In a parish where there are usually very few funerals, I have found that if my time is to be used productively then I need to put things in the diary. It would be very easy to hide behind the door of the Manse and never go out, uncertain of where to start in a day, and so forward planning and appointments, remind me of things to do and places to be. Not every day has items on it, but there are usually wee pointers for reminders.

The unfortunate nature of such forward planning is that occasionally when unexpected events happen, there is not as much freedom in the diary as might be hoped for. The nature of the task often means that commitments made are to people and breaking those commitments can sometimes suggest that they are not as important as the thing that you need to replace them with. I’m not a great commitment breaker (although probably not so in family life) and so I have instead at certain points in the year just put my head down into the tasks that lie ahead and pushed on through. It means that for a while I end up tired, and at the moment very tired, but I hang on in there for the quiet points when a little bit of coasting might be possible.

This past week contained three funerals, and with a variety of meetings already in place, the visits were all done within a 36 hour period. The writing of each of the funerals happened in the spaces, and magnificently with it being Mothering Sunday, the worship preparation was not quite as heavy as it can be on a week to week basis.

On Monday the last of the funerals happened, and I think I managed to ensure that every family felt that I had said all they wanted to say about the person that they loved – remembering each as precious and important. Tonight is the last evening meeting of this week, with the next being the Kirk Session meeting on Monday and then I hope a day off before another meeting on Wednesday.

In the midst of all the meetings and the encounters with family loss and grief, I’ve also been contacting “stakeholders”. The Kirk Session are in the process of giving thought to how our building might better serve our needs for mission and the needs for the community, and so have engaged an architect for an Options Study. In the next few weeks, those who use the halls are to be consulted on how they use them, and what potential changes might aid each of their groups. That involves conversations with people to see if they are willing to be involved.

It was during one of those phone conversations that an amazing gift came our way. Chatting to the contact person for one of our paying groups, they asked a little more about what it was that the Kirk Session hoped would happen at the end of the consultation. I explained as best I could, without committing to any promises, that Kirk Session hope was a building that was welcoming to all who used it; that offered an invitation to worship or to encounter God in the presence of his Spirit in our wee corner; and that inspired all who drew close to leave knowing the love of God that it might touch others.

“Have you got 5 minutes?”, the voice said. I’ve always got 5 minutes when I’m talking on the phone – it’s why I end up late most places. The voice then explained that the couple had received a significant legacy and their decision had been to share this gift with the community as it was from the community that the legacy had been amassed as they supported someone’s work. Slowly they were distributing it, and now they would like to offer that gift to this congregation. I cried as I said thank you, because the finding of the funds for what lies ahead has been worrying me, but also because I was amazed at the gracious generosity given without restriction.

My understanding as I ended the call was that the gift would not be immediate as it had to be released from elsewhere, but I was asked to drop the letter about the project through the door. It’s a door I pass every day as I perform one of my motherly responsibilities.

As I went to pop the letter through the door, there was a note fixed to the door asking me to ring the bell. Slightly reluctant as I now had my afternoon companions, I was thrown when the door flew open and we were all invited into the house, where the small people were fussed over and the story of the legacy was told. One of my small people was fascinated by the war stories and the stories of a local shop. We left with boxes of chocolates, invitations to ask for help in a variety of areas of work needing done around the church building and a cheque for the sum I had been promised on the phone.

From my tiredness I feel lifted in spirit and by the Spirit.

Despite what I do for a call, I’ve never seen myself as particularly religious – just kind of normal. So I’m always taken aback by the religious moments of the task I do. Religious moments are not the worship bits, but the bits where God breaks in and disturbs my fears and worries to remind me of his presence. And as I said the finance part of what lies ahead has terrified me and continues to do so. I’m terrified that we get to the end of the options study and have lots of hopes of what our place of worship and impetus for service might be, and then we stall because we do not have the funds to do what we would hope to do.

So this gift, so unexpected and yet so kindly and generously given, reminds me that sometimes we just have to trust that. It’s a significant sum, and the sum we will need is considerably bigger, but its a start. A reminder that if we tell the story of why God is important to us and why we seek to serve Him, people can be inspired and offer more then we thought possible.