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For as long as I can remember I have wanted a dog. Not a sorry excuse for a dog that could be mistaken for a rat, but a proper dog: One that I could wrestle with, play with, and then have climb up next to me on the sofa for a cuddle; One that would be strong enough to protect my family, but gentle enough to let children play with him; One that I could take for a walk and then have him curl up under my desk when I work.
There’s a story involving year 8 and my parents which I could go into, but near on 20 years later, it’s still a sore point… And 9 years into marriage (ish…) I have petitioned Suzanne (let’s use that word instead of moaning or begging…) to the point where I have a firm promise of “Maybe one day” I can get a dog. I’m thinking I’ve only got another 12 years of “petitioning” to go… But what many people don’t know is that I already have my own dog... I'm a youth worker. It's my job to work with young people. More than that I believe it to be my calling. And normally I think I'm pretty good at it... Except I don't think I'm made for all youth work, not all youth work is the same, and not all youth workers have the same strengths.
The real secret though is this: |
MARCRemarcable is one man blogging about Youth Work, Theology, Family, Life and those other random things that come to mind. Archives
February 2023
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