I went out in the freezing rain with my young daughter this morning to deliver Christmas cards from our new church congregation to the local community. It doesn't sound like an exciting plan for a wet Monday, but that was where we were so off we went.
Just as we set off down the road I felt a small, gloved hand comfortably nuzzle into mine, the other hand tightly gripping Build-a-bear who had joined us at the last minute, complete with shiny rain mac and boots. And the delivering began. With each card I offered a tiny prayer, asking for God's blessing on the recipient, particularly those with that energy efficient type of letterbox that tries to remove fingers from the hands of any who dare to introduce something into them. Within a few minutes there was only one of us doing the posting, but the conversation never faltered. As we went my feet got wetter and colder and my nose runnier and my fingers number yet my daughter continued to comment on the features of each house and the generally chat about what we were up to.
So here's the unexpected bit-all too soon it was over. We'd delivered to the streets that we had cards for and it was time to go home for hot chocolate. But we both knew that we had been really blessed, that our afternoon together had been a rich and pleasurable experience.
I can't wait until next year's cards are produced...
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