tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44811956147362712162024-03-06T06:49:11.784+13:00Unfolding Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-4686211340671521332022-01-13T17:12:00.000+13:002022-01-13T17:12:45.875+13:00<p> PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgKO6aefo4OngFZvOJQPVRyaq2zd-vtNfQjczIcPP2wzM4rzKg-BpotENvxTtr6cEz7F7PsjazMtxV1V_vyTaj2y7wuWZwx9XrFTPTuWj2ZgUYgVvH8y3outJ0_WYd-jJQ6mTkfuiA7hbUcSmJNNVLtNWk3RGYHqSKcwdd8mMiwpXEaHcEiQ6TVjwv=s4128" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="3096" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgKO6aefo4OngFZvOJQPVRyaq2zd-vtNfQjczIcPP2wzM4rzKg-BpotENvxTtr6cEz7F7PsjazMtxV1V_vyTaj2y7wuWZwx9XrFTPTuWj2ZgUYgVvH8y3outJ0_WYd-jJQ6mTkfuiA7hbUcSmJNNVLtNWk3RGYHqSKcwdd8mMiwpXEaHcEiQ6TVjwv=w249-h268" width="249" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There it was, half-hidden by the blanket at the end of my toddler grandson's bed ... a peanut butter sandwich, with three bites taken, evidence of a parent's middle-of-the-night care for a little fellow woken by a 'bad dream'.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The adult hands that made this simple, powerful comfort had guided him through a day of little/big adventures; had steadied him as he </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">launched himself on a new balance bike; had waited ready to catch him as he determinedly pulled himself to the top of a </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">3metre </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">rope climbing frame; then had supported his brave move into the big expanse of the lake, and shared the joy, the relief, the on-the-beach ice-cream. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> grandson </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">experienced</i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> - without needing to 'understand' - that love was always there for him and always stronger than his fear. In his life, t</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">he parental presence was trustworthy - day and night. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Maybe this little snippet of everyday life resonates with you? </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Maybe it's made you wonder whom you trust to bring you comfort and strength?</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Maybe it's even made you think about the equivalent of your </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">'peanut butter sandwich', </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> your</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202124; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>kete rauemi wairua</i></span> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">- your 'spiritual resource kit'- what you can draw on to calm your mind and soothe your soul? </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I know that , whenever anxious thoughts threaten to overwhelm my mind, I turn to my </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">kete </i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>rauemi wairua. </i>It's been a long time in the weaving and gathering but now it holds words of scripture, lines and melodies of a chant or song, precious memories of time with loved ones, and the Jesus prayer * for it is the triune God, the Loving Presence whom I have learned to trust to steady and support me day or night.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Next time you take out the peanut butter jar, perhaps this story will come to mind and with it a reminder of God's love for you in the most ordinary moments of life.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">* for more on the Jesus Prayer go to my website: </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">https://partnersonpilgrimage.org and check under Resources 'Loaves and Fishes'</span></p>Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-82396712695280289112022-01-01T17:04:00.002+13:002022-01-01T17:04:57.279+13:00Joy and little ducks 'down under' <p> 1st January 2022</p><p>A new year's resolution - the only one to be honest - is to do something each day that gives me joy. Writing gives me joy - so I find myself back on line to share little bits of my life with you from time to time - to make a connection across the miles and minutes as I share the work of grace in my life. </p><p>I have to confess that while writing is a joy-bringer, what would give me even greater joy would be if what I share with you opened a window through which you might glimpse something of the Loving Presence [ And a heartfelt thank you to my friend Bruce M. who first brought me the name of Loving Presence as a way of naming God] </p><p>On our walk this morning to Kinloch Marina - Lake Taupo - I noticed a sleeping community of New Zealand scaups - shiny black little ducks with rounded flat beaks and bright yellow eyes - all closed of course as they bobbed up and down, the motion of the lake changing with the wind and the boats moving in and out of the small harbour. </p><p>I started to think - </p><p>I love these little ducks </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIGF7sNJRAwyQMbLxL7vbYFk-2sNrCzAHCygX1iVNO50NLeqhdfDNIrMuOFmwbBfH5I3us9pTjm81Oyc6HUSvKYvBSmvfjQTd2MmEmo33oIuqayWLHd-CjX6DKaAt2Au_06-CY4rcfBmZuShXf-PMN2CzPafyaizFuP_xO1opKqlrD437tDLKglvk8=s3096" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2509" data-original-width="3096" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIGF7sNJRAwyQMbLxL7vbYFk-2sNrCzAHCygX1iVNO50NLeqhdfDNIrMuOFmwbBfH5I3us9pTjm81Oyc6HUSvKYvBSmvfjQTd2MmEmo33oIuqayWLHd-CjX6DKaAt2Au_06-CY4rcfBmZuShXf-PMN2CzPafyaizFuP_xO1opKqlrD437tDLKglvk8=w400-h324" width="400" /></a></div>They're about a metre apart <p></p><p>Good at social distancing!</p><p>Covid </p><p>Sleeping </p><p>And then I thought about how much sleep has been part of my last two difficult years - sleep to recover from my husband's health challenges and my own burnout, sleep as an alternative to action when action just seemed too hard, sleep as a form of escape, the early days when sleep was rarely restorative ... </p><p>But then I noticed another duck. </p><p>Entering stage right, it paddled gently across in front of the sleepers. Its bright eyes were open - wide awake it could see what was going on, could absorb the beauty of the morning and could alert the others to any threat. </p><p>Maybe this little duck was reminding me of the Loving Presence in my life - always there, always ready to guide and encourage whenever I 'wake up' and see what's really around me; the Loving Presence always ready to connect me with neighbours whoever they may be, to remind me that we're in this life together and I'm not alone - </p><p>and nor are you. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-73105612937263082812020-05-08T16:56:00.001+12:002020-05-08T18:53:35.808+12:00Diary of a pandemic - quarantine - Day 40#<br />
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<em><span style="border: none 1.0pt; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;">Diary of a pandemic – </span></em><em><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;">quarantine - D</span></em><em><span style="border: none 1.0pt; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;">ay 40# </span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Quarantine [from the Latin <em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;">quadraginta </span></em><em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;">meaning 40] </span></em>first came into widespread use
during the Middle Ages when plague ravaged much of Europe. Even then, without
the benefit of contemporary science and modelling, there was an awareness that enforcing
isolation could benefit the population and slow the spread of disease. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;">In 2020, t</span></em>he campaign
against Covid-19 has been highly visible, with graphs of statistics <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>showing infections, recoveries, and deaths,
and hard-to-believe media images of overwhelmed hospitals in the world’s most
developed economies. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For some the last forty days have brought unimaginable grief
as loved ones have succumbed and livelihoods have been lost. For them, lines on
graphs don’t ease the devastation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For the well-resourced with good mental health, the forty days may
have provided an unexpected opportunity to express their creativity, spend
quality time with family, and enjoy the </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">long overlooked</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">natural environment
around them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But for those of us who entered this forty days <em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;">already carrying the gathered grief of significant deaths or
endings, the accumulation of further losses has added to the invisible
inner conflict which, though graced with touches of God’s presence, has been
exhausting. <o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;">In Christianity the period of
forty days has spiritual significance, often indicative of a time of interior struggle and spiritual
realignment. In 1 Kings there’s the story of the prophet Elijah</span></em> and
of his determination to uphold the uniqueness of God in the face of widespread
Baal worship by the Israelites. Jezebel’s wrath at his victory threatens his
life, and so, spiritually and emotionally depleted, he runs away, so overwhelmed
by fear that he wants to die. Instead he is sustained by miraculous food, and goes
on in the strength of that food for forty days and nights – time to face his
interior ‘demons’ and process his experience, and time to recover physically,
emotionally and spiritually. Then he encounters the ‘sound of sheer silence’ and
it is as if everything that has gone before fades into the background of
his life. God meets Elijah, listens to his story, gives him the way forward and relieves him of his responsibilities. </span></div>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the New Testament, as soon as Jesus has been baptised, full
of the Holy Spirit and affirmed as Beloved by his Father, he enters the
wilderness for a period of temptation that lasts – you guessed it - forty days
and forty nights. In this time he uses the sword of the Spirit, the word of
God, as his primary weapon against the seductive lure of avoiding physical suffering,
gaining global power and the devilish invitation to do something spectacular
that would both test his trust in God and make him a 1st century ‘celebrity’,
with prestige that would heap glory upon him at his Father’s expense. </span></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There is
no doubt that this period was a sustained test of the person-hood of Jesus, of his mission, his strength of character, his obedience, his courage and his
capacity to listen to God and keep on trusting God to the end. <o:p></o:p></span></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Because of this forty day tempation, we can take
confidence that God is not a distant divinity remote from humanity but, in Jesus,
knows the human condition from the inside.<o:p></o:p></span></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Being afraid like Elijah,
being tempted like Jesus may resonate with you as you reflect on this period in
'quarantine'. Whatever it’s been like for you, taking the time to process the gains
and losses of these few weeks will strengthen you for the journey ahead,
whatever form it takes. Hopefully we will all emerge with a clearer sense of what we truly value and a greater capacity to listen to God's 'still small voice'. <o:p></o:p></span></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-style: normal; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As Jesus did, let’s put our trust
in the One whose faithfulness and steadfast love are everlasting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></em></div>
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-83294517987603581962020-04-24T14:58:00.000+12:002020-04-24T14:59:08.017+12:00Diary of a pandemic: when you can't hold their hand - Day 30#<br />
WHEN YOU CAN'T HOLD THEIR HAND<br />
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I'm writing what's on my heart.<br />
I'm taking a risk.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0yI6XetXjIeJHZVcNCQiF0lHTIK3OBeWNW_JEYoqHOiIlU0v_b4Fh5WbEfUVHbPZIhK-nfrVCpizI5xBUt0EY3zVVio_XGQrw1byuDzS_DlNKI-WcBY3tOUMmQMyxkBFNeZZlA51XfPE/s1600/IMG_1449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0yI6XetXjIeJHZVcNCQiF0lHTIK3OBeWNW_JEYoqHOiIlU0v_b4Fh5WbEfUVHbPZIhK-nfrVCpizI5xBUt0EY3zVVio_XGQrw1byuDzS_DlNKI-WcBY3tOUMmQMyxkBFNeZZlA51XfPE/s320/IMG_1449.JPG" width="320" /></a>Within the Covid-19 'story' one area of particular anguish relates to the many situations in which people cannot be with their loved ones in their last hours. For many the powerlessness and frustration they feel at the thought of their loved one dying alone, however caring and kind the nursing staff are, adds horribly to the pain of loss and grief.<br />
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What I share with you here is not intended to minimise the enormity of this forced separation from loved ones when everything in you cries out for connection. Instead I hope that what follows will provide a way of actively supporting your dying relative or friend or congregant - even though at a distance.<br />
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In the early years of aged-care chaplaincy, I used to agonize over how long to stay with a dying resident. Sadly, it wasn't uncommon for there to be no family to keep vigil, and I used to worry about the person dying alone when staff were stretched with caring for so many. But something changed:<br />
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<i>I had been sitting with a dying woman whose adult children were all overseas. I'd been called in by staff at 8pm, and by 11pm, I had very reluctantly decided to go home because I knew </i><i>that if I didn't get some sleep I would be little use to anyone the following morning.</i><i>As I got up to leave, the thought came: 'She won't be alone, you know. I am here.'</i><br />
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Wishful thinking? A self-comforting thought to assuage my guilt?<br />
I choose to believe that it was the Spirit of Jesus gently reminding me of what I knew in my heart, but had overlaid with worry. So when I found myself in similar situations in the future, this reminder helped me trust that the dying person was being accompanied by Someone who had already walked through 'the valley of the shadow of death'.<br />
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We are made in the image of God. [Genesis 1:27]<br />
God is Spirit. God is Love. [John 4:24; 1 John 4:16a]<br />
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Many of us have said something like 'I'll be with you in spirit', when unable to attend an important event such as a funeral. In saying that, did we simply mean that we'd be <i>thinking </i>about the gathering and nothing more? Or were we attempting to express something we find hard to put into words, something like, 'My love is reaching out to you across the miles. Know you are not alone.'?<br />
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If we've felt the reality of such support from other people's long-distance loving, imagine what it would be like for the receptive spirit of the dying person, if their loved ones <i>intentionally </i>gathered, even if it had to be by Zoom. Imagine we - spouse, family, friends or minister, entering a time of communal quietness, sitting in that stillness of gathered experience and shared emotion. Imagine bringing our beloved to mind, opening the doors of our hearts so Love may flow and reach the spirit of the one for whom we are, in effect, keeping a virtual vigil.<br />
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If we truly believe that '<i>nothing </i>can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus' [Romans 8] then, does it not follow that, even if<i> we </i>are separated from our dying loved one <i>physically </i>by the constraints of Covid-19, Love will still find a way to meet our beloved at their point of need?<br />
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It may be that Love will connect the dying with images of those whom they have loved in this life, or the comforting awareness of someone they've loved who died many years ago. Love might take the form of Jesus, holding out his hand; Love may manifest as Light or a beautiful fragrance gradually filling the room, or as a sense of Peace enfolding the spirit,<br />
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Although we who have gathered for this holy purpose may not know how Love touched our dear one in their dying, we <i>will </i>know we have been connected with our beloved in a way that is neither sentimental nor superficial. When waves of grief threaten to submerge us, as they will, this memory can help us to find our feet on the solid ground of a Love which is stronger than death.<br />
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And, in time, we may come to see ourselves as partners in the mysterious work of a deeply compassionate God.<br />
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-72076582586095170002020-04-14T16:56:00.000+12:002020-04-14T16:56:37.635+12:00Diary of a pandemic - Day 19# hope among the ruins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A lone poppy caught my eye as I wandered among the ruins of the Pools of Bethesda some years ago. All around me lay remnants of what had been a place of healing and hope in first century Palestine. There was no sign of either now, apart from this bright red poppy which had managed to find sufficient nourishment to reach maturity and fling its colour into the greyness of the surroundings. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This location in Jerusalem was the site of one of Jesus' healing miracles. The Gospel of John, chapter 5 opens with the story of an unnamed man who had been paralysed for thirty eight years. He was one of many who hoped that they would be cured when the water was 'stirred up'... but, as he will soon describe to Jesus, he had no-one to help him reach the water in time. His life was severely limited and frustrating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Into this place Jesus wanders. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He learns of the man's longstanding disability and asks him what seems a pretty obvious question: 'Do you want to get well?' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The man is taken aback. He doesn't answer Jesus directly; he can't turn his mind to what is being offered. Instead he looks backwards at what he thinks has been hindering his healing: the lack of aid from others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's an intriguing response isn't it? This relating back to what has been; this seeing others as bearing responsibility for one's predicament; this slowness to take a life-changing opportunity. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Would I, would you respond any differently?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, we have a chance to see.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we endure days or even weeks of frustration and limitations on our freedom because of the Covid-19 pandemic, we have the chance to take a look at how we've been</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> living</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> - individually, in kinship groups, as a nation, as a world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We have a chance to consider our inner lives and motivation - for example, do we </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">habitually</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">look for someone to blame whenever things turn to custard?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We have the chance to reassess priorities as we are confronted by both the disproportionate impact of this pandemic on the poor and disadvantaged AND the </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">fragility and preciousness of all life, including our own.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We have the chance to slow down, to spend time with those closest to us, to dream up little acts of kindness, to recover the pastimes that used to give us joy, to play and be creative in all sorts of ways, to look at what it really means to be made in the image of God.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some would say they just want to 'get back to normal', but there are others who are saying that maybe it's time to examine our 'normal' and see how we might better live our lives for the good of the whole planet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What had been 'normal' for the paralysed man, certainly wasn't the life that Jesus opened up before him. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jesus offered him and offers each one of us a new way of being ourselves. We might even call this new way 'resurrection', 'being born again', even 'repentance' - turning towards Jesus so we can grasp the healing and new life being offered and be guided by his Spirit in the pathway ahead as it unfolds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Take a moment to imagine Jesus standing in front of you, as he did with the paralytic at the Pools of Bethesda. He looks at you with deep compassion:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'Do you want to get well?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-30257702849372119682020-04-05T15:55:00.003+12:002020-04-05T15:55:45.196+12:00Diary of a Pandemic - Day 11# -Hugs<br />
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->In
the 90’s when I was chaplain at a tertiary education institute, the Student
Services team and I decided to offer a ‘Hug Day’ to lift people’s spirits in
the middle of a dreary winter. After first asking permission of course, posters
were put up and fliers sent out, with pictures from Kathryn Keating’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘A Little Book of Hugs’ showing two polar bears
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in a whole range of hugs, from the intimate
hug on the book cover to the ‘A’ frame hug, the ‘side-on’ hug and so on. People
had plenty of guidance about what was and wasn’t okay, and, for a day, there
was a lot of laughter and appropriate, consented hugging – it was a hug[e] emotional
boost!<o:p></o:p></div>
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But now in 2020, with Covid-19 spreading, many of us are having
to practice physical distancing and can only hug those in our bubble, unless
our bubble-mates struggle to share touch, or avoid close physical contact because
of earlier trauma or cultural conditioning. And, if we’re on our own, having a pet
can help fill that need for close contact, but not everyone is in that position.
What do we do if we’ve no-one to hug?<o:p></o:p></div>
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We can use our sanctified imagination. While some may be
wary of the imagination I think it’s fair to say that we’re already seeing the
positive fruit of the imagination of musicians, songwriters, poets, comedians, artisans
and ‘ordinary’ people within their four walls, as they create resources to lighten
the global mood a little, while we bob along on these seas of uncertainty. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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So, if you’d like to give this a go, let me ‘talk’ you
through this imaginative hugging process. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Find a time and a place where you’re not going to be
disturbed. [ put your phone on mute!]<o:p></o:p></div>
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Choose a favourite pillow or large cushion. Take a few slow,
deep breaths.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Invite the Loving Presence to be with you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As you hold your pillow/cushion in your arms, think of someone
with whom you feel completely safe or who lifts your spirit. It may be an
absent partner or a child, an old friend, or even Jesus.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Close your eyes and imagine that person is here with you now
… gently draw the pillow/cushion nearer until it is comfortably close … hug for
as long as you like. You may even want to dance … <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>speak … or sing … or just be quiet, resting in
the knowledge that you are loved, and held and secure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When you are ready, take a few deep breaths and open your
eyes. Spend a little time in quiet reflection before re-engaging with your
surroundings. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You may even like to write something about this experience –
or share it with someone whom you trust.<o:p></o:p></div>
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May you know you are held in the love of God – always. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-9222370840691347572020-03-30T12:25:00.001+13:002020-03-30T12:25:52.774+13:00Diary of a Pandemic: day 5# - framing and reframing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Many of us may be struggling to adjust to the 'stay-home' orders, introduced as a measure to restrict the spread of the Covid-19 virus. Apart from the super-elderly who have lived through war-time deprivation, it's the first time we've experienced anything remotely like this - and naturally there are different responses and different ways of naming what's going on by those in authority who are asking their people to co-operate in a desperate effort to slow down or even stop the disease's shadow covering the earth.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-_V4Z-axDcvAXsy60-FjNsFE_AYxluJQR9a-AFXx7Jb4kVRqENVKLXvaPOJSD4qHGg1Zkp_w1W16X18G3tbS0ZRYznfsld2wv7MkpiCnIEWyT2oMvWAZQC33itB8-sEJBahMauO_xC0/s1600/question-mark-from-gears-vector-13492014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="1000" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-_V4Z-axDcvAXsy60-FjNsFE_AYxluJQR9a-AFXx7Jb4kVRqENVKLXvaPOJSD4qHGg1Zkp_w1W16X18G3tbS0ZRYznfsld2wv7MkpiCnIEWyT2oMvWAZQC33itB8-sEJBahMauO_xC0/s320/question-mark-from-gears-vector-13492014.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
What do we make of the terms being used in media and common conversation [held at a safe distance or over the phone/device of course]; terms like being in 'lockdown', 'quarantine','confinement'?<br />
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I don't know about you but initially the terms all raised my anxiety as I went to my unfortunately common default setting of imagining 'worse case scenarios' and thought of non-compliance being met with potential violence, large-scale sequestering of the sick , and solitary confinement being used as a punishment!<br />
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But, in Psalm 73 - today's Psalm - we see how easy it is to be overwhelmed if we let ourselves think only of the negative connotations - even if evolutionary biologists might say we're hard-wired to react and respond to risk to enable the species to survive. It's only when the psalmist <i><b>'goes into the sanctuary'</b></i> of his well-established relationship with a faithful God, that he gleans some perspective and can begin to see that there is another way of framing things that can be life-giving.<br />
<br />
Another way of framing things.<br />
<br />
Lock-down - words like security, safety, and focus come to mind; a time when it's possible to draw aside from the 'madding crowd' for a season, to 'pull up the drawbridge' and reconnect with ourselves, with others [on the internet or with physical distancing], with creation and with our God.<br />
Welsh poet William.H.Davies wrote these lines to open his poem <i>Leisure [1911]</i>:<br />
What is this world if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?'<br />
Well, now we have the time to stand and contemplate what is around us and what is within us.<br />
<br />
Quarantine can speak to us of <b><i>protecting</i></b> ourselves not just from a nasty virus, but from anything that can undermine or even poison our well-being.<br />
Do we really want to binge on box-sets of violent TV dramas until this situation eases?<br />
Does watching non-stop updates about the spread of Covid-19 soothe our soul or deepen our anxiety even further?<br />
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Confinement in common current usage is associated with limiting freedom in some way. But in many cultures it used to refer to the period [sometimes up to 30 or 40 days] during which a woman and her baby recovered from child-birth, established feeding and were cared for by those closest to her. How many of us are secretly breathing a sigh of relief that we can legitimately step back from the hectic pace of modern life, take better care of ourselves, and deepen our relationship with those with whom we share this extraordinary time.<br />
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Even though it's thrown us all, maybe there's an invitation to us to see this unexpected and unprecedented event in our personal and global history as a period of gestation with huge potential to give birth to what has been growing within us for a long time - a reclaiming of who we <b><i>really </i></b>are, what and whom we really love, and a re-examination of who we think God is.s<br />
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Then, when we emerge we will bring with us a different way of seeing, a readiness to continue to spend quality time with God 'in the sanctuary'of our hearts, and good news for all of creation.<br />
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-45556819074475812962020-03-27T12:40:00.000+13:002020-03-27T21:38:43.862+13:00Diary of a pandemic - day 2# NZ lockdown<span style="font-size: large;">I have nothing profound to say.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There are countless others with words that seem wise, but my mind needs to empty a little bit, stem the onslaught of statistics and stories and dis-ease modelling and 'what if's' and create some space for stillness. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I am sitting upstairs in my writing spot with a tall kauri tree outside my window, watching it wave in the breeze. It is older than I am, a home to trilling tui, fantails, clumsy kereru, the occasional tiny grey warbler and sparrows. We will become better acquainted in the weeks ahead as I listen to them sing, and see them sit safely on the branches outside, a world away. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Like it or not, I'm one of the 'vulnerable' - in my early 70's - it's a stark reality for many of us who don't consider ourselves 'old' that we're among those who may be most affected by the invisible menace which has already irrevocably changed so many lives around the globe. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But it's time to pull my mind back from the thought of so much suffering and focus on the moment for that is all I have, all any of us has, this precious moment in which we live and breathe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I look outside: the pavements are empty - </span><span style="font-size: large;">no children from the local childcare centre walk in wobbly pairs down the road, high-viz vests barely containing their energy; no people hurry between businesses or doctors' rooms and pharmacy. Far fewer cars and only the occasional truck goes past - somehow they seem quieter, slower than usual.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There are moments of absolute silence, so unusual for a city street.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Within the space of that silence m</span><span style="font-size: large;">y mind moves to the words of </span><span style="font-size: large;">14th century anchorite and mystic, Julian of Norwich:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> All shall be well, and all shall be well and </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> all manner of thing shall be well.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglVfPkHw8TyOQC9O_l7-BleIu88oeAgJs9P83Pz-LbpEHoT_ZUFlvm-fsSZuH9ZrB937Vx-mCHdM-HKwheSXXjl9x1ZiZVKAYoH4AW3kT_x-xEuScwdZ-o04PTc-KOHlRgxq5gG8hD26Y/s1600/Julian+of+Norwich+quote+unfolding+27.3.20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="266" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglVfPkHw8TyOQC9O_l7-BleIu88oeAgJs9P83Pz-LbpEHoT_ZUFlvm-fsSZuH9ZrB937Vx-mCHdM-HKwheSXXjl9x1ZiZVKAYoH4AW3kT_x-xEuScwdZ-o04PTc-KOHlRgxq5gG8hD26Y/s400/Julian+of+Norwich+quote+unfolding+27.3.20.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Julian could only say this in the midst of hard times because she </span><i style="font-size: x-large;"><b>knew </b></i><span style="font-size: large;">God's presence and love, and </span><b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>trusted </i></b><span style="font-size: large;">that we are <b><i>all </i></b>held by a love that will not let us go.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">May I hold onto this when I feel overwhelmed or anxious.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">May we all come to that place of deep confidence and improbable peace no matter what lies ahead.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-85406177771081533502019-08-07T16:14:00.000+12:002019-08-14T21:56:42.066+12:00Balance ...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocvmHxZgCHl0DfVC2jUHY2x2EXmEILYFh9DlhzZcOztg-i7AW9D6gvPdFEOIZkETHGbvIQQJpC3ltKo2USb1RWTfuRf9xQApUt8G-sg1jZltqTVlu8QX6IMcWE_p7rlp7DxT_kiq4naI/s1600/CNV00056+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1268" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocvmHxZgCHl0DfVC2jUHY2x2EXmEILYFh9DlhzZcOztg-i7AW9D6gvPdFEOIZkETHGbvIQQJpC3ltKo2USb1RWTfuRf9xQApUt8G-sg1jZltqTVlu8QX6IMcWE_p7rlp7DxT_kiq4naI/s640/CNV00056+%25282%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">taken by Sue Pickering 2004</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We visited this neolithic monument Pentre Ifan, in Wales in 2004 and since then it has often reminded me about balance, particularly as I've tried to do justice to the various people and things that matter to me, and to express what I am called to do or be over the years.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But as I age the picture has begun to speak to me about the precarious nature of life: as our planet struggles to survive, as friends become unwell and die, and as my own capacity to do what I've always done diminishes. It would be easy to despair - to allow it all to overwhelm me as I attend or conduct yet another funeral for a someone special, as I watch the increasingly urgent calls for climate action, as I look at my 1 yr old grandson and wonder about his future, and as I try to extricate myself from the expectations of others and of myself. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Today though, as I was reflecting again on this picture, a new perspective of Pentre Ifan emerged, a way of looking that </span><span style="font-size: large;"> has to do with being upheld by the three Persons of the Holy Trinity :</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Lover, Beloved and Love itself holding me - holding each one of us - with perfect poise and deep strength from everlasting to everlasting.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And that brings me hope - may it bring you hope too.</span><br />
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-53516250166987617312019-07-31T15:47:00.000+12:002019-07-31T15:47:22.165+12:00Rock pool revelation I hadn't intended to go down to the rock pools<br />
but a basket of time arrived like a gift<br />
which I received with welcoming hands<br />
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like a child<br />
I walked from rock to rock<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZM6B81EtwybdbHRCjayqwxpy0XepU2dSZWdT0ePhIk2jWT6EttndfvWLgQcpPJe0Is3U-O4HOVOPvbMlbqje_eEZzHdSwjxq97fwlNUU64q_cmZqEcGcxnLyVjZIyLj7zIOzCi2s5LU/s1600/forblog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZM6B81EtwybdbHRCjayqwxpy0XepU2dSZWdT0ePhIk2jWT6EttndfvWLgQcpPJe0Is3U-O4HOVOPvbMlbqje_eEZzHdSwjxq97fwlNUU64q_cmZqEcGcxnLyVjZIyLj7zIOzCi2s5LU/s400/forblog.jpg" width="300" /></a>not 7 or 17 anymore but 71<br />
so more aware<br />
of the need for care<br />
and relieved to reach<br />
the exposed beach<br />
and the pools<br />
that called me in my youth<br />
and call me still<br />
to be<br />
still...<br />
<br />
<br />
it's far too easy to glimpse,<br />
it's far too easy to glance<br />
and then rush on<br />
instead of settling and letting<br />
the shadows clear and<br />
the depths reveal themselves<br />
as eyes adjust to the slanted light<br />
<br />
and then it will happen ...<br />
the slightest movement will catch our attention<br />
and draw us to the path of a tiny cat's eye snail;<br />
a curve of kelp will waft away<br />
and show the kina,* shiny-spined,<br />
cramped in a crevice;<br />
a glass shrimp's antennae will dance to and fro;<br />
and hormosira banksii - a name from my youth -<br />
will offer its brown beads for popping!<br />
<br />
be called<br />
be still<br />
look into the wondrous rock pool<br />
of your own inner being<br />
and let yourself find and be found by<br />
the One who made you.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">* kina - the Maori word for sea urchin</span></i>Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-34450870620866935312019-07-08T12:55:00.000+12:002019-07-08T13:50:35.450+12:00INSTEAD OF GOING TO A MEETING <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of going to a meeting</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I bring in the washing:</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNqAgH5OU6Mz_IiMrw6mjX-bIBzJm26X9VQX4_ymXt5SitRw-L25RrfIlrQqhOtIM3SRQZhrLYjknigQ_bjE_a8FD6mdcdP_EYi4CI4io4NLIwdxGIoRFkXU5-LVZ-szQDRd2HGcEX-0/s1600/Silver-beet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNqAgH5OU6Mz_IiMrw6mjX-bIBzJm26X9VQX4_ymXt5SitRw-L25RrfIlrQqhOtIM3SRQZhrLYjknigQ_bjE_a8FD6mdcdP_EYi4CI4io4NLIwdxGIoRFkXU5-LVZ-szQDRd2HGcEX-0/s320/Silver-beet.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">sun-warmed, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">wind-freshened</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">smelling of possibilities. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of going to a meeting</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I pick silver-beet</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">satisfyingly squeaky,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">grown in deep soil</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">just as I am, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">just as we are.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHoTRaIhdTt-1cErXghtzwEhnpsnWgoTDtUrDam1_zJ-ZzO7HCJ-YnrxHeen-nxYBh_opaiHPOhG9SBrZIuDHSutuWZWn0WEJas1OLWM0R-qjq7UkdMjVIxCZlf502ZiJ7U_-DUD4EjA/s1600/camellia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHoTRaIhdTt-1cErXghtzwEhnpsnWgoTDtUrDam1_zJ-ZzO7HCJ-YnrxHeen-nxYBh_opaiHPOhG9SBrZIuDHSutuWZWn0WEJas1OLWM0R-qjq7UkdMjVIxCZlf502ZiJ7U_-DUD4EjA/s320/camellia.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of going to a meeting</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I gather camellias</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">old-style-speckled with deepest of pinks</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and pale, white petal blush,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">beautiful, vulnerable</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">just as we are, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">just as God is.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of going to a meeting</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I begin a new life …</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
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Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-24101628823269868172019-03-13T12:25:00.001+13:002019-03-13T12:25:48.464+13:00a little moth<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">Years ago while I was studying in the UK for a year, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">we went as a family to a nearby stately home</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">in Kent. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">I was grieving for my mum who'd died a few months earlier and I was missing my young cat</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">whom we'd had to leave behind. I was full up with the home's information and objets d'art, when </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">something touched me to the core and days later </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">prompted my very first </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">attempt at </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">writing a poem - here's a portion of it:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"> </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLK1P1JHNSdmPG3lCG8868LR_wNXqvGcxf22j3vqnJeB6dOzJpjhb4I93pyUW-pEVAq6crBqPZA-62u8bMv3tT-_mnOFFivFJX4ptqiR7Ivone1HFc9bfgu4FRpwQ5UZa_QfHfnRZ_wrU/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLK1P1JHNSdmPG3lCG8868LR_wNXqvGcxf22j3vqnJeB6dOzJpjhb4I93pyUW-pEVAq6crBqPZA-62u8bMv3tT-_mnOFFivFJX4ptqiR7Ivone1HFc9bfgu4FRpwQ5UZa_QfHfnRZ_wrU/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">I came across another cat</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"> curled in silent, sunlit sleep.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"> Tabby and white and warm,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"> her fur invited my touch.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"> I could not hold back </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"> My hand reached out </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"> For God was gently lying there</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"> Beneath my longing hand.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">I remember it so clearly because I felt quite shocked at what I'd written - and </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">initially </span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">if I shared it with anyone I'd replace 'God' with 'Love' - until I accepted </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">that what I'd written in the first place was the truth for me: it was the first time </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">I had seriously considered what '</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">God being present in all things' </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">could look like in </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">everyday life; </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">it was the first time I experienced </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">the Spirit </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">enabling </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">me to recognise</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">the Loving Presence in </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">other living, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">breathing creatures - </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">if I knew how t</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">o look!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">Since then a lot of my time and work has been focused on helping others recognise </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">God in the everyday and every so often a new glimpse of this truth comes to me </span><br />
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">like a 'top-up' to remind me that no matter our circumstances God can reach us. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">One </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">such reminder came late in the evening </span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a week ago, when I was sitting on the bare floor of my beloved's study, overwhelmed by the mess around me. He'd decided quite late in the day to remove some decrepit carpet and replace it with some 'rescued' carpet which he'd had waiting in the garage for a rainy day! </span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Our bed and bedroom was heaped with books and boxes, there was dust everywhere and I was physically sore after trying to lift and shift heavy items until the floor space was clean. I would have gone to bed if I'd been able to climb in!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I sat on the floor for a while as he went to find a piece of equipment. In that quiet moment I noticed a fluttering against the lamp shade, and then, as I watched, a small moth - about 2cm in wingspan settled on the heavy desk beside me. I glanced at it, and then I looked again - checking for its feathered antennae [the only thing I know about moths] and then I REALLY looked at it, letting its beautiful simplicity seep into my soul.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Its velvet brown upper wings and subtle orange lower wings, were delicately marked and spread ready to take off again into the evening. I was thankful that I slowed down long enough to notice its surprising beauty, because it brought a measure of calm to my frazzled soul and energized me sufficiently to help my mate when he got back. It felt like a little gift from God - just what I needed when I needed it! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The beautiful moth's presence reminded me of a line in Alana Levandoski's <i>Christ hymn. </i>In this graced blend of word and music, upheld by Alana's chant, four poets explore Colossians 1:17 : 'He[Christ] is before all things and in him all things hold together.' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One poet, taking as her starting point a drive along a Californian highway, highlights Love's imprint on every aspect of creation : </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">'even the small soft moth on the window of the rest area's dingy wash-room, unaware of our existence, its russet wings traced with intricacies of grey, owns an intrinsic excellence'. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">[</span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">You might want to listen to the whole chant yourself; you'll find it on on </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGe5wJBDjoo.]</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">If we stop to 'take a long, loving </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">look at the real' as Jesuit Walter Burghardt said, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">we make ourselves available to God's Spirit of creative communication and we are </span><br />
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;">so often blessed as a result.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">Tabby cat? A flight of birds? A wrinkled hand on an elderly man? A snatch of music?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;"></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">How will God reveal more of God's Being to you today?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">And will you be still enough for long enough to notice?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #006621; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span></span>
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-22868513949390617752019-02-20T20:40:00.000+13:002019-02-20T20:40:40.210+13:00Having fun It's a warm sunny day, the sky is clear and the noise of the traffic is increasing outside my window.<br />
It's not 'rush hour' - or what passes for rush hour in our small city - it's the time for literally hundreds of passionate car owners to drive past, honking their horns, and waving their flags ...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7y4iYaAMGjIlTImPJD9QiAu5tFtH0apaSfNph14bNeLnlG9xbVRf2rzmaqcexqCn8g_kwc2HiVguad0LK_YHDZDnU7i0wp1zjbWx1wPM-7OvItbqQ3b34_wNBm1_E15BgAUNL2yV5B8/s1600/americarna+1%2523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="996" data-original-width="1407" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7y4iYaAMGjIlTImPJD9QiAu5tFtH0apaSfNph14bNeLnlG9xbVRf2rzmaqcexqCn8g_kwc2HiVguad0LK_YHDZDnU7i0wp1zjbWx1wPM-7OvItbqQ3b34_wNBm1_E15BgAUNL2yV5B8/s320/americarna+1%2523.jpg" width="320" /></a>They're having fun - meeting with others from around the country who share their obsession - for that's what it is - with all things 'Americarna' - the old gas-guzzlers, their style and swank, their classical lines and highly polished exteriors, their beauty and brightness, their growling engine power, and the sheer joy of driving with the air blowing stressors away ... just for a day.<br />
<br />
And all around Taranaki maunga [mountain] the country schools' children will gather to wave the flags they've made as the cars drive past - or even stop for them to pat and marvel and wonder at colours and contours ... igniting in little boys and girls dreams and flights of imagination and tales to tell when they get home that night.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5JfJv2QufqTcs0eIwoW6IMIo8MG4phGNMQvQahMKyn8u-7C0hEVZeAUEO42Wva7SccGt5QONNYbaJUq1paQuqs-WAfyySvB_Sh4G9U2h20sw4nvP6TYdiAtj_skac6p69ZGljhqJEhnI/s1600/loops+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="983" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5JfJv2QufqTcs0eIwoW6IMIo8MG4phGNMQvQahMKyn8u-7C0hEVZeAUEO42Wva7SccGt5QONNYbaJUq1paQuqs-WAfyySvB_Sh4G9U2h20sw4nvP6TYdiAtj_skac6p69ZGljhqJEhnI/s400/loops+1.jpg" width="245" /></a><br />
<br />
Above the honking horns and revving horsepower, others are having fun too.<br />
<br />
Five small planes take over the airspace and revel in flight - loops, rolls, close formation flying and then the smoke-tailed displays writing across the empty sky for all who take the time to look up.<br />
<br />
There's more risk up there of course but for some that's part of the fun: the stakes are raised, the adrenalin rush expands thinking and acting; nothing can beat the thrill and sheer joy of human being and machine playing in the free expanses of the air.<br />
<br />
Having fun.<br />
<br />
How free are most of us to take the time to have fun, perhaps to do something that is 'unproductive', even a bit silly?<br />
<br />
<br />
Chances are that some of you reading this will be a bit like me - we love the idea of having fun but, for a whole host of reasons - personality, upbringing, life events and current circumstances - somehow collude to hamper our capacity to 'lighten up - they get in the way and we are the poorer for it.<br />
<br />
Maybe one of the things Jesus was thinking of when he told his disciples that to enter the kingdom of heaven, they 'must become like a little child ...' [Matthew 18:2-4] was meant as a reminder, even a warning to them and to us, that we need to reclaim our capacity to have fun, to play, to experience the world with the freedom and joy of a beloved child, so our holy creativity - our God-energy - can have its way with us.<br />
<br />
Where will you have fun tomorrow?<br />
And the next day?<br />
And the next?<br />
<br />
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Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-53242205750405703942019-01-16T21:58:00.001+13:002019-01-16T21:58:24.311+13:00in the rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was caught without my umbrella the other day ... just 150 metres from home ... so no big drama.<br />
But as I stopped before crossing the road, as I let the rain soak my clothes and blur my vision I was struck by the rarity of the event ... I couldn't remember the last time I simply allowed myself to experience the rain without being protected by coat or cover or rushing to escape into some sort of shelter. It was a novelty but it made me realise how easy it is, especially in urban living, to become separated from the natural environment.<br />
<br />
With good cause you might be thinking, especially with so many extreme weather events in all corners of our labouring world. But even before tornadoes and hurricanes and forest fires and floods began to make almost daily appearances on our news media, in many places especially in the 'developed nations' we'd begun to be shut off from normal exposure to rain, sun, wind and even the earth itself.<br />
<br />
I look at my closet - raincoats [short and long], wind-jackets, umbrellas, boots, scarves, gloves ... and on another shelf there are sunhats and bottles of sunscreens of varying strengths, gardening soaps, nail brushes and grass stain removers. These all have a place of course and we do have to dress wisely for outdoor conditions, but it seems as if increasingly we're having to protect ourselves from the consequences of our own mishandling of the earth's resources - and in doing so we're at risk of losing that sacred connection with the created world which was part of the divine gift to humanity. We're at risk of becoming alienated from what is supposed to be life-giving, instead of being able to enjoy the elements of nature, and live in harmony with them.<br />
<br />
We're <b><u>all </u></b>invited to share God's delight in the natural world and in the ongoing process of creation. And we can start with the simplest of moments.<br />
<br />
So next time you find yourself without an umbrella and it starts to rain, maybe you'll let yourself be present to the experience ...<br />
<br />
and - just maybe - you'll go searching for a puddle to jump in !<br />
<br />
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-84520056189731479732019-01-02T12:05:00.001+13:002019-01-02T12:05:18.663+13:00bathing in dust<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Mud bathing in the Dead Sea in 1996 was a sticky and rather odd experience but I still found it fun; milk bathing might have been a mark of high rank for Cleopatra and others but if the milk were a bit 'off' then 'rank' could be more about the smell than being the queen of all she surveyed!<br />
<br />
But dust bathing?<br />
<br />
I was out walking on New Year's Day - yesterday - and let my mind wander as you do at this time of the year. No longer do I make resolutions; nowadays life's more about discerning what is mine to do among competing worthwhile options. So my mind was open and present to what was around me, rather than what had been or what might or might not come to pass.<br />
<br />
And then I noticed three sparrows 'dustering' and dappling in the warm dry sand near the beach path. I don't think it was too anthropomorphic to say that they seemed to be enjoying themselves as they nestled in little sparrow-shaped hollows, flapped and flung dust over their wings, dipped beak and head into the tiny grains until they spilled between feathers and brought cleansing in the absence of water, and relief from irritants. All this vigorous activity was capped off by patient preening until they were ready for whatever the rest of the day had to offer.<br />
<br />
I was reminded of a time in 2006 when, on a desperate walk, I'd noticed a dove preening. My husband was in hospital about to have quadruple heart bypass surgery - and the Spirit used the bird's meticulous and patient attention to its own needs to remind me that, in the midst of everyone doing their utmost for my beloved, it was important that I took the time to care for myself too.<br />
<br />
In the 12 years between these two feathery reminders I've struggled to take good care of my self. So often the needs of others have taken precedence and I've pushed my own refreshment time to the bottom of the day's 'to do' list. But now as I age, I realise I cannot do what I've always done, particularly in terms of quality of pastoral or personal presence, or in accessing that balanced state of creativity when ideas bubble up and words flow and the smallest thing can mediate the Christ.<br />
<br />
And so it's time to 'bathe in the dust'.<br />
<br />
For me that means prioritising contemplative practice, anchoring the day in prayer, bidding the day goodnight with gratitude, being open to spiritual conversations [ and what conversation isn't fundamentally spiritual?], resisting trying to second guess what's best for those I love, and saying 'no' more often. Others may find my choices difficult, but the sparrow's reminder is the Blessed Trinity's gift to me at the start of 2019 .<br />
<br />
I know myself well enough to accept that some days the gift will linger on the shelf unopened, that there may be times when it even gathers dust, but I pray that grace will enable me to cherish my God-given true self more as the year unfolds and, as a result, whatever I do will truly be done in the name of Jesus.<br />
<br />
What is God's gift to you at the start of this new year?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-56089133278218672262018-11-06T11:42:00.001+13:002018-11-06T11:42:42.025+13:00the flowers of the field<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It started out an ordinary walk on a calm day in the sun. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first flowers I picked were like pink forget-me-nots - </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">how apt as I lean into the loss of two dear men - </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">one a spiritual father and wise mentor, the other a brother in Christ, friend and colleague over many many years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tomorrow and the next day we'll gather to farewell them ... and we'll try to paint as full a picture as possible of their lives and influence; we'll try to honour them with our stories, our tears, our thanksgiving and our love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And as people of faith, we'll be reinforcing what is already a reality for these two, dear contemplative souls ... death is not the end, but a stepping over a threshold into Light, and a new way of being, beyond our knowing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This little bunch of flowers, holds bright buttercups with their buttery-chin memories, smelly onion weeds that rarely find their way into our good books, and dainty daisies full of questions - Love me, love me not? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For a brief time they bloom and bring the fullness of their uniqueness to add beauty to the earth.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so do we.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that's okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-91498130150912236182018-09-23T10:38:00.000+12:002018-09-23T10:38:40.539+12:00Open Day<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">OPEN DAY</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEFQ6mSU-0AaACLAWcWUjej3lMumoOQFD62T0NZj6_foC6kaLYW3BEJTQO86CLY2IpkevzA0XHcEH6hBIfB9Cl9fCO4oLgow-_Yugq-RMJsopW6GRnS7yAHQC5WxB1qAv6ayyfIA_gPE/s1600/openday4.bridgnorthgolfclubuk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="798" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEFQ6mSU-0AaACLAWcWUjej3lMumoOQFD62T0NZj6_foC6kaLYW3BEJTQO86CLY2IpkevzA0XHcEH6hBIfB9Cl9fCO4oLgow-_Yugq-RMJsopW6GRnS7yAHQC5WxB1qAv6ayyfIA_gPE/s400/openday4.bridgnorthgolfclubuk.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We walk or drive down the road and see the sign on the new business or the house that's for sale. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Open days or open houses are intended to appeal, to engage, to offer a glimpse into another opportunity that we might want to explore ... and they challenge us </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">- do we go in out of sheer nosiness with no intention of buying or getting involved - or do we pass by and let the next distraction draw us to another thought and another and another until the day dies ... only for the treadmill to continue in our dreams and re-start with the morning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But <i><b>this </b></i>morning as I sat after quiet prayer, I suddenly realised that today is an '</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">open day' for me - nothing is planned, nothing 'has to be done', there is no list, there are no deadlines and the realisation was a delight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For a long time I've only managed life with lists - you may know the feeling - writing down what has to be done today, transferring leftovers from one day to the next, adding more tasks, wondering how to fit everything in, working late, rising early, getting tired and losing things as concentration and energy wear thin. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's not sustainable. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It has to stop.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today's 'open day' invites me to be present to what is bubbling up within - the joy in being with family and the joy in writing - and to delight in what is around me : the birdsong at dawn, the sun's warmth, the freshness of the air and the simple things of life that so often go unattended.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No pressure of list-ticking or time-passing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No deadlines to meet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Just letting things unfold. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Join me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-52393820695620218552018-01-08T15:50:00.001+13:002018-01-08T15:50:13.507+13:00Searching <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Searching </span></div>
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<br />
<br />
Someone a couple of houses away is calling my name, but I'm not lost - I am hanging out the washing, appreciating the blue sky and birdsong after days of rain and wind.<br />
<br />
The calling continues for my namesake - a missing puppy - her owner's increasingly anxious voice gradually receding as her family spreads out and moves down to the stream and into the bush to search for their little brown bundle. I make a quick prayer for her safe return and find my thoughts moving to the wider world where so many people are 'missing' - wrested from their loved ones and homes through no fault of their own ... soon my prayers for help are added to those already being offered by countless others - little bursts of love-energy sent across the miles at the speed of light, to make a difference, however small.<br />
<br />
I continue to hang out the washing.<br />
<br />
Within the hour there is another search : our neighbour's young labrador has gone 'walkabout' and isn't responding to his impressive,urgent whistle - and so I join in the search and we cover the likely places before the lanky pup is finally found with some new 'friends' a few houses away. We smile with relief!<br />
<br />
We all know this lost/search/hopefully find scenario well.<br />
We see it played out on our screens in countless dramas and even programmes searching for lost family members through DNA detective work!<br />
We too have stories to tell of losing someone or something precious -<br />
We too have stories to tell of searching and hopefully finding.<br />
But for some there is no resolution, only ongoing unknowing and the frustration of living with a question that may never be answered.<br />
<br />
What loss or search or finding is part of your life at this present moment?<br />
<div>
Are you calling out to someone you love, hoping against hope they will respond and come home?</div>
<br />
Having two instances of losing and searching this morning made me think about God's continuous call to us through the natural world, through circumstances, through music and scripture and art and books and people and in structured and unstructured gatherings of faith communities.<br />
<br />
God who is Love is committed to reclaiming our attention from the contemporary world's distractions of screens and stress and struggles.<br />
Those arms into which the prodigal son [or daughter] runs in Luke 15 remain wide open to you and to me and a homecoming banquet is guaranteed!<br />
<br />
Happy New Year<br />
<div>
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Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-8396526659875098442017-12-23T21:11:00.000+13:002017-12-23T21:13:16.688+13:00WAITING ...Advent - that season in the Christian church's calendar marking the four weeks of waiting and preparation before the birth of the infant Jesus - coincides in the southern hemisphere with the start of the monarch butterfly's active cycle. It's a telling parallel - a visible reminder of the value of waiting in a world that has become so desperately impatient.<br />
<br />
I went to town today to do some banking ... there were lots of people queuing - a few waiting with good humour but most others with impatient looks and much shuffling of papers or exasperated sighs. When my transaction had been completed, I walked to the stairs taking me back to my car, and saw a young father, toddler at hand, walking slowly down the stairs. Waiting for the little one to navigate each step, he patiently encouraged his child's tentative progress without a hint of annoyance or rushing. No wonder the little boy was full of smiles when they reached the bottom of the stairs.<br />
<br />
Waiting is not popular in our wild western world - we are hurry sick - we want everything 'now' - smart phones to connect us instantly with anyone, anywhere; we expect immediate aid when disaster strikes, or central or local government is blamed; we speak more quickly and eat 'fast food', get involved in 'road rage' and seek high speed air or train travel; and, ironically, we marvel at how quickly the months are passing, as if somehow time has changed its pace and we have no say in the matter.<br />
<br />
Is it surprising then that, coupled with our fast-paced life and impatience with anything that stops us doing what we want to do as soon as we want to do it, we are seeing a decrease in mental health and overall well-being. Are we so out of touch with the natural rhythms of creation that we fail to see the virtue of waiting?<br />
<br />
And is it surprising that a 'push-back' is emerging - people opting for 'slow food' and a quieter lifestyle, yearning for simplicity and putting quality time into building relationships with others, with themselves, with the land and environment, and for many, with something or someone they might consider 'sacred'?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpS_uIBLt1gaenbWrymWZ4Gisu15GyFj9aZlHB5V2DS0kjH8lqUxOVWT76f590dPL5ll8ODqtHXbaz-nRNi4x1chnuDebGYg5OnmE3ymfA_V3ITHS-0YrJHBOLMiFFBOViVmdMh5sZpX0/s1600/27.01.08+045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpS_uIBLt1gaenbWrymWZ4Gisu15GyFj9aZlHB5V2DS0kjH8lqUxOVWT76f590dPL5ll8ODqtHXbaz-nRNi4x1chnuDebGYg5OnmE3ymfA_V3ITHS-0YrJHBOLMiFFBOViVmdMh5sZpX0/s320/27.01.08+045.jpg" width="320" /></a>So it's back to the monarch butterflies - a newly-hatched monarch butterfly emerges from its cocoon wet and wrinkly. It can take hours for the wings to dry, gently unfurl, plump up and gather strength ready for the miracle of flight. If we try to hurry this waiting process by 'helping' the butterfly untangle itself, irreparable harm is done - and all that time in the cocoon will come to<br />
nothing but damage and death.<br />
<br />
Each year in the season of Advent we are reminded of the value of waiting, of anticipating, of letting ourselves hope and yearn and look forward. And for those who follow the Way of Christ, waiting brings into sharper focus the coming of God into the world in a form we can all embrace - a tiny child - Jesus - through whom the vulnerability and power of Love could be expressed in the context of an ordinary human life - just like yours and mine.<br />
<br />
That's worth waiting for!Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-26687039734090562782017-11-19T21:28:00.000+13:002017-11-19T21:28:53.203+13:00Making space<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABM3rYppStDSGpgCvKfv84une-JVMjpDDQgs-CdSqA0TzjN0dgwP0zJrtCw0YjD5G8t105pXAAib3PpRqS1VEieXecM6ryfEkIdaN5VXE0omIUMl0JZXH-jMfeBDbqOP3K0dbVAYkcUs/s1600/bird+space.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1578" data-original-width="1600" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABM3rYppStDSGpgCvKfv84une-JVMjpDDQgs-CdSqA0TzjN0dgwP0zJrtCw0YjD5G8t105pXAAib3PpRqS1VEieXecM6ryfEkIdaN5VXE0omIUMl0JZXH-jMfeBDbqOP3K0dbVAYkcUs/s400/bird+space.jpg" width="400" /></a>Perched peacefully on the lamp post in the early light, the portly wood pigeon was sunning his white belly, his small head pulled into his body, dreaming, dozing ...<br />
What a lovely sight to start the day I thought, until, out of the sky flew a large black-backed gull.<br />
And the reverie - the pigeon's and mine -was ruined.<br />
There was no kerfuffle; the pigeon didn't stop to fight for his ground but jumped into the air's embrace and let it carry him away as the stronger intruder perfectly mastered a post-top landing, and, without a feather ruffled, claimed the desired space.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it seems as if all over the world, in all sorts of contexts, a similar exchange is playing out - individuals, groups, organisations, regions, even whole countries struggling to claim, grab or retain what they believe is their 'space'. What conflict is not fired by competition for space and what that space means : security, resources, tradition, power, a future?<br />
<br />
Even in our own lives, when we reflect on it, we can be space-protective: sitting in a particular chair in the staff room or pew in a church, booking the same caravan site at the holiday park, unconsciously guarding 'our patch', and rarely letting anyone into that most secret of spaces - our inner thought-life with its mixture of darkness and light, familiar and forbidden places.<br />
<br />
It could be easy to think that stealing, coveting or protecting space motivated all human interaction - on a micro or macro scale. But that's not the whole story.<br />
<br />
Later that same day my mate and I ambled downtown to attend a piano recital - we found our seats and smiled at a few people we knew around us before the concert quickly got underway. It soon became apparent that, while his view of the pianist and the wonder of hands doing the beautifully impossible, was unimpeded, mine was not. I spent the first movement of the Tchaikovsky First Piano Concerto wriggling my head first to one side of the back of the woman in front's head, and then to the other side, seeing two hands flashing at one end of the keyboard and then at the other end until my neck got sore and I sat back and closed my eyes and just listened, resigning myself to the reality of our location.<br />
<br />
But in that sometimes awkward pause between movements, when the uninitiated or very enthusiastic start to clap, my mate tapped my knee and quietly slipped to his feet, so that I could take his space. And so I did - with surprise and gratitude for his awareness and generosity. For the remainder of that magnificent composition, I sat in awe as the passion and sheer brilliance of the pianist unfolded, until the music brought tears to my eyes and I glimpsed the mystical marriage of contemplation and action.<br />
<br />
I was blessed that evening - not just by witnessing the glory of God in the pianist fully alive, but by that simplest of gestures - the selfless sharing of space, as my mate saw my need and responded in love. He made a space for me and I got to thinking that the Loving Presence does that for us too.<br />
<br />
Whenever we feel excluded, God welcomes us in.<br />
Whenever things crowd in on us and we feel overwhelmed, Jesus offers us rest and refreshment.<br />
Whenever we are wondering about the uncertainties of the future and the regrets of the past, the Holy Spirit within, reminds us to live fully in the present moment, that space in which we can meet God and ourselves, that space we too often avoid because of the challenge of intimacy it presents.<br />
<br />
Just as God makes a space for us in all sorts of ways,<br />
may we make space for others,<br />
and for ourselves.<br />
<br />
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-32420808372547035052017-08-27T15:26:00.000+12:002017-08-27T15:26:12.325+12:00SimplicityWe went to a 'silent auction' yesterday.<br />
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For those of you who cannot imagine how an auction can function without someone with a gavel, a loud voice, several spotters for crowd bids, several others to monitor online hopefuls and a gaggle of<br />
potential purchasers waiting for their defining moment, let me assure you that it can and does work, just differently.<br />
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The hall was set up with a range of desirable items each with its own list on which bidders could write their offer. Over the next couple of hours, we milled around, caught up with friends, had cups of tea and delicious cake and periodically checked to see if someone else had bid more than we had on our items of desire. At the end of the allotted viewing time, the bids were collated and the person with the top bid for each item was notified - in person if present and by phone / text if not. Simple.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAjGIuNKzRWROHtTHOZhyjn8YoRCtwHEp3SLTsyAVF-jvcw0kH9lvKE_B7DFRSLw6SuAmZVSMBhZJKbVgufkdxKTpuAMsF5KHJtV99V5TnyAjEv50NHfWmL2nSzO6kvUc4cQKyiPKNpE/s1600/JFK%2527s+rocking+chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="245" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAjGIuNKzRWROHtTHOZhyjn8YoRCtwHEp3SLTsyAVF-jvcw0kH9lvKE_B7DFRSLw6SuAmZVSMBhZJKbVgufkdxKTpuAMsF5KHJtV99V5TnyAjEv50NHfWmL2nSzO6kvUc4cQKyiPKNpE/s320/JFK%2527s+rocking+chair.jpg" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">JFK's rocking chair </td></tr>
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I sat - several times - in a vintage wooden rocking chair a bit like the one pictured - testing the angle between seat and back,the degree of rock, and whether my feet could touch the floor - a perennial problem as I am quite short.<br />
I remembered my first and only rocking chair - used over thirty years ago when I was nursing my son.<br />
Happy memories of night feeds and snuggling, of that distinctive milky baby smell; memories too of the anxieties and not knowing and the joys of emerging motherhood.<br />
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My partner in crime set his eyes on a coal scuttle and fire-tools, even though we <b><u>already </u></b>had both at home. There was a discussion.<br />
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We agreed to bid on a picnic basket, an evening bag in better condition than the one I had at home, some plants, a vintage car model piggy bank, an uninhabited cat basket with cloth mouse, and a few other odds and ends - none of which we needed- but not the rocking chair. Not this time.<br />
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With house already cluttered we'd actually donated stuff to the auction as part of our 'move it on policy' so what were we doing, subverting our own strategy???<br />
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Well it was just fun - simple, convivial fund-raising fun and we enjoyed it.<br />
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For a couple of hours we could leave behind the horrors of terrorism destroying lives and tormenting our screens; we could briefly forget about elections, politics, natural disasters, death and dying, house affordability, and our children's well-being; we could escape the routines of our live, lived largely within the confines of our home; and we could shelve life decisions such as wills and whether - or when - to move as we and our house grow more decrepit with age.<br />
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We could just take a break from it all ... just for a little while.<br />
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And when the end of the auction came and we found ourselves with things we didn't need, we just smiled at each other, and paid the money to the good cause. It was worth it.<br />
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-91871526335012159922017-07-22T17:34:00.002+12:002017-07-22T17:34:48.826+12:00WINTER WILDNESSThere's a verse from Psalm 23 that's familiar to many - 'He leads me beside still waters ...' a reminder that our God knows our need for rest and refreshment and is always willing to help us find a way of taking some time out.<br />
But it wasn't still waters that spoke to me on my walk today. Instead the waters were wild, wavetops swept back like a certain president's hair, foam popping up in the shallows, water crashing as sea-surge met reef.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhacd7gUHi-qTrGNsY0dx6mmgta29vfg6130MjwyXtSJghw4Z3TP5zjcLmVm2rPuW7-Zq8yOg467SKEa1MVgDWW9qa4frlLGqMHbiIs763qpSrqhYGy42Q72JkN7KVsvSyzfBdwwg5H5A/s1600/20170722_154656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhacd7gUHi-qTrGNsY0dx6mmgta29vfg6130MjwyXtSJghw4Z3TP5zjcLmVm2rPuW7-Zq8yOg467SKEa1MVgDWW9qa4frlLGqMHbiIs763qpSrqhYGy42Q72JkN7KVsvSyzfBdwwg5H5A/s640/20170722_154656.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I've always been drawn to the sea when it's wild like this - perhaps it's because I've never been 'wild' and I can see in it a freedom and chaotic beauty which I did not experience for my first few decades.</div>
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I was a compliant child, keen for approval, not wanting to step out of line in case the emotional support I so needed dried up. I never had hair long enough to be blown all over the place in the wind; I never put myself at risk of being in seas too hard for me to handle, in water - or in situations - which were out of my depth.</div>
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But over the last twenty years or so, actually since I was ordained priest, something interesting has been happening - the fledgling wildness within - tiny by some people's standards, has been growing : expressing itself in more of a willingness to stand up, to speak out, and not to worry overly about what others might think. I've repeatedly been invited to step out beyond the cliched 'comfort zone' and pick up opportunities that test me and sometimes frighten me but which always push me further in my trust journey with Jesus. Time and time again, I've found the faithful provision of his Loving Presence is enough to get me through. And the wildness within - the desire to play - the appreciation of others' capacity to work on the margins - continues to draw me, challenge me.</div>
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It's not plain sailing of course. I can still be influenced by others not to 'walk on the wild side' - I noticed it when I was on holiday recently - there was part of me that REALLY wanted to try the flying fox - a 250m journey quite high up through the rain forest in Queensland. I'd never done anything like that before but I looked at the others enjoying the adventure and I was ready to give it a go, until I let myself be persuaded by someone who loves me and wants to keep me safe, not to take the risk. But I did try out the children's version later that day!</div>
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As we explore some of the riches of the contemplative Christian tradition, as we allow the Spirit to transform our inner being, we discover more of our true selves and begin to know the glorious freedom of the children of God.</div>
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In the New Zealand Prayer Book [p.186] there's a lovely blessing that reads :</div>
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The blessing of God</div>
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the eternal goodwill of God, </div>
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the shalom of God, </div>
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the wildness and the warmth of God, </div>
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be among us and between us, now and always. </div>
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The 'wildness and warmth' of God - now there's something to contemplate. Enjoy!</div>
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Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-32599829954834057272017-07-02T08:43:00.000+12:002017-07-03T07:44:30.240+12:00BALANCE and BEAUTY<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">BALANCE and BEAUTY</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The walkway by the Tasman Sea is a favourite place - always a different combination of sea conditions, sky, birds, people, dogs, wind, prams and bikes. One thing that seems always to be the same however, is the rocky edge, countless boulders put in place to repel the wild power of the waves and only occasionally breached by a super strong storm surge or king tide. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjlxsTlQHZacDWSoXm00D4AGQ8REdsNVW1Z45o68zbAd1buq-BYOo3Ldl3YbpPmyr811VbYl_YwwN89oliIlWetnC0kHGuy_TA9JAAsSAvj4mGF4NbDJMhC0OhWE8XeH10NSDggQhzaE/s1600/20170630_100455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjlxsTlQHZacDWSoXm00D4AGQ8REdsNVW1Z45o68zbAd1buq-BYOo3Ldl3YbpPmyr811VbYl_YwwN89oliIlWetnC0kHGuy_TA9JAAsSAvj4mGF4NbDJMhC0OhWE8XeH10NSDggQhzaE/s400/20170630_100455.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But I was in for a surprise a few days ago when I was walking with my husband and dog and discovered that someone had been rock-scaping, building stone sculptures along the sea front.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Stone on stone, no glue, no wire, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">just stone on stone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Balance and beauty.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Over a hundred examples of two young men's </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">careful selection, imagination, patience, and persistence</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, all imbued with a sense of joy and delight, playfulness and pleasure - for the makers and those who wandered past and marveled.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And as I stood and took it all in I was reminded of my own need to play and the challenge of maintaining balance in the midst of a full life. It's a common plight - too much to do, and too little time. It would be easy to work all the hours that God sends, but I'm finally beginning to discover the value of little practices such as turning off the laptop at 5pm and the freedom a Sabbath day on a Wednesday [Sunday's often a 'workday'] can bring. Better late than never!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As I write this now, I'm also a bit more aware of the joy and delight with which the divine energy , whom I name as God made visible in Jesus, spoke the Creation into being. And what a blessing it is - to us - and to the 'Love which makes the world go round' - when something as seemingly simple as stone upon stone, can reflect the creative energy with which we are all born. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That creativity - whether it's expressed in making music, gardening, quilting, writing, cooking, crafting, problem-solving, making a little go a long way, building something large or small, or in countless other ways - can help us nurture a balanced life, because creativity comes from God who wants only what is best for each one of us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Time for me to go and start a new quilt!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What will it be for you?</span><br />
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<br />Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-22380642256847030772017-05-23T10:35:00.000+12:002017-05-23T10:35:08.047+12:00THE STICK INSECT <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsbdVJg5AGjWuB8AO0btxqjd135wGSbgUlrQSxw_bXubRdETpudu63h6brS_mTxqqDbClAP2zLYb_RmIdPx6PsoIwzRP9lh5EQnITXQmMSsf0NZavR494sfkqHjVQWuYtz1JtqZI0EhM/s1600/20170522_092615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsbdVJg5AGjWuB8AO0btxqjd135wGSbgUlrQSxw_bXubRdETpudu63h6brS_mTxqqDbClAP2zLYb_RmIdPx6PsoIwzRP9lh5EQnITXQmMSsf0NZavR494sfkqHjVQWuYtz1JtqZI0EhM/s400/20170522_092615.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The sun was warm on my back as I returned from a morning walk - it had been the coldest night so far this autumn and everyone I'd seen had been bundled up in layers of merino, with scarves, hats, and gloves, their breath little puffs in the cutting air.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As I reached home there it was on the letterbox, the largest stick insect I had ever seen: a very impressive 6 inches / 15 cm. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I stopped and stood to one side, not wanting to block the sun, drawn to its size and stillness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was enjoying the thought that, like many of us that morning, it was seeking warmth and had come out of hiding into broad daylight to find a sun-baked spot. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But then, as so often happens with my mind, I found my thoughts flicking over into 'rescue mode'</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">and the interior struggle began.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Should I move it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What if I dropped it or hurt it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Should I leave it alone?<br />What if the cat got it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And so on ...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Some of you may recognise this pattern: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the compulsive concern for the well-being of others; </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the hand-wringing wondering about our responsibility to 'help' or 'save' or 'solve'; and </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the at times painful anxiety about consequences if we don't act. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's a childhood pattern of course, set up in my case by my attempts to maintain the well-being and equanimity of my emotionally needy and unpredictable mother. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I know now that where 'rescuing' people is concerned, good intentions can easily morph into 'controlling' the other and 'smother love' can take over.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When I'm at risk of falling into that unhealthy pattern - whether it's about a stick insect or a person struggling with a major issue, I know now that I need to find a pathway through to a healthier conclusion both for the object of my concern and for myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And I knew I would find that pathway in silence, giving space for inner wisdom to emerge as I listened to the Spirit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I focused on the stick insect, and slipped into a companionable stillness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It wasn't long before my soul quietened and I knew what was mine to do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A moment's prayer for this creature with whom I share the planet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I left it where I found it, thankful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4481195614736271216.post-57911594143349694692017-01-05T20:03:00.001+13:002017-01-05T20:05:45.666+13:00Ancient of days<span style="font-size: large;">It's been a long time since I last blogged.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There have been beginnings and endings - deaths and deterioration, a book finally completed, an easy ride to Christmas turned upside down.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And now here we are in the heat of the Kiwi summer, the hammock swinging in the breeze - idyllic, peace-full, welcoming, healing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Time to relax, read, and rest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But it's also time to explore, to do those things we often don't have time to do when life is full and there are so many calls on our time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And so we headed off to Opepe reserve, a remnant of virgin forest, left behind by the loggers who'd stopped their unthinking colonial rampage on the other side of an old track which has since become the road linking Taupo to Napier.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Warm and noisy by the road, within a few metres there was forest cool, speckled light, birdsong and a sense of stepping back into history, into the visible reality of life being given space to grow to its fullest potential - massive trees - matai, rimu, miro, totara ... all reaching their full majestic height.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Bi_mwC0cHOrFBeKcjRKejLcvfy7eUTggItcyDsPbEHLUITt5MqDvA2sJ3sjsAHVvRR7qYk_JV_ZXVpi2Ou4CBp0kjlgtPgSlfa7_X5uTcx4V1aT3lc9HMXPGF0UveQJvR2x878wNT7M/s1600/20161227_102500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Bi_mwC0cHOrFBeKcjRKejLcvfy7eUTggItcyDsPbEHLUITt5MqDvA2sJ3sjsAHVvRR7qYk_JV_ZXVpi2Ou4CBp0kjlgtPgSlfa7_X5uTcx4V1aT3lc9HMXPGF0UveQJvR2x878wNT7M/s400/20161227_102500.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I dawdled behind the others, inhaling the moist air - it's hard to put a finger on what was going on for me - but tears began to surface, there was a sense of sacred connection, of deep peace as if I were in a holy place as I touched the ancient wonder of trees standing for centuries, knowing they would remain long after my earthly life comes to an end.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And I was reminded that w</span><span style="font-size: large;">ithin each one of us lies our potential to give unique expression to the divine - God living, loving, suffering and creating in and through us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And what beauty and joy there is for others when we do just that. </span>Sue Pickeringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03905288047146921927noreply@blogger.com0