This is not so a much post as a tentative stirring, the blogospherical equivalent of rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Been on sabbatical. Thought I’d blog more. Didn’t. Got out of the habit. Stopped. Decided to warm up by flinging a few fragments from the past few months at the screen.
Sabbatical: a huge, huge privilege, one of the truly brilliant things about being in ministry. Thank you Baptist Union. Thank you Northern Baptist College.
Writing a book: harder than I thought. Started well. Always was a good starter and a not so good finisher. Not given up yet though. No way.
Taking a break from Sunday worship services: an unplanned bit of the sabbatical. Kind of an experiment: how much of my ongoing journey of faith is simply down to momentum? Turns out the answer is not much. It’s good to be back.
A month on the road in France with my wife: further confirmation that marrying her thirty years ago was a smart move.
Visiting Lourdes: all my prejudices confirmed – kitsch central, tatsville, bad taste turned up to eleven. Yet, through it all, strangely moving and undoubtedly Godish.
Mum dying: rubbish, of course; the tragic completion of a long, slow dying. But it really did help knowing that this is what she wanted. I’m glad she was spared the indignity of the alternative. I’m also glad I managed to hold it together long enough to give the eulogy, a chance to do one last thing for someone who did so much for me.
Thirtieth wedding anniversary: see above. (Nice mother of pearl fountain pen too!)
Missing seeing England win the Ashes: a sore temptation once again to take out a sky subscription. Get thee behind me Murdoch.
Hearing The Tord Gustavsen Ensemble: see next post.
A weekend in the van at Pystill Rhaeadr: cracking place, beautiful, peaceful, dripping with God. Don’t tell anyone about it.
Returning to work: perfectly fine.
