CLUTTER AND CLEANSING

 I glance around our neighbourhood at the assembled bicycles, dolls, toys, cupboards and all that has been cleaned out of our houses and into our driveways this Spring. Ah! We say, That feels better.

My clutter is in my mind, I come to realise.  There is too much clutter in my mind. It used to be so simple. There was a Right, and there was a Wrong. That is what I was taught as a child.  

It is right to tell the truth; it is Wrong to lie.

It is Right to do your homework and chores; it is Wrong not to get your work done.

It is Right to accept what parents say; it is Wrong to argue with them.

It is Right to be kind to siblings; it is Wrong to fight with them.

 This is very clean-cut.  Forget the lies and half-truths told in the home, and the fights themselves over Right and Wrong with siblings.  Forget the struggles to define who I am as opposed to who I am told I am.  It is Right to keep it clean cut and simple.

 What would I throw out in my Spring clean? I would throw away the clutter caused by the constant defining of Right from Wrong. It is far from a simple guide-line for life.

 I have such problems with the folks who must be Right.

It is Wrong to have views about God that are not orthodox.

It is Wrong to have views about people that make them less than angels.

It is Wrong to share sadness. Keep your chin up I hear people say. It is not too bad.

It is Wrong to stop going to the church that judges you.

It is wrong to accept gay marriage.

It is wrong to believe that global warming is destroying our planet.

The list goes on, from the trivial to the essential, from the narrowest to mind clutter that confuses me. I must wade through so much fear-based dogmatism, and deny so  much of the richness and complexity of this vast universe in which I am but a speck, to make my choice.

Yes, I choose to embrace all that is life-affirming and universally true. This Spring I am cleaning out the clutter caused by the need to be Right. Just BEING and ENQUIRING seems anything but Wrong to me.

A Family Affair

Where do I begin this tale of a family affair?  Does it begin under a lamp post in Kings Cross, Sydney, where my husband asked me to marry him?  Or does it begin in a dusty, dry, sparsely-populated town in Western Australia where my first son was born, in the local hospital where he shared the nursery with an aboriginal baby?  My husband and this baby’s three sisters trudged up the hill to visit us in the shimmering heat.

 

We returned eastward to Sydney after about twelve months and our younger son joined the family. We remained in Sydney, but our West Australian experience shaped our spirits in ways we had not predicted. We crossed our vast continent idealistic and immature. We returned more self reliant, the desert and harsh environment grounding us in the realities of outback life; freer to create new patterns of open-ness and care for others within our family; more engaged with present reality and less concerned with what might be one day.

 

We did not know then that our westward trek would create a family pattern of travel, open-ness to all peoples and possibilities, and a willingness to explore the unknown.

 

I look at them now; five grown-ups, their partners and their children, scattered across the globe, exploring themselves and their talents; open, welcoming, learning and growing. The trek back east to Sydney was merely a half-way house to a pathway along which they would proceed out into the world.

 

Last night I had a dream, the like of which I had never had before.  I was naked in public. I woke up gasping. What is the meaning of this?  A seventy-five year old woman is best never seen naked, least of all in public!  I was walking with a friend who was somehow concealing me with her coat and scarf.  But then she was no longer with me, and I was within another group of people.  To my astonishment they seemed not to notice or care about my nakedness.  I was accepted as me; I fitted in.

 

My son suggested I write a blog. My daughter-in-law introduced me to Facebook.  My grandson set up my blog.  Grace-filled teachers have held my hand, and launched me into a world where it is okay just to be me.  No more, no less, and with no pretence.  Just me, a mother, wife, grandmother, and friend, open and vulnerable to you all.

 

Margaret Ó

A School Performance

Thoughts from the heart


We often hear our younger generation described as irresponsible and self-seeking. I reflected on that attitude while I attended the Grand Haven High School musical of 'Guys and Dolls'. The production was magnificently professional, demonstrating well-trained and talented young people who were able to thoroughly entertain their audience. I doubt that there was any parent, sibling or friend in those audiences that was not proud and excited, marvelling at the 100 or so young people on the stage at the final curtain call. They stood and cheered, clapped and whistled their appreciation at these kids and their teachers.

We knew of the countless hours they all had spent planning, rehearsing, building sets, making the signs and adjusting the lights, canvassing for tickets, fund-raising, co-ordinating, orchestrating, singing and dancing. After school, Saturdays, Sundays, they had all worked tirelessly as a team.

I reflected on the talented, selfless staff behind these performances. Did they receive a bonus in their pay packet? I think not! Their reward is in seeing the undeniable talent unfold and express itself, co=operation become the value expressed, self-esteem grow, problem-solving spring into action, pride in school expand, the community coming together to support this amazing effort of our young people.

What hope there is for us all as watch these young people at work and play.

Margaret lawton

A Family Wedding

The preacher said that morning, ‘Funerals are more joyous occasions
than weddings’. ‘Not our family wedding of March 2009’, my heart
resounded. Our wedding was all about the triumph of love in three
generations. The memories of loss, disappointment, betrayal,
disillusionment, and shed tears hidden in our depths; the struggles to
find meaning in our perceived failures, old arguments; all translated
into this explosion of love, connection and acceptance within our
family, between families, and even beyond. Our grand children, who
knew so little, and yet so much about these hidden things,
participated with their own unique sensing of inclusion and wonder
within this joy.
The groom asked me, ‘Can there be too much love?’ ‘No’, I confidently
answered from my head. In my heart I pondered this question for many
days. Can photos, momentos, and conversationa really keep the fulness
of that celebration alive? The responsibilities of life rush back in
and threaten to take over once again. They make us heavy and weighed
down.
My answer eventually came in the middle of the night. We keep it by
giving it away. It is not just ours to cherish alone. Each one of us,
sharing in the wonder of that joy, enriched by such love, can love our
family, our neighbour, the stranger at our door, with that extra depth
of acceptance, vulnerability, forgiveness when forgiveness is
required, hope, trust, and belief that love does conquer fear; that
darkness is bearable because there also is light. It re-shaped each
one of us, and the photos, momentos, and conversations will be the
ongoing reminders of all that is possible in human hearts.