the golden trowel
I’ve been telling stories all my life. That’s what I do. That’s what I’ve always done. It must have started with the squiggles and scribbled drawings I made of what I could see around me when I was very young. And as soon as I learned to speak – at least, that’s how I remember it – I began to tell myself stories as I drifted off to sleep each night about what had happened that day… Read More »
Go, post a lookout and let him report what he sees … let him be alert, fully alert.
(Isaiah 21:6, 7)
The Covid-19 crisis is massively affecting charities. If you look back to the end of chapter 13 (p255), which was on succession planning and possible future trends, you will find this conclusion:
Future-proofing our ministries… Read More »
Of all the cases that linger in my mind from those early years it is, perhaps, this one that looms largest. I was still studying my trade, one demanding trial by fire or, to put it another way, learning on the job. My father taught me what he could, of course, before passing over, but there is simply no substitute for experience, whatever your elders say… Read More »
I once stumbled upon a television talk show where the host was whipping up the audience to argue among themselves about which was the most painful loss – that of a spouse, a parent or a child. It seemed callous and pointless. The fact is, none of us can truly compare our grief journey with anyone else’s. Nicholas Wolterstorff, writer and theologian, has used the word ‘inscape’1 to describe the internal landscape of each bereavement… Read More »
It was Christmas Eve afternoon, just one more sleep until Christmas. The weather was mild and the sky shone a clear pale blue over the Staffordshire village of Oxley. Sophie Ashton negotiated the potholes of the church drive, accompanied by Henry, aged two and a half, in his smart outfit, new shoes polished. Sophie was feeling remarkably relaxed… Read More »
My Life Has Purpose and Meaning
Whether you know it or not, God has a purpose for your life that is greater than you could possibly think or imagine.
I want to begin by telling you a personal story. I was brought up in London in a Polish family… Read More »
When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them.
A few months ago, one of those videos of Read More »
‘There’s a strange disease killing people in Kikyo,’ Kisembo tells me, a frown spreading across his face. Whenever I go in to pay my bill at his drug shop – the one with a black and white fence a few houses down from Nyahuka Health Centre – if I settle onto a bench and lean my head against the wall, I know I’ll get more than just a receipt. This morning I hadn’t intended to stay.
‘A strange disease? What could it be?’ Crossing my legs, I notice… Read More »
At Death’s Door
Someone was ill… very ill indeed. I could hear voices – doctors’ voices, low and concerned, whispering.
I knew I was in the ICU. I also knew it was night-time, but not because it was dark. Day and the night were the same in the ICU… Read More »
East Riding of Yorkshire, early spring 1349
A few spluttering and stinking tallow candles added little light to the meagre glow of smouldering damp logs in the fireplace of the Warren Horesby tavern. A seated figure in coarse travel robes sat with hands tucked in wide sleeves to keep warm. His hood flopped forward, deeply shadowing his eyes. Around him huddled the men of the village… Read More »