My mother (Gwen) turns 91 years of age in a few weeks.

It may surprise some readers of this blog that when the number 91 is mentioned, my mind does not go immediately to a cricket score (although listening to Viv Richards’ 291 on a radio in the Himalayas as a lad in 1976 is a memory to cherish) — but to Psalm 91.  What a remarkable psalm it is.  As Philip Jenkins writes in The New Faces of Christianity, “In Christian Africa and Asia, this psalm is everywhere” (108).  More recently, a friend of mine in Latin America shared how his father read this psalm to his mother every night and then when his father died, he himself picked up this daily practice as he cared for his mother, right up until the day she died from Covid-19 in 2021.

I look forward to reading Psalm 91 to my mother on her birthday — and a few more times in the weeks that follow.  One of the highlights of the Christmas-New Year season for me has been the number of beautiful photos of my mother that have been taken.

We gathered at Christmas on blankets and chairs on the very patch of grass outside the family home where my mum used to gather as a little girl.  [She now lives in a flat next door].  Mum was the third generation to enjoy this home, with a sixth generation running across those blankets at Christmas.  

Here is my mum with baby Boaz.  Many years ago my parents offered hospitality to a Sri Lankan neighbour, a mum with her two boys, fleeing an abusive situation overseas.  Under God’s hand, one thing led to another as this little family became part of our family, joining us for Christmas and at other times each year.  Jesus drew Indrani to himself and her son Rash followed in those footsteps.  With the heart and skill of an evangelist, Rash now works across schools in South Auckland.  One Sunday evening last year I went across to his church to hear him share his testimony and invite people to respond to Christ.  I found it moving, as I reflected on the ripples out from the hospitality ministry of an ordinary person like my mother.  It is a lot like how the church of those early centuries exercised its influence, through ordinary people living distinctive lives.  God has blessed Rash and Cheyenne with three boys — Isaiah, Solomon, and now Boaz, in my mother’s arms this past Christmas. 

On New Year’s Day, Barby and I decide to take mum on a drive.  Auckland’s borders have been closed since August and so it was an opportunity to break free!  As a girl, Little Huia was the annual holiday destination for my mum and her family.  It has become a favourite for all of us (and it is where Barby and I self-isolated for 18 days on our return from India in March 2020 — see the link here).  I love the story of how mum and her siblings would set off early in the morning, walking to Huia.  Their mum and dad would get all packed-up and head off later in the day, picking up the children along the way.  But over all these years, mum had never seen beloved Huia ‘from the other side’, from the southern side of the Manukau Harbour.  So that was our goal for the day, driving all the way around (about 90min each way, from her home).

One more photo, from earlier in December…

Baby Jeremiah came to visit his great-grandmother, together with his parents, Joseph and Zoe.  Plenty of photos were taken, but this one demonstrating the beauty of hands and of skin of every age is precious — and here the age difference is 90 years and a few months!

nice chatting

Paul