CHAPTER 1

Summer

i thank You God for most this amazingday: for the leaping greenly spirits of treesand a blue true dream of sky; and for everythingwhich is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birthday of life and of love and wings: and of the gaygreat happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeingbreathing any—lifted from the noof all nothing—human merely beingdoubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake andnow the eyes of my eyes are opened)

(e.e. cummings, 1894–1962)

December

The oak leaves are out in full, becoming a darker green thanbefore. Turning fifty is behind me, Lord, and it all went betterthan anticipated. It is a good age to be, after all.

Help me, Lord, to become older gracefully. Grant me courage,grant me peace.

With that, Clare closed her journal, and said to herself, All elsecan wait.

Clare was watching the goldfish in the pond atthe bottom of the garden. She had taken anearly morning walk to do so. This was where shesometimes came to think things through, and this morningwas such a time. There was a still freshness in the air thatflushed her cheeks and helped her towards clarity of mind.She was deeply concerned and needed to gain perspective.

There were often tricky situations pertaining to family,friends or acquaintances that she felt needed her prayers andlove. Discovering how she could be a possible part of thesolution needed reflection. The shady nook in her garden wasan ideal place for this. As her two sons grew and developed intoadults, their needs naturally changed, and she had to make sureshe was not stifling them with her habitual maternal instincts.

Her younger son Matthew, aged twenty-three, was in lovewith a young woman, Nicole Hayden, who Clare had reasonto believe was seriously ill. When she recently saw Nicole shehad an almost deathly pallor. Nicole's doctor had scheduledher for an appointment with a haemotologist later that day.Clare had asked Matthew to let her know the outcome at theearliest opportunity.

'I will, Mum, as soon as we know. In the meantime, keepher in your prayers.'

And Clare was doing just that. For her not to pray wouldbe like ceasing to breathe. It was her life force, her centralfocus, her reaching out to her Beloved. Her husband, Craig,understood this, although he did not share her ardour.

Craig MacMillan was already in his study working. Aneconomist of note, and a consultant, he studied the financialworld to keep abreast of current trends. The past year had beenparticularly stressful due to the onset of the financial crisisin the United States and the instability in the South Africanmarket caused by the abrupt recalling of its president. Therewere a number of younger people he mentored, regarding theiroffshore investments, some of them friends of his sons. Theycame to see him in his home office, and so Clare also got toknow them.

Clare and Craig had settled into a comfortable patternwhere there was still space for passion but where therelationship was not dependent on it to move forward. Whenshe was twenty, Clare had been desperately in love with asuave and wealthy lawyer, who whisked her around the worldin luxury ocean liners and private jets, but passion had at lastconsumed the very relationship itself. When Craig came alonghe was so solid, so reliable, so stable and so homely by contrastthat she gravitated towards him like a rose to gentle rain. Sofrom the start Craig enveloped Clare with a sense of securitywhich felt like the warm, loving embrace of a friend ratherthan the passionate kiss of a lover. Not that there wasn't roomfor both.

Clare mostly felt very grateful for all her blessings.Sometimes, though, when her elder son Jerome and Craigwere more grumpy than usual—or when her gentle Matthewwas uncharacteristically sharp—she longed to return to theharmonious rhythm she normally enjoyed.

Later in the day, when she was busy sculpting in her studio,making a bust for one of her clients, Matthew called Clare.

'Mum, start praying with even greater seriousness. Nicoleis very ill. I'll tell you more when I get home.' Matthew stilllived partially at home, but mostly in the apartment he wasbusy renovating.

'It's a kind of cancer, Mum,' he said, before he'd properlyentered the kitchen. 'A kind of leukemia. They've caught itrelatively early so there's hope, though to Nicole it feels like adeath sentence. Please pray for her, Mum.'

By now Matthew was sitting down at the kitchen table,his head in his hands, trembling, distraught, and trying totalk hope into himself. They had thought Nicole might beanoerexic, as she'd been off her food and lost a lot of weightsuddenly. That seemed bad enough but this seemed worse.

'What is the prognosis, darling? What did thehaemotologist say?'

'He said Nicole must start on a course of chemotherapyimmediately and if she responded well, there was plenty ofreason to be hopeful. Mum, we have to pray with all our mightthat she will respond positively to treatment.'

'Of course I shall join you in praying with all my mightfor a successful outcome. For Nicole's sake, we must allexpress full confidence and hope. Our faith will be stretchedbut God always rewards faith in him. His goodness willprevail over evil.'

'Will it, Mum? Can you be sure? That is what I wantto believe too. Thank goodness Nicole's parents are alsoChristians, particularly her mum is being very supportivethrough all of this. Please reach out to her at this time, Mum.I'm sure she'll need a friend like you.'

'I will, darling, if you think that will help.'

'You're a star, Mum, and you're able to inspire people.Nicole's whole family will need all the help and inspirationthey can get.'

By now Matthew had a piping hot cup of tea in his handand his trembling had ceased. He had transferred his burdenonto his mother as so often during his childhood when hewas troubled or alone. He simply knew things would improvenow that she had taken on his load. He felt free to love andsupport Nicole and to leave the earnest intercessory stuff tohis mother. Her prayers would pull them all through. He hadmore faith in her faith than in his own, but ultimately he knewthat they all worshipped and trusted in the same God, whowould come through for them. Now it remained for him topersuade Nicole of this.

'May I have supper as soon as possible, Mum? I still wantto pop out briefly to see Nicole before she goes to bed.'

'Of course, darling, and give her our love and assure her ofour prayers. Have you told Jerome?'

'No, could you please do that? You'll do a better job of it.'

Before long he was gone.

Clare picked up the phone to contact her elder son. Jeromewas studying medicine at the University of Cape Town. Akarate instructor, he was emotionally more independentfrom his parents than Matthew. Jerome had lived in his ownapartment for some years and, while studying, worked for agym club over weekends where he instructed students agedfour to seventy in the basics of karate. He had become a karatemaster himself some years previously.

Among Jerome's students was a boy of thirteen, whoshowed great promise. Luca Romano came to karate classestwice a week, on a Thursday afternoon and a Saturdaymorning. Jerome liked the intensity this young man broughtto his martial art, and he sensed in him also a particularaffinity. Luca was always the first to arrive and the last toleave. In addition, Jerome noticed he tended to linger afterclass to exchange pleasantries with him. He seemed focusedon his sensei in a way that was both endearing and somewhatperplexing. Jerome would discover the reason why much later.For now, he humoured his pupil by making light conversation.Mostly Luca wanted to know more about the background tokarate and why certain moves were more powerful than others,the reason behind the different positions, and the originsof the art. In class Jerome focused on the physical aspect ofthe sport and few pupils were interested in the philosophicalunderpinnings, so he too enjoyed his talks with Luca.

'Nice class, sensei,' Luca said one evening.

'Thanks, Luca. I notice you've been doing a lot ofpractising at home.'

'Yes, sensei. It helps me when I'm upset to think straight.'

'Are you often upset?' asked Jerome, picking up on his cue.

'Sometimes. My parents are divorced.'

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Luca.'

'It's okay, sensei. It's better that way ...'

'But it's still difficult, Luca, I'm sure.'

'Yes, it is, sensei.'

After this conversation Jerome was more aware of Luca inhis class and ready to offer an encouraging word.

At the last lesson before Christmas, Luca asked Jerome ifhe would mind giving him his personal mobile number. Jeromenormally worked through the receptionist at the trainingcentre where the classes were held. But there was something inthe urgency of his pupil's voice which made Jerome relent andgive it to him.

'This is for your personal use only, Luca,' he said. 'Pleasedo not pass it on to any of your fellow students.'

'And I'll try not to use it, sensei. I'll do my best not to useit. In case of emergency only.'

'That sounds serious, Luca. Is there anything you want totell me?'

'Maybe next year, sensei. Nothing for now. Have a happyChristmas. I'll practise my karate at home.'

'I know you will, Luca. You are my most dedicated student.I wish you and your family a good Christmas too.'

This last conversation with his student haunted Jeromeover the Christmas period but he didn't want to get tooinvolved. He decided to use his mother's method and hold upthis young man in prayer. He might even enlist her help to dothe same.

So when they did speak on the phone, Clare told himabout Nicole and he told her about Luca. They promisedmutual support, each strengthened and reassured by the other.

The lush neighbourhood of Constantia where Clare andCraig lived contained gems of tradition and stately beauty likeGroot Constantia with its gracious homestead and vineyardsand Schoenstatt convent with its exquisite grounds and shrine.Nevertheless, despite its idyllic nature, the outside entrance tomost Constantia homes had the typical South African featureof most wealthy suburbia and was governed by a remote whichopened the security gate leading into the driveway. Craig andClare's home was no exception.

So on the mornings when their domestic helper Elsaarrived, Clare opened the gate for her from inside the house.Elsa had her routine, and there was normally a companionablesilence that reigned between her and her employers. Craig andElsa greeted, and that was about it. But Clare kept abreast ofdevelopments in Elsa's family, particularly with regard to hertwo children, who were both in a good primary school in thenearby suburb of Retreat, funded by the MacMillans. Clarehad learnt over the years that becoming too close to Elsa'sworld and its problems made the relationship a stressful onerather than a helpful one to her. Its primary purpose was thenundermined, although its secondary purpose for Clare wasindeed to facilitate her outreach into the local communityElsa represented. Together she and Elsa hosted an annualChristmas party for Elsa's children, their cousins and theirfriends. This took place in the school hall and provided greatmirth. Elsa and Clare went shopping in advance to get suitableChristmas presents. This year they were having the party onSaturday, the 13th of December, before the frenzy of Christmasfully set in.

'It is good of you to do this, Clare. I say this every year, Iknow, but it truly is good of you to do this.' Craig spoke in atone full of admiration and appreciation.

'I only hope I am not being condescending.'

'No, you are not. Elsa knows you. You never condescendto her. Why would throwing an annual Christmas party forchildren be construed as condescending? You have too manyscruples.'

'Thank you, darling, for reassuring me. I think I simplyneed to do this in the best faith I can muster and not allowmyself to be overly self-conscious. This country has certainlyinhibited our naturally generous impulses, hasn't it?'

'Yes, it certainly has, so resist it with all your might. Yougo and enjoy it all, sweetheart, just as you always do, andfocus on the good time the kids are having. They don't careabout condescension, they only care about the fun you areencouraging them to have. And Elsa greatly appreciates it, youknow she does.'

'Yes, I do know, you're right. So I'm going to go out thereand have a fine time myself. It always reminds me of the greatparties we used to have for our boys. Do you remember howtremendously sociable Jerome was as a ten-year-old, and evenas a thirteen-year-old? Some of his parties were exhaustingbut oh, such fun! He only became a bit withdrawn at the ageof about sixteen.'

'Don't worry about that now, Clare.' Craig soundedsomewhat stern. 'Focus on enjoying yourself with Elsa and thekids today. I want a good report when you get back.'

And he got one. The party was a success.

The children were naturally boisterous, and thecool-drinks, cake, and sweets made them more so, but Elsaand Clare were rewarded by the laughter and smiles andpure enjoyment the children displayed during the games andgeneral fun they were having. A merry time was had by all, notleast by Elsa and Clare.

These parties were one of Clare's annual highlights. Thechildren took home the carefully chosen and wrapped giftsto be opened on Christmas Day, so there was the lingeringpleasure of knowing that their enjoyment would continue onChristmas Day itself.

Christmas was approaching in the MacMillan householdwith all the memories and expectations it brought in its wake.This was also the time of year which inevitably brought arather formidable person into the home.

Craig's mother, Grannie Mac, was not the most popularperson on earth. She and Craig could hardly be said to beclose, but there was a mutual respect between them. Claretreated her mother-in-law with as much warmth as theirrelationship allowed, and Craig appreciated his wife's kindnessto his mother.

As their boys were growing up, their grandmother cast asomewhat critical eye over their development. Taking theircue from their father, they respected her rather than loved her.Clare had decided not to try to manufacture affection towardsher but made sure that basic respect toward this dignifiedwoman was always displayed in their family.

She came to some of the boys' concerts and prize-givingsbut disapproved of Jerome's karate, which didn't endear her tohim. She was rather conservative in her beliefs, which Clareunderstood and attributed to her age and personality type.

One Christmas many years ago stood out in Clare'smemory.

She had invited Grannie Mac to have lunch with them,so she fetched her straight after church. She had a basketfulof gifts in her hand. While Clare made tea, Grannie Macdistributed theirs to the boys. They were ten and seven atthe time. Each one received his first formal shirt from hisgrandmother's hand. The shirts were pure white, and wereaccompanied by a black bowtie. Jerome was dumbstruck,Matthew was charmed. By the time Clare got to the loungewith the tea, the unwrapping had already occurred.

'Mum, look what Grannie Mac gave us,' Matthew said,excitedly.

Jerome was thoughtful and silent.

'Gosh, Mum, thank you. Do you have a specific occasionin mind?'

'My funeral, Clare, when it takes place. It could be anytimenow.'

'Oh, Mum, we all hope it won't be so soon. You might notbe the one to go first, you know. The world is sometimes adangerous place for all of us.'

'I don't want this shirt, Grannie Mac. I don't like it andnow it will always remind me of death. There, you can take itback to the shop,' and Jerome walked over to her and put it inher lap, and left the lounge.

'Jerome!' Clare called after him, mortified that her soncould be so ungracious.

'I'll come back later, Mum. Sorry.' His apology was to herfor walking out, not to his grandmother for returning her gift.

At the time, he was already doing karate, and he feltGrannie Mac's disapproval keenly. Her gift appeared to himto dictate a lifestyle. He rejected her choice as he believed sherejected his.

It was rarely that Clare felt at a loss. This was certainlysuch an occasion.

'Mother, we have some little gifts for you. The boys haveeach made you a card. I'll call Craig to join us.'

Craig was in his study—not unusually—even onChristmas morning. Clare went and briefly explained whathad happened.

'She must be very hurt, darling,' she said. 'Be gentle withher, and especially attentive. Kindness from you would be thebest way to make up for Jerome's outburst.'

Craig followed his wife into the lounge.

'Happy Christmas, Mother,' he said, kissing her on thecheek. His mother looked more austere than usual.

'Happy Christmas, Craig,' she responded. 'It's good to seeyou looking well.'

Craig's mother was always concerned when he looked pale,drawn, or stressed. That day he looked rested and relaxed.