Reflection on The Prayer (7)

(Entire Prayer to be found at https://www.divinetruth.com/www/en/html/index.htm#prayer.htm)

“…and partake of thy great love, which thou has bestowed in thy mercy…”

I am moved by the idea of a deep friendship, as described by Jesus in his commentary on The Prayer:

“In this way our relationship with our Father has a similarity to a deep friendship with another person. Within a deep friendship, each individual, if they desire the friendship and come to know each other well, will understand the feelings of the other. This is the way we come to “know” the individual with whom we are friends. In addition, if both are growing at a similar pace, and are open to change and truth, then the friendship and love will become stronger and deeper as time progresses.” 

Later he writes:

“But, His Personal Love is such that it cannot flow to a soul that does not desire and long for a personal relationship with Him. For Him to force His Love into a soul that does not wish to possess His Love, or does not wish to possess it to a greater degree than that condition present within it, He would have to break His Own Laws of Truth and Love and overcome that soul’s Free Will, which He would never do … 

… Truth and God’s Love are mutually inclusive. God’s Love can only continue to flow into a soul that removes error from itself, or allows error to be removed from itself, and is desirous for and learns to practice Truth. 

But, in this we need to be aware that we can accept the truth within our mind, but our soul may be feeling another belief, so I must emphasise that it is the soul’s beliefs that allow the reception of God’s Love, and not the mind. This is a very important point to understand if we wish to grow in the Love of Our Father.”

(From Jesus’ commentary on the Prayer for Divine Love) https://www.divinetruth.com/www/en/pdf/Prayer/Prayer%20For%20Divine%20Love%20-%20English%20Commentary.pdf

And from John Denver:

Perhaps love is like a resting place
A shelter from the storm
It exists to give you comfort
It is there to keep you warm
And in those times of trouble
When you are most alone
The memory of love will bring you home

Perhaps love is like a window
Perhaps an open door
It invites you to come closer
It wants to show you more
And even if you lose yourself and don't know what to do
The memory of love will see you through 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YnfCH7LNcM

Reflection on The Prayer (6)

(Entire Prayer to be found at https://www.divinetruth.com/www/en/html/index.htm#prayer.htm)

“Thy will is that I become at one with thee…”

I’m told that the term ‘at one’ is the same as ‘new birth,’ a term that is confusing and misunderstood. In my lifetime, the people who have talked about being ‘born again’ seem to feel a variety of things: being washed in the blood of Jesus (icky!); being magically cleansed, as if God waves a wand so you can now ‘Pass Go’; or being ‘saved’ and guaranteed a spot in heaven, but the thing I felt mostly was a sense of ‘us and them.’ 

I always had the impression that they believed that a single act of will or a single prayer to God would set their lives on the right track and that it was all easy-peasy after that.

Not my experience I’m afraid. Neither does it make any sense, so it didn’t stick. What makes more sense are the people that really inspire me, the old, pain-ridden but patient and uncomplaining person in the nursing home, the very debilitated man who struggles so hard to keep helping others and to keep learning music, reading poetry, playing scrabble, the teenager who feels dumb and racially inferior but refuses to give up and to lose hope in his future.

Often these people have no sense of ‘being saved,’ and yet I feel that they are steadily making their way towards God, who has created a pathway where the bricks are love. “Thy will is that I become at one with thee…”  To me this means, ‘Your deep desire is that I become able and willing to love as you love.’

Here’s a beautiful song, by Jesse Manibusan (or Michael Talbot)

Listen to it here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BbihOyKIvi8

Open My Eyes Lord

And the first shall be last and all eyes are open

We'll hear like never before

And we'll speak in new ways and we'll see God's face

In places we've never known

Open my eyes, Lord, help me to see your face

Open my eyes, Lord, help me to see

And open my ears, Lord, help me to hear your voice

Open my ears, Lord, help me to hear

And open my heart Lord, help me to love like you

Open my heart, Lord, help me to love

And the first shall be last and all eyes are open

We'll hear like never before

And we'll speak in new ways and we'll see God's face

In places, in persons, situations, circumstances

We'll see God's face in surprising places

Like we've never known

Reflection on The Prayer (5)

(Entire Prayer to be found at https://www.divinetruth.com/www/en/html/index.htm#prayer.htm)

“…and the object of Thy soul’s great love and tenderest care.” 

It feels like a dizzying ride. One moment I’m one of billions of created souls, not to mention the rest of the universe, and the next moment it’s just me and God. And it’s not that I’m under scrutiny; it’s that I’m being loved (with Great Love), or at least being found lovable.

There is a difference. If I don’t feel that I am lovable, I close myself off to being loved. It’s the same thing as, while I firmly believe that I will never be able to swim the length of the swimming pool, I will never do it. The problem is with me, not with God (or the swimming pool).

How do I open myself to real love? How do I let down my protective shell and expose myself to what I suspect will be a very vulnerable condition? I’ve done this in the past and it’s been painful. Why would I want to try again?

I jumped in the deep end of the swimming pool when I was a kid and it was cold and wet and water went up my nose and I felt like I was drowning… but other people seemed to be having fun, floating and swimming about. They looked happy.

I think, similarly, the deeply happy, and inspiring, among us are also vulnerable, have learned to swim through what we call love but isn’t really rather than drown in it, and learned to give and receive something real.

The words “… and tenderest care.”  in the phrase, “Thy soul’s great love and tenderest care,”  is perhaps a starting point. It’s ok to be a bit vulnerable when it comes with such tender care.

For to His angels, He’s given a command

To guard you in all of your ways

Upon their hands they will bear you up

Lest you dash your foot against a stone

And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings

Bear you on the breath of dawn

Make you to shine like the sun

And hold you in the palm of His hand.

(From the hymn “On Eagles’ Wings” by Michael Joncas)

Reflection on The Prayer (4)

(Entire Prayer to be found at https://www.divinetruth.com/www/en/html/index.htm#prayer.htm)

“I am (we are) the greatest of Thy creation, the most wonderful of Thy handiworks…”

Sounds arrogant? It can’t be denied though, that the complexity of human thought, emotion, and ability to reason is far greater than that of any other living thing. Arrogance is only an issue when we start comparing ourselves to other humans, and the phrase ‘we are the greatest…’ leaves no room for that.

Why is this phrase in the Prayer at all?  To me, it suggests that if we start to contemplate the wonder and complexity of our own selves, it flows from there that God, who created us, is more complex than all of us put together.

Following on from “…not the sinful, subservient creature…” in the previous phrase, it also emphasises the way that we are seen by God - as wonderful. Who could wish for a more doting parent, and who could be afraid?

I grew up with a fear of God’s wrath that does not dissipate so easily though. Just telling myself that I am the greatest of God’s creation is no more than a mantra, with no long-term effect. I need to let it sink in, to a place where I can feel the possibility of this truth in me. Again, I find that music helps. This song, in Joe Cocker’s famous voice, tells me movingly of God’s feelings for me.

You are so beautiful

To me

You are so beautiful

To me

Can't you see

You're everything I hoped for

You're everything I need

You are so beautiful

To me

You are so beautiful

To me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6xfpLqn5IM

Reflection on The Prayer (3)
(Entire Prayer to be found at https://www.divinetruth.com/www/en/html/index.htm#prayer.htm)

“…and not the sinful, depraved and subservient creature that false teachers would have me believe.”

It sounds harsh doesn’t it? Do I feel like I have been treated this way?  Who are those false teachers?

I would like to disregard this part of the prayer and say it is not relevant to my particular situation. I would like to stay with the soft fuzzy, “I am Thy child” phrase.

However, I know that I’m missing something important if I do that.  The very fact I want to skip over it suggests that there is something in there for me.  I don’t like the feeling that I have been treated harshly, as if I am sinful and so on.  And this tells me that I recognise this feeling.  I recognise feeling that I am sinful and subservient; in particular, try as I may to behave otherwise, I treat myself this way.

Where did this come from?  I have heard that ‘false teachers’ refers to the people who most influenced me in my early life, starting with my parents. When my children were young I certainly treated them, and all children, as subservient to me. When I was young, we were brought up with this idea of Original Sin, an awful religious teaching that damns a person before they even have a chance to discover who they are. This idea, as I saw it through my mother’s eyes, has me striving and praying endlessly, while knowing that I will never succeed in being free of sin. Running a race I can never win. 

The Prayer tells me that this is not true. I was created perfect. Inside the very imperfect person I am, there is someone who is perfect. In that case, I want to ‘unwrap’ the layers of what went wrong, what I have done wrong, to unravel the knots and find me. 

Very often I feel that moving a mountain would be easier. It would, actually. Then I remember that this is not a task I am expected to do alone. This is something that God will do everything to help me with, but not by clearing away all the wrong as if by magic, or worse, by the mythical spilling of blood by another in order to wash away my sin.

Just as with the approach of Restorative Justice (https://www.rpiassn.org/practice-areas/what-is-restorative-justice/) if I own, at a deep level, the damage I have done, then I will be motivated to change, from the heart. I am told, and I firmly believe, that God waits for this heartfelt desire in me to ‘sin no more,’ and knowing this fills me with hope and gratitude.

I see trees of green, red roses too

I see them bloom, for me and you

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world.

Reflection on The Prayer (2)
(Entire Prayer to be found at https://www.divinetruth.com/www/en/html/index.htm#prayer.htm)

...and I am thy child...

My reaction to these five words depends on the mood that I'm in. If I'm being my usual self, then I think," Mmm, that's nice. I am a child of God.  That makes me feel special, superior even, though there's no logic in that of course, as we are all on equal footing with God.

A bit of a digression: We are all on an equal footing?  Some of us, those who believe that there is a God, would firmly disagree. I personally, would like to think I'm better than most. However, only a little reflection shows the wrongness of that.  Either I was created 'better,' the idea of which shakes any view of a fair, just, loving God to its foundations, or I made myself better. But what about the starving millions? Any humanist would be quick to point out the arrogance in the assumption that people in the western world deserve their riches more than the people in the Third World who they are often plundering.

I have been told that to God, our worth is the same. It was quite a revelation to me to hear that. It is not based on what we know or who we know. This is how I mean, 'we are all on an equal footing.'  We all get to start from the same starting point. Nice.

What of me feeling special?  That depends on whether I'm feeling at all humble, or just arrogant.  If I look at the preceding words, "Father, you are all-holy, loving and merciful..." it puts "I am thy child" in its context. In physical terms, I am almost infinitesimally small compared to the universe, much less the creator of the universe, arrogance notwithstanding.

Another digression.  God did make humans to be more than just a physical form, more even than the other living organisms we are aware of; this I believe.  "I am thy child," (or we are thy children; it's the same) also suggests that, distinct from all other forms of life, I am able to have a relationship with God. I have a soul. God created me with a soul.

OK, back to where I said, 'depending on the mood I'm in.' In my superiority and arrogance I can glance at the words and carry on, impervious to the messages the world is giving me constantly that perhaps I could do with a bit of self-adjustment. However, as described above, it takes only a little thought to get to the point where I feel humbled, in awe, unable to really get my head around "I am thy child."

Somehow, this more humble place feels a lot better than the other.  Somehow it feels that in this place I am at a starting point of an interaction with God if I want to go any further. This is a softer place.

I heard he sang a good song,
I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him
And listen for a while...

...He sang as if he knew me

In all my dark despair

And then he looked right through me

....

And he just kept on singing

Singing clear and long

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMzzw6IXH1s for the full song as sung by Roberta Flack.

My reflection on The Prayer (1)

Here is the first of my reflections on The Prayer as I know it. The original is found at: 

https://www.divinetruth.com/www/en/pdf/Prayer/Prayer%20For%20Divine%20Love%20-%20English%20Modern%20Father.pdf

Father, Thou art all holy and loving and merciful…

“Father…”  The name Father, in The Prayer, is to me the same as God, or Mother. If God has created us in His image, He must be both masculine and feminine. I doubt that it matters much which I use. I like the part of the song ‘God is God’ by Steve Earle which says,

God of my little understanding don’t care which name I call

Whether or not I believe doesn’t matter at all

I receive the blessings

For now I prefer to stay with ‘Father,’ as it implies an intimacy that I want, and also, because I was more drawn to my earthly father than my mother, I find it easier, for now, to be open to the masculine part of God.  I hope that will change as time goes on.

I think of my mother, a devout Catholic, who was very drawn to Mother Mary and would pray mostly to her and Baby Jesus. An honest prayer will reach God no matter ‘which name I call,’ but since I am currently more comfortable in relating to one gender, I'm glad to know that God is still on the receiving end.

“ Thou art all holy and loving and merciful…” In his books, ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ and ‘Sons and Lovers,’ D H Lawrence has his characters, when speaking intimately to a loved one, use the words ‘thee, thou, thine.’  This is why I like to use the words ‘Thou art’ in the prayer. It feels more intimate.  If I felt it smacked of old-fashioned church-speak I would reject it for ‘You are…’ God wants an intimate relationship with me, this I feel sure of. Perhaps, for now, the best I can do in return is use words that help me feel the same way, and so I do.

“…all holy…”  I have pondered this word for some time.  What is ‘holy’ exactly? For now, I have decided that holy means ‘without sin,’ without any imperfection at all.  One could write pages on just this word, what it means and what it doesn’t mean, and perhaps I will sometime.

“,,,and loving…” I really have no idea what this word means!  My sense is that God’s love is different, softer, purer than human love, and that it is an emotion that doesn’t excuse or ignore my bad behaviour but, in persisting beyond the wrongness in me, helps me to see it better and want to do something about it. No pressure, just a goodness that gives me impetus to change.

“…and merciful…” God is full of mercy.  God is not a harsh judge as some Bible writers have portrayed Him, though I do believe that either on earth or after we die, all that is wrong in me does need to be addressed by me, acknowledged and appreciated for how I have affected myself and others.  God is also utterly fair.  But God’s mercy is, so I believe, seen in the way God allows me to make mistake after mistake, wilful or otherwise, and still does not ever reject me. I believe I feel God to be very near in those moments when I  feel very sorry for wrong I have done.

In the next post I would like to talk about the following phrase, “..and I am one of your children…”

Here’s the full text of Steve Earle’s song, written for Joan Baez to sing.

   

She sings it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8fFX5yn4Ks&spfreload=5 

Steve Earle sings it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5oV2bxxU9E

God is God

I believe in prophesy

Some folks see things not everybody can see

And once in a while they pass the secret on to you and me

And I believe in miracles

Something sacred burning in every bush and tree

We can all learn to sing the songs the angels sing

Yeah, I believe in God, and God ain’t me

I’ve travelled round the world

Stood on mighty mountains and gazed across the wilderness

Never seen a line in the sand or a diamond in the dust

And as our fate unfurls

Every bit that passes I’m sure about a little bit less

Even my money keeps telling me it’s God I need to trust

And I believe in God, and God ain’t us.

God of my little understanding don’t care which name I call

Whether or not I believe doesn’t matter at all

I receive the blessings

That every day on earth’s another chance to get it right

Let this little light of mine shine and rage against the night

Just another lesson

Maybe someone’s watching and wondering what I got

Maybe this is why I’m here on earth and maybe not

But I believe in God, and God is God.

God is?

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t believe in God.  I grew up with a lot of Catholic influence and saying prayers was a compulsory part of daily life back then.

Very occasionally, I’d have this sudden awful feeling that maybe God doesn’t exist, maybe it’s just a fairy story, a way to make me behave in an certain kind of way. My upbringing instructed me that to not believe in God was the road to ruin, and personal sacrifice, helping others, thrift and obedience would, in the long run, bring rewards.

I carried on, outwardly being the good girl but desperate to escape to some far-off country where no-one knew me and I could be as bad as I wanted to be. All the time, God was up there in the sky, smiling down at me, so I very much wanted to believe.

I did escape to a far-off country and was as bad as I wanted to be for a while. Even though I would still pop into a church whenever I saw one, I’d carry on, perhaps thinking that the God I believed in wouldn’t mind, as long as I said my prayers.

Now, at nearly 60, I continue to think a lot about God and, at long last, ask myself how things have panned out for me, the good, self-sacrificing, obedient, helpful, thrifty ex-Christian.* 

Who is God to me?

Well, I know I’ve felt driven to most of my choices and behaviours from a fear of eternal hellfire and damnation. God must be a powerful, unforgiving being who can never be satisfied.

But God is the kind, gentle, loving, comforting parent who will keep me safe and favour me because of all my earnest effort - won’t he?

I know which God I prefer.  But something within me insists that I need to be more open to that sudden awful feeling I used to get, the feeling that there is no God to bail me out, to make all my effort worthwhile, to reward me in the end.  

No God.  No reason for me to be kind, helpful, ‘good.’ I’ve thought for some time that atheists are far more honest, as a whole, because they make their choices for purely moral or ethical reasons. Would I?

If I did, would I continue to hear the beauty in music, feel the joy in making things and conveying ideas, see the wonder of things growing?  I like to think so.  Maybe there’s a reason behind those feelings; maybe I’ll find out, but I need to get rid of my ‘God’-gallery first.

*****

*The ex- in ex-Christian is because, many years ago, I dropped Jesus and the Holy Spirit out of the very un-mathematical ‘God is three and God is one’ equation, as taught by Christian faiths.

Opening up

I heard recently that I can't expect the world to become more open and truthful if I am not like this myself.  "From little things, big things grow," as they say. Well I know I'm pretty secretive, mainly about how miserly I am, but I'll give it a go.

By anyone's standards, I'm not exactly poor. I live alone in a four bedroom house that I own, on a 40 acre property in the bush. With my superannuation, a few years ago I bought an adjacent 40 acre property and started to build a bit of a shelter, just as a hobby. I also fully own a rental property, most of which is intended as inheritance for my youngest child, who has not yet received the inheritance the others have had. I also own a 20 acre property in New Zealand, in an area known for its scenic beauty.

Were I to sell these, I think I might get $250-$350,000 for the first, $60-$120,000 for the second, $180-$200,000 for the third, and $750-$950,000 for the last property, a total of $1.24 - $1.62 million.

My bank accounts are as follows:

Personal - $20,150.80. I will need a car upgrade very soon and want to attend my son's wedding in Poland

Rental property - $1974.01. The annual income covers the rates for the first three properties, plus $6-$7000 per year to my youngest daughter to support her study. 

Hobby property - $7,104.97. This is used to pay for materials as I go.

New Zealand property rental account - $1940.30.  As I have had some people paying to stay there in the last few months, I will need to pay tax from this account.

NZ personal account - $766.52

My income over the last nine months has been as follows:

Rental income in Aus - $3549 (rates have been subtracted)

Rental income NZ - as yet undetermined, likely a loss

Tutoring - $3114

Gardening - $1200

Bank interest - approx $400

Capital investment - approx $400

My expenses over the last nine months have been as follows:

Electricity $519.66

Phone and internet $239.54

NZ rates $116.67 (most is paid on my behalf)

Car fuel $1000.67

Car insurance $82.80

Car repairs $428.75

Trailer registration $99.15

Groceries approx $1087.68

Other (eg clothing, household needs) $660.30

Study support to daughter $6000

As it is not a full 12 month period, some expected expenses, such as car registration, further needed repairs, and the income statement for the new Zealand property are not yet available to me.

Some might say that my income and expenses are modest. The truth is that I am a miser. I eat food I have grown when I can, I buy fruit and vegetables that are in season, I buy most of my clothing and books at op shops, and I rarely buy takeaways. I sleep in the car or in a tent in preference to more expensive accommodation and I minimise my car trips so that I spend less time driving and pay less in fuel and repairs. I feel very uncomfortable with waste of any kind and will re-use or re-make or hoard rather than discard.

While I have plenty in my bank accounts, I am not exactly the basis of a strong economy if this involves circulation of money. I suspect that my miserliness is not a good thing, for me or others. When I sense it in others I can feel that they care more about money than about people; conversely, the truly generous people among us feel very good to be near.

Well - that's my thought for today anyway.

Meaningful conversation

Recently I read  an abridged article titled "Diagnosis: Meaning Fatigue" by Holly Gaudette, a staff chaplain at a medical center in New York, herself undergoing treatment for her third bout with cancer. (From Health Care Chaplaincy Today, July 2013)

The article I read started with the statement:

If I were admitted to hospital today, and if you were my chaplain, it’s likely you would find me difficult to engage. Had you stopped by to visit, I would chat politely with you. I would make small talk about bike riding, the weather, or the interesting necklace you’re wearing. But when you try to engage me, I simply will not go there.

She goes on to talk of her life experience with cancer and the accompanying emotional depletion she felt.  Towards the end she says:

The absolute wrong thing for you to do now is to try desperately to have a meaningful conversation with me. Eventually, you will succeed. You will nudge me to express my feelings of fear and grief, and I will go there with you sooner or later. My defenses are weak, and my emotions are all very close to the surface. Yet all you will have accomplished is to further deplete my emotional stores. What you can do is offer normalcy. Companionship. Friendly conversation.

Reading this led me to reflect on my experience as chaplain.  At first I really wanted to have those meaningful conversations; if I was lucky, about God, but even getting to where the patient was open about what was on his mind had me feeling grateful that I was doing what the role expected of me. 

Perhaps I expect less of myself now.  I'm starting to see that enjoying the interaction is a far bigger deal.  Being genuinely interested in the person behind the words, feeling a real connection is a two way thing.

This is, I feel sure, is what Holly Gaudette means when she says "Companionship. Friendly conversation."  There's a nourishment happening in the soul when we take a real interest in another without trying to 'fix' anything.  When I want to help a patient open to his pain there's a temptation to see myself as the benevolent person who has something to give to one who needs my help.  When I'm in the role of chaplain I may feel pleased with myself for a little while afterwards but it doesn't satisfy in the way that a real conversation does, where there's no hidden agenda to 'help.'

It's not quite how I was trained as chaplain. I don't want to rubbish that training though, because it directs me to looking for the person within the 'patient' and asks me to create, if I can, a space where the person feels safe to speak about how he feels. However, I'm slowly learning that I need to be open to my own feelings in an interaction in order to truly communicate, and also that the rewards of this kind of interaction are immediate, the mutual pleasure of being real with someone.  This doesn't mean that I'm

Syntax and all that

I've been told I'm a spelling and grammar Nazi.  OK, I agree.  When the written word isn't perfect to my eye I'm in danger of losing focus on the substance of the message, distracted by the mistake.  Add to that syntax.  I only found out what this means the other day; it's the arranging of words in a sentence, or so I understand. Ha, I thought with satisfaction, that's the word that completes me.  I'm a syntax Nazi too!

So I wasn't at all happy to look back on my most recent blog and see that all the paragraphs had run together.  As a reader I feel very hurried when there is no space for pause.  Conversely, I love the way that the written word, with all those carefully thought-out rules, can convey so much.

One of the favourite picture books my kids grew up with had a moral to the story: "it's never too late to correct a mistake."  Without further ado I'll re-submit my last blog, paragraphs and all this time hopefully, and you can decide for yourself whether it makes a difference.

Lukewarm

The other day I had a massage. In my life I've tended to be wary of this kind of thing and it's only very recently that I've decided to 'bite the bullet' as it were.  Strange expression for something that many people find enjoyable but I suppose pampering oneself was not something that was exactly a highlight of my Catholic upbringing (my parents being Dutch rather than Italian Catholics!)

It has been suggested to me that becoming more aware of my body can be a window into becoming more aware of my feelings, and so I have been approaching massages as a way to discover anger. For example, when the person massaging me finds a tender spot and works on it, I would lie there willing myself to allow the pain, sometimes yelling out in anger which, if nothing else, seemed to distract me a little from the pain happening and I often felt that I was being punished (yes, I have discovered that pain is linked to emotions!) 

But some time into this massage I had this thought that I don't need to go through all this pain. I somehow understood that I was being too hard on myself and that I should ask the masseur to go easy, to make it painless.  I was actually afraid to do this! Especially afraid that she would take it as a personal criticism.  But I got brave and she was happy to comply for the remainder of the session.

I've reflected a bit on this and some associated events recently. I'm now aware that I very often choose to do what I feel is expected of me or to do what will keep the peace in preference to what I really want.  I've been doing this for so long that it's second nature, that most of the time I think I am actually doing what I want.  Would I do this to the extent that I allow someone to inflict pain on me while telling myself that that's what I want?? Well - yes. 

One of the things that Jesus teaches is for me to take personal responsibility for myself.  I really dislike this teaching. I want to feel safe and follow guidelines. I don't want to feel bad because I've made what seems to me like an awful mistake.  I've learned from Jesus that God wants me to be actively involved in discovering who I really am, not to blindly follow a set of rules made by someone else in preference to thinking and deciding and experimenting for myself.

I've always liked that phrase in the Bible where we are told that it is better to be hot or cold, but if we're lukewarm we will be spat out, or something like that.  I never saw myself as a lukewarm person but the evidence is right there for me to acknowledge.  When I come for a massage I make sure the masseur knows she can follow her own instinct about where to go and how hard to prod and I lie there feeling like a battered child. And that's being lukewarm.  And I see that I do this constantly in my life and it gets me nowhere.  I need to start seriously asking myself what I want, get over my issue about making a horrible mistake, and get hot or cold.

I'm looking forward to my next massage.  I'm looking forward to asking for a gentle soft massage and feeling like a pampered baby - and loving every minute!

Lukewarm

The other day I had a massage. In my life I've tended to be wary of this kind of thing and it's only very recently that I've decided to 'bite the bullet' as it were. Strange expression for something that many people find enjoyable but I suppose pampering oneself was not something that was exactly a highlight of my Catholic upbringing (my parents being Dutch rather than Italian Catholics!) It has been suggested to me that becoming more aware of my body can be a window into becoming more aware of my feelings, and so I have been approaching massages as a way to discover anger. For example, when the person massaging me finds a tender spot and works on it, I would lie there willing myself to allow the pain, sometimes yelling out in anger which, if nothing else, seemed to distract me a little from the pain happening and I often felt that I was being punished (yes, I have discovered that pain is linked to emotions!) But some time into this massage I had this thought that I don't need to go through all this pain. I somehow understood that I was being too hard on myself and that I should ask the masseur to go easy, to make it painless. I was actually afraid to do this! Especially afraid that she would take it as a personal criticism. But I got brave and she was happy to comply for the remainder of the session. I've reflected a bit on this and some associated events recently. I'm now aware that I very often choose to do what I feel is expected of me or to do what will keep the peace in preference to what I really want. I've been doing this for so long that it's second nature, that most of the time I think I am actually doing what I want. Would I do this to the extent that I allow someone to inflict pain on me while telling myself that that's what I want?? Well - yes. One of the things that Jesus teaches is for me to take personal responsibility for myself. I really dislike this teaching. I want to feel safe and follow guidelines. I don't want to feel bad because I've made what seems to me like an awful mistake. I've learned from Jesus that God wants me to be actively involved in discovering who I really am, not to blindly follow a set of rules made by someone else in preference to thinking and deciding and experimenting for myself. I've always liked that phrase in the Bible where we are told that it is better to be hot or cold, but if we're lukewarm we will be spat out, or something like that. I never saw myself as a lukewarm person but the evidence is right there for me to acknowledge. When I come for a massage I make sure the masseur knows she can follow her own instinct about where to go and how hard to prod and I lie there feeling like a battered child. And that's being lukewarm. And I see that I do this constantly in my life and it gets me nowhere. I need to start seriously asking myself what I want, get over my issue about making a horrible mistake, and get hot or cold. I'm looking forward to my next massage. I'm looking forward to asking for a gentle soft massage and feeling like a pampered baby - and loving every minute!

Responsibility

A week ago it was brought to my attention that within me there is an expectation that if I care for others then somebody, when I need it, will care for me. I felt misunderstood, misjudged, thinking that yes, that would apply to my sibling who states this clearly, no beating around the bush. But it doesn't take a deep thinker to see that if that feeling is within my sibling, being brought up together by the same parents, it's probably in me too. It's just that I convince myself that I'm not like that, I'm just a little 'holier-than-thou' there.



I attended a small group the other day, of people who want to build nesting boxes for birds in order to enhance their likelihood of survival given the destruction of forests and imbalance caused by us humans. As I sat there listening to the enthusiasm of the others for the birds, their wanting to know more about their nesting and feeding patterns, their habitat, their ability to get to food and water so that we could build suitable 'housing' and put it in suitable places, I became more aware that I don't feel strongly about birds. I love the dawn chorus that wakes me and I love to see pretty little colourful birds but later as we walked through the bush I was even more aware that I'm far more interested in trees than birds. My enthusiasm for building nesting boxes is based mainly on how much I love to work with wood and produce something useful.



I could stop there and say, 'well, we were all created differently and that's how it is', but it isn't really. Because if I go back to how I felt when people were discussing birds I discover that there's a familiar groaning within me, that 'oh no, here's something else I should be responsible for', and I feel like a bad person because I'm obviously different to all these people who want to give to birds as opposed to me - I just want them for their dawn chorus and their beauty.



Somewhere, a long time ago, I picked up that I need to be responsible for – well, just about everything – the well-being of my partner, kids, friends, the tidiness of my room, my house, my garden, the world, you name it. But it has also been pointed out to me (incidentally by the same person who pinpointed my expectation) that many of us who were given undue responsibility when young grow up believing they are responsible for others and often forget to be responsible for themselves in the process. Hmm. So that's why I expect others to, at some stage, return the favour?



I sat high up on a large smooth rock this morning, part of a tiny canyon, next to a huge tree that just seemed to grow straight out of rock, sunny blue sky, white clouds overhead reflected in a small clear pool below me where baby goannas were swimming. Another tree with new green growth and flowering, grew beside the pool, providing welcome shadow. I love to be in the wilderness so much. It occurred to me that among other things it is also an escape, a place where not I but God will tend to the landscape – I don't feel responsible.


I'm running away though. I want to get to where I don't think things out at all, where I do things because I love doing them, where the act of doing is the reward in itself, where it doesn't even occur to me whether something is fair or not. But, like my sibling, I had better start with being up-front about how I really feel.



Meantime, Paul Simon's words are singing in my head:



Far above the golden clouds the darkness vibrates
The earth is blue
And everything about it is a love song
Everything about it.

Sitting on my rock I'm overwhelmed with how everything about the earth is a love song.

And love does not feel like responsibility.

Arrogance

Again I am going through assorted feelings relating to a relationship break-up. I have felt very much the injured party, sure that the fault was with the poor quality of communication - not mine of course(!) - and the difficulty with pinpointing and saying the truth.


I want to get through this experience having learned something about myself, changed, and therefore less likely to feel the same pain in the future and I have focussed my prayers on this. I've been wondering if I'm getting anywhere, being the impatient soul I am, but woke in the night with a deeper understanding of something which has sobered me up a lot, yet at the same time it feels hopeful. I can at least see now how I have caused pain, not only in this relationship but in so many of my interactions all my life.


He told me that he felt uneasy around me. I didn't know what to do with this and passed it off at first.


And there's the beauty of prayer. Nothing seems to happen for a while but suddenly I wake realising that I have been wanting him to change for a very long time. I know well (in my head) that this is not a loving way to be towards a person and I say and do everything with the conscious intention of allowing him to be who he wants, do what he wants. But I'm denying the feeling within me that is the opposite Billy Joel's song

Don't go changing to try and please me
You never let me down before
And don't imagine you're too familiar
And I don't see you any more

I would not leave you in times of trouble
We never could have come this far
I took the good times, I’ll take the bad times
I’ll take you just the way you are

I need to know that you will always be
The same old someone that I knew
Oh what will it take 'til you believe in me
The way that I believe in you

I said I love you and that's forever
And it’s a promise from the heart
I couldn’t love you any better
I love you just the way you are

I don't want clever conversation, no, no
I never want to work that hard
I just want someone that I can talk to
I want you just the way you are



My heart sinks when I realise how awful it is to be on the receiving end of the feeling 'please change so I can stop feeling ashamed of you, so I can feel that I have helped you and you will be grateful to me and tell the world and love me forever'.

As usual I get analytical. Where did that all start in me? And I remember that my mother's family with their professional background was praised by my father, who came from a tradesman background. I think he was proud that his children all chose to become more 'educated' than he was. Was my mum ashamed of him? I know she didn't appreciate some of his flagrantly 'earthy' mannerisms and that he probably did this to get a reaction from her. I know well that once I reached my teens I was very ashamed of my father, feeling he argued in an ignorant and headstrong way and that he wasn't like some of the 'intellectual' people I gravitated towards then.


Equally I was ashamed of my mother, her lack of polish and her difficulty in looking as well-dressed and stylish and confident among the mothers. For years I firmly believed she was stupid. She saw herself this way and perhaps in part my father did too. He was often quite condescending.


And when I trawl through my own life I can see that, having taken on similar beliefs, I condescend, I judge another based on how intelligent I believe they are, or how pretty they are, and I feel very ashamed of being with those associated with me if I believe that they are not popular or intelligent or whatever.


So my 'helping' of others has been very damaging. I think of my children who, like me, laboured under the feeling that they were not clever enough, not pretty enough, not active or hard-working enough and the rest, and not only that, they had the double whammy of two professional parents who pressured them to do well in all their endeavours.


What's wrong with that? A lot. The message that one can never be good enough, cannot be loved for who one is, for being 'just the way you are'. It's not a great thing to carry through life.


I look at the expectations I had of various partners in my life. And I look now at the pressure I still put on people I see when I tell myself I am helping them. Helping them to become what? What I want or what they want?


No wonder people feel 'uneasy'.

Hiding Places For Anger

(written 24 May)
Yesterday I was visited by someone who wasn't feeling too good. They'd had a rough morning and a busy agenda for the rest of the day. We had a hot drink and initially I tried to get them to talk a little about how they were feeling but it wasn't going anywhere so we just got into the physical work needing doing.
It didn't feel so good. Politeness was observed, attempts at friendliness but underneath there was something not admitted, some elephant that didn't have a name. I struggle when I can't put my finger on what's going on but have noticed over the years that if I'm open to it (which means, if I keep the issue in my mental 'in-tray') then some better understanding comes to me, often in the night, sometimes some days later.



This morning I saw it like this: I have always felt a lot of resistance within me whenever I feel I'm being asked to reassure or sympathise. I also really dislike sentimentality; maybe I'm suspicious of insincerity, I don't know why. And because I don't want to reassure or take sides, I probably swing too far, bypass the compassion and love I could feel instead, and just harden up. I think the unspoken request for reassurance from another leads to a feeling in me of wanting to protect myself from being sucked dry.



I'm not saying I don't want to support another because I do. I think when we can see the other person is wanting to take responsibility for how they feel it's altogether different, it doesn't feel at all like I'm going to be exhausted at the end of it all. And so I see a difference between 'support' and 'reassurance' where it feels to me that the other person is asking to be helped to feel better without facing something that feels uncomfortable to them.



Interestingly I've been involved in the 'helping professions' all my life. And, not surprisingly, have been exhausted, and seen many others become exhausted along the way. It's called 'burnout' and holidays are recommended, but increasingly I feel that none of that ever needs to happen if we stick to 'supporting' in the sense that we are not shouldering the other's emotional load but helping them to shoulder their own, and 'reassurance.



What's all this to do with anger? Well it feels to me just now that when I feel the plea for sympathy and reflexively harden myself I'm actually touching on anger within me. Anger may be a strong term but I have a feeling that if I explore this 'hardening' I will move through the passive-aggressive feeling of 'I'm not going to let you wear me out' to a real feeling of injustice that more is being taken from me than I want to give.



And how many of us are so tired, feeling that we are always being asked to give, having been taught that one day we will be rewarded? I think of Mother's Day, a celebration I was careful to discourage in my children, wanting to avoid the sadness inherent in the lot of many mothers who work hard all year to feel 'loved' on one day in the year.



But I'm getting sentimental here!

The Sunflower

There lay the last large stalk.

I was so upset.  The kangaroos have been, it seems to me, systematically destroying all the plants I’m watching grow.  All very well to say they need the nutrient; it does nothing to ease how I feel.

Last spring a couple of sunflowers came up of their own accord and I loved their brightness, their loud and large statement to the world of what they were.  In due course I collected the seeds and planted some around my new blue water tanks, imagining how good the bright yellow would look with the blue tanks, blue sky and greenery around them.  None of them came up but I was away and had more seeds so when I returned I planted some in pottles so I could tend to their germination and early growth.

Well eventually some made their way to assorted places around the garden and I was happily surprised to see two other plants come up where last year’s sunflowers had been.  These did best of all, telling me not-so-subtly that they didn’t need careful tending in pottles prior to being planted.

It was exciting watching these and the others grow.  The former were in a raised garden bed and already the plant was so high that no kangaroo could ever reach the tops.

Not so the ones I had planted out.  One morning I was disappointed to see that they’d all been nibbled down, and with only the stalk remaining, while they tried to throw out a few shoots in the ensuing week or two, they eventually succumbed to further attack.

I said to myself (as others had said to me) that the whole process was to do with something I needed to feel.  Well, I did notice that my enjoyment of the kangaroos around the house became a little discoloured, even touched on feeling a little bit angry (horror!)

Then last week I woke and one of the two big plants in the garden bed was no more than a broken stalk, with the rest on the ground, and the other had all its leaves eaten as far as the animal had been able to reach. 

Now I knew I was angry.  I raged and cried a bit, and felt somehow that the last remaining flower, which was about to bloom, would make it.  Only another day or two.

And now, this morning, I see only another broken stalk with the remains on the ground beside it.  I’m no closer to not minding about it.  I’m no closer to loving the animal that I’m told needs it more than me.  I’m just sad about how unfair it feels to want something innocuous, just some simple thing of beauty to enjoy, and to have it taken from me.

And what I now see more clearly is that it does no good to tell myself how I love animals (or people) when I actually feel I’m not being loved back, that the truth for me at present is that there is a nugget inside of feeling very unloved – and until I allow this I will never truly be in a position where I can love unconditionally.

Shame

A month or two ago I came to understand that a lot of the time I'm feeling that I have no idea what to do in a given situation. That may sound very trite; I suppose that the eye-opening part of it for me was that, as for any other unpleasant feeling that crops up within me, I can either try to push it down and pretend I don't actually feel that way, or I can allow myself to feel “I just don't know what to do here”. 

 

I can see that a large part of me has a problem with this; how will the competent and capable

outer shell that the world knows react to me as 'helpless female'? And so I tend to let that valuable insight into myself slip into the background.

But yesterday something happened that I hope I won't let slip. I heard from a third party what another had said about me and I felt such rage rising in me, such anger at the person who had supposedly said this that even I could not ignore how angry I was. It's rare for me to want to go off and be physically violent with a punch bag or whatever but this time it was the thing to do. And soon afterwards I felt I couldn't bear to be at that location so I took myself (and much of my anger) elsewhere. I shelved it while I saw to some commitments but I knew it had not gone away, that my rage at the person was unchanged.

So I asked for help.

...when you consider the thought that you actually want to stay angry at women, it feels like there is some truth in that. There is a strong feeling of 'righteous anger', that you have good reason to be angry. But God is never angry, and the only reason you want to be angry is to avoid feeling some truth, some fear, shame, grief. 'Righteous anger' – the term smacks of militant religions does it not? So be aware of God's truth even while you are wanting to express anger, that there is nothing 'righteous' about it. See it instead as either some childhood anger that must be given an outlet, or a choice to avoid something.

You felt ashamed at first when you heard the words spoken through another by this woman, even though you were already well aware of what she had felt a few days before and you knew that she spoke the truth. You disregarded this shame, justifying your position as the injured party and allowing your anger to grow. But this totally avoids everything. Reconsider, see how much shame you feel. A woman has, in your perception, cast you in a very bad light to another. All you want to do is go as far away as possible and never return. Does this desire in itself not convince you of how deeply ashamed you feel?

And that led me to look at the many other times I get angry, to see if in fact I am ashamed. This is what I have noticed so far:

- There are times when I actually feel very dirty and horrible, something like I have this Medusa's head of snakes that everyone but me can see, and I want to run and hide myself away from others forever rather than feel their disgust.

- When I am with others I am constantly wanting feedback that I'm being seen in a good light, I'm constantly living up to an image I've created of myself which I really want to believe is the authentic me.

- I look at the suggestion that my children play out the emotions I deny in myself and feel overwhelmed by how much of the time when they were little they were ashamed of themselves, tentative in social situations, wanting very much to ingratiate themselves to others, and how much I wanted to facilitate their friendships so I could feel good about how 'popular' they were. I see how they have carried this essential shame of who they are into their adult lives, even though, like me, to varying extents they deny what is now their own shame, their own feeling of inadequacy. I see how my feeling ashamed of myself has extended to feeling afraid that my children would shame me, causing them to feel ashamed of who they were without even knowing the reason why.

 I wish I could give a ''happy ending' to this bit of writing; I hope it's coming for me.  But meantime I feel that this connection I'm now seeing between some anger and shame is worth mentioning...

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…