Grace by coffee

In between much Land Law teaching today, I popped into a popular sandwich place for something to eat and, more importantly, life giving COFFEE. As I stood in line, my boss called with some crisis which required me to explain some boring aspect of Land law to a colleague. This probably caused me to look rather more harassed than I was feeling - though in point of fact I was well and truly sick of Land by this time, was tired because I couldn't sleep last night, really wanted tomorrow to get here now because I shall be doing something fun then, and Just. Wanted. My. Coffee. 

I finally placed my order, which arrived just as I managed to end the phone call. At this point, I discovered that the man who'd been in the queue parallel to mine had paid for my coffee and lunch along with his own! He hadn't waited for me to realise this, or to be thanked. He had just quietly done his good deed, smiled at me, and gone on his way. But gosh did his act of grace and kindness make my day! Now I just need to pay it forward...

Lost and found

Almost a year ago, something began which I thought would bring me joy. And it did, for a while. But very quickly, the situation took me (or I allowed myself to go) to a place of darkness, pain and sorrow. It was so bad that I stopped writing. I lost my words, part of the core of my being. I lost part of my self. Those who know me well will know how significant this was. When I go silent for too long, it's not a good sign. I went quiet, I went numb with the constant hurt, and I misplaced my backbone.

 

If not for the friend who asked me where the woman she knew and loved had gone, I might still be there. If not for the friends who loved me, supported me, let me cry, didn't judge me, fed me tea and cake, listened to me, kept me company, protected me, held my hand, helped me heal and reminded me who I was, I would probably still be a puddle on the floor.

 

Instead, I have returned! I am strong, beautiful, alive, happy! So, thank you: Charli, Tina, Simon, Tracey, Rob C, Rob M, Henri, Till, Maddy, Nat, Bethan, Emma C, Siobhan, Emma A, Elizabeth S, Jane, Yiwen, Suwei, Bobby, Zoya, Egle, Dominika, and many more. Like the stars, I know you're always there - wherever in the world we are.

 

Thanks to you, I was lost but now I'm found! And the words are back :)

The lady and the cushion; the man and the tea

This is really two posts in one, two stories I felt I needed to tell. They are separate, but connected by what they meant to me, and by the loving place they came from. 

The Lady and the Cushion

I went away on retreat over the weekend, to a still, peaceful place where beauty lives. It was a gift I decided to give myself, but the giving of it cost me a lot, because I find it difficult to be kind to myself - as I suspect a lot of people do. Anyway, I spent the first couple of days in silence, trying to quiet all the internal noise I put between myself and God. For me, this is a worthwhile exercise, and a necessary once, but it's also emotionally intense and I find it challenging on many levels. The point of me telling you this is to explain that by the time Sunday morning rolled around, I was in a vulnerable place - not that this was a bad thing, but when you make the effort to open your heart, take an honest look at what's inside and turn your will to being receptive, it's going to feel raw. 

So that's where I was on Sunday morning. It was a gorgeous sunny day and after breakfast I took myself off to a quiet spot by the lake just to sit and be. It had rained the night before, so the wooden bench I chose was well and truly cold and damp but I couldn't be bothered to move so I was prepared to put up with it. It wasn't conducive to calm and relaxation though!

A few minutes later, one of the women also there on retreat came trotting cross the lawn, lugging an enormous cushion. "Right young lady, you haven't been well and you cannot, you simply cannot, sit there getting cold and damp. Honestly, it can't be comfortable! Now you sit on this, you'll feel much better." And so saying, Eileen hauled me (gently) out of my seat by the elbow, plopped down and plumped this cushion, sat me back down, threw a rug over my knees and strode away again without another word. The whole exchange probably took less than a minute but it touched me to the very core of my heart and changed the complexion of that day for me. This kind woman had seen me from the house, and decided that I couldn't be allowed to sit on a wet bench slowly freezing. She didn't have to do it, and I know it sounds like a small thing, but it was just this pure expression of loving kindness, no strings attached, and it made all the difference to me. Because the truth was that I didn't love myself enough to care for my comfort, and to find that someone else could and did was incredibly moving. God was there, in that moment, in that love. 

The man and the tea

This is something that happened a couple of years ago, and I don't know if I've since told the person involved how significant that moment was for me. If not, I hope he'll know now. 

My world had been gradually crumbling for some time, and on this day I reached a point of total collapse. There was only one place, one person I felt I could go to and so I did - even though we'd never met and he didn't know me from Eve. I will say until my dying day that God led me there, because I certainly didn't know what to do. This nice man listened to me, and really heard me, and has continued to be there for me, all of which has meant so much to me a little blog post isn't going to do it justice. But you know what rocked my world? He made me a cup of tea. That's it. That's what changed everything. Because I could not remember the last time anyone had done that for me. I'm usually the tea-maker, the care-giver, the organiser, the Martha. To be taken care of in that small way was the most loving thing I had experienced in a very long time, and it did something to my heart. It made healing possible; I felt it, but it took me a long time to understand.

The point of all this is that it doesn't take a lot. Grand gestures not necessary. A random act of kindness, which costs you nothing, can change someone's world. These two blessed mine, and I give thanks for them. 

TFTD - worth remembering

"Always be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle."

                                                                - Plato -

The brolly in the downpour

A couple of Sundays ago, I emerged from church to be greeted by sunshine and a glorious blue sky, so I thought I'd go for a walk. Fair enough you'd think, in London in the summer. True, it had been raining first thing in the morning. But I'm a Londoner, so I always have a little umbrella in my bag and even if it did rain I should be fine. 

That's what I thought. But what happened as I was strolling along the King's Road was not so much a summer shower as a deluge. My little red umbrella with the pretty white hearts all over it was no match for the downpour. It had developed into one of those horizontal rains that comes at you from all sides, so that all of you is democratically drenched. I gave up and darted into the shelter of the nearest doorway, resigned to waiting it out. I had somewhere else to be but there was no point in even trying to get there if I were only going to arrive looking like a drowned rat (said the vain, vain woman). 

Just as I reached the foot-tapping stage of impatience (which took about five minutes) diversion arrived in the form of a man who had apparently decided to share my doorway. This is spite of the fact that he had not one but two enormous umbrellas over his arm -  a standard black one and a really pretty one with a pink handle, covered in roses. I was admiring this floral confection when the man held it out to me and said, "Here young lady, this is for you! That dress is too pretty to ruin in this rain." He offered me the umbrella, and I began to protest but he cut me off. "Please take it, I saw you from down the street and popped into this shop to buy it for you. It's a gift, no strings attached, just because it's Sunday and it will please me to make someone's day a little nicer."

So I thanked him, opened this gorgeous birdcage brolly and stepped out into the street, dry as a bone. "Thank you so much, this is so kind, you've made my day!" I said, genuinely thrilled. "Then you've made mine," he replied, and we went our separate ways. 

That was it. That man was a total stranger and we will probably never see each other again. He didn't have to do what he did. It was a random act of kindness, a gift given freely; it was a timely reminder of God's love and how we can be an expression of that love, one day at a time, one random act of love at a time.

Listen to your heart, and don't worry about a thing

"... follow your heart. I know it sounds trite, but it's the only thing to do. Because at the end of the day your heart will stop beating, and it will be too late to regret that you didn't go where it prompted you to go." (Berthea Snark, "A Conspiracy of Friends", Alexander McCall Smith)

God knows what He's doing. It's a truth I find it hard to hold on to sometimes, especially when nothing seems to be going the way I'd like it to, but it's an unshakeable part of what I believe and therefore of who I am. It doesn't mean that bad things don't happen, or that life isn't full of disappointments and unfairness. But it does mean that when I remember to stop being such a type-A control freak, I have the exquisite luxury of knowing that the guy in the driver's seat knows where we're going and how we're going to get there. All I have to do is go on the journey - and try to remember to enjoy the ride.

I have spent most of my life fighting my own heart. I am used to putting everyone else's expectations before my own desires, everyone's wants before my own needs, other people before my self. Not because I'm particularly good or kind, but often because I have felt that is precisely what I am not. I have a terror of being selfish, and so I find it very hard to say "no". I have been conditioned to put duty and responsibility above all else, and certainly above that pesky little ego and id - my super-ego reigns supreme. 

Don't get me wrong, duty, responsibility and moral obligation are important. There are far too many people with no sense of how what they do affects the people in their lives - or who just don't care. But how do you take care of the people you love if you won't even give yourself permission to breathe? 

Rob Bell, writing in Velvet Elvis, puts it better than I can ever hope to:

"I started identifying how much of my life was about making sure the right people were pleased with me. And as this became more and more clear, I realised how less and less pleased I was with myself. What happens is our lives become so heavily oriented around the expectations of others that we become more and more like them and less and less like ourselves. We become split.

...I had all this guilt and shame because I wasn't measuring up to the image of the perfect person I had in my head. 

...I meet so many people who have superwhatever rattling around in their head. They have this person they are convinced they are supposed to be, and their superwhatever is killing them. They have this image they picked up over the years of how they are supposed to look and act and work and play and talk, and it's like a voice that never stops shouting in their ear. 

And the only way not to be killed by it is to shoot first."

The very first time I read this passage, a few years ago now, I felt the power of what Rob Bell was saying. It scared me how close to the bone this man, who had never met me and didn't know me from Eve, had come. I read this, and I saw myself, and I knew that he was right. If I didn't stop living this way, I was going to end up dead. 

I knew this, and still I could not, or did not, or was not quite able, to stop myself. And so I kept going. I fought it, and I tried, but I kept going. I didn't want to, but I kept going, because that is how I am. I am a perfectionist, and I try hard, and nothing is ever good enough. I am never good enough. Way to miss the point, huh?

And finally, finally, it has almost killed me. It has almost, quite literally, ended my life. 

There is a story that's been doing the rounds for years, told as a joke but with a serious point to make:

A religious man is on top of a roof during a great flood. A man comes by in a boat and says, "Get in, get in!" The religous man replies, "No I have faith in God, he will grant me a miracle."

When the water is up to his waist, another boat and rescuer come by but once again the man responds that he has faith in God and God will provide a miracle. With the water at chest height, another boat comes to rescue him, but he turns down the offer again because "God will grant me a miracle." Finally, as the man is almost completely submerged, a helicopter throws down a ladder and they tell him to get in. Mumbling through the water in his mouth, he says - you guessed it - he believes God will come to his rescue. Of course, he drowns. He arrives at the gates of heaven with broken faith and says to Saint Peter, I thought God would grant me a miracle and I have been let down." St. Peter chuckles and responds, "I don't know what you're complaining about, we sent you three boats and a helicopter."

I have turned down several boats, but there is no way I am not getting on that helicopter. It means letting go of a lot, and leaving people behind. It means having to fight a lot of learned behaviour. It means giving myself permission to be the person I really am, instead of struggling to be the person I am expected to be - which, horror of horrors, means accepting that maybe, just maybe, who I am is enough. No, not good enough, which has nothing to do with anything; just enough. It is the hardest, most terrifying thing I have ever done (and this is a lawyer speaking). But it is better by far than the alternative. 

It is going to be a struggle, and I am going to need help - most of you will have no idea what it took for me to recognise and admit that, to myself much less to anyone else. But at this point I have nothing to lose. So I choose not to let the floodwaters close over my head. I choose to be free. I choose life. And it doesn't really matter that I don't know what I'm doing, where I'm going or how I'm going to get there, because God does, and I have found, in some of my darkest hours, that I really do trust Him. So, don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing's gonna be all right.

Being Martha

"Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her." Luke 10:41-42

Most of us are familiar with the Biblical story of Mary and Martha, told in Luke 10:38-42. Jesus and his disciples were on their way, moving from town to town, village to village. At this particular village, Martha welcomed Jesus into her home. Martha scurried around, making sure there was food, shelter - everything her guests might need. She didn't stop for even a moment, not while there was still work to be done. Mary, meanwhile, sat at Jesus' feet and just listened to what he was saying. Eventually, tired and frustrated, Martha appeals to Jesus to tell Mary to get up and help her. And what does he do? He rebukes her!

At least, that is how I saw it for many years, and I must say, I took it deeply personally. I was as hurt as if Jesus had appeared before me, tutted, and told me off. Because I am, and always have been, very much a Martha. I do. If I'm not doing, I don't feel right. I don't feel that I'm living with purpose unless I'm trying my hardest to take care of everyone and everything. And there has always been a part of me very much in sympathy with my Biblical namesake; I too feel like saying to Jesus that it's all very well to sit and listen, but if that's all everyone ever did nothing would get done! And then where would we be? Jesus hit the nail on the head with me - I am worried and distracted by many things. 

But as with so many things, context is everything. The story of Mary and Martha is immediately preceded by the parable of the Good Samaritan, which suggests that comtemplating without doing is at best a futile exercise; at worst, it can cost a life. Yet Jesus tells Martha "there is need of only one thing" - to listen. So which is it?

Once I stopped being so offended at Jesus for speaking to Martha as he did, I grew puzzled. Because Martha was an important part of Jesus' ministry. Jesus could have provided food, water and shelter for himself and his followers but he didn't, not on this occasion anyway - Martha did. She provided hospitality and in doing so, helped make it possible for Jesus to provide for others, to do what was important for him to do. In her own small way, she helped to enable Jesus' ministry. Taking care of people was her ministry. Martha served. 

And perhaps this is why Jesus tells her to take a time-out. No one can keep going and going and going without burning out, as I have learned the hard way. Martha loves Jesus, so she serves him the best way she knows how. Jesus loves Martha, so he tells her she needs to strike a balance. He is not telling Martha her work is worthless, or to stop completely. He is telling her not to get so caught up in it that it takes over her life, that her purpose is lost in the sheer volume of tasks she takes upon herself. Jesus reminds Martha of the importance of giving him her undivided attention. 

Returning to the idea of context, I also think Jesus is offering Martha a kind of freedom. Jesus was unconventional, he challenged expectations; and I think he is letting Martha know she can do the same. At that time, in that place, a good woman's place was very much in the home, her role largely domestic. Women were not supposed to be scholars, or agents for social or political change. By allowing Mary to sit at his feet, Jesus was going against religious and social custom on at least two fronts. It was not quite the done thing to be in such close physical proximity to a woman one was not related to, nor was it usual for a Rabbi to be imparting his teachings to a woman. Jesus was inviting Martha to draw nearer to Him, and showing her she too could listen and learn. She did not have to be confined to a single role, important as that role was.

There is nothing wrong with Martha, nor is there anything wrong with Mary. But what I need in my life, what so many of us need, is to strike a spiritual balance between these two seemingly conflicting aspects of our personalities. As an inveterate Martha, it is such a gift to me to be reminded just to stop and listen. To be given permission to let go of my concerns, my busyness, the fragmented nature of my life, is a blessing indeed. To be invited to stop for a while, and just be with the God who loves me, is truly wonderful. To be reminded to listen, and be guided in my actions by what God has to say to me, by what he wants for me, is a necessity I have realised I cannot live without. 

I didn't fully appreciate the value of just listening until I drove myself to a breakdown. Even then, I found it almost impossible to stop. Sheer momentum, force of habit, and a distorted sense of self-worth tied to the accomplishment of concrete tasks kept me going. When I couldn't keep going, I became depressed. And then I lost my words. When I can't do, I begin to have trouble speaking, writing, sharing. I withdraw into myself, and I struggle to break free again. The sense of my own failure oppresses me and smothers my voice. I am so thankful to have people in my life who understand this, who point it out to me when it's happening, and who just keep loving me through the hard times. I am so thankful to the people who helped me understand this about myself, and who did (and keep doing) me the service of listening to me.

How ironic, that I have always valued myself by how much I can do for others - and the greatest gift I have been given is to be listened to, to be heard. Thank God for Mary! Thank Christ for the listeners! I have always been happy to be a listener, but I never appreciated this aspect of myself. I thought it was nothing. I thought it was not enough simply to be present - largely because I always thought I was not enough. I have had, for years, a monumental double standard when it comes to valuing service, with myself on one side, always having to do more and try harder, and everyone else on the other side, where it is enough that they just be who they are. 

It is temping to vilify Martha and exemplify Mary. It is tempting to dismiss Martha, as Jesus seemed to be doing. It is tempting to criticise Mary as being selfish, taking the opportunity to learn and letting Martha do all the work without offering to help. But the scripture is more complex than that, as life is more complex than that, as we are more complex than that.

It is not about being one or the other. We are called to be Martha: to provide food and shelter to all God's children, to nurse them when they are ill, to provide for their physical needs, to fill the need that surrounds us. We are also called to be Mary: to sit, to listen, to provide a safe space for people to tell their stories, to let people be heard. We are called to serve, and Jesus through his life has shown us just how many ways there are to do this, all of which mean something, all of which are part of the larger design. 

We are called to be like Jesus: to provide hospitality to everyone, even if - especially if - society considers them "second class" for some reason. We are called to make space at the margins, and to do what we can to free our brothers and sisters from the roles and ties that bind and oppress them. We are called to extend freedom to all God's children so that they can simply be. 

And that has to start with me. With you. We have to give ourselves the freedom to be who we are, and then just to be. 

For the love of Love, be kind today/this week/always

"One kind word can warm three winter months."  (Japanese proverb)

Please, please, please, make the effort, just for one day, to be nothing but kind. It may be difficult, especially when life is happening to you, people are being unreasonable, and the world may be making you furious. It happens a lot, I get that. But just think of the last time someone was unkind to you, deliberately or through thoughtlessness; remember how that made you feel? Why would you want to do that to another person? Even if they have done something awful to you, inflicting pain won't make you feel any better - has it ever, in your personal experience?

Words have power. Words can hurt. And you don't know what the person in front of you has gone through, in their life or even just in that day, week or month. You don't know if you might turn out to be the straw that broke the camel's back. So bite back the mean.

Instead, smile. Say something nice, just because. Tell someone how much you appreciate them, and what they do, even if it's "just" the barista who serves your coffee just so and keeps smiling in the face of hordes of (often rude) caffeine-deprived commuters in a hurry. Or the girl who holds the door for you. The bus driver who sees you running dementedly and waits so you can catch his bus. The guy who got the book/tin/mug off the high shelf for you. Especially the person who let you have the last cookie or piece of chocolate! And the friend who you know you can always call, who will be there if you need to talk, and who understands if you can't speak, but will sit with you and hold you. 

Think of all the people who lift you up, and put a little of that back out there. It will probably cost you nothing, and you will make someone's day - or maybe even save a life. 

In memoriam

"We love, because He first loved us." (1 John 3:19)

In loving memory of my grandfather, Sam, who was the kindest, most generous, most loving person I have ever had the privilege to know, and who returned to the Father's embrace this day 20 years ago. 

I have a lot more to say, but I will have to say it later because my heart is too full to do it right now.

Turning point

Today is my 30th birthday, generally considered one of life's milestones, and for various reasons I am not in a position to have any kind of celebration to mark it. Over the last few months, I suspected that this would be the case and was pre-emptively disappointed. What did it bode for the year to come if I couldn't have some serious fun even on this special day itself? It didn't look good for the next 365 days...

But why this fixation on turning 30? To be honest, it hasn't been so much about the number itself; it's not like I feel "old". If anything, I often feel more like a child than a grown-up. And that's probably part of what was bothering me. By 30, I was supposed to be a grown-up. I was supposed to be married, and have a child (or at least one on the horizon). I was supposed to be several rungs up the ladder of my chosen career. I was supposed to have a few mortgage payments under my belt. None of these things have happened, and it hasn't helped that it seems as if most of the people I grew up with have managed to achieve what I have failed to do. They have grown up and ticked the boxes we were all supposed to. If they could do it, why haven't I been able to?

I have worried about these things for years. People I love and trust have been telling me for at least the last couple of those years that all this anxiety is misplaced and unnecessary. What is all this "supposed to" talk? Who decided that there is only one way for life to go, and that if you take the scenic route rather than the expressway you might as well be walking around with a big fat red "F" on your chest, like some kind of post-modern scarlet woman? Of course, lots of people tell you, constantly, what is expected of you; and it is almost impossible not to listen and be affected. And a lot of the advice we are given is good - about working hard and being responsible and so on. But to be told that there is only one acceptable way to live?

I don't think anyone has the right to tell me exactly how I should live my life except God. And He has given me free will! What does that say? 

I have had so much time for contemplation this last year, and a lot of it was time I did not want. I wanted to be up and doing, not forced to keep still when I wanted to move forward. I spent so much time fighting the stillness, and the harder I fought, the more gently but firmly I was made to be still, until I resigned myself to it. Even that was not enough. Resignation, in my case at least, contained a strong element of resistance, and so more and more obstacles (for want of a better word) turned up and pushed me beyond what I thought were my boundaries, to a whole new place of stillness, until I began to learn acceptance. 

And now, I am so deeply deeply thankful that I was forced to learn this lesson. It has been a hard, painful few years, and there is still a struggle in front of me. I am pretty sure that I have only just begun to catch a glimpse of what God has been trying to show me, but that glimpse is changing my life. 

Finally, finally, I am letting go of all the "supposed to"s. I am letting go of everything that kept me toiling on the path I was on, banging my head against a brick wall, even though I knew in my heart of hearts it was wrong; even though I knew it was not my purpose. I don't "have" to do anything. But there is a lot that God has planned for me, and it is better than anything I can imagine for myself, even now. 

So, I am not going to rush into anything. I am not going to make any decisions based on what anyone else wants or expects. What happens next is between me and God, and having decided that feels more "right" than anything has in a long time. I think I know what I want to do, for the first time in my life. I've had this idea for some time, but I remained unsure because my vision was clouded by self-doubt and fear. Once I accepted that it was ok to make a mistake, I felt a lot happier about trying these new things.

It took a lot of pain and heartbreak, but I have come a lot closer to trusting unreservedly in the God I love so much. I needed to see that He would not let me go, no matter what. He has stood with me through all the awfulness of the last few years, never leaving me, never giving up on me, giving me what I needed to get through it, and more. He has kept teaching me, though it must have pained Him to watch me struggle as much as it hurt me to go through it. He has suffered with me, for my sake, though I have been able to give so little in return and can never match His love and selflessness. 

So, it is fitting that my 30th birthday will be a day of ordinary things. I will spend it making plans and running errands for a celebration in my late grandfather's honour. The 20th anniversary of his death falls on the 1st of March, and I would rather spend this time remembering him and his life. I am glad that I have been given the opportunity to spend my birthday in the service of another. There could be no better  way to begin the rest of my life. 

The Day's Result

The Day’s Result

Is anybody happier because you passed his way?

Does anyone remember that you spoke to him today?

The day is almost over and its toiling time is through;

Is there anyone to utter now a kindly word of you?

Did you give a cheerful greeting to the friend who came along,

Or a churlish sort of “Howdy”; then vanish in the throng?

Were you selfish, pure and simple, as you rushed along your way,

Or is someone mighty grateful for a deed you did today?

Can you say tonight, in parting with the day that’s slipping fast,

That you helped a single brother of the many that you passed?

Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said?

Does the man whose hopes were fading now with courage look ahead?

Did you waste the day or lose it, was it well or poorly spent?

Did you leave a trail of kindness, or a scar of discontent?

As you close your eyes in slumber, do you think that God would say,

“You have earned one more tomorrow by the work you did today?”

                                                                                - Unknown -

What I learned from my dog

Yesterday, on the first day of the new year, my dog passed away. He had been with me for 18 years, having spent his first year abandoned before we rescued him - just as he was running out of time and the SPCA was about to put him down. Max was saved, and though he was "only" a dog, his life had purpose and meaning. He was part of a plan, and his life has shown me how crucial we can be to God's plan, even if we don't know it; even if we do nothing else but simply live. 

Max taught me so many things - even if it did take me some time to recognise some of them. He taught me:-

* That true love really doesn't think of itself. He was fiercely protective, and in turn, I would have done anything for him.

* That sometimes, love means letting go.

* To love with my whole heart.

* To always be happy to see the people I love.

* To smile a lot.

* Never to hold a grudge. (He was really good at this; I am still working on it!)

* To forgive, quickly and willingly - though that doesn't mean allowing people to walk all over you time and again. He was no pushover :)

* To approach each new day and every new experience with enthusiasm - even the walk he took pretty much every day of his life was utterly thrilling to him, every single time.

* To be grateful for the small things. I've never met anyone so happy to be given a single scoop of vanilla ice cream :)

* To show affection to the ones I care for, freely and often.

* To be patient (no one was as patient as Max waiting for us to finish what we were doing and take him for a walk / to the park / for a drive. That dog could out-wait the most determined procrastinator... And he was so patient when he fell ill it inspired me even while it broke my heart.)

* To be tolerant.

* To never give up, but to know when to let go.

* To be strong, but to know it's not weak to lean on someone else.
* To be brave, and it's ok to be afraid.

* To share, no matter how much or how little I have.

* To think of others.

* To be sensitive to how others feel, and to freely offer sympathy and a hand (paw) to hold.

* To just be there for those I love, unfailingly.

* To give lots of cuddles.

* To be humble.

* To trust and have faith. Max never doubted that I would love him and keep him safe. If my little dog could have such absolute faith in me, why do I have trouble putting my life in God's hands as completely and willingly as Max put his in mine?

* To be loyal.

* To never be afraid to show my joy - or to share my sadness with those who love me.

* To feel the wind and the sunshine on my face and rejoice, just because. 

* To take pleasure in every meal, and just enjoy it for what it is.

* To get enough sleep!

* To protect and defend those I love. 

* To live in the moment. Max had mastered this, and I think a lot of his happiness came from this place! This is a big one, and I'm going to keep trying because so much comes from this one thing.

* What you look like doesn't matter. It's what's in your heart, and in your soul (though Max was utterly gorgeous). 

* What someone else looks like, how much they know or what they have really really doesn't matter - what does matter is their heart and how they treat you.
* Things don't matter. People do.

* To treat others with respect.

* To be silly sometimes.

* To play, every chance I get.

* To laugh, a lot.

* To be kind.

* To enjoy every day to its fullest, whether you are deaf, blind, ill, in a wheelchair or in pain. Max enjoyed life right to the very end, and se he got every last possible atom of joy out of it, and gave even more.

* To give more than you receive.

*To be thankful.

* To sit under the shade of a tree on a hot day now and then.

* To do nothing from time to time, but just be, and not feel guilty about it.

* To accept praise, attention and recognition without excusing it away.

* To accept love without minimising it.

* To accept that I am worthy of love without questioning it.

Just by living, Max taught me all this and much much more. Not bad for a little dog, huh?

My darling Max, always smiling

At rest, in his favourite place, under the most fragrant flowering tree in the garden

New Year's Prayer

God grant us this year a wider view,
So we see others' faults through the eyes of You.
Teach us to judge not with hasty tongue,
Neither the adult ... nor the young. 

Give us patience and grace to endure 
And a stronger faith so we feel secure. 
Instead of remembering, help us forget
The irritations that caused us to fret. 

Freely forgiving for some offense
And finding each day a rich recompense.
In offering a friendly, helping hand 
And trying in all ways to understand; 

That all of us whoever we are ... 
Are trying to reach an unreachable star.
For the great and small ... the good and bad,
The young and old ... the sad and glad

Are asking today; Is life worth living? 
The answer is only in, loving and giving.
For only Love can make man kind
And Kindness of Heart brings Peace of Mind.

By giving love, we can start this year
To lift the clouds of hate and fear.


                                                                    - Helen Steiner Rice - 
* In memory of Max

A prayer for New Year's Eve

Another year is dawning
With the chance to start anew.
May I be kinder, wiser, Lord,
In all I say and do.

Not so caught up in selfish gain
That I would fail to see
The things in life that mean the most
Cost not a fancy fee.

The warm, kind word that I can give,
The outstretched hand to help,
The prayers I pray for those in need--
More precious these than wealth.

I know not what may lie ahead
Of laughter or of tears;
I only need to know each day
That You are walking near.

I'm thankful for this brand new year
As now I humbly pray,
My hand secure in Yours, dear Lord,
Each step along the way.

                                                                       - Kay Hoffman -

TFTD

"You have it easily in your power to increase the sum total of this world's happiness now. How? By giving a few words of sincere appreciation to someone who is lonely or discouraged. Perhaps you will forget tomorrow the kind words you say today, but the recipient may cherish them over a lifetime."

                                                                                                 - Dale Carnegie -

Hope

A lot of the time, it seems so hard to hold on to any kind of hope, to any shred of optimism that things are going to get better. And if I did not have a belief that refuses to be shaken, I don't think I could do it. (Let it be said that I think that holds true whatever it is that you, believe. The thing is to have something that guides you, something to hold on to, whether it's the God of the Bible, Torah or Quran, the teachings of Buddha or the Bhagavad Gita. I just think human beings need some kind of compass, or why would so much of human endeavour be devoted to some kind of search for meaning?)

Anyway, I say it's my belief that refuses to be shaken, because it's certainly not me. Most of the time, I am weak, confused, terrified, desperate for answers and generally about as a stable as a weeping willow in a gale. But there is a tiny, tenacious something that lives inside me that is always quiet with the peace of certainty, always alive, and always strong enough to keep the million pieces of the rest of me together. And that something is not of my doing. It was a gift that was given to me without my asking, because the Giver loved me so much He gave his only son for me, and sticks with me even when I'm at my worst, and probably not very lovable. That's my personal explanation. It's ok if you don't agree, or believe what I do. It's not about everyone having to believe the exact same thing; I'm just telling you what it's like for me. It's incredibly comforting to know you are loved like that.

So, I have hope. And I have hope because I have faith, or rather because Faith has me, and "...faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1)

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune - without the words,
And never stops at all,


And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.


I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

                                            - Emily Dickinson - 

It ain't no crystal stair, but you've got to keep climbing

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

                                                            -Langston Hughes, "Mother to Son"-

Giving up, and taking on

At the beginning of this Lent, like so many Lents before, I thought long and hard about a) whether I should give something up, and b) if so, what? Now I don't have that conversation with myself because I don't want to give up something I enjoy, but it has always seemed hollow to me to, for example, give up chocolate for the sake of giving something up for Lent. Not that I take any decision involving chocolate lightly! The presence of chocolate in my life has probably been a major contributing factor to my not whacking someone over the head when they enraged me, and chocolate is definitely part of the glue that helps to mend a broken heart. In my world anyway. 

But the point is, if I am giving up anything for Lent, why am I doing it? Like so many Christians around the world, I have done it in the name of fasting - almost without thinking about it. We sacrifice something as part of the process of remembering the sacrifice Christ made for us. But there came a time when that, in and of itself, began not to sit very well with me. It was not going far enough - by which I do not mean that there was not enough "suffering" in the equation; it was simply that I felt there was another step which I needed to take for this to be a meaningful exercise. 

And I think what was making me uncomfortable was this focus on giving something up, as if that was where the buck stopped. I give something up, I've done my bit? No. I give something up to remind me of Christ's sacrifice - yes. But what does His sacrifice mean? Why did He do it? What implications does that have for how I live my life? Now we're on to something. 

So, what is really important, to me, is my relationship with the living God. That sacrifice was made so I could live, which means for me, Lent is about taking a good hard look at what God really wants us to be doing, how He really wants us to be living. 

"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter - when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?"

                                                                                     -Isaiah 58:6-7-

So, I am giving things up in order to make room for something else. I am trying to give up the things that are getting in the way of my relationship with God, and to take up things that bring me closer to Him. 

I will give up chocolate that is made on the backs of the working poor, that enslaves children and puts them in dangerous working conditions. And I will take up Fairtrade chocolate. 

I will cut down on Facebook time. And I will take up a pen and a piece of paper, and write a note to someone I love, to an old friend, to someone sick or someone lonely. 

I will cut down on TV or whatever else I use to distract myself. And I will talk to my granny with more attention, take up stronger relationships, give more time to prayer. 

I will try to give up resentment, and I will take up love. 

I will try to give up shame and guilt, and I will take up my inheritance as a child of God. 

A Japanese-American, an Indian and an Irishman walk into a Tokyo karaoke bar...

I'm sure you've all heard about the earthquake that hit Japan on Friday afternoon. When the news broke, we happened to be watching CNN - one of those hysterical American political "debates" between a gun-toting soccer mom, a political blogger who appeared to have no knowledge whatsoever of foreign policy, and an actual reasonable expert who looked increasingly embarrassed to be part of the who circus. But I digress. 

I have friends in Tokyo, and so I sat there, glued to the screen for hours, watching buildings crumble, roads break into chunks like so much peanut brittle, and people - afraid, hurt, worried for loved ones, or just wondering how they were going to get home now that the bullet trains had ground to a halt. 

With no public transport available and the roads in chaos, most of Tokyo's workers, students and tourists resigned themselves to the long trek home, or at least towards some kind of transport in the suburbs. I wondered about my friends, J, R, and P, who I know work at one end of the city and live at the other, a pain of a commute even when everything is running smoothly. 

For this story to make sense, you need to know a little about out heroes. They met at MIT as undergraduates ten years ago, where they all did some incredibly complicated degree involving computers. J, a Japanese-American, is an amazing artist. R, originally from India, is, so they tell me, an outstanding computer programmer, and with his business nous, Irishman P could very well be the next Donald Trump, only nicer and better looking. Together, the intrepid three have been in Tokyo for the last year, working the computed game design market and aiming to set up their own company. 

Anyway, on Friday afternoon, J, R and P set out on the long walk home. They had been going for five hours when they got fed up and decided it was too cold and too dark to proceed. They looked around for somewhere to spend the night, and realised they had stopped on the threshold of a karaoke bar. Well, when the universe extends you an invitation like that, how can you say no? And so it was that a Japanese-American, and Indian and an Irishman walked into a karaoke bar in Tokyo...

The bar was already full of salarymen who'd had the same idea hours ago, if the number of empty beer bottles lying around was any indication. The arrival of fresh entertainment was greeted with gleeful shouts of "boyband des-ne!", giggles and guffaws. Before they knew what was happening, the mic was wrenched from the slightly desperate grasp of a middle-aged middle manager who had been subjecting the bar to a very morose rendition of My Way, J, R and P were (gently) pushed up onto the stage, beers appearing miraculously in one hand and mics in the other, and the boys found themselves performing The Osmonds' Crazy Horses, quite a bit of the Backstreet Boys early material, a Motown medley, and finally, a life-affirming I Will Survive to which the entire bar sang along. 

The next morning, the erstwhile bar flies did what they could to help one another on their way. The next few weeks, or months, are going to be anything but fun and games for the people affected by the earthquake and subsequent tsunami. But I give thanks for the resilience of the human spirit, and for the fact that these people were able to snatch some joy from a situation that was anything but. As long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive. 

The crowded pew

I can't quite put my finger on why this was, but Eucharist was particularly moving today. I love that service anyway - being reminded of the sacrifice made for me in the name of love never ceases to touch me. And there's something about worshipping together, sharing communion, being part of this community that stretches back in time, out in space, and forwards to tomorrow that makes me feel held, anchored, safe. I get a sense of peace in the Eucharist that I regularly find only there and maybe a couple of other places. 

That said, one of the nice things about today was the crowded pew I was in. There was a Muslim boy on my left, a Quaker girl on my right (I love you both), and another five of us  - I don't know about the others but the three of us were certainly snuggled up nice and close! Then there were dear, dear friends further along, behind me, and across the aisle - not to mention up at the altar doing the "magic hands" :) So when we were sharing the peace, I just thought how lucky I was that just in this one place there were so many people I love, who love me. So much love, just in this one room - just on that one crowded pew!

And every single week, when everyone else has gone down to lunch, my wonderful friend, EC, stays with me in the empty chapel and we pray. For her, for me, for us, for the people we love, for anything and everything. It is one of the most precious times in my week, this time I spend in prayer with my kind, loving, beloved friend. I know she reads this and I want her to know that. 

So if the pew is a metaphor for my life, I'm never there alone. There are plenty of loving people squeezed on there with me - Jewish, Anglican, Roman Catholic, Muslim, Quaker - and I wouldn't have it any other way. Not for all the elbow room in the world.