Shocks

I learned so much from my friend Margery, an accomplished artist with, I suspect, undiagnosed Aspergers, and a lifetime's experience of Christian healing ministry. My prayer partner, she died more than a decade ago but still comes so often to mind as the wisdom she shared with me continues to speak with relevance into everyday circumstances.

Something she often used to say to me, when I arrived at her apartment and she brewed up a big dark brown pot of Lapsang Souchong tea, was how many shocks she'd had that week. She was always very precise about this, identifying and enumerating the shocks.

At the time, when she was in her 70s and I in my late 30s, I privately found these observations somewhat amusing. Margery and her shocks. They could be quite small things — some bad news about a relative, an unwelcome change at church, a financial setback — but they affected her adversely and she used to make them a focus for healing prayer.

Now, in my 60s, I understand better the significance of shocks; even small ones — the hurtful email, the colleague who lets you down, the loss of something familiar.

I have become aware that these shocks accrue into an aggregate of grief — a sort of ganglion of effects — that take up residence in my spirit. They develop into a cumulative grief that can be debilitating over time. They don't dissipate; they accumulate. And as Toinette Lippe pointed out in her wonderful book Nothing Left Over, "problems arise where things accumulate". Shocks leave a residue of lumpy scar tissue occluding the flow of peace.

Here's an example. Over time (not all at once) I've experienced in my life some deep hurts, disappointments, humiliations and discouragements. I can't go into specifics because they arise from the interface between my life and other people's, so telling my story involves betraying theirs. But in my church we have some souls of beautiful encouragement — people of real deep-rooted kindness and understanding. There's one couple who consistently (more than they are aware, I think) encourage me; and in so doing they are gradually salving and healing some of the hurts of the past. They say to me some of the kind and affirming things I longed for others to say, who never did. Then recently, the wife of that couple had an accident — just something at home, not huge or life-threatening, but bad enough to need an ambulance. And when I heard what had happened, it gave me such a shock. It reminded me forcibly that all of us are vulnerable, that something can happen to anyone at any time — and suddenly they are gone or impaired, lost to you. If my first thought was concern for her well-being, my close second thought was for my own, I confess. The thought of managing without this friend (even though she wasn't dreadfully ill or anything) made such an impact on me, and shot me into a state of grief that actually belonged to previous hurts that she was gently healing. That's the kind of thing I mean; where a little incident evidently is all tangled up with an accumulation of previous experience. Like the person who stoically soldiers on through the death of a child, a parent, a husband, a friend — then is completely undone by the death of a TV personality or of a bird who flew into a closed window.

I've found a few ways of addressing this matter of shocks; and you may know of more.

1. Brought up to make light of adversity, my instinct is to ignore and dismiss the impact of shocks, but I've found this is unwise. Even though my shocks may be small fry compared with those experienced by people forced to live in refugee camps or theatres of war, I am learning to bring each one to God and ask his help with them. He is generous with his help, but waits to be asked. Jesus used to say to people in need of healing, "What would you like me to do for you?" So I say to him now, "I feel so shocked by this [minor event]. Please will you help me with it?"
2. Living simply is very helpful. A minimalist life, by virtue of not having much in it (things, relationships, commitments, events) allow one to perceive and identify shocks as they happen. In a cluttered life one can be quite broadsided and fail to notice, because there's so much going on — like those bruises sustained in the hectic business of moving furniture, that you don't even notice until you get in the bath the next day. If you live simply, you can attend to the shocks when they are small, before they get the chance to clump. Once they accumulate, they can form a quite potent nexus of pain, which adversely affects future interactions in all one's relationships. One becomes touchy.
3. Rest after a shock is helpful. A warm drink, a comforting place to sit, a cheerful book or television programme — I mean like a cookery show or something, not a nail-biting violent thriller.

Dear Margery. She knew what she was talking about; more than I understood at the time. I guess these things loom larger as one gets older.

Yorkshire Pudding

Stanley Holloway's monologue about Yorkshire Pudding.



Just because it always make me smile.

Circle of light

In the comment thread developing from the previous post — about winter woolies — Lynda and I were each speaking from the seasons on opposite sides of the planet. Pause to think what amazing friendship opportunities the internet has given us — such blessing!

Over there in Australia she is in early spring, still chilly. Here in England we are leaving summer behind and coming into autumn — beginning to get chilly. The earth turning, orbiting, circling in the seasons of the light.

The old religion of these isles was rooted in agricultural rhythms. As the Tao expresses it,
Man follows Earth.
Earth follows Heaven.
Heaven follows the Tao.
The Tao follows what is natural.

So the rhythms of Earth and the seasons teach us wisdom and allow us to glimpse eternal truth.

Here in the islands where this sequence of festivals was shaped, we're in harvest time.

Harvest begins at Lammas, with the barley harvest, when the sickle is first put in, at the beginning of August — the cross-quarter day, half-way between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox.

The harvest concludes at Michaelmas, at the end of September, with the feast of St Michael and all angels, when all is safely gathered in.

There's an exterior agricultural rhythm to this, but also an inner wisdom rhythm.

Look — here are the archetypes of the light cycle:

 The colours show you the seasons of the light. On the left there is the pregnant woman, who sits at the season of Easter (from Oestre — think 'oeuf', the French for egg, and the word oestrogen), when Christ's new life was incubated in the tomb and emerged into the dawn as salvation. Easter sits (more or less) at the spring equinox; that's why the figurine of the pregnant woman is grey, half light half dark.

At the front sits the figure of John the Baptist, whose feast is set at the xenith of the light, in high summer, near the solstice. The Celtic Christian monks who set these feasts placed them adjacent to the old religion's existing feasts, to show the connections, rather than antagonising anybody by challenging and ousting them. They were wise missionaries, respectful.

The figurine of John the Baptist is white, to show his feast is when the light is brightest and strongest. But you'll see his gaze is towards the little dark babe.  John the Baptist is the herald who points towards the coming Christ. He stands at the xenith of the year directing our gaze towards the infant light, the birth of truth.

Then comes the figure of St Michael. St John had a staff and the archangel Michael carried a sword in this set of figurines, but sadly both they and the replacements got broken, so you'll just have to imagine them. 

St Michael stands at the equinox, as the light and darkness balance (expressed in the colouration of the figurine), and he is there to call us urgently to get ready, for dark days are coming.

Then comes the little dark baby, the infant light born into the days when darkness is deepest, the world is cold and the nights are long, and hope, life, seem to be gone. This is Christmas, the feast of the Incarnation, the arrival of hope into our darkest hour, at the winter solstice. So the coming of the Christchild brings the dawn of life-giving light, and inaugurates the dawn of new hope.

We were thinking about this in our household this morning, because we were getting ready for the coming winter.

We've filled up our wood store, out beyond the potato patch there:

And we have a stash in the house here, under the Celtic cross that echoes the old glyph of the sacred Earth, and reminds us of the cross that stands while the world turns.

As we were bringing the wood in, one of us reflected that only this last fortnight we've been thinking about preparing for old age, the late autumn and winter of our lives and the going down into the earth.

Some of us who live here are middle-aged and some are growing old, and we've been discussing what we can put in place for the years that are coming, getting our house as well in order as it is within our power to do. The Badger and me moving down to an easier location, to make use of these "good old days" before age comes to claim our strength. In his new room he will build a wardrobe and bookshelves, both very strong and physical tasks, because this is the time to do it — while he is still fit and strong.

We've also talked about how we will make financial provision for our old age — for both the older ones and the middle-aged ones, because there are no children in this household. 

So we are in the period of our lives that we might see as the season between Lammas (cross-quarter midway between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox) and Michaelmas (the equinox by which time all must be safely gathered in). It's no good starting to harvest at Michaelmas. St Michael looks down the days of winter cold. By his feast, the barns must be stocked. And my children are at Lammas, and my husband and I are at Michaelmas, and these spiritual festivals are our gracious reminder to get ready, both in body and in soul.

Later comes Martinmas and Advent, and now I'm on a roll and want to write all about that but I'd better stop or I'll be sending you off to sleep! Because they too (as all the feasts do) hold wise instruction for how to conduct our lives. They knew a thing or two, those Celtic monks of olden days!

Blessed be you, in this season of preparation that reminds you body and soul, to get ready.

Winter warm

I said I'd show you some of my winter warm clothing, and then went silent on you for several days!

We've been moving rooms. I still have my little cell where I'm very happy, but the Badger has moved down from his attic. I regard this as a noble act because he absolutely loved that room. The thing is, he had some very substantial furniture, a tiny staircase that twists and turns, and neither of us was getting any younger. He is a person of great energy and zest for life, but when he gets ill it's spectacular. A couple of years ago he had a bout of pneumonia that absolutely flattened him, and this summer his insides went mad after a teaching trip in Africa. 

It seemed to me that a bedroom on the same floor as a bathroom, with a regular bed and normal access to it (not a nook under the eaves) might be a wise condition to set in place as we enter our dotage.

It wasn't easy to say goodbye to the attic room with its huge skylight windows looking out at the moon and stars, with a privileged view into the home life of seagulls and jackdaws — but we realised that what we could easily achieve now might surprise us by becoming suddenly impossible a few years down the line. 

The move meant a fresh wave of minimising possessions for the Badger — which is not a sad thing; he's come to recognise it as healthy and positive and wise, even if it's never easy. And now he is installed and we are recovering from our World's Strongest Man feats of bringing a giant mattress and gargantuan desk down the teensy little ladder staircase — and of course taking up those stairs all the household effects of the previous occupant of the room he moved into. And she deserves a medal and a round of applause, for her immediate and gracious acquiescence to this scheme even though it took years of saving to get her room repaired and decorated to its present lovely state. 

This move was a whole-household effort and we were very grateful for all the help we had!

Once all the associated carpentry is accomplished, I'll show you our current situation. Just now it's not very beautiful, because the Badger still has to build his wardrobe and bookcases. Its all a bit transitional.

So that's what I've been doing. Plus tending night and day (yes, both) our dear cats, their primary caregivers have been away at a stonecutting conference at the wonderful West Dean College.

The photos in that link make it look very minimalist and modern. Inside the house where our folk stayed it looked like this

and this

and this

And this was the view from their bedroom window.

So, altogether marvellous. And while they were away we cared assiduously for the cats (you do have to), with good results:

So it's been a somewhat focused few days. But now — back as we were. Winter woolies, then — yes, the days of frost and fire will soon be here.

I can't really get on all that well with coats. I've had several at various times and fallen out with them all. Recently I had two — a glorious Indian kantha coat in sunset colours, and a dark green cotton barn coat jacket.

I sold the kantha coat along with most of my clothes this summer on eBay to get together the funds to have my new dresses made. That left the barn coat, which I wore into town on a cooler day last week. I kept catching sight of myself wearing it as I passed the big reflective panes of shop windows; and I thought I looked so horrible in it that I dropped it off at Dr Barnado's charity shop. They were pleased to have it, I was pleased not to.

I don't really need a coat anyway. I can wear a shawl. If it rains I can get wet and change when I come home.

So my serious winter things are these:

At the back are two Tibetan shawls — the kind sold online as Yak wool. They are in fact made of acrylic and have never been near a yak, but I think trading standards may be differently configured in Tibet. I bought the blue one in the spring on eBay, and dithered for ages over which to get because I loved the red one too.    Then — O frabjous joy — I was given the red one for my birthday! In the photo, perhaps you can see (I folded it back to show you) it is really like having two shawls, because one side is different from the other. I love these shawls. They are large, light, superbly soft, easy to wash and quick to dry and very, very snuggly.

On the arm of the chair on the left is another shawl — a mothers' day gift knitted by my daughter. Grace (who also gave me the red shawl). It's cotton and very open knitting, so it makes an excellent autumn/spring layer.

Now, those sandals are, in my view, an excellent addition to a wardrobe. They are fur-lined Birkenstocks. Because of my hyper-mobility, my skin blisters very easily, and these sandals are just great because the fur cushions my feet against rubbing. But also, they allow me to carry on with bare feet into the cold weather. Just add leggings under my skirt — job done.

The grey mittens in the middle I wear every time I go outdoors right through the cold months (so, October to May, basically). Our Alice knitted them for me.

She also knitted my soft grey alpaca hat next to them. Above it is a cheap 'n' cheerful but very warm snood thingy — not for over your head, just a sort of enclosed scarf. I bought it a couple of winters ago — my very aged auntie in Yorkshire always sends me ten pounds in a card for Christmas. Usually I just put it towards the groceries, but on that occasion it occurred to me that I'd have something to remember her by if I bought an actual thing with it. And this scarf was nine pounds at Asda, where I get my food shopping.

The stripy socks — these are mostly my bed-socks in the winter, but I do sometimes wear them in the day and, oh dear, (can you see?) on the teeth of the metal edge strip in the floor (in the doorway), where carpet used to be attached — I caught one of the socks and tore it. Posting this will remind me to get some green or brown wool and darn it before the cold weather comes. Our Alice knitted them for me. They are alpaca, silky soft and very warm.

Oh! I almost forgot! I have some furry slippers now, too. They were a present from the Badger this summer, ready for the winter.

So when the winter winds start to blow, I'll be ready!

Bible study

Some people never read the Bible, some like to dip in and read as they feel led, some follow a read-the-Bible-in-a-year programme, and some like to have study notes.

It's the same with home groups. Some tie in to Sunday worship and discuss in a weeknight group the themes and materials of Sunday's ministry of the word, others just keep meeting and chatting and praying and sharing fellowship, but most follow programmes of study and are on the lookout for study materials on a regular basis.

Over the years I've sometimes been involved in leading home groups, and always hit one particular problem — the study materials have too much content. There's usually an ice-breaker activity, some informational input, several discussion questions (sometimes in multiple sections), homework, prayer points . . . a lot.

In groups I have attended, led by others, a thing happens to which I seriously object. The people are given a subject to discuss, and are just getting into it when the leader claps its hands, starts to make barking noises of warning, and tells them to stop talking. The subliminal message is that while it is important for the people to talk to one another, what they are saying is of no significance. They can shut up now because the leader says so. This reinforces one of the church's weakest characteristics — what is sometimes called "style over substance"; get the behaviour right and what's really inside you doesn't matter. This is an unfortunate effect to achieve in a fellowship group, and it stems from over-crammed study materials. The leader, conscientiously trying to do what the notes say, tries to herd the people into achieving conformity to the prescribed structure instead of letting them do what they like.

To remedy this, I wrote some study materials of my own.

They are based on the following premises.

1. In the discipling programme of the church community, Sunday worship has space for some serious teaching input (ministry of the word) and home groups take this further by discussion and interaction (rather than more large pieces of input).
2. Home groups are of huge importance for forming bonds of friendship which create a web, or cradle, of nurture and support for the church members. These are made by interactions, which are valuable of themselves not just a pleasing subsection of supporting a leader's study input. A home group's conversations should be fed and respected; they are building the church. These interactions foster healing, nourish the spirit, and are foundational responsible for spiritual formation.
3. Home groups benefit from the focus and structure offered by study materials, but these should be created and administered with a light hand, to respect and give space for the interpersonal dynamics of the group.
4. Even when a study group ties in with the Sunday worship programme, there are often gaps here and there when a leader is helped by having some stand-alone studies to hand.

With all this in mind, I wrote my studies, producing a volume of a hundred stand-alone Bible studies offering a theme, some Bible texts exploring that theme, a paragraph of commentary bringing out some of the most important aspects, three questions designed to help build the bridge between the eternal word of the Gospel and the day-to-day reality of participants' lives, and a prayer to conclude.

The idea is that these materials be a resource, not a tyranny.  So, for example, of the three questions, some offer the opportunity for group members to share aspects of their personality and personal history, while others explore matters of faith and theological exploration. The questions are specifically created to have no wrong answers. Nothing is there to catch people out or make them feel stupid or uninformed. The questions are invitations to share the truth and experience residing within each one of us, and so enrich the group.

These materials are also very handy for planning Café Worship, where timing is tight for the ministry of the word but interaction and discussion play a prominent part. The short selection of biblical texts, concise commentaries, and three open questions are perfect for formulating the ministry of the word in Café Worship.

I have been really delighted to discover, from the feedback of those who have used my study materials in their home groups, that these materials have particularly helped novice leaders gain confidence. It takes a leader of determination and experience — a real Border Collie of a leader — to herd the flock through the tightly timed sections of a regular Bible study, but the ones I've written give both the support a new leader needs and the space that makes the task easy.

Because home group leaders found these studies a valuable resource, I was asked if I'd write a second set. So I did. It publishes next month and is currently on Amazon for pre-order.  

This new one has a section on what I called "sacred moments". These are the sacraments of the church, but since the term "sacraments" is alien to some church groups I described them (accurately I hope) as sacred moments.

Then it has a section called "The Way of a Disciple", which explores the cycle of conversion, sanctification, aridity, perseverance and renewal.

The next section is on Covenant, looking at the different covenants in the Bible and what they mean for us today.

Then there's a section on Atonement — an essential but often opaque area of Jewish and Christian faith.

Next comes a section on Watchwords of the Faith — for example, grace, salvation, holiness, meekness, hope, transformation, redemption and several more.

After that is a section on St John's Signs — how the miracles of Jesus are tied in to declaring his mission, in John's gospel.

The last section, Spiritual Charisms, works through all the spiritual gifts identified in the Bible, from the different places in the Old and New Testaments where these are listed. These include the more widely recognised ones like healing, prophecy and wisdom, but also some that are less frequently cited as spiritual charisms, like reverence, celibacy and mercy.

I've linkified the image for you, to take you to Amazon where you can also read the comments of these who have tried and tested Volume 1, helpfully added to the page of this new volume.

I hope you like this new book as much as you evidently liked the first, and that it becomes a valuable resource for your home group, your Café Worship, and your personal quiet times. 

Written for you, with my love. It was quite a labour!!

A question to other Google Blogger users

If you read here regularly, you might (not) remember that a while back Google Blogger suddenly stopped sending me email notifications of your comments, and it wasn't until it occurred to me to go into the engine section of my blog and look that I managed to find them.

So I've been doing that ever since, and now I have got in the habit and have no trouble remembering to look, so that's fine.

Then yesterday I got an email from Google Blogger inviting me to subscribe to the facility of having email notification of your comments.

Hmm. To me, the word "subscribe" is linked to the closely associated term, "money". In my experience, anyone offering you a free subscription to anything whatsoever advertises it in the most blatantly unmissable terms. In the email I got, there was no mention of money changing hands, but the magic word "free" was noticeably absent from their message. Just two buttons saying SUBSCRIBE and DECLINE. Guess which one I chose.

Is anyone else among you blogging on Google Blogger? Have you had this as well? What's happening? 

And what about those of you who follow this blog? DO you get email notifications of posts — has there been any change to what normally happens?

Checking online, I see someone has found an ingenious way round this by himself commenting on his own blog and checking "notify me of follow up comments" — so then they do. I'm going to try that.

Cognitive ablutions

In the bath is where I do my primary thinking. I don't have a bath every day — that's why I'm a bit dim. My cerebral activity is intermittent.

But I did have a bath this morning. 

As I watch the morning light from the peaceful water, I ask questions of the great I Am. Today, much to my relief, my anxious searching for something to fill the Great Blank of what is needed for this Sunday's worship found a leading from the Spirit. Ahhh . . . okay . . . yes . . . let's go with that.

But other than holy concerns, my mind also strolled through the Wilderness of Trivia. Today I washed my hair. I have a new bottle of shampoo. I'm excited about this, because my favourite shampoo maker has just brought out a new range, that includes probiotics. 

The skin, as you probably already know, has its own microbiome, balancing the internal microbiome of the gut which takes care of our wellbeing and cheerfulness. Washing as much as we do, and having as little contact with the earth and living beings as most of us do, our skin microbiome inevitably suffers. It has occurred to some manufacturers of toiletries that what we need is probiotics to keep the microbiome topped up. So I'm pleased and excited that my own shampoo will now include this health-giving extra boost. It will make me clean and dirty at the same time. That's sort of magic, isn't it?

So then I got to thinking, I wonder how they get the probiotics into the shampoo? What are probiotics anyway? Bacteria, n'est çe pas? Where are they sourcing the bacteria?

When people's gut microbiomes nosedive, the best remedy is the insertion into the lower bowel of a poo sample from a person with a healthy, thriving, robust gut microbiome. So . .  I wonder . . . maybe . . . has my shampoo morphed from mere sham poo to being actual poo? 

The world of cosmetics is jealous and competitive. I remember back in the day — as long ago as the early 1980s — when Animal Aid, of which I was our local branch's secretary (or treasurer or something active and positive), mounted a huge campaign against Revlon's animal testing. Not only did Revlon change its practice as a result, but so did many other cosmetics firms; 'cruelty-free' became a promotional advantage.

In the same way, I imagine that probiotic shampoo is on the brink of becoming a Thing. Ours — ours —could be the generation that leaves behind washing our hair in Shampoo in favour of lovingly massaging in Realpoo. Gosh. 

Time to get out of the bath, my microbiome fully revitalised. This Realpoo smells very nicely of lavender, which is sort of reassuring.

What I wish I could say to the man re-laying our front path

"The thing is, Martin, unfortunately everyone else has gone out today and left me alone to look after you. And what you have to understand about me (but nobody will have told you, because why should they and because they are so used to me) is that I am not entirely sane. They know this, but they are busy. They hope for the best and have left the responsibility for you with me.

"It's not that I am indifferent to your well-being; far from it. Every fibre of all of me is painfully, utterly alert to the sound of you digging, whistling, hefting heavy bags, working hard. I am absolutely aware. You assume, in my consciousness, giant proportions.

"The problem is not that I don't care. It's that, as things are with me just now, I can hardly bear to leave my room. The prospect of interaction with another human being makes me feel physically sick. I can't face opening an interface between your soul and mine — your eyes, your voice, your smile. Even thinking of it makes my interior environment dissolve into running for shelter and multiple random directions, screaming. 

"I am so sorry. I have told you, not just once but repeatedly, to come in and help yourself, to make your own drink. I know this is unusual and that your expectations of yourself and the rest of the human race will make this difficult for you to do. But it would help me so much if you just did it."

Oh. 

Sigh. 

It's no good, is it? 

I'd better go down and fix him a cup of tea and a cookie.

Makers making mermaids

Two of our household — Alice and Hebe — have been working for several months on developing a range of sea-themed jewellery.

The things they're making are — oh, my! — just so pretty.

I wanted to show you a necklace just completed.

Because the porcelain beads would cut through silk over time, it is threaded (very appropriately) on fishing twine (I love that) which is very strong and durable.

The beads are freshwater pearls, a few genuine shell beads, several handmade porcelain beads (both smoke-fired and pink-glazed), and sandalwood.

The mermaid is porcelain and the flower she holds is coral (vintage, so no protected species have been hurt); the clasp is gold.

The mermaid and the porcelain beads were made by Hebe.

Isn't that just such a darling creation? I'll bring you pictures as more sea-wonders emerge . . .

Names

So why is it that people are commonly called Mr Black, Mr Brown, Mr Grey, Mr White and Mr Green — but nobody is ever called Mr Pink, Mr Red, Mr Blue, Mr Orange, Mr Purple, or Mr Yellow?