Remembering Brenda

Sadly, yet another funeral. Inevitably, attending funerals becomes more frequent for friends your own age!  Brenda McWilliams was one of those larger than life people who overflowed with generosity and kindness in all her many many friendships. My family first met her when she arrived in Cambridge and became part of the St. Andrew's St Baptist Church community in the mid-80's.  Within days (really...days!) her warmth was creating a network of new friends, many of whom turned up to her service last week. My family was wrapped in this caring which continued right up till a few weeks before her illness was suddenly diagnosed. My son in the US said: ' Brenda created magic in my childhood.'  Isn't that something?

Her service sheet was unusual (in my experience) for including a gallery of portraits of Brenda from a cheeky five year old through the decades until a final one of her brandishing one of her crutches.  I really liked seeing her personality shine out through the years. (Didn't Rembrandt especially enjoy painting self-portraits through his life stages)?  It reveals much.  And, as always seems to happen, when the tributes were made new facts tumbled out.  Her childhood on a farm, a brilliant first in Maths at London University with a dazzling career in the Ministry of Defence, her career moves eventually to meet Bill in criminology, a sphere in which she devoted herself to support him, and always a prodigious ability to make friends at depth everywhere. Her Christmas card list contained 400 names. Her birthday records kept many tens of those and she never forget us.  A professional colleague also testified to her extraordinary professionalism including being Copy Editor of the Howard Journal - one of the key jobs she fulfilled. So much else was evident in the service, especially Brenda's deep love of music.  A choir of her friends sang some of her favourite Bach, Wesley and Mozart.

Her son John said there was one word to sum her up: KINDNESS.  For Brenda being kind was critical to living a good life. She instilled it in her boys and consistently demonstrated it her behaviour.  She visited us in the US three times, throwing herself into every part of the experience with such enthusiasm it was a joy to witness. On each occasion an early duty involved buying postcards of Chicago with stamps. Never less than a hundred cards were handwritten and dispatched to her network.

I was left deeply saddened that such an unusual kind friend was no longer around to chat and share with.  I was able to pray with her a couple of days before she died and faith in our resurrection Lord transforms the passing. But there's still sadness, isn't there? 

A long journey

It is tempting to share a spot of family news though I know how presumptuous that can be on social media. So, please forgive me, those of you who have troubles enough. Some of you will know that my wife Carol was badly affected by Covid and her symptoms over the last two years ultimately propelled her into our hospital's Long Covid Management Team.  It seemed possible that her serious 'brain fog', muscle weakness, general fatigue were caused by her covid illness early 2020.  For 7 months she was counselled by team members, given tests to complete and literature to read. Everyone who dealt with her was kindly and sensitive. But, 3 months ago the team had a meeting which involved a wide range of experts who together decided that Carol should be signed off the long covid track and put onto the Memory Clinic track.

Shifting tracks proved complicated with her details lost between the doctors' request and clinic. Eventually, we received notice that she has been admitted to the waiting list of 36 weeks. Apparently, since covid hit the number of doctor referrals has so rocketed about patient memory problems that this is the quickest you can have a first appointment.

In the period of waiting we are both learning much.  Some years ago in the US Carol purchased (from a charity shop - as usual) an attractive plaque which reads TODAY IS THE DAY.  It's large and unavoidable. When I first saw it I was critical, suspecting it to be a new age self-help slogan requiring effort to be positive each morning. Saying to yourself TODAY IS THE DAY as though by sheer self-will we should see it as a special day.

But I have come to recognize it as an invaluable trigger on our journey. Every time I see it I say THIS IS THE DAY THAT THE LORD HAS MADE; LET US REJOICE AND BE GLAD IN IT (Psalm 118:24). What a splendid perspective that gives to days that may seem mundane and even troubled.  That every day is a gift from the Lord, and an opportunity to remember his promises of love and strength holding us through another 24 hours. Rejoicing isn't easy but to approach each day as a fresh gift in the unfailing grace of our Lord can bring gladness in the mundane and troubling. Yes, it can. 

TV saga and delight

I know there's (too) much mundane stuff on this blog but this week has continued a saga which began last November when our TV picture began seriously breaking up.  In her current tiredness, Carol much enjoys TV but, sadly, her regular pitiful cry began: 'Michael, the picture's gone again!'  No channel seemed exempt. I called up the company supplying our account and entered a series of lengthy earnest conversations with well-meaning advisers, who gave me instructions about checking leads etc. which required uncomfortable/impossible gymnastic moves.  Each intervention was only successful for a day or two. I became used to ceding control of my smart phone camera so they saw with their own eyes. Through December to March the plaintiff cry echoed. Twice TV boxes were sent out complete with an engineer.  Eventually, in exasperation, just before Easter one adviser told me I needed my aerial checked. They gave me a number to call. 

The aerial specialist answered hesitantly saying he was in the middle of a field and earlier in the day had fallen off a ladder. He said he would contact me later. I wondered! Yet he did the next morning asking if I was the gentleman who had phoned when he was in the middle of a field.  A delightful, unusual man in his 70's he agreed to come. Bringing in his meter and connecting with the aerial socket he expressed amazement that we have been receiving any signal at all. It's strength and quality was barely registering. He pronounced that our solar panels were preventing a clear signal and the new tall houses at the bottom of the garden weren't helping either. 

I had offered him tea or coffee when he arrived but he said he would wait until he had sorted the problem. Nearly 2 hours later we sat down for a welcome cuppa when he began opening up about his life and situation. Asking me about what job I had, I told him that I was a Baptist minister. At which he lit up.  Not because he is a churchgoer but because of his recent experience in the village where he lived. Feeling depressed and concerned he was walking down the main street when he saw the local Baptist minister. Quite wonderfully (and it really did thrill me!) he spoke about this minister's high reputation in the community.  He stopped him and asked whether he could speak with him.  I'm not quite sure where they went but the minister immediately agreed and the conversation (which turned out to be 2 hours long) proved so helpful. 'He's the kind of person who is so special you know they care and are wise. I shall never forget him being there for me'.  

I don't know this minister but I have told one of his friends all about this testimony who has promised to pass on this encouragement. To be salt and light on the main street is a great story, isn't it?.  I was so glad to hear it. 

P.S. Our aerial situation is still not properly fixed and we anticipate a third visit soon, but he has fitted some widget which cuts down the pixellating and the plaintiff cries.A