Faith

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You asked for your own space, so here you have it – come with me, lets look around, I want you to view it fully:
Downstairs- chairs, no frills but comfy sofas and beanbags. The light streaming in from every side makes the room seem huge. Seats of every description, some facing the sun, some huddled in corners. Room for all to sit and share; space to laugh, space to pray. There are no restrictions – sit down and eat your lunch here, don’t worry about crumbs on the carpet! Take your shoes off, or keep them on – be comfortable.

Walk through to the dining area – a table long and laden with a feast. Fit for royalty, and– it’s all for you to share– so go out, bring in the hungry and homeless, the sick, the cold, the lonely and those in despair. Open the doors and leave them that way – this room is to be filled with the sounds of a family enjoying food together. No silence round, no ‘don’t put your elbows on the’ table – make them feel at home. This belongs to you all.

The kitchen: space to try, space to learn, space for those who have never licked the spoon, or been covered in flour, or rolled pastry. Clean worktops, fresh fruit on the sideboard. Products organic, fair-trade, locally grown, cress growing affectionately in torn egg boxes on the side, crayon drawings lovingly stuck to the fridge. The smell of fresh bread, all coupled with the sun through transparent walls adding a friendly autumnal glow.

Upstairs, bedrooms, all individual as bridal chambers decorated afresh. Openness, simplicity, light. No computers kept in dark corners or literature hidden under the bed, no pillboxes stowed on neat bedside tables. Somehow the accountability is liberating & safe, rather than cloying & restrictive. There is space for guests, pilgrims, those who are tired and worn to feel the crispness and comfort of clean sheets. Dust and tears all washed away in this place where people come for respite. A first aid kit, stocked with bandages and tcp, tissues to wipe the eyes of the child with grazed knees, cream to soothe cracked skin, and plasters to cover torn skin and heal painful blisters.

A library, but with no tall imposing towering bookcases, no unread tales by unknown writers. Instead, shelves stocked with half-full notebooks, pages creased and corners turned over. Stories as yet incomplete, scribbled in haste – rough pen-portraits speaking of transformation. A thousand faces all remember, fond memories dipped into and recalled, shared round an open fire in the grounds on a starry evening. A growing, evolving collection of real lives and real miracles. Photos stuck commemorating ongoing celebration. A place to spend warm evenings doodling and watching the sunset.

There are rooms for creativity, glass paint utilised adding rich and deep tones, space to scrawl heartfelt cries to Me. No emphasis on skill or how it looks but the focus is raw honesty, emotions spilling out in bursts of colour, precious sentences uttered silently or amplified with bright marker pens. People will be inspired here and share their deepest dreams, illustrating part of their journey and some of the glimpses of Me they will gain here.

The bathroom is huge, for people will come desperate to feel My cleansing, to wash away ground-in dirt and deep-rooted disgust. The gentle steam from the hot jets of water will soothe them, and there’ll be no more desperate attempts, unseen, sobbing in the corner of a dank & filthy bathroom, scrubbing their skin raw in a vain attempt to feel clean. There are white, clean, warm towels, so as people step out of the water, clean from the inside, they can wrap themselves in these symbols of their transformation. Don’t be precious about surfaces, muddy footprints can be wiped away, praise Me for the person who made them, pray for them to truly grasp they are royalty in my sight.

Come back downstairs so we can walk round the grounds together, I want to show you the trees, each representing a life planted and growing in me. Small flowers grow at their base, seemingly fragile and yet deep-rooted in the fertile soil. It’s a place of peace, a place to reflect, a place to walk hand-in-hand with me each evening. Look back at the house from here, prisms of light reflecting in the many translucent panes. You can see many people in the house from here, eating, laughing, talking, drawing, resting, recovering. All growing, all opening up, all learning to communicate with Me. It’s a beautiful sight.

It’s time to go back inside now, this is the place I am giving you to live in. I have heard your cries for your own space – this is my space for you –the house for you to dwell in. Remember it is a gift, love it and yet give it away – open it up to all. Never try to pull down blinds or put up curtains. Don’t install mirrors so what is reflected is yourself. Look to me daily, walk with me in the grounds daily – we’re partners in this.

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