Continuing from my last post, some firsts in my life and my thirst.
The First Card I received in the post was from my godmother a card for my 5th birthday and tucked inside, a pair of yellow butterfly hair-slides.
My First day in school was eagerly awaited. I woke my my mum at 5:00 am to ask if it was time to go yet, I didn’t want to be late.
My First time in Sunday School was the sunday following Easter Day, 1955. This was in the Tin Chapel – an Evangelical Church, a small prefabricated building with a corrugated iron roof. and, this was the day I watched my first cine film, there was no soundtrack, the story was narrated from a book by one of the teachers. That story was the account written in John 21, a story remembered never to be forgotten, although the teachers face has long vanished from view. I learned that morning that Jesus had died because he loved us, but now he was risen so that children like me could live forever,
Did I believe this?
I knew, that morning that Jesus loved me and that I loved him.
The count of the fish in the net, 153, (verse 11) has never been forgotten.
I love this chapter in John.s Gospel. This story of the Risen Lord standing on the shore by the Sea of Galilee calling to 7 disappointed disciples out on the lake, after a whole night’s fishing they had caught nothing, the stranger on the shore directIng them where to cast the net to enclose those 153 fishes; yet what really enchanted me as that little girl then was n’t that great catch, no, it was Jesus cooking the breakfast!
I still am drawn like a magnet to those nail pierced hands cooking fish for his friends. When brothers or sister scraped hands or knees in a fall and showed them to big sister, I would flinch, somehow feel the hurt and instinctively do as Mum had taught us and ‘kiss things better.’ That Sunday morning I wanted to kiss the Saviours hands better.
That morning, I knew for the first time, that I had a thirst.
A thirst to know more of Jesus, a thirst, a child really can’t comprehend, a longing after God.
Always I have been one of those people who want to know, need to know; I have gone looking for answers in strange places, sometimes without being really sure what the questions were. Yes I have had lots of questions for God. Why he does, or has done this or that, why he has allowed such and such and most of all what did he mean, what does he mean? But for most of my questions these words from Julian of Norwich answer my questions for me:
“Love was his meaning.”