Quite a week one way or the other. For one thing the grass seed has started coming up. Jane and Bryan sowed it at half-term, wondering whether it was too late to germinate. So maybe in the spring the lawn will a carpet of lush green. I ordered a Kozee Toze (sic) for my wheelchair at the weekend, and on Thursday night, while Jane was out, a UPS van pulled up outside and the driver brought a parcel to the door and rang the bell. Although I'd left instructions for it to be left inside and despite my rather feeble shouts, he stood there for a minute or two, and then just drove away. I was so frustrated! I sent an email to BenefitsNow, complaining - and then phoned on Friday morning.... Oh dear! They hadn't even dispatched it yet. So I apologised! Such is life. The mystery of the UPS delivery which hasn't been repeated remains
Book no 2 is steaming ahead, in between social events. I think I now need to some serious reading to sort out some of my thinking on what exactly I'm thinking about life after death. I'm wanting to start each chapter with a quotation from literature or something, like T S Eliot's 'the intolerable wrestle with words and meanings'. He was talking about writing poetry. But it aptly refer to the increasing difficulty of physical speech with MND - in which case you eventually lose it - but that doesn't mean relationships with others or with God have to be lost.
Something I read in today's notes set me thinking: '‘The truth is that the whole point of Jesus’ work on the cross is to make a way for us to know God (John 17:3). This isn’t a casual relationship – we’re welcomed into the family! Not only does God possess the power to do anything and everything he wishes, but he is also passionately interested in your prayers because he is passionately interested in you’ (Jonathan Bell in Closer to God)' Really? Do we really believe that?
Today we've been to the service celebrating John Walliker's life and faith. It was a bit hairy getting up the very undisabled-friendly (I mean, disabled unfriendly) steps of Quainton Baptist Church, and even more hairy coming down in my wheelchair carried by four very helpful men, slightly tipping forward. However we made it, and it was worth it. Four cracking worship songs (In Christ alone, Be Thou my vision, The Lord's my shepherd, There is a higher throne), personal family readings and memories, and a real sense of trust for the future both for him and the family. Jan was amazingly brave and together.
The joy of being an Anglican - in my opinion - is that I can think for myself. One of my images of Heaven is a lake of utterly pure water: if just one drop of contamination gets in, it is no longer perfect. So chaps like me get turned away - or used to, but now, when the chap inside asks "Are you clean?" I can say, "Yes, Jesus made me clean" - and in I go. I hope. Which reminds me of the poem about who you might meet -
ReplyDelete"I dreamt Death came the other night
And Heaven's gate swung wide,
An Angel with a Halo bright
Ushered me inside;
And there, to my astonishment
Stood folks I'd judged and labelled
As quite unfit, of little worth,
And spiritually disabled:
Indignant words rose to my lips
But never were set free:
For every face showed stunned surprise:
No-one expected ME!!"
Here I go again, bagging your blog.