Dishes: an object lesson

As it turned out, it wasn't the pizza that was the problem.

Allow me to explain.

I have some very dear male friends. They all share a house together, and it is always a joy to go and visit them, because it's a house where, as the fridge magnet says, "We don't believe in miracles: we rely on them!"

Unfortunately, the fact that they are all young men with busy lives and lots of things they like to do means that, well, household chores fall down the list a bit.

To this end, they have a rota. Which details who does the dishes and so on.

That's fine. But they like entertaining, and so there are often a lot of dishes. There's not a lot of excess money floating around, and they have more important things to buy than new dishes. Also fine.

Do you remember when your mother told you that you should NEVER use cracked dishes? And that you couldn't quite believe that just because there was a little crack or chip, it had suddenly turned your dish into a bacteria-fest?

Believe it, brothers and sisters. My digestive system begs you.

I went to their house. I brought soup. I heated the soup, in the microwave, with the slightly cracked and stained bowl, thinking this would be ok. I mean, I nuked it, for pity's sake!

It has taken a week of picking at little bits of food to get back to normal. A solid week, people. I was only just back to some semblance of normality by my interview yesterday.

Inicidentally, pray, please. We really need this job.

And, on a somewhat lighter note, one of my favourite takes on prophecy and prophetic gifting: De-Flaking the Prophetic. He had me from 'The Prophetic what?'