Is there anything wrong with wanting to be loved? Getting into bed, the cold blankets make me shiver as I huddle up in the foetal position. It’s much more than the blankets though. It’s the pain of decisions to never to be made again, the choices I make every single day.

In the hospital today we helped a 91 year old man sit upright in his bed. He was incredibly friendly, shaking our hands vigorously, engrossed in conversation. His manner is inspirational, still going strong at such an age. Yet I can’t help but feeling a sense of sorrow. As though, if I were at that stage, I’d be crumbling with the reality that was my life.

I should be grateful that every day is another chance. To get it right this time. At what point does it change? When does it become ‘right’?

“You love me despite myself. Sometimes I, I fight myself…Oh you inspire me, to be the higher me. You make my desire pure.”

There’s something so powerful in that song, in that performance. It makes me envy her, the way she expresses her love for her creator – the way the tears roll down her cheeks as she repeats “You are my peace of mind.”

“What a wonderful, merciful, merciful God.”

My eyes always well at that point.

There is a point. There is a point.