 ‘Your individuality is important, but so is belonging.’ (Sol Peralta) Yesterday’s coach training participants were from and based in Brazil, Colombia, Ecuador, Guatemala and Honduras. It was the first time I’d worked with English-Spanish simultaneous interpretation and Ana Duarte, the translator, did a brilliant job. (I don’t think my own brain could cope with that level of intensity and complexity in real time). It felt like witnessing a miracle and reminded me of the first time I trained deaf people with skilful support from British Sign Language interpreters. These course participants are employed in a variety of very different roles in a Christian international non-governmental organisation (INGO) and I was impressed by their high level of interest and engagement. They are keen to think through how to develop a coaching mindset and practice with individuals, and a broader coaching ethic and culture when working with diverse groups, organisations and movements – alongside, and in tangible service of, the poorest of the poor. We’ll have skills practice sessions next week then a follow-up workshop the week after. The participants are especially keen to explore trust-building in Latino cultural contexts and how to navigate a range of relational dynamics that often arise in their countries, e.g. how to retain essential human qualities; and how to manage boundaries between coaching, mentoring and pastoral support. I appreciated their genuine honesty, curiosity and warmth and I'm learning from them too.
9 Comments
 ‘The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much; it is whether we provide enough for those who have too little.’ (Franklin D. Roosevelt) This coming Saturday, on a small island in the Philippines, Alijah’s parents will hold a simple ceremony to give thanks for her short yet beautiful life. In spite of her significant physical disabilities, Alijah was a bright-spirited young woman: always full of hope and always full of life. She had a wild sense of humour, never complained and studied really hard to do well in her exams. What started out as a cough last week turned out to be pneumonia. Alijah was just 19. Alijah’s parents, who loved her deeply, were too poor to afford the £50 vaccine. That upsets me.  ‘Lost in space, and what is it worth, huh? The president just forgot about Earth: spending multi billions, and maybe even trillions, the cost of weapons ran into zillions.’ (Grandmaster Melle Mel & The Furious Five) On the same weekend that Christians around the world celebrated the miracle of life over death in Jesus Christ at Easter, a shot-down US airman was rescued on the ground from the grip of an enraged Iranian regime, hellbent on revenge. In this same weekend, the Artemis II space mission broke a new record for the farthest distance that human beings have travelled from Earth. I found myself wondering if, from that vantage point, the astronauts may be able to spot what alien planet Donald Trump is living on. The self-proclaimed man of peace issued an unhinged statement on social media that said: ‘Open the F****** strait, you crazy b*******, or you’ll be living in Hell – JUST WATCH!’, then signed off with, ‘Praise be to Allah’. It’s hardly a textbook page from 'How to Win Friends and Influence People', and I struggle to imagine that an ideologically-driven, Islamist regime, known for its repressive violence against its own people and its neighbours, would be intimidated by such a threat. Is the US President lost in space? Flash back just 6 months ago, to the Sharm El-Sheikh Peace Summit when world leaders queued up sycophantically to kiss the hand of this so-called peacemaker, standing proudly like a Pharaoh before the lights and the cameras. Or just 3 months ago, when the humble María Corina Machado self-sacrificially handed her Nobel Peace Prize medal to this sulking antihero who hadn’t won, hoping it would win favour for the oppressed people of Venezuela. It was shameful beyond words that he took it from her. And, as it continues, the shockwaves of this regional conflict are reverberating far across the globe. The Philippines was hit yesterday by another earthquake, shaking people’s already fragile lives. It felt hard, scary and symbolic. As a result of this war, those living on the edge of existence face relentless rises in food, energy and fuel prices and are struggling barely to survive. The poor have no reserves, stockpiles or insurance and nothing but their faith to fall back on. It’s appalling. ‘Earth to Trump…come in please..?’  ‘I’m a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.’ (Mother Teresa) During my final cold night in Tbilisi last week, I was walking to pray in an ancient orthodox church when I noticed an elderly woman foraging in bins beside the road, presumably looking for food. I saw her, but I didn’t stop. I even had some Georgian cash in my pocket but somehow convinced myself I would need it to buy food and drink at the airport the next morning. Once I reached the church and stood in front of a cross, I quickly came back to my senses and left almost immediately again to try to find the woman to give her what I had…but it was too late. She had melted into the darkness and I chastised myself: ‘How could I have been so selfish, to put my own needs before hers?’ I felt desperately ashamed, and rightly so. Lesson to self: When you see the need, don’t overthink – just do it.  ‘The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.’ (The Bible) You may have heard it said a picture can paint a thousand words. This image (above), captured by Jasmin’s daughter, Mary, this week, spoke more to me about the authentic meaning of Christmas than any I’ve seen on glitzy, tacky TV ads. Jasmin, Mary, Paul and a small group of inspired students in the Philippines spent their Christmas bringing good news to the poor. Their first venture involved taking gifts and running a fun-filled party for 127 poverty-stricken children and their families who live in a cemetery. It brought hope to people on the margins of society who so often live without hope. The joy on the children’s faces was incredible. That brought joy to Jasmin and her helpers too. True light brings light, and it reflects back too. Today, Christmas day, Jasmin, Mary and Paul ventured out again, this time to take gifts and the message of Divine love to 173 poverty-stricken children and families who live on the streets. The look of surprise and joy on their faces was life-giving too. They could never have imagined being seen, valued and loved like this. The people walking in darkness have seen a great Light.  ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ (Jesus Christ) To the poorest of the poor, to be seen is to be acknowledged, recognised, valued. It affirms, ‘I exist’. No – more than exist. ‘I matter’. Some could even dare to venture, ‘I am loved’. Jasmin sees these children playing in a cemetery. Others don’t see them. They are invisible. They don’t matter. Locals warn Jasmin not to get involved with these kids. They live among the mausolea and tombstones in a makeshift community that’s renowned for being badly crime-ridden and dangerous. Their words of caution are well-grounded. A visitor before Jasmin was stabbed, and later a woman was shot dead in front of her when she returned to see these kids. Yet this doesn’t deter her. Jasmin gets alongside the children and their families, takes an interest in their lives and wellbeing and, gradually, they begin to experience being…seen. It takes them by surprise at first, not sure what to make of this humble saint whose smiling gaze makes them, somehow, feel more human. Jasmin tells them with heartfelt conviction that Jesus sees them too, through eyes filled with love, hope and possibility. They start to imagine a different future. Jasmin runs a lively summer school for the unschooled children. Some of the mums get inspired and start to take more ownership of their environment and community. Two years ago, Jasmin asked the children what they’d love for Christmas. They didn’t know what to say. They’d never had a Christmas. Their families were too poor to buy food or gifts. They asked for roll-up mattresses to keep them warm at night, shielding them from the hard cold of the tomb stones. 127 mattresses, 1 for every child, arrived that Christmas Day. Last year, she asked again. This time: ‘A school bag’ Christmas Day – 127 strong and brightly coloured school bags arrived. This year: ‘Please, fresh pants and girls' sanitary items’. (That really humbled me). Jasmin is wrapping 127 beautiful gifts today. She sees them. Jesus sees them. Each child has a name.  ‘What have you set in motion? You are meant to be. Others you do not know depend on the fruit of your actions.’ (Christopher Chapman) I find that quite breathtaking. Like the butterfly effect, ‘the idea that small, seemingly trivial events may ultimately result in something with much larger consequences’ (Nathan Chandler), it suggests that our everyday actions – or our inactions – can have ripple effects that lay far beyond anything we ourselves could have imagined, known or understood: geographically and generationally. I like Christopher Chapman’s framing of this in his book, Doorways to Hope. He proposes that, in God’s mysterious eternal plan, we each play a significant role – whether we can see it or not. The question it points back to us is, ‘How are you willing to live your life?’ I want my being and my every doing to make a positive difference for the poor and most vulnerable people in the world. This makes my every decision an act of faith, imbued with a spiritual-existential dimension. It provides a sense of meaning, of purpose, that counters despair.  ‘None of this is about morality, or religion, or dogma, or big fancy questions of life after death. The capital-T Truth is about life before death. It is about making it to 30, or maybe 50, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head.’ (David Foster Wallace) The seagulls woke me with their loud cries. I couldn’t tell if they were singing or screaming. Perhaps it was both. Still, it's better than the bellowing bark of the neighbour’s dog that shatters the sleep, silence and solitude most days. There are no lights outside on my house. Only a single candle with a flickering flame inside: enough, I pray, to hold back the darkness. Tis the season to be jolly and yet, as the sun rose this morning, I felt more like Neil Young’s lonely boy: ‘Can't relate to joy, he tries to speak and…can't begin to say.’ I felt lost for words. Mindfulness won’t bring peace on Earth and no amount of positive psychology will shift the mood. I can’t fake a façade, a smile – and I refuse to do it. This is spiritual, existential. I listened to and felt Anna Robbins’ words: ‘So here it is. The incarnation of God...is not a sweet baby Jesus moment. It is light in the midst of the deeps; meaning in chaos; presence in isolation…(It) remembers his coming, celebrates his presence. and anticipates a future coming when all will be made well. Which means all is not well right now…in an uncertain world filled with conflict and disorientation.’ ‘If you don't feel excited about the usual preparations, there is nothing wrong with you…(and) if you feel out of sorts, it's because we all are, and you choose not to pretend anymore…Honesty about what a mess things are enable(s) us to receive the light of Christ as reality in which we participate, rather than simply offer our carols as spiritual whistling in the dark.’ That resonates. It feels for me like touching a fundamental reality, a rock bottom from which the only way is up. It’s deep and it matters. It’s only against the backdrop of darkness that the nativity, the coming of Jesus – Light of the world – makes sense. As I look around and see worldwide poverty, violence, oppression, corruption and injustice, that Light is hope.  ‘Every child you encounter is a divine appointment.’ (Wess Stafford) Words can’t capture it. Photos can’t express it. I can’t find a way to do it justice. The sheer, vibrant joy and excitement of 127 children this Christmas on receiving what they had asked for – a bag each with bright-coloured notepads, pens and a handful of sweets. Rewind for a moment. These kids live in a city cemetery in the Philippines. Yes, a cemetery, among the gravestones and broken down mausolea. Desperately poor, their families cling to the edges of society, surviving invisibly at meagre subsistence level. Imagine it. A Filipina saw them. She remembered vividly and painfully how, as a child living in dire poverty too, she never received a Christmas gift. Other children did and that felt sad and confusing. In her child's mind, she concluded that she must have done something wrong. It was only later in life that she learned that wealthier parents had paid Santa to distribute gifts to their own children. This experience burned deep in her soul. She’d always returned home heavy-hearted and empty-handed. She determined that these kids wouldn't. Back to now. The children knew something special was about to happen. She’d asked them in advance what they’d love – if God enabled a way to make it possible. ‘School bags!’ they replied. It was a humble and humbling request. As she arrived, the tension was tangible, the kids straining in eager anticipation to see what she’d brought. The Filipina had packed every gift individually, beautifully and prayerfully so that each child would know they are seen, valued and loved. The children skipped, sang and danced. A sacred encounter. What a gift. Remember the poor. We can be hope.   ‘As a global community, we face a choice. Do we want migration to be a source of prosperity and international solidarity, or a byword for inhumanity and social friction?’ (Antonio Guterres) I didn’t notice that yesterday was International Migrants Day. If I’m honest, it passed by vaguely on the edges of my awareness. I was too preoccupied by other things to pay it attention. I guess that’s how it feels for some who move within or across borders as a consequence of poverty, persecution, climate disaster or war. There – but not seen. Existing – yet as if not existing. I can only imagine how it is, how it feels, to escape from home with nothing left to hold onto apart from a flickering spark of hope. The poorest are by far the most vulnerable. That hurts. Dire poverty steals the opportunity to move. ‘The poorest people generally do not have the resources to bear the costs and risks of international migration. International migrants are usually drawn from middle-income households.’ (United Nations). ‘Worldwide, roughly 85% of all refugees live in developing regions, not in wealthy industrialised countries.’ (Refugee Action). ‘70% of refugees live in (their) neighbouring countries.’ (International Rescue Committee). The poorest live – no, barely survive – on the borders, the edges, of their places of origin. This begs strategy and policy questions as we face the future, especially in light of the growing number and scale of climate emergencies worldwide; a growing trend of autocratic-style governments that clamp down on dissent; growing risks of geopolitical tension and war and the associated likelihoods of increasing numbers of displaced people seeking sanctuary or a better life elsewhere. Building higher walls is one option. Investing in climate solutions; poverty-reduction; human rights; and peacebuilding is a more life-giving and sustainable alternative. What do you think? |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
Like what you read? Simply enter your email address below to receive regular blog updates!
|
RSS Feed