Underneath these grey cloud days feeling grey cloud ways of January turning into sunny sharp days and drip drop rain days of February we've begun a New phase of New ways in this New Year (on a diet!! - after all that Christmas comfort eating that brings no comfort at all when 'pudding' lands on hips!) and those Christmas nights and those Christmas lights have turned into history. We wonder who we are and what we are as we settle and bumble along in this 'living'...so we meet you ... walking to our future hand in hand with our history and the approval and the disapproval of your ways and our ways fade our way.
Knowing all of us will be nothing more than a scratch on the brick in the life of the Village and the Church - but then, lives do get scratched.
And an old 'Bunbarian' who's lived here for hundreds of years said to us, "you'll not please all of us, you'll only please some".
... So what can you do with a Vicar whose glasses fall off as he reads out the Gospel?...
Some of our days are fun and enjoyable, some of them hard and unworkable. In a life of working with people that's nothing new. And yet, and yet ... we are still so very new to each other.
Finding, hoping, exploring. Scratching scratches on the brick, healing, staying scars.
And some of our friends have said, "don't let them change you - you're good enough as you are" ... but we know in our hearts we have to be changed, for if we are not open enough to grow beside you ... we shall die ... and probably alone. And that's hard and almost unbearable on a grey cloud day of January.
... So what can we do with a Vicar who preaches for too long?
But damn, he does seem to be interesting (mostly) and people do seem to be listening (mostly) - or at least they don't seem to be sleeping (mostly).
So we went to our first Carol Service ... we walked to the church together, holding hands in the cold, dark romantic night (after screaming at the children for leaving bits of grated cheese everywhere after a feast of sandwich making - tut!) and the church was filled with an expectant air breathed out by people. The candles everywhere were burning against the dark, greenery and mistletoe were hung, and red berries hung against harsh stone and most of us dressed in our black best and I thought of my sister who lives in Australia and of family and family things, people I felt without. A tender moment when I didn't know where I wished me to be. A tender moment where I was changing to love where I was.
The newness and oldness of us all. And a scratch on the brick.
And when we ask the children to come with us as we do 'the meets and greets' they say "thanks but no thanks - it's not cool to be seen with your Mum and it's even less cool to be seen with the Vicar." I should have known, I should have guessed - they would rather stay at home and grate cheese. Tut!
... And what can you do with a Vicar who suddenly decides to shorten the Service? Without notice, without warning. And misses out 'my favourite bit'...
MMmmm ... hundreds of years later and scratches and scars and grey cloud days after, still don't have the answer to that one.
The oldness and the newness of us all..
... And what can you do with a Vicar who refuses to 'tell everyone what to do?' ... Funny really -cause he's not short in telling me what to do!
(Not that I do it.)
More scratching scratches and deep sold scars.
And my son, my youngest, becomes 14. That tender age of change and transition and unpredictability. Where a huff and a puff fills the house louder than a thousand shouted words ... but I'm interested and I'm listening (mostly). For I know he has to grow, and if I do not grow beside him ... then we shall die ... and probably alone ... and that, on a grey cloud day in January is almost unbearable.
Lin Gates