PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH 

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'.

The adult hands that made this simple, powerful comfort had  guided him through a day of little/big adventures; had steadied him as he launched himself on a new balance bike; had waited ready to catch him as he determinedly pulled himself to the top of a 3metre 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.  

My grandson experienced - without needing to 'understand' - that love was always there for him and always stronger than his fear. In his life, the parental presence was  trustworthy - day and night. 

Maybe this little snippet of everyday life resonates with you? 

Maybe it's made you wonder whom you trust to bring you comfort and strength?

Maybe it's even made you think  about the equivalent of your   'peanut butter sandwich',  your kete rauemi wairua - your 'spiritual resource kit'- what you can draw on to calm your mind and soothe your soul? 

I know that , whenever anxious thoughts threaten to overwhelm my mind,  I turn to my kete rauemi wairua. 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.

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.

* for more on the Jesus Prayer go to my website: https://partnersonpilgrimage.org and check under Resources 'Loaves and Fishes'

Joy and little ducks 'down under'

 1st January 2022

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. 

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] 

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. 

I started to think - 

I love these little ducks 

They're about a metre apart 

Good at social distancing!

Covid  

Sleeping 

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 ... 

But then I noticed another duck. 

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. 

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 - 

and nor are you. 

Making space

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 ...
What a lovely sight to start the day I thought, until, out of the sky flew a large black-backed gull.
And the reverie  - the pigeon's and mine  -was ruined.
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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Whenever we feel excluded, God welcomes us in.
Whenever things crowd in on us and we feel overwhelmed, Jesus offers us rest and refreshment.
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.

Just as God makes a space for us in all sorts of ways,
may we make space for others,
and for ourselves.

WINTER WILDNESS

There'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.
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.

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.

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.

 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.

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!

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.

In the New Zealand Prayer Book  [p.186] there's a lovely blessing that reads :

The blessing of God

the eternal goodwill of God, 

the shalom of God, 

the wildness and the warmth of God, 

be among us and between us, now and always. 

The 'wildness and warmth' of God - now there's something to contemplate. Enjoy!