Monday, March 28, 2011
If I were suspicious I'd think I was - no, wait, I mean superstitious - headed for bad luck.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
On top of the world. I told GrandDaughter she was a princess of this country. 'All you can see is yours. And mine.'
The topmost bit of the path was unnavigable for pushchairs so Husband had to carry GrandDaughter.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
In the first third of the painting heaven, indicated by the gold colouring, appears to be in the sky a long way off but as you close in on the girl, who seems dejected and down, waiting at the bus stop you can see the gold in the tear in her eye.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
I am spiritually bankrupt.
The store of good deeds I keep under the bed is all used up.
The brownie points in the safety deposit box have been declared null and void.
Even my secret numbered Swiss bank account, the repository for my gold stars, has been closed for lack of deposits.
I have nothing.
So I am blessed.
But even as I write this I wonder, do I really believe it?
That there is truly nothing I can do?
Isn’t there a bit of me that thinks surely the patience I used in my dealings with my boss must be rewarded?
God must be watching me when I insist on fairtrade tea.
My generosity must earn me a better seat at the feast.
And isn’t that easier to accept?
That I can earn if not my way then at least a trouble-free passage into heaven.
An ABC of boxes to tick.
Didn’t swear when provoked by a stupid man driver: tick.
Did make extra effort to deal gently with my mother-in-law: tick.
Did make time for a friend when I didn’t really have time: tick.
Didn’t feel proud of myself for that act of nobility: cross.
And I find myself again at the cross, aware that even these superficialities of behaviour don’t even scratch the surface of my sinful self.
And at the cross I kneel,
Head bowed, empty handed, acknowledging my need
Wanting to believe
Wanting to accept
Wanting to be accepted
Wondering why it’s so hard to
That I can be
Not through me
But through you
In whom my treasure lives.
Looking back I can't believe I didn't bring this stone home with me. But it was rather large and my pockets and hands were already full of sticks and stones so I made do with a photo.I am tempted to go back to the beach and look for it though ...