This morning I woke from a strange Alice In Wonderland kind of dream, in which I was lost in a world of books. I smiled as I drank my morning tea from a mug that is inscribed with words from Little Women – “She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain”. Every girl should have a mug like this.

The bad behaviour and shocking wastefulness of the son is beyond doubt, but I think there’s a bit of a twist in the tale. I can’t help noticing that the son wastes his money by spending it all not just on himself, but on his wayward friends. Have you ever stopped to wonder where he learned to be quite so outrageously, unquestioningly openhanded? You could argue that his father should have been sterner, more intent on teaching his young son self-discipline; that instead of parting so easily with the inheritance he should have pulled his son into line. But the father himself is outrageously generous, and far more interested in building a relationship with his two sons than looking after the family wealth. Dividing the property for his son was in itself lavish to the point of recklessness. He was certainly infinitely wiser than his son, but surely this is where the son learned to be so generous.

The Prodigal Son is a story that sets off all sorts of associations, and irresponsibility with money is one of them. Worth pondering, then, that the first person in the story to throw the cash around was actually the Father, not the son…

(I wrote more about this in Giving It Up – see above right)

Below the surface, like icebergs and ducks, out of sight of the traditional media and traditional politics, there is a movement gaining force.
It is micro-change. It is entrepreneurial and vibrant. The projects are often small. Think of them as Petri-dish size experiments.
They involve small groups of like-minded individuals who want to make a difference, have some impact.
I’m not talking about angry shouters. I’m talking about do-something-abouters.
This is how change happens. Far from the corridors of power.
It happens when the people who decide they want to contribute start paddling like hell below the surface.
When I find myself troubled about political gridlock, narcissism, and posturing, I change where I’m looking.

type what you were searching for into the search box at the top right of this page. you will probably find what you are looking for.

and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.

I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting for their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry

The usual mantra is to ‘try harder’. Trying harder is impossible when you’re already trying as hard as you can.

But you can always try different…

When I started blogging seven years ago I wasn’t writing books. Since then I’ve written a lot of articles and three books. A couple of days ago I mentioned the conception of another book. This writing of books is becoming a new habit. And there isn’t time to blog in the same way I used to. No more the daily blogger. It’s become too many plates to spin. Time for a new plan.

Here’s my new blog strategy. I’ll post one  decent length, thoughtful post about something that matters, something seasonal. One a week, on a Tuesday morning.In between I’ll put up little top-ups as they appear. But once a week there will be something here worth reading. Stop by once a week and here it will be. I’m not giving up blogging. just concentrating my energies.

Thank you for reading. See you on Tuesday. And the Tuesday after that.

Exodus 3: 1-4

Moses was born to a family of Hebrew slaves, but brought up in an Egyptian Palace. In adulthood, he murdered an Egyptian and had to flee for his life. He went into hiding in the desert, where he married the daughter of a nomadic shepherd who was also a Midianite priest. By the time he saw the burning bush, Moses was middle aged, still living in the desert, and still looking after his father-in-law’s sheep. I think we could reasonably say that Moses had got into a rut. He’d made a couple of major mistakes early on, and now he was still lurking below the parapet for fear of being found out. As a result he wasn’t sure anymore who he was, or what his purpose was in life. He was just settled in for the long haul somewhere comfortable that paid the bills, but it wasn’t what he dreamed of when he was young, and it wasn’t his heart’s desire.

On this particular day Moses led the sheep out to new pasture in the foothills of Mount Horeb. Moses, of course, had no idea he was about to meet God. When he saw the bush, he didn’t know why it seemed to be on fire and yet not burning. All he knew was that he had spotted something bright and sparkly, something intriguing and very exciting. “I will turn aside,” he said, “and see…”. Moses dared to step out of his routine, left the sheep to look after themselves and followed where his intellectual curiosity led him.  And it was only then that he heard God’s voice calling his name.

Often when we think about the idea of God’s call to us, we end up trying too hard to figure out what it is God is saying to us. We tend to think that our calling must be something obviously Christian, the kind of thing we call a “ministry”. Sometimes we thrash around trying to fit ourselves into some existing ministry or project, or to meet some unfilled needs, and yet we end up feeling like Moses – settled in for the long-haul, but wondering whether we’ve missed our dreams. And, especially if it’s good work that we’re involved in, we may also feel guilty for not feeling sufficiently enthused about what we’re doing.

If you think you hear a call that gives you a sense of gloom and despondency, a loss of energy and interest, a feeling of joyless obligation, then it may be God’s call to somebody else, but it is almost certainly not his call to you. Jesus didn’t say – “you have to give up being yourself to have a ministry,” he said, “The kingdom of God is within you.” Jesus didn’t say “my call is heavy and difficult.” He said “My yoke is easy. My burden is light.” When Moses dared to break out of his routine and went to look at something that fascinated him, he discovered that his natural curiosity did not lead him away from God at all – rather it led him into an encounter with God that transformed his life. It was precisely through Moses following what he thought interesting that God eventually turned him from an isolated shepherd into a political reformer and religious leader.

If we try to fit into a mould that wasn’t made for us, we become stiff and inflexible. We mustn’t let the fear of losing our faith limit our imagination and our sense of adventure. When we allow our natural gifts and inclinations to lead us – whether that’s into the world of history or medicine, computers or astro-physics, music, art or literature – that’s when we see clearly who we are, and what we’re meant to do with the gifts we’ve been given. That’s where we hear God calling to us. And that’s where God is able to speak through us to others…

…So put aside what other people say you ought to do, and put aside your own mental commentary about what you think God will make you do. Instead, do what Moses did. Follow whatever you find intriguing, intellectually or artistically stimulating; go where your curiosity and your natural gifts lead you. And when you do, keep an ear open. Because sooner or later, you will hear the voice of God whisper your name.

an extract from Giving it Up