Today I was interviewed by Maria Rodrigues from the Woman to Woman program on UK’s Premier Christian Radio on my experience of becoming housebound, my journey with ME, and how I came to write my book, Coming Back to God When You Feel Empty
Covenant friends are friends you commit to for life, a bit like a marriage relationship, but without necessarily the geographical proximity. (And without the sex, obviously).
I feel a little embarrassed even comparing platonic friendships with marriage, and I think that sense of shame is worth noting – we have to explain or apologise for close friendships. Our society unconsciously sends the message that intimacy and commitment is reserved only for romantic relationships, so we treat very close friendships with suspicion.
Can we just all agree, unanimously, to put a pause on January? Wouldn’t that be nice – just to have a couple of weeks of zero time, an empty space with neither Christmas nor New Year Resolutions – so we can all catch up with ourselves before the year begins?
I am exploring what it means to have a theology of play… I am catching some of that excitement of what it means to enter into the story. Play is a rebellion, but not against God, against my perfectionist and control-freak tendencies.
Jealousy comes from a scarcity-mindset.
My friend Abby Norman is always talking about ‘scarcity-thinking’. We view good things as being in scarce supply, so we hold onto ours tightly, and resent others for having good things. Scarcity says: I need more. I want what they have. Abundance says: there is enough. I have enough. I am enough.
This then has the advantage of feeding my son the subliminal message that he should never ride a dangerous motorbike. Not sure if the Greek author necessarily had motorbikes in mind when he wrote the story, but it’s pretty much the same principle – don’t fly too high, or you’ll die. Right???
The loudest demands are not always the most important demands. We have to use our ‘sacred no’ in order to do what is best. Or, as my friend Tara says, “say no to things so you can find your ‘hell, yeah!’”
We think we know the momentous and portentous events of our lives, because we have them mapped out with the big things – proposals, births, funerals – but love and grief have their own rules, and they funnel their potency into the little details, the ordinary objects of life, so that we are caught unawares by our emotion even whilst we are going about our daily business.