Three Good Things | Volume 2

Holiday/vacation edition

It’s been a week and two days since I returned home from a family holiday in Corfu. My tan is fading and the turquoise sea and buffet breakfasts are so far removed from my everyday life that they feel more like a delightful dream than a recent reality. I’m grateful for the pocketful of pebbles I brought back with me and have scattered on windowsills throughout the house. They are the tangible tokens I can hold in my hand and feel confident that, yes, it really did happen.

The stones I brought back were carefully selected from a much wider range of pebbles and shells that my children added to every time they walked a shoreline or snorkelled in the sea. When they were tiny, it was a daily practice to collect sticks or leaves or stones but it’s been quite a while since they presented me with found treasure. Perhaps this explains why I didn’t (or couldn’t) leave the pebbles and shells at the beach but instead received each as a gift to be carried back to our hotel room and gratefully displayed on my bedside table. Every day the collection grew until it filled most of the surface and I had to admit that, as much as I love everything my children gift me, I really could not justify taking everything home.

Turning over each stone in my hand, I considered what I wanted to take home with me. Not only which pebbles but which moments. What had been the significant conversations, experiences, or realisations? What did I want to remember? What meaningful moments did I want to attach to these pebbles?

Some of what came up for me as I pondered those questions feels too personal or tender to share (yet) but there are a few things I would like to name here as a way of claiming them more fully. If something stands out or feels signifcant to you I’d love to know. I’d also love to hear what Good Things you are taking with you from these past few weeks. What feels precious that you want to tuck away in your pocket for later?

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Three Good Things

1. The view from Paleokastritsa Monastery

The Paleokastritsa Monastery of Theotokos (Mother of God)

Perched high on a hill, Paleokastritsa Monastery has stunning views of the Ionian sea and Corfu’s dramatic northwest coastline. I was hoping for a quiet visit but unfortunately we arrived at the same time as a cruise ship day trip and I spent most of my time trying to avoid getting in the way of people’s photos and reminding myself not to be annoyed by the crowd because I was part of the crowd. Eventually I found a quieter spot and as I sat on a bench looking out at the vast expanse of ocean I tried to let go of my irritation. Mostly this was unsuccessful but beneath the surface of my frustration I knew the silent immensity of the water before me was speaking to my soul about the expansive and unconditional presence of God, which holds all things (including cruise ship day trippers) together in Love.

After a while, I turned around and noticed that the entrance to the church was directly opposite this view and found myself wondering whether this was intentional. Whatever the original reason for the orientation, what struck me was the impression is gives that the church and sea are turned towards each other. While faced looking out towards the sea I hadn’t noticed this but looking back towards the church it was clear that the church’s door was open onto the view of the sea. As I turned to face the sea again it seemed for a moment that the sea was responding to the church’s open door by lapping towards it.

I’m curious what you take from this. For me it served as a reminder that even though we may sometimes problematise the many ways people have of encountering the Divine by asking which one is “right” or “best”, this is both deeply unhelpful and ontologically inaccurate. Not only do all things open onto the Divine but all openings onto the Divine also open onto each other. It’s just that sometimes we have to turn around and look at things from a different perspective in order to notice it.

Later, as I stood in the church looking out towards the ocean, I felt a deep peace that the bent of my own soul towards seeking and loving God through nature is not a denial or rejection of any other approach but has its own place of belonging in the web of connection that holds all seekers.

The view of the sea from the church’s open door.

2. Pink walls and cascading pots

One of my favourite houses in the village of Sinarades

Isn’t this house stunning? I love the soft pink walls and teal green shutters but it’s the cascade of pots that thrills me most. Stopped in my tracks by its beauty I found myself moved by the thought of the care and effort that it must take to maintain all those pots (I avoid pots in my gardening because they require such diligent watering). This house wasn’t in a eye-catching location or a fancy town but nestled in the heart of an ordinary village rarely visited by tourists. It wasn’t the only house decorated with this degree of care either. Even the smallest of homes had a display of weather-beaten terracotta pots planted with geraniums and roses.

Although my childhood journals and sketchbooks are proof that my greatest ambition has always been to live a simple yet beautiful life in a home that is a sanctuary for me and for others, I sometimes wonder whether that is enough or if I really ought to want more. As I stood on the kerbside and feasted my eyes on the cascade of pots, I saw my own life mirrored back to me through more compassionate eyes. “If caring well for what has been given is enough here for these people,” I thought, “then perhaps caring well for what has been given is also enough at home for me.”

I want to paint this scene.

3. A visit by a yellow butterfly

Image source: www.theguardian.com/environment/2022/aug/15/country-diary-1922-clouded-yellow-butterfly-year

I have an internet image search to thank for this photo as this moment happened when I was far, far away from my camera phone. I had swum out away from the beach and was alone in the quiet of the deeper waters enjoying the sensation of weightlessness. As I floated, I noticed that a burden I have been carrying in my soul for a long time had been lifted. Suddenly and out of nowhere, a yellow butterfly flew past me and out across the water. I have never seen a butterfly fly across open water before and the sight of it confidently fluttering its way into the distance was utterly captivating. Although at the time I was mildly concerned for its wellbeing and ability to fly such a long way (was I about to witness a butterfly collapse and drown?!) I’ve since discovered that it was a clouded yellow butterfly and that they are known to cross large bodies of water including the Ionian sea. I watched it fly further and further away until I could no longer see it. Even now if I close my eyes I can easily imagine it still flying out across the water.

I’m convinced the yellow butterfly had a message for me and I think it might be something about growth. For a long time I’ve believed that growth is about adding or progressing or building but now I think it might be more about loosening into freedom. In the moment I realised I had let go of that inner burden I noticed how much lighter and freer I felt and how much my capacity to simply be had expanded. That was when the butterfly flew past. It feels significant.

I’m not in a hurry to parse out the meaning of this encounter any further than that. For now it’s enough to remember the yellow flicker of wings as the butterfly confidently flew past me and away, carried across the water by its own weightlessness.

I wonder…

What good things do you want to remember from this week?

Take a few minutes to look through your camera reel or replay the week in your mind. Ask yourself:

Where was beauty?

What brought me joy?

When did I feel movement in my soul?

What recent moments feel precious that you want to tuck away in your pocket for later?