R is for RECOGNISE

His wife had been standing on the touchline, watching the game every week. I had first seen her there when the boys were playing in the under 14XV rugby team for the school and because I hadn't noticed here before, I assumed that she was a parent supporting the opposition. Anyway I was too engrossed in the game to take much notice that day, but when she appeared back the next Saturday morning, I began to think that she was maybe one of ours. And her enthusiasm when we attacked eventually gave the game away. For the next few years I passed pleasant greetings on the touchline on many game mornings and on a few afternoons as we watched the rugby match in which both our sons were playing and over that period of time as the small band of parents began to gel in the cause of their offspring, we began to recognise our own 'family' and supported each other's children where once our eyes had only been trained on our own loved one. It was at some point during that period that she first introduced me to her husband, who, until that stage, had rarely been around the touchline. He was about my height and I assumed, probably because our boys were of similar age, probably had lived as long as I had. His hair was longish and grey, though disappearing from certain central areas and he sported a greying beard which had clearly been reasonably black until recently and on first appearance, he looked older than the rest of our group, though his hair covered face clearly was affecting my judgement. We chatted briefly for a few minutes and then he hit me with it. "You don't recognise me, do you?" he said, clearly having no difficulty himself in knowing whom he was talking to and to be honest, I hadn't a clue. "We were in the same class at school here and I sat behind you," he said. Suddenly I began to put the Christian name that I had heard a few moments earlier with his wife's surname and a face from over thirty years previous and there, standing beside me, was Robin. I couldn't say whether the years had been kind to either of us but I saw him in a different light from that day on.

It's not a one off occurrence with me either. For some reason I just don't have a good memory for faces and never have had. Why only a few weeks ago I was standing in a music shop in Belfast trying out a few guitars when this face appeared opposite me and said hello. Somewhere in the far depths of my brain I could hear a voice saying, 'You know this person' and I could hear my sub-conscious reply going something like 'You're probably right but at this precise moment I can't even begin to find a name that fits the face.' Eldest son, who was sitting, caressing a guitar

at the time, looked up and immediately greeted my cousin and of course then it all came flooding back and I managed to wriggle out of embarrassment by uttering something like 'I didn't expect to see you here!' But I guess the damage had already been done. So don't ever be alarmed or annoyed if I meet you in the street and don't immediately call out your name or even appear slightly bemused by the face staring back at me. I don't mean to be rude and I don't mean to forget you.

Last year, I took my Aussie mate George, whom I recognised immediately even though I hadn't seen him for years, back to our old school in Armagh. So much had changed in the intervening years since he had left as a twelve year old and I had exited a few years after. Even with all the extensions and new build, there was still so much to recognise that helped us to recall our past vividly. The original old stone building where the boarding pupils still stay looked similar to the time when we used to line up outside for dinner though the dining hall itself, with its wooden panelled walls and majestic honours boards now house the school library. I recognise where I used to sit as a new first year and how we used to eat our lunch in silence where students now study without noise. Some things never change. I could recognise the music auditorium where we used to have assembly with the school band on one or two mornings and the main assembly hall where we learned to vault the horse and climb the ropes. And I recognised parts that were no longer there. The sixth form common room, the bays where we waited for class or sat on a wet day, the tennis courts now the school car park, the orchard, replaced by a science wing, the school outdoor swimming pool under an entrance and a physics lab and our beloved football field now covered by a sports hall. And with it I recognise the need for change and I'm sure the school is a better place for it.

When Jesus rose from the dead, he was not instantly recognisable to those who saw him. I'm not sure how He had changed but I guess He was the last person they really expected to see, having witnessed his death a few days earlier. But it wasn't in what they saw that they knew who He was but more in what He said. His followers on their journey to Emmaus only recognised Him when He gave thanks and broke bread, Mary thought He was the gardener until he called her by name and countless others recognised that it was Jesus speaking to them. Jesus says in John's Gospel, 'My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.' That lets me know that when Jesus speaks, I will recognise His voice and will know what He wants me to do. But it also reminds me to be ready to recognise those voices that are not His, that might lead me along a road that He doesn't want me to travel.

As I've said, I'm not much good with faces but I know if I keep on trusting in the Father, He'll recognise mine.