Of Friendships, Blunders, and Tending to Wounds

Pondering much on human connections these days.

Two reasons.  One is that I'm preparing for a three week series to be preached at Highview on the essential nature of our relationships with one another as a means by which God, by His grace and to our astonishment, completes His love and shows the world He means it.

1 John 4:12 - No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us. 

Yeah, I know.  Scares me too.

The other reason is that, let's face it, during these crazy COVID times, our relationships have taken a pretty harsh beating.  Try thinking of one human connection in your life that has not in some way been negatively affected by physical distancing, isolation, lockdowns, travel bans, abstinence from hugs, and difference of opinions and practice in how to navigate all this.  Me neither.  Can't think of one.  And that's not even counting any who have experienced the tragic loss of a loved one.  Devastating.  Shattering.  Our relational worlds have been severely shaken.

And then, just generally, we're all a bit more on edge.  Or is that just me?  Some of what I've experienced over the past while in terms of relational dissonance is largely due, if I'm honest, to me being overly sensitive, tired and anxious.  And on the other side of it, I am having to write more 'clarifying' emails, make apologies and set up coffee times to sort something out than 'normal'.  (Remember 'normal'?  Me neither.)

Earlier this morning I was composing just such an email, in response to someone's reaction to words I had used in a previous email to them.  They were right.  I had been insensitive and exclusive in my choice of words.  Entirely NOT my intention, but re-reading them in the light of their perspective, there it was.  So I offer my sincere apologies and suggest we get together over a cup of tea to help make things right.

Tending to the wounds of our blunders.

That's where I'm going with this.

As I am formulating my email response, I hear in my head the tune and lyrics of a song by Steve Bell, Canadian artist and musician, and a sage to many.  The song is called Good Friend and is based on a poem by Richard William called Mayflies.

The chorus is brilliant in its simple advice for good living overall.

Be but your own good friend, and be good to the other/Cherish those sisters and brothers along the road/And to the earth extend every reverence and wonder./Tend to the wounds of your blunders/And honour God who formed our home.

So I was doing some of that tending this morning, and glad for the honesty of the friend who would bring it to my attention with grace and humility.  

Oh friends, we need each other so much.  Especially now.  Let's hold on to all that is so delicate and precious between us.  Let's tend to the wounds, reach out in support, ask for help, listen with grace, lay down our need to be right.

We've lost enough.  

Let's not lose each other.

Giving Thanks in a Fall I'm Not a Fan Of

This has happened before, but not like this.  

Thanksgiving rudely intrudes on the complexities of life, pressing me to the edges of all the autumn joy.  It's there.  I can see it out there in the colours and the misty mornings, and smell it in the candles.  And, yes, there's pumpkin pie, so there's that.  I know the joy is there.

But it's not as obvious as it feels it should be.  The gratitude isn't easy.

It's happened before, but maybe not like this.  This year's complexities of life are long and drawn out and happening to literally everyone on the planet.  I cannot claim any corner on the problems market, not that it's ever something anyone wants to do.  No, this year, this fall being the way it is, is happening to us all.

I'm not a fan of it.

Granted, I didn't feel like I really got summer until the end.  But in the end it was hot enough and involved a kayak.  So I made peace with that, and turned my heart toward decorating the porch in ambers and browns and took the kids to the pumpkin patch and we carved them and did that whole messy thing with them and I lit candles and bought sweaters and everything. 

It's just....there's still COVID and that has had delayed even further any sense of getting into a seasonal rhythm at all.  I think I could embrace the season more enthusiastically if I could just figure out where it was going.  

And I'm tired.  Physically weary, relationally drained, mentally fatigued, emotionally stretched, and spiritually thin.  And just when I think I've got a handle on things, something else circles into my orbits and collides with anything at all that even whiffs of a plan I'd like to make.  

There's a really good chance that the first all-family gathering we've dared to consider in two years may have to be cancelled in order to maintain the wisdom of an abundance of caution.

Ah! There it is!  The real reason I'm approaching Thanksgiving in something of a funk.

And so.

Sometimes giving thanks is more of a choice than a reaction.  And actually, I'm okay with this.  Because a substantive life isn't formed from the easy stuff.  Character isn't crafted on light breezes and pleasantries.  And actually, I find that digging deeper for the gratitude I find more of it and more weary-resistant versions of it.

So, Giver of all good gifts, 

Thank You.  

For a family that loves each other enough to hurt at the thought of not being together yet again. 

For pumpkin pie anyways.  

For the fatigue that comes because passion and vitality was well spent.

For the love of friends who understand and offer grace. 

For fireplaces.  

For vanilla candles and tea.

For the complexities that ground me.

For the promises of Your Word without which I would truly despair, but because of, I don't have to.

For being so gentle with me right now.  

Yes, for that. 

And for this.  And for all You might want to do in me because of it.  

Gratefully Yours,

Ruth Anne