The day it rained in colours

I have just read D one of my favourite childhood stories, one of the few that I still own in the original version.  Three children visit Greyland and meet a little grey boy.  Everything is grey.  The people who live there have forgotten what colour is.

I feel like I have been spending time in the grey lands at the moment, engaged in things that drain me.  I have been thinking about money, invoices and receipts, bank forms and spreadsheets, committees and processes; I have also been accompanying someone very dear to me as they grapple with the bureaucracy of the benefits system.

One of my favourite illustrations in the story is this one:  I love the pleasure and abandon of the people enjoying colour.  We are often told to spend time doing things that energise us. I am learning that colour and creativity energise me in a completely physical way.  When I can barely lift a pen to face filling in a new form, I can imagine something to make and be filled with an excitement and energy that will keep me up to for hours.

In the story, its only when the grey people remember their Maker and say sorry and ask for his help that it starts to rain in colour.  I have also learnt (and how easily I forget!) that remembering my Maker and all he’s done for me each day fills me with energy that can transform the most mundane of tasks.

I will need to hold on to both of these lessons in the next few weeks: remembering my Maker and working on small creative projects. Both will keep me going in the midst of the numbers and the forms.


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I started blogging after the birth of my first child. Since I stopped working, I realise I am defined far more by my relationships than by what I do. So, I am: wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend.

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