Wednesday 8 April

Day 24. And yes, I admit it, I am writing this on Day 25. You'd think, wouldn't you, that with relatively little to do I could manage to write a blog post once a day? But sometimes, the day is so large in my arms and there is so much to hold, I simply can't hold it and have a hand free to type on my laptop too. You know?

There is this empty-full feeling. On the one hand, there's this feeling of fullness. Full of information, full of options for connection, and full of ideas of ways to engage. Full of push, of deadlines, of necessities. Full of words, so many words. Good words, not so good words, just so very many of them.

On the other hand, I feel a bit wrung out, empty, wondering. Certain things I read make me feel more empty. Every so often a fellow Christian will forward to me something that's being called 'prophecy' and it just leaves me feeling empty. Declarations of doomsday with heavy undertones of the reign of the anti-Christ will do that for you. I've found no amount of hot coffee will fill the space that gets emptied out.

So I feel a need to be emptied and a concurrent need to be filled. I need emptying of meaningless blah. The words that seek to fill space just because they can. The soapboxing and the headline-making, the scaremongering and the conspiracy theorising. Oh God, empty me of all that static on the airwaves that makes me feel turgid with other people's opinions.

And I need to be filled. Filled up with hope, with vision, with the fullness of a child who has been nursed by her mother and is at peace. I need to be filled up with truth that never changes, and a deep knowledge of goodness that won't fail me. Won't fail any of us.

If my arms are going to be full then this is what I want to be found holding. The largeness of an inner knowing that God will meet his people exactly where he finds us. In all our wondering, and posturing, and all the ways we try to save ourselves. He meets us there and becomes hope to us. And there are no words for that so maybe, just for once, we should stop trying to pretend there are.

Tuesday 7 April

Day 23. I woke to a long list of things to do: reading, meeting, emailing, scheduling, writing. I did a workout, I drank my coffee. And then, for the first time in this lockdown, I realised I simply didn't have any umph for any of the rest of it. I felt strangely detached from it all. So, unusually perhaps, I decided to err on the side of kindness. Kindness to myself, gentleness in the midst of this far from gentle time.

In spite of all that is being said about slowing our pace, enjoying a less harried way of being, it would be easy to continue in the way we know. Busy. A To Do list that multiplies with every task that is checked off. Deadlines that sit on our shoulder and poke us, no matter what else we are doing.

This week it's Manu's school holiday and no matter how strange this time, I too need to feel rested. I need to disengage at least a little. The world will keep on spinning. So I resisted the natural tendency to push, and I chose to ease myself through the day.

I listened to an audio book by the fire, taking up a long-discarded colouring book to keep my hands busy.

We braaied, Manu played Lego, we chatted with my sisters and their kids. It was a day of nothing ... and maybe that is exactly what is needed, to allow space for new ways of thinking that become new ways of being.

Monday 6 April

I am, generally speaking, a person of routine. That is, I believe in the way apparently small yet consistent behaviours can become a sort of foundation for our lives. They change us, they become us. We create our lives by living intentionally in the small details.

Paradoxically, I find myself getting irritable when the stuff of life feels too mundane. You know: the endless round of eating, and cleaning, and laundering, and clearing. Too much of that - and a concurrent lack of adventure and accomplishment - and I tend to feel smothered, hemmed in.

If you have any sense of discernment or insight, you may note that I have two children and that the life of any parent - especially, even in this day and age, a female parent - is particularly remarkable for its daily round of repeated and, let's face it, mostly mundane tasks.

I'll be honest, this is what put me off the idea of parenting for the first eight years of marriage. I'd seen parenting up close and personal - I had, after all, two of my own - and the adventure of the whole shebang short of escaped me. Indeed, when people tried to add value to the task of mothering (fathering seemed to have a value all of its own, given the Father heart of God, and all) to me it only added to its reduction.  They did this by speaking as though to elevate the grand task of raising these little humans, as though all the value was in them, after all. Somehow the mother figure still remained a little to one side, sort of in sepia while the children were in full colour, and the husband sparkled in some other realm.

In spite of the fact that launching into motherhood felt risky in ways I had no words for (and in ways that had nothing to do with the inherently risky job of actually birthing and, in my case, adopting babies), I nevertheless found myself there. I spent my thirties shuttling between the miasma of family life - broken nights, and nappies, and teething toddlers, and looks of disbelief shared over hurried meals with my loved one, as yet another drink was spilled, or we rallied over another small domestic catastrophe - and the relative peace of travelling around Africa as part of my job, visiting small teams in places with or without the luxuries of electricity and running water. I'll leave you to guess which felt easier.

All this is by way of introduction. It will not be lost on you, dear reader, that a pandemic-induced lockdown necessitates a fair amount of mundane repetition. Today was Day 22: we get up, we do family life, we fit in a few snatches of work here and there, we make meals, we wash dishes, we dirty them again. We do all this within the four fair walls of our home, making beds and sleeping in them, day after endless day. Isabel Allende writes of being 'crushed by the weight of the familiar, its routines and limitations.' That sounds like one very reasonable way to describe lockdown life.

What does it all mean, if anything?

Is it enough to believe that all this is worthwhile because we are helping to form the little people in our care? (It could be that your answer to that question depends on where you fall on the Enneagram. I'd be interested to think more about that.) Not to negate the evident value of raising the next generation, I'd like to suggest that in the midst of the mundane round of repeated parenting tasks, there is a sort of formation that happens in us adult people too.

What if we are learning how to give ourselves away?

In around the 4th Century, there was a bit of a trend for those who considered themselves serious about the Christian life to head out into the desert to live as hermits, or in loosely connected communities. Imagine it: they lived in earth-walled caves they called 'cells' and there wasn't a whole lot to do out there in the desert. The days all looked pretty much the same - a bit of cooking, a bit of tidying up (all that sweeping, imagine the dust!), maybe a walk. And a lot of thinking, considering life and becoming aware of all the uncomfortable truths about oneself that just sort of rose to the surface in the quiet of a place like that. We take ourselves with us, whether to the desert or to the boardroom.

There was one desert father known as Abba Moses. People sought him out for advice and wise counsel because he was thought of as a wise old guy. So one day, a younger man who had gone out into the desert to live a meaningful life, away from the distractions of ordinary life back at home in the city, asked him what he needed to do to be a true follower of 'The Way.' I'm guessing he wanted some tough adventure that would lead him on the path of significance. And Abba Moses told him to go back to his cell: Your cell will teach you everything, he said.

Really?!

So what does my 'cell' teach me in these days and weeks of lockdown? What uncomfortable and important truths are evident in my reactions, my fears, my drives and my appetites? And what do I do with those truths? Where do I go with the things that are uncovered as I wipe tables, and make beds, and do laundry, and invent games, and load dishwashers, and make meals, and read stories, and organise craft activities, and listen to arguments, and make myself available yet again to three other people who are, themselves, on the way?

The girls asked Tim and me yesterday what 'grace' is, really. So I said, it's God's empowering presence, enabling us to live in a way that we couldn't on our own so that we enjoy a sort of goodness we don't deserve. (Really this is a description of the person and work of the Holy Spirit, but that can be the subject of another post.) The writer of the letter to the Hebrews instructed the believers to make sure no one fails to really get it. That is, to get the deep truth that grace is available to each of us through the work of Jesus. And because of it we all get to live in a sort of goodness that we couldn't achieve on our own and that, if we have any sense at all, we know we don't deserve.

This time of lockdown is a special time, unusual. The magnifying glass is being held to the paper long enough that the sun scorches the page. The repetition, the routine, the mundane nature of life in a small space with the same people. By all means, let's switch it up a little (here's to campouts, and fire pits, and dance parties). But whatever we do, let's not miss the truths that rise to the surface while we are in our 'cells.' The truth of our need and the grace that rises in generous measure to meet that need.

Do you get it?

Sat/Sun 4-5 April

This weekend brought us officially to the end of 3 weeks in lockdown, and with that milestone came the news that the State of Alarm in Spain has been extended for another 3 weeks. So, barring any further extensions, we are halfway through.

The coming week will bring with it a change of rhythm, which is no bad thing. It is Semana Santa and Manu is 'off school' as if she weren't already. I am not sure how I feel about this, since I think it will take more of my energy to keep her entertained and the mood light. But hey, since it is the week where we remember the way of the cross, that seems entirely appropriate.

Back to this weekend.

 We've enjoyed some brighter weather this weekend, so we have spent more time in garden. Also, in an attempt to avoid the feeling that each day is an endless round of meal-times, we tried to switch things up a bit. As well as sour-dough pancakes for Sunday brunch, this included a yummy BBQ/braai ... we just finished grilling before we felt the drops of rain that had been holding off all day. We retired to a covered balcony and watched as the clouds came in.

We got some more outdoor play in too. And for some reason, 

Manu felt this merited a pink sparkly fedora.

With the news of the extended lockdown, we read that the government may relax certain restrictions (over walks outside, hopefully) if they can source sufficient numbers of face masks to make wearing them compulsory. To me, it sounds ridiculous to make face masks available to the general public when there are not enough for medical staff. So I did what has been on my mind for days, and made my own. Of course, these are not surgical face masks but they are useful in a pinch. I think this qualifies. (If anyone local wants to put in an order, let me know.)

Speaking of over-worked and under-resourced medical staff, in the UK some bright spark called for a national garden campout this weekend, as a fundraiser for the NHS. Last I heard, they had raised over £80,000 and also had fun camping in their back gardens.

Tim has decided he doesn't even need a tent. He's using his bivvy bag in the back garden tonight. It's not half as fun as being up on a mountain somewhere but, hey, at least there won't be any planes flying overhead.

The other side of the story is that the girls, for their part, were going to camp on the balcony, but they ended up arguing and withdrawing to their separate corners. At this point, I am just glad that they have separate corners!

Me? I am just going to sit here quietly with my glass of wine and see how long I can keep a dampener on the magnetic field that seems to draw family members into my circuit, no matter where I am in the house. Anybody feel me?!

Oh, there we go. Less than 60 seconds ...

Friday 3 April

Day 19 and it's been a day!

All started well over breakfast when, with what was either prescience or powerful suggestion, I read a liturgy 'for a fleeting irritation.' It reads, 'Uproot ... all arrogance and insecurity that would prompt me to dismiss or disdain others, judging them with a less generous measure than I reckon when judging myself.' Somehow the day turned into the most irritable day of the past 3 weeks! Go figure. To put it another way, it gave us every opportunity to live into the truth of our morning's prayer!

Anyway, I did finish an article I had promised to submit by the end of the week. I do so love checking things off. In fact, I have been known to make lists after I have done the things, just so that I can check them off the list! Don't tell anyone.

Having gotten into the groove of story-telling, Tim also pulled together this short story devotional. I love it and I hope he does more ... tell me what you think.

It's been sunny and the neighbourhood has been more lively. A number of people have been out in the street, chatting to one another over garden walls. It has felt a bit more cheery, although Tim said the tension in the supermarket is still palpable. The checkout staff were short-tempered and bickering with one another today, they must be worn out.

The 8 o'clock applause apparently began early today. I heard people applauding in the street at about 7:10pm and thought it strange, until I realised that an ambulance was passing down our street and neighbours were applauding the paramedics on board. The 8pm ripple of clapping went ahead as usual, just as we finished our Sabbath connect time over Zoom.

And then, the fleeting irritations of the day having been put to bed over communion, we settled down for pizza and a movie. The best way to end most Fridays, and especially the 19th day of what looks like being a lengthy lockdown.

Thursday 2 April

Today is Day 18. One of the 'events' of the day was the opportunity to connect with over 20 people from our Church Mission Society circle, with people joining the call from as far afield as Lebanon and Turkey. Now, I'm not sure if every video call is as welcome as this one was ... but I do know that this season of home confinement is driving a wave of creativity when it comes to connecting!

Somehow or another, I am involved in about 8 teams that connect in various ways. That's not to mention our families and friendship circles. So I feel I am learning a thing or two about ways to keep relating virtually when the real deal is not possible. I thought I would share 10 ideas that spring to mind ... and it would be fun to hear of any others, so do pop a comment on this post!

1. A regional group is meeting over Zoom every morning at 10am. People are free to opt in or out, and can bring any updates or prayer needs they hear about from their nation or region.

2. A mission team is connecting over Zoom at the same time each week, to share how they are doing. This team records the call so that those who can't make it can watch and see how others are doing.

3. CMS created a web space for people to post their laments, in the form of words or photos. This is also on Instagram under my the Church Mission Society feed. If you are new to the idea of lament as a perfectly fitting response to our present circumstances, you could try reading this article.

4. One group produced a daily devotional designed around lockdown realities and made it available as a pdf. (Let me know if you'd like to receive it.) They set up a Facebook group so that people can share thoughts about how they interacted with the devotional.

5. Tim is producing daily 15 minute videos, sharing stories of God's faithfulness in the past as a way of orienting people towards the future with faith. These have been shared on You Tube and in a Facebook group, so let me know if you've missed them.

6. We have a weekly Zoom connect on Friday evenings for our Sabbath group to share communion from our homes. A different person facilitates each time, using a liturgy that we've become familiar with when we were still able to meet in person. If you'd be interested in seeing that liturgy, let me know.

7. We have friends hosting group worship times over Zoom, with one person or a couple leading a prepared time of musical worship and simply offering online connection to encourage others. This kind of thing is happening all over, along with poetry, theatre and read alouds. It's amazing.

8. My brother-in-law is leading live workouts over Instagram every Saturday morning. He's one of many people (including the awesome Joe Wicks!) who are trying to keep us moving in our own homes.

9. In the UK, people have been lighting a candle in the window at 7pm every evening then sharing the photo on Instagram and Facebook, sometimes with a post about how they prayed. All these little lights going out into the world!

10. Various dressing-up options (see yesterday's post) include choosing a different colour each Tuesday and dressing up in that colour for a Zoom call, in addition to bringing an item of that colour that says something about how they are doing. Another group has designated 'Fancy Friday' and post photos of themselves dressed smartly as a way to connect.

I guess all this tells us is that we are wired for connection. In spite of various doomsday reports that have predicted the end of meaningful connection thanks to the prevalence of screens and social media, we are now seeing a slew of creative ways to seek out connection using those very same mediums. A nice twist of perspective, isn't it?

Wednesday 1 April

Day 17. I so wanted to do something funny for April Fool's Day but I honestly didn't have it in me. I hate even to admit that, but that's what a crisis will do for you. However, I was encouraged to see that having fun need not be a complicated affair. Simply dressing up to put the rubbish out can do it for you.

This is definitely next on my list. Although the walk from the front door to the front gate, where the bins are, may not be far enough to truly do my outfit justice. And if I walk any further down the road, I may get stopped and fined €600 (fortunately it would be my first offence, or else I might get imprisoned for 4 months). Worth it though, I feel. Anyone care to join the challenge?

Tim is not so much into dressing up, never has been. At least, unless you include the Gandalf-style woollen bernoose he wraps up in when he sits on the balcony to read and journal in the early morning. I think he tells himself that it's not frivolous, you know? What with the inter-cultural aspect in addition to the old wizard. Anyhow, he'll probably stick with colour coordinating his clothes with the garden.

I think I could get Kez to dress up. Getting her to put the rubbish out might be more difficult. But Manu? She's taking the whole 'night-time pyjamas, day-time pyjamas' approach to her lockdown dress code. Her dressing gown is the most dressed up she gets.

So that's your fun fashion update, people. But keep your eyes open, you never know what you might see when you go to put your rubbish in the bin.