Welcome to this week’s newsletter!
As we come to the close of another term, Christmas arrives not all at once, but gradually — through tired children clutching costumes, carols half-remembered, candlelight, and those moments that catch you off guard and stop you mid-stride. It has been a term full of effort, kindness, and quiet perseverance, and I want to begin by saying thank you — for the trust you place in us, and for the way you walk alongside your children through the ordinary and the extraordinary alike.
This season often arrives wrapped in lists and logistics. Presents to buy, dates to juggle, expectations to meet. And yet, Christmas has a habit of gently resisting all that. It keeps nudging us back to something simpler. Something truer. The story at the heart of it all doesn’t centre on abundance, but on presence. Not spectacle, but proximity. God, choosing to dwell — not above us, but with us.
Which leads me to a thought I’ve been carrying this Advent, and one I offer gently rather than prescriptively: the most meaningful gift we can give one another is time. Time that isn’t rushed. Time that isn’t distracted. Time that says, “I’m here — properly.” For our kids especially, that gift is inalienable. It’s not found under the tree, but in the small, steady moments that reassure them they matter.
There’s a line from an old Carpenters song that’s been playing quietly in the background of my thoughts: “Sing, sing a song… make it simple, to last your whole life long.” Christmas faith is a bit like that. Simple. Enduring. Not flashy. A song that stays with you long after the decorations are packed away.
Our Nativities, sing-alongs, and productions this year have reminded me again that children instinctively understand this. They don’t strive for perfection; they offer sincerity. They sing loudly, like me, sometimes off-key, but always wholeheartedly. And in doing so, they teach us something rather important about what really counts.
So as the term closes, my gentle challenge — if I may — is this:
find time. Guard it fiercely. Give it freely. Sit a little longer. Listen a little harder. Be fully present, even when the world is clamouring for your attention elsewhere. In a culture that prizes speed and excess, that choice is quietly radical.
The Christmas story tells us that “the Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” Not hurried. Not distracted. Just present. May that spirit shape our homes, our conversations, and our expectations in the days ahead.
Thank you for another term of partnership, patience, and trust. I wish you and your families a Christmas filled not just with celebration, but with connection — and a New Year that begins gently, with hope.
