Colour Scheme

Sometime I feel inspired with creative ideas. More often, I kind of want to do something creative but am short on ideas as to what to do or where to start. A blank canvas and empty paint palette can be somewhat daunting.

So a couple of weeks ago (or maybe a little longer than that now) I tried something. I asked those I live with to "name a colour" "and another". I stopped when I had four colours: blue, orange, purple, turquoise. 

Putting those four colours and nothing else on a paint palette at least gave me somewhere to start.

So I painted this which, to be honest, I wasn't overly enamoured with, but I'm sharing it anyway because it was part of a process.

Over the next couple of weeks, I stuck with that select palette. I returned, several times, to sit down again with those same colours and see what happened. These did.

I like some more than others. Perhaps you do too. More importantly, though I enjoyed creating them. And although I know "its about the process not the product" is a bit of a teacher thing to say, it is, in fact, true.  

I'm open to suggestions for a next colour scheme to explore.

Praying together (differently)

This week has been the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, a time always marked in Birmingham by #pray24brum, an event I have been actively involved in organising for the last few years.

As various phases of pandemic and lockdowns have evolved, so had the plans, but by the back end of last year, in amongst everything else, it had certainly ended up very much on a back burner as we all dealt with, ya know, global crises and stuff! By early January, with it becoming clear that if it happened at all it would have to be entirely online, I at least, was questioning whether we had the time, energy and capacity to pull together something meaningful and prayerful which would add anything extra to the plethora of online stuff already out there. 

But a few conversations and emails later we made the decision to press ahead with a very different #pray24brum. I am, now, very glad we did.

Filling 24 hours of digital content, at a time when churches are already busy and trying to adapt to yet another new way of supporting their communities, was undoubtedly unrealistic: but the 24 lived on in an invitation to pray for 24 minutes at some point during the two days. Churches and groups were invited to prepare and lead 24 minutes of online prayer, but there was also an invitation for people to step away from their computer screen and commit the time to praying for 24 minutes in whatever way they wished, alone, in their household, but in some mysterious way connected to a community. The image of "a patchwork of prayer to cover the city" evolved.

In the end there were times of prayer led by 18 different groups. Something in the time, effort and prayer that all those different groups put into preparing their slots served as a reminder that there are others who really value this event too. Facebook insights and twitter analytics notwithstanding we have no idea how many people really engaged with the online content. We have even less idea how many people may have taken up the invitation to set aside their own 24 minutes of prayer. Perhaps none of that matters. Perhaps what matters is simply that it happened. 

And for me, personally? This event has always been a very important one. I love the constancy of our regular routine of prayer but #pray24brum has always been a boost, a little reminder as we start a new calendar year that we join with others, across different traditions and expressions, who are committed to and believe in the importance of prayer. 

And yes I have missed physically being with others, people I know, people I don't, people I see only once a year but who I have come to appreciate sharing in prayer with: almost a little like going on a retreat or something, although it is only as I write this that I've come to think of it as such. And yet, albeit through a computer screen, I did feel like I was once again connected to and praying with those people. 

I am pleased that I was able to set aside time to focus on the event, just as I would have done if we were meeting in person. I am not saying the rest of life entirely stopped for two days, it never does, but most of my diary was intentionally blocked out to spend two days ensuring all the content was posted and shared as it should be, and praying. It would perhaps have been easy this year to just "have it on in the background" and I appreciate that for some that may have been the right way to engage. For me, it was valuable to take the computer, stop (mostly) trying to do other things at the same time and just engage with the content and pray. It was valuable, in the breaks between social media, to go out for a couple of short walks still focused on the idea of praying for Birmingham, ... and it was valuable to watch the snow fall with a slight sense of relief that no contingency plans were required!

I am very glad that #pray24brum was able to happen this year, albeit differently. I am very glad to have been part of it.

(Most of the content from the two days, should you be interested, is available on the Birmingham Churches Together Facebook Page)

The best of winter

 

Winter isn't, generally, my favourite time of year.

That said, ever since I spent a year living somewhere the weather never really changed very much and the days were all more or less the same length, I promised myself I would remember to enjoy the turning of the season and the changes they bring.

And so while I am ready for grey days and dark evenings to give way to the spring, here is my celebration of the best of winter ... Walking beneath the pale winter sun amidst crisp white snow followed by curling up with a cup of tea in front of a fire. 

If I was a better artist the blue should probably have shone through more in that sky, and a good book should probably have made an appearance too.

Everyday Goals

I am not really one for making new year's resolutions. This year, even more so.

Equally I think there is a place for looking back and looking forward: for thinking about what will help make the year ahead, despite its challenges, as full of life as possible.

This year I have written myself a list of "everyday goals" and posted it on my bedroom wall. 

• Write something
• Pray
• Go outdoors
• Do something creative
• Have intentional non-screen time
• Connect with friends or family
• Read something
• Complete a task
• Be thankful

I haven't written it to put myself under more pressure. I am not necessarily expecting or even intending to fulfil all of these everyday goals every day. That isn't the point. Nor is it an exhaustive list ... of course there are other things that bring me joy too.  

But they are the fruit of reflecting on what are the things that, when I consciously set aside time to slot them into my days, bring me satisfaction and joy. And they are all achievable, even during lockdown, and they are all within my control, not reliant on anything or anyone beyond myself. 

Posting them on my wall is a visual reminder to stop and make time for these things which I know bring me life, to try to hold them in balance with each other and the other things that I know I have to do.

So far, so good. (And yes, I know there's a lot of the year still to run, but I see no harm in celebrating small victories!)

The year that was 2020

On the last day of 2019 I went off on my own for a long walk along a very beautiful coast path in Cornwall before meeting back up with the group of friends with whom I was on holiday: a holiday that involved lots of good food and good conversation, some spectacular views, a fair amount of silliness and lots of laughter and signs of precious friendships. 

It was also, officially, my last contracted day at St Chad's Sanctuary, a place that had been interwoven with my story of living in Birmingham for the preceding six and a half years: a rupture that felt, and still feels, right, but which was nonetheless tinged with much sadness.

For reasons I both have and haven't written about, both public and personal; I knew, even then, that the year ahead would present some interesting challenges. But nowhere did I anticipate quite the ones it did!

It feels somehow strange, now, to look back on the first couple of months of the year: that "normal" time, with all the interactions and activities I completely took for granted before everything was turned on its head. January and February feel both so long ago because March to December lasted for approximately five thousand years, and yet somehow tantalisingly close because so little has happened in the meantime. Either way though, I struggle, now, to think of them as part of the same entity as the pandemic phase of the year. When I was asked, recently, about highlights of the year it definitely took a while to click that could in fact include things before these covid times! 

So here is my best attempt at a brief (not one of my strengths, bear with me!) month-by-month review of the year that was 2020.

January: Quite a lot happened ... but among other things I started my new job with Birch Network. The job hasn't entirely gone to plan since, (because ya know, pandemic and stuff,) but I remain very glad that I get to be part of this organisation for whom I have a great deal of respect and whose principles and values I share.

February: The highlight of the month was, most definitely, the Stories of Hope and Home residential to Wales which was a very intense but truly beautiful few days: the building of a family. With the benefit of hindsight I'm even more glad we didn't think 'oh lets just wait until Easter / summer when the weather will be better' and thus we made that truly special trip happen before all the shenanigans that followed. 

March: Started out as a largely "normal month" ... The Stories group continued to grow and welcome new members. The learn and play group which had folded when I left the Sanctuary restarted at Carrs Lane. All sorts of different people came and went in the flat. And then, overnight, everything changed and by the end of the month the city centre, and the flat, had largely fallen silent and all of life became suddenly very, very different. The desire to be able to get out of the city centre was strong enough to persuade me back on to my bike for the first time in a long time ... building my confidence and stamina as a cyclist is definitely one of my big positives of the year. 

April: My twin abiding memories of April are that the sun shone more or less continuously ... and that all of life moved online. Along with the rest of the world I discovered zoom (zoom fatigue would not come until later) Everything and everyone moved online: groups and classes; an entire pilgrimage which transferred to virtual space better that I could have imagined; quizzes, more quizzes ... And if there was a definite lack of real human contact, there were also, at least in those early days, in the realisation of our need for community and contact, many opportunities to pick up threads of relationships across time and space.  

May: With lockdown looking like a long haul, and new routines at least partly cemented in place, May was the month for undertaking various projects: I finally embarked upon the time-consuming but mostly very enjoyable process of editing all my blogposts to turn them into a book. There was a significant sound and video editing project for Stories of Hope and Home and one bathroom and one bedroom in the flat got painted. Although, thinking about it, some of those things definitely at least overlapped into June. It all sort of blurs doesn't it?!

June: And then just like that, we were allowed to see people again! I like to think I'll never again take for granted the possibility of going for a walk with friends, but I guess once this is all a distant memory, I probably will. There were some very impressive thunderstorms too (I can attest that there is a particular joy to dancing barefoot on the roof in torrential rain!)  

July: At the beginning of the month I met some of the Stories group, in person, for the first time since March: something that would continue, with various walks in different parks and green spaces throughout the summer and early autumn. Some other stuff happened, probably. Towards the end of the month we wound up both the school kids and mums and tots zoom groups, and evening prayer also closed down for a summer break.

August: With the restrictions eased, but the evidence all pointing to outdoors being far safer than in, August was flanked by two camping trips beginning and end ... the first in perfect sunshine, the latter a good inculturation experience for the stories group as we kept smiling through wind and rain. In between there was some other stuff, including a couple of days away with friends and a couple completely on my own, both of which helped recharge my batteries.

September: It was lovely to have Lydia back and to celebrate her turning 18 which, despite restrictions was a lovely evening with perhaps more cocktails than was really very wise! It was lovely to also welcome Orla back to live with us again. A bit more community as we headed towards autumn and the inevitable impending return of stricter restrictions felt like a very good thing.

October: With risk assessments written and rewritten, October was the month that the Stories group finally started meeting again at Carrs Lane (briefly, until the next lockdown interrupted three weeks later!) which was wonderful. Lydia and I also welcomed the junior church children back: there was noise, and paint, and a reminder that if everyone shared as much joy about church as these small people, churches would be in a much better place! Plus the online art course I joined was another October highlight. 

November: My memory tells me I spent most of November stuffing envelopes... which is not entirely true but I did put together advent packages with an activity a day for more than sixty children which amounts to enough envelopes for me to have got to the point where I was literally dreaming about them! Still I guess it made good use of lockdown 2.0. It was also the month in which the Stories group did our first school visits for a long time, albeit via an internet connection.  

December: By the final month of 2020 I was exhausted ... looking back from a better place on the other side of a Christmas break, I think I had reached the brink of burnout. But in the midst of the tiredness, December also had any number of little highlights thrown in: delightful junior church sessions, walks and cycle rides with friends including some I hadn't seen for months, random fun for no particular reason, the joyful photographic evidence that my advent parcels to families were definitely worth the effort, some lovely sessions with the stories group including welcoming our first new member for a long time, a few opportunities for some very cold paddling, a lovely Christmas day celebration, and a much needed break. 

It wasn't what any of us hoped for or expected, but looking back, it wasn't all bad either! 

Bring on 2021!

When I came in from the year

For Christmas I received Kate Clanchy's book "How to Grow your own Poem". I haven't read it all yet, in fact, I have barely dipped into the beginning of it. I guess it is not a book to be read at one sitting, or read only once. Already I can tell her ideas about writing poetry resonate closely with my own.

The basic premise of much of the book seems to be one I have used often as a teacher ... to take an existing poem as a model, and make it your own. So this, my first poem of a new year is inspired, at least in part, by her, and (very, very loosely) by Edip Cansever's poem "The Table" 

When I came in from the year

And took it off

I did try

To hang 2020 on its peg

As I should

The latest in a neat, long line

But

Somehow

It missed

And fell to lie

Crumpled on the floor

In a heap

And I found

I scarcely had the energy

Even

To lean down

And pick it up

And shake it out

And put it in its place

And yet if I had

Hung it 

As I should

Perhaps you would

Only ever see

The smooth

Drab

Outerside

But from

Its heap on the floor

We saw

Glimpses

Of its lining

And some

It is true

Is dull and grey and practical

And heavy

Very heavy

But

Someone, somehow, at some point

Had also stitched

An inner

Patchwork

Layer

Too

Multi-coloured

Many hued

And in that crumpled heap

That I

barely wanted to reach down and touch and shake out and hang up

That

Too

was visible

Each bright, mismatched remnant

Each vivid, tattered scrap

The course roughness

And the silken smooth

An unplanned jumble

With frayed edges

As patchwork

Perhaps was meant to be

Before it became

Some neatly crafted art

And each vibrant-coloured snippet of memory

Held together

By fine, silver threads

Which

For all their apparent fragility

Would not

Could not

Did not

Break

So when I do

In fact

Dig deep

Lean down

Pick up

The coat

I think

This time

This one

This year

I’ll hang it

Inside out

Happy New Year!