So i just read a post called ‘Sent’ – which I haven’t read since I wrote it 2 or so years ago.

And a couple of other (private) posts about a dream of a granite engine in an engine room in Cornwall (which, curiously in my dream had become a sort of ‘dwelling’ rather than a place of going, a place of Living. It was drenched with coldness, covered in water, instead of being covered in oil, mad somewhat more dynamic….).

I reflected in that post on how the church has become cotton-wool comfortable, ears deafened by the cosiness of words and routine and habit. And reflected that herding animals need a certain level of ‘stress’ (as Isabella Tree in ‘Wilding’ puts it) in order to function at their peak.

Perhaps our ‘flocks’ have become too tame, too quiet, too at ease, to happy with our wonderful drinking fountain, the church in Ashington….our beautiful church where we meet to drink the elixir of Father’s love.

But perhaps He is – like a good eagle – pushing us out of our nests into the space, into the air, the uncertainty of life without the certainty of twigs (thin and feeble though they are) all around us, cosy downy-warm feathers, moss (or whatever surrounds baby eagles) – our brothers and sisters, and ready-to-eat, ‘meals-on-tap’ brought in by Mum or Dad.