I was born in a narrow Victorian mid terrace house, with two modest rooms on each of three floors.  It had ridiculously steep staircases which we would delight in flying down using pillowcases as sledges.  It had a freezing outside toilet and a miniscule garden out the back.  It was at the top of three short rows of terraces, a mile from the sea.  My uncle lived in the third terrace down, and so I grew up close to my cousins, who were about the same ages as my brother and me.  We had other cousins who lived about a quarter of a mile away, and together, every Boxing Day, we’d go to our Nan’s for cold meats, food, board games and chatter.  This was our shared experience for many years.  

When I was about 10, we moved to a nearby village, and both my sets of cousins found themselves moving apart too as their parents separated.  When my brother and I went off to university, and some of my cousins went travelling, even our shared times would become a thing of the past.  My Nan sadly died a year later, hiding a stroke from us all on our last Boxing Day together. 

This past weekend we all gathered for a celebration of my uncle’s 80th birthday and it was the first time I had seen all my cousins in over 30 years.  Before we went out, I was worried I wouldn’t recognise them.  My brother and I put together the family tree so we could remember all the names.  But even with the passage of three decades, as soon as I saw them, I had no problem at all in knowing those I grew up with despite the wrinkles, lack of hair or middle-aged spread!  It was wonderful to see them again after so long.  It was lovely to be able to chat about our lives and experiences we have had since, both the good and bad.  Some of them had spent time in far flung countries, a few live away but most are still living in that corner of Kent quite close to each other.  Most had been married, separated and remarried and several had grandchildren too.  My uncle has eight children, and several greatgrandchildren, so as you can imagine there were lots of people there at this party and a large number of children I had never met across the generations. 

I loved seeing my Dad with his brother and watching them interact.  How wonderful it is to have this family – a family who I could talk to, chat and get along with, even though I hadn’t seen them for many years.  We still had something in common – we were connected by bonds of friendship, kinship and shared memories. 

I was chatting with one cousin, who I was close to at primary school but who I hadn’t seen since I was 17.   We were reminiscing – some thoughts more fleeting than others as is the way with memories – sitting under a dining table as small children with monopoly pieces, which were a different colour from the newer set that we’d had at home; the walks with the dogs up the hills, wellies labelled L and R, laughing at my Nan’s bad taste in ornaments brought back from holiday, our Nan’s husband, who none of us seemed to know at all – we just remembered him sat in a corner with his collection of pipes.  Being with this particular group of cousins was a bit like being transported back into my early childhood, to that wonderful time between five and thirteen when most have no real cares in the world.  When your parents and grandparents are with you and you think that life goes on forever.

Most of my cousins have lost either one or both parents.  I am conscious that I am fortunate to have both my parents still with me, so I want to make the most of the time I have.  It is wonderful to be able to spend time together with them, my youngest son and my brother, sister in law and all their children.  I’m ashamed to say when we got to the party my son said to me: ‘You have cousins?’  But why should he know? He’s never met them.  One of the challenges of modern life is we all live so far away from each other.  Gone is the simplicity of families normally growing up in the same neighbourhood.  I wonder what shared experiences my son will remember with his cousins, and I felt a need to strengthen those moments and times for him.

Families are important.  Obviously, I recognise that not all get on – I know that too well especially as I had been kept apart from my family for many years.  They have their ups and downs.  Families aren’t perfect. There’s often a brother, an uncle, a cousin, an aunt, who no one speaks to anymore, or is separated through relationships, split off from the rest – or a sibling that is inappropriate at the party and unreliable to say the least…

Families matter to God, and they should matter to us. For in God’s understanding, we are all brothers and sisters.  We might not always stay in touch, but we are connected by deep bonds of love.

Another one of my cousins remarked to me that we have to make each and every day count, especially the time we have with our close relatives.  We never know what a new year will bring – will there be joys or sorrows, laughter or sadness, hardships, trials, or moments of joy and delight?

On the way home from the party, I remembered a conversation I had with my Nan as I said goodbye to her just before my brother and I went off to university.  We stood at the metal gate of her council house garden, overlooking the fields that would soon become the channel tunnel.  She said that my parents would be very upset when we left and moved away, as that would signal the end of our childhood for them.  In my enthusiasm for life, I have to admit I had not thought of that at all.

In a passage in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus said ‘Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’  I’ve always thought this a bit negative.  However, I’ve since reflected that in this teaching Jesus is reminding us that the cycle of life and death is inevitable.  Don’t spend precious time worrying, since there’s plenty to look forward to every day.  

Make each and every day count.