Once there was an old man who took his grandson a walk in the countryside. The old man’s face was creased with wrinkles. Like the rings inside an ancient log tree, each signified age and wisdom. The man, to the boys surprise stopped suddenly. He was calm, so calm the boy didn’t feel it right to interrupt this moment of solititude. ‘Listen’, the old man said. The boy listened. At first he could hear nothing but his own racing thoughts. ‘Truly listen’, the man said sensing the boys difficulty. So he tried again. He closed his eyes, took a breath and opened them again. ‘I hear it’, he whispered. They both fell silent again and listened to the gentle winds and the birds in the trees, and further a field the beautiful sound of a babbling brook. Then they listened to silence itself. ‘This my child is real worship.’ ‘To Jesus?’ ‘To Jesus.’
