I done wrote a blog

My good friend Mr Clive Parnell (@Parney on twitter and formerly known as Cliff Parcel, but that's another story) asked me to write a wee post for his blog. It's on create here.

What do you think - am I a blubbering idiot?

Access no areas

At 7.30 one morning last year, I arrived at work and pressed my ID badge up against the reader. Nothing strange there.

Except, nothing happened. No green light, no revolving door. Nothing. The thin red light shone as bright as before.

I did the usual human trick of trying the same thing again (but turned the badge over). That was bound to work.

Nothing happened again. Same little red stripe of light looking at me dispassionately. (This was the right building, thanks for asking). And I wasn't made redundant the previous working day. Was I?

Something was clearly wrong. So I tried two other doors and the same thing.

On the way to the security guard I got to thinking. Have I been "deleted"? If the events of the previous two weeks are anything to go by, then anything is possible. There were a load of people put at risk of redundancy, but I wasn't one of them.

The experience got me thinking about what it means to have access.

And what it means to give access. Who has access to you? Who do I give access to my inner thoughts. My wife, my friends, my parents?

Should just anyone have access to me? Is it better to isolate and avoid all the hassle? Probably not.

Aren't we born for relationship? We thrive in community settings - particularly when those are spaces of grace and make room for diversity.

It's either that or isolated introversion (is there any other kind?). That often leads to a calloused heart. Which we could all do without, I'm sure.

water works.

I've found myself much more likely to cry recently. It's not an easy thing to say, but it's the truth. I'm sure I won't be the first person to say that, but there you are.

What points me towards precipitation? More often than not, it's stories. Stories about life, allegories intended to teach, hopeless and hopeful stories.

Our traditions of storytelling are many and varied, and the ones I connect with most obviously are probably films. But books do it for me too. In fact some recent songs have brought me to tears.

It's usually tales of reconciliation that get me the most. Of estranged family members reconciling. Of the lost child coming home. Of the proud parent realising that love is more important.

But it's the reality of the story that makes it all the more compelling for me. That doesn't mean it has to be in what we'd call the "real world", or in the present. But it has to be *real*. Which is something else, isn't it.

So it's good to weep. It helpful to admit that we aren't that pillar of strength - a rock that cannot be shifted. We are human, after all.

If it's great news or something devastatingly harsh, tears are alright.