Appreciate: half a yearJuly 19, 2016
Back in January, prompted by the Velvet Ashes group I chose a word for the year. One word, to continually come back to, to muse over, to mediate on. One word that I would go on to make my backdrop on almost every digital device, would force myself to acknowledge daily before the wind-down of sleep, one word that I hoped would shape me. And the word I chose was appreciate.
Early on it was lovely. Back then I was in the practice of having a weekly desk sheet. This encouraged me to track and thus vary our food intake, to make note of when I’d accomplished what and when appointments would divert our routine. Most of all it forced me to write daily what I’d appreciated. As weeks passed I found this sheet almost entirely devoted to writing out daily positives. After Easter I started skipping written weeks, but still the appreciations flowed. Mostly into prayers of gratitude, sometimes deep prayers that rise up unbidden, others rushed moments of thanks. Rather than scribble out lines I started to read the psalms, resonating with their words of praise, and recognising in their words of anguish a personal faith that had allowed pools of stagnation to form. My faith found itself on a journey, a journey from the crowd to the tent, from the spectator to the friend, from the textbook to the embrace. It was such a short step, but one I had failed to make it for so long.
Now I’m more than half way through my year of appreciate, I recognise I’ve learnt a lot. I’ve not just embraced gratitude over pessimism, which was what I set out to do, but I’ve rediscovered gratitude itself. I’ve discovered how many circumstances have brought me to the place we are, decisions that spans back centuries, years and mere months. I’ve discovered a propensity to leave un-built the true acknowledgement in relationships, and found a earning for a chance to show appreciation. I’ve reconsidered the old promise that ‘God will provide’ or that ‘God can use me to provide’ and seen that far too often we pass the thanks only upwards and not also around. I’ve found appreciation boundless, limitless, curling back through memories and showing already open doors for the future. It’s the art of treasuring, the point of recognition, the mild mannered admiration… in it’s truest form it’s a gentle prompt to show love.
Today, know you are appreciated. You are appreciated for reading my words, put out into the ether, appreciated because you have contributed to this world, you have spun the plates and dared to keep them balanced, appreciated because you are a child of the divine (even if you don’t acknowledge there is one) and your place in this grand tapestry of life can only be played out by you.
If I never get to say it in person, Thank you.
May’s projectsMay 26, 2016
We’ve discovered imaginative play and it’s changing the way we work with toys. It’s a stage of play that really distinguishes the toddler, representational and symbolic thinking begins to develop and there is a great need to imitate. With the days already getting hotter and my first sunburn of the year out of the way I’ve got back the home-maker bug and cracked out the dusty sewing machine to help this stage really flourish.
Firstly we’ve begun adding labels. Thanks to double sided tape and a colour printer big bold labels show Adam what’s inside a box before he dives in. Initially this was done in the hope of starting toy rotation… then I realised we don’t have enough storage, play-space, or toys to do this effectively – And I’m the first to admit Adam is not short on toys!
Toy Rotation: a method of rotating toys so the child becomes less bored, mostly advocated by parents who have huge basements for storage, dedicated playrooms or more toys than I ever owned in a lifetime?
However, boxes vaguely contain the mess, as well as making tidying up and selectively hiding much easier. While some are merely containers, others act as activity prompts – by clearing the floor of all but the box it invites Adam to delve inside.
The big project was to give Adam some role play space. While looking for play-space ideas I encountered the chair slip-covers that had been sewn into kitchens. These really suit our 2 room house set-up and replacing a couple of seams with zips allows me to fold every side flat.
Materials: white fabric, silver fabric (hobs), patterned fabric (back), t-shirt transfer paper (oven + shelves), thin card (hobs), acetate sheet (oven door), velcro (oven door), sticky back felt (dials), 2 zips, ribbon for back ties and an old oven glove.
Unable to find the bigger sized play pots and pans we bought or borrowed small versions that can get added to the kitchen cupboard (if they aren’t wrecked). There are quite a few measurements I got wrong, and bit’s I’d have done differently, but for a first try I’m rather happy. Adam has been having fun playing with it and loves eating his snack out of his saucepans.
Christianeese scarsMay 21, 2016
The question comes and my mind blurts out the glib answer, full of theological undertones that reassures my own particular way of living Christianity. Inside I squirm at my inability to break free from the words as I speak / type them. I wish I was the only one but I know I’m not.
My mind skims back over countless church encounters that moulded my responses, their wealth reduced down to glibness – because knowing the answer isn’t always best. No more acute is this need than when you encounter a belief system, one with nuance and gaps whose existence should shape us rather than be skimmed over.
I recognise those with similar scars. The struggle to explain grace without turning it into an acronym, the hollow “I’ll pray for you” that is (occasionally) followed by a failure to utter another word on the matter, when the sound-bite betrays their hurt and struggles into christianese vagueness. They speak in language that makes me shudder, everything becomes the mountain’s steepness or waters swell, if not phrases lifted from ‘encouragement cards’, their depth as flimsy as the paper they are lifted from.
These are not scars caused by pain but self-flagellation, from those little bible inserts and bouts of religiosity. They are not born of depth of desire nor study, they are as hard won as politicians sombre faces practised before the mirror. Over-thought and crafted words that reflect little glory to their maker and their maker in turn.
When life is tough and the mountain really does loom they have their place, but when life is good, when the doors are open and the plain lush before us, then we need to put aside the flimsy scaffold and start to work in stone. We need to put in the work to carve answers to those questions that are deep and solid, where we agonise over the cracks and pour our devotion into the decoration.
I pause, apologise and start again, delete that text, wrangle a little over the question.