Finally - I get it!

 

Christmas Day At The Vaughn Centre:

The Vaughn Centre - a retreat for the rough sleepers, the lonely, the dispossessed - shuts its doors on January 3rd. Everybody I talk to knows this shouldn't be happening, but feels powerless to stop it.

An appeal went out on Radio Gloucestershire a few days ago for a wealthy patron to donate enough money to secure its future, and who know? Miracles do happen from time to time. "Write to The Prince of Wales" i advise Lucinda, "After all, he's a Gloucestershire resident ... and this IS the only facility for the seriously impoverished in the County." She might. I might, come to that. Writing to politicians hasn't proved that effective. Compassion in public life is a luxury we can't afford these days.

The atmosphere on Christmas Day was upbeat. A delicious meal, cooked by a local church and delivered onsite, is being enjoyed by thirty os so people. Tricia, dressed in her finest skin-tight sateen leggings and calf-length boots is happier than I've seen her for months. She's trans-gender: the group with a 40% suicide rate. If anyone tells you its 'just a lifestyle choice' tell them that.

At her lowest, she was told by a psychiatrist, "How come someone as ugly as you wants to be a woman?" How come he got away with it? That's a no-brainer. Tricia is poor and powerless, you can say what you like to people like her and get away with it. Believe me, all kinds of abuse are aimed at you if you can't, or don't know how to, stand up for yourself.

Andy and Mo are planning to marry next summer. They showed me the gifts they exchanged that morning. "We're buying our proper presents tomorrow, in the sales!" We all laugh.

Chris is very chatty today. Unusually polite. Oh well, it is Christmas! Bob, baptised just three weeks ago, is still coming to terms with his new-found faith. "It'll take a while," he confides. "It'll take FOREVER Bob!" I say. He gives his take-away supper to Candy who is late because the police came round to her place looking for someone. " I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't had two dinners already," he explains, ever so slightly embarrassed by his generosity.

Candy's dog attacks Chris's dog and we all pay attention to that until its over, and then the carols start. I'm in the choir. Nobody thought to bring any words, but fortunately Chris ("I used to be in the choir at St Peter's") has a Booklet he lifted from the Mission Carol Service the previous Wednesday, so we're all set.

Six of us cluster cosily around the lonely set of words and belt out all the old favourites.

"No crib for his bed." That's when I understood. The rich aren't here, where poverty, mental illness, and inability to cope with the complexities of modern life are to be found... Here are the poor, and the poor in spirit.

Here is the baby in the manger, born into poverty to be one with the poor.

Here, with the hungry, the abused, the lost and the lonely, is the Holy One, hanging on a cross.

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Christmas Eve 2014

What are you doing today?

I'm going to be very busy. And I'm going to savour every last moment.

2014 has been a specatcular year. Two of my beautiful, incredible daughters married lovely men, and a baby, Sam, joiined the family through a third ... It's a privilege to hold so much joy, especially with the knowledge that many lives seem bleak and empty in comparison.

This was the year when I began to feel the creeping onslaught of old-age. Not so remarkably, I gradually became aware that my joints are stiffening and the lower back pain that I thought would go away, hasn't. I creak, and I groan as I go about my everyday business, and I laugh! Oh yes! Sounds stupid, but the intimations of my mortality actually make me laugh.

"Been expecting you!" I grin at the spectre of Christmas-Yet -To-Come, "Let's see what a tale we can spin together before I quit!" The challenges approaching decreptitude offer, are showing up as new ways to be creative, fresh excuses to skive off the boring stuff and get stuck into what I really want to do.

So today. Put candles and evergreens on the windows in the church, and invite a friend to arrange the flowers in the sanctuary because she'll do a great job. Make sweets with my granddaughters, turn out another Tuna Plait and Texas Millionaire Pie, read at The Christmas Vigil and celebrate the First Mass of Christmas with friends and fanily tonight.

Tomorrow I'll help out at the Vaughn Centre, and eat a quiet dinner with my husband. I shall collect my thoughts and give thanks. This is a wonderful life, I haven't deserved it, but I revel in it. I don't know what next year will bring, but whatever it has in store, I'm ready for it.

This week, this blog passed 10,000 hits. I am amazed. And delighted. Whether you are a regular visitor, or a casual passer-by, I have a poet's prayer for you this Christmas:

May you be surrounded by Love

Filled with Hope

Stilled by Peace

And may Joy unlooked for

Be your Gift: May you

Know, that you are loved!

 

Merry Christmas!

:)

 

 

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#MicroblogMondays: Free Gifts

I caught a piece on the radio today, it may have been The Ted Radio Hour ( which I'm delighted to hear is soon to be broadcast on BBC Radio 4) about Emotional Correctness. Political Correctness we know and probably love:It gets a bit silly sometimes, I know, but I'm not sorry to see the back of offensive sexist and homophobic jokes, and worse. Emotinal Correctness, I hear, is about making as socially and morally unacceptable, the grotesque online abuse by angry, ignorant people who vent their awfulness on social media in truly horrible ways. I hope it catches on.

In the meantime, let's practice a little Emotional Correctness this Christmas. Doesn't cost anything to be warm amd kind, to lay down prejudice and adopt instead a listening mind and a compassionate heart. Gifts that bless the giver and the receiver in equal measure.

 

#MicroblogMondays: Today

Before dawn, I walked to the top of Southend Lane to catch the 0715 number 678 Gloucester bus (via Tibberton) : the waning moon hung about, to the evident annoyance of the Phillips's cockerel impatient for the sun.

A bit early, so I sat in Starbucks, in Eastgate Street, wrote some Christmas Cards, read a portion of Cynthia Bourgeaut's "The Wisdom Jesus," downed a bucket of coffee and broke fast with a dry pastry.

The whole of the morning I spent helping the Salvation Army serve a Christmas lunch to the people who need to eat where they can: rough sleepers, those in poverty - I make the tea, pour the coffee and greet our guests. There's a wonderful atmosphere in the room. Major Adrian comments that three years ago we fed fifty, today it's one hundred.

Home, exhausted by the early start and hard work! Had a very long rest. Ordered a new duvet cover from John Lewis as Ray's failure to sort the washing has left the second best bedding an unattractive murky pink.

Made a mushroom risotto, which was not too bad ... Probably needed the wine, an essential ingredient I absent-mindedly drank yesterday.

Early to bed. Watched two documenteries on tv, one about darts, the other about the Dukes of Devonshire. I do not approve of having televisions in bedrooms, but a considerable rearrangement of furnishings has taken place, necessitated by the overhaul of the dining room, which needed to be emptied.

Drafted a poem:

Today

I have lived many lives.

You know, I wonder at it. How, the

Grammar School boys on the bus,

The couple in a B and B who have no stove to cook on,

No money for McDonald's,

And Jeanette - over eighty, sprightlier than me,

Serving the gravy and the roast

With a smile a mile wide -

Can be here. Peering over my shoulder

Watching me write, reminding me:

Today, we lived each other's lives

In a nod, a laugh,

A serious moment

And a cup of tea.