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If only

1/28/2020

I have one relationship that’s been very off and on. More off than on if I’m really honest. It started many years ago but it wasn’t long before I realised that we didn’t really have much in common. You might call it a relationship of convenience and although it was a healthy one, it offered little to encourage me to persevere.

Oh, I did try to be loyal, faithful even, but it was hard work. I seemed to be the one doing all the giving and so I would give up for a time until I realised how foolish that was and I’d make the effort to try again. I don’t remember how many times I tried but never succeeded, that was until two years ago.

Maybe my expectations changed or finally I saw the importance of the relationship, but in February 2018 I finally committed for the long term. I can’t say it’s been smooth sailing but I know I’ve benefitted immeasurably.

Where once I had to force myself to go to the gym, now it’s become as much a part of my live as eating breakfast or cleaning my teeth. We still have little in common, the structure and regimentation do little to inspire my creative heart, but the changes in my health and well being far outweigh the discipline it takes to stay committed.

I’m left wondering how different my life might have been if only I’d stayed committed all those years ago. And I wonder how many other things I’ve chosen to pass by because they didn’t appeal to me or seemed too hard. Many of those things could have greatly enriched my life had I not decline them.

I find it easy to be dedicated to the things I enjoy, the things that feed my soul, but life is so much bigger than the easy things. The things that require discipline, courage, determination and hard work give back in full measure. And they are the things that test and stretch me, the measuring stick that gauges my potential.

I fear dying, never having discovered what I’m truly capable of or having tasted the full gamut of experiences open to me. I don't want to die regretting the things I didn't attempt. I want to discover who am I when the stakes are high, when the challenges fill me with fear and trepidation? What do I have to lose and what do I stand to gain?

In Waking the Dead, John Eldredge says, “ Twenty clear days a year, that sounds about like my life. The rest of the time it feels like the bathroom mirror after a hot shower”.

And that’s the problem isn’t it? I’d rather not go down a road when the way ahead is filled with mist and there’s no guarantee of what’s beyond. But I’ll never know what benefits are hidden there unless I go in boots and all; face the unknown and undiscovered with heart and eyes wide open and a determination to make the most of every experience.

To my surprise, my time at the gym has done so much more than improve my health. I’ve met inspirational people, people with major disabilities who persevere and struggle on, unwilling to give in to limitations. People in their 80s and 90s who refuse to allow age to define them. Caring supportive people whose one aim is to help me be the best I can be.

I’m not suggesting that you rush out and join a gym but just be open to opportunities that may not have your name on them, but may help you find dimensions in yourself that you could never have imagined. Determine to head down the mist filled valleys and stay open to all they have to offer you, you too might be surprised.

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Wide eyed wonder

1/21/2020

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There were laces to tie, a jacket to zip and a hunt for a hat. We tumbled out of the door into the sunshine with all the excitement and enthusiasm only a small child can bring to a morning walk.

We hadn't reached the front gate when he spied a trail of ants. We knelt down to take a closer look and studied them intently as they navigated their busy workaday world.

There was no straight path to our destination. There were gutters to investigate, low fences to walk along, pine cones and pretty leaves to collect and sticks to carry. There were shadows to chase and questions to answer, a fireman to wave to and trucks to count.

A blind man passed by with his white cane and we sat on a fence and talked about what it would be like to be unable to see.

We sniffed flowers, watched an industrious bumble bee and even discovered a fat green caterpillar enjoying his breakfast. I marvelled at the wide-eyed wonder of childhood and felt the deep joy and privilege of being a part of it even for that moment.

What a shame that somewhere on the road to adulthood we lose that childlike sense of wonder. We are encouraged to focus on the destination, schoolwork, career, achieving, and in the process we are robbed of the fascination of the present moment.

Maybe we need to rediscover the wondrous, multidimensional awareness of our childhood, to stop sleepwalking on the sidewalk and redevelop 'first eyes'.

In 2009 I visited Burkina Faso. Everything was new and exciting. I drank it in like a thirsty child ... the sights and sounds ... the colours ... the textures ... the people ... the spices, and the unfamiliar smells. My senses were on high alert. Every moment was filled with new discoveries. A missionary who had worked there for 20 years was fascinated as she saw me experiencing everything for the first time as she had all those years ago. For her it had become commonplace and familiar. It had lost its wonder. She got to see it for the first time all over again, through my eyes.

How much of the wonder of this world do we miss every day?

I want 2020 to be more about the journey and less about the destination. I want to live it with childlike wonder ... with more detours ... to be more available and more aware. I want to wave to the fireman, jump in more autumn leaves and notice the blind man. I want to be more constantly surprised by life.

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Tattoos on the Heart

1/14/2020

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I’ve been reading the deeply moving and inspiring book, Tattoos on the Heart, by Father Gregory Boyle. For thirty years he’s walked alongside the rejected and abused, those who’ve became gang members to find the sense of belonging and connection that has been denied them in life, that sense of being valued that is the longing of every human heart.

He has become the never-giver-upper to those who have only known rejection, the easily despised, the readily left out. He speaks a language most of them had never heard or even understood, the language of love.

It's a violent and dangerous world in which he lives and works and in many ways the book is dangerous too. Its stories pierce the heart and the ‘thematic mortar’ he slathers around to hold the stories together challenge me like no book on theology ever has.

The stories unearth my own subtle quick judgments and my ability to shape God in my own image. It's a confronting book, but honest, frank and delightfully humorous. There is no doubt that these young men and women have tattooed themselves on Boyle’s heart.

If there is a fundamental challenge within these stories it is simply to change our lurking suspicion that some people’s lives matter less than other lives.

In a series of powerful snapshots, Boyle unpacks the stories of many of the gang members with whom he’s navigated life. The stories are real and raw and brutally honest and I think it’s the honesty that undoes me. I see myself in Boyle and in the ‘homies’, as he calls them. You see, at the core we are all the same.

It’s when we face for a moment the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know the taint in our own selves, that awe cracks open the mind’s shell and enters the heart. Denise Levertov

And maybe that’s what draws me into their stories.

These homies have longings and dreams no different from mine, their potential no less, but some cruel reality of life has robbed them of any belief in their inherent goodness.

There is a palpable sense of disgrace strapped like an oxygen tank onto the back of every gang member. Shamed. Trapped.

But Boyle sees beneath that shame and glimpses the beauty trapped there.

Recently, in the bush park where I walk, it struck me that the peeling bark was a beautiful parallel to Boyle’s book. Layer upon layer of tough, hardened bark was cracking away and revealing the hidden beauty beneath. For some trees the process is just beginning, revealing just glimpses, but others have shed most of their old skin and now stand resplendent in their new glory.

So too are many of the 'homies' whose lives have been transformed by grace.

I highly recommend the book but be prepared to weep, and to laugh out loud. To recognise your own wounds in the broken lives and daunting struggles of the men and women whose stories fill the pages.

And I leave the last words to Boyle,
The day simply won’t come when I am more noble, have more courage, or am closer to God than the folks whose lives fill these pages. I’ve learned with their patient guidance, to worship Christ as he lives in them.

Take a moment to ‘meet’ Gregory Boyle and Mario, one of his 'homies'. Watch the video.
Only the soul that ventilates the world with tenderness has any chance of changing the world.

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What makes a leader

1/7/2020

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While NSW faced a war like no other this week, an experience that can only be described as an inferno, the character and values of our leaders were revealed in stark clarity. The best of us and the worst of us are so often unearthed through crisis.

Like most of us, I watched the unfolding events along the South Coast with disbelief, shock and many tears. The sheer magnitude of the horror unfolding was inconceivable, people trapped at the water’s edge watching fire ravage all they owned, those who lost their lives defending their homes, and among those firefighters who have won our hearts with their courage and seemingly endless commitment, death, injury and constant unprecedented danger.

Right throughout NSW there has been heartbreak on a scale rarely seen and most of us have carried a communal grief, a oneness with those who were suffering, and a feeling of helplessness to do anything to change the situation. I’ve found myself distracted by the ongoing horror and the seeming endlessness of it all. Common, everyday things seemed insignificant in the light of what has been happening. Tears are never far away as I watch graphic coverage of fellow Australians suffering so intensely.

And yet we've also developed a communal gratitude for the men and women who have dragged on their boots and helmets again and again and again to face the fury of the relentless war of flames. We call them heroes, a word they wouldn’t use themselves. We stand in awe of their dedication, their resilience and their sheer tenacity. Everyday men and women, who leave behind families, miss special events and work sometimes 12 and 14-hour shifts to keep us safe. Unpaid. Unsung. Unflinchingly dedicated.

Like the man at the helm, a motor mechanic who began working with the RFS at just 15 years of age. A man who knows what it is to face the fury of a fire and what it feels like to lose a father to the flames. A man who has worked through every rank of the service, studied management through TAFE NSW and at the Australian Institute of Police Management as the inaugural fellow of the Australasian Fire Authorities Council.

A family man. A man highly respected by his men and now loved and honoured by the people of NSW. We’ve seen his compassion and empathy; we’ve experienced his strength, dedication and clear communication which we all want so desperately in times of crisis. He carries the weight of responsibility with dignity and grace, answers tiresome questions with enormous patience and his calm demeanour somehow settles our anxious hearts.

Foundational for him is, “Making sure the strategies, equipment and operations that we deploy are done in a way that maximises fire fighter safety. Every family has the right to expect their loved ones to come home after a shift.”

Shane Fitzsimmons is a true leader. What makes him stand tall above the supposed leaders of our time? What makes a great leader?

In a word, I think its character, and as I look around the country, and indeed the world, I marvel at the dearth of great leaders. How scarce on the ground are men and women of integrity, humility and courage. Men and women with a commitment to the common good rather than self. Men and women who are strong but gentle, who listen and are open to the hearts and minds of others.

We are inundated with politicians more interested in selling themselves and their cause than the good of the nation and its people. We live in a society where greed and self-satisfaction is more important than compassion for others, and self-improvement is sought after in preference to developing character.

So many people are more interested in giving their children a good start in life, a good education so they can find a well paying job, the latest technology, the trendiest clothes, rather than being committed to building character in their offspring? Is instilling character our overriding desire as parents?

Maybe the demonstration of true character than has been modelled by our RFS members and their leader, is the thing we can take away from the horrific days we’ve just endured … commitment, perseverance, courage, compassion, kindness, love and living for the good of others.

If they are the attributes we strive for and grow in our children, then maybe we will see an emergence of great leaders in the next generation.

Perhaps when all this is over we should have a statewide Appreciation of RFS Day when as a community we let them know how highly they are valued and appreciated, and how grateful we are to them for fighting for us.

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If only

Wide eyed wonder

Tattoos on the Heart

What makes a leader

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