Z is for ZEBRA

An old lady was trying to cross a busy road on day but just couldn't seem to get a time when there was no traffic coming. A young man who had been watching her for a while, trundled over and said, 'Excuse me, dear, but, there's a zebra crossing just down the road.' She looked at him, with a mixture of bewilderment and frustration and replied, 'Well I hope he's having better luck than I am.' Yes I know it's one of the oldest jokes known to man but I guess God must have had a bit of a sense of humour when He created zebras. I mean, on first appearance, they do stand out from the crowd a little bit and you would hardly think they would be easily camouflaged against their greatest predator, the lion. But strange as it may seem, because a lion is colour blind, it has great difficulty seeing a zebra which remains completely motionless and if it does attack a herd of the beasts, when they all run off in different directions, it can be extremely confusing with all these black and white lines running everywhere. Also if you are faced with a whole herd of the animals, you might just think, with all those stripes facing you, that it is just one gigantic animal and maybe think twice before attacking. Though somehow, I'm not so sure that lions are so easily confused or put of their lunch.

So the question is, are zebras black and white stripes, white with black stripes or black with white stripes? Most scientists appear to agree that they are indeed the latter with some animals having slight touches of brown in their colouring and all of them having a white underbelly which also helps in camouflage. And, in case you didn't notice, the stripes have white a distinctive pattern too with the head, neck and body consisting of vertical stripes and the rear end having horizontal stripes. There is also a scientific theory that the stripes also confuse the visual system of the blood sucking Tsetse fly. Zebras also have wonderful hearing, a great sense of smell and taste and of course, like their lookalike, the horse, have eyes at the side of the head to give them all round vision and so are well equipped to spot danger the minute it appears. Most experts also believe they can see in colour, though I'm not sure how they can completely prove such a hypothesis without actually asking a zebra and I guess communication is still some way off. However, I suppose it does help the animal to see the colour of the lion that wants to invite it out for lunch! There are several different species of zebra but I suppose, like you, when I see one, it's just a zebra to me and even though man has made some serious attempts to domesticate the animal, it is still best suited to the wild outdoors, though I'd hardly call it a wild animal in the predator sense of the word and I reckon the zebras in the zoo, that I saw a few weeks ago, can shout whatever abuse they like across at the lions!

How well equipped they are to continue living on a daily basis. And how well equipped we should be as Christians if we follow Paul's advice in Ephesisans 6 when he tells us to 'Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes.' So today, as we end another month and many of our church activities end for a while, it is easy to be vulnerable. So ask yourself, are you wearing the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness , the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit. And are your feet fitted with the gospel of peace. God took no shortcuts with the zebra and He gives us all we need to grow in our faith. It's really all black and white.

V is for VOYAGE

The Bible calls it a 'far country' so it clearly involved some considerable distance to travel. But the young man was keen to go, having apparently had enough of home and needing to see and experience the world beyond his own borders. I guess there's really no need to go through the whole story again but certainly after along time, during which he seems to have carelessly lost all his money, he came to realise that home wasn't such a bad place after all and despite a brother's protests, his father welcomed him back with open arms. Now I know it's a parable to show how God is always waiting for us and will never turn us away when we come to Him but the story in itself has much more to say as well about human relationships. Most of the account centres on the young guy partying, spending and eventually being bankrupt and deals with his remorse and return. But what about the father, left behind? What about the day his son came to him and said he wanted to leave? I wonder how often his dad tried to convince him not to go? I wonder how many sleepless nights he spent, hoping that things would be different? And I wonder how he spent his days after the son left because there is clear evidence that he was watching for his return. And I wonder how many tears he shed?

And what of Jacob? This time a real account of his favourite son's life at home and in the far country of Egypt, his brothers' deception and the ultimate reunion. But Jacob had to live through it all, the years when he thought his son was dead, the anguish when Benjamin had to go to Egypt and the tears of joy when Joseph once more stood before him. And I think of Hannah, almost without hope of having children, then Samuel comes along and because her prayers are answered, she gives her only son back to God. But the human heartache, the days and nights of inner turmoil over her promise and then the day comes and he is gone. And Abraham, old before his son is born, yet taken to the very limit of his endurance and faith as God commands that his son be sacrificed. Can you imagine the state of his mind, the desire to run away, the feeling of hopelessness, the torture on each step of his voyage to that place? Along the way there was no light at the end of the tunnel, no escape clause, no other way yet Abraham, like Hannah, like Jacob, like the Prodigal son's father, kept believing.

We stood watching youngest son go to the far country this morning. The fact that he wasn't going there to party or just have a good time or even to see the world, didn't really matter that much. But we did know that when we handed our children over to God, he would take us at our word, just like Hannah found out and we might have to endure the pain of separation for a season. I'm reminded of that famous line form Romeo and Juliet, 'parting is such sweet sorrow' and I guess today I probably understood it for the first time in all its magnitude, for while it was such a sad occasion for us all, the sweetness is found in the knowledge that he is safe in God's hands and every day brings that reunion closer.

But I know there is someone who completely understands our pain. For when Jesus began His voyage in a stable, it would eventually end on a hillside and His Father knew every day was a step closer to that awful scene. Yet for our sake and our eternal future, He endured the pain and sorrow that any father would experience, so that we might be forgiven. Maybe that puts John 3 v 16 properly into perspective when we understand what is cost God to sacrifice His Son. 'For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son,that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.' So when we have to let go of our children, God understands, when we feel helpless in their helplessness, God understands, when we find the pain so hard to bear, God understands. Why? Because He let go for us. And because He loves us unconditionally.

But he Psalmist encourages me to be strong when he writes, 'The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your love, O LORD, endures forever— do not abandon the works of your hands.' It's not just the physical voyage of going to the far country that is difficult to bear. For it's the voyage of faith that brings us to a place where we can find rest in Him and comfort for tomorrow. Safe travelling.

V is for VARIETY

When I wanted a fizzy drink as a child, it was either white lemonade or brown lemonade, eggs were scrambled, boiled or fried, sandwiches were salad or meat and potatoes were boiled in their skins or mashed. Television was BBC or ITV, football was Match of the Day or The Big Match, hymns were Songs of Victory or The Church Hymnal and favourite group was either Beatles or Rolling Stones. Ice cream was vanilla or ripple, bicycles were boys' or girls', bread was plain or pan and baked beans were Heinz or HP. In some cases there was no choice at all. Friday was CE or stay in the house, which generally wasn't an option. Helping to move cattle was obligatory as was washing or drying the dishes. Tea and dinner was what was set before you and evening viewing tended to be decided by the oldest member of the family, which wasn't me.

So how do we survive today. Even simple things like listening to music, provides a variety of ways and players from the old vinyl record player, through cassette recorders, CD players and now MP3 gadgets and ipods. How wonderful that you can now put your whole music collection in your pocket and everybody on the bus can be listening to a different song. And if you want a packet of crisps, no longer is it a choice between Tayto cheese and onion and Smokey Bacon. Now you can have so many flavours and so many different ways of preparing the crisps that it is well nigh impossible to choose which variety to have. Why, the other day, son arrived home with some parsnip crisps that were just divine to taste. Of course I sympathise with those parents who are faced with buying the latest football skip for their eager sons. Once you realise the cost of the jersey alone, then it's even more difficult to decide whether to buy the home kit, the away kit, the third choice strip, the goalie kit or the goalie change kit. Or maybe a mix of all of them. And then there's the name and number that goes on the back and with most teams having a squad of over twenty players, how hard to choose one to grace your shoulders and then discover that he is sold a month into the season. Of course television is not much different and now there are so many channels, we have become a nation of remote control button pushers, unable to settle to find anything and when dinner comes around, sometimes you would need a menu on the table to cater for all the different tastes present. And when the kids aren't playing the Xbox, Wii or Playstation, they may be wading through a hundred children's channels or watching one of the many music channels.

Back in the days of one brand of tomato ketchup, Top Cat and Ready, Steady, Go, we learnt a little chorus at CE and Sunday school. The lyrics went something like this. 'Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world, red and yellow, black and white, all are precious in His sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world.' Most social commentators today might consider it to be politically incorrect, but I think the whole point of the colours used was to show the great variety of different types of people in the world, yet all were loved exactly the same by Jesus. And while we have such a vast array of personalities, languages and cultures across the globe, we have one Lord who desires nothing more than finding lost sheep and bringing them into the fold.

In Revelation 5v9, John writes of Jesus, 'You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation.'

Tonight has not been easy. We say goodbye to our youngest son, still only twenty but with a faith of many twice his age, as he prepares to go to some of those children on the other side of the world and tell them about his heavenly Father for the next year. He will discover during his eXtreme walk, that there is no barrier of language, culture or continent to the love of God. The human pain and emotion is so difficult but in giving your children to God for His service, we can expect the road to be hard. So on this extremely strange and difficult evening, as I ponder on the variety of experiences he will face and the depth of faith he will discover, I find no greater comfort than in the words of our own Saviour who in sending His workers out into the fields, gave them this encouragement, 'All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen'

V is for VALLEY

Looking out of the kitchen window from home, across the fields that separated our house from those we could see in the distance, our view would traverse a valley, small in dimensions, but nevertheless a valley all the same. Its lowest point was no more than probably a hundred yards from the farmyard border and the gradual incline that separated it from the hills around meant that it was difficult to judge how much below our house it lay. About three quarters of a mile away the land began to rise steeply again and so the view from home was spectacular because of the nearness of everything. Form the gate at the top of the hill, you could see the river Callan meandering its way towards the Blackwater, the village where I spent all of my primary school life and the greater part of my adult teaching career, the pub on the corner, the little community of houses that lay close by and the spires of the city cathedral on the horizon.

Even the far away things seemed close and it was quite easy to hear the audible sound of a horse walking along the main road on a still day or the excited voices of children playing in the cottages down in the valley. At Hallowe'en, our whole world was always filled with the lights of fireworks from near and far, shooting up into the night sky and exploding in a myriad of colours. And you could watch a whole world of activity happening in different places at the one time. In one field a farmer might be cutting hay, another field might have horses galloping about, in some places, cows would be quietly grazing or the men who were employed by the Ministry of Agriculture could be working in the big field at the top of the next hill. A lone figure might be walking along the road, a car arriving at the pub or a mist of spray ascending from an apple orchard and sometimes I would just stand, leaning against the gate, watching a thousand different worlds on the one screen.

I could see when the river was unable to hold the rainwater that had fallen and started to flood over the land and more than once I watched our valley fields become lakes for a time. I could see the bands make their way into the village for a parade or hear the roar of the locals at the football ground. I could view how the countryside changed with the seasons and how the late spring and early summer turned everywhere different shades of green and blocked out much from view. But I could also see the smoke from the terrorist bombs that killed men in our locality and could hear the gunfire of attacks on the local police station the night they came to destroy but never left. The valley just made it so much nearer, like it was happening in our back garden. But the other morning, as I mused nonchalantly before going off in the early morning sunshine to work, down in the valley I just caught the faintest glimpse of a red fox as he scampered through the tall grass. By the time I had refocused, he was out of sight and my attention was drawn to two rabbits scurrying about the field before the cattle had wakened for breakfast. And immediately I was reminded of God's great creation in its simplicity, complexity and variation and how he sends each good thing for us to enjoy, be it only a few animals basking in the early morning.

But the other thing that I always recall is that when I walk down along the fields in the valley, the view is very different from being up on the hill. Everything is much closer and one step along the valley barely registers for the onlooker high above. But also, you can't really see very far in any direction and I suppose the only answer is to keep walking until you climb the hill on one side. I guess we have all been in the valley and not even believers are exempt from feeling low, depressed or downhearted. I guess there are times when we just don't seem to be making any progress and we can't see ahead far enough to find a way out. But how comforting that the view which God has of our lives is at the very top of the hillside and as He looks down and sees our helplessness, He is ready to help us ascend to the hillside and to overcome the trials of the valley experience. The Psalmist writes, 'Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.' On those dark days, when the valley seems longer than usual, sometimes it is good to remember that there is another view and every step forward is a step closer to seeing it. What is your view like?

V is for VACATION

It was the big event of the whole summer, after the Sunday school excursion. Mum and dad would get us into the Morris Oxford and we'd all trundle off, over the border in the direction of Dublin. Once, we made it all the way to the city and spent the whole day at the zoo but twice we never intended to go that far and somewhere south of Drogheda, we turned left off the main road and ended up at Mosney where Butlins ran their holiday camp. It was a great day out too, getting on all the rides , having a bite to eat and stating until late in the evening before starting the long, slow journey back northwards. And that was the length of our summer vacation most years, even though we had a couple of months off school, but there was always plenty to keep one amused around home and the summer just seemed to go on for ever.

Once or twice we went with mum to stay at her aunt's house in Rostrevor and climbed up to the 'big stone' in the rain but the whole vacation was no more than two or three days and occasionally the same sort of period might have been spent in Belfast with our grandparents but these were generally infrequent visits and certainly most summers were spectacular in their similarity. Then one year we really pushed the boat out and mum, sister and I joined with our aunt to holiday in Portrush for five days. It was a great feeling that, come late in the evening, we didn't have to pack everything into the car and head home, but instead there was the chance of some late night chips or a drink in a cafe and you could hear the seas outside the window as you dozed off to sleep. only to be wakened the next morning by a million seagulls who had chosen your window sill to have their early morning gossip. Two things are memorable about that vacation. First, we went on one of those Ulsterbus 'mystery tours' for an evening. You know the sort, where the only mystery is how the bus company chose such an uninteresting route, winding through country lanes between high hedges, but maybe it was just too much like home from home for me. Anyway, I remember sitting in the back of the bus, probably about fourteen years old at the time, with the earpiece of my trannie feeding the latest releases into my head and being totally fixated with 'Watching the River Flow' by Bob Dylan. But the other memory is something that only really registered much later in life, when I realised that the young girl who was a relatives of my mates from school whom I met for footie and cricket at the beach on several afternoons, would some day be my wife. What a strange world!

Well guess what? Tomorrow is vacation time all over again. Sometimes, I really envy my mate George in Australia, but in the best possible way, when I realise that every six weeks or so, he seems to have a holiday from school. But not today, for I know that while he is about to end his term for a couple of weeks away from the chalkboard or whiteboard, by midday tomorrow I'll be starting a whole weeks of a school free environment with that young girl who use to watch the big boys play on the beach at Portrush. Now I know what the less kind amongst the world population will be saying in reply and it will probably include such phrases as 'finishing at three o'clock', 'getting too many holidays when the rest of us are slaving away' and 'always complaining about the workload'. But you know, tonight I really don't care about opinions of those poor mortals who are clocking in next Monday as usual. Why? Because I know I've earned the right to have a rest and recharge the batteries and I guess I don't go around complaining about the benefits that other jobs might bring, that we teachers can't really avail of, like cheap flights and holidays, free evenings and weekends and flexi time so that the golf course, the shopping trip or the lie in can be accommodated.

Jesus understood the value of rest for when He saw His disciples under too much pressure so that they didn't even have time to eat, He said to them 'Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.' And isn't that what our 'quiet time' really is every day, a vacation from the pressures of life that seem to overtake and control us, a chance to recharge our batteries with the goodness that only He can give us. I note that Jesus didn't send them alone but went with them and in fact led them to where He wanted them to be and to rest. The Psalmist probably puts it better than I can when He writes 'He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul.' So apart from the physical regeneration that we hope to experience over the next couple of months, I long for the daily spiritual revival that my time of rest with Him will bring. Have you had your spiritual vacation today?

V is for VIDEO

Leo lived just a few hundred yards from home. He had at least two brothers whom I remember, one who didn't appear in public very often but did sport a long, bushy beard and the other who had moved to a house a few miles away, but for as long as I can remember seemed to have his right foot in some sort of permanent plaster cast. They didn't talk much but I'm sure they had plenty to say and most times when you met any of the brothers, it was mostly a quick nod of the head though in Leo's case, he rarely acknowledged anyone who passed his way. It wasn't out of any superiority, just the habits of a shy man, more comfortable with his own surroundings. And of course he had one very strange habit. For years my memory of him is his old black bike that he took everywhere but never rode. No matter where you saw him, he would be walking alongside the bicycle, uphill, downhill and on a piece of road with no obvious incline. I just wish that I had owned a video camera to film him as part of living history.

When I was young, there often was a lot happening around the farm at different times of the year but especially in June and July as dad made several fields of hay. From the cutting through the shaking and tossing, occasional lumping and final baling followed by the bringing home to the hay shed, it was a hive of activity. Then there were the annual health tests for the cattle to ensure they were disease free, the sowing of fertiliser, cutting weeds and apple time. All year there was always something happening, however small, but you'll have to take my word for it because I didn't have a video camera to capture it.

I first started to use a video recorder in 1985. I remember it well because it was around the time of Live Aid and I bought a pile of blank tapes to record the whole show. They're lying somewhere in the attic now and most of the concert is still intact , I'm sure. Over the years, I began to record all sorts of material on tape, especially important sports events including what was then Five Nations rugby and also the very irregular offerings broadcast form the rugby nations in the southern hemisphere. I even recorded lots of films, comedy shows and rare concerts by bands and singers down the years and i reckon there are some pretty interesting pieces of history in my collection now. The only problem is that the old video recorder broke a year ago and now I don't have anything to play them on. And of course I now can buy lots of the films and concerts and sports events that I painstakingly recorded on DVD, often for a fraction of the price I paid for the blank tapes. I guess that's progress!

But the great thing about video that places it above photographs is that while a picture may capture a moment in time, a film often allows you to understand more about a person. As youngest son prepares to leave for Ecuador, his big brother has made a video collection of short goodbyes from all of his friends, including his mum and dad. We watched it last Friday night and in just a few seconds, it was easy to feel the warmth and empathy from each contributor and also to see something of their honesty and their personality as they spoke. Each clip said a thousand things that a photograph could never impart and maybe it will help him through the long months away from home to realise the genuine friendship that exists.

There are lots of events in the Bible at which I would love to have been present, such as Eden, with Jonah in the boat, watching Noah build the ark, crossing the Red Sea with Moses, seeing Goliath fall, observing water becoming wine and of course being in the stable with Mary, Joseph and the shepherds. I'm not so sure I would have wanted to witness the last moments of Jesus as He hung on the cross but certainly meeting Him in the garden afterwards would have been quite spectacular as would that last view of Him ascending into the clouds. I can't even watch them on video because it wasn't around but I wonder would you have been any more convinced if you could view the whole thing on your television screen. Would it make you dedicate your life to Him? I'm not so sure. But you see, we don't need video evidence to convince us of His existence, His death and resurrection, all we need are the words of those who lived with Him and saw it at first hand and they are all recorded in the only book in which God was the editor, the Bible. John the Baptist said, after an encounter with Jesus, 'I have seen and I testify that this is the Son of God.' And the disciple whom Jesus loved, John, records , 'The life appeared; we have seen it and testify to it, and we proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and has appeared to us.' I don't think we need search any film record to convince us just the Scriptures.

V is for VICTORY

After our school football tournament today, I half hoped that I would be writing about victory, which I suppose, in a way I am but simply not the victory that I had hoped for. I could tell the boys in my team were disappointed.They just don't make tears like that in a movie. They had worked so hard in every game, dominated their semi final, missed several clear scoring chances, while the opposition had defended with a mixture of skill and help from the crossbar and post without ever troubling the goalkeeper at the opposite end of the pitch. But ten seconds form the end of the game, a breakaway produced the only goal at the wrong end and there was just no time to recover. Thieves have been jailed for less. In the end we played off for third place and won a hollow victory against the only other team that had looked like potential winners but had suffered a surprise defeat in their semi final. As one parent commented, it was the final that never was and I suppose there is some consolation in beating the team most thought likely to win the whole competition, but as Alan Hansen once said, 'first is first and second is nowhere.' Where exactly that leaves third, I'm not so sure but it's probably somewhere! So we ended with three victories and one defeat but I know which one the boys and their parents will remember.

The tournament is now in its fourth year, in memory of one of the boys in our school who tragically lost his life in a road accident, just before that Christmas. He was a fine footballer, a keen supporter of the Red Devils and not short of a word or two of banter on a Monday morning, after the previous weekend's games. That's why his mum and dad agreed that there was no better way to remember him than by holding the annual football competition for the local schools and each year, they come along to present the prizes to the winners. And of course that is where the real victory is, when the children tasking part, wipe way their tears of failure or success and realise that it is not just about winning or not winning but about being part of an event which preserves the memory of someone who was their age when his young life was ended, somebody who would have taken victory and all its plaudits in his stride and would have wiped off the dust of defeat and walked on. And yet as the years pass, I'm acutely aware that fewer and fewer of the children who arrive to play, will even remember the little boy whose name graces the cup or shield they might take home, yet each year I like to remind them in whose honour we hold the tournament and why, even though they want to be competitive on the pitch, and rightly so, at the end of the day the most important part of the event is that we never forget Neill nor the folks he left behind.

And I know if he was here today, he would want to tell you about the other great victory that happened in his life, some weeks before he died, when he experienced forgiveness and the salvation that Jesus won at Calvary for all of us. I reckon that really puts things into perspective for while there is no doubt that winning a match on a football field brings its own rewards and feelings of happiness, victory over the power of sin creates a joy that no sporting event can ever create within us. Every time we hold the event I remember that he left this world victorious and his dad, even in his moments of greatest sadness and depression, also knows the joy of victory that only God can give. Paul, in his letter to the Corinthian church, writes 'But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' Even way back in Deuteronomy we know of God's power and desire to help His people when we read, 'For the LORD your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies to give you victory.' And of course the ultimate victory is the one that Paul makes clear when he writes 'Death has been swallowed up in victory.'

I should have felt more sad today after the tournament, but I didn't. That's because the greatest victory had already been assured and noone can change the result.

V is for VATICAN

When you stand on the terraced areas inside the Colosseum, that great amphitheatre that rubs shoulders with modern Rome, just across the road, there is no doubt you are drawn back to a time when sport and fun were strange bedfellows and the thirst for blood always seemed to far outweigh fair play. Life was cheap and death often came at the whim of a leader or the drop of a hand from the balcony. The magnificent building may have lost much of its original structure internally but its architectural splendour, its imposing arched walls and the cobbled streets that surround it and lead towards the Forum, allow today's visitors to walk in the steps of Roman citizens of a bygone age when their armies ruled far beyond their borders.

A short stroll down the cobbled pathway and you are transported to the centre of commerce and judgement for the Roman citizens as you amble through the ruins of temples, arches and basilicas dedicated to emperors and gods and just for a moment you are again transported to world bustling with activity and laughter, deals and rituals, a world that existed for so long and then one day died. Not just in one day but over a period of many years as the influence of Rome abroad and then at home began to wane and other great powers became the centre of attraction and control. But for the Romans it was good while it lasted and I guess they never thought that one day tourists from all over the world would come to view the ruins that was their city and try to imagine a vibrant community that no longer exists in that place.


Walking to the Sistine chapel at the Vatican is an altogether different experience, as you pass along narrow corridors of rooms and marvel at the artwork adorning the walls and ceilings and see at first hand the original works of brilliance by names that you only ever read about in books. Once inside, Botticelli, Michelangelo and Raphael display their works depicting the life if Christ, the life of Moses, the twelve apostles, the last judgement, Creation and man's fall to name only a few. It is the site of the Papal Conclave where cardinals meet to elect a new Pope and its structure is supposed to resemble the temple of Solomon.


And there is so much else to see, beyond this spectacular building, including the magnificent centre piece of St Peter's Basilica, the tombs of the past Popes, the Swiss Guard with their colourful and quaint uniforms, the huge square bordered by the colonnades that enclose it in a ellipse and the red granite Egyptian obelisk that stands at the centre . At Christmas time it is overshadowed by a huge Christmas tree and a spectacular nativity scene.





I suppose it's not really very different to many of the other great sites and structures of our world and there is something quite breathtaking about witnessing these places in the flesh. But maybe it is the Colosseum that we should remember and how transient in the bigger picture it was. How interesting that the majority of the Wonders of the ancient world are now just memories. And despite its reported beauty, Solomon's temple equally was unable to stand the test of time. Maybe we need to refocus on that which is not transient, that which will stand the test of time, that which will last for ever. In chapter 92, the Psalmist writes 'Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.' Jesus also tells us about something that stands the test of time when he says, 'I tell you the truth, he who believes has everlasting life.'And the Psalmist also records 'Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and your dominion endures through all generations.' So while our buildings, our friends, our jobs, our possessions eventually are no more the life that Jesus offers for those who put their faith in Him lasts for eternity. For ever is a long time and since we are no more durable and long lasting than anything else, I think His promise is worth considering.


They call Rome the Eternal City. I guess eternity is longer than they thought!

V is for VALEDICTORY

Not far from our home where I grew up were several mission halls. Most Sunday nights there would have been a gospel evangelistic service held of some description held in at least one or two of them. Our church had no tradition of a Sunday evening service so those who were particularly keen to get 'fed' would go along to the one of the halls. It was fairly routine stuff most nights, with a few hymns from 'Songs of Victory', an old, blue, cloth backed hymnbook, maybe a soloist or duettists, a couple of lengthy prayers and then a good thirty to forty minute sermon. Most of the preachers invited to speak seemed to do the circuit of mission halls and would appear several times in a season, the majority had no formal training so anything was possible on an evening. Rarely did the local minister from our church attend. I guess he often wondered how the mission hall could get almost a full house on a Sunday night and he could never drum up enough support to have his own evening service, except on the harvest weekend. I think every minister down the years, found the same problem. Mum usually went along faithfully every week and when we were younger, sister and I would have tagged along too, probably out of boredom at home since the television wasn't permitted on a Sunday, except for Songs of Praise and the News.

The preaching was certainly faithful as was the audience and it seemed a bit strange to be always preaching to the converted. Still everyone had a good time and went home uplifted. Sometimes these halls would hold a week or two of mission, invariably conducted by one or two itinerant preachers or by the 'pilgrims' from the Faith Mission, who came along in their familiar blue and grey costume and lived in a little caravan, usually parked in the yard beside the hall, for the duration. They would visit every house in the area during their stay, inviting the inhabitants along to the meetings and had a degree of success in attracting the locals in, with the occasional 'sinner' seeing the light, though sometimes the same person might have another brilliant flash at the next mission too. But the other main type of meeting that was held in these halls was a Valedictory service for someone in the community who had felt the 'call of God' to go to the mission field. It was really a 'goodbye' service when the individual had an opportunity to tell everyone why he or she was going, where they intended to go, who they might be trying to reach and what they would be doing. This always brought on board the missionary societies and their representatives who would probably take part in the service and a local preacher or renown would give a valedictory address of encouragement to the soon to be missionary. I went to several such evenings with mum and it was a whole night affair, usually with supper afterwards and if you made it that far through the proceedings, I reckon you deserved you tea, buns and sandwiches that followed.

The thought crossed my mind this morning as we said goodbye to the two girls who were our Team on Mission at church this year and though they aren't planning to go as missionaries, I suppose even if they are only continuing their studies at college next year, that in itself will be their mission field. Our youngest son, Jon, is a much more clear cut case. So when the two pastors prayed with him this morning, in what was essentially a valedictory moment for him, it was easy to feel that lump in your throat which tells you all you need to know. It's a funny thing but as he heads to Ecuador, we couldn't be more pleased that his faith is so strong and well grounded and that for him it is more than just a year out of university, but is in fact a year attached to a church being a real live missionary. Yet, every now and then our human side takes over and we are painfully aware of him being on the other side of the world for the next year in a country about which we know very little and among a people who speak a different language. Yet we are blessed that the language of salvation is universal and our son is part of God's plan for those still outside His kingdom. And in this valedictory week, as we prepare to say our goodbyes to him and when at times the pain of separation overrides our desire to see God's will fulfilled, we can never forget that the blessings which God gives us, far outweigh the trials that we face.

IN Jeremiah we read ' Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.' How can we doubt God's judgement is right for our lives when He has planned it all even before we were born. So as Jon leaves us to begin his service, I leave with him and you this reminder from Paul's letter to the Hebrews about how to cope with the difficult days. ' You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.' After all, isn't valedictory an anagram of 'Lead Victory' and I guess that's really what God wants him to do.

V is for VEDA

So what would you miss most if you left our wee country and went to live somewhere else, even for a short time. I suppose my mind has been a little bit focused on this topic because by the end of the month, both sons will be far overseas and youngest will be sampling the delights of Ecuadorian life.

George, who now lives 'down under' but used to reside only a couple of miles from my home, calls himself an Australian, which of course he is, having left these shores with his family over thirty years ago, as a lad of twelve. But somewhere in the depths of his heart is still a small corner reserved exclusively for all things Irish, whether it be the national rugby team, the Northern Ireland soccer team or just the memories of a time he once knew. On his several visits 'home', however, his greatest desire is to taste the food that you just can't get on the other side of the world. Last time, it was Paris buns, forever immortalised in Van Morrison's 'Cleaning Windows' song, dome shaped cakes that rise to a point and covered with sugar drops as large as small hailstones. Then there were the snowballs, not the sticky, marshmallow type, covered in chocolate but a much more rare bun that was covered in coconut and tasted divine. But the thing he most hankered after was Wheaten bread. Sometimes he would toast it, other times just eat it straight form the packet with a big blob of butter and a thick spread of raspberry or strawberry jam as a roof. You just couldn't get it at home and even though his mum had attempted to make it with their own 'local' flour, it just didn't taste the same. Why even his wife, a true Australian, and their three kidlets all got hooked on it and I guess it is one of their abiding memories of our wee country. But it's not the only food that those who have left the green and pleasant land, recall with fondness. There are the traditional soda farls which I remember mum made on a weekly basis and never lasted until Friday. She had a huge griddle that sat on top of the cooker and could easily hold four large farls and sometimes she used wheaten flour to make the equivalent shape in that variety. Often we would have a Barm Brack in the house, a round, sweet bread full of raisins and often eaten at tea time. The word 'brack' is a derivative of the Irish word 'breac' which meant speckled and probably referred to the fruit it contained while 'Barm' often pronounced 'barn' could have been a mispronunciation of the Irish word 'aran' that meant bread so Barm Brack was really 'speckled bread.'

Then there was Irish Stew, a mixture of lamb, potatoes, onions and carrots all cooked in a casserole, Nettle Soup that required a little care when gathering the ingredients and Champ, that consisted entirely of mashed potatoes and scallions, though the latter could also be replaced with nettles when the onions were scarce. Also mum and dad often had bacon and cabbage for dinner and it is only recently that I discovered this is a dish that is not widely eaten across the planet.

But of course, one bread that is indeed very exclusive to our country is Veda, a malted, sweet bread, brown in colour and soft in consistency that just sort of melts in the mouth and is even more delicious when toasted. We used to have it regularly at home, sometimes at tea time when the Mother's Pride loaf, soda and wheaten farls appeared too along plenty of home made jam, but often it was more likely to appear at breakfast or supper as a toast offering that could easily have been a burnt offering because it seemed to toast much more quickly than other breads. There are rumours that the recipe for Veda bread was actually stumbled on when a lady in Scotland used damp wheat which had sprouted to produce malted wheat for baking and she made this beautiful brown, sweet malted bread, but there is actually no official recipe available outside of the bakeries here that still make the stuff and I don't think they're too keen to give out their secret to the general public, so I guess most of the world will just have to take our word for it when we describe this lovely bread that is no longer made anywhere else.

Wouldn't it have been strange if God had not revealed to everyone the way of salvation. There was never any doubt in His mind as to what He wished to achieve by sending His only Son to the cross and the fact that it happened around the time of the traditional Passover meant that Jerusalem would be full of Jews gathering there for this special festival. And when Jesus appeared to His disciples after He rose from the grave, He made it quite clear to them that the recipe for a full life could only be found through trusting in Him. Even long before His death He told them, 'I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.' Such words are not of one who wants to hide the good news and keep it a secret. And of course, before He returned to His Father in heaven he left them with a great commission by saying 'Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation.'

They tell me that you can buy Coca Cola or McDonald's in almost every country in the world. How's that for belief in your product and enthusiasm to b ring it to others. I guess Veda is less well marketed. But how enthusiastic are we about taking our faith in Jesus beyond our comfort zone. Maybe it's even to much to ask to take it next door. I reckon the world might have to wait a little longer.

V is for VESTIBULE

The minute the superintendent finished his closing prayer, it was almost always a race for the door , down the steps from the church hall, a quick sprint along the little path and a short cut along the grass behind the fir tree to try and reach the church door first. A good push and we were into the vestibule, a sharp right turn and over to the table to join the queue. Our church like most in the Presbyterian denomination had a scheme running called League of Church Loyalty. It was a sort of incentive to get kids to come to church after Sunday School ended in the morning though I reckon few of us had any choice in the matter and probably there was also a hidden agenda in the scheme that if the children were coming to church,then there was a greater chance that parents might come too.

We all had a little blue card, one side of which was divided out into a grid, with one square for each Sunday in a month so at a glance you could see how many days you had missed in a year. The man in charge or to give him his proper title, the superintendent, had a roll book and also a small stamper and stamp pad wit ha purple dye and every Sunday, when you arrived at his desk, he would stamp your card with a little purple shamrock. Only in July and August

did you get some relief from the stamping but if you attended another church, because the scheme was widespread, you would have been expected to get your card stamped or at least initialled wherever you worshipped. And of course the incentive as far as us kids were concerned was that a full book of purple shamrocks guaranteed a first prize on Children's Sunday.

Every Sunday, the vestibule was a busy place for the half hour or so before the service began. Parents would stand round the inside walls, waiting for their kids to reach the top of the 'Loyalty' queue while other adults and teenagers milled about, catching up with the local gossip or the previous day's football scores. And generally you always found the same people standing in the same locations. Sometimes the noise was deafening, other times there was just a low constant mumble, like thunder in the distance and there was almost always a member of the church committee or session welcoming people to the service and offering them a hymnbook, but unlike today, most people brought their own. I guess they had probably won them down the years through the 'Loyalty' scheme. Often the vestibule was still fairly full and the church half empty when the minister's car would roar up the drive and park randomly outside as he completed his mad dash from our sister church after the morning service there. On the opposite side to where the cards were stamped, was a small vestry, where he was quickly brought up to speed with announcements and any irregularities that might have occurred and which needed to be included in the service. By the time he emerged, the vestibule was empty and traditionally he always walked up the right hand aisle to the pulpit, with everyone now in position for the opening Psalm.

There were some other things I remember about the vestibule. First the communion utensils that rested on a wooden table to the right and had been presented by my family, in memory of my grandfather. Also at harvest time, the whole of the vestibule was completely packed with vegetables and flowers for the occasion.And in a strange sort of ritual, many years after the church was extended and a new vestry had been built, the minister and the session still paraded down the aisle after a communion service and went into the old vestry. But the main thing I recall was just how cold the vestibule could be because there was no porch and it opened directly to the outside on top of a windy and exposed hill. Many years after withstanding these chilly mornings, the committee eventually installed a blow heater above the door to make it a warmer environment.

I guess it the vestibule carries its own sermon and I would probably summarise it like this. Loyalty to your church really doesn't count for much at the end of the day if you're only interested in the praise of men, while for others, church tradition maybe gets more respect that it should. But maybe the most important sermon is that it is possible to be part of a church fellowship and still be cold, to be so near and yet so far, to talk the same language but serve a different teacher. So when Jesus said of the Pharisees of His day, 'These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me,' maybe His words carry just as much significance today as they did two thousand years ago.

You can't really get closer to the main church building than the vestibule but it's still outside where it all happens. How close are you to God? So near or so far?

V is for VACUUM

So there we were, wife and I, struggling to find a baby sitter. It was going to be a late night for the coffee bar where we were booked to sing was a good hour and a half away and we probably wouldn't get left much before midnight, by the time all gear had been packed in to the trailer and all the pleasantries were exchanged. SO it was certainly not the sort of evening to be asking parents to come and look after their grandchildren and our other usual baby minders were unavailable. It was then I remembered two individuals whom I had taught a couple of years earlier and were now found in each other's company more than when they were at high school. And of course they were delighted when I rang and readily agreed to take on the task of looking after our two tearaways, not that you can do much damage when you're still a year or so short of primary school and your brother is crawling about after you.

Anyway, the big night arrived, as did Brian and Alex. (Incidentally, I have changed their names to protect their identity and replaced them with names that are spelt and sound the same!!). There didn't seem to be any major problems. After all, they had babysat for other couples before so we left,fairly confident that things would be OK and they felt fairly confident that after a short period of playing the two boys would quite happily trundle off to bed, leaving the lovebirds to a cosy night of television and cuddles. This may have been their first mistake. Those who have reared toddlers and barely toddlers will know that bedtime is a flexible arrangement when guests come to visit and normal behaviour is probably not the norm. Still, at such times it is probably good to be oblivious to what is happening and so we were until we arrived home, sometime after midnight.

I guess we knew that all had not gone according to plan when Alex met us at the door, sporting one of wife's jumpers. In the minutes that followed, our friends quickly outlined the evening's events which amounted to nothing more than two excited kids having fun with their babysitters and then one of them being physically sick across the jumper of the female who was acting 'in loco parentis' and the surrounding furniture. Now, that I can handle but it was more about the method of coping with the mess that took a little more understanding. Suffice to say they chose to use the vacuum to clean up the remains of a toddler's past few meals. Maybe it was good thing that the hour was late and we were tired but I think it was some time the next morning when it began to dawn on us exactly what was lying in the bowels of our vacuum cleaner and then how we might go about removing it. Anyway, they were young and I suppose they did their best and wife was probably more concerned that someone had been rifling through her clothes to find something to wear. And she had to pick one of her best jumpers! They never came back to babysit.

I guess children aren't that easy to raise and I suppose there is no such thing as the perfect way to do it as everyone of them has a different little personality. But I read something the other day that I thought was more than a little profound and I'll share it with you.

'If you are a parent, don't prepare the path for your child….Prepare your child for the path.' It reminds me of that great verse in Proverbs ch 22 which says, 'Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.'

That young lad who used to crawl after his toddler brother leaves shortly for the other side of the world on mission for a year. I hope we as parents have prepared him adequately for the path ahead but I know his heavenly father has taken a very active interest in making him ready for what lies ahead and do you know, I think He has prepared the path as well. To all who strive to walk that road, God only lets you begin your journey when He knows you are ready and when He has prepared you well. As for the path. Didn't he walk it himself?

K is for KETCHUP

I read about someone today who drinks ketchup from a bottle. It’s one of the strangest eating (or is it drinking) habits I have encountered but probably not far ahead of the person who dunks their crisps in salad cream, or another individual who likes to eat the biscuit part of a Twix bar first and leave the caramel to last. I even heard of someone who likes to gouge out the inside of roast potatoes, mash it up with the rest of the dinner and then eat the skin separately. It doesn’t take much research to discover that there are more than a few odd eating habits out there, like dipping French Fries in vanilla ice cream, eating all the toppings and cheese off a pizza before eating the crusty base, dipping chips in a big bowl of vinegar or a slice of white bread with topped with whipped cream.

A friend of dad’s who used to drop into the house on a regular basis, loved to spread strawberry jam on his apple tart, while another was quite into using butter instead of the jam on top. Another mate would always eat everything off his plate except the meat which he kept to the end and I guess many of us would vouch to having eaten certain things on our plates in a particular order, maybe based on how much we like each food, with the least favoured ones usually going down the hatch first, if at all.

I suppose we all have out little ways. Me? I have been known to eat cold baked beans and if I have chicken, it's almost always the last thing I eat and I'm a bit of a stickler for keeping my rice separate from any accompanying dish in a Chinese restaurant. Yes and those weird, spherical chocolate sweets they call Ferrero Rocher,I always like to bite slowly around the outside layer and remove it as two hemispheres from the inside, though admittedly the rest is a bit messy. And I know wife is a bit partial to egg sandwiches with fizzy Club orange lemonade but probably because it was a bit of a ritual in her house as she grew up.

Another person I have discovered always insisted on drenching absolutely everything with ketchup and could never get enough and I know from school that some kids can’t even begin their dinner until a blob of the red stuff is sitting on the side of their plate. Yet here’s the funny thing and it happens at home too. So often, a large proportion of the ketchup is still left after the meal is finished. It's almost as if the diner must have it there purely as a decoration but never actually intends to use it as a flavouring. Ketchup itself has lots of ingredients apart form tomatoes but the least obvious ones are probably sugar and vinegar. I remember a relation who used to add a spoonful of vinegar to her ketchup bottle just to keep it fresh and it probably worked but the red sauce just tasted vile. Ketchup has been around since the beginning of the nineteenth century but apart form sales by local farmers, it didn't really become a commercial product until marketed by Heinz in the late eighteen hundreds and was advertised as 'Blessed relief for Mother and the other women in the household!' And while it has been modified down the years it is still a favourite with kids everywhere and also with a lot of big kids too.

But it's that thought of all the ketchup that remains on plates that has me thinking today in a very different context as I mull over the provision which God has made for us. The Psalmist writes 'How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you,which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you.' And later on in Psalm 103, we read those words 'Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.' But for so many the goodness of the Lord is never tasted or else we never really try to exhaust His grace towards us, so that while we could be feasting on what He has for us, we end up without the full flavour of his goodness.

In Japan it is considered rude to finish all of your meal as it suggest that your host didn't provide enough for you. In many western countries it would be offensive to leave food, possibly indicating your dislike for something offered. So when God offers us the riches of His kingdom, how do you think He feels when we choose not to taste His goodness. Don't leave Him on the side of your life.

K is for KNOCKING

So what would you have done? This is a purely hypothetical situation, you understand, that could or might not happen, a story from the past that obviously is entirely fictitious and of course one which I would never be involved in, but I'll share it with you anyway and you can make up your own mind.

A long, long , long time ago, in a world far away, but not so far away that it was totally removed from reality, there lived a young man, who for the purpose of this story, we shall call Little Pig number one or LP1 for short. On day he met another young gentleman, who for the purpose of this story, we shall call Wolf and invited him to church where he met LP1's other close friend, who for the purpose of this story we shall call Little Pig number two or LP2 for short. One should understand that while there was also another young gentleman who for the purpose of this story we shall call Little Pig number three, or LP3 for short, he is not considered to be a major player in this account and indeed will take no further part in the story.

The little pigs and Wolf became friends and every week he would go to visit LP1 in his home. Unfortunately Wolf didn't really like to talk but just sat at LP1's home or walked around after the little pig. LP1's mum and dad had warned him that it might not be a good idea to have a Wolf for a friend but for a while he ignored their advice until one day he realised that Wolf maybe wasn't such good company, so every time Wolf arrived, the little pig either hid or went away in his little piggy car. Eventually Wolf decided to try the other little pig, LP2 and went and knocked on his door and was invited in. But he wasn't any more interesting there either and often he would just sit and watch the little pig's television all afternoon without saying a word. This little pig's mum and dad warned him too that it was not such a good idea to have a Wolf for a friend and for a while he didn't heed the advice but knew they were right. Then one day he could take it no more. and decided to tell Wolf not to visit him every Saturday. Wolf was extremely upset, indeed angry and refused to listen. But the next weekend he went back to LP1's house and knocked on the door. The little pig was so afraid now that he hid when he saw Wolf's car arrive, but he refused to open the door. Wolf could have shouted, 'Little Piggy, open the door, or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down,' but of course he didn't because he was a Wolf who didn't really talk much so after knocking for a while, he left. Immediately LP1 got on the phone and rang LP2 to tell him that Wolf was on his way. So the second little piggy ran quickly and closed all the curtains, locked all the doors and waited nervously in the dark. Soon he heard the familiar sound of Wolf's little car stopping and then the knock at the front door, but he didn't open it. Then, just as he thought the coast was clear and it was safe to go out and play, he heard a knock at the back door. Indeed Wolf knocked incessantly at both doors for maybe ten minutes. He could have said, 'Little Piggy, open the door, or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down,' but of course he didn't and eventually he left. Now did the little piggies do the right thing? I don't know, but the story has a happy ending because one day Wolf met a beautiful girl, forgot about the little piggies and they all lived happily every after!

It may seem a strange and maybe unacceptable way to treat someone who wants to be your friend but don't so many treat Jesus in exactly the same way. One of the most well known verses in all of the Bible is found in Revelation ch 3 where God reveals to John these words, 'Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.' Yet that is just where Jesus is left, standing at the door and knocking. But the verse also suggests to me that he is also persistent in his desire to be allowed in to our lives, for he stands there and also speaks so that if we miss his knocking we might at least hear his voice. And His promise in the verse that follows is of a friend who will secure our access to a much greater eternal home where we won't have to stand outside and plead for entry.

Sometimes when our home doorbell is switched off accidentally, we don't hear someone who comes and knocks at the door and maybe only catch a glimpse of them as they drive away, but it's too late to call them back. How sad if we missed hearing Jesus knock or just refused to listen and He went away without being invited to come in. And how sad if when we knocked on the doors of his home, we should hear those words, ''I never knew you.' If Jesus is knocking or speaking today, open the door and find a new friend.

K is for KEEPSAKE

I have a little white box, somewhere among my personal possessions in the attic. It once contained a medal that I had obtained during my time in the church youth organisation, though I can't remember exactly why I received it. Anyway, it's not in the box now and I really don't have any idea where it resides, possibly still in the house where my parents lived. But the box is not empty for it contains a little piece of history, or more correctly, a little piece of my wife. Now before anyone reaches for the phone and dials their local detective with grisly accusations of severed fingers or the like, let me assure you that it is not so dramatic or horrifying and is indeed nothing more than a curl of hair. It was a watershed for wife at the time, who was then not even at fiancee stage but she had reached a decision that the long hair she had groomed for so many years, she would soon have no longer, in fact she would have it shorter, but just as a token of remembrance of former days, she gave me one single curl to keep and the only box I owned which would be just right to store it, was quickly emptied of its shiny contents and replaced with a living piece of history, which of course was no longer alive. Some years later, after we had officially become husband and wife and had started a family, our first son grew the most beautiful blond curls and when we eventually plucked up the courage to take him for his first haircut, wife kept one of his locks as a keepsake and it too occupies a place in our personal possessions. I noticed on a picture that mum had of me, when I was a toddler and had similar curls that made me reminiscent of Charlie Drake, the comedian, a small lock of blond hair inside a little plastic bag and attached to the front.

Most people have keepsakes that remind them of a particular time or event in their lives or even a certain person. We always kept the little plastic blue tags that were attached to each of the boys when they were born, recording the time of birth and the weight and, like most parents, have school books and other mementoes of their early years. If I searched the attic, I could easily find books, toys, magazines, ornaments, records and little bits and pieces that are all there because each carries a different memory that is, in truth, my living history. Like the old Liverpool programme of a match against Spurs in 1973, on the morning of the Grand National, or the white Bible that was given to us on our wedding day, or my student's union card where the hairstyle in the picture was a little too well blow dried. Or maybe the little hand-held slide viewer that you held up to the light and through which we used to look at the twenty or so slides showing the opening of our church manse in the late fifties. For many females it may be a piece of jewellery handed down by a parent, grandparent or great aunt, why it might even be a wedding dress or, as in wife's family, a christening robe, but such keepsakes have more than just sentimental value.

That's why, the glasses and open Bible that sit in our upstairs lounge, are not simply there to remind me of a loving mother but to illustrate what was really important in her life. For her Bible was always open, often annotated in her own writing and the wrinkles on each page showed that she knew it well. And yet it was not the Bible that I remember for much of her life, during my primary and teenage years but the original had been read and written on so much that the pages no longer held together sufficiently well with sellotape. And the glasses? They just remind me of one who had a clear view of her Lord but still wanted to see more of Him in her own life and in the lives of her family. How I have thought about that over these past days as her two grandsons prepare for short and long term mission work and how I know she wouldn't have needed those spectacles to see the work that God has done in their lives and the blessings that he has 'bestowed' on her loved ones. So I can really identify with that verse in Psalm 100 which says, 'For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.'

Of course the greatest keepsake is in my head. It is a picture of empty cross and an empty grave that tells me all I need to know, that without the past, there is no future and when my future is in God's hands my past is firmly where it belongs. Not so much a keepsake, only a memory

K is for KEVIN

Charlie and his family lived down the hill from home. I never saw much of them and have only vague recollections of what Charlie looked like though the rest of the family's appearance has completely escaped me, including that of their mother. Charlie had a sort of square face and black hair and I suppose in any identity parade of nationalities, would have been immediately recognisable as the Irishman. He and his family lived in a cottage about one hundred and fifty yards further along the lane and which was set back perpendicular to the road, about twenty yards from the tarmac. There was nothing grand about it at all, being a typical three room cottage which may have had a thatched roof but in later years was covered in corrugated tin sheets. The children varied in age on both sides of my own and generally played around their own house and the only time I really saw them was when they all were piled into their dad's green van as he drove up past our house, taking them to school, town or chapel. However, while I knew that they had a different religion to us, I was too young to appreciate that they may have lived on the edge of poverty during their time in the lane. Eventually, Charlie pulled up the anchor and moved the whole family a few miles closer to town and I never saw any of them again.

Sean made more regular trips up an d down our lane and while I knew him to see, I don't think I ever spoke to him nor him to me. He was much older than I, though it was difficult to put him in any particular age bracket and while I probably labelled him as somewhere about late forties, in truth during the time I knew him, he can't have been any more than his mid twenties. He lived with his mother and his other brother, Kevin, in a little cottage about a mile away, that could be reached by the main road and across a neighbour's farmyard or by a shortcut through low lying fields and along a dirt track that made the journey considerably less than a mile and closer to the distance a crow would have flown between our two houses. Every day, he would pass our abode on his way to the river, walking beside his donkey that pulled a small orange and blue cart with large wheels and some time later would return, leading his followers home. I never took much notice of why he went there and indeed never thought to ask but eventually it dawned on me that the river was the source of water for his home and after he had filled the barrels in the cart, a few fallen branches from the trees along its banks, would provide the heating that they needed to get them through a stiff winter. But I was too young to appreciate that they may have lived on the edge of poverty during his journeys in the lane. Eventually, Sean's mum died and he and Kevin moved to a house in the city, where, I presume, they still live.

Kevin was blessed with more intelligence than his brother but his simple home surroundings had always preserved an innocence and humility than time would never change. He went to grammar school, then to college and because his mum and parents were always close neighbours, he frequently visited home and when away during his studies, always sent cards at Christmas and wrote letters to the family. After his mother died, he took it upon himself to look after Sean and they moved to the city nearby. However for several years now, every Christmas, we have received a little diary from Kevin, full of his own personal writings in the form of poetry, that inspires and delights us and most of all reminds me of former times.

But the greatest lesson I have learned from Kevin is that God's love and salvation is for everybody and that no single group of believers has a monopoly on the truth. Why else would Paul write to the believers in Rome, 'Is God the God of Jews only? Is he not the God of Gentiles too? Yes, of Gentiles too.' And for what other reason would God announce to Abraham, 'All nations will be blessed through you.' Sometimes we are too quick to dismiss those whose faith in God seems at odds with our own ideas of what faith should be, but when Kevin writes these words, I know his faith in his Creator is secure.

'I have not chosen Him, but He has chosen me, so it has been no accident, in that Jesus has set me free, a kingdom not of this world, my mansion's way up above, and 'tis all because of Calvary, my Lord's redeeming love.'

Paul said, 'For this is what the Lord has commanded us: " 'I have made you a light for the Gentiles, that you may bring salvation to the ends of the earth.' Whose pathway is being brightened by your faith?

K is for KISS

It lasted for thirty hours, fifty nine minutes and twenty seven seconds, in New York city towards the end of 2001 and is recorded as the longest kiss in history. What some people will do to get into the record books! Can you imagine how you would feel after that length of time with your lips pressed against somebody else's lips? Can you imagine how numb your lips might feel? I can't imagine you'd be hurrying to kiss the same person again in a hurry. Officially, kissing is usually used to express affection towards another human being, but equally can be a sign of respect for someone and often is simply a way of saying 'hello' or 'goodbye'. There's an old saying that you have got to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince, or indeed princess, but I have no intention of exploring any personal history on the subject. Suffice to say that not all kisses carry the same affection, nor are they intended to do so. Nor is it really clear whether we have to learn to kiss or if it is merely instinctive but I guess a parent never needs to learn to kiss their child, to show their affection.

While we are more comfortable with a hug or a handshake when we greet each other or say farewell, probably we have all become more used to seeing people kiss on meeting, usually with a peck on each cheek though often the lips don't even make contact with the other person and the kiss happens into the air. Parents will most likely kiss their children on the cheek too or even on the forehead, often as a comfort to the child and it is not unusual to witness a lady's hand being kissed by a gentleman while in many other countries, the act of kissing was more likely to happen between same sexes, again purely as a greeting or as a mark of respect. But no matter what type of kiss it is, it can be hard work for it takes over thirty muscles, working together each time.

And kissing has had its place in history too. The Pope normally kisses the ground of a country when he steps of the aeroplane while people who meet him, often kiss his ring. Various religious groups such as Muslims, Jews and Hindus will kiss symbols of their worship while, in Ireland, thousands of people over the years have performed the difficult physical feat of kissing the Blarney Stone, in the hope of gaining more eloquent speech. And indeed our fairy tales are littered with stories of romantic kisses awakening princes and princesses from slumber, like Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. Why even our footballers are prone to the occasional kiss to celebrate a goal or a win.

Of course the Bible has one or two memorable kisses, particularly when Jacob kissed Isaac and inherited his blessing by his deceit but some time later it would be a kiss from Esau to his brother which would indicate his forgiveness and heal their division. And it was a kiss between Moses and Aaron that signalled their partnership in bringing the Israelites out of Egypt, while Joseph would show his affection for his brothers and father after they were reunited in that same country. It was a kiss from Samuel that completed the anointing of Saul as king but a kiss of sadness that Naomi gave to Ruth and Orpah, encouraging them to put their bereavement behind them and find new husbands. But the most famous kiss in all of history is that which Jesus received from one of his closest followers for Judas had told his accusers, 'The one I kiss is the man; arrest him and lead him away under guard.' And as he approached his Master, Jesus said, 'Are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?' It was a kiss which changed man's history but a kiss that Jesus had waited for thirty three years to receive so that he could fulfill the promise God had made to Adam and Eve in the garden.

But the greatest kiss in the Bible was from the woman who, in coming face to face with Jesus, realised her sin and with her tears, washed his feet and kissed them. When we come face to face with the risen Christ and see our sin for what it is, we cannot show our love for Him, as that woman did, by a kiss but we can respond by seeking His forgiveness and serving Him with all our strength. May God give us the grace to love Him with all our hearts and may we, as Paul says, 'Greet one another with a holy kiss.' as a sign of our love for every believer.

K is for KRUGER

I have never been as close to a python as I was two days ago. It was huge and I understood how the snake, lying asleep in a curled ball, just a foot in front of me, could manage to unlock its jaws and eat a whole animal or person. The glass wall that separated us brought a certain degree of comfort but it didn't stop me from thinking about the power that was locked inside this great creature's body. Indeed every animal that we viewed at the zoo that day, left me with a mixed feeling of what was and what could have been. Even the monkeys looked playful and interesting inside their glass prison and the giraffes looked serene as they arrogantly stared down at their audience. And while the created world of a zoo lets us view all these wonderful outworkings of God's imagination and design in our own back yard, not only does it leave with a false sense of security but also can never really recreate the world in which the animal was intended to exist. As I walked through the 'exhibitions' of frogs, snakes, lizards and toads occupying small 'natural' habitats in their own sections, I though of how quickly they would know every part of their restricted world and even with the right conditions to survive, surely there's nothing more stimulating than exploration of the undiscovered.

How different the world of Kruger is. In my only experience of the great park that covers vast areas of the north west of South Africa, there is no such obvious restriction on discovery for those animals that choose to travel. Acres upon acres of bush, scrub, watering holes and barely passable tracks have become the temporary homes of the nomadic elephants, zebras, rhinos, lions, cheetahs and giraffes that wander and rest at their leisure and along with many other lesser animals and birds, spend their entire existence looking for food and avoiding being dinner. And when you go to visit them in their backyard, one becomes strangely aware of the insecurity and lack of safety when everyone is on the same side of the cage or the transparent barrier between man and wild animal is no longer glass but only air. For no longer are animals where you expect to find them and often they are more likely to be watching you than you seeing them. I guess that's the thrill which Kruger or any other such park gives you that you can never find in a zoo. But at the end of the day, it's still only a park and eventually there will be a fence or a barrier. The only difference is that it takes longer to reach the limits, but I reckon it's a touch more fulfilling for them.

And to me, that is the difference between a 'being' Christian and a 'doing' Christian, one who is quite happy to eke out their faith in the comfort zone where they know the limits and the other who wants to explore further what faith really means when you leave that comfort zone behind and see how far God can take you. For Moses, it was a choice between tending the family flock or going to the Promised Land via Egypt. For James and John it was fishermen or fishers of men. For Paul, it was a top position in the church or a shipwreck, stoning and prison. For Judas it was some extra pocket money or a seat at the Master's table. For the rich, young and religious ruler it was a comfortable and wealthy existence or a charity sale. And not everybody made the correct decision. You see, when we trust in God completely, He makes the boundaries, not us and of course, as Paul tells the church at Thessalonica, 'The Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen and protect you from the evil one.' That's why moving out of the comfort zone, expanding your faith horizons, exploring the vast corners of His plan for your life might cause trepidation but never abandonment.

And tonight, I find these words from the prophet Micah that tell me all I need to know. 'The day for building your walls will come, the day for extending your boundaries.' Now I know why more animals spend their day sleeping in the zoo but not in Kruger! ........Comfortable?