At night, the quiet house is filled with the marks of the new world—of the redeemed creation seeping through. The Kingdom is visible in items rearranged and reassembled by small hands throughout the day. You can step into my lounge room in the evening and see it in cereal boxes repurposed as little buildings, in papers covered with strange magical markings. It is in the horse head made out of butcher’s paper and in the toothpaste box labelled “keys”, their substances altered by the innocent alchemy of a child’s mind. The outworking of a secret known only to the young: “the Kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
The truth of the world glows here, in the dark: “Old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”
I go about my house silently to gather up all these prophetic markers of the new world. I place them discreetly in the recycling bin.
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