This time last year…

Posted on October 25, 2013 by Kath
IMG_0775

The view from the hospital ward. Helped to keep me sane that night and the following days.

This time last year.

(well technically tomorrow will be the actual date when labour started but it was the Friday before half term and today is also the Friday of half term and that sets off this train of thought)

Flashes haunt me.

Images burned on my mind.

Memories swirl around and jostle for position.

A hospital room. A long long day and night. Waiting. Groaning. Pain. Fog. A husband who held on and helped me breathe. Breathe. Keep breathing.

The constant question, will there be a baby? Will he ever come out? Is there an end and a beginning?

Hospital darkened rooms. Needles put in. Light of morning. Changing faces. Rushing in to the theatre and confusion. The final moments.

A small body carried across the room. Staring at the table, willing life to make its presence felt and then: Cries. My boy. My boy. My boy.

Confusion. Repairs. The news on the board in front. The medical students awkwardly staring. Husband has my boy. My boy.

Recovery. I hold my boy close and he starts to feed. My parents hold him. Night comes and visiting hours end. Where is the one who held my hand so tight? Why does he have to leave?

Now we are alone. Me and my boy. Through the long long long night. We are here. Me and my boy. Why does this feel so normal? Such wonder and yet I am not scared. I am not scared because he is my boy. My boy. My boy.

All night we stare at each other. He figures out how to drink and then falls asleep at last. I stare and stare at him. Confused. In wonder. Aching all over and yet so alive. My boy is here.

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A year on…

Posted on October 20, 2013 by Kath

EthanIt’s been almost a year. Almost a year since our world turned upside down. Almost a year since my world shattered into pieces and I became that most misunderstood of creatures. Almost a year since I became a mother, a mummy, a mum. I read this quote on the excellent Adele’s blog this week and it’s been haunting me ever since.

Dominique Sakoilsky writes:
“But, within motherhood we will have the delight of exploring a new aspect of ourselves, and we cannot fathom what that might feel like until we are there, and even then it will continue to change and evolve. The only thing we can do, therefore, is to ready ourselves as best we can to be able to embrace these changes and allow ourselves the space and freedom to find ourselves where we enter motherhood with this child. Every child is unique and each can teach us new things about ourselves as women, as mothers, as parents.”

What confuses me most is the positive nature of this quote, putting the word ‘delight’ together with motherhood is a whole new world to think about. I’ve realised my only thoughts about this landscape so far have been ones that equate it with bombs going off, shattered pieces to be put together and it’s been fairly doom and gloom. Whilst that doesn’t surprise me, given my propensity to gloom, it does sadden me a bit. Yes a bomb did go off a year ago, yes my world shattered but there is more to the picture than that. I think this quote helps me think that the new landscape created isn’t one of post apocalyptic grimness. Bombs generally leave shattered grey shards all over the place. This bomb has done something quite different.

This quote challenges me to see this new landscape as one of colour and beauty. This quote challenges me to think about the new aspects of myself that have been grown this year. This quote forces me to see that through the shattered pieces of my life there is new healthy growth. There are flowers growing here, there is new grass and lush meadows of wild flowers to be explored. The forest (to borrow my ongoing analogy) isn’t full of broken trees but full of fresh spring growth, the streams are flowing, the sun shines through them. Yes this isn’t a land of ease, it isn’t a land of no pain, the trees might be still gnarled and knotted, there are lands of twisted undergrowth but there is beauty shining through.

I have a beautiful son, he astounds me more and more each day, as he learns to clap, totter about and point at things. He snuggles into my shoulder and pats my back in a way that feels so utterly natural and unsurprising. I’ve struggled this year to fully own becoming a mother, in part because I know it’s not my full identity, I am aware that I have a deeper identity and that it is just a new part of a bigger picture.  I also know others would dearly love this title and all the crazy mess it brings, I struggle to know how to rejoice and delight in something I have and be grateful for it without coming across as a smug married mum. I know that it’s not my place to control others reactions to what I have but I do want to be sensitive and kind.

As I reflect on this past year (beware there are a couple of other posts coming up this week on the same theme) reading this quote has opened up the door to me declaring that I do love being sonface’s Mum, I am not an abstract mother, I am a mother to my lovely boy. I can’t explain the weird connection, the way he feels part of me, the strange bonds that tie us together and the oddness that comes when we are apart for a while. I can’t explain the tie that makes me get up when I hear him cry in the middle of the night, I can’t explain what makes me do it time and time again. I can’t explain the random bursts of love, the way I can’t stop looking at his face, the delight at his weirdness, the joy of watching him grow.

There have been times when I have wondered what on earth we were thinking when we had him, times of overwhelming confusion and fear, times of worry and doubt. The transition has not come easy but I am deeply glad, a year in, that we have embraced this path through life. I am a mother, I am learning afresh what that means each day and I’m enjoying that. That feels like a pretty good place to be in.

Your correspondent, slightly weirded out by writing such a positive thought about her life…

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This morning…

Posted on October 10, 2013 by Kath

summerhouseThis morning I drove through the crisp autumn air to my parents house for a quiet morning. A morning where I could sit in their summer house, walk their labyrinth and know that Nana was doing a very good job entertaining the small boy. A morning where I could stop and be with my Maker, enjoying his world and where I could listen again to his voice. As I drove out into the countryside sun streamed through the trees, golden leaves danced in the wake of lorries thundering past and I smiled at the blue blue sky.

Accompanying me as I drove was the new album, Tires Rushing by in the Rain,  by Martyn Joseph (who if you haven’t figured out by now I am slightly obsessed with). On it are 17 covers of Bruce Springsteen songs (again another man I have a slight obsession about).  It’s almost too much beauty to take. These men are ones that have soothed my soul in countless ways over the years, traveling with me on my journey through this crazy life, stirring hope, reminding me that I am not alone, expressing thoughts and feelings like no-one else could.

The best accolade I can grant is that they sing with cracks in their voices. They sound like they might break down when they sing with passion and depth. I really can’t stand polished music, music that has no feeling or is too processed. There is nothing processed about this new album, I lost count of the times I heard Martyn’s voice crack a little as he moulded these songs to make them his own.

These are songs of real hope, songs that express the heartache and weariness of life but with a lifted head and a look towards the dark horizon with longing expectation of the dawn. These are songs to wrap you warm as the nights draw in and the coldness bites. These are songs to travel with you through the fears, anxieties and worries of this world, songs that let you know you are not alone. These are songs to leave you aching with hope, with the tangible notion that it really isn’t a sin to be glad you are alive and together we can spit in the face of the badlands. These are songs that leave you with a new desire to keep on walking home. These are songs sung by a man who has travelled long and hard with them. These are songs sung like old friends, there to catch you when you fall.

This morning as I drove, as I listened, as I sat and as I prayed I felt again the the wonder of the seasons change reminding me of that which does not change.

This morning I sensed again that hope was real and at work in this world, because it goes deeper than the darkness.

This morning my soul was soothed and I was glad to know that I am not alone.

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Grumpy mornings

Posted on October 9, 2013 by Kath
What is this thing you call sleep?

What is this thing you call sleep?

My son is having a grumpy morning. He didn’t go down for his morning nap for reasons that escape us both. He is therefore grumpy and sad. He bangs his head against things and cries. I call him to come to me but he won’t. He sits and grumbles, occasionally being distracted by toys. I call again and again but he just stares at me and wails. I go and pick him up and for a brief moment he nestles into my shoulder. He then remembers he is really sad and cries. I carry him around and show him stuff. We look at books. I cry with him because I too am tired and grumpy now.

I put him on our balcony and he is briefly calmed by fresh air. Restlessness is in his bones now though. He cannot cope with this tiredness and wants me to know. I keep him awake for as long as I can knowing the consequences for the rest of the day if he naps too early.

We sit and eat. Slowly his head droops down and eyes close as he stuffs banana in his mouth. I take pity on him and we go and sit and rock and sing the wheels on the bus which always go round and round. He wrestles, cries and eventually is still. Sleep overtakes him and I put him gently in his cot.

I sit and wonder again at how much of this morning echoes my relationship with God, at my refusal to find refuge in his arms, at my ease of distraction by shiny things but never for long, at the complaint about someone who works for my best but I just can’t see it. Thankfully God isn’t much like me in this scenario, he doesn’t get frustrated at me or grumpy at me. He is patient and really does know what is best even though I can’t see that.

As I rock my boy to sleep I sense some of the mother heart of God as he gently holds me as I cry and keeps on loving me through my grumpiness.  He is the eternally patient parent, never running out of energy to love. I am grateful for these pictures in my day, that as we play out our tired grumpy morning I am being taught of a bigger, more wonderful, love in this world.

Postscript: Sonface has now woken up after a 2 hour nap, I’m hopeful our afternoon will be better than this morning. Sleep does everyone a world of good after all.

 

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Spiritual Direction

Posted on October 2, 2013 by Kath

directionLast week I attended the first session of a course in spiritual direction run by our local diocese (I was going to explain what that word meant but then realised I had no idea, some group of Anglican parishes under a Bishop? Can anyone help me out?). Anyway, peculiarities of the Anglican church aside, it’s a course intended to be an introduction to spiritual direction, with an emphasis on different styles and models of prayer over the centuries and with some skills work involved in the days. Sessions run monthly which feels just about manageable for my, newly starting to be unscrambled, brain.

It’s hard to describe spiritual direction, it’s not counseling, it’s not mentoring, it’s not really discipleship. But it’s more than a chat over a cup of tea and it’s more than just talking about God with someone. Somewhere in-between all those words used to describe our interaction together on this life with God lies spiritual direction. I think I’m getting the sense that it’s a conversation between two people on this journey with God, but there is a real sense of one person as a guide for the other. Someone who has been on this bit of the journey and can be helpful to the other person as they walk on with God.

It’s been going on through the centuries so I join something that feels like it has weight and depth going through the ages, a rare treat in this world of the immediate and the now. We’ll be learning from people who have wrestled with God in many different times and places, no chronological snobbery here (that idea that anything old is out of date and irrelevant summed up my Mr CS Lewis so well in that phrase. hmm, I really should just do footnotes…).

Spiritual direction is probably best summed up with use of metaphor (which as we all know is something I love). There are a load of metaphors around the subject, the image of a midwife is used lots to describe the relationship between someone giving direction and someone receiving it. There is a sense of patient listening, of helping someone work hard and labour, being an observer in that process and being a point of helpful knowledge. It involves the fine art of knowing when to suggest and guide and when to hold back.  There is a real sense of the directee (the one receiving direction) doing the hard work with the director there to aid and assist at the right and appropriate moments.

Fundamentally spiritual direction is about helping someone pay attention to what God is up to in their lives. That’s a pretty awesome thing to be able to help someone work through and clearly has to involve God in the whole process. God showing up is pretty essential to all that goes on. This being the case it seems obvious that we’re going to be encouraged to pray more and in different ways on this course. To help someone else pay attention to God I need to be paying attention myself. I’m looking forward to having to be disciplined in spending more time with God.

One of the books for the course outlines what it’s all about better than I have (but it’s good for me to try so that’s why you’ve got the rambling above…)

In spiritual direction we depend on the Holy Spirit to guide our thinking, warm our compassion, inspire our discernment and help us assist our directees to:

  • explore their experience of God, whether in prayer, through traditional vehicles of scripture and creaion, or through daily life events or symbols which attract the directee’s attention;
  • grow in their ability to rest in God;
  • express their emotions as well as their thoughts;
  • begin to believe they are loved and allow more of God into more of their lives;
  • let the changes in them become visible in their outer world, i.e. increatsingly behaving in ways that promotes justice, care for creation and encourage reconciliation, and, in Richard Foster’s words, develop a ‘holy habit of contemplative love that leads us forth in partnership with God into creative and redeeming work’. (Sue Pickering, Spiritual Direction)

This course seems to have come just at the right time, sonface was happy to be left with one of his Godmums and she seemed to enjoy him as well, my brain feels ready for some more input, it’s not too expensive and one day a month is very manageable.  It was fun hanging out with people older than me and from different backgrounds and traditions. I think that will be challenging for us all as we go through the course but I’m glad that we are encouraged to be true to what we believe, to be honest about the stuff we don’t agree with and ready to examine the reasons why we might disagree on some things. Best of all we felt like a bunch of 26 strangers at the start of the day and like pilgrims together on a journey by the end. I’m looking forward to all God has in store for us together over this year. (and no doubt you’ll be getting the odd blog post or two about it as well)

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