This morning for the first time in far too long, I used the Pray-as-you-Go reflection to start my day.  For all sorts of reasons, mostly good and justifiable, my private devotions have been very disrupted of late, and it is high time I took myself in hand and got them back on track. 

So it was, that this morning the recording announced that it is the 23rd week of ordinary time.  The first thing that struck me was just that - the twenty third week, that in fact ordinary time is mostly what life is about, that penitential seasons and festivals are necessarily short and focussed, a distraction from the ordinariness of life.  I guess one of the questions for me is what 'ordinary' or 'normal' looks like now.  I cannot turn back the clock to my old understandings of 'normal', I have to live with 'new normal' and work out what 'ordinary' looks like.  Reluctant though I am to admit it, my brain is not what it was a year ago (as I said to one friend recently I am lucky, my reduction in mental faculty is from someone for whom doctoral research was relatively straight forward to someone for whom it would be quite demanding) and my short term memory is permanently affected by the drugs or their side effects.  I need to work harder to achieve what I once took for granted - that's maybe not a bad thing, as it forces me to expect a bit less of other people.

At the same time, ordinary is a good place to be.  Not having a diary crammed full of exotic-sounding hospital appointments is good.  Being able to wake up and think 'nothing much happening today' is remarkably pleasant (though this week includes three evening meetings and a fair amount of written stuff on tight deadlines... why did I take a holiday, remind me?!).  That most of life is just ordinary, just plods along, is actually worthy of celebration.  Special occasions and parties have their place, but it is good just to get on with ordinariness.

And it is within the ordinariness that routines can be established that help us deal with the unexpected challenges of life.

Today's PAYG centred on Jesus calling the first diciples... he spent a night in prayer, he chose the twelve, a massive crowd came seeking him.  The commentator noted the importance of the balance between 'being' and 'doing', that Jesus both took time away to pray and time to be busy with people.  It seemed quite apposite for the first PAYG I've listened to in ages.

For me, being back in ordinary time, even if I'm not entirely sure what that now means, is a good thing.  Being able to re-establish my times and spaces for reflection, Bible study and prayer, re-training my wandering mind to focus Godward, rediscovering the delight of making connections between faith and life, feeling more 'in control' after a year of being somewhat 'at sea', all that seems very good.

Evidently in the liturgical year there are 33 or 34 weeks of ordinary time (depends how Easter falls), so around two thirds of the year.  Of the rest, around 10 weeks are penitential (Advent and Lent) and the remaining 8 or 9 festal (Christmas, Easter, Pentecost).  Maybe that's something worth thinking about in life - what is the balance of ordinariness, celebrating and reflecting we experience?

A while back I posted about back messages for charity walks and invited suggestions for what approach I might adopt when completing mine for Saturday's little stroll (still time to sponsor me online or in real life).  There is always the danger that it will offend people who are included/excluded, for some it mixes memorials to absent friends/loved ones with celebration of those who "win" (a word I object to in this context) and omits those who live with whatever it is that's being supported financially.  Some people feel it's bad luck to have their names added.  Others feel it's an honour.

So, after a lot of soul searching I asked five women who have been diagnosed with breast cancer in the last year, and with whom I have had a degree of contact (two by blog three by email, none of us has met in life), if I could add their names to my back message on Saturday.  It will therefore say:

I'm shining for...

Ali, Annie, Chez, Jane, Jane and myself

Living with, through and beyond breast cancer

Breast cancer has an 80/20 rule - 80% of people diagnosed are over fifty, so I'm secretly smug that my back message reflects a reverse 80/20 - four of the five women I've asked are under fifty.  When I was diagnosed a long-standing and very intelligent friend said to me "but you can't have it you aren't fifty yet".  Oh yes I can, and lots of people do.  About 9000 under fifties a year in Britain to be precise.

Cancer respects nothing and no-one, it defies its own rules and strikes when and where it will.  I have in mind an advertising campaign that could be used featuring images of vicars, imams, athletes, young parents, old people, Asian, African, European etc etc all who have/had cancer... but that's another story for another day.  Today I want to tell you briefly, and hopefully appropriately anonymously, about my five fellow travellers...

Ali is in her early forties and is mum of little boy.  Her journey is very similar to mine but runs about four months behind me, she is just about finishing her radiotherapy now and has some 'tidying up' surgery ahead of her.  There is a complex, convoluted, real world link, but we are email contacts.

Annie is in her mid twenties, is a music teacher and an active member of her local church.  She had a lump small enough to be excised with clear margins... but has aggressive mets and has just begun a palliative chemo regime whilst still working full time.

Chez is in her mid thirties and is lone parent of a little girl.  Following a mastectomy, she is currently NED and hoping that she can have reconstruction at some point.  She has faced many life challenges and hopes soon to move back to her home town.

Jane (1) is a year younger than me, single and loves dogs.  She is a professional writer and full time carer for her elderly mother.  It seemed her story would be like mine when she was diagnosed and had a mastectomy.  Sadly her CT scan showed liver mets and her chemo regime now reflects her Stage 4 diagnosis.  We are in email contact.

Jane (2) is in her fifties, a church minister and a dog lover.  She has had a mastectomy and chemotherapy and is now most of the the way through her radiotherapy (EIGHT!).  She is a jam maker, mother and wife.  We are in email contact.

In super-cheesy-but-true fashion, I am privileged to have been allowed to share with these women parts of their journey/story and I am honoured to carry their names on my back.  I chose my words carefully - each of us is in some way living with, through and beyond breast cancer whatever the prognosis, whatever the stats, whatever that looks like.  We are LIVING and that is the key to it all.

I'm really looking forward to my little walk... just hope it stays dry!