Light and Wonder

Christmas here is blustery and wet, our walls still await replastering and the clutter of family life tends to spill over. But nothing can spoil the anticipation and excitement that fill the air like magic.

We welcome again the saviour of the world, retelling the story of the first Christmas, and try to pass on the good news.

Christmas brings hope and joy, light and wonder into our homes and hearts. This, our first Christmas in Scotland and the first to ourselves, will be one to remember.

Suddenly

It takes only an eight letter word to signify the rapid decline of a situation. We saw her just a month ago, on our return visit, and she seemed the picture of health. I didn't think for a moment that it would be the last time I would see her. 

Perhaps that's why yesterday's news came as such a shock, even though we heard, just over a week before, that she had received an unexpected diagnosis, the severity of which had not been established at the time. 

No further news came to us until yesterday. I was halfway through writing her a letter, one that I was confident there would be time to finish later, and maybe others still. That letter will never be sent now.  

The geographical distance makes it hard to take in her absence. Her face, with its radiant smile, surrounded by a wave of frizzy grey hair, comes to mind so easily, an image that I fear will be more difficult to summon with the passage of time. 

We only knew her for five years, but we saw her at least once a week in that period. Being part of a small church congregation was like having an extended family, and she was like a favourite aunt. She came to mean a lot to us.

As worship leaders, we would sometimes arrange services together. I remember fondly the autumn afternoons spent in her kitchen, helping to clean up bric-a-brac for the church bazaar. And several of us joining together in her sitting room for afternoon fellowship.

The last time I saw her, she was standing in the doorway with her husband, waving us off after our visit. That was only a month ago. 

And suddenly, she went away from us. 

I take comfort in my faith that I will see her again. But that doesn't lessen the sense of loss I feel now.

Soon

It came to me as a whisper, one morning at work while I was praying silently. A single word, but one that brought so much calm and comfort, quietening the tumult of emotion that had threatening to overwhelm me. 

This came shortly after the flawless rainbow that arched over us one evening as we were driving home. The rainbow of God's promise. 

For so long we had been pursuing a dream, but following a long period of activity, we had reached a stage of transition and waiting, a time of hope and disappointment in quick succession. Waiting has never been a strong point of mine, especially in situations that lie beyond my control. 

I went about my daily activities and tried not to dream too much. I didn't dare to envisage a new life ahead, because I knew it could so easily be someone else's life and not mine. I refrained from furnishing our desired home in my head because tomorrow it could have been claimed by someone else. 

Instead, I pictured it as it was last September, when we saw it, those empty rooms I so long to fill with our life, our life that is currently decanted into boxes shared between a shipping container and the discreet little nooks in our current place. The place I've never quite thought of as home. 

That morning I was given a time-scale of sorts. Though non-specific, I knew that the days of waiting, hoping, praying were numbered, and that an outcome would shortly be fulfilled. 

You may note that I write this in the past tense.  

The wisest words are whispered.