Declutter (part 3)

I started to write a series about decluttering my heart. I wish the ideas would roll out comfortably, into a clear, neatly spaced list (perhaps in a cool font).

But my heart is much more complicated than I planned. The phrase "pure in heart" weaves in my thoughts, conscious at times. Sometimes it is the inconvenient heaviness at the back of my head as life crams out contemplation. Is purity possible?

So much of my life is all about maintaining. Making sure the need-tos happen each day - food, clean clothes, and, let's face it, TVs don't watch themselves. Conversations get caught in details and I run out of time to share dreams.

I read bits in wide-ranging places and respond to the beauty of phrases that make pictures. I see glimpses of others drinking in the intimacy of living the grunge of life side-by-side. It is liquid down a dry throat. It clicks that I had ignored my thirst, perhaps so I would not be overwhelmed by it.

My heart is buried deep beneath skin, muscles, ribs and lungs. Absorbed in its task of relentless beating. Much of the clutter is actually around it rather than in it. Briars grew over many years around a sleeping princess's castle and this is what we do to our hearts. It's protection - so that we hurt and bleed less. An unbriared heart can be cut and bruised by debris.

I cannot have a pure heart, until I begin to dismantle the fences I've built around it. My heart cannot do it's task properly until it can connect more directly with pain and joy. Because when my heart is engaged, then I listen, then I pray, then I puzzle out how best to love.

Declutter (part 2)

It's a late night question. We ask it in the moonlight, when the talk is meandering. Regrets, longings, and the barely spoken plans. 'Can people really change?'
Doubt and hope line my answer. I waver, through the years of asking that question. I love the mornings when the answer rings out 'yes'. Someone said, last Sunday, that he used to think he knew it all but now he hungers to learn the truth. Is that change?

The first step to clearing out my crowded, fickle heart is to see the breadth of what I do not know.

• I discard the pride of having to be right or knowledgeable in everything.
• I open vessels ready to be filled with wisdom from another.
• I let go of anxiety. The anxiety of relying only on myself.
• I open the door to someone bigger than myself.

I don't have tips for decorating or simplifying your house. But I'm searching for ways to spiritually declutter.

Step #1 - stop needing to be right.

Failure teaches

I long to tell stories of my triumphs. To be able to rest satisfied that I have done it, and done it well.

But the replays in my mind are not triumphs. They are wired into memory by the wrench of disappointment in my stomach. I have spoken with clumsy words, or chosen the wrong reaction, or just run out of time to do what is needed.

I listened as he told me of his shame. The shame he felt when he had to cover for me. To explain my mistake and he knew he could not. He didn't call it shame, but he told me how he couldn't stop the laughter escaping from his chest and he couldn't explain. He had to leave. Abruptly.

The laughter mystified him and he searched for neurological explanations. He framed it as an opportunity to learn. And he didn't want to hear my apology. He was so gracious that he wouldn't allow himself to blame me, so he couldn't face 'sorry'. It was then we talked of shame and I realised how deeply it had shaken him.

My sorry  must become an action. Speaking it is irrelevant if I continue to leave him exposed and without an answer. So I work harder at my list and try to do it better. I know this will not cover all my weaknesses, but this small, particular exertion is important. Because I have seen his vulnerability. Just as I have seen his faithful perserverence.

I must listen to this exposition of my failure and learn from it. Know that I am poor in spirit, but that that itself brings its own blessings. And I realise that the memories based in failure and disappointment, in myself, are the ones that really teach me. Painful though they are.

Sharing with Emily,

Blogging and Repentance

So I wrote about leadership.

Mainly because I was hurt and angry. Partly because I wanted to stop being resentful. Bitterness in me breaks people I care about. So I wrote about it.

And then, in a series of unconnected moments, everything was turned upside down.

Suddenly there is spirit movement in the process and I see more around the corner than I expected.

How did the misunderstanding and disappointment sink into the ground and help things grow?

I confess amazement at the power of God to turn things upside down - especially my hurt, angry heart and my helpless hesitancy about the future. Now that is power.

Neuroplasticity

'Neuroplasticity' is a bit of a buzzword at the moment. Norman Doidge, a North American (Canadian, I think) psychiatrist, has written this book about the development of neuroplasticity as an idea and a basis for treatment in a variety of neurological and psychiatric disorders.

He shares a number of amazing and inspiring stories about recovery from brain injury, congenital brain abnormalities, from obsessions and childhood trauma. The book is interesting and engaging and definitely worth reading.

Until recently, it was generally believed that the brain carried out its various functions in specifically localised areas, and that damage to an area resulted in loss of function, never to be regained. Evidence is mounting that this view is simplistic and that our brains are much more sophisticated in their response to damage or injury.

Contrary to the idea that adult brains are static, people have been retrained in lost function despite permanent brain tissue damage. Other neuronal networks develop the ability to take over the functions of damaged neurons. Damage to neurons stimulates the production of hormones which catalyse the formation of new networks and pathways.

One of the interesting ideas which Doidge proposes is that our brains delight in learning new things. He goes so far as to say that if our brains lack novelty then we begin to become restless. Delight, enjoyment, love, pleasure all stimulate dopamine in the brain. (The dopamine reward pathway in the pre-frontal cortex is thought to mediate addiction.) We can become tolerant to dopamine stimulation and novelty will renew the 'buzz' and enjoyment.

'We must be learning if we are to feel fully alive, and when life, or love, becomes too predictable and it seems like there is little left to learn, we become restless - a protest, perhaps, of the plastic brain when it can no longer perform its essential task.' (p116).

So, learning new skills and concepts is a way to maintain brain stimulation and protect against the pitfalls of plasticity. Doidge 's illustration is of a skier going down a new slope. The first run will create a new path, but as that path is used a number of times, it begins to direct the skier in that path and it is more difficult to divert to an alternate path. Plasticity gives us the ability to create new paths, but can also bind us tightly into faulty pathways, which become tricky to evade.

These are just a couple of ideas from the book. It is worth reading more, especially because of Doidge's readable, informative style.

the Power of an Indestructible Life

Jesus is our high priest, not because he comes from the right family. He is our high priest because he defeated death - he was indestructible! (Hebrews 7:16)

Not all people have a concept of what a priest does - (or if they do it is stained and corrupted by a connection with children being abused). But I think everyone wants someone on their side, someone who will stand up for them when they have to plead their case or tell their story.

The writer of Hebrews calls the Jewish priests, or their interceding work, weak and useless, because it cannot change lives. Jesus brings a better hope - he is not weak or useless, he is indestructible and perfect forever (Hebrews 7:28)

I see so many people who need that. And I need that.

Change Coming

I have been on maternity leave for the last 12 months and I have to return to work in 3 weeks time. I am beginning to prepare myself for spending chunks of time away from my almost-11 month old. I am finding myself thinking more about the tasks and responsibilities I will have to take up in my job.

This year has been an oasis of calm for me. I am a little afraid that busy-ness and rushing will seep back into life when I go back to work. Don't misunderstand me - I have had plenty of tasks to occupy me in the past 12 months. But there has been a freedom to stop and absorb the blessing around me. To marvel at the people I share life with.

My husband has been able to devote himself to work full-time while I have been home more. I really wanted to see him take full advantage of this - capitalise on it fully! He has found it hard to have so much time. He is looking forward to the restriction on his available time, because he says it makes him more efficient. Here's hoping that happens for me, too.

This is my final maternity leave (according to our best plans), and that has helped me to enjoy and relish it. I am also sad to leave this 'stage' behind me.

photo: stock.xchng

Stay or go? Safest to have no choice.

It's time for me to move from my current job. I've been part of a team for the past twelve months, where I have felt welcome and valued and I have had opportunities to work with children and their families who are struggling in a variety of ways.

Limited terms and "college requirements" are one of the drawbacks of a training job. Broad experience and contact with lots of different teams is really valuable, but fitting into a team, just in time to leave it can be disappointing. What also makes me sad is the fact that the team I am leaving is bruised and broken, having lost a number of staff recently. People have moved on hurt by their time there and there has not been much effort to bring healing. Processes have been started to work out where things went wrong, but I don't know whether this will ever be able to create a better place, where people have learned and grown from the experience. Instead we let people creep away wounded, by finding another job, we don't actually offer them a process for resolution or change.

Part of me is regretful that people don't stick it out to let the process work and be part of improving and changing the place. But who am I to complain? I always knew I was only here for a season. Maybe that gives me a detachment which makes me courageous on other people's behalf? Would I stay if my job was permanent? Would I stay if had been subjected to ridicule or innuendo, or if I had been spurned when the idealisation was over? Perhaps my limited appointment is a convenient excuse which means I don't need to actually live out my principles of participating in difficult change.

Leaving to start another term gives me convenient way out, and is forcing me to look ahead to what I will be doing next. The only inconvenience is having to face those cases where I have to decide the best way to move on for the patient. Some of them are not getting better the way I planned. I am faced with my own inadequacies as therapist as a parting gift. I am having to keep my hand plastered to my chin in order to keep it up. The more I write, the more I see this is fodder for supervision tomorrow. Bring it on...

To the team I leave behind... thank you for your support and what I have learnt from you all. For the team you will become as you grow again (and I know you will), you will be in my prayers, and I know that what you have seen and endured will build you stronger.