Up early this morning to see my son off on his sleepover and visit to the Edinburgh Tattoo. As I watched him busying himself packing and re-packing our smallest and most loved family rucksack, I remembered similar outings I had been on as a child to The Royal Tournament at Earl's Court in London. Watching gun carriages career around the ring and shouting myself hoarse supporting the Portsmouth Team - my mum's favourite as a former WRN. We rarely watched the Tattoo on TV, but I remember the long summers spent in Great Eccleston in Lancashire while my father worked in Blackpool - and our neighbour (a primary school headmaster) on the static caravan park who would 'allow' neighbours children in to watch on his rather super TV as long as we were quiet. We were. For at least three minutes. Then lost interest and left. Extraordinary the difference watching something live can make.
Busy first thing ironing and preparing The Sanctuary for the retreatant arriving today. I was caught quite unexpectedly with a sense of how extraordinarily privileged I am. It was shocking and humbling. I tend to get caught up in the day to day and so when I do catch the big picture it is, in the correct sense, awesome. Ironing duvet covers isn't the most scintilating way to spend the early morning hours of Saturday - but I couldn't help but reflect that I have been incredibly lucky to have the chance to realise some of my dreams. My prayers this morning have been ones of consolation with an open-handed sense of deep gratitude. In amongst the utter randomness of the life experiences we encounter, there are moments like this morning when some of the usually disparate themes and threads seem to have a visible linkage and purpose. I am reminded to hold these moments of consolation and remember them. Treasure in my heart.
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