91热爆

Good morning. I grew up in a home with no television. The lasting legacy of that is my patchy knowledge of popular culture. But it was also a chapel-going home, which means I know hymns the way most people know pop music.

I carry my weird playlist around with me everywhere. A hymn for every occasion. Will your anchor hold in the storms of life? (Rainy motorway journey). Yield not to temptation! (Gazing at the carrot cake a colleague has brought into the office). You鈥檇 think I鈥檇 have worn my hymns out by now; but like a pocket full of pebbles, the words shine with use, rather than getting duller.

When I鈥檓 in the dark, and everything around me seems to be changing too rapidly, I tune into my inner soundtrack. In heavenly love abiding, no change my heart can fear.

I hung onto that particular hymn last month on my morning commute. We know spring will come, but I was leaving home in the dark, and getting home in the dark... My little train trundled its way across the Peaks. I was feeling miserable and stressed. And safe is such confiding, for nothing changes here.

We stopped at a station in the pitch dark. The doors opened, and a burst of robin song came in. And in one of those glorious moments of serendipity, I realised where we were: Hope. Hope, in Derbyshire, your next station stop.

It was still dark, but there was a robin singing, and I knew dawn was coming.

The storm may roar without me, my heart may low be laid.

But God is round about me, and can I be afraid? Amen.