In response to an exploration about the apparent injustice suffered by the older son in the Prodigal Son parable, I offered this 'ending' from his perpsective...

The father turned and went back into the house, saddened that his first-born son, whom he loved dearly, had become so angry and bitter.

All alone, the son stalked off back to the fields, hot tears streaming down his face and blurring his vision.  Sitting alone, he replayed all that happened over the years, and especially in the last few hours.  Realising that he had lost his way, that he, too, had behaved badly, he began to understand something of his father’s extravagant celebration.  Entering the house, he first sought out his father, to apologise, and then his brother, to welcome him home.  Finally, loading his plate with food, sitting with his family and joining in the banter, he experienced his own homecoming welcome in the safety of all who loved him. And there was great rejoicing in heaven…

Apologies to regular checkers-in that I haven't posted anything for a while.

There are two main reasons for this:

Firstly, I'm not sure I have anything worthy enough, even by my low standards, to share

Secondly, I have been pretty busy both with church stuff and personal stuff.

As some know, at the back end of last year, I decided I needed to take myself in hand and be much more proactive in looking after myself.  Doing this means planning, and planning takes time.

So far, as well as a short break to Rome in June, I have a short break to Edinburgh in July with some friends, and am in discussions with another friend for a longer trip to the Czech Republic in the autumn.

In terms of work-type stuff, I have registered for two one day events, one organised by JPIT and entitled 'Brave New World' which will look at how we might respond to national and global changes, and one organised by BMS World Mission which will be a miscellany of interesting 'theology and...' presentations.  This 'ticks boxes' for CMD in a way that is interesting, stretching and enjoyable.

My trans-local Baptist commitments continue to provide variety and opportunities to serve in both Scottish and UK-wide capacities. Lots of good things in my diary for all of these, each of which carries its own sense of responsibility and privilege.

Church itself is pretty exciting at the moment, with lots of new people (I think I counted about 15 since September!) and lots of good stuff happening.

And then I continue to declutter my flat and my life... Today I dismantled a thirty year old storage unit that has seen much better days to make way for a new (additional) settee due to arrive this weekend.  Two big bags of stuff sent to charity shops, and the remains of the unit waiting to go to the recycling centre.

So, having got some groundwork in place, I can now begin to enjoy the year ahead, knowing that many milestones are already in place.  And I'll try to blog a little more regularly too!!

Recently I heard that, at a fairly significant gathering, someone had referred to the area in which I serve as "the latte drinking West End of Glasgow".  A comment that elicited suitable laughter from those who heard it - except those from our church.

Well, yes, I do drink lattes (as the title of this blog has proclaimed for over twelve years!) and I do serve in the West End of Glasgow but...

I have drunk lattes, purchased in an independent cafe, and carried up a treacherous flight of stone steps, with a 'shut-in' nonagenarian, whose life has been devoted to serving those on the margins of society, especially peopple with drug and alcohol dependency... And I regularly drink tea with some of them in a church hall.

I have eaten pizza, and drunk tea, in a nationwide multiple, with newly arrived asylum seekers, bewildered and bemused by all that is happening for them.

I have discussed Baptism with a convert from atheism, whilst supping tea in small cafe in one of the 'lanes' and Membership with assorted folk in tea shops.

I have bought meals at the fish and chip dine-in for homeless people vulnerably housed in a B&B

I have met EU nationals terrifed by the results of that referendum in cafes where I listened to their concerns.

I have planned marriage ceremonies over pizza, discussed legal charity matters whilst munching scones, written prayers on serviettes and much, much more.

So we drink lattes in the West End.  So what.  That doesn't make us posh, it just means we employ our privileges in the service of God's Kingdom.

A footnote: I wish the person who uttered those words could see us on a Sunday morning and discover the incredible diversity of who we are.  I wish they could experience what I experience as the Lord's Prayer is intoned in multiple languages, and at various speeds.  I wish they could drink a cup of coffee from a hotel 'airpot', chat to our people, and be humbled by the stories they would hear.  I wish they could - but only if they could also come with an openness of heart to see how God is transforming us ever more into who we might be.

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!!