A Mystery So Puzzling.

As this is the weekend when the America's Cup Boat Race starts at Portsmouth, nothing more could be so characteristically British. The oh-so-familiar reminder that all the schools across the nation had broken up for the long Summer break:- when the skies turn steely grey, the wind picks up, the daytime temperature drops, and the heavens open. Not just an occasional blustery shower, but a continuous downpour lasting the entire duration of the day and even well into the night. With the streets glistening with rainwater, umbrellas up, mackintoshes flapping in the wind, and the waterproof fabric clattering with the impact sound of the raindrops, the public carries on with its business undeterred by the weather, as so demonstrated by one female who arrived in Portsmouth to watch the celebrations for the start of the race. When asked to comment about the dismal Summer, her face broke into a wide smile and answered, It's all about being British.

Maybe so, which could explain why in a single day at the start of the school holidays, up to 130,000 people passed through security at Heathrow Airport alone, up on the average daily 100,500, along with another 120,000 passing through London Gatwick. No doubt about it, we Brits crave for a spot of sunshine so much that the stresses of air tickets, passport control, security, waiting in queues - as well as the potential for flight delays and industrial disputes are all accepted stoically as mere risks. Added to these is a risk to health - particularly the attack of the runs due to unfamiliar food, poor hygiene, dirt, or whatever, coupled with the risk of sunburn, tenderising the skin into an intensely painful cherry-red area. Not to mention in addition: pickpockets, petty theft, being ripped off, needing to call in at a clinic, or even ending up in a police cell when a drinking bout gets out of hand. Yes indeed, it is the start of the season when the pursuit of the annual dose of the Four S's becomes the norm of British necessities - Sun, Sea, Sand, and Sex.

Not that any of these are merely textbook propaganda. In my travelling days, I have experienced just about all of these, including ending up sitting at the interview room of a local police station - no, not for drunken behaviour, but to report a theft of all my funds - in the form of a book of traveller's cheques - a big one for the sly fingers of a pickpocket's hand. So leaving me marooned literally penniless for the weekend at the Italian city of Florence back in 1981. And how can I forget 1995 with the dreadful symptoms of hyponatremia which bid me to visit a clinic in Arizona. I was fortunate enough that a cup of electrolyte provided free by a nurse was all I needed for recovery. A visit by a Doctor, even if only for a moment, would have set me back hundreds of dollars.

Eventually, the presence of British stoicism is put to the test as the reality hits home. He enters the front door of his house, bathed in an almost eerie silence after night after night of clubbing, dining out, strolling through streets thronging with thrill-seekers in the warmth of the night, or even engaging in conversation and making friends at hostel socials. As his family begin to unpack, he creeps upstairs, and opens the wardrobe to see his suit, clean shirt and tie, all hanging neatly from a rail. Such attire reminding him of the daily office grind resuming on the very next day. So much of, as I like to call it, Touchdown Sunday, back to work Monday.

Such as I have tried to avoid when returning to my front door from a backpacking trip. I recall 1997, after flying overnight home from Los Angeles, which concluded the Round-the-World trip, including touchdown at Singapore, and then at Cairns, at the Australian state of North Queensland. I have carefully arranged to land back at London Heathrow on a Wednesday, exactly ten weeks to the day after taking off. Like this, I had more than four days to re-adjust to normal life. On the day of arrival back in the UK, I felt so run down by post-holiday blues, that a visit to a friend's house to chat about the experience was a necessity much needed even before considering returning to work on the following Monday.

And so in my final years of bachelorhood, while attending a service at my church in Ascot, I recall one of the Elders looking directly at me while delivering his sermon, classifying some people as living from holiday to holiday. I knew he was right. If there was a time when travel had such a hold on me, it was in the 1990's. This was most likely due to the fact that I was already in my forties, and living alone without a family to support. Of course, as a Christian believer, I was familiar with the New Testament of the Bible, and particularly with Paul's letter to the Ephesians, but I still felt that I have missed out on something in life. Travel was an attempt to fill in this void, which was caused, I believe, by not having a lifelong companion to love and to love me, to support each other, and to share everything in life together.

Yet Paul was different. Unlike the vast majority of Jews in his day, he never married. It was after the Damascus Road experience (Acts 9) that he saw the real reason for living. Enjoying a personal relationship with God through faith in Jesus Christ. The realisation of God's eternal love through his Son fulfilled Paul's every need - physical, mental, and emotional, without any worldly excitement added to stimulate his well being.

I can see, even feel the excitement in the Apostle's heart when he wrote to the church in Ephesus, including statements like being predestined to be adopted into his family, becoming recipients of his grace, wisdom and understanding, lavished upon us unreservedly, to the glory, thanksgiving, and praise, and in line of the inheritance promised to us, which God through Christ is willing to bestow upon us. So he goes on, we are saved by grace, without works, according to the riches of his glory.

Paul remained single throughout his life, contrary to Jewish custom of the day, but by reading his letters, it is easy enough to see the wonderful relationship Paul had with his God. And this despite the many sufferings he went through, including imprisonment. In Acts 16:25-34 we read about Paul and his new companion Silas, thrown into prison without a proper cause. Their backs were welted from the lashes they both received earlier, therefore they must have been very uncomfortable and suffering pain while held in confinement. But did they whinge and moan? Did they wish they could have headed for the airport for a transatlantic flight to Disneyland? Or for that matter, to hike the Grand Canyon? Far from it! Instead they were singing praises and thanksgiving to God. It was infectious. The jailer, instead of bullying them, became convicted of his own shortcomings, and he too asked how he can enjoy the same relationship with God as these two enjoyed.

Did Paul and Silas believe in Eternal Security? Or Once Saved Always Saved? According to his letter to the Ephesians, as well as Romans chapter eight, this seems to be quite a point! The only snag is that neither the statements "Eternal Security" or "Once Saved Always Saved" appear anywhere in the New Testament, let alone the entire Bible. But does this make these statements untrue? After all, the word "Trinity" does not appear in Scripture, neither does the phrase "Prodigal Son" appear either, but no true believer would deny the truthfulness of these statements. But according to my own experience, believing in Eternal Security does have a big impact on my spiritual life. This was felt just a few weeks ago while visiting Westminster Chapel in London. The preach was about Paul's letter to the Ephesians, and there was an emphasis on the truth of Eternal Security. I wanted to stand up and shout my praises to God there and then. Fortunately, the service ended with singing, and through this I was allowed to release my thanksgiving and praise. It was electrifying. What better tonic is there to the spirit than knowing that you are adopted into God's family forever. No wonder Paul and Silas felt exuberant while in prison!

Is God any different today? If so, then how can we trust a God who is not eternally consistent? But if he is the same God yesterday, today, and forever, then what went horribly, horribly wrong? One does not need to be a rocket scientist to give an answer to that question. It is false teaching beginning to percolate into the churches after the death of all the apostles. In fact, the churches in Galatia were already becoming infected while Paul was still alive, and John wrote of "many antichrists that are already in the world" (1 John 2:18-27, 4:3). Antichrist simply means Instead of Christ, and nothing more appropriate could be applied to false teachings. These are the teachings that any form of works are added to faith to either earn, merit, or even to keep our salvation. Such teachings deny the Father and the Son, because the Son did not atone for sin to the extent that the believer is once saved always saved. So the believer becomes his own saviour, or at least a partial saviour, instead of Jesus Christ being the only and true Saviour.

I personally believe that this is the greatest mystery ever recorded in history. How could it possibly happen? Paul's letter to the Ephesians (and to other churches as well) were meant to be the greatest message of good news to be revealed to the world. God having reconciled the world to himself not imputing their trespasses against them (2 Corinthians 5:19) - somehow God has always been seen as metamorphosed into a fickle monster who is constantly examining our faithfulness to see if we are worthy for heaven. That how it looks to me. Little wonder, that when the great Protestant-based British Empire expanded, India for example, remained stubbornly Hindu, while the Middle East and parts of Africa remained Islamic. It seems that trading one set of rules for worshiping a god for another set of very similar rules for some other deity was never seen as worthy enough to strike a deal.

Many churches here in the UK rely on Oxford and Cambridge Universities for the gene pool of future leaders and ministers. I think it is a crying shame that many of these future leaders do not believe in Eternal Security, and therefore discouraging their congregations from believing the greatest message the Gospel has to offer. Little wonder that not only our churches had failed to convert Muslims, but many Christians have also embraced the theory of Evolution, which denies the truth of the Gospel, and internal strife between leaders and their members has been ongoing for many centuries.

How could it all happen? God through Christ and the apostles have given us the greatest message of salvation in all history, and it's well preserved in Scripture. So how could such distortions occur, and so soon too, while the apostles were still living?

It's a mystery so puzzling.

Test of Patience.

Sitting in the waiting room at the local surgery, my appointment was at 10.40 on a typical Monday morning. But not to see a doctor, but one of the two nurses on duty, to give a blood sample for an I.N.R. test, in preparation for a lifelong course of anticoagulants, such as Warfarin, as a result of suffering from Paroxysmal Atrial Fibrillation, or to translate into English, an irregular heartbeat, following the cardiac procedure of having a new Aortic Valve sewn inside my chest back in February.

While one patient after another was called in to the office of one of the nurses, I remained waiting - and waiting - near the main reception. Then about half an hour later, another patient walks into the building and registers his appointment, then sits in the waiting room two rows in front of mine. My guess is that he was in his mid thirties. He was unshaven, maybe using his stubble to emphasise his look of feeling unwell. This must have done the trick, because just five minutes later, the nurse came out of her office to call him in by name. And that's the rub. Calling him in personally by name. Normally, the large computer screen on the wall does the calling. But not that morning, for the computer crashed yet again, which seems to be rather frequent in that particular surgery. Oh well, next time I have an appointment there, I'll make sure I don't shave beforehand. Because there was another half-hour wait before I was eventually called in, during that time I watched our unshaven friend leave the office and the building altogether and heading in the direction of the car park, while another patient, a female who spent her time moaning about her delay in returning to work, was called in by the same nurse a good while before my turn came.

What was the cause of a full hour's wait, when I should have waited just somewhere between five to ten minutes? First the computer crash screwed up that morning's schedule, keeping us waiting longer than was necessary. And secondly, and this is where I felt the real pinch, was that the nurse who eventually tended to my treatment was not the nurse I was booked in to visit. Rather, what she was doing was tending to all the remaining patients who were scheduled to see the other nurse, to whom I was originally booked in to visit. 

Once inside her office, she took the blood sample so vital for the correct medication. But keeping calm in this situation was not easy, believe me. She herself expressed her anger and frustration, almost taking it out on me, as I cracked a joke in an attempt to ease the tension in the air. Her pent up feelings was aimed at her colleague literally next door, who had tended to just one patient to what must have been close to a full hour, if not longer. I could not help but ponder: What the heck was going on in that consultation room? A full scale operation? So it seemed. But that morning was one of the severest tests of patience I had to endure for a long time.

And that's the whole gist of it. So many people needing treatment, or of needing attention one way or another. Like the hell of superstore checkouts.  As earlier in the day, when I went out to do the weekly shop. There were queues of shoppers waiting to pay for their items at the few checkouts that were operative, while there was a large area of deserted space testifying to the greater row of unattended tills, I believe, in some money-saving scheme. Then, lining up to be served, there is often so much unnecessary waiting while the (usually female) customer quibbles with the teller over the validity of a voucher meant to save her a few pence from the overall payment. But at least we are at present living in better days with the advent of the electronic bank card. I recall the dread of the old days when the customer being served reached into her handbag and fished out her chequebook. That was when I knew that I should have brought in my tent to set up camp there!

Then again, I have much to be thankful for. For one who does not own or drive a vehicle, I have managed to avoid hours upon hours of the daily commute. I recall a friend having to take me to hospital, either to visit a consultant, or for my wife to attend treatment, during the morning or evening rush hour. The unavoidable traffic congestion up ahead did pose a very real threat to the appointment, and I have wondered how one manages to get to his workplace on time every weekday morning. The frustration of it all when I consider the sheer lunacy which came with the invention of the motor car. I bet the original inventors had never foreseen or predicted the lines of traffic at a standstill due to a truck jackknifing when an impatient car driver swerves to overtake another, or due to some other miscreant. Or the natural habit of rubbernecking - a traffic snarl-up caused when curious drivers slow down to turn and look at something unusual on the other side of the road, or on an adjoining field.

Oh, the insanity of having such a huge, motorised box to move just one person from one location to another, when the same capacity can hold four, maybe five people at the same time. But then with such a convenient commodity, I guess there is something magical about the privacy of lone travel, and the full control of the wheel, which is not quite the same while having passengers, and certainly not while sitting in a train or bus. But being stuck in a jam, or even frustrated by a slow car driver in front, or that of an articulated lorry, or worst of all, held back by a slow crawling tractor on a narrow winding road is surely enough to blow the fuse of not a few drivers, yet as it has always appeared on the outside, there are hardly any instances of road rage. At least not over here in the UK, where narrow country roads are prevalent. On the other hand, out in the United States where freeways are wide and straight, there does seem to be far less snarl-ups, at least when I became aware of this while travelling interstate on the Greyhound bus network.

But here in Britain we are either icons of infinite patience, or perhaps our British stiff upper lips make us the most stoic nation in the world! And this was no better demonstrated as during the morning rush hour earlier in the week, when a power failure caused one of the busiest rail systems into London to have come to a standstill for up to five hours. According to the Press and related video clips, there was not a stir within any of the stranded trains except some mild complaints from one or two females over the stuffiness caused by trapped heat inside the carriages. A video was also shown of a train stuck in the middle of nowhere releasing all its passengers over a makeshift ladder attached to one of its doors. Each passenger might as well have been a zombie, as their faces were just as expressionless. 

Which was a reminder, had I have been one of the passengers on that line, stuck for hours on board a train. One of the system's lines was the one linking London with Gatwick International Airport, then onward to the coast. Suppose I had a flight to board at Gatwick? That had occurred several times in the past. How would I have felt? Panic? Frightened out of my wits? To be honest, I have doubts whether I could have sat like a zombie throughout the ordeal, knowing full well that any chances of boarding the flight would have been scuppered. All sorts of thoughts would have passed through my mind. Would they let me board another flight later in the day? Or perhaps the next day? Or even a week later if they also allow me to return home a week later as well? If none applies, would I get enough compensation to make a fresh booking? I doubt that I would have been able to contain my emotions. I'll be wanting to talk, to hear an expert tell me the outcome of a missed flight. Anything but the dreaded silence of British stoicism.

And talking of Gatwick Airport, I recall 1978. What a blood curdling experience I had when I witnessed patience running out completely and the strong, stiff upper lip had melted. It was during a strike by the French Air Traffic Control workers. As a result, all flights across Europe were delayed or suspended. That morning, a group meant to fly to Spain stood waiting at the departure gate, ready to board the 'plane waiting outside. Then the intercom announced through the spacious corridor to all passengers for that particular flight to return to the departure lounge. Apparently, they had to be called back several times within the last few hours, possibly even overnight. A young man, about my age, suddenly let out a series of demonic screams, and I felt my hair stand on end. Such what happens when patience runs out. Fortunately for me, who was close by, my flight out to New York was unaffected by the strike, and it took off on time. But that scream was something I have never allowed to be forgotten.

The young man's scream at the airport was a direct opposite to the apostle's instruction to "Count it all joy when tribulation comes" (James 1:2-3). And I'm convinced that the British stoicism such as shown in a stranded train was not from James' writings either, as this stoicism is from the flesh, earthly, borne from unbelief, and as such, not from the Holy Spirit. Nor being stuck in traffic, or at a superstore checkout line. But at the doctor's surgery, I have found praying to be a good tonic. That was why I had it in me to try and cheer the nurse up after I was called in. Okay, so I got it wrong, but it would have been considerably worse had I allowed my natural feelings to predominate.

To be joyful in a hostile situation is as far from being natural enough to be classed as a miracle. Only being filled with the Holy Spirit can bring peace in a situation, for example, when being stuck in a stranded train while on the way to the airport. Through the power of the Holy Spirit comes the realisation of God's sovereignty, and that he is not only aware of the situation, but he actually planned it, for my own good. (Romans 8:28). Know of the omniscience, omnipresence, and the omnipotence of God would replace despair in my situation with a level of peace, if not actually with feelings of joy.

This is not mere words on your computer screen. I have known what it was like being stuck at the airport departure lounge for six hours, as I waited to board the airline for Israel. The delay was due to a part within the airplane in a state of disrepair, and in need to be replaced. At first I felt myself falling into despair. Then I watched a group of orthodox Jews taking in the situation calmly, then some in that group actually fell asleep. And here was I walking around the departure lounge like a beast in captivity, walking round and round the cage. The only way I could calm down was to pray, and ask to be filled with the Holy Spirit. Only then did I feel a greater sense of peace. That was in 1993, and it was a lesson well worth learning, as far more serious tests were to come in the years ahead.

Patience is one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit. As a natural man, the lack of patience is one of my main weaknesses. The Holy Spirit provides strength to meet every weakness in my natural self. And one of the strengths is patience, and it is there for the asking, since the Father in heaven is more than willing to give the Holy Spirit to whoever asks. He is glad to answer such a request.

Joy, Stoicism, and James

What a Christmas break this has been! Two weeks of emotional roller-coaster I would challenge any theme park to match. Times of joy, times of fear and anxiety, times of sadness, times of happiness - but so far, I can honestly say - no times of anger. This is one of the blessing on a respite from work; seldom is there anything to get angry with, or at least with me anyway.

 

Now it's the final weekend before I return to work on Monday - that is, if I'm able to return to work on schedule. Nothing to do with illness of any kind, but rather, the ferocious weather we've been having. High winds and torrential rain sweeping the country nearly every day for the past two weeks. And just in time for Christmas, a storm moved across the South of England on Christmas Eve, of all days, paralysing transport routes, closing down Gatwick Airport - London's second busiest airport after Heathrow, delaying trains, causing traffic accidents and snarl-ups, shut down of power supplies in many homes, and other family residences destroyed by flooding, mainly from rivers bursting their banks. Then the rather spectacular photos of sea waves crashing with full force along our coastline. Then there was that great British Bulldog spirit: you know the sort - wading in the stormy seas, going out for an early morning swim - and yes, two or three had lost their lives as the rough sea swept them away; Bulldog spirit indeed. What a terrible distress brought upon their families and loved ones.

 

Going back to the power cuts affecting many homes - around hundreds of thousands - different sources being inconsistent with the numbers - whether it was 150,000 or double that number, I cannot be that sure. But I can imagine the same number of Christmas turkeys ruined as every refrigerator involved had failed to keep the poultry fit for consumption. Then the floods, and with them, stories of Christmas trees and unopened presents bobbing in the living room floodwater before floating out over the submerged street.

A crushing anticlimax after weeks of spending hard earned income and making preparations, the arrival of long distant family members (if the journey taken wasn't too troublesome) and meticulous planning. Long anticipated holidays, after spending days or even weeks glimpsing at the office clock or checking the calender on the wall, the build-up of excitement to catch some Winter sun or to slide down a snowy slope on two pieces of wood (or whatever modern material they are made of now) - on the day, so eagerly anticipated, crowds remain stranded at the North terminal while fuming under the twisted cord of thoughts touching on the diminished bank account, the frustration of being marooned in a large, cold, unfriendly check-in hall and departure lounge, along with thoughts of those at the South Terminal, just next door, actually boarding their flights. All this thanks to a power failure at the terminal building caused by the storms outside and the timing in which they occurred. And Christmas day itself - ruined - whether in a flooded house, a home without electricity, Gatwick Airport, or being where one was not suppose to be due to cancelled trains or other carrier failure. So concludes the year 2013, a year considered unlucky by the likes of me.

Yes, unlucky. 2013 was the only year in my entire life when I had to cancel a holiday for two to Crete. I had never cancelled a foreign holiday before. Even in 1978, when the French Air Traffic Control were out on strike, disrupting all European flights, I took off for New York bang on time. And from Gatwick as well. Instead, last year was the year of hospitals: first my father was admitted several times after a series of strokes, and I went back and forth to and from Reading - although not every day - to visit him, along with Mum and my brother, at his bedside. Then when Dad was barely discharged, Alex my wife went down, and spent nearly four months in the same hospital. Every day without fail I went to sit at her bedside. Southwest Trains must have made a small fortune from me on ticket fares.

So with a cancelled foreign holiday (and the insurance so far still haven't honoured my claim) and a remarkably large chunk of the year sitting at a hospital bedside, must I be really blamed for admitting that I had little or no sympathy for those stuck at the airport, or even for those who suffered a power cut over the festive season? The vast majority of homes and holidaymakers were predominantly middle class, with the commuter belt across Surrey, Hampshire and Kent mostly affected by the storms. Then who but the middle classes would buy an air ticket to cover the Christmas holidays?

Bad attitude, I know. Especially when, with a vivid imagination, I could picture a young couple in an exhilarating mood, having boarded the flight to Crete on a last-minute extra cheap deal due to a cancellation. Then given the keys to a self-catering apartment over the hotel swimming pool, with a splendid view of the Mediterranean in the background, the well educated professional pen-pushers look into each other's eyes over a scented candle under the moonlight while I bury my face  in distress at my wife's hospital mattress more than a thousand miles away.

Ah! then again, this is Britain. You know, the land where one mustn't grumble. Imagine if all this took place at an Italian airport. What a hullabaloo the furore would cause! I should know. I recall as a fledgling backpacker in Rome, 1973. I was in the city's only metro (subway or underground railway) and the train was delayed and the platform crowded. When the train finally emerged from the tunnel into the station, there was a loud cheer, and I felt pushed into the train from behind as if there was no tomorrow. You will never get this sort of thing at Bank Station in the City of London. Here, a train could be two hours late and not a murmur heard at the crowded platform. In very much the same way, we Brits have the knack in keeping emotions under control as we watch presents still in their Christmas wrap float across the flooded front garden, or the binning of a complete turkey, the candlelit lounge where the lack of heating amounts to extra clothing, the serving of cold spam meat, cheese, bread and biscuits keeping hunger at bay, and only human voices, and perhaps an occasional dog bark making enough sound to inform the neighbours that there is life next door, as opposed to the still silence issuing from the lifeless television, hi-fi, or radio units.

How we can pat ourselves on the back knowing how well we can face catastrophe without a flinch. We as a nation always had that hunch when keeping a stiff upper lip at a time of crisis as a sign of Christian virtue. Yet no amount of stoicism can bring honour to God, as this is a human, cultural characteristic found in atheists and gnostics as well as among Christians. Well, at least, not compared to a true story I read some years ago. There was also a storm over part of the USA - a very severe storm. Strong enough to completely demolish homes, literally. A church pastor went to visit a couple in his flock who had lost their entire house with all their possessions. Expecting to find distress, he was surprised when he arrived to see the couple thanking and praising God for their lives remaining intact. To sing praises to the Lord with such a sincere heart in the midst of such a catastrophe added credit to their testimony.

And this is what I believe the apostle James was teaching here in his single letter. Faith without works may be indeed dead, but such works like thanking and praising God during a crisis of this scale must make their faith alive with vibrancy. It is the opposite of what I discussed in my last blog. If an unbeliever watched me pilfering money from a gift box, no amount of preaching would draw him nearer to the faith, as a thief my faith is dead. The onlooker will never come to Christ, no matter how many Bible verses I quote. My faith, being alone, is dead and therefore cannot impart life to another.

But on the other hand, suppose the same unbeliever landed a contract in the States, and found accommodation right next door to this couple, who happens to attend church on a regular basis. He gets an invitation, but remembering the falsehood and insincerity of my "faith" he politely declines their invitation (politely of course, he is British!) Then, some weeks later, the storm develops and literally destroys the couple's house. How would the unbeliever feel when he sees this couple praising and thanking God for his love, his goodness, and for sparing the lives of them, and maybe their children too, if they have any. He also could see that this is no act, no pretence. This praise is seen coming from the heart.

Would the unbeliever accept an invitation this time? Would he even ask for an invitation? Would he ask the couple themselves how he could get to know Jesus in the same way as they do? How high is the chance that at the end of his contract, he'll be flying back to the UK a totally changed person?

"If faith without works is dead, can such faith save him?" James asks. The vast majority of Christians believe that the "him" referred to here was the one who had the dead faith. But the context of the letter seem to indicate that the "him" was the onlooker. James was rebuking snobbery. Then he was talking about saying, "God speed" to someone who was hungry and inadequately clothed. Would this poor man be impressed at the other's faith? Most likely not, less likely come to conversion.

If the "him" in referring to his own dead faith was true, then I must admit that the Roman Catholic Church was right all along. Salvation is by works, and not by faith in Christ alone. But if the context of the entire letter says that true faith will lead to works accompanying such faith, only then will the onlooker himself will come to Jesus and receive life. The whole letter to James is about how we act before unbelievers, and not trying to work for or even endorse our own salvation.

A dead faith, like the Christmas storms, brings darkness to those already in darkness. But a living faith springing into good works is like a candlelight, illuminating the whole room.