On Good Friday a handful of us met in Trago Lounge to craft and chat. Amy was there in the calm before the storm as she was performing in the Southampton Passion later that evening, Eddie was spinning, and flitting between at least two other projects, Cecile came and span, Karen mopped me up and held babies and totally spoilt both my daughter and hers, all in all it was a lovely morning.
A lovely morning, with the undercurrent of knowing that a little boy was suffering, and a Mum and Dad were suffering watching their little lad struggling. We all knew the end of little William's life on Earth was drawing closer, what we couldn't know was when he would go to rest.
Now, whether you are familiar or not with the Easter story, I will share a little of it here. The gist of it is that Jesus and friends went to celebrate the passover (Jewish festival, greatly significant, look it up) ... and on the day we call Good Friday (for reasons I don't yet know), Jesus was turned over to the authorities by one of his buddies and tried (if you can call it that) for blasphemy. He was sentenced to death and later crucified.
It was told by Jesus that this would be the sequence of events and that on the third day he would rise from the dead and walk with them once more.
The story that leads up to the crucifixion is filled with high drama and makes an excellent play, but it is the story thereafter that gives us hope.
William died in the small hours of Easter Day, Resurrection Sunday. That he died on that particular day is a poignant reminder of the Christian message of hope in eternity. I do understand that most of the people reading this post will not be Christians, but I for one am so pleased that William's Mum, Dad and brother have a hope, a peace and a security about where William is now.
And the bluebells, William is to be buried in a sustainable way that is quiet and considers our planet. As opposed to marking graves, families may plant native wild flowers and William's favourite colours were blue and green, I sat among the delightful, heady fragrance and photographed the bluebells in my garden for this post, I will never see a bluebell again and not think of the cheeky little lad that touched so many of us in his short life.
Raising the Yurt, part two
19 hours ago