Gatlin: The Parable of the Broken Match Stick.

This is one of those many conversations that happened a long time ago in a place far, far away.  Not quite in another galaxy, but pretty close.

It was towards the end of a rather long lunch and it was just the two of us sitting there with nothing much to say and yet there was everything to say.

“Well Gatlin, how are you?” There was a silence so I postured again “How are you really?” There was a longer silence and then, because the pub was pretty well empty, the ugly truth came reeling, stumbling out.

There was a heavy catalogue of troubles which in and of themselves were not significant or insurmountable, but having accumulated over time were now completely overwhelming. All the little things had piled on top of each other and now, in his own words, Gatlin was like a broken matchstick.

There was a time when Gatlin was fiery, passionate and effervescent with his enthusiasm. Gatlin’s entrance into a room lit up the atmosphere with warmth and joy. People were attracted to my colleague.

Now, however, Gatlin’s description was entirely accurate. You can’t light a fire with a broken matchstick. It’s good for … well it’s good for nothing and should be flicked away along with the dead batteries and shaggy toothbrushes.

I often wondered what became of Gatlin. I steered my friend towards their GP and last I heard Gatlin was OK. But that last report was a couple of decades ago.

I think of Gatlin every R U OK day. I think what might have happened if I had not asked ‘How are you really?’ I am hopeful that Gatlin is OK and grateful that Gatlin’s example warns me not to finish up as a broken matchstick.

Silent Night… really…???

During this Advent, we’ll be reflecting on the words of some of our Advent and Christmass hymns. We sing them lustily and with great gusto and so frequently that we can easily forget that the words have something to teach us.     The best hymns make us think a little.

Today I want to reflect on the words of that classic silent night.

Silent Night is one of the world’s most famous Christmass melodies. The story goes that the carol was first performed on the evening of Christmas Eve in 1818.

Joseph Mohr, a young catholic priest at St. Nicholas church in Salzburg in Austria was in despair. The organ at his church had been incapacitated by mice, and the chances of fixing the instrument before the evening service were looking slim. But our enterprising young hero had an idea. A few years before, he had written a rather beautiful poem called ‘Stille Nacht’. So he asked Franz Xavez Gruber, a schoolmaster and organist in a nearby town, to set his six-stanza poem to music.

That night, the two men sang ‘Stille nacht’ (Silent night) for the first time at Church’s Christmass mass, while Mohr played the guitar and the choir repeated the last two lines of each verse. Maybe it’s just as well they couldn’t get an engineer on Christmass eve.

Listen as I say the words slowly

Silent night, holy night!

All is calm, all is bright.

Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child.

Holy infant so tender and mild,

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Sleep in heavenly peace

The image that these words convey is one of Mary and Joseph gazing adoringly and placidly at their darling child who is sleeping peacefully without so much as a murmur. The labour was swift and painless and Joseph remained unflappable. The animals of course did not make any animal noises or smells or do any of the other things animals usually do so all really is calming and silent.

And in a cave at night is all really bright and wonderful?

I have had the undeserved privilege of going to the labour ward 4 times in my life. It’s a noisy bloody place and silent and calm is not how I could or would describe it.

I had the joy of growing up on a dairy farm and then a wheat sheep farm and I know animals make noises and they smell funny and they can also taste pretty jolly good.

And no one could call the Holy Land silent today. In fact, with its bombs and tears and funerals, it is noisier than ever.

So what are we to make of this carol and why do we keep it when it is so very clearly and wildly inaccurate as to how things really were and are?

Two things

• First thing. I suspect that one of the reasons we love this carol so much is because the cutesy image of the Christmass card is how we wish it was, it is certainly how we wish things were and how we ache for them to be in the future.
• Secondly, at a deeper level,l I believe that the carol reminds us that when we glimpse God, when we come into his nearer presence when we are close to the virgin and child Silence is the only thing that really cuts it. No words come close to being an adequate or appropriate response. The quieter we are, the more silent we are, the closer we come; because the less noise, the less distraction, the fewer obstacles, the nearer we are to Him. The filters and blinkers are peeled away.

We are called to be completely silent both outwardly and inwardly and it is far harder to be quieter on the inside than the outside.

But sometimes we are stilled. Sometimes we can and do pause and in those rare and beautiful moments when we find ourselves being silent then

Glories will stream from heaven afar

Heavenly hosts will sing Alleluia,

And Christ the Saviour is born in us.

Retreat - the great misnomer

Every year the Anglican clergy of our diocese gather for retreat. There is no truth in the ugly rumour that we actually nick off to the Melbourne Cup and bet on slow horses.

So what do we do?

We gather for a rather noisy meal on Monday night. We catch up with each other, share our triumphs and our disappointments, chatter about our families and share a delicious meal.

On Tuesday morning the Great Silence begins. We say nothing unless we are gathering for worship which happens 4 times a day. There is a retreat conductor who offers two addresses a day and is available for consultation about everything and anything. Sometimes it’s good to have a fresh perspective from a complete outsider.

This pattern goes on all day Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. The evening meal on Thursday is again a very chatty event because the next morning, straight after church, we scatter off back to our parishes and families. From Warracknabeal to Portland, to Coleraine to Ballan and every God box in between.

While some of my colleagues find the silence hard going I have always relished the deliciousness of the quiet. However, there is a sense in which ‘Retreat’ is misnamed.

It is true that we geographically retreat, but with all that quiet, other things, nasty little bombs of truth, come exploding to the surface and we are left with no place to go, nowhere to hide, nothing to do but confront them. Some of them are easy because well they’re history, or it’s way above our pay grade and there is nothing we can do. But there are others…. There is nowhere to retreat from these ugly little blighters. This is the most difficult and valuable thing about the experience we misname retreat.

The Privilege of Grey Hair

The inspiration for this reflection came from my attendance at the Remembrance Day service.

As I toddled along I found myself thinking that my hair is quite a different color than it was 40 years ago. I have photos to prove it!

When my hair first became more ‘Silver Foxish’ I used to bemoan this change in style. Not so much these days. For one thing the cost to change it would be a dubious call on my limited finances and for another, I consider myself fortunate to have lived this long. Long enough for my hair to become ‘distinguished’. I’ve been to far too many funerals now of gentlemen who did not have the opportunity to ponder this transition.

So the service began and a mighty fine turnout it was. There was music and medals in abundance. The last post always sends goosebumps up and down my spine to say nothing of a slightly ‘clogging feeling’ in my throat.

Beautiful wreaths of flowers were laid down and the classic poem Flanders Field was recited.

The students who laid the wreaths were smartly turned out in their uniforms and I could not help thinking that the people we were honouring were not that much older than these fresh-faced adolescents. A very sobering thought.

There was one excellent reflection about the unknown soldier and it was rightly pointed out that while we can never know his name perhaps it is better that way for he symbolises everyone and is a reminder of our own mortality that we must all face one day.

If you are like me and you are sporting a silver fox hairdo, remember these things. On Remembrance Day we pray for those who never had the opportunity to have the years of peace we have enjoyed.

24/11/24

Then we will have begun.

Of all the homilies that I try to piece together, the ones that seek to address the issue of Domestic violence are some of the most challenging. For one thing, it's such a heinous crime. What on earth does one say?

And for another, it should be mind blitheringly obvious as to where mother church sits on this issue. I really shouldn’t have to say anything at all. Further, I long for the day when there is no more domestic violence, there is no more work to do and I won’t have to try to put sensible words together about such a nonsensical issue.

But a few things, which sadly need saying again and then a reflection about where I think the problem might begin.

I want to start by being crystal, shiny, sparkly clear that domestic violence against another person in any form is sin. It is sin because it fails to treat that person as someone worthy of love. Quite the opposite in fact. It treats the person as an object to be used.

Or put another way, violence is evil, violence is unacceptable as a solution to problems, and violence is unworthy of us. We are better than this… aren’t we? Violence is a lie, for it goes against the truth of our faith, the truth of our humanity. Violence destroys what it claims to defend: the dignity, the life, the freedom of human beings.

Men and women are both born with the same imprint of a loving God. One is neither superior or inferior to the other; they are both made in the image of God. Neither has power or authority over the other and neither has reason to lord it over them.

The numbers are not good for the confronting topic of domestic violence. About 1 in 4 women and 1 in 9 men experience severe intimate partner violence according to the National Coalition against Domestic Violence.
https://www.thehotline.org/stakeholders/domestic-violence-statistics

So the odds are that you actually know someone who has been affected, or you may have survived domestic violence yourself.

These numbers are real people, with real lives, hopes, dreams, aspirations and potential. Their lives matter. They matter. These people will always matter. They are important and they are loved. They bring to this world things no one else could. The tears and grief of those left behind is authentic and if we were at one of the understandable rallies that are called, the angst would be almost holdable.

Sadly some abused people carry the heavy and unnecessary burden of thinking that the Church’s teaching on the permanence of marriage requires them to stay in an abusive relationship. They may hesitate to seek a separation or divorce. They may fear that they cannot re-marry in Church. Violence and abuse, not divorce, break up a marriage. The abuser has already broken the marriage covenant through his or her abusive behaviour. Abused persons who have divorced can in time, if they wish, remarry. In these cases, it can be argued that the marriage is pretty much over the moment abuse happens. Where a spouse and children are experiencing violence and abuse, “separation becomes inevitable” and even “morally necessary” for their safety.

How do we begin to shift our understanding so that this scourge is obliterated from our society and I will never have to preach about this again? I think it begins with the word Respect. We get to the point of respect when we learn to look upon everyone (without any exception) as ‘another self’;

The first but significant step is to look upon our own selves as something beautiful, something exquisite and something lovely. When we KNOW that we are a creature of God, a child of God. When we know that as a person we can shine forth the lovely light of Christ then we will have begun… When we begin to see ourselves as God sees us… then we will have begun.

The next step is to see everyone else as God sees them. When we do this, when we look upon our neighbour as another ‘me’ then we will have come some way into conquering this evil.

These 16 days of activism should be a time to refocus and remember our own attitudes, words, thinking and actions, towards ourselves and others.

When we understand that as a church and as individuals we are complicit when we are silent… then we will have begun…

When we hear and respond to those in need then we will have begun.

When survivors understand and accept that they’re just that — they’re glorious survivors, they are not victims. Then we will have begun.

When clergy and lay people become educated in the tactics and red flags of abuse then we will have begun.

As individuals and as church, we can and should be God’s messengers of love, liberation and peace, for everyone, especially those enduring the torment of domestic violence. Let us be sensitive but strong in our response and let us be compassionate but firm in our resolve to bring God’s liberating grace to victims of domestic violence everywhere.

And for those who have died, we pray for you, light candles for you and carry forward your legacy.  So let us smile more, be kinder, create a safe and caring environment for our children and be resilient and fierce.

We can do this … We need to do this.  We must begin.

(Tune: Abide with me)

In shadows deep, where voices mourn and cry,
We gather here, where silent sorrows lie,
Through broken hearts and spirits torn by fear,
We hold each other close, for God is near.

A Hannah Kind of Hurt

Today I would like to reflect on the story of Hannah in the Old Testament reading.The book of Samuel comes in a 2 part mini-series. These two books of Samuel tell us about the difficulty Israel had in transitioning from a loose system of judges to having a King. Hannah’s story is in the first episode of the first series. As we read, we discover her story is essential to Israel's big story. When our story begins Hannah doesn’t know it. In fact, she would never know how important she is/was.

Now the Bible seldom highlights a woman’s story, so when the book of Samuel opens up with the story of a woman and a barren one at that, we are immediately put on notice. This is not business as usual. Something quite remarkable is about to happen.

In a world where barrenness was considered a curse, only the birth of a child could complete Hannah. Day after day, year after year, she had to live with a pain in her heart that would not go away. Her barrenness was an “unsettled ache.” The worst turmoil of all often takes place in one’s own soul. This happens when you can’t seem to live with yourself, when your own pain, anxiety, depression, and regret eat you up, leaving you with an unsettled ache. You are at war within. You have a Hannah kind of hurt.

An unsettled ache lingers no matter what one does. Possibility thinking, positive psychology, words of affirmation, wishing, hoping, and even praying don’t make the hurt go away. It is an unwelcome guest that overstayed its welcome long ago. Unlike hurts that are at least manageable, this type of hurt affects one’s entire life, leaving the heart wounded and the spirit broken. This type of wound impinges not only on life circumstances but also on one’s sense of self as well.

This is a “Hannah kind of hurt.” This kind of hurt can lead to addictions and “emotional disorders” since people will do just about anything to relieve the agony as they “search for escape — some way to numb the pain, remove the anguish, and discover some momentary peace.” Hannah resorted to no such escape.

As if the taunts and shame of being barren were not enough, Hannah has a couple of other things going on that are not pretty and not pleasant. For one thing, there is Hannah’s husband, Elkanah. He just didn’t get it. Thinking himself better than ten sons, his inept and misguided words of comfort actually made things worse.

So we get

“Her husband Elkanah would say to her, “Ah Hannah my love, my turtledove, my darling… Why are you weeping? Why don’t you eat? Why are you downhearted? Don’t I mean more to you than ten sons?” Every marriage counsellor and divorce lawyer's dreams come true. Now if you were Hannah, wouldn’t you just want to pick up the nearest stone water jar and do the very logical thing?

But there's more. Thinking herself better than Hannah, Peninnah, Elkanah’s other wife, has a disdainful attitude towards Hannah. She repeatedly boasts about her fertility leaving Hannah shattered beyond words.  And I imagine Hannah suffered the same sort of snubs and disdain whenever she went to buy the fish, bread and olives at the local market.

But there’s more. Adding injury to the blithering insult, Eli, her insensitive parish priest, accuses her of having too many raspberry cordials.

So we get

“Eli observed Hannah’s mouth.  Hannah was praying in her heart, and her lips were moving but her voice was not heard. Eli thought she was drunk and said to her, “How long are you going to stay drunk? Put away your wine.” ”

Professional standards would wipe the kitchen floor with this guy.

Despite her ‘Hannah Hurt'  she chose not the path of retaliation, retribution and the stone water jar treatment. She takes her concerns to God. Just as David is explicitly described as a man after God’s own heart, Hannah implicitly is a woman after God’s own heart. Like David who later would refuse to harm God’s anointed King Saul, Hannah refuses to retaliate against her rival, Peninnah or her husband.

Although Hannah does not share the details of her situation, Eli eventually understands that hers was a heartfelt cry. Thank you, God. There is hope for unthinking priests. Assured by Eli that God had heard and would answer her prayer she went home, confident that God’s answer would present itself. God’s answer does come when she gives birth to Samuel, Israel’s last judge, the prophet who would in turn anoint Saul and David, Israel’s first two kings.

When we read Hannah’s story in its totality and look back, we understand that the story of Israel’s transition and subsequent events cannot happen, and cannot be told, without first telling Hannah’s story and her hurt. Her hurt and what she does about it is an integral part of Israel’s transition. Israel’s story cannot begin without her. Of course, Hannah would never know it on this side of the grave, but we do and we are inspired.

The message of the story is of course that while we might think that what we do on this side of the grave and our little life is of no consequence to the bigger picture that God has in mind, in actual fact, every action, and word and thought is important to God. Every conversation, every misunderstanding and petulant niggle is important. Even our own ‘Hannah hurts’ are a necessary part of God’s continuous unfolding plan. Something to think about when you have a Hannah kind of hurt.

To Plant is to Hope

The parable of the tomato plants

There is a wizened gardener who grows tomato plants from seeds. Each year we are privileged to go and get some from him and you never know exactly what sort he has come up with. It's a real liquorice all sorts, a lucky dip sort of experience.

Each year we plant out these seedlings, we water, fertilise, wait and hope. I have to say that on the law of averages, the quality and abundance of fruit is always pretty good.  I am sure this is due to the craftsmanship that has gone into nurturing these seedlings.

But… you just never know. There are no guarantees in this world, particularly when it comes to growing tomatoes in the garden.

We simply plant, wait and hope.

It is like this with everything in the garden, fruit veggies and flowers. There are no promises, no guarantees. You simply give it a jolly good try and you hope.

It’s the same with relationships. You try, you work and then you hope. It seems nothing is happening and yet everything is happening. Sometimes it starts out robustly and then it falls over.

The ones that start out straggly often become the most productive and the ones that begin life sturdy and full of promise sometimes don’t seem to reach the potential that was hinted at in the early stages of life.

When we plant things in the earth this is the risk we take. I think about this at every burial I conduct. We tenderly, with great respect and thankfulness plant the body in the ground. We then wait and hope. We have no way of knowing what the final outcome will be. We sort of have an idea but…

To Plant is to Hope.

Of Rifleman Cyrus Thatcher

Rifleman Cyrus Thatcher was killed on 2 June 2009. He was one of the youngest soldiers to die in the Afghanistan war. I am going to read the letter that he wrote to be delivered to his family if he died.

I want to read this to emphasise the importance of remembering that behind the terrible numbers of men and women who have died in war across the world, behind each name, there is a story, a person with a family, with hopes, dreams and ambitions, whether they died in recent combat or in the Great war. Let’s never forget this.

Hello it’s me, this is gonna be hard for you to read but I write this knowing every time you think it’s got too much for you to handle (so don’t cry on it MUM!!) you can read this and hopefully it will help you all get through.

For a start, Damn I got hit!! Now I’ve got that out the way I can say the things I’ve hopefully made clear, or if I haven’t this should clear it all up for me. My whole life you’ve all been there for me through thick and thin, a bit like a wedding through good and bad.

Without you I believe I wouldn’t have made it as far as I have. I died doing what I was born to do. I was happy and felt great about myself. Although the army was sadly the ending of me, it was also the making of me, so please don’t feel any hate toward it.

One thing I know I never made clear to you all, was I make jokes about my life starting in the Army. That’s wrong, VERY wrong. My life began a LONG time before that (Obviously) but you get what I mean. All the times I‘ve tried to neglect the family, get angry when you try teach me right from wrong, what I mean to say is I only realised that you were trying to help when I joined the army and without YOUR help I would have never had the GRIT and the down right determination to crack on and do it.

If I could have a wish in life, it would to be to say: I’ve gone and done things many would never try to do. And going to Afghan has fulfilled my dream i.e. my goal. Yes, I am young, which as a parent must break you heart, but you must all somehow find the strength that I found, to do something no matter how big the challenge. As I’m writing this letter, I can see you all crying and mourning my death, but if I could have one wish in an “after life”, it would be to stop your crying and continue your dreams (as I did), because if I were watching, only that would break my heart. So dry your tears, and put on a brave face for the rest of your friends and family who need you.

I want each and every one of you to fulfill a dream, and at the end of it look at what you have done (completed) and feel the accomplishment and achievement I did, only then will you understand how I felt when I passed away.

[To his brothers:] You are both amazing men and will continue to be throughout your lives. You both deserve to be happy and fulfill all of your dreams.

Dad – my idol, my friend, my best friend, my teacher, my coach, everything I ever succeeded in my life, I owe to you and maybe a little bit of me! You are a great man and the perfect role model and the past two years of being in the army, I noticed that. And me and you have been on the best level we have ever been. I thank you for nothing, because I know all you have given to me is not there to be thanked for, it’s there because you did it cause you love me and that is my most proudest thing I could ever say.

Mum, where do I start with you!! For a start you’re perfect, your smell, your hugs, the way your life was dedicated to us boys and especially the way you cared each and every step us boys took. I love you, you were the reason I made it as far as I did, you were the reason I was loved more than any child I know and that made me feel special.

You’re all such great individuals and I hope somehow this letter will help you get through this shocking time!! Just remember do NOT mourn my death. As hard as this will seem, celebrate a great life that has had its ups and downs. I love you all more than you would ever know and in your own individual ways helped me get through it all. I wish you all the best with your dreams.

Remember chin up head down. With love Cyrus xxxx

Comparison Kills Joy.

I heard it while strolling around the lake with a friend / relative. They were chattering about their exercise regime which sounded quite impressive. But then they made the profound statement that ‘Comparison kills joy’. Let me explain.

My friend is a similar age to me… so a modest middle age something or other. They made the observation of how comparing their own accomplishments to the young 20-something-year-olds that use the same facilities quashed their joy.

For example, the younger set may be able to run the lake in 20-something minutes, I can only run it in 30-something minutes.

When you read this in black and white it seems that my efforts, strenuous and valiant though they are, aren’t worth much. There is the question ‘How come I can’t set a sizzling pace like these youngsters’. Thus I can easily begin to slip down a spiral of angst and self pity. Poor ol me.

You see how my friend/relative was so very right.

By comparing myself to another, fitter, more able-bodied, much younger person the joy of my accomplishment has been squashed.

So what is the antidote? The way forward is to rejoice both in your own accomplishment AND to enthuse and congratulate those who are in their youth.

This is not always easy and the natural way of things, but it does get better with practice. The other little trick is to imagine what the youngster might be able to do / not do when they are Fr. David’s age.

In between times my friend / relative and I will continue our exercise regime with gusto and joy. Aren’t we fortunate that we still have the verve and energy to do this? How fortunate to have the example and inspiration of younger folk amongst us.

All Souls

Dear Brutus,

Thank you so very much for your letter which I received the other day. For a young man of just 6 years old, you certainly write terrific letters and I was jolly impressed. If I were your teacher I would give you a gold star, the day off school and a McDonald's voucher.

I was very sorry to hear about your grandfather dying. Understandably you are very sad about this and I shall do my best to answer some of the excellent questions that you have asked.

• The first question that I want to answer is… “Is it wrong to cry?” No, it is not wrong to cry. It is never wrong or sinful or wicked to cry. You may want to try to choose where and when you cry, but it is certainly not wrong to cry. It is a very helpful thing to shed a few tears and if you can do that with someone who cares about you, then you will find that while it is a painful and maybe an embarrassing thing, it can actually be a very special, empowering moment as you share this special time together. If you are in any doubt about my answer, remember that Jesus cried very loudly, like a big fluffy roaring lion, when his good buddy Lazarus died. People close by talked about it and said that it showed how much Jesus loved his friend. So if you feel that sadness welling up inside you then just go and get a big handful of tissues and have a jolly good sob.

In answer to your next question

• Why did the coffin get incense and holy water? These are gestures of farewell, a mark of respect for your grandfather. They are some of the finest symbols we can offer. The holy water reminds us that Baptism made your Pa a member of Christ and an heir to eternal life. The incense reminds us that the Holy Spirit made his body the temple of God’s glory to be raised up with Christ on the day of resurrection. I also like to think of the incense as our prayers rising up to heaven. You can’t actually touch prayers the same way you can touch this letter in your hand, but prayers are just as real as incense
• Why have a funeral when Grandpa is already dead? Good golly gosh Brutus, you ask such great questions. We have a funeral and often we have communion when someone has died, as our way of praying for the person who we love. People can also call it other things like celebrating a life, and remembering the good times, but the first thing and most important thing we do for someone who has died is pray for them. We ask God to take them to heaven and to enjoy them just as we enjoyed Pa on this side of the grave. We can say Thank you to God because you knew Pa your whole life. Your Pa lived a very long time and gave you a lot of love as well as the odd Freddo frog and packet of jelly beans. So there is much to be grateful for.
• Why did Mum light a candle for Pa?
  Lighting a candle for someone we love is one of the very best things we can do. The candle stands for the light of Jesus whose light never goes out. It reminds us even when we feel a bit dark and gloomy Pa still shines brightly because he is close to God.
  The candle is a good thing to focus on when our mind is a bit wobbly at this difficult time. Its light is often very reassuring when we need to be comforted and to hang onto things that are simple and yet they are things we don’t quite understand.
• Where is Grandpa now?  It is true that you cannot see Grandpa in the way that you did when he was at the nursing home having a cup of tea and watching cartoons on TV. The answer to your question is that the Pa you knew, enjoyed and loved has gone to be with God who we kind of see (especially at the Bread and wine service we call Eucharist) and yet we don’t really see. Sometimes God can seem very close and sometimes he seems very distant. So too with Pa now. Sometimes you will remember him and the time you went fishing together or how he told you that naughty story and you will smile and He will seem very close. God is also a bit like that. We remember what he taught us, or something he did and we sense Him. At other times when we really need him … we can’t seem to find Him at all.
  Your Pa had great faith in God and God loves Him very much so they are very close together now. Much closer than they were when your Pa was alive and you could talk to him.
• Will you ever see Pa again? My answer is Yes. For people like you and me, your Mum and Dad, the folk who come to Church on Sunday we believe that the funeral is not the last time we see the person we love. Jesus died but after that he became alive again in a new and exciting way. That is what has happened to your Pa. It is the life he is living. It is also the life that we will live when we die (although hopefully that won’t be for a long time) So at a funeral we don’t say Goodbye, I’m sorry I will never see you again. We say Thank you and …we will see you there.

A lesson I keep having to (re)learn.

It was one of those one-liners that smacked you across the lower jaw.

“A lesson I keep having to learn time and again and again, is the value of going to things I don’t actually want to.”

I was surprised to read it from this friend as they had always been the life of the party. They always turned up to things cheerfully with some beverages, a big grin and raucous laughter.

And yes, afterwards if you were to sit down quietly they would say that they did have a smashing time. But when they first got in the car... Well, they thought ‘Why am I doing this?’

As we slide dizzily down to the end of the year (did I spot some tinsel the other day?) I will lay odds that someone reading this, will attend a ‘gathering’ with a modicum of reluctance.

But something happens at these gatherings. I have never quite worked out the chemistry, but it is partly to do with the sacrifice of time and energy involved. Somehow it means that we come away thinking ‘Well that wasn’t quite so bad after all’. And there’s always the car gossip on the way home. ‘Did you notice how so and so has aged, that person was quieter, what's his name kept on hiving off to the backyard to chat on their phone.’

My friend was right... It's a lesson we learn time and time again because the next time we will still probably set out with the same grumpy mindset. The value is in the discipline, willingness and the encounters we have that will surprise and intrigue us. Perhaps the secret ingredient is knowing that everyone else has made an extra effort to be with you.