Next month I will achieve that perfect number, 7x7 and become a 49er. However, this evening I have yet again faced the reality that I am a universe short of perfection. What an easy trap it is to fall into, the sense of self that tells you, “You can do it. Put in lots of hard work and everything will be great. It’s all about you and what you are capable of.” What codswallop, poppycock and hogwash that is! Except, how easy it is to believe.
Lest you think I’m first cousin to a sloth, I’m not. I’m not agin hard work - heavens, I was born of hardworking working class workers…..if you catch my drift. I had hard work drummed into me and modelled before me. I pulled up my bootstraps long before I had feet big enough to wear them. But the working gene in my DNA mutated to striving. It became a belief that debilitated, crippled and sapped life.
This evening, the Maker of the Universe (the one I fall so short of), taught me yet again that the world is all about Him; every last wondrous atom of it. Every bird song and moth, syllable and rhyme, every plan, path and purpose, every miraculous whiff of the ordinary and plain, gargantuan and minutae is Him.