Monday 8 June

Day 85 and the start of Phase 3 here in Spain.

It's been a fine and sunny day here today. But still, after the front door slammed several times with the through-draught, I found myself still thinking about the wind ... about the things that get blown around and the things that stay put; about the times we bemoan the wind and the times we long for it to blow.

[Photo by Bobby Burch on Unsplash]

I have written elsewhere about a posture of passivity and the metaphor of a sailboat, sails set and ready to go the moment the wind gusts from the right direction. The same picture keeps coming to mind as I - and maybe many of us - hold the tension between the things we can do and the things we can only get ready to do, should the Spirit energise our preparations with his action. I seem to find myself working on several fronts these days that require a letting go, on the one hand, and a determined anticipation, on the other.

Take our parenting of our adopted daughter, for one. At 12 years old, she is pretty clear that she doesn't want to talk deeply about her origins or about race. I respect that, she gets to set the pace on this one and right now she's not ready. But you've got to know that I am taking a posture of alert readiness: when she opens that particular door, I want to be ready to walk through it with her. I don't feel passive; on the contrary, I feel watchful, prayerful and expectant. At the same time, I know that this is no rowboat for me to paddle. Sails up and ready, I wait for the wind to turn in that direction.

Then there's the launching of our older daughter into a life in the UK for the next four years of training. She needs to learn to drive, she needs to make friends, she needs to adapt to British culture, she needs to find a church community, she needs to find a job. I want so badly to sail that ship into a safe harbour, but that's not my job. My job is to help her prepare her sails, to be ready for the opportunities and invitations that will come to her at the right time. I can't sail that particular ship - I ain't the captain and I ain't the wind.

Then there's plans for the future. After 85 days of lockdown, there are training courses that I had hoped would already be well underway, or at least planned with a degree of certainty by now. There are other projects my husband and I want to work on together, and we have to recognise that this is not a time for forcing and pushing. It is a time for setting our sails, so we draw up various possibilities, we work on our ideas and make lots of room for dreaming. We prepare ourselves by reading, and learning, and connecting with people. And we wait for the wind to blow, without stressing that it will be late or that it may never come at all.

This posture of alert readiness lifts the burden for the outcome - and for finding the 'right' way to achieve the outcome - from our shoulders. Our responsibility is simply to be ready, to do the next small yet vital thing that prepares the vessel to set sail. The final responsibility for whether the boat actually makes it to the other shore rests with the wind.

I wonder if this resonates with you today? Perhaps you have plans that are now uncertain? Maybe you have hopes for your life that you unable to make happen on your own? How would it be for you to consider ways to 'set your sails' and, once engaged in that, rest in the posture of surrender to the wind?

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Sat/Sun 6-7 June

Days 83 & 84 and the last days of Phase 2 of lockdown, at least for this round (sorry, does that sound cynical?).

I felt desperate for space this weekend, to get beyond the four walls of my own home and to breathe deeply in spacious places. We ended up going to three different places over the course of the weekend and, true to form, nature absorbed from us our tension and frustration and in their place offered us peace and energy.

First we went to the lake at El Chorro, an extended lake formation resulting from the construction of a dam in the 1920s. It's a popular leisure area and, while the camping area remains closed, the places reserved for day-trippers were open and pretty busy. We found a relatively quiet zone, still adjusting to the apparent keenness of the general population to return to business as usual. The fish seem to have benefitted from the lockdown and have gotten big since we were last there. We picnicked and Tim had a quick swim. The rest of us were not so keen to brave the resident fish (I promise you, they were enormous and I was having flashbacks to being nibbled by fish in a dam in South Africa!).

This morning, Tim and I headed out early with the dogs. We walked from our house onto the hillside, taking a very direct and steep route onto the ridge, before circling around - via a tea spot overlooking the Torremolinos coast - and heading down a stepped and very eroded descent back to the house. We continue to be surprised at how many people seem to have discovered the hills since lockdown, which is a great thing although not quite what we're looking for when out walking.

This evening, we took the girls to the beach for sundowners, to celebrate Keziah getting one of the very few places for the Betonica course in Medical Herbalism. It was blowing a gale - which we loved because it's quite unusual for our part of the Mediterranean coast. 

Being out in the wind reminded me of a poem I wrote. In it I ask myself the question, what remains steadfast within me when the world around me is in turmoil? It seems an appropriate question for this buffeted season in the world. You can listen to the poem here. 

How would you answer this question? What holds firm in you when everything is moving?

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Friday 5 June

Day 82 and it looks like on Monday we move into Phase 3 of emerging from lockdown. Right now I couldn't tell you exactly what this means, but that's most likely because it's Friday night and my brain isn't fully functional.

These days I feel as though news comes in waves. A series of bad news hits like waves. Just as you lift your head above the water to draw a ragged breath, another wave knocks you off your feet. First Brexit and Boris, then a global pandemic. All this, followed by race riots and the constantly astonishing behaviour of the one-who-shall-not-be-named. Finally (and yes, I know this is comparatively small but it may be the proverbial last straw - the camel's back being already significantly weakened) we just heard that our entire neighbourhood will be hit by 8 months of major road works.

The loss of a sense of European identify, along with new driving licenses and the prospect of similarly tedious reams of red tape; months in home confinement and deep concern for the ongoing implications for work, family and ministry; wordless sorrow over entrenched injustice that faces us with complex questions, in the particular way that is true for any inter-racial family; despair as an entire culture seems to go into an inexorable process of implosion.

And road works.

[Photo by Fons Heijnsbroek on Unsplash]

I know, I know. It doesn't make any sense. The noise, the dust, the inability to drive quickly and easily to and from our home. All that is so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Yet am I the only one who feels these small inconveniences can be the final drop that overflows the bucket of things you can manage to hold?

Who else is crying out for good news? A break from the waves that keep hitting, a chance to draw breath?

Well, here's one good and beautiful piece of news ...

This week, our eldest daughter had an interview for a 4 year training program in Medical Herbalism. It would mean spending term-time with family in Devon, and seems a perfect way to combine her interests in alternative and sustainable health and wellbeing. After 6 months in New Zealand and then returning home just in time for lockdown, this has felt like a season in limbo for Keziah - so today, when she heard that she has a place on the course, it felt like a very special gift. This is wonderful news - making me think of gardens and gentle ways of being in the world - and means she can just roll with whatever the next few months of summer bring.

[Photo by Katherine Hanlon on Unsplash]

And rolling with it seems to be just about the best any of us can hope to do, road works or not.

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Thursday 4 June

Day 81

I continue to find myself disturbed and stirred by the events - recent and long past - surrounding the death of George Floyd in the United States. As I should. These are moments designed to wake us up to what is real about our societies and about our own hearts. We should not be content to sleepwalk through our lives.

[Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash]

You might remember that last weekend I described some of the conversations taking place in our home, as we tuned in to the news and followed social media threads. Today, as our personal and shared process continues, I spoke with some of our CMS family . As people in mission, who have chosen to live in cultures that are different from our own and have sought to identify with the people of those cultures, seeking to reflect the love of Christ in the ways we live, it is confrontational to face the question of racial privilege and prejudice. And yet, if this is our story, it is crucial that we acknowledge the ways we have benefitted from systemic racial discrimination. If indeed we have never had to wonder whether we will be safe from bullying, or from harmful assumptions based on our appearance, if we have never had to wonder if the colour of our skin with preclude us from a particular job, or role, or opportunity, then we have benefitted from a system that is broken. 

And the fact that we didn't design the system in no way exempts us from being part of fixing it.

At the same time as mulling over all this, I have been writing a piece for a prayer publication on the topic of 'seeking God.' What does it mean to seek God at such a time as this, I wonder? Five things come to mind as I consider how I might seek God in this season:

1. Seeking God means to LISTEN - listening implies talking less; being willing to listen to the cries and complaints of others. It means I adopt a posture of listening to God,  and his word.

2. Seeking God means to LONG FOR - to be in touch with the longing within us for God’s redemption to be worked out in our world and our communities, and our own hearts; to allow ourselves to feel it deeply.

3. Seeking God means to LAMENT - to add our groaning, our supplication, our sorrowing to those of the world around us and yes, even that of creation (as we read about in Romans chapter 8).

4. Seeking God means to WATCH - to pay attention, to look to see what God might be about in the current situation, to ‘keep our eyes peeled’ and our spirits alert; to remain watchful.

5. Seeking God means to WAIT - to wait on God, the chief mover and shaker, to submit to his timing. Not out of a lack of desire to act, but out of trust in his agency and commitment to redemptive change.

[Photo by Matt Sclarandis on Unsplash]

Douglas McKelvey, the author of the beautiful collection of liturgies published as Every Moment Holy, has offered a new piece for this season. He has titled it A Liturgy for a Time of Widespread Suffering and you can find it here.

A Liturgy for a Time of Widespread Suffering

Christ Our King, 

Our world is overtaken by unexpected 

calamity, and by a host of attending fears, 

worries, and insecurities. 

We witness suffering, confusion, and 

hardship multiplied around us, and we find

ourselves swept up in these same anxieties and 

troubles, dismayed by so many uncertainties. 

Now we turn to you, O God, 

in this season of our common distress.

Be merciful, O Christ, to those who suffer, 

to those who worry, to those who grieve, to

those who are threatened or harmed in any 

way by this upheaval. Let your holy compassions 

be active throughout the world even now—

tending the afflicted, comforting the 

brokenhearted, and bringing hope to 

many who are hopeless. 

Use even these hardships to woo our hearts 

nearer to you, O God.

Indeed, O Father, may these days 

of disquiet become a catalyst 

for conviction and repentance,

for the tendering of our affections, 

for the stirring of our sympathies,

for the refining of our love.

We are your people, who are called by you,

We need not be troubled or alarmed.

Indeed, O Lord, let us love now more fearlessly,

remembering that you created us, 

and appointed us 

to live in these very places, 

in the midst of these unsettled times. 

It is no surprise to you that we are here now,

sharing in this turmoil along with the rest of 

our society, for you have called your children 

to live as salt and light among the nations, 

praying and laboring for the flourishing of the 

communities where we dwell, acting as agents of 

your forgiveness, salvation, healing, reconciliation, 

and hope, in the very midst of an often-troubled world.

And in these holy vocations 

you have not left us helpless, O Lord, 

because you have not left us at all. 

Your Spirit remains among us.

Inhabit now your church, O Spirit of the Risen Christ.

Unite and equip your people for the work before them.

Father, empower your children to live as your children. 

In times of distress let us respond, not as those 

who would instinctively entrench for our own 

self-preservation, but rather as those who—in imitation 

of their Lord—would move in humble obedience toward 

the needs and hurts of their neighborhoods and communities.

You were not ashamed to share in our sufferings, Jesus. 

Let us now be willing to share in yours, serving 

as your visible witnesses in this broken world.

Hear now these words, you children of God, 

and be greatly encouraged:

The Lord’s throne in heaven is yet occupied, 

his rule is eternal, and his good purposes 

on earth will be forever accomplished.

So we need never be swayed by the brief and 

passing panics of this age.

You are the King of the Ages, O Christ, 

and history is held in your Father’s hands. 

We, your people, know the good and glorious 

end of this story. Our heavenly hope is secure. 

In this time of widespread suffering then, 

let us rest afresh in the surpassing peace of that 

vision, that your whole church on earth might be 

liberated to love more generously and sacrificially.

Now labor in and through us, O Lord, extending and 

multiplying the many expressions of your mercy.

Amen.

Finally, this is a poem I wrote as part of a very personal process in the midst of the questions and lament around this topic. There is no doubt that words are limited and inadequate in the face of such complexity and pain. This is just my flawed attempt to articulate something as part of raising my hand to say, 'Yes, I see you, Yes, I hear you, you belong.'

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Wednesday 3 June

Goodness, 80 days in severe to moderate lockdown! We could have gone around the world in as much time, apparently.

So, whether you are married or living with housemates or extended family members, how do you avoid the very natural tendency - after 80 days confined together, more or less - to withdraw to your own space, and to your own personal virtual world of social media connections and video calls? In other words, how do we continue to lean into the relationships that are closest to us, and to make time to really hear one another?

If you are anything like us, this is a very real question. We can find ourselves in survival mode when, by necessity perhaps, we're not very in touch with our own feelings, let alone ready to share them with others. Or we can move into seeking distraction from the very uncomfortable place in which we find ourselves. Distraction could be in the form of entertainment, social media, and virtual connections, of course. It could also present itself as work and tasks related to our responsibilities. For some people, this season has ramped up their work busyness and it's harder than ever to create healthy boundaries and margins around work and rest.

Whatever our situation, there is a temptation to avoid the very relationships that are closest to us. In my case, these are obviously my relationships with my husband and two daughters. So this morning, Tim and I decided to connect over a morning cuppa brewed up by the fire pit. Boiling a kettle on an open fire takes that much longer than the conventional way! Waiting for the kettle to boil created time for us to sit in the morning air, enjoying the quiet before the day got properly underway. In this uncluttered space we could share a bit about what's on our minds these days, and in talking about it feel more connected to one another, and to ourselves, and to God.

The Brits tend to think that a cup of tea is the answer to most situations - an appropriate solution to most of what ails us; to a need for comfort, or compassion, or warmth, or just to fill a few vacant minutes. Me, I think a good chat around an open fire might be an even better response! 

How about you? How are you leaning in to your most important relationships these days?

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Tuesday 2 June

#blackouttuesday #blacklivesmatter #lordhavemercy

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Monday 1 June

It's a new week and a new month. And, boy, have I been learning things today?! I have been deep in the underground tunnels of social media use. That is, I am learning more about how to use social media intentionally in order to connect with purpose, rather than haphazardly and as-the-mood-takes-me.

The only visible evidence of today's learning as far as you, dear reader, are concerned, is the little box at the bottom of this post. You will see you have the option to subscribe to my newsletter. Yes, I am asking if you'd like to take our relationship to the next level (it's a long time since I had that kind of conversation, and I still remember it well - that November evening on a parkland bridge in Leamington Spa). I digress.

For you and I, dear reader, this is simply an invitation to stay in touch. You know that I am a firm believer in the need to join arms as we navigate our way through life's ups and downs. Receiving my newsletter will simply be another way for you to know that you have some empathetic company for the road ahead. I will let you know when there are resources you might find helpful, books I am enjoying, or events where you and I could even meet in person (now, that would be fun!).

Here in Spain we moved into Phase 2 of our emergence from lockdown. This has various implications although, at least in our town, these do not include the opening of public swimming pools. Honestly, I could pass on the idea of sharing swimming water with anyone outside of my immediate family,  and I can imagine feeling that way for quite some time. I will happily stick to our recently acquired canoe for summer water-play options! Tim, on the other hand, is desperate to swim! So while Manu was finishing school and I was figuring out all things social, Tim and Keziah ventured to a nearby reservoir to check out the swimming options. 

Tim enjoyed his first swim in 3 months. I am looking across at him as I write this - and he looks like a happy bunny! How about you? What activity have you missed the most since lockdown started?

Post a comment and don't forget to subscribe if you'd like to stay in touch.

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