The brolly in the downpour

A couple of Sundays ago, I emerged from church to be greeted by sunshine and a glorious blue sky, so I thought I'd go for a walk. Fair enough you'd think, in London in the summer. True, it had been raining first thing in the morning. But I'm a Londoner, so I always have a little umbrella in my bag and even if it did rain I should be fine. 

That's what I thought. But what happened as I was strolling along the King's Road was not so much a summer shower as a deluge. My little red umbrella with the pretty white hearts all over it was no match for the downpour. It had developed into one of those horizontal rains that comes at you from all sides, so that all of you is democratically drenched. I gave up and darted into the shelter of the nearest doorway, resigned to waiting it out. I had somewhere else to be but there was no point in even trying to get there if I were only going to arrive looking like a drowned rat (said the vain, vain woman). 

Just as I reached the foot-tapping stage of impatience (which took about five minutes) diversion arrived in the form of a man who had apparently decided to share my doorway. This is spite of the fact that he had not one but two enormous umbrellas over his arm -  a standard black one and a really pretty one with a pink handle, covered in roses. I was admiring this floral confection when the man held it out to me and said, "Here young lady, this is for you! That dress is too pretty to ruin in this rain." He offered me the umbrella, and I began to protest but he cut me off. "Please take it, I saw you from down the street and popped into this shop to buy it for you. It's a gift, no strings attached, just because it's Sunday and it will please me to make someone's day a little nicer."

So I thanked him, opened this gorgeous birdcage brolly and stepped out into the street, dry as a bone. "Thank you so much, this is so kind, you've made my day!" I said, genuinely thrilled. "Then you've made mine," he replied, and we went our separate ways. 

That was it. That man was a total stranger and we will probably never see each other again. He didn't have to do what he did. It was a random act of kindness, a gift given freely; it was a timely reminder of God's love and how we can be an expression of that love, one day at a time, one random act of love at a time.

Offline, and completely present

Some of you may have noticed (and many of you probably didn't!) my absence from the world of Facebook, e-mail, Blogger, and the internet in general. I realise it might be a bit late to say this, but don't panic! Nothing is/was wrong. I was not lying in a ditch somewhere, or in a hospital. I had not lost the will to live, there was no catastrophe - well, not more so than usual :) I was just going to spend a month seeing friends and decided that I would quite like to be with them, right then and there, in the moment. I wanted to be completely present, to be able to give my total attention to the people who are important to me; not sitting at the same table updating some online account instead of engaging with the person in front of me (ps a little phone activity is fine provided one recognises one is stepping outside of the moment and acknowledges that, and steps right back in toute suite!).

No, nothing was wrong; everything was right. We are so used to coordinating our lives online, but I really did not feel I had lost anything by choosing to opt out for a little while. My friends accepted my lack of internet access (almost) without a murmur, and we all adapted fairly quickly! Everyone I wanted to see has my mobile number and I theirs, so getting in touch was not a problem. Where contact details were missing, there was always a mutual friend to bridge the gap. On occasion, we even made plans for future meetings face to face! One friend came to London from Germany (and I will be forever touched and grateful for the 19-hour coach trip he endured each way), and didn't bring his phone. There was me with no internet, him with no phone, and surprise surprise, we managed to coordinate an initial meeting and then several more, and I saw lots more of him than I did of other, technically more accessible people :) We found a way, and I was reminded that when you really do love someone, when you really do want to see them, you will make the effort and you will find a way.

There is something incredibly life-affirming, and love-affirming, about taking the time to slow down for the sake of another person. For no particular reason, just because you want to. Without the instant, constant updates, I spent a lot more time having real conversations with people I care about. We talked, often over coffee/tea and cake, about things we probably would not have "chatted" about. We went for walks, we wandered into the unexpected, we encountered beautiful things, people and places we did not and could not have planned to, but which lit up our world for a moment. I felt, for the first time in a long time, that I was living life and not merely passing through.

I am back online now and glad to be, because this is an important means of communications and it enables me to keep in touch with a lot of people I would otherwise probably simply lose contact with. I don't think the internet is a bad thing, far from it. I just think it's nice to be reminded from time to time that it's a tool, not something that should define us or our relationships. So, while I am glad to be back, I am not going to forget in a hurry that my world, online and off, would be nothing without the communities and individuals that people it, and bless me with the sharing of their love, support, friendship, joys, sorrows, brilliant ideas, laughter, prayer, hugs and so much more. My world would be nothing without you. 

The Day's Result

The Day’s Result

Is anybody happier because you passed his way?

Does anyone remember that you spoke to him today?

The day is almost over and its toiling time is through;

Is there anyone to utter now a kindly word of you?

Did you give a cheerful greeting to the friend who came along,

Or a churlish sort of “Howdy”; then vanish in the throng?

Were you selfish, pure and simple, as you rushed along your way,

Or is someone mighty grateful for a deed you did today?

Can you say tonight, in parting with the day that’s slipping fast,

That you helped a single brother of the many that you passed?

Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said?

Does the man whose hopes were fading now with courage look ahead?

Did you waste the day or lose it, was it well or poorly spent?

Did you leave a trail of kindness, or a scar of discontent?

As you close your eyes in slumber, do you think that God would say,

“You have earned one more tomorrow by the work you did today?”

                                                                                - Unknown -

TFTD

"You have it easily in your power to increase the sum total of this world's happiness now. How? By giving a few words of sincere appreciation to someone who is lonely or discouraged. Perhaps you will forget tomorrow the kind words you say today, but the recipient may cherish them over a lifetime."

                                                                                                 - Dale Carnegie -

The instant brother

Like many of my Christian friends, I wear a cross on a chain around my neck. It is an outward sign of my faith, but that's not the only reason I wear it. In fact, I don't think that's even the main reason. For me, it's a reminder of how I want to try to live my life, and that God is always with me - which in turn is a great comfort. It's an anchor, a talisman, a beacon. It's the world in a tiny piece of gold. And that little cross has brought me so many blessings.  

Today, I had a doctor's appointment, after which I wasn't feeling my best. My ride let me down at the last minute, due to unavoidable circumstances, so I headed to the taxi stand to catch a cab. That was the plan anyway, but I only made it halfway. There are worse places to faint than in a hospital, but I didn't want my hair all over that floor! I was leaning against the wall when a security guard making his rounds came by. He accelerated past me, and I thought no more of it. A couple of minutes later, he came bustling up with a chair! "You don't look so good, I think you'd better sit down, " he said. I sat, and he dashed off again, only to return with a cup of tea. He waited with me until I felt better, then asked how I was going to get home. When I told him he tsked, and told me that idea was a wash out - the heavy rain meant there was an endless queue and not a taxi in sight. I'd be waiting for at least an hour, maybe more. I said I had no choice, so I'd wait. The security guard pointed at my cross and said, "I can't abandon anyone, especially a sister in Christ! You wait, I'll sort this out."

He whipped out his phone and called his brother, who it turns out was a cabbie. 15 minutes later, I had my ride! While we waited, the security guard told me a little about himself, and how he believed God's grace had worked in his life. I won't repeat what he told me, but I will say I don't think I've ever met anyone with as much conviction as this man, or anyone who was so utterly filled with the joy of his faith, and so free of doubt. It was a blessing just to talk to him, and the quick prayer we said together was somehow particularly moving. It didn't matter that it was the middle of the day, a few feet away from a taxi queue seething with impatience. It was a beautiful, quiet, serene moment and I'm grateful this man crossed my path.

The clerical collar in the letter box, and an unexpected reunion

The other day, I found something unusual in my letter box. On top of the pile of bills and junk mail was a plain white envelope which had been delivered by hand, without my name or address written on it, and bearing the intriguing inscription "I think this belongs to you". Ok. 

The envelope was otherwise unremarkable, and its shape and weight provided no clue to its contents. I peeled it open in a state of fairly excited curiosity (no, it doesn't take much) and discovered.... a clerical collar. What? Some of you have heard part of this story, but bear with me, it gets better. 

I put up a sign in the post room stating what I'd found and telling the unknown rightful owner where they could find me if they wished to reclaim their property. At 0730 the next morning, there was a knock on my door. Had I not already been up and dressed, this would have made me properly grumpy. As it was, the caller was lucky he was going to be greeted with a smile and not by a vision of bad hair and hostility in a dressing gown. 

It was the owner of the lost dog collar, an American priest who'd been staying with a friend who happened to be my neighbour. They'd been in the pub the previous night, the collar had come off after a few drinks, and had been forgotten after quite a few more. The bar staff had put the collar in the wrong letter box. I couldn't be annoyed with the guy for coming round so early because he had a good reason - he had an early flight to catch back to the States and he was in a hurry. 

And that was the end of that, or so I thought. But yesterday, I received yet another exciting piece of mail. The priest (Mark, by the way) had posted a card to me from the airport saying thanks etc., including his e-mail address "in case you're ever passing through XX and would like to have a drink, or a meal, or come to my church". 

Now, XX happens to be the city I spent part of my childhood in, and of which I still have extremely fond memories. So of course I had to e-mail Mark. And it turns out, he is the curate at the church I used to go to when I lived in XX! Not only that, he's married to the woman who'd been my first grade teacher  all those years ago! She and I had a chat on Skype, and it was surreal and wonderful. She'd been an amazing, inspiring teacher, and I hadn't fully realised her value until I recently came across some old school projects and reports she'd written about me. It was she who first taught me to be academically fearless, and I was so pleased to be given the opportunity to finally thank her. 

You couldn't engineer a nice surprise like that, could you? But God can. I know it's a fairly frivolous example, but in the context of the week I'd had, it just reminded me that God moves in unexpected ways sometimes, and in ways we just don't have the imagination to contemplate. And how exciting is that?

The monk at the bus stop

I was at the bus stop the other day, having just come from a doctor's appointment I frankly hadn't enjoyed. It was freezing, I was tired and I just wanted to go home and curl up on the sofa with a cup of tea, but there was no sign of my bus, and hadn't been for the last 20 minutes. Now I know 20 minutes is not a terribly long time, but it is when you just want to be somewhere else. 

Also waiting for his bus was a franciscan monk. He looked about sixty, and had one of those kind, crinkly faces. He'd been standing in the cold for longer than I had, but he didn't look a fraction as irritated as I felt. It was just the two of us at that bus stop, and ordinarily I would have started a conversation, but I felt more like crying than chatting, so I kept my mouth shut and my head down. 

If I don't feel like talking to anyone else, I often start talking to God - not out loud, just in my head! So I began to tell Him how rotten things were, and asking Him to please send me a bus, and a dozen other silly things. After about five minutes of this, the monk walked over to me, put his hand on my head and said, "Bless you, my child". Then he turned and went back to where he'd been waiting, a couple of feet away from me. That was it. He didn't look at me again, he didn't say anything else to me. About half a minute later his bus came, and before I could work out what, if anything, to say to him, he was gone. 

For reasons I can't explain, that moment made me feel so much better. It was just a nice thing to do, a kind thing to do. I suppose it was a tangible reminder that you're never alone, even if it feels that way. If God wants to say something to you, He finds a way. For me, that way is most often through other people, occasionally through perfect strangers. Most of the time though, it's the wonderful friends (many of whom have come into my life through the chaplaincy) who bring me a sense of God's presence through their own presence. I hope you know who you are, and if you don't, I'll do my best to fix that!

The stranger on the train

I'm a great one for chatting to complete strangers, at bus stops, on the tube, in the supermarket, waiting for a table at a restaurant...if there's an opportunity for a chat, chances are I'll grab it. And it usually turns out really well. As a direct result of my little habit, I've heard life stories, petted dogs, been given knitting tips and recipe ideas, and on one memorable occasion, I was offered (and accepted) a ride down the Strand in a horse-drawn carriage!

Today though, sitting on the train just before rush hour, I didn't feel very chatty. Stuff that had been churning in my mind for days started to settle, and things were rising to the surface. So I was pensive. Opposite me was one of those...comfortable looking people. You know what I mean? Those people whom you could easily imagine yourself having a cup of tea with, the human equivalent of your favourite plush easy chair. (Aside: there is one person who occupies just this kind of space in my life. It's easier to relax with him than with anyone else sometimes, and he is just completely safe and comfortable. He's good fun, and has become a dear friend, and I'm really thankful that God put him in my life.)

Anyway, gushing over, I return to my story. This nice comfortable person on the train sat there looking at me from Waterloo to Vauxhall without saying a word. Then, just before Clapham Junction, he leaned forward and said, "I don't know what's wrong, but whatever it is, you're not alone. God is with you all the time, no matter what. And I hope you have a blessed day."

It didn't feel intrusive, although it could very easily have. It just felt like something I needed to hear at that moment, and I didn't realise until I heard it. And it was just nice that someone bothered to make the effort to reach out.

The nice guy in the bookstore

Today was a day of running errands, most of them exceedingly tedious and all of them crowded into the space between rush hour and where lunch would have been, had I not been running around like a headless chicken.

By the time I entered the last shop I needed, I was ready to drop. And if what happened next is anything to go by, I suppose it showed. I was in one of a chain of bookstores, hereinafter "W". The guy at the till was friendly and chatty, and we had quite a long conversation about one of the books I was buying, which happened to be a staff pick he had recommended. Anyway, while I was punching in my PIN, he suddenly said, "I don't mean this in a bad way, but you look really tired. I have a break coming up - would you like a cup of tea?"

I said yes, and the nice man made us each a cup of tea, then we sat between the stacks at the back of the store, sipping Earl Grey and talking about books. Fifteen minutes later, we said goodbye and that was that. The nice guy had no motive; he was just being nice. He made my day, that man, by offering a cup of tea to a stranger just because.