On Being Blocked On Your Path

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The devil will attack you in the areas of your greatest anointing. Be mindful of where the negativity is coming from and fight it off. Don’t give the demon more attention than it deserves, and don’t allow it to continue to take air space. Negativity feeds on attention of any kind. Starve it.

Mindfully yours,

Holly x


#ThoughtForTheDay

 

Thoughts on Teamwork & Leadership

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A team / group of people cope best in difficulty, when they fully understand the objective that they are working towards.

A leader of a group has to lead ~ he or she cannot simply show up.

When there is a clearly outlined objective, it makes moving forward a possibility.

No success was ever achieved without deliberately working towards a specific goal.

For success to ‘happen’, one has to study success, set the compass towards success, dress for success, do and take whatever steps and actions are needed towards the achievement of the goal(s), and keep focus alive.

Where success dwells, no excuses are entertained.

If you want to achieve something, you have to be prepared to do whatever it will take for you to achieve it.

If you want a team to work with you on something, you have to either lead properly or delegate the leadership, and find ways to continually celebrate successes along the way, as well as providing rewards during and at the end of the process.

In pursuit of excellence,

Holly x

 

Being Busy

We are now all mini satellite offices, carrying our Reception Desks and Admin Departments in our hands, pockets, handbags …

“Think of the ant …”

Now consider the eagle.

“A bee is praised, a mosquito is swatted …”

Open eyes and see what’s going on, really.

Balanced views are critical to sustainable success.

Holly x

[Originally written for another platform, hence the brevity of this post.]

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot – A Motherhood Memory

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Cooks Hill, NSW, Australia ~ 1993/94

 

“Swing low, sweet chariot …”

This picture … me ‘n my girl … in the garden of the first home that we owned, where we spent many glorious hours in Nature together, had lots and lots of parties and get-togethers, with friends and family frequently coming to stay.

The garden was a ”postage stamp”, whose every inch I knew, into which I poured my love and learnt all sorts about Australia. Gardening became the therapy for a very homesick heart, a heart that missed people in two countries, two continents called “home”, but with that came a grateful connection to the earth and so much that reminded me of my beloved Africa.

In order to be a parent, I had to learn to listen deeply to the rhythms of real soul, such as I had seen in the ways that African people cared for their young … My journey was an otherwise blind one, based only on what I felt to be right, and most of the time I could not see further than my nose in the process. I read LOTS of books.

I called that home “Tintinnare” … which is Latin; it means the ringing of bells. It was and still is, I’m sure, a very special place. We lived there five years, sold it to move to “Rosewood”, when my son, four years younger than his sister, was a year old.

Holly x


[This post was written for another platform originally, hence the brevity of script.]

The Gift Of A Mandela Book

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This morning, whilst drinking my early morning cup of tea, something prompted me to look across to the little bookshelf beside my bed.  As I glanced up to the top shelf, a book almost spoke to me to lift it down and open it … this book … “Mandela. My Prisoner, My Friend”.  I obeyed.  I held it, I stretched out my hands and looked at the cover, I drew it close to my chest and hugged it, as if to feel the warmth of southern hemisphere sunshine … and then I opened the covers and peeped inside.

I knew that I was taking a chance by opening the book, potentially exposing myself to pain, at seeing evidence of things about Nelson Mandela’s life which I know were brutal, creating uncomfortable feelings of despair and utter shame, coupled with longings for the country of my birth, and yet I knew that it really was time to face whatever the pages contained … but I was only going to peep.  A little.  It was not my intention to spend too much time on the book today, with a list as long as the proverbial piece of rope of things demanding my attention, but I felt that I was being guided to read some of it and to at least make myself acquainted with a little of what the text contains.  The book had been given to me some time ago, a surprise gift, and it was time I gave it my attention, bravely.

As so often happens, I feel intuitively that I should do things and, instead of questioning the prompts, I usually tiptoe or stumble forth in the direction where I am led. And so I prised open the unread book, and I recalled the immense sense of amazement that I had felt when it had first been given to me, as I read the handwritten inscription inside:

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“To Holly,
Nelson Mandela was / is such an inspiration for me, as are you!
Keep shining your light and doing what you do.
Kirsti   x  “

[gifted to me on 28 April 2016]

Once again, as when I had received the book, which had been a complete surprise, I felt a wave of humility mixed with pleasure, at being thought of so highly and in such a wonderful way.  I cannot imagine anyone on the planet not being touched to be associated with “Madiba” in any sense at all … what a tremendous honour that I should be so blessed to remind someone of him, so much so that they would give me this book with open handed love.  It’s no small thing to have received this, and I remember at the time I could not comprehend why, nor quite take it in.  I still cannot see how I bear any passing similarity to Nelson Mandela, but life has been incredibly challenging to me as well, starting with a turbulent and at times heart breaking childhood, and has taught me so much through those challenges.  I suppose this gives a tiny reason to feel that Mr Mandela and I might have, had we ever met, been kindred spirits.  Each of us, people acquainted with harsh reality and at times extremely unfair judgement, both very much in love with Nature, people and the African soil, giving some vague reason to believe that perhaps we might have had some things in common while he lived.  I would have loved to meet that real, power filled man – as many would have, I know.

And so, I turned another page, to see what I was being led to read.  The few pages that I opened spoke deeply to my consciousness and, whilst I could not face reading into the detail, what I read was enough for today, enough to make it worthwhile to have opened the book – almost a year since it had been given to me, in April 2016.

In the Prologue, these words by the author, Christo Brand, struck my soul:

“Nelson Mandela spent his boyhood in the green and golden hills of South Africa’s Eastern Cape.  There he ran wild with his friends in the village of Qunu.  He has told of the happiest years of his life – shooting birds out of the sky with a catapult, gathering fruit from the trees, catching fish with a bent hook and drinking warm milk straight from the cow.

Just like me, he sometimes looked after flocks of sheep and would go home to his family’s little house after playing till dusk, to eat supper and listen to his mother’s stories around the fireside.

As a young boy, he had no immediate knowledge of apartheid.  In his small, safe world there was no obvious menace.  His childhood was secure in the rural Xhosa community where he belonged.

I also knew nothing of the cruel racial boundaries in our country as I grew up.  My father was a farm foreman in a fertile part of the Western Cape.  All my young life I played with black and mixed-race children who lived on the farm with us in Stanford, many miles from the city.

Looking back, Mandela and I both enjoyed childhoods full of innocence and charm, although many years apart.  We were both brought up in the Christian tradition, our lives ruled by strict but loving parents who taught us right from wrong.  All that mattered was home and family, with rewards for good behaviour and punishment for bad.

He and I, in contrasting worlds, came to know in our different ways the full cruelty of the apartheid laws, and those worlds collided only many years later when we both found ourselves on Robben Island, the bleak maximum security prison where he was serving life and I was his warder.

I was 19 years old when I came face to face with Nelson Mandela.  He was 60.  Until that day I had never heard of him, or his African National Congress, or the deeply held reasons that meant that he and his comrades were prepared to die for their cause.

I found a man who was courteous and humble, yet at the same time the powerful leader of many of the political prisoners serving time on Robben Island.”

and

“He wrote of his ‘long walk to freedom’, and I walked some of that road with him, an incredible journey that defines my life today, as well as his.

In truth, my life began so much later than his.  A white Afrikaans boy born into the very culture that created Mandela the revolutionary, I’d had no idea it was going to lead me to him.”

~ * ~

Unlike Christo Brand, whose childhood and life story are also described in the book, I did not grow up in a Christian household, and my home and background influence were very definitely liberal British / generally English ones, but I too experienced the times of friendship with ‘forbidden’ others, and the wildness of living free during part of my childhood in the African countryside.  In this way, I suppose one could imagine that each of these aspects makes us plaited and pure South Africans of the apartheid era, kindred spirits in all sorts of ways.  There are aspects of imprisonment which Mandela experienced, that I could identify as similar in various parallels with my own life on other continents where, despite appearance to the contrary, I have also experienced the sheer despair and discomfort of being contained, misjudged, overlooked, misunderstood.  It is in the nature of some of us to express ourselves openly and to put our gifts to use with excellence and generosity; when we are constrained, those energies can be directed inwards and threaten to overwhelm us … Nelson Mandela showed that they and the opposition he faced would grow him, instead, and indeed they did.

As I turned to a few more pages, before getting up and on with the day, I came across a page that struck me as special to share, and so I took a quick photograph (a bit blurry, given the time of day!) ..

On one page, two human beings whom I have a huge amount of respect for, both having been at the receiving end of unimaginable condescension and criticism, both heroes of their day, despite (and perhaps because of) it all, both educated, civilised, philosophical giants, with warm hearts and the grace of forgiveness in the fibre of their make-up: Nelson Mandela and Barack Obama.  Each man a legend, in his own right.  Each man someone I look up to as an example of a fine human being.  Each man with roots in Africa. Each a leader, against all the odds.  Each man a lion-hearted soul.

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At the front of the book, US President Barack Obama’s message in the visitors’ book on Robben Island, dated 30 June 2013, is quoted and reads:

“On behalf of our family, we’re deeply humbled to stand where men of such courage faced down injustice and refused to yield.  The world is grateful for the heroes of Robben Island, who remind us that no shackles or cells can match the strength of the human spirit.”

These words deserve a moment …

I am one of those people who will often read the final pages of a book, and then go back and absorb the detail, quickly, or pausing to comb through the fine print, savouring each page like a morsel of delicacy.  Thus, confining this one quick comb through my precious gift of “Mandela.  My Prisoner, My Friend” to another ten minutes or so of perusing the content for now, I turned to the last couple of pages, where I read the words of co-author to this story, Barbara Jones:

“It was soon after dawn on Sunday, 15 December 2013 when Christo Brand walked through the ancient fields of Qunu village and past the river where Mandela played as a child, on his way to a sad but fitting ceremony, the last goodbye to the great Nelson Mandela.  Security guards noted his damp and muddy shoes and insisted on brushing them clean for him.  He continued alone right up to the burial place and looked into Mandela’s empty grave.

‘I thought to myself how he would now be able to look over the whole of that green valley he loved so much.  Madiba had come home, just as he always longed to,’ he said.

Christo was greeted warmly by a group of military generals, every one of them an ex-prisoner from Robben Island.  Film producer Anant Singh, whose “Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom”, had recently received huge critical acclaim, persuaded Christo to sit nearby, along with actor Idris Elba, who took the lead part.

Mourners started up their beloved freedom songs dedicated to Mandela, and Christo felt proud.  Close to tears, he listened to Mandela’s grandson Ndaba giving his moving speech.  ‘I closed my eyes and I could hear the man himself, and see him in his youth’, he said.  Granddaughter Nandi was also impressive and talked of Mandela’s warmth towards his family.

Daughter Zindzi saw Christo, gave him a special smile, and thanked him for being there.  The singing stopped and everyone stood.  It was the moment for Mandela’s coffin to be carried solemnly past the mourners.

‘The coffin was close enough for me to touch but I didn’t think that would be right,’ said Christo.  ‘And it was enough to know that our lives had touched for so many years.  I said a silent goodbye to the best, strongest and most honest human being I have ever known.’ “

I don’t think I have spoiled the story by sharing these last few lines in the book … most of the world was watching the procession of Nelson Mandela’s coffin on that day, we all know how the story ended … I, for one, was glued to my television screen, candles lit and with tears pouring down my cheeks.  Scotland, where I write this from, is a long, long way from home.

God bless you, Madiba.  You, Lion of Africa, gave eloquence and elevation and grace to the people and to the country I am now so proud to call my real home.

To the friend who gave me this book so unexpectedly, your generous gift has blessed me with a renewing, an additional and special link to a country I left thirty two years ago this December, two weeks after my twenty third birthday, a country that was in turmoil … leaving a country and a people whom I miss with heart and mind and soul.

Holly x

The book was published by John Blake Publishing Ltd, in 2014.
ISBN 978 1 78219 743 0

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Optimism is …

Optimism is …

Singing and dancing whilst living on a plank.

Tips:

1. Look at the plank, not at the swirling waves.

2. Appreciate the plank, stare at the horizon, ride the waves.

In strength,

Holly x  

History and Herstory

“History and Herstory are good for getting perspective, for learning from and through, chartered by the Institute of Life, but not a place to live forever within … merely to be appreciated and launched beautifully beyond.”

~ Holly Maxwell Boydell

❤️

#YourStoryMatters

Peace For Christmas

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[Previous title: “A Week Before Christmas”]

It is Sunday, one week before Christmas, and I am taking a moment to be calm, to think only about what brings a sense of nurture, to breathe, and to let what is peaceful in life flow into and through me.

I am mindful of one thing above all else …

“All I want for Christmas is Peace.”

Those are the words that I wrote to accompany a photograph that I posted onto my Instagram account this morning.  Those words speak deeply from my soul.  Those words mean much. Those words, frankly, mean everything to me.

In exactly seven days time it will be the day that we, around the world, refer to as Christmas.  Christ-mas.

Where is Christ in the “Christmas” that we know today?

We all know that the suffering and enormous shifts towards what is negative in the world this year have been unbelievable, at times unutterably bizarre.  We all know that materialism is robbing those who (literally) have nothing … no thing … many no food, no home, no dignity, no love, no warmth, no hope …. nothing.  We have all heard (if we have a device that would enable us to read this note) about the untold millions who are going without while we devour.  We know about the craziness on the American continent, which is causing so many to shake their heads in dumbfounded disbelief.  In the midst of that, we know about the excrutiating pain, hunger and fear experienced by those in the current war zones … and there are those even in countries ‘at peace’, who suffer unimaginable harm behind closed doors.  We have all seen the faces of starving people – mothers, children, men – in Africa and in other places, and the beasts with bare ribcages, and we have heard of and seen drought conditions that are ravaging large pockets of our precious Earth.  But do we care?

Do we change our ways, seek to heal the wounded children within ourselves so that we can go out and make a positive difference in a hurting world?

Do we reach a point of saturation with all the knowledge and vision of suffering and despair in huge areas of the world, turn off all the negative news … or do we feed on it and let it rub salt into our wounds?

For those who believe in the Christ, after whom the festive season has been named, this is a time of celebration and of joy, of anticipation for the feasting that will come next weekend and the exchange of gifts displayed under all manner of shapes, styles and colours of Christmas tree … Even those who do not believe in Christ will gather together to do the same … some thanking Santa Claus (Father Christmas would be more precise, if the real spirit of Christmas was still observed), for what indulgences they receive.  And while we do this, while we feast, and fest, and furiously unwrap gifts adorned with papers that have caused the felling of many, many trees … and then throw everything that wrapped those gifts unthinkingly into the rubbish bin … we forget that there are those who have NO thing. NO one. NO love. NO home. No Christmas even …

Many around the world have no knowledge of and have never heard of the man called “Christ”.  The One who came to earth, was born in a stable, performed miracles as a ‘human’ man, taught profound wisdom simply, died, rose again … continues to influence those who believe …

I have digressed from what started out as my contemplations on peace … I have digressed because my heart overflows … I have digressed because, like so many in our Western culture, my  year has also held surges of challenge … nothing like those without anything for Christmas, but my pain and suffering has been of relative nature too.  2016 has been a year that has marked personal and family milestones, and it has held significant further growth and challenges that have rubbed up against me alongside those.  Some of the challenges I have faced have done their best to defeat me, to rob me of my joy … but  I have held on … and I have held on … to the hand and to the love of Christ … no matter what.  I want to celebrate his birth, his light, his unfailing love, his richness, his loyalty, his hope, his courage, his example of perseverance against all odds, his promises, his delivery of the goods … and that I do deep down in my soul. I find Christ when I switch off the noise and listen … listen for the peace that is hidden deep down, within.  This peace is available to each of us.

Our world is crying out for peace.

Our peace will come when we readjust our focus and become intentional about seeking it.

Our children will witness peace first hand when we learn to model it.

Christmas … “for unto us a child is born” … is supposed to convey a message of Love, of Hope, of Peace.

That is all I ask for Christmas …
“All I want for Christmas is Peace.”

Peace is a five letter word that makes all the difference to each of us, when we find it, and peace is the place where hope resides.

May your Christmas be a meaningful one.

May your heart know the love of God … which is boundless.  God’s heart is pure peace.  In God there is no fear … only the many faces of true Love.

Merry Christmas.

Joy, hope, love, and Peace to the world.

Peace.

It is what will feed those who have not … it is where Love resides.

Peace.

It is all I ask for Christmas.

Just Peace.  In every guise.

Om Shanti.
Shalom.
Peace.

It is nearly Christmas, after all.

~ Holly ~

 

 

 

Note: the featured photograph is taken from a Christmas card, purchased from the RHS – horticultural charity – part of an illustration designed by Alison McGarrigle (courtesy Portfolio Select Ltd).
 

Test it all against the truth of Love

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While we whinge about aspects of our First World lives, so opulent in so many ways, babies are starving, people are aching for unconditional love, mothers are desperately trying to rise above the humiliation of poverty, business people are seeing the futility of the fast buck when they receive medical shocks … people are sleeping rough on the streets, children are crying and afraid, parents are carrying their children away from war torn conflict, the earth is heaving and groaning in agony as we treat it like a useless machine … Every man has a duty to wake up and examine himself. Every woman has a duty to forgive her peers and show them unconditional love … Every one of us has a duty to work on returning to what really matters and that is not One Upmanship … What really matters is how much we love. Love is an entire subject of its own. Love does not rob, covet, nor harm in any way. Love loves. That’s what brought us each into the world. That’s where we came from. That’s where we might return … To Love. How we live now determines how we’ll be then. Love applies to everything. Test it all against the truth of Love.

~ Holly ~

When People Talk About Others

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When people talk about others, remember that they are just as capable of talking about you. Be careful.

When you notice that people have slipped into the shadows, know that they have not collected their facts. Be careful.

When groups fall off the ledge of your life, know that they have been spreading rumour and gossip. Be mindful.

When people turn their back on you or walk away, instead of towards you with love, let them go. Carefully. Remember: they were never meant to be there for ever anyway, and their thoughts are none of your business.

Go mindfully through life.
Don’t gossip.
Gossip and slander hurts.
And it bites back
Always.
That’s just how the Universe works.

Appreciate those who love you, regardless, unconditionally.
They are the treasure.
Focus on them.
Practise love anyway.
It always wins.
That’s just how the Universe works.

~ Holly ~