Keep calm and carry on...

Why does the fear of facing something generally make it many times worse than it actually is?

So we put off the apparently scary and spend hours agonising over the guilt of the not done, when doing it takes so much less time and stress.

I have faced the overdue visits this week, and after a tough day when the guilt was overwhelming things have improved.  I have confronted my fears and visited all the priority folk.

The fear really amounts to the expectation of some form of rejection for past failure. And given how much I can punish myself, someone else confirming that failure does feel as if it could tip the balance.

But in reality other people don't judge me as much as I judge myself. And if I can fight my insecurity and fears enough to prove it I may find the real them and the real me get a chance to show themselves.

At the village coffee morning on Thursday - when I forced myself there instead of the rolling over in bed finding an excuse not to face people - I found that they offered me pastoral care, I was welcomed, had been missed, and was quickly back in the heart of the community. Today I was welcomed into a home where health had worsened dramatically over my summer of neglect and greeted as if I had been there the week before.

It is frustratring to find that my insecurities can get in the way of me doing what I should - and guilt that I let them. On the other hand it can be liberating to know that the hurdles are all within me and therefore I have it within me (with God's help) to challenge them and change.

So for this week I toast the victories - over inertia and fear - and dare to believe in future successes.

Heads you win, tails I lose

I seem to be ploughing the same furrows at the moment, the temptation and guilt of ‘tomorrow’,  facing up to tasks...  Well today started with yet another failure to get going followed by a lot of phone calls to try and sort out some important stuff – which should have been done earlier.

I finally got determined enough to say that there was time to do some of the visits I had hoped to bite the bullet and do.  I should I suppose being looking that as a positive thing – not using the excuse that most of the day was already written off and I have a meeting to prepare for in the evening.  Instead I came back feeling worse than ever, heart aching with the reminder of why they and everyone else didn’t deserve to be sidelined.

This job is full of things that won’t get done, the difference is whether you are confident that you have done the best you could or not.  And right now I don’t feel I have given my best, I think of the times when I let time seep away, when I let my inertia stop me calling in for half an hour with someone, or even just a brief phone call.

Yet I have days when I just don’t have any social energy, days when even making a phone call seems beyond me (I am a lot better than I used to be but still have a dose of phone phobia at the best of time).  Or am I just using my depression as an excuse? Would I say that if it was my body more than my spirit, if it was regular migraines or sickness?  And yet I know plenty of people who work despite aching arms and legs.

At what stage do you going from fighting to carry on despite the pain and deciding you need to crawl into bed and rest? And when the illness affects your decision making and motivation how can you tell which is right?

 And so tonight I feel that I have let people down, and wonder if I am up to it all.  Or is that just the Depression Dog barking and creating havoc?

Why I only almost called to see you today...

Ok, so I need to confess what I am putting off until tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow...

Is it depression or just part of the range of 'normal' I don't know, but once I have failed to do something I find it so much harder to go back and begin again.

Pastoral visits are part of that.  It has been a busy summer, I went off to ordination, came back to some serious issues and people that needed support in that moment. The routine visits have drifted and although I know why, and that I only have so much to offer, I still feel guilty. And I have no excuses to offer for the fact I haven't been to see you for so long, well none that I can share to explain.

All the more reason to catch up with visits now, or as soon as I can, but it is such a huge thing to step back over the threshold.  There is a kernel of shame and embarrassment that I - and as a representative of the church as well - have let you down, and the next time I meet you face to face I have to confront all those emotions. 

And that can feel too big to face, and so tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow...

I know it is not rational, I know that you will probably be simply glad to see me, and graciously accepting that I have a busy life (though I will know I could have called last week if I had the courage to face my guilt, and that just adds another layer).

And if I feel this way about visiting you, how many feel this way about visiting God again after so long away?

The tyranny of Tomorrow

‘Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll love you tomorrow’ so sings orphan Annie in the musical.

Tomorrow is not a day, it is an idea. It is an excuse. I’ll do my homework tomorrow, I’ll join the gym tomorrow, the diet starts tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. But tomorrow never comes, there is always another tomorrow to pass the buck to.

This week I have cleared the build up of work chaos scattered around the house and rehomed it in the study, the craft in the hobby room and rediscovered areas of floor and table around the house.  It is September the start of the Methodist year and a fresh new set of paperwork and meetings to face so an ideal time to get the filing ready for a fresh start. But just like every year in the job so far I find myself promising myself that this time I really will Get Organised and not have to fight the rearguard action all the time. 

Tomorrow I will be organised. Tomorrow I will be a better minister. From tomorrow I will do x, y and z that I have failed on so often before.

Tomorrow is one of those dangerous ideas, like oughts and shoulds.  A mixture of guilt and a committed pledge – but one that will not be fulfilled, and because we know that we push it onto tomorrow. By doing that we pretend that we are ready to turn over a new leaf and try to put off the guilt of failure to another day.

Depression seems to swing between the horrors of yesterday (only the bad stuff gets remembered) and guilt of tomorrows needing to be faced but looking so far out of reach. Living in the moment for the moment is such a gift.

back in action - a week later!!

Einstein had a theory of relativity - not being a physic fan I don't understand it, however I do know the experience of time being relative. It feels a very long time since Iona although I have only been back just over a week. But then it is September, busy meeting and paperwork season for the Methodist Church.

It was wonderful to be so fully away as I was that week - not even a mobile signal so what was left behind really was left behind. The real give away was when one of the group commented on the Friday how much better I was looking than when we had first arrived. We don't necessarily notice how drained we are until we actually stop.

Though having stopped I found it took a good few days to get back into 'mainland time'. The sea air and Scottish winds did blow out the cobwebs though and when I did wake up to mainland time I was able to think beyond the last problem into looking ahead. Not always a comfortable view but important to be able to see.

Our small rural churches have a challenging year ahead as we review our mission and viability - please think of us, and I ask that all my emotional fragility will not be a burden but a help in the path ahead.

Iona 2 (Wednesday)

Yesterday I went on a long walk, I followed the pilgrimage route around part of the island but not with the organised group – I wanted to travel at my own pace, not in the crowd and to reflect and pray in my own way not as set by others. Stroppy independent miss me, or maybe just in need of my own space. I thought about the early monks travelling from Ireland in tiny boats, mere coracles in a powerful sea, a sea that casts great mounds of pebbles and stones much further inland than you might imagine on a calm day. The story is that on arriving on Iona St Columba looked back to be sure he could no longer see his homeland.  There is a lot to be said for that, if we are to move on then it needs to be in a way that running back to what used to be is no longer an option – only then will we really stick out the struggles of the new place and commit ourselves to that task.

September is when Methodist ministers who have moved to new appointments always start their new roles, this year I know several who have let go of what came before and travel to the new – though not in coracles.  The cycle of preparing for moves next September also begins and I have been part of the discussions about the information going out for a vacancy in our circuit.  It has all set me thinking about a couple of years ahead when I will have to consider whether to move then or later.

When I first took up the role of minister here I described it as suddenly being parent to a range of very different children. Not in the sense of having the parental wisdom – more like the new parents home from hospital, babe in arms suddenly feeling all the responsibility whilst unsure if they know what they are doing!  Well I have grown into the role and have made deep emotional connections with these churches and these communities – but lately so much has reminded me that I am but a foster carer. I am trusted to be the minister, a leader and guide, but only for a time. However deeply attached I feel  I need to be ready to sail on to new places when the time is right. It also means that I must remember the limits of my responsibility – and not weigh myself down with burdens that are not mine to carry.

Ever since ordination this summer I have begun to think wider than the churches I travel with now, and that has freed me to recognise that my studies about faith and depression are a valid expression of my calling and not a tag along hobby.  It feels unloyal at times to my current churches, but seeing a lifetime ministry not just these few years, and acknowledging that it is not for me to try and solve all the challenges of my congregations singlehanded.... well I can’t do that and it isn’t my place to.

So although not boarding a coracle yet, I am learning to hold loosely ready to let go when the call comes and trusting to God to provide for me and for those who stay.

Iona 1 (Monday)

Iona 1 (Monday)

Saturday was a long day, a very long day mostly in a small coach from Herefordshire up to the wee island of Iona.  Actually the journey went well, reading my college books passed the time well enough and I would look up whenever we stopped at services surprised by how far up we had got.

Up past Loch Lomond, and across the countryside beyond the reading was set aside in favour of the views (and reading on windy roads is not as easy as on the motorway!) The ferry to Mull and a drive across it in pouring rain uncertain if the Iona ferry would be running (we had been warned it might not)followed by a rocky crossing and then we were here. Iona. The Thin Place. The place of pilgrimage and prayer.

So here I am, I worshipped at the Abbey on Sunday morning, wandered around a couple of shops in the midst of day visitors pouring on and off the ferry and after lunch sat out on the secluded shore behind the house with a novel before retreating in from the cold wind. Today I have been back to the Abbey for the historical tour.

I am enjoying the space, the retreat from normal life, and the beautiful rugged scenery – but I don’t get the wonder or awe that people claim for this place.  Maybe it is the pressure of the expectations people put on this place, too much talk of sacredness attached to one particular part of God’s creation.

Come for the island beauty, come for the history – but we must look for the thin places where we are, and find the stillness in ourselves.  Maybe the point of a pilgrimage is to travel far and wide to discover that God was there at home, and to return with that knowledge.