May 2018 – The middle …

Mastering our Inner Martha …

During a meeting with a group of women this week, the subject of guilt arose.

That potentially pervasive stealer of life.

There was a subsequent discussion around how attempts to just hang out with Jesus often get sabotaged or diverted by the voice of guilt.

We realised that the voice of guilt often arises from our inner Martha.

And it goes something like this, ‘you can’t just sit around being with Jesus when there is work to be done. You should be doing… the washing up/housework/shopping/enter whatever you think you should be doing’.
Basically, you should be doing something.

Doing rather than being.

The mantra of our quality of life stealing culture.

As we discussed this, it became clear that we can all struggle at times to master our inner Martha sufficiently to allow our inner Mary to find expression through time with Jesus.

According to the gospel of Luke, Mary favoured simply being in the presence of Jesus, unlike Martha who was fretting over preparing the meal and resentful that Mary wasn’t helping.

Personally, I feel for Martha in this scenario because let’s face it, if no one prepared the meal because both Martha and Mary chose to hang out with Jesus, I feel certain there would have been some disgruntlement from someone at the point at which the hunger arose.

Or perhaps it’s just me that becomes grumpy when hungry as I am someone who absolutely loves good food.

But maybe the point is more that the spiritual food that only Jesus can provide, feeds our heart, soul and spirit with a sense of life and energy that inspires and enables us to find our place and purpose within the world.

In comparison, as marvellously satisfying as the act of devouring a good meal can be, it doesn’t typically leave me feeling passionately fired up to seek the life that is only found within the purposes of God.

In fact, sometimes a good feeding session leaves me feeling incapable of anything other than an afternoon appointment with the duvet.

Whilst there is nothing wrong with this and we certainly do need physical food to maintain our physical body’s, this food is unable to nourish those other parts of our humanity which are ultimately responsible for our beliefs and values and thus our motivation and desire for actively participating in daily life.

I guess what I am saying is that Jesus reaches the parts of us that not even a gloriously good feast, can reach. (Doesn’t that sound like the words of an old beer advert?)

Anyway, we do not need to get shot of Martha but we do need to appreciate that the role of Mary in hanging out with Jesus, really is the more important one. (Even for a foodie like me).

But, we do need Martha.

Let’s face it, she comes in to her own when we need to get all those hated jobs around the house done. Personally, I’m always a little suspicious of a woman who says she enjoys housework. The results are satisfying for sure but to enjoy this as a way of spending time when there are so many other inspiring options available?

Before you judge me, I say this as someone who spent years cleaning other people’s houses to help put myself through uni. Admittedly I had some incredible conversations with Jesus whilst cleaning but as I know I can converse with Him in so many other ways, cleaning is not my top choice!

But anyway, we all need our Martha’s.

Because in reality, can we really spend all day every day hanging out with Jesus?

I think not.

Which is not to say that we cannot converse with Jesus throughout the day. I think the trick is to be in such a close relationship with Jesus that He literally jumps off the page of His word to really walk and work and talk with us throughout the day.

I think we know and accept that we cannot spend all day every day simply being in the presence of Jesus.

But do we equally know and accept that we should no more be spending all of our time addressing Martha’s incessant demands that we be doing?

We need balance.

We need both.

We need integration.

If more in the favour of Mary.

Without which, when Martha stifles Mary in to submission with her guilt inducing narrative, both lose out. Martha resents the martyrdom of her actions and Mary feels judged and suppressed. No one wins.

Unfortunately, our culture subtly and not so subtly backs and reinforces the Martha approach to life. It values doing, producing and creating, tangible, measurable things.

Our culture is not pro being still, stopping or even slowing down.

Although in fairness, the need to ‘be’ is beginning to fight back via meditation, mindfulness and various other similar practices.

Culture has influenced us to become so ingrained with the need to constantly do that sometimes our attempts to spend time being, especially being with Jesus, can be intercepted without us even realising.

It is time for our inner Mary to fight back!

Martha wants the external physical stuff to be dealt with.

Mary wants the internal soul and spirit stuff to be dealt with.

Both matter.

But time invested on the internal leads to a natural outworking within the external.

In other words, the Mary who has been nourished through quality time with Jesus can tackle her ‘Martha to do list’ with way more enthusiasm and grace than the Mary who has been denied time with her Master.

Because, there really is nothing like the joy of simply lingering in the presence of the Lord Almighty. And as someone who has tried a lot of what this world has to offer, I do mean, nothing.

After all, He is the creator of the universe, the ultimate artist especially evident at this time of year and the highest form of wisdom and wit.

He offers a one to one mentoring service like no other. He teaches us in the ways He has made us to naturally and most effectively learn. He knows us intimately in a way that no other human really can. And even more miraculously, He loves us regardless!

He is the counsellor above all counsellor’s and knows exactly what and who we need when we’re struggling. He’s totally trustworthy. Not to spare us from all trouble but to help us to overcome. He’s the ultimate friend and confidante who genuinely wants us to do well and to fulfil His plans. He’s the best source of help available and the only one on call 24/7.

I could go on and on and on…. I wont.

But the bottom line is that spending time with the Almighty and I’m talking here, leisurely, unrushed, unhurried time, is the most inspiring, enlivening, exciting way that any of us can ever invest any of our time.

And like so many of the very best experiences that life has to offer, there are nearly always a series of repeated reasons/excuses/distractions to stop us from doing so. (See the Fun Thief)

Our inner Martha comes in to this category for all too often she ambushes us with the dialogue of Captain Sensible in that she constantly attempts to guilt trip us in to focusing and expending our energy upon all those endless grown up jobs awaiting our attention.

As if hanging out with Jesus is a waste of our time.

But seriously, what price can we put on an encounter with the Almighty?

We may not see what we gain or be able to show it to others in concrete ways but the experience of a God encounter cannot be underestimated.

A connection with the source of life itself can energise and uplift us in ways that are hard to articulate.

It needs to be felt to be known.

And is of course, available and on offer to all.

Martha can be a total kill joy and stealer of pleasure, quick to remind us of what we haven’t done or what we should be doing.

Yet when Mary is allowed to do what she is made to do she becomes better equipped to fulfil her Martha duties with more ease and less resentment.

So go ahead, tell your Martha to stand down and let your Mary arise.

It is time for a shift.

For when the two work in unity, both and thus all, really do benefit!

Beware the Fun Thief … ..

Recently I’ve noticed a particular theme which grabs my attention from time to time.

As I listen to people talk about the various trials and tribulations of life, it becomes apparent that when consumed by these life challenges, one of the first things to get squeezed out of the schedule is … having fun.

It seems to start so subtly that it operates off the radar thus stealing the opportunities for fun without even being noticed. Sometimes it’s years before people realise that they have unwittingly allowed themselves to lose or to stop investing time in all the very things that bring them joy.

There is a further pattern to the things that appear to get stolen which is that they are usually creative in nature. For some it will be painting or sketching or for others something musical or baking and so the list goes on and on.

Fun takes different forms for all.

But we all need fun.

But it’s as if at some point within adulthood, these activities get thrown in the back room, often to never be seen again. Once out of sight, they get forgotten about. As if these are things that we simply grow out of or cease to need.

I think quite the opposite is true for once we enter the world of adulting with all its responsibility and seriousness, I think we need the fun, physical and playful stuff even more than ever! If only to balance out the heaviness of all the grown up stuff.

Yet it is as if play is written off as only being the domain of those officially known as ‘children’.

What nonsense!

Why should the little people get all the fun?

Don’t we need it even more?!

It is almost like there is an unwritten rule that folk unwittingly sign up to that banishes all fun in favour of responsibility, as if the two cannot be interwoven.

No wonder so many adults are bitter and resentful about their lot.

Fun, play and creativity are the very aspects of life that nourish us sufficiently to do all the big stuff.

They provide us with a source of joy.

We need them.

And we let them go at our peril.

I became aware that I had allowed myself to lose some of my playtime during the seriousness of my many years of studying and training. I felt like my creative juices had ceased to flow. Blocked up by an imbalance of work.

And so I dedicated a year to reclaiming the gift of fun.

Big time.

I enrolled the help of an excellent book called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, which guided me through the very important yet oh so fun business of reclaiming some of my favourite things; downtime, play and underpinning all … creativity.

I rediscovered old joys like baking cakes (and of course eating them), writing, dancing and reading but I’ve also discovered new ones like solo trips to the coast, singing and pilates.

Fun matters.

It’s good for our health and wellbeing.

Seriously.

No matter what stresses or strains we are in the midst of experiencing, the need for fun not only remains but actually increases in the face of challenges. Thus it is down to us to proactively invest in making time to indulge in those things that bring us joy.

Laughter, fun and play really are medicine.

Soul medicine.

Whilst applying these principles at a barn dance last Saturday night, I got in to a conversation with a teacher who was discussing how schools are cutting physical education and the arts from the curriculum. What a shortsighted and misguided way to attempt to increase and improve academia.

What a tragedy.

And a false economy.

Unless we want to produce a generation of robots taught/programmed to produce ‘results’ no matter the cost, or the loss of soul.

When did we stop recognising the value of fully rounded individuals who know how in the words of the old Mars advert, to ‘work, rest and play’.

The ‘work, work, work’ philosophy doesn’t work.

Not for anyone, anywhere, at anytime.

Except as a life shortening and quality of life removing activity.

In order to function fully, us humans need physical activity, play, downtime and creativity.

Whilst these are being further and further squeezed out, is it any wonder we’re becoming a nation of zombies sat transfixed by the latest series on the TV/Ipad/Technology.

Life really is too short and too full of unexpected challenges for us to allow the fun parts to be stolen.

Now is the time to reclaim our ability to play, to be active, to create and overall … to have FUN!

The Nourishment of Nature …

How I love a Bank Holiday.

And this last one offered me two of my favourite gifts: time and sunshine.

With no sign of tradition, it was quite the treat to spend so much time out in the awe inspiring beauty of nature all without being wet or cold!

Us English folk certainly have the gift of appreciation when it comes to something as rare as a sunny Bank Holiday! With the exception of course, of a little moaning that it’s too hot!

Anyway, last weekend offered three whole glorious days of sun drenched playtime.

Healing balm to my heart and soul.

Following a morning appointment with some home made pancakes on the patio, I set off on Saturday to explore the changing scenery of the fields around my home. I was so NOT disappointed.

I was greeted by a stunning mass of vibrant yellow set against a deep blue sky. Such a delight to see and walk amongst. A sumptuous sense stimulator! What a privilege to walk freely within it all.

When I eventually tired of all those stunning green, blue and yellow scenes, I returned to my favourite spot on a little wooden jetty over a small river. From here I could dip my toes in the cooling waters and enjoy the backdrop of birdsong.

An utter banquet for the soul.

I find nature SO nourishing

After my toe dipping session, I spent the rest of the day relaxing amidst it all. Firstly within my neighbour’s garden (with said neighbour!) and lastly, an evening spent under the vast blue sky above my own garden.

Slowing down to notice and receive the nourishment of nature is so healing.

And more was to come for Sunday saw me on the receiving end of an unexpected BBQ invite. Result! One enjoyed in the midst of an utterly beautiful garden. Not only did I fill myself with sumptuous barbequed meaty treats but I also got to have my fill of the flowers scattered around the rather vast garden. All accompanied by some excellent conversation and a lot of laughter. Dee-licious all round.

Yet more was in store for me on Monday within a bluebell clad Hitchwood. Such a delight to walk amongst such vast and natural beauty. A case of a walk within WowTown for wherever I lay my feet or eyes there was yet more to be devoured. Try as I might to capture it all on camera, no matter which direction I stepped in, there was always more on offer.

How I love days like these.

As tempting as it is to use our free time ‘to get stuff done’, it’s an utter joy to practice letting that stuff wait and simply enjoying the basic gift of nature in the now. Especially when it’s all so enriched by the presence of the sun casting its colour deepening glow upon it all.

It was a wonderful weekend well spent in the company of good people, indulging in top notch food and all within the healing, nourishing wonders of God’s great playground.

What a luxury to have free entry to all this, anytime!

And here we are on the verge of yet another weekend surrounded by the resilient glory of the blooms of nature. All of which serve to remind us that no matter what comes our way, new life, growth and beauty are awaiting to burst forth. Such hope.

How I love to feast on nature.

The Grief Wave …

Grief isn’t a nice, tidy, or by any means short process that comes with any kind of manual or end date.

Nor is it something we can control.

It is unique and unpredictable.

But, over time we can learn to recognise and surrender to it rather than resist and prolong it. Not that it ever ends but more that the loss becomes integrated and the absence adjusted to, even when it still hurts.

Ultimately we have to learn to trust the grieving process.

Because when that fresh wave of grief hits, it hits.

You know about it.

There can be no denial of its arrival.

At least not for long.

In fact, we’d do well to notice it coming.

I saw mine on the horizon. Or rather I felt it. The tears that came at inappropriate moments. The stuffing them back down with sugar or salt laden rubbish, the extended and more frequent need for an afternoon nap, the struggle to smile in the presence of so much stifled sadness.

The signs were all there.

I simply refused to read them.

It took a meeting with my best friend and fellow psychotherapist to point out the unwanted obvious.

This was another wave of grief.

I’d come out of the fog of the first few months and people had commented on how much better I looked. I felt better too.

So when the grief began to hit again, I tried to resist it by carrying on as ‘normal’. I liked feeling ‘better’. And I didn’t want to feel sad again. I’ve already had too much sadness for one lifetime.

I resisted, denied, refused and fought this new wave of grief.

I didn’t want it to take me over.

I wasn’t trusting it to do its work of transformation or to deliver me to where I need to be.

All this despite knowing that something as important as the process of grief cannot be ignored. At least not for any real length of time before your body starts protesting via the language of illness. For some, even hospitalisation.

But, like most humans, I also like to buy in to all those palatable ideas about how having the right thoughts, beliefs, or pills, means we don’t have to be ‘so weak’ (read human) as to experience unwanted feelings. I get it. I want this to be true as much as the next person. And if swallowing these ideas came without the consequences it would certainly be a lot easier and less painful.

And so I allowed myself to indulge in a little delusion, despite my training, despite my knowledge, despite the reality that stifled sadness (or any other unwanted emotion) is a great stealer of smiles and obstructer of the internal well of joy.

I know this stuff but like most humans I still sometimes opt for the comfort of denial. No matter how shallow or short lived.

As a friend of mine says, denial is a very long river.

And for a while, I just wanted to swim in it. I didn’t want to get out to face much less engage with the reality that ‘the only cure for grief, is grieving’. (I nicked that expression off some one else but can’t remember who – possibly Kubler Ross).

But anyway …

Grief cannot be fast tracked, thought or prayed away.

Grief has to be grieved.

No quick fix.

No short cut.

No way out, over or above.

Just the long and at times lonely, walk through.

Sometimes it hits so hard, we come to a standstill. One which reminds us afresh of the lost one. Of the pain of having loved that person and no longer having them here in our midst in the way that we used to.

It hurts.

All I can do is ride it out.

And cut myself some slack. Re-check my schedule, re-assess what is really necessary right now and what can wait. Reduce my expectations. Listen to my body and respect its messages.

Ultimately, I can practice a little extra self-care. Experiment with when to push and when to let up. Trial and error. Learning along the way. Making adjustments where necessary.

After all, what really is the rush for anything? Do I have anything if I don’t have my health, if I refuse to stop and allow myself to heal?

Nothing is more important than health.

So I’m prioritising mine right now.

Not ministry, not the housework and not my finances. Because actually, without my health, what use are any of these?

I’m also letting my people know that I’m struggling. That I need a little extra encouragement right now. Because when my world becomes dark with grief, it’s the light of my people that breaks through and reminds me to keep trusting until my own light can shine again.

As I reflect upon my grieving process, I am reminded of how grieving has worked in my life previously, having experienced rather a lot of it. Not always related to death but always to loss.

What I recall is that it goes in cycles. I feel consumed by the grief for a period, then I experience a respite which feels wonderful in comparison, then another round of grief hits, feeling worse than the last because it’s now in contrast to feeling good and so the cycles repeat. Except that each time, the period of grieving becomes less severe and the period of respite becomes longer until the two eventually amalgamate in to a new norm.

It’s a process. One that I’m well versed in. So I know I can trust it to do its work of healing and transformation.

Yet I still need reminding when I’m in its midst for I can lose sight of the purpose of the pain.

This is the pain of healing.

Just like when a physical part of the body is healing and growing in strength again. It too can bring pain as part of the process.

I refuse to bypass this process.

I will not settle for Society’s short sighted offer of a superficial, intellect only healing. Tempting as it may be. I will not force my body to communicate through illness. When it starts warning me through the coldsore, sore throat, headache, nauseau or the really big warning sign, lack of appetite, I stop. I acknowledge my body’s message and respond accordingly.

Which means giving myself permission to do nothing. To simply be. To listen to the birds, to walk amongst God’s beautiful creation, to admire the buds of new life, to watch the sun’s rays bounce off the stillness of the river. I take these moments to just be still and allow myself to reconnect to the joy and privilege of simply being alive. Even when it hurts.

Because at the end of the day, I want a heart level healing. Or more realistically, a healthy heart level adjustment to the absence of the one who made such a difference to my world and my life.

Gosh I miss her.

Her smile, her expressions, her sense of fun and mischief, her laughter, her seeing, getting and reaching me with her love.

A mother’s love.

I want her back.

Now.

I don’t want to accept that she’s not coming back.

And I don’t want to wait until I get to Heaven to see her again.

Yet that’s the price I signed up to pay when I allowed her in to my heart; to mother me, to be a friend, a confidante, an encourager, a supporter, a stabiliser, a security provider, a champion of my dreams, a trusted one to share the day to day with, one to laugh with, cry with, share meals and pray with.

I signed up for this whether I consciously chose to or not. I signed up for the reality that when I allow myself to love someone, I must also accept that I may lose them.

It’s a non-negotiable part of the deal.

The possibility of losing love is part of the package of enjoying the love in the first place.

It’s just how it is. Sometimes we lose the people we love.

And the subsequent loss brings a painful grieving process with it.

It’s the price we pay for loving.

And I wouldn’t change it.

So instead of forcing my sadness deep within assisted by an onslaught of crisps and cake, I’m making a renewed commitment to myself to make time to grieve. Time to allow my tears to come forth, my sadness to be released. Secure in the knowledge that I will come through this with my heart still intact. I refuse to separate or cut off from my sadness or reduce myself to being half hearted. I will not settle for that.

I am choosing to remain full hearted. Even when it hurts to do so. Because this is the only way that I can remain fully connected and fully alive. And for however long I am gifted with the opportunity to live, I want to remain fully connected, fully feeling and fully living. Even now. Because I know that I will come through. I’ll be different as a result but I’ll still be fully alive.

And this business of staying fully alive is absolutely vital to me. Because I don’t believe for a nano second that my Jesus endured what he did on that cross for me to lamely settle for some little half hearted life where I’m shut off from everything that I don’t want to feel. Where in effect, I shut down the centre of who I am, the very lifeblood of my existence; my heart and soul. I just won’t do that.

And subsequently, I am trusting my Jesus to walk me through this. Every step of it. However long it takes. Whether I’m skipping, dancing or dragging myself. Because I believe that Jesus will help me to walk through my grief without relinquishing my ability to remain connected or whole. Or rather as whole as it is possible to be whilst this side of heaven.

It’s been a big wave. And it’s not done yet. But as I allow myself to engage more fully with my pain, I notice my joy for life, begin to filter back through. And somehow it’s sharper, clearer, more 3D, richer and fuller.

Grief hurts … but grief also heals.

It’s a paradox.

But one that it’s worthwhile engaging with.

At least if one wishes to continue living whilst living…