R is for ROAD

It was only a short journey of about a quarter of a mile, part of it on the main road between Loughgall and Moy and the rest along the narrower stretch that led up a steep hill towards home. This latter part of tarmac was only wide enough for one vehicle to travel along and was bordered on one side by our orchard and on the other by a field that we called 'the wee orchard' but over a period of years and mostly before I was born, the apple trees had either died or been uprooted and now only a few remained, along with one or two pear trees and a row of damson trees near the bottom hedge. These plum trees were very delicate in nature, their branches unlikely to support a human, without snapping, but strangely when a ladder was placed across several of them, their combined strength allowed dad, on many occasions, to climb the ladder and pull the damsons. There was, however, more than one occasion that he was probably too confident and ended up in the adjacent hedge among the briars. When I was very young, the old hedge bordering the road had a stone wall base and any gaps in the hedge above it had been fortified by the faithful barbed wire that neither man nor beast would attempt to pass through. However, at some satge the swhole thing was removed and replaced by a wooden fence, covered on the lower end by strong netting wire and above with a couple of strands of the barbed variety.

We often 'herded' cattle on this stretch of road, early in the morning and dad would then walk through the gathering of animals, separating those that were ready for market from those that would survive a little longer in the fields . It only took three of us to do the job, one at the top of the hill, one at the bottom and dad in the middle. My own house wasn't built then so there were very few distractions or escape routes for the animals who quite happily grazed on the grass verge at the roadside until the lorry came to take them away.

The same road was also the direct route home from the hay field when we brought the bales to the hay shed. Dad had an old grey Ferguson tractor at the time, that was cabless and used petrol instead of diesel for its nourishment. It used to start by turning on the key and then manoeuvring the gear lever but in recent times that method no longer operated and it was case of either suing the starting handle or leaving it on a hill and starting it on a push and a run. It didn't pull any really heavy loads and since our trailer was already a hefty beast, we never really brought more than about forty bales in any load, back to the farmyard. The hill itself was a major obstacle and even though dad built up some good speed as we rounded the corner off the main road and started our ascent, you could hear the engine slowly die away about one third of the way up the incline and you just knew he would have to change gear. The gearbox had no synchromesh so it was usually a grinding session before we began stuttering forward towards the summit. Sister and I almost always rode on top of the hay load. The view was so much better and it probably was safer than clinging precariously on to the back or sides of a cabless tractor. Except not on this occasion. We had just reached that critical moment on the hill when the engine began to die and I could see dad getting ready to change gear. However as the grinding stopped and we began to move forwards, everything changed for the tipping mechanism on the trailer was suddenly jolted into action and our eyes were thrust skywards as the load beneath us began to quickly move up and backwards and we were forced in the same direction. It only took seconds but soon the whole load was lying strewn across the road and sister and I somewhere in the middle of it. Dad has never moved more quickly and almost instantly he was standing at the back of the trailer checking if we were OK. So many things could have happened in those few seconds, We could have landed on the tarmac, broken bones or worse, head first, any number of the forty or so bales could have landed on top of us or we could even have been catapulted into the hedge or the barbed wire but we landed unhurt, with the bales actually sliding off the trailer beneath us and cushioning our fall. Dad was a relieved man that day, but not as much as mum when she found out and for a while afterwards we were consigned to the mudguard of the tractor, which was probably not any safer but at least closer to the ground!

Have you ever felt God's hand upon you? Or maybe you didn't realise it was Him. It's easy when you're in the midst of a problem to forget that He knows what's happening and is still in control. Indeed, hindsight is a wonderful thing, when you emerge from the difficulties life throws at us and can look back and see His protective influence every step of the way. Now I know that not every problem works out to our satisfaction and sometimes we suffer scars that take so long, if ever, to heal but I think each of us can point to so many other times when we just know that a higher power has been at work. God has a plan for each of our lives and, as an old friend said to me once, we can't alter the length of our lives by one minute but He often protects and guides us through difficult moments along the way, like falling off a load of hay, being in an accident, suffering illness or just watching over us each day as we get on with living. In the Psalms I read 'You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.' And not only does God protect me in everyday life but he promises to to be my strength against the fallen angel as Paul reminds the church at Thessalonica, 'But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen and protect you from the evil one.'

As we approach Christmas once again, what better reminder of God's presence in every step we take along the road than 'Immanuel, God with us'