OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

  The Sugrue Crib It's the season of waiting. Waiting for Christmas, for some new arrival of Jesus. Waiting to see the cardiologist. A long, long wait. And I have all the time in the world. Chris Rea sings 'Driving Home For Christmas' on the radio in the waiting room, a song that is always a reminder of Maura. Little did we think that Chris would die before Christmas, God rest him. My sister-in-law's Dad, Jim, has also died and we had his funeral yesterday. His family kept vigil with him for days as he quietly made his way home to God. Most blessed of all waiting. True Advent. A very meaningful waiting.  I am privileged to be drawn into their time of waiting, with them as friend and priest, and to witness the quality of their collective loving. And the gift of him being at home and they all being with him, caring for him right to the end. Each grandchild having their personal time with him, to say what they wished him to hear. Hearing is what he did. They were all heard...

  "You are where you are" she said when we were talking about Galway's awful traffic which she has to negotiate twice a day. She doesn't mind it that much. Her Dad and I were saying how much we dislike sitting in traffic. My view of cars is that, once you get into one, it's meant to move forward and not stand still. We wonder if it's a female/male thing - Venus and Mars? You are where you are. She has a point. It's an Advent kind of lesson. Something for me to pay attention to, though I don't yet have to deal with it here, since I've opted not to drive for now. But it's a state of mind too that applies to other situations. Like my garden. My front garden is a wreck of Winter and sometimes I feel like it's an expression of who I am, how I am. The sight of it repels me. And I want it sorted immediately, if not sooner, as the teacher used to say. But then I go inside my front door, into the sitting room where I spend most of the daytime hours ...