The Examen

Hello, Father God.

The other day I went on another Quiet Day. I think it might be addictive. The first time I was a bit apprehensive for reasons I couldn't quite explain (there are those who thought it was simply because I doubted my ability to shut up for a whole day but that wasn't it) but this time I have been really looking forward to it. 

I must admit that after last time, I had a sense of expectation. Last time you touched me and you taught me some things that were really significant for me and I was hoping that you'd do it again. I have spoken to wise friends about Quiet Days and retreats and the like and received very sensible advice that it doesn't matter if the only thing I 'get out of it' is a bit of peace and quiet, or even a nap, so it's a good idea not to go with any ideas of what I want. 

That's hard. I want to hear you. I want to learn to listen. I want to experience you. To feel you. All that touchy-feely stuff where I go away feeling amazed and blessed and awed. Who wouldn't like that? Maybe I'm still just a baby at heart and I want to cuddle close to my Daddy. 

So there I was with hopes and expectations. You didn't disappoint me. No, you weren't there in a vision or a glowing neon finger pointing to a signpost in my life and you didn't speak to me in a booming voice, or a still, small one, for that matter, but still you did speak. 

It didn't start out so well. I forgot my journal and I'd been planning to bring it up to date and do a bit of writing. I meant to bring another bit of writing to work on as well, and I forgot that too. As I sat in the little service at the start of the day I was a bit narked with myself because it wouldn't all be 'perfect' as I'd planned little activities and I was annoyed by my own lack of preparation in waiting to pack my bag till my lift had arrived. As you know, I don't handle this sort of loss of perfection, self criticism and thwarting of plans particularly well. It was like a dark cloud in my head for the first bit of the day even though I knew that I was being ridiculous. 

Then I started to wonder if it wasn't a good thing. I had come here be quiet. To think, to pray and simply to be. I'd planned to fill the day with activities and maybe this was my way of staying safe and keeping control. So what would I do with the day now?  Or rather, what would you do with it?

So I sat for a while. I wasn't moved to tears like last time, and I gazed at the oak tree that spoke to me last time and although it is still a beautiful oak tree, it didn't say anything else today. I gave the day to you. 

Over lunch I picked up a book to distract me from other people's crunching. (Why do they supply us with crisps on a Quiet Day? Or is it only me that notices? I can't eat crisps in a quiet room despite my love of them, sadly. Far too self conscious.)  Anyway, there I was with my parma ham, cheddar and rocket sandwich and slice of cherry genoa cake and I picked up a book called, 'Sleeping with Bread: Holding What Gives You Life' by Dennis, Sheila and Matthew Linn. 

I read the whole book. That is not an enormous feat as the book is short and there are big pictures and I had a couple of hours. It was easy to read and fascinated me from the outset. The title relates to the plight of some children orphaned in the bombing raids of the second world war who were eventually found and placed in refugee camps where they were so traumatised that they couldn't sleep at night lest they wake in the morning to find themselves lost and hungry again. Someone came up with the idea of giving them a piece of bread to hold as they went to sleep and it worked. The bread reminded them 'Today I ate, and I will eat again tomorrow.'

The authors wrote this book to explain something called 'The Examen' which is a prayerful reflection at the end of each day. What today gave me life, and what took life from me?  

Apparently St Ignatius, in his 'Spiritual Exercises' said that he expected you to speak through our deepest feelings and yearnings - what he called our 'consolations' and 'desolations'. Our 'consolations' are the parts of the day when we feel most 'connected' to the universe, and 'desolations' where we feel most disconnected. 

'Church tradition, religious authorities and the Bible are sources of divine revelation. Our life experience, as expressed through our consolations and desolations is also a source of divine revelation. The examen can help us to be open to all these sources of truth, since the examen helps us to listen to all that life is saying to us. For this reason Ignatius encouraged his Jesuit theologians at the Council of Trent to do the examen each day as a way of listening to God's truth.'

D, S, M Linn, Sleeping with Bread: Holding What Gives You Life, 1995. 56/7

I like this idea of truth. For a while now I've been keen to find my path in life from here onwards by learning how to discern your voice; whether in the world around me, or through other people, things I read, sermons, advice of other people; and now I learn that you can use the day to day things of my own life and the experiences I have to help me find my way.

There are several different ways of phrasing the same question and the idea is that you choose the one that speaks to you:

For what moment today am I most/least grateful?

When did I give/receive the most/least love today?

When did I feel most alive today? When did I feel life draining out of me?

When today did I had the greatest/least sense of belonging to myself, to others, God and the universe? 

When was I happiest/saddest?

What was the high/low point of my day?

What do you think? I must admit, this appeals to the analytical side of me. The bit of me that goes over and over things and tries to extract meaning and significance from things. So that in itself I thought I might find therapeutic. It appealed to me as a way to calm, to find peace and stop dwelling on things. To help me learn to meditate and live reflectively. Also to help me focus on positives more as I tend to see the bad things in a day more than the good. 

Some time ago I started writing down Good Things in my life in a book that I have come to know as my Happy Book - it has snippets of things that made me smile at the time - things the children said, good times, answered prayers, ideas, insights, moments that I want to remember - but I only write in it now and again when it occurs to me. The idea of a routine (another one of my buttons!) appealed. Also the idea of making it a discipline to write down the best bit of the day. To insist on locating the positive and remembering it. To make a daily practice of discerning what I am most grateful for.

The other side of things I was less sure about, but it intrigued me. Should I dwell on the negative? It seems that rather than dwell on it, over time noting the life-giving and the life-sapping components of a day will reveal a pattern, the authors said. 

I like the idea that by allowing you to show me my responses to the bits of my life, you will, over time, give me an insight into the way that I'm made, which will give me guidance of what you want for my life. 

'The Will of God is that we give and receive more love and life,' say the authors. They argue that life itself is divine revelation if only we give you a chance to reveal yourself. If I were to note over an extended period the things that lift me up in a day and the things that weigh me down, I might come to see a pattern of what you have given me a desire for, what my life is about; and what I should do less of. What I am not meant for. Where my heart really is.

I'm not really sure about all aspects of this; I still don't really know where obligation and routine and unselfishness come into this new awareness, or for that matter where the demands of daily life as a wife and mother and daughter and friend and so on tie in... but I am learning that if I wait until I understand it all, nothing will ever be started or tried. So, push on. 

It's about awareness. I want to be aware. I have been saying for a while that I want to notice. To mark. To observe and preserve, be aware. I don't want to miss a single thing that you say to me. I want to find all the clues; to act on all the cues. I want to learn to hear your voice in whatever form it might take and to see you in whichever way you want to reveal yourself. I think I'm going to have a go at The Examen.

So, I find myself thinking, what do I need to get started? The people who wrote this book say that you should do the examen with someone else so that you can reflect and share. There's only me. Never mind, I can write it down. Do I need a new notebook? A dedicated pen?  What about their suggestion that I use a candle to help me focus on you as I ask you to bring to mind my consolations and desolations? I haven't got a candle, or a candle-holder for that matter. Do I need to go shopping? Can I do this in bed at night or do I need to find a special place? If I'm in bed the examen might well go the way of my prayer time - starting out in a comfy position and never actually reaching 'Amen'.

Hmm.

There I go over-complicating things again. Making excuses to put something off because 'I'm not ready'. 

Here I go:

Today I felt most grateful when I got back from an errand and my daughter rushed from the sitting room into the hall when she heard the front door close behind me and threw herself at me with the cry, 'Mummy! I'm so glad you're home!' As I hugged her on my knees on the door mat I closed my eyes tight and thanked you for the moment. God, it was beautiful. I had both my arms wrapped around her little body and she had hers wrapped around me. It was wonderful. It was special. I don't ever want to forget that feeling.

Today I felt life sucked from me when her teacher told me conversationally that the same child is quiet and withdrawn in the classroom, never contributing spontaneously, never volunteering anything. This is so unlike the little girl I have at home. I worry about what's going on in her head. Why is she so quiet at school? Why does she not feel settled? Why do we still have tears sometimes? This made me feel concerned and anxious. I was uncertain of how to respond to the teacher and all churned up in my tummy. This feeling lasted quite a while and I can still feel it if I think about it now.

So. Is that right? Did I do it right? 

I'm not sure if you can make anything of these things or even if I'm getting it right, Lord. It doesn't seem as if this sort of thing could reveal a pattern in my life, just that I love my girls and I worry about them. Still, I've made a start. Notebook or no notebook, candle or lamp. 

Thankyou for bits of insight. 

Thankyou for wise people who write books and for opportunities like this Quiet Day to sit, undisturbed, and concentrate on you. 

Thankyou that when I look for you, you let yourself be found. 

Thanks for Ignatius, for my children and for my comfy bed. 

I'm off there now. Would it be wrong to say that climbing into bed is the most life-giving bit of my day, and getting up in the morning the least life-giving? 

Or maybe that's not what Ignatius had in mind.

It's only in your will that I am free

My head is spinning. So much is happening at the moment and I am coming to believe that your journey for me at the moment is not so much travelling on the way to somewhere else, but an internal exploration; insight into who I am, where I am, what I am and why I am...what I am for.  Months ago I asked the question, 'What next?' and wondered what I should do when my littlest girl goes to school in September; how my roles in life were shifting slightly.  A wise friend advised me that I am simply 'waking up' after the early years with babies and young children where a woman tends by necessity to retreat from the world to a degree to concentrate on being a mother.  'Waking up' and re-engaging with the world after a 'sleepy' period of inward looking to build a family and take care of it. 

So at the beginning of this year I asked, 'Who am I?' if I'm no longer an occupational therapist, soon to be no longer required as a full time Mum.  I started this year with a keen sense of anticipation, excitement and promise.  I knew you were doing something, leading somewhere, but I had no clue what or where or how. 

Three months down the line and in many respects I'm no wiser, but in a few areas I am sensing what you are about.  It's about me, isn't it?  I have so far to go to be the me that you planned for me.  I am becoming more aware of the distance yet to travel, the work to be done, the heights and depths to be explored, but at the same time I am starting to grasp that you think I'm worth the effort.  I have always doubted that I'm as good as the next person; always felt vaguely apologetic, always taken criticism to heart and deflected compliments, unable to let them land.  Then when I get to this stage of my life, suddenly you take me gently on one side and tell me that you love me, that I'm great, that now's the time to sort it all out - that you have a Plan and before you tell me your Plan you want to make sure that I understand the truth about myself.

So that truth - I don't know what it is yet.  But I am learning that I am unique, that I have something to offer.  Something to offer by being me.  Nobody else can occupy the space that I occupy, and while I'm here, I need to learn to do what it is that only I can do. No point in apologising; no reason to apologise.  I have gifts and talents that are designed for just the job that you have in mind for me.  A quiver of arrows! An arsenal of weapons.  I need to learn what they are and how I can use them, and then I have no doubt that you'll send me out on my mission.

As part of the course I'm doing I'm trying to write my Life Statement.  A Mission Statement, if you like. A sentence or so that sums up what I am about.  Why I Am Here.  It will give direction to my footsteps and guide my every decision.  I can't remember which song it's from but the words:

'For it's only in your will that I am free'

keep going through my mind. The only way I can fulfil my potential is to follow the instructions, and it's taken me this long to rummage in the packet and find them, unfold the booklet and have a look exactly how I'm supposed to work and how to get the best out of me. 

And you're not letting me down. I've had insight after insight; idea after idea and whispers and chuckles and shouts and songs from you. I'm in turn amazed, taken aback, overwhelmed, comforted, challenged and excited. I can't wait for the next thing. I want to be all I can be, and then I want to show those I love how to do the same.  I want to be the person you made me to be and not some distortion of that person, or some pale, faded, listless version.  I want to shine for you; to reflect you.  I want to know, deep in my soul; to understand, to delight in what I see around me and in me, and in other people.  I want the wisdom to see, properly see what you have given me to see, and I want to notice it, to express it, to mark it so that it cannot be overlooked or forgotten, so that I can always remember and other people will see as well. 

What a journey. I can't believe I've even set out. So unlike me to have this courage or determination. So much easier to take the line of least resistance and opt out of any struggling.  So much easier to be flippant and say that my mission in life is simply to get through the week in one piece. I feel as if you're spending time with me, drawing my attention to things, reassuring me, equipping me, loving me.  And when you're all done you'll pat me on the shoulder and say, 'Ok then, off you go.'  And off I'll go, because then I'll be sure of the direction, and I know that there's nowhere you can send me that you haven't been, and won't go again at my side.

Ha. 

I've remembered which song that line came from. It's 'All For Jesus'.  How perfect is that?  What a sense of humour you have, my gracious Lord. 

Jesus, all for Jesus,
All I am and have and ever hope to be.
Jesus, all for Jesus,
All I am and have and ever hope to be.

All of my ambitions, hopes and plans
I surrender these into Your hands.
All of my ambitions, hopes and plans
I surrender these into Your hands.

For it's only in Your will that I am free,
For it's only in Your will that I am free,
Jesus, all for Jesus,
All I am and have and ever hope to be. 

It's all for you, Lord Jesus. All that I am, all that I'm discovering about myself, you can have it all.  It's all yours already.  All I ever hope to be is the person you want me to be. All of my ambitions, hopes and plans don't mean a thing unless you are in them; they will matter for nothing unless you breathe life into them. It's all for you. 

Fancy you doing all this for me. For me. My God, that you have such patience with me as I faff and hesitate and make excuses.  I'm so thick sometimes that you need to teach me the same things over and over, and yet you never run out of innovation to get your point across. It leaves me reeling. And so thankful. 

Onwards, inwards, upwards, forwards!  What's next?!  I want the next thing. I am champing at the bit. I want to know what you have for me next.

What a day. 

The Spiritual MOT

Hello, God.

I am determined not to start this with the word 'Well'.

I have in front of me a piece of paper.  You know which piece of paper, God.  It's been in front of me a few times already and I bet you're wondering when I'm actually going to start working on it. It's a Spiritual MOT.  Some perceptive, insightful person has put together a questionnaire that probes deep into my current state of spiritual health (or otherwise) and is supposed to elicit perceptive and insightful responses.  After phase one, and with the help of a friend who has an immense stash of patience and wisdom to help me make sense of my musings, I might emerge with a greater awareness of who I am, where I am, spiritually, and perhaps have an inkling of where I'm going. Hooray!

Or that's the idea. As it is, I have perused the questions on several occasions already (on the second occasion I even had a pen in my hand) and then tucked it safely back with the other papers in an imaginary file marked, 'To Do: Later. Too hard for right now'.

What if I don't know the answers?  What if I get it wrong?

I suspect I'm over-thinking this one.

What are the positive factors in your relationship with God?

That's straightforward.  You are the positive factor.

What is hampering your relationship with God?

Me.

What do you think might help?

Hmm.  A retreat?  More sleep?  More hours in the day?  Trying harder?

Do you see what I mean?  I get to this time of day and I'm too tired and I get flippant.  I want to do this justice; I want to learn what I can. Part of it comes back to the old thing that I don't know where I'm going; I'm trusting you to show me. If I don't know where I am right now, then how can I work out which direction to take to get to a destination which is, as I keep mentioning, unknown?  I feel a bit like the time I was reading a map and directed us to take the second exit off a huge roundabout, only to discover that it wasn't a roundabout, it was an 'O' in a place name and actually I had no idea where we were even though the means to finding out was right in front of me.  Funnily enough, since then I tend to drive and Bryan tends to do most of the navigating.

What if I'm sitting here, excitedly proclaiming how this year feels special; I'm looking forward to finding out what you have in store for me, there's something new coming - and all the time you're saying, 'This is it; you're here now'.  Shouldn't I be living for now, not for the future?  I'm getting a bit better at not living in the past, but I have this feeling of anticipation that I've talked to you about and I've been sure that you're telling me that it's OK, all will be revealed in your good time, but what if I'm wrong?

What if you just want me here, doing what I do, looking after the girls, writing what I write, doing the shopping, the cleaning (ahem), the cooking, the church things... but maybe you're trying to give me the freedom to legitimise what I do because I am where you want me?  This is it?  I don't want to miss it!  I don't want to have my eyes fixed on the horizon, waiting for something special to come into view, if what you have for me is right here.

Or are we back to 'all in good time'?

Wish I knew the answers.  If I knew the answers this little booklet would be a doddle.

Looking ahead five years, are there aspects of your life that you would like to be different?

Oh my goodness.  I'm finding it hard to look beyond the end of the week, let alone five years.  And I suspect that you're not looking for answers like 'I'll be a size 10 with glossy hair and nicer nails'.

Sometimes I feel as if there are so very many aspects of my life that I'd like to change. I'd like Bryan to work somewhere round here so that he can come home each night.  I'd like to worry less. I'd like my children to be better behaved. I'd like to stop people I love getting old. I'd like to feel I had a purpose to what I do each day; a purpose that I can get my head round, not just knowing that I do have a purpose because you've told me that I do and I trust you, though that'll do for now. I suppose.

Other times I wouldn't change a thing. I'd put a pause on my life and just look at the freeze frame for ever.  My children are growing up and I can't stop them. Elizabeth is so grown up now in so many ways, and not just because now she can read we can no longer spell out words we don't want her to understand.   She's notices things, amazes us.  Katy is wanting to be more like Lizzie so she'll grow up quicker than ever and I honestly have no idea how I'll manage when Katy no longer tells me that a Mummy cuddle is her favourite thing. I know this isn't what the Spiritual MOT is about either.  It just made me think about the future.

What would be the hardest thing you can imagine God asking you to do?

Well.  This is an awkward question.  I don't really want to answer it, but it's hard to know why.  It's almost as if I think that if I tell you what the hardest thing might be, you might just decide to ask me to do that very thing.  As if you don't already know...

So I'm actually thinking that by avoiding telling you the truth I might keep something from you, am I? Yeah, right.

Why, if there's a crossroads in my life, a 'shall I do A or B' moment,  do I automatically assume that you'll ask me to do the most difficult, unpleasant thing?  The thing I don't want to do - that's sometimes how I think.  I believe that you made me how I am, with my desires and longings and gifts and talents, and so you've created in me an inbuilt leaning towards some things, and away from others.

Potholing, for instance.  I'm never going to be a potholer because I can't imagine anything worse than all that wriggling around underground in narrow spaces with a torch stuck to your forehead. I knew I wanted to be a Mum because the look of my life without children was hollow and empty and appalled me.  It's an instinctive thing. Emotional.  In Rick Warren's 'The Purpose Driven Life' and also in Erik Rees' 'SHAPE', we read that we are unique, and for each of us is a natural niche in which we find we can be fully ourselves.  We'll fulfil our potential; we'll be happy if we're in the right place, doing what you designed us to do. If we try to fit ourselves into a slot that isn't made for us, we'll find it difficult and unfulfilling.

So I trust that you won't ask me to embark on a Ministry to the Potholing Community.  If that's ok with you.

So this MOT is another step on this voyage I've embarked on, is it?  I'm wondering if I'm writing this now and then months from now I can look back on this soul searching and laugh and explain it all. Or if I'll be just as confused. Maybe years from now?

Enough angst.  I'm going to fill it in.

***

Actually, I'm going to make a cup of coffee first, and check on the children. And put the bin out as it's collection day tomorrow. And maybe have a quick bath, but then I'm going to fill it in. Actually, it'll be probably be tomorrow as it's getting late and I want to make sure I've got my wits about me. No point doing it half heartedly.

A spiritual MOT.  I hope I turn out to be roadworthy.