Through the arched door ...

My boys loved whatever that programme was at 10.45 on weekday mornings - the one that took them through different shaped doors every day, the one that gave me fifteen precious minutes to have a cup of coffee in peace - that programme. What was it called? Anyway, that's what came to mind as a title for this photo, taken through the door that leads from the choir of our church into the tower.

It made me giggle this morning; I was putting away the lapel mic I'd used to deliver a sermon (not my own this time; my pal broke her ankle yesterday and was due to preach, so she mailed it to me ...); Mr PB was returning the old wooded box where the cardboard numbers for the hymn board live to whatever recess it hides in. We met among the raw stone and damp plasterboard of the tower ground floor, and looking back into the bright church with its candles still lit and the flowers and Advent Wreath still in place we were made suddenly aware of what a cave it all is, and of the contrasting environment behind the door. A bit like Narnia, looking back through the furry coats in the Wardrobe and seeing a glimpse of the room beyond as the children set off to explore the snowy realm...

You can tell I was in full child mode this morning. All these associations in the rag-bag of my mind. The extra photo is of the Advent wreath still burning - but probably needing a replacement purple candle for the next service before it sets the greenery alight.