“Richard, guess who it is?” mum yelled upstairs.
Braking halfway down the rickety stairs,
there he was leaning in our doorway. “If ever I meet my dad, however big he is,
however small I am,” screamed a kid silently,
“I‟m going to run up and hit him as hard as I can!”
And now I‟m no longer a boy.
Dark London night, darker thoughts.
Anyone hurt you?
Christmas can be the darkest time of the year.
Frozen to the stairs, I flashed back two years to a pew and a blind man who opened my eyes to outstretched arms, and to the forgiveness I found there.
(770) 789-0222
Richard.Sharp@om.org
