Merry Christmas

I've travelled through snow and ice, through traffic beyond belief, to England (which was officially closed - the bridges, both of them were shut) and back, to friends and with the dog all the way, returning home to a burst water pipe and no heating, and tonight at our Midnight Service, Aled spoke of journeys and how travelling together is better.

So I would like to wish all who travel with me a very warm seasonal greeting, and add my concurrence to Aled's thoughts. All of us at times feel that the way is lonely and the road uncertain; but that photo on the previous posting is a picture of intent - we do this together. Christmas is the season when above all others we hear the angels sing God's heart that we do this together - that we are not alone, that he walks the paths of this world with us, and so the snow and the ice and the fear and the closed bridges and unexpectedly long detours are not things we cannot bear.

For there is a Saviour. Someone who makes life safe.

Thanks to those who comment and those who just read, to those who constantly peruse these pages and those who dip in, to those who stop me in Tescos to ask questions and those who email me or phone. I wish you Joy; I wish you glory; I wish you peace. I wish you all that this season foretells and promises and whispers and shouts, and I wish it today.

* * *

A burst pipe and no heating? But a wonderful plumber who was here in no time and sorted it out. The journey is not free from pain, but with help and good company and the right person at the right time, even the pain is not a total disaster. Blessing will shape us if we let it.

Merry Christmas.

(Later)
I am overwhelmed as ever by the generosity of people - thank you all. I cannot list every gift and giver here, but I am grateful to every one - more than I can say. And Matty too! Both of us are relaxing after lunch now, and after visiting someone in hospital and taking a beautiful walk in Castle Coch woods - snow on the ground, sun in the sky, perfect. Thank you, to all and above all, to Jesus, who has filled our hearts to overflowing today.

OK.

OK. We walked in the snow this morning, and then drove to Cardiff for Matt's scan.

He has a small cyst on his kidney, and very high blood pressure. His blood levels and the protein in his urine show chronic renal failure. Kidney disease. On the down side (it's some down side) there's no cure - dogs don't get transplants. On the upside, we have caught it very early, and first we will try some medication, then we'll try to get his blood pressure down, and maybe then we'll see a specialist to see if there's anything else to be done. We may change his diet. He's nine. He might live really well for years - a presumptive diagnosis isn't written in stone on a memorial tablet.

And yes, I feel rotten. But God is God, and I will praise Him; or, as Habakkuk puts it:

Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD,
I will be joyful in God my Saviour.

Here We Go Again...

Matt has been having skin problems. Can't spell it, but you wouldn't want it - scales and flakes all over his back, and at the same time something similar which may or may not be part of the same condition around his eyes.

Simon, Matt's Vet in residence, called in Nicola, his skin expert, to make sure we were doing the right thing. She prescribed antibiotics - which Matt vomited up: he doesn't like antibiotics. Eventually, with the help of medicine they give to dogs having chemo so they keep their stuff down, he took them. And is getting better.

But...

Just to make sure that's all it was, we did some blood tests. And a urine sample. Oh yes. I had to sort that bit out. (I originally wrote "I had to do that bit" but realised one or two of you might misunderstand!) I'll let you imagine the fun that was.

These tests had a slight spike on them - nothing amazing - but one level was maybe just over what you'd expect. A kidney indicator. So we did them again a couple of weeks later. Second set were slightly higher than the first set. And today, a couple of weeks on, we did them again. Third set higher still. All still not exceptional. None of them the kind of thing you'd bring a dog into the vet's for. All of them too low to be showing any outward signs -

Well, he's a bit off his food, and I think he's lost a bit of weight. I'd put that down to being on the antibiotics. None of this has anything to do with the skin stuff. If he hadn't been going in for that, none of this would have been spotted.

None of what?

We don't know. But on Monday he's having a scan on his kidneys, just to see. Here we go again. O Lord, thank you that if there is something that needs looking at you made us look at it. And please - make Matt well.

Christmas Present!

St Catherine's application to the Big Lottery Fund has been successful!

We asked for £104,066 to complete our fund for salaries for the children's worker (St Catz Kidz) and senior worker (St Caths Plus) and the Big Lottery have granted us £109,106 - because they say we made an error in our National Insurance calculations, and so we need slightly more than we thought.

How amazing! More than we asked for!

The Big Lottery Fund has been more than helpful throughout the whole process, and though the application process is not easy, they have been fair and several times asked us again to check details - right up to the last minute as they were making decisions. We found them excellent.

And of course we are really grateful - to them, to everyone who helped us in the course of the application, to all who wrote in support of us, to political voices across the spectrum, and to our God who answers prayer. This is the most wonderful Christmas present.

It means that both workers are now secured for three years - full time. And as we have only just begun the St Caths Plus project, this is especially exciting there. We shall take time to make sure we are making all the right decisions and hope to have further news on that front soon. Our aim as a church with these projects is to make people's lives better in every way we can, and we are thrilled that this grant makes the work we are doing secure for the foreseeable future.

Jane Davidson, our Assembly Member, is also delighted with this award. She says:
“I am delighted that the team at St Catherine’s has received this much needed funding, and look forward to seeing the great benefits the money will bring. I would like to offer my congratulations to all those involved, and would encourage anybody interested in the facilities on offer to pay a visit to St Catherine’s.”

Esther Sowerby, who headed up the fundraising, is pictured here with me, holding the cheque from the Big Lottery Fund. (It's a publicity cheque - we can't actually take this one to the bank!) She also runs the St Caths Plus pilot project at the moment, and today, as the news is announced, is taking 30 of the members of that project on a trip to see the BBC National Orchestra of Wales at the Hoddinott Hall in Cardiff Bay.

Over the first term of St Caths Plus project, up to seventy older people have benefitted from the work Esther and her volunteers have done - and that's from a project that has been running just two days a week. As we now consider how to make it full time, alongside Trish Tazzini-Lloyd and the very successful St Catz Kidz programme, we face an enormously exciting time. Jesus tells us to love God and to love our neighbour. We believe in caring for all in our community and hope these projects go some way to making life in Ponty better for many, many folk.

Can't tell...

I just can't tell you. I'm really sorry. No, I can't.

I had a wonderful piece of news today, but it's embargoed till December 18th. So I'm not allowed to publish it. It's nothing to do with the church hall, in case one or two of you are thinking about that.

And in the midst of feeling pretty low, a good day with good news is a real blessing.

O - I so want to tell you. Shhh - I mustn't. Not allowed - I'd better go now -

Getting Back On The Horse

Or the hearse, to be more accurate.

Life goes on, and so does death. My context is to have a tragedy and then keep on helping others through theirs. So today I buried somebody else; another family and different tears. Stories I don't know, and grief that I safely observe without drinking too deeply.

The way we would all rather do grief.

Of course, I haven't just switched off from Rob and his family. His father sent me an email last night, with further kind words about the things I have been trying to do for them, and some of you who were there on Monday have been generous in leaving facebook comments.

George and Elaine, Rob's parents, have a special grief, it seems to me. In addition to losing their only child, they have purposefully arranged for his burial near to their grandchildren - who live with their son's estranged and almost divorced wife. They are old, and will not often get to see their son's grave. They took photos of his final resting place so they have a memory of the spot. Gone his voice on the phone, his visits, his emails, and gone even a chance to pop out and leave flowers and shed a tear for these elderly folk who now mourn their son in absentia.

Just off junction 11A on the M5. Well, I might drop by, I pass that way occasionally.

I was thoughtless to my own mother when I returned on Monday - no, not thoughtless; but I appreciate she needs me to be more communicative, and I was unable to speak. I was unable. Disabled by the day.

People should be. Why? Is not Rob in heaven? Is this not a good thing? Of course; but I grieve not for Rob - not for his state, not for his life with Christ, though perhaps there is a sadness that he has not lived to share his children's growing up; every parent would want that. I grieve for George and Elaine. For his marriage to Ruth which had ended though Ruth always hoped it had not. For his children growing up without their father. For the people from a former church who emailed me such a sad letter that I could not even bear to reply.

I grieve a friendship. A man younger than I. A human being with talent and promise and capable of so much. Gone. And yes, the Lord has a better plan than I, but in my ignorance, I grieve. I miss Rob. Though in recent times we had not been as close as once we were. I grieve that was my fault.

And get back on the horse and watch others do the same thing. It is life. We carry these things, and if we carry them, then we must carry them to the cross. Not alone. Asking for help, for (at the least) a helping hand to bear the burden, and hopefully for one stronger than us to take them from us altogether. In time. If possible - if we can learn to trust and let go.

"Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest."
O to find rest for my soul.
O to find rest.

43

Ryan Giggs shares my birthday. He prefaced his 36th birthday by scoring his 100th Premiership goal yesterday: congratulations Ryan! Though Wayne Rooney took the plaudits with a hat-trick, and so United won 4-1.

Hat-tip too to Cas Timmis and Simon Davison who share the day - Simon also being 43 today. I'm not aware what either of them did yesterday. I had a fairly ordinary day, waiting for a postal delivery and preparing for a quite Sunday - quiet because Esther is speaking this morning so I just have the evening to look at, though the passage is an obscure bit of Revelations...

The day is also the eve of tomorrow, and Rob's funeral. I am looking forwards to seeing friends there, and to celebrating friendship with them. It will be a time to say what matters - and what matters is this: God gives us many gifts, but the most valuable are each other. I am who I am, and for all sorts of reasons am the kind of person who doesn't wear emotions on my sleeve. But were it my funeral tomorrow, I would not want "achievements" mulled over and rehearsed for all to consider; it's the friendships & relationships we are given and which we create that make life so rich. Rob was a rich man. So, as I celebrate this day, and am again touched by so many good wishes, am I.

Moving On

I started to write this, to say that I have been unable to write anything since the previous post, because I am unable to get past Rob in my thoughts this week. I have done and said things, but to move beyond my dear friend seems somehow not right.

I started to write this - when the phone rang and it was George, Rob's Dad, calling me to say that Rob's funeral has now been set for Monday November 30th at 1pm in St Phillip and St James Hucclecote, followed by a service in the crematorium.

So. I will write soon of other things. But not just yet.

Robbed

Strangely, I do remember Toby Scott being there. Toby is now Director of Communications for the Methodist Church of Great Britain and writes occasionally for the Guardian. And Richard Bowker too, former head of National Express, now building railways in the UAE. And author Mike Hampson. He was there.

But Rob Graham? I've never recalled him. Yet he says I was responsible for his coming to faith that weekend our school Christian Union spent in Grassington Congregationalist Church.

How typical. Rob wasn't about flash and surface and being noticed. He was a worker - someone who made things happen, who got things done. I'd see him do the things I did sometimes and want to plead with him not to: why would he want to trade in all the qualities of life he had and add to them the flighty things that I had?

After QEGS, I went to Merton college Oxford. He followed three years later. After Merton, I became lay-assistant at St Aldate's. Rob followed that too. After St Aldate's, I went to Wycliffe Hall to train for ordination. Rob stayed a while at St Aldate's, being an administrator for the student work, though he really wanted to be a worship leader. A pastor. A preacher. And sure enough - he then went to Wycliffe Hall to train for ordination.

George (Rob's dad, who I think I met first when I cycled over to Rob's house in Garstang one summer, when we were both still at school & George and Elaine were running the Methodist church there) said to me this weekend "I don't think you realise how much he thought of you".

But it was I who was the silent one in this friendship. I, the eternally taciturn and unemotional, who would have left no clue of my feelings for such a good and broken and imperfect and wonderful friend.

He came to me when his marriage was in trouble - and sought my help. I fully understood. I fully grasped everything he said. And yes, eventually, having promised him no judgement, I fully judged him in the end by losing patience with him. When someone you trust highly lets you down it's never easy; I let him down. And he cut the communication. I don't blame him. And when he tried to re-open it, I was slow to respond. Pride, you see.

Eventually we slowly thawed, with bits of internet chat. I was looking forwards to seeing him in due course. We had all the time in the world.

Till a Mercedes outside Chesterfield on a rainy, windy night ploughed into Rob's car, and then there was no time for any of us any more. His final act was to keep his children safe, but not himself.

It's not the guilt for having been imperfect in a friendship. It's the pure sadness at not being able to say how much I value him to his face. It's the shock of discovering the truth of this only when it's too late. Stupid, stupid.

Memories of of singing in York Minster & of recording together with Indra's choir, of school, of St Aldate's, of his licensing in Nailsea, of praying with Rob and Catharine Morris and having lunch together, of Ruth and Rob's wedding - where I played trumpet in Merton Chapel (and yet we remained friends - how much punishment can a person take!) and of all those terrible sweaters he wore.

But now my friend you have gone before me and it is my turn to be the one who follows in your footsteps. The roles are reversed. You see face to face the One I see only by faith, dimly; but though I tarry, I shall be there one day. Our paths have been linked too long, so accept my sadness at our recent silence, and know how much I think of you.

Dear Lord Jesus, grant to Rob a peaceful rest and a glorious rising. And to all of us who have been robbed of our Rob, your Spirit's comfort, please.

Public Service Blogging

I bought two new CDs for the long car journey down from Lancashire to Pontypridd today. The Pursuit and The Performance. Any similarity in the CDs kind of stops in the titles... although I did enjoy both of them. And, in the interests of public service blogging, I thought I’d share my reaction to them.

Firstly: Jamie Cullum. I think that to get this guy, you have to enjoy pop and jazz. He writes nice simple pop that is so intelligently jazzy it blows your head. And such good jazz that has amazingly sensible pop credentials it makes jazz musicians swoon with envy. Time and again I loved the way he melded the two together. I couldn’t see how it would happen – and yet it did, either by rhythm or piano or vocal inflection or just feel.

His lyrics are pop, not jazz. But the whole package is an amazingly brilliant combination, in a way that fellow pianist Peter Cincotti completely failed to do recently.

Just listen to I’m All Over It – it’s a pop song that is jazz through and through. Or If I Ruled The World – a Harry Secombe song, not even jazz, but turned into thoughtful and wistful pop at its best.

Jazz lovers ought to buy it just for the brilliant opening track – Jamie Cullum playing with the Count Basie band on Just One Of Those Things. Everyone else enjoy everything else – I think this is an amazing intelligent album I will go back to many, many times.

And then, a guilty pleasure. Well into her eighth decade, Dame Shirley Bassey has produced a stunning CD. Stunning. I mean – vocally she sounds twenty years younger throughout (well, almost - there's one track where for me she slightly sounds a little older; but still not 72), and at times DSB genuinely manages to completely roll the years back to days when she was just a slip of a lass from Tiger Bay. And the songs, all new, are great! By turns gentle and reflective, and then effortlessly slipping into pure bombast – and if one or two are forgettable candy floss, even these are gloriously high-class candy-floss. Tom Baxter’s opening track is a thing of beauty; Gary Barlow’s This Time a sub-Sondheim (and that’s real praise) classic; David Arnold and Don Black’s No Good About Goodbye is the best Bond theme never used in a movie (and I had to re-listen to it straightaway – “no solace in a kiss, no comfort in a sigh, no good in goodbye” – fantastic). Richard Hawley adds a fragile After The Rain, and the Pet Shop Boys finish it off with style. And I’ve left out tunes that may be your favourite.

Goodness, Simon Mayo & Mark Kermode had David Tennant on the radio – the four hours in the car were an absolute pleasure.

Sleep Exercise

Just a little dream I had that might entertain you.

I was lolling on the floor, waiting for something to begin in my dream when (realising that I was actually asleep and this was a dream and I had nothing better to do) I decided to see if I could do press-ups in my sleep.

Oh yes.

I got to twelve (and they were quite hard going – the technique felt really tough) before actually waking myself up, laughing with the effort...

How Do You Cope?

I have been saddened to read of the suicide of Robert Enke, the German goalkeeper this week. Suffering from depression beyond his ability to deal with or share, he ended his life under a train at a spot where he often walked his dogs.

A successful footballer. Rich, married, though he had lost a young daughter some time ago, he and his wife had recently adopted a child and seemed to have so much in life. As if that mattered – which is what the reports all say.

Anyone who has suffered deep depression has been at that point of giving in. Most get past it. I’m told Suicide is the biggest killer of men under 45 in the UK. Apparently 20% of the population suffer from depression in some form, and 10% actively find themselves under its grip today.

I’ve chronicled here before how depression plays its part in my life. Reading about Enke brings tears to my eyes. I’m pretty sure most of the reports I’ve read don’t really get it; but those of us who live there do. Have I ever reached that point? Of course. So how have I coped?

You know, I often say that the point of being a Christian is not the eternal insurance policy – the going to heaven when you die. No – I mean, I believe in eternal life – but the real point is the having Jesus now. The difference knowing God makes today.

I don’t know how people who don’t have that hand holding theirs, that voice speaking softly in their ears, that smile comforting them, that light breaking through the dark, dark, darkness – I don’t know how people without all this can possible begin to cope. I couldn’t. Really, I couldn’t.

I could recall specifics. I’m not going to – perhaps apart from the blessed gift of sleep which has sometimes got me through the very, very worst hours. I will say this: “there but for the grace of God” is not a phrase I use lightly or meaninglessly. I live as best I can a life that tries to worship Jesus every day because the fruit of the acts is in the living – and when push comes to shove, at the really crucial moments, he has always been there, and somehow I have managed to see that. The seeing in the darkness, my, that's the trick.

So I write these few words as an encouragement in the light of this week’s news story to anyone reading today needing a little hope. God still loves you, even if you are feeling unloved and unlovely. I have no cure to offer – but I know that I am not alone, and that Jesus stands with me when I am lowest; so I know he is with you too. We have company – of one who understands, and loves, and listens, and stays right here.

In the midst of depression so often it's the loneliness that's the killer. But we are not alone.

Only a Vicar

So Mum has had her cancer op. Tumour removed, everything sorted, surgeon happy, Mum safely home.

As a retired nurse she is the very worst kind of patient. She gets terribly stressed before anything happens, and then doesn’t listen to a thing afterwards. Her blood pressure was high (but not as high as when she had it done at her GPs) before the op. Of course – she was so stressed, I’m surprised it was low enough for them to do anything. That stress might have heightened it before-hand and relief lowered it afterwards... perish the thought I was offering a sensible suggestion; I am only a vicar.

After the op, Mum was shivering. It’s the general anaesthetic wearing off, I said; do you feel feverish? Yes, she said. Well, there you go, I said, that’s it.
Then the sister came in. “I feel shivery,” says my Mum. “What’s wrong with me?” And she gets the same explanation. Of course, I’m only a vicar, so I couldn’t have been right, though I have had a general and know exactly what it feels like.

She had no pain killers last night. She didn’t sleep well – she had a pain. Amazing. They cut into her, and she had a pain. She accepted the pain killers this morning (“bit of overkill, all these,” she said, grimacing) and then called me at lunchtime to say she was feeling much better. Except – it turns out she had palmed some of the painkillers because she thought them a bit much, and it wasn’t till her friend Maureen told her it was the right dosage that she accepted them.

I tell you, it was like this when she had her heart op, and that time I was often alone coping with her. Nurses. The worst patients.

But she’s fine and as you can tell, very much herself – and for all that I am very grateful. Thank you Jesus; it’s been a worrying time, and I am grateful for all her little ways. Long may they continue (preferably with her in Lancashire and me in Pontypridd).