… in a host of memories
In the bustle and routine of everyday life, it is easy to be both absorbed and disaffected. Today as I pulled a hundred things out of my handbag, a photograph fell out of my diary. It’s a photograph that I forgot that I had, and had not looked at for a long time. The picture is of me, as a toddler, being walked along a Birmingham Canal by my grandparents.
I put the picture up as I opened my emails, listened out for Big Ben’s ten o’clock chimes, and began my work. The image kept catching my attention; that is a lovely part of town; we had so many fun day trips; what on earth am I wearing? The beautiful memories of days out with my grandparents came flooding back. The thought of their kindness almost overwhelmed me. I had to stop for tea.
Looking out onto the brilliant, crisp morning, as I sipped from my mug, I thought about how my grandparents would feel about what I was doing now. My grandfather would have liked the fact that I had continued his legacy in working for the church. My grandmother would have thought it utterly marvellous that I was living in the Big City.
I thought about how they had brought me up in a world where I could ask questions, where I could pray fearlessly, and where I could count my blessings and share them with others. I was too busy and absorbed to find God this morning. I’d not seen Him as I ran for the Underground; I’d not seen Him as I’d chatted away to my colleagues. I had not found God in the little every day blessings that I should have.
But when I found that picture, I found God.