A handful of quietness

‘Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and a striving after wind.’

[Ecclesiastes 4:6]

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I dreamt last night that Richard Rohr was my spiritual director and I was following him through corridors and glass doors and endless staircases to wherever it was we were going to meet together.

The problem was, I clearly didn’t have childcare.  I was following the Franciscan friar while carrying my squirming 4-year-old in my arms, and she was misbehaving. At one point in the dream I was literally trying to peel her off the ceiling whilst trying not to lose sight of the wise man.  I felt flustered and embarrassed and torn in two.

It’s a familiar feeling.

It’s easy to think I could sort it all out if only my children weren’t climbing the walls.

I have my eye on a person I want to talk to, and a book I want to read and some thoughts I want to explore.  And I get to do that.  I get to do all those things.  But it seems so fractured, so fleeting.  It feels like my vision will always be blurred by blonde curly hair.

It’s hard, sometimes, to feel whole.  It’s hard to feel like we are tending to anything well, our souls or our children.  We dream of elusive priests and escaping daughters and it’s no wonder we wake up drenched in sweat.

There was stress in that dream, but the more I think about it, there was humour too. Imogen and Richard Rohr.  It’s an amusing picture.  It’s kind of great.

I’m a mother and a spiritual seeker, why wouldn’t I dream about both?  Why wouldn’t my hands be full? Why can’t I similtaneously chase wisdom?

The more I think about it, the more the dream makes me smile.  I realise it’s not a dream about what I’m missing, it’s a dream about what I have.

Tomorrow I will meet with my real-life spiritual director.  I sought her out.  Every month she makes space for my whole self, for the things I carry.  It’s a handful of quietness for my soul.

Last week I met my minister for coffee, it was a handful of quietness.

A good book, a podcast, an evening with my parents, Sunday mornings in church: handfuls of quietness.

They are framed by blonde curly hair.

They are more than enough.

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