In the troubled world of my imagination, the tool that will not work, the cupboard door that will not close, the tap that will not turn off are none of them simple questions to be solved by mechanics and patience.

They are part of a global conspiracy to destroy my equilibrium and ruin my day.

And I am angry with them.

Had I but the power, I would have blown us all to smithereens years ago over a dripping shower head.

In the strange world of Jim, the smallest thing becomes colossal.  And not in a good way.

Which makes dealing with real problems a real problem.

But some small things actually are colossally important.

I spent part of yesterday morning with an extraordinary person, a final year medical student who is about to start their first job as a Foundation Doctor.  We talked about museum things, paintings and sculpture, but mostly so we could talk about their world, which is to say the least a complex thing.

It’s not just the sheer volume of knowledge that they have accumulated over the last six years, it’s all the other stuff.  The stuff that’s hard to teach: how to talk to people at the end of their life; how to recognise the unarticulated needs that come with illness; how to calculate in a second what to say to a parent or a child at a moment of loss.

Now talking is not a Big Medical Issue.

It will not cure cancer or raise the dead.

But the right word will make a vast difference; and the medical student already knew this.

Jesus had a similarly clear sense of proportion. 

Despite the various big-ticket miracles Christians believe that he performed, he knew very well that plenty of people don’t need them.

What they need, what I need, what I reckon most of us need, today, every day, this morning, is a kindness, a squeeze of the hand, a shared laugh.  Small things.

Because every small, kind thing will cut down to size another small, malicious thing that has grown too big for its boots.

And I am hopeful.

Because I just met someone who, unlike me, knows which small things are which.

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The header image is a detail of a Chinese, polished jade pebble, carved during the 18th century under the Qing Dynasty, now in the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford. The figure of the huntsman on his horse is about 12mm high.