Contact: 01604 810447 or click email contact below
A Few Words about Me
I grew up in a place called Sandwich, in Kent, moving to the New Forest when I was 13. I’m married to Simon, and we have three grown-up children: Oliver, Toby and Lily, and they range in age from 18 to 22. Taggy (short for tagliatelle) as is our Italian Spinone dog, She’s nearly 10, and is particularly attracted to the beautiful countryside in which Earls Barton is set!
If you happen to see me in Earls Barton, do please say hello, and I can begin to get to know you!
With my love and prayers,
Miranda
Reflections for the season:
Won’t be long now, and Christmas will have passed in a blur - so little time, and so much to do before then! All those cards to write and post, people to party with, tinselled and garlanded shops to visit, decorations to put up, presents to wrap, meals to prepare, cook, and eat……….. I feel exhausted just thinking about it.
So why do we do it? What is the focus of all this blurred activity? Is it pure joy at our Saviour’s birth, or is there a degree of apprehension, a distinct edge of anxiety? Are we, perhaps, trying to live up to other people’s expectations? Or are we caught up in the constant financial demands of commercial exploitation? It certainly seems to me that, all too often, we’re made to feel that the amount of money spent on a present is the way to measure love. Do we believe that? Do we really want to believe that love is something you can put a monetary value on? And, in reality, does spending a great deal of money – whether we can afford it, or not - leave us feeling any happier or more content in the long run?
Won’t be long now, and Christmas will have passed in a blur - so little time, and so much to do before then! All those cards to write and post, people to party with, tinselled and garlanded shops to visit, decorations to put up, presents to wrap, meals to prepare, cook, and eat……….. I feel exhausted just thinking about it.
So why do we do it? What is the focus of all this blurred activity? Is it pure joy at our Saviour’s birth, or is there a degree of apprehension, a distinct edge of anxiety? Are we, perhaps, trying to live up to other people’s expectations? Or are we caught up in the constant financial demands of commercial exploitation? It certainly seems to me that, all too often, we’re made to feel that the amount of money spent on a present is the way to measure love. Do we believe that? Do we really want to believe that love is something you can put a monetary value on? And, in reality, does spending a great deal of money – whether we can afford it, or not - leave us feeling any happier or more content in the long run?
So in amongst all the frantic
rush and bustle, it’s worth
reflecting on our hopes and
expectations for Christmas
Day.
Let’s look back some 2,000 plus years, to when Joseph and Mary were experiencing at first hand the event we celebrate on 25th December. I wonder what Mary would have said if someone had asked her what she thought it was all about? Heavy with child, there could be no blurred activity for her, no doubt about her expectation that first Christmas. New life for the world stirred within her on the journey to Bethlehem, God almost with us. He had waited with Mary through the long months, as he grew in her womb. Joseph, laying a gentle hand on Mary’s stomach, had felt God’s movements through the stretched skin. When God was born, did they know who it was cradled in their arms, who it was who sucked at Mary’s breast, who it was who gripped Joseph’s finger so tightly in his little fist? Could they tell that this was the saviour of the world, lying there in a manger? He was, after all, just like any other baby and, as far as they were concerned, he did exactly what any other baby would do. He had the same needs any other baby would have, and so Mary fed him, and she and Joseph kept him clean, warm and dry, safely wrapped in bands of cloth.
But it was there in that unlikely place, that God came to find us, to live among us.
It seems extraordinary, doesn’t it, that the same immanent and all powerful God, who created space and all that it is in it, could become so helplessly vulnerable, entrusting himself to fickle and unreliable humanity. Why did he do it? Could it be so that we, and all of humankind, might see what love is, and what love does – and that is to give of itself without limit, and without question. In Jesus, we encounter God’s invitation to share lives lived in love.
As we rush from pillar to post this Christmas, it’s worth bearing in mind that God’s hopes and expectations for us lie not in the quality of our possessions, but in the quality of our relationships: he wasn’t concerned about the standard of nursery furniture, or the quality of bedding provided by Mary and Joseph.
On the contrary, what mattered to God was the love which so clearly permeated Mary and Joseph’s lives, and came to a joyful focus in Jesus.
Let’s look back some 2,000 plus years, to when Joseph and Mary were experiencing at first hand the event we celebrate on 25th December. I wonder what Mary would have said if someone had asked her what she thought it was all about? Heavy with child, there could be no blurred activity for her, no doubt about her expectation that first Christmas. New life for the world stirred within her on the journey to Bethlehem, God almost with us. He had waited with Mary through the long months, as he grew in her womb. Joseph, laying a gentle hand on Mary’s stomach, had felt God’s movements through the stretched skin. When God was born, did they know who it was cradled in their arms, who it was who sucked at Mary’s breast, who it was who gripped Joseph’s finger so tightly in his little fist? Could they tell that this was the saviour of the world, lying there in a manger? He was, after all, just like any other baby and, as far as they were concerned, he did exactly what any other baby would do. He had the same needs any other baby would have, and so Mary fed him, and she and Joseph kept him clean, warm and dry, safely wrapped in bands of cloth.
But it was there in that unlikely place, that God came to find us, to live among us.
It seems extraordinary, doesn’t it, that the same immanent and all powerful God, who created space and all that it is in it, could become so helplessly vulnerable, entrusting himself to fickle and unreliable humanity. Why did he do it? Could it be so that we, and all of humankind, might see what love is, and what love does – and that is to give of itself without limit, and without question. In Jesus, we encounter God’s invitation to share lives lived in love.
As we rush from pillar to post this Christmas, it’s worth bearing in mind that God’s hopes and expectations for us lie not in the quality of our possessions, but in the quality of our relationships: he wasn’t concerned about the standard of nursery furniture, or the quality of bedding provided by Mary and Joseph.
On the contrary, what mattered to God was the love which so clearly permeated Mary and Joseph’s lives, and came to a joyful focus in Jesus.
