You know that experience of finding everything just slightly frustrated: The computer that you got two months ago starts crashing. There's a tiny leak slowly soaking the kitchen floor. The car, which you haven't moved for a month, has a flat battery. You put up a shelf and it's just slightly off horizontal. Only you will notice, or someone who looks very carefully, but you're annoyed that it is not right. You’ve proof read the manuscript twenty times but the moment you press send you realise there’s a typo on page one. A social media message misinterpreted opens a can of worms. The biscuits/cake/meal you’ve spent an hour preparing stays in the oven or on the stove just five minutes too long. It’s still edible but has that acrid taste round the edges. This is not real suffering. It's not bereavement, pain, trauma. It's not a 14 hour shift in a PPE suit tending to the critically ill. It's not losing your job. It's not living under constan...
Living and preaching at the foot of the Cross