Archive | April 2017

God’s Friday

I have one of my signature chest infections, and it's jolly inconvenient. At least it frees me up to blog.

Most of the Triduum will pass me by this year, I am not even sure that I will make the Easter Vigil on Saturday night, which is going to be a problem, because I am Flower Monitor and the flowers are placed in the church immediately before the Gloria and if I'm not there, WHO'S GOING TO ORGANISE IT?

I fetched the flowers from the wholesaler yesterday, and dropped them off at Gail's house. She is an artist, and what she does will be uplifting and amazing. I just put them in pots.

Gail is, like me, a convert to Catholicism, and the shine hasn't worn off. I often feel I need to apologise for being a Catholic, because everybody knows that since the Church become a corporate arm of the state in three-hundred- and-something, very bad things have happened. Still are, I expect, I make no excuses.

“Bad Day?” Gail was looking frazzled.

“My boss (An Evangelist) won't come tomorrow because we're idolaters.” Eye roll. So this Man of God had spent the day bending Gail's ear, with, basically, “Why You Shouldn't Be A Catholic For Dummies.” No wonder non-Christians laugh at us. What a plonker.

Not going to fall into the trap of passing any (other) judgement on him. I give Gail a hug, and leave to go to bed with paracetamol and a gallon of water.

It was my turn to preach at Outdoor Church on Tuesday. I say, “Preach” but it's a lot less grand than that really. Outdoor Church meets in Gloucester Park on Tuesday's, and is pretty much just that.

I'm nervous. The last time I preached it all ended in tears (mine). Our people are not pretty people, and sometimes the sheer hopelessness of their lives spills out as anger. I get it. Or, I got it, both barrels, and, 'fessing up, I deserved it.

So I'm sitting on the steps of the bandstand stilling my mind, quieting my heart ready for the service to start.

Kurt and Graham are letting off steam. Some Christian had told them they couldn't be friends with them because they're 'clients.' And they are angry. “They're fake.” Says Kurt. “Never met a true Christian!”

I don't intervene. If I had, I'd have said,

“We're ALL plonkers.”

 

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Poet’s Block (Resolved)

Poet Unblocked

 

There came a day when I was SO

A Poet

That I felt in incumbent on me

To Be Word Perfect.

 

This led to .. Problems.

 

Honest but ordinary joys like

Smelling the flowers

Listening out for church bells

Holding the babies –

Those kind of things, were,

Well, just too mundane.

 

For A Poet Like Me!

 

I felt sure, given a moment

I could outdo Tennyson and give

Betjeman a run for his money

 

Wax lyrical on grand occasions

Make a mark in literary circles and even – You know –

 

Be Published.

 

Bugger it.

 

I LIKE what I

Used to write before I was

A Poet.

 

It wasn't capital letter great, but it was me.

 

Flighty, Flirty a Little Bit Dirty …

 

Full of Spring and things that

Sprung to mind. Like say

 

Love and stuff.

 

So, now my fingers are flying across the keyboard again

 

The church bells are ringing in my head, The babies are asleep in my memory and the flowers are once more stimulating my olfactory nerve. We're off!

 

Thank you.

 

🙂