in the rain

I was caught without my umbrella the other day ... just 150 metres from home ... so no big drama.
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.

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.

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.

We're all 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.

So next time you find yourself without an umbrella and it starts to rain, maybe you'll let yourself be present to the experience ...

and -  just maybe - you'll go searching for a puddle to jump in !

bathing in dust

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!

But dust bathing?

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.

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.

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.

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.

And so it's time to 'bathe in the dust'.

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 .

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.

What is God's gift to you at the start of this new year?