This morning, I popped out to post some letters and, coming back indoors, stepped into the lift, selected my floor and waited. With a graunch and a lurch, it moved a bit, then stopped.  The door wouldn't open.  It wouldn't go up or down. Oh dear.

Two good things (or maybe three)

Firstly, I'm not claustrophobic, so althoguh it wasn't exactly nice to be stuck, I wasn't dsitressed.

Secondly, I had my phone, which had a signal, and the maintenance company phone number if posted inside the lift.  After two failed attempts, I finally managed to get through to them.

Meanwhile, the cleaners, who happen to be in a Tuesday, had notified one of my neighbours that someone was struck in the lift.  After much button pressing, doors opening between floors, lift moving up or down or just shaking, it finally returned to ground floor, and after another five minutes of so, I was able to open the door and escape.

Quite a slautory lesson, methinks...

What if I had been claustrophobic, or with someone who was? (I was alone in the lift)

What if I hadn't had a phone, or hadn't got a signal, or there was no number to call? (After the first two calls  failed, I did attempt to phone someone else, before finally getting through)

What if the cleaners hadn't been in to let my neighbour know? (The lift alarm doesn't seem to do anything other than squawk)

Of course, 'what if' doesn't achieve anything of itself.  I just have to be grateful that, given the lift broke down with me inside, all the other factors worked in my favour.

Maybe, too, it's a reminder that I shouldn't be so lazy, and just use the stairs in future!!

There's a saying that runs, 'lex orandi, lex credendi', sometimes to which is added, 'lex vivendi'.  I don't know Latin, but it means something along the lines of 'what I pray informs what I believe, which informs how I live'.  To put it another way: liturgy informs theology which shapes practice.

Or, as one of my college tutors back in the day put it:

The hymns/songs we sing shape what we believe, which affects our values and actions.

Since I came across the idea, I have been pretty much convinced it's valid... however we read the Bible, and whatever we hear in sermons, it's the songs and hymns that stick in our memories, and so impact our thinking, believing and living.

Often I will choose hymns/songs that are aspirational - that express the hope that inspires us, even when the reality has a long way to go.

Two of our 'favourites' are 'All are welcome', and, 'For everyone born a place at the Table'.

What I sing - what we sing - shapes what I/we believe and how I/we live out our faith.

In recent months, we have been joined by numerous new folk, from all sorts of backgrounds and experiences, and it's wonderful.

New children in Sunday School. More nationalities than ever. An overall decrease in our average age, at the same time as a noticeable increase in our average attendance.

And still we will sing these songs. Because as they become more fully our experience, we realise how far we still have to go.

And still we will sometimes get it wrong.

But, by God's amazing grace, we are learning and growing, and becoming more of what we are called to be.

Everyone knows I have workaholic tendencies.  Everyone knows I am not the best at taking holidays, and rarely achieve my nine free Sundays (I think I got to eight last year!).  So, at the end of last year, I decided to take myself in hand, and be much more intentional about looking after myself.

With that in mind, I have just booked my first three 'free' Sundays for this year, and a short break to Rome to coincide with one of them.  I've never been to Italy, and everyone seems to love Rome...

I am also in conversations with the various friends I go away with to fix dates for our jaunts, and am planning to have another retreat in Wales this autumn.

Sometimes I learn very slowly... but at least I am making progress in looking after myself, and that has to be a 'good thing'.

Hard frost in Kelvingrove Park, just one of the places I passed through on my (almost ten mile!) walk today. There is no doubt that rural scenes of snow-capped mountains, or forests in snowy landscapes are beautiful.  But there is also a beauty unique to cities, and Glasgow is no exception.

This morning I chose to walk into town along the banks of the Kelvin (as far as I could), a lovely meandering stroll through parkland of the sort that could be pretty much anywhere.  Dog-walkers, baby-walkers, joggers and the occasional cyclist, enjoying the crisp brightness of the day, surrounded by trees.  Quite a contrast with the Clyde, which I followed on my way back, broad, straight, urban, even industrial, complete with mildly annoying dead-ends if you cross to the south side of the river.  More joggers and cyclists, no dogs, few babies, but a smattering of tourists en route to the Science Centre or Riverside Museum.

I was struck afresh by the variety that exists on my doorstep, of similarities with walks I have loved in other places at other times, of what is unique to this place and even this walk.

A beautiful day in which to delight in the natural beauty of water and trees, and in the ingenuity and creativity of human endeavour.  A reminder, were one needed, of just how very blessed I am.

A true story, sort of in the style Jesus might have used...

There was a family who had a cat, and who allowed him liberty to roam freely by day.  Gregarious and affectionate, he soon became a much loved visitor to the nearby railway station and hospitals complex (including two specialist ones where people were treated for mental health and for cancer, as well as a general hospital and one that practices homeopathy).  Day by day he would greet the humans as they came up or down the steps between station and hospital.  Sometimes he would simply sit and watch through windows, offering a purr to anyone in need.  Sometimes he would patrol the station perimeter, checking for invaders.  He even posed for a calendar to raise money for a cancer charity, such was his generosity of spirit. Mostly, though, he just was, a dependable presence.

People loved the cat too much, and began to tempt him with gifts of Dreamies and cartons of cat-food.  His girth expanded, and he no longer needed to go home for tea... he wandered further and further each day.

One day he didn't come home, then another, then another... He was well and truly lost.

His house humans contacted his social-media alter-ego and pleas went out to help find this cat.  From Australia to the USA and even nearby in Glasgow came messages of support, retweets and purrs (feline prayers).  Humans walked the streets, calling his name, whistling, sometimes thinking they saw him, only to discover it was another look-a-like.

Days stretched to weeks, and still no sign of him... Hoping against hope, humans tweeted and searched...

Then one day, the humans with whom he had sought shelter recognised him, and via the wonder of the internet were able to contact his own humans.  Cat and humans were reunited, and great was the rejoicing on Twitter.

He was grounded for a while, and put on a diet,since he had grown a little round. And he was given a collar that said "please do not feed this cat", lest he fall prey to temptation once more, but now once more he patrols the station and the hospitals, bringing joy to countless others.

And so I tell you, there is more rejoicing over one who is led astray and is safely returned home than over a gazillion who never wander.