Ma Wa Gray

 Last night I went to watch our choir perform. It's the final choir performance for our current matrics. I don't think it was planned but both Bjorn and Liam's younger brothers happened to be standing next to them in the choir rows. As they took their positions on the stage for a final time both sets of brothers cast knowing, naughty smiles at each other. A smile that doesn't need words, or an explanation. A smile of secret jokes and shared memories. A smile that tells you that you belong.  Yesterday I wasn't home and Stephen was working and so Gray took it upon himself to do Eva's homework with her. And this morning he made sure she had her tennis racquet. And he does a great deal of small interventions in her day to make it joyful and fun. When she hugs him she says he smells like safety.  When I hug my brother I feel the same.

Its snowed the other day. From our verandah, with the use of binoculars, we could see the white tips of the Drakensberg.  A few days later Stephen used a clever app to work out which mountain is which. The mountain we could see covered in snow was Cathkin. My home.  On a normal hazy day we wouldn't be able to see that far but on that magical morning, when the world was cleaned of all its grime and the frosts blanketed the Midlands with their crisp, I could see home. Heaven is home. If we are wise we build our houses to face it, focusing on a place that we know in our heart exists, even if we cannot see it. And on some miraculous days we catch a glimpse of that beloved place. And we are reminded of the homecoming that we live for. 

  Eva bought herself a beautiful crochet set. The box said it was suitable for ages 3 and above. I would argue that it isn't even suitable for ages 42.  I thought it might be a lovely Sunday afternoon activity with her. It wasn't.  After trying to read the very spartan instructions on how to do a slip knot I eventually found a video. I had to watch the video twice to master the art of tying a knot. I then thought I was doing well by not even trying to read the instructions on how to do a simple stitch and went straight for a video again.  You would think that people doing instruction videos might slow things down given that the people watching their videos are me. Needless to say rather than getting zen with my daughter gently stitching in the winter sun that kak crochet set got swiftly reassembled in its box with the promise that we'll take it to granny's house.  I have recently been diagnosed with chronic sensitization. I also actually qualify as having fybrom...

  This is not a political blog post, its a human one.  Yesterday I stood surveying the frugal contents of a human being's life. Contents hastily packed and cling wrapped and dropped off for safe keeping while that person runs for their life.  A person who has worked for over a decade in this country. A person who has contributed to the fabric of our society.  A person who, during lockdown, took in a mother and her new born baby because the baby's father had abandoned them. A person whose humble two room dwelling thus became the home for five people. A person who stretched her simple salary because she could not watch a mother and her child be homeless.  I can tell you countless other stories about this human being and her generosity of spirit. How with very little she still always answers the call of God to help those around her. How she is the stalwart of her community because she is a woman who can be trusted, and a woman with a heart for all God's people....

  The young man steps onto the trail. He pats the left pocket of his khaki shirt checking that his pipe, tobacco and lighter are in their usual place. He deftly swings the binocular strap  around his neck and sets off.  He marvels at how long his strides are. There is a new spring in his step, or rather an old spring in his step, he delights in its return. He knows that if he needs to run, he can run. A smile spreads across his face, a gentle, shy smile.  He walks the meandering path with purpose. As the reality of this new world settles around him he notices that everything around him is so much more vibrant and alive. The trees pulse with life and chlorophyll, he can almost feel the rhythm of life being sucked up from the nurturing ground, through the roots and out into the canopy above him. Here even the trees have a spirit.   And here the rocks tell their stories too. Stories he's been trained to read and yet now they echo with such clarity that he is a...

  The night before Jesus died He washed the feet of his disciples. At the time this action was seen as a hugely humbling gesture. Feet are intimate, they are sweaty, dusty, our very human connection to the earth upon which we walk. Knowing what we know now about feet and their connection to the rest of our bodies, and our souls, I feel this humble act that Jesus performed for his beloved friends must have been a far more intense spiritual experience than we initially make it out to be. He wasn't just cleaning the dusty roads off their feet, he was cleaning their souls.   Jesus would have connected to his disciples in a way that would have told him everything he needed to know about them, of this I am certain. He would have known who was tired, overwhelmed, battling with digestion, anxious, who had betrayed him. The stories of his friends would have been written on their soles, and souls. I suspect that Jesus would have gone to the part of the foot connected to the solar p...