A Rabbit from the Hat...

If you enjoy writing, or in my case, addicted to it, do you ever suffer from writer's block? That is if I understand the term correctly, wanting to go ahead but have absolutely no idea what to write about? Fortunately, with me, that's not often the case, but I feel it this week. I seem to have run out of new ideas. Therefore, with God's help, I will challenge myself to pull a rabbit out of the hat.

Perhaps this may be out of an uneventful week. Saving, of course, the ongoing unrest over Brexit at Westminster, and oh yes, the rather astonishing victory for England over a very famous New Zealand All Blacks this morning as our team scored 19 points to their 7. And that despite the game featuring two no-tries by the England team. Had these scores been valid, England could have won with a total of 33 points, including conversions and penalties. At least for England fans, this must have been a wonderful dose of elixir amid the ongoing and never-ending disputes in Parliament, such political issues quite likely making this country a laughing stock internationally.

Perhaps we needn't worry. France is getting fed up with us. At a meeting at Brussels with reps from all 27 nations making up the EU, only French President Emmanuel Macron stood up against a three-month extension, whilst the other 26 seemed to be okay with the extended delay. As a result, if a no-deal Brexit takes place at the end of this month, then it will be more of France kicking us out of the EU rather than us merely walking away. How appropriate too, if this whole shenanigan happens to take place at Halloween, while the first name of the French president means God with us. Is there something in all this, perhaps a joke somewhere?

And like the previous week, there I sat among fans at Ascot life Church, watching the game from the same screen where the words of Christian songs are normally displayed. Too bad, as luck would have it, by oversleeping, I got up late, and despite cycling fast over the four-mile journey, I missed the first seven minutes of the first half - within such a short space of time, England had already scored their first try and conversion, making their score already seven points up upon their opponents as I walked into the building, damp with sweat. By missing the opening score has put a damper on the whole day, and I can only imagine the wild, excited cheers among the audience. Too bad those wooden rotating rattles don't exist any more, they were banned in 1970. Or else there would have been one big party at Ascot Life Church.

The cheers from the predominantly-male audience rose every time the ball fell into the hands of an England player, let alone scoring a try or even a drop-goal. Everyone that is except me, who merely clapped like a toff at the Oval or at Wimbledon. Indeed, cheering at a game has never been my forte, especially after missing the first vital seven minutes. Rather, I was far more content in pitting my wits and physical prowess against competing cyclists at a triathlon event during my heyday of the 1980s. And where two wheels are concerned, I did pretty well.

Rugby is a game I prefer watching than Association Football (or Soccer.) Too often, football ends in a draw, often a goalless draw, which means another thirty minutes of play, and if still no result, then a penalty shootout if not a replay at a later date. As I see it, a penalty shootout is just a hollow victory for the winning team. As such, I tend to find watching football very frustrating indeed. At least with rugby, a deciding score is guaranteed, or at least, over the years I'd watched rugby, I have never seen a game end in a draw. But if England was to win this year's World Cup Rugby, celebrations for such an achievement would never hold a candle to the glory of the World Cup Football tournament. A simple proof of this is to observe any housing estate. Not one English flag is displayed for this rugby tournament as they would have been in football.

When England won the 2003 Rugby World Cup against Australia in their home country, there was very little razzmatazz, and the victory could have gone virtually unnoticed. Very unlike the 1966 Football World Cup victory against Germany at Wembley. The fanfare which followed, including the bus ride through the streets of London escorted by thousands of cheering fans, is remembered to this day. Perhaps it's that sense of national greatness, this imperialistic and a sense of superiority over all foreigners which might have been the underlying cause on why England had never won the World Cup tournament since.

It's this repeat of this sense of national cockiness and pride arising from both the victory in the Rugby World Cup and Brexit which restricted my own cheering to mere clapping - and that done lamely as well, without the verbal cheering which was characteristic of everyone else in that room. Maybe I am a wet blanket, a damp squib, a spoilsport, yet nevertheless, when the All Blacks did score a try and conversion within the second half, I was tempted to yell YESS! - but held my tongue in keeping with the otherwise melancholic silence which hung in the air.

I think supporting a team is great. I wish I could give such heart-driven support myself. I also wish that I had the full freedom to cheer New Zealand's try without the accompanying feeling of being the odd one in the audience. I know, it's in a church and we are all Christians. All of us should know better than to frown at the individual cheering the opposite side. There is something good, something which is sportsmanlike about cheering the opposing side when they score, especially after a tremendous amount of effort put in at overcoming our side's defence.

Recognising that we are not the products of molecule-to-man evolution, but instead, we were created in God's own image, I think, will greatly endear better respect for the opposing team. That would, for example, mean a clapping of hands when the All Blacks did score and further clapping at the successful conversion. I think this would have made the whole experience even better, a greater feel for Christian unity.

If Divine Creation was a universal reality accepted by everyone - accepted as equally factual as fitting a huge, heavy metal tube with wings and it will actually defy gravity and fly - I'm sure that watching international sport as a group would be a far more enjoyable occasion. I go by experience. For many years, whenever England plays Italy at a major football international, I was always fearful that Italy would lose. I was concerned because if England wins, I would receive that condescending look, that sneer, that showing of proof that England is the best. And if a condescending look could launch a thousand ships, then the need to say anything becomes pointless. Back in the eighties, into the nineties, that was the stressful atmosphere created, in all places, within a church environment.

Yet in all paradoxes, one person specifically referred to was actually a Creationist. So he believed in his head without that vital 18-inch connection to his heart which would have quite likely transformed him. Indeed, I have overheard him say to another friend that if he had his way, he would steamroller over the opposing team, especially one from abroad. Furthermore, this was also an indication for his desire to see English troops reclaim the Empire, especially with himself involved. What I have also found remarkable was that he had a distinct dislike for the Scotsman and only a grudging respect for the Welsh. Not exactly matching the ethic that we are all created in God's own image. Or is it?

By checking what's written in Paul's letters, I come across these verses:

You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptised into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.

There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Jesus, then you are Abraham's seed and heirs according to the promise.

Galatians 3:26-29.

Oh, if only this Scripture was set in the depths of my friend's heart! Just think for a moment. We are clothed in Jesus Christ. Therefore God sees us in exactly the same way he sees his only begotten Son. So powerful is this reality that God no longer sees us as Jew or non-Jew (nor English either) nor does he see us as even male or female, slave or free (neither working or middle class as well) but as Abraham's singular seed, therefore, must be referring to Jesus Christ. And if we're Abraham's seed, then we must be heirs to the promise. It's an amazing thought a wonderful reality. Furthermore, let me quote here in full:

What, then, can we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all - how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?

Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies.

Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died - more than that, who was raised to life - is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?

As it is written:

For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

For I'm convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels or demons, nor the present nor the future, nor the powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.  

Romans 8:31-39.

Such word kills every form of favouritism, it kills any sense of patriotism, to favour our own country above another, especially in sport and culture. Here must be a greater meaning of being born again than we can readily grasp. Being a new creation, to be born of Abraham's seed.

I find it interesting that the devout Englishman who would have looked down on me if his beloved national football team had beaten Italy - does not believe in Once Saved Always Saved, as the above verses strongly indicate. And he was, and is, not alone, quite a few of his friends, and mine too, hold to the idea that salvation can be lost if the believer fails to stay in line.

Pardon me, and I might be wrong here, but over the years I have gotten the impression that those who don't believe in Eternal Security are some of the unhappiest people I have ever met. I once heard that more than 80% of all Christians who end up in an institution believe that salvation can be lost. I have also found, over years of experience, that these people are the most difficult to get on with, as I have found them prone to be more judgemental.

Oh, how I long for the above-quoted verses to embed themselves into the heart of every Christian! And maybe during such international games, a greater level of respect can be offered to any foreign team playing against England.

And furthermore, I managed to pull a rabbit out of the hat. Not by magic, nor by intelligence, but by the power of God. 

When the Lads Get Together

A month previously I wrote about the boy in every man, that relief from daily responsibilities to allow that secret desire to be fulfilled, especially if there's nobody around to see you. Thus, for example, in a line of police constables standing military-style to attention, their serious and straight faces perfectly hiding those childhood cravings - such as that longing to try out that newly-installed helter-skelter slide at the nearby children's playground. Or to ride a shopping trolley down the steep hill late at night, or best of all, during an executive's meeting, to leave a whoopie cushion on the chairman's seat.

Or a female reporter in a bit of a downcast mood alighting from the train at London Euston Station at about the same time as another train also pulling into the terminus. That other train was painted red and windowless throughout, and on its carriage were the words in giant lettering: Her Majesty's Royal Mail. It was then when one of a couple of male fellow passengers who sat close by at her train, then exclaimed in a typical American accent, and in all seriousness, Wow! I never knew the Queen gets so many letters! Without a doubt, the reporter made her way to the office in a brighter, merrier mood.

This masculine trait. What makes us men so different from women? When I consider some of the greatest comedians in my time, all men, such as Tommy Cooper, Benny Hill, Dave Allen, duo Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise, Harry Worth, Steptoe & Son actors Wilfred Brambell and Harry Corbett, along with the star of Till Death Us Do Part, Alf Garnet, played by Warren Mitchell, among others, all of them long dead but memories of their performances endure. Cooper's failure as a stand-up magician is typical. On one occasion he asked a volunteer in the audience to lend his wristwatch, with a promise that by his magic he would receive it back intact. So he placed the wristwatch under a handkerchief and then beat it with a hammer over and over again. Then he began to wave his hand over it, making some chant, until with final abracadabra! he lifted the handkerchief - only for the broken bits to scatter across the table. 

Of course, anyone in his right mind would have recoiled at the sight of somebody's precious property smashed to pieces in such a casual manner. But instead, the sketch was meant to make us all laugh, and we did laugh, the whole nation watching the stint on television - laughing at an act which at all other times would have merited wrath from the owner of the broken item. As such, I tend to believe that the wristwatch was a mocked-up fake specifically made for that part of his performance.

Therefore I do wonder whether humour is a predominantly masculine characteristic, although as I write this, two female-based comedies immediately come to mind. One is The Vicar of Dibley, played by Dawn French as Rev Geraldine Granger, and Keeping Up Appearances, with Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced Bouquet) played by Patricia Routledge. But in the first comedy, there are five men in the cast, while Hyacinth's beleaguered husband Richard shares her stage. It's such programmes which seem to endorse my opinion that an all-female comedy cast remains non-existent.

In the world of sport, this masculine culture, at least in my younger days, couldn't be made more manifest than in boxing, wrestling, football (soccer) and rugby football, and even cricket, perhaps regarded as the gentleman's game. Rugby, also once known as rugger, was and still is, a very masculine-based sport. Even in comics, where cartoons of rugby players were portrayed as muscular hunks locked in a scrum, were known to say to a passing child who was amused at the oval ball, that this is rugby, a real he-man's game. And so at school, during the Winter months, we as boys played football and rugby while the girls concentrated on hockey and netball. At school, not a single pupil or teacher ever thought it plausible for girls to partake in male-based sports.

Therefore, when someone in our church at Ascot had sent an email to all members inviting us all to watch England versus Australia World Cup Rugby quarter-finals this morning, I was keen to delay my Saturday morning coffee at Starbucks to join the predominantly male group who had also come to watch. Cheers roared whenever England scored a try, followed by the conversion, while the one try scored by the Australian team was greeted with silence. The final result was England: 40 points, Australia: 16.

The game we watched: England v. Australia, 2019.

This was not the first time either. Earlier this year, my good friend Dr Andrew Milnthorpe invited me to watch football with him among a small group at the Kerith Centre, Bracknell's church. Although, like with rugby, I enjoyed watching the match, on both these occasions it was the fellowship with other believers which made the difference. As such, I strongly believe that men in every church should socialise together as men.

In the past, Ascot Life Church did have a men's social group. Here, a group of us, numbering up to thirty people, meeting at an Indian restaurant roughly every six weeks. Most of us were married men which, by getting together, can discuss topics related to men, which included big changes in our Sunday service venue. It was at this restaurant where I heard for the first time a proposal to move our morning service from our own venue to the Paddocks Restaurant at the racecourse, a room with twice the capacity to accommodate our church which is growing in numbers. It was also during this move when Ascot Baptist Church became Ascot Life Church.

Other activities included meeting in a pub. Yes, I know, how "worldly" can we get? There are Christians who frown at the idea of visiting a pub and consuming alcohol. But having a discussion, even on serious issues, over a glass of ale is very different from binge-drinking when the consumer staggers out of the pub, stoned out to his wit's end.

Then it's the walk in the park. Virginia Water, with its large lake, is a popular venue for Summer walks. Back in the Spring, a few of us had a long walk through this area. This opened up the opportunity to touch on various issues. Also enjoying a privately-owned sauna with two or three other men at the host's home, along with a fry-up, while at another venue, having a swim in a garden pool, all to encourage interaction, where fellow believers can open up their trust to help solve personal problems or share with each other life's difficulties and the best way to handle them.

But it's the men's breakfast which I always attended. There were two of them. The rather well-attended one at Christ Church, Virginia Water, was regularly visited by my father-in-law, who always invited me whenever he attended. The other was our own men's breakfast held at Ascot. It was sad that dwindling support eventually caused this Saturday event to cease, as was the case with Virginia Water.

I believe that these Christian men's social get-togethers do have a part in spiritual development. According to my own experience, to go out with a group of lads actually enhances a marriage. Experience indicates that the wife who allows her husband to go out with the boys is generally happier than the wife who restrains or even henpecks him. Paul the apostle favours the wife who is happy to let her husband socialise with his Christian brothers when he writes:

Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Saviour. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.
Ephesians 5:22-24.

It's during these social meets, spiritual advice can be passed. But whatever cases which arise, and there are a great many, the bottom line of them all, Paul continues:

Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loves the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In the same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. 
Ephesians 5:25-28.

By reading this portion of Paul's letter, which I have quoted only in part, there is far more emphasis on the husband loving his wife than the wife loving her husband. In fact, the apostle does not even instruct the wife to love her husband, but only to submit to him. He didn't need to. Women have a far greater natural tendency to love than men. Most likely due to her maternal instincts in giving birth and rearing her child, while the husband's principal role is in his productivity, to provide for his household.

Therefore I, like all other men, must work and make a conscious effort to love my wife. And the kind of love for her which is also honourable to God is enriched by the Holy Spirit who dwells in both of us. With my beloved suffering a physical disability - she can only go outdoors in a wheelchair - plus her recent cancer and the chemotherapy which caused her to lose her hair, my love for her and my devotion to her remains as strong as ever. And the source of such love comes from the Holy Spirit.

Jesus himself had said that when two or three of us are gathered in his name, there he is in the midst of us (Matthew 18:20). Therefore we can assume that he is here with us - although there are plenty of times when it doesn't seem that way, nevertheless, it doesn't change the facts.

A group of Christian men socialising together. And among them, Christ dwells through the Holy Spirit who dwells in each one of them. And to be together to watch a rugby player tackle his opponent to the ground in a major championship game - yes, we can handle that.

Yes, I DO Pray For Our Nation...

Have you ever felt that your world is about to end and therefore you want to do something which will forever be cherished in your memory before the lights finally go out? Perhaps in the last few weeks, it was how I felt, and therefore we made a rash decision for a day-trip to Brussels - while it was still relatively easy to pass through security and the two passport control kiosks at London St Pancras International before boarding the train.

But it was not to be. Instead, as already mentioned in my last blog, the Consultant at our regularly-attended hospital had already arranged for my beloved to receive her chemo intravenously on that same day. Therefore I had two valid return Eurostar tickets which were non-refundable. I would have been far happier to have given those tickets away to any interested couple if it wasn't for the rather small hindrance of having our names printed on them. After all, to make someone, or better still, two people, very grateful and happy would have helped atone for the loss, and therefore considered a privilege.

On the early hours of Wednesday morning, I laid on the bed next to my sleeping wife, in torment and unable to sleep. Where we should have been in bed at the Premier Inn St Pancras, instead, we were at home. I felt troubled by my own stupidity, my impulsiveness, going back to when my wife and I were sitting at St James Park fronting Buckingham Palace. It was here where the idea of a final trip abroad before the UK leaves the EU entered our minds. Alex was equally enthusiastic.

There was some justification for this decision. I was curious about what could happen at St Pancras International if we were to leave the European Union without a deal. On the worst possible scenario, the passport checks would be so much slower and more complicated than at present. After a no-deal Brexit, according to a couple of independent sources, very long queues could form, even snaking back to Warren Street Station! Of course, fully realising that if such would happen, Eurostar would quickly go out of business, and the threat of the French SNCF withdrawing permission for our trains to use their lines also stands as a very real possibility.

This and all other thoughts raced through my head as I lay there. Indeed, Project Fear would love to exaggerate any potential future disaster to unrealistic proportions in their attempts to thwart Brexit. But with us both heavily relying on medicine, the thought of its cross-Channel shipping suffering bureaucratic hindrance from mainland Europe does pose a very serious threat. Then not to mention empty superstore shelves due to panic-buying. Unfortunately, the optimistic view from the Daily Mail journalists, assuring us that all will be well after a no-deal Brexit, does not offer me a crumb of comfort. Instead, I feel the torment biting.

What is happening to our country? Could it be likened to a river approaching a deep waterfall? That is to say, is Brexit more of a judgement from God rather than a blessing, as the optimists believe?

This is one of many thoughts passing through my head as I lay there. Indeed, the Bible does predict that in the latter days, men "will run to and fro" and knowledge shall increase (Daniel 12:4). If I have gotten this interpretation right, then the whole world, and not just England, can be likened to a much wider river on its approach to a massive waterfall - the waterfall of universal tribulation. All life in the river doing its own thing, totally unaware of the catastrophe ahead. And so we drift with the current as we all make our own plans for an imagined golden future of national independence and sovereignty of patriotic fervour and optimism.

And as the waterfall gets nearer and nearer, the level of wickedness increases. But that not just the increase of bad deeds, even though the rise of the knife and gun crimes are making headlines every day. Rather, Britain is the birthplace of the greatest brain robbery ever to arise. This terrible deception had its origins here, in Britain, of perhaps I could refer to as the diabolical trinity of Uniformitarian Geology of Scotsman Charles Lyell, Organic Evolution of Lyell's English follower Charles Darwin, and Social Evolution and Eugenics of Darwin's English cousin Francis Galton. Such philosophies had not only brought about the Holocaust of Nazi Germany's national supremacy but remain active to this day in both in the medical world and in the subconscious of many an average Briton.

And as by these academic ethics continue to push away the truth of the Gospel until the very existence of God is ridiculed as ludicrous and a laughable joke by a very high percentage of the English population, any optimism attached to Brexit is eroded away to the point of believing it's a judgement of God for the nation's rejection of him rather than a deliverance from the chains of the EU.

And so I lay on the bed racked with despair. Grieving over the loss of our trip combined with our fate - a destiny which I have voted against.

And it was then I began to pray in an audible voice, even if it risked waking up my wife and keeping her awake. Indeed, the wonderful therapeutic benefit gotten through prayer cannot be exaggerated. Prayer has that power to free the soul.

As usual, I tend to open prayer with thanksgiving. This is when I count my blessings. This includes the breath of life passing through my nostrils, the ability to think, feel, understand, my health, the ability to love and everything of life. I thank God for my beloved and by God's grace, the ability to love and care for her during the darkest moments of our marriage where her health is concerned.

It was then when I remembered Abraham's plea for Sodom as recorded in Genesis 18:16-33. I really thank the Lord for having such a conversation recorded in Scripture. In it, there's so much to learn. And this includes the humility before God's holiness shown by the patriarch when he sees himself as dust and ashes. But through this Scripture comes my conviction that we as a nation exist with a reasonably healthy economy and a respectable level of prosperity because there are plenty of righteous people living in the land.

And so I cried out,
Lord, what about the righteous living with us? Will you pass judgement on the righteous as well as on the wicked? Will you pass judgement on us too, who are righteous before you?

Among other things, including our marriage relationship, I brought the same request over and over again. Then I pleaded with God that the hold of Evolution in our land will be loosened and souls saved. I even pleaded that we remain in the European Union, for we would be far better off remaining as a member than to leave. Then I conditioned the request with the words:
However, not my will, but your will, be done.
Thus, I left the decision to leave or remain in the EU entirely in God's hands.

In the end, I have prayed for a considerably long time, perhaps for a better part of an hour. Then when she realised that I have gone quiet, she turned and whispered that that was the best prayer she had ever heard. Encouraged, I dropped off to sleep, at last, around 4.30 am.

Although I felt much better when my friend Dave took us both to Frimley Park Hospital, where she had her chemo treatment, it still took a while before I was totally free of the torment. However, it's good to know that such prayer was able to move mountains.

Abraham's intercessory plea for Sodom is an eye-opener for why we as a nation keep on doing reasonably well despite its rejection of God's existence, its denial of Divine Creation and the reality of Noah's Flood. Simply this: Righteous people are living in the land. And if as little as ten righteous people living in Sodom was enough for the whole city to be spared for their sakes, how much more will the presence of churches will spare England also?

At this point, it's wise to ask: Who is a righteous person? Am I being presumptuous by calling myself righteous? Simply this: He is the man whom God imputes the righteousness of Jesus Christ into the sinner's account. Therefore, all his sins, past, present and future, are wiped out, and God sees this person in the same way he sees his only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. As Paul the apostle wrote:
However, to the one who does not work but trust God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as righteousness. Romans 4:5.

Paul then goes on to write about Abraham and how he was credited with God's righteousness when he believed that children will come from his loins, including his seed, that is, Jesus Christ:
Abraham believed the Lord, and he credited to him as righteousness. Genesis 15:6.

Therefore, I'm absolutely convinced that there has never existed a person who was made righteous by his own deeds. Every single person who will enter heaven, from Adam, right through to the end of history, will be there because God has imputed his own righteousness into that man's account. There is no exception. As the Scripture says that no one is righteous, no one seeks after God, then imputed righteousness from God to the undeserving sinner has no other option.

This is dramatically demonstrated in Scripture when John the apostle sees a remarkable vision of a sealed scroll, and a challenge was thrown out to the entire heavenly population on who is worthy to undo the seals of the scroll. And it was found that not a single person throughout all of history was worthy to open the scroll! And at the vision, John burst into tears. That is until someone worthy to open the scroll was revealed to him, who is none less than God the Son, the crucified, buried and risen Jesus Christ (Revelation 5:1-5.)

That is an astonishing vision John had which endorses the eternal security of the believer. The true saint will once be saved always remain saved. And furthermore, any political opinion has no credit whatsoever. If the righteousness imputed into him is God's own righteousness, then this righteousness cannot be broken by political views, as God's own righteousness is eternal.

As such, I think about my good friends, including Dr Andrew Milnthorpe, who has voted to leave the EU. But I also have good friends who had voted to remain. Really, it doesn't matter. Righteousness comes through faith in Jesus and not by political opinion.

Therefore, it was perfectly right to intercede that night. But this wasn't the first time. I have prayed for our nation several times, maybe many times over the years. But if I did, then I can be thoroughly sure that it had to do with its sin of unbelief and its need for salvation, and not for any political direction.

Bored at Bournemouth?

There is always a risk when it comes to planning holidays, and especially when the oncology consultant comes to us with his answer to my question: Is it okay to take a break overseas?

Then comes his answer: No, we don't recommend any overseas travel at this stage.

Then the blood test result comes in. Bad news. Her white blood cell count is below the lower limit for chemotherapy. Therefore we must postpone the treatment until the following week. That is, she'll be here on the ninth of October instead of on the second. This will allow an extra week for the cell-count to reach an acceptable level in the meantime. 

Damn it! That means, instead of a trip to Brussels on the Eurostar on the 9th as originally planned, on that day it will be a much shorter and far less exciting trip to Frimley Park Hospital. Both my wife and I were downhearted but nevertheless, we both realise the wisdom of his advice. Furthermore, the fare we had already paid when booking the Eurostar will be lost, for the tickets are non-refundable. Also, according to the small print in the insurance policy, this too will invalidate any claim, simply because my beloved has been on chemo already before the booking was made.

As we both felt crushed and disappointed, my father-in-law drove us back home. Having arrived home, rather than sit around and mope, I decided to go swimming at our local leisure centre. Alex was at least pleased about this, as she knows that any physical exertion will do me much good, especially when feeling down.

It did. Whilst swimming in a designated lane, I toyed with the realisation that the second day of October will now be free. And it was less than 48 hours away. My hopes were lifted at the idea of a four-day break in Bournemouth which would include October 2nd - our 20th wedding anniversary. All I need to do was to book a room at an accessible hotel for that period and leave the very next day.

View from our hotel room balcony.

The booking at the town centre Premier Inn on the internet was successful, and with breakfast included, I didn't consider this as too expensive. Suddenly things have changed - for the better. Although I grieve over the loss of the Eurostar fare, this was offset by the fact that our actual wedding anniversary will be spent on the beach rather than in a hospital.

This is a good time to explain my love for this part of the world. I got to know this Dorset holiday resort as a teenager. I could add that I "discovered" Bournemouth on my own rather than taken there by my parents, who always took us boys - that is, my brother and me - to Brighton nearly every Summer Sunday, and later to Portsmouth. By contrast, Bournemouth is close to Swanage, itself at the start of the 96-mile 154 km Jurassic Coast, a world heritage site. It was Swanage where I was taken to by my primary school around 1960, and from childhood, I was always fascinated with the geological features surrounding this coastal town. On the north side, the chalk hill of Ballard Down slopes towards the coast to end as spectacular chalk cliffs, tapering at the Foreland alongside different chalk stacks, including the Old Harry Rocks, which can be seen from Bournemouth seafront. The continuous squawking of seagulls echoing around the stacks creates an atmosphere unique to the area. 

Since Bournemouth Station is the nearest coastal stop to Swanage, onward from my late teen years, I alighted at Bournemouth and looked around for a suitable hotel. Then I walked along the beach until I reached Sandbanks, a rich man's estate built literally on a naturally-formed sand spit. Then the chain ferry across the mouth of Poole harbour, to Studland Bay, then on foot into Swanage after crossing the spine of Ballard Down which, on a clear day, offers magnificent views of Poole Harbour, the second largest natural inlet after Sydney, along with Bournemouth and its apparently thin coastline. And I then just turned to face the opposite way towards a panoramic view of Swanage, with Peveril Point and Durlston Head forming the backdrop for the eastern coastline of Purbeck.

It was such walks I did during my late teenage years and early twenties which set the precedent for world travel and backpacking. Although I have in the past received criticism by other Christians for being a loner, I have never regarded myself as unsociable, it was after I became a Christian, when I began to enjoy solitude to a greater extent as I began to link such astonishing phenomena with God's creative handiwork.

Alex and I arrived at Bournemouth on the eve of our anniversary. Being off-season, it was quite different from when we were there in July 2014 - in the thick of Summer, with the sun beating down. Back then, the tourist crowds and foreign students kept the tills constantly ringing. Food stalls such as ice-cream parlours, hot-dog stands, pasty bakeries, soft drink kiosks, all drawing in the crowds. Music drifted from the bandstand overlooking the central gardens, which itself was bustling with the crowds - cramming the wide footways, dotting the lawns with picnic sheets, the beach was packed with little space in between, a large crowd swam out into the gently lapping waves, the pier was alive with jostling crowds despite the entrance toll. Indeed, the whole town was thriving in a cheerful holiday mood, with every retail merchant glowing with joy as he checks his swelling bank account. And in the evenings, the bustling noise of nightlife was thriving, with crowds lasting into midnight, and on the sandy beach, foreign students cooked over lit bonfires.

Chalk cliffs and stacks of Ballard Down, Swanage.

What a contrast we felt this time, off-season. The sky was overcast, the winds blew. As we stood on the pier (free entry during the evenings) - I watched a club-group of surfers ride the waves. We were rather hungry, but not an open stall to be seen. Just as the beach was deserted, save for the surfers, so the promenade and all the stalls were closed, all of them boarded up. The Square, which before in 2014, was packed out, including a queue for the spinner, now lies deserted, with just a small group of youngsters sitting on one of the benches, chattering. Indeed, the whole town looked a dismal sight, yet the waves of the sea kept rolling in, the sight of Ballard Down in the distance remains unmoved, the seagulls continue to squawk, and so the world turns, as the warmth of Summer gradually drops away during this Autumnal intermediatory period before Jack Frost arrives to carpet the streets, the rooftops and the beach above the splash zone with Winter snow.

Alex and I enjoy just being together, even if the resort looks bleak and lifeless. That is the most important thing - the two of us together and furthermore, not confined to a hospital building. Fortunately, a Tesco Express store was open for trading with the locals, and we bought some snacks to take back to our hotel.

I stood at our room balcony, looking out across the night, with countless light bulbs illuminating the resort with a vast array of spotlights, yet all coming to an abrupt end at the beach, which beyond, the darkness hanging over the sea also enveloping the faraway Ballard Down with invisibility, save for an array of far-distant streetlights of neighbouring Swanage.

It was then I had to face reality. This was still England. It was still very different from where we went to for our honeymoon and for our tenth anniversary. Those dates were at the Greek island of Rhodes. As I said to my beloved exactly ten years earlier, whenever our anniversary hits a zero, we would return to Rhodes. But ten years ago we were both reasonably healthy. Little did we know, as God certainly knew, that Alex would be confined to a wheelchair, and furthermore, we'll be celebrating our 20th halfway through chemotherapy treatment.

I recall how on both occasions we strolled along the Greek beach, especially after nightfall, and listening as the Mediterranean waves lapped gently upon the stone beach. A shooting star streaked across the sky as we stood in each other's arms. In addition to this, there was this unique herbal aroma in the warm, still air. And the sky remained cloudless during each day, every night the stars shone brightly. It almost felt that the Garden of Eden was already restored. And I expressed my desire to return to Rhodes every ten years.

These thoughts went through my mind as I stood on the balcony. No matter how much I may love the Dorset coast, it's not the Mediterranean with its own atmosphere. But throughout the last twenty years, our marriage, no doubt like any other, has had its ups and downs. The ups including watching her give birth, and to hold our newborn daughter in my arms as her tiny figure slept soundly. Yet I have wept aloud during a church service here at Ascot, of shattered dreams and of blasted hope. I have watched my beloved's health deteriorate, I have watched as she was near to paralysis. For four whole months, she was an inpatient with a neurotic disorder with which the medical team wasn't able to treat save a lifelong prescription. Each day I did not fail to board a train to spend a couple of hours together.

Then the news of her cancer and the appropriate treatment which followed, which at present, includes chemotherapy. Yet it's my constant prayer that God will always give me the power and strength to love her to the full, unconditionally.

And so as I stood on the balcony, I overcome such thoughts by thanking God for this holiday in Bournemouth. Thanking God that here we are, in a hotel and not in a hospital, despite that there is an NHS hospital nearby in case of an emergency. In fact, directly below where I was standing, an ambulance was parked. I thanked God that it wasn't for either of us.

The goodness of God was demonstrated by waking up on our anniversary to a clear sky and the sun shining. After breakfast, I strolled, pushing my wife's wheelchair, along the level esplanade towards the neighbouring resort of Boscombe, a pleasant 35-40-minute walk of 1.5 miles. Amazingly, it was warm enough for a good swim in the sea. At first, I was totally alone in the water, but apparently, I must have set an example for a few other men to follow. I must have bathed for a better part of an hour, but it was enough to reminiscence on Rhodes. Boscombe was almost as good, it is a much smaller and more sedate resort than Bournemouth, therefore I had a preference for this spot. 

The next day brought overcast skies, wind and a driving drizzle. But still, no time for boredom, as we visited the Oceanarium, located on the esplanade just west of the pier. True enough, it doesn't hold a candle to Sea World of 1995 San Diego splendour, but it was good enough to stay out of the weather. And at least we both stayed dry. Back in 1995, I got thoroughly soaked through and through as I sat in the audience, watching an orca perform. But it wasn't the soaking which bothered me. It was the thought of a killer whale held in captivity, along with the seals and the dolphins. They shouldn't be there. They should be out in the open ocean, enjoying the boundless freedom for which God had created them. The thorough soaking, whilst fully clothed, might have been the message the orca was trying to tell us all! I have to admit, that evening I left Sea World with mixed feelings.

Over here, all aquatic life seems to be happy in their confined environment. Perhaps born in captivity or brought in while very young (the black-tip sharks were rather small) at least they are used to being where they are.

 Bournemouth Oceanarium, taken October 2019

Outside the waves were high on the sandy beach, creating a continuous, non-stop roar. But there is one other spot I would have liked to have been at that moment. That is at Anvil Point right next to Tilly Whim Caves, on the other side of Swanage. These caves are not natural, but they are what's left of a long-disused quarry for Purbeck Stone, a very hard and resistant rock, very different to the soft clay and sandstone rocks which makes up the cliffs of Bournemouth.

When the wind is blowing and the tide is in, massive waves from the open Channel crashes hard against a natural ledge which juts out from the cliff face. The tremendous power and force as the rock remain uneroded, sending the swell sky-high with a thunderous noise. I have stood there in the past and watched with excitement at the demonstration of God's power over the seas, which is a fulfilment of what the Scripture says:

Or who shut up the seas with doors, when it brake forth as if it had issued out of the womb?

When I made the cloud its garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddling-band for it,

And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors,

And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?

Job 38:8-11 AV.

It's so true! Powerful waves crash against the rocks, and I might even get splashed, yet the sea cannot reach out its arms to drag me into it and drown. Why? Because I'm just out of its reach. I'm was standing just on the safe side of the "bars and doors" God had already decreed. Instead, this spot is one of many places where I can worship the Creator with reverence and fear at his workmanship.