Mary

This is me and Mary. Mary was one of my favourite old people in Cambridge. She lived at Hinton Grange nursing home, and was always really appreciative of us coming in every two weeks to do a service and especially appreciative of when I'd pop in in the week to see her (even if it was ony for half an hour every few weeks). Mary used to ride ponies and was a vicars daughter and we hit it off straight away. Mary died last week - a few weeks after her 90th birthday. I hope she was trusting in Christ, I hope she is now in heaven with her Saviour where there is no more death or mourning or crying or pain - where she has escaped the intense loneliness and sorrow that surrounded her in the nursing home. I hope she is now in the arms of her loving Daddy. I hope. I'm again struck by how weird death is (see January for more death musings) - the fact I'm never going to sit on her bed and chat to her again, never going to see the delight in her eyes as she mouths along to a well known psalm or sings a good old hymn, never going to remind her of my name again by pointing to her lavetory and (more importantly) the fact I can no longer pray for her - she's entered eternity. And again musing that should drive me to my knees for those who have not yet entered eternity - those who I can pray for, those who still have time to respond to the gospel - we are all on the edge of eternity.