At the end of August I spent the morning with Sunday School, part of a new thing we have agreed to do whereby once a quarter (roughly) I will leave with the children rather than preach.  On that day the children were focussing on prayers that said 'thank you,' 'sorry' and 'please.'

As our 'please' prayer we wrote something on a piece of tissue and placed it in the bottom of a polystyrene cup in which we planted a snowdrop bulb.  The leader reminded the children that sometimes it's a long time before we discover the answers to our prayers.

Today when I came in to church, I checked my bulb to see if it needed water, and discovered a tiny, weeny shot peeking through the compost.

The prayer I wrote was for the Chilean miners, and it was indeed some time before they would be rescued - the metaphor and the reality gelled.

What no one knew the day we planted the bulbs was that I had cancer.  I was waiting for my initial appointment (due the next day), assuming it was merely a cyst, and had told no-one.  It all felt very poignant at the time, and very much 'of God.'  As I prepare to meet the plastics team tomorrow, it seems somehow apposite that I saw the little shoot from my bulb.  If I manange to care for it adequately, it should bloom around the time my treatment ends, another metaphor or sign of God's grace (though I promise I won't read anything into it if it doesn't!).