A Joy Worth Knowing…

On a cold November day, the last thing I expected to hear was the crystal clear sound of a hauntingly beautiful, singing voice cutting the sea-fret as I approached the front door of Elizabeth’s home. It was a surprising portend of the delightful welcome I was to receive.

   I had been told about Elizabeth’s smile, but as the door was flung open and I was ushered inside, I began to realise the extraordinary love and emotion that is encompassed in her greeting. It was a smile with such warmth that it touched something deep within me.

   As we sat around the table in the sunny, yellow dining room, our hands wrapped around mugs of tea and a plate of homemade biscuits between us, I learned that Elizabeth’s second name is Joy. It is a name that suits her well. J.M. Barrie once wrote, “Those who bring sunshine into the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves”. Elizabeth emanates such radiance and joy in everything she does, but says simply,

“I love life. To me, every single day has something to celebrate or something to teach me. Every single day, I come into contact with the most wonderful, amazing, special people and I realise what a privilege it is to be living upon this earth”.  

   Not that Elizabeth has had a life untouched by pain. She has had more than most people. She has known the most searing losses, has seen sights, heard sounds and smelled smells that most of us would recoil from and has embraced all sectors of society at the cutting edge of their lives. Yet she has a deep-seated contentment and joy that runs through everything she does, says and is. Her philosophy is simple. We all have those times of suffering in our lives, but it is what we draw from them that matters. It is when we are hurt and refuse to forgive, when we are crushed and do not use that experience to make us more caring and sensitive to the needs of others that our suffering becomes senseless and futile and we become embittered and poisoned by it. Better to embrace those times, take positive growth and learning from them and move on with the added dimension of that new knowledge.

   Ask Elizabeth what she considers her primary occupation and she will tell you that she is a wife and a mother. Whilst she holds many positions outside the home, creating a happy, secure environment for those close to her is a role that outweighs all others. 

   Whilst we talk, Elizabeth and M’s four sons move around the kitchen, preparing vegetables for the evening meal. There is a camaraderie and closeness between them that is fascinating for an outsider to watch. As we sit down to eat, I notice that their manners are impeccable. All the boys stand when a lady walks into the room, all wait for the last one to be served, all pass around serving dishes. They converse in a mature exchange that is unusual to find in ones so young. Some would perhaps consider Elizabeth and M old-fashioned in insisting that everybody eats at the table, uses napkins and be involved in cooking the food. Elizabeth says, “Our job as parents is to equip our children for life. Who knows where these children may be in the future? They could be working in some remote region of the world or they could be dining with kings. We want them to feel comfortable in whatever surroundings life places them in and to be able to talk to whoever is put in their path”.

   The meal was delicious. There is a sense of celebration even in the ritual of eating. The family are vegetarians and self-confessed foodies. They believe in using local-grown, organic produce and, in addition to having a veg-box delivered weekly, they use Farmer’s markets to obtain the best possible produce. They are evangelistic in their commitment to the farming community. Elizabeth’s passion for good food shows itself in her encyclopaedic knowledge of where the best delicatessens and pick-your-owns can be found, who produces organic wine and the most favoured mono-cultures for cheese making. All the family enjoy visiting food festivals and tastings. M makes bread most days  of the week. The family are members of the Slow-Food movement and Elizabeth has won accolades for her packed lunch and picnic menus. One of the children tells me proudly that his mum organises fantastic parties and has written articles on the subject.

   For twelve years, Elizabeth home-educated the children, a task she obviously relished. “To be with your children 24-7, to see them unfolding mentally and engaging with this wonderful, amazing world around them is just something else; so incredibly special – awesome”. It was only Elizabeth’s battle with illness that made them review their stance on this and two of the boys have recently settled into school-life. The banter between them clearly shows that, although separated for the schooldays, their protectiveness and love for each other is unabated. There is no television in the house – a decision made by M and Elizabeth when they married – but the house rocks to the sound of laughter, heated discussions, improvised harmonisations and practical jokes. Whilst I am there, N laughingly invites me to walk through a doorway upon which he has placed a bucket filled with paper balls – it is his current, favourite joke, I am told. The children work together to produce puppet shows for entertainment evenings and a few years ago they recorded a CD of their own songs. Every surface in the home holds photographs of the children, certificates and awards – W and B are accomplished dancers, musicians and dramatists, B has just been awarded a national prize for Latin, A excels at cricket and rugby and N has just learned to swim. Nestled amongst the photographs are two others. One is of a beautiful, dark-eyed, raven-haired little girl whose radiance and smile match those of Elizabeth. The other is of a baby girl, perfectly formed and sharing the same facial characteristics as the other children, but with no breath of life in her. M and Elizabeth’s two daughters,  , although now residents of the heavenly places, still have their position in this deeply secure household. The family also sponsor a household in Korogwa, Tanzania  and Elizabeth has guardian responsibilities for a fragile adult.   

   Elizabeth treasures her family life above all else, but to define her just in this context would be to do her a serious injustice. She is a consummate communicator; a natural teacher and leader who loves to empower, encourage and give skills to those who have none. She is a well respected speaker and conference leader with a particular interest in Jewish history. Until recently, she sat on a national symposium focused on the study of late miscarriage, stillbirth and neonatal death. She has professional bereavement counsellor status, is involved in several community art projects, and has a growing profile in textile art with her designs appearing ever more frequently in craft magazines. She is  a talented needlewoman.

   Elizabeth brims over with passion and enthusiasm for everything she does. She uses the expression, “Wherever you are, be all there”. Those who knew I was doing this interview, used adjectives to describe her such as  ‘energetic’, ‘encouraging’, ‘caring’, ‘vibrant’, ‘compassionate’, ‘hugging’, ‘empathetic’, ‘generous’ and ‘kind’. The deep love she has for people, the abundant joy and that gorgeous smile that makes each individual feel special was emphasised over and over again. I told her this and, characteristically she turned the compliment on its axis so that it pointed away from herself, “Aren’t people wonderful … they keep you going, don’t they?”  

   As I left this warm, colourful home,  laden down with a homemade quiche, several recipes, a delightful cross-stitch picture, a drawing of daleks blowing kisses and an invitation to call again soon, I was aware that I had been in the presence of some very special people – and none more so than Elizabeth, whose smile encompasses a joy and enthusiasm for life that is infectious. I found myself grinning as I reluctantly walked away, the strains of an operatic aria reaching me through the damp November air. 

                                                                                            © F.K.T. – November 2008.