A Scare Inside a Church Building...

We were celebrating our seventh wedding anniversary by taking a week's holiday to Sicily back in 2006. In the town of Siracusa, Alex and I stayed in this rather excellent hotel at Via Francesco Crispi for quite a modest price, after learning about a discount in the tariff if the stay is seven nights long, as in our case. We accepted their offer and our smart upstairs room with no further ado.

Not that that particular hotel was the one we had planned staying at. Rather it was the one directly opposite, across the street we arrived at, only to our horror, that it had closed down quite a while ago, and its street sign was still hanging derelict from the front face of the building.

Oh, the memories, memories! I recall 1982, the year I enjoyed backpacking the whole length of the Italian peninsula, and I found myself staying at this hotel, simply by walking through to reception and asking if there is a room. Facing almost directly at il Stazione Ferroviaria di Siracusa, from where I had just arrived after an overnight trip from Naples, my temporary home was very convenient for shorter train journeys to the dramatic clifftop resort of Taormina, and Catania, which is the second-largest city in Sicilia after Palermo, and from Catania, the bus accent to the slope of Mt. Etna, where at the summit I stood on the rim of an active crater with just one other person I met whilst onboard the bus. Then not to mention the ongoing walks into town, including the Old City which is on a separated island bearing the name Isola di Ortigia.

My heart dropped like a stone as Alex and I stood in front of the derelict hotel in disappointment, hopes of memories revived suddenly crushed. But not for long. Across the quiet street, a voice called out, asking in Italian if we're looking for accommodation.

We both crossed the road to meet this young man. I explained that yes, we as a married couple is looking for a room and we are disappointed in the closure of Hotel Arete. He then beckoned us in and offered us a room with a double bed. We checked in for the week. Oh! Those wonderful days before those wretched Internet pre-booking requirements! 

One feature which now stands tall in the heart of Siracuse is il Basilica Santuario Madonna Della Lacrima, a tall, grey fluted cone, meant to resemble a teardrop, reaching high towards the sky. Back in 1982, only what is now the crypt was completed, under a huge circle of flat and level platform forming the roof of the crypt, which within Mass and other services were held. But 24 years later, we both found ourselves gazing up this cone, and being a tourist attraction, the doors were open for free entry. What was once the huge, circular roof of the crypt is now the floor of the conical cathedral where all services take place, to commemorate a ceramic figurine of Our Lady which is fixed a little above the altar.

Church of the Tears, Siracusa.

The story goes that an ordinary family living in Siracusa was the owner of a ceramic figurine of the Virgin Mary, this piece if I remember, being somewhere between ten to twelve inches in height, 25-30 cm. It consisted of just the head and upper body, and it was fixed to a wall in the house. Although gotten in 1953, in 1957 the statuette began to shed tears. After a thorough examination by a bishop, the Church declared this to be a genuine miracle, and it was donated to Siracusa for public veneration.

Alex and I stood inside the basilica, the apex of the cone making a stunning view as it pointed heavenwards. Also within the church, there was another, more lifelike statue of the Virgin Mary. Whilst Alex wandered off to explore other parts of the church, I stood at a position directly in front of the lifesize statue. It looked directly at me, and all of a sudden, I felt a chill pass through my spine. Although it meant to appear holy and at the same time motherly, I couldn't help but feel a sudden unease as the figure stared straight at me, like some sort of evil.

I moved off, well out of its way, and rejoined Alex as we made our way downstairs into the crypt below. I remembered it as being exactly as it was when I first walked in, except that this time the whole subterranean chamber looked tired as if not used for some time.

It all about Mary, isn't it? This young Jewish woman, narrated by Luke, who was visited by an angel with the announcement that a boy was conceived in her by the Holy Spirit without a human father, and she will give birth to one who will be Christ the Lord. After the birth of Jesus, Mary and her husband Joseph went on to have other children who grew up eventually to be elders of the early church. It was while singing in the presence of Elizabeth she referred to God as her Saviour, Luke 1:46. That means she sees herself as a sinner and in need of a Saviour.

The Virgin Mary of the Catholic Church is a different entity altogether! Through the Immaculate Conception had taken place in her mother, St Anne, the Catholic Mary was born without any taint of sin. Not only is this unbiblical but such a church doctrine deifies her to "Mother of God" and a suitable mediatrix between sinful mankind and her biological son Jesus Christ. This, in a way, has exalted the female above the male, making her the direct link between sinful man and God, and one to be prayed to, adored and worshipped.

The ceramic statuette of the Virgin.

Detail of the tears miraculously shed from the statuette. 

History seems to endorse the supernatural appearances of Mary at certain locations. One example was at the French town of Lourdes, and a church was built at the precise site. The Lady of Fatima, Portugal, was said to be witnessed by up to 70,000 people, and a sanctuary in honour of her appearance now stands at the site. The Lady of Zeitoun in Egypt was also seen by hundreds of thousands. And there are many more Marian apparitions which have taken place throughout history.

One Catholic priest had a vision of the Virgin Mary, who instructed him to "Slay all the Babylonian hordes." This priest was none other than Ignatius Loyola, the 16th Century founder of the Jesuits. At first, Loyola thought that Mary was referring to the Muslims. He soon found out though that she was referring to the Protestant Reformers, who believed that salvation comes as a free gift to everyone who has faith in Jesus Christ as Saviour, without the need of any works to earn it. In other words, the vision ordered the slaughter of men, women and children who relied on God's grace alone to be saved.

Oh, such a need of a mother-goddess, the source of tender compassion and one who can successfully intercede with an irate God who needs to be continually pacified from the endless stream of transgressions thrown at Him from a sinful world. Perhaps all this comes from the perception of our human fathers. Like the time when I did something naughty as a small boy, and Mum used to say:

Just wait until Papa finds out!

That means that the father has always been the one to administer corporal punishment. To be led to the garden shed was always between father and son rather than the mother, the one parent the smarting boy would run to for soothing compassion after Dad had finished with him. Indeed, if the boy's misdemeanour was to anger Papa, then it's usually Mum who pleads her husband to withdraw the punishment or even to calm his rising temper.

Even with this very occasion mentioned in the Bible is a strong indication that this paternal discipline is as old as the hills. For example, the sparing of the rod by a father indicating a lack of love for his children appears in Proverbs 13:24, which is during the reign of King Solomon.

Perhaps it's no coincidence that there is a crying demand in the human heart for a queen of heaven to intercede on their behalf. I recall once, at the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, watching a couple of young men praying to an image of the Virgin erected within one of the side aisles. When one of them turned and saw me watching in apparent astonishment, they then beat a quick retreat.

With this exaltation of the female above the male, stretching from the dawn of time, it comes to no surprise that such a blasphemous movie is about to enter the Big Screen. With the name Habit, it features an actress, Paris Jackson the daughter of deceased singer Michael Jackson, playing the role of a female Jesus Christ. Indeed, if for the last 1,600 years the Virgin Mary had acted as mediatrix, or intercessor between sinful man and God, so the tempo beats on. From intercessor - to God himself, the Second Person of the Trinity, the female has reached the pinnacle of divinity, even if it's merely for entertainment, at least for now.

It as if the Edenic Curse has turned full circle. Ever since it was Eve who was tempted rather than Adam, I can't help but see the rise of women to prominence, especially to the point of reverence. Am I against feminism? That's quite a point! I once watched a documentary on TV about what was once a happy and thriving marriage between this ordinary husband-and-wife couple. He was the breadwinner. She stayed up home to bring up their children. Now that their kids have grown up and flown the nest, the couple was on the verge of a divorce. By a thorough investigation made for public viewing, the underlying cause of the looming separation was that recently she had been attending college and has gotten herself a degree, with which she would go and pursue a career.

Indeed, such a quest for independence at first looks commendable and solve the problem of latter-years boredom. But as sidespin to this is the rapid rise of abortions. Here in the UK, the number of elective abortions has reached an annual total of 200,000 unborn deaths. That is around 570 abortions carried out every working day. And all this for career or social convenience and in some cases, eugenics. Abortion can now be justified if the baby has a cleft palate or lip, a club foot, has Down's Syndrome or has Spinal Bifida. 

Another consequence of feminism seems to be domestic violence. According to the BBC through the information gotten from 43 police forces across the UK, in 2019 up to 173 people were killed by their partners as domestic abuse, the majority of these deaths were female victims. That is one death in just over two days. The rate of non-fatal violence in the home must be much higher.

With divorce made much easier and the honour bestowed on marriage now non-existent, I ask, what's the heck is going on? Perhaps I can look upon myself as an example of the male psyche. There has always been a level of personal satisfaction in being the breadwinner, whether I was single or married. I do recall our courting days when my wife-to-be suggested attending college and perhaps take on an office job. Immediately I felt threatened and quashed the idea!

Trailer image of the blasphemous Hollywood movie Habit.

Perhaps you as a reader is now considering me as a vile sexist and male chauvinist. If you're female, perhaps you click off this page and never read my blogs again. But before you do, please consider this: The biggest killer of all men here in the UK is suicide. And according to hearsay, these victims seem to be mainly from a non-academic background, and with little education, such a victim sees himself as a failure (whether that's really true or not) who will never see himself as a successful breadwinner raising up a family. (And I also accept that financial hardship can also be the cause of suicide.) As an example, in 2018 there were 4,903 male suicides in comparison with 1,604 female deaths. According to my own experience, it does look as if marrying and raising a family is the ultimate aim of the masculine psyche. 

Having faith in Jesus Christ will go a long way to finding life's fulfilment. God has always expressed himself in the masculine gender, and Jesus Christ was born male, not female. And the day will come when all humans - both male and female - will confess Jesus Christ as Lord (not Lady) to the glory of God the Father (and not Mother). A God who will give eternal life to everyone who believes in the risen Son, Jesus Christ for salvation, regardless of whether the Christian believer is a man or a woman.

A female Jesus? On yer bike!

Coming Clean...

I have quite a number of friends on Facebook, not a great many, mind you, but all who I know personally, and one whom I have known closely for up to 45 years. Sooner or later the inevitable will start to appear on the main scroll. That is photos of babies, cute infants, giving me the wanting to gently lift and cuddle close to my heart. Friends who are young enough to be my own son or daughter proudly displaying their newborns, often with a slightly older sibling standing nearby, along with my older online pals, nearer to my age, displaying grandchildren at various points of their young lives as they grow up towards school age.

To them I give all my congratulations and blessings. No doubt, if I had young children living at home, we would have done the same thing - posting photos of our offspring at intervals as they grew up. Therefore it was during a discussion with my wife Alex that we fully agree to come clean, just over ten years after what we consider to be the darkest hour of our lives. And by sharing this, I hope it will throw light on why I think and feel the way I do, my dislike of celebrity worship, the problem with forgiveness, our faith in God, our future hopes, and the glory to come. But because this is a public blog, no names will be revealed here, except the first names only of adults involved.

I was 47 years old when I married my wife in 1999, the first ever in my life. This was after 27 years after I was dumped by my last girlfriend in 1972. It was during this period of my life when I started backpacking, the first only a year later when I boarded a train to travel across France and into Italy. It was also during that time when I flew my parents' nest, started up a business, trained and competed in half-marathons to raise funds for a charity, then peaked in fitness by cross-training and competing in Triathlons. Meanwhile, this was also the period I turned to Jesus Christ as Saviour, which began the long process of sanctification and Bible knowledge, which were intertwined with visits to Israel - backpacking there as with other countries visited, eventually circling the Earth.

My first daughter was born February 2001, fifteen months after our wedding. I could say that our unborn had also been to Israel, as I took my wife, then eighteen weeks pregnant, to celebrate our first wedding anniversary in the Holy Land. Here I will admit that Alex was more spiritual than I was. At various Holy sites such as the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and at the Garden of Gethsemane, both in Jerusalem, she knelt and gave thanks to the Lord, while I stood by, as these sites were so familiar to me from previous backpacking trips during those 27 years as a committed singleton. 

By the time of delivery, the unborn remained in a breech position, therefore a cesarean operation was necessary. At the hospital theatre, I partially buried my face until I heard the first cry. The surgeon held the purple infant high, and as she cried, my legs gave under intense emotion, and two of the staff had to support me while the baby was wrapped in a hospital garment and handed over to me. And I sat there, in a small room just across the corridor from the theatre, I held in my arms my daughter. A father for the first time at 48 years of age. As Alex was transferred to a recovery ward, I saw like a mental video of my life leading to this moment, while also watching her chest rise and fall in rapid breathing, as she slept peacefully.

My firstborn changed my life completely. She was my sheer joy, my treasure. In the months and the first years to come, it was I who got up in the middle of every night as she cried, and cuddled her close. And you know what? I never ever regretted a single moment of this. I was never annoyed, or frustrated at any of these small hours awakening, as I had always considered holding my daughter a sheer joy and privilege. And that presented a problem for Alex. As I devoted myself to my daughter, my wife felt that I could have given more attention to her. And this difficulty was noted by our health visitor, who was near to reporting us to Social Services.

When my second daughter came into the world just over three years after the birth of the first, she too spent the first hour of her life in my arms, while her mother, this time having went through a natural birth, rested nearby. It was after we took her home that unwittingly, I allowed problems to develop at home. How? By devoting myself to my firstborn in expense of the other two. For example, if my wife said we needed to top up the groceries, I always responded with, "Get my firstborn ready." Except for work, wherever I went, my daughter came with me. I always took her shopping, to town, even on train trips to Reading and even for a day trip to London - the two of us - my firstborn and myself. I adored her. I sat and watched her run about at an open yard. I saw her explore and learn about her immediate environment. I fed her. Whenever in a cafe, I took joy in slowly spoon feeding her. You see, throughout all this, I believed that I was doing my wife a favour by allowing her to spent time alone with our second-born, and therefore acting as a de-stressor. It was soon after then that Social Services were contacted, but not by us.

To cut a long story short, we had to attend a conference at the Borough Council, and we were assigned a Social Worker, a female graduate named Wendy who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties - a lot younger than me. She had already been in trouble with the local authority. The previous family she was working with fled from her to Scotland. She was given us as her last chance to redeem herself, and save her career. In my mind that was a massive mistake, demonstrating a shocking lack of foresight among her superiors who should have heeded the warning signs. After all, we are humans, not a product to be tested or laboratory guinea pigs. Then I suppose her academic credentials were far more important to them than our personal needs.

During the four months that were to follow, she proved to be the nasty-minded individual she was. It was known by us that even in the office, she was disliked by her colleagues, and even the nursery school teachers who taught our daughter, made an effort to stay clear of her whenever we had to attend the weekly meetings (known as Core Groups) chaired by Wendy, after having lost her temper with one of the school teachers. There and then I wanted to physically hit her, but the thought of prison deterred me. Even Alex stayed away on a couple of occasions, inflaming the situation. The things about her that stood out enough for me to take note: Her arrogance. She sometimes appear late at Core Groups, insisting she'll leave her desk when ready. She also kept on reminding us that her income was much higher than ours, along with her level of education and social class. She was also a self proclaimed atheist, but had a fair knowledge of the Bible. She was also patriotic and proud of her Yorkshire upbringing. Taking a peek at her credentials while she was not looking, I found that she attended a privileged school for girls, and then attended University to study Psychology and other subjects related to child care, quoting past famous Psychologists such as atheist Sigmund Freud and Alfred Kinsey as examples.

Then by February 2005, things came to a head when my patience snapped while she was checking our kitchen and criticising our food stock. We ordered her out of our house. Shortly after this, our beloved two daughters were removed from our home at three in the morning, and they were never returned. Instead, they were put up for adoption. By the end of March 2005, the Social Worker cleared her desk, not having her contract renewed, and we never saw her again to this day, and I guess we never will. 

During the assessments which followed the removal of our two daughters, I found out two important matters which had escaped Wendy's analysis of us as a couple. First I have an above average I.Q. - which was contrary to Wendy's evaluation of me because she was surprised at my ownership of a cellphone, let alone knowing how to operate one. The second matter was that we both have mild autism. It was this - mild autism - which was the underlying factor to the cause of the breaking of our family. However, I did not feel back then, and I certainly don't feel at present, being mildly autistic as justification for tearing a family apart. Rather, I have heard tales of a mildly autistic parent or couple raising their offspring successfully, and I believe even to this day that we could have raised our daughters with success, especially as they got older. 

For many months afterwards, I was held in a grip of fierce anger, not only towards Wendy, but for England as a whole, because not only the State had taken away our two beloved daughters, but I also saw the Social Worker as an embodiment of England in its cultural entirety. In a sense, Wendy was England. Nearly every morning, while making breakfast for my wife in bed upstairs, I had wished that I had inflicted physical harm on that arrogant female, who believed she was so much above us and thus behaved accordingly. But in another way I was glad that I hadn't, or else I could well be inside, and as such, separated from my wife too. But it took a very long time for the anger to calm, until in the state of dormancy, enabling us to live a normal life as a childless married couple. 

But what has happened since then? Well our marriage has strengthened in many ways. We have become fully devoted to each other, having learnt to put the other welfare before our own. Also my faith in God through Jesus Christ has grown and strengthened. With Alex, she has a deep distrust in organised religion, and refuses to attend church, as our Elders had sided with the Social Services during and after the conference. But my beloved, encouraged by me, has developed a deep trust "in the Trinity" as she likes in referring to God, even to the point of encouraging me to trust in Jesus when my faith weakens. We used to go out together, and quite a number of occasions, have flown to one of the Greek islands three times, also to Malta, Sicily, and to the Canary Islands. I recall our intimacy on the beach, the night time strolls under the bright stars, as well as exploring ancient history and beautiful countryside arm in arm.

That was until she went down with a psychosomatic illness around July 2013. She became lame in her spine, and lost the ability to walk freely ever since. She had to spend four months as an in-patient at a general hospital. After this, I had to buy her a wheelchair, and she uses it whenever we need to go out together. It breaks my heart to see her this way. And also having to renew her medical prescription every week, including antidepressants, along with required G.P. appointments. Psychosomatic illness. This means "upset mind, sick body." We both agree that this goes back to that awful, dreadful night in 2005 when our two daughters were taken away at three in the morning, leaving my wife screaming hysterically before I was able to calm her down.  

But as for our daughters, we have up-to-date photos of them along with letters written by their adoptive parents and sent to us via the Adoption Agency. As such, they are forbidden to tell us their surname or their whereabouts. Although this is very hurtful to us, at least we can gain some satisfaction that first, they are brought up in a better environment than we could have provided. Secondly, there is evidence that they are doing well at school, and the younger one was diagnosed with above average intelligence, and is now University material, if she keeps up with her school work. Thirdly, they are both good at sports, with swimming and athletics being their favourite activity. But still concerning for us, is that I long for them to know the Lord personally. Out of our reach, we can only commit them to God, and trust in Him to break into their hearts as he had done with us. Then I recall the Scripture I read through which I felt God speaking to me personally. It was from Jeremiah 31:15-17, where God himself had encouraged Rachel not to weep over the loss of her children, for he will bring them back to their own border. Another believer in our fellowship had also endorsed this promise as well.

This has been ten years now. As this was written on the 10th anniversary of Wendy's departure, I was reminded last week on Facebook about forgiveness. Forgiving that arrogant woman? A good friend of mine suggested that I should, based on how both Jesus Christ and Stephen forgave their enemies whilst nearing their deaths. But there is a difference between them and myself. With both Jesus and Stephen, they requested their forgiveness out loud, in the presence of their enemies. This most likely resulted in the conversion of some who stood by the Cross, especially among the three thousand who heard Peter's sermon on the day of Pentecost. Then Stephen's request for God's forgiveness, according to many scholars, had resulted in Saul's conversion. With the martyr's request pricking the Pharisee's conscience, Saul had covered up his conviction by a fresh anger towards all who followed the Way. When the Lord revealed himself from Heaven, Stephen's request to God was answered.

But in Wendy's case, this is different. She is not around. She would never know whether I forgave her or not. Even if I did, she would not know about it, neither would she care. What is left of her is now just thin air. How I would feel will have no impact on her at all, no matter where she is at present. No address. No phone number. Out of our lives forever. So the best thing I can do is simply let her go, with no part of our lives whatsoever.

And no, I won't try to look for her on Facebook.

Our God Is Great!-How I Believed

Easter weekend 2012. This time of the year we remember the death of Jesus Christ by crucifixion, and his Resurrection three days later. What love! What joy! That Christ loves us enough to take upon himself every sin we have, and will commit, upon himself. So we can be with him, our maker, in Heaven for ever!

It had to think hard before writing this article, but I guess, being Easter, I decided to take the risk and do something I was reluctant to do in the past - but felt it was something I always wanted to do for a long time - to open up and to reveal that no matter how dark our lives has been in the past, God is in control. God is sovereign, therefore I have nothing to fear what other people may think. God loves me as I am.

I flown the nest in 1976, then aged 23. To me, I thought that was old, because I had friends attending our church fellowship who had graduated from their universities and colleges, having left home at 18 years of age. I guess I envied their independence, to be free from the restricting house rules imposed by my Italian parents. Rules such as not to stay up too late. Then the want of the freedom to go out in the evenings to paint the town red, and not be asked either one of those dreadful questions:
Where have you been last night? Or What did you get up to last night? Or even, What time did you get home last night?

To be asked such questions in my early twenties while knowing that students younger than myself were greeted by an empty apartment or college room co-occupied by one or two fellow students really got up my goat! This might have been the start of my feelings of inferior complex, that I was not trusted by my parents for the reason, as I believed then, that I was rubbish at school. In fact, I clearly remember my Dad back then telling me in so many words that these students have proven worthy of their greater independence at a younger age. Massive arguments broke out as a result. In 1976 I found it a joy that I was given a bedsit accommodation by the Council which was the necessary launch pad to start out on a life of my own.

It was after a long while after moving out that I began to feel closer to my parents with a greater warmth. But being single, I still kept them at a distance. At least our loud disagreements began to be the thing of the past.

Being single, even on my own, had mixed blessings. True, I was able to stay up until two in the morning and no one would bat an eyelid. Ditto if I suddenly decided to go away for a couple of days, and in the 1980s, this was a frequent occasion. As a competitive triathlete, many a Saturday night was spent at a hotel in the location where the event would be staged early the following morning, as the Sunday roads would be considerably free of traffic. Then not to mention my backpacking days, where I traveled solo across Western Europe, then to Israel, Canada, the USA, Singapore and Australia. The things I can do as a single person. This is testimony that God had his protective hand on me by pure grace. I did not have to work to receive it.

But being single also had its downsides. I found relationships with the opposite sex very difficult, if not impossible. I lacked confidence, I had a speech impediment, I was into a manual occupation - something our middle-class church girls, as it looked, wouldn't be seen dead with. I was also a loner, not good with team work, and enjoyed reading rather than play footie with the boys (as many of my church friends of my age did).

But that is precisely where God stepped in. After conversion to Christ, one of my greatest joys is studying the Bible. I also poured into books written by trustworthy authors to help me get a better grips with the Bible. The end result was my love for Israel, the nation and its people, and the prophetic plans God has for them.

Then in 1998 I found Alex, my future wife. I was already 47 at the time. We married ten months later during the Autumn of 1999. My first daughter was born in 2001, three years later, my second daughter was born in 2004.

But in the months to follow, we found parenting very difficult. The Health Visitor (who calls at the home of every parents of newborns here in the UK for the first couple of months) noticed this and she was very concerned, and called Social Services. To cut a long story short, after months of assessments, it was decided that our two daughters were to be adopted.

We were devastated, and I felt shame and embarrassment. I only told my family and those at church. During one service, I broke down and wept aloud publicly. But my faith in God never wavered. In fact, if there was a time I felt that I desperately need God in my life, it was then. Although I hang my head in shame, I knew that my two daughters would be in a better environment at their adoptive parent's home, and better provided for than we could have provided.

One morning, while pouring through the prophet Jeremiah, I came across these verses:

This is what the Lord says:
"A voice is heard in Ramah,
mourning and great weeping,
Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
for her children are no more."
This is what the LORD says:
"Restrain your voice from weeping
and your eyes from tears,
for your work will be rewarded,"
declares the LORD.
"They will return from the land of the enemy.
For there is hope for your future,"
declares the LORD.
"Your children will return to their own land."
Jeremiah 31:15-17.

Of course, the literal meaning of this passage is that after all the Jews had been exiled from their homeland by the Assyrians and the Babylonians, God promises their safe return. But Matthew also quote part of this text as referral to the slaughter of the innocents by King Herod, after being let down by the Wise Men. Obviously, the grieving mothers in Bethlehem will never get their kids back - not in this life anyway.

But reading this myself, I strongly felt God speaking directly to me. I believed. One day, God will return my daughters "from the land of the enemy." The "enemy" are not the adoptive parents of my daughters - they are treating them well and they are well provided for. The "enemy" refers to the Social Worker who had them snatched out of their beds at three in the morning, with not a sliver of compassion or sympathy for my hysterical wife and grieving grandparents.

The loss of our children has been very grievous for both of us, but seven years on, I'm happy to tell you that Alex and I enjoy a strong, robust marriage. We are just two of us, living in the quietness of our home, while knowing that God is in full control. Knowledge of his sovereignty is the key to Eternal Security. Security in him in this life as well as the in the promise of the next.

But what was the basic cause of all this trauma? The assessments showed that we both have Asperger's Syndrome, or "assie." It is a form of Autism. Several mysteries are answered straight away. First the way my parents looked on and treated me while I was still at home (since married, my parents and I are now very close). Then why the girls at our church did not find me compatible. And the inability for team work, including footie with the boys. But what could be surprising result of the assessment is that I also have above-average IQ. Both my wife and I have "assie". This could be the truth behind our robust marriage, despite the loss of our daughters.

The key to this article is Romans 8:28, which reads:

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Let us quote the rest of the chapter, for want of such brilliant words:

For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.
And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

What then, can we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all - how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring to any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is it that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died - more than that, who was raised to life - is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:

"For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered."

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels or demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

There you have it. How great is our God!

Wishing you all a very happy Easter.