A Wonderful Miracle...

A rancher named Joshua lived in the Australian outback. Being also a naturalist, he was fascinated by the presence of a termite colony not far outside his territory. Many a time he stood near it to watch the activity taking place there, impressed with the tall tower they had managed to build.

Then one day he receives a letter announcing the construction of a road which will pass along outside his ranch boundary, thus adding an extra link between two principal cities. Joshua was alarmed by the contents of the letter, for he knew that the termite colony was going to be right in the middle of the bulldozer's path.

So he tried to communicate with the termites, warning them of the impending doom of the colony as the bulldozer approached, and pleading with them to abandon their present structure and relocate to within his ranch where they would all be safe. But without any success, for the man was unable to speak the language of the termite. Furthermore, each bug was way too busy in its part in the running and the maintenance of the tower in which the insects lived and worked - even to be aware of the man's existence.

Therefore there was only one thing for Joshua to do: Become a termite himself.

Incarnated into one of the many eggs laid by the queen, this termite larva still had all the mental, emotional and will of Joshua the human. For even within this new tiny body, his soul and spirit were still altogether human, with all knowledge and memories intact. As the other termites carried out their instinctive duty and fed the larva, as with all the thousands of other youngsters, the larva eventually pupated and then later, emerged as a full adult male termite, identifying himself with all the other male soldiers, whose job was to protect the colony from invading predators while all the females carried on as workers.

With a level of despair and able to communicate in their language, Joshua the termite began to warn the entire colony of its impending doom. He then pleaded with them that if they believed and followed him, Joshua would lead them to a safe place within his own everlasting domain, and there, a new colony can be established, safe in Joshua's ranch, for this present colony will meet its end very soon.

With around twenty thousand termites making up the colony, over six thousand of them believed and were willing to follow Joshua, including the queen herself. But the rest didn't like Joshua at all. How dare he tells them to abandon the tower which took a great many years to build and constantly maintain! And no, they will not abandon their home to relocate elsewhere.

Yet, word of Josua's warning spread fast throughout the entire colony. The queen herself was alarmed but believed, and she then recommended Joshua's exhortation for a mass evacuation. But as the believing termites were getting ready to evacuate, a group of soldiers purposely killed the leading termite, Joshua. Thus Joshua rose from the dead to become a fully-grown man again, fully human and owner of the ranch. He then watched the huge queen being carried on the backs of believing workers and soldiers alike as they all evacuated the present tower to relocate within Joshua's ranch.

It wasn't long before the bulldozer appeared and in due time, the entire mound was uprooted, killing all the remaining termites, including all the larvae.

A nice story perhaps, but again, just a story, the kind read during children's bedtime. 

Or is it. Could it actually be a re-telling of history?

While we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly -Romans 5:6.

While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. -Romans 5:8.

Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners... 1 Timothy 1:15.

Christ Jesus, truly God, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, through the incarnation of a fertilised ovum within the womb of a Jewish female named Mary, a wonderful miraculous phenomenon known by theologians as the hypostatic union, God became man and dwelt among us, fully God, fully human. He came to rescue us from our present state of sin and death and to give eternal life to everyone who believes.

It's glorious, so glorious to God!

When a sinner believes, not only all his sins are forgiven, past present and future, but the righteousness of Christ is imputed into his account, therefore equally loved by God the Father as His own Son. And thus we become sons of God, forever into his family.

Termite queen and workers.

And as I write this, a dark cloud hangs over the land. The thought of another national lockdown is looming. Indeed, it was already predicted that this coming winter will be dire, a gloomy season when there is a possibility of the Police to break into someone's house on Christmas Day if suspected of having more than six people within. Or even just one other person from another household. It all depends on the severity of the restrictions.

If this lockdown is still ongoing by Christmas, then nobody will be able to attend church to thank God for the birth of Jesus Christ. On the other hand, maybe this could be a time of sobriety, reflecting on the birth of Christ, his ministry, death, burial and resurrection. As I was pondering early this morning whilst I was still in bed, when the announcement over the radio of another lockdown is about to hit this nation, at first I felt dumbstruck. Then I thought, well at least this will not be as bad as warfare. With Armistice Day coming up, followed by Remembrance Sunday, I thought about those fighting in the trenches during the Great War, for King and Country, kneeling in the ditch in freezing cold weather as the enemy's bullets whistles past.

It is sobering to think. I can imagine many a young soldier fighting in the trenches on Christmas Day while imagining those childhood days of church attendance, then the cosy home with a Christmas tree, cheap presents, and a sumptuous dinner with relatives, maybe friends too, all sitting around the table with a cheerful, cigar-pungent air and a crackly coal fire ablaze - all fading into a distant memory as the bullets whizz through the freezingly cold wind.

Among these fighters, others are kneeling alongside, longing for the embrace of their mothers or the cuddles of their wives and girlfriends they had left behind. Others have left their pregnant wives behind with the realisation that they may never return to see their unborn child or their children growing up.

Yet we are running scared over a virus which is fatal to only 0.2% of all who gets it, according to an article in the Daily Mail written by Dr Mike Yeadon and supported by other scientists, including top epidemiologists and pathologists who also happen to have enough common sense not to support any further lockdowns.

As my good friend Dr Andrew Milnthorpe wrote recently on Facebook, this fear, this hysteria can and does, reveal who are the "Chocolate Christians" who melt when the heat is turned up, like in August this year at an alfresco Bible study group when I tried to find a place to sit at a widely-spaced circle consisting of just eight people. The resulting commotion and lost tempers caused quite a scene, despite that the chance of picking up the virus over more than two metres apart in the open air is practically zero.

And so our beloved country is split into two groups, the larger group (75% give or take) fearing an economic catastrophe a full lockdown can bring, including businesses going bankrupt, job loss, rising unemployment and poverty, many non-Covid patients failing to have their illnesses diagnosed (eg, cancer, heart failure etc) or the rise in mental illnesses, against the remaining 25% who fears the virus itself, thus the latter group supporting a full lockdown (source: Daily Mail Newspaper, October 31st 2020, p.5.)

And then, as I have already written about before - if ever there is an opportunity to fall on the mercy of God, then this is an opportunity if, and when the dark cloud of a national lockdown darkens the sky over us. As it is written, God will accept anyone who comes to him (Acts 10:34) regardless of which nation he was born in. But I tend to think we're just like those termites, running to and fro in our community, with practically no idea of God's existence, and since He has already incarnated into a man some two millennia previously, he may need for a second appearance.

But all I need to do is delve into the media, whichever form it takes - books, newspapers, television, internet - and this hostility towards God is not unlike the hostility shown to Joshua by the unbelieving termites. Just as Joshua the termite was rejected by his own species, so the man Christ Jesus was rejected in the same way by his own countrymen. But with God, he is very patient, and it's not his will that anyone should perish but all should come to repentance. I guess Joshua the termite had the same motivation - powered by immense love.

Although I don't say this much on this page, this time I will - God loves you. God loves me. I know this cannot be so easily reconciled with the realities of life, especially by atheists who have a good knowledge of the Bible. Yes, God loves them too. Even when the atheist ponders why wearing two different types of garments is wrong, along with planting two different crops in a field (Leviticus 19:19) or why is clipping the side of the beard so bad (Leviticus 19:27) or to have a tattoo (v. 28) or why it's so bad (from an atheist's point of view) for two men who love each other to sleep together? (Leviticus 20:13.) Again, according to the atheist's point of view, why does Jesus himself encourage hatred of parents and siblings, hatred of his own wife and children to qualify to be His disciple? (Luke 14:26.) But the biggest cruncher of all is found in 1 Samuel 15:1-3. This is where God, through Samuel, commands King Saul to slay all the Amalekites - men women, children and infants, as well as all their livestock, for something they did several hundred years earlier when none of that generation was even born.

Therefore an atheist who hates all organised religion comes up to me and show me all those Scriptures (and more) and asks me to persuade him to believe that God is love and He loves him dearly. Hmm. I might not get very far.

But in reality, God does love us. He loves us immensely, yearning for all to be reconciled to Him. And the one demonstration of his love is of His Son crucified, the Second Person of the Trinity hanging there on the cross, experiencing excruciating pain as well as receiving cruel mockery from his enemies as they surround Him. All this so we can live and not die.

First Time Disaster - Then Success.

Yes, I have resumed my weekly rendezvous with the staff at our local Starbucks Coffee on a Saturday morning after several months of abstinence due to the Covid-19 closure. And afterwards, as I was walking home, staring at the ground ahead whilst pondering on what I shall write about this week, an elderly gentleman approached, heading for the superstore where the coffee house is annexed. 

Excuse me, he asked, stopping me in my tracks, But are you the one who had organised all these Triathlons in Bracknell, years ago?

"Yes, I am the one."

His face lit up at my confirmation. Your Triathlons were magnificent. You certainly have done a good job.

Through his thick facial hair, I thought I could remember him as one of the partakers as I thanked him for the compliment. Bracknell Triathlon? Indeed, I remember them, seven events in all, in a space of six years between 1987 and 1992. We even experimented with staging two events in 1990 but proved to be too much. Hence we resumed with just one event a year. It was enough.

But what is a triathlon anyway and how did I become involved?

It all started with three athletes sitting in a bar in Hawaii back in 1977, the same year I took my first-ever transatlantic flight from London to Toronto. In that bar, a discussion was taking place. Which athlete could be credited with the greater fitness - a swimmer, a cyclist or a runner? The discussion was inconclusive, so one of them, a US naval officer John Collins, thought up the idea of stringing all three together into one event - an ultimate endurance race consisting of the 2.4-mile Waikiki Rough Water Swim, the 112-mile Around Oahu bike race, and the Honolulu Marathon. These three annual events were already in existence at the Hawaiian Archipelago, and therefore familiar to everyone. Thus, later at a banquet, where such an event was proposed, so it was said, everyone present rolled on the floor in complete laughter! 

However, Collins and his mates organised the first multi-disciplined event with fifteen competitors. At 07.19 on February 18th, 1978, they plunged into the ocean surf at Waikiki. Nearly twelve hours later, a 27-year old naval officer Gordon Haller was the first to cross the finish line. He received an odd-looking home-made trophy consisting of pipes welded together. Thus, history was made with the first Ironman.*

The fame of the event exploded across the USA and over the next few years, the scaled-down version of the Triathlon became known worldwide. Back then, the sport competed with a high level of camaraderie. Sedate people including balding men, doctors, students, housewives, office and manual workers who had never competed in any other sport "caught the bug" as they all challenged themselves on how far they can endure such a bizarre race. Even a veteran in his seventies was seen on his heavy roadster, complete with mudguards and with a wicker shopping basket fixed to his handlebars.

In the meantime, throughout the mid-eighties, I was running half-marathons to raise funds for a League of Friends charity. It was in 1986, after completing one half-marathon, when someone approached with a suggestion on why not try my hand at a triathlon. There was one to be held at Wokingham, the next town on the map to ours. Therefore I entered and competed. Immediately I was hooked. I then joined Thames Valley Triathletes, the triathlon club based in Reading, which had organised the Wokingham event specifically to attract new members.

After this, I competed at various locations. Due to their early morning swim start, many venues requiring an overnight stay at a hotel - Winchester, Swanage, Eastbourne, East Grinstead, Romford, Upminster, Farnham, Newbury, among others. It was while at an event in Winchester, with my brain on full alert as well as in physical endurance, that I had a vision. How is this triathlon funded? Through competitor's entry fees (although Winchester also had a sponsor) and there was no triathlon event for Bracknell. Suddenly, with God's help, nothing seems impossible.

So after consulting my friends, all members of what was then Bracknell Saints Football Club, I shared my vision, which was received by some but held in doubt by others. However, the biggest obstacle I had to overcome was to convince the Leisure Centre management team for the hiring of the swimming pool and to enlighten them about this new sport, using part of the Bracknell Half Marathon route. At first, I was refused point-blank. Then after persistent negotiation, they gave me just one lane of the pool. Eventually, I managed to agree with them for full hire of the pool at a set date, and after that everything else fell into place.**

That is - until we had to ask people to volunteer as course marshals, a role which I eventually found out, was a very undesirable responsibility, especially so early on a Saturday morning! - And that despite I have marshalled events in Reading several times already. I asked my brothers in Christ at my former church for their help. No one agreed. One family man, who I thought was a good mate, squared up to me and in my face, quite aloud, said No!

This has always been an interesting phenomenon - why this refusal, even edging towards anger for daring to approach them with such a request? Is it because of me? A labourer who has never seen inside a university or had never risen to prominence? It was exactly this which has tested my devotion to them as brothers to the limit. Had a famous celebrity approached them with the same request, then how would they have responded? With greater favour?

A souvenir for a willing Marshal

We eventually approached a secular charity, whose members were willing to marshal. On our first event in 1987, too few turned up, leaving both the cycling and running routes unmanned. Furthermore, late-night hooligans tore off our direction arrows from their place, leaving both the cyclists and runners in doubt which direction to take, with even some failing to finish. Our maiden event was a disaster! After everyone had gone home, we packed away and afterwards, sauntered home in an emotionally heavy state.

Feeling crushed, beaten, defeated, I lay on the single bed in my apartment, looking up at the ceiling. Should I give up? Maybe those Christians were right, after all. Especially the Elders, who knew how to put me in my place. Of course, I will fail! If they said that I wasn't capable of such responsibility, then I wasn't capable. End of. Indeed, modern Christianity looks to be a religion for graduates. Fail at school and I'll never hit the mark. How the heck did those eleven disciples of Jesus Christ, after His Resurrection and Ascension, manage to turn the world upside down without a degree among them? And that after the company treasurer, the cleverest in the group, top himself? 

Suddenly, I arose from my bed and headed for the phone. No, no mobiles back then. To make a phone call, I had to lift my butt from the comfort of the bed. I contacted two of my mates who were living together. I told them that next year's event was ON! We aren't giving up. Suddenly, all my negative feelings fell away like scales from St Paul's eyes, and I was able to look ahead with determination.

And they all happened, all further six of them. We redesigned the two courses to make them simpler, we made sure all our direction arrows were well above the reach of anyone without a stepladder, and we contacted secular charities to marshal our routes. With the promise of a souvenir for their efforts, a greater number volunteered, manning our routes efficiently, and the acquirement of a walkie-talkie made our roving marshals' task a lot easier. On the day a couple of stalls arrived and were set up, so competitors can make a last-minute purchase, including crash hat hire. We also hired a commentary caravan from a firm in Camberley, and the announcements over the loudspeakers gave the whole event an air of professionalism - on the par with any international championship triathlon.

And we were happy because the competitors were also happy, having given us a second chance after the disaster of the first. Also, the numbers grew year by year until were squeezed by the turnout. Thanks to the British Triathlon Association, to which affiliation is mandatory, our event became known right across the nation, and further on as far as the USA and Australia.

Indeed, I wanted to glorify God and give Him the credit for our success. It's nice to know that if God is for us, who can be against us?

This is a kind of story I have heard about before, especially with starting up missionaries. Tales of initial failures before rising to success had made fascinating testimonies, namely, that the natural reliance on our own strength or merit need to be replaced with a dependency on God. Moses was a classic case. He grew up with a knowledge that he will deliver the Hebrews from Egyptian slavery. He tried his own way first. He killed an Egyptian guard who was assaulting a fellow Hebrew. As a result, he spent forty years as a fugitive in the desert after he was rejected by his own fellowmen.

So bitter did Moses feel towards his countrymen that in order to be convinced, God had to appear as a flaming bush and then the need to persuade him to return to Egypt with the rod of God's power. However, even after God's revelation from the bush, Moses' continual bitterness and stubbornness against the Hebrews had very nearly cost him his life had his wife not acted quickly enough.

David was another failure after receiving the promise of the kingdom. He was spectacularly successful in defeating Goliath, and soon afterwards the Hebrew women were singing a song of victory, and declared David as the rightful king, much to King Saul's anger which was behind the younger man fleeing to a cave and living in seclusion for the next twenty years. It was during those years when the prince had to learn the reality of dependency over his pride in his battle skills.

With this present Coronavirus crisis, it would be easy to be tempted to ask where is God in all this? The latest news to reach us is about a total lockdown in Wales, with just one man, Labour Mark Drakeford, ordering all prohibition of buying non-essentials, and therefore Tesco and other superstores in Wales have literally covered all their hardware stalls with plastic sheeting. That means you can buy alcohol but not a bedsheet or a quilt. You can buy a chocolate Santa but not a saucepan or a spare woolly for the coming winter. The element in your kettle has blown? Or even your washing machine has broken down beyond repair? Then better to boil water in a saucepan or wash your clothes by hand.

Not used to any of that? Well at least, during my bachelor days, I have done plenty of both. However, if you're unfortunate enough to let all the water boil away and burn a hole at the bottom of the saucepan - like my Mum once did when she was young - well, you can try Sellotaping over the hole. No good? Well, you can always depend on good old Santa. After all, Christmas is not far away, is it? Wait! You have already eaten him! No presents for the kids this year, as toys, games and computers are non-essentials.

Hence the crushing absurdity this hysteria over the virus and how it has overtaken the Welsh. At this moment we are living in the medium zone. The only restrictions are that pubs must close by ten in the evening and there must be no more than six coming together. Not to forget social distancing and the wearing of facemasks - which makes me think - if the rate of infection is rising that fast, then, is the facemask working? After all, when I enter a shop, bus, train or any other public venue, I hardly see anyone without a mask. Then why this rise of cases? And now, like some alien weed creeping and crawling towards us, I wouldn't be at all surprised if this third stage lockdown begins to cover our area.

Yes, our first triathlon was a failure. But not those which followed, year by year. But even our failure pales to insufficiency when compared to those we call our leaders. 

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*Alek Hunter & Erik Kirschbaum - Swim+Bike+Run: Triathlon the Sporting Trinity, 1985, George Allen and Unwin publishers.

**You can delve into the full details on how I came about in organising the Bracknell Triathlon under the title, Alan Sugar at the Kerith? by clicking here.

Sitting At A Coffee Bar...

Sitting at a coffee bar, a large cappuccino and a croissant on the table directly in front, all three having their origins outside the United Kingdom. The restaurant itself, whether it would be Starbucks or Costa Coffee, both had originated from the USA, the cappuccino from Italy, and the croissant from France. It's from this comfy seat in an agreeable atmosphere where I allow my thoughts to manifest unhindered within my head.

Thoughts from the past, plan for the future, looking for ideas to solve a problem, and there is prayer. Yes, sitting at a coffee bar with my elbows on the table and both my hands forming a cup over my face, like this I can pray without attracting attention. Anyone taking a glance would conclude that I'm deep in thought, which truly speaking, I would be.

What are the thoughts that I ponder on as I sip at the froth of the coffee? One is reminiscence. Looking back at the past, especially all the good things. Like that time in 1997 when I was backpacking Australia. What was I doing during one particular moment? Snorkelling over the Great Barrier Reef? No, I had already done that at Green Island, off Cairns and also at Low Isles, off Port Douglas. These were both coral cays reached by catamaran from the northern coast of Queensland, and there is still more of the same to do at the Whitsunday Islands, which, as I will find out, features a continental fringe reef at Heron Island, off the coast of Arlie Beach.

So what was I doing at that particular moment? Yes, sitting alone at a table at a coffee bar in a service station. This was one of many which dot the Pacific Highway while the Greyhound bus I'm travelling in, was at its one-hour service and refuelling, to eliminate any chances of a possible breakdown in the middle of nowhere. There I was, minding my own business, sipping coffee and next to it, a bread roll, somewhere between ten and eleven thousand miles away from home, on an island continent separate from the Eurasian landmass, and therefore I was unknown to anybody across the whole land - the whole of the Southern Hemisphere, perhaps.

Hey, Frank!

I looked up to see a smiling stranger standing there, looking at me as if he had recognised me, and no doubt having gotten my name right, there must be some credit to this.

"How do you know me?" I asked, feeling rather shocked.

Don't you remember? I gave you that map at that hostel in St Louis?

"Oh my!" I gasped. We then started talking. Yes, I remember the incident some twenty months previously. The privately-owned backpacker's den on the residential outskirts of the Missouri city of St Louis. How the HI USA managed to affiliate such property onto its list of Recommended Hostels is something of a mystery. Desperation, perhaps? No other hostel in the whole of Missouri? For a start, the toilet cubicles had the western bar type swing doors which deprived the user of any privacy. Woe be if you needed to defecate! Any passerby can just look in. Then the kitchen harboured a live mouse which was seen scurrying across the floor. And then to top it off, I had to keep all my groceries stored away in my rucksack next to the bed. The kitchen food pigeonholes had dead cockroaches in them which gave an unpleasant smell as well as an unappetising feel. Indeed This was the worst hostel I have ever visited, worldwide, and that is saying something.

It was in this iffy kitchen where I met and made friends with this German chap while we were cooking our evening meals. He wasn't alone back then but one of a group of two or three. We talked about our individual itineraries, and I realised that by mistake I had left the Greyhound USA map at home when I packed away all the documents and traveller's cheques. He then gave me a spare map to use throughout the rest of the trip. Furthermore, I was referred to as that crazy Englishman. All good-natured, of course. And now here we are, two years on, at a cafe on the other side of the world, by sheer chance we meet again. Indeed, God must have a sense of humour! 

I am aware that, to some of my older regular readers, I have blogged this story before. But I repeat it here for the benefit of newer readers. Then again, I can't help writing about it. A billion-to-one chance for the same two travellers to randomly meet at two different locations and at two different times, yet it has happened. The second meet happened while I was sitting at a cafeteria table sipping coffee, down under.

And such the Costa Coffee provides the ideal environment for such indulgence. And such thinking can change to the present issue, Coronavirus. Indeed, I'm aware that I have written so much about this already, but here is something new - and shocking.

Announced on last night's news bulletin:

To ease the strain on the NHS due to the pandemic, it's on the cards that admission to A&E will require pre-booking...

Both Alex and I laughed. Then I thought up this little scenario:

Alex rings the A&E Department at a nearby hospital. 

Hello, is that Accident and Emergency?

"Yes, it is. What can we do for you?"

Well, I need to make a booking for an ambulance to arrive to take my husband to A&E next Tuesday at 14.00 hours. 

"Okay, may I ask why?"

Because that's when he'll go down with a sudden, unexpected heart attack.

"Just a moment - hmm - yes, we do have an ambulance available. Oh-okay, I have booked your husband to be rushed to the hospital for an emergency procedure. Pick-up will be at your home at 14.00 hours. Bye."

Of course, the news reporter, realising the sheer impracticality of such a proposal, hastens to add:

But of course, anyone can still turn up whenever required.

Then a middle-aged male patient was interviewed in A&E at a Portsmouth hospital, testifying on what a wonderful idea this pre-booking was, explaining that he did not have to wait for the usual four hours to see a doctor, but was seen to straight after admission. How all this could work out in practice is still a mystery to me, but again, I have never claimed to have an academic thinking pattern.

And so I sit at a Costa Coffee in the town centre, watching the passerby through the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows. I feel intrigued as I watch them sauntering to-and-fro, with a few pacing as in a hurry. As for the hundreds maybe thousands over a ninety-minute period, not a single suit and tie to be seen, that is, except for any passing school uniform worn by both genders. And it wasn't even warm outside. Could these highly intelligent men be hiding as if in embarrassment? After all, this pre-booking for A&E was their idea, not from the doctors or nurses. And today, as I write, London, along with other towns across the land gets tighter restrictions in the fight against the virus.

Where we live, we are at the moment, on medium restrictions. There is no "Low". Instead, there is Medium, High, and Very High. Therefore, we are living with minimal restrictions. For now. That means I have to wear a facemask when I enter Costa Coffee or Starbucks. I must order my coffee with the facemask on. But I can remove it when I sit at the table (thank goodness!) It's as if the virus either won't or cannot reach the seating area, therefore cannot be breathed in. Or a case of a colleague and I at work together all day in an office (without wearing facemasks) but cannot have a drink together in an (air-conditioned) pub. Indeed, the virus knows exactly when and where to strike!

Only yesterday I had my normal Friday afternoon swim. Pre-pandemic, I used to follow the swim with a sauna. But not anymore, as such facilities are considered "too dangerous." Never mind that the heat in the sauna would kill the virus, and such hot air is even breathed in, therefore making unhappy any virus which could be lingering in the trachea or lungs. After all, they say a good hot sauna is good for treating a cold (another virus, apparently) but not Covid. Anyway, at the men's changing room I got talking to this other swimmer who was also towelling himself. Eventually, after he had dressed, I reached out my hand with the intention of introducing myself by means of a very British handshake, but instead, this guy retreated, as if I was the disease itself, despite that we were both very healthy and showing no signs of symptoms. What have those smartly-dressed top nobs done to our national psyche?

As I sit by the window of Costa Coffee, I am grateful, in one way or another, to have much of my life behind me. Approaching seventy, I'm not quite that agile, athletic guy I once was, running half-marathons, cycling miles across the country and competing in triathlons. But I don't want to say that I did it my way, as Frank Sinatra once sang. Instead, I would rather acknowledge God, his grace, goodness and mercy, and say that I hope I did it God's way.

One type of patronage I tend to see quite frequently in the restaurant is the Little People, who tend to make the loudest noise, their wails often shattering my daydreams. Within our present situation, I'm beginning to feel sorry for the up-and-coming generation. What kind of a world will they grow up into? Personally, I'm beginning to think that the world we are passing on to them will be riddled with a national debt which will take many years to recover from, as well as leaving behind a legacy of universal fear felt in the air, even of getting too close to each other, with handshakes frowned upon and a hefty fine imposed on anyone who attempts to hug.

Meanwhile, our oceans are becoming clogged with a new kind of pollutant, the discarded facemasks. Despite what I perceive is a general dislike of them by the public, it does look as if these gags are here to stay. When these men in suits say "Dance" then we all dance. If they say "Jump" then we all jump, no questions asked. If they say, "Wear a mask at all times, even in bed" then woe betide anyone who just might disagree! Already, according to the newspapers, it's already "No sex, please, we're ill."

The virus restriction or the crane?

And it's during times like these when belief in God and his divine creation and redemption are all looked upon with disdain, as the rise in atheist philosophy along with Darwinian evolution pushing the Bible into the realm of pseudoscience and fantasy, and therefore denying the reality of Jesus Christ, his death on the cross, his burial, his Resurrection, and his Atonement for us.

I sit in the coffee bar, a child cries, the enclosure of the restaurant amplifies his wails, which wouldn't be so obvious if outside. What kind of a world would this child grow up in? With this growing rage against God gripping the West, what hope awaits this little one?

I cup my hands over my face and quietly attempt to pray. I see no solution to all this, but I also know that everything is in his hands. Furthermore, God has already known about all this from eternity past, even long before the creation of the world, he already knew. Just as he knew of my birth and the exact number of days I will live for. Not only had he formed me in the secret part of the earth, but he knows my every move, my every thought, emotion, and motives, and I'm aware that in no way can I escape from his presence. How King David's Psalm 139 provides comfort to every believer who feels hopeless and distressed over everything that's going on around him and yet should still be thankful for all the good things God has allowed him to enjoy.

And this certainly includes travel and the chance meeting of a lost friend where no one would ever expect to see again halfway around the world.

I take a final look inside the empty coffee cup where the remains of the leftover froth of the cappuccino had congealed around the inner edge. I push the chair back, arise and make off home to be with my beloved. But I'll be back...

Crazy! Just Sheer Crazy!

Rub a dub dub, three men in a tub. No nursery rhyme here. Rather, I'm referring to three gay men who once occupied the jacuzzi at the public spa suite located within our local leisure pool facility. And so they recline in the warm bubble bath, keeping themselves to themselves as I made use of both the steam room and the hot sauna, long before Corona meant anything other than a refreshing drink. And so, those three were seen as regular bathers before they moved out of our area, I believe, to settle in San Francisco. But even after their exit from the UK, the well-known nursery rhyme I had to recite at our primary school had taken on a new meaning. At least their names had never appeared under any scandalous headline in our local newspaper, let alone a national one. 

A Bubble Bath. Stock photo.

Rather unlike three teenagers in a car, whose names did appear in the national press, but hey, it doesn't sound so rhythmic as the three men in a tub, does it? But their story had a much greater impact than any butcher, baker or candlestick maker could ever achieve.

I'll refer to the three teenagers only by their first names, but these are their real names: William, Luca, and Ollie. William was at the wheel of a powerful BMW only days after passing his driving test. The car was a reward from his well-to-do Dad for passing the test. And then, just a few days later, William wanted to show off his brand new treasure to two of his pals and so, all three clambered in. 

The over-confident teenager put his foot down on the accelerator as the engine roared into life. Further down, the road suddenly rounds a bend, but by then it was too late. The speeding vehicle struck a grass bank, flew thirty metres through the air before hitting an electric substation. It must have been a spectacular accident, worthy of any James Bond movie stunt, but even before the car came to rest, Luca had already stepped off this planet and into eternity. Seeing his best friend with serious head injuries, Ollie, soon after, took his own life. With the car written off, only its owner got away with barely a scratch.

And so William appears in Court, wisely dressed in a white shirt and a blue and red striped tie. Much to the disgust of Luca's parents, William gets away with a six-month suspended jail term and a two-year driving ban. He is pictured walking free, thumb up and smirking under a large facemask. How is it that here in England, a shirt and tie can make such an impact on the Judge passing such a lenient sentence? It's a story I have seen and read about before. Smart dress is often worn by defendants in their hope to have their sentences mitigated.

There is something about the whole scenario, from the moment he passes his driving test to the snapshot of him leaving Court, which stirs my emotions into anger and frustration! Indeed, supposing I was the father of Luca, the passenger who was instantly killed. Here, I attempt to put myself in his place. I watch as the defendant walks out of Court with a victorious smirk. Yes, how would I feel? Never to see my son again. Watching his coffin enter the crematorium, knowing that after a short farewell service, coffin, clothing and body alike will all be reduced to ashes. 

The silence in his bedroom. A lifeless computer and play station, school books piled on a small desk, his school uniform hanging from the wardrobe door handle, his bed still unmade, pyjamas left thrown on the foot of the bed. His sports kit stashed proudly away in his chest of drawers. The silence. The stillness. Memories going back to his birth, that tiny shrill as the baby takes in his first breath, inflating his lungs for the first time ever. Watching him breastfeed at his mother's chest as she looks so lovingly at his tiny face, bathing him, listening to his crying at two in the morning, joining us at the table as he grows up. Witnessing his progress at school as well as developing into a keen sportsman. Then, as an adolescent, he passes his exams to qualify for university and who knows, a girlfriend, a wife whose own child would make us proud grandparents - but now this.

As William smirks as he leaves Court as a free man to continue living a normal life, there is something gut-wrenching about Luca's death. Oh, so unnecessary! Why, oh why did Luca entrust his life to this over-confident, smart-ass buffoon? In a fit of rage, I fight with every effort I can draw within my fibre against the strong temptation to smash my fist into his smirking mouth and force him to swallow his facemask. But instead, I just stand there, doing nothing. 

As I walk home, or back to the railway station, I thought about what would have happened had I gave into temptation. I would have ended up as a defendant and charged for Grievous Bodily Harm, or GBH. His father would have made sure that I receive the maximum sentence for daring to lay my finger on his son. And the judge would comply, throwing the book with full force at me. Indeed, to be smartly-dressed and well off seems to have big influences in making decisions. After all, if William's father can buy a BMW, just like that, as a reward gift for his son, then he can't be short of a bob or two.

The BMW featured might have looked like this.

And it's this calibre of men which has so much impact right across this nation. Here, I'm talking about the restrictions placed on us by those in authority. It isn't for me to disobey those in authority, as the Bible says, anyone who rebels against authority rebels against God, according to Paul's letter to the church in Rome (13:1-8.) But only today I read in a national newspaper that just one faceless smart guy, backed by a team of doctors, are now persuading our Government to make facemask-wearing compulsory outdoors. I browsed the comment forum under the online newspaper article to check out the general opinion. Just about everyone agrees that this new proposal is utter rubbish, even insulting, and it's nothing more than a quest for greater control without adequate scientific evidence to back it up.

It's bad enough to wear those wretched gags whilst shopping or sitting on a train. Unless the mask is washed in a Dettol antiseptic solution on a regular basis, with me, throat irritation along with coughing will follow. Although I don't agree that wearing a facemask outdoors will deplete the respiratory system of oxygen, as many in those comments think it does, I have looked carefully on the course of the pandemic throughout the last few months. True enough, around late Spring the worst in infection, hospitalisation and death rates reached its peak and they were frighteningly high. A national lockdown was enforced and all three rates dropped dramatically until it looked as if the worst was over.

Then by the end of August and into September, facemasks were made compulsory for all indoor venues including all public transport. I have noticed that the start of the second rise of infection coincided almost exactly with the introduction of and compulsive wearing of the facemask. It seems too, that only one close friend agrees with me, himself a PhD holder. 

I base this reckoning out of experience rather than listening to an expert. If I were to breathe in some coronaviruses in the air, normally they will be all expelled back into the outside air on the very next breath - before any have the chance to stick to a cell within the throat, trachea or even within the alveoli of the lungs. But if I wear a mask, then when expelling, fewer viruses will escape. Hence the idea behind facemasks, to reduce the spread of infection. But if at the same time a mass of viruses begins to pile up behind the mask, they won't be able to escape so freely into the open air. On the next intake of breath, they are sucked straight back into the throat and the rest of the respiratory system. With this back and forth of the viruses within the system, could this be behind my throat irritation, alongside the massive recent rise of infections?

Of course, with not being a doctor or a government official or MP, I don't have the authority to make a stand, but this does not deprive me of having common sense. I personally believe that the compulsive wearing of facemasks lies behind the recent sharp rise of infections. Only yesterday, after wearing a facemask to shop for groceries, I had throat irritation accompanied by coughing. Back at home, a thorough gargle with an antiseptic mouthwash gave some relief. After this, I asked my beloved to wash all our masks in a Dettol solution. 

But the compulsion to wear a facemask outdoors. Perhaps I could think of this:

Going back to the same illustration, here am I, walking along a street, with other people, and I expel some viruses into the air (if I have it, of course - actually it could be normal germs, a cold or a flu virus, so some other niggling pathogen). However, the chance of being breathed in by a passerby is reasonably slim, for in the open air, especially if there's a breeze, the viruses would scatter enough to make it pretty unlikely to be picked up by a passerby, unless he gets really close, almost to kissing, hence the sensibility of the two-metre distancing. But if nevertheless picked up, chances are that they will be expelled in the very next breath.

Thus, although I don't like it, to wear a facemask whilst in an enclosed space, there is some justification for this. Therefore, I wear one when required. Viruses can't scatter so freely in enclosed spaces. 

The Facemask we use.

But how I long to see our Government ministers - and the public too - loosen their reliance on these academics. How I long to see the loosening of the hold these smart guys have on us, by our own choice, this worship of the scientists and MPs behind such restrictive legislation, the robbing of our freedoms which was fought for so hard during the War years. As I see it, wearing a facemask in an enclosed space is reasonable despite the discomfort generated. But I would draw the line when it comes to wearing one outdoors. Under law.

That means if I was to walk along a footpath at a deserted beach, or a park, or in some woods, by the lakeside with very few people around, I would be breaking the law and therefore penalised, despite that there is no way I could infect anyone. Or taking the dog out for a walk. The dog has no need to wear a mask. Lucky dog! The cop would instead come after me.

To make the wearing of facemasks outdoors is sheer crazy! Most of Joe Public would agree with this. But would our ministers listen to these academics and enforce what looks to be a ridiculous law?

Indeed, three men in a tub. Three gay men in a tub. Is there any unseen fondling going on under those spa bubbles? I don't know and I don't want to know either. It's not my business. It's also illegal at a public venue. But they remain wise enough not to get caught. And no way would I snitch, even if I'm suspicious. And yes, for the record, someone tried to fondle me whilst in the bubble bath around forty years ago. I made sure he knew that I wasn't interested. But I still didn't snitch. Therefore, if I was seen without a facemask, walking in a quiet street, through a park, along the riverside or lakeside, or on a beach, I would have to depend on his goodwill not to shop me in.

Why Laugh at Creationists?

Browsing the Internet can be an interesting experience whenever something totally unexpected comes up on the YouTube dashboard. Such is the title of a whole series of videos bearing the one title, Why do people laugh at Creationists? 

Laugh at Creationists? That's new! I thought we Creationists are ignored. Like good old Alfred Wegener. This son of a clergyman theorised that rather than remaining permanently fixed, the continents of our globe are on the move. Yet he was totally ignored by all the geologists of his day. Moving continents? How ridiculous could he get? He was ignored, maybe even laughed at. That was because Wegener was not a geologist, but a meteorologist who had an interest in geology from an amateur's perspective. According to contemporary geologists, anyone who is not in their profession should not stick his oar in. It took quite a bit of persuasion and thorough research before realising that Plate Tectonics is to accepted as valid science.

Or the case of one young doctor who, in the 1840s, was put in charge of a maternity ward at one of the top teaching hospitals in Vienna, Allegemeine Krakenaus. Here, this medic was very disturbed by the rate of mortality taking place on a regular basis - one out of every six women died, as was the case of all other hospitals of the day. Then this doctor, Ignaz Semmelweis by name, believed that some invisible agent or element was passed around from patient to patient.*

He thought up the idea that after each patient was examined, whether it was an autopsy carried out on a dead patient or checking out a living patient, the medic must wash his hands before examining the next patient. Immediately, the death rate dropped significantly from one out of every six to one out of 84.

But poor Semmelweis didn't get the praise he so richly deserved. Instead, it was scorned and belittled by lazy and prejudiced colleagues and jealous superiors. Perhaps they believed that Semmelweis had some supernatural power or that there is something magic about this constant washing, washing, washing which does not tie with science. Had he wrote and published a book on his discoveries, chances were that such a book wouldn't sell well, if at all, in the medical profession. After all, invisible element? Mythology has no place in the hard realities of science.

After such hostile treatment, Semmelweis lost his contract, and after watching the mortality rate rise again, he lost his mind and he was committed to an institution where he ended his days with a mental breakdown. Who would have ever thought that with the linking of bacteria, discovered in mould growth as early as 1676, with infection and disease could be the cause of such a high mortality rate? And Alfred Wegener, who was also ignored by his contemporaries, such life was not made easy for him either. What a ridiculous theory, this nonsense of moving continents!

Going back to YouTube. As already mentioned, there is a whole series of videos, looking to be as many as 45 of them altogether, themed Why do people laugh at Creationists? Checking the author's stats, at this time of writing, he has 276,621,362 views and 960,000 subscribers, his field also covers a much wider range of topics including his support for the UK to remain in the European Union. 

Indeed, his first video featured a student who used three false arguments to support his view of favouring Creationism. One was that the spherical orbit of the Earth around the Sun was within the Goldilocks zone, the second was that the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River was cut in just five minutes, and his third argument was that water is unique to our planet only, and does not exist elsewhere. As such, together with Flat-Earthers, we Creationists deserve to be laughed at. But on a more serious note, if I were to write a paper supporting Divine Creation which would satisfy the demands of Creation Research, then submit the paper to a team of secular scientists, one or two might give some time to answer, the rest would just ignore it altogether.

It was the student's "Grand Canyon in five minutes" theory which caught my attention and decided to answer in the comment forum. But it was not only to "prove myself" but also use this opportunity to confess my allegiance with Creationism, just as I would freely confess Jesus Christ as my Saviour. No matter, this video alone has 2,508,131 views. Therefore, I felt it was worth giving it a go if Creationism is to gain any creditability.

How wonderful it is for YouTube to allow quite a large margin to comment without being cut off. Because I had quite a bit to say. 

Firstly, I explained that the Earth's orbit around the Sun is not spherical at all, but follows the edge of a slightly elliptical plane, with the Sun not quite at the centre. Therefore, where one side of the orbit is at the Perihelion, that is, nearer to the Sun, it's winter in the UK and summer in Australia. At the other side of the orbit, known as the Aphelion, our planet is further away from the Sun during the UK summer. 

Whether this is a work of a Designer or just mere chance, I left for them to decide. But since the Southern hemisphere is mostly ocean which takes longer to warm up than the landmasses of the Northern hemisphere, if this slight eccentricity did not exist and the orbit was perfectly circular, then it's likely that much of the Southern hemisphere would be covered with a permanent ice sheet, very much like the one which covered the Northern hemisphere during the Ice Age. This could have a big impact on the existence of life, particularly with the oxygen output from the oceans.

Then, together with my hikes into the Grand Canyon and thus, my observation of the rock strata resting comfortably on granite bedrock, I concluded that these layers of limestone and sandstone were laid down by the waters of a long-gone ocean, and put forward the idea of the Noachian Flood, along with the theory that the Canyon was cut in months, possibly years, as the floodwaters drained off the rising continent, and not in five minutes. As for extraterrestrial waters, I reminded the student that since boyhood, I was aware of frozen water polar ice caps on Mars and elsewhere, and after conversion, hadn't changed my mind on this.

At the Grand Canyon, 1995.

Then about three weeks later someone contributed, asking me how vast limestones rock layers form, considering that limestone is formed out of calcite, a material gotten from the shells of marine life, if not taking millions, or even billions of years to accumulate into such rock layers.

Here I have always found this to be a problem, to be honest. Here in England, one particular type of limestone, chalk, is very common here. This stone makes up the rolling hillsides and downs of, for example, the Chilterns, the South Downs, the White Cliffs of Dover, and the rolling coastal hills which includes Ballard Down in Dorset and the Isle of Wight. I have always thought that during antediluvian days, the oceans must have had a tremendously vast population of such marine life to form such landscapes. Not forgetting the chalk seabed under the English Channel which makes the cutting and maintenance of the Channel Tunnel viable. And I haven't even included hard limestones such as Portland Stone, often used for construction.

How much easier it must be to assume such huge formations must take multiple millions of years for such rock layers to build up than for it to rapidly form under the intense pressure of a fast-moving global flood. But a Flood-based origin I'm willing to accept, whichever way it happened. To believe in the historicity of the Bible does involve swimming hard against the current of Charles Lyell's uniformitarian geology and Darwin's organic evolution which remains universally acceptable.

I'm one of a small number of Creationists who is willing to stick my neck out. Indeed, I might just be ignored, teased, laughed at, or to be made to look ridiculous but to be honest, I'll rather be a fool for the glory of God than be wise in the eyes of the world. Even in my own church, I'm not taken as seriously as a brother who is a graduate, especially in the realm of leadership or even delivering a preach. Or maybe there is this train of thinking going around among those who know me well - the "he's not capable" or "I don't think he can do that" or "I doubt he'll be successful". The reason for this is straightforward. I don't come across as one who is articulate or well educated. Fair enough.

But "in Christ, I can do all things" (Philippians 4:13.) Yea, I hold on to that. One example of this occurred back in 1980. Just a year before I was made redundant as a semi-skilled machinist in an aircraft factory (British Aircraft Corporation, which was later renamed British Aerospace) and I had trouble looking for suitable work until someone suggested going self-employed. Indeed, one or two of the Elders did not believe I could manage that, but I went ahead anyway and formed my own window-cleaning business. Yes, it was difficult at first. I struggled to make ends meet. I upset a few of my clientele. I was on the verge of throwing in the towel. I even applied for another job. When I didn't get that job and instead returned to my business, I decided to keep on persevering.

Eventually, it paid off. Throughout those 35 years, I managed to make enough not only to live reasonably well, but I was able to save up for travel. Flying to destinations such as to Israel in 1993, and then to New York in 1995 to backpack across the USA to Los Angeles, and then in less than two years later, to fly to Singapore, and then onward to Cairns in Queensland, then after backpacking the Pacific Coast with its glorious Great Barrier Reef, on to Sydney, then from there direct to Los Angeles, before returning to London on a Round-the-World experience in 1997. It was those glorious days, the explosive climax of my bachelorhood before I met and married Alex. Those days when I didn't claim a penny in benefit or low-income allowances. It pays to persevere against the odds and not throw it all in.

Another area where starting up was difficult and discouraging, and it's writing for this Blogger page! Indeed, at first, viewer numbers remained low, and it was very discouraging to see all other bloggers captivating readers by the thousands while I only picked up around 20-30 each week. Indeed, I thought, what's the use? I was even tempted to throw in the towel in this area too. After all, I'm a labourer who failed at school. Who am I, pretending to be someone I'm not?

Yet I enjoy writing, and I have always enjoyed writing since boyhood. Later, the advance of the Internet has open doors which before I could only dream about. Therefore, something of addiction grew within, until every Saturday afternoon is Blogging day. As for readership, at this moment of writing, I have more than 150,000 views. This I consider this to be a respectable number and its growing by the hundreds each week.

And now I have launched into something very new. It began while I was sitting at a Costa Coffee bar in Bracknell Town Centre with a croissant and a cappuccino coffee. There, I thought about opening a YouTube account and making videos of easy walks which older people would appreciate. And so, at Bournemouth and Swanage, I shot my first two videos. When they came out, I knew that I have a lot to learn! My camera was shaking, I got my fingers in front of the lens, I breathed heavily after climbing a hill, and maybe the video was rather monotonous, filming the same scene all the time. To a professional, these were rubbish and I knew it. But I still published them to see what happens.

The exact camera I use for YouTube Videos

Lessons learned from the past taught me not to throw in the towel. If I fail, I fail. If absolutely nobody clicks onto my channel, well, at least I gave it a go! I've tried it. Indeed, right now I can visualise with clarity all my church Elders and brothers shaking their heads in their plea to give it up now to save myself from getting hurt. This was the discouragement I have received from other church members for many years. 

But no, instead, I will carry on making videos and publish them. And as I make each one, I learn from my mistakes. And with learning and experience, real enjoyment will also bud and blossom into a beautiful flower.

Perseverance is hard. It's difficult. It can get very discouraging. But eventually, it can pay off. The same goes with my conviction that Divine Creation as recorded in Genesis will eventually pay off, despite being ignored or laughed at present. My vindication will await me in Heaven. 

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* S.I. McMillen, None of These Diseases, 1963, 1980, Lakeland Publishers.