Holy Squirrels!

Apparently, January 21 is Squirrel Appreciation Day.

This makes me giggle. There are considered to be adorable, until their rodent ways come out and they chew through something important to us. (When camping, we call squirrels mini-bears – as they can chew into the food stores and ruin a trip in a hurry!). We joke that they often get flattened mid-road due to their indecisive nature… something that’s a little off is described as a little bit squirrelly. There’s a gag that squirrels are nature’s tennis balls for dogs – something to chase! And perhaps most commonly, we consider our temporary distractions to be ‘squirrel’ moments.

However we feel about squirrels, yesterday we were meant to appreciate them.

As someone who often has those ‘squirrel moments, where my attention quickly and unexpectedly veers off course, it can be hard to be appreciative… yet perhaps those interruptions can be moments of grace, that are helping us to refocus.

Perhaps our squirrel moments come to us when we need a break in whatever piece of work we’re engaged in…. or they disrupt a flow of conversation where there is increasing tension. Maybe the squirrel moment can break a cycle of sadness in our minds, or just draw our attention to something even better than what we intend to focus on.

Perhaps our squirrel moments are Spirit moments, where the holy presence in the world is breaking into our inmost selves and inviting us to pause, reflect, take a breath, and recognise that more is happening in our midst than we are aware of. We can use those moments to reground our actions, to reorient our thoughts, to recenter ourselves.

Maybe we have much to learn from squirrels, and from their namesake distraction.

Or maybe it’s just a rodent that society wants us to appreciate for a day (unlike our feelings towards them the other 364 days a year).

However we feel about them, we can at least honour their lessons to breathe deeply, stretch well, and celebrate that life can be a little bit nutty.

Thank You!

As a child, I was taught the power of the ‘thank you’. After every holiday, I would be sat at the table to pen a note of thanks to those from whom I had received gifts.

It’s a good practice, and one I continue to do – verbally if I am seeing the person, sometimes with a pen and card, often with an email or text. An expression of gratitude is important.

As I came to Christianity as an adult, I recognised that acts of gratitude are a spiritual practice. It demonstrates and celebrates our closeness to the divine – for giving a gift is not merely a task on our to-do list; it is an expression of care and a reflection of connection.

The gifts that we acknowledge as people of faith are not limited to those that come in paper with a bow – though those are so lovely too! We speak of the gifts of time and talent as well as ‘treasure’. So many people do things for others that extend care without a financial number attached: like shovelling a neighbour’s walk or making cookies with a grandchild, reading to schoolchildren or sitting on institutional committees.
We have so much to give; and when we do share our skills and time, it is a gift to others, showing them that we value them and wish them to thrive.

Yet so often, we can forget to express thanks for those gifts.
To do that is a detriment – to ourselves, our loved ones, even the organisations we are involved in. And even when our motivation is not the psychological ‘warm fuzzy’ we get when we receive thanks for our efforts, we do appreciate the acknowledgement. To fail to do so seems to be flippant or indifferent towards the gift, it can even feel like a rejection to the giver.

It’s why I keep thank-you notes handy. It doesn’t take much to say thank you; it certainly isn’t as laborious as my child self found writing awkward note cards. But it is well worth the effort; to cheerfully give thanks for all the gifts in our lives.

A Year of New

Last Sunday, I did something new.

I went with friends and did a ‘polar dip’ – where we (intentionally) jumped into a large body of water. Needless to say it was a quick dip; invigorating and exciting (and a great way to raise the heart rate and blood pressure!) amidst cold shouts and raucous laughter.

My friends do this annually – it’s part of their New Year’s Day tradition. For me, it was my first time – I’d always thought people that dipped were exercising poor judgement.

I fully suspect that the other folks at the water’s edge made a similar assessment of me this year, watching me race in, trip, and submerge in the icy water before coming out and shivering into a towel.

It began my year of adventure… I’ve decided that at least once per month, I will do something new. Something I’ve not tried before, something that’s unexpected. I’ve no idea yet what February will bring! And given that many adventurous things have already filled my life, it could be quite interesting.

The thing with trying something new is that it doesn’t have to be expensive, or some grand outing; it doesn’t need to be something I decide to do again (the verdict remains out on polar dip 2024), or even enjoy - it just needs to be new. (Even my dog today tried a new thing – apparently he likes pickles?!)

The willingness to try new things is the whole point. It can be so easy to cement ourselves into existing patterns, such that we lose the joy and enthusiasm of trying a new thing.

Life can fill us with (as the New Zealand Prayer Book offers) new days, new joys, new possibilities” – but only if we are willing to embrace them. New can be any number of things – awkward, uncomfortable, fabulous, exhilarating, mediocre – whatever it is, though, it is part of life.

So for 2023, my intentionality is to embrace the new – from the comfort of those rhythms and traditions that are consoling and comfortable. For everything now was once new; and who knows what joys await, what growth is possible, and what connections are yet to be made.