This month I have been orbiting around four words that begin with the same letter: patience, privilege, practice and perfume.

Patience (or is that Patients)

In some odd quirk of bad luck, this month three people in our household have fractured something. My accident was not helped by the poor intersection design or by pedestrians loitering in the cycle lane, or by my cycling in haste to get to a meeting on time. The outcome was a fractured right wrist — and surprise to be on the hard asphalt, an insistent cold-blade of pain and feeling foolish. I am trying to be patient with my slow typing, left-handed writing and six weeks using buses not bikes. Asking family members to cut onions or a slice of bread slows me down and back on the shelf are my plans to learn to ski this winter. Having a disability for two months is inefficient but still only a temporary slowing down. So the invitation again is finding what is good about this new state, being not doing, grace and rest in the unplanned pause.

Privilege

With the latest Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) presenting a potentially grim future, I am reminded that there are many good reasons for our household to continue to live without a car. We are fortunate to enjoy exercise, live in a mostly flat town with an excellent and growing network of cycle lanes, and to have bicycle lights, raincoats and bike trailers so we can carry gear and grandmothers around town. Being car-free by choice can be inconvenient, but many of my friends can’t afford to run a car with increasing petrol prices or the cost of repairs, while another friend has a disability meaning he can’t drive.

Whenever I start feeling virtuous about being car-free I realise this is facilitated by the privilege I have in friends and neighbours who generously share the use of their vehicles. They trust we’ll return their car in good working order and Ian even added our teens to their insurance policy so they could practise driving. Essentially, they prop up our car-free stance. So it's one less car on the road, but ony with the help of our privileged circles.

Practice

It is easy for me to believe that progress is only real if it can be measured by forward movement on a linear trajectory. This is a very Western and probably also capitalist idea. Faith journeys are more circular than linear. Very frequently something I thought I had mastered (like speaking well of others or truth-telling) turns out to need more practise. The prayer labyrinth is a great metaphor for faith journeys — circling around and around God on pathways that are very similar but slightly different from the time before, at times further, at times closer to God. It is important, though, to keep walking.

Antonio Machado said: “Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path that never will be trod again."

Perfume

Outside our house is a daphne bush. The dark green leaves are decorated with clusters of pink and white flowers. While taking Tussock the dog for a walk, it’s only after I’ve brushed past the demure bush that I note the understated sweet gracing of the morning darkness. Later, eating a hummus sandwich in wintry sun on the deck, the cloud of fragrance wafts across and calls me to attention again. Surprised, I find there can be perfumed holiness even at lunchtime.

Tui Motu Magazine. Issue 263 September 2021: 32