The Residue

Leftovers on the table, he eyes the last two roast potatoes, if they are all ignoring it, that means none of them wants it, they taste great, he scans the plates on either side, all he can see is the conversations going on, the lick of gravy on the side of the mouth, clean it will you, it’s sticking out, across the table, a fork in the air, moving left and right, almost with the skill of an orchestral director, still he has his eyes on the prize, those last two golden crisp potatoes. Will I be brave and reach out.

What are you waiting for William she says, catching his eye, he dips his head, a smile on his face, he slowly reaches in, got you he thinks, he has one of the potatoes on the big spoon, he is moving it carefully to his docking station, his plate. No one said a thing, will he be brave enough to take the other, go for it he tells himself. Eight years old, it’s awhile before you learn about the etiquette of eating in a group. She gives him a re assuring nod, the second potato is on the spoon. You are not eating both of them another diner calls out, as he drops it onto the messiest part of the plate, where old flecks of gravy and a white sauce have mixed into a brown mulch, he does it deliberately, no one will ask for the potato back now, too late, all that residue.

Solomon sighed, we learn hopefully, we lean on the past, we see how nationalism becomes a movement of hatred, the wars across the world, home led, the same causes, repeated again and again, too much power in the same closet, time to get angry, time to get rich, we will sort them boy. The world had enough of all that argument, it was well past it’s sell by date, same as those religions, who intentionally miss quoted the old words, in order to divide opinion, and what was their residue; the incitement of hatred.

Surely they believe in God he hoped, and as such, put their efforts into rising spirits, rather than renovating old organisations.

Hole in the Ground…

You don’t expect me to dig that he said, His Father was pointing to the spade, hurry up. A plot had been marked out, he was being asked to dig a drain. Machinery can do that he sighed, shovel in hand, he found the spade easier to dig it, it cut through the soil easier, whatever. If he wanted to use the car, he had to dig the hole, so he saw it. Half an hour, a little progress, this is going to take an eternity, his fingers were not used to such work, they were beginning to blister, what would they be like by dinner time. He kept on checking his watch, mobile phones did not exist in those times. I could ring the landscape company ho thought, and hire one of those little machines. And his father would be off all the afternoon, he imagined the surprise on his father’s face, to see the job completed before the due time, think of the credits he’d earn.

Many years later, they gather for the anniversary celebration of his Fathers passing. He is there with his brothers and sisters, friends, they reminisces, tales are told. His wife is with him, their children too. He was always a teacher, Father, said his sister. He nods to his wife; she is after a bout of depression, she was in that state of loss for a few months, he wondered how they got through it all. Then he thought of his father, that hole in the ground, patience.

2020 Chaos….just growth pains…

Distraction, the war engines throttle up, in conflict there is opportunity, and when all seems lost, it has only just begun, A man, with power, has another man with Power, removed from life, while the Australian Bush burns. Global, human co-operation is required to solve issues of life and death, our very existence, while the gap between the rich and poor grows wider. Solomon was remarking on the news, how if affected people, how the call for war, was like adrenaline to a junkie, or the white snake oil salesman telling the towns people, that what he had in the bottle was their cure all. We all want to believe the best.

Remain calm, word gets out that John the Baptist has been murdered, Jesus rises in strength. His words grow ever faster. Jesus himself is dying on the cross, his early apostles go into hiding, thinking they will be next. Soon thereafter, they are in total joy, they meet Jesus again. The Spirit lives, they are given gifts of the Spirit, and to this day, the names of the prophets are on many lips, despite efforts to curb the enthusiasm, for anything that does not lead to wealth creation.

As said in old times, Forgiveness kills the instinct for violence, something we need to reflect on. Moses and the burning bush, food for thought though, and hopefully rain for Australia.