The place I have been camping for the last five days looks nothing like the picture above, but it looks so pretty I couldn't resist... Much more glamorous than Stafford's showground, at any rate. And yet, I would much rather have Stafford and rain and wellies and the glory of God than any number of tents in trees.
This has been an extraordinary week.
I am hoping to be able to draw out some stories as my brain settles and rests a little, but for now, the whole event is a bit of a blur. Highlights were the wheelchairs left empty as people were healed and got up and danced and turned cartwheels, the morning when His presence was so thick that the preach was chucked out of the window so that we could pray, the way the young people learned that they could pray and minister in Holy Spirit's power, the holy joy that was released as they prayed for their youth leaders at the end of the week, the phenomenal truth that was spoken to our broken girls - that they are covered with the blood of our Jesus, the Passover lamb, and that nothing that is life-stealing has a right to them. Death is not welcome in this place.
Goodness, I am tired. Five rest days, and then to Shepton for three festivals in a row.
Bring it on.
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