I heard today that a local youth I knew, Peter, died on Christmas Day, aged 17. He leaves his mother, Margaret and his father, Stephen. Remember them.
And as you remember, remember this...
At the bottom of the mountain, Jesus meets a boy with epilepsy and his family (I go back ot this incident often) and the father says 'help my unbelief', as any of us might, and the mother says nothing, as any of us might, and Jesus says to the disciples 'this comes right only with prayer' and that's what any of us might discover through the Holy Spirit at the bottom of any mountain.
Dying day
Tomorrow will be my dying day:
the day before yesterday was yours.
You didn’t buy a ticket,
you didn’t book a place
and yet there you were
suddenly at the front of the queue.
Never one to push yourself forward,
you had been propelled there
by a few ill-chosen breaths.
Of course it’s all behind you now,
while we that are left grow old
and still have to face the final hurdle;
waiting for the chance to catch a note
of that endless chorus you now sing
and hoping this will not break us.
For today, God of all,
give us peace, one more time.
JAL: 27.12.2009
In memory of Peter
Tomorrow will be my dying day:
the day before yesterday was yours.
You didn’t buy a ticket,
you didn’t book a place
and yet there you were
suddenly at the front of the queue.
Never one to push yourself forward,
you had been propelled there
by a few ill-chosen breaths.
Of course it’s all behind you now,
while we that are left grow old
and still have to face the final hurdle;
waiting for the chance to catch a note
of that endless chorus you now sing
and hoping this will not break us.
For today, God of all,
give us peace, one more time.
JAL: 27.12.2009
In memory of Peter
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