There are monsters, often small, but they cast a large shadow. Outlines that stalk us through the hours, down the corridors of the years. Wearing us down, eating into our hope, corroding our dignity, polluting our futures. Dinosaurs of disappointment, trolls of testing and temptation, Igors of error and embarrassment, monstrosities of muddling and mistakes. Sometimes we wrestle with them, sometimes we give up and throw in the towel. Sometimes these Goliaths disperse, parting like clouds for the sun. Sometimes the outlook appears relentlessly bleak, the grim horizon going on for ever. They have names, these monsters, but we are barely able to speak them out. And if we do will we find a listener? If we are able to grab these spectres by the scruff and haul them into the open, what then? In a world where, apparently, everyone else is monster-free and doing fine, then it’s easier to simply join in. Don’t have the skills, the language, the ability to unmask these behemoths. There is One though who understands the depths of our beings, the deep waters of our spirits, knows the nooks and crannies that we barely understand ourselves. One who does not judge, or condemn or patronise or belittle. And he offers a place for us, a rest, a refuge. Somewhere we can lay the burdens and disarm the terrors. Even if we have to do it day after day. We may have to limp to this place of safety, and we may struggle to find the words. But in silence we can come. In struggle we can turn up. Offering what we have, just who we are, without pretence. Just the mess of ourselves, the dishevelled state in which we find ourselves. Accepted. Known. Understood and welcomed.