The Joy of Being a Creator

There is nothing quite like the joy of creating something new - something which has never existed before, until you created it. 

Yesterday, I collected my SAGA sampler, which has taken almost every moment of my spare time for the past nine months, from the Framing Centre in Northampton. It cost me an arm and a leg to get it framed, but it was so worth it. It is now in pride of place above the mantelpiece.

The particular joy of this creation was choosing the colours. The 25 page chart from Long Dog Samplers is all in black and white, and many LDS stitchers do it in all one colour. But just before I began it, someone posted a full-colour version on the LDS Facebook page, and I thought, "Wow! I could do that." I chose a gorgeous rich mid-green (DMC 470) for the arches, made a policy decision to eschew blues and purples, and to make all (or most) of the animals, birds and insects look as real as possible. I began at the top left corner and worked across, then down, choosing the colours as I went. Luckily for me, I have an extensive stash of silks, both inherited (from my mother and mother-in-law) and my own. I also borrowed some from my best friend. 

I find all modes of creation similarly rewarding - whether it is choosing particular words for a scene, a poem, a sermon, a blogpost, or yarn for a crochet project. The uniquely satisfying combination of using brain, heart and hands to make something never before seen. 

I believe that every human being has the capacity to be creative and there are so many outlets for our creativity. Maybe textile art and words are not your bag - how about cooking, woodworking, pottery, art of all kinds... it is the chance to step out of our everyday lives and make something beautiful, purely for its own sake. I find it deeply spiritual.

I'm Back

After an unprecedented break of two months from blogging, I'm back. It's been an odd sort of Summer - I've been obsessed with completing a very complicated cross-stitch sampler, which I started just before Christmas, working on it in every spare moment, and (to be fair) thoroughly enjoying it. The end is now in sight. Which has meant that I've been neglecting nearly all the other areas of my life, to my own detriment.

the 4/5s mark

I have been uneasily aware that letting go of my normal routine - writing, walking, blogging - has not been good for me. Last night, I began to read Brené Brown's new book, Strong Ground, and her opening anecdote reminded me that you have to work on your core to stay strong and grounded. 

I have not been working on my core - not physically, not emotionally, not spiritually. I now realise that I need to recalibrate my activities, get myself back into balance. So this post is a pledge, that I'm going to blog every Friday or Saturday, walk or do some other exercise every day, and write every day (rather than only doing the minimum I need to do to fulfil my obligations). My poor Work In Progress has been languishing on my laptop for more than a month, untouched. I hope it is still there when I return to it, tomorrow.

I know it's not going to be easy, this recalibration. But I know that it will be so good for me, in every way. I'm going to re-read Gretchen Rubin's book Better Than Before, which is about forming good habits and letting go of bad ones. 

I know that the next days and weeks are going to be tough. If you are a praying kind of person, please pray for me.

Discerning the Next Right Thing

The management guru, Peter Drucker, once wrote, "Doing the right thing is more important than doing the thing right."

He further explains, "Efficiency is doing things right. Effectiveness is doing the right things." In other words, we can spend our lives doing things right, but not make a difference, if the things we have chosen to concentrate on are not the right things.

How are we to discern what the "right things" are? Parker J. Palmer speaks of "the thread you've followed, unknowing, all along, the thread that strings together all you've been and done, the thread you didn't know you were tracking until, toward the end, you see that the thread is what stays as everything else falls away."

What is this thread? I suppose in one sense it could refer to our conscience, or to that deepest part of ourselves, which is where the Divine Spark resides. Wayne Muller suggests, "We make only one choice. Throughout our lives, we do only one thing - again and again, moment by moment, year after year. It is how we live our days, and it is how we shape our lives. The only choice we make - what is the next right thing to do - responds to a similarly vital inner gravity, an invisible thread that shapes our life, as our life meets the world."

Muller goes on to ask, "What is the next right thing for us to do? Where in this moment, shall we choose to place our time and attention? Do we stay or move, speak or keep silent, attend to this person, that task, move in this or that direction?"

The results of following this process have shaped our lives. All of us are where we are, now, today, because of our past choices. And where we end up, tomorrow and the next day, will depend on the choices we make today.

I guess it is about learning to understand, to discern, what is right for us on the deepest level - what will nourish our hearts and souls, as opposed to making us feel fearful, worried, or empty. Of course, it is never possible to re-track, to undo the choices we have already made; but we can try to be more aware of the choice-making process, so that we don't compromise all the time, choosing the seemingly easy over the right. Because very often, a choice made in haste, just to get it over with, actually leads to more worry and heartache, rather than less.

So how can we cultivate this very sane approach to our lives? Discerning what the next right thing is, is something we need to practice every day. We also need good, honest friends, to whom we can go for advice when we are struggling, and who will tell us honestly and compassionately how we are doing - whether we seem grounded and centred, on the right track, or off-course and flailing. We also need to *be* such friends, to one another.

I think we have to believe that if we follow our intuition truly, it will not let us down. Doing so will enable us to remain in our integrity and follow the thread of our deepest beliefs.  Integrity is not something we can achieve all at once. It is the work of a lifetime. Yet every time we choose the way of integrity, the way of truth-telling, the way of following the deepest thread of our lives, the more it will become habitual and the braver we will become. It is up to us to make the attempt to be authentic, to live with integrity, to be true to ourselves and to what we value in our hearts, rather than trying to persuade ourselves into inappropriate feelings, just because they are what the majority in society believe. It is not a particularly comfortable way to live - it is much easier to run with the crowd and to follow others - to "fit in". 

But if we can learn to follow the "still, small voice" of our consciences, to follow where that invisible thread is leading, there is a better chance that we will be able to do some good in the world. We are all inter-connected - to other human beings, and to this beautiful planet we live on. As Joel Miller wrote, "Any act one of us will choose must change other lives, just as every act others choose changes our own lives."

May we all choose to trust our intuition, and follow the deepest thread of our lives, the "breadcrumbs of God" that will lead us to a place of centred integrity.

 

 

 

 

 

In Praise of Old-fashioned Service

People who know me in person will know that I live in trainers, wide, mesh trainers. This is because, by a quirk of genetics, I was born with extremely broad feet. Feet that normal "wide-fit" shoes pinch and torture. I have one pair of black, leather ankle boots which are comfortable, which I've owned for the past ten years, and wear for leading worship. Otherwise, it is trainers, or sandals with Velcro fastenings, with ugly miles of Velcro showing, because they only just fit round my feet. 

I tell you this, not to garner pity, but to explain why, until yesterday, I had given up hope of actually finding a pair of shoes which I could wear with a dress, without feeling self-conscious. Which is why I wear trousers, 99.5% of the time, no matter how warm the weather.

My daughter is getting married at the end of August, and I have bought a beautiful dress for the occasion. But what to wear on my feet? Neither trainers nor tatty sandals will do. Then I saw an advert on Facebook, for DB Shoes in Rushden, which is not too far away from us. (NB I am not getting paid anything for this post). On their website, they claim, "Our mission is to offer shoes which give the 'freedom' to be able to walk in complete comfort and the 'joy' of living your life to the full without thinking about your feet!" 

It was worth a try... I gave them a ring, and was asked to make an appointment... we went yesterday afternoon. In the meantime, I had a good browse of the website and made a mental list of the styles I wanted to try.

A kind lady called Sue spent nearly the whole hour with me. We tried on innumerable shoes and sandals, and nothing was quite right. As soon as I stood up (or sometimes, as soon as I slipped the shoe onto my foot), ouch! Sue did not despair - she kept making other suggestions, fetching different sizes and widths, removing in-soles - nothing was too much trouble.  Eventually, we found a pair of Mary Janes in the right colour to go with my dress, which are so comfortable, I cannot believe it. I am going back next week to buy another pair, in black.

The point of this post is in praise of old-fashioned service. These days, it is rare to have the complete and undivided attention of a shop-assistant for such a long period of time. She knew her stuff, and was able to recommend alternatives until we found the right one. I am so very grateful to her.

Participation in the Life of God

This week, in his daily e-mails from the Center for Action and Contemplation, Fr. Richard Rohr is writing about hope. And on Wednesday, these words jumped out at me: "Hope is a participation in the very life of God. It has nothing to do with circumstances or events going well. It can even thrive in the midst of adversity and trial. True faith, which always includes hope and love, is a predisposition to "yes". I would go so far as to say that a foundational "yes" is the most distinguishing element between an ego- and fear-based agenda, and a Spirit-guided one."

It is commonly during the second half of life that we begin to yearn for something other than earthly goals – a sense of longing can possess our souls, turning us towards the spiritual, towards the divine. This second half of life pilgrimage does not have an end point – we travel on, deeper into the heart of God, letting go of the things which seemed so important in our earlier years – status, belongings, and so on.

I have learned that this second half of life journey towards authenticity and wholeness is about the attempt to become whole, about being the same "me" wherever I am, and whoever I am with, rather than cutting my cloth according to the circumstances. It is also about doing a lot of shadow work, about digging deep to discover the real me, the open and vulnerable person behind the façade I had spent so many years carefully cultivating. Then working out how to integrate that authentic self into the real world out there. It is a tough call, not for the faint-hearted. But so worthwhile.

Part of the journey has been about reclaiming a childlike trust in life. For me, being childlike means being open and vulnerable, trusting and curious, rather than closed down, armoured up, mistrustful and cynical. It is a courageous way to live because it means that we are more vulnerable to being hurt by others. And when we have been hurt in the past, it may be difficult for us to trust others again, to trust that the universe is not (all appearances to the contrary, sometimes) “out to get us.” I found that I wanted to trust that the universe is (on the whole) a benevolent place in which to live. Believing this may be naïve, but it has made me much happier.

I have come to understand that faith and trust are facets of our deepest nature. But as life goes on, and we encounter betrayal in our lives – as we surely will – that faith and trust can be eroded. It can take a lifetime to choose to be sufficiently vulnerable to dare to trust again. These betrayals, which sadly seem to be an inevitable part of life, need not be great ones which bring our whole world crashing down around us.  Any time someone lies to us, even a white lie, or doesn't turn up when they said they would, or is unkind to us, we can feel betrayed. Once we feel that way, it can take a lot of time to build up sufficient faith to make the world seem trustable again. It can even shake our faith in the essential goodness of humankind.

Yet I now realise that if I am to live authentically, with faith, I need to take the bold step of trusting. Otherwise, my soul will shrivel in my body and I will turn into a suspicious, armoured-up person who trusts no-one. I would not be “me” any more.

Part of learning to trust has been often choosing to leap before I look, rather than being sensible and sober and looking before I leap. I have always tended to be impulsive about seizing new opportunities to grow as a person. I’ll see an advert for a new online course (for example) and sign up for it just because it looks interesting. I have always tried to jump in the direction of new opportunities, choosing to say “Yes” to life, rather than “No, I can’t, I’m scared, what if I fail?” (Hence the bungee jump in New Zealand!) I would far rather try something new, something different and not succeed, than rest on my (very few) laurels and not LIVE.

The Word and the Language

Last night, my husband and I watched a fascinating episode of the BBC programme Hidden Treasures of the National Trust. It featured the austere Welsh farmhouse, Tŷ Mawr, where William Morgan, translator of the first Bible into Welsh, lived and worked. We visited it a few years ago, and were captivated by its collection of Bibles in the vernacular. Including, of course, William Morgan's Welsh Bible, which was published in 1588.

Title page of Welsh Bible 1588

(image Wikimedia Commons)

One of the things repeatedly mentioned during the programme was the huge impact the publication of the Bible had on the Welsh language. In a very real sense, it shaped Welsh as we now know it, and preserved it as a living language. As did the King James Bible for English, when that was published in 1611.

Tŷ Mawr now holds a collection of Bibles in many languages, donated by visitors - I think they said over 300. The more obscure of which would undoubtedly have become "dead" languages, with no living speakers, had it not been for the existence of a Bible in their tongue.

I find the link between the Word and the language so interesting. In the case of English, of course, a certain Stratford playwright also had a huge influence on the shape of the language. But between Shakespeare and the Bible, English as we know it was formed, in the late16th / early 17th century. The centuries since then have merely added elaborations. I think it is noteworthy that on the long-running Radio 4 programme Desert Island Discs, each 'castaway' is automatically given the complete works of Shakespeare and the Bible (although these days, it might be another religious or philosophical work of choice) and then allowed to choose a third book. The point being, Roy Plomley, the originator of the programme, saw Shakespeare and the Bible as fundamentals.

Today, we are a proudly multicultural country, speaking a plethora of languages. But I think we should always be grateful for the influences that the language of the Bible has had on them, enriching and preserving them.

Last Message

A while ago, I came across this question: "If you had only one last message to leave to the handful of people who are most important to you, what would it be in twenty-five words or less?"

image PxHere

This is a question in two parts, which requires separate answers. First, who are the people most important to you? Answer: my immediate family, and my best friend. The second, "What would it be in twenty-five words or less?" Which takes rather more thinking about.

On reflection, it would be about love and kindness. Not about ambition, not about getting on. Not even about my hopes and dreams for them. Twenty-five words doesn't allow the space for those kinds of sentiments. Thinking about this made me go deep: to really consider what is the most important thing in the world, to me. It is linked to a supplementary question: "How would you like to be remembered?" And I have realised that I do not want to be remembered for my small achievements, for degrees, my career, not even for the books I have published (although it would be good if they lasted!) I want to be remembered as someone who cared deeply about other people, about other living beings, who wanted to leave the world a better place than she found it.

Perhaps something along the lines of: 

"I love you, just the way you are. 

Be kind to others; love them as I have loved you. 

Leave the world a better place."

Because really, love is all that matters. Love makes the world go round, as the old cliché has it. Without love, we cannot fully live; we merely exist. Being truly loved, for ourselves, just as we are, enables us to accept ourselves. And then to reach out and share that love with other people, other living beings. (Even my cat, who is insisting on sitting on my knee as I write this, and glooping all over the keyboard). There is nothing more vital for the future of our world. Without love, we and our world will spiral down into chaos.