Stillness does not come easily to me.
Notelets on Rest
Hi I’m Debbie, a spiritual director, writer and mother based in Glasgow. I offer stories, ponderings and gentle invitations to share a moment with your soul.
Well hello,
May has chugged past with delightful sun-baked adventures, evening overcommitments and few chances to think 5 thoughts in a row. I’ve been pondering my resistance to stillness and rest. Part of my desire to create and host tangible opportunities for quiet and connection comes from my own need. I value these times for myself, and yet find them so slippery to grasp in my own life. My own ongoing struggle to pause and rest shapes my invitation to others.
This month began with a delightful retreat on Iona, co-hosted with Fiona Koefoed-Jesperson. We gathered most of the same ingredients as last year. Iona: an adventure just to get to, but worth it for her white sands, turquoise water and sacred stories. The Green Shed: a lovely mix of quirky and cosy. We offered the invitation to those who find themselves in ‘In Between’ places. And those who gathered responded with open hearts to one another and also to themselves. We shared tender stories and tears, we didn’t attempt to fix, we witnessed one another and found ourselves held.
I woke up at 5am our second morning on Iona, having not slept well once again. I pictured myself sitting in the gorgeous window seat in the Sea Room of the Green Shed, with my sewing and some restful music. When I surrendered to the fact that I would not get back to sleep, I padded through in my jammies, made a cup of tea and cooried in. I didn’t want to journal, I didn’t want the work of words, I simply wanted to be.
‘Safely by your side, You shepherd me into rest’ The Porter’s Gate song nudged me knowlingly. Like a reluctant toddler resisting naptime, I won’t stop easily, and require gentle leading to slow down.
Out of the window I saw two geese sitting. The Wild Goose was said to be a Celtic symbol of the Holy Spirit: full of passion; undertaking challenging journeys; moving freely. And here they were resting, perhaps I could too. I sensed that my task for the morning was right here. Not in the shared tasks of setting up breakfast, not tidying up, or preparing for the day ahead, but sitting here quietly not producing anything apart from my slowed breath.
I stayed on that sofa as others awoke, buttered breakfast toast and boiled the kettle for cups tea and coffee. Someone offered to make poached eggs and I gratefully accepted. We held our circle time in that room, then split off for our different morning plans. I returned to my corner of the sofa to sew and chat and listen to Siskin Green’s folky cover of ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’, released that weekend as if just for us.
Stillness does not come easily to me. That embodied sit settled deep in my body as I overcame the tug to action and let myself be.
It was work to create, plan, develop and hold that retreat, I was shattered when I got home. But in the heart of our time I found myself in this moment to rest and receive. I discovered that I too was held in the circumference of our sharing circle, in our spontaneous group hug on the beach, in the peace of that place.
Back home, when I walk into the Sports Centre with my middle boy, he instructs me whether to stand on the black or white tiles and we skip our way across the chequered floor together. In the rhythms of my life I place my feet confidently on the black tiles. They are intentionally marked out with patterns established for family, exercise, work, prayer and the business of life.
But those white restful tiles don’t have clear defined edges. The floor could become entirely black, and where’s the fun in that?
I was distracted by the crowd as left football practice last night. My son watched my feet amazed… “Mum, are you doing that on purpose? You’re only stepping on the white tiles!”
I know that this is an ongoing quest for me, but I hope to find myself unconsciously walking those white tiles as I step into opportunities, both planned and spontaneous, to honour rest for my body, my mind, my heart and soul.
Where and how do you find moments of quiet, stillness rest? Do they happen spontaneously, or do you plan for them? I’d love to hear…
May we find gentle rhythms of rest in our days,
With love,
Debbie
I love witnessing you learning to let go and rest, it is an inspiration in itself because I'm not sure there are many of us who are good at this and yet our souls so need it. I'll learn to walk the white squares with you.
That hammock looks perfect. An invitation all in itself.