This year has been a year of two halves. It was the worst of times; it was the best of times.

Elements of my life completely changed, from the loss of my much loved Grannie, to saying goodbye to my paediatric team, to an illness that seemed to take hold of me, so much so, that I thought it would take me on my final journey back to Jesus’ garden.  But just as the darkness seemed to become all consuming, there was light permeating through the obscurity, and a voice telling me to have faith.

As with all weathered storms, we must look for the rainbows, finding joy even in the hardest of times. On reflection, I have had much to celebrate.

During the summer, I attended the Christian festival, Satellites, where my best friend Alaric and I performed a spoken word poem in front of 5000 people. I also had the opportunity to travel to the Isle of Wight for a family holiday. During reading week I utilised the opportunity to visit Alaric in Scotland.

A pivotal moment for me was finally being accepted into Bath Spa University to study Creative Writing. As journeys go, this was not a completely straight forward one; countless emails, patiently awaiting replies and filling in forms. But the arduous nature of these tasks was worth it in the end. A pot of gold sat for me at the end of this particular rainbow in the form of great housemates and fellow students.

For the Bath Spa University carol service I was asked to write a poem on journeys with the text about the call for Mary and Joseph to register for the census as the reading. What surprised me when I researched it was the arduous nature of the journey not just in length but also in terrain, and it occurred to me that the trek they took could be a metaphor for our life as a Christian.

Whatever journeys you have been on this year I pray you have a blessed Christmas, and whatever lies ahead I pray you have a hope-filled new year.

The Journey

The first clear call was Immanuel,
God with us, God for us, God alongside us,
Joy rising, dampened by rumours bubbling;
And peace. Amen. So be it.
Then Caesar’s command to census
Offered a fresh beginning,
Eighty-five miles of travel,
Mirrored in a lifetime of journey.

Descending the Nazareth range,
We leave behind the familiar,
Embrace the uncomfortable,
Trusting the narrow path to be straight,
When understanding is not ours to grasp.

Into the Jordan valley,
Where shadows invite anxiety,
Embankments funnel fear,
And thickets harbour danger,
We are shepherded
Beside the water of life,
And drink deeply.

Refreshed we press on
Through Judean desert,
Brutal wastelands of rock and grit,
With searing daytime heat
And bitter nights,
We sustain each other,
Not abandoned. Not deserted.

We lift our eyes up
To the Judean mountains,
Our feet will not slip in our ascent,
Our sights fixed ahead to completion,
Persevering until the fog is lifted,
And we meet the face of God.