Today we commandeered the hospital chapel to share communion with one of our folk.  I did try knocking the door of the office to ask permission, but there was no reply.

These moments are so incredibly beautiful and precious. 

Grape juice in a paper cup (I have four glasses in my communion set, there were five of us), a bread roll precariously balanced on a paten so small that it would fit well in doll's tea set.  A piano stool doubling as a communion table.  Chairs gathered into a circle.

And then on into the (W)RVS cafe, one of the few that survive in this age of shopping malls in hospital, for steaming cups of tea and a conversation characterised by hilarity before the hour had flown and we needed to wend our ways whence we had come.  One to the ward, four in different directions home or to work.

You can't bottle it or buy it.  You can't manufacture it.  It just is what it is - people meeting and sharing and remembering and making memories - and it is as beautiful as it is fleeting, as precious as it is privilege.