An English Experience

This evening, in the odd chill of July under a dull grey sky, I do not think I'd ever felt quite so much like an Englishman. It was because I was standing in front of my barbecue, which I had built myself out of old bricks. It was raining, and I was happily holding in one hand a cup of tea whilst with the other hand I was trying to both turn the sausages with impractically short tongs and shield the same sausages from the ravages of the English weather with my umbrella. The sausages were pink on one side and black on the other, and I kept losing them to the coals through the gaps in the grill. It was nice. I was satisfied.

Then I remembered that whilst I felt like an Englishman, I'm not really one at all. This is because my "...citizenship is in heaven, and from it (I) await a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ." (Philippians 3v20)

You see, I live here, but I don't belong here, and I'm waiting for my King to take me home.