Tissues at the ready, don't forget to check out some of the other stories by clicking on the link above. They may be sad but they are beautifully written!
You left me, standing there all alone!
No I didn’t.
You walked straight past me.
I never saw you, just some homeless guy with a beat up face,
clinging to a lamppost, too drunk to stand unaided probably.
I wasn’t drunk but that was me.
I haven't used the picture but maybe it will inspire you to write a five sentence fiction too!
This one took me on a flight of fancy down to the deepest darkest tunnels of the underground...
Kitty McClaw's Grand Day Out
Kitty McClaw was the queen of the Jubilee Line. She prowled
the dark tunnels surviving on her wits and the mice that carelessly crossed her
tracks.
By a quirk of curiosity she found herself in the deserted
carriage that day. Generally she was cautious of human endeavour but this train
had an alluring sparkle and none of the associated repugnant odours.
While admiring her reflection in the polished floor the
doors automatically closed. The train started moving.
Jumping on a seat Kitty watched her world go by. Flashes of
daylight and well lit stations punctured the familiar darkness.
Finally her journey ended. Kitty descended her viewing
platform.
With one last look behind her she spied the majestic woman enter
bringing with her a sweet scent of lavender.
They stared at each other for only a moment, before Kitty
flicked her tail and bolted.
On Friday I went to the Faith Stories book launch at
Bishopthorpe Palace, the home of the Archbishop of York. The book was out
yesterday so you can go out and buy it!
I’ve written about it before and how my story is in it but here is
the video to accompany my story. So now you know what I look and sound like!
Because it is half term and York is kind of on the way, well in the right direction, I
decided to visit my parents for a long weekend. My brother and his young son
stayed Saturday night too and Sunday morning after they left I realised it was
still early enough for me to go to church.
I don’t often visit this church but it is the one I grew up
in, where I was baptised as a baby, where I was confirmed as a young teen and
where as an older teen I would slide along the pew with my friends to see how
many of us we could fit in a row!
The building holds special memories for me. As I sat there a stained glass
window caught my eye. Part of the image is of a young woman with braided hair standing on tiptoe listening
to Jesus. She is almost like an old friend to me.
It’s not just the building that evokes strong feelings; a
church is really the people not he bricks and mortar.
The congregation has changed over the years, new people have
come while others have left for pastures new, this side of heaven or the other.
Some of the congregation are like permanent fixtures,
faithful and enduring.
At coffee time I sat with my old guide leader, my friend’s mum,
a mother and daughter who always sat in the same pew as me and my grandma. Also
there were my old youth leaders, a man who I once led the pathfinders group
with and a woman who was my housegroup leader.
Before me were people who had a part in my upbringing,
who remember me as a little girl or as a teenager or as a young adult before I
left home and married.
I have fond memories of them all and enjoyed being in their
company once more. I was almost the last to leave I was so busy chatting.
This is where my faith story really began and it was good to go back and remember.
While working in the church shop on Tuesday one of my
colleagues called me over to look at something.
She had been sorting out the greeting cards and wanted to
show me the verse from Jeremiah 29 where God says
“I know the plans I
have for you, plans to prosper you…”
I gave her a hug; these often quoted words were just what I
needed to hear.
You see I have been watching the videos from the other
contributors to the Archbishop’s Faith Stories book. I’d like to know who these
people are before I meet them at the book launch on Friday. I’m interested in
their stories and want to find some common ground to talk to them.
A lot of them are ordained ministers in the church and those
that aren’t run projects working with the homeless or they go into prisons or
they have set up a hospice! Really big important stuff.
I’m feeling very ordinary with my own little story, I feel
like I don’t fit!
I’d love to turn my blog writing into a book. I’d like to think
my words could reach out to people and touch them where they are, helping others who find themselves on a similar journey.
But at this moment in time it’s all a dream in my head.
Maybe in ten or twenty years’ time I’ll have done something
to make me deserve a place in a book along with these other amazing people.
I told a friend how I was feeling and she sent me this text
“Be strong and know
that God has got you this far.”
Yes somehow God is in the midst of all this doubt; He knows
where I am going even if I don’t have a clue.
It reminded me of a scene in Indiana Jones and the Last
Crusade – any excuse to add a clip of Harrison Ford to my blog…
Indy has to take a leap of faith, he has to trust that something
will break his fall and he won’t go tumbling into the chasm below.
Notice his heart is pounding, he is sweating, he consults
his book, he pauses and re-evaluates the situation but eventually there is
nothing left but to take that bold step.
I know exactly how he feels.
There is a wide crater before me full of immense
possibilities. My imagination tries to fill it but all I am doing is throwing tiny pebbles into a deep well. I have no idea how I will
get to the other side or what I will find when I get there.
My ideas don’t stand up but God’s imagination is so much
more vast than mine and he says trust me, I will be with you, this is in my
plans.
All I can do is hold on tight to the hand that created the
universe and believe this leap of faith isn’t actually a leap too far!
Derek believed his talents were wasted as a postman; he
would have made an excellent detective.
Birthday cards, bills and bank statements all passed through
his hands, clues to the lives lived behind the letterboxes.
Crystal at number 26 was a popular girl usually receiving lots
of letters but her post box was distinctly empty on Valentine’s Day.
To investigate he followed her discretely to the bus stop
watching her cry for a bit before approaching.
She declined the screwed up handkerchief he offered but
smiled so politely he took a chance and asked her on a date.
He was sure he hadn’t accidently spat on her, it was a mild
affliction he suffered with, although he remembered salivating when she accepted.
The local cinema was showing his favourite film, Psycho. When
she said she’d never seen this classic he took this as a cue to educate her and
waxed lyrically about the beautifully portrayed mother son relationship.
He couldn’t comprehend why she hid her face behind her
manicured fingers for so much of the film. She completely missed all the best
bits.
When the film finished he insisted on driving her home, a
gentlemanly gesture saving her from catching the last bus home.
But she practically opened the car door before he even
stopped and he was a little perplexed why she shunned his advances for a
goodnight kiss.
He couldn’t quite figure out what had gone wrong with the
evening.
