Monday, 1 March 2010

Love isn't made.

Well. Saturday entailed Besom with the students at church. Fun times, amazing people, beautiful to show God's love without pulling out the theology so much, and most incredible was Jesus quite literally setting the captives free. We (2 of 4 groups) went and painted rooms in a family's house. I got paint pretty much everywhere. In my hair. Pear. My running trousers are now covered in "wellbeing" green. I am not altogether adverse to this.

Yesterday I was so exhausted from the past week, having been running around a lot and not sleeping fantastically (or at all) that I overslept and missed church. Gutted. I don't usually go in the mornings at the moment, but I had intended to. But last night was really lovely. Creative worship with cluster. It felt nice to play with charcoal again. My word I love art. I need to find the time.

And today was the fateful trip to the doctors. Put off repeatedly over the past 5 months. Even last week when I booked it, more obstacles were put in my way. Hilariously petty. Anyway, I went, (I wished someone had gone with me), God was amazing. The doctor was the nicest one I've ever been to. She said we'd have to do blood tests (I really wished someone had gone with me) and I thought "great, it's taken me 5 months to get this appointment, another doesn't bode well". But I went to the reception and she said one had come free just 15 minutes away. Provision! Then the nurse was lovely too. She asked me if I was okay about blood and all I could think of was how my brother fainted when he had a jab once, woke up, saw it again and fainted again. So I just giggled. I'm fine with that stuff. I was amazed when I saw it. The body is incredible really. She saw me staring and asked if I was okay, and I replied "yes! just really relieved that it came out red". Anyway, she filled a vial. I thought this looked like a lot of blood for the purposes. Then she filled another. And another. I'm quite certain I needed some of that. Also, it turns out that my veins aren't amazing for shooting up, so hardcore drugs are no longer a practical temptation, so that's a weight off my mind.

All in all, life's good. I'm tired. I have a violent play to read. It is called Volpone. I think that "Volpone" sounds like a good name for a dragon, and thus imagine the main character to be a dragon. They are not supposed to be, but my play is better.

Today I wrote a letter to a stranger, and gave them chocolate.

And I pondered the old question of integrity. Is it about what we do, or what others perceive us to do?

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