Travel Biography - Week 4.

In the early 1970s, my friendship with Andrew Duncan Stevenson was at his height. Not only did we fly to Spain together in 1972, but we also had shorter holidays together here in the UK. This includes Easter weekend in Penzance, Cornwall in 1973. Also remembered was the day out to Swansea, South Wales, by train with Andrew, accompanied by his mother. Not long after, he met Ritsu, a student from Japan, and the two married whilst I attended their wedding. Since then, we kept in touch, but his new life as husband and wife brought those trips away together to a close.

1975 Trip to Rome.

Then followed by the 1973 initial sole trip to Naples, described in my last blog, and then another trip to Italy, two years later in 1975 by using the same boat train route to Rome, where I found a suitable hotel near the terminus station. This trip was to check out the country's ancient capital, including visits to the Colosseum, the Circo Maximi, and the Forum. I also spent the day at the Vatican. As I craned my neck looking up inside the dome, around its perimeter was the Latin script of Matthew 16:18, which reads, You are Peter, and upon this rock, I will build my church.

At first, I believed that Jesus was in Rome with his disciples when he said this, whilst pointing to an area of undeveloped ground in or near ancient Rome, on which the church would be built. But when I read that he spoke those words in Caesarea Philippi, north of the Sea of Galilee, my attention was switched to the centuries-old controversy on whether this "rock" was Peter, the confession, or Jesus himself. My visit also included a tiring climb up the dome to the pinnacle overlook, known as the Cupola, from where there were magnificent views of the city. Also, the flat rooftop was accessible from a door at the base of the dome, on which stood the giant white statues of Jesus and his apostles, all looking down at the square below.

Eight of the Twelve Apostles on the rooftop of St Peters

Perhaps, I need to add a detail here. During the 1970s, it was much easier to visit the attractions than today. For the Basilica San Pietro, all I had to do was approach the wide-open doors and walk straight in. No queues, no admission fees (although there was a fee paid for the Cupola) and no security checks. 

The same applied to the Colosseum where gladiators fought to the death and where Christians were also executed under the orders of Emperor Nero, and the Circus Maximus, the remains of a race track where horse-drawn chariots contested against each other, very well featured in the Charlton Heston 1959 film Ben Hur. I just walked straight in, and the splendour of the ancient monument was spread before my eyes. The Forum was also easy to enter with no queues or security checks. The site is dominated by the three columns and pediment of the Temple of Castor and Pollux, now resembling a gigantic wicket in a cricket game, the nearby remaining row of eight columns making up the Temple of Saturn, the Arch of Septimus Severus, and other relics of Rome's glorious past.

The Holy Land, 1976.

However, when at work and not travelling, my new faith in Jesus Christ inspired me to read the Bible often and to get acquainted with it, both the Old and New Testaments. The Old Testament, beginning at Creation and the Flood, listed a genealogy starting from Adam and listing each generation right through to Jesus Christ himself. It took a while to realise that the Old Testament was centred on Israel, its people, its land and its capital city, Jerusalem.

I bought some books to help me get a clearer understanding of the Bible, although, at that time, I only had access to a King James version. One book I found helpful was the lavishly-illustrated Lion Handbook of the Bible, which was suitable for the family. Photos of many sites across Israel, including numerous archaeological sites, spawned a desire to visit the Holy Land for myself, and I had to find out how I could go about alone and not one of a tour group.

Here, for the proper context, I need to go back to my school days which were several years before conversion. Back in the sixties, I had no interest in religion. Instead, I had a strong belief in Darwinism, and organic evolution stood at the centre of my atheistic faith. It was during those days when, during one religious education lesson, I was assigned the task of drawing "the Temple on the Mount." And so, in total naivety, I imagined a high mountain like those making up the European Alps, which was seen in picture books, and also from the train in 1966 as we headed towards Turin. So, I drew an outline of a high mountain, and at its summit, a small square representing a building of some sort. The male teacher didn't comment.

However, it was one morning during a school assembly that our Deputy Headmaster, Mr Chapman, who would cane any pupil across the palm of the hand for merely talking or not wearing a tie within the premises, related to the whole school about his days in the Middle East as one of the many soldiers guarding the British Mandate, that he told us of his visit to the Star of Bethlehem. With that, I was interested. I wonder how many pupils at the time also took heed to his word?

After I was converted to Christ as Saviour towards the end of 1972, reading the Bible, first sporadically, then becoming more regular, made me stronger in my Christian faith, and it came as no real surprise that I wanted to visit and see these places for myself, to walk the paths Jesus himself walked, to visit where he was crucified and buried, and to visit other sites related to Holy Scripture. I then studied the political status of the Holy Land and with the ceasefire of 1969, I felt it was safe enough to throw all my eggs into one basket.

And so, in 1976, the year I also flew my parent's nest at a grand old age of 23 years old, I found myself walking past the lengthy British Airways booking office in Regent Street, towards the secured El Al Airline booking agency not far from Oxford Circus. At the desk, I was shown some offers. One was an El Al flight to Tel Aviv from London Heathrow at a discounted student price. I gladly took the offer and bought the airline ticket.

I was working in a precision engineering firm at the time of the booking, and after I told one or two fellow employees that I was preparing to visit the Middle East on my own, it was as if the whole factory reeled back in a shocking surprise! In the days when Spanish beach holidays were becoming the norm, a trip to the Middle East as a lone tourist was rather over the top, or so they thought. Quickly, I became the talk of the town.

The day finally arrived when I was given a lift to Heathrow Airport by my parents in their car, as they wanted to be sure that I had fully checked in - as this was for the Middle East and not for a popular Spanish holiday resort. However, once checked in and passed through the strict security into the departure lounge, I was alone, on my own.

The four-hour flight was smooth and uneventful, yet, I still felt a nervous disposition as I sat, looking out of the window at the gaping mouth of the jet engine built into the wing just a few feet away. Who would I find after arriving in Israel? What sort of people would I be expected to encounter?

After the airline landed at Lod Airport in Ben Gurion and had passed through passport control, I found myself standing outside in the dark. There were no buses as they stopped running for the evening. Instead, a cabbie beckoned me over and asked me in English where I wanted to go.

To Jerusalem, I answered.

Jump in, he called out.

As I sat in the taxi, I realised that I didn't bring enough funds to live on during my three-week stay! I said nothing, but inside I felt panicky. Indeed. I had to take each day at a time. So the very start wasn't good. I was wondering whether the taxi fare was about to wipe my wallet clean. As we reached the outskirts of West Jerusalem, he asked whether I had a hotel room reserved. When I answered in the negative, he then stopped in front of one at Jaffa Road. He then recommended this hotel, known as the Ron Hotel, facing the junction of Jaffa Road with Ben Yehuda Street, back then, busy with traffic. This very hotel would one day be the venue for the conference held by the Israeli Government with Yasser Arafat, the leader of the Palestine Liberation Organisation, or the PLO, over East Jerusalem in 1994, eighteen years later.

I paid his fee as the cabbie drove off, and I made my way to the reception. A sole gentleman greeted me and assigned me a room on the first floor by passing the key across the desk. I made my way upstairs.

The room was dated but large and comfortable. As I lay to rest on the bed, all of a sudden there was a loud boom outside, as if from a powerful gunshot. Indeed, this was nothing like Spain four years earlier, since there was no beach and no holiday gaiety. Rather, I was suddenly reminded that this was still a war zone between the Jews and the Arabs.

Jerusalem was basically two cities: The new Israeli city, where I was at the moment, and the Arab Old City of Biblical location. Finding the Old City wasn't going to be difficult, as I already have a map of the entire area, with the Old City on a larger scale printed on the reverse of the main map. It would prove very helpful to me. 

The next morning, after a sumptuous breakfast, I was greeted by an elderly Christian saint who took a great liking to me. However, after a chat, he stayed behind at the hotel while I began to make my way along Jaffa Road towards the Old City.

The currency for Israel in 1976 was the Israeli Pound, a monetary unit left by the British Mandate which occupied the territory for the thirty years between 1918 and 1948. Also, it was up until the 1967 Six-Day War between Israel and the Arab States of Jordan, Egypt and Syria, that a dividing wall passed through Jerusalem. The developing new city was in the fledgling State of Israel, its sovereign established when Britain ended its Mandate on May 14, 1948. The Old City was in Jordan, hence no one was able to easily cross from one side to the other. 

An elderly window cleaning customer whom I got on very well shared the story of his trip to the Middle East he made with his wife before 1967. Had he landed at Lod Airport at Ben Gurion, they wouldn't have been able to visit the Old City, as having landed in Israel, Jordan would have been hostile to them. So instead, they took a flight from London to Amman, Jordan's capital, and from there, they made their way to visit the Old City.

The west side of the Old City wall came into view, with Jaffa Gate, as I crossed a road junction to reach it. No dividing wall now. When the Israelis won the Six-Day War on June 10th, 1967, a large crowd of Jewish soldiers poured into the Old City and wept with thanks and gratefulness that after over 2,600 years, the Jews were once more having full access to their beloved Temple Mount as a sovereign nation!

I entered the Old City via Jaffa Gate and made my way down Souk David. I was intrigued with the narrowness of this covered Medieval street. Since there was no motorised traffic, the street was exceptionally quiet, except for the noise of the crowd and an occasional radio playing Arabic music with an accompanying female vocal characteristic of Middle Eastern culture. Just about all the pedestrians were male, and now and again a donkey with its driver would overtake, pulling behind it a cartload of merchandise to restock the shops that lined both sides of the street.

Down the middle of the street was a gutter, and into this where the donkey poop was brushed into and flushed down a drain that appeared at intervals along the gutter. Therefore, the prevailing aroma filling the air was that of the many spices on display outside the shops, the different varieties blending to create a pleasantly pungent aroma that makes walking down this roofed street a very pleasant and enlightening experience. 

Eventually, I arrived at the entrance to the Temple Mount, or in Arabic, Haram Al-Sharif. A narrow gate leading to it was guarded and I had to go through an inspection before entry. Inside, two buildings dominate: The Dome of the Rock and the nearby Al Aqsa Mosque, both Muslim properties. The Dome was of striking beauty. A blue octagonal structure topped with a golden dome that glowed in the summer sunshine. I was astonished as I believed, stood on the very site where the Temple altar used to be, the Holy Place and the Holy of Holies, the dwelling of God in the Old Testament. Eventually, I actually made my way inside the Dome of the Rock. The interior was indeed occupied by a large rock making the summit of the original Mt Ophel, the very site where Abraham was about to sacrifice his son Isaac. Towards the east, the Mount of Olives loomed, its golden brown soil making a vivid contrast with the blue sky, especially during the late afternoon.

Dome of the Rock, Temple Mount.

So, I was thinking, this was "the Temple on the Mount" of school-day confusion! The real thing was nothing like the drawing I submitted to the R.E. teacher a decade or so earlier. A mountain resembling the peak of Mont Blanc? Jerusalem was nothing like it. Rather, the temple stood on a level, ancient, a man-made platform that is still with us to this day. 

However, there is a darker side to this new experience in the Holy Land...

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Next Week: A taste of Middle East hospitality as my finance was resolved.

A Lone Light Shines in the Darkness

I'm sure many go through times of darkness. What I mean is: Feeling terribly lonely, unloved, forgotten, isolated, even rejected or forsaken by God. And in the midst of grief, a tiny light shines. Perhaps like a pinpoint but nevertheless, light, whatever its intensity, has a way of dispelling darkness. 

Like within the past 48 hours when I had to call for an ambulance twice for my beloved wife Alex. The first time was a response for a very severe backache which no household medicine was able to alleviate. At A&E, although she was treated well by a friendly nurse who administered both Morphine and other painkillers, the doctor, who was apparently British, himself listened to what she had to say, then curtly dismissed her, telling her to go home and consult a neurologist if she wanted attention. 

And went home we did, by taxi, with my wife feeling very upset. Indeed, being a doctor at Accident & Emergency department of any hospital involves greater stress in dealing with a constant inflow of patients, but we felt that as a patient herself, Alex should have received a greater level of compassion. And I suppose this is what the first impression the NHS is about. It's not how decorative or level of aestheticism the hospital building looks, neither the sophistication of the technology found within. It is how the patient, such as my beloved, sees and perceives the attitude of its staff towards her, particularly from junior doctors. 

With her belief that she was "a nuisance patient" in the eyes of the medical staff, Alex spent the next day angry and upset, and without outright display of her feelings she spent most of her day sleeping, virtually immobile, and even falling unconscious. It was during this moment, in my failed attempt to wake her up, that I was gripped with a cold, naked fear. The terror of widowhood entered my mind, foolish this may look to the reader. Then again, with someone such as myself who suffers from Asperger's Syndrome, these thoughts and feelings can be very real.  

Other thoughts entered my mind. Thoughts of the sheer unfairness of life with, together with the dread, also feeling gripped with jealousy of how one church member who is riding on a wave crest of blessing after blessing, thanks mainly to his university degree, and even boasting about it on Facebook. Alongside these thoughts and emotions lies the awareness of both of us feeling disliked and ostracised by a middle-class couple who also attend our church, and both actually adoring the said graduate. As I felt myself sinking lower and lower into the pit of hell, Alex slowly came to and whispered, Phone 111, before sinking back into sleep. 

The phone number 111 is for GP out-of-hours consultation with the NHS for non-emergency calls. Having dialled the emergency number the previous evening, dialling this number seems less distressing, but I felt a rush of relief to be told, after answering a series of questions on behalf of my wife, that they decided to dispatch an ambulance. After the paramedics arrived and accessed her, a discussion arose whether she should be taken back into hospital. They were keen to take her, I wasn't willing to return, but it was Alex, in her semi-conscious state, who made the final decision. So off we went - yet again.

At A&E, I found myself praying fervently beside her bed. I was calling on God the Father to first forgive us from any wrongdoing, then to break any adversary powers in the spirit realm which may be binding on my beloved, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ of Nazareth. I repeated the format over and over again, even with a sense of authority. Also included was a reference of the church couple who has ostracised us, in the name of the Lord Jesus, may their curses - if any were thrown at us by them - to be made totally ineffective. Not long after, Alex felt another highly intense pain coursing through the whole length of her backbone, intense enough to make her roar with suffering in the ward which brought the nurse running. With liquid Paracetamol fed into her bloodstream intravenously, her symptoms eased, and with Morphine also fed into her system in the same way, I watched her calm down to relaxation. 

Whilst in Hospital, this is how I looked.

A different doctor to the previous one arrived, who looks to be from the Middle East or from India. Far more compassionate than the last one, we talked. Fortunately, he knew the condition my wife was in, and he asked us why we desire her to be admitted for the night. When I answered that the suggestion was originally from the paramedics, as well as for further observation before returning home, he partially agreed. Then he went on to explain that in such a ward there are patients in distress, calling for the nurse, shouting, making noises, along with other factors which such a sordid atmosphere, would worsen Alex's condition, distressing her more. He then assured us that she would recover a lot quicker if we went home. We both agreed. We arrived home, again by taxi, at three in the morning, and happy to say that at present she's feeling better, although not yet fully out of the woods.

And so within this approximate 34-hour period of darkness and emotional distress, loneliness and feeling of apparent ostracism from local Christians, there was one beam of light, something of a lovely encouragement and of edifying quality. And it came from Uganda, in the heart of Africa. An email linked me to a letter written by a adolescent saying how much he and his family loved me. Yes, they loved me, even over thousands of miles distant.

With the risk of letting my left hand know what my right hand is doing, let me say that the family who once lived in poverty eventually became fully committed Christians. This was because of their alliance with a UK-based church organisation, Compassion, an offshoot of its parent charity Tearfund. Through Compassion, any Western Christian believer is encouraged to sponsor a child in the Third World, one child for each sponsor. The monthly payments, being by Standing Order made with the Bank, remains "invisible" in a sense that I don't have to keep doing it consciously. Therefore the payments remain ongoing for years, almost unaware, spanning the younger years of the recipient's life.

In return I receive letters written by the child, sometimes accompanied with his latest photo of himself, along with his full profile. He usually update on his education levels, his family, health and hobbies, and always included in the letter is a verse from the Bible which has been specifically helpful to him. A young child he was when I started sponsoring him, he is now a thriving teenager with a promising future. And he wrote that he loved me, an endearing message received in the midst of darkness. And this is not the first time either. Also in Uganda there is a university student and devout Christian who was also sponsored out of poverty by me during his childhood years. And like the present recipient, he too fondly keeps me in his memories.

To say that these African believers obey the Bible more seriously than our middle-class brothers seem to have an element of truth. One verse from the prophets come to mind here:

A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoking flax he will not quench: he shall bring forth judgement unto truth.

Isaiah 42:3, Matthew 12:20 AV.

I will direct this mainly to the aforementioned middle-class English couple who have a fetish for graduates and for posh people, but who dislikes me and refuses any kind of reconciliation. As with me, I have forgiven them in a sense that if they were to change their minds, I would be eager to welcome them and enjoy fellowship. This has always been my desire, as I believe this is the right way to godly living. But when the husband is walking alone, sees me approaching in the opposite direction, and grimace in silence as I smile a polite greeting, then this can have a dramatic effect on the emotions, especially in a moment of crisis (as mentioned in last week's blog post). 

And now it's the time of the World Cup international football tournament. Like the Olympics, it is held every four years, and once again I see the great hope building up among others for the chance of the resurrection of England's glory after beating Tunisia by two goals to one in last week's opening match. Together with Brexit, if England happen to win the Cup this time round, I dread the sheer pride, optimism and national glory which would cover the land. And with it, that look of gloating as they glance down at me, an Italian, someone who lovingly cares for his wife in pain. Yes, something similar to this has already happened from time to time in the past. All by self-effort isn't it? Or rather, the glory attained by the combined effort of eleven men kicking a football across a field. Suddenly we're on top of the world again, regardless of whether our national economy is strong or whether it's crashing to the ground and facing a recession. No matter. In international football, we are the champions!

Of course, there is no room for the bruised reed or the smoking flax. Break the reed, throw water on the flax - as long as they remain standing in the way of England's prospective glory, they both must be removed, trodden underfoot, and left by the wayside. I suppose that what comes to having a victory from self-effort and glory-seeking. And so as I watch fellow Christians allowing themselves to be sucked into the mire, I feel that I just can't go along with them. And I think there is an important reason.

And that is found within the whole of Psalm 144. Here we read about King David praising God for all war victories against his enemies whose forces posed a threat to the welfare of Israel. David was a superb warrior, but instead of glorifying himself or his kingdom, he gave all the credit to God for his victories. And here is where I believe is England's downfall. Glorifying themselves rather than glorifying God, despite the nation asserting itself as a Christian country. Since England won the Cup against Germany at Wembley in 1966, the national team has been wondering around the wilderness ever since, with its lowest point reached in 2014, when England failed to reach even the knockout stages. 

Scripture indicates that all the victory of all battles and contests are decided by God, rather than by mere human effort or glory. In Proverbs 21:31, for example, a few words written by King Solomon blows all mere human effort alone to pieces:

The horse is made ready for the day of battle, but victory rests with the LORD.

At the moment it does look as if England can win this time round. But if it does, let's not forget that it's by the sheer grace of God. And the whole of England should acknowledge this, therefore admitting the glory and sovereignty of God and us as the workman of his hands, which includes both team players and their supporters congratulating all other teams for partaking in the tournament, and especially the runners up, a reasoning which looks to me to be in the realm of Divine Creationism - acknowledging that we are all God creation, as opposed to Darwin's theory of Evolution by chance, by natural selection, and by the survival of the fittest. Especially the latter, as survival of the fittest seems to go hand-in-hand with victory through self-glorification, a prize achieved by total human endeavour, which includes exalting the strong and crushing the weak and the lame onto the wayside. 

I am the one who feels small, inadequate, ostracised, lonely in a big world where I find difficult to cope. Indeed, I feel like dust and ashes or a mere flea. And trying to care for a disabled wife whom I love dearly. Then someone comes along and gently lifts me up, without breaking a bruised reed or quenching of a smouldering flax. Indeed, I can call him a Christian, a word meaning little Christ, and with no doubt has the spirit of Christ. And which will exceed in righteousness by leaps and bounds over anyone who seeks the glory of England above the needs of the weak or needy.

God's Promises Will Stand.

A few days ago I requested an appointment to see a Doctor at our local surgery, for two issues. The first was that of a development of a bruise on my upper arm, a solid black circle about an inch in diameter, which had formed for no apparent reason, since being over the bicep area, a site unlikely to receive any blows or other forms of external injury. Despite the total lack of pain accompanying the bruise, my wife was more alarmed at the site than I was, and pleaded me to see the G.P. The other issue was at the base of the left foot, just above the ankle, when around mid-afternoon onward, a sharp searing pain envelopes the joint, making the use of the ladder at work very difficult indeed, as well as having to limp along instead of walking properly.

Perhaps there is that masculine trait in me about not wanting to see the doctor. Basically, I have that hunch about wasting the G.P's time, when he has other patients with far more serious complaints to deal with. Yes, I have read posters about people crowding the Accident and Emergency department of a hospital, even for something as trivial as a headache, but wasting valuable N.H.S. resources is something I was determined to stay clear of. After all, I don't want either myself or others around to see me as a whiny wimp who runs to the Doctor every time I cough, belch or fart. But the reason for my wife's concern about the bruise was because I take an anticoagulant medicine on a regular daily basis, which I must for the rest of my life, or risk suffering a stroke. On the leaflet which comes with every packet of pills, under possible side effects, I was warned to see a Doctor straight away if bruising occurs, short of an external injury. I suppose there was something about not visiting the Doctor, despite my wife's pleas. Perhaps it was not wanting to receive a telling-off from such a professional, instead to be told to man up, don't be so whiny, and stop wasting his time.

Like about twelve months previously, when I woke up about two or three o'clock in the morning gasping for air, like a man who had just ran a foot-race and crossed the finish line. This, together with rumbling of the chest and feeling of a drowning sensation, which threefold symptom repeated itself night after night for a couple of weeks. Back then, my dear wife persuaded me to visit the Doctor, even when I believed it was nothing more than a bug which would eventually get fed up and leave. But she won the argument, and I reluctantly went, only to be eventually diagnosed with a heart problem and in need of an operation to put it right. Whiny indeed!

So it came as not a surprise when I called at the surgery's reception, only to be told that there was no appointment available that day, and all time slots were fully booked up. And that was not even on a Monday or a Friday when the surgery is particularly busy. Instead, by submitting my mobile phone number to Reception, the Doctor would contact me as soon as possible. And so he did. He called me in to have a blood test done straight away, for I might have gone over the limit with the anticoagulants, making my blood "too thin" - hence the cause of the bruising. As for my foot problem, I gave an accurate description of the symptoms as I possibly could have done. He seemed rather familiar with the complaint, for he came back with Arthritis as the cause of the problem. Arthritis! The "old man's illness" as it is so traditionally believed. What amazes me was that as recently as eighteen months previously I was considering the possibility of working right up to my seventieth birthday, as I felt on top of the world, even though milder symptoms of arthritis in the feet were already being felt. But back then, I thought all these were a passing phase. 

Things look so different now. With such a recent cardiac procedure, a lifetime on medicine, and now arthritis in the feet to contend with us well, I have arrived at the crossroads for early retirement. But not just for my health's sake but that of my wife as well. During the three months convalescence, one thing which has added further joy and strength to our marriage was my role of carer, and I won't beat about the bush here, but I thoroughly enjoyed it, and the return to work I saw more of a set back rather than progress. Maybe, as one of our church elders had put it; it is time for me to retire from work to spend more time together, and to enjoy the rich blessings God has for us. However, for what I can see and have experienced over the last few years, our Doctor's surgery has always been very busy, with patients of all ages, gender, and social class packing the waiting room in front of Reception.

And where we live is at a typical middle-class suburbia. We have neighbouring streets where not only every home is a detached house with private front and back gardens, but with average ownership of two to three cars. Around here people are generally well-off, and have professional careers, yet the number of busy surgeries dotted around the district testifying that the health of our nation isn't that great. And we are not even the worst. Nearer to London there was a media report on one surgery that was so busy, that patients literally queuing up outside the doors, with a hope of seeing a doctor face-to-face on the same day. Not to mention Accident and Emergency departments of all hospitals across the land where the average waiting time is four hours per patient.

It makes me ponder why, in such a rich country, there is such a high rate of illness and the need for treatments. Even I can testify of a two-week delay with my own cardiac procedure, due to the intensive care ward being chock-a-block, and therefore receiving two cancellation notices, each a week apart, prior to the operation. As I have mentioned in earlier blogs, the combined emotion of worry, anger, and fear are the "big three" health-wrecking emotions, together with the feeling of frustration, along with the British perception of sharing emotional talk as weak and unmanly. Uncertainty of the future is one of the major cause of anxiety, as in my case, as well as not being sure which direction our present Government is leading our country.

Fear is the biggest enemy to health, and it comes with various levels such as terror, worry, and anxiety. Fear of the future - the fear of job loss, prolonged unemployment, illness, the threat of poverty, ending up in a Civil Court over a dispute about benefits, failure in mortgage or rent payments, or anything which threatens our peace. All these can make a strong person end up as a hospital patient. As retirement is very close to my mind at the moment, would our present Government move the goalposts, forcing me to work for an income until a later age? Would they do away with Housing Benefit, a wonderful godsend for those tenants struggling with high rents? And so-to-speak, would our leaders snap a whip across my back to get me to work into old age, even while physically impaired, so that the rich can be spared from paying too high taxes, if any taxes at all? Should I feel pity, if not deep anxiety for my daughters' future? What kind of a world are we handing over to them?

Yet despite all this doom and gloom, there is a wonderful source of hope!

One of our wedding songs sang during the church ceremony was Father God. The first verse goes like this:

Father God I wonder how I managed to exist without the knowledge of your parenthood and your loving care? Now I am you son, I am adopted in your family, and I can never be alone 'cause Father God, you're there beside me.

This was sang by us and by the congregation at our wedding, and to me at least, it's one of the most assuring songs ever written, and it is my wife's favourite. The chorus goes:

I will sing your praises! I will sing your praises! I will sing you Praises! For evermore -

And this is repeated as many times as one desires.

And this song is based on the surety of God's promises, as well as through day-to-day living. One of the best examples of this took place in the Garden of Eden, at the dawn of history. Immediately after the Fall of Adam and Eve, God passes judgement (Genesis 3:14-19) which contains the promise that the serpent's head will be bruised by the seed of the woman, who in turn will have his heel bruised in the process - verse 15 - which is a good description of the Crucifixion, death and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. Then the calling of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, through whom the seed is promised. The institution of the Jewish Passover further endorses this promise, which comes up repeatedly throughout prophecy, such as Psalm 22, Isaiah 53, and Zechariah 9:9, and many more. God's promise to restore Israel as a nation in the future from this point of time is assured, particularly in Isaiah chapters 11 and 66, Jeremiah chapters 30 and 31, Ezekiel chapters 36 and 37, and Zechariah chapters 10 -14. All of these promises, and many more, are solid-rock certain, they will be fulfilled. Therefore if God is all sovereign, and he is fully omniscient as well as omnipotent and omnipresent, then surely not only does he have the whole world in his hands, but the very exact number of days we have has already been determined by him. He knows our thoughts, our feelings, our joy and our anxieties. He already knows what we will say and do in the future even before any of them come to pass.

As one of the sermons I have listened to in recent weeks, God knows best, and everything which happens to us works for the good for those who love him, that is to say, for every believer. But this does not leave us without any choice. For Peter himself writes in his letter:

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you 1 Peter 5:7.

That is a promise that I should look upon in times like these. God cares for me. So if I want to retire two years before the official age, why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I revel in the goodness and blessing of God while caring for my lame wife, and adding further strength, romance, and sparkle into our marriage? I think God has already said "Yes" to such a move. Signs seem to point to this. So why not? Should I accept "slave status" from the present Government simply because I happen to be working class, poorly educated, and a mere average earner, as opposed to being a rich company executive or a celebrity? No, I won't accept such a status! Instead, I'll go by what God has said of me, that as a true believer, I am his, I am adopted into his family, and I can never be alone to face a cruel world. It can be said that the world may go as far as kill my body, but it can never change my mind.

A Disaster on the Keyboard

In my last blog, Handcuffed! I opened the article with a story of myself being arrested at home for potential benefit fraud, taken to the police station, and thrown into a cell for a couple of nights. After the blog was posted, not only a couple of comments were submitted with the indication of believing that the story was real, but I also received a phone call from an long-standing friend asking me how I was in my state of health and well-being, after going through such an experience. So at the foot of the comments forum, I posted a note saying that the police arrest was fiction, a story made up. In other words, the arrest had never taken place. I suppose the narration was presented as convincing enough to be taken for real, as one friend posted in Facebook saying that it was too close to reality. Perhaps I may make it to become a fiction writer one day. Who knows.

But why did I type it in, even knowing full well that it wasn't true? Because it was to drive home a point - that despite the Government-run Benefit Office knowing everything about us as claimants, right down to the last detail of earnings, income and expenses, including rent and all other outgoings - a few weeks later another letter came in asking to see all the proof documents again. It was from this incident that we felt like criminals. Hence the dreaming up of the story. However, my apologies to you if you had received the wrong end of the message. I won't do this kind of thing any more.

But something did happen earlier this week, and a true story at that, and that was an attempt to make an online application for my wife's passport renewal. When filling out the online form, I typed in everything correctly, went through the verification check, then paid the full fee using a debit card. But unfortunately, I don't have a printer here at home, so I was given a username, written in block capitals, and a password, in lower case letters. I very carefully noted these on a sheet of paper, then off to the local library I went, to print out the documents and having them signed and dated by hand before dispatch. But while trying to retrieve the online documents, I set the computer keypad to upper case to type in the username. Then I typed in the password. To my horror and bewilderment, the password was rejected three times. Then one of the staff, after being called over to help me out, asked me whether the keyboard was set to upper case mode. When I suddenly realised the error, it was too late. The account was locked, and unable to be reset. It looks to all the world that the rather large fee paid is lost forever.

Phoning the Passport Advice Line failed after over a dozen attempts. Obviously, at first I thought that being within early to mid-Spring, there would be a long queue of applicants desperate to receive their passports as the annual holiday season drew near. But after a dozen attempts to contact the office, a realisation came that not only were the online documents locked, but having submitted our phone number, this looks to me that this was blocked as well. After all, it isn't nice to be told over and over again to put the receiver down and try again. Neither had I ever experienced this kind of response from any other source either, whether private, commercial, or statutory phone numbers.

I felt overwhelmed by a crushing sense of sheer stupidity and clumsiness, together with anger at myself for the apparent lack of simple office skills. Here I will admit, I have no one but myself to blame. How on earth could I have been so forgetful to tap a key just once, which would have brought the task to its proper conclusion? This was to renew my wife's passport. And the irony of it all is that, in her present state of health, overseas travel would be difficult for her, being wheelchair-bound while out of doors. But nevertheless, I wanted her to hold a valid passport. This was in line with her acceptance to travel even in her present state, after watching wheelchair-bound passengers board an airline before now.

And it is situations like this that I remind myself  knowing that in all things God works for the good for those who love him, and are called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28). But this is the time when I don't feel any emotional love for God, at least not at the moment. But it's very good to realise that God's love for me remains stable, and through his omniscience, he knew from eternity past that this very day was to come. But maybe God is using this very situation to allow a light to reveal what's really in my heart. What is it that I love and cherish so deeply? The thought of foreign travel? The lack of consideration for my wife's condition as I bid her to board an airline? A feeling of security? Perhaps the idea of a golden opportunity to quickly book a flight and take off? Or take a cross-Channel ferry or train to France? Really, am I putting my own interests before those of God and my wife Alex?

What would happen in the immediate future? Personally, I would prefer to let the matter rest for a while, and let the dust settle. Even the act of typing out this blog is a tonic in itself, allowing me to dig deep within and rekindle my love for the Lord. Like this, I would be better prepared to make the right decision, whether to make a fresh application, this time in the library where the documents can be printed out straight away - or make phone calls elsewhere. But even if I have to pay again, making the passport double the original price: Would I be willing to do this? Would I feel such a deep sense of loss?

During a moment of despair, Alex reminded me of Job, an Old Testament saint whose faith in his God remained strong and intact despite the loss of everything he had, including his own health. His losses included his sons by death through a freak accident, and the theft of all his livestock when his land was raided by an enemy force. And his illness brought him near to the brink of death. Yet when his wife tried to entice him to ditch his faith, he remained firm, uttering a promise with certainty:

I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth.

And when my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God;

I myself will see him with my own eyes - I, and not another.

How my heart yearns within me!

Job 19:25-27.

Gosh, what a magnificent demonstration of faith! And that how I would like to be, too. Maybe I should be glad of these situations, at least that's the theory. But for something that was my entire fault, the situation looks different. To have an unbeliever rail at me because of my faith in Jesus is one matter. To bring a disaster upon myself out of sheer clumsiness and forgetfulness seems a totally different matter altogether. But there is one truth that acts as an umbrella for both, and that is I am alive, and enjoy reasonably good health. The Bible says that the very breath of life is from God, along with a heartbeat, the digestion of food, and other involuntary body functions. Sustained by God until the moment he calls me home.

And that underscores all my thinking, believing, and my hold on everything I have, including money. If there will be no other alternative but to make a fresh passport application, along with a new payment, so be it. After all, throughout my entire life, including the early days as an unbeliever, the Lord has sustained me well. So a sum of money is lost forever, but I'm still here, so is Alex. I guess that is what being born again in the Holy Spirit is all about. The slaying of the old man, which includes holding tight to all that I have, in order to live for God whose Son was given up to be slain - to make atonement for our shortfalls. But in daily reality, when making tiny errors carrying such huge consequences, or suffering loss, I can suffer severe depression. But it's not just down to money. Rather, to see my beloved suffering in her lameness, and watching her constantly taking her medication brings greater sorrow to my heart as well as fear of uncertainty of the future.

And all this came about in the same week a BBC Panorama documentary: Suicide in the Family, was broadcast to the nation. Its presenter, Simon Jack, was having a remembrance day over the death of his father by suicide forty years earlier, when Simon was still a young boy. With nearly five thousand men committing suicide every year here in the UK, most of these victims had nowhere to go to share their troubled emotions. Citing the example of his own father, he spent the last years of his life alone and aloof, despite sharing his home with his family. This was due to male stoicism, according to the narration, which was very much part and parcel of being British. For a man to share his troubled emotions was considered sissy, unmanly, or wimpish. So unable to cope, he ends his own life instead. A terrible tragedy - and one shared by many others throughout the decades.

Perhaps it's no accident where the Good Samaritans had gotten the name for their charity, set up to offer help and advice to potential suicide victims. It was from one of Jesus' parables (Luke 10:25-37) teaching an important lesson about showing compassion to a fellow human, even if he may not be of his nation or share the same culture. If only all volunteers working as Samaritans were true believers in Jesus Christ - would there be a source of a much better hope for anyone contemplating suicide?

I think the faith Job had in God would make a good bulwark against all temptation for any man to take his own life. Here we must remember too, despite his acclamation and certainty that he will see God stand upon the earth with his own eyes, almost his entire discourse with his three friends was melancholic, most likely from a deep depression felt over the loss of his wealth, his sons, and his health. If there was such a potential candidate for suicide, Job would have been prime suspect. He was depressed, he cursed the day he was born, then spent his entire vigil wailing to his mates about what sin he had committed to anger the Almighty, so much as to end up with such a fate, and furthermore, a brass-like silence from heaven which antagonised his despair even more intensely. And yet he persevered, even though his three companions insisted that he committed some sin. They kept on prodding his tormented soul to try to get a confession out, and to seek forgiveness. But with no sin in his conscience despite his set of circumstances, he felt cornered - and in a ripe state of mind for self destruction.

Despite what we may think of the three friends who added more pain to his already tortured soul, the sheer loyalty shown by these guys: sitting in Job's tent for a whole week, in torn clothes, and with dust on their heads in mourning over their friend's fate - is unbelievable to today's standards and culture. Personally, I believe that their presence was a deterrent against potential suicide. After all, Job was human too. Who knows what he could have done had he borne his burden alone. Yet such a setting provides a magnificent example and model for fellow church members when they see someone in distress. Maybe not so much as a week's vigil in dust and ashes as with the compassion of Christ shining through the Holy Spirit in us. How much more will those in despair would benefit?

Even if they may, from time to time, tap the wrong key on their computer keyboard. 

David and the Giant - Worry.

You have been out for the evening and you are now walking back home alone late one Friday night. Your route passes through a narrow alleyway, which cuts the walk short by several hundred metres. Then about halfway through the alley, a gang of youths, about four or five of them in all, enter the alley where you are due to exit. They were high on alcohol, one of them picks up a stone and throws it at a semi-derelict window, cracking the glass, while laughing and guffawing at their misdeed.

You feel your heart beat faster to force oxygenated blood into every muscles of your body, your skin crawl and your hair as if standing on end. Your breathing becomes heavy, and within the bloodstream, extra platelets are produced in readiness of a possible wound, within the blood coagulates faster, saving on blood loss. And sitting on top of each kidney, your Adrenal gland pumps an endorphin, Adrenaline, which alert you to either fight or take flight.

Even if you run, they get exactly what they wanted and start chasing you, nevertheless you run, and run fast! Because you know that by confronting them, you would have been the loser, ending up in hospital with a smashed face or as with these days, a stab wound, possibly fatal. This little drama is the result of fright, a magnificent mechanism in ensuring self preservation. This reaction to an emergency is caused by a rush of adrenaline into the bloodstream, a direct result of the warning message passed to the brain from the eyes and ears. Afterwards, the spent endorphin will then be disposed of by the kidneys after the threat is past. I guess it is of no coincidence that the Adrenal glands happen to be located sitting on the kidneys themselves.

The Kidneys and Adrenal Glands

The same when a domestic cat is confronted by a dog. The cat arches its back, hisses, its heart races to pump adrenaline-rich blood to all the muscles in its body and the cat flees, usually up a tree or over a nearby wall. Fright had taken its course again.

Fright reaction is caused by a massive injection of adrenaline into the bloodstream, and it is for self-preservation in the face of a potential, life-threatening situation. But fear is something very different. Another term for fear is worry, and I think that there is no real difference between the two words, except that fear is to do with a potential physical uncertainty, while worry has more to do with uncertainty of the future.

For example, if you are fearful, then you will look down the alleyway and hesitate to take the short cut, and despite that all is still and quiet, you decide to avoid it, and take the longer but more safer route. During that moment, adrenaline is pumping into your bloodstream, even if there was no cause for concern. In fact the fear could quite well continue, even once you're safe in bed. It's just the thought of what could have happened that keeps the fear alive, and doing so, the Adrenal glands continue to pump the endorphin into the bloodstream, and if prolonged, can cause lasting harm to your health.

Worry is related to fear, and it means uncertainty of the future. One of the biggest causes of worry is money. Do we have sufficient funds to pay our creditors? In my younger days, before Direct Debit, anxiety over the quarterly power bill always preceded the arrival of the bill itself. Back then I had no real idea of the total the bill will display at the bottom of the column. The worry was, would the figure be so high that I didn't have enough to meet it? I had ideas of facing a Court hearing, possibly a jail term - such stirring of imagination caused by an uncertainty had a detrimental power over my health, particularly to one who was a natural-born worrier. Thank goodness for the arrival of the Direct Debit system. This arrangement in regular payments had lifted a very heavy burden of worry.

Payment of bills was one cause of worry, another was in preparation for travel. If you check my profile, or click on to one of my previous articles, Vagabond! (8th May, 2011), you will see that I have traveled a good part of the world. But it was the weeks leading up to the day of take-off. Would I fall ill? Would I be faced with a sudden, unexpected expense? And this was the big one - would there be a strike grounding the airplane? A threat of a strike had always been a worry when preparing to travel. When I flew to New York in 1978, take-off was right in the midst of the French Traffic Control dispute. That meant all flights to the Continent were delayed or postponed. While I was boarding the Transatlantic flight, right on time as well, a group of people at the next gate were told to return to the lounge. Their flight to Spain postponed yet again after a night stay at the departure lounge. A young man, about my age, rolled on the floor in hysterics, his screams of frustration echoed the length of the corridor. That scared me. No wonder that, just a year later, in 1979, the Labour Prime Minister Jim Callaghan was soundly defeated by Tory Margaret Thatcher in that year's General Election.

It is unfortunate that 33 years later I still have areas of worry. And here I want to be honest and avoid the idea of portraying myself as a "super-saint". As a committed Christian and a self-employed window cleaner, a loss of a client brings fears of the future. As with bill payments back in the 1970s and 80's, I try to imagine what it would be like being without a job, leading to homelessness with my wife Alex and I begging off the streets. Or to move across to the other side of the country just to engage in a dead-end job I wouldn't enjoy, or to have a cruel boss who takes delight in condescending upon and feeding on my personal weaknesses. And with many of my present clientele aging and drawing their pensions, along with a large proportion of the younger generation believing that we window cleaners are a waste of time and money, indeed there is much ground for worry and fear for the future.

Walking hand-in-hand with fear is anger, mainly at unfairness of life. Last week I lost a client who informed me that he now has his own ladders, and now prefers to clean his own windows.
"After all," he concludes, "during this economic crisis I must save on my expenses as much as possible."

Then only yesterday I read in the Daily Mail an excellent article by columnist Max Hastings, titled Looters in Suits. In it, he tells of our personal and economic hardship was primarily caused by the ferocious greed and incompetence of the City bankers. Starting with the collapse of the Lehman Brothers in New York during 2008, their greed caused our banks in the City of London to the brink of collapse, had it not been the bailout rescue from the tax-payer. Then after that the bankers continue to reap incredible high incomes and bonuses despite the rest of us tightening our own belts to stay out of debt. Little wonder I get angry at times!

Worry, fear and anger. The three most powerful emotions that are detrimental to our health. I have a book written by Dr. McMillen. Although the updated publication was in 1980, it is very much up to date as the first copyright in 1963. Dr. McMillen wrote that many physical illnesses, such as vomiting, diarrhea, asthma, diabetes, arthritis, along with bleeding ulcers, kidney disease, heart attacks, high blood pressure, backache, tiredness, fatigue, colitis, strokes, goiter, arteriosclerosis (a hardening of the arteries) and many other ailments are caused by these and other similar emotions.

Yet it was Jesus Christ who, during his ministry, gave a straightforward piece of advice. He said:

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds in the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his glory was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he much more clothe you, O you of little faith?

So do not worry, saying, "What shall we eat?" or "What shall we drink?" or "What shall we wear?" For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
Matthew 6:25-34.

This Scripture, when mixed with faith, can be the David who defeated the giant Goliath. No doubt, when Jesus was teaching this, he did not have just our spiritual well-being. He was thinking of both our emotional and physical health as well. What he was actually doing was providing the key to happiness guaranteed to keep the doctor away if this advice was perfectly followed. This can only be done through the Holy Spirit dwelling in us.

Instead, to most people, this piece of Scripture is as far away from reality as it can get. The question here is trusting God, or faith in him. It can be very difficult to have faith in that which is invisible and intangible.

Yet these verses apply to everything I have mentioned above. Trusting in Jesus Christ and his goodness. Should this deliver me from worry and anxiety, fear of the future? It should do!

Let me go back to the things I have mentioned. Starting with bill payments - the fact is, since I flew the nest in 1976, then aged 23, I have never known to miss a bill payment. In 1980 I went through a period, just over a year in duration, when I had no job and hardly any money. I existed on a low benefit, which I had to sign for every week. One day I called at a house of a fellow church member for something, and I saw their table spread with such succulent dishes, that my eyes for a moment was transfixed. Then I walked home to my meager supplies, literally weeping tears. But then, I never went hungry. God knew what my needs were even then. Then a red-letter phone final reminder bill arrived, and I spread it on the kitchen worktop and prayed over it. Soon afterwards an anonymous envelope dropped through the door, containing enough to pay the bill. This happened a couple of times.

It was then I started my window cleaning business and became self-employed, signing myself off the benefit payroll. I have been working for more than thirty years and I have never felt in need. So if I lose a customer from time to time, I should not panic. After all, if God had taken care of me for all this time, why should he dump me in it now?

But sometimes he does. Job in the Old Testament, a very wealthy but a good man, lost everything including his health and just barely clung to life. Yet his faith in his God actually confounded the arguments of his three closest friends who tried to blame him and his sins for his losses and sorrowful state. Yet his faith triumphed. How would I react?

In travel, so far I had never been delayed by an industrial dispute. And I started traveling as early as 1972, when as still a teenager, flew to Spain with a college mate (and we are still close friends to this day). The only delay I suffered was in 1993, when a fault in the 'plane's hydraulic system delayed us for six hours at Gatwick.

Sydney, Australia - one of many places visited as a "vagabond".

Trusting in an invisible intangible God is often very difficult. He doesn't talk back audibly like a friend does. That is why prayer is essential. I have found that nothing is a better tonic than when faced with a crisis, is to bow the head in prayer, spilling out my fears and anxieties to my Heavenly Father and asking for the filling of the Holy Spirit.

But alongside prayer, we have the church. Church is not the building with a spire, it's the people in it. It is said that Jesus Christ had two bodies after his Resurrection. He took one with him to Heaven, leaving the other behind. And it wasn't on a whim or by forgetfulness! His body was left behind for a purpose.

Worry is a debilitating emotion. When a Christian finds it difficult to handle it, the members of the church are there to encourage and build up faith. At last week's loss of a client, I attended a prayer meeting that same evening. I shared my plight with one of the elders who happens to be a very good friend, and one whose spiritual life I look up to. The outward situation didn't change but I felt an inner strength to handle it better.

My encouragement to all Christian believers is to be involved with your church. The church is a group of fellow believers in Jesus. As such, it is the visible, tangible body of Christ with whom God can speak to you audibly. And together we can defeat the giant.