Dismal December.

How? How can a month which heralds the celebration of the Saviour possibly be dismal? Surely,
Delightful December. Delicious December, even, if we think of all the wonderful Christmas food we feast on. Decisive December, perhaps, leading into the New Year.

Yet, truth be told (as Matthew West sings, so delightfully), it has been dismal in parts. Christmas has loomed, along with the knowledge that our children are, at least, three plane rides away, if not on the other side of the globe. The lack has overshadowed coming joy, in a way it should not have done.

Matthew West sings:

Lie number one you're supposed to have it all together
And when they ask how you're doing
Just smile and tell them, "Never better"

Lie number 2 everybody's life is perfect except yours
So keep your messes and your wounds
And your secrets safe with you behind closed doors

Truth be told
The truth is rarely told, now

I say I'm fine, yeah I'm fine oh I'm fine, hey I'm fine but I'm not
I'm broken
And when it's out of control I say it's under control but it's not
And you know it
I don't know why it's so hard to admit it
When being honest is the only way to fix it
There's no failure, no fall
There's no sin you don't already know
So let the truth be told

There's a sign on the door, says, "Come as you are" but I doubt it
'Cause if we lived like it was true, every Sunday morning pew would be crowded
But didn't you say the church should look more like a hospital
A safe place for the sick, the sinner and the scarred and the prodigals
Like me...

Can I really stand here unashamed
Knowin' that you love for me won't change?
Oh God if that's really true
Then let the truth be told...

So, December has, at times, been Downright Dismal. Yet it has helped, reading so many thoughtful reflections on the fact that Christmas, for many, is a time overshadowed with sorrows and regrets, pain and longing, despite the Good News. It has made it all the more poignant, the realisation how true it is that Christ came to a broken, fallen world as that brokenness is apparent in our lives.

As December 24th loomed, I knew, again, that it is indeed darkest before the dawn...Getting my head and heart back to the true meaning of Christmas was a challenge...

However, December was also quite delightful. We were invited to a friend's birthday dinner, wonderfully fun and relaxing as we shared our lives together. Our friend Sean is extremely knowledgeable about wine, so we were invited to taste several different wines, all carefully selected to complement each course. I hosted a breakfast for ladies - five of us gathered around the table, chatting and encouraging each other.

School festivities and end of term carol services were all very enjoyable, particularly as Chris Tomlin's He Shall Reign Forevermore had become such a firm favourite with the children that they requested I play it frequently. I was delighted to oblige, along with Casting Crown's Make Room in Your Heart. 

And, of course, always a privilege to teach the Christmas story. Some lovely reflections and poems around on the internet, including this by Emma Knight @ emmarosewrites:

Sorry, there’s no room
There’s not enough to go around you see
So please stop knocking on our doors
Let go of the oars.
I suppose you can come in for a bit
But don’t talk about this, this and this.
There’s too much going on right now
I’m not sure if you’ll fit.
Can’t you read?
The sign says ‘No Room’
Not for you.
This is our home.

A baby cries below the night sky
The sky he flung the stars into
A baby lies in a manger
In a room he doesn’t belong to
In a room he’s welcomed home to

Because this thing about the manger
And forgive me because it gets a little stranger
Is that it’s not on the outside or outskirts
As the story we’ve been told and retold
But there’s so much more to behold
For the manger lies at the centre of the home
A place to behold
To make room for and gather around.
For whilst we hear there was no room in the inn
Bar humbug what a way for life to begin
What that meant was that they had to make room where there wasn’t
Make changes when it wasn’t oh so convenient

For they did make room for Joseph and Mary- the refugees
They did more than pull up a pew and shove them in with oxen too.
They would have thrown out the Christmas tree
For they did more than invite them in for a cuppa tea
They allowed them to make an absolute mess
Have you ever seen a pregnant woman in distress?
They let their Christmas Day turn to disarray
And now 2000 years on I stand hear and say

Is there room for this story in your home?
Is there room for this version, this person, in your head and in your heart?

After all this baby in a manger is only the start.
For when we say we’ve found our home in him.
This king of all kings
It sets a fire in our hearts
A place to centre and hang up all our pride
Fill up our stockings with joy and good tides
To have the shame melted away
And replaced with grace upon grace.
It’s simply His Way.

So when you’re sat in your Living room on the 25th
Perhaps take a moment to ponder whilst you sit
Is there room in your life for this Bethlehem morning?
Is there room in your life for this real life story?
Is there room for another place at your Christmas table?
Will you set out a plate for the one who, after all
Lest we forget
It is all about!

Because let’s be honest, the fairy lights, mince pies, cheese and wine nights can only do so much.
It’s still dark out there and the road ahead looks too hard to bare
And there lies a baby in a manger
Could this really be the one that we’ve hoped for?
A meek and mild saviour
God himself in human form
He quiets our hearts to peace in this storm.
Could this really be true rest from it all?
He cried as a baby and cried out for us on that tree
Hold your breath and count… two… three

For peace is being at home and Home is in him
The one who died for all our sin.
What a baby. What a King.
A refugee.
For how can he, this manger laid baby
Really set us free
From the hurt, the shame, the darkness and grief.
Well, by taking it all upon himself
He bore the cross that we deserved
Died in pain, That’s the king I serve.

What if home was not just a building but in you.
What if home wasn’t a nice thought
Something we prayed for as a last resort.
What if home was a person
Who came not just for this festive season
But for a real life-giving reason.

The most generous gift is not found under the Christmas tree
But upon it where he laid down his life, for you and for me
O come all ye get full of festivity, of feasting and gifts.
Gather round this Christmas tree,
Look in, kneel down, begin to peek at the presents.
‘This one’s for you’ the tag reads
‘This one’s for you’ come and receive
Not myrrh, gold or frankincense But God himself.

Not wrapped up as a present
But His presence.
Calling us Home
Back to him
Welcome
No need to wipe your feet
Come in.

Then my dear friend Lisa sent me this:

Mary's song

Blue homesupun and the bend of my breast

keep warm this small hot naked star

fallen to my arms. (Rest...

you who have had so far to come.)

Now nearness satisfies

the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies

whose vigour hurled a universe. He sleeps

whose eyelids have not closed before.

His breath (so slight it seems

no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps

to sprout a world. Charmed by doves' voices,

the whisper of straw, he dreams,

hearing no music from his other spheres.

Breath, mouth, ears, eyes,

he is curtailed who overflowed all skies,

all years. Older than eternity, now he

is news. Now native to earth as I am, nailed

to my poor planet, caught

that I might be free, blind in my womb

to know my darkness ended,

brought to this birth for me to be new-born,

and for him to see me mended,

I must see him torn.
Among presents from kind friends, one particularly delightful gift was Charlie Mackesy's book The boy, the mole, the fox and the horse, and we found ourselves watching his profoundly moving talks on YouTube as well...

My nephew produced a charming little Christmas film:

He is only 15! 

School holidays meant rest and relaxation; catching up on numerous occasions with friends and neighbours: gathering close friends for a Christmas Day celebration together, invited to others for New Years Eve. Walks and cycle rides, including one epic adventure all the way to the north of the island, venturing down all manner of tiny lanes, dropping in on three sets of friends as we did so. Venturing out into the surf, the sea surprisingly warm. Watching gentle films with happy endings. Ticking off a couple of little jobs on my 'to do' list. Reading lots. Even a little writing...And, of course, taking every opportunity to speak to Cara Grace - delightful. (She has a busy social schedule, on holiday with her cousins and revelling in so many different opportunities to explore at her NZ grandparents' house.)

Christmas morning walk - beautifully sunny and dry after two months of non-stop rain...

Dear friends kept us conpany on Christmas Day...  (taking selfies is NOT our No. 1 talent!)

So, so many good things to be thankful for. We finished the year well, celebrating and reconnecting with many friends, making some new ones and, above all, being profoundly grateful for all God has done in our lives and those of our children. Words for next year...? Well, that will be next month's post...but in my head are words like Strong, Take Courage, Stand, Be Kind and Compassionate...

Not just for others...but remembering to be gentle with ourselves. Always a temptation to be our harshest critics, but God is not, and so we may not be.

Gentle, tender December.

November. News!

November has been such a roller-coaster month.

We began by returning unscathed from England, with just a minor panic attack from Pickle the last night in Poole. The slightest pop of fireworks sets her off for hours. She burrows on the bed under the pillows, trying to climb all over us in a futile effort to escape. #thatdog

Straight back into the second half of term. By Monday lunchtime it felt as if we'd never had a week off. (I console myself with the thought that younger members of staff - some half my age - are equally exhausted... and I was only feeling somewhat fatigued because of an incipient cold/random virus.) Still, another day and then I was off to London. INVITED TO BUCKINGHAM PALACE!!  What an adventure!! Yes, I was - and still am - beyond excited.  Still haven't really come down from the high several weeks later....

The day was not just about the palace, though. Nevertheless, once my head graciously gave me permission (and authorised the purchase of my air ticket!), it was all I could think of. I made sure I would be dressed smartly enough, even purchasing new boots to replace my annually mended and resoled workhorses which had lasted me for several years. I organised to see Sue, my best friend from college, who I had not seen for upwards of three decades, before the event at the Palace; and arranged a visit to my sister – again, it was twelve years, we worked out, since I had been to London. The ‘joys’ of living on an island: an expensive air fare rather than a drive in a car or a hop on a train.

I felt like a child again, waiting for The Day to arrive. As it was, I barely slept the night before, getting up eventually at 5 to catch the red-eye from Guernsey. I managed – country hick that I am – to find my way up to London, with the help of delightful rail officials. Meeting Sue, the years rolled away almost as if they had never happened. We talked and talked; drank coffee after coffee; laughed and giggled; reminisced, the shared memories recalled with uncanny accuracy; and caught up some on the years inbetween. By the end of the few hours we had together, we were, as when we were in our teens and twenties, laughing together about nothing, just for the sheer joy of friendship.

You’d think I would appreciate a visit to London after so long: I did, in a way. I walked across Waterloo Bridge, wandered through Covent Garden and Green Park, yet barely took any of it in, so deep in conversation that I was almost oblivious to my surroundings.

From Waterloo Bridge

Covent Garden

 

Covent Garden

Canadian memorial in Green Park

I managed to listen to the buskers in Covent Garden shopping centre: first Irish music, then the most wonderful opera singer. Admired some of the Christmas decorations already outside the shops. Snapped a shot of the Thames from the bridge. Enjoyed the changing colours of the trees in Green Park. Posed for a photo outside Buckingham Palace. Didn’t want to say goodbye to Sue.

We’ll make sure it won’t be another thirty years!

The joy of friendship. And the sorrows... we prayed our way through the month as dear friends battle with (yet another) cancer diagnosis; other close-as-family friends, our relationship spanning several decades, pray anxiously over a frail and sickly newborn. Praise God, although she had to be resuscitated at birth (no heart rate, barely breathing) and showed all the signs of severed brain damage, by four days later she was pronounced 'normal', much to the surprise of the medical profession. We were not surprised: hundreds had been praying for her around the globe. Yet what a traumatic start to her life for her, her parents and young brother, not to mention the anxious grandparents and other extended family. It will take a while to recover...

These friends have journeyed through life with us for more than three decades, over several continents. Six of us - three young couples - started off together in a small East African town. More than thirty years later, our work spans the USA, Africa, Central Asia and a tiny island in the English Channel. Two of the couples had their first child on consecutive days; now, within three weeks will be the arrival of three grandchildren, one for each of us. The fourth for one couple, the second for another and the first for us.

Sometimes, numbers and 'coincidences' fascinate more than, perhaps, they should.

Other November News was the conversion of our house into a Tracey Emin-type modern art installation. It began in hall, where the inside parts of a kitchen carousel leant negligently against the wall: the eye was led, inexorably, on to the kitchen, with tins of food and empty cake tins piled artistically high on every available surface. This was paired with the removal of one cupboard to reveal a meaningful empty space and an array of copper piping, tinted with turquoise. The backdrop of walls behind spaghetti-like pipework was washed in shades of brown and dirty grey...  All translated as: there was a leak in a copper heating pipe, which could only be accessed by removing the cupboard completely. The 'art installation' was, after too long several weeks, removed...

This was the major art event of the month, but minor works, displayed for the duration and on into December, included an array of spanners displayed next to a radiator (which apparently was not working correctly; a dismantled electric socket, wires peeping out from the empty hole; and Who Knows What up in the loft, where investigations into the water system had begun....

#sogladtolivewithahandyman #saiddoubtfully  #perhaps   #he'sacleverchap #doityourself #savemoney

Meanwhile, right at the end of the month, we receive a message from Auckland: Cat is in labour.

I knit, watching 'how to knit' vidoes to hone up on very rusty knitting skills, which have lain unused for over three decades...
Richard watches Youtube videos on secondary return hot water systems.  #residenthotwaterengineer  #nothingthismancan'tdo  #latestcraze  #intoheatingsystems

And then... Cara Grace arrives on November 29th! Such a beautiful baby... not that we're biased, of course...

Spectacular sunsets...

Grief. Loss.

This is how it feels when people ask: How are you doing?
What do you say, when someone tells you this? What do they WANT you to say?

Nothing. Because this is how it is. This is grief. We Christians live in parallel universes. We have wonderful hope in Jesus, hope that transcends reality, the grittiness and ugliness of a broken, damaged world. Hope that is real.

But we live - oh, how we live - in this broken, damaged world. We experience grief in all its nastiness and sorrow.

I thought of trying to untangle the threads for my friend. As if just concentrating on ONE of them - on anger, or abandonment, or even apathy - would make it more manageable, like an untangled ball of wool.

I thought of things I could say that could be helpful.

I thought...

But it wouldn't help.

In the end, I just said 'Yes'. I hear your sorrow and pain and grief. I hear that it is as messy as a tangle of threads. I hear that there seems to be no end to anything.

I listened. I gave. I gave the gift of Being Listened To.

I hope it helped.

Of sorrow, grief and loss...

I haven't had the energy to write for a few weeks now. Missing Mpira too much.  And there have been other sudden deaths and disasters of people in my life. Not as close, but Mpira was, after all, 'just a dog', although to us he was much more than that and has left a huge gap.

My sorrow this time has been less for myself but more for the families of a dear friend who has disappeared, a child who is terminally ill... what tragedies these are for those closest.  Touching me.

Such loss seems harder to cope with as I grow older. ?  Surely it should be easier to cope with life experiences like these?  Surely?