First weekend of the holidays and my eldest, and I have come down with a cold. We have stayed in PJs and snuggled in blankets. We have drunk honey and lemon drinks, and Mr made us chicken noodle soup. It’s what you do when your sick, it’s the norm, a tradition of sorts.
On Friday an ANZAC assembly was held at the girls’ school. We stood in silence. We heard the words, “lest we forget”. We watched the flag slowly rise, and then catch the breeze, as we listened to the haunting notes of the last post.
We knew all the rituals, we have been part of them before, but we participated again. There were a few tears, as some of us remembered grandparents, no longer with us, who served.
See that’s what tradition is, a comfort. These rituals, though they are familiar, are useful for healing, for grief, and for remembrance.
We can get disparaging of ritual and tradition, and that’s fair. Doing something a particular way, “because that’s how it’s always been done”, can be stagnating. But there is also a place for ritual and tradition in times when we need comfort. The ritual of lighting a candle to pray for a loved one. The familiar words of the 23rd Psalm. Or a simple bowl of chicken soup.
These traditions allow us even in our darkest moments to understand that life continues. Despite our loss or our illness, the calm consistency of these rituals grounds us in the reality that we are still present in the day.
Even the simple ritual of making a cup of tea, can give a sense that “although things are wrong with the world we can get through”, even if it is just until we finish the tea.
I find when I embrace ritual in my every day that these little traditions are a great source of comfort
So, I’m going to make a cup of tea.
Join me for the journey,