Monday, 28 September 2015


Today is the day our daughter Hannah, husband Mike and grandson Max, make a move.  Four months ago these "refugees" from their house sale arrived on our door step with all their worldly goods tied up in brown paper bags!  Since then, we’ve had a glorious summer of shared BBQs, gardening, walks and the endless march of the toys towards every room and under every piece of furniture. Grandpa, Grandma, Great Grandparents, uncles and aunties - all in their element cooing and adoring, desperate to get their five minutes Max-Moment.

Today the chapter ends, these the last words on this happy time. I feel joy, gratitude and truthfully a little sad. But no time for long farewells…all hands on deck. Bags, boxes, furniture clog the hallway and fill our living room. Stuff and more stuff: shoes, toys, blankets, books and those boxes in endless rows awaiting their deliverer, a man with a van. In so many ways, a moving experience that feels right and downright prophetic. Our TVs and newspapers are filled with images of migrants carrying all their worldly possessions on their backs.  It is reported that 40 % of the entire Syrian population has been displaced.  If this was England, then goodbye London, Birmingham, Liverpool and Manchester.  I cannot imagine what this must feel like but I do know that we in the West are blessed and churches carry a responsibility to reach out with the love of Christ using our stuff.  Answering Christ's final day challenge of "when did we see you hungry, in need of clothes?"

Moving house is a dress rehearsal for the big day, the final chapter, the great finale.  And all our stuff goes off to landfill as we enter a recreated world with such beauty, majesty and permanence. Home with Christ, which is better by far. 

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