Yesterday was a long day (I was away from home for a good 17 hours).  An important day; a strange day; a needed day.

I arrived early at the cemetery, knowing that this would give me time to adjust from travelling mode to, well whatever mode it was. Daughter? Minister? Both?  I'm still not quite sure!

Soon afterwards the gravedigger arrived, he had other plots to prepare, so he too had arrived early.  We got chatting as ministers and cemetery workers do, and it turned out he's worked in that cemetery as a grave-digger since 1990 - so it's almost certain that he had dug my Dad's grave, as a young man, with a spade because little JCB-type diggers weren't common practice back then.  Certainly when I pointed out the nearby grave of one my classmates who had died tragically and very young, he recalled digging that one.  I quite like the idea that he dug my Dad's grave and now, also by hand, had dug the space for my Mum's cremated remains.

The FD arrived early too, carrying a very smart, plain silver carrier bag inside which was the basket-work casket.  I explained it was just me, that I was happy to place the casket myself and thanked her for all they had done for Mum.  I felt a bit mean, she probably had almost an hour's drive each way for five minutes, but hse seemed OK and was consumately professional.

So that was that, then.  A few minutes earlier than the official time, I read some scripture, said some words of committal and prayed a blessing, then I popped some flowers in the vase .  The FD came over and back-filled the hole, and I placed a potted rose bush in front of the headstone (which has yet to up altered or replaced).  I thanked him and he left.

The sun shone, it was a  warm, late-summer afternoon.  I stood looking out across this once familiar place, and thought (briefly) of those I had known who now lay here.

At the end of the road leading to the cemetery stands the house where I lived from 9 - 18.  Once a council house, it's now long since in private ownership, but apart from the windows and the fence at the side, little seems to have changed.  The hedge at the front - which I spent many hours cutting as a teenager - is still there.  The apple tree remains, and forsythia bush my Dad planted is still growing next to the gate.

It was a strange day - a long way to go for something that took at most five minutes.  It was an important day - I needed to complete this process, fulfilling Mum's last request. 

I have no idea if it did whatever I might have hoped or wanted it to do, because honestly I don't know what what I hoped or wanted, beyond a bit of closure or completeness.  Perhaps I wanted some time to be daughter not minister - but the two are not entirely separable after all.

I am really grateful to the long standing friends I visted afterwards for a cup of tea and a natter before catching my homebound train.

Before I left, I took this photo of me with the house where I spent those years in the background. 

At the time we moved there it was pretty much a 'sink' area, it seems to be remain an intriguing mix of rough-and-ready and aspirational, along with a number of retirement bungalows, and all of it just down from the place where most residents will one day take their final rest. 

August 8th 1972 we moved into that house (on the right in the photo), 15th August 2018 I said farewell for what is almost certainly the last time.

As I said on social media, "The girl from Westfield Road hasn't done too bad".

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

The Lord gives, the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.

This Sunday is the last (number seven of seven) service based on the SU material.  It's been an interesting challenge to work with it.  I've enjoyed reading some fairly large chunks of scripture to enable me to compose the 'stories' of the characters we've met.  I've been stretched once or twice when themes that emerged were too similar to events in our own contemporary context, and 'reflections' had to be re-worked.  I've also given quite a lot of thought to what is - or isn't - helpful in encouraging others to engage with the stories.

All of this with a personal backdrop of adjusting to the death of my mother (just over three months ago now) and organising a simple ceremony for the burial of her ashes (which will take place tomorrow).  As I have said, elsewhere, grief is a funny old thing, and managing my thoughts and feelings over recent weeks has been its own challenge - some of what I've explored in the Bible stories has also come quite close to home.

I've been very blessed to have the love and friendship of the Gatherers, even, or maybe especially, when I I've been a pain in the b*m.  Being part of "Team Gathering Place" is very precious, and I am privileged indeed to continue to serve among and alongside these good folk.  Maybe that's all a bit mushy slushy, but hey ho.  Another summer series draws to its end, and the God who has brought us safe thus far will continue to lead us on.

(Likely to be radio silence for a day or three due to travels south and meetings when I come back home)

Wow!  Between this blog post and some social media conversations, I am a bit clearer about whether or not to 'get on my bike'!

A physio friend has directed me to some suitable exercises that I can start whilst waiting for formal treatment, and given some guidance on better/less good exercises alternatives.

Cycling is getting mixed reviews - but at the same time I've had an offer of an exercise bike which will allow me to pedal away without worrying about traffic, hills and the like.

Aqua-aerobics, pilates and yoga are all being recommended as alternatives... and certainly worth looking into.

All feels very encouraging.

Today, after a very, very long wait that would embarrass anyone keeping a record of NHS waiting times, I saw a very lovely orthopaedic surgeon who was as gentle, open and honest as his colleague, who I saw over a year ago, was not.  I knew that the chronic pain in my hips and back wasn't sinister, and I knew that the back pain was really subsidiary to the hip pain... I'd just been waiting over a year for the results of the investigations that allow a precise diagnosis to be made.

So now I know that I have bilateral gluteal tendinopathy (and not as had been assumed trochanteric bursitis) which in plain language is mainly an aging effect (thanks) that means the tendons holding me together are caught up in a tear-repair process that will take many years to resolve itself.

The huge positive, from my viewpoint, is that walking is not making it worse, and in fact is beneficial - hurrah!  However, other forms of exercise, notably swimming and cycling, are meant to be even better.  As swimming isn't really going to work for me (surgical redesign means one shoulder gets very sore if I swim more than a few lengths) it's looking like I need to get on a bike.

I'm not a great cycling fan, but hey ho, if it helps... So I am now researching suitable bicycles and suitable places to start riding (you will have seen the European Championship cycle road races... Glasgow is one big hill (or several actually)).  If it helps my hips, keeps me fit and avoids me clogging up waiting lists for overstretched NHS departments, then all to the good.

For anyone who is interested...

Questions to Ponder

1. What do we know about Paul and Barnabas before the events described in this story? How would you imagine their personalities?  
   
   
2. We are told that the two men ‘disagreed sharply’ over the reinstatement of John Mark and parted company. Do you think one of them was ‘right’ in his view and why is that?  What do you think you might have said?

3. John Mark clearly messed up quite badly during his travels with Barnabas and Paul. How do you think he might have felt about the possibility of another chance?  How do you feel when you mess up?  Can you think of times you have been given, or have been denied, second chances? How has that felt?

4. Silas is invited by Paul to go with him on his next journey. What thoughts do you think he might have had as they set off?  How might you have felt knowing that you are replacing someone who seems to have messed up?  How might it feel to follow someone who was amazingly popular and successful?

5. Both Paul and Barnabas are ‘big’ characters in the story of the early church. Sometimes when prominent people in Christian life fall out, or are deemed to fail or offend, the media and the church can be unkind or even ruthless (e.g. Steve Chalke, Vicky Beeching, recent events at Willow Creek).  What insights might we find from this story to help us (locally and as the worldwide Church) to respond more kindly?

6. Is there someone in this story with whom you identify? Why is that?  What would you, as that person, like to say to the other characters?

7. After Paul and Barnabas went their separate ways, each taking a companion with him, far from destroying the Church, it continued to grow. Pauls’ writings suggest that, as a minimum, he respected Barnabas and John Mark, and may well have been reconciled with them.  What thoughts or questions does this raise for you?