It doesn’t matter how hard you squeeze a sweet fruit, it will never yield bitter juice. My dear old Mum didn’t know who we were when we visited last week but she lovingly accepted the attention that appeared to be in her honour. We sang her “happy birthday” and talked a little about the achievement of her 90 years and then we asked her to say a few words. She really struggles to find any words but she said, “The good life comes from being ‘terrible’ in little things and ‘terrible’ in big things”. She clearly wanted the word, “thankful”. The message was clear enough. In some ways, the greatness of this lady is still seen even in a frail 90-year-old with advanced dementia.
All my life Mum filled our home with stray people. She collected the people that no one else wanted to know and she loved them. As kids we knew that Mum’s love for us was never diminished but that we were not the centre of the universe and that it was not going to kill us to make room for her stray people. Ken was one of Mum’s strays. Ken was a gentle man who loved cricket and was a walking encyclopaedia of cricket history but almost impossible to communicate with on any other topic. I met Ken thirty years after he’d been part of our home. All those years later all Ken could talk about was the kindness he’d known in my home. Even his gestures and words were from my home. It became obvious to me that while my brothers and I found it a bit of a chore, when Ken visited our house, Ken came home. Merri was another stray who visited our house often. I loved Merri and she loved me. Dear, intelligent, creative, Merri. Years later when I heard that Merri had taken her own life, I was heartbroken. I knew that in the years when Merri was in the company of my Mum, that she had a Mum. I knew that when she was in our home, she had a home. Some of the people who visited our home were lovable and some were really difficult to love; people who were...[read more]
By the time you read this note, I’ll be in Adelaide to celebrate my Mum’s 90th birthday. She won’t believe for a moment that she’s 90. She knows she has a son with my name but she’s pretty sure that her son wouldn’t be anywhere near my advanced age. She is still a dear, sweet lady but it’s a difficult path she’s on. Ageing is not for wimps!
It’s 10am on Wednesday as I write this and I’m seated in a cafe in the main drag of Kings Cross. Actually I’m seated in the very seat that Animal usually held court and often referred to as his office. It’s hard to sit here without keenly feeling the loss of our dear Animal.
An old lady with stooped shoulders just walked past wearing a long white dress with white flowers in her hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was in her eighties but she projected both weariness and a flare for fashion and for life. She’s carrying what looks like a violin case. Sitting in front of me is a man who I recognise as a visitor to Wayside. He has just a tiny circle of hair on the top of his cranium. The hair is a bright purple colour and gelled so that it stands straight up in the air. A dear old bloke that I don’t recognise is walking toward me who looks like he’s in great pain. He’s limping and his facial expression suggests that either his foot or knee or hip is giving him a lot of pain. He’s making his way to me and so I suspect he recognises me…Well, the old fellow just wanted to say, “hello”. It doesn’t cost anything to brighten up someone’s day.
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Another fatal error is when we give names to things that are simply the absence of something. It is an error we must make because it’s how our language works and yet dreadful confusion is the result. We name a “shadow” and feel confident that something positive has been identified. Yet a shadow is a place in our...[read more]
A lot of people have worked out that the fastest way to get some face-to-face time with me is to come to our Sunday service at Wayside. I have no gatekeepers on that day and so I’ll generally stay until I’ve seen everyone who has asked for a bit of time. Sunday just gone was particularly busy and I found myself saying, “If you’re prepared to wait, I’ll see you as soon as I’m free”. So many wanted a bit of time that day that I finally said to someone, “I’ve already agreed to see a string of people and it will be an hour or two before I’m free. Would you like to make an appointment for through the week?” The person replied, “It was either come here this morning or go to the gap!” She was serious! When we finally got some time together, the person’s exhaling breath was like a convulsion. It was difficult for the person to speak because of the physical demands of her violent sighs. It became clear that this was a good, able and clever person who had for some time been carrying an unbearable burden. Naturally I didn’t fix anything but what this dear person needed at that moment was someone to be with her. It was an honour to be so gloriously useless. I heard yesterday that our meeting gave the person enough strength to ask for help from appropriate places.
I have a strong hunch that addictions of all kinds are not caused by something but rather they are caused by a lack of something. For this reason it is frustrating to fight the addiction without first identifying the deficits that created the conditions in which the addiction could flourish. Addictions flourish when there is a lack; they flourish when someone latches on to a good thing and calls that one thing, the whole thing. (Both people whose stories I am about to share have given me permission to write about them). I met a young woman recently who is addicted to body building. The addiction has taken a toll on this...[read more]
