We asked for help, a year ago. It was hard to do. Pride got in the way, many times; weariness stood over us, blocking our view Of what help could mean, not just to us But more importantly, to you.
Years of thinking we should be able to cope Manage by ourselves, not admit any hint of defeat. It felt wrong, somehow, to ask just for us But we should not have been afraid to ask For you.
Help emerges, stepping very gently in on ourdaily scenes. Those tasked with listening, listened. Compassion now walks faithfully, routinely, through our front door. She rolls up her NHS sleeves, and as I back slowly away, out of sight, I glimpse her smiling, So very tenderly, at you.
We never knew, incredibly, we never knew! That help intended for us meant new independence, A new face, a new friend, a giver, Someone new, as well as and other than us to smile with, nurture and care
For you.
“You can buy two sparrows for only a copper coin, yet not even one sparrow falls from its nest without the knowledge of your Father. Aren’t you worth much more to God than many sparrows?” (Matthew 10 v 29 The Passion Translation)
We collected five on our way home from the hospital today. Five! Not two or three or four, (which would still be good) but five. In February of all months, or Kale-monath in Old English, named after a cabbage, I have gleefully learnt. A perfectly sensible name for this month, at least it is if you happen to live in England.
Five; all now safely stowed away in my coat pocket. Snatched almost rudely, as if in short supply then shoved deep inside lest they be stolen away. Now stashed amongst scrunched up tissues and the remnants of an autumn leaf I have not had the heart to throw away, both constant reminders of the season we’re in. A pocketful of things I would not be without, when I am with her. Free stuff.
Five in one walk is a record for us. Our faces lowered as we battle the elements of a dark, bitter afternoon; February revels in its cruciferous status. She laughs as her wheelchair jolts and bounces over once subterranean but now emerging tree roots. I do not laugh; today I am weary of visiting hospitals and sitting through endless appointments, either in clinics or at home for this won’t take long and they’ll be as quick as they can. I am cold and wet and her wheelchair is heavy and these roots are monstrous and, and…oh hello there…thank you, yes you too.
Our pockets are filled. Hers with the joy of the journey home, the wind and the rain are her elements, mine bursting with the lightest of finds. Five genuine smiles given to her by five strangers, as they hurried by on this dreariest of winter days, handing out free stuff worth ten times its weight in gold. Five of the kindest, ordinary faces giving a moment to honour her, not to pity her (we don’t collect those), recognising then marvelling at the treasure she always carries. And reminding me, all over again, of the utter privilege that is every day caring for her.
“A twinkle in the eye means joy in the heart, and good news makes you feel as fit as a fiddle….“
I saw Sadness leave one day back in early September, It stood up and walked out through the door. Without a word of warning, it simply left your face. Not pausing to say goodbye or farewell But still, leaving me shocked to the core.
I did not notice when Sadness came into your life, This was not someone I thought you of all people knew. Yet the moment Sadness left you was also the moment I saw That for many days, weeks, months even years more than I’d realised Life had been growing harder for you.
Sadness moved in on you, on us, so very slowly, stealthily. A Master of Disguise in lives lived permanently on high alert For the next medical emergency or serious health concern. Sadness was, at first, just a virus then perhaps it was not…but if not, then what? Doctors looked for a reason why you were no longer yourself; why so inert?
The day Sadness left was the day I knew it had ever even stayed. That soft autumnal morning as I signed to you ‘the first day of school.’ After months of your outside world shrinking in ways that had broken my heart Your face looked up and THAT smile at once returned, revealing the truth You’d been sad for too long, not ill.
Christmas came in September, with gifts of friendship, Farm visits, fun and laughter at school, at home. Connections once again made with others who bring you joy. Inertia left with Sadness, scooping up Entitlement who I confess I’d invited to stay. Leaving room once more, at this particular Inn, for those who make their love for you known.
I’m thankful, this Christmas, for the Giver as much as I am for the Gift.
Happy Christmas to all who celebrate with us x
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.“
Words of Jesus, recorded in John 10 v 10, The Bible and my prayer for all who read this.
Some people yearn for a glimpse of the sea.… its shimmering expanse opening up as they travel along a coastal road on a summer’s day. They taste it long before they touch it. The sight of the sea can thrill or calm, excite or pacify, threaten or invite. Such is its pull; drawing a person closer one moment, sending them running backwards another. At times, its power is too alarming and we retreat behind its defences where we are forced to watch and wait for calmer days. For all its drama, rarely does anyone tire of the sea or wish they had not experienced it.
I yearn more for a lake than I do the sea. Drawn by the instantaneous peace I experience when nearing the gently contoured edges. I am calmed by the stillness of the water, occasionally disturbed by a surfacing carp or foraging moorhen. Dragonflies dancing across its surface, quickstepping back and forth, their tiny wings catching hold of the early morning sunlight. Today, I am captivated not by dragonflies but by an altogether more solitary beast. I am sat on a wooden bench in the shadows of the surrounding trees that bow in reverence towards this small fishing lake. Here, I find myself restored; not by peace, but by struggle.
A Heron, who naturally lays greater claim on this lake than I do, has patiently been standing sentry, some thirty metres away from me, for what feels like an eternity. A backdrop of biblical bulrushes and reeds afford it some cover as it waits. And waits.
I urge Heron to get on with it and be off with its meal so I can read my book. I came here early, before anyone else was up. It’s my only opportunity of the day to read without interruption, but I cannot take my eyes off this lone fisherman. The book remains unopened in my lap.
Heron takes no notice of my whispered exhortations and never once drops its guard. Breakfast; the most important meal of the day around these parts, remains its resolve. Finally, Heron’s patience is rewarded and breakfast is served. Heron darts forward with speed and precision. Denying its own smoky-grey awkward frame, Heron emphatically takes its prize.
Heron’s prize, a small Carp, has other ideas, and is in no mood to be on today’s menu at the Lakeside Brasserie. Carp contorts and twists violently, fighting for its life and putting up an immense struggle of its own. So much so, I’m conflicted by who I want to triumph. In this magnificently terrifying moment, both need the win, though skipping breakfast is ultimately preferable to losing one’s life. Heron may disagree and assert that these things are not mutually exclusive. Heron has no need to explain this to me of course. Heron needs only to win.
After an age that in reality lasted seconds, Carp seizes victory from the jaws of defeat and leaps free of Heron. Miraculously, Carp lives to swim another day. Heron appears somewhat off its game, a little weary, perhaps. I’m definitely with Heron now. Moments later, Heron takes flight. Defeated, yet never looking back at what might have been. Leaving only a few ripples in the lake behind it; fading evidence that there had ever been a struggle at all.
I am in awe that such harshness exists alongside such beauty. And I am especially in awe of how Heron deals so graciously with this disappointment and loss.
For our family, it’s been a summer marked by disappointment and loss. Downright joy has, at times, caved in to downright fed-up or even downright sad. The unexpected death and loss of a cherished family member, as well as other un-foreseen losses and discouragements along the way has meant that this summer has felt particularly harsh.
It has become all too easy in the midst of troubles to lose sight of the good and the glorious this summer; the kindnesses of others, a brilliant family wedding, this precious holiday, a trip to the circus, coffee and cake with friends, music, laughter……
And, as always, the grief and frustrations have related to events that my daughter, Hazel, who has Down’s syndrome and Autism, simply does not and will likely never understand.
The troubles of this world, for the most part, do not trouble her.
And this is, unquestionably, her gift to us.
Her laughter will often erupt at the most inopportune moment, leaving melancholy no choice but to scootover and make room for joy.
Her joy.
Herjoybecomes our joy.
Her care free heart is free to care and it cares, so often, for us.
Struggles are real, loss can be deeply painful and disappointment may crush, but joy is still to be found and welcomed alongside them all. My favourite poet, Mary Oliver, wrote about this juxtaposition in ‘Heavy’, her extraordinary poem on grief. If you love poetry or are grieving for someone then do read it, if you wish.
But even more precious to me are some words from the Bible that I have found to be true. These words say that God is ‘the Lifter of my head’.
And I often think he uses Hazel to lift it.
A further note to the reader:
After carefully crafting these sombre reflections, I discover from speaking with the owners of the lake in question that (to my initial dismay) ‘Heron’ is in fact, known locally, as ‘Brian.’
I walked alongside you, guiding you down the aisle.
Ribbon Girl.
An honour I never dreamt I’d be given. Through a sea of Faces who, quite rightly, were looking at you, not me. An unconventional Bridesmaid, no floaty dress or flowers to hold. You would have thrown those away in seconds. Your entrance had an air of tumultuous serenity as you stomped your way to the front, heavy footed, row by row.
You did not know why you were there, but knowing why has never really mattered to you. You are so often content to just be in the moment; especially when those moments are surrounded by this much care, this much thought, this much love. You even paused in your ceremonial duties; stopping to observe an unfamiliar but friendly, smiley, beaming Face.
It’s a Tea Pot kind of face, not a Coffee Pot Face.
There are no long, drawn out frowns here today. This strangest of journeys is filled with Tea Pot Faces that beam achingly wide, from handle to spout. Tears, of course….but none sorrowful.
I tug at your sleeve, prompting you to take a few more steps. Bridesmaids are supposed to keep moving, not hold up the procession. You have not reached the end of the aisle yet, and there are more Faces to look into as you expertly wave your ribbons of ivory and green. Ribbon waving is a serious occupation, and you are well practised in this art.
You glance with some puzzlement into the Faces of those who know you well and the Faces of those who don’t. Faces of those who have heard all about you many times from those who love you dearly; notably on this occasion, the Bride and her Groom. They have honoured you amongst their friends without realising; in every conversation, every photo shared, every story of you that they have so fondly and often told. There is no advocacy superior to this.
These are Faces that do not display any expressions of prejudice they may once have worn, before they heard about you.
These are Tea Pot Faces, not Coffee Pot Faces.
Smiling at you, beaming at you. They do not frown at you with long, pitying glances or worse, stares. We’ve been in those processions too. Neither do they watch you from behind a camera lens, capturing this precious moment and missing it at the same time. They have been asked to enjoy the occasion without such distractions. You, of course, do not need to be asked.
These are Faces turned in readiness to welcome you.
It hasn’t always been this way. Scrutiny has followed you since before you were born, its motives not always for your best. I am glad when the cameras are put away, for only then can you truly be seen for who you really are.
You reached the end of the aisle. Your wheelchair waiting to give rest to your braced ankles and feet. Relieved of your duties, still you clutched your ribbons. You would need these later, at the Wedding Disco, where you would show the Faces how to wave them too, with much joy. You always have plentiful supply to go round for those willing to receive; ribbons and joy.
The Bride made her entrance and rightfully took upon herself the loving, welcoming gaze of all the beaming Faces. You had gone ahead and performed your responsibilities; preparing the crowd for her Magnificent Arrival.
I like to imagine you were simply returning the favour.
The tone, the welcome, the love, had long been established by those who truly know you, your sisters, their husbands, your entire family, your friends, their friends. You are so very loved. In life, in your life, my longing is that you will always be surrounded by these kinds of Faces. A Procession of Faces that stop you in your tracks and make you want to study them, spend time with them, showing them your ribbons and teaching them how to dance with you.
A Procession interspersed with the Faces who perhaps, like me, once used to only drink from a Pot of Coffee, and now much prefer a Pot of Tea.
Today I cleaned the blinds, slat by slat. Wiping away layers of dust, marked with fingerprints that have gathered stealthily. Unnoticed. Hidden until they were not.
I noticed them first thing. Shafts of early morning sunlight exposing eachtinyparticle. Each mark, each imprint. Light has a tendency to do that; expose things.
I noticed one of the blinds was broken. Not functioning as it should, no matter how much I tugged or pushed or pulled. How long has this blind been like this? I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed, perhaps just me.
Anyway, I think I’ve got away with it. A broken blind can wait, there are other jobs ahead in the queue. It’s not something I am able to fix, I don’t have the resources, time or skill. But at least cleaning it today helps take my mind off the fact that I have been unable to fix you.
You and I are good at waiting; long overdue appointments they said you badly need. Another day, another week or month, even year; I lose track as the dust continues to settle. For the present, I’ll find something else in our lives to polish, clean or mend. As it remains one of the greatest of honours in my life to do everything I can for you.
I began by naming this poem “Broken” but then I remembered: I’ve pitched my tent in the land of hope.
Who else could be here, changing our culture from within,
Changing our heart?
Who’s missing from your programmes?
Who’s not being given any consideration?
Look around and ask yourself
Who else would like to do as we do?
They are not some kind of aberration.
Who’s missing?
I am, though I am not missed.
Who’s missing out?
We all are.
Inclusion is important but I prefer belonging:
noun
1. the action or state of including or of being included within a group or structure.”they have been selected for inclusion in the scheme”
Belonging
noun
“a feeling of being happy or comfortable as part of a particular group and having a good relationship with the other members of the group because they welcome you and accept you”
Downright Joy 
