When I was at college one of my tutors once said to me 'never say never' and of course that's wise counsel.  Yet there are always things we say 'never' to.  Three weeks back after my first dose of drugs I said to a friend words to the effect of 'don't expect to see me without hair' and she said words to the effect of 'never say never.'

So, today was the day of the grand shave, something I was not willing to let anyone witness, being far too intimate, and in any case I didn't want anyone seeing my head before I did.

I didn't actually see it until I got home and took off the freshly shaped wig (which was itching like crazy!) and decided it didn't look so bad after all - and it was bliss to feel air round my head after being cooped up in a scarf or a wig.  So, although I have no intention of appearing bare-headed in public, and although it is still far from completely bald (ironically you have to leave about 1/2 inch so the hairs can fall out properly, and falling out they certainly are) I feel it's time to break another taboo and let the world see what I now look like, at least in the comfort of my own home.  I hope it doesn't distress you to see me thus - I'm actually OK with it.  Yes, I'd love to still have another 24 inches or so but it's still me and I'm still made in God's image and likeness.

Throughout history one of the great taboos has been women with shaven heads.  Indeed, in many cultures a woman's hair is more than her 'crowning glory' it is an outward sign of inner fertility (does that make it a sacrament J? ;-) ) and of course for Sikhs and Nazarites it has immense religious significance.  As I have come to terms, in so far as I can, with the loss of my hair, albeit temporary, I have found myself propelled to the periphery of other people's worlds and been granted just a glimpse of what it might mean, or have meant, for them...

Jewish women (and others) shaved on entry to the death camps

'Collaborators' shaved as punishment for their crimes

Conscripts crew-cut as they enter the service of their nation

Nuns and monks relinquishing the tug of the world's perceived vanity

Today I find myself compelled to pray for the Sikh women undergoing chemotherapy, whose never-cut tresses tumble from their heads under the influence of the drugs.

Today I call to mind the woman with the heamorrhage whose story is told in Luke's gospel, forced to the margins of society and religion by the cruel trick nature played on her body.

Today I remember those who live permanently on the margins, stigmatised by the effects of HIV/AIDS, leprosy, accident or injury.

I cannot enter their worlds or feel their pain, and I am blessed that my trip closer to the margins is temporary, but the glimpse I am granted, may it it change me for the good.

Sydney Carter's much maligned, oft derided, pejoratively dismiised as a "children's" hymn, 'One More Step' comes to mind this morning:

One more step along the world I go,
One more step along the world I go.
From the old things to the new
Keep me travelling along with you.
And it's from the old I travel to the new.
Keep me travelling along with you.

Round the corners of the world I turn,
More and more about the world I learn.
All the new things that I see
You'll be looking at along with me.
Chorus

As I travel through the bad and good
Keep me travelling the way I should.
Where I see no way to go
You'll be telling me the way, I know.
Chorus

Give me courage when the world is rough,
Keep me loving though the world is tough.
Leap and sing in all I do,
Keep me travelling along with you.
Chorus

You are older than the world can be,
You are younger than the life in me.
Ever old and ever new,
Keep me travelling along with you.
Chorus

Sydney Carter (1915-2004) © 1971 Stainer & Bell Ltd.
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Today there are new steps to take, another 'bend' to negotiate on my up hill climb and another 'stile' to get over.  A busy day in prospect with the hairdresser in the morning and the chemotherapist in the afternoon.

So, I'll be rounding a corner in my little world and seeing 'new things' (Just what does my totally naked scalp look like? Hmm!) but here's the important reminder... God travels that journey with me and sees things at the moment I see them, sharing the emotions, holding my hand if needed and hopping with me (the alternative version of 'Footprints') along the beach.

Sometimes, you know, I think it's the kiddies hymns we deride the most that contain the most profound theology...

Today's Bible Study focussed on Mary of Bethany with the Lukan Mary and Martha story at its core.  It's theme was about busyness and the need for times or spaces to be still to reflect, to pray, to be.  It was well led by one of the group members and some deep and honest discussion followed.

Someone shared very honestly how all her life she'd deferred things... "I'll do that when I've finished my degree..."  "... when the children leave home..."  "when I'm retired..."  "well, I am retired, so maybe when I'm old..."

A presumption that I can longer have.  A few months back I completed one of those silly online surveys that estimates your 'virtual age' and your 'life expectancy' based on life-style and heredity factors.  The results gave me a virtual age of 27 and a life expectancy of 97... easy to recall as I am 47.  Now the best anyone can offer me is an ~80% chance of reaching 52.  I don't feel bound by that, nor do I live with it as a Damaclean sword hovering above me, but it sure shifts your perspectives.  Rather than 'life expectancy' people speak of 'five year survival rates.'  Which gives pause in a world of busyness and deferment.

It seems to me that there is a shift in thinking from 'life expectancy' to 'living expectantly.'  It's probably more Biblical or spiritual or some such too.  I have a growing list of things I want to do after my treatment is over, but I am not putting life on hold in the meantime.  I am choosing to live expectantly - expecting things to delight me, moments that make me laugh aloud, issues to make me think hard, challenges to be faced with tenacity and fortitude.

Maybe life expectancy data is unhelpful, it promotes dissatisfaction among the 50% of people (or their loved ones) who get less than average and complacency among those who get more.  Maybe it encourages us to put off until tomorrow (or more likely tomorrow's tomorrow) that which we could and maybe should do today.  Maybe it makes us either too cautious or too careless.

I'm certainly not intending to settle for 52, in so far as it's in my control anyway, but I am intending to live more expectantly for however long it is.  Life is not mere 'survival time' for five or eighty-five years (roughly UK female average) it is a gift of God to be cherished.

I reminded our group that Luke's is only one of three M&M stories, that each has her moment of insight (Martha's theological discussion with Jesus at Lazarus' graveside never ceases to amaze me; and it is she who names him as Lord) and there is, I believe mutual acceptance by the time of the Holy Week meal at their home.  We must each be true to who we are, and we are each responsible for how we live our lives - as mere survival or as 'life in all its fullness' - the life of expectancy.

Today I just want to share a hymn I have loved since I learned it from the Roman Catholics amongst whom I spent a year of my training time a decade ago (where did the years go?).

In recent weeks I've watched quite a few sunrises (made better by the fact that they are now happening later so they no longer have anything to do with insomnia) each beautiful in its own way, and today's was epesically lovely.

The first verse of the hymn has always intrigued me, with its hints of struggle (shadows) in even the brightest of days.  It seems to be a popular choice for RC funerals, yet it also has echoes of the more familiar 'Lord of all hopefulness' as it takes the singer/reader through the day as well as, metaphorically, the whole of life.

Enjoy.

I watch the sunrise lighting the sky,
Casting its shadows near.
And on this morning, bright though it be,
I feel those shadows near me.
But you are always close to me,
following all my ways.
May I be always close to you,
following all your ways, Lord.

I watch the sunlight shine through the clouds,
Warming the earth below.
And at the mid-day, life seems to say:
'I feel your brightness near me.'
For you are always close to me,
following all my ways.
May I be always close to you,
following all your ways, Lord.

I watch the sunset fading away,
Lighting the clouds with sleep.
And as the evening closes its eyes,
I feel your presence near me.
For you are always close to me,
following all my ways.
May I be always close to you,
following all your ways, Lord.

I watch the moonlight guarding the night,
Waiting till morning comes.
The air is silent, earth is at rest-
Only your peace is near me.
Yes, you are always close to me,
following all my ways.
May I be always close to you,
following all your ways, Lord.

John Glynn (b. 1948) © 1976 Kevin Mayhew Ltd
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