People tell me they have the gift of hospitality by which I think they mean that they like dinner parties.
They have (or aspire to have) a beautiful home with an underused spare room, in which they enjoy entertaining exotic, interesting, appreciative guests who confirm just how lovely their home is.
This is not the gift of hospitality. This is the gift of a box of chocolates.
Millions and millions hearing the gospel of Immanuel today -
* Let preachers preach it, choirs sing it, kids unwrap it,
* Pubs host it, rulers fear it, mothers hold it,
* Cynics see it, artists tell it, angels yell it,
* People with heads bowed low perceive it,
* Those with debts unpaid receive it,
* Those with doubts unprayed believe it, once again.
A quirky little backwater in which I tame a few thoughts and park my writing projects.
