I guess I am pretty much through the forest now - loads of follow-up appointments in prospect, a very itchy set of scars (one worthy of a story-book pirate in length if not location) and restricted mobility for a while - but the forest itself is done.

In retrospect the forest metaphor was quite a good one.  Approaching the forest it loomed large and dark, a kind of uniform greenness and shadow.  Once I stepped into it, I began to see that it was far from uniform.  A few steps along the path and I began to hear the sounds of the forest - twittering birds, the wind in the trees and so on.  Looking around I saw the shapes of the trees, the tangle of roots, the gnarled branches and tender saplings.  Here and there tiny flowers peeked through the moss and grass and ivy clung tenaciously to the trunks of ancient trees.  Now and again the sunlight would penetrate the canopy sending shards of lights across the ferny floor.  Here a squirrel dashed across the path and up a tree; there a slug slithered towards a cool, dank stone.

You can only really see a forest from the inside.  The ruts in the paths, the dead ends, the fallen trees, the flora and fauna - these cannot be shown on a map nor can they be anticpated as the forest looms ahead on the road.

Forests can be dangerous - who can be sure what lurks in the shadows or round the next bend.  But you can't know unless you take the first step and enter the forest.

As I look back, was I daft to be apprehensive?  I don't think so, because the forest was unknown and could have been a very treacherous place.  So am I glad I went through it?  Yes, of course I am.  I am temporarily debilitated and permanently altered but the walk was essential in my quest for restored health.  Beyond the essential nature of the walk through the forest, it was one where I met some amazing people and had some special moments.  I am more tired by it than I could have imagined, but I have also gained more than I could have anticipated.

Apologies to those discomfited by yesertday's lack of a post - the blog platform was down.  This happens now and then with all blog platforms; I guess it is to do with maintenance.  Anyway, it's back today and so am I.

Lots of different owls in this forest.

Firstly the gentle, wise observation owl who spent my night in High Dependency watching over me and checking my obs.  Half-hourly and then hourly obs, coupled with incredibly high winds in Glasgow meant sleep was fitful and evasive.  If I wasn't woken by the automatic inflation of the blood pressure cuff then I was probably awake anyway.  In gentle but firm tones she urged me to 'get some sleep' and the time I was dozing when she came in did minimal obs and tiptoed away just as I began to stir.  This young nurse is doing a Masters in nursing and was keen to research patient experience for her dissertation - something the ethics committee were sniffy about.  A wise owl who wants to learn to be even wiser; a true blessing to the NHS.

The the screech owls!  I soon discovered each nursing team has its own characteristics an done night team was very noisy.  Gales of laughter rang along the corridor from the nursing station, penetrating the closed door of 'room' in which up to four of us tried to sleep.  Across the way an elderly woman with advanced dementia called for her parents, the nurse, her teacher, her friends; I was glad that most of the time I had room mates who would simply observe the sadness of this situation and who had a 'but for the grace of God' attitude to her.  And the lighter moments of the sleep talkers and snorers who has the rest of us rocking with silent laughter.

The forest never sleeps.  A roommate arrived at 4 a.m., someone needed pain relief in the early hours, someone pressed her buzzer what seemed like every hour... and the night creatures busily work.

He who keepeth Israel neither slumbers not sleeps...  Thank you God for this truth.

God to who night and day are alike, who created dark and light and declared each to be good, bless the people whose lives are nocturnal as they quietly fulfill the needs of those who wake by day.

Two salt of the earth, East Glasgow mums (one of five, one of three) with whom I spent the longest single period of time in the forest and who were such a delight to be with.  Neither had had the educational opportunities I've enjoyed, and each was hard working, loving and brim full of common sense.  Each had a bit of a rough time whilst in hospital and I spent a bit of time offering them support.

We had some really interesting conversations - one of them asked me how I decided to be a minister and was totally open to my 'Damascus road' experience sense of call in a way that many Christians have not been; indeed she seemed delighted by such a possibility.  The other asked me what I thought happened to people who had euthanasia, and if they went to hell.  Not only was I able to share my thoughts - about a God of love, that no human has the right to pronounce on the eternal fate of others, that I would not want euthanasia myself - but we opened up wider topics of suicide and survivor guilt.  The final morning we had a three way conversation on a topic that was directly affecting one of the families in which practical common sense and non-judgemental minister views were equally valued.

It was a genuine privilege to meet these two 'sparrows,' the "common or garden" birds which seem plentiful and perhaps, too easily, as lesser than those with university degrees.  Instinctively they understood what ministerial live involved - and unwittingly they enriched my hospital stay immensely.  Each gave me a hug before she left, our paths diverging, but the moments we shared were precious.

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?  Yet not one falls to the ground but your Father knows it.

Consider the birds of the field... not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed like one of these.

Thank you, God, for sparrows and the delight they bring if we only have eyes to see.  Please bless these two East Glasgow sparrows as she flies into her future.

A kangaroo might not be the kind of animal you'd expect to meet in a forest, but I want to tell you about the one I met in my forest.

At the age of 14 she had been walking on a pavement when she was hit by a car driven by a fifteen year old.  She suffered horrendous injuries and wound up in hospital for fifteen months.  Despite being told she'd never walk again she left hospital on two feet.  At the age of nineteen she was a rear passenger in a car involved in a car crash and sustained further serious injuries.  Now in her early thirties, she was undergoing surgery to improve her injured leg, and this was something like operation number 55.

The surgery she'd had meant she couldn't put her foot to the ground so she hopped around the ward with her arms held out for balance making her look like a kangaroo - hence the metaphor.

She was (is) a remarkable and inspiring young woman devoid of bitterness or self-pity, with no anger towards the driver(s) whose actions had caused her injuries and unending, fulsome praise for the NHS.  As is the way of remarkable people, she seemed unaware of how inspiring she was (is).

Her surgery involved just overnight before she bounded out of the forest and into her future.  A great girl/woman whose beauty goes far deeper than the fleeting outward looks of youth.  I pray she will continue to progress physically and enjoy the fullness of life she so richly deserves.