Nellie, Vera, Barbara, Iris and me sitting around a table making posies for Mothering Sunday, we’re cold but happy, and in a couple of hours we have buckets full of cheery posies tied in golden ribbons for the children to give to Moms tomorrow. Some of the blooms are a bit tight now, but they will open as the heating comes on in the early hours to warm the church in readiness.
Out in the graveyard the first Mothering Sunday Pilgrims started to arrive around 7:00am this morning and over the next 2 days, hundreds will have come and gone bringing with them floral tributes in bright, singing colours to honour the memory of a loved mother; every one it seems comes home for Mother’s Day, hundreds of miles are travelled just to bring a Posy to a Mum’s last resting place.
Many in our little church family have known times of loss this winter and spring, the sunny yellow daffodils in church, the sea of flowers of every hue in the graveyard are welcome, they bring relief to aching sadness.
The ache, the sadness and pain of loss is felt, I think most during the night, we are vulnerable, sleep doesn’t come, the night is silent around us except fot the ticking clock and the noise of troubled thoughts that fill our mind; somehow even the darkness seems to creep inside and then: the Dawn. Not the cold light of dawn, but the warm fiery glows that whispers all is well, and all will be well.
Sometimes I look out at the morning skies and see His Royal Banners signalling the approach of the angelic vanguard coming to banish all shadows, to herald joy in place of all sadness, as a disciple of Jesus this is where I should be, amongst the Banners that proclaim the Cross where our King died that all should be well for all, and all will be well, bye and bye.
“Colours of day dawn into the mind,
The sun has come up,
the night is behind”
Nellie, Vera, Barbara, Iris and me, each of us in her own way on a pilgrimage, following the Colours of Day.