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Through the Night of Doubt and Sorrow

The Parable of the Good Samaritan by Jan Wijna...

The Parable of the Good Samaritan by Jan Wijnants (1670) shows the Good Samaritan tending the injured man. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Meenister’s Log

It was a wet and stormy night, rain lashing against the window panes and wind howling in the eves.

It was as wetter than ……….

{oops, dear, you should have Googled that phrase first – it’s a bit naughty!}

And it was dark.  As far as I remember it was about 3.00 in the morning.

Then the doorbell rang.  I can’t remember what weird dream I was having, but woke up thinking “what’s the Avon lady doing here in the middle of the night”

I opened  the door in my pyjamas (cue: didn’t know pj’s had doors in them – boom boom!)

And there, standing on the doorstep was a drookit, drenched and dishevelled young woman carrying a wee bedraggled dog under her arm.

“My boyfriend’s trying to kill me” she said “I got out of the house with the dog, but he’s been following me in his car – and I’m convinced he’s going to run me down”

Well I got her inside, fetched some towels and she dried herself off, made a strong cup of tea and then asked if she wanted to stay overnight in the guest bedroom.

To the last suggestion, she politely refused – “he’ll track me down to here”

“OK have you got friends you could stay with?”

“Yes, but there in  a particular town”   The town was an hour’s drive away.

Under cover of darkness, and in the pouring rain, we got to my car, where she crouched down on the back seat.

“Could you drive with your headlights off to begin with, in case he spots us?

“Er, no – don’t think that would be legal”

“I’ll look out the rear window once we’re on the main road, to make sure he isn’t following us”

So, with little or no conversation – though I tried – we eventually got to the area of this town, where her friends lived.

“Park in the street round the corner” said she “He may have come a different by a different route and be waiting for me”

And with that, she and her wee dog disappeared , never to be seen again by me.

A few weeks later, the local Parish Priest stopped me in the street with the greeting “Hello, Good Samaritan!  I hear that you gave Miss X a drive through the night to a “safe house”

“How do you know?”

“Because she’s been at my door a couple of times, and at the Episcopalian rector, and has apparently been pestering the local doctor on a regular basis”

And then he added “Oh, and they’re back together again – it seems to happen quite a lot”

Do I have a tattoo on my forehead that reads “MUG”?

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In Tribute to our Wonderful Summer Weather


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