Special day. . .

Millie aged 7

Today is my beautiful daughter Millie’s 21st birthday.  We will be having a ‘bit of a do’ later in the form of a gathering of friends and family for a meal.  I have written a poem just for her to celebrate the occasion.  Here it is….

Our Journey Together

 

Twenty-one years!?  Where have they flown?

As I sit here remembering just how much you’ve grown.

 

That perfect pink baby with the cute button nose,

So safe in my arms with your pearly-tipped toes.

 

So quiet at three with a mind of your own,

Dressed up as Mary in your blue homemade gown.

 

Your little hand in mine on that first walk to school.

I was so proud, and you were so small!

 

Netball team, choir, Nativity and ‘Grease’,

Such a good student, so willing to please.

 

Time raced on and secondary school came.

Once we’d moved to MK you were never the same.

 

Out of your shell, blossoming fast,

Determined and driven, not one to be last.

 

GCSE’s, ‘A’ levels, great results all.

So many proud moments, I felt six feet tall.

 

Prom day, so gorgeous in your dress bought by Jim.

“You look beautiful Chuck!” that would have been him.

 

Straight into employment with barely a pause,

There was just no holding you back anymore.

 

NVQ, driving, the list carries on.

Woodlands has bagged themselves a good’un.

 

So here we are at twenty-one years,

They’ve filled me with happiness, laughter and tears.

 

Such a wonderful journey we’ve had you and I.

When I look at you now you make my heart fly.

 

A blessing to many with the love that you show,

A warm heart so giving, a pleasure to know.

 

I don’t hold your hand in the street anymore,

But my love’s always with you, be very sure.

 

And always remember if ever you falter,

Our hearts are entwined as Mother and Daughter.

 

14^th September, 2013

 

With all my love

 

Mum xx

My beautiful Millie today…

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The Mass

The weight of the door, the solid swish as it shuts.

The faint residual smell of incense and historically extinguished candles.

Flickering candles, the Paschal ~  beautifully adorned and lofty, sporting its flame of Hope.

Neat rows of hymn books, piles of slightly dog-eared mass sheets and crispy-fresh weekly newsletters, free to a good home.

Soft greetings, muted voices, genuflecting and bowing indicating the direction of the tabernacle.

Seats chosen and filled. 

Silent anticipation, preparation, adoration.

“Ting” heralds the start.

The unified rising of the faithful.

Procession of robes filled with men that for just a moment are not just James and Klaus but Priest or Father and Deacon.

Familiar words delivered by a familiar voice.

The faithful rise and fall like a vertical Mexican wave.

Voices join as one ~ in song ~ in response.

Bells ring to indicate that special transubstantiated moment, rich smoke mists the room and replenishes the smell for the next people through the door.

Invitation.

The whole room moves with fluid, well practised ease towards the altar.

Momentary hesitation, meet the Priest’s gaze, receive, gives thanks, move on.

Kneeling, reflecting, worshipping.

Replenished, renewed.

Dismissal.

Thanks be to God.

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