Deepening Prayer

I sat with two other people, back straight, feet planted firmly on the floor,
and eyes closed, listening.
Alan said to imagine the gaze of God upon us.
So I did.
Although he said to sense the warmth of the light of God,
instead of sunshine,
what I felt was like water.
Cleansed, washed.

I remembered my little girl as a baby, loving her bath,
gazing into my face as she splashed and wriggled in the water.
Beautiful.
The most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
(Is this how God sees me?! THAT much love?)

And the day - maybe she'd been splashed -
she decided that wet hair was for her no more.
No matter how I coaxed, reassured, or carried on regardless,
that trusting gaze was lost, and the fun turned into a nightmare.

My delight in her now mixes with fury.
She makes herself so miserable, and for what?
(Is this anything like the "wrath" of God?)
So angry with her for pointlessly refusing
the love and joy and peace that is here for her,
if only she would choose trust, rather than her own way.

She's sleeping now, at last.
Finally given in to her body's clamouring for rest.
God's grace is greater even than
her capacity for fighting sleep - and that's saying something!

And Alan read of the man covered in leprosy, who came to Jesus,
threw himself down in front of him and said,
"Lord, if you want to, you can make me clean."
And Jesus touched the leper... and said,
"I do want to."
And the man was cleansed.
Me too, it seems!

The Angel at the Meter

Exhausted. Let Littlun go to Granny's for the day, as she seemed to be getting better, little by little, and I needed a break. So off to Belfast City Centre, found the perfect parking space, as close as could be hoped for between the two places I wanted to go, and right beside a parking meter. I thought I was "on the pig's back", till I realised the meter didn't want to accept my card, and I didn't have two £1 coins. I tried to phone, but the number on the meter didn't seem to be working. The guy behind me wanted to pay for his parking using coins, so I let him go ahead, while I redialled. He said, "How long are you wanting to park for?"
"A couple of hours", I said, pushing the buttons on my phone.
"Here," he said, putting £2 in my hand. "We won't need it, we're heading back to Ireland."

I can't decide what this moment is. Gratitude. A moment of grace. But it's also of humour and the sense of living somewhere really bizarre... How can you be heading "back to Ireland" whilst standing on the island of Ireland? He meant "back to the Republic", or "back to the South." He meant, we're going to Euroland, where these pounds stirling are clutter in my pocket.

I thanked him, and watched him disappear down the road.

It's not a pig's back I'm on... an angel, momentarily transporting me and my values to a different kingdom...

p.s. I still didn't have £2 to buy the Issues magazine from the Romanian woman. Is there any cure for the condition of my heart?