One hour and thirty-five minutes

In one hour and thirty five minutes, the lassie can have chocolate and coffee again. We told her that Sundays in Lent don't count, and that when somebody gives you a lovely home-made chocolate biscuit cake you have to accept, so she hasn't been completely cold turkey, but she has been a deprived choco-babe since Ash Wednesday, more of a choco-waif, really.

But the main thing is, resurrection. If that doesn't mean Value Added Life, it ought to.

This week has been intense, bucketing between work, home, story-telling, church, and garden, which is also into resurrection and needs tlc. My wonderful daughter sent me a voucher for Mothering Sunday which has enabled me to buy some of my favourite things to go in the garden. Happily enough, one of my favourite flowers is a favourite funny word too, so hollyhocks to you. They're about resurrection, as well.

On Thursday night we had a bring and share meal, a Eucharist, and a foot washing. Fortunately we didn't have to be too solemn about the foot washing. I've got tickly feet and it's hard to focus on the symbolism when you can't stop laughing and you have to resist the reflex action that to kick out and sploosh the vicar.

But it's about resurrection.

Then I made the crown of thorns to place, with the nails, at the foot of the cross. I hate doing that. Good Friday is so hard. It was a relief to go in today, take that horrible cruel thing away, and put flowers round the cross ready for tomorrow, because IT'S ABOUT RESURRECTION. It's about evil not having the last word. It's about life, and life needs love. Value Added Love.

One hour and twenty minutes, sweetie.

What's it about?