All I got for Christmas was…some lickelix. Now, if you are unaware, this is like clotted cream to you. I can smell it a mile away, cresting on top of my meal of tuna or cod. You might turn up your nose at such a delight (to me) but then again, you’ve put jam on top of meat. What do you call it…cranberry jelly? It’s jam, isn’t it?…on meat…
Apologies for that outburst from Tilly. She did have a good time over Christmas, despite a brief stay in the local cattery before New Year, probably listening to Radio 2, “debating” with the other cats, and sleeping. We were then able to pop down to Chester to be with our daughter, her husband and our granddaughter. Earlier, we had our youngest with their partner and their dogs, Kali and Laika, at the house. These dogs are German Shepherds, now fully grown, with boundless amounts of energy and very strong. Mandy was given charge of Kali, who recognised a certain reluctance to control her, made a dart for the front door, with Mandy unable to keep hold of the leash. Later, Laika would leap onto the sofa, fortunately a leather-like material, and sit there in a regal pose. Grand times.
Our children can be a light in our lives, showing us that we can have life, if we have temporarily forgotten.
We hope that, whatever you did, you found moments which would make you smile, and be thankful. Perhaps it was in what you ate – not lickelix though. I made some Stollen for the first time. I had thought it was cake and was surprised to be using bread flour, and then letting it rise on the log burner. I am delighted that it made a different birthday cake for my wife.
Every morning, without fail, regardless of the weather, we are startled by the two flocks of birds which fly this way and that, above our heads. There’s a flock of crows, known as a murder of crows, and a larger flock of starlings. They crisscross, mesmerising our attention, sometimes getting low enough for us to flinch. Their chirping alerts us to their presence, before, probably exhausted, they alight onto the nearby telephone wires to carry on their discussions. How ironic. I hope we were able to have a chat with someone on the telephone over the holidays.
Talking about alight… I noticed the Christmas candles at the Church of Scotland church we attend in Annan. As the church leader lit the last candle on Christmas Day, they said “this is for the Christ child, …don’t go out” as the candle flame flickered and danced. Many folk are struggling to see the light these days. On social media, I read of Americans who are very concerned with the imminent future in their country. What might happen after the promise of cheaper prices, lower taxes, and a return to being a great country. Their light is flickering wildly. As the colder weather prevails, we are noticing that we are resorting to lighting a fire some (most) evenings. Not out of luxury but merely to stay warm. I stare into the fire, warmed by its glow and bewitched by the yellowy-orange wisps playing above the logs. But as long as that light is there, we can feel its warmth. What does happen, frequently when I am asked to watch over the fire, is that the fire diminishes until it’s gone out. The cold is immediately felt.
“Don’t go out” When we take that opportunity to look around, we may see light in all its beauty. From the murmuration of the birds high above, the joy of listening to a friendly voice on the phone, seeing again someone we haven’t seen for a while, eating something particularly tasty (no, not lickilix), or knowing that what keeps us going, our faith, is that light within us. It restores us, challenges us, and drives us forwards. Sometimes we do have to look extra hard, like a child playing hide and seek – but the light is there regardless, if we dare to look.
So, with Spring just around the corner, let’s keep an eye out for light that encourages, brings us together, makes that community. Share that light with others when you’ve found it. It might not be the light that they were expecting, but it will warm them, encourage them, nonetheless.