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Amazing Grace

Some mornings I think buying the newspaper should come with a warning:  “This publication may distress sensitive readers.  Read at your own risk, and NEVER before coffee.”  Is it only me, or does the daily news often leave you speechless and despairing at what we humans are capable of doing to one another?

The breaking news today reveals another act of hatred in France.  We watch helplessly as terrorism flexes its grotesque muscles once again – using violence to enforce extreme ideas and beliefs on the innocent.  Some days reading the  paper or watching the news feels like gasping for breath, drowning in waves of sadness and waste.

Over the holidays I’ve been reading Phillip Yancey’s book: ‘What’s So Amazing About Grace?’.  This book grabbed my attention with its brutal honesty and offer of hope. It provided a positive sequel to the usual tale of disaster the media serves up. Phillip’s stories illuminate a different side to human nature,  a porthole we can peer through to see kindness and wisdom rise up above those waves of sadness.

One story that stood out to me was the story of Gordon Wilson, who was caught in the 1987 IRA bombing near Belfast, when a group of Protestants had gathered to honor the war dead on Veteran’s Day.  Tragically, Gordon’s 20-year-old daughter, Marie, was killed when she and Gordon were buried under five feet of brick and concrete after the bomb blast.   Phillip Yancey says of Gordon – ‘His grace towered over the miserable justifications of the bombers’.  Speaking from his hospital bed, Wilson said: ‘I have lost my daughter, but I bear no grudge.  Bitter talk is not going to bring Marie Wilson back to life. I shall pray, tonight and every night, that God will forgive them.’.   Gordon Wilson went on to crusade for Protestant-Catholic reconciliation, wrote a book about his daughter and spoke out against violence often with the refrain ‘Love is the bottom line’.

Even in the aftermath of senseless violence, we see there is another way of reacting – an attitude that builds a pathway leading us through the debris and decay.  This pathway is the way of grace.

Grace sits quietly in the midst of chaos – stoic and faithful in the storm.  Closely akin to forgiveness and unconditional love, it calls on us to surrender our rights and let go of our desire for revenge.  Grace invites us to behave in ways quite contrary to our human nature.

The Cambridge Dictionary describes grace as “approval or kindness, especially (in the Christian religion) that is freely given by God to all humans.”

How do we exercise grace in our lives?  It may be as simple as letting the pushy driver merge into my lane in heavy traffic and smiling at them rather than speeding up and swearing.  Or it may be more costly, such as forgiving a parent who has hurt us, letting a friend off the hook when they have let us down, or realising that it doesn’t matter if people don’t agree with us, share our beliefs, customs or ideas.  We accept and care for them anyway.  Just as God loves and accepts us, flaws and all, we offer our love and acceptance to others.

The way of grace is the higher road but it may also be the hardest and most painful way.  Bitterness and hate don’t require us to go against our human nature the way grace does.

But it is only grace that offers the freedom and healing we all crave.  It is a way of standing against the waves of hatred threatening to roll into shore and engulf us.

John Newton, who wrote the well-known hymn “Amazing Grace” published in 1779, knew what it was to find grace.  His discovery of grace led him away from his life as a slave trader, to become a Christian Minister and to advocate for the abolition of slavery.  Grace transformed his life, and we have been singing about this miracle ever since.

Grace is available for all of us – no matter how much we have suffered or how far we have fallen. It is the answer to our prayers and the healing balm for our many disappointments.

Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.    (John Newton)

Menopausal Mama

Today I want to lift the lid on a phase in a woman’s life which is often considered ‘secret women’s business’. As a consequence many are left to suffer in silence. My hope is that by sharing my experience, someone else may relate and feel a little less alone.

As women we constantly evolve, grow, change and move on to the next chapter. Just as we become comfortable with the current version of our selves, along comes another phase.  Our bodies are both beautiful and miraculous in their capacity to bring about new life. We are strong and powerful.  With a flash of cleavage we can leave men speechless.  On a good night when we are in our prime, we can stride into a party and know that all eyes are on us. We are clever too – just as capable of getting the top job as any of our male counterparts.  We can do it all.  I am woman, hear me roar.  We are confident, productive and ready for anything.  But then along comes middle age…

As 50 approaches it’s as if a thick fog mysteriously rolls in and settles around us, rendering us colourless and, at times, completely invisible. As our ovaries sink into their gradual decline, the tide of hormones recedes and the woman we once were seems to vanish.

It’s around this time that we enter a phase of life which rarely features in glossy women’s magazines or reality programs.  I remember Mum whispering behind her hand that some unfortunate woman was acting strangely as she was ‘going through The Change’.  I recall the mysterious fanning of flushed faces and moodiness, but saw little other evidence of what this perplexing time in a woman’s life was all about.

So today I will lift the veil of mystery and talk a little about what it is like to be a ‘Menopausal Mama’. At 51, I’m right in the thick of it. If you (or your partner) are there too, you’ll know only too well what I’m talking about.

I’ll start with the ‘hot flushes’ which commonly accompany menopause. Firstly, they are not just hot, they are like being ignited from the inside out, particularly when they frizzle you awake at 3am.  It’s like encountering the Towering Inferno in your intestines.  The word ‘flush’ is way too pleasant a word and doesn’t come close to capturing the intensity.  For me it’s like being on fire, and then add feeling dizzy, disoriented and having difficulty remembering your own name.  The word ‘hot flash’ is sometimes used also, giving the impression that there is something akin to super hero status about this symptom. Believe me,  there is nothing akin to Wonder Woman happening here! On top of this there is the irrepressible desire to burst into tears about anything from the latest terrorist attack to the lid being left off the toothpaste and oozing all over the basin just cleaned that morning. If a ‘hot flush’ takes hold during a business meeting or even at the supermarket checkout, there is no hope of saying anything that makes any sense or of retaining any of your composure.

Then there is the issue of ‘moodiness’…. For most of my life I’ve prided myself on being a ‘nice’ person. I live in fear of upsetting anyone, do all I can to please others and mostly accept others as they are. However, during this Menopausal Mama stage, the niceness has left the building. People are becoming so intolerably annoying.

Cruel, thoughtless, narcissistic type-people have always disappointed me, but now I have to hold back from giving them a good slap and consciously avoid any close contact. Plus now the Smarty Pants I Know Everything types infuriate me too.  Particularly the ones who have had little life experience in a certain area but have done a course and proceed to dish out advice about issues they know little about at a heart level.  I’ve developed an animal instinct for sniffing out dishonesty, a superior attitude and falseness. Along with this, is an insatiable longing for authentic souls, who are brave enough to say what they really think, who genuinely care about other people and who are humble and kind.  The habits and expectations I’ve tolerated in others for years no longer seem to fit and sit around awkwardly like my discarded size 10 red jeans at the back of the wardrobe.

There is also the Complete Mental Blank moment which hits without warning. One moment you’re conversing intelligently and informatively on a subject, and then, whammo, all thoughts are inexplicably wiped from my mind and there is nothing there but blank space. Menopause doesn’t just kidnap your attractiveness, it abducts your mind as well, leaving you with intermittent dementia and dwindling confidence.

Living as an invisible, perspiring and angry woman is challenging, to say the least. If only Happy, Cool and Serene Me could re-appear and live in harmony with the world again.  If only well-meaning people could once again pass me by without attracting such violent reactions.   But is there anything to learn from this difficult yet inevitable phase of the female life?

It’s early days yet for me, but one thing I’m learning is that being a Menopausal Mama forces you to face the truth about your life and your relationships. It’s a time for taking off the rose-tinted glasses and taking a good hard look at your life in the glaring sunlight of truth.  Cracks and hidden doubts are fully visible, in all their confronting ugliness.  I know that the friendships I retain during this period will be true friendships, built to last the test of time, and all of those relationships fractured with dishonesty, deceit or lack of respect will simply fall away.

I’m also learning that being ‘nice’ isn’t always the best path to walk. It may be the easiest and the one which causes less conflict, but ‘nice’ can at times be another word for fear, avoidance, denial and dishonesty. Menopausal Mamas are no longer pretty young girls who bat their eyelids and wait for the world to pay them attention.  They are fearsome ladies who already know their value, whether or not anyone else agrees, and who inhabit their life and make their own fun, regardless of who sings their praise or strokes their egos.

And on the days when looking at life without the flattering filters becomes downright depressing, I tell myself that ‘this too will pass’. It’s a passing phase just as puberty and pregnancy were, and one day the fog will lift.  In the meantime, I hold tightly to the people I love the most and to God who created we women with all our uniqueness and wonder.  I hope that those I love will keep on loving me through this storm and that God will extend an extra measure of grace and understanding to all of us who are living life as Menopausal Mamas.

 


As Long As Your Eyes Are Blue by Banjo Paterson (first published in 1891)

Wilt thou love me, sweet, when my hair is grey

And my cheeks shall have lost their hue?

When the charms of youth shall have passed away,

Will your love as of old prove true?

For the looks may change, and the heart may range,

And the love be no longer fond;

Wilt thou love with truth in the years of youth

And away to the years beyond?

Oh, I love you, sweet, for your locks of brown

And the blush on your cheek that lies

But I love you most for the kindly heart

That I see in your sweet blue eyes.

For the eyes are signs of the soul within,

Of the heart that is leal and true,

And mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still,

Just as long as your eyes are blue.

For the locks may bleach, and the cheeks of peach

May be reft of their golden hue;

But mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still,

Just as long as your eyes are blue.

Hearing Voices

Every now and then I experience something quite mysterious. Sometimes it’s a strong sense of knowing what is about to happen, a sense of impending doom or nervous anticipation depending on what is ahead.  Sometimes it’s a still small voice, fresh, surprising and way outside the boundaries of my usual  flow of thoughts.  At other times it’s a dream holding a startling truth I haven’t been brave enough to face, or just a vivid picture in my mind in my waking hours.

Quite often I ignore these mysterious happenings altogether, wondering if I’m going mad.   But then in hindsight I kick myself, realising the crazy little voice was actually a glimpse of something quite extraordinary and I missed the mark when I ignored the prompting.  I suspect you may read this and relate. Possessing a ‘sixth sense’ or strong intuition is far more common than we may think.

We are currently in the latter stages of a large renovation to our home.  Now we are about three-quarters of the way through, I’m getting impatient with the waiting.  The first couple of months were exciting with the house growing by the hour and our dreams unfolding before our eyes, but over the past month things have slowed down.  The scaffolding which at first looked to me like a symbol of promise and growth has become stifling, like prison bars encircling us.

At Christmas we had a much-needed pause from the noise and dust, but after a brief re-appearance in January, our builder vanished again.  He is hard-working, professional and reliable, and when I was told he had gone away on holiday without mentioning it, I was a little taken aback.  On hearing the news that crazy little voice whispered to me “He’s had a death in the family – he didn’t plan on this”.   I enquired further with the building team and was told again that no, everything was okay, he had just decided to take a holiday.

My impatience has risen over the last week as my list of questions and building ideas has lengthened and still no returned emails or telephone calls.  This morning he was nowhere to be seen and I again asked the question of his team of builders.  However, this time the answer was different.  A family member had passed away and he had been forced to rush off overseas unexpectedly.  Aha! Once again, the crazy little voice had been correct.  Thankfully my nagging suspicion that the voice may hold some truth had prevented me from venting my anger, leaving the ranting and raving voicemail message which was on the tip of my tongue at one point.

This story may seem trivial, but so many of the misunderstandings, conflicts and fall-outs in our relationships stem from trivial things – an unkind word, a thoughtless gesture or being so focused on our own issues that we can’t see the other person’s point of view.

I often wonder if God gives me extra assistance in this way because he knows what a mess I can make of things when I overreact to situations and fail to see the problems of other people and the whole ‘big picture’ view.  We all wear blinkers to a degree and see only our unique little corridor of the world.

My note to self today is to keep listening to that intuitive inner voice and to remember that there is often more to peoples’ actions than meets the eye.  The pain and struggles of others so often aren’t immediately visible.  It takes an extra measure of grace,  kindness and crazy little voices to notice them.  God walks ahead of us just as he walks beside us.  His wise promptings can help us avoid unnecessary problems, pain and hassle.  It’s always worth pausing, taking a breath and being brave enough to listen to that crazy little voice.

 The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.   Deuteronomy 31:8

The Caravan Community

Early days in our caravan

Early days in our caravan

There is nothing quite like holidaying in a caravan.  It is an adventure, an escape, an excuse to be lazy and an opportunity to immerse yourself in nature.  When I arrive at our van, I feel like I’ve collapsed on a soft bed of feathers.  Finally, I can relax, breathe and laugh out loud.  It is so close to the beach, you can taste the salt water on the breeze and hear the waves crashing in the distance, the gritty sand between your toes as you kick off your sandals and slip on the rubber thongs.  What it lacks in luxury it makes up for with friendly neighbours, a lack of pretense and the daily promise of wine, nibblies and a good chat.  The relaxed atmosphere is palpable, like the scent of Aerogard at dusk.

This past fortnight at our caravan park I realised there is just one thing missing from the idyllic caravanning holiday. It isn’t something I usually even notice, but the lack of it left me slightly frazzled. I found it most days in the bathroom, but rarely anywhere else. With togetherness everywhere, the one thing missing was my privacy – the quiet moments, the space to think, and the luxury of being alone. There are family, friends, acquaintances and complete strangers, their extended families and all their kids, pet dogs and extensive scooter collections everywhere during the busy holiday season. This communal living brings its own special challenges, particularly for the slightly introverted like me.

I’m not new to caravan life. I grew up holidaying at such prestigious parks as the “Banana Bowl” in Coffs Harbour, at a little seaside town called Dalmeny on the South Coast of NSW and even beside the Tumut River in the picturesque Snowy Mountains where Dad believed it was possible to drop in a line and catch a trout from a deck chair in our canvas annex.

Mum even managed to organise Christmas in the caravan one year, complete with a bottle of Cold Duck bubbly, delicious roast dinner and plenty of tinsel.

Christimas in the Van

During the 1970s we wore terry towelling hats with matching terry towelling shorts. These were the ‘good old days’ of sunbaking on the beach all day with no sunscreen, only a little baby oil to help fry the skin to a crisp brown. I loved my tanned body and after the inevitable skin peel following the first day in the sun, I just grew browner and browner by the day.

One of our favourite pastimes while not lying flat-out in the sun was people watching. There were so many interesting people to watch. There was the strange man who had a silent companion who never emerged from the van but travelled everywhere with him in the passenger seat of his car. There was the “woman who loves herself” who paraded by our van in her daring bikinis and mini skirts. We rolled our eyes in united jealousy: “oh, doesn’t she love herself!”.  After many weeks of watching the silent passenger, we realised that she wasn’t a person at all but a life-sized dummy. I remember being told that he had the dummy with him so strangers would not think he was travelling alone. Perhaps there was more to it than that but whatever the reason, it certainly added to the caravan park intrigue!

I don’t really remember feeling frazzled by all the togetherness when I was a child. The need for isolation and my own space has grown stronger over the years. So many in the world do not enjoy the luxury of ‘their own space’, so why is it so important to me? For many, living in a small home with extended family members is part of everyday life. I envy those who can live in harmony in this way without the emotional anguish I sometimes feel.

Although a need for privacy is quite natural, and a certain amount of alone time is good for you, I do think the caravan park community has something to teach many of us. For those travelling with extended family, this may be the most precious time when grandkids spend time with grandparents and three generations co-exist under the one roof. There are the inevitable tensions, resentments and clashes in most families, but when you have lost your parents as I have, the wisdom of getting over the obstacles, gritting your teeth and looking for the good in your family members seems a wise way to go. They won’t be with you forever.

Spending time with your caravan friends is interesting too. Often the only place you meet is at the park and a unique relationship develops. There are the hours spent on the beach, watching the kids, talking on a range of topics, the long evenings sipping wine and slapping away the mosquitoes, solving the problems of the world, or strumming guitar strings, singing badly and conjuring dreams and schemes.  With caravan friends there are few schedules or appointments, just a flow of spontaneous togetherness.

There are the special moments too when the caravanning community spirit shines brightly such as one afternoon when a 3-year-old girl went missing. As the Mum and Grandma began their wild-eyed panicky dash around the park calling her name, everyone aged from 5 to 85 got the message, dropped what they were doing and joined in the search for the little girl wearing the red top. Beach Mission members rushed over to help and before long every row of vans had been searched thoroughly and several people clambered down the storm water drain. You could hear the collective sigh of relief when the girl was eventually found hiding under a bed in her caravan. But the vision of everyone rushing to help is a warm reminder of the good side of humanity. There is a tendency to distrust our neighbours, when they may really be our greatest allies.

I still like to “people watch” at our caravan park. There is always the stunning woman who ‘loves herself’ and I still roll my eyes and feel jealous, but thankfully I’ve never seen another life-sized dummy displayed in public. The people I watch, and the people I’ve befriended, have their happy days, but also their challenging days. Relationships which at first appear shiny and perfect tend to reveal a few weak spots and cracks on extended observation. In fact, the very issues I’ve been troubled by are frequently played out before me in someone else’s life. I know I’m not really alone in anything I go through.

So while I long for privacy and order, immersion in the life of others reminds me of how deeply we are all connected. Avoiding the noise and mess of a life shared with others risks missing some very important lessons, special friendships and precious memories.

So tonight I say thank you to my humble heritage of caravanning life – for the freedom and fun, the quirkiness and the challenges. I’m thankful for the holiday away from my ordered life and pedantic privacy. I’m so grateful to the community of colourful and kind-hearted characters from all walks of life I meet there who teach me about living in the moment, going with the flow, staying honest and never hiding away from living life to the full.

 God’s dream is that you and I and all of us will realize that we are family, that we are made for togetherness, for goodness, and for compassion. – Desmond Tutu

 

Christmas Wishes

 

Sydney flower memorial

Martin Place flower memorial

It’s Christmas night and a stillness has settled over our home after all the busyness.  Our bellies are full, our eyes bleary and there are discarded bits of wrapping paper all over the house.  I love the gently flashing Christmas lights – silver and gold dancing in our darkened loungeroom.  Tonight I can finally take a breath and think about all the joy, wonder and longing that Christmas evokes in me.

I think of the families who are facing a time of deep sorrow this Christmas. Sydney was adorned last week with a floral memorial in Martin Place, the vivid colours and sweet fragrances symbols of our collective grief and sadness at a cafe siege where two hostages and the gunman lost their lives.  The flowers brought beauty to a place tarnished by ugliness and evil.  They have since been removed, but the memory of that sea of flowers has left a lasting image in my mind.

The flowers were a positive and powerful reaction to an act of violence against innocent souls.  They demonstrated that people have the capacity to react with love and grace, rather than rushing to seek revenge or to judge others, and I felt so moved by this spirit of love.

Christmas is many things to many people. For some it is packed full of gift-giving, heart-warming folk stories of Santa, lights transforming ordinary suburbs into fairy lands, and bucket-loads of delicious food which we devour unashamedly. For others it is a lonely time where ‘Brady Bunch’ families flaunt their perfection and amplify the emptiness we feel, where fractured families are forced together and old grievances are revisited, or when financial pressure stretches us to the limit. Whether yours was a positive or a negative Christmas, it’s easy to forget the reason for all the fun and fuss – the humble birth of Jesus.

Reflecting on Jesus and the extraordinary way he lived his life tonight has highlighted a few truths for me.  These truths are just as relevant today as they were over 2000 years ago.  One thing that jumps out at me is the unexpected and controversial ideas Jesus held in violent and turbulent times:

“But I say to you who hear, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.… ” (Luke 6, 27-28)

History tells us that Jesus lived an exceptional 33 years on our planet. He wasn’t exceptional in conventional terms.  He wasn’t powerful or rich, but he was exceptional in his love for all mankind – particularly those who were doing it tough – the diseased, the mentally ill, the disabled, the homeless and those on the fringe of society, the prostitutes – and even the much hated tax man. He offered acceptance, healing and new life to everyone searching for it.  But he was betrayed and murdered while still a young man, despite the fact that he’d done nothing wrong. When faced with unspeakable violence, he didn’t fight back.  He didn’t condemn his murderers, but forgave them. Even while hanging on the cross, he spoke healing words to the criminal hanging next to him.  Yet in his life he was never weak or wimpy. He never hesitated in pointing out to the religious hypocrites the error of their ways. But he didn’t try to force himself on others, he never resorted to violence and he always responded in love. Jesus lived his life overcoming evil with good.

I wonder how somebody as flawed and ordinary as me can ever hope to follow in such lofty footsteps.  Two weeks before Christmas I was in my local post office and I encountered a woman who gave me a clue to the answer.

Struggling under my bundle of Christmas parcels, I hastily grabbed some post-packs and fumbled my way back to write the addresses. The post office was elbow to elbow crowded, with a line of flustered shoppers going right out onto the footpath. The atmosphere of tension and impatience was suffocating. Finally at the desk, I grabbed a pen on a string to write the addresses.  It didn’t work.  I moved to the next one, but this pen was out of ink too.  I scribbled and scribbled on a spare piece of paper, but all I got was dry scratching.  Anxious now, my face getting hot, I reached into my bulging handbag and everything you could wish for was in there – except a pen.  At this desperate moment I felt a gentle pat on my arm. I looked up to see a kind face of a woman, smiling knowingly at me.  “Here you are dear. I have plenty. You can keep this one.” It was a shiny, burgundy pen, full of blue ink.  I smiled and got teary all at once.  Her kindness and thoughtfulness overwhelmed me.  In that one simple act, a rushing tide of selfishness and stress lost all its power, and kindness and joy gently and gracefully took over.

So this Christmas, let’s not despair at the evil intentions of others, but instead remember that each of us has the choice to tip the scales for goodness.  Jesus is so much more than the baby in the manger in the nativity scene. His spirit of love lives on like a steady flame which ignites and glows more brightly each time one of us offers a simple act of kindness.

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.    Romans 12:21

Happy Christmas to all and a big thank you to my readers, for taking the time to read my rambling thoughts, for your thoughtful comments and special friendship.

 

A Clock in a Thunderstorm

 There’s no advantage to hurrying through life…  Masashi Kishimoto

Whilst recovering from surgery this week, the pace of my life has slowed to a steady crawl. In the stillness, I’m surprised by all the hurrying and worrying I usually do each day.  Sometimes I barely breathe because each breath may waste a precious moment of ‘getting things done’.  So not only am I hurrying and worrying, I’m holding my breath too.

Most of us are programmed as either a tortoise or a hare.  If you are a hare you may love to rush around, multitasking and climbing as many mountains as possible.  I love the idea of being a hare, so popular in our fast-paced world, but I’m starting to realise that I’m actually a tortoise, and pretending to be a hare is taking its toll.  As a tortoise I’d often rather sit under a shady tree, read a good book and hide away from all the noise, rather than tackle life on a hectic day.

Recently I sat on a train behind two women in business suits.  One asked the other about her day. The reply went a bit like this:  “Well after my walk at 5am, I did a couple of loads of washing, hung it out, made lunches for the kids,  baked some Bob the Builder cup cakes for Johnny’s birthday while helping him finish his maths homework, sewed a button on Julie’s dress during a teleconference for work, brought in the clothes again and shoved them in the dryer as it started to rain, dropped Johnny at school, Julie at daycare and Freddy over to Mum’s, listened to Mum cry because she thinks Dad needs to go into a nursing home, went in and made Dad a cup of tea but had to leave too soon and felt really guilty, and then I got to work just after 9am and got ‘the look’ from the boss, and dashed in for the meeting with the angry creditors which went for three awful hours, then I worked through lunch to try to catch up on all the paperwork piling up on my desk…”   I feel breathless just typing that, and I haven’t even started on her afternoon yet…

My week of slowing down, resting and simply ‘being me’, has led me to ask an unusual question.  Is all the activity really necessary? How many things that occupy our time and attention during a given week are really important?  Is our ‘to-do list’ so crammed full that it leaves no time to enjoy life and be spontaneous?  Could it be that the slow old tortoise actually has the right idea?  Perhaps the hare really is the foolish one.  Is he simply dashing around so much that he’s unable to focus on doing any one thing well?

Small steps may appear unimpressive, but don’t be deceived. They are the means by which perspectives are subtly altered, mountains are gradually scaled, and lives are drastically changed. Richelle E. Goodrich

Limited by post-operative pain and fatigue, I’ve had only so much energy to spend each day. Most days I’ve limited my ‘to do list’ to two or three things. If I achieve these two or three things I congratulate myself and feel really satisfied.  I’ve rejected the temptation to dwell on the 103 other things I haven’t achieved.  One day it was hemming up my son’s jeans (which have sat in his drawer for the past 6 months too long to wear), another was hanging the washing on the line, and another was walking to the post-box two blocks away to post a letter.   Once these three simple tasks were done, I lay down and slept, pleased with my efforts.

I wonder if it would be possible to take some of this guilt-free, focused, being-gentle-with-myself attitude into my real life.  Could it be possible to maintain solid boundaries and limits on my ‘to do list’ when I’m faced with a heavy work-load both at home and in the office? Am I capable of standing firm when the old chaotic and difficult demands come bashing at my door, threatening to take over?

Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock during a thunderstorm. –   Robert Louis Stevenson

The tortoise isn’t worried or rushed by the energetic hare hopping past him. He continues on at his own steady pace, his mind quiet and secure. The tortoise is like a clock in a thunderstorm.  He keeps on going despite the chaos around him, regardless of the expectations of others, the temptation to compete and the desire to win.  He sets his own pace, knowing both his potential and his limitations.   And while the hare is rushing about, everything a blur in his haste, the tortoise is appreciating the delicate beauty around him as he shuffles along. When he needs a rest, he retreats into his shell and renews his strength to keep climbing the mountain. 

I want to be more like the tortoise from now on and less like the hare.  I want to be Mary, sitting quietly listening to Jesus, rather than Martha, anxious and troubled in the kitchen. I want to choose two or three things that are important, achievable and meaningful and focus on them, not the 103 unachievable and pointless things.  I’ll breathe deeply and keep on breathing at my own pace.  Every step of the journey holds a lesson to learn or an adventure to enjoy and I want to be unhurried enough to absorb and experience it all. 

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 Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.  Luke 10:38-42

 

 

Feeding the Wolf

I once heard a story of an old Cherokee Indian which goes a bit like this:

“One evening a Cherokee Indian told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, ‘My son, the battle is between two ‘wolves’ inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.’

The grandson asked his grandfather: ‘Which wolf wins?’

The old Cherokee replied, ‘The one you feed.’”

Australia is often considered the ‘lucky country’, the laid back land of long summer afternoons at backyard barbecues, of freedom, laughter, ocean breezes and the collective mindset of ‘she’ll be right mate’. The threat of public beheadings by militant terrorists is so unexpected to most of us that it seems almost funny. It sounds like a sick joke. But it’s not a joke.  As the media regularly remind us, it’s a sobering and gut wrenching reality.

A byproduct of living in this new era, of facing unpredictable anger from people we scarcely understand let alone know how to deal with, is the uprising of fear. I’ve listened to the conversations around me. Kind, unassuming people are starting to question the wisdom of multiculturalism on our shores, despite their own diverse ancestry. Suspicion is rising against those following the Muslim faith, no matter how moderate they profess to be. Fear and lack of trust are appearing in places where peace and harmony once occupied.

One way to take control of a nation is by physical aggression. Another way is to rob the people of their peace of mind, values they hold dear and their freedom of thinking. We must rely on our government and military forces to protect us from the former, but the latter extends to each of us at the grass root level.

As we hear of wars and threats of wars, and terrorism and threats of terrorism,  we are rightly angered and perplexed. But there is one choice that will make or break us. We can react to the madness with our own hatred, aggression, prejudice and violence, as victims taking on the characteristics of our aggressors. Or we can choose to feed the other wolf:  the good wolf who acknowledges evil yet continues to live in the spirit of love, with joy, peace, hope, serenity, kindness and generosity.   The story of the Cherokee indian rings true to me.  Choosing which wolf you feed does make a difference.  

When my heart aches for the journalist on the TV screen, kneeling helplessly to meet his fate, I can use the energy of my disgust to start turning the tide. Rather than feeling paralysed, I can channel that energy into some random act of kindness.  I can lend a hand to a stranger in need, stand up for the underdog who is having a hard time at work, fight for our environment or the rights of suffering animals, cook a meal for a friend during a difficult time or just drive the car with courtesy and good manners. I can smile at somebody I don’t know in the supermarket.  As we do these things, we are feeding the other wolf.

So which wolf will win? It will be the wolf we feed.

Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.  Ephesians 4:31-32