P is for PREY

We have been suspicious for some time about our cat's eating habits. Whitie is an unusual domestic cat, apart from his name obviously, in that he probably more resembles a small panther with a considerable amount of white markings across his black body. He certainly looks too large for the average tabby, though he shows all the affection of such a species and of course at times, total disregard for others. I certainly would never question his love for his adopting family yet at the same time I fully understand that this love may be based entirely on certain factors involving what he is getting out of the relationship, a situation that he might just be prepared to sacrifice in the face of a better deal elsewhere. Such is the mentality of our feline friends that all relationships are strictly on their terms - no questions asked.

It's a world away from the friendship which dogs provide, not necessarily any less fulfilling, but just as long as you know the score right from the start, everything usually works out fine fro all involved parties. Take mum's pet dog, Snoopy, for example. Ever since her passing over two years ago, he has frequented our house with a high degree of regularity along with his son, Patch, from his only long term relationship with a older lady who at the time was homeless and maybe he took pity on her! Anyway, for years, the mum, dad and son held court alone at my home and now that only two survive, they seem to enjoy the company and of course the odd morsel of food that seems to pass their direction most evenings. Recently, I have taken even greater pity on them as their aging bodies show more of their skeletal frames that previously and now they have their own adapted bowls that usually have at least a few dried pieces of mixer meal every day. Of course the problem for pet dogs is that they tend not to be diligent hunters in the same way as their enemy, the cat and so without human intervention, hunger soon begins to manifest itself visibly on their bodies.

Which is not the case with Whitie at all, who is now bigger than either dog. Hence our suspicions. Two things tend to support our concerns. First, over the past few weeks, he has not been particularly interested in the food occupying his bowl, often quite content to sniff the contents and then go and curl up in his basket. Secondly, I have on several occasions seen him play with a small mouse, though the rodent may not exactly view their time together in the same light and there is ample evidence to suggest that when playtime is over, mealtime begins almost immediately and the mouse isn't around for dessert! I have made my own conclusions that a fresh, hot rodent is more appetizing than a chunk of cold, processed, slightly smelly meat from a tin. I mean, would you eat tinned peas when you could have fresh ones instead? Anyway, to cut to the story. Tonight, Whitie suddenly catapulted from his semi-sleeping state on the garden seat into the bushes and disappeared out of sight. Some fifteen minutes later, Snoopy made came around the corner, stopping only briefly at the cat's dish to quench his thirst on the cold milk therein, before waddling on towards the picnic table. Several moments later, though almost blind and deaf, he managed to unsettle the black and white object under the trees. In the ensuing name calling, growling, verbal abuse and stand off that followed, Whitie's warnings went unheeded and after a an extremely short period of physical violence, the cat sprang out of the bushes and took up a position on top of the wall. Moments later the victor emerged with his trophy, a slightly eaten rabbit and proceeded to satisfy his hunger in full view of the conquered predator. I guess there's a lesson in there somewhere, but for Whitie, there'll be other, better days.

I guess I have felt just like that sometimes, when all my efforts and planning don't bring the reward I had hoped they would. Often, situations are just taken right out of our hands and the outcome is not what we would have chosen. And don't we all do it? We work, strive, make an effort and I suppose at some time in our lives we have all dreamed the big dreams about what we might accumulate during our time on earth and how we would enjoy the fruits of our labours. And in itself there is nothing wrong with having such dreams, making plans and securing our own and our children's futures. As Christians, we make plans too and on those bad days, when things go against us, we can kneel before our maker and still pray the prayer of Job, 'Blessed be the name of the Lord.'

Satan is also on the prowl for prey and he knows that if he doesn't make his catch today, he can always return tomorrow, in the knowledge that sooner or later he will find his target off guard. After all he just didn't tempt our Lord one day in the wilderness, not did he leave Job alone after his first attack. Make no mistake, he is happy to wait and we must always be ready for he makes his move when we least expect it. That's why we must always have the words of our Lord's prayer on our lips, 'And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one' and also you must 'Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.' I guess when you are the prey that's when you really need to pray!

P is for PROTECTION

I went to leave a package at a friend's house in a neighbouring village during the summer. The front door was open, the television was blaring in the living room and competing with the radio for top dog. I rang the doorbell several times, banged on the front door knocker, peered into the kitchen and eventually left the parcel lying on the front porch mat with all the other post that had been left. Several days later I discovered that the family in question were 'down the town' having breakfast in the local cafe and that leaving their house open to the public was a regular occurrence. To be honest, I shouldn't have been surprised for the only thing that had changed over the years was time itself and there are many who still live like it was back in the fifties and sixties when trust was something to be expected not excepted.

I suppose I would have regularly left my bike lying out in the yard, in full view of all passers by and never ever put away the football after I was finished having a kick about. Dad never locked the car in those days and fully expected it to be there next morning and you happily have parked at the local shop for half an hour, left the keys in the car and returned to find everything as expected. I suppose the only time when anything unusual and maybe slightly irritating happened would have been Hallowe'en night, when a few 'scoundrels' from the vicinity might have removed a few gates from fields or driveways and hidden the articles behind hedges, but no offence was ever meant and non was ever taken. And every weekend, mum left out the money for the milkman, in a little purse inside the milk crate and even though it was there all night and maybe late into the next morning, not a penny was ever taken. Indeed there was no risk involved in so many things. I could quite happily ride the bike home from school, we could play in the fields nearby, walk alone along the lanes and even talk to strangers.

Last week I was refreshing my child protection training for school and that really brought it home to me just how much times have changed and how different life now is for children growing up. I always think of that Done Henley hit, 'The End of the Innocence' at such times and while the song itself deals with the devastation of a family breakup there is a truth in the title which applies so much to our modern world where innocence is no longer always synonymous with childhood or indeed those living in our street. And so we are faced with needing to protect not only our own children but to be ready to suspect those who may put their own offspring at risk by their actions. And today, as I read the United Nations Convention on Children's Rights, I was again firmly reminded the duty on every parent and those in contact with the young to ensure that those rights are protected and that every child has the right to life in all its fullness that I have had.

But it's not just children who need protection. Few days would pass that most of us do not think of protection in some area of our lives. We have computers from viruses, bank accounts and credit cards protected from fraud by passwords and PIN numbers, though there are those who make it their business to unlock this protection. Most of us lock the front door, maybe with more than one lock, have windows fastened with some form of protection, few cars do not have active alarms and flashing lights and house alarms are almost as common as satellite dishes. Our children are strongly advised to protect their heads when riding a bicycle but I doubt if any of them went any faster than I did, with no head covering, except the occasional soft cap. We protect ourselves in the car with all sorts of airbags, impact bars and seat belts and when the sun comes out too strongly, we slap on the Factor 30 to protect our delicate northern European skin from its damaging rays. We vaccinate our children before they can even walk and my son wouldn't think of going to Ecuador next month without a whole range of protecting injections. We protect our future with savings accounts, insurance and pension schemes and if we had to we would protect our homes and families with force. And of course we protect our environment, our wildlife and our ozone layer.

It's a shame then that we don't protect our souls with the same degree of passion, commitment and urgency, even though that's the part of our being that lives on after our earthly bodies have decayed and gone. Jesus says 'What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul.' There is nothing that man can give in exchange for his soul so we need to look after it carefully. The writer of Proverbs records, 'In the paths of the wicked lie thorns and snares, but he who guards his soul stays far from them.' Protect your soul today. Better still, leave it in the hands of the One who offers ultimate protection for our souls and ultimate life with Him in Heaven.

P is for PREACHER

His name was Joe. He'd spent most of the time I had known him, somewhere in Brazil, working with the tribes and villages along the great Amazon River. But when he and his wife came home on 'furlough' for their break from missionary work, they spent most of the time, especially the evenings, sharing and preaching about their ministry so far away. It was in the days before computers and of course internet and colour television was only in its infancy, so when they came to our area, it was always going to be a special treat to see a slide presentation from the other side of the world with an 'on the spot' commentary by Joe or his wife, sitting beside the slide projector and manually advancing the show as they talked. Often his wife would sing a song or two, sometimes in Portuguese and almost always would teach us kids a chorus in the native Amazonian tongue, which was all great fun, but usually forgotten by the next day. There would be a bookstall too, with plenty of pencils, sharpeners and bookmarks to keep us interested while the adults browsed the literature. The whole event was officially called a 'box opening' because everybody who had decided to support the mission financially, brought along a wooden money box, that they had been filling with coins all year and gave it to a lady called Edna, who then spent the later part of the evening, during supper, counting the money and announcing a grand total before we all departed.

Yes it was an interesting evening alright and of course the tea, sandwiches and buns were always the icing on the cake, so to speak but the thing I really remember about Joe was his accent. Even though he was from the province and you could hear clear strains of Ulster as he spoke, there was a definite slice of American in there and also a strong flavour of a Brazilian trying to speak English. It was beautiful and soothing on the ear and even though I don't remember much about what he preached on any night, I hung on every word. And even though Joe had lots to tell about their time among the Amazon tribes and how many were coming to faith, he had another story to tell too, for many years earlier, his brother, along with two others had been killed by one of these tribes as they tried unsuccessfully to bring the message of the Gospel to them. They all had the same Christian name and are always remembered as the Three Freds and I'm sure that loss had a huge effect on Joe personally and his desire to be a missionary in Brazil, though I was still too young to ask him about it at the time.


The next time that I would hear that same sort of accent was when a local lad called Jack, who used to attend those same 'box openings' that we went to, would be called with his wife to the same part of the world and when they would arrive home on 'furlough', I 'd hear that same soft accent all over again.


I think the wonderful thing about those preachers and many others I have heard over the years is their humility and love for God. Sometimes when I tune into some of our Satellite channels that seek to present God to the world, I don't see that same humble approach nor the desire to remain anonymous in God's work. What I do see are men and women who can shout loudly, put on a show, wave their arms about wildly, constantly pace , even run across the stage and speak in a voice which suggests that they are the authority on all things and not God. I see programmes where money has become the over riding factor and where the whole experience has become a show with the main act occupying centre stage for the last thirty or forty minutes before often going into an extended appeal that sometimes appears more man driven that God designed. I think of a renowned preacher I heard last year who seemed more intent on telling anecdotes and personal stories to pass the time. And I think about the 'box opening', a small gathering of about sixty people in a little country hall and a humble preacher who had gone to the other side of the world without all the razzmatazz but whom God would welcome as 'a good and faithful servant.' I was reminded of that this week as another friend, David, returned from Africa, after ten days of preaching and only a handful of people knew he was gone.


You see preaching is all about letting God speak and the preacher delivering the message. It's a fearsome task with great responsibility. Paul, writing to the Corinthian church said, 'When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God.' And he went on to write, 'I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling.' He added,'My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit's power, so that your faith might not rest on men's wisdom, but on God's power.' Even though he accomplished what he set out to do, he finishes by saying 'My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me.'


Maybe that's the yardstick for a preacher. Not as to whether they deliver eloquent words or command a presence and a standing among others but whether God will judge them to have been humble and obedient in their work for him. That's the end of my sermon.

P is for PLURALS

It's an old story about a tailor who wanted to buy a new smoothing iron which, in the profession, they call a goose, because of its strange, bent handle that looks a bit like a goose neck. So as not to be ever short of a goose in his business, he decided to purchase two of the contraptions, but he wasn't quite sure how to order them in his letter. Did he write, 'please send me two gooses,' or was the correct English, 'please forward two geese.' In the end he came up with this. 'Dear Sir, please send me a goose. P.S. And when you're at it, just send me another one.'

Do plurals confuse you as well? If my wife orders salmon in a restaurant, will the waitress bring one or a whole plate of them? And should my neighbour's sheep be treading on my lawn, should I expect a lorry load or a single woolen walker? Also, why did my mum always tell me to say 'thanks' when 'thank' would have done equally well and why do we take off our clothes before getting into the bath even if we're only wearing one item? When I was small I just didn't get one measle, never wore 'pant' , 'short' or 'trouser' and never played 'draught' or 'billiard'. The other day when the lawnmower stopped, I didn't reach for a 'plier' and the kids in school never cut sellotape with a 'scissor.' It's all so confusing when you hear a farmer talk about fifty 'head' of cattle, a hunter shooting four 'pheasant' or a fisherman catching six 'trout'. Tell me how are foreign tourists whom come to see our country expected to cope, when we make it so difficult even for ourselves?

I think there are times when we prefer to use plurals, for they often provide us with an alibi or at the very least, a position of diminished responsibility, when we need it most. In simplest terms, they can help shift or spread the blame while at other times help to develop and nurture team bonding. When we develop initiatives as a staff, everyone has a sense of belonging to the project, whereas opposition is more likely to come when a single individual tries to dictatorially impress their plans on others. It's a bit like that with team sport too, when we sing that old Queen song, 'We are the Champions,' we aren't talking about any one outstanding individual but a group who fought and won together. And of course when we as a group make a mistake, it often preserves the anonymity of the one who actually made the error. So in a sense, plurals are a good thing, even if they are a devil to understand at times!

Tonight I watched, 'Flags of our Fathers' directed by Clint Eastwood, a wonderful film about the Second World War and about the reluctance of a few soldiers to be each recognised as a hero when everyone who lived and died on Iwo Jima were heroes, collectively. That was the true spirit of plural, when you don't take the credit alone for anything but share success and failure with those around you. And its the same with my beliefs, for I am part of God's family and we are all undeserving of His grace but all saved by it. But there's the thing to remember. As Paul writes 'in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others' and also likewise 'there are many parts, but one body.' All who believe in His saving grace 'are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.'

Yet when we stand before God on that final day, we don't come as a group to be judged, but as individuals. And in our singleness we become totally responsible for all we have done. One person, one judge, one judgement. No mistakes.

P is for POLICE

I could see the flashing lights in my rear view mirror, a blurred mixture of blue and white, gaining on me, as I strolled leisurely up the motorway, back to the big smoke. 'Look's like they're after somebody in a big hurry,' I thought to myself, as all the possibilities of their chase, sprung to mind. Maybe it was a stolen vehicle, a robbery, possibly a terrorist, as we were still at the height of the troubles, a failed tail light, a fused headlamp, a speedster. It certainly wasn't a mobile phone user since such gadgets at the time would probably have occupied most of the car boot and anyway they didn't exist, at least to my knowledge. Anyway, by this stage, the car behind was in the outside lane and almost level with me when I noticed that it was no longer accelerating away into the distance but riding perfectly parallel to myself. And when I happened to risk one eye off the road and glance to my right, the 'gentleman' seated on the passenger side was clearly visible through his wound down window and seemed to be beckoning me to draw to a stop on the hard shoulder. Which of course I did, not having committed any misdemeanour but still slightly apprehensive as to why I had been singled out for special attention by Her Majesty's constabulary. Pulling in to a stop just a few feet ahead, eventually the door opened and a uniformed 'gentleman' emerged, now fully attired with his hat and swaggered his way towards my window. Was I aware that I had passed a car just a mile or so earlier? Of course I was, for it happened to be a mate who was also returning to the big smoke, after we had been playing some music together at a studio nearby. Did I realise that after I overtook this other vehicle, that I had flashed my left and right indicators alternatively and repeatedly for several seconds? Of course I was, for he was a mate and it was just my way of saying goodbye. Did I know that such action was a hazard to other drivers using the motorway? Unfortunately I did not, especially as the time was well past midnight and no other cars could be seen for miles. Was I aware that the 'gentlemen' in the car with the flashing blue and white lights had no idea where I was going to turn right or left? Unfortunately I was not aware of this fact, but since the vehicle in question had been parked on a flyover near the slip road from whence I had emerged on to the motorway and had no intention of driving anywhere until they saw a possible target, I didn't see it as a potential problem. Anyway, if I had been intending to turn right, I would have needed to drive across the central reservation hedge that divided the two carriageways and this did not seem likely at the time. Did I realise that I could be booked for such an irresponsible action but this time I would get off with just a warning? No I didn't realise that at all but clearly there is nothing wrong with your eyesight if you could see me from over a mile away on your lofty perch. Oh and by the way, you might have been better stopping my mate who is probably getting close to the end of the motorway now, for he's only a learner driver so he took his L plates down to drive home because you're not allowed to drive on the motorway if you are a learner.

That's the way I would have liked to answer all the questions and accusations thrown at me that night nearly thirty years ago, but the truth is the most I could muster was 'yes sir,' 'no sir' and 'sorry sir, I won't do it again.' And my friend got away.

By the time I saw the 'gentleman' standing, waving at me in the middle of the road, I knew already that his 'hairdrier' had seen me several seconds earlier. I had only left school in the previous minute, working out that the book I needed and that was sitting on the table at home, some three and a half minutes away, could easily be retrieved during the morning fifteen minute break. Emerging from the front door of my place of work, I had hurriedly, but not excessively driven off in the direction of my destination and had only travelled about two hundred yards when I began to realise that the waving hand in the distance might not be an indication that the 'gentleman' either knew me or wanted to be my friend. Did I realise that this was a thirty miles per hour zone? Of course , I did, because I have travelled this road to school, both as a pupil and now as a teacher for over thirty years and often I could reach speeds of well over thirty as I freewheeled down the hill on my bicycle. Did I know that the area I had just passed was a primary school and as such I posed a threat to their safety? Not really, as all the pupils were horded into the school hall as I left, on this rather wet morning and none had escaped, to my knowledge. Was I aware that I had reached the speed of thirty seven miles per hour and as a teacher in the said primary school, was setting a poor example to the local community and should be made an example of? No, but then if I was late back for class, the pupils would not be supervised and would be losing valuable education time. Oh and by the way, don't ever end a sentence with the word 'of ', it's just such bad English.

That's the way I would have liked to have answered all his questions and accusations but in truth the best I could manage was 'yes sir', 'no sir' and 'I'm sorry.' But I did half wish a golf ball coming at speed over the neighbouring wall, wouldn't have been picked up on his radar and might just have knocked a little bit of sense into the nice 'gentleman' who had spent most of the morning hiding behind a couple of pillars with his colleagues, just waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting pillar of the community and exercise some authority.

Look, to be honest, I probably deserved the rap over the knuckles and some of those 'gentlemen' have been and still are my best friends. I think Stevie and the guys in the local station would have enjoyed seeing me grovel, so much stick did I give them about their visits to the village shop for scones. But they were always there when we needed them and we just didn't have any real crimes in the area because those guys lived among us and everybody respected them for doing just that.

I'm constantly challenged in my Christian walk to remember that even when I'm not among fellow believers or just on my own, I have a responsibility to live out my faith correctly. Often I fail to do so and it makes me so disappointed in myself because I have forgotten that when nobody is around, God still is and knows every thought, action and word of mine. Elihu, one of Job's 'comforters' recognised this when he told Job, 'His eyes are on the ways of men; he sees their every step.' Likewise the Psalmist writes in chapter 33, 'From heaven the LORD looks down and sees all mankind.' There is nothing hidden from Him, but He is prepared to forgive if I am prepared to be truly sorry, but I also know that it is a warning not to walk that same road again.

I'll never forget my two escapades with the 'gentlemen' but there's no record against me. How good to know that, even though I remember my failures, my heavenly Father has no longer any record of them happening. Grace indeed!

P is for PHOTO

I really liked Biology at school, not something I have in common with wife, who informs me that she was always more gifted in the creative subjects like Art and Music. Yet, in truth Biological science is nothing more than an in depth study of the great creativity of our Creator.

Take photosynthesis for example. I look outside at all those beautiful green plants, growing healthily in my garden, the green grass growing just a bit too healthily on my lawn and the five trees in our front garden that only a few weeks ago were completely bare and now provide enough shade beneath, for the two Jack Russels that have taken up semi permanent residence on our lawn. I also think about the shrubs from which Whitie, our spoilt and ever enlarging cat emerges, when he hears the car arrive or sees a light being switched on in the early morning. And I know that inside each of those plants, a wonderful series of chemical processes will be happening that will ensure that growth is ongoing throughout the day and night. Of course with the help of scientists, my teachers and a few Biology textbooks, I have come to understand how the leaves of a plant are the little chemical factories, taking in carbon dioxide that we might even have breathed out and using the water that has been drawn up through their roots and probably fell out of a cloud some time previously, to make sugars that can be passed around to all the other parts of the plant, helping them to survive and grow, including the fruit above the soil and the vegetables underground. But what was the key factor? The light of course, for without the light, the process would flounder. That's why it's called photosynthesis of course - using light to make something.

But another photo gripped my interest and imagination as a pupil and later as a teacher and that was phototropism. I had probably seen it hundreds of times but never recognised it for what it was. You know you leave a plant on the kitchen window sill and before long it's bending towards the window or you plant a whole lot of little seedlings and after a while the whole tray have taken on a mind of their own and are all listing in one direction. We used to do lots of little experiments at school about this and the predictions were always devastatingly accurate because without fail, if you placed a plant and shone a light from one side, without exception, after a few days you could see the bend in the stem, in the direction of the light. But what was the key factor? The light of course, for without the light it just wouldn't happen. That's why it's called phototropism of course - the bending of the plant towards the light.

A third photo word I remember from those halcyon days was photoperiodism. I never really though about what makes plants flower apart from the fact that it was probably something to do with the warmth of the season but I would never have guessed that it could be affected by the amount of daylight that a plant received, or more correctly the length of night. And while some plants are dependent on temperature there are two other distinct categories of flowering plants, the long day plants that need a short night time of darkness and thus are going to flower in late spring and summer and the short day plants that will only flower in the autumn and winter because they need a long night. And it's not just restricted to plants with some animals showing physiological behavioural changes just because of the change in the amount of light in a season. How incredible is that. And what is the key factor? The light of course. That's why it's called photoperiodsim - the reaction of organisms to changes in the length of daylight.

So if Jesus is the 'Light of the World', what change does He cause in you or in me. Do we feed on His goodness and His promises? Are we growing by taking in the spiritual nourishment He provides? Or is something shading out the light so that while we believe and are saved, we actually never develop and grow into what He wants us to be?

Are we attracted to His light, bending away from those things that might hold us back and looking to get closer to Him? Do we always seek out His light even when darkness appears to be all around?

But sometimes, you know, it takes the dark experiences, the troublesome days, the moments of despair to make us really appreciate the light and to start to bloom for Jesus. What is your reaction when things go wrong, not according to plan, when life sets you back, when tragedy occurs. I don't know why God allows some things to happen in our lives at particular times but I do know that His light is always there. And the encouraging thing is that He says, ' I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.'

P is for PARENTS

Nothing prepares you for being a parent yourself. There is no book, no film , no television series, no internet site, no glossy magazine, no pre or post natal group, no advisor, no counsellor and no relation, no matter how close, who can prepare you for what is about to happen when you change from being a wife or a husband to a mummy or daddy. Yes, there is no end of advice from any of the above sources, but in reality, they don't even get near to preparing you for that day of parenthood. Trouble is, too many are making a living out of it when they don't really have the answers.

I never thought much about being a parent when I wasn't one and I suppose I didn't really think much about mum and dad as parents either. I just sort of expected them to get on with the job and make the decisions that kept the house running smoothly, gave us what we needed and occasionally surprise us with the odd piece of luxury, beyond the mundane of normal everyday living. And I never thought about all the things that might have occupied them in one day of my life, nor about the fact that meals arrived at the right time and when we needed shoes or clothes or school uniforms or books they just seemed to happen without any talk, though I guess they constantly discussed such matters when I wasn't around. I don't know if they went without so that we could have or if it was a struggle to provide for us because such things just don't enter your head when you're growing up. I never asked why they chose the Christian names we ended up with nor how they decided to just have two children. I never knew the worries they had about us when we were babies, the sleepless nights, the childhood illnesses, how they chose our schools, how they arrived at disciplining us, what they hoped we would be, where they hoped we would live and even who we might marry.


But when you become a parent yourself, such questions soon fill your mind along with about a million others and I'm sure that there is not one single day that you don't think about all of your children, even when they grow up and begin to move out of the nest. Yes, being a parent is pretty much constant from the day junior arrives but it's a life full of so many different experiences because each stage of growth or development brings its own problems, headaches, magic moments and so many memories. And the truth is that, although your child eventually is no longer a child, you never stop being their mum or dad. So many times in our twenty years or so of parenthood, there have been those moments when you wish time would just stand still and equally there are days that you wouldn't want to live through again but as a parent, you never regret any of them for each one remains a precious page in the life that you are hopefully helping to mould. I was talking this all over with a lady last night, a close neighbour, whose son was one of my playmates and friends for many years as we grew up. It's a tribute to her and her husband that her three daughters live within one hundred yards of their house and one son still has not deserted the family home while the other boys are regular visitors. They must have done something right as parents and I'm pretty sure they didn't read it in any manual. Now they have the pleasure of grandchildren and the time to spend with them. What a blessing that must be.


When I think of all the decisions we made as parents in rearing two boys, I often wonder if we would have done anything different and I don't think there is any parent around who wouldn't make some changes to the way they dealt with parental responsibilities but hindsight is a wonderful thing and I guess, retrospectively, we did alright. However, I've no doubt that a higher and greater power was at work all the time as we lived each day and even on those days when looking after two toddlers seemed to take every minute and there wasn't much time left for God, He didn't walk off and forget about us, but He waited patiently and as we learned more about the job so we learned more about Him and what it truly means to be a parent filled with unconditional love. Two of our close friends will shortly embark on the parent road for the first time. If I had any advice for them, I reckon there is little better to be found than in Proverbs 22 where the writer says, 'Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.' Not everyone becomes a good parent but few start out with the wrong intention. Many will no doubt disagree with some of the things we have done as parents and likewise not everyone's parental ideas and actions fit in with our thoughts. And of course everyone knows good parents whose child has not reflected their efforts. You see that's why there is no perfect guide to being a parent. But there is a perfect Father and if He dwells in us and we in Him, I think it's a good start along the road. By the way, should you really want to know if you've been a good parent, watch your children - when they become parents!