Life so vivid and real

A dog barking on this cold night.

The year turns, and the evenings draw in dark.

The cherry tree in my neighbour's garden has changed from green to gold to vermilion and deepest crimson, indescribably beautiful. Where I used to sit here and marvel at its glorious umbels of blossom underlit by the street-lamp, in the spring, now I gaze on its fiery glory, drinking it in.

The moon tonight shines so white and clear, high in a cloudless sky, silent and serene. "There's Mars," I think, picking out the red planet, easy to spot. "There's Jupiter . . . there's Venus . . ." And I look for the constellations — for the Plough, for Cassiopeia that we call the Wilcock stars because they look like a W.

Downstairs, people are laughing and starting to practice Christmas songs — a carol of the Advent, the waltz from The Snowman. A trombone, a French horn, a flute, violins . . . At the end of each piece the playing disintegrates into excited chatter and happy laughter at the success of a tune played well.

Above the door in my room, the light from the passage illuminates the stained glass lamb Alice made.

Beauty, whether the enchantment of the seasons or the loveliness of the moon, the delight of music or the work of human hands, is restorative, feeds the soul. Convenience and beauty do not often occur on the same pathways; choosing beauty often means abandoning convenience. A fair trade, I say, well worth making. Out in the country, where our chapel is, they have no street lights. After an evening meeting in the winter, it's hard to find the path and not stumble. It isn't easy to walk even the short distance down the steps cut into the hillside and over the road to the car. If we had a bright bulkhead security light on the side of the building, it would be so much more convenient. But then we would lose the moon and the stars, the magic and the mystery, and be left with nothing but electric light. Let's keep it how it is.

This morning, in a day flooded with sunshine, I preached at our chapel, which meant I got to be in the privileged position of seeing all the faces looking back at me, the eyes full of intelligence and kindness, thoughtful and alive. Faces that I love and know so well. The faces of children I've known since they were born, of adults I've seen grow from youth into middle age, and now growing old.

That church community is so loving, so full of grace. Not many in number, but singing to raise the roof. 

It's been a lovely day.