A Terrible, Terrible Loss

A good friend of mine whom I knew from church took my wife Alex, our three year old daughter and myself in his car to Hayling Island, a rather sedate Hampshire resort on the South Coast. Since neither of us as a couple had ever owned or driven a car, it takes the devotion of an unattached male friend with a car to escort us to one of the nicer parts of the English coastline, free of excess commercialism, no railway station, no amusement arcades lining the streets, no abundance of shops selling trinkets and souvenirs, no lavish or towering grand hotels forming the skyline, and no heavy road traffic - and most important of all - no pleasure pier jutting out to sea. All of these features being the traditional characteristics which makes a typical English holiday resort. No, Hayling Island has none of these. Instead, it is a literal island separated from the mainland by a tidal channel about two hundred metres across, which is crossed by a single road bridge. The island itself consists mainly of open fields and meadows, dotted inland with small residential villages, and its south-facing pebble beach backed by sedate residential houses.

However, at the beach there is an amusement park with restaurants and coffee shops, next to a large car park. Among the fun rides, a roofed bumper-car attraction caught my daughter's attention. She immediately made known to me that this is where she wanted to go.

My daughter's insistence reminded me when I was a small boy myself, and at that time I begged Dad if I could go on the helter-skelter which was located on the end of Brighton Pier. His answer was typical: No, such things costs money. It was always No. Such was his philosophy of thriftiness. Indeed, the family budget was well managed despite their rather low incomes, but what at the cost of his son's memories after growing up? And that is significant. It was on one of his more generous moods when father and son were walking along Lupus Street in the Westminster district of Pimlico, when he suddenly stopped at a roadside ice-cream vendor and bought me a vanilla cone. Of all the ice-cream confections I ever had, spanning from childhood to the present day, this particular cone was well remembered - because it was bought for me by my father, as if totally out of character. Coming to think of it, the timing of this act of generosity might have coincided with the news that I have a younger sibling on its way.

And as a result, it was no surprise that at my father's funeral, this ice-cream incident was featured in my epitaph speech which brought my listeners to tears. With the price of a few pence from his wallet, he had bought was not just the ice-cream cone, but something much more, something priceless.

And so as my own daughter pulled me by my hand towards the bumper cars, such memories were aroused. But also with a determination that my daughter's memories will always be worth more than thrifty budget management. We climbed into the nearest car, and in full view of both my wife and friend standing by the edge, I managed to steer the vehicle round and round the outer perimeter of the floor. Because of the presence of my daughter, none of the other riders had made any attempts to bump into us. And as I drove the car, I took a glance of my daughter enjoying herself, something which to me will always be priceless.

Becoming a father for the first time ever, even at the age of 48 years old, was definitely with Earth-shaking emotion. I sat alone with the newborn in my arms whilst my wife was recovering. As I watched her sleeping soundly in my arms, it was if my whole life flashed by, with memories galore, both good and bad. Even all the glories of world backpacking with all the highs and lows of independent travel becomes like a shadow when compared to the brightness of my daughter's birth. She was my everything. If her life preservation involved the cost of my own life, then I would have given it willingly. How the sight of my own offspring had brought out the full spectrum of emotions, from tears to laughter.

So what a disaster for us when the State believed that we were unfit to raise our own children because we were unfortunate enough to suffer from Asperger's Syndrome, which is on the mild end of the Autism Spectrum. I say "State" but really it came down to the opinions of just one adult female. A self-confessed atheist, a patriot, a proud advocate of classism, and of course - a university graduate. Whatever she says, the Court bowed in obeisance. A few words spoken from her mouth and a family is destroyed. I will never watch my daughters grow from toddlers to children, into adolescents, then into adulthood. I will never enhance their memories with good things, nor have the opportunity to lavish my love and affection. Indeed, I could gaze at an ice-cream parlour anywhere in the world robbed of the privilege of buying any treats for my daughters.

Raging anger towards this Social Worker persisted for months, and it was felt at its most intense in the mornings. Asperger's Syndrome? I wonder how many parents with A.S. had successfully raised their children into balanced adults throughout history? Not that A.S. was recognised throughout history, that is, until this Austrian doctor bearing the name Hans Asperger, who in 1944 discovered its existence and made a successful diagnosis of the condition. But for it to be diagnosed, it must have been around for some time, maybe spanning several generations. Even at present, I am aware of a happily married man whose father had A.S. That particular parent must have got something right somewhere. Then thinking about military life, especially when conscription was obligatory, I have wondered how recruits with A.S. coped with boot camp and rigorous discipline, let alone fighting in two World Wars.

Dr. Hans Asperger 

As I had already mentioned in the last post, Asperger's Syndrome is most probably a genetic defect, most likely occurring at conception, but perhaps also possibly developing during gestation. What it is, is that the brain is not properly wired up for normal social interaction, hence making group socials in particular difficult for the sufferer. But I was never convinced that having A.S. should disqualify us from parenting our own children. Hence my raging fury endured for months, maybe as much as a couple of years after our daughters were literally snatched from our home at three in the morning during February 2005, leaving my wife screaming. All because of one female's opinions!

Oh yes, it was easy to be angry at God, as well as with the State. We both felt mercilessly robbed. And then the emotional pain gotten from constantly seeing families all around us, has exacerbated the problem. It is also easy to become introspective, to constantly examine ourselves whether we have committed any specific sin. But no consciousness of any specific sin had ever come to our minds. Instead, we felt to be victims of an extremely unlucky set of circumstances.

And here I am left with a stark choice.

Either forget everything about God, his existence, his so-called "love" and his constant demand for personal holiness. Forget church, forget about reading the Bible, do my own thing - eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we shall die.

Or use this set of circumstances to draw close to God, pray for his mercy and goodness, pray for our strength in marriage, but above all, pray for the welfare of our daughters - especially for the salvation of their souls.

Christmas 2005 was approaching, our first Christmas without our girls. As was the seasonal custom, I opened the Bible to Matthew's Gospel and began to read his version of the Christmas Story, and after reading about Herod's slaughter of the Innocents, I came across these two verses:

Then was fulfilled that which was written by Jeremy the prophet, saying, In Rama there was a voice heard, lamentation and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not.
Matthew 2:17-18 AV.

Immediately I felt a compulsion to turn to the verses from which Matthew had quoted, and continued to read:

Thus saith the LORD; A voice was heard at Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping; Rachel weeping for her children refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not.
Thus saith the LORD; Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears: for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the LORD; and they shall come again from the land of the enemy.
And there is hope in thine end, saith the LORD, that thy children shall come again to thy border.
Jeremiah 31:15-17. AV.

Immediately I believed the word, and I felt my spirit comforted, strengthened and revitalised. A situation parallel to this:

And (God) brought (Abraham) forth abroad, and said, Look now towards heaven, and tell the stars, if you are able to number them: and he said unto him, So shall thy seed be.
And he believed in the LORD; and he counted it unto him for righteousness.
Genesis 15:5-6 AV.

Or to put it in modern English:

Abraham believed the LORD, and he credited to him as righteousness. 
NIV.

Reading Jeremiah 31:15-17 was practically equal to experiencing regeneration the second time over, although I had already been a Christian believer for the past thirty-three years. By reading such assuring Scriptures has played a major role in looking at the world with open eyes. However, waves of furious anger towards the Social Worker came and went, with times of peace between each wave. Over a course of time I began to feel concern over my wife's spiritual welfare. What was her attitude towards Jesus Christ? Was she a true believer?

Carrying her two daughters within herself amounted to nearly eighteen months in total. Little wonder that the loss of her children had affected her more intensely than the loss had affected me. So much so that her health began to deteriorate to the point that by the Summer of 2013, she was no longer able to walk upright. This was quite a contrast to when she was able to out-sprint me easily, leaving me in a cloud of dust. A GP recommended admission into hospital as an in-patient. Upon entry into her ward, she looked up at me as I stood over her and reassured me with these words:
Please do not worry. I know Jesus Christ as my Saviour.
What reassurance! For the next four months whilst she remains confined as an in-patient, I had to adapt to sleeping alone in our double bed. And every day without exception, straight after work, the cycle ride to the station for the train trip to Reading, where my wife had taken residence.

Knowing Scripture and believing the revelation God has given us had carried us through testing times, as if passing through the fires of Hell. But as I wrote last week, Hell was not able to break us, just as Jesus had promised:

Upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
Matthew 16:18.

As such, to this day our childless marriage remains strong, robust and stable. And just this week we received letterbox contact after a long time waiting. This features a letter on their progress, especially at school where they are preparing for their GCSE exams along with three latest photos. They are now teenagers and how beautiful they both look! It was the receiving of this letterbox contact which was the inspiration of this blog, although we are not allowed to publish these pictures here. Sorry about that.

Beach Hedonism

Having just returned home from a short break, this holiday in Bournemouth was quite a learning curve, and very different from all the travel I had experienced throughout my lifetime. Because for the first time ever, our getaway involved a wheelchair in which my beloved sat, with myself pushing, often involving very steep ramps, as our hotel was located on a clifftop, and no matter which direction we took, we could not arrive at our hotel entrance without a stiff climb preceding it. Then the hotel was not really wheelchair friendly, as both the doorstep and the reception, just inside, involved steps. Fortunately, my wife Alex is what you may call semi-disabled. That is, she is able to get out of the chair and climb the stairs without aid before needing to get back in, making this an identical situation as at home, where she does not use the wheelchair at all - a big improvement from October of the previous year, when she was totally unable to move her thigh and leg muscles.

 

One of the highlights of the holiday were the long walks along the promenade, which connected Bournemouth with the neighbouring towns of Poole at one side, and Boscombe on the other, with the walkway linking all three without a single incline - such a blessing when it was constructed at a set distance above sea level. I have to admit, there was something euphoric in my spirit as I pushed the wheelchair over several miles. During these walks, I was able to look at Alex's head directly in front of me and felt such love for her pouring out of my heart - maybe because she depended on me entirely for her welfare and wellbeing. It seemed as an exact replica of the risen Jesus loving his bride, the church, both as individual believers and corporately as a body.

 

 

 

But not all was peaches and cream, the dream holiday everybody longs for. The weather was hot with unbroken sunshine, a heatwave by which we underestimated the strength of the sun. So on the day we lay on the beach and swam in the sea, we got sunburned, both of us, but the pain we did not feel until after we had returned to the hotel for the evening. Having a cold bath partially relieved the symptoms, but by the morning of the next day, we took action to buy a sunburn cream containing Ibuprofen, a non-inflammatory painkiller, and applied this liberally to the affected areas of our bodies. Indeed the aching did subside, and we both felt better afterwards, properly dressed and ready to start the first of our two walks, the longer one to Poole and back, with the sunburn virtually forgotten.

 

But for poor Alex, the cream had a side effect, causing her face to puff up, along with her feet, by the following evening. After she had watched the vast crowd of locals, visitors and holidaymakers enjoying their time at the beach and taking their mobility for granted, my dear beloved, away from the crowds, broke into tears. As I comforted her with tenderness, I assured her that my love and devotion to her will never ever fail, and I will be with her until my time is up. Once married always married. On top of this, I have encouraged her not to let her faith fail, and I gave her an example from the Old Testament character Job, who experienced the loss of all his children bar one, and the loss of all his possessions, and finally the loss of his health until he reached a point of hanging on to life by a hair. Yet, despite of all that, he declared:

 

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

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

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

How my heart yearns within me!

Job 19:25-27.

 

"I will see God." l will see God. The eternal security Job obviously felt about the afterlife was enough to strengthen Alex's spirit, and mine too. It was sufficient for the rest of the holiday not to be spoilt, and although the sunburn did gives us gyp, particularly at night, believing in the eternal promises of God was very re-assuring for both of us.

 

Yet the initial cause of my wife weeping as she sat in her wheelchair was the sight of so many people in such a holiday mood, as the sun shone, brightening up the whole environment into vivid colours and contrasts. Yes, we did see a few other wheelchairs about, but we could count on the fingers of just one hand the few we did see, compared to the countless individuals, couples, group of friends, and families, all sauntering along with probably no thought of their ability to walk normally without assistance. And on one evening, when we decided to stay in town until late at night, I especially, was taken in by the large group of revellers having barbecues on the sandy beach, with not a few actually having a late-night swim in the sea, with just the pier lights for illumination. The raucous, shouting, laughter, and generally messing about among them did not pose any threat of violence. Quite unusual, so I thought, for the British do have a reputation for alcohol, drunkenness, vomiting, violence and hospitalisation, not to mention a night spent in a police cell, particularly abroad, with the Mediterranean island of Ibiza being one of the top destinations for young Brits during the Summer. But as we drew nearer the crowd, I began to notice the dominance of both foreign languages and broken English. The crowds having a whale of a time seem to be mainly from abroad, who were able to revel without all those alcohol-related setbacks. At the same time the bright lights of the fun fair, in the town's main square, throbbing with life and loud music as more of these revellers opted for a ride.

 

The general age range seems to be in their twenties, which gave me a clue that they were likely students. But whatever the reason why they were here, has got me to ponder a little - or a lot, maybe. How would Jesus Christ had re-acted in this joyous environment? This question had got me to think how things were during the Victorian or Edwardian age. During those days, so according to some of the pictures I have seen, the coast would have been populated by smartly-dressed English genteel, who would have been offended by the sight of too much flesh exposed.

 

With their tight formal dress, I have wondered whether our hot Summers are a modern phenomenon, because the weather always looked so dull in these illustrations! But assuming that hot Summers were as prevalent in those days as at present, these people certainly knew how to endure their body heat in such constricting attire. It was such a vivid contrast to the present day, when during a typical weekday, we saw no more than half a dozen neck-ties worn, out of multiple thousands of males, many with just a tank top, vest or singlet. As we heard several times a swear word floating in the air, I could not help but ponder on the tiny percentage who regularly attend church, a massive contrast to the bygone days when Sunday church-going was all but mandatory for everyone.

 

Then I recall my own childhood days as a boy, wearing a suit and tie whenever we attended church. I also recall the day when I took the first Holy Communion at age thirteen - I have a picture of myself resembling a groom at a wedding. Then putting it all together, to me, there has always been a strong connection between formal attire and regular church attendance.

 

Do the average unbeliever or un-churched really think this? I have to admit that I don't really know for sure. But this was one main reason why I was very anti-church during my later teenage years. And going by the way the Victorians dress and their majority who attended church, indeed - if he was alive on earth today, I couldn't help but imagine Jesus walking along the promenade with a permanent scowl, judging and condemning the entire population for their skimpy attire, being drunk, swearing, having fun, and not attending church each week. To add to this, he would also condemn those who attend church dressed informally, with either tee-shirts, or open-neck shirts without a tie, and the ladies attending wearing low neckline attire and lacking a headscarf. As my father-in-law once said to me: attending church in casual dress, to him, is being disrespectful to the Lord.

 

And how would the Lord respond to the huge beach party with its barbecues and late-night swimming? And heaven forbid, not to mention the fun-fair, with its flesh-centred sensuality. Would he mingle around in his wrath, looking for at least one person formally dressed in Victorian attire, or at least in modern suit and tie? And not finding at least one "righteous" person, let alone ten, (Genesis 18:32) - would he call upon Heaven to send down fire and destroy them all? Or preach a loud message of judgement? Or at least turn his back and walk away, letting them all perish in their own iniquity?

 

No, not at all! I think it would be just the opposite. If Jesus was around at the massive beach party, what he would have wanted to do was to attract their attention in order to gracefully shower love, healing and forgiveness of sins abundantly. So the following scenario is what I personally believe what might have occurred if Jesus Christ was present that night:

At first, he would select someone with an infirmity, such as my wife in the wheelchair, with the right time and place set by his Father in Heaven. Then he would perform a healing miracle, purposely in the crowd, to attract attention. With growing astonishment together with an equally growing sense of curiosity among those who witnessed the miracle, two, three, maybe even four with physical disabilities approached him and they were all healed. With attention fixed on him, he would begin to preach - not  with a judgemental attitude, but with a smile, his words flowing with grace and meekness. Eventually, one of the many groups in the crowd would ask him to join them at their barbecue. As he sits by the fire, he takes a roll, a couple of beefburgers, and after bowing his head in prayer, instructs the group in charge of the barbecue fire to distribute to all who wishes to partake. Then by the fireside, he preaches the Kingdom of Heaven, the reality of sin, the need for forgiveness, and the need to believe in him alone in order to enter Heaven. Rather than condemn the beach party, he offers something more richer, more permanent, and with the ability to face up to life's adversities - living water, welling out of the belly of all who believe, and eternal life. As a result, a great many in the crowd would turn and follow him.

Then by chance a coach pulls up nearby, and around fifty immaculately dressed ladies and gentlemen alight to make their way to the pier. Their attention was instead drawn to the crowd on the beach beside the pier. After listening to Jesus preach and perform miracles for an hour or two, they all conclude that this man cannot be from God, because he mixes with the common rabble with their skimpy singlets and topless torsos. Furthermore, he actually makes friends with foreigners, and with the lowlife scum who most likely had never seen the inside of a church. This was an insult to their own nationality, their religion, and their own righteousness. Didn't they go to church Sunday after Sunday without ever missing a week? And everyone attending always dressed immaculately in suits and ties of the finest tailoring, and the ladies in dresses with buttoned up necklines and wearing a headscarf. Weren't they very class conscious, making sure that they knew their place in society, and associated only with those of the same social stratum? Furthermore, they tut-tutted anything sensual, especially on the beach. As they sauntered along, their scowling faces watching with deep disapproval at a young, topless man hugging his bikini-clad girlfriend after both having had a swim in the sea. One of the gentlemen then called out:

Don't you have any manners, young man? It's about time you two attended church and learn some respectability!

In which his reply, containing vulgar language, was essentially saying to mind his own business. The gentleman, feeling rebuffed, reassured himself that he was doing the will of God, and Heaven was waiting for him, and such lowlife will suffer his own eternal doom.

The above was just a story, but I hope it brings out the differences between how Jesus would have re-acted in such an environment, and what I believe how many may perceive the churches to be like, a lot based on my own experience as a boy.