‘I give thanks for laughter and tears, for sleep and silence’

This vocal ministry from the final session of this yearly meeting summed up the experience for me. There was much laughter, in and out of sessions, and joy at being together, meeting friends old and new, making and re-making connections with one another. There were also tears, and we give thanks for those too. Tears, because, try as we might, we fail to understand one another. Tears, because,try as we might, we can not see how we can give more. Tears of frustration, tears of release. I give thanks too for those who held those who cried, physically and spiritually.

When we open ourselves fully to the spirit in worship, we make ourselves vulnerable, we let go our defences to allow the spirit in and we risk tears, and anger, as well as inspiration and joy.

Considering whether to allow journalists into Yearly Meeting made us very aware of our vulnerability and our need to feel secure in worship together, in order for our business method to work. We found ourselves emboldened to ‘live adventurously’ and to ask that journalists be invited to attend Yearly Meeting in future. Next year we expect to consider sustainability and I personally hope we will make decisions that will be interesting enough to be reported in the media. In another session we also found much to encourage us in continuing to engage with the political process, at all levels, each in our own way.

It was good to hear of the positive progress that has been made towards legal changes in the direction of greater equality for same-sex marriages, and how this has been helped by the clarity of last year’s decision. Another delightful piece of news is that, for the first time since 1993, the tabular statement shows an increase in numbers actively involved in our worshipping communities.

In the closing session of the Meeting I felt myself strongly drawn to Isaac Penington’s words:

‘Our life is love, and peace, and tenderness; and bearing one with another, and forgiving one another, and not laying accusations one against another; but praying one for another, and helping one another up with a tender hand.’
QF&P 10.01

Stephanie Grant

Yes, she would try. It would be enlightening, challenging, possibly upsetting, and, she hoped, also fun. She was tall, which was a good thing, and relatively straight up and down. Her hair was short – would it pass? and she took size 7 shoes. She would need to change her language, really think herself into the part. She had heard actors reading aloud and had been amazed at the way in which they could persuade you that they were a dozen different characters, with different background, moods and ages. Her NLP training should help with that.

She dressed carefully, binding her breasts with a long cloth, then putting on a borrowed suit and waistcoat, a shirt and tie, and her most masculine shoes. She drew a faint shadow round her chin and along her upper lip. That was hard, and she needed several tries with different eye shadows. The voice – maybe she would get away with a few gruff words? The less she said the better.

Then she began to think herself into the persona of this young man. She found herself taking longer strides, putting her hands in her pockets. She was aware of a strange feeling in her chest. She felt strong, confident. Was she caricaturing a man? Well, there were plenty of confident men in the world, and, after all, she was only being one man. She could choose what sort. Her experience with a lesbian affair should help. She knew what it was like, loving a woman. Suddenly she perceived herself protecting her partner, wanting to challenge the world that might hurt her. She had never felt like this before. She thought further. Could she behave to a man in a different way? Standing beside him, being like him, without any hint of any other element?

Then she found herself thinking in clichés. She might talk about football, even say ‘her indoors’. My goodness, she had a long way to go. Slowly, she took off the suit, the shirt, the chest binding. She was not ready. But she had seen herself in a different light, and it was empowering.

Lindsey March, 2010

I’m gazing at the river, ceaselessly flowing.
She entices me, invites me in
Yet teases me with fallen leaves and eddies and whirlpools,
Floating bubbles, coots and moorhens and ducks,
Trying in every way to distract me.
And then there are the corkscrew trees upended,
The drifting clouds, the too perfect symmetrical swan.
If I’m allowed to pass through this beguilement,
I catch a glimpse of fish gliding over jewelled stones,
Diving in and out of roots, at home.

Jenny Senior, Feb 2010

Reflections in the lake at Woodbroke
Stephanie Grant

Several years ago I received a birthday card, which had, on its front page, a picture of the wicked queen in the story of Snow White. Exquisitely dressed and with beautiful black hair, the Queen is asking the mirror in her boudoir: “Mirror Mirror on the wall, who is the youngest-looking of them all?”

Inside the card, the mirror replies: “Cliff Richard”.

I have two mirrors in my flat and when I look into them, I see the same face I’ve been seeing since my twenties, but this is obviously an illusion. I have been mistaken for my man friend’s mother too many times and too many women have offered me their seats on buses.

So it’s about time I grew old gracefully.

Rosemary Woodland