The heading of Saturday’s Bible notes was “Angels and
Peace” – it was technically Friday’s heading as I was a day behind, but it was
the right time to be reading it. If you know what I mean.
Friday night was not a good night – not me at my best. I
am a morning person. There are things
that I am capable of doing on a morning that completely defeat me on an
evening, particularly a Friday evening – like reversing the car. I had gone to
pick up my husband from the city centre. Current building work has meant that
my usual pick up point is not available. We agreed on a carpark just opposite
the Chinese takeaway.
Workmen had filled the end of the carpark with a large
container. There was probably enough room to do a three point turn. Perhaps more of a multi-point turn, but it
was a Friday, and an evening, and not a time when I can do these things. The
container made the space that much smaller and I got stuck. There were one or
two car park spaces but the cars on either side of them were more abandoned
than parked and it would have been a tight fit.
I would have tackled it on a morning.
I tried to reverse out of the carpark, but it wasn’t
working. I went backwards, then forwards, then backwards again, and forwards.
My mind just couldn’t figure out how to get out of the carpark. The large container was in the way.
With each forward and back manoeuvre I was getting more
agitated. I muttered. I didn’t swear. I
broke down in tears and I loudly berated my husband for his poor choice of a
pick-up point. “Loudly berated” doesn’t really convey the way I spoke. I don’t
think I have ever visited that side of hysteria before.
“That was bad,” said God, as I crawled into the throne
room, “but it really didn’t measure up to Venice.”
Venice? We are not going to resurrect Venice, sufficient to
say it was bad. When my husband talks of Venice, it is with affection. I think
we must have been on separate holidays.
Affection isn’t the word that comes to mind.
Apologies didn’t seem to be enough once we got home. It
was bad. What horrified me was that all those horrible words were just inside,
hiding somewhere, waiting to spill out. I was devastated that I could cause so
much harm to someone that I loved.
The next day was a Breathe Writer’s morning. And this is
where my angels show up. The cloud I had whipped up the previous evening was still
raining down on me. I didn’t really think about not showing up. Writing is my
release. I printed off a couple of poems
to share if there was the opportunity, squared my shoulders and headed off.
I’m not talking about the heavenly angels but God’s
earthly messengers. We talked about all
sorts of stuff. My friend, Marion, was there. My heart lifted and the cloud
shifted just a little. Marion had signed up for an on-line prophetic writing
course and led us through one of the exercises. List twenty words about spring
and then write a poem or a short story without using any of them.
We picked through our pieces of writing. I had forgotten to put my hearing aids in ad
probably missed a lot of what people were saying. Each poem, prose passage or narrative seemed
to be a launching point for sharing God’s truth. I was being ministered to and
being put back together. It was a blessing. My peace was restored.
Later on in the day, the evening, the car parked in a sensible
place, the Poetry Club continued the good work from the morning. Being
surrounded by godly people and sharing stories and poems was so good.
Angels and Peace – God’s gifts to someone that really
needed them.
Thank you, Father.
