An Anniversary in the Irish Fashion

The events of Monday 24th April 1916 and the days following are commemorated in Ireland not by date but by occasion.  For this was Easter Monday and, whenever that may fall - any date from 23rd March to 26th April - it is on Easter Monday that the Easter Rising is remembered.

Having justified my title, I'll turn to the start of my story.  For many years, I had lived a contented life as a same-day courier.  I was a self-employed, owner-driver, and was provided with work by a local company.  I worked long hours, often starting in the early morning or returning late at night, sometimes both.  There was insecurity, in that if I didn't work I didn't get paid.  But there was happiness too, to be found in a variety of friendships at work, at church and with the local bell-ringers.  I had no need, no desire and no intention of moving from this pleasant life in England's First Garden City.

One day my van stopped working ... at least, it became suddenly and significantly unreliable and, according to a plan I had outlined well in advance, I declared my innings at an end, and retired both the vehicle and the way of life it had sustained for the last 300,000 miles.  Over the next few years, a new, retired life-pattern emerged.  I helped at a weekly drop-in run by the Salvation Army, and later took up voluntary work for the local hospice and, in between, spent many hours researching my family history, adding about 2,000 names to my database in that time.

Then Covid-19 arrived.  The drop-in ceased to function, church life ground to a halt and, initially, I had to rely on friends to do my shopping.  As things began to open up again during the latter part of 2020, work at the hospice warehouse started once more, but was intermittent, churches opened again, but with very inhibiting restrictions, and there were strict limitations on the ringing of bells.  After a health emergency that November, it was detected that I had an irregular heartbeat and, although I suffer no obvious ill effects from this, I decided that, whenever ringing should eventually return to normal, I would not continue that activity.

And so we come to Easter Monday.  My Bible reading that morning was the story of Mary Magdalen at the tomb (John 20:11-18).  The commentary that I follow regularly was written by John Grayston, a teacher whom I greatly admire.  He explored the idea of a changing world order, in particular observing that Mary's life would be different from that point on.  "Mary wants things to stay as they are." he wrote, "She must learn to relate to Jesus in a different way."  He concluded that "holding on to yesterday's understanding and experience may hold us back." 

As I reflected on these words, I saw how they could apply to me at that particular time.  So many aspects of the life that I had enjoyed up to that point had either stopped, or were sufficiently different as to be unsatisfying compared to previously.  In complete contrast to my previous attitude to staying in the Garden City, I realised that there was now nothing holding me there any more.  The key thought that I took from that morning was, 'There's no reason not to move away.'

I concluded that God was telling me that He wanted me to move.  Without knowing where, I began immediately to fillet some of my shelves.  I filled bags with waste, and collected other items to take to the warehouse for fund-raising in one way or another.  It wasn't until the next week that, as my packing continued, I began to plan where I might move to, confident that, if I pushed some doors, God would close wrong ones and allow the right one to open for me.  My general aim was to move north, where I might find greater space for a lower financial outlay, and I searched for a house with the desired accommodation in a broad arc from Wrexham to Hull.

Little by little over the next few weeks, I was guided to the south Yorkshire area, and eventually went to view a terraced house in the small, former mining town of Goldthorpe.  Strangely, the young lady showing me around was persuading me that this place wasn't for me, but at the end of the visit she directed me to another one just a short distance away that would be much better, although it was not yet on the market.  I walked round and looked at it. It was being refurbished, but I could see straight away that it would be much better than the one I'd just viewed, and just what I was looking for.

From that point on, the process seemed fraught with delay but, as I look back, I realise that from inspiration to moving in, it was just on three months.  I later learned that, two days after I had signed the lease, the lady who had directed me here had - quite suddenly - left the estate agent's employment.  Was she an angel?  I leave you, dear reader, to speculate.

At the outset, I felt that God was leading me here because He had work for me to do here.  I now realise that it wasn't to use me, but to teach me.  I feel that I've learned much in the last nine months, and am certainly closer to Him than I had been before.  As this first anniversary approaches, I find that I'm quite content to let the future take its course.