INSTEAD OF GOING TO A MEETING

Instead of going to a meeting
I bring in the washing:
sun-warmed, 
wind-freshened
smelling of possibilities. 


Instead of going to a meeting
I pick silver-beet
satisfyingly squeaky,
grown in deep soil
just as I am, 
just as we are.



Instead of going to a meeting
I gather camellias
old-style-speckled with deepest of pinks
and pale, white petal blush,
beautiful, vulnerable
just as we are, 
just as God is.



Instead of going to a meeting
I begin a new life …

a little moth

Years ago while I was studying in the UK for a year, we went as a family to a nearby stately home
in Kent. I was grieving for my mum who'd died a few months earlier and I was missing my young cat
whom we'd had to leave behind. I was full up with the home's information and objets d'art, when  
something touched me to the core and days later prompted my very first attempt at 
writing a poem - here's a portion of it:
         

          I came across another cat
          curled in silent, sunlit sleep.
          Tabby and white and warm,
          her fur invited my touch.
          I could not hold back 
          My hand reached out 
          For God was gently lying there
          Beneath my longing hand.

I remember it so clearly because I felt quite shocked at what I'd written -  and 
initially if I shared it with anyone I'd replace 'God' with 'Love' - until I accepted  
that what I'd written in the first place was the truth for me: it was the first time 
I had seriously considered what 'God being present in all things' could look like in 
everyday life; it was the first time I experienced the Spirit enabling me to recognise
the Loving Presence in other living, breathing creatures - if I knew how to look!

Since then a lot of my time and work has been focused on helping others recognise 
God in the everyday and every so often a new glimpse of this truth comes to me 
like a 'top-up' to remind me that no matter our circumstances God can reach us. 

One such reminder came late in the evening 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! 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!

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.

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! 

The beautiful moth's presence reminded me of a line in Alana Levandoski's  Christ hymn. 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.' 
One poet, taking as her starting point a drive along a Californian highway, highlights Love's imprint on every aspect of creation : 
          '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'.  
[You might want to listen to the whole chant yourself; you'll find it on on https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGe5wJBDjoo.]

If we stop to 'take a long, loving look at the real' as Jesuit Walter Burghardt said, 
we make ourselves available to God's Spirit of creative communication and we are 
so often blessed as a result.

Tabby cat? A flight of birds? A wrinkled hand on an elderly man? A snatch of music?
How will God reveal more of God's Being to you today?
And will you be still enough for long enough to notice?

Having fun

It's a warm sunny day, the sky is clear and the noise of the traffic is increasing outside my window.
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  ...

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.

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.




Above the honking horns and revving horsepower, others are having fun too.

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.
                                                                           
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.

Having fun.

How free are most of us to take the time to have fun, perhaps to do something that is 'unproductive', even a bit silly?


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.

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.

Where will you have fun tomorrow?
And the next day?
And the next?

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?

the flowers of the field

It started out an ordinary walk on a calm day in the sun. 

The first flowers I picked were like pink forget-me-nots - how apt as I lean into the loss of two dear men - one a spiritual father and wise mentor, the other a brother in Christ, friend and colleague over many many years.

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. 
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.

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?   

For a brief time they bloom and bring the fullness of their uniqueness to add beauty to the earth. 

And so do we.

And that's okay.

Open Day

OPEN DAY 

We walk or drive down the road and see the sign on the new business or the house that's for sale. 
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 - 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.

But this morning as I sat after quiet prayer, I suddenly realised that today is an '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.

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. 

It's not sustainable. 
It has to stop.

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.

No pressure of list-ticking or time-passing. 
No deadlines to meet.

Just letting things unfold. 
For now.

Join me.