The Most Powerful Thing I Know About Receiving

Last weekend was my birthday and, as it turned out, the perfect occasion for me to be reminded of the most powerful and beautiful thing I know about receiving. Why so perfect an occasion for the memory jog, I hear you ask? Well because my birthday this year was…a surprise. I mean, for a start, I had been working so hard I had sort of forgotten it was coming. And then, a week before it was due, my husband sprang the news that we would be going away for the weekend, and staying in wonderful accommodation. The only thing I was allowed to know was the answer to my question: what clothes should I take?

Now don’t get me wrong, my heart warmed to hear about the weekend and I whooped with joy at the chance of a break. But then I felt a contraction in my stomach. He often booked for us to go away to a cottage for my birthday. What if I had wanted to spend my day this year with friends? He hadn’t asked me, to find out. Only now, that I finally had my focus on my birthday, did I realise I would have liked to have been with them too. But the possibility of that was gone. In that moment, as his grins of excitement and glee filled the room with bounces of sunshine, I felt like my choice had been taken away, even though it was clear he was coming from the bottom of his heart and I was sure I would have a brilliant time.

Of course, I got over myself in the very next second and was swept right back up into the anticipation and excitement of it all, and gratitude.

Not long after we arrived though, my stomach contracted again. It happened when the white-haired owner greeted us and asked what time the rest of the gang were coming. One look at my husband just frozen to the spot, his eyes widening by the second, told me a big cat had just been let out of the bag. My mind raced as soon as his words were out. There were others that were coming? Yes, tomorrow. I buzzed at the news. Fantastic! But over the course of the afternoon and evening, niggles needled at me now and again with their pointy fingers. Who was coming? Would they be a good mix together? Had Gordon made sure he’d catered for their food needs?

What’s that I hear you saying? Me? A control-freak? Never!

Well maybe just a teensy bit.

Not too much though that I couldn’t come back to base on the swing seat, and remember the most powerful and beautiful thing I know about receiving:

Receiving requires us to be vulnerable.

You see, when we are put in the position of receiving from another, we can subconsciously perceive or feel like the giver is in charge. Particularly if a surprise is involved! And we might find ourselves resisting that idea, if only for a second. And in that contraction of resistance, we close down. It is almost as if we suck in our stomachs as we breathe in, and push our outstretched palm out to the person in an unspoken energy of “No!” We contract. And there can be no receiving from that energy. True receiving though, is like the softening of the belly on the outbreath. It is the opening of the palms up to the skies, the energy of gratitude and “thank you!” And that goes as much for surprise birthdays as it does for other gifts from the universe.

But there is another reason too, why receiving requires us to be vulnerable.

You can’t receive in life if you are too busy trying to control, or work life out!

And so that’s why, despite him telling me two days before we left what village the house was in, I did not rush off to google it. And it’s also why, despite my wondering as to who was coming, I didn’t want Gordon “filling me in with the details” when he thought the surprise was ruined by the owner. You see, true receiving of the magic of a surprise birthday, and indeed receiving our life in general, happens when we do not insist on needing to know. Receiving invites us to stop trying to figure things out, and instead let ourselves be given to.

As the Old French meaning of the word suggests, when we receive we welcome life, we accept it.

We simply let the magic in.

Yes indeed, receive with an open heart and life can often even surpass your wildest imaginings.

And so it was that I received my birthday as a gift that came packaged in many colours and bows of special moments…

The sandstone heritage-listed Courthouse we all had to ourselves, with its fabulous quirks and awesome bathrooms in converted 1890’s prison-cells.
An impromptu slow dance and smooch with my husband, alone on the flagstones while Billy Holliday’s “Georgia on my Mind” played in the background.
Bear hugs and tears of joy as friends arrived one by one, parking their cars in secret and popping their heads round the wall with big smiles.
Opening gifts sent from mum in the UK, that had traces of her heart all over them.
Garden lounging, while the conversation flowed like the wine and the glinting river below, the laughter was as easy as the air, hearts as warm as the sunshine.
The moos of cows that echoed around the natural amphitheatre of the escarpment and sounded more like whale-song in the belly of the ocean, hitting deep into my heart.
Birds that fluttered in the sunrise, wingtips splayed with the luminosity of celebration.
Banter and good cheer as everyone walked the five minute trail in darkness to the old village pub, where a special dining room waited just for us, candles aplenty, hearth crackling and inviting.
Great ‘’bad’’ jokes back at the house, around the outdoor fire pit under the chalk of half-moon.
The phut and whoosh of the roaring log fire in the hearth as everyone snuggled on leather sofas in the lounge, the clock tick-tocking timelessness as we ate warmed apple pie, and savored the amber of Muscat with its heady aroma and sweet sticky taste of booze-soaked raisins.
The awesome boom and bang of thunder as it reverberated around the valley, jangled the bones of the old sash windows in their sockets, and left my man undisturbed as he slept on beside me under the covers, his breath a peaceful rise and fall. Hot white flashes of lightning too, that enlivened the frame of the four poster bed and gleamed the mirror to life. Fabulous.
The mountain as she stood in the morning mist of dawn, undressing her layers in a slow reveal.
Our breakfast table laden with toast and bacon and eggs cooked on the barbecue, as we all agree to return here and celebrate an Aussie “Christmas in July”