I thought about what I could write today and my father came into my mind. He was born in Dublin into a family struggling with poverty at a time when there was a recession, and work was scarce. When he was old enough he travelled to Liverpool as did many from Ireland at that time and walked south with no money in his pockets, relying on handouts and sometimes surviving on just bread and water.
He was quite an entrepreneur – he managed to always make money wherever he went from being a short order chef in Grantham to taking up boxing, then breeding birds, then selling meat from a market stall. My family lived in a lovely Georgian house in central London and had more than enough for their needs.
Looking back on his life, the turning point came when a consultant told him he only had 5 years to live. He had been very ill with TB and always had problems with his breathing, finally developing emphysema when he was middle aged. This diagnosis changed him completely, he began spending more time in pubs, drinking heavily and gambling and eventually our mother had to work full-time to support our family, with little income from my father. We saw very little of him and appreciated that because when he was at home he was unbearable to live with at times.
I tell you this because he had another turning point in his life. When my mother eventually left him and we moved with her, he was left alone and had to come to terms with his life. He did pull it together. He had a huge, very confident character and wouldn’t let anyone get away with being unjust. He always used to say ‘take your complaint to the top, don’t bother with the middle man’. He volunteered for the Royal British Legion and fought for people who couldn’t get their war pensions from the Government and helped with any other issues they had. He would happily intervene and write letters and complain for them until he had a result. When he died, the church was full of people – I was very surprised – but it showed just how much he had meant to them.
His favourite saint was St Patrick and he always used to pray to him. One time when my husband and I were in Westminster Cathedral, we lit a candle for my father in St Patrick’s chapel and my husband had a vision of a large light moving towards a smaller one and I really felt our prayers were being answered for him.
My point in all this is that although we can lead lives away from God, it needn’t be forever. We can always turn back to him and be welcomed with open arms. It’s never too late.
Luke 6:38
‘give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.’
Widows Mote 