Ramblings

I've got to write something. Not particularly because I have anything pressing to say, but more the fact that it's not even 1am on a Friday night and I refuse- refuse to be so boring and old that I go to bed at this hour on a weekend... although sadly, this is how final year seems to be panning out thus far!

So here I am, in my pjs, having just eaten 5 chocolates in a row for absolutely no good reason that I can muster. I am so tired. I did at least go out tonight- to a gig in London, no less. Good music in a poky, grungy little place with friendly people and a stage the size of a postage stamp. Even so, with the last train back at 11.30 because I didn't really fancying staying over at a friend's, it's not exactly living on the edge now, is it? I wish I had the energy to want to stay up to stupid hours in the morning, but it just doesn't seem to be in me anymore. Sadder still, the thought of having a lie-in tomorrow, doing my laundry and catching up on my reading for next week is sounding like heaven. Is this old-age? Don't get me wrong; part of me misses the irresponsibility of first year, when being pushed home in a trolley and having frozen melon fights in the kitchen were commonplace. I can't remember the last time I've gotten up after 10am. I haven't been in such a desperate laundry situation that I've had to wear my pants inside out (yes, it has been done before). I've changed my bed linen twice in a month, for heaven's sake! Is this how it's going to be from now on? Boring domesticity!

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Ever notice how it's often the little moments, not just the big ones, that make life interesting?

Today, for example. We're in the club in London and the band begins to play. Their first song is fun; they seem cool- 3 guys with identical military-style jackets and identical floppy blond hair worthy of a shampoo advert. But then they begin their second song and it's like the atmosphere shifts - the words aren't just words in a song anymore but something more. I'm not even listening, really, to the words themselves, yet I know that they're sung from the heart; a heart that knows because it's been there. In that moment I can't help thinking, wow- God loves these guys so much- he loves everyone in here masses! And I smile to myself.

Little things turn out to be big things. Hearing a song last week at Jesus Culture and singing it over and over, how he loves us so- until it sank into my unconscious and I realised today that I've woken every day since with a sense of peace and the knowledge that God just loves me right where I'm at. Singing that song two days ago when I was feeling stressed about all the work I had to do, and instantly, instantly, feeling so much better.

Coincidences, that's another thing. Funny because they don't even have to necessarily make any sense to somehow reaffirm your belief in something, that there is a plan to life and we're all linked into it. Coincidences like seeing Dave at Waterloo station on the way back to Egham, right after Ruth and I had been talking about him that afternoon. I haven't seen him in a year; haven't kept in touch, or mentioned or even thought about him. Yet on the one day he comes up in conversation, our paths cross. Bizarre. Was there some kind of purpose to it? I doubt it! But they make you think, all the same.

Quarter to two. Does that count as late? It's enough.