 ‘Only in quiet waters do things mirror themselves undistorted. Only in a quiet mind is an adequate perception of the world.’ (Hans Margolius) There are many different ways of grounding. Grounding is a bit like anchoring ourselves so that we don’t lose our footing completely when buffeted by the winds and waves of life. It enables us to bend, flex and flow adaptively without snapping. Jesus Christ in the Bible contrasts building a house on rock vs a house on sand. It’s a vivid metaphor that illustrates the same principle. Some people find rituals grounding. I like to start the day by having a shower to wake up, then light a candle, then sit quietly and listen contemplatively to, say, Pange Lingua Gloriosi or Jesu Dulcis Memoria. It feels like making space to breathe, to reach gently towards God, to feel his Presence within and around me. It’s a kind of prayer that calms, opens and enables me to pray. Before any kind of interaction at work – whether an email, phone call, meeting, coaching session or training event, I try to set aside time to focus and to ground myself in three core practices: prayer, presence and participation. It helps me to enter the spiritual state I hope for and, at best, to handle whatever happens from a relationally-rooted rather than reactive place. I do still get knocked sideways from time to time, especially if something happens out of the blue that clashes deeply with my own values or evokes anxiety or stress. The call for me in such situations is to return to grounding myself in God. Other methods I find helpful include focused breathing, riding a motorcycle, wandering in nature or walking with the poor. What helps you? Do you want help with grounding yourself? Get in touch!
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 English translation of a short talk I delivered at a Prayers for Peace meeting in Germany last night: A few years ago, a colleague in the UK, Rick James, was the keynote speaker at a forum for international development experts from around the world. Rick is a follower of Jesus and is widely respected in this arena for his own work in many different countries, especially in those that are poor. As the participants waited eagerly to hear his words of knowledge, wisdom and expertise, Rick sat quietly for a moment then said, unexpectedly, ‘There is so much I don’t understand.’ What an astonishing opening for a presentation. It demonstrated deep humility in the face of a complex world in which so much is truly beyond human comprehension. As we look at the news today, for instance, in spite of our prayers for 4 years, the world seems to be getting worse. Who could have imagined a month ago that the USA and Israel would attack Iran? Who could have imagined that, as a consequence, Russia is now even stronger than before to attack Ukraine? This may test our faith and challenge our hope. Some of you may have heard of Henri Nouwen, the Dutch priest who wrote an array of books about spirituality and Christian living. In one of his texts, he advised that, when faced with such painful questions, we should avoid the temptation of offering or accepting simple or easy answers. Instead, he advised that such questions should be raised and faced with honesty. Sometimes this will mean being present yet silent before God and one-another – like here this evening. His guidance reminds me of another priest, Iain Matthew, who is from the UK and lives in Spain. Iain offers profound reflections on the biblical account where Jesus is at a wedding in Cana and the host runs out of wine. It’s a painfully embarrassing situation for the host and we can imagine how, if we were there as his guests, we might try quickly to hide it, reassure him or find a solution. We might also call on Jesus to do what we think is best, what we think is needed to fix it. Yet here is Mary now. 'She perceives the need and names it, ‘They have no wine’ – without prescribing a solution. She takes it, holds it, and allows it to ache before Jesus.' Iain suggests this may be, at times, a pattern for prayer, 'to feel our way to a wound that is in us (perhaps a hurt or disappointment that our prayers seem unanswered), to go the place of our need.' He suggests, 'Go there, name it and hold it before Christ.' In doing so, we offer our doubts, confusion and fears to God. He then goes further, inviting us 'to feel our way to the wounds in this world, to those people or situations in dire need of help or healing. To go there, take them, name them, and hold them before Jesus. To go there, not to dictate to Christ what the answer should be or what he should do about it, but to hold the wound before him.' This is prayerful advocacy. We play our part by presenting our concerns and hopes before God in trust, and Jesus is Lord – the wisdom of God and the power of God.  ‘Father, forgive them because they don’t know what they’re doing.’ (Jesus Christ) I spent some days last week on a retreat at a Franciscan friary in the bitterly-cold North East of England. It’s something I choose to do each New Year these days – a retreat, that is, not to half freeze to death in a stone-built monastery. It’s a way of transitioning from the past year to the new, a spiritual defragmentation or reset of sorts, with a renewed and refreshed focus on God. The biggest challenge each time is to get over myself, to somehow disentangle myself enough from the fog of my own mental and emotional hopes, fears and preoccupations to see...Jesus. A recurring theme that emerged for me during my times of prayer and reflection was power. I read two starkly-contrasting accounts of people at Auschwitz during the Nazi era: the brutal guard Irma Grese who used her structural power to commit the most unspeakable acts of violence against prisoners, vs the self-sacrificing Franciscan friar Maximillian Kolbe who used his personal power to die in the place of another prisoner. Both were ordinary human beings. A critical, defining difference in that moment, in that context, was how each abused or used their power. I sat now in the candle-lit chapel, gazing at a harrowing figure of Jesus Christ, represented here as apparently-powerless, cruelly-beaten and tortured on a cross, straining upwards to glimpse his heavenly Father. It struck me how the world has become dominated (again) by power figures and ideologies, finding their voice through polarising politicians and political religions, and how so many people are flocking to support them. It’s symptomatic of widespread feelings of powerlessness and a desire to increase our own power via their power. Grese vs Kolbe? Father, forgive us.  ‘Learn your theories as well as you can but put them aside when you touch the miracle of the living soul.’ (Carl Jung) The past 3 months has been an exciting time, developing and running new foundational and advanced coaching courses for an international Christian non-governmental organisation. The former was for people new to coaching and the latter for those with more training and experience. The goal was to enhance the transformational capacity and impact of the organisation by investing in an internal coaching pool, in enabling ‘sacred encounters’. People took part in these programmes from 12+ countries which ensured a fascinating and enriching cross-cultural dimension and experience. Standard coaching is so often embedded in Western cultural assumptions such as individual autonomy or flat hierarchies. These groups of participants helped us to deconstruct and reconstruct diverse culturally and contextually appropriate approaches that could prove far more effective in their own environments. The foundational programme covered: What is coaching; When is it useful and how; Coaching and mentoring; Psychological safety and trust; Presence and listening; Asking good questions; Coaching in the Bible; The GROW model; A co-active approach; Guiding principles; Support and challenge; Going deeper with GROW; Coaching as a manager; Troubleshooting; and Action planning. It was fascinating to experiment with adapting GROW to a collectivist culture. The advanced programme covered: Psychological coaching; Coaching vs counselling; Diverse psychological approaches; Phenomenological approach; Psychological safety and trust; Sinful-wonderful paradox; Christian pastoral coaching; Renewing of the mind; Webs of our own creation; Jumping to confusions; Cognitive distortions; Reflexive coaching; Risks of self-deception; Unlocking fresh thinking. It was designed to dive deeper in the coaching pool. It also included: Blind spots and hot spots; Capabilities vs conversion factors; Developing personal agency; Expanding range of options; Exploration to action; Troubleshooting; and Action planning. I was impressed and inspired by the active engagement of participants who shared their own experiences, questions and ideas throughout. We ended with pointers towards further resources and an opportunity for participants to choose their own next steps. Are you keen to develop your coaching insights and skills? Get in touch!  ‘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.  ‘Give yourself a gift of five minutes of contemplation in awe of everything you see around you.’ (Wayne Dyer) I love spending time under German motorway bridges. I know that may sound a bit dodgy or weird, yet there’s something about the majestic hidden architecture that I find completely awe- inspiring. The tall pillars supporting the structure above have, for me, an evocative, ancient, temple-like appearance. Standing in those places, allowing myself to feel mysteriously lifted outside of myself, has a kind of spiritual quality to it that I struggle to express easily in words. Finding expansive places like this, whether in awesome mountain ranges or standing on a beach gazing out across open skies and sea, is a stark contrast to feeling hemmed in or pressed down by the day-to-day pressures of everyday life. It creates a moment to breathe in deeply, to feel the freedom and joy of space. I find that expansive, interior space in prayer, in God, too. Contemplation is, for me, presence to the awe-striking Presence who is already present with us.  ‘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.  ‘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. |
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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