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Other peoples kids

Have you ever noticed how different you are with other peoples children than your own? While we love our own with a deathly passion, we tend to be that bit more measured with other peoples kids… that bit politer… that bit more careful… I know I’m not the only one here…

I’m currently working through the ripple thoughts of what it might mean if I always carried the cognitive awareness that these kids are HIS before they’re ours… HIS on loan for a season… HIS on trust.

At the moment this new question hit me… it led me to a place of tears and repentance… this is NOT something I need comfort in… I have yielded it to HIM which means all is well and comforting someone when repentance is doing it’s work, gets in the way of it completing and cleaning out the core. I don’t think this work is quite finished in me yet… I want it to change me more completely…

And the ripples from this. The ripples go on and on. Each one of us is His in the sense of being His own loved creation… do I treat others with this full knowledge? Do I treat His earth with this full knowledge? Do I have a full and working knowledge of it for my very own self?

It’s a work in progress.

Progress is good. And this makes me smile.



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Mums are AMAZING!

When you have your first baby, you are besotted-in-love, the going is wonderful but hard for a while and eventually you find your groove. Then comes baby no 2. Once again you are besotted-in-love, the going is wonderful but hard for a while and eventually you find your groove. Depending on a variety of factors this may be repeated as many times as required/desired but eventually the last one takes you through that process.

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Exploring trust

TRUST.

It’s a tricky topic and one I’m still learning within.
I have some fears for the future. Not fears for me… fears for my kids. That’s a scary thing to admit to other Christians – especially the ones who usually have the right responses… because in the process of learning a thing the learning has to happen within the SELF, and sometimes you don’t know you don’t KNOW a thing until you ‘get’ it.

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Buried in velvet

I do love a time capsule.

I once read a story where a tailor sewed a note into the hem of a wedding dress that he made for a girl in his village – that he feel in love with during the course if her fittings. Older and a widow, she cut the dress to make a dress for her daughter and found the note. In it he had pledged his love and promised if she was ever in difficulty he would help her any way he could.

If your a hopeless romantic like me, you might be able to identify with the buzz of pleasure I felt tonight when I glimpsed a quality piece of paper that slipped inside the torn, mended, and re-torn lining of a velvet coat that I bought in an op shop today.

It turned or to be a ten year old twenty first birthday invitation. This girl would now be thirty one. And I was thirty six at the time. I wonder who she is. If life has gone the way she hoped it would. And I wonder what I was doing at that time.

It doesn’t have the same depth of romance as the story I mentioned before. But it is a tiny slice of some ones real life. I wonder what the next ten years will bring both her and I? But I don’t wonder a lot. I think we’re better off not knowing. I don’t want to live in entitlement of good or fear of bad. Both will certainly come and that is as much detail as I desire.

I wonder if I wrote a note and slipped it in a coat, if anyone would find it. Read it. Care.

Dont know. Doesn’t matter.

But tomorrow I think I’ll post this note back to the original address. It might make someone remember. Think. Smile.

Like it did me.