Education. Intelligence or Vanity?

It was a typical weekday cleaning windows under dull, drizzly weather, giving the air a melancholic feel, when the turn came to call at one particular house on a street of privately owned homes. This particular elderly gentleman had recently lost his wife to illness, cancer, I believe. He answered my knock on his door.

I can't understand why you're out here in this atrocious weather! I'm not sure about allowing you to work on a day like this, he said.

Cleaning windows on a damp, dreary Autumn day was not exactly like spending a day at a carnival on a warm Summer's day, or the excitement felt while boarding a long-haul flight for a Round-the-World backpacking trip. Rather, it was either this or watching my wife and myself go hungry and into debt. Therefore there was no surprise on his part for my feeling of irritableness.

Atrocious weather? This? I replied. Remember what happened in New Orleans. If wind and rain can literally wipe a city off the map, then that is atrocious weather! Not this - as I waved my hand around the moist-ridden air. The client relented and allowed me to proceed with the task at hand.

I was referring to Hurricane Katrina, which formed over the Atlantic Ocean on August 23rd 2005, and passed over New Orleans nearly a week later on the 29th, taking with it up to 1,836 lives as it swirled over the city at 175 mph. The talk I had with this English gentleman was just a few weeks later, and therefore still fresh on our minds.

The effects of Hurricane Katrina, August 2005.

I believe that after 37 years of manual work, that is from the day I left school in 1968 to that dismal day in 2005, I have toughened up to the point of looking at adversity or even at danger with a smile. Maybe that was why such a negative attitude from this elderly gentleman took me by surprise, especially if he was around during the War or even having fought in it. Then, having lost his beloved so recently after decades of happy marriage would make him feel emotionally vulnerable, wouldn't it? Indeed, on that day I should have been more sensitive to his point of view rather than constantly worrying about home finances, even if I was always the sole breadwinner.

This mental toughening up against the knocks life throws at us, maybe that was why, while onboard the United Airlines flight to New York from London in 1995, one of the air stewardesses gasped, and said how brave I was, after I have spoken to her about the excitement lying ahead as I make my way to California with a backpack over my shoulders. Her reaction had indeed taken me by surprise. However, it was during a normal day at work, standing on a sloping roof while cleaning a window above it, which tested my mettle, yet was part and parcel of my job from which I received no praise at all.

As such, media stories of students committing suicide have always been a puzzlement to me! The majority of students who commit suicide is male. However, the latest case is of this British female from Milton Keynes, who so recently fallen out of a light aircraft while flying over the forests of Madagascar. At first, I thought that she was a victim of a terrible accident involving the plane door flying open mid-air and sucking her out. But it turned out that she opened the door herself and jumped out, despite the attempted restraint by both the pilot and another passenger.

The student, who attended Cambridge University, was out on a project examining a rare species of crab when she suffered a panic attack. She contacted her parents back in the UK, and they either advised her to return home just three or four days into her month-long trip. Or they might have tried to encourage her to stay and finish her project. Apparently, a heated argument developed, which on one hand may be an indication that either she wanted to cut short her trip and return home, or on the other hand, she was unwilling to return home so soon. But either way, she then leapt to her death whilst flying from her venue to the international airport.

The whole scenario beggars belief! Here she was, a student at Cambridge University, meant to enjoy one of the greatest privileges life can offer - to study and train to be a scientist, and to work in a laboratory, which would have been the envy of one such as myself who had to scrape a living outside in the cold, wind and rain. 

Yet she was not alone. Far from it. Rather, it follows other stories of undergraduates committing suicide as well as many more suffering from mental illness of some sort. And as I have already mentioned, the majority of such cases is male, which fits in with the overall majority of suicides across the nation. Our culture strongly encourages, if not actually demand, that the British man must keep his emotions bottled up, to keep up the image of stoicism, making self-harm an easier option than talking to someone who could help. But in the case of undergraduates, whom I perceive as very fortunate to enter further education in the first place, I have to admit and ask: What's going on?

This sort of thing was totally unknown in my day when I had to push a broom across the factory shop floor and endure smut, quite a bit of teasing, even verbal bullying. Yet I never considered suicide, but, as I realised later, as part of a process to toughen me up in readiness to face a challenging world.

The light aircraft in flight during the jump.

But here I had to be honest. When I found myself at work as a machinist in a precision engineering company in the 1970s, I did have an eye of envy towards the adjoining office staff. Their smart dress commanded far greater respect from society. They were the ones who did well at school and passed both GCE 'O' Level and 'A' Level exams while still at school, and landed good jobs as a result, even without having to graduate. A university graduate holding a degree was, back in those days, someone to be revered. Maybe this trend of "degree inflation" which affected more recent years might have coincided with the rise of mental health issues and eventually suicide. In other words, a degree nowadays is hardly worth the paper it's printed on, so the media tell us. Could that, along with the eye-watering tuition fees, be the reason why this lovely young woman ended her life so dramatically?

It is from this greater respect and a keener interest given by society to graduates and those who hold careers in the profession which at this point I would like to ask: What do you think of this blog? Is it well written? If by chance, you think this and all my other blogs are well written, then this is a result of constant practice, backed by my enjoyment of reading. Yes, I did attend evening class to study the English Language GCE 'O' Level at a local college some years after leaving school, and I managed to scrape through with a pass. Yet this was enough for a foundation to build my writing skills on afterwards. Mainly by reading other people's work and using them as examples to build my own experience.

This was not done with any reluctance. I recall as a young boy sitting at a table and writing letters to my relatives living overseas. How I thoroughly enjoyed it. And unlike many in my class, I did not find writing a necessary burden one must bear while wearing school uniform. I find the ability to string words together, a wonderful privilege given to me by God, and left with a responsibility to nourish this God-given ability.

And here is a sorry truth. If I was a graduate myself, I would have had a much larger number of page views than I presently have. Instead, I know of several graduates belonging to local churches who don't read these blogs. They give various reasons for this - they don't have the time, they are too busy, they are irrelevant to them, it's not their style. But none would give the honest truth, and the honest truth is this: Reading my blogs will rock their egos. That is to say, I pose some kind of threat. After all, someone with my background is not supposed to create anything to this standard. Instead, I should know my place on the social and academic ladder and stay there, perhaps with a daily swig in the pub and mixing among fellow working-class mates, yet remaining in lifelong ignorance and never to be taken seriously by the middle classes.

It was once a temptation to add Dr in front of my name on this page, but then I decided against the idea. Not only would I be deceitful, but chances that even among readers whom I have never met, they would see that my writing is considerably amateurish for a doctor. But working on what God has already given me is still the right thing to do.

And trusting in God, I think, is the real foundation for success. I could take Frank Sinatra's song My Way and look back at my life before retirement and say that I did it my way. But I much prefer to say that I did it God's way. Sure enough, I have never seen the inside of a university, the only time I saw the inside of an office was as a client, I worked manually with my hands, much of that in the realm of cleaning, for nearly half a century. Yet I have travelled the world, I have partaken in long-distance cycling and triathlons, I was even a pool lifeguard for several months when I was twenty, perhaps perceived by some as a "glamorous" job and maybe being as close to a paramedic as the job allowed.

I want to be seen at the Judgement Seat of Christ as one who did it God's way. And one of the greatest tools for going God's way is a thorough knowledge of the Bible, laced with the filling of the Holy Spirit. That is why I have always insisted that Bible reading increases intelligence. I can testify that this has happened to me, and I can assure anyone who wishes to read the Bible with faith in his heart that this will happen to him also.

And a heart-belief in the Gospel. The Good News. That is, God had created our first parents in God's own image. Unfortunately, their mistake brought sin into their lives, and we have lived with sin in our lives ever since, which means eternal separation from God. God gave the Law to Israel, showing all of us exactly what a pure holy life is all about. The trouble is, nobody was ever able to keep the Law perfectly. Even if someone did keep the Law perfectly until he stumbled at just one minor point - that was it. He had broken the Law, and must now face Judgement.

But God, in both his love for us and for his glory, sent his Son Jesus Christ, a man entirely without sin, to atone for us by dying on a cross, he was buried, and three days later he was resurrected from the dead. It was this third issue - his Resurrection - which makes Christianity stand out from all other religions. No other religious founder or leader was ever resurrected. Instead, their bones are with us to this day. The Resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth was proof that he is the Christ, the Jewish Messiah. Because of his Resurrection, he can give eternal life with God to all who believe, having atoned for sin on the cross.

Christ's own righteousness, his perfect life, is imputed to everyone who believes. That is, God sees each believer as he sees his only Son. That is why the concept of Eternal Security, or Once Saved Always Saved, is Biblical. No other religion teaches this. Only Biblical Christianity. 

Eternal Security of the Believer is a life-changing doctrine. While at Sainsbury's superstore, I was met by one female who attends our church at Ascot. When I related to her about my wife's breast cancer and the course of chemotherapy she is at present going through, she was rather surprised about our lion's share of bad things happening to us. I could have said something like, "yes I know, life is always bad, unfair. Woe is me, in my sorrow, I go to the grave."

But I didn't say that. Instead, I expressed my determination to keep going, to keep on looking after my beloved wife, and thanking God for the NHS. And I know as I take Alex into my arms and look lovingly into her eyes, everything will be okay, even in her illness, for God is with us and he will never leave or forsake us. Once saved Always Saved. This truth is a foundation stone for us to keep going, no matter how bad circumstances can get.

That poor, poor Cambridge student. She had an enviable life, with the ability to travel halfway around the world to Madagascar, she was studying in one of the world's top universities, in preparation to work in a laboratory or as a field scientist. It was a pair of shoes I would have jumped into with enthusiastic glee. Yet she is no longer with us. What a crying shame! Because she had never known the TRUE meaning of life, and a university degree gotten at Cambridge wasn't it.

Nostalgia and a Near Fatality

Being a blogger can have its downs as well as ups. Usually written during a Saturday afternoon, each one gets published by ten o'clock in the evening, although from time to time it's posted around 9.00pm. Then, at about midnight, I bring it back on the laptop screen to proof-read it. It's then when grammatical errors tend to show up, or a sentence or even a paragraph may need to be re-arranged for better clarity. Also, as every blog author on this site is fully aware, the exact number of views is displayed on the dashboard. It is this number which will determine whether the latest post will be a hit or a miss, even over just two hours after posting.

Getting a low turnout after hours spent typing away can be very discouraging, and I have been tempted to pack it in altogether. But if the following week's post turns out to be a hit, then that's a great motivator to keep going. However, blogging on a Saturday afternoon has become something of an addiction - after all, if I were to stop completely, what can I do to replace such a mind-enhancing activity? After all, it's a contrast to the swimming, gym and other physical activity which occupies mid-week hours.

Also, I could add here that I address myself as a blogger rather than a writer. Even if the title, writer, has a nice ring to it. I would love to call myself a writer. But I believe that there is one rather big difference. A writer normally gets paid for his work, usually royalties from the selling of the author's books or in magazines in which his contribution appears. A blogger writes to his own pleasure, normally on the Internet, and if I believe I'm right, he does not get paid for it. With this, I can quote from citations without breaching of any copyright.

Then also is what to write about. Being stuck for a topic is rare but it can happen. But all it takes is a newspaper article, or some conversation at church, in the gym, or elsewhere, and that can be enough inspiration for a blog. Often, current affairs can inspire, especially the present political upheaval taking place at Parliament over Brexit. But often it's the daily routine of life at home that lends a good dosage of inspiration. It can be quite surprising how an article of this kind can be written on what appears simply as an insignificant issue at home, yet a long blog can be written where such a particular issue connects with my faith in God which can catch the reader's eye.

But deleting a whole blog? Well, with over 400 blogs on this page, only two were ever deleted entirely. The first one was from several years ago, not long after I started blogging altogether. But the second one deleted? This week's blog. Rather, the one written and published only last night.

Two reasons for this. First, the number of views recorded on the dashboard was unusually low. But second, and more important, it was too intrusive on my wife's state of health and the sequence of analysis for potential treatments she may have to endure. Personally, I thought such a blog would provide a good read with the attempt to edify the reader, especially a Christian reader. But when I spoke to my beloved about it, she cautioned me. It was after this when I had to have to re-think. I suppose I still have to learn to discern between submitting a good read from being too intrusive. Then again, my whole life, as well as yours, is one whole learning curve. Even then, the arc still remains incomplete when the time comes for us to step off this planet.

Therefore, what did I write about? The few who did read my blog last night before its deletion will, of course, already know. Titled, Cry, Cry To My Soul, Cry, (and I wonder if such a title itself was a turn-off) I detailed my beloved's suffering, visits to hospitals, including the dentist, and a rather detailed set of analysis in order to draw up a diagnosis, and how all this had affected my emotional state. It was a couple of hours later when I realised that such a blog was too intrusive into Alex's private life and therefore had to be deleted before too many read it.

But one issue I will happily share, for this involves nostalgia, a topic I love indulging in! Maybe because I have always been a working-class individual living in a district populated with primarily middle-class families and individuals who, after graduating, have taken up employment in one of many high-tech companies who has established themselves here. A case of an inferior complex on my part? Especially during my bachelor days before marrying at 47 years of age? Maybe so, maybe not. But if making my lifestyle more colourful was somehow mentally and emotionally therapeutic in this society of greater sophistication, so be it. 

Thus, earlier last week, a cycling trip to Frimley Park Hospital, some eight miles from home, to collect a bottle of medicine for my wife, brought back a sense of nostalgia. A 16-mile round trip on the bicycle on an unusually warm February day with wall-to-wall sunshine brought wonderful memories - and also a scary experience. As for pleasant memories, I always found cycling a pleasant experience, despite the tiredness of uphill climbing, aching muscles, riding into a headwind, and the bane of all cyclists - flats!

Stock image.

It was with a friend of mine when we rode End-to-End of Great Britain, that is southbound from John O' Groats on the northern tip of Scotland to Land's End on the near-tropical corner of Cornwall. Near -tropical? In Britain? Well, I did see (rather small) banana trees growing there, along with a species of palm, the kind which finds a home around the Mediterranean. The only other place where I saw banana trees under full cultivation was near Coffs Harbour, in the Australian State of New South Wales. 

As for the End-to-End ride, the seventy-odd miles between Bristol and Exeter almost done us in, and I was tempted to throw in the towel. Nothing more than boring fields for scenery, under a heavily overcast sky, and a strong headwind. It made hill-climbing so challenging, that it could be graded as torturous. When we arrived at a small Devon town of Honiton, we felt relieved, as we knew that Exeter was not far away. But after arriving at Land's End two days later, we celebrated with a bottle of Champagne (or equivalent). It was a great achievement! 

And not to mention the trips to the coast from my apartment, a distance of around sixty miles, but longer rides to other destinations, followed by a comfortable bed at a hotel or hostel. Throughout the mid-1980s into the 1990s, I could consider being at the peak of fitness, when swimming, cycling and running were the three chief activities I partook in. Interestingly enough, my peak age of fitness correlates well with the age Jesus was when he died on the cross, implying that his sacrifice made was at its pinnacle time of his life.

As such, this bicycle ride to Frimley Park Hospital to collect a specific item has brought back such nostalgic memories. That is until I was overtaken by a huge juggernaut. Now as any rider would testify, being overtaken by motorised traffic is a constant, perfectly normal procedure whilst on the road. However, if the road you're riding on turns out to be a dual carriageway, with an extra lane specifically for overtaking vehicles, then you would expect that the overtaking vehicle to leave a wide enough berth between it and the cyclist.

But no, not this juggernaut driver. Instead, he veered to the left whilst actually overtaking, leaving me with hardly any room to pedal. I actually thought this was it. Indeed, I have read of quite a number of incidences when a cyclist was killed just by being clipped by an overtaking truck, or even by a bus. These incidences had taken place mainly within Central London as well as elsewhere in the UK. I think that these fatal lorry/bike contacts had prompted transport authorities to set aside bicycle lanes alongside main roads, something of an annoying stigma for many motor drivers.

However, in this case, I have wondered whether this truck driver actually failed to see that he was approaching a rider from behind. If that was the case, then I wonder how he had so successfully acquired his HGV licence after taking a provisional road test, which was reputed to be tough. It is through this kind of reasoning that I tend to lean on the theory that his clever manoeuvre was deliberate, a ploy to prove his macho superiority as a trucker over a cyclist by giving me a fright.

To me, that is incredulous! I wasn't even clad in the hated shining Lycra costume which poses a threat to many an ego at the steering wheel. Those days of wearing one had long gone! Instead, I was dressed in normal day clothes, and a pensioner to boot. Yes, a pensioner. How could I be a threat to anyone's ego?

I suppose that the apostle James was right when he wrote an exhortation not to be too confident for the future, for nobody knows what's around the corner (James 4:13-15). It was easy to say to my beloved,

"Sweetheart, I'm going to cycle all the way to Frimley to collect your medicine. I should be back after a couple of hours (to allow for a coffee at the hospital restaurant)."

Perhaps the usage of the word should be the most appropriate, rather than shall or will. Because James could have approached from behind, tap me on the shoulder and say,

"Don't kid yourself, pal. This very day you will be at home with your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Then what will happen to your wife's medicine?"

And as I ride along, perhaps pretty fast along the highway, this trucker, in his attempt to give me a fright, slightly miscalculates and his heavy juggernaut clips my bike, sending me flying. Next, I find myself in Heaven with the Lord. How true James's word can really be?

However, I'm still here, having added this experience to all my past cycling experiences, and thanking God for the very breath of life. Over the years I have come to appreciate each day the Lord has allowed me to remain here, to love my wife dearly, to comfort and to care for her as my soulmate and as one in the flesh, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. In return, I can bask in her love for me, her submissiveness according to Biblical principles, and her support, especially in the time of need or in making a difficult decision.

I thank you, Lord Jesus, for giving me such a lovely wife who thinks the world of me. In you, Lord, I give credit.