Wandering Through The Land Of Nod.

December arrived in a hurry that year, with an overfull diary and unplannable events as yet unseen, but expected, hovering in my head and tugging at my heart.  I placed my tongue firmly in my cheek and wondered, not for the last time, why we celebrate Christmas at such a busy time of the year.  It’s not only busy because of all the good, enjoyable things we do to cheer the dark late autumn and early winter days and retell the wonderful story of the birth of Jesus, but it’s busy because disease takes its place and revels in the dark and cold.  Sadness also can creep in under the dazzling radar of sparkling lights and remind us that life isn’t how it used to be or how we want it to be.

Hospitals and health centres brace themselves, for an influx of patients, parents and teachers persevere in homes and classrooms full of coughs and colds, shopworkers and hospitality workers smile through their heavy loads, making happy times for their customers and churches go all out to tell the story of God with us, God born into this wonderful, crazy, diseased, happy, sad and dangerous world.  We try to include everyone and care for those who are sick or unhappy.

Expectations were high that year.  It was my first December as a vicar, with parishes of my own to be responsible for and I wanted to do well.  You see, I love Christmas, and I want this time of year to be good and enjoyable, and I want messages of hope, love, joy and peace to take root and flourish.

So, I met that December with some trepidation and excitement and wondered how my energy would last, until one day the Vicarage doorbell rang.  It was a delivery, an unexpected parcel with a tasty surprise inside.  Inside the wrapping was a tin full of comfort, love and energy.  It was a large cake, bursting with fruit and nuts, sweet and spicy, sticky deliciousness.  

This was a surprise, unexpected gift from a parishioner.  Fittingly, her name was Grace.  She had been housebound for a number of years.  I’d visited her and we shared Holy Communion together in her living room.   She always welcomed me with kind hospitality, and the gift of cake was considerate and generous.  It helped me through until December 25^th.

The story didn’t end there.  For the rest of Grace’s life, a cake arrived at the Vicarage door at the start of every December.  At her funeral, a number of us gathered over tea and cake and we shared memories of Grace.  There was a group of women who’d visited her at home; her cleaner, hairdresser, chiropodist, gardener and me.

Guess what?  We’d all received a cake at the beginning of every December! 

I’m so grateful to Grace for her thoughtfulness, kindness and generosity.

What stories of kindness and generosity do you have?

Wander well through December,

Mandy.

Things I love:

• Fruit cake.
• Advent.
• December sunrises.