Life on the
street in Cotmanhay is such fun. We have no fence and a grassy space in front
of the house, where we have had many brief and a few significant conversations
about life, illness, death, God, sexuality, divorce and caravans. Both the
Midlands context and the so-called working-class environment mean that people
are refreshingly open and accept us for who we are, while being rightly
cautious about deep trust. And as for worrying about the Oxbridge label, it’s
been refreshing to be asked where Cambridge is.
We helped out
in St Nic’s in the centre of Nottingham until Easter, and made some good
friends. Thank you! We are settled for now in a small and welcoming
congregation at St Laurence, Heanor, part of a team of four churches in the
exotic locations of Marlpool, Aldercar and Langley Mill. This too is part of
settling into an area which is very close to where both of our families come from.
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We’ve had
good breaks in Snowdonia and Nidderdale, as well as three excellent weeks
caravanning in France. It was special,
too, to go back to France at the end of September for Adrian’s niece wedding
reception, and a great opportunity to catch up with his two sisters.
Adrian has taken to running in a big way, and has now completed
9 half-marathons and five marathons over the years. Jill goes regularly to the
gym, and has added badminton to her range of exercise and sport. Her knees give
her regular trouble, but it’s unpredictable and so she’s not yet sure how to
take it forward.
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We love
hearing from some of you, either by snail mail or through FB during the year,
and receiving the annual letters. They are much appreciated. We do pray for
many of you, and if you ever have something special you’d like us to pray for,
you only have to ask. Our prayer in a troubled and unpredictable world is for integrity
among our leaders and a reduction in corruption among the ruling castes of the
nations. It’s a sombre time, and so we end with one of Malcolm Guite’s sonnets
from his Sounding the Seasons, called simply ‘Refugee’:
We think of
him as safe beneath the steeple,
Or cosy in a
crib beside the font,
But he is
with a million displaced people
On the long
road of weariness and want.
For even as
we sing our final carol
His family is
up and on that road,
Fleeing the wrath
of someone else’s quarrel,
Glancing
behind and shouldering their load.
Whilst Herod
rages still from his dark tower,
Christ clings
to Mary, fingers tightly curled,
The lambs are
slaughtered by the men of power,
And death
squads spread their curse across the world.
But every
Herod dies, and comes alone
To stand
before the Lamb upon the throne.
Love and
blessings to all
Jill and
Adrian