The Best Season

Ten thousand flowers in spring,
the moon in autumn,
a cool breeze in summer,
snow in winter.
If your mind isn’t clouded by unnecessary things,
this is the best season of your life. Wu-Men

From when the boys were little my husband and I had a habit of going in and checking on them each night before we went to bed. We would stand together at the foot of their beds and just enjoy watching them in peaceful sleep. Every time, we’d whisper to each other, ‘I wish they’d stay this age, it’s just perfect.’ But each year would roll by and we found ourselves wishing they’d stay the same in every delightful stage of their lives, except maybe late teens when we started going to bed before they did cause we could no longer keep the pace.

But I do remember that beautiful sense of enjoying them, loving them and celebrating the season and stage of life they were at, every year. It changed constantly, of course, but we loved the learning, the growing, the adventures, the discoveries, the ups and the downs and still do.

But there were many times and seasons when my mind was clouded by ‘unnecessary’ things and I, like many busy working parents, found myself struggling with anxiety, shame and guilt which blocked my vision, trapped me in damaging mind loops and left me weary to the bone.

In these times of loss of flow, hope and clear thinking I found my mentors to be life changing. I valued their fly on the wall perspective, their gentle but provocative questions, their support as I learned to let go of faulty thinking and their genuine desire to see me enjoy life to the full.

If you are clouded by ‘unnecessary’ and necessary things and desire to re-gain perspective and find the beauty in each season I encourage you to seek out a coach/mentor who can help you see that this could be the best season of your life.

There is a gift in everything if only we’ll see it.

More than our Mistakes

Holidaying in South Durras is a delight. A beautiful corner of the world, beaches, sandstone rock formations, bike rides and lovely bush trails to explore.

On one sunny morning over the Easter break we walked through the back of the shack property and down to a path that crossed a creek via a walk bridge.

On the bridge was a father, his son and daughter. The daughter was on one side of the creek and the son in the middle of the bridge anxiously looking over the side where his shiny new rugby ball was floating serenely in the middle of the dark tea tree coloured creek. He was looking dismayed and upset as he looked to his dad who then walked to the other end of the bridge, found a long branch and stood at the edge of the creek guiding the ball back to land with the branch.

As we walked by I heard the young boy make a heartfelt apology to his dad: ‘I’m so sorry dad.’

It was the reply of the father that spoke volumes to me. In a quiet and kind voice he simply said:

‘That’s OK son!’

Phil and I kept walking, but I pondered the scene as I went and reflected that many parents would have responded differently, either out of frustration, annoyance, anger and recrimination. I’ve heard those responses far too often and cringe as I hear parents speak harshly to their children when they make mistakes.

It crushes something inside a child when they are regularly criticised and condemned often for just being a child and childish.

But this father was not perturbed at all. Their walk, yes, interrupted, the ball obviously thrown, missed, who knows. I didn’t see that part.

But I heard the genuine remorse of the child and the genuine love and acceptance of the father and it reminded me of my heavenly Father who is always kind, good and gracious to me. He is never impatient, cross or harshly judging me for my human frailties.

Instead he lovingly accepts me and works with me to deal with the problem together, just as this Father did on a walk with his children. God is bigger, stronger, kinder and more loving towards me than anyone else I have ever and will ever know, and I am grateful for that.

I wonder what voice you hear when you make mistakes, do you hear the voice of an angry parent, or a gracious gentle God who accepts you, loves you and steps in to work with you to put things right.

It changes our lives when we know we are loved and accepted every day no matter what happens.

What price safety?

We received a touching phone call this morning from a close relative living in a nursing home, finding the loneliness of 2020 almost too much to bear.

“I feel like I have no family or friends. I know that’s not true, but day after day with no visitors, not even friends here in the nursing home are allowed to come for a chat and a cuppa in my room. Not wanting to complain but I just feel so low.”

I know there are many who have similar stories, ageing relatives feeling like their nursing home has become a safely sanitised prison where nurses, orderlies and cleaners are all they have to bring some small measure of human connection and brightness to a day.

One friend shared how she tried to arrange for her father to attend a Christmas family dinner in her home, only to be told by well-meaning Rona savvy staff that this year all inmates must stay in the home and are only allowed 1 visitor through the day. And no, the home will certainly not be providing Christmas lunch for the potential visitors as well.

What price safety I wonder?

While we err on the side of caution re physical health and re-elect Premiers to reward them for keeping us safe from the serious health issues associated with the current pandemic, I do wonder how we can support and care for those in our society who are experiencing the emotional, mental and relational impacts that are a direct result of our emphasis on ‘safety.’

It’s like a ‘living death’, sitting day after day alone in a nursing home room and this year of 2020 has made it all the more difficult for families who have been unable to travel across state borders to visit ageing relatives to bring hugs, chatter and comfort.

I hope we can together find ways to provide companionship and care to those in our community who are both alone and lonely, isolated in institutions or apartment blocks in suburbs near us.

Please feel free to contact me at C-Change Counselling and Coaching if you know of anyone who needs support during this difficult time. Together we can creatively and genuinely consider strategies to meet people’s needs.

Silence and Solitude

Two words that can spark dread and dismissal or evoke a deep response of anticipation and acceptance.

I vacillate somewhere between the two responses, knowing in my head that silence and solitude are helpful for me to choose from time to time just like the slack tide in the river that momentarily ceases its ebb and flow.

This year of COVID-19 created a ‘slack tide’ season that once accepted, became helpful. I’ve noticed the value of quality time, listening and enjoying connecting with family and friends. I’ve noticed a greater awareness of the inner life, what motivates, inspires, frightens or hinders me.

I’ve noticed a growing acceptance and love for others. I no longer require them to always understand, or agree with me, or even be like me.

I’ve noticed a deeper faith in an unchanging good God who speaks gently into my life with patient wisdom.

How has this season impacted you? Have you observed changes within, priorities shifting, relationships deepening? Have you found new ways to engage in the beauty of silence and solitude as a means of bringing balance to the strong currents defining life?

A friend has enjoyed additional time of solitude in the garden, planting, pruning, tending, watering. Another friend has enjoyed the time of silence while knitting, sitting in a chair looking at the ever changing sky as she quietly prays for her family. For me it has been writing and photography as I have soaked into the natural beauty of my home state.

This has been a season of ‘unforgetting’, finding new strength, purpose and hope. How has it been for you?

The journey of unforgetting

I forgot I love to play the flute, breathing, creating, flowing, soaring.

I forgot I love being in the music.

I forgot I love the simple pleasure of following a mountain ridge with my eye and noticing every curve, buttress, cliff and fold.

I forgot I love noticing the moment.

I forgot I love the warmth of a fire on my face as I wrap my hands around a warm cup of tea.

I forgot I love being comforted.

I forgot I love the sun shining through a window on a beautiful vase of flowers, revealing shimmering colour and curves of amazing design.

I forgot I love beauty.

I forgot I love watching a farmer on his motorbike with his working dog chasing, herding, delighting in being together, taking a moment for an affectionate pat and wag of tail.

I forgot I love being appreciated for my work.

I forgot how green the grass, how deep blue the mountains, how vibrant the golden hour at end of day

I forgot the power of choosing silence and solitude

Di Priest

C-Change © 2020

Unexpected

I have many wonderful memories from childhood of long summer family holidays on the East Coast of Tasmania. Scamander was a favourite spot for us with its long white sandy beach, pelicans parading on the sandbars and the beautiful Scamander River for fishing. My dad used to take what he called his infamous ‘bream rod’ and every year we’d keep a tally of how many fish the bream rod caught.  One year we hired a small tinny to try and catch more fish and so my dad, my younger brother and I ventured out onto the dark tea tree coloured waters in search of the elusive bream.

My father and brother were much more serious fishermen than I, consequently they had the rods and I was given a hand line with no expectations that I’d actually catch anything.

Ah, the serenity, drifting along with an easy current and occasional turn of the oar as the summer sun glinted on the water. Pleasant to be away from the ants, mozzies and snakes we’d find when we went to our usual haunts on the banks of the river. So there I was, leisurely dangling my hand line over the side with a small amount of bait attached, when suddenly, the line grabbed and the small hand reel was almost reefed from my grasp.

I got so much more than I bargained for because the pressure on the line was incredible and cutting through my hand. As I wound in the now taut line, up from the depths of the dark water came what looked like a snake, spiraling it’s body around the line, attempting to free itself from the hook.

Yes, no surprise here, I panicked, screamed, stood up quickly in the tinny and hurled the hand line in the direction of my father. Into the boat came a rather large eel which promptly landed in the bottom of the now wobbling tinny.

Both my brother and I scrambled as far away as we could yelling and screaming as this monster from the deep writhed just under our feet.

Firstly, my dad told us to sit still and be quiet.

My brother then boldly got out his fishing knife and attempted to pin the eel just behind its head. Instead of dying, the eel wrapped its body around the knife and pulled it out.

Again my father had to remind us to sit still and be quiet as we tried to scramble further from this frightening creature. Dad proceeded to cut off the head of the eel, which meant the body and head now separated, still writhed in the bottom of the boat all the way back to the jetty where my brother and I leapt out, relieved to be on land again.

My dad skinned and cut up the eel to take back for our dinner. Mum carefully placed the pieces of eel in the fridge on a plate only to find on the next opening of the door that all the pieces had wriggled off the plate. We, all except our father, decided we weren’t going to eat something that still wriggled. He said we’d be missing out on a very sweet meal.

Suffice to say, all these years later I still remember the unexpected encounter with an eel and while now I can smile about it, at the time it was rather terrifying to a young girl.

No doubt you all have some events like that in your life, where something occurred that you least expected. For me, I, with the poorest equipment, caught the only catch of the day.

There are times when we cope well with those unexpected moments, the ‘surprises’ of life. And sometimes, not so.

Then as a young girl, I had a father who took charge, kept us afloat and relatively calm, heading us safely back to the jetty.

In life, I find that I look to God to do that for me when I feel out of my depth and trapped in situations or circumstances I feel unprepared and ill-equipped to deal with.  I am thankful for a heavenly Father who is in control, can deal with all the situations I face in my life, protecting and providing for me when I need it.

Yes at times, I still get wobbly and panic when I feel out of control. It’s human nature and no surprise to our heavenly Father who sits right in the boat of life with us. I’m not alone, God is a constant gentle presence in every circumstance. He’s a very good Father to his children.

My hope is that you can find safety and protection in your life as you turn to your heavenly Father for the help you need in the unexpected out of control moments of life. He keeps his promises and can be trusted always. He’s in the boat, right there with you. You are not alone.

Growing through awkward moments

Do you encounter ‘foot in mouth’ moments, where you sometimes over-compensate, over-think, over-react? You are not alone. Neither do these moments define or determine who you are. While these moments can often spiral you out of kilter with your values, faith, worth, meaning and purpose, God can and does use awkward moments to help us learn more of who He is and who we can be. This retreat will gently take you through these experiences with God. You are not alone and nothing is too hard for Him.

Please click here to download a PDF copy of the retreat for you to use and share.

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