I have recently discovered the readership of this blog has gone up by 50%. That is to say, where previously I knew of two people who read it, I now know of three. Some smart alec will correct my maths, but it works in my head. But owing to this conversation, I have decided to blog again, after a week of silence, in which various factors such as bitterness, laziness, and Working My Socks Off have halted the progress of the blog machine.
Oh, and a simple apology to Tim, who has probably heard all this, spewed up in the last week in some form. So, sorry.
First of all; an appeal. Not just to anyone, but to those who are ever planning, in some way, shape or form, to ever join together with another human being in holy matrimony/civil partnership/common or garden marriage. It does not matter if you are not currently engaged, nor even in a stable relationship, nor even if you're still playing kiss chase. I don't care. All I ask is this: Please, please, please, for the love of all that is good and holy, and whatever you share a passing interest in, make sure your wedding invitations are unequivocally clear, and have not even a sniff of ambiguity about them as regards whether that person is invited to wedding/reception/after-party. Please. That is all.
Staying with the theme of weddings; as various people have got married throughout the summer, the feeling has slowly overtaken me of being left behind. While this is horribly introspective and narcissistic of me, and I do share joy with those who have got married (just probably not as much), I seem to have this pervading sense of still being 14, while others have raced away into the big bad world of Adulthood. Some may argue that this is a good thing to hang on; a child-like, (more -ish, if you ask me...) nature being something to aspire to. But it does feel like the maturity quota has left me a little short. I'm not sure I'm making my point, so I think I'll just finish this here.
And to end on the most disturbing thought of all: Jesus has become a nice theological truism. And this is a critique of no-one but me. I was reading through the gospel of Matthew, and compared the Jesus I found in those pages to the Jesus I thought I knew. Somewhere, somehow, 'my Jesus' had become an excuse for my shortcomings, in that I knew 'my Jesus' would forgive me were I to say to sorry and repent. But the Jesus I found in the gospel was one who asked difficult, awkward, frustrating things and demands a life of repentance. Oh, to live in that truth. Help me.