cracks in my conscience

The trouble with campaigning for causes is that you are bound to trip up at some point. It's inevitable. The decisions we make around spending, energy use and food are all complicated, as if there is a sliding scale between extremely bad choices and angelically good. At times there is no valid explanation for my movement up and down this ethical scale. If I'm tired I am more likely to give into cravings and desires. If I'm miserable I comfort myself one way or another. If I think life is just too hard I'll give in to the easy choice. Maybe that's shallow, or maybe it is just the reality of living in a complicated world where every decision I make effects another person somewhere, or warms the earth that little bit more.

One of my campaign platforms is buying fair trade. Frank and I stopped eating Cadbury chocolate because it was not fair trade. We even went so far as to reduce our overall chocolate consumption because, funnily enough, it is too expensive to eat fair trade chocolate in vast quantities - something to do with people not being exploited and instead being paid a fair amount for their labour and products.

I've had many an interesting conversation with people about this issue. Some get it, some don't. Some like Lindt and Nestle and Cadbury chocolate too much to give them up. That's OK - at least we're all thinking about the issue now.

It's easy to get up on my giddy little high horse sometimes. Aren't I so good doing all this fair trade, healthy eating, reduced carbon footprint living?

And right there she falls in a heap.

I was at work. We'd just had a big discussion about fair trade chocolate. The Gen Y's of the room claimed they did not care. They lived for themselves and that's the way they like it. We Gen X and baby boomers decried such selfish, insular living before we all got on with the work in front of us.

Later in the day a generous, kindly soul came around with chocolates from the departing nursing students. I was busy with a patient and thought I'd get one in a second, but by the time I was ready, the chocolates were gone.

Gasp. I was salivating - bring those things back!

The chocolates were quickly returned, I made my selection and the chocolate bearer apologised. "I didn't think you'd want one because they are not fair trade," she said.

Oh yes, there's a crack in my conscience there alright. And another one over there. And, oh yes, the other day I bought something else from the 'forbidden' list.

Decisions, decisions. It's impossible to get it right all the time, sometimes because it truly is impossible, other times because of the cracks, when I twist things around to suit myself and do what I want. I guess the only thing to do is keep plugging away and aiming to improve all the time. If only I could, I'd make the world a better place, and I think I can, but only a bit at a time.

stop thinking about yourself all the time...

I'm not the happiest camper in the world at the moment. The world is full of babies and (in case you haven't noticed) not one of them is mine. This leaves me angry, desperate, dejected, insanely jealous, despairing and chewed up all at once. I am particularly angered by people's insensitive slights when they pay all sorts of inordinate amounts of attention to people who have just had babies but cannot even manage a hello in my direction.

I try to remind myself to look at all the incredible things I do have and be happier, but I can't seem to stop looking at the one thing I don't have, but want. I find myself avoiding anyone with children, even people I once spent a lot of time with. The parents all seem too smug and selfishly content for my liking, although I'm not sure if this is just my perception or reality. A few parent friends make it past my filtering system, not many mind, but there are a few. This makes me think it is not all me, because I can handle those ones but not all the others.

Anyway, in my effort to help myself feel so much better I thought I'd let you read about this inspiring story. Kurt Fearnley just crawled the entire Kokoda Track on his hands, dragging his crippled body behind him. I would also tell you about the conjoined twins separated in an epic operation, but they're babies and I'm trying to stop thinking about babies. I have to admit though, that this story makes me smile and cry just a little. How amazing they have a chance to live separately.

topsy turvy

What a crazy, crazy world hey. When I got up this morning I checked the news on the internet (because I somehow got into this crazy habit of checking my personal email and other websites of interest before I head to work). There was some news about people being shot in Mumbai but my eyes slid right past it because I can't deal with all the shootings and bombings which daily bombard my eyes and ears so I filter them all out and head on over to the entertainment news, because we all want to know that Madonna and Guy Ritchie have both moved on to new relationships don't we?

I stepped into my car and tuned into Radio National Breakfast, only to discover I could not escape Mumbai. This wasn't your average, garden variety shooting in Iraq or Afghanistan, but a big deal simultaneous attack on high profile locations around the city. Another terrorist affair by all accounts. (How sad that I am no longer shocked by tragic news from Iraq)

I really want to block this out of my mind. The last thing I want to hear about is another bunch of fanatical people exercising their rights to the point of destroying the lives of those who hold a different view. This is abhorrant to me, and since it seems to be happening all around me with increasing frequency I am overwhelmed by horror. My best defence mechanism has become a dance of avoidance - ignore the events, avoid the pain.

Unfortunately avoiding one sad tale (if that is possible) propels me right into the arms of another. Let's see. What else is going on at the moment? Oh, that's right... an economic crisis. What appals me about this is the straw we have built our society upon. We are in trouble because of excessive lending and exceeding our incomes. The solution? Get out there and spend more money to stimulate the economy! Hello?? Wasn't over spending a contributing factor here? How can our whole society be so geared for consumption that we must consume more in order to dig ourselves out of our financial hole? Madness.

What was that about Madonna and Guy? Or Gordon Ramsey and his alleged affair? And isn't Amy Winehouse back in hospital? Give me this trite, inconsequential fluff please... drown out the madness. Oh... that's all madness too?

I just can't deal with how empty, hateful, shallow, violent and selfish we are. (And then I looked in the mirror! Ha) We need a messiah I think. Save us from this mess.

grump-a-plump (or 'it's not all about me, it's not all about me')

This is a miserable, sucky post written solely to fulfill NaBloPoMo requirements. You won't enjoy reading it, so please don't. I feel slightly better for airing my thoughts, but really, it's not worth the air space really.

I'm a bit down in the dumps. Frank and I are throwing a party this Friday night and our guests are dropping like flies. Actually some of them were never flying in the first place. After initially imagining we might be hosting 2o or more, right now we are struggling to scrape ten.

Now I know there are valid excuses for people not coming - kids, unexpected trips out of town, work Christmas parties on the same night - all good reasons to stay away. But I'm still feeling miffed, rejected, forgotten.

It's like this. Their reasons are valid, but they give me some idea where I fit into the order of their priorities. They feel constrained to choose to go elsewhere. They are free to make that choice, I can't deny that, but their choice tells me where I lie in their mental tally of importance. And it ain't near the top. (That's the voice of Cecily-in-the-dumps speaking!)

I have come up against this 'Cecily falls far down our priority list' scenario before. Take a friend for example. They were pregnant. I knew they were pregnant as other people kept asking me if I had heard from them. I had not but over the years I've learned most people who say 'We need to get in touch with you' really mean 'We are pregnant'. Finally, just as the rest of the world were told the exciting news, I received an email officially informing me. Yay. I'm happy for them, but I know where I fall in their order of priorities. And it ain't near the top.

Then there was the friend I invited to our wedding. She decided to work a locum position for lots more money than she could normally earn and so didn't come. I get that she needed to make money, and I can't judge that. But I know my place - and it ain't near the top.

OK, this is turning into one big long self pitying whine that I may well delete as soon as NaBloPoMo is over, so I'll stop here.

I suppose the important question I should ask is how am I prioritising other people? And just as people have the freedom to choose to slot me lower down their list of priorities (and let's face it... the world does not revolve around me) so I have the freedom to choose how to respond to this - mope or accept and move on?

why do i always have to be right?

I have a desperate need to be right all the time at the moment. I would like to think this is just a passing phase, but I suspect those who know me well would take pleasure in pointing out I always have a desperate need to be right all the time.

Perhaps I am only over subscribed, tired and on the brink of burn out. That would be preferable to having a serious character flaw I need to face and address.

Whatever the cause, whatever the reason, I don't like it. I don't like myself. I would prefer if I could rise above this unattractive tendency and halt the slide into pugnacity.

Here is the first step: That annual leave time sheet that I KNOW I filled in but my manager is asking me to fill in ready for December? I am going to fill it in again and not even offer a whimper of a sound suggesting I may have already completed it. That shouldn't be too hard. A slight bump to my pride (because I really was organised and reliable and I really did do it when I applied for the leave in the first place!).

Doesn't everything get easier after the first step? Soon I'll be so humble and sure everyone else is right I'll prove all those naysayers wrong while I'm at it. That's the spirit Cecily!

snap. (out of it)

What happened there?
One minute I was a grumpy, miserable sod, the next a woman with a positive outlook.
How did that happen?

Perhaps it had something to do with the death of Benazir Bhutto. When I read the news I sat at the computer screen stunned. Yes, her death seemed inevitable in view of her political stance, the social climate of her country and her insistence on jumping through the sunroof to wave at the crowd, but still. Here was a brave woman (faulty no doubt also - there's that little story of corruption, and I'm not personally convinced politics are important enough to leave your husband and impressionable teenagers behind in another country, though maybe in this case her cause was more important than family) standing for a value she believed in, razed by those who didn't agree. My grumblings seem insignificant in comparison.

My sudden change of heart could be related to the DVD Dad gave Frank and I for Christmas, 'indescribable' by Louis Guglio. We watched it the other night, and in view of the marvels of space, again, my petty complaints seem insignificant. There's nothing like a little bit of perspective to remind me I'm not the centre of the universe. Much as I would like to think I am.

Mostly though, it was God who changed my heart. I love that about God. Even when I'm spitting chips, in an angry rage, crippled by ugly selfishness, he responds to my feeble, grudging cries for help. Cries such as 'I don't want to change, I don't want to be less selfish, I don't want to forgive, I don't want to be humble... I can only ask that you please help me to want to change, help me to want to be different.' He always listens, he always fulfills his end of the bargain, he always changes me, and usually even more than I asked for. When I peer into my heart, not only do I feel a creeping softness of wanting to be humble... I am more humble (or perhaps you should ask Frank about that!); not only do I want to be loving rather than angry... my anger recedes as if red hot coals cooled by water (without the accompanying spitting of course); not only do I want to forgive... I can see the other person's perspective and understand why they said or did what seemed offensive. I find this transformation truly incredible. Of course I'm faulty and weak and I fail to hold on to the transformation for long periods, but still God comes again and again and does her quiet work deep in my heart. I love that about God.

And so I head into 2008 with a sense of a fresh start, with the humble awareness that God is at work within me, and the knowledge that I have a special place in the world, I am of value, but I'm not the centre of everything and neither should I be. My inner being is realigned. Peace has come.

Happy New Year. May this be a time of fresh beginnings for you also.

come satisfy my thirsty heart

I was listening to worship music yesterday in an effort to overcome the grumps that have plagued me for several days. To my shame I almost succeeded in picking that fight with the neighbour when I hurled abuse over the fence under the guise of talking to the sheep she had locked up in her cement yard. (Poor things, they bleated to Frank and I for two days before she let them out) At the time I was secretly proud of my bravado. Now I'm desperate to hide the darkness of my heart. Or let God expunge it, which is probably the better option. Thus the worship music.

As I listened a few lines jumped out at me: "Oh, Christ be the centre of our lives/be the place we fix our eyes/be the centre of our lives" and "Breathe on me now as I bow down/I'm desperate Lord for more of You/come satisfy until I/am even more in need of you".

The words struck me as bordering on the ridiculous. "Christ be the centre of our lives"... how can Christ be the centre of my life unless I let him, unless my actions make him the centre? "Come satisfy until I am even more in need of you"... I suspect God wants nothing more than to satisfy. If I would just sit still and drink him in.

I had to stop singing along, for when I looked into my heart I saw only myself as the centre of my life, yelling at my neighbour over the fence, grumbling at Frank when he didn't do exactly as I wished, miserable when someone let me down; and myself rushing about so frantically that God couldn't get a drop of his thirst quenching love into my mouth if he tried.

What point singing the words if they are null and void in light of my actions?

I'm tired of being grumpy. I'm tired of being my own centre of my life. I'm tired of being busy all the time. I seriously need to sit with God and let him be my centre.

Now there is satisfaction.

bahumbug

I felt like Scrooge this morning, all grumpy and miserable about Christmas and wishing everyone else would just stop the fuss.

All I wanted to do was duck into town and quickly gather a few supplies for a BBQ lunch we were hosting. I forgot (more precisely I didn't even know) about the annual Christmas Parade. As I tried to make my way to the necessary shops my path was obstructed by families sitting on the footpath munching on cheese and biscuits waiting for the parade.

Hello! Saturday morning? I need to get some jobs done and you're all in my way. Is this reasonable?

I parked my bike, locked it to a pole and waded through the crowds. One good thing was the emptying of the shops into the streets, so I received quick service. And I didn't have to worry about watching for traffic when crossing the road - once I'd cleared a path to the gutter I could stroll across with ease. However I did wish I hadn't worn my 'eat money?' T-shirt. It may have made an excellent political statement at the polling booth (I was hoping for a TV camera...) but walking out in front of several hundred people all geed up with excited anticipation at the thought of ute loads of dancing reindeer parading past - it might not have been such a great choice.

So I stomped through the crowds grumpily, begrudging everyone their sunny happiness.

Until I looked at everyone and really noticed them. Boys and girls scrubbed clean in spiffy Christmas clothing, relaxed laughter from mums and dads catching up with old friends, sunglasses, hats, sandals. All these people chilling out and enjoying the day.

How could I be grumpy about that? It was then I realised I was being a Scrooge - raining on everyone else's parade.

So I set a smile on my face, politely excused myself as I weaved in and out of the crowd and wished them all a fun parade before heading home for a my own relaxing time enjoying the sun with good friends.

australian idol baby

Where there's a will there's a way, or so the saying goes. I'm trying to put the wisdom of this to good effect for starring on Australian Idol. (Drat those idol delusions - I just can't seem to put them to bed)

I'm two years over the magical cut off age, so there'll be no fair dinkum competition from me, but I think I might have discovered a loop hole that could see me going all the way to the Opera House to perform in Australian Idol - the 'My Mum Rocks' comp.

It's easy. If you think your mum can sing, you nominate her (or does she nominate herself, because that would be even better?!), she has a sing-off with a gaggle of other mothers in the local shopping centre before the best mama heads to Sydney to perform at the final. Perfect plan, no?!

I figure I have a year to produce a child in order to qualify for the 'mum' bit for 2008 and then I'll be set. OK, maybe two years in order for the child prodigy to master the computer skills necessary to enter me. Oh alright. Five years.

I really do need to deal with those delusions after all - it is painfully obvious that this plan won't work either.

I will settle for my small life.
I will settle for my small life.
I will settle for my small life.
I will settle for my small life.

Oh what a load of bollocks! I like my life. I like being me. I am happy to remain small and inconsequential but real, for this is of more value than fame and fortune.

But doesn't Australian Idol play on all those base instincts of ours? Pride, delusions of grandeur, self absorption. (Keep thinking like this and might be able to kill the desire for Idol fame once and for all)

UPDATE: My Mum emailed me yesterday and said that as she read this she was imaging me nominating her for the "My Mum Rocks" competition. She even sounded excited by the prospect. So I'm not the only one harbouring delusions of grandeur!

what value a life?

It's been a cry day. Not just because the sky has wept big, beautiful tears of life, but because my eyes won't stop leaking all over my face.

It's silly really. I'm crying because I'm upset, and then I'm crying because I'm upset that I'm upset because I don't think I have a right to be upset. If that makes sense.

Church is supposed to be the bastion of love, peace, joy and harmony. Right? But I feel all jumbled and grumpy about it. I pour hours of voluntary time into church activities. I realise I'm supposed to pour cheerfully, and most of the time I do. But sometimes I feel disgruntled. Disgruntled because in all the pouring out of my heart and soul, I receive little recognition. My precious offerings trampled into the mire of being taken for granted. I feel unappreciated and used.

Lest my pity party grows too large I will admit that if I feel this way, there must be an element of my offering that is unreceived by God. It's quite possible that I keep back a small portion for myself, hoping that some kudos will return to me. I forget that it's really all about God and his glory. I'd like some glory for myself please... and so my mournfulness stems from the lack of glory coming my way.

It's all rather confusing. I'm crying because I feel used, abused and oh so weary. Yet I'm also crying because God deserves my whole offering, not just part of it, and so I weep over my hard, selfish heart.

I think this feeling of being undervalued reaches deep into my soul, because everything I looked at today started me off crying again. I walked past the Country Women's Association shop. An old lady sat dolefully behind the counter waiting for someone, anyone, to step inside and fall in love with the country women's home made baking and hand knitted cardigans. It struck me that in not too many years these country women will have died, and perhaps their craft will die with them. And we'll all rush past to the chiq, modern stores to buy almond friands and mini cheesecakes, designer jumpers and merino socks without even realising these women have gone. A loss to society and we won't even notice. Good, honest, hardworking women undervalued in a society that's lost touch with the earth and it's hard earned produce.

At the traffic lights I spied out an old man. Small, wizened, hair sticking out in every direction - rumpled and tiny. Yet there he stood neatly kitted out in his khaki suit, mustard sweater and brown leather shoes, in his best dress for errands around town. Precious, well meaning, but somehow insignificant in a fast paced world of business and commerce. Another life undervalued.

I might feel hard done by at church. Those feelings might even be valid (and I think to a degree they are), but I'm not the only one who is undervalued and unappreciated. The earth is littered with seeming insignificance that is, in reality, precious, of inestimable worth, to be cherished and treasured.

I know I value myself highly - that's half my problem - but how much do I value others? How am I doing at cherishing and treasuring the lives of those around me?

transformation

Sometimes I bristle my way through life, overreacting to anything and everything, immediately jumping to my own defence, cutting a swath through anyone who dares to disagree with my most excellent opinions.

It is not pretty. I am not proud of it. But still I bristle.

I've been on a bristling bender for a few days now. Venomous spleen spilling from my mouth, indignation and deprecation twisting my lips. All because I'm not getting the recognition I think I deserve.

It's got to the point that the filth and crustiness building up around my heart is spreading gloom across my outlook and robbing me of joy. I feel shrivelled and suffocated by the darkness within.

Yesterday I railed against the machine. This morning I (finally) started praying about it.

As the deer pants for streams of water,
So my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?

Yes, my soul longs for God.
For his beauty, clarity and purity.
For his washing.
For his enveloping love.

And then I met him. In a counselling and psychotherapy text no less! God's voice jumped out of the pages and shook me from my dastardly self absorption and shallow introspection.

"A we-consciousness reduces perceived threats and enhances self-esteem."

That's the key! Stop thinking about myself. Become increasingly conscious of those around me. Be willing to contribute to others.

I'm feeling calmer about the present situation, more aware of what is ticking me off, more in control of my response. I'm bound to slip up again. That's the nature of the beast! Knowing that doesn't dampen the delight in my heart. I called out to God, begged him to water my crusty soul, and in his infinite mercy he gently sprinkled down his love and grace to transform my ugliness.

So how is my heart now?

Like new, pink skin growing across a recent wound. Fragile, tender, fresh.

the legacy

I've been thinking quite a bit about legacies lately. Not legacies in a money sense, but more the legacy of life that I've been given. I'm talking about my childhood. What is the legacy I have been left by the environment I grew up in?

It's a little bit like culture I suppose. I grew up in Australia, generally oblivious to all the values and beliefs that make us culturally unique. Sure I knew meat pies could almost be considered our national dish and tall poppy syndrome remains as a lasting relic from our convict past, but I couldn't have elucidated much more than that if asked what made us Australian. Only when I went and lived in a different culture did I become aware of our willingness to embrace anything new, our casual attitude to life, our persistence in the face of adversity. Once exposed to a culture that clung to old ways of doing things, and approached life very seriously I began to recognise my uniquely Australian view of the world.

Similarly, since Frank and I established our own home last year I've become acutely aware of the way of life in my childhood home. As we seek to establish a culture of respect within our own four walls I can recognise how little my family was characterised by respect. It hasn't been a particularly pleasant awakening.

Frank must be the sweetest man on earth. He is generous, patient, and kind. He offers me unconditional love and acceptance. I am forever amazed by his willingness to forgive my continual failings. (Most of the time!) Despite growing up in a broken home that wounded him deeply, he made a choice to look for the value in people and respect them. In Frank there is a depth and beauty of character that touches my heart in its simplicity. (He unfortunately begs to differ over my glowing report)

And me? Well I am the most curmudgeonly, selfish person on earth. I pounce on anything that does not align with my idealistic picture of how things should be. I hone in on the tiniest annoyance and tear the perpetrator to shreds. (Slight exaggeration for literary effect) Unconditional love? Only when you meet my conditions! Acceptance? After you've become just what I want you to be! Generosity? If you give me something I might return the favour!

Marriage has highlighted the worst in me. With a husband who is nigh on perfect I can hardly ignore my failings.

What is more troubling to me than my acerbic wit or cutting tongue is the way my behaviour goes against what I rationally believe. I believe in the value of people. I hold generosity, patience and kindness close to my heart. I want to pour out unconditional love as a soothing balm on wounds of the soul. I love my husband and want to cherish him dearly.

So why is my behaviour so abominable? Why do I lash out at a moments notice over the most trivial offence? Why don't I turn a blind eye to the every day irritations of life with another?

It is here that I return to my legacy. My childhood held little of respect. I was never good enough. My words and actions were critiqued or worse, criticised. There was scant generosity or helpfulness. Patience was in short supply.

I'm wary of blaming my sinfulness on my childhood - I know I have choices about the way I behave in the here and now. But somewhere deep inside, my soul has been seared by the harshness. My desire to be kind and gracious is too often short circuited by the past. Before I know it, I've followed the time worn path of meanness, and venom spills from my mouth just as it did all those years ago.

Oh what a legacy. I shall battle it all my life. (And if I'm not battling that I'll be battling downright sin!) But beat it I will.

One day I will find healing. One day I will be beautiful, generous and kind. One day I will encourage and build up the people in my life. One day I will cherish and nurture those around me. One day I will pour out love on wounds of the soul. One day I will have a family and leave them a legacy of love. This is my dream.

two sets of rules for me please!

There's not much use having a bike if you don't ride it, so yesterday, after slathering myself in sunscreen (a rare occurrence - I hate the stuff), I pulled it out of the garage and set off for a friend's place twenty minutes away with a couple of good hills in between.

I'm no great bike rider - it's been a number of years since I've ridden any significant distance. Actually my last real foray into cycling was some time ago in Ireland when I set off on a full day affair around Dingle Peninsular in the rain. Despite the rain, the scenery was beautiful. Rolling hills of the greenest green imaginable dropping dramatically away into the sea, and stonewalled fields dotted around with sheep. Incredible.

Beautiful it may have been, but I still have flashbacks to the struggle to move forward in the wind as giant raindrops lashed my face. At one point there was a warm, welcoming pub where I dripped puddles of water all over the floor while sipping on Devonshire tea. When it was finally all over I had the joy of discovering I'd developed a pilonidal sinus.

My problem yesterday was not with wind, rain or pilonidal sinuses - it was the traffic.

I'm rather timid when it comes to cycling on the road with scant protection around my body while hulking metal frames whiz past me at speed. I'm also too embarrassed to ride on the footpath (besides it's illegal!) so I face something of a dilemma. Where can I ride?

My solution yesterday was to dismount, walk through an underpass and trudge along the road for a couple of hundred metres until I reached a place where I felt the road was safe enough! I then jumped on the bike and boldly set off proper.

This post is testament to the fact that I survived the ordeal without being knocked to the ground. Most cars politely cut a large track around me, leaving plenty of room to spare... except for two who sped past me in a narrow space where I had no where to go. Scared though I was, I kept my nerve and didn't wobble into their path at all!

I got to thinking about cycling and driving and realised I live by double standards. (In this and everything else!)

When I'm in the car, I slow down and allow cyclists plenty of space, but inside I get annoyed. "Hello??! I'm trying to get somewhere quickly here! Do you have to get in my way?" As soon as I can I swerve around them and speed down the road.

When I'm cycling, I ride along thinking, "I'm entitled to this road just as much as you are, so don't get shirty with me! Just slow down and you'll be able to get past me in a minute." As the cars swerve around me and speed down the road I hurrumph at their impatience.

I've noticed the same thing when I'm walking along a footpath. As a driver I grudgingly allow pedestrians right of way, muttering to myself about how I should have the priority here. When I'm the pedestrian I wait for the car to pass, thinking all the while of road rules that say pedestrians have right of way on footpaths. I can't win and neither can anyone else! There seem to be two sets of rules running tandem in my mind!

Ultimately I'm just plain selfish - I want my own way all the time. Driving or cycling, walking or driving - I'd like to go first thankyou.

So that'll be two sets of rules for me please! One to suit me in every set of circumstances thanks!