What Ifs and If Onlys

Today's Thought for Today, which arrives in my inbox each morning, concluded with the following wise advice: "the key to mental serenity is to steer your attention away from the whirlpool or 'what ifs' and focus on the 'what is'."

The post suggested that we can attain this serene state through meditation / mindfulness. For some of us, this may mean formal silent meditation, seated on a mat and following one's breath. For others of us (perhaps more of us) mental serenity may be found in nature. The photo above is of a sunset on Arnside in the Lake District, and I only have to gaze at it for a while to feel at peace. It is even better to be out in nature, of course - a walk up into the Forest or round the fields soon brings me back into mental balance. 

However, it is not necessary to get outside to achieve mental serenity. One of the best pieces of advice I ever heard was printed in an old Inquirer article. I cannot remember who the author was, but I have never forgotten the advice. They suggested not rushing from one task to another, but to pause inbetween, taking a few deep breaths with your eyes closed. It is amazing how effective this is.

"What if?" and "If only" are two of the most toxic phrases in the English language, in my opinion. "What if?" keeps us in a state of constant anxiety, worrying about what *might* happen in the future. I'm not saying that it is not wise to be prepared (see the government's current advice) but that we try not to let our fears of the future wreck our enjoyment of the present. "If only" works in the other direction: if only I hadn't said / done that; if only this / that / the other hadn't happened. And, worst of all, "if only things could go back to the way they used to be" - generally a downright lie, idealising the past, usually to the detriment of new factors in our lives, ignoring how that idealised past was achieved by discrimination against and hatred of The Other.

Very many social media posts feed our anxieties and our fears. My Facebook feed is currently full of stories about women in their sixties (my age, what a coincidence!) who are losing their marbles or becoming "invisible". If you read on, you soon find that these are adverts recommending x supplement or y cosmetic. Gah.

If we can recognise this is happening, the solution can be surprisingly simple: put your phone away and take a few deep breaths, or go out for a walk. These are excellent ways of regaining perspective and balance.

And, breathe...

That'll Preach!

The process of finding inspiration for a worship service in the Unitarian tradition is a complex one. We don't have a lectionary to follow, and every service has to be put together from scratch. Some are time-sensitive (for Christmas, Easter, Harvest, Remembrance Sunday, the Wheel of the Year for example) but most are "ordinary" services, dependent on the inspiration found by the worship leader.

This inspiration may come from many places - a snippet of news, an overheard conversation, a few lines (or an entire section) from a book or a poem or a blogpost.  Or something on social media may get our creative juices flowing. The very title of this blogpost comes from a book I have read and re-read: Sensible Shoes by Sharon Garlough Brown. One of the four main characters, Hannah, is a minister, and if something unusual happens, her first thought is, "That'll preach."

It is a comment I have taken for my own, and it happened again yesterday. I was driving back down the M6, returning from a gorgeous few days in the Lake District with my best friend, and listening (as is my wont) to a talking book. The "book" in this instance was a series of talks given by Richard Rohr on The Sermon on the Mount, from the Gospel of Matthew. In the sixth session (it is a long journey there and back) he mentioned the three great temptations with which the devil tempted Jesus during his 40 days in the wilderness, and summarised them as Prestige, Power, and Possessions. 

It occurred to me that the desire for one (or a combination of) these three leads to almost every war, every act of violence... That'll Preach. 

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.