Author: Peter Sidebotham

How do I express the glorious beauty of these few days?  A selection of instant photographs, and a few scribbled lines in my journal cannot possibly capture the rich experience of the tramp.  To walk these paradise paths, my beloved companion by my side, drinking in the rich, untainted glory of the Marlborough Sounds – such is the fabric of treasured memories; of eager anticipation of yet more wonders to behold.  How can I be so blessed?

In the quiet shade of Mistletoe Bay I cast back in my mind over the way we had come.  The terrain and vegetation so varied: hot humid trudging through Conradesque rain forest – the deep, oppressive darkness holding hidden secrets of the cycles of life, death and rebirth; slow, laborious climbs as we will each weary leg to reach up in turn, until we finally break through into the refreshing cool breezes of the mountain tops – the Sounds stretching out to either side, rich turquoises, ceruleans and ultramarines flooding the secluded inlets below us; then gentle strolls along soft, pine-needled tracks, or through the dappled shades of beech woods in companiable silence.

Starting off at Ship Cove, it was easy to see why James Cook favoured the place as a haven for his ships in his journeys of the 1770s: sheltered, beautiful and with plenty of fresh water tumbling down the crystal streams.  We were feeling good and energetic for the steep climb up and over to Resolution bay, then a second climb over the saddle to Endeavour Inlet – getting a bit more weary by the end of the day’s tramp.  The route itself was clear and easy, through native bush, with black and silver tree ferns, mighty rimu trees, and stunning views along the Sound.  It was lovely walking with the gentle rustle of the wind in the trees and the constant chatting of cicadas in the background, occasionally rising to frenzied cacophonies of sound drowning out all else.  What a privilege to be surrounded by so much beauty, and to be able to enjoy and appreciate it, and share it with someone you love.

Day two was the most gentle of the tramp, wandering around Endeavour Inlet at sea level with no steep climbs.  The day was a sharp contrast to the 25km of day three, climbing high to the long ridge separating the Queen Charlotte and Kenepuru Sounds – on and on, past the Bay of Many Coves, Ruakaka, Tahuahua, and Kumutoto Bays, till our final long descent to Portage Bay.  And so to the fourth and final day and a shorter climb via Torea and Te Mahia Saddles, so to wait at Mistletoe Bay, enjoying the quiet shade as we waited for the water taxi to ferry us back to Picton.

A gentle tramp; a time of sharing, of reminiscing, of dreaming of the future; life lived to the full.

In his book Silence and Honey Cakes former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, speaks of the twin curses in our society of excessive individualism and pressured conformity.  In contrast, he calls us each to recognise our own unique personhood: ‘when you have a person who is wholly self-consistent, whose identity is completely bound up with the calling to live in unreserved intimacy with God as Father… [that] person has such solid reality, such distinctive and reliable identity, that it will do what is consistent with being that person’.  Williams goes on to encourage us to discover our personhood within the context of community: ‘a place for distinctive vocations to be discovered in such a way that they are a source of mutual enrichment and delight, not threat… a place where real human difference is nourished.’

One of the advantages of growing older and (hopefully) wiser is that it is perhaps easier to discover our unique personhood, and to live our lives in keeping with that, rather than from any pressure towards either individualism or conformity.  Over the past few years, Lois and I have both discovered a much deeper awareness of our own uniqueness and of just how much we are each loved by God.  It is from that place of security that we have found ourselves free to make decisions that might otherwise take a certain amount of courage.  We have both felt that, in some strange way, God has brought our paths together, and wants to bless us with this new season of togetherness, and through that, hopefully to become, together, a blessing to others.

Which is all a rather long-winded way of saying that we have decided to get married: here in New Zealand on the 21^st February.  Being free from any pressure to impress or conform means that we have been able, at short notice, to throw together a simple informal ceremony with a BBQ, swimming and games, wines from a Kumeu winery (which I can select the day before on a cellar door wine tasting), and a random passing Bishop and his wife to perform the wedding.  For some reason, Lois didn’t like the idea of inviting guests to stay for a late-night session of Settlers and whisky as a good way of rounding off a perfect day, but I guess you can’t have everything.

I’m afraid we won’t be funding flights out from the UK – sorry.  But we will be having a marriage blessing and celebration once we are both in Coventry – more details to follow.

We have been so blessed by so many people – including all those who have fallen off their chairs, grinned from ear to ear, cried, hugged us, and sent wonderful, excited emails, messages and texts, and all those who are pulling together to make the 21^st a reality.  Thank you all.  I hope that we, in turn, may bring even a little bit of sunshine and brightness into your lives.

Tonight is the anniversary of Helen’s death.  As I enter a new season of joy and peace in my life, it is with mixed emotions.  Grief changes, it doesn’t go away.  I feel blessed to be where I am, and able to walk with my grief, secure in the knowledge that I am loved.  I wrote the following in my journal yesterday.

Two years.

Two years in which I have known anguish, heartache, tears and pain.  I have cried out with the Psalmist:

I am weary with my suffering,

every night I flood my bed with tears,

I drench my couch with weeping,

my eyes waste away out of grief,

I grow weak through the weight of oppression.

I cry out to the void:

How long, O God, how long?

I have travelled with grief.  At times I have wondered whether I really had the strength to carry on – day in, day out; to put my boots on, shoulder my pack and keep tramping.

Yet now, two years further down the line, I can look back and know that I have kept walking.  I haven’t left my load behind.

The tears still come, the pain still lingers.  But grief has become a more welcome companion.  The load sits easier on my back.  And we walk together, side by side.  Down this ever new and changing path.

So many others have walked this path with me: stood alongside me, shared my tears, brought companionship, joy and laughter.  None have carried my load, but each, carrying their own, has helped me carry mine.  Walking together, my road has, with time, become brighter.  May I, in turn, walk beside others in their hours of darkness?

Two years, carrying my burden of grief, yet not alone, nor always in the dark.  I have come to experience calm.  I have found seasons of peace and rest, and ever-increasing moments of joy and hope.

And you, my beloved Helen, you also have been with me.  In my cherished memories.  Two years of grief cannot take away the beauty of twenty four shared years of love.  You remain beside me – sharing the tears and the laughter, sharing the pain and the hope.  And now, walking with me into a new season of joy, and beauty, and love.

Thank you.

Last night I woke and stood on the deck outside the chapel.

The night was still.

No sounds save the gentle Ngatiawa tumbling its way down to the Sea,

and a lonely owl haunting the quiet valley.

The night was clear.

Dark forests towered above me, silhouetted against the star-lit sky.

The half-moon, hidden beneath the Eastern hills, shone its light on a few drifting clouds.

In the North West, Orion completed his leisurely cartwheel,

leading the train of the Milky Way in its never-ending, spiralling dance.

The night was blessed.

So too, I.

Who am I that the heavens should lay on their magnificent performance just for me to see –

Unique in that moment of calm?