Ellen DeGeneres said this:

I really don’t think I need buns of steel. I’d be happy with buns of cinnamon.

I used to swing desperately between craving buns of steel and craving buns of cinnamon.

Usually the cinnamon buns won.

Photo credit: LeoSynapse

I’d like to think that this year I’ve come to some sort of middle ground. I don’t want buns of steel for the sake of having them and the sense of achievement that it would inevitably provide. Nor do I want to be a slave to sugar any longer. Jumping for a fix any time I thought that it needed it, and killing my body slowly. Controlled by it.

I have come to believe that unless I am as healthy as I can possibly be (given my current circumstances) I am not fulfilling my spiritual purpose to the best of my ability. By giving in to sugar cravings and sitting on my butt instead of moving it, I am allowing immediate personal gratification have a negative effect on my kingdom impact.

This includes how I fuel my body, how I move my body, and how I rest my body all in balance. For me, it’s a stewardship issue. God gave me something. I have to look after it, invest in it, make sure He gets a return on investment.

I have also discovered this year that what I choose to eat has a very distinct and noticeable affect on my body function and my mental state. I now know that I can use exercise to regulate mood swings and disperse the dark clouds that inevitably come.

If I eat poorly (refined foods) and fail to move my body (to keep it healthy and remove toxins), if I refuse to take time to rest and recuperate because I garner my value from people praising my busyness, I am sabotaging myself and my ministry. I am setting up convenient barriers that I can use to hide behind and as an excuse not to fulfil my purpose in life.

It’s just easier that way.

In the short term.

In the long term it would kill me.

It would make my life miserable — filled with stress and a laundry list of completely unnecessary ailments. It might prevent me from meeting my grandchildren. It might prevent me from growing old with my husband. It would definitely rob me of the energy required to pour my life into other people. It would shrink my world and reinforce the focus on myself that got me into that predicament in the first place.

My physical self is not disconnected from spiritual self, they are part of the same whole…and like it or not the world judges our spiritual discipline by our physical discipline too. They think perhaps that this God we worship isn’t too great if we can’t even be bother obeying the command to view our body as a temple, to honour God. (it’s amazing how much of the bible these people actually know) And they move on.

I believe very strongly that thinking about the physical body cannot and should not be separated from the spiritual aspects of life — the soul, the mind, the spirit — the Stoics believed the body was bad…that’s not what God said. He created man (generic term) and said that it was VERY GOOD … there was no qualification on that statement. But still that type of thinking persists in the church…that the body is bad and sinful and should be separated and ignored. I don’t think that’s a biblical approach.

Looking forward and maintaining this momentum, I want to give my physical vehicle the best opportunity to thrive, and  I still have a lot of temple renovation work to do after neglecting and abusing it for years. It’s hard work, but I’m learning. Continually learning. Continually adjusting.

My sabbatical has taught me that maintaining physical health (within our inherited limitations) is as much a spiritual discipline as prayer.

What do you think?

I was fortunate enough to be able to take the school holidays off from work (perhaps you saw my photos post last week) and we spent time both down at the NSW south coast and up at the snow for some short, sharp family holiday fun. Both of these locations required a good amount of travelling in the car. The boys fared remarkably well — gone are the days of screaming tantrums from the back seat, thank goodness! But Al gets a sore neck when he drives for long periods, and as a result, I spend  a bit of time rubbing his neck as we drive….which is fine…I don’t mind doing it (unless I’m trying to knit, then I get snarly.) in general I’m the kind of person who likes to touch, skin in particular…so it makes both of us feel good. It’s not something I normally talk about — too much information, and all that! But this time I thought I’d share.

When we were driving back from the coast part of our break in the misty early morning, and I was absentmindedly rubbing Al’s neck, then my hand strayed to his earlobe, and without thinking about it I found myself rubbing his earlobe between my thumb and forefinger and enjoying the warmth and smooth softness as it rolled between them.

All of a sudden I was transported back into my past. To a place I hadn’t thought about in years. A place I haven’t wanted to think about in years.

When I was a child my grandfather used to do the same thing to anyone who got within reach. Anyone from the grandchildren to his full-grown adult sons. He would sit and rub their earlobes and go into an almost meditative state, muttering about the “lubby lugs” … otherwise translated as “lovely earlobes”. I have no idea why he called them lugs. He was pretty good at making up names for things.

I never really did get on with my grandfather. He was a stern and wiry figure with beady eyes and who walked in the hunched way of a frail old man. He always wore blue coveralls and smelled of grease from his tinkering in the shed. He was never the kind of grandfather you would run to for a cuddle or to be comforted if you had hurt yourself.

Children to were to be seen and not heard at all times. And all the more so as a girl. It was the era of females being there to cook and clean and serve. And yet he would still grab my “lubby lugs” from time to time. Apparently earlobes transcended gender… until I got my ears pierced. I don’t think he ever forgave me for that. Not only was I “adorning myself”, but he could no longer play with my earlobes. Sad to say, as an early teen I was hardly devastated.

So, perhaps you can understand why I was so surprised to be whooshed back in time to remember this man while I mindlessly stroked my husband’s earlobe. I didn’t think I had a whole lot in common with him. With the distance and wisdom that only age an add I can now wonder….Perhaps he did love me after all…he just showed it via my earlobes.

Genetics are funny things.

Things have been quiet here on the blog lately…sorry about that! We’ve been away on a couple of short family holidays during the mid-year school break, and I’ve been avoiding the computer for the most part…partly because I needed the break, and partly because I was having far too much fun with the kids and the hubster, and spending some much needed hours writing and analysing the stuff that’s been whizzing round my head in the last 12 months.

Apart from spending time with the family I love holidays like we had this time because I don’t have to think about cooking or cleaning. At. All. It has been wonderful! Oh…except for the part where Shel broke his wrist snowboarding down Front Valley at Perisher. He was rescued by Steve the Snow Patrol guy (I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to take photos of the exciting parts, sorry) and strapped into one of those rescue sleds and flew down the mountain backwards. I met them at the bottom of the hill and we went to the medical centre for xrays and bandaging. He has a splint thingy on his hand until the swelling goes down and then we’ll see our GP for a proper cast. Within an hour of the accident Shel was begging me to let him go boarding again, or at the very least tobogganing. (…um…no! ) He was also commenting on how the cast made him look tough and that he’d been doing dangerous things. I suspect this will not be the last of these action moments, but I *am* surprised that we managed to get through 11 years before we had our first!

Here are a couple of photos from the snowy part of our trip.

Ready to board! Shel reckoned he needed a Level 5 Moustache to go with his overalls!

Me, ready for my snowboarding lesson

Aiden getting up and ready to go again

Two very tired boys!

This was my view from the Smiggs Cafe where I spent an entire day writing. HEAVEN!

Shel in a sling...he's milking it for all it's worth!

Shel gave me this note this morning, neatly folded into a little origami pocket.

“Dear Mum,

I know I get frustrated easily but when I want to I can be sort of nice and I don’t hate you, I might get mad but I love you.

Sheldon”

I love this kid’s soft centre … even if it only comes out when he wants it to

Yesterday Shel turned 11.

This kid is full of life and character…one day I can see him being a great leader. As he would say…he  has mad skillz.

Hi Ho Silver and AWAY!!!!

Before dinner Shel indulged in a little sheep surfing in the middle of the city. He got some strange looks

Shel asked to have snails for his birthday dinner, so he and I went to Ardeche Restaurant in town (they were the only ones I could find serving snails!) while Aiden and Daddy went to the APK around the corner (no exotic food for them). Shel ordered Escargots a la Borgingnon and LOVED them. He was quite the celebrity with the wait staff who found it curious that this young man would want snails for his birthday

Happy birthday buddy!

Love Mum