There’s a lot to write about lately.
The plight of the refugees trying to get to Europe has, for many of us, been an unavoidable presence in our minds. I find it sad that we’ve all only just caught on to the severity and tragedy of the whole situation. It seems that it took a sudden wave of media coverage to kindle our compassion, despite the situation having been escalating for a long time before any of us really cared. A lot has been written and said about this, at times flippantly, at times with painful sincerity. Among the best things I have come across are this video and article by Krish Kandiah, which suggests practical ways we can help, this reflection at Life as a Widower, and this excellent podcast by Dave Criddle and 18 year old Anna Duncan.
In my corner of the world, the weather has turned, and what warmth we had this summer seems to be disappearing (with the exception of two refreshingly sunny days this weekend!). I’ve been layering up my clothes and bringing out my Toms boots to combat the cold, and we even lit the fire the other night. Have you noticed that the mornings and evenings are already darker? Despite having had a distinct lack of sunshine this year, I’m enjoying this turning of the seasons and the anticipation of crisp mornings, crunchy leaves and Christmas dinner.
For me, the end of summer also means my return to work. I’m at a new school, where I am working with little ones who are so brave as they enter the world of big children, strange routines and longer days.
And then the other day I was in a car crash. Thankfully, none of us were badly hurt, but it’s the sort of thing that makes you feel more than a little vulnerable. It’s a wake-up call to the fact that anything can happen without warning, that lives can be changed and shattered in a single, unpredictable moment, that we are fragile. My thoughts have turned often to people who have had similar accidents and not been so fortunate, whose families are still reeling with shock and grief. I feel both lucky and scared, but I have also felt a strong wave of reassurance in my faith that my Father God is looking after me, that whatever had happened that night, even if it had been worse, He would’ve been there, and that He was there.
One of the ways I’ve been helping myself to feel normal again is through short bursts outside. We went bird watching by the estuary yesterday, and today I sunbathed in my in-laws’ field. Sunshine and fresh air are so good for the soul.
Apologies for the newsy tone of this post, and for my recent absence from the internet (I blame BT!), but do look out for a few new recipes in the next week or so, as well as another installment in the North Devon coast series and a Small Things post.