Coping With Anger as an Aspie...

I felt apprehensive when I sat at a psychologist's office in Brookwood, Surrey. Then my sense of unease intensified as she announced that I'm about to undergo a mental arithmetic test.

"Oh, dear!" I protested. "I'm terrible at maths. What has this to do with parenting?"

"This assessment involves your IQ. It's all part of the process," the rather pretty young woman answered.

Actually, I was more surprised than she was when I got one sum after another correct without any visible calculation, whether it be with a calculator, on paper, or counting on my fingers. As each sum got progressively more difficult, it eventually came to the point when I couldn't answer any more, but at least that was way up on the scale. There were other questions too, such as what was Albert Einstein famous for? To which I replied that he was the first to work out the science of Relativity.

She was impressed - and honest too. She admitted that she was unaware of the answer until she checked my reply with the answer on her score sheet. Then another question: Name the Seven Continents.

"Er... Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, North America, South America, er...er..."

"Yes, yes," she egged.

"Oh yes, Antarctica."

And so the questions came pouring forth. Many, such as the seven continents, could - or should - be answered easily by any schoolboy, let alone by a man in his fifties. But this might come as a surprise as we watched The Apprentice, just a few years ago. Here was a group of young professionals, each one vying to be Alan Sugar's partner with a £250,000 business investment awarded to the winning candidate. As the team sat around a table to discuss their business strategies, it became obvious neither was able to differentiate between the continent of Africa from India. Therefore, I had nothing to be ashamed of when I was assessed back in the Summer of 2005.

Indeed, as I stood on the platform of Brookwood Station, in shirtsleeves and dripping wet from the rain after walking through the famous cemetery, my spirits were high, having been told after the assessment that I had above-average intelligence. Maybe this was why I was able to beat a financial advisor and his wife at a game of Scrabble a couple of years earlier and also won by quite a considerable margin against another middle-class family at a general knowledge game which was not unlike Trivial Pursuit. But a shock was yet to come.

The final result of the assessment came back. I was diagnosed with Aspie.

Back in 2005, I knew just one other person who has Asperger's Syndrome. He was and still is a good friend, a tad younger than me and unmarried to this day. But if the psychologist was able to assess me as above average intelligence, she would have diagnosed him with super-intelligence, especially at maths. I have always known him as an ideal candidate for membership with Mensa. At present, I'm also good friends with another Aspie, who holds a PhD in Genetics. This seems to testify that being on the Spectrum (as it's now referred) goes hand-in-hand with having a higher IQ.

The symptoms of Asperger's includes the inability to contribute to group socials, generally in a pub or restaurant. It was one of the mysteries I wasn't able to fathom out when I sat with a group of friends in the pub following a session at the Reading Life Saving Club back in the seventies and again in the eighties - unless I found myself talking to just one other person in the group. One-to-one I'm quite good at, and the subject under discussion is of interest to both of us. Strangely enough, even on a subject which I have no interest in, such as football, I still can have a decent conversation with one other person - but would suffer a speech paralysis if football is talked about in a group discussion.

Another symptom which I was diagnosed with which led to my final conclusion, is that I tend to be pedantic. That means that I can be very fussy with accuracy. For example, if someone writes, Your good at maths, a pedantic person is less likely to resist from writing the correction underneath: You're good at maths. A pedantic person is more likely to get annoyed when reading text, and come across errors such as their, there, or they're used in the wrong context. But to be pedantic can also be a good thing when it comes to writing blogs or comments to be read by others. I, for one, always proof-read my work to correct any errors that might have slipped through the net. Simply, I can't stand others seeing my mistakes!

The third symptom of Asperger's Syndrome is a lack of empathy. This is the inability to understand how the other person would think or feel. The psychologist came up with the conclusion that I lack empathy. One possible example is for Jack to berate John because John always looks sad and forlorn, and is dampening the atmosphere of his immediate environment. Hence, Jack passes judgement without any consideration that John's mother had just died of a prolonged cancer ailment.

By telling me these things, the psychologist had done me a great favour. Since I became aware of these shortcomings, with the help of God through the Holy Spirit, I can change direction when faced with a choice of action. For example, if a friend was to approach me and say, I have less Christmas cards than I had last year. I would stop short of saying: You mean you had fewer cards than last year, which might have caused offence, but instead, sympathise by replying: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Did you receive my card? Which he's more likely to answer, Yes, I did. Thanks, Frank.

Psychologists may say that there is no cure for Asperger's Syndrome and having no physical abnormality associated with it, thus making any medical treatment impossible, but by believing that the crucified Jesus of Nazareth is the risen Christ and asking to be filled with the Holy Spirit, the effects of Aspie can come under greater control. The above Christmas card incident is a good example. By showing sympathy rather than to correct his grammar, I have achieved several things:

Firstly, by avoiding to correct his grammar, I have avoided the possibility of alienating him by being pedantic. Secondly, I have tuned into his feelings, hence showing empathy. Thirdly, I have taken his mind off the negative to focus on the positive, that is, to remember the card I sent to him and allowing him to thank me. Fourthly, not only is our friendship cemented but he also walks away happier than he was before.

With me having Asperger's, as diagnosed by the psychologist back in 2005, I believe that regular reading of the Bible and walking in the guidance of the Holy Spirit would go a long way towards building friendships. But being human, I'm still prone to err, and perhaps one example of this was when I shared a poster on Facebook. As someone displayed on his tee-shirt during and after the Spring Harvest Bible festival: GINFWMY - such lettering should arouse curiosity, indeed, I do ask to be patient, God is not finished with me yet. Thus feelings of anger can still arouse even by the most trivial issue, such as a poster I have shared on Facebook earlier in the week.

It was about Jabob Rees-Mogg cracking a joke that our fish will be happier now that they are in British waters, at last, free from the clutches of the European Union. As I read the statement, I felt a wave of anger pass through me and reposted the item with the statement, Bloody idiot! The fish will be happier with no fishing boats and crew around. Etonian pillock!

At first, I felt a sense of satisfaction after posting such a statement. Unless this politician had spoken to the fish and received the above response, I doubt that any fish would be happy to be caught in a trawler's net and be hauled out of the water to die and end up on the dinner plate. Then I thought, could he had meant that the fish will be happier simply by swimming under British waters? Who knows?

Jacob Rees-Mogg.

The poster was ignored by everyone who saw it. Not a single like or comment, or even an emoji (and I think there is a thumbs up and a thumbs down emoji within the large range available on Facebook) either for or against the statement. Coming to think of it, I think that what I had actually done was to allow my Aspie to rear it's head once again. 

The same article also appeared on the Daily Mail website. I then read the very long comment forum which trailed the article. Nearly everyone believed that Rees-Mogg acted foolishly, even citing the fish's preference very much the same way I did. But what seems to be my own personal anger, along with the dislike of him by the huge majority of commenters, was down to not just what he said, but his words were merely a reflection of his attitude.

Rees-Mogg's has always carried that arrogant I'm-above-the-rest-of-you-plebs attitude, who believes that England, being God's special country, is way too superior to be part of the EU. And so, always in a suit and tie, he turns up his nose and looking down, utter the words, we've won, you lost, get over it!

To be honest, I still find this very difficult to handle. Perhaps the kind of encouragement I need to to take my mind off politics and Brexit altogether and focus my mind on Jesus, to seek his kingdom and pursue righteousness. 

If only I could have sent him a Christmas card this year. Perhaps I would have made friends with him.  

A Prayer of Despair - And Hope.

The armchair felt very comfortable as I felt myself sinking into it at this particular branch of Costa Coffee located just inside the doors of the Royal Surrey Hospital in Guildford. It was so soothing, after two turbulent days when nothing went right for both my wife and myself.

Costa Coffee at Royal Surrey Hospital, Guildford.

Having no car of our own, the threat of exorbitant taxi fees emptying our joint bank account, and the sheer awkwardness of train travel to Guildford from Bracknell with a wheelchair and platform change at Wokingham, the only option left was the NHS Transport service to cover the twenty miles from door to door. A brilliant idea on paper, as there are plenty of infirm senior citizens who would need this mode of transport. But on the first day, after we had received more than one phone call from them that they will arrive to collect her in good time, Alex sat at the kitchen window looking out at the unusually quiet and deserted cul-de-sac without seeing even a pussy-cat sniffing around to add some life to the environment.

I managed to get hold of their office phone number and after some effort, succeeded in getting through to them, only to receive an apology and an explanation that one of their drivers had phoned up sick. As such, we were left stuck at home and the radiotherapy department had to cancel her appointment and a new one made for the next day. The let-down caused Alex to develop chest pains, so sharp and severe that she insisted on a 999 call. Next to no time, an ambulance whisked her away, alone, to Frimley Park Hospital, while I waited for the right time to cycle to my own appointment at Heatherwood Hospital in Ascot for a cardiac assessment. She didn't arrive home until late that evening, tired, and a taxi fare out of pocket.

The next day, the NHS transport service arrived in good time. But after waiting at the radiotherapy department, her severe chest pains returned just as she was called in. The staff were alarmed and insisted that she be sent to A&E for a CT scan to find the cause of the pain, resulting in a second cancellation of her radiotherapy appointment. One possibility is that she has a blood clot in her lung, which would require an overnight stay in the hospital to initiate proper treatment. It was during the five-hour wait at A&E for her scan when we agreed for her to remain in the waiting room, as her call was imminent, and I went just outside, into the Costa Coffee cafe, and sunk into the comfortable armchair with a large Cappuccino and croissant on the table in front.

And a time for prayer.

Rather than moaning over our lot, I first gave thanks to God for everything we have, including each other. Then I expressed my longing for a far greater presence of God in our lives, to feel the love of Jesus embracing us, and our desire for a more intimate relationship with God, as well for a strengthening of my weak faith. Although in my heart I felt particularly at peace with him, I went into a tirade about the global threat of this coronavirus, with the UK a sitting duck for a pandemic invasion of the pathogen. Then I pleaded with God that if we become infected, then let us die together in each other's arms. Our lives are committed in his hands. Let the virus kill as together at the same time. I was able to visualise us as a couple lying on the bed in a tight embrace - dead. 

O, come quickly, Lord Jesus! Redeem and restore your beautiful, beautiful Creation!

It was a moment when I couldn't care whether I drew attention or not. And that despite the instruction to enter the closet and close the door behind me and pray to my Father, and my Father, seeing me pray in secret, will reward me (Matthew 6:6). Really, at that moment I couldn't care less about what other people were thinking. If they thought I was a bit of a nutter, so be it. I just wanted to be in the embracing arms of Jesus, right there and then. At least a third appointment for the same radiotherapy has already been made for next week. Third time lucky, perhaps?

We were hardly home from the hospital when going through a daily browse on Facebook when a flame-coloured box scrolled onto the screen from below. On the coloured background and in large white lettering this message read:

You're absolutely free to reject God's mercy whilst you're alive.
You're absolutely (sic) won't be free to escape God's judgement in hell.

This was a direct quote from an online friend who was with us at Ascot Life Church but since left to join a smaller, more local fellowship. Yes, Biblically and theologically speaking, he's absolutely right. Reject God's mercy and it's a lost eternity. But this kind of loveless warning is from a typical Arminian* whose faith for a believer is merely to escape eternal punishment rather than enjoy a love-relationship with God.

I have been contacted via Facebook by the pastor of this local fellowship, who asked for online friendship and I was happy to oblige. He looks to be a charismatic whose main brunt of his ministry is to heal people of both physical and mental illnesses. Did he find out about the ailments both of us were suffering? Is he trying to persuade us to join his group, or at least to have a look around? However, I have reservations. I have seen this sort of thing before, more than once. Starting as a small home group, rather than new converts being made, these leaders tend to persuade regular church-going Christians to "try out" the new group and if they like it, to join as permanent members. One late Elder once said to me that this practice is known as "sheep-stealing".

One of these home groups I became involved during the mid-seventies was led by a Pentecostal pastor, married and with a young son, who had a dispute with the church he was in, and decided "to start my own fellowship" at his home, into which a handful from different churches met. One of his main preach was about how easy a believer can lose his salvation, using the classic Hebrews 6:4-6 as his text. At first, its growth was successful, and the group eventually moved into a small chapel near the town centre, where it continued to grow, that is until its founder slept with another man's wife and afterwards was defrocked by the rest of the congregation before he disappeared, never to be seen or heard of again. Since then, this church remains a shadow of its former self with just a small number meeting. It too had an emphasis on healing.

The second occasion, in the 1980s, concerned another church member who had a falling out with his Elders. Proclaiming himself to be an apostle, this married couple also met in their own home, drawing in a few other members, including myself, from different churches. Another member who happen to be also from Bracknell Baptist and being the only one who had a guitar, thus providing the only source of worship music, declared his belief in Once Saved Always Saved. Immediately a discussion got underway, with the apostle, his wife, and another member, refuting such an idea and insisting that salvation was conditional on ongoing faithfulness. With myself deciding to stay quiet, the wife eventually lost her temper and shouted at the member not to contradict her husband. The turbulent atmosphere in the room was the beginning of the end to this group, which disbanded a short while after.

Whether this local fellowship has followed this same kind of sheep-stealing as the other two groups did, I cannot be certain. But that isn't what's bothering me. Rather, what bothers me is that bold Facebook poster which popped up whilst scrolling. Although Biblically true, nevertheless, I found the attitude behind the message very disturbing. It was as if written in anger or frustration and entirely without love. And what was it to prompt him to write such a poster? If it was to frighten people to commit themselves to God, then no, that's not true Christianity. Rather, such an attitude has levelled his group to any cult, on the exact level of Jehovah's Witnesses or any other Arminian-based group.

As Charles Spurgeon once said,
No one should talk about hell without having tears in his eyes.
He was absolutely right. Whenever I think of hell, I too feel for the lost around me. Indeed, I want my heart to reflect God's feelings concerning the afterlife when he says that he is patient, and he is not willing that anyone should perish but all should come to repentance (2 Peter 3:9). Or again, that God commands all men everywhere to repent (Acts 17:30). Hell was initially prepared for the Devil and his angels, and it wasn't intended for humans. Indeed, these threats are the sort of messages which would drive the unbeliever into the arms of Charles Darwin instead of into the arms of Jesus Christ.

The Lord wants to draw all men to himself, as if like a courtship. Just as with a groom and bride, likewise, the Church is or will be, the Bride of Christ. I have never known a boyfriend threatening a potential girlfriend to go out with him! She would run a mile if he tried.

In Genesis chapter 24 there is a beautiful story which reflects the love of the Father to his Son and the role of the Holy Spirit. Abraham gives an order to an unnamed servant to go to his own kinsmen to find a wife for his son Isaac. The servant was cautious enough to ask his master what if the potential candidate refuses to return with him. Abraham then answers that he would be free from any responsibility. No threat, no punishment.

And off the servant goes. Thoroughly loyal to his master, he makes sure that the beautiful Rebekah is the one. When he perceives that she was, he then barters with her family for her to return with him. She was willing, and so she returns with him to Abraham's camp. There his son Isaac takes delight in her straight away and the two married that same evening. What a picture this is, of Christ, the Son of God, and the Church, the Bride of Christ! It is the Holy Spirit who shines a light into every man (John 1:9, 16:8-11) to draw him to Christ in a husband/wife love relationship. As for conviction of sin, that's the work of the Holy Spirit, and he knows when and how to apply this without using threats.

I'll be truthful here. My beloved may not be quite the long-haired, slim pretty girl I married two decades ago. Instead, due to her recent chemotherapy, she has lost her hair and gained weight. But to me, she will always be beautiful, the apple of my eye, the unity of soul and spirit. I will continue to love her to bits. Once married always married. I think this is a wise and true saying.

Therefore whenever she's in pain, then I'm in pain. her poor health causes me to live daily on a knife-edge, and visits to the hospital so frequent, I'm beginning to wonder just when we can stay away for a longer period. But by this experience, we have learnt a lot. And I thank God for us being together and trust him for our future.
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*Arminian: A Christian believer who embrace the teachings of 16th Century Dutch theologian Jacobus Arminius, who has repudiated the theology of imputed righteousness of Christ into the believer's account, for forfeitable salvation which can be lost if the believer's faith fails.

A Whiff of Hypocrisy?

When browsing social websites such as Facebook, what I'm hoping to find is a direct message to me, or one where I get a personal mention, but failing that, a poster on which I would click "like", or posting an emoji reflecting on my emotional response to the poster (mostly the laughing image, but the one showing astonishment often appear as well). Like that, the one who posted the item in the first place will be aware that someone has taken notice.

It's rather like a game, or a contest even, to see how many "likes" the poster will collect, not to mention the growth of the comment forum beneath. Therefore it's easy to assume that if I was to post something, and even after 24 hours, had collected totally nothing, no one had seen it. More likely though, it was seen by quite a few but failed to meet anyone's approval or raised any eyebrows, nor was it worth commenting upon. Many of my own posters on Facebook, some involving videos, pass on with no response whatsoever.  

Therefore when posters either supporting or ridiculing Brexit appeared on my timeline, either I clicked "like" under those which advocated staying in the EU - or comment on why I disagreed with those supporting leaving. Often, together with other contributors, both for and against, quite an intelligent messaging board would at times grow beneath the poster, often to do with the fate or our future post-Brexit economy. Into these forums, I have added my two-bit worth when I felt it was appropriate to do so.

But lately, since our PM's Brexit deal was recently rejected by Parliament, quite a conglomerate of pro-Brexit posters began appearing on my message wall, all of them showing support for a no-deal exit from the EU. It was then when I got fed up with such input into the social media that I ceased commenting, and I began to ignore them.

Until one showed up just a couple of days ago. It featured a smartly-dressed English businessman walking away from the European flag, the circle of twelve stars, carrying one of the stars with him under his arm, along with his briefcase and what appears to be a box containing legal documents.

This time I didn't respond with any likes or with emoji, whether laughter, astonishment, sadness or even anger. This was because I have had enough with the topic at hand after making enough comment contributions. From now on I felt that just passing these posters by and ignoring them is now my best option. After all, these former discussions from either side, even from the best of learning and intelligence, still fail to edify. They do not bring any believer closer to God nor bring the unbeliever to his conviction of sin and his need for a Saviour.

But when I came across this image (pictured above), posted by a good friend of mine and an ardent Brexit supporter, I could not help but gaze at it. That is because of how the image fits in so well with the meaning of Brexit. The figure is that of a white Englishman dressed as a City gentleman, a banker, perhaps, or some other professional who holds a university degree, therefore conveying the idea (at least to me anyway) that the Englishman as of an ethnic race and cultural standing is superior to the rest of Europe, and deemed the Continental bloc as too unworthy to merit his membership.

However, his headwear looks a bit out of synch from the rest of his clothing. Resembling a Jewish kippah or yarmulke, it's most likely a normal cloth cap which was worn by the working class man at a pub or men's club, found up North, for example, in the suburbs of industrial townships such as Newcastle, Sheffield, or Middlesborough. If the artist has made an effort to portray a social cross-class figure walking out of the EU, then I must say that he didn't make a very good job of it!  

All on the same week when one major company owner, James Dyson, another ardent advocate of Brexit, decided to uproot and move his headquarters from England to Singapore. Although he's strongly in denial that this move has any connection with leaving the European Union, nevertheless, howls of "Hypocrite!" ran through Parliament, through the streets and particularly through the Media. Of course, it can be argued among Leavers that as a private company owner, whose business is for us to buy his bagless vacuum cleaner, he can do what he pleases. If there is a potential market waiting in the Far East as well as holding good stakes in the EU, then why not? In a choice between patriotism and money, it's money which always wins.

Then there is Jacob Rees-Mogg. I often refer to him as the Englishman's darling, despite my awareness that a large percentage of the British population loathes him. He is head of the European Research Group (ERG). Pardon me here, but isn't the name somewhat deceptive? Research? I always believed that the meaning of the word was to find out the truth about something, to investigate materials and sources to establish the facts. For example, I am familiar with Creation Research, an American Christian organisation investigating the truth of Creation in opposition to Uniformitarian Geology and the Theory of Evolution. I have one of their books, The Genesis Flood, by Whitcombe and Morris, using both anthropology and geology to establish the truthfulness of the Biblical account.

The ERG is not about investigating the history, culture, economic or even the physical structure of the European bloc in order to gather facts in a neutral sense. Rather it's a group of Tory politicians campaigning for the UK to leave the European Union. As far as I'm aware, their object is for us to leave the EU without any form of deal or agreement with Brussels in order to restore our nation's sovereignty. That doesn't look like research to me, but more like lobbying. But despite Rees-Mogg's patriotic zeal, I can't help smelling a whiff of hypocrisy when I read about him stashing two of his investments at a Dublin bank in the Irish Republic, a member of the EU. Truly speaking, are Dyson and Rees-Mogg afraid with what could happen to the British economy post-Brexit?

English Conservative politician Jacob Rees-Mogg

And who can forget Boris Johnson? He is the one who was the strong advocate of Leave prior to and during the 2016 Referendum. Still harbouring a long-held desire to become the leader of the Conservative Party and sit at the desk in 10 Downing Street, in June 2018 this man resigned from his Cabinet post of Foreign Secretary when things got a bit too hot under his collar concerning the PM's Chequers Agreement and Brexit. I suppose I could rate him as a coward on this issue, abandoning a sinking ship rather than make an effort to refloat it. But he too is rankled with hypocrisy. In 1993 he divorced his first wife, Allegra, after just six years of marriage, and then separated from his second wife Marina in 2018 after 25 years of marriage, to date a much younger woman as at present. As one American boss once said when he fired one of his employees for committing adultery: If you cannot be loyal to your own wife, how can you be loyal to the company?

And I will always remember good old David Cameron, our former Tory Prime Minister. It was he in February 2016, who called for a national referendum whether to leave or stay in the EU. He was an avid Remainer, along with his pal, Chancellor George Osborne, who himself had a beady eye on number 10. When they lost the vote in June 23rd, 2016, Cameron resigned as PM the morning after. If there is a Government leader doing a runner so quickly after defeat rather than engage in the difficult task ahead, then it has to be an Eton-educated politician.

I can see three famous Etonians here in British politics - Jacob Rees-Mogg, Boris Johnson and David Cameron. Between all three there is adultery (Luke 16:18), hypocrisy and cowardice. Yet despite all this, there is something so honourable about having an education at Eton. It not only opens the door to Oxbridge but to acting as well, so I once read. Drama lessons have taken a high priority at Eton and other public schools. And here is the irony. Hypocrisy has its root word from Hupokrisis, an ancient theatrical act. The theatre is the home for actors - people who are paid to put on a different character outside their own for the benefit of onlookers.

Greek Theatre, Siracusa, Italy - visited 1982 and 2007.

Jesus had a lot to say about hypocrisy, particularly in religious people (for example, Matthew chapter 23). It fulfils what Isaiah once wrote,

These people come to me with their mouth and honour me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. Their worship of me is made up only of rules made up by men.

Isaiah 29:13.

And yes, it is easy to look upon the lifestyles of others, especially among those in the public eye. But here I need to ask, 

Am I offering to remove a speck from someone's eye without realising that there is a log in my own eye? 

I guess this is a very easy trap to fall into. As one public preacher once said in a large auditorium, 

Even if you do not feel so white in your lifestyle: If you see another who looks black in moral issues, at least it makes your greyness appear as white.

I suppose that questioning another person's way of life and finding something to criticize and a judge is a kind of self-preservation against guilt. But unfortunately, as it seems, although such critical judgement may make me feel good about myself, but not before God. And concerning worshipping God at church with heartless lips is something I'm fully aware of. I'm not guiltless. One of my main concerns is about how others in the room feel about me. Or being cut up by a bad car driver and arriving at the church in a bad or angry mood. Or it could be daily worries, such as finance, which is putting me down. Or worse than all these, it could be plain apathy. Moving my lips during praise but my heart isn't into worshipping God.

Yes, I am guilty. And it makes things worse to watch others praise the Lord in what appears to be with genuine affection. But I also aware that in the privacy of my own closet I kneel before and confess my shortcomings before God, including hypocrisy, not only would I be forgiven but this could be the start of real, genuine worship.

Grasshoppers? That's very Generous!

As another Friday prepares to draw to a close and the majority of working folk looking forward to the coming weekend, I settle down at home after another stint in the sauna. Alex is about to bring in the dinner. Then suddenly, Ow! Ow! Arrgh!

OH, NOT AGAIN! I thought, as I tried to shut out any images within my imagination of a racing ambulance whisking her back to hospital. Yes, its another bout of sharp pain down her spine, a frequent situation which I refer to as "having a downer" - a term I coined up myself in reference to these frequent experiences. It is these downers which lies beneath our notion of "living on a knife edge" which made up part of the title of last week's blog post.

I escorted her to the sofa where she took a variety of painkillers and I encouraged her to rest. Fortunately I had a supply of those Deep Heat pads, which is a kind of jelly within a linen liner which has that propensity to radiate heat into the skin when in contact. How comforting these are for her. And the wonders of modern medical science - a jelly-like substance which can radiate heat. Imagine that. Quite a contrast to the fruit-flavoured dessert which had to be refrigerated before I could enjoy at the table during the days of boyhood. 

Yet although my beloved had received the best of attention short from a paramedic, whilst in the kitchen, my fears and anxieties turned to that of rage. Angry at God. Angry at his apparent lack of love for us. A feeling of frustration on how much more does God seems to love other, more fortunate and better educated people - especially the middle classes - as I remember on Facebook all those photos of wedding smiles and white cloth Reception tables, undergraduates lining up in front of the camera to pose in their smart hired suit and ties, snapshots of mothers cuddling their newborn and toddlers, all of them emerging onto the laptop screen as I slowly scroll downwards. Oh, it's so easy to compare our life's downers with their joyful, happy-go-lucky way of living. I am beginning to wonder whether the sceptics had a point when they say that there is an element of emotional harm emanating from these social websites. After all, as I was already reminded, people only want everyone else to see the good things in their lives, often to entice envy, and not so much of life's shadier side. Everything is so nice on the wedding day - suits, wedding dresses, bridesmaids, flowers, wedding rings, the sumptuous Reception dinner afterwards, the multi-tiered wedding cake so beautifully decorated that the pillars between each tier gives them a resemblance to the gates of Heaven.

But once the honeymoon is over, nothing appears in Facebook of the first quarrel, a sudden loss of temper, unpaid bills, dirty dishes piling up, disagreements on what to watch on TV, frustration over the bed not made up, morning bad breath, and heaven forbid - daily stresses at work eventually leading to male erectile dysfunction in bed. No, those sort of things don't appear in Facebook. They never do.

Or in the case of the mother showing off her young. Then the deep Internet silence when it comes to constant crying, refusing to eat, more food on the bib rather than in the mouth, soiled and smelly diapers, disturbed nights. Or the case of undergraduates lining up in their identical suits, white shirts and ties. Oh so very nice. So posh and all. Too bad that they rarely - if ever - do they pose in front of the camera wearing denims with holes at the knees. And I was very surprised to see such tatty garments on sale at a Primark clothes store complete with holes and loose thread. I had to smile. I wonder how my long-deceased uncle would have reacted if I had presented myself to such a smart-conscious RAF Warrant Officer dressed like that! Little wonder that Facebook is deprived of such snapshots.

Or in the case of The Daily Mail national newspaper. Especially the online version. Just about every day, unless an Earth-shaking disaster had occurred, the headline focuses on celebrity, and in particular the daily antics of Prince Harry and his fiance Meghan Markle. Generally, I have respect for both people. But with Markle, an American actress and not fully Caucasian, I would have preferred she had married Harry's older brother William. Because Prince William is third in line for the Throne, he will eventually sit there. And I would have love to have known the nation's reaction to having a black queen sitting on her throne. But too bad. Unless a disaster of catastrophic proportions overtakes Prince Charles, his son William and grandchildren George and Charlotte, Harry and Meghan will never sit on the throne. And yet the Media loves to highlight their presence as if they will take the throne tomorrow.

And whether the right-wing newspaper has a passion for the tie, I can't really be dogmatic. However, it has in the past criticised BBC News journalists and reporters for going on air without a tie, and as the paper had put it, "Standing in front of the camera with shirts open at the neck to impress their girlfriends back at home." So uncouth. So common. And so anti-British. And on the online version of The Daily Mail, there is a celebrity column on the right margin of the page. This has aroused interest when a male celebrity appears on the prompt pictured in casual open neck shirt. For all I have to do is click on the prompt, scroll down and wait expectantly. I can guarantee that a full-length photo of the celebrity dressed in suit, shirt and tie will appear lower down on the page. And sure enough, it always does. Hence my interest in the newspaper's obsession with smartness. Smartness being equal to celebrity status, Englishness in all its glory, and just one step below royalty itself. And perceived as worthy of God's greater love.

And so I live in a nation where smart dress generates respect. And more than mere respect, reverence. Especially when celebrity reaches royal status. Like the time I was having a discussion with a devout Englishman over the death of Princess Diana in 1997. His reason was that her death was necessary to prevent her from marrying a Muslim, and therefore saving our country from having an Islamic queen as Head of State. When I questioned whether Diana was in heaven or hell, the devout Englishman was offended. Of course Diana is in heaven. She is a Royal. English royalty automatically inherits eternal life with God. And I guess this must include good old Henry VIII and his rather colourful reign. 

And so our reverential respect for royalty continues to this day and will continue into the future, no matter how loudly the republicans will protest. Perhaps that is why I find history to be so interesting. And not just British history but world history going back into ancestry. I could indeed ask: What is the difference between our nation's reverence to the Queen and the reverence shown to the Egyptian Pharaoh by his subjects? I would say that his subjects had enough reverence to build a massive pyramid to house his tomb after his death. And these builders were not slaves, as previously thought. Rather, they were paid workers, with highly skilled stonemasons among them. And during the years of pyramid construction, these workers were looked after well, including provision of housing. Yet the whole project reflected the deification of their king to the point of salvation in the afterlife for both king and citizen alike.

And the same applied to the Roman emperors. When one of these kings, Augustus Caesar in 27 BC, initiated Pax Romana, a society at last free from war and military expansion, their citizens were very grateful, yet still found it difficult to worship an abstract quality, so they proceeded to deify the Emperor. By the time Emperor Nero came along, which was during Apostle Paul's ministry, honouring him as Lord in a sense of divinity was obligatory. Either that or risk the death penalty. Christian believers were given a stark choice on who is their Lord and God: Emperor Nero or Jesus Christ of Nazareth?

And so ancient history goes. Although both Egypt and Rome are credited as historical facts, it is so unfortunate that the early chapters of Genesis are relegated to that of mythology. And amazingly enough, the Resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth is often fictionalised as well. For example, many years ago, around 1978 or 79, I read in The Sun national newspaper that Jesus of Nazareth did not die on the cross but instead fell unconscious. Believing he had died, he was taken down and placed in the tomb and its mouth sealed with a movable stone. After this, he regained consciousness and somehow managed to roll the stone from the inside of the tomb, and that despite all his injuries! Then he walked off and disappeared into some faraway country, possibly to Iraq or even Persia. And he was never seen again. And so this story was published as historic in a national newspaper. And this was the newspaper which held special honour for the great British Bulldog and imperialistic supremacy. And the six literal days of Creation? Anyone worth his salt who believes in that deserves to be ridiculed or ignored! Yet I can believe in something in addition to a literal six-day divine Creation. And that is my acceptance of the island continent of Atlantis existing before the Flood.

This began when I watched TV documentaries on sub-marine projects on our small monochrome set during my boyhood days. How I was fascinated by undersea scenery! And how divers were searching a shipwreck or working on an undersea building or repair project. And so the sea floor and its geological features and marine life became something of interest. And especially at the mid-Atlantic Ridge volcanic formation, after visiting the active crater of Mt. Etna in 1982. Since backpacking Italy and standing on the lip of an active crater, my fascination with volcanism began to grow, along with my curiosity over Atlantis, after reading about the ancient Greek philosopher Plato testifying of its past existence.

Then I could well ask: Why shouldn't Atlantis ever exist? What verifiable proof can be submitted to debunk the whole theory of its existence? And in the most convincing way? Does it pose a threat? Does it stir fear of divine judgement, just as the Flood poses a threat of divine judgement, so this Biblical catastrophe is mythologised and dismissed from history? It is something I find worth pondering.

It's thanks to Google Earth that seems to drive home the reality of this sunken island rather than to debunk it. I include this image here:

The image, although rather small here, can be examined in far greater detail and clarity on Google Earth or on Google Maps. What it shows looks like to be a vast plain crossed by a mountain range roughly resembling an archer's bow. True enough, the two tectonic plate edges meets right in the middle of the mountain range. So does the San Andreas Fault running through California, which also consists of two tectonic plates moving side by side in opposite directions from each other. I can imagine an Atlantean standing on the plain south of the mountain range, say at co-ordinates 34.28.25 degrees North and 28.57.39 degrees West. As he travels north, he will begin to see the mountain range appear above the horizon. By attempting to work out the contortion of the landscape with the help of the numeric information given by Google Earth, it looks as though the whole range has an average height of 4,450 metres approx, subject to the original height of the southern plain above sea level before the Flood.

This compares well with the height of Mt. Ararat, which is 5,137 metres high, or Mt Blanc of the European Alps, which is 4,810 metres high. According to Google Earth, the plain south of the mountain range is roughly 3,530 metres below the sea surface at its deepest point, although this varies significantly, for much of the plain is around or less than 3,000 metres below sea level. To say that the Azores Islands are the summits of the Atlantis mountain range remaining above sea level looks to be so plausible.

This seems to add verification to what the Bible says in Psalm 104:8, that the mountains rose and the valleys sank down as the Flood of Noah retreated. Even if we allow the southern plain of Atlantis sink by as much as 3,700 metres according to the Scripture, this is but an apple skin when compared to the circumference and diameter of our planet. The rising of the mountains and the sinking of the valleys are barely discernible when the surface of the Earth is seen from space. Since the Flood is debunked by modern science, it does not surprise me when the reality of Atlantis is debunked as well. Therefore I find no trouble in accepting both as historic.

So where does Atlantis and the Flood connect with Facebook images? It seems a long shot, doesn't it? It goes to show that compared to the size of our home planet, we are mere grasshoppers, according to Isaiah 40:22 and Numbers 13:33. And that is quite a generous statement. If the difference of 3,700 metres is like the thickness of an apple skin to the whole fruit when compared with the size of Earth itself, then where do we stand? Are we more like microbes? Molecules even? Or more like atoms by comparison. Really, I find it amazing how God would even notice our existence. But the reality is, not only are we created by him in his own image, but he loves us enough to send his Son as a human, to give himself as an atonement for all our sins, and to bring us into his family. If Atlantis must sink before him, and the Earth, Moon and Sun bows before him, then what significance is man made social status in relation to him?