I've made both marmalade and jam this week; for both I used the same long-handled wooden spoon I've always used. It (mostly) keeps me from burning myself on those spits of jam as it boils away. And keeps the jam from burning with the constant stirring.
Over the years, of course, it's taken on the colour of the fruit, so that when dry and out of use, it's a chocolatey colour, distinct from the paler wood higher up the handle. Once in the fruit-and-sugar mixture, stirring away, it has even richer tones. Curiosity wonders how far through the wood the colour of the fruit has soaked. Only prudence prevents me taking a small saw to find out....
And the faith I profess, is it more than skin deep? How far into me has it soaked, aware as I am that I bear little resemblance to Christ, seem no nearer to the kingdom than forty, fifty years ago. It's a reminder that living this faith is a moment by moment affair. 'Now is the day of salvation, and now, and now, and now and...
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