Small days

Mornings are full of rush and worry and I can't find it. Not finding
it is difficult when it's the dvd of songs we're supposed to play at
church today because the worship leader is away. Then the computer
doesn't work at church, and we don't have the words in the old hymn
books for the chosen songs. But someone turns up who was supposed to
be working or can play guitar, and sing, and the curate's nt bad too,
and the computer magically finally turns on.

So there is a service, and there is music, and it is good. We hear
about the healing of the man with demons where Jesus casts them out
into the pigs, and we hear about healing our own demons through God's
love, and how words and memories can be things to you need to be set
free from.

And I think of my own difficult memories. What would I like God to
heal me of? I want to let go of the me in the past that wasn't so
nice. I want to be able to forgive that old me and concentrate on
being a better me.

And I want healing for the memories of earlier this year, of the
things I'm still not sure how to think of, and deal with. I had to
have an operation earlier in the year that has lead to me having
reduced fertility.

I want God's grace to see this as part of my journey and not as
something that sometimes makes me catch my breath when I notice my
scars or suddenly get hit by a burst of sharp pain when I twist
awkwardly to reach something. It still hurts that there was a tiny
parasitic life that I didn't even know existed that caused me so much
pain, and was ended swiftly, but now should I ever want to have any
children has reduced my chances. I don't even think I want them as
they are smelly, and expensive and make you miserable, but for a
moment I had one.

So God, if you're listening, if you're there, please can you help with
this one? Please give me the words to say when mothers in law make
jokes about grandchildren I might not be able to have and possibly
don't want. Please give me you peace and your calm.

You knew this one before it was made and started being knitted together.

So I go home, and I make food out of there's nothing in the the fridge
or the cupboard, and I even make my own tartare sauce for the fish
finger sandwhich.

And I cut fabric out in nice rounded shapes, and fold pleats and iron
and tack ready for when I haul out the sewing machine and make this
batch of Christmas presents.

I jokingly ask for steak and chips for tea, and Tom cooks it, and we
sit in our lovely little house watching sci-fi and just being, and
everything is grand and will be ok. Essays are written, and God
reveals tiny trickling parts of her grace as I take sustenance from
the hallowed activity of the ordinariness of small days.

Posted via email from Alex Tarling