Love is a Choice

Scrolling idly through Facebook this morning, I came across this beautiful image, posted by the First Congregational United Church of Christ from Sioux City, Iowa, on the Faith on the Fringe page:

Reading it lifted my spirits enormously. I thought, yes, there are still people out there fighting the good fight, in the face of all the negativity, anger and hatred spewing forth from various governments and hate groups around the world. 

And it reminded me that we - all of us - have free will, and can make a conscious choice to embrace wonderful things like inclusion, empathy, compassion, equality, dignity, diversity, community, kindness, integrity, honesty, respect, justice, peace, the planet and humanity. We can choose to fact-check before we react to the latest sound-bite. And above all, we can choose to (at least try) to live our lives in a spirit of Love.

Love is an amazing phenomenon. It is fundamental to human well-being, and enables the rest of the good attitudes listed above. I would go so far as to say we can only become fully rounded people, able to respond kindly to those around us, if we love and are loved in return. It is the most powerful emotion in the world. When we truly love someone, we will put their welfare before our own, we will grieve when they are sad or unwell, and share in their joy when things are on the up and up. Loving affects every particle of our being. And I understand God to be Love at the centre of everything.

However, it isn't easy to live in a spirit of love: little that is worthwhile in this world is easy. With so much happening out there to grieve and upset us, the natural human response may be to become angry, vengeful. The process of growing in love is a challenging one. When we choose to try to live in a spirit of love, we are choosing to make ourselves vulnerable, and vulnerability can hurt. Love can only be offered. We can never guaranteed that the other person will love us back, or love us next week, next year... or that they will remain healthy and with us. Choosing to love another person is undoubtedly a vulnerable choice. Love comes with no guarantees - it is without strings. And that applies, whomever, or whatever, the object of our love is. We have to be all in. It involves trusting that the universe is a benevolent place (the evidence around us notwithstanding) and that the best thing we can do is to love on another as God loves us. It takes faith and courage.

All of this involves choice. We can choose to curl in on ourselves, look after Number One, and the rest of the world can go hang. Or we can choose to stand up for love, for all the wonderful qualities listed by the First Congregational United Church of Christ and strive for a better world. 

What will you choose?

 

Aim for the Moon

 The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche has some good advice for us: "Aim for the moon. Even if you miss it, you'll end up among the stars."

Aiming for the moon requires a certain combination of qualities: an innate optimism, a large dollop of self-belief, and the courage to try and fail, then try again. If any of those elements is missing, it will be more difficult for us to aim high. 

If we do not have at least a little innate optimism, we'll tend to concentrate on what might go wrong instead of on what might go right. And will shrink from taking risks, just in case... When we ask the "what if?" question, our brain will supply us with negative possibilities, rather than encouragement. 

If we don't believe in ourselves and our abilities, we will find it harder to aim high, because imposter syndrome will raise its ugly head, "Who do you think you are to aim high? Other people are much better at [whatever it is] than you. You don't deserve to be here, doing this." 

If we are frightened of failure, we might rather not do anything, than try and risk not succeeding. Failure doesn't feel good and it takes a special kind of courage to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves down and stubbornly try again. I've blogged about this here.

I believe it is fatal to listen to the pessimistic, self-doubting, mouse-scared voices in our heads - they will hold us back from growing into our best selves, from aiming for the moon. And I can testify to the joys of being an innate optimist, with some self-belief and courage. I have always "gone for it" and the rewards have been enormous. My life has been much happier for it.

One Step at a Time

 Martin Luther King Jr once wrote, "Faith is taking the first step, even when you can't see the whole staircase."

Yes. We have to learn to trust in ourselves, in what is important to us, and take that first step anyway. I believe that faith and trust are facets of our nature which we are born with. But as life goes on, and we encounter betrayal in our lives, that faith and trust can be eroded. It can take a lifetime to choose to be sufficiently vulnerable enough to dare to trust again.

And 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. 

In her book Daring Greatly: How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and Lead, Brené Brown explains that, "it's a chicken-or-the-egg issue: We need to feel trust to be vulnerable and we need to be vulnerable in order to trust. There is no trust test, no scoring system, no green light that tells us that it's safe to let ourselves be seen. The research participants described trust as a slow-building, layered process that happens over time."

So it is wonderful to see people like Martin Luther King Jr, who have faith in what they believe, have faith in what they are working towards, and take that first step anyway, regardless of the consequences. It takes courage to have faith, courage to trust, courage to be vulnerable. But if we choose to live with faith and trust, the rewards can be wonderful, wonder-ful.

Two Ways of Seeing

 One of the proverbs of Solomon, in the Hebrew Bible, reads, "In the mirror of the water, you can see your face, and in the mirror of your thoughts, you can see yourself."

There are two ways of seeing - the literal way, with our eyes, the the spiritual way, with our hearts. I think these words are inviting us to see beyond the obvious - to use our deeper senses to look past the surface of our lives and perceive the deeper truths. 

This is neither an easy nor a comfortable process. It can be very tempting to skate along the surface of our lives and persuade ourselves that we are okay. It takes discipline and courage to delve deeper, to catch sight of the shadows lurking in our hearts and minds, acting on us without our conscious knowledge. 

I'm no psychologist, but I am only too aware that when someone does something that presses my buttons, I need to look inside myself to understand why, before lashing out blindly in reaction. Each one of us is unique and what bothers me, may not worry you at all, but you may get wound up by something that I am happy to let pass unremarked.

So I think that this proverb is a warning to think before we act, and to definitely take the time to think before we re-act to what is happening in our world. Because we are all at the centre of our own stories, and see things from our own unique viewpoint. It takes courage and compassion to make the effort to walk in another's shoes, and to see things from their viewpoint. Which may be very different from ours.

Wishes as Bridge Builders

 Eflriede Hablé, the Austrian singer, wrote, "Wishes are the most remarkable bridge builders and the most courageous committers."

I think that what she meant was that if we wish for something passionately enough, we will be willing to do the work required to make that wish come true. It is about being sufficiently committed to a goal to not be cast down by setbacks, but to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves down and try again.

I can understand this from my own sobriety journey, which started over seven years ago. I knew I wanted to quit drinking and knew it was going to be really hard. So I started my journey by sitting down and really thinking through all the reasons why I wanted to quit, to be free of the poison (for me and many others) that is alcohol. I knew that moderation (for me and for many others) did not work, that sooner or later, I would slip back into my normal drinking habits, which weren't good for me. Armed with those reasons (or wishes) I was able to remain committed to my goal, even in the difficult early days and months. Day by day, week by week, month by month, I built my bridge of sobriety. And I have never regretted it.

Sometimes, of course, however much we wish for something, even pray for something, it *doesn't* come true. How many of us have wished for health for our loved ones, only to have to witness them becoming more and more sick, before eventually dying? This can be a real test of faith in a benevolent God - why did He/She let X die? In these circumstances, our wishes and prayers are not enough.

But I have learned that they may help us to endure what has to be endured. I do not believe that God has the power to directly intervene in the world, except through us, the imperfect human beings He/She has imbued with His/Her presence. And a sense of this Presence may help us to endure, give us the courage to bear what must be borne, and to eventually come through to the other side, not heart-whole, perhaps, but in one piece, when our wishes and prayers have not come true, when the event we dreaded has come to pass.

So yes, wishes can be bridge-builders, so long as what we wish for is able to be influenced by our actions.

Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway

Yesterday I was supposed to be travelling over to Evesham for a meeting, and then going on to spend the evening with my parents. Then I got an e-mail from the person I was supposed to be meeting, asking whether I thought it was wise to travel, in view of the threatened snow. I phoned them up, we had a conversation, and I decided it would be safer to meet on Skype. Which we did, and it was good.

But it meant that I then had to phone my parents and let them know I wouldn't be coming - my mother had expressed concerns about the weather earlier in the week, so the news was half-expected. But I feel really sad that I didn't see them.

And then, the threat didn't materialise - there was a little snow, but not much - "just enough to cover a Hobbit's toes" as Tolkien once wrote. I could easily have made the journey.

Which has reminded me of the quote by Susan Jeffers "Feel the fear, and do it anyway." I should have followed my gut feeling, and taken the risk. If worst had come to worst, I would have had to stay the night in Worcestershire - hardly a penance.

The things we fear very often fail to materialise. It is much better to live in the present, and to live life to the fullest. I love the quote by Helen Keller: "Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold."  Yesterday, I forgot that advice, to my regret.

In this case, my fear only spoiled my fun - I didn't get to see my parents. But fear can do dreadful things. When people are afraid, they often lash out in defensive anger. Fear of the unknown very often leads to hatred. Bertrand Russell says: "Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom." And Gandhi wrote: "The enemy is fear. We think it is hate, but it is fear."

Brene Brown has written an important book, 'Braving the Wilderness', which is partly about engaging with strangers with civility and respect, rather than fearing them, because they are unknown. She writes:

"One of the biggest drivers of the sorting that's happening today is the proliferation of the belief that 'you're either with us or you're against us.' It's an emotional line that we hear everyone, from politicians to movie heroes and villains, invoke on a regular basis. ... It's a move to force people to take sides." She goes on to write: "The ability to think past either/or situations is the foundation of critical thinking, but still, it requires courage. Getting curious and asking questions happens outside our bunkers of certainty ... The only true option is to refuse to accept the terms of the argument by challenging the framing of the debate [because] answers that have the force of emotion behind them but are not based in fact rarely provide strategic and effective solutions to nuanced problems."

In other words, if we are afraid of something, our fear is often based on lack of knowledge, or by false either/or dichotomies. Our job, as thinking human beings, is to look past the either/or position, and engage with whatever the issue / people concerned. Which means we have to overcome our fear of the unknown, open up our vulnerability, and be brave. Which is hard, but so worthwhile.

The Nature of Courage

The definition of outward courage - being brave, doing something under difficult circumstances, is perhaps the most common understanding of courage in our society today. The image that comes straight away into my mind is that of St George slaying the dragon. or Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins on their long journey into Mordor, in The Lord of the Rings, who kept on going, step by painful step, in spite of every peril on the road. Every soldier who goes into battle shows great courage.

But such deeds are not a part of most of our lives. Most of us will live our whole lives without having to undertake a perilous task, or enduring physical dangers.

But inner courage is something we could all do with more of. It is about living wholeheartedly, about standing up for what we believe in. In poet David Whyte's words, it is "to make conscious those things we already feel deeply and then to live through the unending vulnerabilities of those consequences. To be courageous is to seat our feelings deeply in the body and in the world; to live up to and into the necessities of relationships that often already exist, with things we find we already care deeply about: with a person, a future, a possibility in society, or with an unknown that begs us on and always has begged us on."

Above all, courage is the willingness to be vulnerable. As Brene Brown writes: "Heroics is often about putting our life on the line. Ordinary courage is about putting our vulnerability on the line. In today's world, that's pretty extraordinary." Because it is often so much easier to Do Nothing! To keep your head down and your mouth shut, and not to stand up and speak out in a difficult situation.

We live in a troubled world. Everywhere we look, on Facebook, in the news, there are stories of ordinary people, people just like us, being deprived of their rights, imprisoned, or denied access to benefits, because of the colour of their skin, their sexual orientation, their gender, or their religious faith. Every day, it seems, the new US President is promulgating another law to exclude another particular group of people from the full benefits of society.

And it's not just in the States that these things are happening. Towards the end of last year, I went to see the film I, Daniel Blake, which really brought home to me what an unequal society we live in, here in our country. I blogged about it here.

I believe that sometimes, courage is just taking the first step. The first step which takes us outside of our comfort zone, moving us from a place of inaction and "walking by on the other side", as the Priest and the Levite did in the Parable of the Good Samaritan, to a path towards acting from a place of integrity, standing up for what we believe in, speaking out against evil and injustice, wherever and whenever we encounter it.

It involves being in touch with our feelings, our beliefs; feeling the fear, and doing it anyway. It isn't easy; nothing worthwhile ever is. It involves laying our comfortable lives on the line, being awake to the many injustices in our society, in our daily lives, and daring greatly. Taking a deep breath and being seen. Because it's worth it. Because we are worth it. It's about saying "yes" to life.

But ... sometimes, just sometimes, courage can also be about saying "no". Just this week, I was invited to take on another role in our Unitarian movement nationally. My first instinct was to say "yes", particularly as the person doing the asking was somebody I like and respect very much.

But a little voice in the back of my head was saying "Hang on a minute, let's think about this." And I did start to think about the many calls on my time, both paid and unpaid. My ministry, my work for the Worship Studies Course, and my spiritual direction and training, not to mention this blog! And also the fact that I have a body and a spirit and a marriage, all of which need nourishing.

So I said "No, I'm so sorry; I can't commit to anything else." It took a lot of courage, as I hate disappointing people. But it was the right thing to do, for me, at this time. And I know that if I had said "yes", I would have ended up feeling depeleted and resentful, which would have done no-one any good.

How will you show courage, in the weeks and months ahead?

Reaching Out

Tomorrow, I am driving across to Cambridge, to meet seven people I've never met before, and one I've met once.We are all members of an online support network for women who no longer drink. I've been looking forward to meeting everyone for weeks, but now that it's upon me, I am feeling unaccountably nervous. Goodness knows why. Because on one level, I know these online friends much better, and on a deeper level, than many folk I know in the flesh. We support each other through thick and thin, and the network is a solid online community.

The arrangements for meeting up were getting a bit complicated. Which was making me feel a bit panicky. A whole platoon of "What if?" questions were springing up in my head, and I was on the edge of pulling out of the whole thing altogether, and having a quiet day at home.

Then I remembered something Brene Brown wrote about vulnerability, in her wonderful book Daring Greatly: How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead:

"When it comes to vulnerability, connectivity means sharing our stories with people who have earned the right to hear them - people with whom we've cultivated relationships that can bear the weight of our story."

And I realised that these online friends of mine were such people. So I reached out and shared how panicky I was feeling, and asked to be met at the station. Straight away, two people got back to me, to let me know they would be there, waiting for me. So I will be going, after all.

Small kindnesses make big differences.

Finding the Courage

There are times in everyone's life when we feel scared, not brave enough, and want to run away and hide, from whatever situation we find ourselves in. It is certainly true of me.

This morning, a friend of mine posted a lovely reflection on Facebook, which got me thinking about what courage is, and where it might be found. He wrote:

"The special form of lovely when the result of someone believing in you, when you yourself didn't, helps you to find courage you didn't know you had."

My Concise Oxford Dictionary defines courage as "Bravery, boldness", for me this implies some form of heroism and derring-do. Like facing down a mountain lion or some other daring deed. The sort of thing that James Bond might do, as a matter of routine.

But I believe with my friend that courage can be found in some very unlikely places. In her wonderful book The Gifts of Imperfection, Brené Brown explains that "Courage originally meant 'To speak one's mind by telling all one's heart.' ...Speaking honestly and openly about who we are, about what we're feeling, and about our experiences (good and bad) is the definition of courage. ... Ordinary courage is about putting our vulnerability on the line. In today's world, that is pretty extraordinary."

"Ordinary courage is about putting our vulnerability on the line."  It's about being brave enough to reach out for help; to admit that actually, we don't know; that we aren't ready for this yet; or that we're feeling rubbish. It is also about feeling the fear and doing it anyway, to quote a book title by Susan Jeffers. It can be about taking that first vital step on a new path, about moving out of your comfort zone and into the unknown. This kind of courage is the quiet sort of everyday courage, and if you start looking for it, you'll find it everywhere.

And the lovely thing is, if we can be brave enough to "speak our minds by telling all our hearts", this will often be met with empathy, understanding and support. Even perhaps relief - because sometimes when we share that we're feeling scared or inadequate in some way, it allows other people to admit their own vulnerability too.

Don't Take It For Granted

For the last 48 hours, I have been in some considerable pain. I had been prescribed some painkillers for an on-going problem with my arm, and my poor tummy didn't like them. I had a bad reaction to them, which started on Wednesday morning, and only subsided on Thursday evening.

But it's left me feeling tired and listless and disinclined to do anything. But I know that I must, so I'm trying to summon up some mojo from somewhere.

But the last couple of days, and how grim I've felt during them, have made me appreciate anew two things:

1. my wonderful body, which usually holds up marvellously, doing all the complex tasks that a body does, and lets me get on with my life. I am grateful for her.

2. it has made me understand (just a little) how tough it must be to have a serious, on-going medical condition, and to live with pain, and all that pain brings, every day of your life. I have friends who manage this with such spirit and resilience and courage. I am lost in respect and admiration for them.

Because I do realise how very blessed I am, to have nothing seriously wrong with me - just the aches and pains of age. And I can still hope that Something Can Be Done, whereas some people I know just have to live with their conditions, day in and day out, forever and ever.

And that is grim. Huge respect to you all. If there is anything I can to to make your life a little easier, just call.

Permission To Be Vulnerable

A week ago, I had a minor operation, to remove a benign but occasionally painful fibroma from my left thigh. The operation went well, under local anaesthetic, and I was told to come back in  a week, to have the stitches taken out.

image: crowe-associates.co.uk

Well, yesterday I went back. The kind nurse took the dressing off, and I looked at the bruised but healing wound beneath. I'm a real wuss about these things - I don't like blood and guts & icky stuff - and I was dismayed at how yukky it looked. But I could see that the doctor had made a good job of it, and that in time I would be left with a small, neat scar.

Then the nurse dropped her bombshell. "I don't think it's healed quite enough to have the stitches out. Let's leave it for another few days. But leave the dressing off, if you can, and let it get some air, to speed the healing process." I explained that I would be doing a lot of driving over the weekend, so please could I cover it then - yes that would be fine.

So I went home, with the three dressings (one each for Friday, Saturday and Sunday) tucked in my bage. And intended to go about the rest of my daily business, as I had been doing for the last few days.

And was slightly (OK, quite) shocked to realise how vulnerable I was feeling, now that the dressing had been removed. What if I knock it? What if it splits? After a couple of hours of futile and pointless worrying, I phoned the practice number, and asked to speak to the nurse. Fortunately she was still there. I explained how vulnerable and worried I felt with the wound exposed, and her compassion was warm and instantaneous. She told me not to worry; to put a dressing straight back on; and that my leg would heal anyway.

I got off the phone bathed in relief, and so grateful for her kindness and understanding. And then a strange thing happened: the very fact that my vulnerability and worry had been met with compassion and kindness seemed to give me permission to carry on being vulnerable, to take that risk. And 24 hours later, I have still not re-applied that dressing, and the amount of healing overnight is reassuring.

But without that permission to be vulnerable, I would not have had the courage to leave the wound uncovered. And this was made possible by the compassion of the nurse. I thank God for the grace of the kindness, and for the gift of courage.