All posts by promisepainter

Time to put the kettle on?

When I hear the word ‘kettle’ my first thought is of the cordless, white plastic jug-style one that sits on my counter and which I boil to make tea at least seven times a day.  But this week God has been speaking to me about a different kind:   A huge copper kettle sitting on the edge of lamp-black coal-fired range, straight from a Victorian kitchen.

This kind of kettle had an enormous capacity and was kept filled and warm on the edge of the range at all times so that it could be boiled and poured out at a moments notice.  It served the needs of the whole household, providing not only tea (vital for life in Britain you know) but also hot water for cleaning, washing up and for bathing.

These days you’re more likely to find one in an antiques shop, or polished up and on display somewhere.  And it is lovely to look at, mostly because of what it’s made of, but there’s no mistaking that it was made for a purpose -to serve the needs of the family.

Big family range-top kettles used to be made out of a variety of different metals, but in the poshest houses they were made of copper like this one. Copper was used not because of its beauty, but because it has an amazing ability to conduct heat.  Not only that, but also it doesn’t corrode (rust) and has a very high melting point.  The perfect metal for the job.

My plastic kettle has an element inside it that heats the water, but this kettle has no capacity to heat the water by itself. Instead it relies entirely on being in close contact with the heat of the range.

But we are each like this big, copper kettle.

We are designed to serve the family, the body, of Christ each in our own way.  Being shined-up and visible on the shelf of the household is much less important than doing the job I was made for.  This is not necessarily something I find easy, but it’s true.

We are like this kettle.

We need to remember, to keep remembering, that we don’t have the capacity to power ourselves.  I am entirely dependent on him for the power I need to do the job I was made for.  And in order to receive that energy I need to be close to him.  The only way for this kettle to come to the boil is to rest on the hotplate.  Every single time it needs to come to the boil it has no choice but to come back into that place of rest.  To be always ‘ready’, so that it stays warm all the time and can be brought to the boil quickly, it must keep coming back to resting on the hotplate regularly, and never venture very far away from it.

I am like this kettle.

The way I behave, the choices I make, matter.  Character matters because it matters what you’re made of.  Someone chose to make this kettle from copper because it was strong, able to take the weight of the water, wouldn’t corrode and fall apart, wouldn’t melt onto the stove and also because it is fantastic at conducting heat.  I need to be good, not only at resting in God and absorbing ‘heat’ from him, but also at passing that heat on to others.  I need to have a character that will not corrode over time, or lose strength and melt.  It matters what I’m made of.

We are all like this copper kettle.

We each have the capacity to serve others in a myraid of different ways.  We are each important to the household in hospitality, in comfort, in keeping clean, and in sustaining.

But we can do none of those things unless we stay close to the source of the heat.

reflect white

kettle2

Down the back of the sofa

This is just a theory, and as yet not scientifically tested, but I think our sofa (couch/settee/whatever) might actually suck loose change out of my pockets when I sit down. It’s probably a swedish furniture company conspiracy.

A brief investigation this morning revealed not only a pile of coins, but also an array of pencils, hair bands, guitar picks, earrings, polly pockets, barbie shoes, teaspoons, socks and the TV remote (which was what I was actually looking for!) And it got me thinking about how in the middle of everyday life stuff gets lost down the back of the sofa, and we don’t even miss it.

This picture makes me smile because I once received (rather publicly) a slightly unflattering prophetic word that I was like a spaniel tearing a sofa apart to find a bone that he could smell there.  I’ve often wondered what on earth it meant… but today’s postcard is casting a little bit of light on it for me.  Because God is talking to me about things that get lost down the back of the sofa, and which are actually pretty easy to find again, if you take the time to go looking.

I read this recently from Romans 4  (v 18-21)

Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, “So shall your offspring be.”  Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah’s womb was also dead. Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God,  being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.

It made me think about how Abraham had held on to that promise that he had heard from God, not letting go of it even in the face of strong evidence that it wasn’t even possible. He kept hold of it through years and years of waiting and held on to it even when it became clear that he had seriously messed up.  He held onto that promise, and kept giving glory to God for what he was going to do.

Abraham didn’t let the promise of God go slipping quietly out of his pocket and into the forgotten realms of the back of the sofa.

I on the other hand, do.  When people share a prophetic word or scripture with me I often write them down and then pray about them for a month or two.  Then somehow they slip away quietly into some dark part of my memory, not completely lost, but dusty and out of sight.

But, it’s very easy to find things that have slipped down between the cushions… you just have to look.

Today my friends, is a great day for searching again for the things God has said to you, for the promises he’s spoken.  It’s a day for holding those promises up to the light and blowing the dust off of them.  It’s a day for choosing to give glory to God for what he has promised and for being ‘fully persuaded that God has the power to do what he [has] promised’.  I’m not saying that today is necessarily the day that you step into the fulfillment of all those promises. Faith shows up in the waiting. And although Abraham, man of faith, waited a long, long time, he did so with the promise of God in his hand.

sofa

reflect blue

Tangerine lanterns

Have you ever made one of these? It’s actually terribly easy to cut around a tangerine or clementine, pull out the fruit and pop in a candle. As you can see, it makes a beautiful little lantern, with the added bonus of a sweet orangey aroma.

As I made the lantern with my sweet girl I learned a few things, and today I’m hearing the Spirit speaking through them…

One is that putting a light inside a tangerine peel makes it very, very beautiful. Something which I would ordinarily throw away, consider worthless, has its deep beauty revealed by the light that shines out from within it.

The second was that if you fit the two halves together and attempt to seal the light in, it is very quickly starved of oxygen and the flames go out. I needed to cut a hole in the top to make it able to keep burning. The hole iets some of the light and heat that the flame generates out without spoiling the gorgeous effect of the light breaking through the thin places (and the scars), and the flame stays alight.

We also realized, after we’d made our lantern, that to really appreciate it in all its glory we needed to carry it outside into the darkness and watch it glowing beautifully there.

You can probably already see how the Holy Spirit has been speaking to me through this picture.

It totally fills up my heart to think that God can use me to bring light and joy to others even (or perhaps especially) when I feel ready for the compost heap; it delights me to think that even those places where I’ve been deeply wounded can become beautiful as his light shines through them; and it’s good to be reminded that although without God I am not much to speak of, his light inside me can bring out deep beauty that might otherwise never be seen.

I’ll be thinking about those other things too..  About how it’s really not possible to have a hidden, private faith, concealed completely from the world because that hidden-ness would stifle the flame and perhaps even put it out. And also that places that are already full of light don’t always need a lantern or appreciate its beauty, and that there’s a good reason we are called to take that light out into dark places, however challenging that might be.

Whatever else, when I look at this picture, I am amazed at the transformation that takes place when the candle is lit, and I want to cry out to God to shine brighter inside of me, and to tell myself again never to be quietly conned into thinking I can do without him,  not even for a moment.

I don’t have anything to ask you to pray about this week, but I do have a challenge for you…

If you are in a part of the world where it’s possible to get hold of a tangerine, a box of matches and a tealight candle – make yourself one of these.  My painting really doesn’t do it justice, and seeing and smelling it will speak to your heart.  Then take it and sit with it in a dark place for a while and see how God speaks to you through it.  I guarantee it will be ten or twenty minutes well spent, and I would love to hear what he has said to you.

Be blessed.

tangerine lantern

On faith, hope and being sure

Are you sure?

On the one hand there are some things that I am, absolutely, sure about… I’m absolutely sure that I belong to God and that I can call him ‘Abba’.  I’m sure that he is bigger, more powerful, more beautiful, more just, more gracious and more loving than I or anyone else can imagine.  I’m sure that I although I am one of the millions that he loves fiercely, that his love is in no way diluted, and that I am precious to him.  I’m so sure of his forgiveness and grace that I know I can lean back into them and believe that I am accepted in spite of my past, present and future mess-ups.

I’m sure.

And yet.

It doesn’t take much to leave me feeling like this daisy, adrift on the ocean.  A few mistakes, someone angry, a stinking cold, a friend leaving the country.  All that ‘sure-ness’ can melt into weariness, shaken-up-ness and not-sure-I-can -hear-God-ness in a matter of days.

So when I came to God on tuesday morning to ask him for a picture to put in a postcard for today, all I could see was this daisy, floating on the ocean.

Two things are true about it:

One- the daisy is tossed about, but not sinking.  It’s not sinking because its petals are wide open, and its petals are open because it’s facing into the light and the warmth of the sun.

Two – even though it’s affected, pulled up and down and this way and that by the movement around it, this tiny daisy is anchored, deep, deep down below the waves, into something solid.  The rope that ties it is slack so that there is length to cope with the rise and fall of the waves and tides, but it’s strong.

It was only after I’d painted this anchored daisy that I read the verse from Hebrews:

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure, It enters the inner sanctuary, behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus has entered on our behalf.

Hebrews 6:19-20

It’s not the only place I’ve heard about hope recently.  On yesterday’s news the newly-elected prime minster of Greece claimed that this week’s election outcome was a ‘victory for hope’.  Many, many people there are hoping for an easier future.  
Hope is extraordinarily powerful thing, and when that hope is shown to be false it can be utterly crushing.  Unfortunately, when you’re being tossed about by the waves having your hope-rope anchored to anything that is in this world is just like being anchored to another set of waves, there’s no guarantee of stability coming.

The hope that the Bible holds out to us is in a different league altogether. As Hebrews tells us, it is anchored not in this world, but on the other side of the curtain, in the place where Jesus has gone ahead of us, in the presence of God.

It’s a mystery, but it’s a bit like my anchored daisy.  Deep, deep, down and beyond it is fixed irrevocably to something other than the ocean. Something solid and unmoveable, something which contains the ocean itself.

Here and there, in places, a gift of faith solidifies that hope into sureness.  And as I’ve painted and pondered  I’ve realised that this shaken-ness, the tiredness from the wind and the waves doesn’t make me ‘not sure’.  It just reminds me that sure-ness is not a surface feeling. It goes much, much deeper than that: Sure-ness is hope soaked in faith, over and over until that hope has become somehow more real than the ‘reality’ of the waves, and is anchoring my heart way beyond this particular storm, and into God himself.

However you are currently being shaken, whatever storm you are living through, or watching people close to you live through, try keep your face turned towards Jesus. Then your petals will stay warm and open and you you will be able to rest on the surface of the waves. Remind yourself often of the hope that you have as a child of God, and then ask him for the gift of faith, so that your hope become strong and solid, and then whatever happens, you will still be able to say, ‘I am sure’.

A silver locket for my love

I have a silver locket just like this one that I have had since I was a teenager.  They’re supposed to have a memento in them so special that you want to have it near to your heart at all times.

I used to wear this little heart-shaped locket a lot, and I can remember as a teenager ‘updating’ the photographs fairly frequently as I changed my mind about who was most important to me! So when God reminded me of it this morning and went hunting for it I confess that I had completely forgotten whose photograph was inside.

I found it eventually in the necklace-tangle at the bottom of my jewellery box, badly tarnished and stuck shut. It seems I haven’t worn it for a while.   Having finally managed to prise it open with a hair clip, I was quite surprised to find tiny photographs of myself and my husband, taken before we were even engaged to be married and looking improbably young!

There are two simple truths in this picture of a locket for me.

One is that God wears me (and you!) close to his heart.  Every single one of us that call him Father are so precious to him that he holds us like this, near to him at all times.  Even if we in our own hearts have wandered away through pain, confusion, doubt, anger or just our own ridiculous busyness and forgetfulness, he holds us near.   It’s a mystery, but it’s true.

The second was something God whispered quietly when I found my locket forgotten and abandoned in the box.

‘Don’t forget your first love’.

God is jealous for your love. For me that’s an invitation to invest in my relationship with Jesus, my first love.  For while I know my position next to his heart is fixed, I’m also aware that my focus and my own heart do tend to get distracted!

Maybe you’ve read the article that’s been doing the internet rounds this week on what it takes to fall in love.  Apparently it can all be achieved in a matter of hours by going through and honestly answering a list of searching questions together and then staring into one another’s eyes for four minutes.   Interesting. (although you must be predisposed to fall for someone if you’re prepared to do all that in the first place!)

What it tells me is that perhaps what it really takes to fall in love is to take the time to understand yourself and to share that openly and honestly with someone, and to take the time to really listen to them in return. And then to look at them, for a long time, without hiding.

The same must apply in my relationship to God. ( I am a human even if he isn’t).  His love for me never wavers for an instant, but mine for him can be decidedly wobbly.  Time, honesty, vulnerability, trust, listening and an intention to become closer to the other person.  I wonder if these aren’t exactly the same things we need to continually invest in our relationship with God?

 

Whichever one of these things speak to you; the truth that with all your failings and imperfections, you are still his beloved, or the call to come once again to the fountain of life, to look into his eyes, to spill out your heart and to allow  his truth to flow over you; whichever one it is,  or both, you can choose to receive it today. That’s the point of this picture,  it’s a gift, for you.

 

 

Less than or equal to

I went to a bible study this week that was all about grace, about how wonderful and life changing it is when others love us in spite of our failings and unlovableness.  When they choose not to punish us for our mistakes, and instead continue to love us and be good to us, just as God has done.

And it was funny because I was sitting there in a beautiful room surrounded by beautifully turned out, slim women who had managed to remember to put their make up on and were wearing co-ordinating clothes, none of which bore evidence of breakfast.  Our lovely hostess had baked something delicious and the only signs of her four children were in artistically framed photos on the wall.  Everyone was friendly and relaxed and I really should have been feeling loved and welcomed and comfortable, but  mostly, I was feeling ‘less than’.

I am so glad that we were discussing the extraordinary power of grace, because right in the middle of that bible study God graciously whispered in my ear that I was being ridiculous, and showed me this picture of a pocket sized set of rulers which have the maths symbols for ‘less than’, equal to’ and ‘greater than’ printed on the side.

He showed me that these rulers are the ways I measure (judge) the value of those around me and myself.  I’m fairly sure that everyone has a set somewhere.  We use them to make comparisons:

By this standard, am I less than, equal to, or greater in value than this other person?  

Each ruler represents a standard that we use to measure value- beauty, education, money, intelligence, job importance, talent, youth, home, grades, fame, accent, nationality, body shape, hairstyle, grammar, ministry, ability to spell, popularity,  organisation,  sporting prowess and a billion other things..  And there’s not just one ruler in my pocket, there’s a collection! We all  pick (or have been handed) a unique set, the things that we use to measure value – our own and other people’s.

Heartbreakingly, We use these rulers even though we know they are all lies.

We all know that being prettier, or tidier, or better at art, or football, or slimmer, or richer, or better dressed doesn’t actually make you more valuable…  and yet, when the ruler tells me I am ‘less than’.  It doesn’t feel good.  If it tells me I am ‘more than’ it makes me feel quietly a little better.

So, somewhere in the middle of this bible study, God and I had a little chuckle together.  Because there I was, talking about grace and what it means, and at the same time, in the background I was struggling with my rulers.

And while he was smiling, God said to me, “Put them down”.

Grace is choosing to live with no value-rulers. None for measuring yourself, none for measuring other people.

Grace is not measuring.

Grace is accepting that value comes from nowhere else than that we are made in the image of God, and loved by him.

I know that that sounds outrageous and difficult and wonderful and maybe impossible, but hey, that’s grace for you…

It’s actually a big deal that God is calling me to here – giving up comparison, giving up the need to calculate, “less than, equal to or greater than”.  I hope that some of you will look at this picture and feel him calling you to it too.

Put down the rulers.  Choose to live without them.

Comparison is toxic.  Grace is beautiful.  Let’s do it.

 

 

wise men and pearls

epiphany  əˈpifənē/:  a sudden and great revelation, insight or realization.

Last tuesday we celebrated the festival of Epiphany (another national holiday here in Cyprus), remembering the revelation of God to a group of magi (wise men) somewhere in the east and their subsequent journey to worship Jesus in Bethlehem.  I always wonder exactly what it was that they discovered and how they found it, because it’s clear that those wise men(however many of them there might have been) were so taken, so intrigued by whatever had been revealed to them that they chose to undertake a long and probably arduous journey in order to discover more.

Interestingly, it seems likely that they followed a similar route to Abraham, who also travelled from the east in search of the answer to a promise God had revealed to him.  Abraham found the promised land, but the magi found God himself.

This idea of a sudden and great revelation that leads to a journey has reminded me of one of my favourite Bible stories:

“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking beautiful pearls, who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had and bought it.

Matthew 13: 45-46 NKJV

The merchant had his own moment of sudden and great realisation:  the knowledge that there was a pearl so beautiful that every other that he had ever seen paled into comparison beside it.  And it led him to begin an uncompromising pursuit of that pearl, giving up everything he had previously valued in order too have it.

In all these cases that what fired the pursuit was a revelation that there was something of inestimable value to be found or gained.  A sudden understanding that it is was worth looking, worth hunting, worth travelling out of your way, worth pursuing, worth paying the fare, worth letting go of everything else to find it.

It was a lightbulb moment – a hearing from God moment – a moment when everything changed and the world snapped into different perspective that motivated the wise men and Abraham to start their relentless pursuits of what had been dangled tantalisingly before them.   It wasn’t something that man did, but something that God did.

I’m feeling like this month, epiphany month, is a time to ask God to weigh in.  Ask him to weigh in with ‘sudden and great realisation and revelation’ in the lives of people you love, in the lives of your work colleagues and friends and even in the lives of people you don’t really know.  It’s a time to ask for God to reveal himself and to draw people into a journey towards the promise he has for them.  It’s a time to ask him to dangle the pearl of great price that is the kingdom of heaven in front of their noses so that a unquenchable yearning for more breaks open in their hearts.

And, while we’re there, perhaps we should ask that he does it for us too.

 

 

This post 52, and it marks the end of a full year of postcards.  Thank you to every one of you who has read them and shared them, and especially to those who’ve written to say you’ve heard God through them.  I’m going to post regularly on a thursday this year as my wednesdays have got a bit busy… See you then, Ellie x

 

 

Happy New Year – Hill walking

I’m quite partial to a long slow walk in the countryside, especially if it’s between tearooms. And I particularly love walking (very slowly) up hills.   I often come to a point in the walk or climb where I’m ready to have a little sit down.  I’m very British, so it’s a joy to me to sit down somewhere sheltered-ish on a fold out mat, get out a flask of tea and a sandwich and just sit for a while and look.  And I think the first couple of weeks of a new year might be the perfect time to do a good bit of looking.

Looking should be savoured. In my opinion it’s better than the actual walking… I like to look back and congratulate myself, remember the pain and the exhilaration;  look at where I am now, enjoy the view;  and look ahead to where I’d like to get to, when I feel like I’ve got the energy to get up and move again.

It’s good to look back at where you’ve been.  To remember that stretch where the walking was a joy and the scent of the flowers around you almost carried you along; the slope that seemed a particularly hard climb; the part where you slipped and fell into the thorns and came out limping and bleeding and yet somehow got up and carried on.  If you look back at the journey of 2014 there will have been different kinds of terrain, injuries, happy times, and people who came and walked beside you in it all, it’s worth taking some time to reflect.

It’s even better to sit next to Jesus and ask him to show you where he was, how he helped you, how he felt as he walked beside you on that climb. Joys and struggles, triumph and disaster.  Don’t judge for yourself, ask him to show you what you did well, what you learned, how you’ve grown.

And while you’re resting with Jesus at the very beginning of 2015, you might choose to have a quick look through your back pack for any rocks you might have accidentally picked up and carried with you this year. Lumps of unforgiveness especially have the ability to slow you down.  It might really help to get rid of them now and not carry them through into the next year!

Looking ahead is harder.  The view back is always clearer than the one in front.  It’s probably better not to second guess it,  and if you’re like me you’ll be in the thick of January before you have time to ask too many questions.  You might just ask for one word or picture that says something about what God wants you to learn or be in the next year and then, if you’re brave enough, look up into Jesus’ eyes and say “I’m not sure where I’m going, but I trust you to lead the way”.

 

A Christmas Card from Postcards from Heaven

I’ve been in conversation with God for some time now about what picture should appear on the front of your Christmas postcard… A scene of Bethlehem? Something tinselly? But no, this odd little bauble-bottle is what keeps coming into my head and there’s no getting away from it…

it doesn’t have a name, as far as I know it doesn’t even exist and I can’t imagine it would be useful, but Jesus often doesn’t follow my rules and I always eventually realise it is easier just to go with what I think he’s showing me! So this is it: A two-chamber bauble-bottle that holds more one type of liquid.

Christmas is just like this.. Christmas is a container that holds more than one thing..

I really love it.  I love the kids’ excitement, the preparations, the sense of specialness, the time with friends, the family traditions, the special food, the random animals in nativity plays and even the theologically-challenged carols.  I just love it.

and yet…

Yesterday was my Dad’s birthday, and this will be our sixth Christmas without him. And at this time of year, I miss him more than ever. I can’t enjoy our traditional family singsong without missing the sound of his voice, I can’t watch my kids in a recital without thinking how proud he would have been of them, and I just can’t do Christmas day without missing his energy and sense of fun.

And I’m guessing for many, if not most of you it’s the same. Along with the joy comes an acute awareness of what has been lost.

Christmas is a container that holds both joy and sadness, and somehow they can only be poured out together.

For me, it’s not possible to experience the joy without also walking through the sadness.  To not allow one of them to be released from the bottle would be to stifle the other as well.  And I really want the joy…

It seems to me, at this time of year, that the world is conspiring to show me a perfect Christmas.  One with perfect, complete families where no-one gets sick, or forgets anything, or worries about money or falls out over the rules of a board game.  Where teenagers leap with joy at the idea of a game of charades, the roast dinner is all warm at the same time, the whole family gather around the piano to sing carols (in four-part harmony) and above all, no-one feels sad, not even for a moment.

It’s not true of course, there is no ‘perfect’ Christmas.  It’s just another impossible standard for me to fail to reach. Not everything has to be perfect anyway, and I suspect that the fact that the joy always comes mixed in with sadness just makes me normal.

For those of you who are similarly normal: Know that God understands.  He understands great joy and deep sadness.  And he reaches out to carry you through both.

So on this festive postcard I will wish you a Happy Christmas, but because that on its own doesn’t seem quite real enough:

This Christmas

May you have enough joy to soften your sadness

Enough peace to calm your storms

and enough hope to look up into the eyes of the Saviour of the World and to find yourself covered by his love.

Bigger on the inside.

If you’re reading this in the UK you probably don’t need me to tell you what this is, or why I associate it with Christmas… but for those of you that aren’t:

This is the TARDIS. It’s from the long running UK TV show Dr Who and it’s a time-travelling spaceship. It’s become something of an iconic image and because of the unmissably excellent Christmas Day special episodes, it doesn’t seem entirely out of place in the jumble of jolly santas, cherubic angels and sprigs of holly.

Apart from that, all you need to know is this: It’s bigger on the inside.

On the outside it’s the size and shape of a 1960’s British Police telephone box (a regular sight on UK streets when this series started, ten years before I was born!), but on the inside it is apparently vast (there are even rumours of a swimming pool.)  Ask any Dr Who fan to describe the TARDIS and that’s what they’ll tell you – ‘it’s bigger on the inside’.

Think of how you would gasp in awe and wonder if you were to walk through that little blue door and discover that it is so much more than it appears to be.  Think of how you would run outside again to check and double check what you were seeing.  Think of how much your mind would be expanded!

Wow!

Awesome!

That really would be amazing.  To see something that so defied my understanding of how things are, how they work, of what is possible.  I’m pretty sure that I would be bursting to tell people about it but might also struggle to find the right words to describe how that discovery makes me feel…

All this reminds me of another image I associate with Christmas day:

A new-born baby.  Small, soft-skinned and helpless. Wrapped in a cloth and lying in a straw-filled manger.

And when I look, I hear God whisper,

“Can you see it?… Can you see what the shepherds saw, what the wise men travelled to see?”

“He’s bigger on the inside”

This is the extraordinary miracle of Christmas for me, perhaps even more amazing than the Easter-miracle of the resurrection:

Our God who spoke the universe into the existence and holds every part of it together; our God who said “let there be light” and who is the light;  our God who is infinitely powerful, infinitely wise, infinitely creative, infinitely loving, infinitely big; everything that he is is somehow contained inside that tiny cloth-wrapped package in the manger… Astounding.

For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him

Colossians 1:19

Take a moment today to let that sink in again.

Take some time to be awestruck,

to marvel.

and don’t be fooled by the tiny, helpless, sweet-smelling, soft-skinned baby in the manger…

He’s so much more than he appears to be.

Seriously bigger on the inside.

tardisfeat