Bees in My Bonnet

 Infancy is weak, fragile, cute, maybe even a bit scary. I know infancy. Not only holding my own infants, but the infancy of hope in my own soul: the infancy that seems only a tiny spark of light in a long, dark, tunnel - this is a fragile and even scary dawning of hope.  These 24 hours are some of the hardest of the year for some: there are hopes, fears, expectations, longings, moments of despair, regrets, losses, hardships - this list is not exhaustive. And somehow the hopes and expectations seem to all land on this day, and how easily we forget space must be made to accommodate the losses and hardships as well. In fact, even the lack of fulfilment of hopes needs space to be grieved on a day set aside for celebration and joy.  "The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight" - and as we sing this Christmas hymn, we mean it. The hopes AND fears - of this loooooong   year - these meet together in this infant child, Jesus.  I imagine the time of Jesus' birt

 I like the thought of 'turning' - in this case, turning the number of my age, the years I've completed of life I didn't volunteer for, of life that was handed to me, that I now know has been a gift - an unasked for gift, a surprising gift, but a gift nonetheless. On birthdays we typically receive gifts (unless you are Chinese - then on your birthday it is a chance to give gifts to all your friends). And I wonder if this is to try and remind us that our lives are gifts. Even the dark days. The lonely days. The 'Well,-that-didn't-go-like-I-thought-it-would' days.  In Spanish you don't 'turn' a number - you complete a year. It is a more accurate rendering I suppose - the "cumpleanos". Turning 47 doesn't mean I'm beginning my 47th year. It means I finished it. I feel a year older already!! But in this turning is a chance for reflecting. Today was another day in my life. A completed day. A special day, to be sure - I only get a birt