more on my final project, drawing the Salvation Army band and starting the mini knitters of dent gloves.
After the band have played the last note, the choir have sat down, the sermon done, the Amen said... the prayer shawl continues on and travels with the person in need.
It's hard to describe, but as I sit here in this lobby, with strangers I consider friends I'm realising this isn't something that can be put into words.
I am barred from taking an active part in my church not because I won't wear a uniform, but because I can't afford to. I am banned from being a useful member of my church because I am poor.
Part of a documentary from the 80's about the Salvation Army. This clip shows one of the hostels I grew up in and my parents managed.
These are the miracles that bring a man back on his feet, the opportunities that can only be seen by visionaries.
It was a friendly corps, one of those smaller, but growing places that I love. A few other visitors arrived and I realised it was a special day, the enrolment of three new salvationists. A family, mum, dad and son.