 ‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.’ (Ambrose Redmoon) I don’t know if I’d be brave enough. Heading out into the mountains to reach the poorest and most vulnerable is a noble task, not least to demonstrate to those who feel vulnerable and abandoned that they’re not alone, not forgotten, and that someone sees them. One little girl galvanised Jasmin’s determination. She had messaged her Dad, pleading for him to find a way to get to her. She felt scared. He was some distance away in a city, working in a school in a low-paid job, trying to earn enough money to send her and her family emergency supplies. Yet she wanted him there beside her, to feel safer. The recent earthquakes in the Philippines, along with on-going aftershocks some 3 weeks later, have left their family home in ruins. Now living under a tarpaulin in the pouring rain, this girl has, thankfully, salvaged a solar charger which has given her enough power to charge up her cell phone. Her Mum is doing what she can to share their dwindling supplies of rice with others trapped in similar circumstances in their remote vicinity. Mudslides and sink holes make reaching them treacherous. Mountain tracks swept away or blocked by fallen trees and debris make a difficult journey almost impossible. Jasmin can’t read a map and a wise friend cautions her about the risks. I ask her, ‘How will you find your way through the jungle, across such impassable terrain, to reach them?’ I know that, in Jasmin’s mind, I’m asking the wrong question. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to go with someone who knows those mountains?’ I sense my questions are falling on deaf ears. I’m talking about logistics, safety and other rational considerations. Jasmin ‘s first priorities are love, faith and a yearning to be-with. She wants to make real the presence of Jesus, to be alongside them in situ, to see and hear first hand what they need.
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 ‘Bad things do happen in the world like war, natural disasters and disease. But out of those situations always arise stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things.’ (Daryn Kagan) A recent qualitative research study in Peru in the aftermath of El Niño (2025) could have equally applied to life and communities in places like the Philippines. In terms of psychosocial impacts of ‘natural’ disasters and their intersecting contributory causes, the pattern is all too painfully familiar. People and communities in various parts of the Philippines this week are living with the physical, psychological and emotional aftershocks of shattering earthquakes, compounded by the damaging effects of devastating typhoons. I hesitate to use the word natural. Although we wouldn’t attribute the underlying causes of earthquakes to human activity, we couldn’t say the same of violent tropical storms where human-impacted climate change is an increasingly significant factor. A disaster occurs when hazard meets vulnerability. The poor are often the most vulnerable to the causes and impacts of hazards, including the ability to avoid, mitigate or recover from them – and poverty, albeit a complex phenomenon itself, is far from a ‘natural’ state. The research report I alluded to above identifies a number of interrelated issues that impact on psychosocial health: personal memories and lived experience of previous disasters; chronic and acute effects of the disaster (‘It’s not a now problem; it’s an always problem’); attributing blame and responsibilities; coping and resilience (including faith and relational dimensions); psychosocial distress (including personal and vicarious trauma); perceived (un)fairness in aid distribution; systemic corruption and distrust. Against this complex and, in some ways, overwhelming backdrop, I’m still inspired and find hope in the faith and actions of those people who transcend self-interest to stand alongside those in need. Jasmin lacks the material and political resources to address the macro issues, yet persistently steps out of her comfort zone directly into disaster zones equipped only with a spiritual presence (a ‘sacred encounter’) – Divine love – that, in its own unique way, offers deep psychosocial healing and hope – and the strength to go on.  ‘My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds.’ (Steve Goodier)
The earthquakes that shook the Philippines recently shook me too, albeit on the other side of the world. On hearing that her parents’ simple home made from timber and corrugated iron had collapsed, one young woman trekked there from a city with emergency supplies of water and food. I try to imagine what that must feel like. News reports had shown that one family’s home nearby had been buried by a landslide triggered by the earthquake. Only their baby survived. This young woman didn’t know what to expect. Mud tracks were blocked by fallen trees and communications were down. Still, she persevered. On approaching what had been a village, desperate people pleaded with her with open hands for some drinking water. What a terrible ethical and emotional dilemma to face. To save her own family or to save these strangers? (I feel sure I’d prioritise my own loved ones, then try to learn to live with the guilt as well as I could). Thank God, she found her parents alive, living alongside others under makeshift tarpaulins. Pouring rain at the wet tail end of a typhoon hadn’t helped. People were forced to lift their few salvaged possessions as high as they could off the ground to keep them dry, then to sit on the muddy ground, clasping their knees, until it passed. This determined young woman, she herself poor, will head back again this week armed with faith, hope and love – and all the supplies she can muster.  ‘The German Bible calls the Holy Spirit the Beistand – literally, the One who stands beside us.’ Prayers for Peace. For over 3 years now, since Russia invaded Ukraine, this small and dedicated group of people have met every Wednesday evening in a cold stone church building in Germany, often warmed only by flickering candles and their burning desire to see a different world. The crucified Saviour in the background felt especially poignant tonight. The focus was on Israel-Gaza, praying for all sides of the conflict and standing in spirit beside all people suffering unspeakable pain. As we arrived, I stood slightly outside of the group, leaning against a wooden pew. I’d been sitting down all day writing an article and I needed to stretch to avoid discomfort I have with nerve pain. Just before the prayers were about to start, one of the leaders tip-toed gently across the room and stood silently beside me, without looking at me or saying a word. I’m a visitor from England, a stranger and yet, in the midst of the darkness, I too was touched by their simple act of solidarity.  ‘The providence of God is like Hebrew words - it can only be read backwards.’ (John Flavel) I had expected to be flying to Georgia this weekend then suddenly, at the end of this week, the trip was cancelled. The client’s circumstances have changed unexpectedly so we’ll need to reschedule. These things happen. The client has conducted themselves honourably in the midst of a difficult situation, with clear communication and a respectful stance at every stage, and I really appreciate that. It has given me a moment to think about an international coaching training workshop I facilitated last week with participants from Africa and the Middle East. Those participants emphasised the importance of relationship in coaching, not simply a transactional process of posing questions, reflecting back and hoping for change. It reflected well their cultural contexts and my own belief system too. The Georgia team has impressed me by its commitment to the relationship. I discovered there was another relationship at play too, which I didn’t realise until a friend sent me a report from Tbilisi last night. I would have arrived in the midst of vociferous street protests and riot police. God knew that before I did. This Harvest Sunday it feels, to me, like a sign of God’s relational providence.  ‘Modern toleration is really a tyranny. It is a tyranny because it is a silence.’ (G.K. Chesterton) At the end of this week’s Christian leadership retreat which drew on Action Learning at its core, I was struck by one participant’s feedback that, ‘This was the first time I’ve experienced authentic community.’ We had opened the event with trust-building activities, getting to know and understand one another as different people before introducing and practising Action Learning techniques. We also chose our own ground rules from the outset. The retreat was interspersed with times of prayer, biblical reflection and sharing of meals together. This reflection on community struck me as significant because it says something profound about what happened within the group, and is also a comment on outside-of the group. The participants were from very diverse personal and professional backgrounds, thrashed through some pretty tough issues together with honesty and care – and found this experience unique. It contrasted starkly with superficial conversations elsewhere, or with experiences of diversity that have resulted in avoiding, ‘othering’, polarisation, tension or conflict. I arrived home last night to hear the news on TV of a public activist’s murder, apparently by someone who didn’t agree with his views and influence. Then, today, I watched a huge protest crowd in London clash with a smaller group of counter-protestors, with embattled police holding the sides apart. It felt symptomatic of people, groups and societies that have lost their willingness and ability to tolerate difference, to tolerate truth, and to hold rigorous debates without feeling the need to silence with a bullet or with an arrest for free speech.  ‘What then is freedom? The power to live as one wishes.’ (Marcus Tullius Cicero) He’s a very poor student in the Philippines who diligently attends all his university lectures. At the end of each day, he works hard at night in his aunt’s shop, in exchange for a bowl of rice for breakfast and a simple evening meal. One his classmates noticed that he never eats anything for lunch. Not wanting to embarrass him, she mentioned this to the Student Affairs Director and, aware of his difficult financial position, kindly offered to bring in extra food for him. The Director agreed to think of a way of raising this with him sensitively. One day, she passed this young man in the corridor and asked him to do her a favour – to buy a large bottle of drinking water for her office where she supports some of the poorer students, if she gave him the money to do it. He readily agreed. When he brought it to her room, she invited him to sit down for a chat. She mentioned his classmate’s concern and offer to sound out his response. This student explained he appreciated the gesture of support, yet would prefer not to accept it. Firstly, he didn’t want to depend on others, especially on a young woman as he would find it more culturally-appropriate to provide for her instead. Secondly, he has developed a personal discipline of not-eating during the day, and his body has adjusted to it. If he were regularly to eat lunch, it would disrupt his strict routine and make it harder to return to it if he needed to. The Director respected his stance and asked if, instead, he would like to join her and some others in her office at lunchtimes, perhaps to help out with some practical tasks that would be useful to her and to other poor students. Again, he readily agreed. Each day now that he comes to her office, she offers him some of her own food and, on occasion, he accepts it. I admire his remarkable spirit of independence, and her wise discretion in avoiding imposing “help”.  ‘It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.’ (Mother Theresa) ‘I don’t own a purse because, with God’s help, I give everything away.’ As this humble Filipina revealed a rare glimpse of this personal dimension of her life of faith, I was struck by how she said it with absolutely no air of virtue-signalling. It was so matter of fact, as if speaking a self-evident truth for all followers of Jesus, everywhere. It challenged me as I glanced at my own wallet on the table. I’ve never met anyone so principled. I mean, it’s one thing to share from the edges of our excess wealth. It’s quite another thing to be very poor and not to cling on hard to the little we have. Yet I’ve seen her live out this faith, day after day and year after year. It’s humbling and inspiring and I’ve never witnessed so many miracles as those I’ve seen God work through her. True faith = love + trust.  ‘If you judge people, you have no time to love them. Peace begins with a smile.’ (Mother Teresa) Jasmin sets off today for a 1-month visit to the UK. It feels important. After all, it’s not that often that a ‘wild jungle girl’ (as she calls herself) gets to fly across the world to such a different place. I’m always intrigued by the unique world she brings with her too – her presence, her stance, her culture; the profound experiences that have shaped her life and, through her, mine too. It feels like hosting a totally unique person who, although she regards herself (at 5 feet tall) as very small, lives like Mother Teresa and has an incredible impact in the lives of the poor. I’m aware of feeling a deep sense of anticipation as I write this – something like a strange mix of excitement and dread. Although we speak online ever day, I haven’t seen her in person for almost 3 years. Will I be aware and sensitive enough to her needs? Will I find myself being over-protective when she encounters things here that could surprise or hurt her? I’m painfully aware, for instance, of our relative wealth, the ease with which we spend and indulge while she lives among those who have hardly enough to survive. It feels shameful and embarrassing. Yet I notice she doesn’t judge or, if she does, that she hides it well. She’s too focused on God (whom she calls her own Father) to become distracted by the things that so often and so easily preoccupy us in this world. She believes the poor – and the rich – are precious to God and that that’s what matters most. She views every interaction with a person (even the hostile Filipino immigration officer who confronted her harshly at the airport today) as a ‘sacred encounter’, an opportunity to follow Jesus by sharing his compassion and love. I want to be more like her.  ‘Conflict is inevitable, but combat is optional.’ (Max Lucado) Dealing with unresolved conflict when the other party is uninterested in reaching a resolution can be incredibly painful and frustrating. Occupational psychologist Michael West refers to it the greatest source of stress at work. The same can be true in our personal lives too. If you find yourself in that situation, here are some grounded and constructive steps you can take: 1. Accept what you can’t control The first and hardest step is often recognising that you cannot force someone to resolve a conflict if they’re unwilling. This sometimes means letting go of an ideal that all conflicts can be resolved. Acceptance doesn't mean you're okay with it; it just means you’re no longer fighting reality. The other party may come around in the future and they may not. That’s their call. 2. Reflect and own your part Without over-assuming blame, honestly examine your role in the conflict, for example: Is there anything you need to make peace with yourself over? Would you do anything differently now if you could? Occupational psychologist Richard Marshall puts it this way: it’s about you – but it’s not only about you. This isn't about shame or guilt. It’s about clarity, learning and growth. 3. Set boundaries If the conflict is ongoing (e.g. in family or work settings), create your own boundaries to protect your emotional energy and mental and physical health. This isn’t about avoidance. It’s about safeguarding your wellbeing. It may mean limiting contact with the other party as far as is possible; not discussing certain topics; and not expecting emotional reciprocity from them. 4. Express yourself (even if privately) If the other person won’t hear you out, pray and write a letter or email that you don’t send. Say everything you wish you could – totally uncensored. This can be a powerful way to externalise, process and release unresolved emotions and is much healthier than bottling everything up, like a smouldering volcano waiting to erupt. Catharsis of feeling can enable clarity of thought. 5. Seek closure without their participation Closure doesn’t require mutual agreement. You can, for instance, ritualise a goodbye (e.g. burn a letter, enact something symbolic to forgive yourself and-or the other party); reframe the conflict as a chapter, not your whole story; talk to God (the Psalms in the Bible are a great illustration of this approach), a coach, therapist or trusted person to help you process it. 6. Reclaim your power Letting go isn’t passive. It’s a courageous act of reclaiming your agency. Allowing another person’s behaviour to control our own is both passive and draining. Ask yourself: what does holding onto this conflict cost me? What would I gain if I released my grip on needing resolution? Act according to your own beliefs and values – and leave their behaviour to them. 7. Practice compassion (not co-dependence) Try to understand why the other person might avoid resolution with you, for example through fear, shame, pride or immaturity. This doesn’t excuse their behaviour, but it can help to free you from bitterness. (Co-dependence is an unhealthy sacrifice of your own needs, doing whatever the other party wants, to make them like you or keep the peace). Compassion helps you heal. |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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