Meep Widdinter

(Une photo de Kalia toute contente de tenir un lapin à la crèche vivante de notre église - où les autres membres de la famille ont figuré comme Joseph, Marie et Jésus !)

Le restant de cet article est intraduisible, apprenez l'anglais...

(Kalia holding a rabbit at the nativity scene at our church. The other members of the family starred as Joseph, Mary and Jesus!)

Our God, heaven could not hold Him
Nor earth contain*

Strange, that for someone who's spiritual barometer is suffering from disuse, these few words should reach tear-jerking parts of my inwards**.

I admit that I am getting soppy with 'old age'. Ok, not soppy. Let's just say that in my book, you either harden with time, or soften. I'll let you guess which way I'm heading...

But my reading of these words (possibly wrong) is about heaven bursting at the seams with a God who can't be held back from coming into the life of the universe He created, the people He created. And that touches me deeply.

Why?

I guess it triggers memories about a God I used to know,
or had the time to know,
or took the time to know.

(If by this point you're throwing your arms up in horror and praying on your knees for the salvation of my backsliding soul, that's fine, please carry on... )

I don't think I'm backsliding, I'm sort of still pointing in the right-ish direction, faintly doggy-paddling against the current. Time just seems to slip through my hands, and when I do have the odd bit that is not occupied by work or children, I seem to only have little dribbles of psychological energy, (for doing stuff like this blog), and not the gallons of ultra-refined kerosene required to get my 747-like spiritual self airborn.

But I live in hope of better times, with better nights, longer wings, lighter loads, a few tail winds, maybe a kick(-up-the-wotsit-)start or two.

Is this a prayer?

I guess it might be.

(*This was my pre-Google Harold recollection of the words, the correct ones are here)
(**It's ok Mum, that one was deliberate)