slowing down

What a relief - I remembered my password despite not posting since May!

I've always thought starting a blog post or letter with 'where did the time go?' or 'the days are flying by!' or 'I can't believe it's July already?!' is particularly lame. Nothing like stating the obvious - of course time has passed, that's what it does, one should not be surprised. That said, I'm about to be very lame.

Seriously, how did so much time pass, so quickly since I blogged last? Two months zipped by in a flash.

I went to the bank today. Yes, I know, how very old fashioned, but it is still the only way to get the money off that piece of paper and into my account!

"Busy morning?" the teller asked.

Um, I don't know how to answer that question.

(I am not failing to blog because I'm super busy. I'm just tootling along, working a couple of days a week, and the minutes tick by just as quickly as they did before, but I'm not busy as such. In fact today I was feeling a bit superfluous to the needs of the world, because the hospital didn't call me on the (one) day I was available this month and I got to knit all morning. How very decadent on a week day.)

So, busy?

"Actually, no. I had a lovely morning."

At which point waves of guilt wash over me, because everyone's busy. It's how we live. Our value as a person is in direct relationship to our busyness - the more busy we are, the more worth we have. So if I'm not busy and stressed and stretched thin in too many directions, what am I good for? How dare I live a life of not busy? One of my brothers even went so far as to say I have a fake life. Ouch.

I wonder though, if, in all the busyness, we've missed the point. What are we busy for? I might not be achieving much in my not busy state (don't worry, I'm still doing a bit), but seriously, what do we achieve in all the rush? Are we doing something meaningful? Are we rushing around because we've forgotten the art of being - just sitting and enjoying stillness and silence? Are we attempting to justify our existence with society's sanctioned form of productivity (making money) because we feel insignificant and useless if we don't? Do we fill our days until they will hold no more to hide the emptiness within?

OK, so knitting midweek is a pleasant idyll. I wouldn't call it 'fake', but a woman cannot live on knitting alone. I see this as a season in my life. I am truly blessed to be able to slow down a little and be less busy. The trick now is not to fall into an egoistic self indulgent state in which I gratify every crafty whim. That would be as vain as all my previous busyness.

I'm still figuring it all out, but if I had to choose between knitting or the rat race, I'd choose knitting any day... at least it produces something I can hold onto.

the post that isn't a post

Oh dear... I just don't have time. Moan. How am I ever going to get onto all those juicy topics I want to talk about?

Ignore this post, because it isn't really a post. It simply fulfils requirements.

shedding

I'm slowly shedding all my commitments, like heavy winter coats on a hot summer day.

Study. (Last assignment back today and I feel very pleased)
Violin. (Exam yesterday afternoon. Apart from quickly aborting that major scale which should have been a minor, happy with how it went. Why do they always ask to hear what I am least prepared for?!)
Church. (Two months to go)

Soon I will be as light as a feather.

What? Nablopomo? I took on Nablopomo? Sheesh... what was I thinking?! That's the heaviest coat of all.

Not.
So settle back, relax and prepare for daily instalments.

i am not disorganised

I was just describing my crazy weekend to a friend. The weekend is a follow on to the crazy week which is a follow on to the crazy month.

She thought I sounded disorganised because I was crazily trying to catch up on several loads of washing after a week with no (environmentally friendly, privately bought) washing powder.

I would like to suggest I am not disorganised, rather oversubscribed. Too much to do in too few hours. This actually requires me to be super organised just to fit everything in, but sometimes little (or big) jobs fall through the cracks, giving a semblance of mayhem.

Anyway, I had better stop wasting time blogging and rather get back to packing and organising myself to be cook at a camp for 20 primary school children this week. Oh yay.

Now where did I pack my menu planner again?

busy living life

Some seriously good stuff has been happening and I really want to write about it but just can't find the time. Then there are all those photos of the trip I want to share, and the stories I want to tell. Same thing - not enough time.

Truth is I'm busy living, and it's good. Real good. Would just be nice to have a snippet of time to tell the tale though.

I will, I really will. This weekend maybe.

(I really only posted tonight so it isn't more than a week since my last post. Sad. I know. But I'm a blogger!)

care: a matter of drawing close (with thanks to charles ringma)

Even the best of busyness engaged in with the purest of hearts for the good of others will catch up with you eventually. Or so I've found this last few days when stress and exhaustion reared their ugly heads. I think it has something to do with this:

We cannot simply live for others. A life that is totally focused on others and shows no regard for itself will eventually disintegrate. The idea that such a life is the highest form of spirituality is a misunderstanding of the rhythm of the inner life. That rhythm recognises that we need to be nurtured, refreshed, and empowered if we are to continue to give... we need to care with a care that springs from being nurtured ourselves.

Charles Ringma

I'm still figuring out this rhythm of the inner life... or maybe I already know the rhythm, but I fail to move in time with it. I see this or that good thing I might contribute to, a person here or there whom I can help, and there I go racing from one person, task, need to the next. The last two weeks are a case in point.

This evening I soaked in a bath full of bubbles and I'm feeling more rested and balanced, less like I am disintegrating, more nurtured, refreshed and slightly more empowered to give. A good sleep should do the rest.

This busyness thing is a running theme for me. I am constantly overcommitted. I have now obtained a copy of 'In Praise of Slow' but am yet to sit down and gain inspiration and insight from its pages. I have however found a chapter in 'Animal, Vegetable, Miracle' by Barbara Kingsolver that was helpful. She writes of the conundrum of time, in which we rush to 'save' a few minutes here, 'snatch' an extra moment there when in reality we have twenty four hours a day, every day, no more, no less. We cannot save time, all we can do is cram more into our allotted hours, for as Kingsolver writes:

Every minute I save will get used on something else, possibly no more sublime than staring at the newel post trying to remember what I just ran upstairs for.

The solution? Could it be accepting each twenty four hour day as it comes and making the most of each minute instead of trying to create space for the magical, ever out of reach moment when
we can indulge in something really enjoyable? Life does not consist of lounging around reading books or engaging in pleasurable hobbies. Those things are good and right, but so are cleaning the bathroom, cooking the meals and washing the dishes. The key to me seems to be cherishing the cleaning, cooking and washing up, or as Kingsolver puts it:

...attending to the task in front of me - even a quotidian chore - might make it into part of a good day, rather than just a rock in the road to someplace else.

I haven't made it to such a state of enlightened attending, but I am edging my way in that direction. My busyness last week was not a matter of saving time or cramming endless duties in for the sake of it. I wasn't grudging in my meting out of time, tapping my foot impatiently for the moment I would be free to do as I wished. I just forgot to care for myself in the middle of caring for others and it all caught up with me.

Lessons in the journey of life - maybe by the time I die I will be dancing to the tandem rhythms of ministering to others and providing space for my own nurture!

laughter the best medicine

I don't like it, but sometimes life gets me down and I find myself looking out on the world through jaded eyes. Beauty passes unnoticed, day may as well be night and my fellow human beings seem little more than hindrances as I struggle through each week.

Which is why today was so refreshing. There was no way I could be jaded in the face of another person's delight.

Over the last year or two Frank and I have cultivated a friendship with our local Indian restaurant proprietors. In February they had a gorgeous black haired, brown eyed baby boy named Yesh. While his Mum and Dad slave away over a hot stove producing the most delicious Indian food in Tasmania, he sits nearby in his pram keeping himself entertained. Well, as much as a baby can keep himself entertained.

The problem is that as Yesh grows, the less entertaining he finds his pram parked in the kitchen. While other babies are lying on the floor gurgling, curiously exploring their surroundings or playing with toys, he lies still, following his parents with his eyes, becoming increasingly frustrated with the restriction. At night he falls asleep to the sound of clashing pots and pans, by day his eyes drift closed to the bubble of stewing meat. His parents are doing their best to survive - play is a luxury they cannot afford for their child or themselves.

Today I visited my friends to say hello. I like to think they feel less alone in the world because Frank and I care about them. They seem to appreciate our visits.

Yesh was a little grumpy when I arrived - wouldn't drink his milk, wasn't grinning like he usually does - and his mum and dad needed to cook up some base dishes for the night so I offered to take Yesh for a walk in the park and they agreed.

I felt quite weird at first - conspicuous with an orange pram and Indian baby, yet enjoying the feel of a baby in my care; hoping nobody confused me with Yesh's mother (unlikely!) but wishing it was my own child I pushed along.

As we rounded into the park (I love the parks here - they are lush, beautiful squares of green peace in the busyness) and edged towards the fountain, Yesh started laughing. He laughed and laughed and laughed. As we circled the fountain he chortled at the water pouring over the sides of the sculpture. When we sat to rest he bounced up and down on my knee, twisting to see the fountain, the flowers, the sky, drinking it all in. And keeping on keeping on with his laughing.

Ah, what a delight to hear! The pure, unadulterated joy of a baby revelling in being alive, experiencing the world with fresh, alert eyes.

If I never live to have children of my own I will never forget that moment of Yesh's laughter. I won't forget how he saw the beauty and wonder of the world.

May I find the determination to notice that beauty and wonder for myself, staving off the jadedness that snaps hungrily at my heels.

hard choices

It's been a busy few days, what, with leading at church, hosting four church people for today's 'mystery lunch'... and all those other every day things that demand time every day of the week. Not hard to see where the last five days have gone!

In the middle of the busyness I've been feeling quite a bit of frustration at my inability to get to those things I really want to do. It's not surprising then that yesterday as I ran around tidying, sweeping, dusting, cooking and cleaning while Frank read a book, I found myself caught up in a PMT fueled moan about my lack of time. I was irritated that Frank had time to enjoy reading and I did not. When do I get time for reading? Almost never.

The more I've thought about this, the more the word 'choices' keeps appearing before my eyes. It all comes down to choices.

Do I have time to read? Well yes, if I made it my number one priority, I would have time to read! Is there time for craft? If I made time for craft, I could most certainly engage in it. Could I fit silence and reflection into my life? If I wanted to be silent and reflect, I would create the necessary space to sit quietly. If I chose to place greater emphasis on these things I would do them ahead of blogging, sudoku, Ugly Betty, random internet surfing... and all the other jobs that must be done.

Ultimately I do have time (24 hours a day to be precise) - but do I have the courage to make the choices that would allow myself the freedom to use that time differently?

It occurs to me that my 'I never have enough time' catchphrase is little more than a poor excuse for a faulty value system. From time to time I have visions of a personal eulogy which says 'she never had time for all she wanted to do'. Then I realise a more accurate assessment of my life would be 'she never made time for all she wanted to do.' And why? Because I value things according to a faulty scale. Busyness is next to godliness; stillness is irrelevant. Productivity is the measure of a person's worth; if there is no meaningful output (and craft doesn't count as meaningful) nothing of value has been achieved. If my soul grew but nothing was ticked off my to-do list, the day is wasted.

And meanwhile I shrivel up inside, my soul starving for attention, crying out to be fed as I willfully stifle its cries with a never ending cycle of tasks that must be achieved.

But must they? Who said cleanliness is next to godliness? Who decreed a shop bought cake is of the devil? When was it decided that only Cecily could complete certain tasks? Is it law that every church activity must be participated in? (For the record, I don't participate in every church activity, but sometimes I am wracked with guilt because I don't) Who prescribed productivity as the greatest measure of a person's worth?

Not God, I'm certain! I don't think he sees much of value in any of those things! So why can't I just let go?

Because of my choices! I measure my own worth against some ridiculous made up standard of super church-serving-home-cooking-house-cleaning-hard-studying-career-woman wifely-ness. And when I find myself not measuring up, I work even harder to meet the mark.

No wonder I have no time for any of life's simple pleasures! That faulty value system gets me every time. I desperately need to take hold of my life instead of letting life take hold of me.

I need to find the courage to make the choices that will allow me the freedom to use my time differently.

juggling

OK. Now I'm starting to feel swamped.

Every day whizzes past more quickly than the day before, faster and faster and faster.

Every night I feel overwhelmed by all that I have not achieved.

Oh, I'm still doing the good housewife thing - cleaning, grocery shopping, cooking, more cooking, washing. I'm still going to work and earning a dollar, trying to maintain motivation and put in my best effort.

It's just that I've hardly done any study, while modules and assignments and readings and reflections seem to be coming out my ears.

The little study I have done has been very challenging - counsellors must be self aware in order to help clients so I'm carefully analysing my attitudes and behaviours against the literature's definition of best practice... scary!

Three weeks ago I was sure I could counsel friends and patients adequately - this course would simply help me to develop and hone my skill. Now that I'm analysing and reflecting on myself, I'm wondering if I might not have so many counselling skills after all! Add to that all the warped motivations I've discovered in my heart, and I think I might need counselling myself. Again.

Maybe I'll stick to being a good housewife after all! It might be tiring, but it sure is easier! And with a cupboard stocked up like this...

and this...

...I think I do a better job of grocery shopping than counselling! (No points for guessing Frank and my favourite food!) Or should I hope I do a better job at counselling than I do at grocery shopping?!

I don't know the answer to that one, but I do know sleep will help me sort things out so I'm off for some shuteye!