Let Truth Bloom

My father, God rest his soul, was a deep thinker. The truth mattered to him. One of the things he did, though, that sometimes irritated me was his repetition of stories. One in particular he must have told me dozens of times; and I overheard him tell others dozens more. Little did either of us know what a pivotal part the centrepiece of this story would play in his death. My father’s favourite painting was the focal point of this often repeated tale. A picture of that very painting, which still hangs in his bedroom, you can see below. Dad tended to be a wonderful story-teller; animated whilst calm, clear, concise (most of the time), and certainly could hold one’s attention.  The painting is of Our Lord Jesus standing knocking on a door. To me, it is a beautiful painting. Calming. Thought-provoking. Emotive. The best part, though, is what is not there. There is no handle on the door. Jesus can knock. But there is no handle for Him to turn to let Himself in. He is knocking and must w...