Saturday 19 March 2011
Tuesday 15 March 2011
a year passing ...
If I hold this year up to you, I wonder what you may hear? Perhaps the sound of sand slipping softly through my fingers, the low caress of streaming time. Or maybe, the mechanical tick of some strange, unwinding clock, spiralling out between us into the blackness beyond. A spring loosed.
It's exactly six months to the day our eldest returned home with her two small sons in tow. We had less than an hour and a half to prepare, and yet this strange streaming, unleashed sand spiral has brought so much. The sound of tears, the sound of joy, the sound of a family at work.
God has been here too. Healing, saving.
In just two days time our little family unit departs for a new home but fifteen minutes from here. Let me hold the future to your ear, and ask what noise it makes.
It's exactly six months to the day our eldest returned home with her two small sons in tow. We had less than an hour and a half to prepare, and yet this strange streaming, unleashed sand spiral has brought so much. The sound of tears, the sound of joy, the sound of a family at work.
God has been here too. Healing, saving.
In just two days time our little family unit departs for a new home but fifteen minutes from here. Let me hold the future to your ear, and ask what noise it makes.
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