Dancing in the Rain

This week's quote reads, "The art of living consists in dancing in the rain instead of waiting for the sun."

On a metaphorical level, I couldn't agree more. Now is always the time to get out and do what makes you happy, regardless of the whatever else is going on. Procrastination "I'll do it when I feel more confident / I've lost ten pounds / I have an entire free day / I've finished my work / make up your own excuse" is not only the thief of time, it is also the thief of happiness. Sometimes, the right thing to do is to drop everything and simply dance in the rain. Which stands for any spontaneous action which brings us joy.

The "waiting for the sun" is the toxic part of the quote. Because, let's face it, our lives will never be perfect, never be ideal. Most of us will be able to come up with a dozen 'good reasons' for not doing something new, something brave, without even having to scratch our heads very hard. It's never quite the 'right time'.

It takes a lot of courage, and a good dollop of the willingness to be vulnerable, and a certain amount of faith, to dance in the rain - to risk trying something new, that we've never done before, that we're not sure about. But being brave, being vulnerable, having faith in ourselves, in the universe, is how we grow into our best selves.

But on a literal level, I have issues. I hate being wet through... And yes, I appreciate the truth of the saying, "there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing." I'm quite happy to walk in cold weather, bundled up in warm coat, hat, scarf and gloves. It is invigorating. But walking in the rain (let alone dancing in it) is not my bag. Especially now I wear glasses all the time. Call me a wuss, but that is one occasion I'd rather "wait for the sun". I have done it, and will doubtless do it again, but it's not my favourite thing to do.

Keep Your Head Up!

 This week's quote reads, "Keep your head up! Otherwise, you won't be able to see the stars."

It is a good reminder. There are many reasons why people walk around with their heads down, unaware of what is going on around them. Perhaps we are "in our head", preoccupied with our thoughts; perhaps we keep our eyes down to avoid meeting the eyes of anyone else we encounter; or (worst of all, in my view) we are so engrossed in our mobile phone screen that we are oblivious to the real world. 

Maybe I'm getting old, but it never ceases to astonish me when I see people walking around buried in their phones. They are missing out on so much - real life, going on around them.

Holding our heads up can also be a sign of self-worth. We are not afraid to meet the eyes of other people, are comfortable in our own skin. Which is a vulnerable act, and takes courage. Because I also appreciate that for many people, who do not, for one reason or another (like skin colour, sexuality, neurodiversity) "fit in" with the majority, flying under the radar is important for their safety; meeting the eyes of the dominant majority can be potentially dangerous. I hope there are places where they feel secure enough to raise their heads and be with their community and watch the stars.

But the most important reason to keep our heads up, in my opinion, is exactly what the quote states: "otherwise you won't be able to see the stars". Or the rest of the wonders of the world, all around us. My DH and I have recently spent a week in West Sussex (based near Chichester) and spent our time sight-seeing. We saw much to wonder at - the glories of Chichester Cathedral (see below), the different period buildings at the Weald and Downland Museum, Arundel Castle, and the beauty of the South Downs. None of which we would have been able to appreciate, had we not been looking around us, keenly aware of our surroundings. 

It Depends on Your Point of View

 This week's quote reads, "Some people feel the rain, others just get wet."

Feeling the rain... when the recent heatwave finally broke and some very welcome rain fell last Monday, I dashed outside to feel it on my face. So I guess I come into the first category.

How we respond to external stimuli depends on our state of mind, our state of heart. There is always more than one way of looking at anything: positively, negatively, or (as my DH would say) realistically. I'm a glass half-full person myself, so I tend to look on the bright side of life. Yet I recognise that this is a very privileged viewpoint: I am able to do this because I have a foundation of good things in my life to hold me up, to support me.

Each person's life is a rich tapestry of joys interwoven with sorrows. I do believe that they are inseparable, and that to feel on, you have to be open to feeling the other. And having the capacity to feel great joy and great sorrow also means that we have the capacity to love greatly. Which is surely a gift? We are living in difficult times, with terrible news breaking daily, whether it is Donald Trump bombing Iran, people starving in Gaza (and in so many other places) or the myriad species of plants and animals dying out because of our lack of care for our beleaguered planet.

Yet I also believe that there is a deep joy which comes from within us, which is not dependent on circumstances and outside events for its existence - it is a divine gift. If I may give you a personal example: the other day, I went for a walk around the fields which surround our village. The weather was beautiful. Summer was showing herself everywhere, in the ditches and the hedgerows and the fields themselves. I saw a red kite wheeling overhead, riding the thermals with such grace and majesty, and heard the pure song of a skylark. It was just gorgeous, and my heart was full of joy.

Then I came home and checked my e-mails, to find that a dear friend had died in their care home. My bubble of joy burst, and I was filled with sorrow by the news of their passing.

And yet, the fact that I had been open to the joy of the surrounding natural world helped me to be able to cope with the sorrow I felt. Without the one, the other would have hit me a lot harder. I do believe that if we live our lives vulnerably, at a deep spiritual level, feeling the rain rather than simply getting wet, we become more resilient to sorrow, as we are more open to joy.

Embracing Life

 This week's quote advises us to "Live your life with arms wide open!"

Which sounds both attractive and vulnerable, both at the same time. Small children live this way, because they do not have any negative experiences to close them back up. But soon enough, sadly, most of us will experience unkindness, or worse, from other people, and will begin to armour up to protect ourselves. Why would we choose to live with our arms wide open, if it means getting hurt?

To which the answer is, it is important to take the risk, if we want to live authentically. We have to be brave enough to take off the masks which protect us and show our true selves to the world. The mask of competence, the mask of "Everything's fine", the mask of "I can make it alone", the mask of "I don't need anything (or anyone)."

This is something I have only learned in the past 15 years. Until then, I had spent most of my life hiding behind those masks, because the thought of sharing my needs for empathy, companionship and help was terrifying. But taking that step, opening my arms wide, choosing to show my vulnerable self to the world, has been a vital one on the journey towards my true self, my life in God. Slowly, slowly, I have learned to peep out from behind my mask, and to trust other people with my vulnerability. I'm doing it now, by sharing this with you.... My journey is by no means over yet, but recognising that behind that mask is my true self helps me to continue to be brave enough to be vulnerable. To trust.

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 (and who hasn't?) 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 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. To open our arms 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.

Living authentically, embracing life, is about saying "Yes" rather than "No". I love the Quaker Advice which I first came across in my late twenties: "Live adventurously. When choices arise, do you take the way that offers the fullest opportunity for the use of your gifts in the service of God and the community? Let your life speak." 

"Let your life speak." Yes. I have rarely regretted following it, even if it does often make me feel vulnerable. I would far rather dare and fail, live with my arms wide open, than not dare at all.

          

          

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

 I came across a beautiful short poem by John Roedel in my Facebook feed this morning: 

"Between a rock

and a hard place,

let me be water,

let me be water,

let me be water."

And its truth convicted me. Sometimes in our lives, we feel as though we are completely stuck between a rock and a hard place, between two hard and unpleasant things, and that there is no way out. Roedel's words reminded me that water always finds its way through, somehow. That it has the power to seep through the smallest cracks in the reality of our lives, and flow on, undisturbed. And that in the end, it also has the power to wear down those rocks, soften the edges of those hard places, and bring us into a new equilibrium.

There are so many hard places in all our lives. The temptation can be to armour up against them, to protect our vulnerability by enclosing our souls in a carapace of "I'm fine", "I'm dealing with it", "I can cope". It can feel much harder to allow ourselves to feel the feelings, to be open and vulnerable, to trust that life is ultimately good, even if we are not in a particularly good place, right now.

I attended my regular yoga class yesterday evening, and the instructor always begins in the same way. She has us lying on our backs and talks us through a series of breathing and relaxation exercises to open up our bodies, enabling them to stretch and soften. I believe that being open and trusting and vulnerable has the same effect on our souls, enabling them to stretch and soften too. 

So John Roedel's words will be a mantra for me in the days and weeks to come: "Between a rock and a hard place, let me be water."

Our Childlike Hearts

 This week's quotation, by the Chinese philosopher, Mengzi, tells us, "A great man is he who does not lose his childlike heart."

And I agree that "childlike-ness" is an important quality for us to nurture in ourselves. Childlike, not childish. For me, being childlike, means being open and vulnerable and trusting and curious, rather than closed down, armoured up, mistrustful and cynical. 

Of course, it means that we are more vulnerable to being hurt by others. And when we have been hurt in the past, it may be very difficult for us to trust others again, to trust that the universe is not (all appearances to the contrary, sometimes) "out to get us." 

But I do think it is a rewarding, if sometimes challenging, way to live. Jesus has two things to say about little children. The versions I have taken are from the tenth chapter of the Gospel of Mark. He says, "Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs." Then a breath later, he underscores this by saying, "Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it."

It is not an easy message for most of us adults to hear. Jesus seems to be saying that we need to open our hearts, to accept the world as it comes. Which ain't easy.  Yet I have found that when I am closed down, armoured up, mistrustful and cynical, I think the worst of others, I become defensive and bitter. And I don't want to live my life like that. I want to believe the best of others, I want to reach out with love and compassion and curiosity. I want to be as brave as a little child. I want to trust that the universe is (on the whole) a benevolent place in which to live. Is that naive of me? Quite possibly. Does it make me happier? Defnitely.

Behind the Mask

"Behind the mask is always a living face." These words, by Irish poet, William Butler Yeats, are so true.

One of the bravest things we can do in our lives is to take off the masks we wear, and show our true selves to the world. The mask of competence, the mask of "Everything's fine", the mask of "I can make it alone", the mask of "I don't need anything."

Many of us, myself not least, spend most of our lives hiding behind those masks, because the thought of sharing our needs for empathy, companionship and help is a scary one. But taking that step, showing our vulnerable selves to the world, is a vital one on the journey towards our true selves, our lives in God.

I have found the Enneagram an incredibly useful tool on my journey towards my true self (two steps forward, one step back). I discovered nine years ago that I am a Three, the Achiever, who would rather gnaw her own leg off than admit to needing other people's praise and approval, but in desperate need of them nonetheless. I have blogged about this before, here. Slowly, slowly, I have learned to peep out from behind my mask, to trust (a few, very special) other people with my vulnerability. My journey is by no means over yet - I expect it will take the rest of my life.

But just knowing that behind the mask is my unique living face, helps, somehow. Which is why the prayer of Teresa of Avila, below, really resonates with me, these days...

Today, may there be peace within.
May I trust God that I am exactly where I am meant to be.
May I not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May I use those gifts that I have received,
and pass on the love that has been given to me.
May I be content, knowing I am a child of God.
May this presence settle into my bones,
and allow my soul the freedom
to sing, dance, praise and love.
It is there for each and every one of us.
Amen

Approaching the Future with Joy

This week's quotation, by Epicurus of Samos, seems almost paradoxical, "Those who are least concerned about tomorrow, go to meet it with the most enthusiasm."

I had to read it several times, before I suddenly understood what it means. And why it is so appropriate in the first week of a new year. Particularly this new year, which so many of us are entering with great foreboding. I think it's about what Brené Brown calls "foreboding joy".

She explains this, in her book, Daring Greatly, "Softening into the joyful moments of our lives requires vulnerability. If, like me, you've ever stood over your children [sleeping] and thought to yourself, I love you so much I can hardly breathe, and in that exact moment have been flooded with images of something terrible happening to your child, [that is foreboding joy]. ... Once we make the connection between vulnerability and joy, the answer is pretty straightforward: We're trying to beat vulnerability to the punch. We don't want to be blindsided by hurt. We don't want to be caught off-guard, so we literally practice being devastated or never move from self-elected disappointment."

Approaching the future with joy requires vulnerability. The road to happiness means being "least concerned" about tomorrow, not spending all our days worrying and anxious about what *might* happen. Because, here's the thing. Very often, it won't.

I heard a lovely quotation years ago, not sure who it's by:

"Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.... and all is well."

Anxiety and worry are very real, and very debilitating. And fatal to present happiness. I count myself very blessed in being a natural optimist. I am married to a natural pessimist, who is always waiting "for the other shoe to drop" as Brené Brown puts it.

Perhaps I am naïve, always hoping for the best. But it is a much happier way to live. I have faith that things will turn out alright in the end, and that I must work to help that to happen. 

So not just blind faith, but faith and works. Let's go forward into 2020 with a zeal to work for a better future.  For all of us.

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.

Vulnerable to Change

Oh dear. I have just changed my e-mail address, because my old e-mail internet service provider has decided to stop supporting domestic e-mails in the near future. And because my new e-mail address is a gmail one, I'm having huge problems changing my access to this blog.

And it has made me realise how very reliant I have become on this technology, which I don't understand, and just expect to work.

Until it doesn't.

Even now, I don't know why or how it's suddenly decided to let me in. *sigh*

And just to frustrate me even more, it seems to be virtually impossible to contact Google help directly - you just get directed to a multiple-choice help forum, which is no darn help at all.

Now I have a headache, my head looks like Struwwelpeter's because I've been clutching it in despair, and my stomach is in a tight, frustrated knot.

There must be a better way. I wonder, no, I know, that I have taken this wonderful internet world of ours for granted for too long, being content to be a competent end-user, and leaving problem-solving to the professionals. This afternoon, I have realised how very vulnerable to any changes I am, because I don't understand how the system works.

It's not a nice feeling. But this blog is an important part of my ministry, and I am loathe to give it up. I know there will be a way round it eventually, and all will go back to normal.

I just worry that I, and all of us, are sticking our collective heads in the sand. Our whole society is reliant on systems and machines that we didn't make, that are run by who knows who, garnering who knows what information about us all along the way. What if we run out of fuel for power stations? Or if a major internet player, like Google, is hacked into and corrupted?

I don't have any answers, only questions. So I'm going to finish this, then log off, curl up in a corner of the sofa and read my new book. At least I can rely on that not to shut me out!

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.