bright like stars, with glory crowned

I have a thirteen-year-old step-son, my Thai wife's first child. He lives with his grandparents in a rickety house in a rural Thai village and neither I nor his mother have seen him for over five years. From Bangkok I send him a quarter of my wages and have not missed a payment in ten years. It's a good income for Issaan - if the grandparents don't drink and gamble it all away.

I also have a three-year-old son. The story is too long and too confusing, even to me, to fully recount here, but I've not seen him since he was six weeks old. He lives with his mother in England, where she gets by as best she can on state benefits. I have no idea what he looks like, who looks after him, or what language he speaks. It's not the start I'd dreamed of for my boy.

I remember those first few months without him. Going backwards and forwards between the meditation group I attended, Quaker meeting, and evensong whenever I had the chance. There was little comfort in my empty flat. Later, just over a year ago, I tried returning to England, braving the bank and the CSA, but my wife was not going to make things easy, and I only stayed a week.

Not a day goes by that I don't pray for Joseph. And any practice I ever do, from a single bow or a few minutes of sitting, to a recitation of the Heart Sutra or a round of prostrations, is always dedicated to him and his mum. I send my prayer both outwards, to God, to the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, as well as within, to the Buddha-nature that connects us all. It's the same thing.

Still, of course, I can't help but worry. I see that it's snowing in England and I worry. I hear another crime story, and I worry. I'd go back to England again, more determined to see it out this time, except I can't afford it. And even if I could, given the poverty I'd be walking into, it would spell disaster for Joseph's Thai brother and his village family.

Christmas, with its warm memories and images of togetherness and happiness, brings especial acuteness to my grief, confusion, and feelings of inadequacy. Yet it also brings comfort. Here, it says, in a small helpless child, homeless and vulnerable, your suffering is recognised and shared. And the power of that story continues to inspire and bring hope to people in all our fragility.

The link below is to a Christmas story I read last year that touched me deeply and that I'd like to pass on. Do read it if you have time. But before you do, let me first quickly thank you for reading Marcus' Journal. And let me wish you, and your family and friends, and all beings everywhere, peace, joy and happiness, today, tomorrow, and always. Have a very Happy Christmas.