On the Blog!

Author: Angela M. May

  • Waiting for the ducks to line up…

    Waiting for the ducks to line up…

    I am mad with myself tonight.  My commitment to write this week was delayed as I attended to every matter of things except writing.  Sure, there was a fair amount of social media scrolling going on, but it was mostly other good activities that stole my time.   None were in vain, nor bad; but all were placed in front of the one thing I believe I am to make a priority each week; and that is to write. 

    Only a miracle can make time stand still. There will always be important and significant activities; planned or not, that will demand my time. As a result, I have less time available for my priorities. It is up to me to not get distracted.

    I know we give social media bad press for wasting our time, but I actually think general busyness is a bigger problem.  There is no end of good works, great ideas and opportunities available to get involved in.  The problem for me is how to say no to most of them so I can say yes to the things that are important and the things I am called to do.  My guess is there is a huge chunk of redundant planning, organising and worrying that also takes up my time.

    This week I spent an unnecessary amount of time nesting. We have moved into a new home recently and there is still lots of bare walls, floors and windows to adorn.  I spent a large slice of my time browsing the internet and local shops for ideas and bargains.  As lovely as this is, I am not sure I needed to do this this week. 

    I remember being an undergraduate in university, studying for my final year exams.  Our two-bedroom student unit never looked so clean nor the pot plants so healthy. I wrote a book in my head called “101 things to do instead of studying”. I realise this is straight out procrastination and I knew it!  Unfortunately, as I have gotten older my schemes for sabotaging my priorities have become more subversive. 

    I have this tendency to want to put all my ‘ducks in a row’ before I do the very thing I feel is very important to me and my future.  I feel the need to have everything in order before I can get to the things that are important to and for me. Of course, the little critters are destined to never be in a neat little row; so in essence I am doomed to never to get started. 

    I do not want another decade to go by and find once again I have not had the time to do the things I feel called to.   I know that I must learn to live with loose ends and messiness. That is easier said than done some days.  I must make friends with disappointing others. I also have to get used to feeling a little selfish in order to meet my goals and set my priorities in order. 

    Here’s to a new week and clear priorities.  Irrespective of how tidily my ducks are lined up (or not) and in spite of the many other good things I could be doing; this week I will not be distracted!

  • Oh Mary, what must it have been like early this morning…

    Oh Mary, what must it have been like early this morning…

    Oh Mary, what must it have been like for you early this morning to find his body missing from the tomb? I think you were so brave visiting the garden in the dark and by yourself.  Only a few days before, your friend and teacher had been unfairly tried, publicly humiliated and crucified as a common criminal.  How dreadful that another very close to him betrayed him to the very religious leaders who had been plotting to execute him.  

    I can only imagine how devastated you must have felt to arrive in the garden to discover that his body had now disappeared.  How Mary did you manage to focus through all those tears to notice the two sitting inside the tomb where your friend’s body had previously lain? Where you frightened when the two-angels dressed in white, spoke to you? I am curious: why didn’t they appear to Peter also when he peered into the empty tomb?  

    I can only imagine the shock Mary when the presumed gardener turned out to be your very-much-alive teacher, friend, Lord and your God.  I get goose bumps when I imagine what his voice must have sounded like when he greeted you by name.  Mary, you were the first to see the resurrected Jesus Christ, with his nailed scarred hands and hole in his side. His suffering was not an aberration; neither was his presence this morning. 

    I can only imagine how afraid you were and how much joy you were filled with when you realised you had seen the risen Lord.  What an amazing morning Mary.  

    — 

    Today is Easter Sunday.  Christian churches across the world celebrate Jesus Christ’s resurrection.  The same God that created the world loved us so much that He gave his only Son to die (and rise) for us.  Anyone who believes in Him will not die but have eternal life.  (John 3:16)

    The message of Easter is not restricted to a long weekend filled with chocolate bunnies and eggs. It is a message for all year and all of life.  How wonderful that the same risen Lord Jesus Christ, that called Mary by her name, can be our friend, teacher, Lord and God as well. 

     

  • What homeschooling taught me

    What homeschooling taught me

    I had the privilege, the pleasure and the challenge of homeschooling our children for two years.  While I felt led to do so, this was also somewhat necessary and practical for our family of four as we embarked on a season with lots of changes.  This included a three month stint living in Vanuatu villages. 

    I say privilege because of its higher calling as well as wonderful familial connections that resulted from the experience.  As a Christian I was impacted by verses in the Bible that reminded me that my children were a gift from God (Psalm 127:3) and as parents we were responsible before God for raising them; especially teaching them God’s commands (Deuteronomy 6:7). 

    The revelation for me was that up until this time, I had abdicated my responsibility to others.  My children had been receiving a private Christian education along with after school music lessons; sporting activities along with church youth group and Sunday school-by others. These were undeniably good things and I had no doubts that teachers were better educated than me to teach our children.  This homeschooling journey taught me that it would have been okay to delegate but I had been abdicating. The pendulum had fully swung to the other side and I was now wholly responsible. It was a timely intervention and helped rebalance my responsibilities and attitude towards parenting.

    My automatic response to squabbling siblings in the backseat of the car on school holidays usually started with a reprimand and finished with “I can’t wait until you two go back to school”.  On the first day of homeschooling I caught my myself in time and my response changed to “You two are going to have to learn to get along.”  And get along they did; and we did.  For those two years we learnt to be a family and enjoy a shared life together instead of being a bunch of individuals cohabiting.

    I confess there were challenging times; quite a few actually. I regularly doubted my ability to do this well.  I sometimes wished it was another and not I who was responsible for handling one child’s headstrong personality or the other’s procrastination tendencies.  I learned how different and unique my children were.  I discovered some of their strengths and weaknesses; likes and dislikes.  I came to appreciate their created uniqueness and was a part of the journey to foster that. I was able to do that as a parent who was involved in my children’s life twenty-four seven.

    I feared I was doing it all wrong, even though the curriculum was set out by a distant school.  I worried that my children were not doing enough when they finished all their school work by lunchtime. I worried when my son was behind in his mathematics.  Five years later I trained to be a teacher and chided myself for having worried at all.  Our son, who was behind one year in his mathematics units caught up with his homeschooling lessons overnight and went on to get A’s at high school. The same child is now an Engineer with an uncanny ability for mathematics. In hindsight I wish I had trusted God with His leading and enjoyed the journey more.  Perhaps I could have learnt this lesson better. 

    There was pleasure in homeschooling. I enjoyed the absence of the morning chaos, which included searching for clean and paired socks, ironing uniforms and making lunches that would not be eaten. Instead I enjoyed a calm start to the day with morning devotions and reading a chapter of their favourite book.  Some days, school work was completed under a tree and other days at the kitchen table.  We had fun together growing veggies and flowers, incubating eggs and raising chickens; and selling them onto Granddad.  We baked together, we had morning tea with grandparents and we visited science fairs together.  When overseas, the children spent their afternoons swimming with the island’s children, kicking a soccer ball or playing marbles in the village. 

    This season of our life ended and our children started at local State schools.  I grieved for months. It was right at the time, as the extroverted child was seeking friendships and the introverted child, I had noticed, was getting shyer. I was not their tutor anymore however I was still their parent. I did not let go altogether this time.  All during the following years of high school and university I remained interested and supported their education and their teachers.  I had learnt to delegate not abdicate.

    The wonderful bonus is that shared family holidays and activities remained and developed.  We learnt to enjoy each other’s company during this season. We learnt to be family. Given the choice again, I would do it in a heartbeat. 

  • The benefits of being inefficient

    The benefits of being inefficient

    A little while ago I started wearing a fitness tracker. To my dismay I discovered I hardly moved all day. No surprises really, as most of my work is done at the desk and on a computer.   I set myself up so well that I had everything within my seated reach.  I am the sort of person that would feel guilty walking from my desk to the kitchen to fill up my water bottle without also taking out the rubbish and collecting up any dishes on the way.  I had also begun to purchase my groceries online so I could achieve more at my desk. Someone else ran the aisles for my groceries, packed them in their truck and delivered them to my front door.  I had efficiently and effectively made myself sedentary.

    There has been lots of chatter recently about sitting being the new smoking.  Under advice, I purchased my first standing desk so I can now alternate between standing and sitting. (I could not afford the treadmill desk.)  While this has health benefits it did not really address my inactive lifestyle. If I was going to add more steps to my days routine, I realised I had to give myself permission to become inefficient.

    Along the way I have discovered the surprising benefits of becoming inefficient.  Previously the visitor at my door was an interruption to my workflow. Gulping coffee and snacking at my desk was preferred to taking a break. Now I delight in chance meetings. My digestion is better for eating slowly. My new attitude to life has opened the door to new adventures.   Hyper-efficiency I discovered is the antithesis to spontaneity and serendipity.  It is also bad for my health.

    I am also enjoying kicking the addiction of multi-tasking. Just because I can does not mean I have to.  This type of juggling is not much fun and is stressful.  If this is inefficiency then it has provided a surprising tradeoff. Instead of being breathlessly busy and constantly planning I am enjoying the new singular focus and rediscovered what it means to be present in the moment. 

    I do not think I will ever become totally inefficient and nor am I advocating laziness and disorganisation.  However, in a world that prides itself in fitting more into the day’s schedule I say “At what cost?”  There are benefits to inefficiency.  It took my fitness tracker to remind me of that.   

  • It’s raining it’s pouring…

    It’s raining it’s pouring…

    Do you know the rest of this nursery rhyme?  “…the old man is snoring…”  

    Rain takes me back to my childhood.  I hear old nursery rhymes. I take a long deep breath through my nose and fill my lungs with its scent. First drops of rain on the dusty earth is a such a sensory experience. I travel back in time to the farm of my childhood when the smell of first rain heralds the much awaited watering of a crop. 

    As a child lots of rain usually meant slippery roads and flooded creeks.  My very first day in school was during floods and away from home.  The weekend before school started I boarded the amphibious Army ‘duck’ for the township;and school on the other side.  I crossed the flooded river to stay with a local church family who would take my nearly five year old self to her first day of school.  Floods came the next year too but this time my mum and a new neighbour were ahead of it and rented a house in town so we kids could get to school. 

    Another memory is heading home from the local picture theatre to our farm house one dark night. Our family station wagon slid all over the black mud that replaced the dusty road.  With no seatbelts in the vehicle my siblings and I had to hold on where we could, while Dad’s strong hands gripped the steering wheel extra hard. He managed to keep the car away from the edge of the road . He avoided getting the car bogged and manoeuvred the sedan through and around the ruts and the potholes that had multiplied.

    It has been raining here this past week.  The rain is very welcome after a painfully long, hot and dry summer in Central Queensland.   I sort of wish it would go away. We have had a week of rain now and our tank is full, the dam too and the back yard, the gullies, the creeks and the rivers are flowing.   The grass once brown is now green again and more has emerged from the hungry ground that soaked up the water. Too much rain and our roads start getting cut off and our highways fill with potholes.  

    One weekend we were sitting on the back deck of our home with good friends when it started to rain.  A local festival was underway. We had just finished dinner and were planning to head out for the evening.  I sighed and announced it looked like we weren’t going out that night. Our friend, a European girl by birth, was so surprised.  “Why?” she said, “if we had that attitude in my country we would never go out!  Let’s just dress for rain.” Well that there presents another dilemma. I do not own wet weather gear.  A pair of rubber thongs (not the underwear type) is the closest I own to waterproof wear.  We spent the evening in.

    Rain for me now is snuggling weather;  reading a good book and listening to the rain fall on the ‘tin’ roof.  And maybe even a little snoring.  It is not weather for going outside. I have yet to purchase my first rain jacket and have never owned a pair of gumboots. I bought our children gumboots once and the spiders built a home in them before the children outgrew them.  We own a few cheap umbrellas but they are not much good in a tropical downpour or horizontal rain.  Our rain is usually so welcomed we don’t mind getting a little wet; or we just stay out of it! 

    It has stopped raining now and the sun is out.  Time to go outside. Perhaps you know this nursery rhyme:.  “Rain, rain, go away; come back another day.” 

  • Big thoughts and small talk

    Big thoughts and small talk

    I like to write and am very happy speaking from the front, but take me to a party and I’m rubbish at small talk.  I am comfortable with asking people deep and meaningful questions but out of my depth with light and entertaining conversation.  Sit me next to a stranger on a plane and I will bury my head in a book and put earplugs in to avoid having to make conversation.

    For an introvert-as I am, this is quite normal; though not always helpful. Hiding is not always an option.  Nor is it particularly good mannered.  Evidence points to the fact that not everyone welcomes deep conversations. So small talk is necessary I am lead to believe. 

    Weather gets a bit ho-hum.  Surely there are other people like me that have zero interest in sports.  There is only so much we can tell people about others or our family without breaching their privacy or being a gossip. Too many holiday dialogues sound like a bragging festival or a travel documentary. Does that only leave cute kitten and puppy stories?

    Good small talk does not have to be shallow. Our social media habits have done little to enhance good conversation with their practice of superficial and brief messages.   Perhaps it is time to rediscover the old art of a good conversation. 

    One aspect of making good small talk is preparing and telling a short personal story.  Much the same as preparing and practicing one’s elevator pitch.   Where an elevator pitch might be 30 seconds long, a small talk story can be a minute long.

    Small talk, I have deduced is harder than my big thoughts.  If I opened my mouth and let my thoughts tumble out I reckon I have zero chance of engaging someone in conversation or of being considered interesting. The quality of a good story is as much dependent on the words left in as the words left out. 

    Telling a good story and engaging another person in a light and entertaining conversation is an art.   It takes skill and it takes practice.  How many people do you know that do this well? Possibly very few if you count them when sober. Perhaps that’s why so many people hunch over their phones to tweet or post selfies whilst at a party.

    No matter how ordinary or routine our lives are, no one else has the same story or stories to tell.  Ordinary stories can be interesting if told well.  It is time to harness those big thoughts and create an interesting short story for making superb small talk.  Join me at the next party and let us practice the art of a good conversation together.

  • Kind words are like honey

    Kind words are like honey

    In our land down under where sarcasm is de rigueur I am often left wondering if kind words are considered to be only for the soft and the foolish.   

    The Bible says kind words bring sweetness to the soul and health to the body. (Proverbs 16:24) They sure do to me. Some days I reckon all I hear is criticism, sarcasm or silence.  It feels as if a little more of me shrivels as a result. It is as if my soul and body ache with the pain. 

    I recall some ten years ago after a close relative completed suicide that many people were especially kind to the spouse when they heard. They were generous in business dealings where they had previously been indifferent and hard nosed. They said kind words and were understanding when previously they had been otherwise.  At the time I struggled to understand why they could not do that all the time.  Is tragedy, I thought, the only invitation they have to speak words of kindness?

    I long to hear kind words.  I want to speak kind words to others.  Sometimes I have to tell my inner critic to shut up so I can speak kind words to myself.   

    If the Bible says kind words bring sweetness to the soul then perhaps it is possible we can entice a bitter soul to become less so.  If kind words bring health to the body, why not speak kind words then to others and to our self to bring health and vitality?

    What does it cost us to say kind words?  Is it our cynicism and defensiveness the reason we withhold kindness and opt for sarcasm or silence?  Perhaps we are reluctant to be kind in case the other person is not kind in return.  Instead of practicing our wit and our banter why not practice kind phrases.  Instead of recognizing faults why not look for beauty and good things in a person. Instead of being silent why not be vulnerable and commend another; maybe speak kind words to a stranger.

    Let us be honest, kind words do not cost us money.  Kind words are like honey. Why not spread a little sweetness and good health to another and make kind words de rigueur tomorrow.    

  • An Extraordinary Life…

    An Extraordinary Life…

    Is your life ordinary or extraordinary? I suspect that most of us would say our life is rather ordinary. Given the choice I reckon most of us would rather an extraordinary life.

    What if it is possible for all of us to have an extraordinary life? What if it is not out there as a vague dream of riches and fame, but rather right here; in the midst of the ordinary life? After all, the word extraordinary is made of two words: EXTRA and ORDINARY.

    Perhaps the extra is there for us every day; we just have to look for it, listen for it or accept it! And perhaps we can make it for someone else; by creating it, speaking it or giving it! The it being the EXTRA in an otherwise ordinary life!

    One of the pitfalls of an agenda filled busy schedule is that we do not always provide the space or create the opportunity for the EXTRA to be noticed. The extraordinary is there every day!  Perhaps we overlook it as we go about the ordinary!

    Take my roses. I am always amazed that something so beautiful would bud on such a lanky, thorny and ordinary bush. (Well mine are!) Roses are my favourite flowers and it always brings me great joy to pick a new bloom and place it in a vase inside.

    This concept of extra in the ordinary challenges me often. Many years ago, our little family of four used to walk and rollerblade around the bitumen walking track of a nearby public park. I asked my neighbour one day to join me on my regular walk. She declined because she said it was “ordinary”. That irritated me. She had dismissed the park and its walk before even giving it a go. When I set off on my next walk, I looked a bit harder at the park and started to feel that she was right and it was rather ordinary; ordinary people, ordinary dogs, ordinary grass, ordinary trees, ordinary sky, ordinary playground. It was an ordinary park. As I walked past the ordinary pond, with its ordinary ducks I noticed for the first time a rather ordinary nest of twigs and branches floating on the ponds edge. The water was an ordinary brown as were the twigs and the reeds around the pond.  As I paused a little longer, I spotted something contrastingly red and black. A waterfowl with its glistening black plumage and a bright scarlet beak was busy around the ordinary nest of twigs. I watched in fascination as three or four little heads bobbed out of this nest. “Extraordinary!” I thought. I had just witnessed the first of spring’s hatch in this otherwise ordinary park. For several weeks after that ordinary day, I especially looked forward to my ordinary walk in the park, because when I spotted those little chicks, my life became extraordinarily richer.

    Have you paused recently, long enough to listen to a bird’s call, a tune playing, and a child’s laughter?

    Have you paused to take in a sunrise or sunset, the cloud pattern in the sky, a flower as it blooms, the antics of a puppy or kitten?

    Have you paused to accept the smile of a stranger or the genuine compliment of a friend or colleague, the cuddle from a child or a lick from a puppy, the generosity on the road from a fellow driver or thanked a cheery and helpful shop assistant for a job well done?

    Have you offered a kind word today or filled the air with beautiful music?

    Have put flowers on your desk at work or gone the extra mile with whatever you do at work to make it look good ‘just because’?

    Have you ever surprised a stranger or a grumpy shop attendant with a cheery “Good morning!” or stopped to compliment someone with something positive you have thought, but never been game to say?

    Have you stopped at all today to look, to listen and accept the extraordinary in the life you live?

    When I next see you and ask “How’s your life?” Will you be able to say “I have an extraordinary life!”

  • When I die, will my inbox be empty?

    When I die, will my inbox be empty?

    We have a family motto “you can go play when the work is done”. The problem for me is that the work to be done keeps growing. The older I grow, the more practiced and efficient I seem to become at making lists and finding things needing to be done; and that is without others adding to the pile. I have multiple email inboxes, an in-basket, a clipboard, many ‘to do’ lists and calendars.  

    It occurred to me one day that I will go to my deathbed and still have not emptied my inbox or finished everything on my lists. Does that mean I never get to play?

    Jesus reminds us that the Sabbath was created for man and not man for the Sabbath. (Mark 2:27) God knew what he was doing when He rested from His work on the seventh day. The Sabbath day is gift and not a duty. It is a blessing for us to rest from our work for one full day, once a week. And that rest surely includes a rest from the oppressiveness of the lists, the various inboxes and in-trays.

    Experience has shown me that when I take a Sabbath to reflect on my Creator and gain an eternal perspective, my focus for the next week becomes clearer.  I am less likely to become obsessed with the irrelevant and overwhelmed by the ‘to dos’. Sabbath’s help me to clarify my priorities and dot point items on the lists lose their urgency and tyranny. Thank God for weekends!

    Sadly I am a slow learner. I confess that it is very tempting to use my weekend to push through and clear the pile or cross off a few more items off the list. And sometimes I do just that. The bit I forget is that before long I lose the perspective I so clearly need. I have also discovered an irony:  as quickly as I efficiently action items, my inbox seems to grow exponentially. If I am going to live and enjoy the days my Creator ordained, I need not wait until my work is done before I play.  It is okay to ignore the inbox for just one day!

    Am I the only one that needs to be reminded of this?