Friends

Last week I had the chance to go to a Q&A with Don Miller and Bob Goff. They encouraged us to be true to who we are and not what society expects of us. You could feel the angst ridden 5 W and 1 H questions popping across the room. What, who, where, when, why and how? Be yourself. Easy to say, hard to find and be.

But perhaps the key was right before us. These two men are working out who they are uniquely meant to be through their tender, generous friendship. They graciously, humbly allowed the 100 odd people in the room a momentary glimpse behind the curtain. The magic they created wasn't born out of the shallow waters of flattery but rose of out the depths of authenticity.

Bob Goff talked of how he would make a terrible 'Don' and how 'Don' would be a rubbish 'Bob'. Nice. Within that paradigm unhealthy comparisons and self-righteous judgements have no air time. Rather there is permission to be true to oneself, to be dramatically different and still know love. That's a pretty good recipe for friendship.

Recently I've been thinking about the concept of accountability in friendship. The idea makes me uncomfortable, it feels so disempowering. All the privilege rests with the other person and my agency is deemed worthy or appropriate by their yardstick. Now I'm not saying we let our friends stick their hand in the proverbial fire without a warning shout; but I wonder what would happen if we moved from holding our friends accountable to holding their hand as we jump into the big sea of being mutually known?

Perhaps a posture of 'calling out' the true-self in our friendships would open up spaces and vistas hidden by the veils of disappointment, demerits and missed expectations. We could then spend our times together talking about our dreams and how we're going to get there. We could devise ways of practicing repentance and seeking forgiveness. We could hold up our friends arms when they're weary, cheer SO loudly when they take off and mourn when they are hurt.

I need my friends to help me find my voice, to illumine my gifts and heal my wounds. I need them to guide me to myself and Jesus. In them I find Emmanuel - God with me, with hands, hugs, lips, laughter and tears. For that I am eternally grateful.

Thank-you Don and Bob for letting the world see your friendship. May we learn to know ourselves better as we cherish our friends.

 
Me and my best friend! Dec 2012

Hidden

It's a bright chilly morning in DC. President Obama is safely inaugerated, the fiscal cliff has been avoided until Spring and the novelty of post-Christmas diets and frugality has worn off. It's not exactly an inspiring time of year.

To escape the wind and feed our souls, The Beloved and I visited the National Portrait Gallery and the Smithsonian American Art Museum.  These two museums encircle the honeycombed roofed Kogod Courtyard - a gathering place for art devourers, city escapees, culture hungry tourists and starlight seeking lovers. Just being there opens space in one's imagination.

We've been to these museums lots of times since moving to DC and so apart from the new exhibitions about Potraits On The Edge and the life of Amelia Earhart  (inspirational stuff!), we assumed we'd the space nailed. A well-known and loved beauty.

Then we wandered through a side door into Narnia. The majestic mosaic grey blue floor of the Luce Foundation Center led us into a Victorianna haven of wrought iron railings and a domed glass roof. What a hidden gem. We'd no idea. Secreted away off the narrow galleried walkways are magical drawers of French miniatures and thin sliced cabinets of icons and portraits. Pieces of the museum's collections currently not on display in the main galleries but just too good not to have on show somewhere!


It's fitting that we found this space on a day that I had gone to there to write; to be infected by other people's stories. There are people I think I've sown up - I know lots about their history and their perspectives, their likes and their challenges. Yet, there's always more. There's always hidden gems of patterned paths, intricate boundaries and treasures just too good to not be on show. If only I'll go through some new doors and be open to being surprised.

I wonder what undiscovered gems lie within us? We're the curators of our own souls - we choose what and where we display our portraits, we decide the form of our icons, and nurture or neglect the gallery space that has been entrusted to us.

Pay attention to those side doors today - you never know what treasures lie waiting for and in you!

A&E

Happy New Year! Can't say I'm sad to see the back of 2012 - it was a year of physical, emotional and spiritual challenges. There's a lot of hope riding on 2013.

In the spirit of new year intentions, a confession. I have a fetish for .... stationery. Yep, there is it, I've said it. Pencils and pens, paper and cards, clips and pins. Put me in a stationery store and I'm in heaven. It doesn't matter that I'm no longer a classroom teacher and so I really do not need 12 colours of bicycle shaped paperclips, they will still find their way into my basket and my overstuffed 'office supply' box. And as for pens, be still my beating heart. All colours, patterns, lengths, nibs are welcome in my pot. The more the merrier.

There is no better feeling that opening a fresh notebook, taking a new set of pens and writing. It's all so crisp and new, the possibilities are endless and perfection beckons.

Then you make a mistake. The pages get wringley and the words get smudged. Bummer.

I can't decide whether this inevitable outcome reinforces or produces another one of my fetishes ... being stationary. Grinding to a halt after a glossy start; coming up short when one hits a bump; starting strong then giving up when the going gets tough. You get the picture.

It's amazing that by changing one letter I can either be in a place of potential or a place of stoppage.

Grammarist.com notes that "Though stationary and stationery are spelled almost alike, they have different origins. Stationary comes from the Latin stationarius, meaning belonging to a military station, while stationery comes from the Middle English noun staciouner, meaning bookseller."

Now this much I do know, I'd rather be in a book shop than in a military station. I'd rather live surrounded by dreams, adventures, astounding maps and tales of journeys, legends of art and makers of history; than be hemmed in by rules, regulations and relationships determined by chains of command. I want to live in E not in A.

Each new year starts like the fresh, unblemished notepad - just waiting for me to leave my indelible mark. Not long into January I'll make mistakes and smudges and the wringles lap at my dreams. But this year I want to grab a fabulous pen and delightful notepad and keep moving, I'm going to write with effervescence the enlightened and endless exploits of the "E" shaped 2013. 

Turning .....

Autumn might just have arrived in Virginia. The leaves are turning heads with their golden, brassy redhead shows; urbanites have decorated their steps with a myriad of pumpkins and gourds; and the industrious squirrels are running the fences and highwires with their cheeks stuffed with acorns. There's a comfort in Autumn that extends beyond our sweaters and boots. The heady carefree days of summer holidays gives way to familiar routines and faces and we settle back into belonging. Equality arrives as we hide under oversized woolens and eat stews with Octoberfest beer and pumpkin lattes.

At this time of year the natural landscape creeps indoors and pulls up a chair. Our design and culinary palettes become infused with muted orange fillings and golden crusts with bursts of purple to remind us of His royal presence. This season is less Hallmark and more His Mark. For me, Autumn is the season when God shows off the most. Though to be fair the still-life of winter, the resurrection of spring and the glory of summer, are all pretty spectacular too, but I digress.

At the start of a new year (come on, we all know the year starts in September!) nature begins with turning, falling, harvesting and dying. The sunflowers that pointed the way to the Son now bend their heads in reverent submission. What once provided shade and shadow leaves us exposed to the elements. The land surrenders its precious crops as we shore up our storehouses for the barren months. And the chrysanthemums give us one last hoorah before disappearing into the deep blue silence of winter.

I wonder if this changing landscape can provide pointers for reflection on our inner landscape as the new year begins?
As the leaves fall .....
Like Adam and Eve in Eden, what have we kept hidden under leaves of control, pride, arrogance, striving, people-pleasing or fabulousness that we are ashamed off? What liberty would come if those leaves fell and we were metaphorically naked before God and man?

As the Harvest is gathered ....
What did we sow our time, energy and resources into earlier this year that is now ready to reap? Which relationships have borne great fruit and which yielded a poor harvest because they weren't in the right light?

As the flowers die ....
Which promises and dreams must retreat to hibernation, and which issues is it time to let fall to the ground and die? How do we still see beauty in barrenness and hope in bare twigs? Can we believe for spring?

So, when the dappled light of the low Autumn sun beckons us outside to kick the leaves and feel the cooler breeze, let's truly let the outer landscape inside.

Numbness

Did you know that if the nerve along your jaw that crosses your chin is damaged it will regrow at the rate of 1cm a month? Mad eh? It's over two months since my wisdom teeth surgery and whilst the lisp has gone, I still don't have complete feeling in my chin or lower teeth. Altogether a rather unhelpful situation. The surgeon says she's pretty sure I'll get 100% feeling back .... eventually. My wonderful chiropractor is helping with some laser acupuncture to stimulate regrowth, and regular doses of ibuprofen and a nightly hot water bottle to the jaw, will all help nature on her way. 

I've mostly got used to the weird numbness, I even find kissing The Beloved a new adventure as with each kiss I'm not sure what I'll be able to feel!

I find with most circumstances in life, there's a bigger lesson to learn if I'll open up and listen. Recently, I've started to become acutely aware of the places in my heart, mind and spirit, where I've become comfortably numb. And let's be honest, we all have them.

Some of these are spaces where we've chosen not to feel because we're hurt, offended, proud or selfish.

They can be places that we've anesthetized through drink, drugs, food, doing fabulous things with only fabulous people, or turning a blind eye.

In some of these are places the trauma is so raw or was so sudden, that the whole area is in shock. In others the wounds are so deep, our nerves are dead. 

Despite the fact that these areas create a hard, isolated, cold and sad version of oneself, where life is limited and potential squeezed; taking steps to soften, engage and defrost those spaces is a frightening prospect. After all, when you're numb you're protected, in control, deadened.

I wonder what would happen if we were open to a little healing, softening, resurrection?

You see, I don't want to live a numb life. I want to be free and able to feel the whole spectrum of emotions. I want to rejoice with those in joy and grieve with those who weep. I want to shout loudly in the face of any injustice; and to laugh till my face is like a beetroot and the tears are tripping me. Even in the spaces where I am hurting the most I want to still have it in me to be love to another.

I'm continuing to ask God to show me the places where I am (un)comfortably numb. Over time His tender love is bringing back feeling; His kind mercies are restoring sensations, and His resurrection power is surging life into dry bones.

How about coming with me to a life full of sensation?

Healing

My year of physical or rather pain endurance continues. In case you haven't heard, my back is doing great, I'm over my 4 week stomach virus and now I'm sitting writing with a hot-water bottle to my face in a vain attempt to ease the pain. Yep, toothache ... actually post-tooth extraction ache/agony. Last week I had emergency surgery to extract three wisdom teeth. Ouchies.

Talk about having your head in a vice-like grip. The last week has been a haze of drugs, salt and water mouth washes, and protein shakes (ok ... and ice-cream too!). My face rose up until my chin disappeared and The Beloved renamed me Alvin. Thankfully my chin has returned, but I now have a lisp, thanks to my still numb jaw, and some very attractive bruising which is drawing stares of pity when I venture to the pharmacy.

I'm so ready to be better! I've things to be doing, people to see, places to visit! These things all seem so much more important than taking the time to heal. I seem to have taken on the "C'mon hurry up!" approach to healing; demanding that it happens quickly so I can get on with life.

I wonder what would happen if I cut myself some slack and allowed me time to heal? What if I took time to rest, to be peaceful, to be kind and gentle to me?

None of us like to suffer, we want the pain over quickly. But sometimes life gives us aches which linger. The unrealized dreams, the broken promises, the fragmented relationships, the loss of a beloved ... insert your wound of choice.  These don't heal with a week of pills. The pain just keeps on going. Oh, you learn to bury the source and you can function very well in everyday life; until something or someone pulls of the scab.

I tend to get angry with myself when the bleeding restarts. There's this internal dialogue that says I'm supposed to be over that; I'm supposed to be full of grace, compassion and love, not bitterness, anger and resentment; I'm supposed to be healed.  This dialogue only succeeds in making me bleed more.

I think I'm starting to learn that it's ok to show myself mercy and grace. If I need space to grieve when the scab comes off, that's ok. It doesn't make me an awful person nor will I lose my testimony if I need some time to weep. If I need to rest and be peaceful, if I need to take time to myself with the Great Physician, remove myself from situations that are pressing on my wounds, that's ok.

So, if you don't mind, I'm going to give myself some time to heal ....

Seeds

In case you don't know, I love a spot of gardening. Well planting actually.  No heavy digging or creating water features, just poddling about with seeds, plugs and plants. Thanks to the fabulous Virginian spring weather - sun, heat and recent rains - my lettuce, herbs and sweet pea have taken off. Filling big pots will peppary rocket (that's arugula to my American friends!); tumbling lemon thyme over a weather cracked strawberry jug and tangling, spindly sweet pea arms around wrought iron trellis, is no problem to these tiny seeds. How do they do it?!

Some of their seeds are so small it's a labour of love to sow them in a row - a scatter-gun approach would be much easier on the old back. Sweet pea seeds are bigger - pea sized funnily enough - and easier to strategically sow, but even then you still need to re-locate the wee mites so they've a fighting chance of finding something you'd like them to cling on to. Bulbs, on the other hand, are definitely easier to plant - you just have to put them in at the right depth - but once they've displayed their wares you have to be patient as their stems and leaves die down returning nutrients to the bulb for next year's glory.

There's something captivating about watching a seed or a bulb bring forth a plant with fruit or veg or flowers. All the potential for growth resides in these little pods just waiting for just the right conditions and time. Brilliant.

I've been thinking about how there are seeds of dreams, desires and talent in us. We've dreams that imperceptible - we don't even know they're there yet, and these can spring up where we least expect them. You just have to watch that they're flowers and not weeds! Other desires are bigger, we probably can't remember a time when they weren't part of us and some of these have already brought forth beautiful blooms and tender fruit. We've talents that are foundational to who we are but like the bulbs we have seasons when they're on show and seasons when they turn ugly and go into hiding.

Some seeds are dormant because it's not yet time.

It dawned on me recently that I've spent a lot of time worrying about when the dormant ones will appear; concerned that perhaps those seeds are defective and dead. While the whole time there has been a beautiful garden full of character, strength, compassion and grace, being lovingly tended by The Gardener. He has rained mercy on me, feed me in goodness and kindness, pruned me when needed and delighted over the glorious floral displays.

He is making beautiful things out of the dust and ALL things will bear blooms and an abundant harvest at exactly the right time. So, The Gardener invites us to wander with Him in the cool of the day, as He shows us what He has planted and uprooted in our lives. And He implores us to celebrate the Garden that we are now and rest in the assurance that He brings all things to completion.

Now, go smell some roses!