Lace Curtains and Indigenous Flags

 I have spent the last few days staying with a member of the staff team in my new role at Uniting College in Adelaide. I always find being in someone else's home fascinating. You get to know them on another level just by being in their space. Each bookshelf holds a thousand memories and fridge magnets hold dozens of stories to be told (or not). 

In the dining room of this house was a rustic table that had obviously witnessed many meals, conversations and other homely activities. I sat at the table each morning for breakfast. The first morning I was struck by the view through the window. Delicate lace curtains framed the view of a beautiful lush lawn and shady trees. Part of me felt I was back in Belgium, particularly Bruges, peering out the windows where the beguines had once lived. Partially hidden inside, but somehow firmly connected to the outside world. 

The lawn separated the house from the neighbouring church and visitors came during the day to sit on the grass to rest, refresh, and regroup. Going about my morning breakfast routine I wondered how the women living in beguinages might feel about the visitors constantly peering in their windows from the green outside.

Although I loved studying the beguines and found their stories and works extremely transformative in my life, there has often been a niggle that I was spending so much time engaging in a culture and time so removed from my own. Would it not be more useful to study something related to this country? That is a questions for another day, but my experience in this dining room allowed me to hold the "both and" for a moment in time that was quite profound.

My hosts told me the story of the designer of the Australian Aboriginal flag, Harold Thomas, who once lived in the house. It was at this very table that the flag was designed. I listened intently to the story and wondered whether there were paints, crayons, pencils, clay once spread on this table. Our staff gathering the next day saw one of the signed flags spread on the table ready for our Acknowledgment of Country. 

Somehow, in that moment, at that table, worlds met and all the tensions of different cultures and times were held together. At a table of hospitality, todays and yesterdays, another moment of grace and generosity was created. All of my questions, my wonderings, my tensions were held together in peace and love. 

2026 Word of the Year - Clearing

 On choosing my 2025 word of the year - home- I thought I possibly might be writing this new year blog from our new home in the hills of Perth. Instead we continue to learn patience and hope the building will commence in the next week.In the last month we have walked a fine line between making our block compliant to bush fire safety rules and maintaining the beautiful trees. This has involved some intentional clearing. Aspects of this have been easy as we removed weedy trees that have become invasive in this area. Other trees have been difficult to remove, but essential for obtaining a building permit. As we have been clearing, we remind ourselves that we are making room for the home we dream of living in and plant new native trees to replace them a little further from the house zone.

In the last few days, I have been clearing out my home office. I have lever-arch files full of resources I haven't looked at in years and enough half-used tea lights to hold a number of Taize services. A clear out is well overdue! This has been spurred on by the fact that I am commencing a new position today. Today marks the transition from working for the Uniting Church in Western Australia to beginning my role as Director of Pastoral Theology and Ministry Studies with Uniting College for Leadership and Theology in Adelaide. My home office will be getting a lot of use in between trips to Adelaide and I need it to be uncluttered and have space for new books related to the topics I will be teaching. 

As I have been sifting through the many files I have become aware of the many things I have held on to - not only physically but also emotionally and spiritually. I have been surprised at how easily I have let go of  years of orders of service, sermons, liturgies, notes from workshops, thank you cards - the list goes on. As expected, there has been the occasional item that I have decided is worthy of keeping and some of the material is on my computer. However, there is something about this transition that has brought out the ruthless declutterer in me.

Although my choice of "clearing" as my word for 2026 is related to these two physical acts, there is a deeper more profound reason for my choice. Early last year, my supervisor gifted me a poem during one of our sessions. I say gifted because it remained with me throughout the year and continues to speak in profound ways despite its brevity.

Clearing

by Martha Postlethwaite

Do not try to save

the whole world

or do anything grandiose.

Instead, create

a clearing

in the dense forest

of your life

and wait there

patiently,

until the song

that is yours alone to sing

falls into your open cupped hands

and you recognize and greet it.

Only then will you know

how to give yourself

to this world,

so worthy of love.

The first three lines speak into my obsessive need to do, achieve, try the next new thing. The rest of the poem speaks of my desire for my life - to be more open, more patient, more attentive, more discerning. I particularly love the image of the song that is mine alone to sing falling into my open cupped hands. That is not going to happen as I rush from one thing to another. My desire in my new role, which I also expressed to the interviewing panel, is to have more space to go deeper - a deepening in relationships, a deepening in knowledge and research, a deepening in my own relationship with God, a deepening in my contemplative life of being present and attentive.

In the last couple of years I have been attempting to do this amongst the busyness of my roles. I have been trying to do build this "home" without clearing any trees. I have been trying to "work in an office" cluttered with things from the past. I now have an opportunity, as I commence a new role, to be intentional about how I want to live my life. I am fully aware this won't just happen with the flick of a switch. I have been working with my spiritual director and supervisor on this for the last six months. I am determined and I am nervous. It is all too easy to slip back into well worn patterns of seeking value and affirmation. And, just like the clearing of our block and my office, the clearing will undoubtedly be accompanied by some grief for the things I want to continue grasping.

2026 will be the year to create a clearing in the dense forest of my life. I know what I need to do and must face the resistance. For those close to me, hold me accountable in my clearing and help me not to be too eager to fill the space. May 2026 be a year when we witness each others songs falling into our open cupped hands.

Word for 2025 - Home

 I have spent the last few days revisiting the choices of my words of the year over the last decade. The first time I chose a word for the year was in 2012 - the word was Integrity. Although I was certain I had continued this tradition faithfully since, my journals indicate otherwise. There seem to be a few missing years early on. Some years my word of the year has been obvious, almost slapping me in the face. Other years have taken more time and more soul searching. As I look back - Courage, Cherish, Awaken, Behold, Horizon - I can recall what was happening for me in those years and the growth that occured for me. At times the word develops a life of it's own, emerging with life's circumstances. Who knew when I chose "Flow" for my 2024 word that we would buy a block of land where a winter creek flowed and filled us with so much anticipation and joy.

I have been resistant to my word for 2025. It seems too obvious - perhaps too literal. We will be building a house this year. I am very aware this is going to take a lot of our energy and time. It is exciting, daunting and grounding. Beside all the choices of colours, textures, tiles and taps, there is also an ongoing conversation about creating a space that is home for us. This takes us beyond choices of colour to how we create a place of peace, calm and welcome.

Although there is no building on our block at this stage, the space already feels like home. We are coming to know the creatures we share the space with, our friendly neighbours who take the time to say hello, and the homecoming feeling of that first deep breath when we get out of the car. There is something about this space, this place, that brings calm to both of us. We love tending this piece of land - pulling weeds, watering new plants and connecting with the various birds and critters. We cannot wait to truly call this place home and have our postal address match where our hearts reside.

My inability to ignore "home" as my word of 2025, however, comes from a different place. Throughout 2024 a deeper meaning of coming home has continued to disturb me. I have dreamt about trying to get home, things preventing me from returning home and renovating houses. In spiritual direction sessions it is not uncommon to end up talking about a sense of my spiritual home or where I feel I belong. Although I have done some work on this, it seems a perfect opportunity for the external journey to mirror the internal. While I am exploring different aspects of my new house and watching it become reality in the building, I will also pay attention to my inner home. There are so many questions to ponder: How does it feel to be "at home" in myself? To "come home" to God? What does this home look like? And who shares the space with me?

There are numerous cliches about home. Home is where the heart is. Make yourself at home. Home sweet home. And even one of my favourites - There's no place like home. But finding a spiritual home, a space where we are at peace and feel loved and known can be difficult. The irony, for me, is that I long for a place to be at home but find myself restless and wandering. 2025 is a year for me to be intentional in my desire to find a home - both an inner and outer journey.

Getting to know you

 Since we moved into our new house near the river, I have been taking walks in the morning or evening to get to know the area. I am getting to know some of the familiar sights: the neighbour who puts out a bowl of homegrown cucumbers for passersby to take, the driveway decorated with chalk drawings by local children, the people catching crabs in the river. Even some of the dogs taking their owners for walks are becoming recognizable. I am getting to know this place, its characteristics and the other creatures who call it home.

Last week, as I walked by the river, I found myself asking a strange question. Is this place starting to get to know me? Is it possible for a place to know you? Certainly the people and the other creatures have this capacity, but what about the trees, the river, the rocks? 

I took this photo of myself down by the river last week and, afterwards, realised the shirt I was wearing. I bought it at the Coldplay concert last year. The message, 'Everyone is an alien somewhere', had a certain appeal and truth that saw me wanting to add it to my wardrobe. I felt like an alien in this foreign place. No one had caused me to feel this way. It was simply unfamiliar and unknown.

I can't explain how, but I feel that this place is beginning to embrace me and include me as part of the ecosystem. Each day as I walk I feel less alien-like and more at home. It has been important for me to get to know this land and this waterway, but I feel the country is also getting to know me. As I take time and notice my surroundings, the paths I walk are inviting me to engage more. 

I have entered into a relationship with this place which is still young and fresh. I am no longer an alien in this place.

2024 Word of the Year - Flow

 In the last few weeks Guy and I have been in a time of great transition. In early December we packed up our home in Margaret River, helped our adult children move their belongings into their own spaces (they are staying in Margaret River), and moved to the big city, Perth. This brought with it many mixed feelings. I have not been sure about moving back to the city, the faster pace, the traffic, the noise... We are now living in a church house in a part of the city unfamiliar to both of us. We now live a short walk from Derbal Yerrigan (also known as the Swan River). 

When we last lived in Perth we were close to the beach, living near the river is quite foreign. What does it mean to live by the river? How will the river speak into our lives as we dwell so close? These questions came alive again in the last week as we took a few days holiday in Singapore. We have enjoyed visiting Singapore before, but on previous holidays always stayed in a popular shopping area. This time we tried a different area close to the river. I found walking, dining and sitting by the river delightful. Watching life pass by on the water or along its banks, staying alert for signs of wildllife, and observing how the shifting weather changed the moods of the river had the potential to while away many hours.

This experience and the location of our new home had me thinking about Mechthild of Magdeburg, one of the beguines I spent a few years studying in my PhD. Mechthild grew up by the River Elbe in Germany. She would have become accustomed to the seasons, currents and movements of the river. So much so, that when she talked of her relationship with God one of the prominent images is flowing. Living in the flow of God's love is integral to Mechthild's writing.

"Daily I offer you whatever I have:

Nothing but baseness.

And you, Lord, shall infuse me with your grace.

Then I can flow from your love."

Flowing Light of the Godhead, Book V, 20.

I spent a number of hours trying to grasp exactly what Mechthild meant by being in the flow of God. And so, now I have the opportunity to experience a little of what she saw. It is a different river, on a different continent, in a different century. Perhaps as I notice the ebb and flow, the stillness and the turmoil, the way people connect with the water, the way I come to know it more intimately - the river will be my teacher.

In the past my words of the year have had an associated goal, a longing for change or growth. This year is different. In adopting the word "flow" I am inviting myself into a year of discovery, a year of noticing, a year of being attentive to the country I live upon. I want to listen to the stories of First Nations Peoples of this land and its waters. I want to take time on the river's bank and not just speed past as many do along the adjacent freeway. There is no goal, just an invitation.

Happy new year to you all! 

2023 Word of the Year - Menuha

 As I embark on what will be a full 2023, I have been considering what my word for the year should be. There is much uncertainty leading into this new year as I take on a new role which will see me spending a lot more time away from home in Perth. There have been a few conversations about how this will work for our family and the need to ensure my work roles do not become all consuming.

As I have been preparing for this new role, I have been exploring the theme of "Sabbath" as an underpinning framework for the formation program I will be co-ordinating. This has led me to read to Abraham Joshua Heschel's "The Sabbath". This is a book I have had on my "to read" list for a while now. I read it in one sitting and consumed every word.

Heschel, a Jewish scholar, unveils the mystery of the Sabbath in poetic beauty. One section, in particular, caught my attention. Heschel explains the nuances of the term "menuha" and its significance to observing the Sabbath. I knew straight away that this needed to be my word of 2023. The Hebrew word "menuha" is usually translated as "rest". Heschel explains, however, that this rest is not simply the putting down of tools in order to recuperate before starting work again. The Sabbath, the menuha, itself completes the work of creation. In the first account of Creation in Genesis, the creative process is finished when menuha is formed on the seventh day. On all of the previous days God sees what is created and says it is good. On this seventh day God blesses the day and makes it holy.

This understanding opens up a new significance to finding times of rest amid the busyness of life. Without sabbath times, without menuha, my work will not be complete. There is an element of menuha that takes a step back and savours the work of the week before moving on. Menuha seems to take delight in what has been created. In the Jewish tradition this mystery is seeped with ritual and celebration. 

So, in 2023, as I make my way up and down the highway and juggle two roles, I hope to find my own ways to find menuha. It is unlikely that this will come in the form of a day each week, but I aim to find menuha times in the midst of life. Being intentional about creating menuha will somehow complete my work.

Happy New Year to you all!

The Elusive Dunnart

Since our beautiful dog, Ava, died in September last year, wildlife has returned to our garden. The birds linger longer. The king skinks and blue tongues slither about with more courage. The possums seem more active at night. And, unfortunately, we have had more mice and rats. There is one little critter, however, that avoids a positive identification. This little fella only appears as the light is fading and skips along the fence and branches in our front courtyard. He is fast. He is small. He could be a small rat or a rather fat mouse. But we suspect he is a dunnart. For those not familiar, a dunnart is an Australian, nocturnal, carnivorous marsupial. It looks rather mouse-like - especially when it hops briskly past the window at dusk. It has become somewhat of a family challenge to get more than a brief glimpse of this critter to positively identify its species. 

A few days ago, I had my best sighting yet. It was a rare evening where I was the only one home. There was none of the usual background noise associated with family time and getting a meal prepared. I sat in the lounge chair closest to the front courtyard. It was quiet. It was still. The elusive dunnart appeared and, unusually, lingered a while. It sat on the fence - waiting. I sat still trying to focus on the sillhouette. Definitely a dunnart - - I think! I was reluctant to move closer, knowing I would startle it and send it hopping. It was but a moment. A moment of stillness and clarity and wonder.

This experience reminded me of my desire to live a contemplative life. I know, from experience, that when I am able to be silent and still I am more likely to see the Divine with more clarity. There is still mystery and the unknown, but for a moment we meet. It is not something that can be captured or repeated, but it beckons us to return and be still again. It is very easy to become caught up in the busyness of life and completely miss the "dunnart" living amongst us. It is when we intentionally find the space to be still and wait that we may be surprised by the presence already in our midst.

I Can See Clearly Now

 Back in 2017 I attended a week long workshop with Pace e Bene on non-violence. Things were shifting and changing for me at the time. There were many great aspects to that week, but the one super significant thing I walked away with was a short story from Scripture. The five-verse narrative of Jesus healing a blind man in Mark 8 captured my attention. It became like an analogy for my current situation and has continued to speak to me since that day.

Last year, I facilitated a day retreat for the World Community for Christian Meditation in Perth. I based the day's reflections on this story and chose the theme 'I can see clearly now'. I approached the day with a little apprehension, as is often the case when I prepare for an unknown audience. The day was a delight!! About 50 people attended and participated with both contemplative intent and great enthusiasm. The day included discussion, personal reflection, immersing in the story through movement and even a bit of singing! We journeyed through the story together exploring what it means to see clearly in our faith life.

The WCCM group of Margaret River have asked me to repeat the day in the South West. The date is fast approaching and I am excited to see how a different group repsonds to this narrative. This retreat day will be held on the 5th of February at the Margaret River Uniting Church. You can see further details in the flyer below. If you would like to register you can click here. Why not make a weekend of it?! In case you haven't heard - Margaret River is a great place for a getaway.

2022 Word of the Year - Accordance

My word for 2021 has been 'presence'. This word, and my reflections upon it, have served me well throughout the year. I have tried to be more present in different aspects of life which, in turn, have enabled me to be more available. I have also reflected on my own gift of presence which I still struggle to fully comprehend, but I end the year more aware and able to celebrate it.

Those of you who have read previous years' word of the year posts know the word is not always easily  forthcoming. This year is different. This word came to me over a week ago and has not left me alone. It is also a word I would have never have imagined myself choosing. The word 'accordance' seems quite legalistic and judgmental to me. I imagine a judge declaring that someone has not lived in accordance with the law, or some pious person informing me I haven't quite lived up to the expected standard. Although I am not a particularly rebellious person, I have spent the last few years attempting to fight the perceived need to conform and keep the peace. So, this word has come as a surprise.

Looking into the etymology of the word 'accord' has helped me understand its importance in my life at this point. The Old French origins, dating back to the twelfth century, are about agreement and harmony. It is however, the Vulgar Latin origins that ring true: to be of one heart or to bring heart to heart. For me, this is about integrity. Over the last decade I have spent a lot of time discovering my true self - the me I was before I was. While living life in accordance with your true self should be the most natural thing in the world, I find that the expectations of our society convince us to be something else. The lure of success, wealth, admiration and a myriad of other things constantly divert me away from my centre and stability. 

So, in 2022, I want to live in accordance to the heart of my life that I know to be real. I want to bring the heart of my living in line with the heart of my life more and more. But to be clear - I am not going to do this in a legalistic manner. I know I will stuff up. I know there will be times when I get caught up in what the world expects of me. But, in all my imperfection, if I can come to the end of 2022 and say I gave it a good shot I will be content. To live in accordance with my true self, who I was created to be, takes a lifetime of humility and unlearning. 2022 will be just a small step along the way.

Presence - My 2021 Word of the Year

 Happy New Year to you all!! As is my tradition over the last ten years or so now, January 1st is the day to name and explore my word for the year ahead. My word for 2020 was "horizon". Despite my own personal reasons for choosing this word, it seemed particularly relevant with the uncertainties we all faced throughout the year. It is a word that could have quite happily continued journeying ahead into 2021, but this new year calls for a new focus. Over the last week I have been searching for a word that will ground me in my last year of my PhD, that will bring me back to the core of who I am and will provide a positive focus forward to the unknowns of 2022. The word itself had remained elusive until last night.

One of the benefits of living in Western Australia is the free television reviews available on my Facebook feed from friends in the Eastern states who are three hours ahead. At around 7pm, my Facebook feed was aflood with praise for Paul Kelly's performance on the New Year's Eve concert broadcast on the ABC. I trusted these people's judgment and tuned in. I was not disappointed. As I listened to familiar tunes and watched the tweets roll along the bottom of the screen, I pondered this man's presence. There were no big flashy lights. No specky visuals. No dancers. No fancy costumes. Just him, his band and the camera operators capturing the moment for all of us. Due to COVID restrictions there was no crowd hyping up the atmosphere. Just Paul Kelly being Paul Kelly. This man has presence.

Presence is a word I use often. In the practice of spiritual direction we constantly talk about the importance of presence with the person who sits before us. In the mystical tradition, the presence of the Divine is an enduring theme. While talking about the contemplative way of life, presence is a vital part of the conversation. This "talk" has become second nature to me. But what about the practice? I recognise that it is easy for me to get caught up in the "What next?" of life. I am constantly searching for the next challenge, the next adventure, the next horizon (hmm). Perhaps a year of holding presence at the forefront might be very timely.

Another aspect of this word that I find more difficult to reflect upon is the gift of presence. I recall being in an interview situation some ten years ago now. Someone in the meeting asked me what gifts I felt I would bring to the role. I floundered a little, speaking of some practical skills I felt I could offer this community. After my attempt to answer the question, a member of the group who had known me for some time spoke up. "Presence" she said. "She has a presence that will be a gift to you". I have pondered on this comment for many years wondering what it means and how this "gift" is useful. Others have said the same thing in different ways. Is it something impossible for me to see and know? Isn't presence just being yourself? Isn't it something everyone has? How do you nurture and use such a gift?

And so, as I venture into a year where I will need to have confidence in myself and what I have to say, a year when I will explore the giftedness I take into the next chapter of my life and a year when my youngest will begin to spread her wings changing my role in her life - presence seems an appropriate word to hold close. As I journey with this word into 2021, I will endeavour to find time to practice presence more intentionally and to explore the gift of my own presence and what on earth that means. 

Tricking Myself into Self-Care

 Recently, I have been reading and writing a bit about the importance of self-knowledge as part of the spiritual journey. Getting to know myself has been an an extremely significant aspect of my spiritual life. Learning to accept who I am, with all the joys and struggles that holds, has been valuable and formative. So, after being on this path for some time now, what have I learnt? 

1. Learning and new experiences are near the top of my priority list. I am a perpetual student, which has its advantages, but also locks me inside my head at times.

2. I have to be really attentive to what my body is telling me. Listening to my 'gut' and slowing down and looking after myself don't come naturally.

3. I can be very in tune with the emotions of others, but when it comes to my own I am quick to retreat to my bubble. Being vulnerable is something I have to practice.

My list could go on and on. But the reason I am sharing this is I have figured out a way to trick myself into looking after myself a little better - I hope.

In the past, I have tried being self-disciplined, creating some program of exercise in order to live a healthier life. Each time I have centred my goals around weight loss or particular fitness goals. None of these have been successful beyond a few months. I pondered, what would motivate me to get outside and start walking? My immediate reaction - if someone invited me to walk the Camino de Santiago, I would make sure I was fit enough and ready. A new experience! A spiritual pilgrimage! Travel and learning about a new place! Perfect!

But then, there's COVID, and money, and time, and family, and study, and...

So, I have found the perfect solution. Today I begin a virtual walk of the Camino. It's cost me $50. I don't have to leave home for weeks and weeks. And I can do it over a longer period of time. I'm giving myself 6 months. Sure, it's not quite the same as being there (maybe one day), but the app I have chosen shows

me where I am on the map, sends me postcards telling me about the different stops and sends me a medal at the end (not so fussed about the medal). It is the perfect way to trick myself into self-care. This is not a weight loss program or a get fit for Summer goal. This is a spiritual pilgrimage - a new experience that is the best I can do anyway in these non-travelling times.

And the final part of my cunning plan - I have now put it out in public. Another thing I know about myself is I hate to look incapable. So, if you happen to see me, hold me accountable. I won't be sharing how many KGs I've lost, but I might share about the wonderful places I've been.

Methodology of Life

A lot of my writing energy in the last few months has been spent writing my thesis and other related projects. The current task is completing the draft of my methodology chapter. I anticipated this to be a dry, boring section to write, but, to my surprise, I am thoroughly enjoying the challenge.

Yes, there are some parts that are simply outlining the details; making sure all the t's are crossed and the i's are dotted. However, there are also those big question to answer. What do I believe about the nature of knowledge? How is knowledge formed? And what are my non-negotiable underlying principles? I am using a lot of big words that a few years ago would have me running to the dictionary.

I am also asking deep questions about who I am, particularly in the context of my research. What does it mean to be a woman? A contemplative spiritual director? A church minister? These ponderings are especially significant as I see my self as co-creator of the knowledge I am seeking. The answers to all of these questions determine how I collect data, how I approach my sample group, how I analyse the data and the shape of my final thesis. Creating my framework of reference will colour all of my research. It will be the foundation to which I will refer when questions and doubts arise. Justifying my choices is a little like "soul searching". In grappling with this chapter I am addressing issues of integrity, good relationship, and my view of the spiritual life.

My thesis may be large and looming in my life, but in the whole scheme of things is a mere speck. I am wondering what our world would look like if we all had to create our methodology of life. What if we had to examine, in the same way, what is truly important to us? What if we really had to question how we were involved in the lives of others? What is we truly understood the underlying principles in our own lives that hold so much significance? 

I dare say it would be extremely confronting.  Instead of reacting to life around us, each choice made and each interaction or conversation would be held against our plumb line. I wonder what would change. I wonder what parts of my life I would need to look at closely in the mirror. If I'm honest, the "thesis"of my life would not pass. I am not saying this in a defeatist or "Woe is me - a sinner" type of manner, but more an acknowledgment of human nature.

The methodology I have chosen for my research comes from a subjective viewpoint. I am acknowledging that, as the researcher, I cannot be a passive, unbiased voice. This requires me to be extremely transparent in my writing about my insights and reactions to the data. It demands moving beyond reflective practice to a high level of reflexivity where I examine myself as I engage in my analysis.

We cannot go through life as an objective observer and, therefore, this same transparency and reflexivity is needed in a methodology of life. Perhaps knowledge of our own nature, an awareness of strengths, weaknesses and passions, is a great place to start. Recognising when we are not operating at our best and  knowing how our own needs trigger unhealthy responses all affect how we relate to others and our world. Taking a step back from the to-ing and fro-ing of life is a bit like asking those big questions. What is it that makes me tick? It may appear like a dry and tedious task, but perhaps surprises await just around the corner. 

Toward the Horizon

Happy New Year!! Today many people will begin their year with steely determination to achieve their new year's resolutions in order to be a better person. I discovered long ago that such resolutions were counterproductive for me. Being a person who already sets the bar too high for myself, the last thing I need is another unreachable expectation forced upon myself. Instead, I have enjoyed the tradition of giving myself a word for the year. Rather than a challenge that seems to set me up for failure, my word of the year is a constant, gentle reminder throughout the year. Some years it seems more present than others, however, when I reflect back over the year, I can always see how the word has formed and guided me. My word for 2019 was "behold". It is not a commonly used word, but I have been surprised how many times I have heard it and been reminded of my intentions in choosing this word. 

This year the word came easily. I began reflecting a few weeks ago and thought the process was going to be difficult. In many ways, the words of the last few years have served me well; courage, integrity, awaken, cherish. The coming year holds many uncertainties and I seem continually plagued with the question of what lies beyond it. While being very peaceful about the path I am following, it still feels like a journey into the unknown. I was pondering this as I was driving last week. Looking way out ahead of me, I wondered how many people have headed towards the horizon a little unsure of their destination. 

And so, I have chosen the word "horizon" for 2020. It is that perceived line where earth and sky meet. It is not something you can touch and one could argue it doesn't physically exist

Eden Beach Sunset - Christmas Day

. The horizon is a place of mystery and beauty. It is here that we watch the sun rise and set. But, no matter how ambiguous the horizon may be, it still offers direction and draws people to explore further. The horizon is always beyond our reach, but is the steadfast point that helps us to get our bearings, orient ourselves in the world and foster a sense of wonder in life.

In 2020 I need a horizon to remind me of the journey ahead. The horizon will remind me to pause and appreciate. It will serve as a catalyst to draw me onwards to an unknown destination. That imaginary line will give me direction and orientation when I feel a little lost. But even though the horizon may seem unchanging, the points along it change from day to day. I am hoping that this word will carry me through 2020 with a wider vision, a broader hope and an everpresent spirit that will guide me through the uncertainties.

Gifted a Dancer

For quite a while now, the image of dancing has been significant in my spiritual journey. I recall moments on retreats and in my own journalling where dance has been extremely symbolic in my own learning about myself and my "calling" in life. Some of you will know that my daughter dances. It is the most important thing in her life, and, therefore, has become a large part of my life too. The costumes, the glitter, the hair, the makeup - it's all very exciting. One of my greatest joys is watching her dance (whatever style it may be). Being surrounded by dance has been a gift to me, a constant reminder of the space I need to be myself. Here is a reflection I wrote recently, after watching her annual dance concert.

Gifted a Dancer

Long before I was gifted a dancer,
I danced myself.
A taste of tap, a year of ballroom,
and a decent dose of ballet.
After doing my bit as a snowflake,
a Turkish delight and a lilac fairy,
it didn't take a prima ballerina
to recognise my need to pursue other skills.

Shortly after I was gifted a dancer,
but before we knew there was more than Wiggles bopping,
I discovered my name of grace.
Sartika, sacred dancer,
one who hears the silent music
and moves to the beat of her own drum.

As I first realised I had been gifted a dancer,
I found my soul space,
my ballroom, full of pedestals and expectations,
with no space to dance.
The music had faded,
drifted off to a distant place,
and the sacred dance became a dirge.

As I wonder at the dancer I have been gifted,
as I see her blossom,
growing in strength, maturing in expression,
floating and turning with such freedom,
I am encouraged to clear the way
for the sacred dance to continue
and for the music to return.

Crows and Ordination - Continuing Discernment

Today marks the tenth anniversary of my ordination. Ten years ago I stood in Penrhos Chapel surrounded by friends and family as people said special prayers and words that changed my life. Ten years ago I knelt as mentors and colleagues placed their hands on me and prayed for the Spirit to strengthen and gift me for this calling. Ten years ago it seemed the possibilities were endless, I was excited, full of anticipation - I was ready. Today I find myself in a very different space and I ask myself what these ten years of ordination mean while on a leave of absence from ministry. 

I have come to realise over the last two years that my view of ordination was rather narrow. There were a few choices: chaplaincy (school, hospital, palliative care, defence forces), congregational ministry or a position within the church institution. I had a go at school chaplaincy for a few years. I enjoyed this placement, but discerned that it was time to move on and minister in a congregation. I spent seven great years ministering with the Margaret River and Augusta congregations and during this time discovered so much about myself. And then everything hit the fan - so to speak.

I began to experience those familiar niggles and nudges that have become a sign to me that the next chapter is unfolding just over the page. Terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, the rollercoaster of discernment began once again. But the journey has seemed to end off the rails in some wasteland beyond the amusement park. Some people have politely questioned my decisions and at times I have felt like a disappointment to the church. However, I made the choice to be authentic to my sense of calling even when it seemed out of place. I have been constantly asking myself what church, ministry and ordination looks like beyond the bounds of the box I had created.

I may well have still been stuck in this spot if it hadn't been for a drama production I experienced while at the Common Dreams conference in Sydney last month. Rev Alex Sangster performed a solo piece titled 'Crow' over three days. Full of symbolism and emotion, the drama touched on themes of death, ordination, revelation and relationship. For me, it spoke deeply into my own situation and struggles to understand this space I now find myself.

As Alex portrayed her character, with all her insecurities and questions, I found myself resting more easily into my own journey. As I watched her becoming more okay with her sense of 'being' rather than 'doing', so too I became more comfortable in seeing my ministry in terms of the person I am rather than the tasks I conquer. As I experienced the presence of the crow interweaving through all the dialogue, the struggles and the peace, I too became more trusting of the continuing presence that is guiding me through this strange land.

And so, as I look back over ten years of ordination, ten years of setting my life apart for whatever God calls me into next, I am content that this space is where I am supposed to be right now. It may not be what others expected from me, or even what I expected myself, but it is proving to be a place that is surprising and fruitful. I keep listening for the crow and look forward to what adventures the next ten years will bring.

When things come full circle

I am not often good with remembering details, but I have a distinct memory of the morning I told the Augusta congregation of my intentions to take a leave of absence to pursue further study. I was extremely nervous about how they would receive the news. We were still in the Easter season and I was preaching on the passage where Paul is in Athens and talks with the people about their "unknown God". We explored what can be known of God and what is mystery. I shared the feelings of vulnerability that we have when telling others of our personal experiences of God. At the end of the service I announced that in about a year I would be leaving my ministry with them to begin a new path.

One of the reasons that morning is stuck so firmly in my mind, apart from my whirlwind of emotions, was the present of a visitor. The lady snuck into the church moments before the service was due to start and I only had time for a quick smile and a hello, before worship begun. She participated throughout the service and seemed comfortable, but as the end of the service drew closer my discomfort rose. It felt strange having a visitor present for my announcement. I was nervous enough as it was. During morning tea I introduced myself properly to the visitor and apologised that she had arrived on an unusual morning. As it turned out, we had a great chat and she gave me her email address to send her my message from the service to revisit.

An email conversation had begun and the visitor told me that she was gathering spiritual stories from women to compile a book that would encourage other women to share their experiences and stories. She asked me if I would be willing to share my story of discernment. Part of me felt like running, or at least politely declining. But another part of me heard again my own sermon encouraging me to be a little vulnerable in order to encourage and empower others. At any rate, it would be a good exercise to write about this journey and how God had been working through it. I wrote it up and pressed send on the email before I could back out.

That was two years ago. I have received the occasional email from the visitor from time to time updating me and letting me know it is still in her plans. At one point she even asked me to add a little to the end to update the story. Every now and then I have wondered whether anything will ever come of her dream to publish these stories. Well... yesterday I received an email from her saying she had finally submitted the 14 stories to a publisher. Her dream was becoming a reality. It made me smile to think how this had all come full circle. It began on a morning when I was feeling particularly vulnerable sharing my experience of God's calling in life. It escalated in an invitation to share ore deeply that story with whoever might choose to read this lady's book. And now, two years later, I am about to begin listening to the stories of other women's experiences of God in an effort to find ways to empower and encourage women to name the "unknown God" in their lives. In some ways this strange story of the visitor and her mysterious book has been underlying my journey and I look forward to how it will continue in the next chapter.

The "Well" Spaces we Create

On Friday afternoon I had the privilege of being the guest speaker at Bunbury's Australian Church Women's Fellowship Day Service. It is one of a few ecumenical worship services run by a small local committee throughout the year. The theme for the service was "Women at the Well: Conversing Open Heartedly with Jesus", based on John 4. I couldn't turn down an opportunity to revisit my favourite scripture from another angle with another group of people.

I decided to concentrate on the well as the stage on which this scene is set. I recounted three personal stories of encounters with the Divine at three different wells. Each story holds great significance and each teaches me something about my relationship with God and other people. If you would like to read the whole message click here. I brought my speech to a close by encouraging people to create "well" spaces for people to encounter the Divine; places that are surprising or unlikely, places that are welcoming and safe, places where people can rest, reflect and quench their thirst. 

Jacob's Well, Nablus, West Bank

I shared the challenge to create "well" spaces wherever we find ourselves and not to feel they need to be confined within the walls of our sacred places or within the time slots we assign to holy things. I reminded people of our need to hold loosely to the wells we build and to focus instead upon the living water we are drawing upon. I encouraged people to see the ordinary and everyday as potential encounters with others and the Divine.

What I didn't realise was that by simply being there and standing up the front to deliver my message, I had created a "well" space for at least a handful of women present. At the afternoon tea following the service, four Catholic women approached me and told me how meaningful it had been to hear a message from a woman that day. One shared that hearing the message from me had given her hope that she may have something of value to share from her own stories. I don't think it would have mattered what I had said for these women. This is something I certainly take for granted. I am used to women preaching, women leading and women's voices being heard. Somehow, however, within the "well" space of Friday's service a few women were able to connect with God in a new way that gave them hope. It had nothing to do with words, but everything to do with a shared encounter in a space that for that moment was gushing with living waters.

Flourishing from Failure

If I fail to blog regularly it causes me problems. There is always something going on in my active mind, and a space of three or more weeks leaves me with the dilemma of which of the myriad of reflections floating in my brain to share. And so, this morning as I sit with this conundrum, I have landed on a memory from over a week ago that has stayed with me.

Margaret River has an awesome annual event, the Readers and Writers Festival. Each year they manage to secure great presenters from a variety of genres - some big names and other lesser known authors. For the last few years I have managed to attend parts of the festival and hear some inspiring people share their stories. This year, Michael Leunig was on the program. Well, I wasn't going to pass up that opportunity. 

He was just like I imagined he would be - quiet, humble, calm and funny. His talk seemed unplanned and spontaneous as he sat with a white board in front of him demonstrating how his characters came to life for him. But amongst the simplistic cartoons there were some real pearls of wisdom. The one that has stuck with me concerned deadlines and failure, perhaps because I was about to face a deadline myself.

Leunig shared his dislike of deadlines. He walked us through his lead up to a deadline, surprisingly starting only two hours before (that was enough to make me anxious). There was something on the page, but it lacked a sparkle, something to make it something. The harder he tried to make it good, the worse it seemed to get until he decided he was a failure. His mind went into a space where the inner voice called him a fraud, an idiot for ever believing he could do this. He had failed.

But, he described, this is where the magic happened. When the ego was stripped away and was out of the way, all that was left was his humble, creative self. This is when the raw, real work of the soul begins that we know in Leunig's work. In short, Leunig's philosophy is that failure is necessary for truly creative work to begin and we must embrace it in our lives.

I guess his sentiments rang true for me as I prepared to send my PhD writing to my confirmation panel readers. I had been working on this for many months and it was time to put the chapter together. It ended up 6000 words too long and seemed like a jumbled mess of thoughts. Only a few weeks out from my deadline (not a few hours - thank goodness!!) I sent it to my supervisor feeling a little like a fraud. I can't even pull one chapter together and I have a whole thesis in front of me. 

After a minor panic, a moment of failure, and some good advice to revisit my research question I sat down to begin again. Not from scratch, but from a different perspective. It was less about getting the words right and the referencing correct, and more about sticking with my passion and initial intent. I'm not sure it has the sparkle that Leunig looks for - it is still an academic piece of writing. The looming deadline and the moment of failure, however, did change how I approached the task.

I did feel a little like a groupie the day I met Leunig. I had carefully selected a book for him to sign and raced from the main marquee to get close to the front of the signing line. Fortunately, the line was not too long as he took his time with each person. He was attentive to each one and I will never forget the slow and deliberate way he wrote my name. A true contemplative it seemed, who although in his own dreamy world, has a calm and whimsical way of interacting with the world.

A Wordless Easter

In the last few weeks I have been writing a lot of words. Words from my head, mostly, but on a topic close to my heart. It is not because I approach Easter with no words left that I find myself wordless at this point.

Someone asked me, the other day, if I miss all the preparations for Easter worship, being my first year in quite some time this is not part of my routine. Although the high seasons are always a very creative and challenging time to prepare worship, and I did enjoy that, my answer was "Not at all". 

The reason?  I am tired from trying to find the right words to describe what is, ultimately, an entire mystery, that words cannot adequately describe. And so, in risk of resorting to words once again here, I am content to sit in the dark, shadows of the dawn garden waiting for someone to call my name. It is here in the silence and stillness that I will see the door of new life swing open once again. Happy Easter everyone!

A memory revisited

Over the last week, people have been reacting in a multitude of ways to the events of the world. We have witnessed anger, grief, compassion, ignorance, speeches from the heart, speeches out of necessity and speeches that should never have been made. It has all been a little overwhelming for many of us. A numb feeling of helplessness has been my reality. 

A memory from almost eight years ago has come to mind a few times over the last few days. Mostly, I have been ignoring it, but this morning decided to pay attention, give it a little time and see why it has emerged again in this time. This "moment", as I will describe it, occurred on a trip to Bali with friends. We had taken a day away from the shopping and the pool to cycle through the rice paddies and the more mountainous areas of inland Bali. It was an organised tour, visiting some businesses that encouraged us to spend our money, but then ventured through small villages and along precarious paths between rice paddies. It was my favourite day of the trip. I love seeing the real life of a place. Encounters with women sorting chillies, numerous chickens and pigs, workers in the rice fields and small village temples were among the highlights.

There was a moment amongst all of this, however, which I can remember like it was yesterday. We had been riding through the rice fields for a while and the tour guide stopped us for a break and to allow the stragglers to catch up. It was a quiet place, away from the noises of the village. The air was very still. The view was breathtaking. Across the valley came a haunting noise, a man chanting. I recall feeling like someone had grabbed hold of my soul. I was captivated. I asked the tour guide what the chanting might be about. He wasn't sure, perhaps a funeral, a call to prayer or a special occasion in the village. There was no need to know. The group prepared to move on and I was in another world. Eventually, my friends had to call to me to continue our tour.

I filmed a little of this moment in an effort to hold on to it forever. It does the moment no justice at all, and only has the effect of igniting the vivid memory that is still alive within. And so, I am pondering why this moment has come back with such clarity this week. I think its about connection. In that moment, I felt a deep connection to the land, to the common humanity with the anonymous Hindu chanter across the valley, to my own sense of spirituality and to my own sense of the divine. It was a moment when all the barriers were removed and all seemed to dwell in perfect unity. 

Perhaps my soul is longing for a similar moment in this space and time. A moment when my soul is grabbed by the grief stricken chants across the waters and I can be present. A moment when the barriers fall down around me and all that is felt is peace and love. A moment where I can know deep connection and unity. A moment that stops me on the journey and holds me for a while in open hands. A moment to be still. Be quiet. And listen. This moment won't change the world, but I know it will change me.