The year that was 22/23

By the time they are published, annual reports are always distinctly out of date. 

But of the many admin jobs I face, putting together the Stories of Hope and Home report is one of the better ones: going back over the events and achievements of the past year, pulling together and summarising the highlights. It is a chance to reflect and rejoice in all that has been possible: and against a backdrop of a very challenging external environment for those I work with, so much has been. A report such as this can only ever tell a tiny part of the story, so much of which can't be summed up in words, pictures or statistics, but hopefully it captures something of the joy, resilience and hope of this incredible community.   

The other related bit of the job, compiling the annual accounts for the charity commission is distinctly less enjoyable. That said, I confess to a thrill of satisfaction when the figures all added up correctly and balance across the ongoing spreadsheets, the bank statements, and the final report. 

So here it is, a celebration of Stories of Hope and Home, 2022 - 23, shared here as much for my own records in the future as for your interest! 

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-hTM8NmP-NK1p1Ow8SVau0ZhyFM-WSpU/view?fbclid=IwAR18_16xE05X-JpvDgh1WQe_VAzaqR1UhVg9OLUilJr3ieajgpMWWEe9VOE

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I can take far less (by which I mean none) of the credit for the writing of the Birch Annual report, and a much smaller share of the credit for the work of the organisation which I share with some incredible colleagues, all of whom are doing amazing things. But it is another organisation whose work I really believe in, of which I feel extremely privileged to be a part, and whose work also deserves to be known and shared. There are challenges to our work, but knowing that we do so alongside others who share the same commitments and values, within an organisation which trusts and supports us, most definitely helps.

https://birchnetwork.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Birch-Network-Annual-Report-2022-23-1.pdf?fbclid=IwAR0hPtNJ97vwjX-ytv1QbEbCuvEbAQoalMvFZsbxxT_-8RZFZ8XczaqJjAg

The gift of the ordinary

At the church I currently attend, last Sunday (actually, now, the one before because I hadn't got round to finishing this, but my point still stands) was announced as "the fourth Sunday before Advent" in the lectionary, following on from the "twenty-something after Trinity". This way of naming Sundays isn't new to me, but I was remined of it, and aside from being in denial about how quickly Christmas is approaching, I baulk at it.

I want ordinary time back, please. 

I know there are other denominations where ordinary time still exists, and others still where it never has. I also know that even in my church it is only the nomenclature which has changed, this is, really still ordinary time, still liturgically green. 

But names matter. And I believe we need the ordinary. 

Don't get me wrong, I think we need special and unique and extraordinary too. I am very much in favour of marking special occasions, of finding ways to celebrate and ways to acknowledge suffering. But not all the time. I think we should also be prepared to embrace and enjoy the ordinary. I don't think we have to pretend everything has to be anything other than, well, just, ordinary.

If we didn't know it already, surely 2020 taught us that we actually do want and need the ordinary; the dull, humdrum reality of the familiarity and normality of every day life. 

The various versions of a gratitude diary I have kept periodically have always been about reminding me to focus my gratitude and joy not on the big things, but in those little every day moments. They haven't been about trying to find or create something special to happen each day, but rather about seeking out or just recognising the positives in my everyday normality. Some days they are harder to find than others, I know, but every day holds things within it that are beautiful and precious. Ordinary things, in ordinary times are also a gift. 

In terms of the church embracing ordinary time, though, for me, it goes deeper than that too. 

I think there is great value in the church calendar witnessing to and celebrating the importance of the ordinary. For me the great beauty of the incarnation story is that it is a story of God's presence within the ordinary. That it makes real a God that is found in the every day: in human relationships and human realities, in shared meals and shared stories.

I believe in a God who is present in the ordinary. Of course God is present in the big newsworthy events too, in the high points and the low points of our individual and collective human existence. But God is also present in our every day and I fear that in squeezing out ordinary time we risk squeezing out the reminders that this too, maybe even this above all is where God belongs, where God is incarnate, where God is with us. 

And that, (though I doubt the writers of the lectionary are listening) is why I want ordinary time back, please. 

Getting away

A couple of weeks ago I went to Dorset for a few days. By the time I got to it, it was a break that I recognised was somewhat overdue. It may have taught me a valuable lesson about building in down time before I get to that point (but it'll probably be a lesson I have to keep learning again and again, we'll see) 

I'd never been on holiday with my mum and sister before (well, obviously, I had been on family holidays as a kid but that's a bit different), but they seemed genuinely ok with me gate-crashing a trip they had planned before they knew I'd be free to join them. And it was lovely: to spend some quality time together, to share some more serious conversations but also, mostly, lots of laughter. 

The few days were also shaped around lots of other catching-up with relatives and family friends, at least some of whom I hadn't seen for a very long time. There was some re-establishing of relationships which, in the busy-ness of life had somewhat been allowed to drift. 

The best description of the holiday is that mostly, we ate lunch, at length, in good company. 

There was lots of chatting. There were many cups of teas and an excessive quantity of snacks. There were a few games and plenty of time reading a book. 

For an October minibreak in the UK, even the southernmost part of it, we were incredibly lucky with the weather. Sandwiched between rain on the way down and after we got back we had four days of beautiful sunshine.

It meant that while there was plenty of time comfortably curled up back at base it was also perfect for short walks in beautiful surroundings and even an opportunity to paddle in the sea (very briefly, it was October after all!) My holidays are usually defined by where I can get to on public transport but this time, because we travelled by car, there were no such limits, which opened up different possibilities of places to see.  

Politics was banned as a topic of conversation, and while I can't say we stuck to that completely, I definitely spent less time than usual thinking about the state of the world. 

I deliberately didn't pack my laptop. I didn't check my emails and responded to fewer messages than I usually would. 

I didn't set an alarm each morning. 

I switched off. I managed, mostly, not to feel guilty about it.

It's not how I would want to live my life permanently, but for a few days it was perfect and exactly what I needed. 

I came back to a very full inbox and a long jobs list ... but feeling rested and refreshed and ready to face them both.