we love them?  Sometimes, it is by sitting on our hands and doing and saying nothing while they hurt us with words and actions. Sometimes, it is giving them our last dirham or a simple smile and hello. This passage of the the New Testament is a Wedding Favourite, but imagine if we substituted the word ‘Love’ for ‘I am’ when reading the following passage. A somewhat sobering thought as all of us strive to attain the all perfect love for each other when it is the last thing we feel capable of. Lord, help us. Lord, graciously help us show the world what true love is. Peace out.

The Way of Love…

I Corinthians 13

13 If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.

If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.

3-7 If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t Iove, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.

(Therefore, with God’s help and grace…)

  • I never give up.
  • I care more for others than for self.
  • I don’t want what I don’t have.
  • I don’t strut.
  • I don’t have a swelled head.
  • I don’t force myself on others.
  • I am not always “me first.”
  • I don’t fly off the handle.
  • I don’t keep score of the sins of others.
  • I don’t revel when others grovel.
  • I take pleasure in the flowering of truth.
  • I put up with anything.
  • I trust God always.
  • I always look for the best.
  • I never look back but I keep going to the end.