Mark Edgecombe is a lay pastor at St Christopher’s Anglican Church in Tawa, Wellington, where he and his wife Sarah have worshipped since 2015. They have three children—William, Elise, and Bethany—none of whom share their father’s passion for Elvis Presley. As well as sermons, Mark writes poetry and the occasional personal essay. He also keeps a couple of half-completed play-scripts in the bottom drawer.
Almost Christmas. Sarah’s at work, and the older two are with their grandparents, shoulder to waist in the kitchen, helping Mum prepare festive treats.
It has been some time since I last attended an art auction—in fact, since the only time I attended an art auction.
All my life I have loved to sing. At first, I didn’t realise that the family rule, “No singing at the table,” was not universal but particular.
It’s Christmas. Or December, at least. I know this because tonight Sarah has found the Mariah Carey album in the rack beside the stereo.
I live in the valley in which I was raised. From my daughter’s bedroom window, I can see the school I once attended and keep an eye on the 1st XV on Saturday afternoons, just discerning the blue of their strip.