Looking back through 2021...

Reading today's Daily Mail national newspaper, I have gotten the impression that 2021 was an awful year, they were glad to see the back of it, and left it to be forgotten. I was rather surprised to read all that, as for me, it hadn't been the worst in my life. The journalists who submitted their pieces to the newspaper's Editor focussed mainly on the pandemic. According to their line of thinking, the vaccine rollout was so rapid that, by now, it should have all but eradicated the pandemic. Instead, a full year after its initial launch, we're still wearing facemasks as the nation watches the infection rate rise to a new phenomenal level.

The lockdown, early in the year and going further back into 2020, had brought closures to our churches, affecting all live worship, from house meetings to services in huge cathedrals, thus missing out on social togetherness, or in theological definition, fellowship. It was during this period when a friend and I agreed on a social bubble, thus, he came round to our home every Sunday for lunch, followed by up to three hours of daytime TV.

After several weeks, we were all familiar with the comedy series of Mr Bean, with Rowan Atkinson as the lovable titular, who also acted as a secret agent in another series, Mr Johnny English. In this role, he plays a serious role as an agent, but his deliberate clumsiness and lack of foresight had sent us all into peals of laughter. Rowan Atkinson was then followed by Patricia Routledge in her comedy series, Keeping Up Appearances. As the wife of a typical English middle-class couple kept on trying - and failing -  to impress the neighbours of her apparent aristocratic background. Watching her becoming unstuck in her attempts kept the three of us entertained for weeks.

Rowan Atkinson as Mr Bean.

Later in the year, I was impressed by how much he enjoyed watching documentaries on a rather obscure TV commercial channel that seemed to be virtually unknown to mainstream viewers. Such a channel specialising in the history of our monarchy, along with the life of Hitler, and other similar documentaries, especially focussing on the two world wars and Britain's involvement in them. Some of these documentaries were good, a few quite boring, the latter endorsed by my friend's falling in and out of sleep during the programme.

But back in January, there was one point of disagreement between me and my bubble-mate. That was his love for naff quiz shows where a gormless contestant attempted, and usually fail, to win the top star cash prize of thousands of pounds. Such shows such as Pointless, and Celebrity Pointless, are good examples. He loves those sorts of programmes, I hated them! Therefore, shows that takes up much of Saturday evening BBC timeslots, such as The Wall, and The Wheel is enough to save on energy by keeping the TV firmly switched off.

Indeed, what's one man's meat is another man's poison may cause an argument, along with my request for him to stay away for the following week, nevertheless, 2021 was the year when I felt it to be a privilege to host someone who had nowhere else to go, and thus for him to find an escape from loneliness, as well as in need for a hug. And that applied to both of us. I needed a hug from him as much as he needed it from me. 

As for our church in Ascot, we all had to endure sixteen months of live "virtual services" on YouTube, followed by a frame of pigeonholes on Zoom. What I find most irritating was the host breaking the main pigeonhole frame into "rooms" - where I was stuck with three or four others so technically or business-minded - in others words, their talk was as exciting as watching paint dry - that I just sat there, staring at the laptop screen in silence as I tried to understand the conversation and wishing for the changeover to come quickly, while at the same time, the person I wanted to talk to was in another room. Little was I aware that I had the technology to simply switch rooms, but back then, not only was I unaware, but I considered to be rude to suddenly drop out just like that.

However, there was one feature that arose from the lockdown, the daily Zoom prayer meetings held each weekday morning for twenty minutes. During my early years of church participation, I attended the weekly prayer meeting regularly, as the venue where it was held was a short hop from home. But since I moved to the church at Ascot, attending prayer meetings were far less frequent, and during my later years, quite inconvenient, as this involved cycling in all weather conditions while not getting any younger.

Thus, the wonder of technology. Here, just a single stairway separated the bedroom from the prayer venue. I have found that participation to be edifying and actually plays a role in setting me up for the day, along with the morning Bible readings. Such a Zoom meeting had caused me to ponder how Paul the Apostle would have thought about it, and whether any mention would have appeared in his epistles. How would he react? Would he encourage us all to meet on Zoom? Or would he give the participants a good kick in the backside and tell us all to meet in person?

At last, by early Autumn, the Government's "Freedom Day" with the lifting of restrictions, has allowed us all to meet in person again. And so, after more than a year, we as a church are back together again. But without the welcoming and after-service refreshments, I mounted my bike to ride home quite hungry, and longing for the roasted chicken thighs my wife was preparing.

It was the welcoming cup of coffee or hot chocolate I missed most, just before the start of the service. After a cycle ride up that hill to reach the racecourse, nothing would be more soothing than a hot drink to warm up my insides. The worst thing about riding in cold weather is that I feel obliged to wear a coat to keep the chilly wind off my chest. After arrival at the venue, my shirt under the coat has dampened with sweat. Then I enter the meeting room, a spacious upstairs restaurant converted into a cold wind tunnel.

Old Paddock Restaurant, where our church meets

It was still obligatory to keep the windows of all public meeting venues open, or at least ajar so that any virus-infected air can waft out. However, our meeting place happens to have a row of windows on each side of the room. Thus, opening the windows on both sides whilst we all faced towards the south makes an ideal tunnel for the predominant westerly wind to blow straight through the building, chilling my wet tee-shirt and forcing me, and others around me, to keep their thick overcoats on throughout the whole service. There was even one gentleman dressed in a woollen scarf in addition to his coat, as if out on a Polar expedition. But at least, throughout the Autumn, wearing a mask wasn't mandatory anymore, but the Elders still encouraged us all to wear a mask during worship.

That is until the wearing of the mask became mandatory again in all shops and other enclosed public spaces, including churches, just a couple of weeks before Christmas. This was due to the sudden rise in the number of infections from the new Omicron variant of Covid. This I found so frustrating, so annoying! After lining up for ninety minutes to receive my booster jab at our local surgery a few weeks earlier, suddenly, we're back at square one, with Christmas under threat of another cancellation, the re-introduction of restrictions in Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland sweeping the New Year celebrations under the carpet and jeopardising many hospitality businesses. Not to mention the re-introduction of mandatory mask-wearing.

However, I can't help but feel more optimistic than I did at this time last year. As it stands, more than half of all adults over twelve years of age are not only double-jabbed but have also received their booster. In theory, this should provide a reasonably strong wall of immune resistance, or herd immunity, against this variant. So far, despite the very high rate of infections, the numbers of those in hospitals from the virus remain very low, and deaths even lower. To add to this, it's been reported that this variant is weaker in causing severe illness than its predecessors, despite that it spreads at a faster rate. And so the South African authorities tell us. Yet, our own scientists were too cautious to believe them.

In all, for me, 2021 hadn't been too bad a year. True enough, our health was constantly monitored. For example, my beloved had to attend our local GP surgery to receive her monthly jab of hormone restraint to prevent any more malignant cells from forming after suffering from cancer in 2018. The jab is inserted into her lower abdomen. Within the last few months, she had suffered intense pain in her lower abdomen. We didn't know what it was. So, on one very severe case, I called 999 for an ambulance. But, due to the pandemic, no ambulance was immediately available and we were instructed to make our own way to A&E at Frimley Park Hospital.

With a total of £25 out of pocket after using the taxi for transport, we ended up in the minors waiting room, where we waited for quite some hours while we kept her pain under control with both morphine and Ibuprofen. At last, she was called into the Radiology dept, a posh name for the X-ray room. After exposure, it was decided that she would have a proper scan to find what's causing her intense belly pain.

But that was not due until the following morning. Therefore, she was kept overnight. I left the hospital on my own to board a bus for a free ride home (I had a pensioner's bus pass, and now being on my own, I didn't want to spend more on another taxi.) It started to rain. And I knew that very soon my roof would begin leaking, with the rainwater dripping into the two buckets I placed in the loft back in August.

The bus arrived. I jumped on board. Then it began to head the wrong way, towards the town centre instead of towards home. I spoke to the driver. I was informed that I took the wrong bus. Just then, the one I should have taken passed by on the other side. I alighted at the next bus stop and made a dash back to the hospital. Its bus stop was deserted. I had no option but to wait for the next one, the very last one for the night. Even then, after changing busses at Camberley, due to a road closure in the outskirts of my home town, I had to alight at an earlier stop and walk the last couple of miles home in the rain.

Ah! It all goes to show that attempting to save money isn't a brilliant idea after all. That is unless you pay proper attention to the destination name scrolled on the front of the bus instead of gazing excitingly at the bus itself. However, by the following morning, she had her scan, and nothing amiss was seen. She didn't have appendicitis, as one of the doctors first suggested. The source of her pain remained a mystery to everyone.

Then, at a recent appointment at a health centre in Aldershot, the doctor who discharged her previously confirmed that there was nothing physically wrong. It was then when I brought up the suggestion that, after noticing a corollary over several months between her hormone jabs and her intense pain, I made a cautious suggestion to the doctor that her jabs could be the cause of the problem. Much to my surprise, the doctor didn't fob me off, as I was expecting, but instead, he heeded my input. At this moment, I'm hoping that the monthly dosage is now under review, and I hope to receive news of some changes in her treatment.

Frimley Park Hospital

And oh, yes, the roof leak. It was my wife Alex who discovered that on one evening when it rained heavily, she saw water literally dripping from the ceiling of our daughter's bedroom, causing the Artex to bubble. The water ran down the wall and soaked the carpet, indicating that the leak was ongoing for a good while.

At first, I was in a state of panic. I read up on the tenancy repairs to find the appropriate phone number. Much to my surprise, the roof leak was not classed as an emergency. The next day, I made a phone booking, only to be told that, due to a shortage of roof workers, it will be several weeks before anyone would call to inspect the damage!

Therefore, I made my way to my garage where my old window cleaning ladders were stored, and I took one of them and hoisted it into the house via the upstairs bedroom window. I found a spare bucket in the garden and placed it at the appropriate spot in the loft - right under where I can see the source of the dripping.

Great! I'll beat this once and for all!

I didn't have to wait long before it rained again, courtesy of our British summer weather. And again, the rainwater started to drip through my daughter's bedroom ceiling.

In a state of near-panic, I climbed fully into the loft to see why this was happening. Only then did I notice a second source of the dripping. Fortunately, there was a large plastic container tucked away in one of the kitchen cupboards. I wasn't even aware we had it. I took it and placed it in the loft under the second source of the dripping, which was almost right next to the first container. The bedroom dripping stopped, and the ceiling, wall, and carpet dried out completely, even with further rainfall.

Five months later, we're still waiting for the repair. We already had an inspection and our problem was taken seriously. But with a shortage of roofers, heaven knows how long this wait will be. But having everything under control makes all the difference.

2021 was quite a year.

With that, I wish you all a happy New Year for 2022.

Hiking Experience Versus University.

Facebook can be either a spiritual edifier or a psychological destroyer! Either to make the browser feel good about himself from numerous responses of "likes" - or the social site can make him feel negative about himself. In my case, whenever I post photos of places I had visited, or of us as a couple, I would be lucky if I get more than a dozen "likes". But if another couple were to appear on the site - especially the middle class and both well-educated, such a post can collect hundreds of "likes" along with a thread of complimentary comments trailing the photograph.

However, how surprised I must have felt when I posted just three scenic photos! As this is written, more than 1.5k likes were assigned to my poster. This makes the poster having the highest number of "likes" attained of all time.

As such, why? What's so special about this particular entry is that it can collect more than 125 times the number of "likes" than my average entry? Simply this. Those three pics are shared among members of like-interest, The American Southwest Group. Their general response is, Yea! I've been there. I recognise that location! Hence the high popularity.

I have reposted these three here on this blog. Being my own photos which I took myself, whilst at the location as far as I'm aware, there's no breach of copyright.

Facing downstream at Bright Angel Creek. Taken 1995.

The name "Bright Angel Creek" is also given to the side canyon within the creek flows to the main Colorado River, and also where the North Kaibab Trail snakes along from Phantom Ranch to the North Rim. The ranch is a cluster of huts, each containing several beds, where I spent the night in 1978, and again in 1995. Lining the creek are rows of Cottonwood Trees, along with other shrubs. As the whole of the Grand Canyon National Park is defined as a desert, the waterway certainly provides an oasis of vegetation lining its banks. This brings to my mind, Jeremiah 17:7-8, where the Old Testament prophet writes that anyone who trusts in God is like a tree planted by the water and sends its roots by the stream, and will never suffer from the drought but remains fruitful throughout.

One of the other two pics is of the Colorado River flowing through the Grand Canyon. Taken from what's properly called Riverside Trail, it's the extension of Bright Angel Trail that snakes from the South Rim, with its trailhead at Grand Canyon Village itself. The scene is dominated by Zoroaster Temple Butte, the limestone pinnacle resting on sandstone "shoulders" and looks down at the river, with Brahmans Temple Butte next to it. The trail crosses Silver Bridge (the one nearer the camera) to join the South Kaibab Trail on the approach to Phantom Ranch. The trail continues on as the North Kaibab Trail - eventually arriving at the North Rim, hence the whole of the Rim-to-Rim trail system is appropriately known as the Corridor.

The Grand Canyon consist of two canyons, one inside the other, the Outer Gorge and the Inner Gorge. This fascinating phenomenon was formed by the faster erosion of the softer sandstone, shale and limestone strata lying on top of the harder granite bedrock which has a slower erosion rate. Therefore, between the outer and the inner rims, there is a ledge halfway down the Canyon, known as the Tonto Plateau. It's on this plateau where Indian Gardens is located, through where the Bright Angel Trail passes and serves as a camping ground and a rest stop, complete with a water bottle refill tap for hikers.

The original plateau through which the whole of the Grand Canyon cuts is the Kaibab Plateau. The plane is not quite level but slants towards the south. Therefore, with rainwater flowing southward towards and into the Canyon, they erode the North Rim at a faster rate as the water flows towards it. Also, due to the sloping plane, at 8,000 feet, 2,438 metres, the North Rim is around 800 feet, approx 244 metres, higher than the South Rim. With the rainwater flowing away from the Canyon South Rim, its rate of erosion is slower. Therefore, with the South Rim being closer to the River than the North Rim, the view from the south side of the chasm gives that spectacular view of the great North Tonto features that make up the most popular and famous postcard views.

And also the view from Indian Gardens on the South Tonto Plateau. From here, the trail hiker can make out the Buddha Temple Butte directly ahead. I now affectionally refer to it as the cousin of Zoroaster Temple for its similarity to it, consisting of a white limestone pinnacle topping red sandstone "shoulders". To be honest, as a hiker myself, the near-identical features confused me. But by studying my own photography, along with the trail maps, I became aware of the two rocky buttes, one on each side of the Bright Angel Canyon and both on the North Tonto Plateau. To the west, Cheops Pyramid stands out - a large "rooftop" of stratified rock, with Isis Temple Butte poking out from behind it as seen from the trail.

View of Colorado River from Riverside Trail - 1995.

I recall the evening I spent at South Rim after the completion of the 1995 hike. The pattern of the receding sunlight and the patterns and shapes of the shadows thrown by the buttes, pinnacles and other rock formations gives the whole scenery such a dramatic source for the artist's pleasure. From Battleship Rock just off the South Rim, the evening shadow throws an outline resembling a profile of a female's face. Not surprising, this phenomenon is named "Eve's Shadow" - the only name taken from the Bible among all other names taken from Eastern religions.

Perhaps you may be asking: Why have I gone into such detail about the Grand Canyon? Indeed, hiking through the chasm is a fascinating experience in itself. But during both the 1978 and the 1995 hikes, I knew little about the Canyon. But by completing the hike successfully, the whole of the natural feature had a hold on me, so to speak, and opened up a desire to learn about it, even on the geological side, and arrived at the conclusion that the water-laid sedimentary rock layers are the result of the Biblical Flood rather than that of Uniformitarian geology spanning millions of years.

Combining experience with knowledge certainly enhances the experience, including the photo album I now have. Oh, the wonder of the human mind to learn and retain knowledge long after leaving school and well into old age. I guess, to possess learning heightens respect for the student, thus making him become more of a necessity to society. After all, take our National Health Service. If it wasn't for doctors and nurses training to meet the grade, human longevity would be much shorter, with illnesses of all kinds blighting practically everyone.

But for many years I have wondered whether a graduate enjoys a more fulfilled life than one who has only a mediocre level of education. And so, earlier in the week, just before the beginning of the Zoom morning prayer, a couple of different people online shared their work experiences, thus giving an impression of a richer, more fulfilled life.

Mark has gotten a new job that will involve him working for a small Christian airline somewhere in Africa. Paul is due to set off to Sudan to contribute to a project, thus bypassing the British Winter. After many sumptuous details of their forthcoming opportunities, I thought about my wife's poor health and I felt my spirit drop, and I cried out why is that some people, especially graduates, have such enviable lives while others fight for their own existence?

I then gave examples of the latter by quoting those living in the valleys up North where, after a spell of heavy rain, the river burst its banks and flood surrounding homes and businesses, with water rising up more than a metre above the carpeted floor and rendering the owners homeless and the business, such as a pub, defunct. Or the malnourished in third world countries who have no idea where the next meal will come from. Then I cried out, Why, oh why, O God, is there so much unfairness?

Then one of our elders answered that we have no right to ask God Why. He is God and therefore He is sovereign. This gives me the idea that God will have mercy on whom He will have mercy and compassion on whom He will have compassion (Romans 9:15.)

Not at all edifying! This gives me the impression that God loves some people more than others. And especially favouring grads more than non-grads! And what happened on the same day? My beloved went down with severe pain in her lower belly and since an ambulance wasn't available for six hours after the call, I asked a neighbour whether he was willing to whisk us to the hospital. Once we arrived, she was allowed to bypass a queue waiting outside of A&E and we were allowed to report straight to Reception.

For more than twelve hours, I sat as if in vigil beside my wife as we waited for the doctor to arrive. After so much time spent waiting - an entire night without a wink of sleep - she was finally admitted to a hospital ward. And now, as I write this, the feeling of loneliness dominates my soul. Loneliness with fear of the future, along with the knowledge that my dearest beloved is once again suffering in hospital.

The futures of both Mark and Paul looks bright and glittering while ours looks very sombre. Where is my beloved's poor health leading us to? The very thought of widowhood brings terror! According to the latest update, she's lying in pain in her bed and a label above her head reads, Nil by mouth. That sounds serious!

To be a member of a church brings advantages. All I had to do was phone a couple of friends and tell them the situation. Not only they are willing to pray for us, but with my request, they, in turn, phone others they know. A prayer net is formed out of willing and compassionate supporters. And the net will include our elders.

Looking North from Indian Gardens.

Does God love some people more than others?

Does God have favour with graduates above others not so well educated?

No! No! No! If that was true, then the Lord would have ruled out all His disciples except Paul!

In addition, the famed verse, John 3:16 would be invalid, along with Romans 10:9-13, Acts 17:30 where Peter says that God commands all men everywhere to repent and be saved, and 2 Peter 3:9 where the apostle writes that the Lord is patient, not willing that anyone should perish, but all come to repentance. Salvation is open to everyone.

The Grand Canyon is a splendour of God's work of art. The sheer wonder of God's power. And such natural structures testify of God's judgement and His salvation by grace.

And no number of "likes" could ever match that!

A Shock at a London Hotel

At last! A getaway after months of pandemic lockdown. And this includes staying overnight at a London hotel before boarding the mainline train that will depart for North Wales at mid-morning of the following day. The idea of staying at a hotel overnight within the vicinity of the London terminus was borrowed from one of our church elders, who did just that before boarding the Eurostar train to Marseille a few years ago. It saves a lot of stress in having to first travel to London to catch our train. After all, a red light on our own railway line from our hometown of Bracknell to London Waterloo could miss our mainline train out of Euston.

However, pushing a wheelchair with my partially disabled wife and a stack of overloaded luggage has made travel on the London Underground impractical. Therefore, we walked all the way across London from Waterloo Station to the Premier Inn Euston Hotel, about an hour's walk covering 2.5 miles - that is, on our known shortest route via Westminster Bridge, Whitehall, Charing Cross Road, and Tottenham Court Road. But this time we had to divert to protect ourselves.

This was due to the massive crowd of noisy England supporters, just a few hours before the England/Italy European Championship final kick-off. The crowd blocked off St Martins Place simply by sheer numbers, so we had to divert through Pall Mall East, then up Haymarket. But as we turned towards Leicester Square to join Charing Cross Road, someone approached and strongly advised us to continue through Chinatown instead, as there was trouble at Leicester Square, with bottles being thrown by the rioting England fans. It was rather scary, coming to think of it. We managed to rejoin Charing Cross Road via Lisle Street and Little Newport Street - the backstreets of the city which were free of marauding football fans.

The massive crowd of fanatics was very daunting! I dared not mention or even hint about my preference for Italy to win - after all, I grew up in an Italian family, and I'm a full-blood Italian - just a  right kind of target for a lynching, maybe. But I was intrigued by the way they behaved - as if the game was already over and the Cup was firmly in their hands. The air was filled with English optimism and certainty.

We arrived at our pre-booked hotel and checked in. The tariff included room and breakfast. Soon afterwards, my beloved and I celebrated the start of our holiday with a slap-up meal at an in-house restaurant. After this, we returned to our room to watch the match on TV. The kick-off seemed to have coincided with the sidewalks of Euston Road becoming a lot quieter and the busy traffic had stopped tooting their horns.

And the street remained quiet throughout the rest of the night. Could this be that, instead of England thrashing Italy, as the fans were expecting, Italy won the European Championships through a penalty shootout after a 1-1 draw?

It wasn't long after the end of the match before Police sirens wailed past our hotel window. Yes, as expected, scuffles broke out among disappointed fans in the central heart of the city. As we snuggled up to each other in bed, I was glad that the potentially dangerous walk from Waterloo to Euston was long completed, and we were away and protected from any ugly scenes. 

As thoughts crossed my mind, I have pondered on what the percentage ratio between Brexiteers and Remainers were at that wild crowd. Indeed, as we approached Trafalgar Square earlier that day, two songs were chanted at different locations. One was Sweet Caroline, a sixties hit by Neil Diamond, and the other was the National Anthem. It was the latter song glorifying the Queen that made me ponder that the majority of these England football fans - almost entirely consisting of white males ranging between 18-35 years of age - were mainly Brexiteers. Ah! Their love of Royalty and their long-enduring spirit of Empire oozing optimism for national glory, thus raising their certainty that the European Trophy is already in their hands.

Another worry arose when considering the spreading of the virus. Among the commotion, hardly a facemask was seen among them. And that despite a YouGov poll indicating that more than 60% of the UK population will carry and wear a mask in shops, public transport, and other enclosed spaces after "Freedom Day" of July 19th. Perhaps, will the remaining 40% or less, who will refuse to wear a mask - be England football fans? 

The following morning, while I was still bathing in the glory of the previous evening's Italian win, I asked Alex to take out my morning medicine container. Living with heart failure means taking a horde of prescribed drugs every day for life. The morning meds consist of Bisoprolol, Bumetanide, Spironolactone, and Statins. Then the evening dosages consist of Warfarin and Losartan. Having left my beloved to deal with all the packing before we left our home, I left all my medicine in her care. Therefore, it shouldn't have been a problem to dig one of the cases out from the rucksack. 

All my meds are stored in these versatile plastic nesting storage cases, each with a seal-easy lid. They were a gift to us from our PhD friend Andrew, and they proved to be very useful for medicine storage. One container held the morning meds, a second held the evening meds, and a third contained further stocks of Warfarin and Losartan for future use. To my horror and hers's too, we had discovered that she had accidentally packed the third tub instead of the first one. I was without my morning dosages of Bisoprolol, Spironolactone and Bumetanide, that is, my beta-blockers and essential diuretics, a must-have for normal day-to-day living. They were left back at home while we were about to board our train at Euston.

It was Alex who thought on the solution to this serious problem while my own mind remained dumb as if paralysed with shock. Having already paid for breakfast, the restaurant was where I wanted to go, assuming that I can cope for a few days without the beta-blockers. With tears in her eyes, she pleaded with me to visit a nearby hospital for emergency restocks of the medicines. To me, this carried the risk of missing our train. Therefore, I was hesitant as we made our way to the hotel restaurant.

Due to Covid, a queue had formed at the restaurant door. It remained stationary, as only one or two people were allowed in whenever a table became free. It would take a long while before being seated. There were several people in front of us, including other couples and families. Suddenly, I came to my senses. 

Let's go to the hospital. If we miss the train, there's always another one. Our tickets are valid.

About 400 metres from the hotel, give or take, stands the University College Hospital, which was almost directly opposite the station. From the instructions given at Main Reception, I was directed to the Accident & Emergency, and there, I explained the dire situation I found myself in. Much to my surprise, I was taken seriously, and I was amazed that my name, DoB, my home address, and prescription list, all appearing on their computer screen, so far away from home. After registration, I was told to wait at the cubicle section for the doctor to arrive.

UCH, Euston Road, London. Stock Photo.

While I was waiting, my worries about whether we would catch our train or not were mentally blocked out by quoting aloud Romans 8:28:-

For we know that all things work for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose.

I repeated the verse to Alex over and over again, emphasising all things rather than just good things.

And it was here when things took a turn. There was a single cubicle to my left with frosted glass doors both closed, thus blocking any view from outside. But from those doors came the sound of a young woman screaming. She screamed and screamed, and I began to imagine what Hell must be like. I quickly began to lay aside any concerns about my own medicine, the train, and the rest of the holiday, as her shrill screaming continued, and I felt my emotions rise. Whatever treatment she was receiving must have had an effect of some kind, as her screaming eventually subsided, as if given a strong sedative to make her fall asleep.

With my heart feeling distressed over such a scenario, I began to pray for her. With all my heart, I pleaded on her behalf to bring her to full healing and wholeness, and also to touch her heart with His love and mercy, as He did to us.

Eventually, I was moved to the A&E waiting room, and not long after, the doctor called my name. As he was leading me to his office, I became frustrated as one fellow member of staff after another, stopping him to ask for or to discuss something, thus delaying the process further.

At last, he signed off for the replacement medicine, and he then instructed me to go to the Pharmacy to collect my meds. Using the number system at the Pharmacy, I was given a ticket. But as time went on, other patients with higher numbers were served their prescriptions whilst I just sat and waited - and waited. Meanwhile, the clock was telling me that it wasn't long before our train departed.

Eventually, I rose and asked what's going on and why I was apparently overlooked. I received an apology from the staff member responsible. He explained that one of the ordered prescriptions wasn't in stock and he had to wait for its arrival. At last, after a prolonged wait, we walked out of the hospital, wheeling Alex's wheelchair, back to the hotel to vacate our room, both of us leaving the hotel with empty stomachs.

We made our way to the station platform. At last, we hastily boarded the train just moments before it pulled out! Through our haste in boarding, (Alex was able to climb out of her wheelchair and into the train unaided and we loaded everything on board without further assistance) we found ourselves in First Class, whilst holding Standard tickets.

The female conductor was amazed how we managed to board the train with a wheelchair without assistance. After giving further thought, she allowed us to remain in the First Class carriage without further payment for upgrading.

The train flew through one station after another on the LWCR mainline service to Manchester, with the first stop at Crewe, where we would change trains for Chester and the North Coast of Wales, where our journey would end at Llundudno. While we were sitting so comfortably in the First Class compartment, my thoughts kept returning to that poor woman left behind at the UCH. Why, oh why, must such a person, with much of her life still in front of her, suffer in such manner - whilst Alex and I were sitting in a luxury coach of a train?

Why her, when everyone around was getting on with their business? Those screams! I bet she would be more than keen to swap her place with ours. Those screams played on my mind, and I kept on pleading to God for her and on her behalf. That is, having never actually seen her, let alone holding her hand in compassionate reassurance.

Then I began to ponder: Was this all coincidence? Or rather, the whole plan working for good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose? Did God allow my beloved to err in packing? Yet, I never felt any anger or annoyance for her mistake. Instead, as I saw a tear run down her cheek, All I felt was reassurance for her that everything will work out. Alex's mistake was an easy one to make. It could have been made by anyone.

I have come to believe that God wanted me to be at the hospital at that particular moment to intercede on behalf of someone in distress. Personally, I feel that was a privilege - to be used by God when actually, He didn't need me, yet He used me anyway. Whether that's true or not, I'll let the reader decide. But I don't believe in blind chance. The only way to get me into the hospital was through not having the appropriate medicine to meet my needs. 

I'm aware that any unbeliever, atheist, or sceptic, reading this will think all this is nonsense. But for one whose rush to catch a train was drowned out by a stronger desire to intercede for someone in awful distress - surely, this must be a work of God, for it overcomes human nature. 

Whatever outcome all this is, I hope that this poor female will recover quickly from whatever ailment is causing such suffering.

Meanwhile, let me say that Alex and I had a wonderful holiday at Llandudno, on the north coast of wales. The resort is on a narrow peninsula, therefore it boasts two beaches. The sea rolling onto the rather ugly and uninviting North Beach had jellyfish, loads of them! Therefore I was put off swimming there, but nevertheless, enjoyed our romantic evening strolls along the bay, with the Great Orme set in a dramatic sunset. The sandy West Beach, backed by a quiet residential estate, was in my opinion, the better of the two, with a dramatic view of the Snowdonia Mountains on the far side of the Conway River estuary. Despite the far fewer jellyfish swimming here and there, I had a good swim in the sea whilst minding the jellyfish.

Llandudno North Beach at high tide, stock photo.

I'm also very pleased to announce that Alex's health remained stable throughout the whole holiday, especially whilst we were on the train in both directions. I feel that all this was a blessing from God.

One Glorious Proclamation!

 And so the scientists have spoken, our Government ministers have listened to them. No, the present one-size-fits-all national lockdown wasn't enough, according to these great academics. And that despite the Coronavirus infection rate is falling just about everywhere, which had started doing before the start of the lockdown. When this lockdown ends in the middle of the coming week, instead of breathing a sigh of relief and celebrating the return of something resembling normality, instead, the whole of England - except for Cornwall and a couple of offshore islands - will enter the 2nd and 3rd tier restrictions. This is just another lockdown but with a different name.

London under lockdown - Westminster Bridge.

Never mind the high probability that those who live in the neighbouring Devon city of Plymouth could cross the River Tamar into Cornwall for a drink at the first pub they come across - unless border controls resembling the old Checkpoint Charlie of the East/West Berlin frontier will be installed, complete with barbed wire and soldiers patrolling with guns - the ease with which the crossing is made could tempt anyone who has a car or even a cheap train ticket to make the crossing. After all, the view from the two bridges over the river is quite spectacular.

Then there will be cases of a small, isolated village trapped into Tier Three, the band with the severest restrictions, simply because it would be lumped with cities such as Manchester, some 25 miles away. At the same time, London gets away with Tier Two, a lesser restrictive band. After all, these City executives and slickers must be given all priorities to go about their business. After all, the entire British economy rests on their shoulders, does it not? Never mind that the virus could have a field day in a busy office, a crowded underground train or coffee bar.

All this makes me wonder whether wearing a facemask in enclosed public spaces such as a shop, train, taxi or bus, had really been a valuable asset. According to my observations, whenever I'm out and about, to take a glimpse of someone without a mask in an enclosed space is so rare, that I have a greater chance of being struck by lightning than seeing a maskless face. At least all this is where I live, in the Bracknell Forest area. Maybe there are other towns and cities where mask-wearing hadn't taken such a hold, hence allowing the virus to spread.

If there are any cries of protest going on, then the deafening silence I find overwhelming! Then again, this is Britain, the land of stoicism and submissive obedience - even to the point of banning hugs, handshakes, and yes, board games on Christmas Day, and the encouragement to wear a facemask whilst over the cooking stove or watching TV, while at the dinner table, each one should be given a place name and sit at his assigned seat, well away from the next person. If the large table happens to resemble the outline of Great Britain - something you see every day, of course - then sitting at coastal towns such as Brighton, Bournemouth, Plymouth, Blackpool, or Skegness would all be feasible. But trying to sit at inland places such as Birmingham, Manchester or even London could present a problem - the latter which not even the Thames Estuary would be able to solve!

Am I making all this up? Er - No. This seating arrangement according to geographical locations was a proposal put forward by one of the Government's scientists, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if our ministers look upon such a proposal with favour. After all, we must all play our part in keeping the virus from spreading. Not to mention the pro-lockdown crowd who accuse the rest of us as wimps, and feel obliged to compare the loss of our freedoms to our grandfather's compulsory call up to fight in World War II more than eighty years previously.

I sit and rest my head in my open palms. How much longer will this insanity go on? Until the Spring next year? Here I should make myself clear. I could be referred at as a Lockdown Sceptic, or if you like, a Covidiot. However, that is quite different from a Covid Sceptic, one who believes the virus doesn't exist. Rather, I'm fully aware that it does exist. Oh, I know that our ministers mean well. Personally, I'm sure that Boris Johnson, our Prime Minister, imposes such rules with a heavy, reluctant heart. It's the scientists who dream up all these rules and proposes them, to whom the onus ought to fall.

And so, to add to the stress, within the last two weeks, my wife and I had to pay for a taxi ride to an out-of-hours GP surgery for her to submit to a blood test. Her sample was sent to a hospital lab for analysis to see whether she can receive a special medicine through an intravenous dose - Zoledronic Acid. The benefit of this clear fluid is to strengthen her bones which might have been weakened by her cancer tumour. Zoledronic Acid can have some severe side-effects, which her neurological condition could well amplify, that is, intense muscle pain, possibly with flu-like symptoms.

Therefore I had a very heavy heart at the thought of her taking the dose, fearing the possible consequence. Listening to her scream in agonising pain is no novelty, such as happened in the past, yet I need to go with the flow. Therefore, with a reluctant heart, Alex and I took another taxi to Frimley Park Hospital, where, in a large ward-like room filled with other patients, all receiving the same treatment, Alex settled in. No sooner had the catheter had been inserted into her arm and the drip-feed began when her back flared up into intense pain, causing quite a scene in the otherwise quiet but busy ward.

Doctors and nurses flocked around my beloved, and I was questioned about her medical past. Her procedure was aborted, and while she afterwards lay on the bed within a side room, the doctors will have to decide the next move, to discuss whether she is still suitable for the dose. If so, then she would be called back in due course for a second attempt.

A catheter.

Did I have a premonition that something was about to go wrong? I was very unhappy about the dose of Zoledronic Acid, a feeling I did not have for any of her other treatments - the mastectomy itself, followed by a course of chemotherapy, then by her radiotherapy course and the daily transport problems which came with it. Neither any doubt about the hormone pills she presently takes. By the time all these were behind us, I felt hopeless, powerless and adrift in spirit. The next morning I joined a Zoom prayer meeting with other members of Ascot Life Church and I shared with them everything which occurred on the previous day. One of the Elders suggested that for some reason we are not aware of, God had interceded by causing her back to flare up and so, abort the dose.

I guess it's the Romans 8:28 ethic - which we know that all things work for good for those who love God and is called according to his purpose - all things, not just good things. Her sudden back pain might have saved her from a much worse condition which might have demanded hospitalisation for heaven knows how long.

We had a TV-free evening on that day and so we tuned into YouTube. We came across some videos under the title Our Daily Bread, and one series was presented by Dr Con Campbell, a devout Christian. He shot a series of videos tracing the life and journeys of the apostle Paul. It was essentially a Travel series, detailing some of the cities Paul stopped at, including Ephesus, with the ruin of its classic library, along with the Greek amphitheatre where a riot took place as a result of Paul's crusade. Both are still reasonably intact. As for the great Temple of Artemis, one of the largest in the ancient world, only one lonely column remains standing on swampy ground. The rest of the temple had vanished. Being into Travel myself, this series I found to be very edifying, as he diverts his devotion from the life of the apostle to Jesus Christ himself, with the Gospel of salvation thrown into his narration from time to time.

It was after the video had finished and Alex went upstairs to bed, by clicking onto the home page, a short extract from the atheist Alex O'Connor came up. The short clip, lasting about seven minutes, was about his denial of the Resurrection as history. O'Connor, or Cosmic Skeptic by username, was the highly successful graduate and full-time YouTuber with whom I had the privilege to meet in person and talk to in Oxford back in February. 

I checked through his comment forum under his video, There were many comments, but all of them fully agreeing with him in his stance against Christ and the Gospel. What a contrast between O'Connor and Dr Campbell! But I didn't allow the atheist's reasoning to bother me. Instead, I added my own comment to the forum:

Jesus of Nazareth: He has risen. HE HAS RISEN INDEED!

I went into the kitchen feeling jubilant, a vivid contrast to how I felt throughout the week. Jesus is alive. He has risen from the dead, proving He is the Christ and guaranteeing my salvation. I called out, Jesus has risen! Jesus has risen! Jesus has risen! Suddenly, I felt some kind of release from my fears, worries and anxieties. Jesus has risen. That is the centre point of everything in life.

Bringing the reality of Christ's Resurrection into daily reality is helping me cope better with our present Coronavirus situation and with our health as well. Yes, living with heart failure means trips for me to the hospital as well, like next week's visit for a cardio scan. But knowing the Resurrection of Jesus Christ of Nazareth I found to be a boost for morale.

But does that mean that I didn't believe in the Resurrection before then? Yes, of course, I did, as faith in the Resurrection is absolutely vital for a rebirth of the spirit. But this was a reminder as if God was saying, look, I'm here. My Son Jesus of Nazareth is alive, and this must be central to everything in your life.

Well at least someone read my comment, for he replied with the words:

HE HAS RISEN INDEAD.

It just goes to show how O'Connor and his follower's embracing of Darwin's evolutionary theories is absolutely exclusive with faith in Jesus Christ. As one who is wholehearted committed to Divine Creation as described in the first two chapters of Genesis, how easy this fits in with the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

The Resurrection of Jesus Christ. The very proof of Him being God, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. The Jewish Messiah, the one who came to fulfil the Promise made by God to our first parents as well as the expectation of the Jews. And here is something of a mystery for all who deny the reality. That is, close to two thousand years after the event, we are still talking about it. Surely, had it never happened, such an issue would never have arisen.

Indeed, as one example, at least I'm aware that Pythagoras existed and he was the one who worked out that the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal to the square root of the other two sides added together, eg, if side A is 4cm, side B is 3cm, then (4x4)+(3x3)= √25=5cm. This brilliant Greek discovered that regardless of the size of the right-angled triangle, the theorem is always the same. Another example, let's say, side A is 12cm, side B is 8cm, therefore the hypotenuse is (12x12)+(8x8)= √208=14.42cm approx.

The longest side is the Hypotenuse.

Pythagoras' theorem works well, indeed, professions such as architects and engineers can benefit well by using it, but no temples, churches or shrines were ever built to honour or worship him. Yet he died and has been dead for the last 2,500 years, yet we know about him to this day. So far, like all other humans deceased, he's still awaiting his resurrection. The very fact that a church building is easily found across the Western World (including Israel) testifies that something special must be attributed to Jesus of Nazareth. So far, He's the only human to have risen physically from the dead. So far, nobody else ever had, and I take it that after two millennia, we are still celebrating the event every Spring. How can the atheist be so blind?

Maybe as a lockdown sceptic, I'm asking whether this two-tier restriction farce is sensible. Maybe I'm as blind to Science, especially in virology, as the atheist is blind to the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.

A Word of Encouragement...

In many ways, I can be thankful for being a UK citizen, having been born here, even from wholly Italian parents who were both post-war immigrants. For example, we have the National Health Service, or the NHS, a free-to-the-point-of-use institution readily available to offer treatment to all kinds of illness, disease and infirmities. And we live under a democracy, a system where all its governing policies are directed by the will of the people, in direct contrast to a top-down dictatorship. And we enjoy the freedom of religion, unlike in Islamic countries where if someone was to differ in opinion would result in flogging, imprisonment or even a death penalty.

But no country is perfect as, in a fallen world, such idealist perfectionism cannot exist. And as such, for example, our densely-populated land contributes to air and sea pollution, mainly from transport and discarded waste, which many say is adding to climate change. But at least, on the good side, there is always a shop nearby (or in my case, two superstores) where groceries and other essentials can be bought and stocked up. And water, fuel and electric power are as easy to use as turning on a tap or plugging into a socket. And a more recent innovation is the Internet, with which I'm now able to express my thoughts into worldwide public readership, which was nothing but a dream, a product of wishful thinking only up to a generation ago. 

But does all this really make us feel happy and content? No doubt, many are happy. But anyone can feel sad, lonely, depressed, helpless, even if their homes are well-stocked with everything they need and their bank balance is reasonably healthy. As one U.S. medical doctor once wrote, most illnesses and diseases, including cancer and heart failure, are caused initially by excess stress, worry, fear, hatred, bitterness, resentment, and prolonged anger. If all this is true, and this doctor received plenty of support from his colleagues across America, then it's no wonder that over here, the NHS has been stretched to its limits throughout the past few years.

Like one recent afternoon when my beloved developed a severe, stabbing pain at her chest region, close to where she had cancer. It was not long after her chemotherapy treatment had ended, and we both suspected that this pain may be connected with her cancer treatment. So an ambulance was called and she was taken to the Accident and Emergency (A&E) department of the same hospital where she was being treated for her cancer. I was horrified when we were confronted with a long line of gurneys lining the corridor leading to the Majors cubicles, all of them each occupied by a patient waiting to be seen and treated. Therefore, it was several hours before she was seen by a consultant, although much praise goes to the team of nurses who looked after all the patients in the queue whilst waiting.

Of course, if an elderly lady or gent fell down the stairs and fractured a bone in doing so, that does not mean that the patient was in any negative mood at the time of the accident. He or she could have been in a more jovial mood before the fall. But I couldn't help thinking that the majority of patients in that queue are there as a result of an initial upset mind, some of them stretching over many years. Fortunately for my wife, the cause of the pain was not too serious and wasn't connected with the cancer treatment.

And so, it's this present Coronavirus pandemic which has, in a way, brought me to my senses on how fortunate we all are compared to previous generations. To read or to hear that several hundred more had died of the disease each day is very distressing. For the rest of us who might have had a very mild form of the illness, along with those who haven't had it (yet) - the suppression of our personal freedom is something of a culture shock. To be told by the Government to stay indoors and not travel to the coast or to a national park, especially under a burst of warm Spring sunshine, is certainly not the British way of living! Neither is the long queue outside the superstore doors or to stand or sit not less than two metres apart. Thus, a friendly or respectful handshake, let alone a hug, is seen as equally dangerous, as if risking a bite by a dog infected with the rabies virus.

As the pandemic takes hold across the land, churches are no longer meeting together physically at a given venue. Instead, "virtual services" broadcast live on the Internet has replaced proper services. Scripture quotes begin to appear frequently on Facebook. Of all quotes, it looks to me that Psalm 91 is the most often quoted. It details the great protection given by God himself to anyone who trusts in him. It contains the verses:

A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.

You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.

Psalm 91:7-8.

It's the same kind of wording which is also found in Psalm 139:19-24, and within many other psalms, where David in particular, cries out for vengeance upon the wicked and to let them face justice whilst, at the same time, prays for his own deliverance from his enemies, the forgiveness of his sins, and his own salvation. Indeed, anyone reading such psalms can be forgiven for accusing him of a kind of self-righteousness, a Pharisaic attitude involving self-piety whilst judging and cursing everybody else. 

King David the Psalmist.

However, the evil people he's referring to are haters of God with a seared conscience, and since they are without any moral guidance, are out to exploit and steal from others, especially the defenceless poor, forcing them to suffer loss, bringing on physical and mental pain, and even be killed, while the villains are benefiting and getting rich from their victim's spoils.

Yet I can identify how David might have felt. The sort of people who annoy me most are scammers, those fraudsters who trick their victims into parting with their hard-earned savings by using sophisticated methods, usually over the phone, to deceive. And thus gathering wealth by dishonest means, causing their victims, mostly senior citizens, to suffer agonising losses. Then these thieves go on expensive holidays, party, and buy top-of-the-market cars such as the Lamborghini. Like David, I too wish them to be brought to justice.

Wishing such scammers to be brought to justice is one thing, but for the believing saint, will he be fully protected by God from any threat or affliction? Is Psalm 91 a guaranteed protection against general suffering?

Last Sunday, a preach at Ascot Life Church was delivered through the Internet, focusing on Psalm 91, probably as a result of the constant appearing of this psalm on Facebook. The question was: Will God really protect from all harm those who trust in him, worship and depend on him? Yes? - Er, No. And he was absolutely correct.

I have only my own testimony to prove that true believers are not immune to harm. Where the hospital has risen to the point of being our second home, one has only to read 2 Corinthians 4:8-9 and 6:3-10, where Paul the apostle lists his sufferings, including being flogged, while he was on his mission to preach the Gospel and form new churches across the Roman Empire, and visiting other, already established churches, particularly in the Macedonian area of northern Greece. In turn, Hebrews 11:35-38 lists the sufferings many Old Testament saints had to endure as they ministered to the ancient Israelites, even to the point of being stoned to death.

Then there is the case of Job in the Old Testament. He lived approximately at the same time as Abraham, and like the Hebrew patriarch, Job was a righteous man with a strong and reverent faith in God, who showed hospitality to strangers and always interceded for his sons, lest they fall into sin. He could be classed as a Bedouin, a man who lived in a desert tent, yet he was also very rich, possessing many flocks and herds.

Then one day all his livestock was stolen from him by a gang of marauding bandits, with only one shepherd left to tell him of his loss. Soon after this, another arrived to announce that all his sons were killed by a collapsing roof of the house where they were partying. Yet, when his grieving wife and mother advised him to curse God and die, his response was to rebuke her, telling her not to be such a foolish woman, and then acknowledged that God has every right to give and to take away. Soon after this, he fell ill, and his ailment worsened to the point where he was at death's door. Yet he did not waiver on his faith. 

During his distress, three friends arrived at his tent to grieve with him. At first, all four sat in silence. Yet when a discussion between them eventually arose, neither could understand why such a righteous man had to suffer such intensity as he did. As Job began to protest his innocence, the three friends began to accuse him of some secret sin or willful wrongdoing. Yet while all four agreed that God's thoughts are way above any human thinking and utterly beyond reproach, yet amid his sorrow, intensified by the accusations thrown at him by his three friends, he declared:

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

And after my skin has been destroyed yet in my flesh I will see God.

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

How my heart yearns within me!

Job 19:25-27. 

When reading such testimonies, whenever we are going through distress, and both of us have been through many such occasions, Job is always the one who has set an example. Other than Jesus Christ himself, whenever Alex is lying on a hospital gurney at A&E, Job often comes into my mind, especially during the long wait before the consultant eventually arrives.

When considering all these things - the suffering believers have to endure, then how truthful is Psalm 91 when it promises full protection from every kind of calamity which befall unbelievers? Last Sunday's preach has shed some light on this, which I have found to be helpful. The ultimate victory of Psalm 91 lies in our eternal state, an eternity in God's presence in Heaven.

As I write, a definite pattern emerges. The pattern is this: When a believer in Jesus Christ crucified, buried and risen, has to endure sufferings, whether physical, mentally, or emotionally, they will always end in victory for the believer.

Final Victory.

Therefore, does God offer protection to the believer against all adversity? The answer is a resounding Yes, but it applies to the soul and spirit. For once the sinner confesses with his mouth that Jesus Christ is Lord, and believes in his heart that God has raised Him from the dead (Romans 10:9-13) - he becomes a new creation, a child of God, forever adopted into his family. Yes, the body will die and goes to the grave, but the spirit and soul will go to be with Christ.

Once saved always saved.

And physical death is the believer's final victory.  

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.