oly Mission of Saint John

Milady, with the Autumn morning sun's kisses lingering warmly on my face it and a repast of fruit aglimmer with night's dew and golden bread on the stones before me there is little that I could want save thee. And even across this untimely gulf I can hear thy voice, chiding me for daring to put pen to paper while breaking my fast. Thee would let nothing intrude upon that familial time as we shared food in loving company. But truth be told, I am abubble with worldly words that I wish to share with thou and can thus transgress most mischievously - especially as thee is unable to scold me aproper. And even now I can hear the merriment of thy laughter as if this dour old man could ever act with impish mischief.

Now whence did the tale trundle into slumber yestereve ... ah, yes. As I recall it hath just entered the city, buffeted to and fro amidst the frothing sea of man and was seeking the hospice of Saint John in the search of the drunken beggar. Whilst sunlight brings a glimmer of warmth to the city; nighttime life, and verily warmth, bleeds from it milady until what remains are windswept, lonely streets and forgotten people clutching little comfort to themselves. From deep within this hubris of paper shelters a shaky voice directed mine steps to the very road where Saint John found his mission. To my humble remembrance the house of God was a glory of coloured glass whence His children could come to celebrate and worship and t'was with eager steps that I hurried thence. What I found was not what was sought as my eyes beheld an abomination, a sham of plaster walls and grimy windows. A red sigil perched above the entrance, bathing the door in a lurid glow. The doors to sanctuary were barred with but one entrance hidden within the dim recess of a dank alleyway. There, a single light - squeaking a worn protest against the barest breath of icy wind promised the warmth and refuge sought.

T'was there that a matron in modern raiment met me and ushered me indoors. Mere moments after my form filt their door the warmth of a blanket shrugged about my shoulders ere being led down a worn corridor to a dining hall where others, dressed and wrapped much like myself, huddled their hands about bowls of soup with a coarse bread as a robust companion. With my belly filt and warm from this fare the lady led me to a communal barracks; warm despite the chill where I was shown to a simple bed. Upon the gray covers and threadbare pillows rested a brown book, the Word of God with pages turned to thin and age worn into its spine. And within those hallowed pages I found some comfort once more as my fingers wended their way to the words of Luke. Tis most curious how the Lord speaks to one as required, for as Luke wrote,

And seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of doubtful mind. For all these things do the nations of the world seek after: and your Father knoweth that ye have need of these things.

There remains innumerable words surrounding my rudimentary selection; but with those words cast before mine eyes, milady, I could once more see lilies upon evergreen fields and within my black heart know that God provides for one and for all. Within that simplest of moments, milady, my soul found comfort and warmth against the bleak desolation encroaching upon me from the moment I'd entered this forgotten city. Even in this shattered rainment, in a world where love and charity is nigh on abandoned, His Church hath reached out to His people and He shelters them, feeds them and will clothe them. With tears of joy brimming 'neath my eyes I drifted into a peaceful slumber; filled with a quiet optimism belied by mine first vision of this Holy Mission. For that night I was, as wert the men and women around me, sheltered with warmth and safe.

As thee can well guess, this is but the first footsteps upon a path that led me half a score of days away from this glade. This tale is long not told and thine curious impatience burns my ears even now. But fingers long accustomed to a sword hilt struggle oft time with the gentler graces of this quill. Thus, my lady, I'll remain thine in teasing torment and will bid thee adieu till the morrow.

This is the most recent letter penned by Sir Kay to his lady. Should you wish to read all he has written, please scour all the letters in the past