Nettles and the Karate kid

 Yesterday, I had an epic 120 mile round trip, collecting parents from holiday in Barnstaple, driving them to Sidmouth and breaking for a quick leftover cold meats and salad lunch at my house so they could see the new double glazed windows.  They thought the rapid appearance of a feast fairly miraculous!  Mum calls packet salad "dandelions" - she ate the spinach leaves I threw in from another pack without realising.  "I hate spinach!!" Fair play, the salad leaves do look like dandelions.

I drove back to go to Thorverton for spiritual direction.  Sometimes my planning skills go awry like this. Taking show and tell was a good idea.  At the moment I am reading (as part of the "big church read) with a couple friends, Pete Grieg on prayer. His quote that I had read that morning was about slowing down and being quiet with God.  Regarding our heads, he says we find it is "Like some wild cocktail party of which we find ourselves the embarrassed host" That is an exact description of my head at present!

So, when asked what I want to look at in spiritual direction, I say "how to be quiet" And think that this is like climbing snowdon for me. Challenging, kind of exciting?  Basically I absolutely need some time away and what my friend Lynn calls a "mental holiday"  Relaxation. Exercise.

Many years ago my friend Sandy and I watched the "karate kid", original version. The trainee karate kid goes to his master, and he is asked "paint the fence" clean the car, "wax on, wax off" Phrases that people of a certain age trot out when giving someone something tedious to do. Turns out that the moves you need to perform karate well are the same actions the kid has done over and over again whilst being practical.

What's the point of that?  Well, Kathy the spiritual director has a house with an acre of garden. It's an outside gym really, keeping that from descending into chaos. So I asked if I could help.I am grateful for the time and listening.  And I either put a bit back via foodbank or this time, muscle power.  Because I am both grateful and like being there. 

My task?  Clearing nettles.  Huge 5ft nettles.  Lots of them.  With a full size fork and wheelbarrow. Wearing shorts and borrowed leather gloves.  They sting.  Even when you pull the buggers up and stack them on the compost heap.  You can tell I am not a gardener can't you?  My grandad was a "jobbing gardener, my dad hated but did gardening, and I can't tell weeds from flowers (according to a gardening friend) 

 But funnily enough and I have absolutely no idea if this was the aim or not, the plodding work for an hour calmed me and my head down. Listening to blackbirds whistling and singing, smelling fresh cut grass and clippings on the compost pile. The stamp and wrestle with the fork.  Sunshine dappling through.  A cuddle with the beautiful, brainlessly affectionate labrador and hauling the cutting and clippings to the compost heap and the bonfire pile.  

I will definitely go back and have another nettle battle some time!