We got up earlier because the electrician was due here at 8.
We had a skype call scheduled with Brisbane at 10. By 8.30 the electrician had
turned off the electricity, and we had a dear friend in the living room pouring
out her heart and looking for confirmation that she was making a good decision.
By 10.10, the power was back on, the connection was made
with Brisbane, and our friend had gone home to try to catch up with the sleep
she’s missed for three nights of agonizing indecision.
It’s not even lunchtime yet and we’ve been up and down with
a difficult situation, on and off with the electricity, and halfway around the
world with our dearly missed family.
Thank you, Lord.
Greg told us about the deep hole he dug at a very sandy
beach when they went over the weekend. We wondered if he could dig a bit deeper
and come up in ‘Groucho’s’ potato patch. Flick sparked up: maybe the silky sand
was magic sand. Maybe a tunnel could be made between them and us so we could
see each other whenever we wanted.
I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s that kind of sand in
heaven. Or an equivalent. So that, whenever we want to see a loved one, we can
slip into some sort of tunnel and be with them again.
As I always say, there are no airports in heaven. Just magic
connections.
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