Brookie

On Sunday I met somebody.

Brookie. She is 83. Lives on the Gower at the end of a disintegrating dirt track we got to by riding in the back of a pickup truck. Was wearing a cool hat, her trousers inside out ("it often happens"), and had a cane but was still agile enough to bend down and crawl into the guinea pig enclosure to pick them up and show us. Wherever she went she was surrounded by her four rescue dogs who obeyed her. She yelled at the hens, talked to her goats, ducks, horses, and cats. Showed us into her house and gave us some Pimms in the living room where we listened to some great jazz and talked ("Speak up girl, stop mumbling. I'm deaf as well as daft.") The hour was so vibrant and full of life.

I sat in awe of a real presence. I now have something to aspire to for when I am 83.

Palm Sunday (ish)

Here is an astonishing thing! On Palm Sunday, as we turn toward the cross, we are invited to welcom the King who comes as a humble monarch riding on a donkey. With believing hearts, we confess that Jesus Christ is Lord and shout "Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!"

Tales from work...

Even my co-worker is now telling me she can't understand why I'm in that job, what with all my qualifications and everything. This is so depressing! It put a real damper on the morning. Somehow it seems very hard to communicate that I quite like being able to pay the rent and the bills... Though I must agree it would be lovelier to do that through a nicer job. Only a few days ago we spent the whole hysterical day with the giggles, dancing around, and Karen threatening to sing... As we explained to a customer: you have to laugh, otherwise you do cry (today almost being a case in point).

My bucket-racketeering empire is one of the few good things about this job of mine. Loads of things come in nice big buckets which used to be chucked before I opened my doors as a half-way house for unwanted buckets. At the moment they carry on to become compost buckets for about five urban households. The compost then gets collected and placed in my friends' allotment - an excellent project for those of us without a garden and hate throwing food away. A few other buckets have been turned into flower pots or storage containers for flour so the mice/rats don't get in.

And customers... I seriously do not understand how they manage to survive as a species... Again, you have to laugh. Not particularly at them but at the whole weird situation. It's surprising how many people will barely acknowledge your existence, so I've made it my mission when I'm behind the counter to make them notice me and recognise that there is a human behind that counter of glass. So far, smiling and looking into their eyes seems to have worked well. It is lovely when someone snaps out of wherever they were to smile back at you.

aargh!

It is 11:30 PM and I am in the university library. This is terrible!! I never did this as an undergraduate... (mostly because the library would close at 10pm, but that's beside the point). I do think this is a shocking state of affairs and not fair! Whinge, moan... Writing/analysisng/thinking about teenagers is rubbing off making me act like one too. I know that technically I'm a young person untill the age of 25, but you know what I mean.

The silly thing about all this work [I'm trying to finish off coursework for the foundation in youth work thing I'm doing] is that it is so soul-numbingly boring that it is making me forget how much I do actually enjoy all the youth work that I do do. I never read that being one of the aims of the course.

Ok. Whinge over. I'm off to bed. Though you'll probably find me in here tomorrow again...

Lent week 5

Here is an astonishing thing! We are called to abandon the parched valley of the dry bones of death and are invited to be restored to life through the breath of God's Spirit. With renewed hearts, we wait in hope for our full redemption.