Wee Mr. Wesley

Several people have asked me what was my favorite thing about my sabbatical, and I can't narrow it down to just one thing because the entire experience was a gift from God, filled with such grace.  So I decided instead of trying to arbitrarily choose one thing, I would highlight several different aspects of my sabbatical in this blog, so here's the first one not covered in a previous post written while I was traveling.

When I was a teenager, like a lot of other teenagers, I had posters all over the doors of my closet, my walls, inside my locker at school, pretty much everywhere.  They featured cars I wanted to drive, perfume I hoped to wear, and singers I liked to listen to.  That's what you do when you're 16 -- you put posters of rock stars all over the place because you want everybody to know just how special the singer(s) are to you.  Well, in the 18th and 19th centuries, nobody put posters on the wall to show how big a fan s/he was, but after John Wesley's death in 1791, a lot of folks wanted to honor him, to have a little piece of Wesley in their homes, so thousands upon thousands of inexpensive pottery and ceramic and even bone figurines featuring him were created.  Many of these are collectors' items today, and museums like the John Rylands in Manchester have a varied selection, but occasionally, the average person can find one in an antique shop or online.

While I was in Manchester, I posted a picture on Facebook of some of the ones at the John Rylands, and a friend helpfully sent me a link where I could purchase one of my very own.  She convinced me that this would be the perfect souvenir of my sabbatical, and since it wasn't very expensive, I sent the seller my credit card information.  I was about to leave Manchester for 12 days in the Wesleys' hometown, Epworth, and I was staying at the Red Lion, the inn where JW stayed whenever he came back to town to preach, so with childish glee, I gave the seller that address and waited for my wee Mr. Wesley to be delivered.

A few days into my stay, after breakfast, I was sitting in the pub where the wi fi signal was the strongest, and the hotel housekeeper had gone upstairs to "do" my room.  I heard a voice calling, "Hello, hello?"  and since she wasn't back yet, I called out to let the guy know that she'd be right back.  It occurred to me that it might be the post, and when he came around the corner with a stack of mail in one hand and a small box in the other, I told him that it was for me.  "I'm Donna," I said, and after looking curiously at me (the accent gave me away, no doubt), he glanced at the package and said, "OK, sign here."  I did, and right about then, Leslie returned.  "What have you got there?"  "It's Mr. Wesley!"  She rolled her eyes -- but in a friendly way -- and fetched me a knife.  Between the two of us, we carefully cut through the tape, I gently unrolled the bubble wrap and pulled the figurine out.  "Isn't he beautiful?" I asked her.  She shook her head and mumbled something about crazy Methodists and then admired him, probably just to be nice.  I carefully rolled him back up and replaced him in his box and then looked at the address label.  Yep, there it was -- Donna Fowler-Marchant, c/o The Red Lion, Epworth, etc.

So there you have it.  One of the best and most memorable moments of my summer's big adventure, receiving a Staffordshire figurine of John Wesley, delivered to me in his hometown, in the very place he used to stay.  There are many other memories I will share in this space, but for now, I invite you to share with me the simple joy of that happy chain of circumstances.  The picture taken above is of his new home on our mantel.  I think he likes it, and I'm very pleased to have him there!