Hanging In

A couple of years ago one of my goddaughters broke off a leaf from her Christmas cactus and planted it in a little pot of soil as a gift for me to bring home. I placed it on a sunny windowsill and carefully tended it. How amazing it was to see it grow another leaf, and then a third and a fourth. What a leaf feat, establishing roots and shooting out more leaves. That Christmas Cactus continues to flourish and remind me of my goddaughter’s care, kindness wonder and enthusiasm.

Early last autumn, I was in a friend’s home admiring a different Christmas cactus. The leaves were a darker green than mine and slightly serrated, it was a mass of white buds and flowers and looked gorgeous. I wanted one. She kindly allowed me to carefully break a leaf off and I fully intended to repeat the process.

But, I got distracted and found the forgotten leaf in a side pocket a couple of weeks later. It looked pretty sad and limp. Oh no.  I left it on the draining board for a couple of days, not quite sure what to do. I couldn’t bring myself to pop it in the waste and ask my friend for another – but was it really worth planting it? Eventually I challenged the procrastinating and did a half-hearted job of propping it up in some soil and popped it on a not-so-sunny windowsill. Weeks went by and it did nothing. Not one miniscule change was perceptible. Perhaps I really had destroyed it through neglect.

I don’t know about you, but before decorating for Christmas, I often feel the need for a pre-Christmas clear out. In the whirl of this I wondered again at this leaf. Should I keep it or admit defeat. It wasn’t showing any signs of life. It was pale, almost translucent. Should I just compost it now? Maybe pull it up to see if it had rooted? By now they were appearing in the shops – I could just buy one!

Something about this leaf though wouldn’t let me let go. I remembered the parent plant and the joy of my goddaughter’s plant. A tiny glimmer of hopeful intention remained. I moved it to a sunnier windowsill where it soon got hidden from view by Christmas cards and decorations.

In January, I saw it again. Now it was darker green and looking more like the healthy leaf I’d brought home, and another leaf had grown along with a white flower bud. Wow. It’s so exciting. What a resilient little leaf. Full of potential that remained even after a good dose of neglect. It just needed some sun.

The Resilient Christmas Cactus

Daily this tiny plant is cheering my soul. It’s growth is encouraging me to wonder what else I got excited about growing last year and got too distracted to plant or tend.    

This February I’m having a pre-spring clear out of my musings and scribblings. I’m revisiting notebooks and scraps of paper, noticing what ideas I got excited about but didn’t consistently nurture, to see what still holds a remnant of hope?

I’ll then explore what changes I need to make to give them a second chance.

Perhaps this resonates with you? Perhaps you have an idea or two that you hoped to grow that is looking colourless and unpromising. What small change might unlock it’s flourishing?

A coaching session or two might provide just enough light for growth and flowering. Contact me if you'd like to give it a try.

Epiphany – To reveal

Our Windowsill Nativity

2025 – What have you seen so far?

Isn’t it delicious to have some time out of routine? I’ve been fortunate enough to have a couple of days this week with two of our daughters – post New Year activity, pre return to school and work. A fabulous gift of two glorious days, though the temperature plummeted, the sun shone fabulously.

On Thursday I cycled with one along the seafront from Poole to Bournemouth to meet a friend at the Russell Coates gallery (a former home full of treasures that was gifted to the townspeople when the couple who built it died). They had an exhibition of various artists who have taken inspiration from the Isle of Purbeck (where I live). It was fabulous, an interesting collection that included many female artists from the last century. I particularly enjoyed seeing familiar places through the eyes of another.

After we left, we succumbed to the lure of chips and vinegar. Munching happily whilst on the sea front we enjoyed watching families at play, surfers waiting for waves, courageous souls braving the zip wire on the pier and a plethora of dogs and their owners. The visibility was amazing, and we could clearly see the chalky white of the Needles, cliffs on the westerly end of the Isle of Wight.

Our friend told us that when the light is right, a polar bear emerges on the cliffs. Was she pulling our leg or telling a tall tale? Did it matter? The chips were delicious - we munched on. “Look” she cried “it’s arrived”. We looked again at the cliffs. The Needles had now disappeared into shadow but what was she seeing? We were lost. Gradually, as we relaxed our gaze, we saw it. An enormous Polar Bear stepping out of the cliffs! Incredible. What a sight.  

Then Friday, did you see it? It was breathtakingly radiant.

Stepping out of the cinema after an afternoon of crazy entertainment (Moana 2), from the cosy warmth into the chilly evening we walked home. We were merrily chatting about the film as we walked past homes still decorated with Christmas lights. As we neared the end of the street the sky opened before us. “Look at the moon” someone said, and we all stopped in awe. A thin crescent moon hanging delicately in clear sky with Venus shining bright right above. What a treat.

Today’s Epiphany, the day we celebrate the arrival of the Wise Men. Those learned scholars who studied the night skies and the stories of different people. They were intrigued by the New Star they had identified and wondered if it was indeed announcing the arrival of a New King. Leaving all that was familiar they set out on a journey of adventure and discovery.

As we move into this New Year I wonder where you’re looking. What are you listening to? Have you set intentions, made resolutions or perhaps created a vision board?

So far, I’ve done none of the above. Instead, I’ve pondered what posture I want to hold as the year unfolds. I want it to be open and steady, open handed. Not stretched forward ready to hold or receive. Not occupied preparing something to give. Of course, both giving and receiving will happen in the year. But I don’t want my focus to be looking for those. Instead, I want to nurture and cherish the between stance. Just like I had at those two points this week. A stance where I’m relaxed enough to respond to the noticings of others, and unhurried and unharried enough to stay and relish them together.  

As the Kings arrive in our open windowsill stable bearing their gifts. Their presence reminds me to ponder what open handed communion followed that new family. What awe and wonder unfolded from that encounter.

An encounter powerful enough for them to leave open handed and travel an unfamiliar route home. Travelling with others doing the same brought them courage, hope and joy for the unknowable journey ahead.

2025 – As I aspire to stand open and stable, willing to listen and look up, I hope I will encounter awe and community in whatever unfolds in the year ahead.

Liminal Space and Waiting

Last week I was reminded of the importance of liminal space. In-between time where you have left what was, but not yet entered what’s to come, sometimes known as threshold time.

Liminal spaces can be disorientating, we can feel vulnerable in them and extra care is often needed.

Twilight is liminal. The time between the end of daylight and the darkness of the night requires our eyes to adjust - we don’t always see clearly as a result, and need to take care, particularly when going at speed.

It’s helpful to slow down and pay greater attention in liminal space. Yet so often we long to arrive at the next stage and know we’re ok. The very last thing we want is for the transition to be prolonged, no matter what it can teach us.

In a world where we are systematically eradicating the need to wait, I wonder if liminal times are becoming increasingly painful and difficult to navigate?

We can feel so empowered by the power of now. Instant credit enables us to get what we want, we binge watch TV series, food and fashion is fast, we can shop 24/7 and even next day delivery can feel slow. We love now.

Yet at the same time – we’re spending more time waiting for the things that make us feel vulnerable: health appointments and operations, banking and service support. Understandably we increasingly associate waiting with anxiety, irritation and a sense of helplessness. Often this waiting is done alone at the end of a phone, compounding the isolation.

If waiting is essential to change and growth – think of a bulb in the ground.

What can we do to reregulate ourselves in between-times? What practices help us develop patience?

In the Christian calendar, advent is a crucial liminal time – it’s the 4 weeks before Christmas day. It’s one of the two times in the year when as a community we practice waiting and remembering we are living between states. (Lent is the other).

Christmas is a major celebration because we believe that Divine Love took radical action to demonstrate the depth of desire there is in the universe for us to be at one with that Love. By taking form as a human with all the vulnerabilities that entails, Love hoped we’d find it easier to draw near and accept that we too are created and designed by and for Love. The birth of Jesus is a big deal to us, it’s the birth of embodied Love.    

As a community we remember we live in a liminal space between what was, separation from Love, and what is yet to come, living fully with Love. A state when justice and peace will reign, when fear, hate, disease, war and suffering will end.

Clearly, we aren’t there yet.

We intentionally take these four weeks to acknowledge how deeply distressing and painful that is personally and globally. Waiting for justice and peace to reign and suffering to end, can seem interminable. It can be easy to lose hope.

So, we also remind ourselves that we are moving toward the Christmas message that love is greater than fear, and that in the end love will win every imaginable battle.

In advent we consciously sit in that paradox. In this liminal time, we choose to stay with the pain both as an act of love and gratitude to Love and as an act of solidarity with all that groans within creation for that time of ultimate liberation.

It’s a purposeful slowing down enabling us to take care and remember that we don’t wait alone. Love also waits with us and shares the pain and sorrow.

And that although we can’t always see progress, we are moving forward. Unseen things are taking place that are bringing that promised time closer. (Just like all the calls that are being answered whilst we’re waiting in line and listening to the same message on repeat).

At home we have an advent candle we burn daily at dinner. It’s a tiny, quiet reminder that our waiting will end. 24 days of gathering round a shortening candle. The promise and excitement of Christmas is coming.

While we wait, we ask what can we do today to make way for justice and peace? What love can we share?

This advent I wonder, Christian or not, what liminal spaces do you find yourself in? Do you have practices that help you slow down, take care and wait with hope? Are you in a supportive community, or would you appreciate someone accompanying you through this time? I’d love to know.