I thought of my grandmother this morning, of something she said. As I pondered that, something odd happened – I was fossicking in a drawer for clothes, and found a beautiful silver hand-mirror she had owned. I hadn’t seen it for years, didn’t know it must have fallen sometime ago into that drawer. As I traced the heavy patterns around the glass she must have used, I sensed the connection of the moment, the mirror emerging like a lost treasure as I retrieved an insight from her life.
She was a remarkable woman. All who knew her thought she was the example of living well, embodying a generous heart for people and learning. She remarried at 75. In her 80s she volunteered for meals on wheels, travelled to China, served breakfast in bed to her university age grandson when he visited. She drove, erratically, into her nineties – she would court the local policeman with tea and scones after each driving test, and he would reluctantly sign off on another year, and caution her to stay near town, a little fishing village in Tasmania. She walked to the library for weekly lessons in email, and was printing off photos of great grandchildren, at 98.
Her mind had not been desiccated by the abstractions of formal education, and in everything she retained a wonder, a deep interest, a broad frame for culture and learning. At 95, driving to lunch, she’d comment if some species of flower was out early this year. We have a letter her own grandfather wrote her as a child, identifying the plant specimens she had sent to him, and enclosing a novel back to her.
The book - Masterman Ready - is a tale of a European family marooned on an island, and industriously making do, with natives in their subservient place. She stood in the stream of that colonial heritage, with all of its strengths and errors. So it was a measure of her willingness to learn and stay flexible, that that heritage did not script her views - in her latter years she had become pro native title and indigenous rights.
Occasionally I would find her kneeling in prayer before her bed in the evening. She was the life of many parties and gatherings; increasingly all being younger than her. She exchanged weekly letters with my mother. Her correspondence was always filled with a social record that seemed full rather than frivolous, verdant as the garden she tended, and drew fruits of the earth from. When relational trauma struck around her, she had insightful things to share.
So to a reflection on relationships and mentoring. In the way of the modern things, a list, mirrored from her.
1. Be authentic. real.
I doubt that she, who showed so many people such an example of life, thought much about “mentoring”. Her example and influence grew out of her life and character, a genuine love of life. And so with true mentors the modelling happens easily, and with a humility that often allows learning to flow in both directions. It occurs in conversation that feels more like friendship than structured interaction. The best mentors i have had, at work or in faith, knew more than I did, and were generous is giving, yet still keen to keep learning.
2. Relationships first.
Relationship has to carry mentoring. So even when the workplace, or some club or group asks for it to happen, sets it up, the relational chemistry still has to work. That makes the dynamic really hum, and can morph that need for performance into a lasting partnership and affection. Conversely the lack of that relationship can make such things feel like a grind, and cut it short before the desired harvest. Relationship has to carry mentoring.
3. Faith is a platform that evens the ages.
I recall her observing that there were “such interesting young couples” at her church, and my mother wryly observing “isn’t age such an inconvenience” - since at 90+ it was finally getting too big a gulf to allow the social connections she was still ready to form. I think faith flattens the ages, in two ways; it keeps the older ones young, childlike, and wondering at the new life and colour in those around. It also grants a humility, a sense of common threads and mysterious incompleteness, a willingness to expect new story, new potential, in each new person and situation. So there is a willingness to hear a surprising new line fitting in to an old song. All walk in respect for each others story, expecting newness. Then relational mentoring might flow in both directions.
4. Faith need not be explicit to be influential.
We never actually discussed religion. I did not have any for a good chunk of that time, and when I did it was a new wine, more vigorous, and she was not the type to discuss such things. ( The ritualised Anglican handshakes of “passing of the peace” made her grimace; too artificial in their touchy feely aspect - so we probably weren't going to discuss pentecost and spiritual experience). But the basic generosity of such a person, can still create a local culture. Even now, a moment of peace, of God's presence, can take me back to the shalom over her house and garden.
For example, if i worked on a job application in her presence, she would take a keen interest, trying out new terms of science and IT, interested in what they meant. I think those values of learning and appreciation seeps into others, for some distance – into workmates, students, grandchildren – even in very formative ways. The generous neighbours who listen to our kids, are similar. Maybe I should have tried the new religious terms too .. it was a bridge we didn't cross somehow, much as we drew deeply on a common faith.
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So the mirror helped me reflect on something there. If I connect across age ranges, without thinking much about it, it has to do with that legacy, that common source.
I noticed this when i came to faith, that there is a common frame to things, a sense of family, a familiar, yet still surprising story, that weaves through all. The capacity to say "we", in spite of all of our differences. A common experience that connects across all sorts of other differences - age and education and culture fade in importance.
I recall her observing that there were “such interesting young couples” at her church, and my mother wryly observing “isn’t age such an inconvenience” - since at 90+ it was finally getting too big a gulf to allow the social connections she was still ready to form. I think faith flattens the ages, in two ways; it keeps the older ones young, childlike, and wondering at the new life and colour in those around. It also grants a humility, a sense of common threads and mysterious incompleteness, a willingness to expect new story, new potential, in each new person and situation. So there is a willingness to hear a surprising new line fitting in to an old song. All walk in respect for each others story, expecting newness. Then relational mentoring might flow in both directions.
4. Faith need not be explicit to be influential.
We never actually discussed religion. I did not have any for a good chunk of that time, and when I did it was a new wine, more vigorous, and she was not the type to discuss such things. ( The ritualised Anglican handshakes of “passing of the peace” made her grimace; too artificial in their touchy feely aspect - so we probably weren't going to discuss pentecost and spiritual experience). But the basic generosity of such a person, can still create a local culture. Even now, a moment of peace, of God's presence, can take me back to the shalom over her house and garden.
For example, if i worked on a job application in her presence, she would take a keen interest, trying out new terms of science and IT, interested in what they meant. I think those values of learning and appreciation seeps into others, for some distance – into workmates, students, grandchildren – even in very formative ways. The generous neighbours who listen to our kids, are similar. Maybe I should have tried the new religious terms too .. it was a bridge we didn't cross somehow, much as we drew deeply on a common faith.
---
So the mirror helped me reflect on something there. If I connect across age ranges, without thinking much about it, it has to do with that legacy, that common source.
I noticed this when i came to faith, that there is a common frame to things, a sense of family, a familiar, yet still surprising story, that weaves through all. The capacity to say "we", in spite of all of our differences. A common experience that connects across all sorts of other differences - age and education and culture fade in importance.
