A Day in the Life

This is just a regular Wednesday and I thought it would be fun to invite you into my day, with its routines and rhythms. Thanks to Camille at Holistic Pursuit for the idea! 

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My alarm goes off most days at 6am. More accurately, I invariably wake up before the sound of the alarm and turn it off so I don’t wake Tim, who prefers an extra 30 minutes under the duvet. I tiptoe to the bathroom and then creep upstairs (our house is upside-down, with the bedrooms below the living areas) closing Manu’s door on the way to be sure she stays asleep.

I make Earl Grey tea - the real deal with leaves in a pot, ‘cause it’s a ritual of mine - grab a banana and my journal and head to the den. I love these early morning moments of silence and peace, reading scripture and jotting down any thoughts that seem important to capture before they slip away. This time grounds me, as I remind myself of the macro backdrop to my small life and orientate my life to its grand design.

Shortly, I hear Tim moving around above me, making his way to his favourite spot on the veranda (where he sits each morning, whatever the weather) and gather my things. I change into my workout gear and find today’s program on my laptop, ever grateful for a healthy body and determined to keep it strong. My workout, complete with pep talks by my favourite Beachbody trainer, lasts about an hour and by that time Tim has finished his devotional time, unloaded the dishwasher and made fresh tea for the girls.

I love our morning routines and especially the treat of homemade rusks with tea, our abiding connection with life in South Africa, where both the girls were born. I will never tire of seeing their sleep-infused faces when they first wake up, even though they would both prefer to stay in bed than get up on school days! Manu instinctively reaches for her glasses and grabs a book, eager to have a few minutes with her latest novel before putting on her school uniform. Keziah groans and pulls the duvet over her head, like many teenagers!

Tim has breakfasted and is out the door before me, to be on time for the morning staff meeting at the centre where we are part of running the Leadership Development Course. I hear him yell goodbye and then the sound of the moped starting up; it’s a 20 minute trip to the centre along winding countryside roads and at this time of year - hay-fever notwithstanding - it is a lovely drive.

By 9am I have checked Keziah is set up for her school day at home and dropped off Manu. Most days the Leadership Course starts with a time of worship or prayer, but today we get together in small peer groups for an hour. I am with two fellow staff members and our ‘assignment’ is to spend time affirming one another. There’s often far too little verbal affirmation in our relationships, don’t you find? So this is a great way to start the day. One of my friends affirms my ability to ‘release’ Tim to take crazy, somewhat dangerous trips - she’s heard a few of his stories - and Tim and I laugh about this later. It honestly never occurred to me that I was ‘releasing’ him and I have a few of my own crazy stories she might be shocked to hear!

This week the focus of the teaching is on self leadership and, having discussed taking care of our health earlier in the week, today we are talking about issues of integrity in the areas of money, sex and power. These are topics that we tend to shy away from in church settings and, perhaps because we don’t easily talk about them, these are the very things that can destroy a person’s credibility in leadership. In any case, we sure do have some lively classroom discussion today! Punctuated by a coffee break, when people gather around the poolside area with cups of coffee and snacks, class runs up to 1.30pm. During class, in a free moment, I check in with Keziah by WhatsApp and write comments in the journals of the two course delegates assigned to me as one-on-ones.

Over a salad lunch on the patio, I meet with one of these two women. The weather is already warm here in southern Spain, although there is a cool wind blowing. Rachel (not her real name) is attending the course with her husband, two kids and mom-in-law who is minding the kids during class-time. Rachel and her hubby lead a Youth With A Mission centre in the United States and, between bites of salad and chickpeas, we talk about marriage in ministry. As always, these are the moments I love; when through a person’s individual story I can see the way God has been and continues to work to bring them to a place of wholeness and joy in Him. It is always amazing! Rachel has to rush off to feed her infant son, so we close with a prayer and say goodbye just as Tim jumps into the pool and splashes those sitting too close! Swimming is his daily refresh and recharge strategy, and if he can splash/refresh a few others, then all the better!

By 3pm we are starting again, once again in small groups. This time, I am with a few other married women as we meet to follow up more personally with the discussion about sexuality. As our group is already laughing and chatting, I look out of the window at the group of guys below and briefly feel bad for them - guys have a much harder time talking about this stuff in a real, personal way than women do, yet there is so much security in being able to share our vulnerabilities with trusted friends. As I suspected, Tim later tells me that much of the discussion related to practices and policies in YWAM centres, while our group of women were talking about … well, pretty much everything!

I head off in time to be home for Manu’s arrival home from school. Normally Tim and I alternate who takes on the parenting responsibilities, but today I am happy to leave a little early because I still have a 2-hour Skype meeting ahead of me. I take a moment to breath thankfulness for our new car, still a novelty only a week after we purchased it. It’s just so wonderful not to be listening out for odd engine noises!

Back home, Manu comes in looking exhausted. She refuses a snack and, after a few minutes of piano practice, lies down on the sofa to watch a little Netflix. Turns out she’s not too well and I give her a dose of Calpol, hoping she doesn’t have the virus I’ve just recovered from. I munch on some carrots and humus while I listen to a WhatsApp message from my Mum. She fills me in on some of the family news, as well as several comments about the weather and the state of the garden! My communication with friends and family has been revolutionised since the advent of WhatApp audio.

By 6pm Tim is home and he leaves again to do some grocery shopping while I set up on Skype for my meeting.  Just then, I hear the doorbell and race upstairs before I miss whoever it is; living in a house with so many stairs has its disadvantages! On the doorstep is my lovely Spanish teacher with her husband; they’ve been visiting a friend and have popped by to pick up a book I had borrowed. After a long day spent speaking English, my tongue and my brain stumble over the Spanish words and I feel frustrated at my lack of fluency. But Luisa is always friendly and encouraging, and we chat a little before they head home.

Returning to my bedroom where I know I’ll be relatively undisturbed, I check that I am still on time for my meeting. This is a monthly supervision call with my spiritual director/mentor, along with two other trainees. This is our second year of training together and we are each working with three individuals as spiritual directors. We discuss things that have come up in those direction times, taking it in turns to describe what we are learning, or questions we have. These are always rich times but today I find myself fading with 30 minutes still to go. I guess I am not quite back to full strength after 10 days of fighting this flu virus; my palor is noticed by Ardath and she lets me go early. 

Keziah is back from her weekly babysitting gig and Tim has unpacked the groceries and put salmon in the oven, but I’m too tired to sit at the table. We eat on the sofa and he updates me on the news from one of the regional teams he’s working with. The news is quite a relief to him and I can see him visibly relax after the worries of the last couple of days. Manu calls from the bathroom that she’s finished her shower and is going to bed. It doesn’t take long before the dogs are fed, the dishwasher loaded and kitchen clean, Keziah is ensconced in her room with a book and I’m heading for bed myself.

Getting into bed is always such a treat at the end of the day! I relish those moments with a book - one of several I have on the go at the same time - or chatting with Tim. He’s already choosing to sleep with the overhead fan on because I have yet to willingly give up the feather duvet in exchange for the light summer one. We don’t bother lowering the exterior blinds since it will still be dark when we wake up. Then I make sure the alarm is set on my phone and am off to the land of nod!

Five Things I Learned from Practising Sabbath

“You don’t understand!” was her first reaction. “I have so much work to do, I can’t simply decide not to work for an entire day!” I bit my tongue, controlling my urge to say, “This is exactly why we need to do this!” My teen’s response had confirmed that the decision we had made was much-needed if our family was to find its equilibrium.

This was back in the New Year, as we communicated with our kids that we had decided that practising Sabbath was no longer an optional extra for us. I’d been fighting it for a while, trying it out for a week here and a week there, although never really being consistent. But it was no use, all the signs were there that we needed this. And badly.

When I was a kid, Sundays had a character all their own. In the mornings we went to church, we often had people come home with us for the kind of lunch that was a lengthier affair than weekdays allowed. For one thing, there was always pudding! Later in the afternoon, we would head out for a long walk, shaking ourselves out of the sleepiness brought on by a heavy meal and constant conversation.

Sabbath-keeping seems like an old-fashioned idea now, perhaps. Why would we choose to shut off our devices, resist a trip to the store, slow down and enter into a different rhythm? What’s the point, when all around us the world continues turning at the same fast spin as any other day? In many places, the stores are open on Sunday as normal; my phone pings routinely with emails and WhatsApp messages that keep my mind whirling with tasks and responsibilities; and there are invariably tasks left to finish from an over-stuffed week. Sunday rarely feels like a day of rest anymore.

For me, it all came down to what kind of life I want for myself and my family. I want us to feel connected, to have quality time where we truly listen to one another, play and celebrate. I want us to learn how to give our attention to something without being pulled in a dozen different directions. I want us to have a memory bank of hours spent around a meal, talking, laughing and enjoying one another. I want us to share an awareness of the God who is with us, holding our hands through the seasons of life and teaching us how to be whole people. I want us to feel connected to a community that shares the same longing and desire for a life well-lived.

Spending the weekend at the mall, ferrying our kids from one activity to another, dropping in to church to make small talk, then catching up on work … it just wasn’t enough for me anymore.

To make this work for us, we decided to make our Sabbath run from Friday evening to Saturday evening. There is nothing Jewish about this, for us, it’s simply what works the best. We end the week a little thinned out and we all look forward to putting the busyness aside for Friday’s family night. It means Saturday evening is still available for un-Sabbathy things, if that’s necessary, and helps avoid that locked-in feeling of rules-based living. Mostly, it means that church-going isn’t part of our Sabbath (feel free to ask me about this!).

Here’s what I’ve learned during these few months of Sabbath-keeping:

1. My soul is desperate for quiet and for rest; it drinks in great draughts of tranquility if I give it half a chance. Nurturing my soul in this way helps me to live the rest of the week from a deeper place.
2. My false-self is absolutely duped into believing that I can do everything I set my mind to and, when I run into the wall of my own limitations, I drive myself to prove that this is true. Practising Sabbath reminds me on a regular basis that I was never meant to be self-sufficient; it reminds me that I need a Saviour and that He is glad to oblige. Sabbath is one way of writing this message into the hearts of my kids without preaching at them.
3. Procreation does not a family make. Family is built through our day-in, day-out routines and rhythms; through the tidal swell of family traditions that move in and out; through conversation and connection and lots of cuddles. Sabbath has become a key connection point in the life of our family, an opportunity to make room for one another, to stop and notice important happenings between us, and to listen well.
4. Celebration is far more important than we think. In a world that values things about people like their status or their salary, celebration around meals is more than an added extra. It becomes an opportunity to give value to the things that truly matter. Our Sabbath meals are a celebration of belonging, community, commitment and inclusion.
5. We are anchored in our lives, not because of the place we live or the job title we have, but because of the truths we practice and through which we participate in a global family, past, present and future. Keeping Sabbath grounds us in this reality.

You know, people talk about spiritual practices as being channels of grace to us. I think this means that, even when we don’t fully understand the significance of doing a certain thing, when we practice it regularly it sort of does its work in us in a way that is larger than the practice itself. Sabbath-keeping has been like that for us, it has done more in us than I thought it would as just a ‘day off.’

Even our teenager has come to love it. And, as any parent would testify, there’s something truly miraculous about that!

Third Culture Parents

I remember explaining how things would be, ahead of time. Setting her expectations and painting a picture of the church hall, the teacher, the other kids. We’d already picked out her little outfit that she was so excited to wear. And, even as I held her hand and led her into the dance class for the first time, introducing her to the svelte dance teacher with the smiling eyes, I imagined her skipping around to tunes I had danced to when I was her age.

I’m used to that role, you know? Preparing my little one for new environments and staying by her side as she navigates everything for the first time. It’s a little disconcerting when I don’t know what’s going on, I’m not sure where things are, and I have no way to prepare her for what is ahead.

It’s happened a lot since we’ve lived in Spain. Every situation in which I would know what to expect were I in either of my other ‘home countries’ is done differently here. And, just as in every place, there are unspoken rules and norms that everyone assumes were downloaded to me at the same time as we loaded our GPS with updated European maps.

Of course, there’s the normal stuff of where to be when. No biggie, right? You can pretty much figure that out in the first few weeks in a place. Then there’s what you do and don’t do at certain times. Like, don’t call on anybody between 3 and 6 in the afternoon during the summer. It seems so obvious now. And always serve bread with a meal, and only make deposits at the bank on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and you can park how you like but cyclists always have right of way, even if they are riding three abreast.

Well, we’ll have been here five years in August and we’re bimbling along. We can ask for directions and actually understand them when they’re offered, and we can follow maybe 25% of the 375 WhatsApp messages that hit our message groups every day, from school, or other parents, or the running club, or the language class. I still hate speaking on the phone but, when I do, I don’t break out in a sweat. All that’s progress, I can tell you.

Yet, sometimes, as I approach a new situation, I still feel like a little child on the inside; slightly nonplussed with a frisson of anxiety. 

Yesterday, our youngest attended the birthday party of a school friend. We’d organised ahead of time that another mum would take our girls to the party, and we would collect them. The venue was changed about 30 minutes before the party because of the likelihood of rain. Neither venue was a place I knew, so I didn’t think it made that much difference. I spoke to Manu before she left, explaining which adult she was to talk to if she needed anything, that she was to stay with her friends at all times, you know the spiel. “I’m not a baby, Mum!” she reacted. Well, no, but you’re my baby, I thought.

As she went off confidently with her friend, chatting fluently in Spanish, I realised how often our roles are reversed. She feels completely comfortable while I am the one who needs my hand holding. Fetching her later, already stressed by navigating the so-not-obvious highway system of on- and off-ramps, and the busy commercial complex with no clear signs indicating the place I wanted, I struggled to find her. Everything inside the amusement centre appeared chaotic to me, apparently the kids were at the Go Karts, and where in the hell was that? And is a Go Kart a Go Kart in Spanish? And who do I ask, in this sea of kids and families, where this particular party group is located? Standing close to the hotdog stand, surrounded by a wall of noise, trying to contact other parents who might be here, for help, suddenly I see Manu.

She’s with her friends, she knows exactly where she’s supposed to be and what’s happening, she’s had fun and is full of stories. She leads me over to the birthday girl’s mum so we can say goodbye. And then I wonder, will it always be like this here? This is more her world than mine, she knows how things work, and she is the one taking me by the hand to steer me through what seems strange and anxiety-producing to me.

Parenting has its different seasons, for sure. As our kids get older they need us less, and we have to get used to that. They have a heap of good ideas and helpful advice, and we learn from them just as they learn from us. Raising a third culture kid takes this up a notch or ten. We are raising kids in cultures and language contexts which are second nature to them, and which still feel a bit strange to us. As parents, we will always be a step behind our kids in language fluency and cultural ease. 

I think I can embrace this as a good thing, you know? While she’ll always need her mum, our relationship is already enjoying the benefits of knowing we are both learners in this world. But I’ll be honest with you, I sure would like her to stop correcting my accent in public!

Still a Brit, after all these years

I’m thinking back to an exchange I had with a neighbour when we lived in Cape Town. He owned the lovely stone cottage we rented, and lived in a much larger, grander home a bit higher on the hill. The area we lived in was called Kalk Bay, a gorgeous old fishing village in the southern suburbs of Cape Town proper. Still functioning as a place for catching, buying and eating fish, Kalk Bay had by then also become a bit of a hippy-chic place. And we were into it, I tell you. The slightly run-down feel hid a brilliant book shop, a tiny and fabulous theatre, a film club and countless others touchpoints for creatives and wannabe artists: heaven on earth!

And I felt like a local. I loved nothing better than walking down the hill in my flip flops, after a trail run on the mountainside, to buy fresh croissants from the bakery and exchange a few words with familiar faces. I’d pop into the small supermarket for some milk and coffee, or to post a letter at the post office. This was home to me and it felt like the best fit of anywhere I’d ever lived.

So when my neighbour dropped a throwaway comment about my true identity, I felt as though I’d been caught as a fraud. He said something about how British we still were, after several years living in Africa. Well, what does that mean? I grumbled to myself. Both our babies were born in South Africa, all our friends were South African. We were doing a pretty good job of blending in, dammit!

Since that time, we have spent a couple of years living back in the UK, where I felt less British than ever in spite of the ease of the familiar. And now of course we are in Spain, where I just feel culturally muddled! 

So I got to thinking: in what ways am I still culturally very British in my ways of interacting with others? What does it mean to be British, anyway?! Here are five things I came up with.

1. As a rule, we tend to be more private than some other cultures.

I have lived in group cultures where everyone knows everything about one another and it makes me a feel a bit nervous! After all these years living out of Britain, I have retained a pretty private approach to life (Facebook notwithstanding!). I probably won’t talk freely or easily about my finances, or my marriage, for example. And my private space - my home, and in my home, my bedroom - are the places where I feel most at ease. It's always a relief to withdraw to my own space at the end of the day.

2. A cup of tea really is the answer to most situations.

It’s an instinct that's hard to break: if someone is upset, or something difficult or shocking just happened, something deep within me wants to put the kettle on! And no, it doesn’t matter if it is 35°C outside, there is no wrong time to have a cup of tea. Of course, as an abject snob I am snobby about my tea; loose leaf Lady or Earl Grey really is the way to go. In cafés around the world, getting used to being served a cup of tepid water with the tea bag on the side has been one of the harsher realities of living cross-culturally. There are just so many things wrong with that.

3. It comes naturally to downplay either a crisis or an achievement.

Brits are mostly brilliant in a crisis, quite simply because they don’t make a big deal about it but just get on with it. Making a big deal about anything, really, is slightly frowned upon. Which is why we have to learn to celebrate achievements (I have been practising this one, believe me). We prefer to downplay things, especially our own moments of brilliance. This is where Brits and Americans can really part ways - Brits tend to see the ra-ra of bigging up achievements as a bit fake, not really sincere. Unless it’s football, that’s quite different.

4. It is normal for us to cheer on the underdog.

There is something hard-wired within us that somehow sees this as a justice issue. We don’t want the winner to always win, we think it’s bad for their ego, or something. No, we want the underdog to have a fair go, and all the better if they actually win (just not too many times, obviously). I think this is connected with downplaying achievements, but I haven’t figured out exactly how. It might also be connected to football.

5. Rules and queues are there for a reason.

In general, we do like things to be done properly. Properly means in the way that’s been agreed upon. Why would you agree a certain way to do things and then not do them that way? This is why we prefer to be told the way to do things, because then we can do them the correct way. Having to discover, by trial and error, the right way to do things, is a real pain in the neck. And potentially thoroughly embarrassing because you might get it wrong. These things matter, somehow. Some of this is to do with things working smoothly and efficiently. Which is why we like queues (that and our penchant for justice; it’s just more fair than having people butting in).

So, if you see me around and about, queuing for hours because everyone else keeps getting in line ahead of me, don’t make too much of a big deal of it. Just offer me a decent cup of tea and all will be well.

Top 5 Titles for Today

You know you've read a good book when you find yourself recommending it to several friends, right? I tend to have a few titles on my bedside table at once - a book for every mood, you know? This morning, I thought I would share with you those recently read books that I keep returning to.

1. A book about the Spiritual Journey

This is a great book if you want a clear perspective on what life as a follower of Jesus (or indeed, as a human) is all about. It's straightforward and clear, and the second section takes you through a number of practices to help you grow. Plus, anything endorsed by Ruth Haley Barton gets my vote - I am listening to her podcasts at the moment, and there are always at least of couple of mic drop moments in there for me.

2. A book about Failing

If you find yourself in the middle of a difficult season of life, one you wonder if you will ever exit from in one piece, this is the book for you. It can be a little dense, but Rohr shares some invaluable lessons about the meaning - and indeed the necessity - of coming to the end of our own resources. There is life after failure, crisis, bereavement, wilderness. And if you surrender to the process, you might just find it!

3. A book about Desire

I cannot remember how many times I have recommended this book! It makes sense of why my life is the way it is, of what I can do to invite change, and of how the things I do on a regular basis form and shape my life. If you want to toss out the endless need to drum up motivation to do the 'right' thing, by finding ways to nurture good desires, this is the book for you. For a sneak preview, search for the title on You Tube which has a bunch of great videos by the author.

4. A book of Poems

I know not everyone considers herself a poet, or even reads poetry. But this anthology is a treasure trove of beautiful words that speak to the human journey. I have used these poems to open teaching times, as meditations, and as inspiration. If you want to take a peek into the world of poetry, this would be a great place to start!

5. A Novel

This title is probably more familiar to you and it is well worth the rave reviews. Beautiful, lyrical and a great story. If your stack of bedside reading doesn't contain a novel, add this to your list.

Happy reading, friends! And I am always on the lookout for great books, so feel free to comment with your own fave reads of the moment!

If you are a young mum, this is for you

I remember what it was like to have my first baby. I felt powerful and exhausted, all at the same time. It was a season in life of learning to surrender my own desires - for sleep, for time alone, to be able to run without boobs that felt like melons - to the journey. 

In other words, I had to grow up, put up and shut up!

I’ve always been someone who’s a little too ambitious for my own good. I thought I could do everything - have this new baby, adjust to this great life change, and still get to the gym to work out, or go for an early morning bike ride.

In some ways, it’s true. Where there’s a will there’s a way: by making it a priority, I did manage to work exercise into my new rhythms. I lost the baby weight and made time for the things that were important to me. A super-supportive husband helped a lot, of course! All this was part of my own coping strategy; physical exercise helps to moderate the emotions, flung this way and that by hormones and lack of sleep, and it strengthens you mentally to do something that is just for you, when the rest of life is all about your new little human.

On reflection, though, I think I could have been kinder to myself, a little gentler. I would have stayed in my PJs more often, taken more naps, read more books. I still would have worked out - being comfortable in your skin is a huge gift you can give yourself - but I would have found a way to do so that was kinder, less hard work.

If only I had known then what I know now.

If I could give one gift to all new mums it would be a subscription to Beachbody On Demand. I’m not just saying that. At that season of life, I would have loved to have had access to dozens of different workout programs, put together by excellent trainers, streamed to me in my own home. There is even a program especially for this season of life, along with many others you can progress to in your own time.

The biggest advantage of this is that when you get 30 minutes in the day when your baby is taking a nap, or their dad is on hand to help, you can invest in yourself. You can get your blood flowing, re-energising your body with all that oxygen, elevating your mood and helping you to sleep more deeply when you get the chance. I guarantee that this energy expenditure will increase your energy throughout the day. And it is priceless, really, to know that in the midst of the maelstrom that is new parenthood, you are strengthening yourself to be the best parent you can be. 

Heck, you can workout in your PJs if needs be!

There are a few young mums who have joined our Whole Fitness group on Facebook. So now they’re not only exercising, but they are also part of a supportive community of people who will cheer them on and celebrate their progress.

If this sounds like something that would help you in this season of your life, do message me. I’d love to get alongside you in your journey to be a great parent and a great YOU!

Mental Health for Runners

I’m distracted and fragmented. My mind is all over the place. I imagine myself as some figure made from magnetic filaments who is pulled first in one direction and then another, particles trailing in the wake of the latest magnetic tug.

My running clothes are still there on the floor, where I left them last night. I told myself I would head out as soon as I woke up, but I had a disrupted night’s sleep and coffee was all I could think about this morning. The pile of brightly coloured kit taunts me from the corner of the bathroom, pestering me to get dressed and get moving.

It’s almost dusk when I finally capitulate. I feel like I am gathering puddles of myself from here and there, scooping the bits together until I fill out the snug contours of the runner’s uniform. Even so, the centre is vacuous; something is missing.

I make my way into the gathering gloom, legs heavy, struggling to find my rhythm. For a while I think of turning back, of giving up. The street is littered with these flyaway parts of me - thoughts and feelings, obligations and concerns, comparisons and fears. All chasing me, trying to catch up, to cling on.

Demands, responsibilities, concerns. They cling; they pull. Distractions, an overload of stimulation that thins me out. My soul yearns for something robust enough to hold me in all of this; something still enough and quiet enough to hush the inner noise.

Somehow, as my body shakes down into this rhythmic pavement beat, my thoughts and feelings do too. There is some kind of drawing together, the centre becomes once again sufficiently weighty to hold all the disparate pieces - not in a way that makes sense but in a way that has form.

When stillness is illusive and silence hard to find, give me a pair of running shoes and I'll pound my way into a settledness for my soul.