All of a sudden my life collapsed in front of me. It seemed as if my soul spilled all over the table, briefly, very briefly. Did anyone notice? I don't know. Nobody said. Head bent, looking straight down at the crucifix in my hands, I pulled everything back up into myself. And carried on. The soil of my heart is ploughed and harrowed. The parable of the sower features at Mass these days. As a young man, whenever I heard that gospel, I used to worry about the state of my heart, that place within where God dwells. Is mine a shallow, unfaithful, hardened soil where only thorns and briars or nothing can grow? But the years testify to something more, something better and I must confess it as a blessing from God that the soil of my heart is rich and fertile, a place where the seed of God's Word has been able to grow. I don't know what the yield is. Hardly 100 fold but maybe 30. Soil becomes tired, depleted and needs to lie fallow for a while, left alone, unsown, unused, s...