Friday I came home from hospital after a week of being on the covid ward. But Friday also marked a special day, 18 years of sobriety. I often wonder whether still counting the years is worth it, I mean, after all this time the chances of me wandering off for a bottle of vodka isContinue reading “18 years image”
Whether the story is about miracles, or giving what little you have or that we can feed the world if we all share, it’s a story worth telling.
Traditionally in the UK it was called Mothering Sunday and I think it’s a shame we’ve lost that term.
After a few days of inactivity, the words of an old Salvation Army chorus came to me and what my dad had instilled in me throughout my life, came into effect.
This week I took the Bristol quilt to the Joanna house, home of our first quilt of hope, where it has pride of place in their quiet room.
I’ve an idea I’ve been thinking about and playing with for some time, which I think can become something useful.
My biggest problem though is how to explain what’s in my mind… but here goes.
I doubt, when Alge walked into that prison cell all those years ago he thought about the lives that would be changed by this one encounter, or that through the prisoner he was looking at, his work of being a prison chaplain would continue.
It always amazes me,that something as simple as an embroidered square of cotton can be part of a huge picture of blessings for women (and men) who we may never meet.
A few little things have happened recently that have brought back an old gripe of mine. That old feeling that as a Christian artist, one of the hardest hurdles is finding a sense of belonging in the church.
Because I can’t send physical flowers to those who need them, here’s some I painted.