John's father slipped from the tired body that had housed him for almost ninety years. His legs no longer had the strength to carry him, and he was restricted to a wheelchair. Not exactly fair for a man who walked a few miles every day and practiced yoga. Oliver had spoken of his longing to move on to the the spiritual plane, feeling that his earthly work was finished. He got his wish this Christmas.

Two years ago Oliver visited me with an emphatic message. He wanted me to know that it's all good. All of the seemingly tragic circumstances that get in the way of what we were expecting, are there to bring us to a deeper happiness. 

Believing that our lives are not merely a medley of chaotic events is like a thread that transforms a pile of loose beads into a necklace. 

I struggle with this. There is material enough to be distressed about world events, economic inequality, the friend whose house was broken into. Peace and joy feel like an affront to suffering. How dare I celebrate when others are hurting?

Yet the words of the Messiah, that I soaked up last weekend did not ignore the pain. 

It seems probable that Oliver is in a place of intense light right about now. And his legs carry him everywhere he wants to explore.

But not so far that he cannot come running back when his precious Rachel eventually joins him.