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Category: teaching

  • Recalibration and Rest

    Recalibration and Rest

    Weipa was his choice, not mine; but I came along for the ride.  I care little about going fishing or four-wheel driving, but the sunrise and sunsets are divine. The early morning boat ride was glorious. The water mirrored the horizon, and the mangroves that clawed the creek’s bank were not as stinky as I thought. Even the sandflies and midgies stayed in bed as we cruised up and down the estuary, chasing fish, that mostly escaped.  My phone was able to capture some of the moments, but mobile coverage is definitely dim.  This was an added bonus, which meant being in the present, and conversation was on the table again.  I napped like a nanna afterwards; waking in time for dinner at six.  I had no problem with falling asleep again, dreaming deeply in the cabin’s bed.

    I marvel that just one week away from the hustle of home and responsibilities can be so aligning.  Instead of reacting to every interruption, its refreshing to reflect on what is central.  Away from unnecessary routines and even more, the expectations of others; I found the space to reflect on core values and priorities.   For those that speak the language of orienteering, this is the time to get rid of magnetic interference, and recalibrate true north.

    My true north is Jesus, and spending time at his feet.  My values are reflected accordingly. Just being instead of doing allows my soul to catch up with myself; and what a relief!  We only have to be one degree off true north, and before we know it, we can be all at sea.  For me, the rhythm of recalibration seems to be quarterly. I am thankful for a fishing trip to Weipa, that gave me this pause and release.

    A long time ago, I read Stephen Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. He drew four quadrants with two axes that explained time management; one for urgency and the other of importance. In my mind, recalibration involves aligning with what is most important, and kicking to the curb the non-urgent. Instead of living constantly alert in the urgent, I make choices to stay on course with the important. This is my true north.  It is not that the urgent is abolished; not at all! But, sometimes, by focusing on what’s most important, I can resist the unhelpful disruptions. 

    In assessing the critical, in the quadrant of urgent and important, I discover a list of deadlines that can’t be missed.  My stress levels rise. While I cannot cross these off as inconsequential, I realise that perhaps I need to consider if they should even be mine. That may mean delegation, or simply establishing my boundary lines.   

    In assessing the urgent but not important, I recognise places of poor planning, along with troubling distractions and interruptions that have been wearing me down to the grain.   By reflecting and unpacking this dilemma, I was able to develop a strategy to relieve some of the strain.   

    And then there’s the non-urgent and non-important; the timewasters that do little to build success. How can I ignore these or bounce them back to their sender, unless I am clear on what’s best?  Again, I go back to my true north, and remind myself what’s most important of all. 

    Last but not least, is the important and non-urgent.  If I constantly live with stress, this quadrant often feels an anticlimax, and not where my efforts should be spent.  Once I recognised this hurdle, I set in motion my next three months of important, before I schedule another rest.  This next time will be in the new year, and one more opportunity to recalibrate my true north. 

    Not to be confused with traveling to Weipa again!  😊   

  • The power of scones

    The power of scones

    When was the last time you sunk your bare hands (clean of course) into a bowl of food? I am not advocating bad manners, but rather a sensory cooking experience. It means no gloves or mixing spoons; just your bare hands rubbing, kneading, squishing, and patting.  

    I had the pleasure earlier this year to host a group of young people in my home. I took the opportunity to run a cooking session with them. I determined this session was going to be sensory and social. Scones it would be – the old-fashioned way, where you rub butter into the flour with your fingertips and get your whole hands dirty handling the wet dough.

    I love that cooking involves ours senses, as well as our memory. The smells in the kitchen were amazing. From the crushing and chopping of fresh herbs to the waft from the oven during baking. They say you eat with your eyes first.  While the finished product was not perfect, it did help that they looked edible. And of course, the best part is tasting what you cook. Although, I would argue the best part is sharing with others.

    Scones are reasonably quick to make, quick to bake, quick to cleanup after, and they can be served at any temperature. Warm is the best. That’s how our little group ate them. We enjoyed savory scones (with herbs and cheese), fruit scones (some blueberry, some sultana), some plain and a batch of pumpkin scones. Served with fresh whipped cream, and homemade strawberry and rosella jams, and washed down with a hot cup of tea. We even practiced lifting our cups with our pinkies elevated.

    My mum was the queen of scone baking. She did not need a recipe. If guests arrived unannounced, before the kettle had boiled she would have a batch in the oven. My Mum’s scones were so good the local school asked her to cook for their popular fundraising Devonshire Tea. One year she made twenty five dozen!

    Did you know food memories are more powerful and more sensory than many other memories? Psychologists say this is because these are shaped by all our senses. They are also shaped by the company, the situation and the emotions involved. I agree with psychologist Susan Whitbourne who says, ‘Food memories feel so nostalgic because there’s all this context of when you were preparing or eating this food, so the food becomes almost symbolic of other meaning.’

    The chatter over tea was celebratory. and a definitely a little nostalgic. Some of us remembered our mother’s and grandmother’s cooking from another time and another kitchen table. Some asked ‘are mine the best?’ Who knew that scone baking could be such a competitive sport? Who knew the power of scones?

  • The gift of belonging to a bigger story

    The gift of belonging to a bigger story

    As a young girl, I spent many afternoons after school sitting in my grandparent’s caravan, sipping milky sweet tea, and dunking biscuits.  The challenge was to dunk those biscuits just long enough to soften them, without them landing in the bottom of my teacup. Pop needed to dunk his biscuits for lack of teeth. I did it because he let me.  

    Nan made the pot of tea; brewed with tea leaves and freshly boiled rainwater.  She also stocked up on those dunking ‘bikkies’ every pension day shop.  Arnott’s, I recall; Scotch fingers and Gingernuts. 

    My Pop was a storyteller. He loved to yarn about his childhood and his working days, along with stories of farms and family. He listened to my stories as well and answered my many questions. My grandparents gave me the gift of belonging to a bigger story- our family’s story.     

    I never got to hear stories from my Dad’s parents.  Grandad died before I was born, Grandma died when I was nine.  It wasn’t until later in life that my Dad would tell me stories about Grandma, and his childhood. Books printed for family reunions, told stories of my German and Protestant ancestry, giving me a larger framework to understand the stories of this side of my family.   

    Michael Jensen  says storytelling is the impulse that lies deep within human cultures, to the point that it is almost fundamental to the very concept of our culture itself.    We belong to bigger stories than just our own.  Both the bigger story and our own stories help us create meaning.

    I have a friend who is adopted. She has never heard stories from her biological grandparents or birth mother.  I do not understand what that is like.  She has very few stories of her birth, her abandonment, and little opportunity to gain another perspective.

    Gaining another perspective involves hearing another’s story. This is helpful to reframe some of our own negative stories and can bring new meaning and healing.  For over forty years, I believed a story that I said I was not lovable.  This story was based on fragmented memories of abandonment.  It was not until decades later, when my mother told me another story, that I realised my version of the story was incomplete.   

    I have found journaling helpful to reframe some of my stories.  Often, I get stuck on one grievance or perspective and cannot get past my story of hurt and disappointment.  By asking different questions of my day, or year or season, I inevitably end up with a reframed version of my story.   I will often ask myself, what do I have to be grateful for, what have I learned, and what is God saying to me in this?  Questions like these help me to gain a different perspective, and brings deeper meaning to the stories of my life. 

    As a Christian, I believe I belong to a bigger story; and this grand story helps me make sense of both the beauty and the brokenness of my life, and the world I live in. When I view my life through Jesus Christ, all the little stories of my life have purpose and meaning.   

    One day, I hope to tell stories to my grandchildren, just like my Pop did all those years ago.   I hope that I can share a little of the bigger story with them, so that they may know a sense of belonging as well. I want to serve them tea and bikkies, and listen to their stories too.

    Photo by pine watt on Unsplash