Two Options

I reckon I’m a compulsive teacher.  When something excites me, even if I haven’t quite grasped it in its fullness, off I go given half a chance.  And when not given half a chance I imagine conversations in my head. Oh dear!

So there I was, talking to someone in my head about how they didn’t really want to change.  (And realizing as I went that it was just as true for me.)  That trying on the idea that I don’t want to change can produce two different reactions in me.  One is that I feel bad about myself because I’m trying so hard to change, praying all the time for help – so I think – and yet I feel I’m getting nowhere. What is wrong with me???

The other feeling is just starting, I hope, to create a groove in my brain, an alternative to the rut I’ve just described.  This groove is to recognise that beating myself up is a dead end street and instead to see the statement ‘I don’t want to change’ as just what it is, a statement of truth about me and nothing more.  A statement about the real person I want to discover.  This puts it in a whole new light for me.  It becomes a positive statement rather than a negative one, something I could put on the list of who I am at present.  True, it’s not something I want to keep on the list but at least it’s a discovery of a part of me. 

To press the point, one feeling is a ‘you’re no good and never will be’ feeling, totally deflating, and the other is one of discovery. The reason I want to write about this is that this particular discovery is followed by an ‘ok, I’m at the bottom of the ladder but all I need to do is use my perfectly good arms and legs and start climbing’ feeling. There’s an element of adventure, of learning something new.  And with it is an openness to God, an awareness of God’s presence that is certainly not there when I’m beating myself up.  And that in itself is a pretty good short-term reward, hard to describe, but a feeling that I am being supported, that I will always be supported while in this space.  And loved.

From here I have the motivation to ask ‘why don’t I want to change?’  I want to know and it feels like I’m surrounded by teachers who want to help me.  The answers tumble out.  Right now I have food and shelter and comfort and people who are kind to me.  If I change, all that could change too.  Against that I see clearly how the world is changing, and how fast it’s happening, and I don’t want that because it will impact on me, of that I feel certain.  I’m very afraid of change, of losing my present level of comfort.  I’m very afraid of hunger and pain and desolation and loneliness etc etc.

But fear is not comfortable.  Here’s another truth about me.  It was fine when I denied I had fear but as soon as I say ‘I’m afraid of change’ here’s another potential opening to God.

It’s a long ladder but my arms and legs are not tied; I only need to recognise this truth!

Getting lost and fear

Yes, I’m still reflecting on my recent walk in the hills.  One thing that struck me was the efforts of the unnamed people years before me who had built all the cairns and hammered in the marker poles or tags, who no doubt continued to keep watch that they weren’t being weathered away or knocked down.  I’ve always managed to get lost quite easily (though there’s nothing quite like being designated leader of a group or travelling alone to make one sit up and take notice!) These days I would much rather trade in the relative security of following the leader for the better awareness I have of my surroundings when I am alone or leading.  And that despite the ignominy of admitting I’ve made a wrong turning every now and then, and going back to get it right.

[I’m reminded of one of my children when little, quoting at me from a Berenstain Bear picture book – “It’s never too late to correct a mistake” which makes me smile, given that at the time I was telling him that I was driving in the wrong direction but was waiting for a U-turn opportunity to turn.  The best little kids’ books hold big truths, but I’m digressing.]

And I was also thinking of the previous evening when I was starting to think hopefully of arriving at my campsite, pondering the wisdom of taking shortcuts down this winding track into the valley.  I was tempted to sidle along the hillside off the track rather than follow its taking me up and then down and it came to me then that it’s not uncommon for the most direct route in life to be the one that looks more difficult, taking us up and down, and for our tendency to take what looks to be the easier way but turns out to take a lot longer.

I didn’t get lost then, but the following day, despite my being careful to identify cairns and marker poles as I went, there came a time, with the sun being directly overhead, where I could see the saddle I was heading for in the distance; however no matter how hard I looked I could not see the next cairn.  So eventually I used logic, decided that there was really only one way the track could go and I set off in that direction.

Perhaps there was only about 20-30 minutes of my scrambling over rocks and taking take not to slide hopelessly on scree, looking always for some sign of the path, before high above me I made out a few rocks balanced on a jutting boulder and headed for this.  And, luckily, it did turn out to be a cairn on the track I was looking for.

In that 20 minutes I was conscious of thinking dire thoughts such as my running out of food and water, and not being found, but not really allowing myself to ‘succumb’ to these fears.  And on I went. Well, maybe I’d opened the fear doorway a little.  Suddenly it seemed like all I could think of was that I had a pathetically small amount of food with me (this same lack of food hadn’t worried me at all a few hours beforehand), there might not be a water source near the track, and that my arms and legs (which I don’t cover with suncream) were getting quite a blasting from these hours of direct summer sunlight.

Luckily I chose to find the shade of a large rock and allow myself to be open to all these fears, as well as the denied fear of getting lost just previously.  A voice in my head said ‘why are you afraid?’ and I reflected that it was really all to do with how ashamed I would feel if people found me and how they would think I should have known better and been sensible and it was all my fault, and so on.  And the little voice said ‘God doesn’t feel that way about you’.

And suddenly (even as I write about it) I was shedding a few tears, of relief really, that I wasn’t being judged by God, and that it was OK to cry about the shame of feeling judged and know that God was right there with me.

So a few minutes later, feeling somewhat better, no longer worrying about sun or food or whatever, I carried on and up, again delighting in the terrain and the views and the glorious day and how good life can be.  I ate when I got hungry, drank when I got thirsty, didn’t worry about rationing myself at all, found all the water I needed along the track and finished my last biscuit not long before I was back at my campsite late in the afternoon.

But that’s not all.  Because I had a vague feeling about this sunburn thing.  And that evening, I noticed something. Earlier in the day I hadn’t worried at all about my face or neck being burnt because I’d been very careful to wear my brimmed hat the whole time and keep those parts of me in the shade, believing that as there was no snow underfoot (and forgetting about the reflection from the rocks) I would not be burned.  But my face and neck did feel surprisingly sunburnt.  My arms and legs?  Despite the 9 hours walking, much of which was in full sun exposure, there was not the faintest trace of sunburn.  Not even a bit of a line where the socks or T-shirt ended!

Some might call that a miracle.  I don’t really.  To me it was pretty awesome evidence that fear has everything to do with one’s physical ailments.  I don’t yet know what I’m not seeing with regard to why my face and neck were affected – but God always has more exciting instalments for me…

Gratitude and the Present

The other day I posted something on love, saying how God’s love is indefinable. But I remembered later that there’s a passage in The Little Book of Truths (p109) that gives me a similar sense of the evanescent that I had. In speaking of the divine love of the Father, it says,

Now, this love does not come all at once in its fullness, but as a still small voice, it tenderly and timidly answers the call of the heart that cries for it in earnestness and faith, and as it is nurtured it grows stronger and more soul-possessing, and makes its presence felt to the supplicant. 

I just wanted to add that; it speaks to me of the complete lack of demand that struck me too.

I’d also like to post something else I wrote on returning from my three day trip in the hills…

Mindful that the weather forecast promised three sunny days before the next bout of rain, I decided to take my backpack and go to Cascade Saddle, an area I had been close to but never actually visited before, as I was keen to see the view of the other side of the range.  It would take three pretty big days but I was travelling alone and thus was without the extra worry involved (for me) about how companions might be faring.

I also wanted to travel alone because I was hopeful of fewer distractions than when I am at home alone.  Since childhood I have been in the habit of going off alone; it has become an escape route for me when I feel I need one.  I know that much of the time I will be thinking either of the future (and in fact, again my habit is to worry rather than to dream) or of the past.  Here I used to think more positively and allow only the good memories but as my family will remind me, of late I have been more prone to focus on the gloomier aspects and forget the good times.

However, on this trip I resolved to notice my fixation on past or future and draw myself back to the present.  I thought I would try out having God as my travelling companion. 

And this trip has been a reminder that for me God is in the present. I rode my son’s trusty little bike laden with my backpack and boots to the start of the track and could have been (and was, at times) distracted by my fears of a puncture and me with no gear to fix it, whether my water bottle was full enough to get me there, whether I’d use up so much energy on the hills I’d not be able to finish the full day I’d planned… the list goes on.  But back in the present, here I was, enjoying the fruits of some inventive genius on this bicycle, which is such a practical marvel even in these days of automation and electricity, the sun and the wind, the road built years ago to make life easier for we travellers – and God who is, for me, the driving force behind it all.

A habit I’ve also developed especially over the last year or two is to remind myself whenever I see something beautiful, be it a sunset or an intricate tapestry pattern or an insect poised, that God has just presented me with a gift.  I feel sure that I only really see a tiny fraction of the gifts God gives me in this way but on this trip, with the mountains recently coated with fresh snow, the long summer grasses, the bush, I could go on… it was so easy to feel gratitude, and to voice this to God who so kindly consented to be with me, never complaining about sore feet or that my pace was too fast or slow, just there whenever I chose to be aware. 

My businessman brother has read his share of self-help books and is strong on the ‘attitude of gratitude’.  I, on the other hand, am more like the nine lepers in the story where Jesus was said to have cured ten and only one returned…  My brother has had his share of major ups and downs in his life and I would not like to have the troubles he has had for all his appearance of success to the world.  However when good things happen he is so beautifully free with his appreciation and enjoyment that it is easy to see why so many good things do happen to him.  He rarely goes to church I believe, but he regularly thanks God for helping him when he asks for help.

One thing I noticed over the three days which is worth my testing out further, was that whenever I became conscious of an ache or if I bumped or scratched myself along the way it always seemed to coincide with my having drifted into thoughts of the past or the future.  It was as if my body was reminding me to ‘pay attention to the present’.  And when I did so, whether I’m deluding myself I don’t know (but it doesn’t feel like it) the pain also receded.  Overall I felt happier, more real, more appreciative of life when I returned to ‘the present’ than when my mind drifted away.

And I don’t need to go anywhere really for that to happen.  Just be aware that God is with me.

Love

I’ve been a long time trying to please God. All my life I think.  It’s hard work and I get discouraged.  I lose energy by the end of the day, I wake up with new resolve, I tell myself ‘just try a little harder, can’t be too far off now…’

So I thought, OK, I’m going away for three days, into where it will be beautiful and I’ll be alone doing what I love.  For a change I’m not going to try.  I’m going to remind myself what I’ve been taught, that I’m loved for who I am, not what I do.  I’ll just ask God to be with me and see what happens.

I had been spending some time going through old papers and photographs, sorting things that would be nice to keep and looking for ways to make good easily-accessible records for the generations that follow.  I’d been reading, not just skimming through, but properly reading a series of love letters between myself and my husband during a period of time when we were living in different towns before we married.

I was reminded of something I have chosen to ignore over the past few years.  I think of my mother who always seemed to be comparing herself unfavourably with others, and that now I’m a bit prone to doing the same thing, to see myself in a negative light.  However these love letters were written by someone who really did love me, who died loving me for all my inability to recognise it.

I imagine that this day when I had said to God in a heartfelt way that I really didn’t have it in me just now to try, perhaps the accumulated angels breathed a huge sigh of relief that this child was going to give herself a day off at last!  As I was walking along thinking of my husband’s love for me I said to myself ‘and God’s love is like that only much stronger, stronger than I can imagine’. 

And then – even now tears come to my eyes to recall it – it seemed like over the space of the smallest fraction of a second, it was as if God said to me ‘no it’s not, it’s like this’. And the word softer came to my mind as I sought to define what exactly that briefest of feelings was.  Not that any word or collection of words can ever describe it, and perhaps it is different for every person.  Certainly I recognise now that it is different to any human love or love from angels/celestial spirits.  Once I heard a woman coming to the realization that what she had believed was a feeling of God’s love was in fact coming from a spirit who was (I think) pretending to be God; she termed it her ‘Byron Bay’ god when she realised it.  And I think there is love that does perhaps makes us feel like we can conquer anything, that strengthens us so much.

I’m not saying God’s love doesn’t do all this and more.  The softer feeling, that pale yellow ball of whatever-it-was – well I reckon that could do anything.  But to me it meant mostly that, yes, it is completely unearned and unearnable.  It has the potential to completely infuse and surround me and nothing at all, nothing at all is demanded of me.

Often I write a poem to capture a feeling I’ve got.  I tried, it’s OK, but mostly what I discovered from my attempt was that there are just no words at all that will work to describe this, this love that comes from God. 

Nor music, nor painting, architecture, mathematical equation. And so it should be.

But a fragment of a song by Dougie Maclean came into my head, and stayed with me for the rest of the day

This love will carry

This love will carry me

I know this love will carry me.