E is for END

Well it's been a long journey. Way back on 29th July last year I wrote my first ever blog about titled A is for APPLES. It was just a few retrospective thoughts on earlier years and the world that I inhabited as a child coupled with a spiritual thought at the end. I suppose the intention was to attract those who had little or no interest in God and maybe just make them stop and think. Slowly, working through the letters of the alphabet, dwelling on those that sparked my recollections most, I tried to bring a relevant and appropriate spiritual dimension each day. I called it 'Growing Seasons' because it took me through the four seasons over many years of physical and spiritual growth and hopefully at times, those who chose to linger, found something to laugh at, cry at or at least ponder over in relation to their own experiences.

And it took dedication, far greater than I imagined at the start, finding a least an hour every day to sit in front of a monitor and create something that at least made sense to me. There were days when the early morning sunrise was my only compatriot, other times when I watched the midnight hour arrive, occasionally after school in the hour before I came home and often in the unlikeliest of places and occasions. There was no rest on school holidays, Christmas Day or New Year's Day. Some were written on a hotel computer in the Algarve, others in Chicago, Kentucky and Washington DC, one even in Heathrow airport and several formulated on a small PDA with a stylus my only finger. Even my birthday was not exempt. At home, sometimes I typed on the house PC and later in the year, as spring arrived, on the laptop at the picnic table. But I wasn't alone. For she who has always been called 'wife', my best friend, was always there, reading and encouraging and what's more, keeping her part of the bargain too by writing her own blog '365blessings' each day. But now it has all come to an end. I have run the race and finished the course and although this blog entry is dated for today, it is in truth for the 28th July and will soon revert to that.

So what have I learned during my year of meanderings, murmurings and memories? I suppose that my memory is not as bad as I though it was and those details that I thought had been lost came flooding back on a regular basis. I learned too that life is really all about a collection of experiences that shape us to be the people we are and even those moments that seem less significant or forgettable have a role to play in our whole understanding of our existence. We are moulded by our past but the clay never dries so there is always room for change. I've also learned that there is nothing that you cannot make time for if you really want to and if it's important enough to you and this blog has fallen into that category. But the thing I've really learned is how little I really know about the God I claim to follow and about what He wants to say to me and how I need to constantly seek a deeper relationship with Him. I've learned how to see God in every situation, not just as a bystander, but as someone who is sovereign and in complete control of every situation in which I have found myself. And a year later, I know that not only is my faith stronger and deeper but He has spoken to others through what I have written, despite my inadequacies.

And so the end has come. It has been a wonderful journey of recollections, observations and discoveries but even as I close, I know that it is not really the end but a new beginning, along another road that will take me even closer into the presence of the God who gave everything for me and chose me, in His grace, to receive the salvation which was purchased for me through His Son. In truth, that road never ends, that story never finishes for when I stand before my Father and He welcomes me into His Kingdom, the journey leads on into eternity and that is for ever. If you also travel that same road, some day our paths will meet and maybe we'll share our memories of an all sufficient Creator as we worship in the all consuming glory of our heavenly Father. If you are standing at the crossroads of you life, hopefully this blog might help you choose your direction wisely so that you may find the God of my faith in your 'growing seasons' and also travel along the road which has no ending. So let's not say goodbye, just Au Revoir.

E is for EARLY

Sam lived a couple of miles across the river from home. I really only knew him well in His late middle age and more senior years but he was still a distant figure in the locality and valued his privacy in the back pew at church. He was a farmer along with his brother, having honed his interest, strength and skills through the years when the work was more dependent on man than machine but now life was taken at a more leisurely pace and the urgency to complete tasks was less prevalent. Still, everything he intended to do was done, it just took a little longer. Sam was a morning person. By the time I would be getting up for school, he would be arriving into the family kitchen for breakfast with his brother and sister, having risen several hours earlier to bring in the cows and do the milking and any other tasks he could find around the yard. Like his two siblings in the house, he had never married and he was a man of few words, but mostly wise ones, finding his contentment in the things of creation around him and a simple faith in his Creator. I doubt if he bothered much with evenings, except on the few occasions when visitors, such as my dad, would arrive on the occasional Saturday night and they would all sit around an open turf fire to discuss the news of the countryside. Generally, we are not a nation of early risers, compared to, for example, America, where I was reminded again this summer that nine o'clock in the morning makes you late for everything!

One year, when I was twelve or thirteen, the powers that be decided to forego the traditional ritual of turning the clock back in winter so that we had British Summer Time all the year round, even if in those days, you could distinguish the seasons. It meant that we went to school in the dark but had a longer daylight in the evening. I loved the early mornings because dad used to give me a lift into school in town when he was going to feed his cattle and I would arrive at least half an hour before anybody else. It was the most peaceful time of the day, sitting around in the class bay with only the overhead fluorescent lights for company, along with my thoughts for the classes ahead and thew silence of the empty corridors. But alas, such moments are short lived and slowly, other pupils filtered in from the highways and byways and the peace I knew was eroded for ever, or at least until the next morning. However, I never forgot the importance of those moments and even today, there is nothing more pleasant than an early morning walk or just time alone before the sparrows' alarm clocks herald a new dawn. That is also the time when I believe I find the greatest opportunity to be alone with God and to listen for His voice as I read His Word.

One of the common phrases in the Old Testament is 'early the next morning' and what usually follows is some definite action related to the faith of the person involved. So men like Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Joshua, Gideon, Samuel and David all rose in the early hours to strengthen their faith, to accomplish God's plan and also to praise God for His faithfulness. Mark also records that 'Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed' while John reminds us that 'Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance.' Starting the day with God is the common denominator, where our first thoughts help to shape our day and keep us in communion with him as we make decisions and interact with others.

Here's a final thought. A few weeks ago we went to a church in Kentucky. We gave ourselves plenty of time for the elven o'clock start, arriving thirty minutes early, yet found the car park already well filled. It was clear that something wasn't right in our planning and the notice at the front of the building confirmed our fears for the Sunday morning service had been brought forward by one hour during the summer. If only we had taken the time to find out earlier, we would have been fine. Still, we made it for the sermon, so it wasn't all bad. It's all a matter of preparation and although I'm a reasonable time keeper, I know when I arrive late for anything, I just didn't prepare early enough. And yet we treat God in the same way, not making preparations to be ready for the return of His Son, after which we will be too late. In Matthew 24v36, Jesus says 'No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son,but only the Father.' You can never prepare early enough for that.

E is for EASTER

David, a good friend of mine, preached two sermons last year on what he called 'The Promise'. Based on the Genesis 3 account of The Fall, he highlighted, in particular verse 15, where God, speaking to the Satan, disguised as a serpent, says 'And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.' His first talk, preached just a few days before Christmas Day, outlined that in these words, God was promising some day that a direct descendant of the woman and hence God, would be at war with the devil but would ultimately triumph and how the Old Testament reveals the path and lineage towards that person who would be born in a stable in Bethlehem, so fulfilling the first part of His promise. In the second instalment on Good Friday, we were taken to the cross and then the empty tomb where, through His death and resurrection, Jesus, son of God and Son of Man would crush for ever the power of Satan by defeating His ultimate weapon, death. In so doing, He also opened up a way for man to be reunited to God and to once again realise the purpose for which he was created, to worship His Creator and not His creation. That essentially is the story of Easter, some forty days after the Christian festival of Lent, forty days prior to Ascension and fifty days before we remember Pentecost and the coming of the Holy Spirit. And that is, as David says, 'The promise'.

In the church of my childhood, I always remember the Good Friday services for no other reason than the solemnity of the occasion. I used to think, 'why are you guys all acting so sad? Unlike the disciples, in the infancy of their faith, you know that Easter Sunday is coming.' It really was surreal to see everyone going around with such morose faces, yet safe in the knowledge that the Resurrection had secured their eternity with God. And while I understand the magnitude of God's grace and love in the gift of His only Son and the horror of His final hours and death, I realise why it had to happen, for without our Good Friday, there can be no Easter Sunday, just as without that first Christmas, there would never have been an Easter. What a plan! What a promise! God in human form, sinless perfection, entering the world through the miracle of the virgin birth and as the Son of the Trinity, taking the punishment I deserve for all the sins I ever have or will commit, dying and rising to overcome what should have been my just desserts, that is death and in so doing, defeating the power of the devil over me. And after returning to His Father, I find that I am never alone because another person, the Holy Spirit, is sent to become the heart of my very existence.

There are many parts to the Easter story. In school, I composed some music to represent each piece so that, Palm Sunday had triumphant melodies while Good Friday was melancholic and Easter Sunday, the sounds of a new dawn. The Betrayal was dark and sinister, the denial section of question and answers using two different instruments and the Ascension, an angelic section slowly becoming higher in pitch. The kid's job was to try to pair each section with the correct part of the story. The only drawback is that they needed to know the whole story to understand the moods associated with each part and everyone didn't have a good grasp of that. Perhaps my childhood church could have helped! Maybe the trouble is that so many now associate Easter more with hot cross buns, holidays, Easter eggs and cards in the same way that Christmas has become a festival of commercialism and activities that require no thought of 'The promise' We need to reflect on the words of Isaiah who writes in chapter 7v14 'Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel,' the essence of the Christmas Story and in chapter 53 v 5 'he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed,' why God must be always central to our Easter.

'The Promise'. Started and finished in an earthly Garden but made in heaven and completed when Jesus comes to bring all who believe, home to perfect unity with His Father. Let the story and message of Easter never become dim or lost in our generations or in our hearts. Roll the stone of unbelief away.

E is for ECHO

The plan was simple and straight forward. We would drive to a town in the van, park somewhere close to the centre, unload the sound gear and musical equipment and, hopefully, within half an hour would be singing and playing to anyone who wanted to listen. It was the brainchild of the organiser, Pastor Robert Dunlop, who had invited us down for the fortnight to work alongside and also separate from the Youth outreach team that had been drawn from churches all over the province. His church was in County Kildare, in a small, picturesque village called Brannockstown, but our base was to be Courtown harbour, a little seaside village that took life at a sleepier pace than the larger towns in the vicinity. And while the youth team spent their days holding kid's club sand other activities locally, our remit was to be ready every day to take the roadshow to a different location, sometimes managing to fit in two different towns in the one afternoon, before returning to the small harbour village in time for the evening session. And so, over the two weeks we seemed to cover almost every town in that bottom right hand corner of the island, from Wicklow to Waterford and a few other smaller villages besides. It was a wonderful experience. Soon after we would arrive at our destination, the locals, intrigued by our presence and the gear we were unloading, would start to congregate at a safe distance and because we had trimmed down the equipment to the essentials, in a short time, we were ready to start. Except, of course, for one thing. Power! Yes we needed power from somewhere. There is little point in having all the right sound gear but no power to drive it. And that's exactly where Pastor Dunlop came in. In every town, shortly after we arrived and had decided an appropriate location, he would disappear with a long cable and within minutes would return with the good news that a local shop owner had allowed him to 'plug in', free of charge, for the duration of our stay.

So how did he do it? I've no doubt that God was in control of the whole event but Robert was an important and indeed vital instrument in His hands. For a start he was never afraid to go and ask for power and if refused, was quite happy to keep trying until a source was found. Also, being from the same region, his accent posed less of a threat than our 'foreign' tongues from much further north and his understanding and use of regional colloquialisms certainly found warmth in local people's hearts. But I think his greatest attribute was that he was well known throughout the whole areas and commanded great respect from all sections of the community, regardless of their religion or race. Much of that regard probably came from his overt witness of his Saviour through the Churchmobile, a bus which he had obtained several years previously and which he had converted into a little church on wheels, with room for about forty people. From the outside it looked like a church, with painted on arched windows and a spire that could be lowered while in transit and it was parked every evening at Courtown harbour during the evening gathering. Anyway, the format was simple. We sang for roughly forty five minutes, songs and hymns being interspersed with a few words from Robert and then, towards the close he would preach for a short while. People used to gather in large numbers when they heard the noise and of course while the words we sang prepared their hearts, Pastor Dunlop watched from the side and had discerned his audience well before he even rose to speak. But what I will always remember was the strange echo in many of the towns as our singing and his preaching bounced off the buildings on the opposite side of the street and came back to meet us a fraction of a second later. It was just like singing in a big room and we knew that everything said and sung had echoed all the way along the street in both directions.

As I think of those wonderful days, many years ago and remember Robert, just recently retired from his church in Brannockstown, I am also reminded of the words of God through the prophet Isaiah which say 'So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.' Hundreds of people would hear the Gospel of Salvation those two weeks and while I never heard of the effect it had on anyone's life, I know that God's words went out for a purpose that He had ordained from the beginning of time. Yet I am also reminded of the need for perseverance, the kind of which Robert always showed and of course how little we can actually do without that great source of power that is only found in Jesus. He tells His disciples, just before returning to His Father, 'But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.' And isn't that the key, for without that power in our lives, we can be of little use even at home let alone in work, school or as missionaries in a far off country. But when we have His power, what else can we do but echo His love and grace to everyone we meet.

E is for EGGS

So, how do you like yours? I guess my own personal favourite is boiled. It takes me back to a time when life was a lot less complicated with the only hurdle on the horizon being how to get through a day at grammar school as a junior, without lines, detention, the cane, a harsh or sarcastic word from a teacher or occasionally a kick on the backside from a less patient member of staff. It wasn't a case of being badly behaved, just of being at school in the wrong era when lack of understanding of a subject was on a par with indiscipline in terms of punishment. Not exactly a boost to one's self esteem. I reckon they'd all be in jail now! Anyway, the day always started the same way, with mum shouting from downstairs to tell me how many minutes until the bus passed by and me, still wrapped up under the sheets, pretending not to hear until the last possible moment in the hope that maybe the bus would come early and I would be left behind. Alas the family car meant my ruse was always pointless. By the time I had hastily dressed and arrived in the kitchen, breakfast was prepared and waiting and, like most spoiled sons, I sat beside the open Wellstood fire, while mum set my food on a chair in front of me. It was usually a boiled egg and toast but not in the conventional sense, in that the egg had been scooped out into a teacup, butter, salt and pepper had been added and the whole lot mixed up. We unimaginatively called it 'egg in a cup' and and to this day it still features on my breakfast menu from time to time.

Wife's personal favourite is scrambled, made with a little melted butter and milk and pepper and sometimes she adds little bits of raw bacon to the mixture, just to tantalise those few taste buds that no longer find eggs very interesting and the resultant offering can be a substantial meal at any time of the day. And while wife makes beautiful scrambled egg, I have always been a little suspicious of the vast yellow mountains of the stuff that is often offered in hotels at breakfast buffets. or some reason it just doesn't taste the same and huge amounts of scrambled egg tend not to be very visually aesthetic in the morning. Many years ago we were given as a present, a little piece of apparatus that was supposed to be an aid when poaching eggs. I think it's still somewhere in the kitchen, but it has always seemed much easier to just crack an egg into boiling water and let it poach without any outside help. In a sense poaching is really just boiling without the shell, except it's a quicker process, but makes an equally satisfying meal. Of course if you live in our province, then your Ulster Fry is not complete without a fried egg and despite its unhealthy composition when cooked, it does arouse the taste sensors more than any other form of egg. I guess it belongs in that large category of foods that we like to eat but shouldn't. Eating raw eggs was another matter entirely though dad regularly broke one over his potatoes at dinner time, during his earlier working days, as was the norm for most farming families. And if my memory serves me correctly, he and his mates would not have been averse to drinking buttermilk with a raw egg mixed in. So along with omelettes and their inclusion in a variety of cooked and baked dishes, eggs certainly have played a vital role in our household as they have indeed done in most families and to the humble hen, duck and banty, we are eternally grateful. Yet essentially the prime purpose of the egg is probably to generate new life.

Jesus once mentioned eggs in His earthly ministry when explaining how His Father has so much good to give each of us if we will only ask Him. Having prefaced with those famous words of The Lord's Prayer, in response to a disciple's request to be taught how to pray, He then instructed them by saying 'Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.' Then by way of further explanation to indicate that God best knows our needs, he added, 'Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!' And when that Holy Spirit in dwelling within, its fruit should be evident for all to see, just like the new life inside an egg is not contained within forever.

Here's a last thought. Even though they may look the same, the difference between a hard boiled and a raw egg is seen when you try to spin them, for only the hard boiled egg rotates easily. Our lives visibly show what we are in our hearts, regardless of the image we try to portray. I guess people can see the cracks!

E is for ELEPHANT

We had waited patiently with our guide for over half an hour. He had assured us that they were on their way to the water hole and just when we had about given up hope of them ever appearing, a large, grey mass began to poke its way through the rambling bush and cross our line of view, a safe distance away. Not that it was completely safe. The ranger had warned us to keep crouched behind the scrub and fallen trees since any undue movement might attract the mother's attention and she could be very proactive in defending her young who had simply come to quench their thirst and enjoy a playful family paddle. We watched them trundle down to the edge of the little pool, where they remained for half an hour, during which the only movement on our part were the shutters on a few cameras and then they turned and left in the direction from whence they had come without even caring to glance towards their human voyeurs, though I suspected they had known we were there all the time. It was an exhilarating experience, to view such majestic yet ponderous creature in something akin to their natural habitat, even if a barrier to complete freedom did lie somewhere beyond their comfort zone. We would see them twice more during our stay. once in the enveloping darkness of a late evening when the searchlight from our ranger's land rover lit up a male and his partner just off our track and definitely too close to our comfort zone. And then, the next evening, from the security of our camp, enjoying an open air dinner, the floodlight above the nearby water hole where we had first seen the family, showed that they had returned for an after dark soiree. In all my encounters and indeed those where metal bars that separated us, gave me increased confidence in my safety, I never forget that these are wild animals and their apparent ponderous and docile nature does not truly reflect the power they possess.

I'm told some elephants can live to be seventy years of age and they are famed for their memory, intelligence and wisdom while even the King of the Jungle is unlikely to prey on such a magnificent and huge beast. Scientists tell us that their trunk has so many muscles and nerves that it is sensitive enough to lift one blade of grass but strong enough to rip up a tree. It also allows them to draw up three or four gallons of water at a time and spray it into their mouth to quench a thirst or to spray it over their bodies for washing but they often follow this with a further spraying of mud which then acts as a protective sunscreen. And it doesn't stop there, for the intertwining of trunks is a greeting in much the same way as we would shake hands, while a raised trunk is a sign of warning to intruders or potential enemies. And because it is also essentially their nose, elephants rely on their trunk for their very highly developed sense of smell that allows them to locate food and other living things, either friend or foe, by a simple waving of the appendage in the air. Their tusks are equally important, helping them to dig for water, debark trees, move obstacles in their path and to mark their territory. They are also available as a weapon if they choose to use them in this way. Unfortunately, for this giant animal, the tusks are a much sought after material, being used for piano and organ keys, making figurines and different sculptures and also especially in constructing the hanko, a Japanese seal for documents. How sad that the population of elephants across the world has dwindled because to get the ivory, the animal must die. Indeed one of its greatest strengths becomes its weakness.

Maybe therein lies a lesson for us all, for where we seem to feel strongest can turn out to be where we are most vulnerable. Satan attacks us where he knows he can do the most harm, be it in our marriages, our relationships with others, our family life, our job, but of course, most importantly for him, in our Christian walk. Poachers don't attack tuskless elephants and satan will likewise only attack us where he can take something valuable away from us. So it's up to us to protect our lives for the places where he might find us weak, where temptation is most likely to turn our heads and cause us to fall. My old Sunday school teacher always said 'temptation doesn't do the damage, but giving in to it does.' Never think that he is leaving you alone, for even Judas, close as he was to Jesus succumbed, as John writes 'As soon as Judas took the bread, Satan entered into him.' The good news of course is that he is already defeated at Calvary and if we truly depend on Jesus for our strength every day, He can keep the devil from stealing our faith.

Today, dig deep in the faith for that living water, claim the protection of your Father, ask Him to remove the obstacles in your path that might stop you, mark your territory clearly for Jesus and above all, get ready for the battle.

Y is for YUCCA

Mum was a great gardener. If it had roots, stem and leaves, she could make it grow and often plants would thrive, having begun life as a little cutting she had obtained from a friend or neighbour. In her later years, when she and and dad would go on holiday to Scotland or the north of our province, she would seldom return home without some 'slips' of plants that she had collected on her travels and before long they would be growing healthily in a corner of her garden. Indeed some of the fir trees and broom plants that still decorate the family garden, came all the way from the moors in Ayrshire. As long as I can remember, she spent her 'free' time in the garden tending to her 'family' and over the years new little plots of ground began to spring up around home, in the unlikeliest of locations, with each one containing a selection of newly acquired plants, that still survive to this day. And those that she couldn't find room for in her multitude of flower beds, remained in an ever increasing congregation of flower pots of various sizes and shapes, close to the back door of our house.

But amongst all the plants that she cultivated in her botanical paradise, I think the ones she admired most were the Yucca plants. It had all started with one large Yucca in the main garden. I didn't particularly like it as I inevitably got 'spiked' by one of its pointed, sharp leaves every time i tried to manoeuvre the lawnmower around its base. It didn't seem that interesting a plant either, just a mass of these dangerous, hard and waxy leaves in a sort of rosette and a fairly think, woody stem. But then one year it produced a massive flower, well not exactly one flower, but a whole stalk of white flowers, about a foot high and then, despite mum's concerns to the contrary, it seemed to flower every year with as much gusto as the previous one. Such was her confidence in the plants hardiness and her own green fingers that soon, several cuttings had been removed and planted elsewhere in the garden and within a few short years had become established enough to produce their own flowering stalks. It was a great sight and over the years all the Yuccas continued to flourish and now their stems are more akin to trunks of small trees. When we began to set out our own garden, mum was soon on hand with a few Yucca cuttings that she carefully placed at several points and for quite a few years now , we have been able to enjoy the delights of the white flowering stalks on our own doorstep, though the plants themselves still see the need to attack me when I mow the lawn in their proximity.

Yes how encouraging it is to know that in the hands of a real gardener, these plants that are more common at home in a different climate, can grow with great vigour, given the proper care. This past week I have been drawn towards John 15 where Jesus states 'I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.' I saw at first hand the way mum tended her beloved plants, weeding and cutting where necessary in order to not only maintain their health but indeed to produce even greater growth. And I think of my heavenly Father, who constantly cares for me in the same way, cutting away the things that might hinder my spiritual growth and through His help I try to bear fruit and blossom for Him. In Galatians 5, Paul lists for us all those qualities that God requires us to exhibit as we become more like His Son, when he writes 'But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.' These are the signs that our roots are growing deeper in Him, that our hearts are in tune with His guiding and our lives are being slowly pruned towards that ultimate perfection in Eternity. Have faith in the Gardener.