For those following 'traditional' Advent schemes, yesterday was Gaudete Sunday - 'rejoice' Sunday, the say off from fasting if you are doing it, the day when solemnity is supplanted by anticpatory joy.  As we pondered John the Baptist as a harbinger and bringer of joy, I guess we were doing a bit of gaudate-ing... even if I only realised it retrospectively.  Duh!

A bit slow generally today... St Eroid has moved on to pester other people, so sleep returns, but drug-induced stiffness coupled with freezing fog outside mean a gentle start to my day off from work.

Looking forward to a week of gentle preparation for our community carol service and then on into the Christmas celebrations... more gaudete-ing in prospect.

This mornng we begin our John the Baptist reflections with the incident in the Temple which left Zechariah literally speechless - a state that evidently lasted nine months.  Last night I found myself pondering what life was like for this elderly couple during that period of time.

I imagined Liz (Elizabeth) waiting at home for Zec(-heriah) to get home from the Temple, wondering how his day had been and making sure that his tea was ready on the table.  Did she find neighbours coming to her door with rumours of what was happening at the Temple?  Did she wait anxiously for her beloved Zec, the man who could so easily have divorced her for her failings as a wife, wondering if he was ill, wondering if it was all true?  Did she stand in the doorway scanning the horizon? 

Was Zec, when he arrived home a little more amorous than usual, anxious to play his part in fulfilling the promise?  Or was he too bewildered and too befuddled to find a way to communicate to Liz, the woman who has shared the highs and lows of their long lives?  Was there a kind of 'chemistry' or 'telepathy' that led them to understand each other without need for words?

And as the days passed, was there renewed intimacy for this couple, mysteriously rejuvenated by hope?  Did Liz laugh as Zec tried to explain with hand gestures what he needed to say?  Was he able to continue to work at the Temple, or was he forced to endure solitude as well as silence?

How did they feel as Liz woke one day and dashed from the house, compelled to vomit?  Did they dare to believe it was beginning, that new life filled her arid womb? A gentle hug befitting the years or a crazy, if a little stiff, dance?  And as the weeks passed, her belly swelled and the first flicks of life confirmed their dreams, did their smiles grow wider, the glow of love shine brighter?

And fear... they were old, their bodies were worn, could Liz successfully carry this precious life to term?  And Zec, unable to speak, unable to say how he felt as he watched and dreamed and dreaded...

Nine months of silence must have worn thin at times.  Frustration that feelings and information could not be spoken or acknowledged.  The rest from conversation, at first perhaps strange, briefly welcomed, must have been a real nuisance at times.  Yet other ways of communication must have emerged... the touch, the glance, the facial expression... did they discover new ways of expressing their love, their fears, their needs?

And then the labour.  Young midwives supporting this old woman who had seen so much of life.  neighbours wondering how it would all come out.  Hearing Liz scream did they fear this would destroy her?  Watching Zec stand, silent, outside the house did they ache to see the concern in his eyes?  Did they see that despite this there was joy, hope, anticipation?

A baby's shrill cry cut through the air.  A smile spread across the wrinkled face of Zec as he rushed in to embrace his beloved Liz.  Tired, aching, tears of joy streaming down her wizened face, and a gentle smile that said 'God's promise has been kept.'

Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of a deep chuckle... then a hearty laugh and the neighbours looked round.  The silence was broken and Zec let out a cry of praise!  God had remembered after all.

Taking his new son in his arms, Zec welcomed John the Joy-bringer, John the Path-clearer, John the herald of hope, with a smile and a new kind of silence... awe and wonder.  And Liz, exhausted but thrilled, reached out to draw her son to her breast, assured that something new was just beginning.  New waiting, new wondering... a silence to be filled

People periodically ask me what it's like at the chemo sessions: is there a sense of camraderie or even community they wonder.  I think the honest answer to that is no, but there is a sense of solidarity, which is not the same thing, but it is good.  I always make a point to smile at people, to say hello and goodbye, to thank the nurses, and usually there is at least one person who appreciates some conversation, especially those on herceptin who are there three-weekly for a year, and often there all day to be monitored.  Mostly I am the youngest there by ten to twenty years, though yesterday there was someone three years younger.   It would be wrong to say everyone is cheerful or upbeat, some are angry or sullen, some are really not very well, but most are broadly positive and making the most of life.  Most of the time we are all women but now and then there are men sharing this particular hill climb.

As it happened, yesterday as well as two people coming to terms with their hair loss there were two on herceptin coming to terms with its re-growth and the curls they hated.  One was about six months into regorwth and had what looked like a lovely head of hair, her curls had settled into a gentle wave and what looked like a very expensive cut (it wasn't!).  She observed that her husband said she looked great but she wanted her proper hair back, and it was still some way off.

Another feature of the chemo treatment area is the background muzak... some end-to-end FM 'gold' station that plays songs from the 60s, 70s and 80s; I guess the eras of most of the patients.  Yesterday among the many familiar tunes was this from Eric Clapton...

It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear.
She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair.
And then she asks me, "Do I look all right?"
And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight."

We go to a party and everyone turns to see
This beautiful lady that's walking around with me.
And then she asks me, "Do you feel all right?"
And I say, "Yes, I feel wonderful tonight."

I feel wonderful because I see
The love light in your eyes.
And the wonder of it all
Is that you just don't realize how much I love you.

It's time to go home now and I've got an aching head,
So I give her the car keys and she helps me to bed.
And then I tell her, as I turn out the light,
I say, "My darling, you were wonderful tonight.
Oh my darling, you were wonderful tonight."

In the wee small hours when St Eroid did his worst, I found myself palgiarising it shamelessy as I reflected on the day and the journey up Mount Chemo so far.  Not saying which bits are about me and which are observations of others.

Wonderful Travelling Companions

First thing in the morning, she's wondering what clothes to wear,

Slaps on the E45, covers her hairless head,

And as she wonders, 'do I look alright?"

A voice whispers, 'yes, you are wonderful today.'

She goes for her treatment, people look up to see

This beautiful person, sharing the chemo journey

And as her face says, 'will it be alright'

A nurse smiles, 'yes, you are wonderful today.'

It is wonderful because we all see

The courage in your eyes

And the wonder of it all

Is that you just 'do what you do because you're you'

It's time to go home now, with a bag full of pills

Walking or driving, flopping or bed

And now I tell you, as I lie in the dark:

My sisters (and occasional brother) - 'we're all wonderful tonight.'

'My travelling companions, you are wonderful tonight.'

Just for checker-uppers... all OK today.  Snow certainly affecting staffing but everything done that needed to be, and everything OK.  Could bore you with the details but you don't need them!

Melt-water on top of hard-packed ice on pavements not good for walkers... jay-walking was safer!

PS, St Eroid is a corruption of steroid... I seem to have confused a few people with my warped humour.

HT Julie for this one.

It helps if you have a reasonable knowledge of BUGB life, issues and history, or at least UK Baptist life more widely.  You need a sense of humour... and it promises to be great if it proves sustainable.

A dream team of David Pawson and Michael Taylor for the LBA ... priceless!  Go read...