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A Story in Moments

There’s a little old house at the main intersection out from our little side pocket of the hills, that I hadn’t realised I’d been watching till I’d been watching it for a decade or so, and only then because some sadnesses were being played out in vignettes of only seconds, each time I pulled up to turn right down the hill.

Nearly 30 years I’ve been watching. Half of those without consciously taking note but now looking back there’s a story.

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about lifting the needle and strange names

It’s the 30th of December  2021.  The second last day of the year.  A strange year for many reasons for many people. Yet the repetition of this week between Christmas and New Year is striking to me… the week when the days of the week are confused, where time matters little, days stretch long in the heat looking forward to the cool of the night and that strange feeling – that I once would have labelled ‘boredom’ lurks around the edges.

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Posting Pictures

While the world turns and turmoils, I post pictures of beaches.

While suspicion rises and opinions gain momentum, I paint another picture.

While fear whispers unheard but felt, I’ll play another song.

When I see my children online, I want to blow the whistle, ring the bell, honk the horn, call them in. “Time to go home now!”, give them dinner and baths and tuck them in with kisses and goodnights and “see you in the mornings” – but instead my heart holds and loves and lifts… and His Spirit hears my love as prayer.

The Cross is bigger than the mess.

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Sludge

Picture someone you like/love/want to help.

You see worth and value in them.
You want to do what you can.

Then you look down and notice their feet are stuck in a sticky black substance but you still see their worth (more than the sludge) and you know you’ve got ‘stuff’ too so you’re undaunted.

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