A couple months ago I was Facetime-ing my mum, as I do every Monday night (my excuse for missing Q and A), when she said to me, when you come home at the end of the year papa said we will bring you for a holiday.

For some unknown reason, that really touched a chord. It is true that I really loved the family holidays we went on when I was younger. I suppose some longings you can never run away from. Or perhaps I have forgotten just how nice it is to be offered rest.

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I spent the last weekend at Ellel Gilbulla. I was very grateful to be in a very restful place. If it isn’t obvious, it is a very beautiful place (even better without Instagram effects, but if you use Instagram you just have to use its effects, don’t you).

The cows there had a habit of staring at me.

There were two lovely magnolia trees – they are now my third favourite flower, after jasmines and sunflowers.

I met some people who were taking a year off to live there. I asked a plump smiley guy named Andrew what they did there, and he said “we cook, clean, do gardening and learn how to take care of the property”. He was saying it was hard work replanting the rose bushes. They cooked very nice food for us indeed.

(I regret never taking much of an interest while my mother pittered and pattered around her kitchen and garden throughout my younger years. My mother is a very good homemaker. It seems with each passing year I appreciate the gift of hospitality more and more.)

Ken Symington told Irish tales and silly jokes and spoke very simply about the Father’s heart.

The amazing thing about it was that it was all very ordinary.

A guy who didn’t eat his scones at tea time told me he found the weekend “very difficult” because he hadn’t known his father. He said to me “This is an issue close to people’s hearts, you know”.

I know.

Do you know the Father? It seems to me people who know the Father are just not the same. They know they are wanted. They know nothing they do can make their fathers love them less. They are very assured and confident. And happy.

You can get Ken’s book Loved Like Never Before here. It starts off with a poem by a girl who suffered at the hands of her earthly father. At the end of the book, the girl has taken significant steps and somewhat journeyed toward knowing her Heavenly Father.

Oh but you have to read the book with an Irish accent otherwise it just won’t be right. (:

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