Out bright and early driving up the A470 to Abercanaid to celebrate and preach this morning. I was bemused to see that since my last visit a month ago the shell of a new house had sprung up in grounds next to the hall-church, that were once the site of the old primary school now demolished and replaced on another site.
I ditched the straight text of the sermon I'd taken with me, and improvised, following the thread of ideas and associations evoked by the Gospel of the day. The congregation is alert and listens, and that gives me confidence to speak directly of things that matter most to me.
The old lady who pointed out to me the bed of snowdrops beneath the tree behind the hall-church, sent me out to look at the daffodils now emerging in the same spot.
Twenty five miles north of Cardiff and 150 feet above sea level, the daffs are several weeks behind their counterparts in Thompson's Park. On my journey up and down the Taff Vale, a thin ridge of snow was still visible along the exposed eastern shoulder of the valley. The weather's been that much worse up here in recent weeks.
Before returning home for lunch, I drove out to Culverhouse Cross for a rendezvous at McDonald's Restaurant with two sisters whose mother's funeral I'm preparing to officiate at in St David's Caerau next Wednesday. The undertakers are from out of town, family members are scattered, and so we couldn't easily meet in a funeral home office, or in either of the daughter's houses, so this was the next best thing. It's not so easy when you're retired and don't have an office open to the public in your home, as I did for forty years. I'm learning to improvise, however.
Owain came for tea, as he often does when he's in town on a Sunday. The evening was given over to preparing another rota for the coming College term. It's not one of my favourite occupations, but at least this'll be the last time I have this particular job to do, and that's a welcome relief.
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