Three months ago, the specialist vet described Sophie as 'a very sick pussy cat'.  After a raft of tests, we worked with our regular vet and, finally, after three months Sophie is now collar-free and (so far) not over-grooming.  She will be on meds for the rest of her little pussy cat life, but she seems to be happy and, overall, healthy.

When I took her with me to church on Christmas Day (the vet said she should on no account be left at home) I wondered how much longer we might have... as we pass Easter, I know she's a senior cat with conditions that will eventually catch up with her, but she has a good quality of life, at least for now.

Maybe that's some sort of parable or something - about not changing the overall trajectory but at least making the most of the the here and now - and maybe it's just an excuse to put more cat photos on the internet which is, after all, why it was invented.

Yesterday we had a joint service with or Methodist neighbours, with them coming to us for Low Sunday.  A month ago we went them.  Both services were well-attended with similar numbers from each, small, church, and both services seem to have been well-appreciated.

There is much to reflect upon going forward, but to me it felt that this was a glimpse of a new possibility, a small green shoot that, if carefully nurtured, could become a good thing... nothing too threatening to wither congregation, just a sharing of resources and mutually supporting and encouraging one another... each congregation having a few services where all they have to do is 'show up', a time to draw breath and receive, and each congregation  being able to be part of something a little bit bigger, broader, and more wonderful.

Scratch/scraper art crosses for the intercessions worked well - both congregations are used to intercessions led from the front and are uncomfortable even  being asked for prayer requests, let alone praying aloud, but they really engaged well with small groups being invited to 'scratch' their prayers in words or symbols onto the crosses, which they then placed on the Communion Table along with the offering.

Yes, there are things to learn, to do different or better.  Yes, there bits that went wrong - there always will be.  Yes, some people don't/won't go to the other church (so they get a week off, so what?!).  Overall though, a good thing and, imo, worth doing more of. 

Today I did some volunteering by helping to train other volunteers new to the service I volunteer with.  I was surprised to be told that I have provided telephone and/or email support to more than two hundred women affected by breast cancer.  That's a lot of privileged conversations, a lot of trust being expressed, a lot of vulnerability on the part of those I've supported.

In the eleven or so years I've been active, so much has changed - more people are being diagnosed than ever and waiting times for treatment are creeping up.  At the same time, there are so many new and better treatment options available now than there were back in 2010/11.  Yet, at the heart of it all are real people hearing those dreaded words, 'I'm sorry, it's cancer'. People of all shapes and sizes, ages and stages, people of every sex and gender, race, religion, political opinion, relationship status etc etc etc... 

It takes a lot of courage for someone to contact a support service, to share details of their diagnosis, their questions, their thoughts and feelings - yet they do.

It's a great privilege to be trusted by people in times when they are especially vulnerable, afraid, angry, bewildered, numb, or whatever unique mix of emotions it may be.  Sometimes I wonder if, almost fifteen years past diagnosis I still have anything valuable to share - then I speak to someone who just needs a 'good news story', a story that says there is hope, there is a future.

Sometimes someone church-related will refer to this role as a ministry, and perhaps it is.  Certainly, for me, it is a source of surprising joy and fulfillment, which is truly a great reward.

Yesterday felt decidedly unproductive - I did some essential stuff but not really anything substantial.  It may not have helped that a one point my desk was taken over by Sophie!

Sasha was also in her office chair, supervising proceedings.  Today I need to get my brain back into gear and do something vaguely constructive before the students return next week. (Also hoping the builders next door are quieter than they were yesterday!)

Sometimes Easter 'happens' and sometimes it doesn't - what do I mean by that?

Obviously, Easter happens every year - it is a date in the calendar, we prepare and deliver the services in faith, and with the hope that, somehow or other Easter will 'happen', that the wonder, mystery and joy of resurrection will somehow be our experience.  But there are no guarantees - there is no formula that is certain to give us a 'wow' or 'aha' moment when resurrection becomes real; there is no promise that we will feel anything at all.  

The danger of reducing Easter to an event, to a moment, is that we can feel as if we fail if/when we don't 'feel' it.  I am sure this is, in part, why most of the gospels have stories doubt and question, disbelief and fear... because Easter is a process, a working out (or outworking) that can take time, a lot of time.

But for me, this year, Easter did 'happen' on Sunday, as we shared together in something that proved to be very special - as evidenced by comments made to me by visitors and regulars alike.

For me, the highlight was probably the 'informal communion' where four children (supported by an adult just in case!) served the congregation with gluten free pitta bread and grape juice.  It could have been a disaster - plates held at angles that threatened to tip the entire contents onto someone's lap... near trips over the edges of pews that were saved just in time... small children weighed down by relatively heavy trays of glasses... and in that risk was rare beauty... a moment of 'this is what become like a child' means.  By chance, perhaps, we had two girls and two boys, two regulars and two occasional visitors, different skin colours, different ages and abilities, which simply added to the moment.

A visitor spoke of being moved almost to tears... a regular spoke of new life... many spoke of it being special... and it was, not because of what I did (though I did do a lot!) but because of everyone present and because of the mystery that is Easter joy...