This morning our congregation was pretty small - around half to two-thirds the usual numbers, and of those present around a quarter were visitors, mostly first timers.

After the service, I noted that all the visitors were being chatted with, that they all stayed to share some of our 'now we are six' birthday cake and that there was a really friendly, welcoming atmosphere about the place.

As we gathered round the cake, topped off with candles and sang "happy birthday to us" I felt very proud of my people.  Sure, we sometimes disappoint each other or have our niggles and disagreements, but overall we stick together through good and challenging times.

As my sixth year draws to its end, and as the seventh will soon dawn, I can confirm there is absolutely no trace of 'itchy feet' in this minister person...

Love you loads, Gatherers, and very grateful to God for bringing us together at the right time for us all.

It is now just days shy of the sixth anniversary of my arrival in Glasgow - if memory serves I arrived on about a week before starting work, just as September morphed in October.

As I've posted a few days ago, I'll be away on my hols on the date of 'our' anniversary so I'm marking it tomorrow... and in a moment of utter nuttiness decided to bake a cake.  Not my finest attempt at decorating, but it will do the job, and hopefully taste nice... afterall it's the thought that counts!

Anyway, happy birthday to us - and hopefully many happy returns still to come.

This morning in my email I found the final 'page proof' of the essay I presented at the conference on Spirtuality, Theology and Cancer in New Zealand roughly 18 months ago.  Despite having had various things published at various times, it always excites me to see my stuff in print, and amazes me that what I write is judged worthy of publication.  Afterall, I'm the girl who got good marks for English because her grammar and spelling were decent (before typing made me lazy!) and could construct a half-decent argument for a discursive essay, not because she had any creative writing ability whatsoever. 

I am especially excited because my essay is going to be Chapter 1.  This is the position to which real writers of theological essays aspire... either be the key note speaker and get Chapter 1 by default, or be judged good enough to go first.  This is the 'make or break' chapter - the one that hooks or repels the readers.  Can it really be that I wrote something worthy of this slot?

The book hits the shops at the end of November, and I have been invited to the launch party, but suffice to say won't be attending.  I'll just have to have my own mini book launch at home!

Anyway, if anyone is interested, here's the 'abstract' as it will appear in the book:

As an ordained minister I have sat alongside many people affected by cancer, sharing their bewilderment, refusing to avoid tough questions, and modelling a response many found helpful. When I was diagnosed with cancer in August 2010 my own response was to be honest and open, free to name anger, fear, doubts, and questions that arose along the way. And yet, it became clear that “the minister is still the minister” and that the responsibility of caring for others affected my quest for authenticity. In this essay, I reflect on my experiences in an endeavour to explore attributes of “authenticity” for a religious professional living with cancer.

The essay uses anonymised/masked identities in accordance with good practice, however it is entirely feasible that anyone who is part of my local church would recognise themself or others in the reflections... anyone wishing to read the essay, once published, should be aware of this.

This year I'll be missing my 'Induction Anniversary' because I'll be off on my hols... which I am in need of it has to be said!  So I'm cheating and marking it a week early this year... which means this coming Sunday, which coincides with the Scottish school's September break and loads of other people being away, ah well.

This will be my sixth anniversary of being here, so I have to try to work in this poem...

When I was one,
I had just begun.
When I was two,
I was nearly new.
When I was three,
I was hardly me.
When I was four,
I was not much more.
When I was five,
I was just alive.
But now I am six,
I'm as clever as clever.
So I think I'll be six
now and forever.

And there will have to be cake... best get my baking head on again!!

The hymn "The Harvest of the City" includes the lines

"In hospital and harbour

We meet you night and day"

I took the phrase "In hospital we meet you" as the basis for a second reflection.  This one is perhaps too risky to share in its entirety, lest it cause offence or is judged improper.

So, in summary, I spoke briefly, and carefully of three recent encounters in three hospitals when, maybe, I met God...

• an 'emergency' marriage at the fairy-light decorated bedside of a cancer patient
• a visit to a patient in the critcal care unit at a new, state-of-the-art hospital where, almost incongruosuly, huge picture windows allowed warm summer sun to stream in from a world that carried on as if nothing had happened
• sharing communion in a comandeered hospital chapel where sacred and silly melded perfectly to create a beautiful whole

"In hospital, we meet you"