The years I lived in Aylesbury I spent de-tangling my life from the most colossal emotional and moral briar patch. Then there was all the upheaval of selling up and moving here (exactly a year ago), extensive house renovation works, my father dying, getting four books written etc, so everything's been spinning a bit.
Finally most things (I say this with caution!) seem to be settling down to a new normal. And now this is my difficulty. Am I complacent? Am I insular? Is my life self-serving?
I spent the Aylesbury years methodically divesting myself of all the barnacles on the ship - getting rid of possessions, affiliations, any kind of schedule or commitment whatever. Since moving to Hastings I've consciously added some new things in: it's my hope, as soon as I've managed to work through the seemingly bottomless pit of editorial consequences to the year's crop of books, to spend time with my mother and with one or two friends who are frail or old, and to make time for close friends and my family, for my grandson as he grows up, to continue to write and think, to attend Quaker meeting and participate in the Badger's church too. Like everyone I have groceries to get, laundry to wash and iron, housecleaning and tidying, and garden chores, all to do. I recently promised to edit the NCT local branch newsletter. I do odd bits of writing, and I take funerals - in both cases, some paid, some not. I write my blog and I make the weekly housegroup happen most weeks, and the twice-a-month children's church meeting.
The thing is, I find my life to be full and more than full with these things in it. In pursuit of simplicity I cut both income and security to shreds, and that felt like an imperative. I resolved - more than resolved actually; it felt like I had no choice - to do, and do only, what I was sent here (to earth) to do.
But then today I wondered - what does God think of all this? I thought about the letters to the churches in the book of Revelation; you know, that one to the church at Laodicea, about spitting them out of His mouth because they were lukewarm: and I wondered, is that me?
I spent so much effort, and gave up most of my earning capacity, to make my life spacious and peaceable and free. Might God think me just lazy now, and lacking in commitment, I wonder? How would I know?
What I do know is, during the times in my life when I worked at full tilt and gave myself unstintingly, I think it made me a less pleasant person - tired and harassed and rather volatile. And I had no time to write or pray or think or read.
I took these thoughts with me to meeting this morning. I love the Hastings Quaker meeting. The people are amazing. Like most Quaker meetings, they look not quite of this place and time - beamed in from the Dark Ages or something. Very honest and uncompromising faces; dark, quiet clothes and sturdy footwear - something very strong and powerful and of the earth in the gathering; forthright and dignified, and funny, witty. A lot of hair. And very, very kind.
So I sat in meeting, not focussed at all, letting my thoughts wander, planning a book mostly. For a long time no one spoke. After about twenty minutes or so of total silence, someone tuned their hearing aid, which amused me (only at Quaker meeting...); then more silence. Then someone read from Quaker Faith and Practice, section 21.22. This is what it said (it's a quotation from Caroline C. Graveson 1937 - living in Hastings, where we still have a fishing fleet, it seemed especially apposite):
There is, it sometimes seems, an excess of religious and social busyness these days, a round of committees and conferences and journeyings, of which the cost in 'peaceable wisdom' is not sufficiently counted. Sometimes we appear overmuch to count as merit our participation in these things... At least we ought to make sure that we sacrifice our leisure for something worthy. True leisureliness is a beautiful thing and may not lightly be given away. Indeed, it is one of the outstanding and most wonderful features of the life of Christ that, with all his work in preaching and healing and planning for the Kingdom, he leaves behind this sense of leisure, of time in which to pray and meditate, to stand and stare at the cornfields and fishing boats, and to listen to the confidences of neighbours and passers-by.I thought that was maybe what God thought too.
Most of us need from time to time the experience of something spacious or space-making, when Time ceases to be the enemy, goad-in-hand, and becomes our friend. To read good literature, gaze on natural beauty, to follow cultivated pursuits until our spirits are refreshed and expanded, will not unfit us for the up and doing of life, whether of personal or church affairs. Rather will it help us to separate the essential from the unessential, to know where we are really needed and get a sense of proportion. We shall find ourselves giving the effect of leisure even in the midst of a full and busy life. People do not pour their joys or sorrows into the ears of those with an eye on the clock.