C is for CUCUMBER

OK I know this isn't much to gripe about but after all the effort, I'm left with just one cucumber. Four months of sowing seed, waiting, watering, transplanting, more waiting, more watering, more transplanting, even more waiting and watering, reading all the gardening guides online, following instructions to the last letter, watching those little yellow flowers form and eventually disappear, leaving behind what looks like a mini fruit and then finding that a month later that mini fruit is still just a mini fruit. And it happened again and again to almost every flower on every plant. By the end I had about a dozen plants, winding their way up bamboo canes, all looking perfectly healthy and green, flowering abundantly and it looked like I was in for a bumper harvest. But it never came. Too often the expected cucumber just became shrivelled and died. I read somewhere that maybe it was a pollination problem, that perhaps the pollen had been washed away during watering but I was never really sure. Anyway I kept tending the plants but they kept failing to produce. Except for one. And it made me so proud. Partly because I had managed to grow a cucumber against all the odds but partly because that one plant had delivered. I don't really think I made much difference in the end, but at least I didn't give up.

And then I thought about that parable Jesus told about the shepherd leaving ninety nine sheep all alone to go and search for the one that had got lost and how much he had rejoiced when he found it and brought it home. And I suddenly realised that my rejoicing over one cucmber growing is nothing compared to the joy that fills our Lord when He finds one soul that is lost and brings them home. I'm so glad He doesn't give up on us.

S is for SEEDS

My dad had a vegetable garden that you could reach along a narrow path from our house. The path was little more than a strip of grass, no more than two feet wide, that had been mown during the weekly lawn cutting exercise and so allowed easy access across a patch of part orchard, part scrub land that stretched to the boundary of the homestead. As soon as the longer nights began to appear, he could be found on many evenings, toiling away with a spade and grape, breaking up the soil from the previous year, adding some farmyard manure and eventually producing ten or twelve long drills into which a variety of seeds would be sown. Thus, by the time of the longest day, we were already sampling such delights as beans, peas, lettuce, scallions, cabbages and a few other miscellaneous vegetables that seemed to appear overnight but actually took months of preparation and care to produce. Maybe it just appeared that way because I didn't visit the garden too often!

And maybe that whole picture was somewhere in the back of my mind when the longer spring nights heralded a new growing season this year and my mind turned to all things green and edible that might be grown in the comforting and immediate locality of our back yard. And so it was, armed with a few seed trays, some small bags of compost and a bundled pack of assorted seeds that the whole growing process began to reenact the history of my childhood. You know I've always wondered why garden centres sell bundled packs of seeds that altogether cost less than the price of a single packet. It's like buying a value pack in a supermarket but I can't help thinking that there must be something wrong with the seeds to sell them so cheaply. Maybe they won't germinate or maybe it's just a ploy to get more people interested in growing plants. Anyhow, after several days in the warmth of a conservatory, the green shoots appearing proved that I need not have worried and soon it was time to transplant into containers that could cope with the future extensive root systems that had been planned. And so it went on, beginning with chives, lettuce, tomatoes, beetroot and even cucumber seeds and a couple of small 'plastic' mini greenhouses, I watched enthralled, as the little seeds I planted in April began to emerge into fully grown plants that by now are several feet tall in the case of the tomatoes and cucumbers and some, such as lettuce and chives have already made it into the summer salads. Just a few weeks ago small tomatoes began to emerge from the remains of the flowers and more recently a fairly large cucumber is rapidly taking over one of the mini greenhouses and just pleading to be eaten. Indeed the whole back paved areas is awash with green colour and edible plants providing a nice contrast to the many pots of colourful flowers that wife spreads around the outskirts of the homestead. And all produced from a few packets of seeds.

It's at times like this that I'm humbled by the Creator and His magnificent creation, His planning on how it all fits together and His infinite intelligence that creates a myriad of different plants from tiny seeds, some of which we can eat and others which just bring a dash of colour to our lives. And I'm humbled that amidst all this creation that I can see, He also created me and gave me the ability to think, talk and appreciate who He is and what He has done. But I'm also reminded of the great commission to tell the world of the Gospel, to 'sow the seed' and the responsibility that falls on every believer's head to spread that seed. How often I have failed to take opportunities to further the Master's kingdom and sometimes maybe i just didn't think the seed was precious enough. But when you realise that the seed you sow can give life for ever it sort of helps you to prioritise your life and everything else seems so much less important.

You know I've made mistakes in my gardening career. Sometimes I didn't read the instructions properly, sometimes I forgot to water, other times I watered too much but almost always the seeds germinated anyway. And you see, it is God who brings the harvest, not us, but above all we must, even in our imperfections be obedient and faithful and sow the seed.

Just a word of warning if the seed has already been sown in your heart. This year I planted some lettuce seedlings in a old length of spouting. Initially they grew well but within a few days they were all gone, courtesy of the greedy mouths of rabbits and birds. Jesus told a parable about such seed being sown in different places in Matthew 13 with varying degrees of success. Let me ask you, what is it that stops the seed growing in your life?

D is for DONKEY

Donkeys gets a bad press sometimes and possibly not always without some basis for that criticism. They've crossed my path on many occasions and enough instances are memorable enough to be recorded in the annals of my own personal history. We had a favourite Christmas single at home, called 'Little Donkey' sung by, I think, Nina and Frederick and describing the journey of Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem. I don't recall it occurring to me at the time that there is no mention of a donkey in the biblical Christmas story but I liked the melody anyway. I guess what more stands out in my head are the local sayings that are imprinted in my mind, such as 'I could eat the cross off a donkey' or 'flap you ears and pull like a donkey.' Less memorable were those occasions when you could be described as a 'big donkey' or even a 'stupid donkey' though by the very nature of the latter statement, the unsuspecting orator was suggesting that not all donkeys were indeed void of intelligence!

And this of course I know at first hand, having had the unforgettable but not memorable experience of riding a donkey on the beach at Newcastle or being part of a donkey train through the Gap of Dunloe in Killarney. In both situations the four legged creatures were well programmed and highly disciplined, always travelling at a predetermined pace and one soon became aware that the rider had absolutely no control over his legged vehicle and just had to sit there, enjoy the view and suffer the agonies of an uncomfortable bottom, accentuated by every uneven step. Some years ago I was reacquainted with the species when one arrived at the door of my home, close enough to ring the bell and with no obvious reason for being there or indeed leaving. So after some gentle persuasion, for I discovered that little else works in trying to move a donkey, it retreated from the front step and took up residence on the adjacent lawn. Eventually, following another period of discussion, we managed to move it slightly further from the house but never far enough away to be convinced that it wouldn't move closer when we were out of sight, which of course it did. Eventually after some time, days, I think, its rightful owner came and took it away though whether he was glad to be reunited, remained uncertain.

Such thoughts were in my mind as I rummaged through the book of 2nd Kings, reading all about those two great prophets, t he soon to depart Elijah and his understudy Elisha and it was with intrigue that I came across this verse in chapter 6 which stated, 'there was a great famine in Samaria and indeed they besieged it until a donkey's head was sold for eighty shekels of silver.' For people to be reduce to eating such an ignominious part of an animal that they deemed to be unclean and paying the equivalent of two pounds in weight of silver for the 'delicacy' gave some idea of the desperation that the famine was causing, though probably not as much anxiety as the sight of the Syrian army all around the city whose siege had resulted in the famine in the first place. It was Elisha who would predict, by divine guidance, that within a day the famine would be over and the Syrian army would have fled the scene, because of God's intervention and I suppose any remaining donkeys would be safe from the butcher's knife. And of course that is exactly what happened but something else in the story caught my eye. The first men to discover that the enemy had departed hurriedly were four lepers who had previously come to the decision that if they stayed at the city gates they would be killed, if they went inside the city they would die anyway so chose to surrender to the Syrians in the faint hope that they might get some food but knowing that if they should be killed, it was no worse a fate than they already faced. Imagine their shock to see the enemy camp deserted and their surprise to see food, drink, clothing and gold left behind by the fleeing army. But in their joy, they didn't forget the city that they had left and the people perishing inside. They said, 'We are not doing right. This day is a day of good news and we remain silent.' (ch7 v9)

I'm so conscious that we have Good News of Jesus' salvation and yet we remain silent, too eager to fill our lives with things that ultimately will have no value and disappear. I guess it all comes down to what we value the most, our own lives and the material things that we acquire to satisfy us or our Saviour and the spiritual food that is freely available through Him for all who believe. And you see it's not just something He would like us to do, it is our responsibility to not be silent but to tell others of the good things we have found. Remember while we don't, they perish.

In John ch 12 we read, 'Do not be afraid, O Daughter of Zion; see, your king is coming, seated on a donkey's colt.' That much maligned animal was important to Jesus the King of Kings but can He depend on us to carry His cross?

E is for END

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

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

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

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

E is for EARLY

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

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

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

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

E is for EASTER

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

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

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

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

E is for ECHO

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

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

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

E is for EGGS

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

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

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

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

E is for ELEPHANT

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

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

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

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

Y is for YUCCA

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

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

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

Y is for YESTERDAY

They say nostalgia isn't what it used to be. I prefer to think that hindsight is a wonderful thing. However I do think we are more interested in the past than we think and for some it probably borders on obsessiveness. On our local television channel, another series of UTV Rewind has just started that gives us glimpses into earlier years and I think I'm more fascinated by the clothes and hairstyles of presenters in their bygone days than the events they are reporting. Many of our other television channels fill their schedules with repeats and indeed some stations are dedicated to old programmes. One of my favourites is the ESPN sports channel that allows sports fanatics to watch old football and rugby matches as well as snippets of other sports and their stars. And you know so many of the games are such a distant memory that it's almost like watching them for the first time, except for the retro skips and hairstyles.

But it doesn't end there. Everyday, for the last fifteen years in school, I have started the morning with my class by sharing some snippets from a book called 'On This Day'. Each page is dedicated to one day of the year and summarises the main world events that have happened on that particular date in history. Some of the things we talk about are recent enough for me to remember but many are too long in the past, while for the children, everything is new. My only problem is that I now need to update the book because so many important events have happened since it was first published and there are enough recent additions that some of the pupils would remember and of course, add to their interest.

Of course as we get older, there are more yesterdays to recall, though not all with affection and I guess there are many yesterdays that we'd prefer hadn't happened or would like to rewrite while many others bring back a great sense of satisfaction and pleasure. Either way they are all part of our personal history, filling the huge dairy that we call life. And there are no days that something isn't recorded. But so often our view of the present is linked to the past and we cling to our yesterdays with a mixture of regret and fondness, suggesting that they were so much better than today. Nowhere more evident is this than in the sporting world where I listen to a whole posse of former sports stars ridiculing the game they once graced and minimising the success of their present day equivalents. It often starts with the phrase, 'in my day' and you know immediately that their comparison of old and new is viewed through very coloured glass. The truth is that while each of our own eras has had much to offer, each also has had its disadvantages and maybe we need to take a little from each generation to see the bigger and better picture. In our province, yesterday is always linked with the sectarian trouble that occupied many of our days and I can remember many yesterdays when I knew a victim by name or personally. As we remember those who lost their lives in one such horrific example, exactly ten years ago, we do so by also thinking about every other family whose today is always filled with the memories of a yesterday they wish had never happened.

The writer of Hebrews reminds us that 'Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.' But He is not interested in our yesterdays and what we did in them and because He doesn't change with time, the gift of salvation He offers is always available. If we accept His gift, that forgiveness He gives includes wiping away all the wrongs of yesterday, all the sins of the past. Isaiah writes 'Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past' and that is exactly what we can do because God forgives and forgets. He takes away our past and buries it forever. Your yesterday can remain there to be remembered no more.

Y is for YOUNG

I've just watched the Women's Individual All Around Final gymnastics competition at the Beijing Olympics and its a bit disconcerting. When you add together the ages of the gold, silver and bronze winners, I'm still older than the combined total. If anything makes you realise that sport is a young person's game, it has to be the Olympics, where this year the youngest competitor is a twelve year old swimmer, two years younger than Great Britain's young diver. Still if it's any consolation, and it's not really, there is a Japanese equestrian competitor who is sixty four and he did compete at the Olympics before, albeit forty four years ago in his home country. I know there are sports where age is less of a barrier to success, such as bowls, shooting, archery, ideally those where competitiveness depends more on skill and experience than on stamina, speed and strength and of course most athletes know when it is time to give way to youth. However the great thing is that the young in this year's games are producing even greater levels of achievement than their predecessors, such is the level of fitness and dedication that they now possess and also the scientific and dietary knowledge available to them and their myriad of coaches and advisors. I listened with interest to one of our local commentators, a former Olympic competitor in the swimming pool, who, as a young boy had watched the great David Wilkie win gold at the 1976 Montreal Olympics and vowed that some day he would swim as fast as the Olympic champion. And of course with great dedication, he did equal Wilkie's time some eight years later. The only trouble was by that stage, Wilkie's world record winning time was two seconds too slow and now such a time wouldn't even have secured a place in either semi final!

But it's not just in sport where the young can teach us a thing or two. I've just been reading youngest son's blog over the past few weeks while he is on his eXtreme walk in Ecuador with OMS International and in his writings, his depth of faith is so evident and his understanding of the need to lean on God during his year away is something that I think few of my generation appreciated when we were his age. And it's not just him. I see it all around in many of our young people, that desire to find a deeper personal relationship with God and to be discerning in finding the right road to greater peace and also to a greater commitment to their Maker. For many, it now involves a summer, not lying on the beach, but working with kids in camps, often travelling to foreign countries and living way outside their comfort zone. For others it is a desire to take up roles of responsibility in their churches, to help in worship, to sing, to lead, to make tea, but whatever roles they occupy, to do them with complete commitment. A few will choose to study at a Bible College, to learn more about their faith and maybe as a prerequisite to a vocation either at home or abroad but whatever they choose, it is so refreshing to see them wear their faith on their sleeve. Not for them any hidden Christianity, not for them any embarrassment at awkward questions from friends, not for them Jesus being second best.

I thought about a lot of these young kids today as they waited anxiously for their A level grades that would decide their immediate future and I thought of all those whom I know and what the next year might bring for them. Yes there will be those for whom God will become a distant thought, who may leave behind the comfort zones of their church or youth group and there may be some who will never venture along that path again. And I'm reminded of the writer of Ecclesiastes who said 'Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, "I find no pleasure in them". ' And I think of how if we have truly given our lives to God in complete repentance and faith, that he will never let us go and will never stop loving us, even when we choose a different path for a while. He is like the shepherd searching for His lost sheep, because the sheep already belongs to Him and He is just not prepared to lose it. Isn't that great to know, especially for you parents out there, when you have to let your child make their own way in life, that the Creator they knew personally in the days of their youth, hasn't left them and they still live in His grace.

I listened to our Minister for Education today, who has less qualifications than most of the children around her but who could probably beat them at tennis or on quizzes about Colombia and she did manage to say something I agreed with for once when she pointed out that even if some young people don't get the grades they want, there is more than one pathway to their chosen career. The same is not true however concerning the way to God for His Son makes it quite clear when he says in John 14, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.' And the good news is that age is never a barrier.

Q is for QUIET

If you happened to walk into our dining hall on any day of the week, you would hear it before you would see it. It's not surprising when you have nearly one hundred and fifty children all in the one room, after three hours of studying Maths and English in some form, that they might just want to let off a bit of steam. Unfortunately they haven't quite grasped the concept that if everyone tries to talk at the same time, then it's hard to decipher anything that is said. They think the only solution is to try and talk more loudly than their neighbour who obviously has the same brainwave at the same time, so the noise level creeps up rather quickly, until a bang of the cook's big spoon returns the decibel reading to normality. But it's never totally quiet and I don't think you could expect it to be. Strangely though, I can stand in the hall and not hear the noise at all some days because in truth, it's not about the noise, but about where your mind is. My own recollections of dinner time in the dining hall around the start of my teenage years was one of absolute silence, save for the noise of metal on crockery. It was in general keeping with the rigid discipline rules of the school whose policy on educating children was, to quote a famous Irish author, the carrot and stick method, but without the carrot.

I was drawn to the whole subject of quietness today by several things. First, we spent some of the daylight working hours in school, rearranging books and furniture that had been move to allow for a repaint. The place was so quiet all day with the children not due back for several weeks. It made me almost think how great being a teacher could be of there were no pupils, but it's their noisy exuberance and enthusiasm that makes the job worthwhile sometimes.

Then when I logged on to youngest son's blog tonight that he is writing during his year in Ecuador, working with a church, I was intrigued how he described his present life and his mind as 'noisy' because of the busy nature of his work, the people he is meeting , the different language and culture and of course all the thoughts, plans, ideas and feelings that are constantly swimming about in his head. And you know I understood exactly what he was talking about, because what he really needed was some quality time to himself, not just for the sake of it , but to be able to mediate on God and to feel His peace infuse his life. It reminded me of Job who said 'I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil.' It took me back to many times I can remember when I would seek a 'place of peace' just to be alone with my thoughts and with God. Sometimes it was just a walk up the lane or by the riverbank, maybe a drive in the car, sitting in the dark in the lounge, mowing the lawn and sometimes, it was in the middle of a crowd where I was just anonymous and could walk with my own thoughts. I guess that's where I am in the dining hall occasionally. Then tonight, I was reading the local paper and happened to notice a remark from our only lady Prime Minster to date, who said 'We have a great many people on our national stage who are great communicators but they have nothing whatever to communicate.' I think what she really meant was 'maybe they should keep quiet.' Or maybe it's another way of phrasing that old proverb, 'empty vessels make the most sound.'

Ah, quietness. It plays such an important part in our spiritual lives too. The write of Lamentations says 'it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.' And Zephaniah records 'The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.' Even when Jesus cast demons out of people, His first words were to command the demon to 'be quiet.' And maybe the writer of Margaret Thatcher was not one hundred miles away from the writer of Ecclesiastes who wrote 'The quiet words of the wise are more to be heeded than the shouts of a ruler of fools.' We used to sing a hymn many years ago, the first line of which was 'there is a place of quiet rest, near to the heart of God.' The Psalmist reminds me that 'He leads me beside quiet waters.' So maybe today we need to start our desire to grow deeper with God by being a little quieter. After all, if we're not, we mightn't hear that gentle whisper.

Q is for QUEEN

Our present queen, Elizabeth, is a member of a very exclusive club. At the moment along with her good self, I can only find two other queens, Margrethe II of Denmark and Beatrix of the Netherlands who are the ruling female monarchs in the world. Yes there are plenty of queens around but most of them sit beside their husband king in a sort of supportive role, you know, ironing his robes, polishing his crown, making the royal breakfast, getting the royal groceries, rearing the royal children, having the royal pipe and slippers ready every evening. Actually, I'm sure they don't do anything of those things, especially where a servant could be hired instead. But can't you imagine how dull the conversations might be. 'What did you do today dear?' 'You should know, you were sitting beside me all day!'

When we cover the family tree of the British Royals, I'm always intrigued by the fact that ER would probably never have been on the throne except for the love of her uncle Edward for Mrs Simpson. In his abdication, her whole future changed and but for that interjection we might have been talking of Charles, Anne, Andrew and Edward in the same way as we consider their distant cousins and minor royals. Elizabeth has been Queen for all of my life, indeed for the lives of the majority of people on these islands and in the past decade or so, she has twice been in our local city though the closest I got to her was on a television screen. Mind you, one little girl form our school waited for hours to see her and present to her some flowers and eventually she was rewarded when Her Majesty stopped, accepted her gift and spoke with her for a few moments. That event is. I'm sure recorded in a scrapbook for ever. Though I never knew her, from all the information we study in school, Queen Victoria seemed somewhat less outgoing and shunned public appearances when possible. I'm sure the early death of her husband, Prince Albert, had a profound effect on her and all accounts record that she wore black for the rest of her life until she died after nearly sixty four years on the throne.

In the Bible, two queens stand out in my memory. Jezebel, the wife of Ahab and daughter of a foreign king, who turned her husband away from the God of the Israelites and took particular offence at Elijah the prophet and his successor, Elisha, when they confronted her of her evil. To call her manipulative would be an understatement and yet she was not impressed when Elijah prophesied that she would be eaten by dogs at the end a finale that eventually came to pass.

Esther, on the other hand, was a woman of deep faith and courageous in her position as wife to King Xerxes, during the captive years of the Israelites. And no doubt because of her faith in the God of her forefathers, she had a strong moral character and a desire, despite the risks, to seek justice for her captive people. So important is she that her story is recorded in the book that bears her name. She is remembered as the Saviour of her people through her actions but in reality it was her reliance on God and her call to all the Jewish people to follow her example that was the catalyst for God's miraculous intervention and their ultimate deliverance.

And so it still is today. God is waiting to supernaturally and miraculously intervene in our lives, and yet too often we choose not to rely on Him and His all encompassing greatness by trying to keep our problems 'in house' and solve them by our own human efforts. That's why the prophet Isaiah writes in chapter 50, 'Who among you fears the LORD and obeys the word of his servant? Let him who walks in the dark, who has no light, trust in the name of the LORD and rely on his God' and why John, in his epistle, chapter 4 can say with confidence 'And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.'

Each of these queens is remembered in a different way because of the life they lived during their few years on earth. How will you be remembered. And how will God remember you?

Q is for QUIZ

So you think you're good at quizzes. OK, answer these five correctly and you can be in my quiz team anytime.

Q1. Which is the tallest building in the world?

Q2. How long does it take Jupiter to complete one orbit of the sun?

Q3. What is the name of the tower that houses Big Ben?

Q4. Who invented Lacrosse?

Q5. Does Qur'an (Koran) mean recitation, religion or faith?

I ask these because they appeared in a newspaper at the weekend and here's the sore point, they're from a CHILDREN'S encyclopedia and I didn't know the answer to any of them. (You can check the answers at the end of this blog, but only if you read it all first!!)

I love a good quiz. There is a real satisfaction in knowing the answers to the question master's posers, though to be honest, sometimes it largely depends on the subject. For example, I reckon I have a reasonable knowledge of geography, of sport, of popular music and of general knowledge. But within any of those categories, I can can be hopelessly lost. I suppose my geography is largely dependent on what I learnt about the world at primary school, you know, all those capitals, rivers, mountains and the like and also what I picked up from my interest in sport, especially football, with regard to towns and cities in certain countries. Also, as a child I would often s[pend time just browsing the atlas and finding places in different countries. But, I haven't done much of that in the past twenty years so all the new countries that have arisen or changed their names, do make it a lot harder. The same goes with sport and I probably notice it best when I watch a programme like 'A Question of Sport' now and can't even recognise some of those taking part, let alone the questions. It was easier years ago, in the days of David Vine and David Coleman (who are they, I hear you ask?) when I followed every conceivable sport closely but now I just dip in and out of them and have what I would call 'a conversational knowledge' but nothing more. So most of the time, when I watch the programme now, I do so in a much more passive way than previously. And I suppose music is the same too, since most of my knowledge seems to end rather abruptly in the early nineties an my factual appreciation of classical and jazz has never been a forte anyway. So I guess the perfect quiz, to suit everyone, has never been made and that's why when you go along to a Table Quiz, it's so vital to have the right mix of males and females and a variety of ages so that such diverse things as fashion, soap operas, cooking, horse racing, languages, football, history and celebrities are an interest to someone in your team.

When sister and I were young, we would spend hours on a Sunday afternoon or evening, plaguing mum to ask us questions from the Bible quiz books she used at some of the children's meetings she took. There were questions on virtually every Bible topic from The Garden of Eden , through David and Goliath and including the miracles and parables of Jesus. I always remember that was where I learned about Methuselah, at three hundred and sixty nine years of age, being the oldest man who ever lived and also about a guy called Nimrod being Noah's great grandson and also being a 'mighty hunter' by occupation. I don't know how we learned all this information because I don't recall reading about that gentleman in the Bible as a child. I suppose we did the quizzes so many times that after a while some things just seemed to stick in the brain. But it was great fun and that was where I learned so many of the Bible facts that I was able to store up for years.

Don't we all rely a little bit on our past knowledge sometimes? But as a Christian you can't do that because every day is a new experience with God and every day HE wants to teach us something new in order that we might grow. So it can be very easy to draw on our past learning, you know, all those Bible verses and facts that we gathered up as children and think that we can survive just by producing them at the right moment. Let me tell you it's not enough. God isn't really interested in whether or not I knew Noah's descendant was a hunter, but he is concerned if I haven't grown as a Christian since the day I learned that fact. And I should be concerned too. You see it's not just about head knowledge, it's about what is going on in you heart, or if you wish to put it another way, whether your life really reflects the love of Jesus and the work of His Spirit. The Psalmist writes 'Who may ascend the hill of the LORD ? Who may stand in his holy place? He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up his soul to an idol or swear by what is false. He will receive blessing from the LORD and vindication from God his Saviour.' I don't see anything about our knowledge of Biblical facts getting us admittance into the Holy of Holies. Our heart's desire should be to become more like Jesus and the Psalmist again reminds us in chapter 37 'Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart.' Do you know how you come to delight in something. By spending time reflecting on it. Maybe it's time to ask the questions that really matter about your life and your eternity. And you'll not find any of the answers in a quiz book.

ANSWERS: Q1:Taipei 101 Q2: 12 earth years Q3: St Stephen's Tower Q4:Native Americans Q5:recitation (5/5 = genius, 3/5 = better than most, 1/5 = don't give up your day job, 0/5 = welcome to our club!)

Q is for QUAILS

You know the story well, how God sent Manna and Quails to feed the Israelites in the desert as they travelled towards Canaan. I had heard the account many times but had never seen a quail in the flesh until I was ambling around Harrods one day, with no intention of buying anything and indeed not enough finance to consider changing my mind, when I happened to dander into the grocery level. First impression was that it was hardly your average Tesco or Sainsburys and I couldn't quite imagine doing the weekly shop for a family of four in that establishment. I think that was when the quail first caught my eye though obviously it was completely unaware of my presence as it lay on its back in the glass cabinet, alongside quite a few of its brothers and sisters. I guess it was the size that really floored me first of all, the whole body being little bigger than my clenched fist, just really a very, very small chicken that would hold little more than an egg cup full of sage and onion stuffing. Yet, it was clearly a delicacy, as the price tag indicated.

I have never tasted quail but I reckon it's not a whole lot different to chicken. The closest I got was another similar sized flying bird, the pigeon that dad used to shoot when I was a kid. Sometimes mum would roast them but more often than not she boiled the birds and made a pot of soup. It was a much darker meat but very, very tasty. The Israelites certainly seemed to have a lot less bother in acquiring the quails than dad did with the pigeons. It seemed to be God's response to their ungratefulness over the manna that they ate for the whole forty years on their journeys. Now I can understand that there might have been a certain degree of dissatisfaction at having to eat the same food every day, but surely their culinary skills would have allowed them to prepare it in different ways to keep it palatable and of course they didn't only had to step outside their tents in the morning to gather all that they needed. However when they grumbled about all the fish and fruit they had in Egypt, God provided fresh meat as well as the manna for them in the form of quails, again within reach of home. Exodus 16 tells us 'That evening quail came and covered the camp, and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp.' Numbers records this account. 'Now a wind went out from the LORD and drove quail in from the sea. It brought them down all around the camp to about three feet above the ground, as far as a day's walk in any direction. All that day and night and all the next day the people went out and gathered quail. No one gathered less than ten homers. Then they spread them out all around the camp.' But there was a price to pay for their attitude, as God sent a fatal plague on all those who had grumbled against Him. Many think that the quails, migratory birds by nature, were so exhausted on their return from warmer climates and busy feeding habits, that they rested close to the Israelite camp. While this may be true, it doesn't totally explain the wind that brought them in the right direction nor the fact that at hovering only a few feet above the ground made them easy prey for the carnivorous humans. God's hand was clearly at work.

Anyway, quails and for that matter, manna, have much to teach us about God. They teach me the truth of what Paul wrote to the Philippian believers in chapter 4v19 where he writes 'And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.' They also remind me of the huge difference between what we want and what God knows we need. And sometimes God puts all we need right in front of us and we just don't see it or else choose to ignore His gifts. But this account also tells me that we have a part to play too and God does expect us not only to obey Him but to use what He gives us wisely for our spiritual strengthening and for the nourishment of others. That's why, in Matthew's gospel, Jesus announces 'Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.' It's a hunger for needs not wants that He will satisfy. If God brings the quails to your door, maybe you should grasp hold of His offer.

Q is for QUEUE

It didn't seem like a queue at the time and I guess I wasn't really in a hurry anywhere. After all I was only standing in a line and everyone else was only five years of age, but it was queue all the same. Since I hadn't been to see Santa Claus in the local store, this was really my first experience of queuing and psychologically it didn't have much effect on me. I suppose since that day, life has just been one long line of queues and I don't recall too many that I wanted to be part of. It probably all started with the dinner queue at school, then there was the queue for the school doctor and dentist, the queue at the little sweet shop across the road and then the line waiting to get on the school bus. From there it has deteriorated into getting into line at the supermarket, standing in a queue at the chip shop, being patient at a Starbucks, waiting for an cone from an ice cream van, taking your turn to get the car taxed, sitting at the barber's, the dentist's, the doctor's surgery, the solicitor's, the parent's evening at school and I haven't even got near the car yet. So if you're not stuck in a queue of cars in the middle of town, then you can be in exactly the same predicament on the motorway, exiting from a car park, waiting to refill with fuel at a petrol station, idling in line until the car can have an MOT test or slowly inching forward to get a parking space at the shopping mall on a bank holiday.

But I reckon I've discovered one or two things about queuing. First of all, if there are two queues on the motorway, you always think that the one you are not in is moving faster than the one you chose to join. Of course the problem is that plenty of other folk are thinking the same thing as you so when you eventually decide to switch queues, you discover, because others have done the same, that your queue is now the slowest moving. Secondly, it's not always the best policy to join the shorter queue. I discovered this while going through passport control when wife, who had gone into a longer and what appeared to be slower moving queue, gently edged her way alongside my queue and then passed through several minutes before I did, simply because her control clerk was speedier than the one checking my passport. Thirdly, when you are standing in a queue, nothing is more annoying than a queue jumper. You know the sort that drives up the outside lane as if he didn't know what was happening ahead and then signals to squeeze in further up the line, thus pushing you even further back down the queue. It was the same at grammar school when we were in the junior forms and the senior prefects were allowed to walk straight to the front of the line and lift their lunch. Strangely I didn't find it so annoying when I was a senior and did the same thing! Fourthly, queues are really annoying when you don't know exactly how many people are in front of you. Haven't you joined the line at a concert or a ride in a theme park and it snakes its ways around the corner, into the building and up and down hastily constructed aisles and the queue you joined was only the tip of the iceberg? Or have you not being hanging on the end of a telephone, while some nice recorded lady tells you every few minutes, 'you are moving up the queue and your call will be dealt with shortly'? Fifthly, and most obviously, queues are not at all stressful if you're either not in one or if you are not in a hurry. Isn't it lovely to be driving along the other side of the motorway and see all those cars stuck in a jam?

Anyway queues teach me one thing, more than any other, patience. Solomon, the writer of Proverbs had plenty to say on the subject when he wrote in chapter 14 'A patient man has great understanding, but a quick-tempered man displays folly' and then again in chapter 15 'A hot-tempered man stirs up dissension, but a patient man calms a quarrel.' David, his father and Psalm writer records in chapter 40 'I waited patiently for the LORD; he turned to me and heard my cry' while Paul reminds the church at Ephesus to 'Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.' However Peter tells us that there is one who has greater patience than all of us, despite our reluctance to follow the path He has given us, for he writes 'The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.' Clearly Jesus will keep that promise to return fro those who have believed in Him but His patience is giving those who are still beyond the Kingdom, an opportunity to be saved. Of course the good news is that you don't have to stand in a queue and wait, for Jesus is ready at any time to be your Saviour. With God you're always at the front of the queue

U is for UNIFORM

It seemed a good idea at the time. When you have nearly forty children on a school trip and your job is to act 'in loco parentis', there comes with that a certain responsibility to arrive home safely with the same number of little darlings with which you left. This generally is not a problem, yet the ability in being able to count up to forty becomes very useful though rather tiring and monotonous. And of course there are few occasions when it is a major task to recognise pupils, especially on a crowded ferry, when this is a non-uniform trip and other schools may be using the boat for the same purpose. So to ease our concerns, we dressed all our pupils in the only regulation piece of uniform they required - a red cap. It was a busy crossing and by the time I had gathered my bits and pieces together and followed the other staff and children to the lounge above the vehicle decks, everyone was safely gathered in. Except that at least two other school groups had also chosen to wear red caps. Initially this isn't a problem, until the children start to wander around the boat and then you discover that if anyone from another school misbehaves, you are guilty by association or at least by similarities in dress code. And several times I ended up trying to count red heads before realising that they were not members of my flock.

We didn't have a school uniform during my primary years so the opportunity to wear the blazer of my grammar school was a bonus. The boarders however, had a different, plain grey jacket and when you had represented a sports team at senior level you had the privilege of wearing a colours blazer. Then for some reason, just as I reached the sixth form the headmaster decided that school uniform was no longer compulsory for our year and we were allowed to wear our own clothes, the only stipulation being that we donned a jacket of some description. It seemed a pretty daft idea to be honest because there is something about uniform which helps to identify you with a school or organisation and does create a degree of discipline in your life. Also, for parents it can be a nightmare trying to provide a standard of dress that doesn't look out of place, but I guess maybe the school's idea was to prepare us as young men for what lay ahead when we would eventually be out of uniform, though I don't think it was much help in character building. But hey, here's the strange thing. Even though we are talking over thirty years ago, I can vividly remember the jackets that many of my classmates wore and when I think of them today, for many, that is my last memory of them. SO maybe it was some kind of uniform after all.

I guess most of us have worn a uniform at some time in our life, either at school, maybe as part of a youth organisation or even in the job we do now. During any single day at school, I might encounter a policeman, a minister, a school crossing patrol man, a cook, a school cleaner, a caretaker, a salesman, a sports coach, a painter, a groundsman, a bus driver, a pupil or the school nurse and everyone is easily identifiable by their uniform. But in truth, wearing the uniform doesn't mean you are what you portray to be and that's what gets me really worried, when we start to think about the kingdom. I go to a church where the dress code is less than rigid, in fact it is better classed as informal and I think many folks appreciate that they are accepted for whom they are than what they wear, basing their decision on what God said to Samuel when he was choosing a King for Israel, 'Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.' And while it can be used as an excuse for untidiness and totally improper dress, generally I think people use their common sense in this area. You see, you can wear the traditional church uniform of a Sunday suit, or Sunday outfit, the choir robes, even the minister's robes and collar but it doesn't mean you belong to God. Jesus had plenty to tell the Pharisees about this when he said 'Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men's bones and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.' So it's not what other people see when they look at us, it's what God knows when he sees beyond our coverings and into the heart. I guess uniform doesn't tell the full story!