It's a grey and rainy Monday and I'm back at work today. It's really strange. I found this photo of the building that I'm in right now (9th floor in the one on the left), taken from one of the buildings that I stare out at day after day. I wish the sky was this bright today as it is in that photo.
I changed my calendar on the wall this morning - fresh start for January in my new Iona calendar. It's a picture sort of like this, but it is brighter. It's lighter. The sun is streaming through the windows, illuminating the golden wood of the chairs and the warm colours of stone inside the Abbey Church. I can imagine myself walking on those stones, like I have done so many times. I can almost feel the unevenness of their pattern on the ground. Breathing in the wonderful smell of stone, polish, damp earth and the oil for the oil lamps. It's the smell of history. I long to be back there. I long to step off the ferry, onto the jetty. To walk those hallowed halls, climb the stony outcrops, wade into the North Sea. To sing and dance and pray alongside the saints who have gone before us, who are beside us and who are beyond us. To walk the stony shore of Columba's bay. I miss this place. I miss it most because I know that I could be there right now, working for a year. Volunteering. Gathering the perspective that I lose each day within the corporate walls of that pink building above. Lord grant me the strength to not be swallowed up by these granite walls.
It's a grey and rainy Monday and I'm back at work today. It's really strange. I found this photo of the building that I'm in right now (9th floor in the one on the left), taken from one of the buildings that I stare out at day after day. I wish the sky was this bright today as it is in that photo.
I changed my calendar on the wall this morning - fresh start for January in my new Iona calendar. It's a picture sort of like this, but it is brighter. It's lighter. The sun is streaming through the windows, illuminating the golden wood of the chairs and the warm colours of stone inside the Abbey Church. I can imagine myself walking on those stones, like I have done so many times. I can almost feel the unevenness of their pattern on the ground. Breathing in the wonderful smell of stone, polish, damp earth and the oil for the oil lamps. It's the smell of history. I long to be back there. I long to step off the ferry, onto the jetty. To walk those hallowed halls, climb the stony outcrops, wade into the North Sea. To sing and dance and pray alongside the saints who have gone before us, who are beside us and who are beyond us. To walk the stony shore of Columba's bay. I miss this place. I miss it most because I know that I could be there right now, working for a year. Volunteering. Gathering the perspective that I lose each day within the corporate walls of that pink building above. Lord grant me the strength to not be swallowed up by these granite walls.
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