Yesterday, New Year's Day, I took a train (they run on New Year's Day in England and Wales, if not in Scotland) to Styal, a village dominated by the former Quarry Bank Mill, a National Trust property, rich in social history and industrial archaeology.  Not having been for around twenty years, a lot had changed, with greater recognition of the influence of Empire, gender injustice, and the impact of industrialisation, as well as benevolence and philanthropy,

It was curious overhearing conversations, from the slightly gruff 'don't touch, that's really old, you might break it' of a father negotiating exhibits with a toddler, a pushchair and granny, to the cut glass RP of the mother who, having listened to the weaver describe her role, said to her son, aged around seven 'Oh, that sounds like the story of Penelope, have you studied that in Classics yet?'

According to the woman in the cafe, where I claimed my 10% reduction by showing my train ticket for arriving other than by car (cycle helmets can also be used apparently), this was the busiest day of the year... and as staff and volunteers managed the demands of entitled visitors making (to my mind) ludicrous demands, all of life could be found milling around the Mill.

The grounds are extensive, combining riverside walks, formal gardens (sadly damaged by storms a year ago), vegetable gardens and the orchard, where I snapped the photo I've chosen for today.  The gate open, inviting entry... and the trees 'wintering' after the activity of a previous year.

New Year is a bit like standing at an open gate, not yet able to see fully what lies beyond it, but even so, knowing that it is the way that travel will go.

In years to come, I wonder where the journey of life will take the toddler, the child, the parents, the dog-walkers, the cafe staff... and I wonder where this year may take me or anyone kind enough to read this stuff?  

This morning I have taken a few moments to look at the final December post for every year of this blog - relatively few have actually been on New Year's Eve, because I have almost always been on annual leave (as I am this year) and often chose to take a break from posting (especially in the days before Facebook took over!).

It's crazy - beyond crazy - that we are now quarter of the way through the 21st century... twenty five (plus a bit) years in which we went from wondering if computers would survive the much-hyped. mythical, millennium bug to living in the aftermath of a global pandemic caused by an anything but mythical biological virus... twenty five (plus a bit) years during which I have trained and served and as a Baptist minister in a range of contexts... twenty five years of life in all its fullness.

Like all years, this year has brought its own unique blend of highs and lows, joys and sorrows, laughter and annoyance, disappointment and delight.

I am reminded, as I am every year, of the beauty, vulnerability and interconnectedness of our human lives... there are stories that are not appropriate to share here of love and loss, and of challenge and change, of resilience and courage, both individual and corporate...

On a global scale, there is much that worries me deeply, yet I refuse to give up on the hope of God's incoming rule and reign, where all creation is fully restored.  These words from Romans 12 seem worth holding onto as we take our first steps, tentatively, into 2026... 

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

(Photo was taken a couple of days ago (its frosty and driech today!)  - you can't spend a quarter of your life in Scotland and fail to notice vapour trail saltires!  I also like it as a symbolic representation of hope, of new journeys, and the crossing of paths along life's way)

I've never been one for keeping the Christmas decorations up for ages... I enjoy hanging them, and I enjoy the colour and sparkles... and I also enjoy packing them all away, cleaning the living room and returning to a more normal, albeit slower, rhythm.

This morning I am enjoying the scent of furniture polish (unscented but you know what I mean), snipping around stamps ready to pop them in to the Leprosy Mission collection box at church, and then settling down to do some more of the Christmas jigsaw.

Some friends and family like to keep their decorations up until Epiphany, others until Candlemas, but for me there is nothing quite like the feeling that I can return to work next week knowing that the decks are clear, the carpets are hoovered and, for now at least, the dusting is up to date!   

After a full few months, the kitties and I are now enjoying some down time until the first full week in January.

Wishing all readers of this blog a restful break and that 2026 gets off to a peaceful, hopeful and loving beginning.

It's not about the numbers... it's never about the numbers... I will do it if only one person comes, if no-one comes... but this year, despite ourselves, we got the numbers...

In a year when we broke through the 'need fifty glasses for communion' ceiling, a year when, having closed our no longer viable Sunday School, we suddenly have around a dozen children attending fairly regularly, the numbers have continued to astound and bless us.

For the first year in recent memory, our nativity tableau (Pop-up, Messy Nativity) had as many, if not more, children as/than adults.

Our Community Carol Festival soared close to treble figures, at least half of whom were not part of our - and possibly any - church.

Lessons and Carols saw a small numbers of visitors, whilst Carosl by Candlelight attracted many.

I only have numbers for Christmas Eve, 32 (around 16 being visitors or occasional attenders), and Christmas Day, 34 (of whom around 12 visitors or occasional attenders), both of which were incredible (perhaps literally as well as figuratively) not least as only around six of us attended both services. For a church with a covenanted membership in the twenties, that's pretty amazing.

So, no, the numbers don't matter, and I would still do it all even if no-one showed up, but I think that for this small church,  Christmas 2025 is one to be justifiably proud of, as we have welcomed dozens of people into our midst to share in the fun, festivity and faith of Christmas.