07
Apr
2015
Dear Inner Circle,
When I was a social worker in South Australia, many of the people I worked with lived on isolated fruit blocks or dry farms. One night at about 9pm I drove to a property that was miles away from main roads or street lights. A local school teacher was concerned for a 8-year-old boy whose art work had recurring and disturbing themes. I had made contact with the parents and established that althoug
h they loved their boy, they were both alcoholics and not always attentive to the little boy’s needs. I decided to call late at night partly to see what conditions were like at that time and partly because in those days that it was uncommon to be working at that hour. As I wound my way up a long dirt driveway, I passed the main house of the property owner and kept driving to the “pickers’ quarters” (a small hut where fruit pickers would live sometimes for a season).
My headlights flashed past a sight that I knew to be unusual but I couldn’t compute the image at all. I drove on about 50 meters but had to stop in the total darkness. Something felt wrong. I reversed slowly back to the spot. I turned the car slightly and my lights on high beam revealed a little boy tied to a stake. He had a number of toys spread in a semi circle around him but he was bound hand and foot.
Keep reading here.
When I was a social worker in South Australia, many of the people I worked with lived on isolated fruit blocks or dry farms. One night at about 9pm I drove to a property that was miles away from main roads or street lights. A local school teacher was concerned for a 8-year-old boy whose art work had recurring and disturbing themes. I had made contact with the parents and established that althoug
h they loved their boy, they were both alcoholics and not always attentive to the little boy’s needs. I decided to call late at night partly to see what conditions were like at that time and partly because in those days that it was uncommon to be working at that hour. As I wound my way up a long dirt driveway, I passed the main house of the property owner and kept driving to the “pickers’ quarters” (a small hut where fruit pickers would live sometimes for a season).
My headlights flashed past a sight that I knew to be unusual but I couldn’t compute the image at all. I drove on about 50 meters but had to stop in the total darkness. Something felt wrong. I reversed slowly back to the spot. I turned the car slightly and my lights on high beam revealed a little boy tied to a stake. He had a number of toys spread in a semi circle around him but he was bound hand and foot.
Keep reading here.
26
Mar
2015
Dear Inner Circle,
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]
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]
19
Mar
2015
Dear Inner Circle,
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.
Keep reading here.
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.
Keep reading here.
16
Mar
2015
Some of our poorest thinking comes from a confusion of language. It’s a fatal error to make a noun from a word that should only be rightly used as a verb. “Marriage”, “love” and the like are words that when used as nouns, deny the reality they are meant to name. Marriage is a “doing” word. You can’t “have” a marriage, you can only “make” a marriage. “Marriage” or “faith” or “love” are activities in which we can participate and they are never things that we can have. Any attempt to “possess”, as if they were things that admitted possession, only cause the reality that the word seeks to name, to evaporate like smoke. These words all name an activity that exists only when the feet are moving on a path, usually to a destiny unknown but certain. A marriage is said to exist when two people move toward a destiny together. They don’t have to know what the destiny is but they must believe it is there and bank their lives on it. I went through a stage of wondering why anyone would ever get married. These days I rejoice when I see people who are willing to bank everything on a future together with someone else, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer. A cultural fog has descended upon us because we’re inclined to feel our way to truth or because we think that love is entirely possessed in the present moment. Love is rarely stronger than when a new born meets its parents for the first time. The child has no track record and little experience. The child is mostly potential, mostly promise and oh how love transforms and flourishes as parents become protectors and defenders of this little one’s future.
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]
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]
12
Mar
2015
Dear Inner Cirlce,
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]
29
Jan
2015
Dear Inner Circle,
The good people of Bombala hosted me for their Australia Day celebrations. Sydney’s Kings Cross to the little town of Bombala is quite a cultural contrast. I began my speech by saying, “I walked down your main street last night and I didn’t see a single strip club or massage parlour. What kind of town is this?” I met so many hard working, honest people who mostly reminded me of an Australia that has largely disappeared. The primary activity of the day was shearing sheep. They stopped for a brief speech from me and also from the local Mayor and then they returned to shearing sheep. The comedy act of the day was when they organised for me to shear a sheep. I didn’t want to hurt the poor animal that they shoved at my feet and so the job I made of shearing was just laughable. It’s an activity that is not kind on your back even to shear one sheep. How these folks are able to shear 200 and even 300 sheep a day is simply beyond my understanding. What an honour to speak with the locals and hear their concerns; to hear about the price of wool; the price of lambs; their vulnerability to weather; their understanding of the role of politicians; their fear about the threat of drugs to their young people. There were some clearly well-heeled people at the gathering and there were some young people whose fitness and strength left me in awe. There were many people who looked like they’d lived out in the weather for 40 years or who hadn’t removed their hats in that time. The main street literally had hundreds of 4x4 trucks and utilities and only one solitary small sedan. Even my car was something of a cultural shock to the street. I’m grateful to have met so many colourful characters and to have learned that should Wayside suddenly come to an end, that shearing is not a way that I might make an alternate living.
Chatting in the cafe yesterday, a homeless man insisted on buying me lunch. I tried to talk him into allowing me to buy lunch for...[read more]
The good people of Bombala hosted me for their Australia Day celebrations. Sydney’s Kings Cross to the little town of Bombala is quite a cultural contrast. I began my speech by saying, “I walked down your main street last night and I didn’t see a single strip club or massage parlour. What kind of town is this?” I met so many hard working, honest people who mostly reminded me of an Australia that has largely disappeared. The primary activity of the day was shearing sheep. They stopped for a brief speech from me and also from the local Mayor and then they returned to shearing sheep. The comedy act of the day was when they organised for me to shear a sheep. I didn’t want to hurt the poor animal that they shoved at my feet and so the job I made of shearing was just laughable. It’s an activity that is not kind on your back even to shear one sheep. How these folks are able to shear 200 and even 300 sheep a day is simply beyond my understanding. What an honour to speak with the locals and hear their concerns; to hear about the price of wool; the price of lambs; their vulnerability to weather; their understanding of the role of politicians; their fear about the threat of drugs to their young people. There were some clearly well-heeled people at the gathering and there were some young people whose fitness and strength left me in awe. There were many people who looked like they’d lived out in the weather for 40 years or who hadn’t removed their hats in that time. The main street literally had hundreds of 4x4 trucks and utilities and only one solitary small sedan. Even my car was something of a cultural shock to the street. I’m grateful to have met so many colourful characters and to have learned that should Wayside suddenly come to an end, that shearing is not a way that I might make an alternate living.
Chatting in the cafe yesterday, a homeless man insisted on buying me lunch. I tried to talk him into allowing me to buy lunch for...[read more]
17
Dec
2014
Gosh its hard to get into the Christmas mood. The older I get the faster time moves and start of the Christmas season arrives to some considerable annoyance. It’s an inconvenience and perhaps even more than that as I struggle to see my life accelerating to its end. Another year is over. Where did it go?
When I was younger and more crass than I am now, I used to joke that Jesus could not be born in our time because there would be no hope of locating three wise men or a virgin. Closer to the truth is that if a 14 year girl presented, heavily pregnant, we’d call the Department of Family and Community Services and a psychologist.
Maybe there was never room at the inn; maybe its always difficult to stop the normal business of life to remember that the most important of all gifts is small, present and under our noses. First time round it was a little baby, born to Trevor from Blacktown and Sharleen from Mount Druittt. The birth was announced to some labourers on a building site. Is anyone impressed? The baby was sleeping in an animal feedbox. What made the wise men was the care they took about where they stepped. There could be no chance that this was a “Silent Night” but rather into the chaos of the smell and the noise came such a powerful presence that we’re told the sky illuminated with angels singing, “Glory to God in the highest”.
This season can be an ugly chapter of overspending and overeating. It can also be a season of great joy. The difference is between presents and presence. The first Christmas happened with ordinary people saw the Divine in the ordinary. Emmanuel, God with us, in the least likely people and place. If we could stop business long enough to see the divine in our nearest and dearest, what a blessing that would be in any family. If we could see the divine presence in a homeless man or a street kid; if we could see the Almighty seeking to break into our world as the child of a boat person, gosh, I think the heavens would...[read more]
When I was younger and more crass than I am now, I used to joke that Jesus could not be born in our time because there would be no hope of locating three wise men or a virgin. Closer to the truth is that if a 14 year girl presented, heavily pregnant, we’d call the Department of Family and Community Services and a psychologist.
Maybe there was never room at the inn; maybe its always difficult to stop the normal business of life to remember that the most important of all gifts is small, present and under our noses. First time round it was a little baby, born to Trevor from Blacktown and Sharleen from Mount Druittt. The birth was announced to some labourers on a building site. Is anyone impressed? The baby was sleeping in an animal feedbox. What made the wise men was the care they took about where they stepped. There could be no chance that this was a “Silent Night” but rather into the chaos of the smell and the noise came such a powerful presence that we’re told the sky illuminated with angels singing, “Glory to God in the highest”.
This season can be an ugly chapter of overspending and overeating. It can also be a season of great joy. The difference is between presents and presence. The first Christmas happened with ordinary people saw the Divine in the ordinary. Emmanuel, God with us, in the least likely people and place. If we could stop business long enough to see the divine in our nearest and dearest, what a blessing that would be in any family. If we could see the divine presence in a homeless man or a street kid; if we could see the Almighty seeking to break into our world as the child of a boat person, gosh, I think the heavens would...[read more]
11
Dec
2014
Dear Inner Circle,
Adam Goodes dropped in the other day. No cameras, no reporters, no agenda; he came to spend some time with our Aboriginal community. What a fabulous bloke and what a worthy Australian of the Year!
Massive, gigantic and an extra large thank you to all of you who have “donated a plate” for our Christmas Day street party. Over the years this party has become more expensive and we could only achieve it with the help of good and generous people. You can still donate a plate here. For those of you who haven't experienced a Wayside Christmas, we close the street and throw a big party. We start the day with a Church Service at 10.30am and last year almost 450 people joined us to sing carols and be part of the magic of the day, then a generous lunch is served with all the trimmings at 12.30pm.
The importance of the Christmas street party has grown over the years. We don’t say its just for the poor any more but we invite lonely people from all walks of life to come and join us. The result is street dwellers, elderly people who rarely go out, the working poor and any manner of person who might be on their own on Christmas Day is welcomed and will find a place at our table. Also a big thank you to the hundreds of people who have registered as volunteers on the day. If you wanted to volunteer and missed out, come anyway and add YOU to the day. Come and talk to people; that’s a wonderful job that anyone can do. By about 2 pm, you’ll see street people dancing in the street. It causes my heart to leap for joy every time I see it.
....Read on here.
Adam Goodes dropped in the other day. No cameras, no reporters, no agenda; he came to spend some time with our Aboriginal community. What a fabulous bloke and what a worthy Australian of the Year!
Massive, gigantic and an extra large thank you to all of you who have “donated a plate” for our Christmas Day street party. Over the years this party has become more expensive and we could only achieve it with the help of good and generous people. You can still donate a plate here. For those of you who haven't experienced a Wayside Christmas, we close the street and throw a big party. We start the day with a Church Service at 10.30am and last year almost 450 people joined us to sing carols and be part of the magic of the day, then a generous lunch is served with all the trimmings at 12.30pm.
The importance of the Christmas street party has grown over the years. We don’t say its just for the poor any more but we invite lonely people from all walks of life to come and join us. The result is street dwellers, elderly people who rarely go out, the working poor and any manner of person who might be on their own on Christmas Day is welcomed and will find a place at our table. Also a big thank you to the hundreds of people who have registered as volunteers on the day. If you wanted to volunteer and missed out, come anyway and add YOU to the day. Come and talk to people; that’s a wonderful job that anyone can do. By about 2 pm, you’ll see street people dancing in the street. It causes my heart to leap for joy every time I see it.
....Read on here.
01
Dec
2014
Is the goal of learning to close us down or to open us up?
There is a kind of learning that seems to shut people down. To the extent to which they are experts, they tend to spend their time correcting others rather than asking the kind of questions that gave birth to their first questions.
Learning is born of wonder even perhaps, awe. Any activity that explains away the wonder, is surely an activity that kills rather than gives life. Perhaps in engineering this is ok but in philosophy or theology, what could be sadder? A learner is a most attractive person but nothing is more ugly than someone who is dead right.
I’m not about to make an argument against education. What’s missing in our culture is a lack of understanding of the life-rhythms that determine that we can only learn and love in bursts. We must sleep and wake and sleep again. A sense of wonder and awe gives birth to our learning. In the act of learning we are for a time in the presence of something greater than we had previously known. Such bursts of learning must end. A process takes place whereby we fossilize our learning into orderly concepts that we can command and call upon in the future. The process of fossilization is a useful and important part of living and at the same time, an inevitable loss of life or wonder.
A body of knowledge or a scheme of ideas, is located in me. I know things. I am able to diagnose, expound and correct, based on what I know. But the thing known is always greater than my idea of it. There are always more questions and plenty of material for anyone with a sense of wonder. In science, theology, philosophy there is always more. The trick is to be captured by the awe that first propelled us into the field. The only process I know that can achieve this is a process of “turning”.
To turn from my idea of something to the something itself, will awaken awe in me. Even in a field that I know well, I can meet it all as if for the first time when I turn from my...[read more]
There is a kind of learning that seems to shut people down. To the extent to which they are experts, they tend to spend their time correcting others rather than asking the kind of questions that gave birth to their first questions.
Learning is born of wonder even perhaps, awe. Any activity that explains away the wonder, is surely an activity that kills rather than gives life. Perhaps in engineering this is ok but in philosophy or theology, what could be sadder? A learner is a most attractive person but nothing is more ugly than someone who is dead right.
I’m not about to make an argument against education. What’s missing in our culture is a lack of understanding of the life-rhythms that determine that we can only learn and love in bursts. We must sleep and wake and sleep again. A sense of wonder and awe gives birth to our learning. In the act of learning we are for a time in the presence of something greater than we had previously known. Such bursts of learning must end. A process takes place whereby we fossilize our learning into orderly concepts that we can command and call upon in the future. The process of fossilization is a useful and important part of living and at the same time, an inevitable loss of life or wonder.
A body of knowledge or a scheme of ideas, is located in me. I know things. I am able to diagnose, expound and correct, based on what I know. But the thing known is always greater than my idea of it. There are always more questions and plenty of material for anyone with a sense of wonder. In science, theology, philosophy there is always more. The trick is to be captured by the awe that first propelled us into the field. The only process I know that can achieve this is a process of “turning”.
To turn from my idea of something to the something itself, will awaken awe in me. Even in a field that I know well, I can meet it all as if for the first time when I turn from my...[read more]
27
Nov
2014
Dear Inner Circle,
One of the most patient people I’ve ever met has a habit of telling me everything they would say to all kinds of people if they had the courage. It’s a bit hilarious because there is little risk that she’ll actually dump on anyone because she is pathetically kind. Even so she always seems to live with the fear that her mouth will run out of control. This week she told me of someone who is habitually cranky even though they have wealth that is well out of the reach of most. She gave me a big dose of, “What she would have said”. I asked her, “How come you can say all of this stuff to me?” She replied, “You are like the inside of my car”. Her car is nothing flash but I trust that it’s a comfortable, safe place and so I expect I was given a compliment: I hope.
My daughter has become an official volunteer at Wayside. She stepped outside of her comfort zone and joined our Twilight Team this week. She spent her time manicuring nails. Most of her night was spent with a group of 14 year old girls. I’m so proud of our Twilight Team and I’m so proud of my daughter. We created this team only this year because we recognised that a whole new skill set and special level of patience was required at the end of the day, between 5pm and 8pm. At Twilight, those who’ve not found a bed for the night, aren’t going to find one. At Twilight, those who’ve spent the day fighting the medical system or bureaucracy in government and non government agencies, face the worst time of day. Social workers have gone home; agencies have closed and the world feels cold and empty. In this context we do some of our best work. Our people get along side. They encourage people to connect with one another. Activities such as music, painting, bingo, garden games, hand massages, make up sessions and the like become ways of bringing comfort and making connection. Maybe this doesn’t sound impressive but for me I could not be more awestruck if I was poised...[read more]
One of the most patient people I’ve ever met has a habit of telling me everything they would say to all kinds of people if they had the courage. It’s a bit hilarious because there is little risk that she’ll actually dump on anyone because she is pathetically kind. Even so she always seems to live with the fear that her mouth will run out of control. This week she told me of someone who is habitually cranky even though they have wealth that is well out of the reach of most. She gave me a big dose of, “What she would have said”. I asked her, “How come you can say all of this stuff to me?” She replied, “You are like the inside of my car”. Her car is nothing flash but I trust that it’s a comfortable, safe place and so I expect I was given a compliment: I hope.
My daughter has become an official volunteer at Wayside. She stepped outside of her comfort zone and joined our Twilight Team this week. She spent her time manicuring nails. Most of her night was spent with a group of 14 year old girls. I’m so proud of our Twilight Team and I’m so proud of my daughter. We created this team only this year because we recognised that a whole new skill set and special level of patience was required at the end of the day, between 5pm and 8pm. At Twilight, those who’ve not found a bed for the night, aren’t going to find one. At Twilight, those who’ve spent the day fighting the medical system or bureaucracy in government and non government agencies, face the worst time of day. Social workers have gone home; agencies have closed and the world feels cold and empty. In this context we do some of our best work. Our people get along side. They encourage people to connect with one another. Activities such as music, painting, bingo, garden games, hand massages, make up sessions and the like become ways of bringing comfort and making connection. Maybe this doesn’t sound impressive but for me I could not be more awestruck if I was poised...[read more]
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