He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. ‘I have had enough, Lord’, he said. ‘Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors’ (1 Kings 19.4).

7.45 am: A communion. The protagonist in the above verse is Elijah, one of the greatest prophets in the Old Testament. At this moment in his life – having had a dramatic run-in with the prophets of Baal and run away from Jezebel, who’d threatened his life – he’s utterly exhausted and despondent. He can take no more, and would rather die than go on.

The psychology is instructive. The prophet was running-on empty; extreme physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual tiredness had grounded him, literally. Elijah no longer had any hope or plans for the future. He was a holy man who’d responded obediently to God’s call and directives, only to end in, what in today’s parlance we’d call, a partial physical and mental breakdown. This was God’s will (as much as any commission that Elijah had received previously): to be taken to the screaming edge. With what strength he’d left, the prophet prayed the death wish of a severely wounded animal: ‘Put me out of my misery!’, as it were. He was, by this stage, profoundly depressed, such that a sense of dignity, integrity, and self-worth had deserted him: ‘I’m no better than my ancestors’.

God, who wasn’t untouched by Elijah’s condition, sent an angel to minister a meal to him on two occasions. Having been strengthened by the food and rested, he went on with his journey and to experience one of the most profound encounters with God that any human being has ever experienced (1 Kings 19. 10–18). Abasement and exultation is reciprocal relation.

9.00 am: An incoming email regarding research administration scuppered any other plans that I’d made for the morning. But the exercise in response to the inquiry was necessary and helpful. I needed to face-up to some intractable problems and plan realistically for the immediate future. 11.00 am: I composed an email to my ‘computer operative’ to pay a visit and cure the ills of some of my devices. On, then, with a student reference.

12.30 pm: I took an early lunch before preparing for a PhD Fine Art tutorial via FaceTime. There was unpacking and reviewing to be done before hand:

We enjoyed a rich conversation about mortality, death, flowers and life cycles, resurrection, conversion, prayer, life’s messiness, and art. What did this to do with study at PhD level? Everything. Today, we addressed the life, convictions, world view, and sense of mission that drive the person who drives the intellectual and artistic inquiry.

4.00 pm: Back at homebase, I read through papers for tomorrow afternoon’s staff meeting, which will include the Teaching & Learning Committee. One day, I’ll no longer teach art. That’s a determination rather than an inevitability, in the first instance. You have to give-up teaching before teaching gives you up. Concepts of, and approaches to, pedagogy evolve far more quickly than older teachers can adapt. Moreover, long-held convictions (valid or otherwise) are difficult to shake off. And alternative convictions are hard to solidify with any degree of authenticity, unless they arise from personal persuasion. I know my sell-by date.

5.45 pm:

7.30 pm: I returned to reference writing, while imagining futures, as well as seeking to better comprehend the waywardness of aspects of the present, and discern those lessons from the past that might be brought to bear.