Being driven to …

Daily writing prompt

What’s your favorite time of day?

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I drive a lot these days. I drive to spend time with Mum, and I drive to spend time with my partner. I drive to my mobile office to collaborate with my colleagues, and I drive meals and snacks on their last mile delivery leg, driving big data collection along the way.

I don’t think of myself as a driving force (not now and not yet, anyway). And I don’t think of myself as driven. I’m not driven to succeed, to distraction, to drink, to school, to excess. I’m not being driven round the bend, up the wall, over the edge.

Just like Mum

Daily writing prompt

Create an emergency preparedness plan.

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I’ve been jumping into these WordPress writing prompts, trying to get past the internal censor. I’ve been enjoying the discipline(ish) of – just get it down, and send it out, imperfections and accidental implications be damned. Really, I’ve been enjoying this. Recently, I’ve been thinking about various exercises people undertake which introduce the idea that getting things wrong, or being embarrassed, or being unprepared, or annoying people is actually okay to do. I read about this exercise where a person was instructed to go to a busy trian station, ask for an unreasonably large favour, and keep asking different people. So, this person was embodying the learning that terrible things don’t happen when they ask for a big thing, people just say no and everyone moves on with their life. I can still feel the aha of when I condsidered embracing that idea; people will consider, respond, and we will all move on to the next step, whether that be convergent or divergent, we will do the next thing.

To know she is loved.

Daily writing prompt

What’s the most money you’ve ever spent on a meal? Was it worth it?

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The most, you ask? The most what, I wonder. I imagine the most of myself I spent for a meal would have been my first meal, the first time I had to digest food to last me a few hours.

I don’t remember that time, nor do I have anything in the way of stories telling of that meal. I’ve been told I was born at home, and that one of my brothers was the third person to see me, after my parents.

My imagination says that it must have been a costly meal. Everyone would have been a little or a lot tired, my earlier food would have been on constant supply, not meal based (is that right?), and instinct or not, I know these things don’t always go to plan.

But, it was worth it. Yes. I got to continue to hang around my noisy siblings, who I must’ve known already from their boisterous presence. I got to continue hanging around my parents, who just like all their kids (I’ve been told, convincingly). I got to meet my own fiery kids, my gorgeous partner, and so many other people.

And, I got to see Mum grow into old age. When I hang out with Mum now, there’s almost always a smile of recognition, of welcome. We’ve spent a long time hanging out, quantity time, and it’s showing now. She’s not always clear on why people want her to walk to the dining room when there’s a lovely warm bed with a convenient overbed tray right in front of her, but she does know that I want only good things for her.

Yes. I’m glad to have paid that effort for my first meal. I get to hang out with Mum, and she gets to know that she is loved.

One

#ows #onewordsunday #challenge #one

Prayer of a recovering Christian (draft 1)

My prayer, my hope, my desire, is that my harshness of heart gently diminishes. I thought I had a generous heart, but in my quiet times, I notice the harshness that I am recovering from.

My prayer, my hope, my desire, is that I embrace joy and quirkiness and word games. I thought my world was full of these, but in my quiet times, I notice that there is more to recover.

My prayer, my hope, my desire, is that I envy the artistry of songwriters. I thought I had banished envy, but in my quiet times, I notice the joy of recovetting.

I ask you, my communion of saints, to join me in this recovery. Speak my desires within your prayers.

I ask you, God of my people, to sit with me, as I recover from the Christian that I was, recover the Christian that I used to be, and believe in the Christian that I might be.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.

It’s a lot, this megachurch of mine

detail of Martini and Memmi’s The Assumption and Two Saints

Well, it’s been a lot lately, hasn’t it?

My particular version of a lot has been a lot for me. I am trying not to sink. Don’t get me wrong. There are parts of my life which are simply gorgeous! My daughters are adorable and adored. I’m adored by my adorable partner (I still can’t find the right word here!). I have a spirituality which comforts and challenges me. I found my moral compass didn’t allow me to stay in my most recent place of employment, so I left – on good terms. I am reasonably healthy. My city is coping with COVID-19 pretty well. All in all, I’m doin’ okay.

Chillin’ on Taco Tuesday

In Australia, not in lockdown.

Taco Tuesday ingredients sittin’ on my freezer.

I love my star moulded ice tray and my angelic, decorative, sacramental and devotional magnet.

Bells and smells

As a Roman Catholic, living, moving and working among people who are not Catholics, or no longer Catholics,  or are casual or even reluctant Catholics, I am often reminded that many we are often thought of as people of the bells and smells.

From the preacher to Mary to the women to Stephen, all are with me in this communion of saints

Every now and then, all the pieces sit in harmony. At chapel today, we were encouraged, skilfully, gently, wisely, to recall or to seek out daily spiritual devotions that nourish our spiritual lives. This is, of course, something I say to myself on an almost daily basis; it could almost be said to be the closest thing to my daily spiritual discipline.

The other Mrs B

detail of Martini and Memmi’s The Assumption and Two Saints

As my favourite mother-in-law spends these days in the constant company and care of her children, I am left to reflect on what a powerhouse she is.