Blessings

The Irish mystic, John O’Donohue, calls a blessing, “a circle of light drawn around a person to protect, heal and strengthen.” He suggests that a blessing “is different from a greeting, a hug, a salute or an affirmation; it opens a different door in human encounter. One enters into the forecourt of the soul, the source of intimacy and the compass of destiny.” And that blessing someone can help them to become whole.

My understanding of the power of invoking a blessing on someone is that it somehow alerts the divine (as if it needed alerting) to our good wishes for that person, our benevolent feelings towards them. As O’Donohue says, “The beauty of blessing is its belief that it can affect what unfolds.”

I truly believe that each of us can bring blessings to the wider world – to the chance-met stranger, to the people in our city, town or village, to causes we care about. If you believe, as I do, that every human being has a spark of the divine in them, then we should try to respond to every person we meet as though we are encountering a possible new friend. I wonder how different our world would be if we tried to bear that in mind, every day?

Another aspect of blessings is our ability to recognise when we feel blessed. Sometimes, another person may bless us directly with words. I will never forget an experience I had on a Saturday intensive during my spiritual direction training. There were twelve of us and the course leader asked us to do the following exercise: Six of us sat in a circle, the other six standing behind. Each standing person was asked to think silently of what they would want the most important person in their childhood to say to them, and then to go around the seated circle, whispering it into the right ear of each seated person. Then we swapped, and the seated people did the same to the other six.

To receive the six benedictions was incredibly powerful – I was in tears by the end, and I was not the only one… And then to share my own blessing with those six friends, “My precious child, I love you just the way you are” was also so very special. It left us all with deep feelings of thankfulness and connection. In the words of Marianne Wilkinson, “If I choose to bless another person, I will always end up feeling more blessed.” So very true.

Sometimes, the blessing we experience will be less overt, and will need to be sensed and appreciated. One time that I was very conscious of feeling blessed happened a few years ago, when my husband and I spent a week in our favourite part of Wales with my daughter and her fiancé. The kids were tired out from work, and so was I. So we decided to take each day as it came. We got up late, had leisurely breakfasts, then headed out to explore that beautiful part of Wales – Dolgoch Falls, Portmeirion, Harlech Castle (and the wonderful ice-cream shop just below it), the Panorama Walk above Barmouth, and Bodnant Gardens. We ate some fabulous meals, and relaxed each evening, either playing some hilarious games of pool or watching DVDs together.

Each day was different and each day was wonderful. Full of wonder. We managed to let go of “ought to” and “need to” and simply went with the flow. Whatever we did, wherever we went, I tried to be present and full of wonder and joy and gratitude. The whole week was a lesson in the gentle art of being present, of having no particular goal in mind. Of simply being. Looking back, it was one of the best holidays ever. I was so blessed.

 

Happiness as a Way of Life

This week's quote reads, "Happiness is not a destination, it is a way of life."

Without being too Pollyanna-ish about it, I have to say I agree. I think this is where the authors of the American Declaration of Independence got it wrong, with their insistence on the rights to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" (italics mine). 

As a result, most of us think of happiness as a far-off goal, which we must pursue by any means available to us. But here's the thing: it cannot be bought; it can only be appreciated, right here, right now. If we see it as a far-off goal, we will miss all the micro-moments of happiness happening to us today.

Of course, there will be times in all our lives when we are distinctly unhappy, for a variety of good reasons. But most of the time, we have a base level of happiness, to which we return naturally, no matter what life throws at us. I came across a fascinating blogpost on the Scott Free Clinic website, which explains it like this: "Psychologists gave this pattern a memorable name - the hedonic treadmill - after noticing how quickly people get used to both windfalls and setbacks. In the early 1970s Philip Brickman and Donald Campbell argued that people adapt to good and bad changes and then return toward a typical level of happiness. ... That typical level is often called a happiness set point - not a single emotion frozen in stone, but a familiar baseline your mood tends to orbit. Inherited biological factors largely determine the happiness set point, with temperament traits - a key expression of these genetic influences - shaping how emotions respond to life events. The brain's habit of adaptation then nudges feelings back toward this familiar baseline after spikes of delight or dips of discouragement."

Which is, I guess, why some people (like me) tend to be happier (most of the time) than others. Which I know can be very irritating for the others! Yet I do believe that the potential for happiness is all around us, if we are only aware enough to notice the tiny good things which happen to us every day.  I have a daily gratitude practice, which consists of recording in my journal three things which I am grateful for each day, last thing at night. They may be tiny, unimportant things, but they are there. Last night, I was grateful for an idea for a new scene for my work in progress; for good progress on my current cross-stitch project, and for participating in a lively and fascinating discussion about the favourite books we had read in 2025, at my local Writers' Group. Nothing very life-changing, or earth-shaking, but they made me happy.

What has made you happy over the last few days?

Sun in Your Heart

This week's quote reads, "Have sun in your heart and nonsense in your head."

Hmm. I'm not sure about the second part, but having sun in your heart does sound good. A source of warmth and illumination, which lifts our spirits, on the darkest days. For me, that of God within, the Spirit, is the "sun in your heart".

I do enjoy this time of year, when (at least in this part of the UK) there are more sunny days than rainy ones. I love drawing back the curtains each morning, to see blue skies, fluffy white clouds and sunshine. Even though part of me is uneasily aware that this has been the driest year for ages and we really could do with some rain....

There is a huge tree growing at the end of our garden and I like to feast my eyes on it, as I sit at my desk. It is now in its full Summer glory (see below) but I love it in all seasons.

The beauties of Nature call forth a deep response from me. The sun in my heart responding to the sun in the world around me. And I believe that being open to this can help us to be resilient to the darkness of the human world.

Laughter - really belly laughter, caused by amusement and joy - "nonsense in your head", if you like -  can also help us to be resilient. Last week, we watched the old film, Monty Python and the Holy Grail for the umpteenth time, and it was just as funny as the first time I saw it, way back when. Even though I knew what was coming, and could (at times) quote it word for word.

Awe, wonder, and the ability to laugh - all these qualities are precious gifts of the Spirit. For which I am truly grateful, every single day.

The Little Miracles

This week's quote advises us, "Don't wait for the big miracle, otherwise you'll miss the many small ones."

Such wise advice. Sometimes we can get fixated on a particular desired outcome and pour all our energies into making it happen (or worse, sit around, passively wishing for it to happen). And while we are concentrating on that (whatever it is) we miss all the "fragments of holiness, glimpses of eternity" (thank you, Sarah York) along the way. 

I have more than one daily spiritual practice. And for me, the most important one happens at the end of each day. I call it "Small Pleasures". In my journal, I record three good things that have happened to me since I woke up that morning. It doesn't matter how small or insignificant they are - a meal or a television programme I have enjoyed, some writing I have done, something beautiful in nature, a conversation with a friend or family member -  what matters is that I have noticed and recorded them. And appreciated how lucky I am to have had them in my life, for that moment on that day.

I got the idea from Clare Law, whose blog, Three Beautiful Things, I have followed ever since she began it, way back in 2004. (She stopped in 2014, and I was bereft. I was so delighted when she began again during the first lockdown). She writes so beautifully about the most mundane, everyday things, which turn into magic under her skilful fingers.

I also appreciate that this can be very hard to do when we are in pain, or grief. Last month, when I had shingles, and the pain was quite intense, I had to really rack my brains to think of those small pleasures - like the support of my District, good advice from a friend who had recently suffered from it, some flowers sent to cheer me up, and so on. I am convinced that my established practice of trying to find something to be grateful for, helped.

Small Pleasures

More than a decade ago, I came across a blog called Three Beautiful Things by a woman called Clare Law. It has the tagline "Every day I want to record three things that have given me pleasure." I blogged about it here. I have been grateful to her ever since, for introducing me to the wonderfully nourishing spiritual practice of gratitude, which I have blogged about many times.

These days, I record what I call 'Small Pleasures' each evening before I go to bed. Sometimes, they are HUGE, such as the joy which flooded my heart when I saw my son cradling his newborn son in his arms last November, but generally they are less spectacular.

The photos above are from our holiday last week in mid-Wales with my dear husband, my son and his family, and my daughter and her fiancé. It was a week of love and relaxation and fun, with so many small (and HUGE) pleasures, such as:

• finding another pair of lovely earrings at the market stall in Barmouth.
• S paddling in the sea at Benar Beach.
• all of us visiting Dolgoch Falls (my spiritual home) together.
• finding S's lost tooth in a puddle, so that he could put it under his pillow for the Tooth Fairy.
• playing Articulate! with my daughter and her fiancé.
  
• eating all together.
• having a go on a swing and flying high!
• completing the Nana's Hug blanket for my daughter's unborn son.

The trick of gratitude, I have found, is sacred living - weaving moments of attention into our lives, so that we are aware of all the lovely things happening around us. As I have written before, "Through sacred living, we will come to realise that God's grace is everywhere. Sacred living is about living with a new level of awareness. It is about going through our days paying attention to what is happening at each passing moment. It is about noticing the presence of the divine, the numinous, everywhere: in the natural world, in other people, in ourselves, and in things that happen to us. Sacred living is about rediscovering our sense of wonder, and living our lives in response to that. Sacred living is about truly appreciating what we have."

I have found over time that actively keeping a record of the many small pleasures in my life has exponentially increased my general level of happiness. Even when I've had a fairly crappy day, I can still be grateful for having got through it.... And on less good days, I sometimes read back through old 'Small Pleasures' to remind myself how very lucky and blessed I am.

Why not give it a try?

Harmony, Love and Happiness

The final quote for 2023 is by the 17th century German poet and dramatist, Andreas Gryphius, who wrote, "Where harmony, love and happiness and firmly combined, there is blessing and pleasure."

And that has been my experience, these past few days. My son and his partner and my two grandsons, plus my daughter and her partner have all been here, and blessing and pleasure definitely happened. Yesterday, my son sent some gorgeous photos of everyone enjoying themselves, opening presents and playing.

I know how very blessed I am, and that this blessedness will not have been experienced by many people this Christmas. Which makes it so important that we remember the words of Howard Thurman, who wrote, 

"When the song of the angels is stilled,

When the star in the sky is gone,

When the kings and princes are home,

When the shepherds are back with their flock,

The work of Christmas begins:

To find the lost,

To heal the broken,

To feed the hungry,

To release the prisoner,

To rebuild the nations,

To bring peace among brothers,

To make music in the heart."

May we all do our utmost to do this in the year to come, remembering that each small good deed has the potential to make a huge difference in the lives of others.

a

Nature Works Wonders

When I read the text of this week's quotation by the French mountaineer, Jean-Christophe Lafaille, my first reaction was, 'Well, it seems that God has a sense of humour.' It read, "Nature works wonders, it's up to me to enjoy it."

Because the closest I'm going to get to nature (or at least, to the natural world outside) in the next few weeks is looking at it through the large picture window in the lounge. Which does, admittedly, give me a wonderful view of the back garden. I am confined to barracks following an operation on my left foot, which is now the size of Minnie Mouse's, due to all the dressings on it, and am under strict instructions from the surgeon to stay inside for the first four weeks and only walk for five minutes in each hour.

Yet I quickly realised that there was another, far more positive way of interpreting Lafaille's words, "Nature works wonders." It's only the third day since the operation and I can already tell that my brilliant, complex body is doing her level best to heal, all completely without my volition. It is the nature of our bodies to repair themselves when they have been wounded or injured. And I am in awe of my body's ability to adapt to her new circumstances.

And in awe of my mind, which has also adapted very swiftly to my presently limited mobility. I have (with my husband's help, for which I am truly grateful) all the "necessaries" around me, within easy reach as I sit in my reclining chair, my foot supported by pillows. My laptop and journals, Kindle and phone, are on the piano stool to the right of my chair, which is now an impromptu 'bedside table'; and my crutches and crochet and drink are to my left, within easy reach. And the TV remotes are on the arm of my chair. I had the foresight to buy myself a cheap plastic laptray beforehand, on which the laptop balances well. So hopefully, I won't have to bother him too much during the day, except for meals.

I am also exceedingly grateful for the love and good wishes of many friends, and my immediate family, who have all rung in the last couple of days to check how I'm feeling. My son brought his partner and my very new grandson round for a brief visit on Wednesday and it was gorgeous to see them. And a dear friend from the village is kindly keeping me company this evening, as well as yesterday evening and all day Saturday, as this is the week of the village panto and my husband is not only directing it, but is also Group Eight's sound engineer. 

I feel incredibly blessed and hopeful about a good recovery, a couple of months down the road. I am sure that nature will indeed work wonders.

The Present Alone is True

The German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer once wrote, "The present alone is true and real: it is real, fulfilled time and our existence lies exclusively in it."

Which reminder I sorely needed to hear today... I woke up at a quarter to five from a nightmare about my forthcoming operation and *immediately* began to catastrophise about anything and everything which might go wrong, and how I was going to deal with it / them. 

Which is a Complete Waste of my time and energy and emotions. It will turn out how it turns out and I will cope with it. I need to remember that so many people are so much worse off than I am, and to stop indulging in this crazy-making fear of the future, fear of the unknown. Which is only making me miserable, and gets me precisely nowhere. One of the more ridiculous worries was how I was going to wear a dress on Christmas Day, when I couldn't wear tights because of the surgical boot. (I know, crazy, right?) So I've treated myself to a pair of legwarmers, one of which I'll wear on the "good" leg. Sorted.

Instead, I will strive to live in the present which, as Schopenhauer reminds us, "alone is true and real." So just now, I'm writing this blogpost, then I'm going to go downstairs and get this year's round robin Christmas letter written, so that I can get all the Christmas cards done tomorrow. Then I'm going out for a coffee with a dear friend, then going round to see my son and his family, including my two precious grandsons. And this evening, I will complete my latest crochet project, a Rainforest Retreat shawl made from the seven colours of the rainbow balls of wool I bought in Salzburg in September. I have one round plus the border to go, and I'm loving how it's turned out.

Truly, I have so much to be grateful for.

I am doing all I can to be as up to date with my work as I can be, before the 5th. After which, I must just let it go, rest and recover. The District will survive fine without me, and after the first few weeks, I should be able to at least do some work on my laptop. 

But for now, I know I'll delay that much-desired recovery if I mis-spend those first few weeks stressing about all the things I *ought* to be doing. So I'm planning to spend the time reading and writing, stitching and crocheting - four sedentary pastimes which I love.

Let It Go. The hardest three words in the English language.... But at least I'm aware of the futility of worrying, and know that I simply have to go with the flow and be grateful for the skill of the podiatric surgeon.

Truly, I have so much to be grateful for.

TGIF: Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration and Faith

I completely agree with the German humourist, poet, illustrator and painter, Wilhelm Busch, who once wrote, "Happiness often comes from paying attention to small things, unhappiness often from neglecting small things."

Because I believe that being open to, aware of, awake to the "small things" around us, the small experiences which happen to us, can give us a great and very useful sense of perspective. Let me give you a recent example: yesterday, I was driving to Danetre Hospital for my pre-op assessment, and feeling moderately terrified. But the autumn foliage on the trees by the side of the road was absolutely glorious to see - all the shades of yellow, orange, brown, copper, bronze, burgundy and red - and seeing them, appreciating their beauty, soothed my fears immensely.

And during my appointment, the consultant surgeon who is going to do my operation treated me with respect and kindness, explaining clearly what is going to happen, and listening to and answering all my questions. Which helped to pull me out of my fear and to begin to feel a certain quiet confidence that all would be well. 

I'm sure that during the next couple of weeks, I will have regular intervals of fear and trembling, but I also know that my habit of noticing the "small things" will help  to bring me back to myself - the self who has faith that everything will work out okay; that I might be uncomfortable for a few weeks, but in the end, it will have been worth it.

Brené Brown has much to say about the benefits of gratitude. She writes in The Gifts of Imperfection, "We need both happiness and joy.... But in addition to creating happiness in our lives, I've learned that we need to cultivate the spiritual practices that lead to joyfulness, especially gratitude. In my own life, I'd like to experience more happiness, but I want to live from a place of gratitude and joy."

And, "I believe a joyful life is made up of joyful moments gracefully strung together by trust, gratitude, inspiration and faith."

I couldn't agree more. Which is why one of my spiritual practices is an evening gratitude practice - under the heading 'Small Pleasures', I record in my journal at least three things that have made me feel grateful that day. They can be tiny things, such as "Fitbit synced!" or huge things, like the recent birth of my grandson. Or regular quiet pleasures, like "nice, relaxing evening with Maz, Luna, and crochet."

And because I record these small pleasures every day, I have some ammunition to overcome the feelings of dread and fear.... And that conversely, if I did not have a daily gratitude practice, I believe it would be only too easy to get lost in the negativity, thus causing myself unnecessary suffering. So my resolution for the next few weeks is: I will do my best to do all the things the surgeon advises me to do, then trust that everything will work out well.

"Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration, Faith." I commend them to you as a better, more joyful way of living, more sure and reliable than "Thank God It's Friday." 

it's an Inside Job

 I very much like this week's quotation, by Marcus Aurelius: "The ability to live happily comes from a power within the soul."

Because I do believe that happiness is an inside job. Let me declare one fact straight away: I am an optimist, married to a pessimist (although he would call himself a realist). I have blogged about this before, here, so I'm not going to repeat myself. Suffice it to say, I think I've got the better deal, as I am happier for more of the time...

The gorgeous postcard which accompanies this week's quote made me very happy. And reminded me of a special evening last year, when I was holidaying in mid-Wales with my best friend. We went down to the local beach to watch the sun setting, and it was completely glorious. Here is a photo I took with my phone that evening:

We were down there for about three quarters of an hour and were filled with awe and wonder at the beauty in front of us. And yes, happiness, that we were able to witness it. 

So this year, back at the same lovely holiday cottage with my husband, I decided to take him down to the beach to share the glory. Sadly, there were some clouds, which meant it wasn't quite the same, but when the sun came through a gap, the effect was equally stunning. It made me feel happy to be alive...

I read somewhere (I can't remember where) that individuals are born with an innate quota of happiness. So that even when something wonderful (or something dreadful) happens to them, although they may be happier (or sadder) in the short term, they will eventually revert to their default happiness level. I think the example given was lottery winners, who are thrilled when they win a substantial sum of money, then discover that it hasn't really made a difference to their happiness in the long term.

Another example, used by Geneen Roth, is about losing weight. She says that people tend to put living their best and happiest lives off, until they've reached their desired weight, rather than being happy now, allowing themselves to be happy now. 

So happiness is also about trying to appreciate the present moment. Which I believe is a spiritual practice, like any other. I blogged about having a gratitude practice as recently as last month. It really is an inside job.

How do you nurture your own happiness?

Every Joy is a Gain

 The 19th century poet, Robert Browning, once wrote, "Every joy is a gain, and a gain is a gain, however small."

This is something I have always believed. I have blogged about my optimistic outlook before (see the keyword "optimism" in the links to the right of this post). Yet it can take a lot of courage to embrace the idea behind Browning's words. When we are in a bad or sad situation, when all the joy seems to have drained out of our lives, leaving them grey and bleak, we can easily look around and see no hope, no prospect of ever feeling joyful again.

Which is why I believe that having some kind of daily gratitude practice is so valuable, to give us another perspective on our lives. Somewhere in her books, Brené Brown writes about gratitude, and shares a practice that her family has: they go round the table during the evening meal and each person shares something they are grateful about on that particular day. And she says that this may only be gratitude that the day is over, if it has been a difficult one. Which I believe rather proves Browning's point that "gain is gain, however small." Simply being alive at the end of the day is its own joy, because every day, someone (in fact many someones) will have breathed their last.

I call my own gratitude practice "small pleasures" and record them in the daily log of my Bullet Journal each evening. And I can *always* think of something - a moment of sunshine, a kind word from a family member or friend, completing (or making progress with) a particular task, noticing something beautiful in the natural world. 

I think that noticing moments of beauty and kindness and yes, joy, in our daily lives can help us to appreciate that not everything in our lives is awful. To give a current example from my own life, yesterday I had a hospital appointment, the upshot of which is, I will be having surgery on my left foot later this year, to correct my deformed toes, which are becoming a problem. And, amid the nervousness that this news inevitably brought, I was able to feel joyful that once I have recovered from the operation, my foot will be able to fit into ordinary shoes again (not trainers and one pair of boots). 

I wish you every joy that life can bring and the power to notice them as they happen.

Sometimes you just have to go with the flow

 This week's quotation, by the splendidly named Halldor Laxness, reads, "Whoever always asks about the purpose of things will never discover their beauty."

We Unitarians, and religious folk in general, I guess, are often interested in the purpose and meaning of things - of life itself, and what comes after. We read books and articles, attend conferences and retreats, all to go deeper into the purpose and meaning of things. And that is good, and necessary.

But sometimes, just sometimes, it is better to just forget about all that and lose ourselves in the awe and wonder that is life. I often feel this when I am out in the Forest, like I was this Tuesday. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the signs of Spring were everywhere. And I found myself filled with awe and gratitude for the beauty all around me. I felt like shouting alleluias and felt surrounded by the grace of God. The trees around me looked like the pillars of a cathedral.

And so I stopped and gave thanks. Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow.

Trees are Poems

 Khalil Gibran, author of The Prophet, wrote, "Trees are poems that the earth writes in the sky." When I read that, my heart soared in recognition.

Because that is *exactly* the feeling I get when I walk in Salcey Forest and see the trees outlined against the sky, whether that sky is blue or grey. Each tree unique, whether it is in its prime, or a young sapling, or an old tree somehow clinging to life, finding the strength to bring forth new growth each Spring. As Tolkien wrote in The Lord of the Rings, "some as different as one tree is from another of the same name but quite different growth and history; and some as different as one tree-kind from another, as birch from beech, oak from fir."

All this year, since lockdown began, I walked most days in the Forest, and have watched the trees go through their annual cycle of the budding and new growth and blossom of Spring, through the full-leaved glory of Summer, and the fruits of Autumn, before their leaves started to change colour and fall. And now some of them are naked and splendid, their bare branches writing patterns in the sky. And they are wonderful in their complexity. 

And I love the interplay between trees and the landscape they inhabit. This year, I have posted hundreds of photos on Facebook of beautiful trees... because their beauty fills my heart with wonder and gratitude, that I live on the same planet. The glory of God made manifest in creation.

What fills your heart with wonder? 

Living in the Present

 Blaise Pascal, the French mathematician, philosopher and theologian, had it right, when he wrote, "The present is the only time that is really ours."

I am reminded of this each morning, as I take my daily constitutional in Salcey Forest. I am so blessed to live within walking distance of it, particularly at this time of year, when the Autumn colours are at their most glorious.

Yesterday morning, I went for my walk early doors, and it was wonderful - wonder-full. The sun was shining and the golds, browns, coppers and bronzes of the Autumn leaves were glowing in its light. In this Autumn weather, I take the same route every day, out and back, because my circular 'Summer' route is too muddy, even with boots. And had it not been that the ground was both cold and muddy underfoot, I would have taken off my walking boots and gone barefoot, because it really did feel like I was treading on holy ground.

At the furthest point of my walk, I went to turn round, and this caught my eye...

I stood still, holding my breath, drinking in the beauty. I truly felt I was in the presence of the Divine. I don't know how long I stood there... a couple of minutes perhaps. Then bowed my head and gave thanks.

The other wonder-full thing about yesterday's walk was the presence of a pale moon high in the blue sky. But whenever I tried to take a photo of it, it was masked by trees. Until I found this...

And I think of the times I have walked through these same woods, my mind full of other things - the next scene for my book (I find walking helps me to think this through) or the tasks of the day ahead of me, and have missed this glory.

Early morning sunlight

filtering through the trees, 

sharpness of the shadows.

Pale moon in the blue sky,

pure birdsong in my ears,

Undiluted wonder

takes my breath away.

Flowers are Nature's Laughter

Such a gorgeous quotation this week, by the poet James Henry Leigh Hunt: "Colours are the smiles of Nature, and flowers are her laughter." It was illustrated by a gorgeous photo of (I think) apple blossom...

In this time of fear and physical isolation, it has been lovely to go out for my daily allowed walk, and to see the beauties of Nature unfolding in front of my eyes. Just before we were confined to the village, my husband and I went for a walk at Castle Ashby and saw these two beautiful magnolias, which will now be blossoming unseen by any except the gardeners...

And just around our village, there are beautiful flowers blooming in the Spring sunshine, whether in the hedgerows...

or in neighbours' gardens, which have lifted my heart so much...

It seems as though Nature is putting on a show to keep us cheerful, and to help us to stick to the rules and stay at home and stay safe.

Flowers are Nature's laughter. Even reading that made me smile. Every time I see a flower blooming I will smile right back at it. I've noticed a new influx of nature photos on Facebook - it seems that other people have had the same idea. And some people have commented that my photos have cheered them up too.

This current situation is deeply scary. And it's okay to admit that we are scared. Nothing like this has happened on this scale for very many years. It helps me, when I remind myself how much worse it would be, if we didn't have so many other ways of communicating - by phone, by e-mail and through social media. Not to mention conference call virtual meetings, which many Unitarian churches and chapels are experimenting with. I am grateful for all the ingenious ways people are coming up with at keeping in touch with each other, and for the IT facilities which enable them.

I had some fun yesterday... I had my first Face Time piano lesson. My piano teacher and I each sat at our pianos, linked by our iPads, and it worked really well. She could see my fingers as I played, and hear what was happening. And I could see and hear her demonstrating how it *should* be done :)

And the idea of clapping the NHS was a fabulous one! I'll finish with a prayer, which I'm using in weekly online services for my District:

Spirit of Life and Love,
Be with us as we gather for worship,
each in their own place.
Help us to feel a sense of community,
even though we are physically apart.
Help us to care for each other,
in this difficult time,
keeping in touch however we can,
and helping each other,
however we may.
We hold in our hearts all those
whose lives have been touched,
in whatever way,
by the coronavirus and the fall-out from it.
Amen

The Doors of Perception

Such a poetic quotation this week, from William Blake, "If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is: infinite."

When I googled it to get the exact quote, I found that The Doors of Perception is also a book by Aldous Huxley, published in 1954, which explains his psychedelic experiences under the influence of mescaline in May 1953. According to Wikipedia, "Huxley recalls the insights he experienced, ranging from the 'purely aesthetic' to 'sacramental vision'."

But I do not believe that you need to be under the influence of dangerous drugs to experience the possibility of infinity in the everyday world. The "doors of perception" - our senses - may be cleansed through spiritual awareness and through moments of grace.  At such times, you may experience the ordinary world, everyday events, with a heightened awareness and infinite gratitude.

Such an experience might occur when you are out in that natural world, and are brought up standing by the singular beauty of a sunrise, or a waterfall, or a single flower in all its wondrous complexity, or a mountain. Or the sight of a star bearing bright witness in the darkening sky.

Or the sound of a beautiful song or piece of music. Pilgrim by Enya has been doing this to me, the past few days.

Or bending over your sleeping child and being filled with so much love, that you feel your heart might burst.

Gratitude and an awareness of grace can transform our world, if we let it. We just have to be awake to the possibilities and aware when the moments come. Because come they will. And they are a blessing. Sacramental vision is available to all of us.

Small Pleasures

This week's quotation is by Johannes Kepler, a 17th century German astronomer and mathematician, whose books on planetary motion and other astronomical matters I catalogued when I was on my placement year at the Royal Greenwich Observatory, then at Herstmonceux Castle in East Sussex. He had an influence on many of his peers and successors, including Isaac Newton.

(portrait Wikimedia commons.org)

He wrote, "Hundert kleine Freuden sind tausendmal mehr wert als eine Grosse." Which being translated, means, "A hundred little joys are worth a thousand times more than one big one."

And I believe he's right. If we are awake and aware enough to notice the small pleasures of every day, our underlying happiness will surely be greater than if we are only lifted out of our doldrums by one big happy event.

There used to be a blog called 'Three Beautiful Things', now sadly defunct, in which the author posted daily about three things which had attracted her attention as 'beautiful'. I used to read it daily, and gained an appreciation of the practice of searching for small, everyday pleasures which would lift my spirits.

Today, for example, I have asked a friend a favour, and she has responded positively and enthusiastically. And I'm going to get round to clearing the desk in my study, which has been cluttered and distracting for too long. This afternoon, I intend to spend crocheting a baby blanket, which is turning out really well so far.

Three small pleasures, all in one day. Why not give it a try? If it worked for Kepler, and it works for me, maybe it will work for you...

The Kindness of Strangers

Maz and I are just back from a wonderful ten day holiday in the German cities of Dresden and Leipzig - each very different to the other, but both fascinating.

And I have been struck by the great kindness of strangers on two occasions during our holiday. The first was last Monday. We had been using an elderly travel guide to Leipzig, which told us that the German National Library, and more specifically, the German Book and Writing Museum, was open on that day.

When we got there, it was closed. There were two people on duty at the desk (they were having some building work done, I think) and when my face fell at the news, they told us to go to the main Library and ask at the Information desk. This we did, and a wonderfully kind Librarian listened to my halting German, and said she thought it might be possible.

One phone call later, and we were given exclusive access to the Museum's permanent exhibition, which we had all to ourselves. They needn't have done it - it was quite clear that it was closed on a Monday. But she was kind, and let us in. And it was fantastic - a real highlight of the holiday. Highlights included a Gutenberg Bible and a Kelmscott Chaucer. I went back afterwards to thank her, and another librarian was on duty. But I *think* I managed to convey our gratitude. I hope so.

The second incident occurred at Heathrow Airport, when we were waiting for the minibus to take us back to our long-stay car park. When it arrived, Maz leapt forward to wave it down, and left his camera bag with all its cameras and lenses, plus his laptop lying on the ground. I hadn't noticed. But a kind gent who'd just got off picked it up and asked me, "Is this yours? I thought you were coming back for it."

Again, he needn't have done it. But he did.

So I am very, very grateful for the kindness of strangers.

The Joys of Gathered Community

I have just returned from a wonderful, wonder-full week at the Nightingale Centre at Great Hucklow. Summer School 2019.

(I'm not sure who this photo is by, but whoever it was, thank you!)

Our theme this year was 'Theology in the Flesh: How might our embodied experience shape our answers to life's ultimate questions?' It was such a rich week... full of deep sharing, a wide range of optional activities and, above all, Summer School magic.

I have been attending Summer School each year from 2009, and every year it is the same... a bunch of disparate Unitarians from all over the UK and further afield come together in community and create something so very special. I come away at the end of the week feeling enriched and grounded and whole.

While I was there this year, I felt moved to write a prayer:

Spirit of Life and Love,
Thank you for the many blessings of Summer School;
For our sacred community, where it is okay to be authentic;
For the theme talk speakers, group leaders, worship leaders, optional session leaders and the Summer School panel, who make it all possible;
For each and every one of us, who choose to risk being vulnerable;
For the staff of the Nightingale Centre, whose quiet efficiency makes us feel so welcome;
For the joys of reunions with old friends, and for making new ones;
For the beauties of the Derbyshire countryside, which enfolds and surrounds us;
For sunlight on green grass and the sound of children's laughter;
For the chance to learn new ways of thinking and understanding, and kinder ways of being together;
For the stretching of bodies, minds and hearts, through our groups and activities and worship;
For giving and receiving,
For sharing and silence,
For food and faith and fellowship;
For all these contributions to the magic which is Summer School,
I am truly grateful.
Amen

Day of Expectation and Gratitude

Christmas Eve has been a day of expectation and gratitude for me. The house is clean and tidy, the presents are wrapped, and I'm waiting for my daughter and her fiance to arrive. My dearly beloved collected the turkey at 11 am, and has spent the afternoon cooking it, and the kedgeree for tomorrow's Christmas breakfast (a Woolley tradition). The house is filled with gorgeous smells and I am so grateful.

I've spent the day working on a blanket for the Summer School Silent Auction next year - it's now five feet across, so I've just got another foot to go. Crocheted with love - I hope it raises a shedload of money for the Summer School Bursary Fund.

Early this evening, I phoned my god-mother, now in her nineties, who had a fall last week, and is spending Christmas in hospital. It was good to hear her voice, and I think she was pleased to hear from me. I am so grateful to the hospital staff, who give up their own Christmases to look after the sick and the injured. Bless them, every one of them.

At ten past eight, they arrived. Our little family is now complete. I am riding on a tide of gratitude and happiness. We watched Celebrity University Challenge, cheering when we got an answer right (more often than usual - the Celebrity version is much easier than the regular one!)

I wish everyone who reads this blog a very Merry Christmas and a Peaceful and Happy New Year.