So, today is my 58th birthday... and every year older is a truly precious gift.

How different from my 48th birthday, which I feared might be my last.

And how much that experience affects my reaction to restrictions imposed to prevent the spread of a horrible virus that kills so many people... better miss one birthday, one Christmas than never have another one.

Yes, it' is complicated.  Yes, there are people for whom this will be the last Christmas (known or unknown) but actually all any of us have is the present (which I read somewhere recently lasts 3 seconds).

So I have had a lovely day.  I walked before the dawn, breakfasted on pastries and coffee, Zoomed with friends, brunched with another friend, ate cake, Zoomed with Sunday school, baked veggie sausage rolls, received and opened gifts and cards, Zoomed with tech folk to do some checks for tomorrow, ate more cake, and , yes,listened to the announcements about restrictions.

Give up festivities for one year - it's really not a big ask, in my opinion.... Better give it miss for one year and have plenty more to look forward to.

Thank you everyone who has made my day special.

Today we receive a little angel charm, with an invitation to clip it to a bag or coat, so that we can carry it with us.

Angels, God's messengres who announce hope, peace and joy.  Some people believe we each have  dedicated guardian angel to watch over us; whether or not that's true, God certainly watches over us, night and day, through good times and hard times.

I am amused that, by chance, I received a turquoise angel, one of my favourite colours!

Today's poem is 'Unto us a Son is Given' by Alice Meynell, an English poet of the twentieth century, twice nominated to be Poet Laureate - and twice rejected (the only woman so far is Carol Anne Duffy, under new rules that(wisely imo)  limit the tenure to ten years).  She was also a devout Roman Catholic and a Suffragist (not a Suffragette).  You can find the poem here

I chose a photo of some of the Christmas cards I have received, as they seemed to connect, n a very small way, with the poem.

And the prayer:

God of the ages, God of this age,

It is so true - each year it happens again, whether we name it, or know it, or believe it;

Wise ones still seek it, humble ones discover it, animals sense it, and stars declare it -

Help us, then, to relax into it.

Amen

(is it just me who is now losing track of days and dates..?!)

Today's gift was a small, matte finish, gold bauble, now nestled in my Christmas tree. I tried to track down the origins of baubles and, perhaps unsurprisingly, they emerge quite late in time, and are a commercial undertaking to replace the more organic berries, cones, ribbons and candles (always seems dangeous that one!) of past times.

My tree is around thirty years old, it was bought in a department store that is long gone.  Many of my baubles were bought there, but others have been added over time, and many, maybe most, carry memories of people and places. I think this is true for many people - though I was a bit bewildered the other day to see someone walking along the street with two HUGE boxes of baubles - maybe they are just starting out and have a large tree to decorate?  In thirty years, will they look back and remember the day they bought them?

Enjoy your decorations, many or few, and all they mean to you.

Today's poem is by the seventeenth century Scottish poet, William Drummond of Hawthornden, and is called The Wonder of the Incarnation'.  Unfortunately I haven't managed to find it online, so am hoping that reproducing it here isn't in breach of copyright (in theory it shouldn't be given he's long dead)

To spread the azure canopy of heaven,

And make it twinkle with those spangs of gold,

To stay the ponderous globe of earth so even,

That it should all, and naught should it, uphold;

To give strange motions to the planets seven,

Or Jove to make so meek, or Mars so bold,

To temper what is hot, dry, moist, cold,

Of all their jars that sweet accords are given:

Lord, to thy wisdom's naught; naught to thy might.

But that thou shouldst (thy glory laid aside)

Come meanly in mortality to abide,

And die for those deserved eternal plight,

A wonder it is far above our wit

That angels stand amazed to muse on it.

And the prayer...

God who created the heavens,

Who knows and names every star and every planet,

Who set our earth in orbit just the right distance from its sun

So that life might emerge, and flourish, and thrive -

And then did not abandon us to the consequences of our sin and finitude

But became mortal to restore all life -

Help us be content to wonder anew.

Amen