Jaw Dropping Good!

So we decided to take our son’s Christmas presents over for him. We could have posted them but it seemed better to take them in person.

Of course there had to be an element of surprise, so we never mentioned that we were coming. We just dropped in at his work.

His face! You couldn’t have bought it! We stayed a week to make the trip worth it. (Did I mention that he lives in Toronto?)

As we left for the airport he said, “Every night, we just say, “Mum and Dad came all this way!””

Just like Christmas really. God could have posted his love, but turned up in the flesh. Once that registers, it doesn’t half make your jaw drop!

Happy New Year.

Highest regards

Pete

PO Box 29376354

Overheard on my travels:

“Kids like me don’t do education.” … “People from there, well they’re all

the same aren’t they?” … “If you knew what my family was like

you’d…” … “Never tried it, don’t want to try it, won’t ever try it!” …

“Don’t give me that Jesus stuff… seen the church…seen the people…”


It seems that from day one we are either building a box to live our lives

in, or having it built for us. As we get older the box gets tighter. The

walls get thicker. Any sense of the freedom Jesus died for becomes

a distant dream, some say a myth.


His challenge to us is to live outside the box. The challenge starts today

Box or freedom – it really is your choice.

Highest regards

Pete

are you old enough to remember winkle-pickers?

Dear Dad,

I’ve been sussed. Seen through. Uncovered if you catch my drift.

Sorry to start so abruptly but I think that I may be getting into this letter writing business now. I find that I’m doing what I do so easily (and maybe a little rudely too I fear) when I meet up with friends. I don’t know if you have ever had the same kind of problem. Probably not. There you are trying to chat something over with one of the family when in rushes another one of the kids, full of vim and vigour, excited about whatever it is and can’t hold back a moment longer.

I do know that it’s been like that at our house from time to time. We had a really nice lad came to visit. No, I mean really nice. Well mannered, made his bed after him - everything you hope for in your own children when they stay at someone else’s place. Actually he did have one small shortcoming. It was his appetite. Bless him, he could empty a chest freezer single-handed and still have room for afters. I remember sitting around the table after one particularly satisfying feed – Jay was just mopping up after the rest of us.

“Are those Yorkshire puddings still free?” he enquired with a nod to the six or seven still lying on the plate. “I could sure help out with those at a pinch.” (Did I mention that he was one of our American cousins?)

Typically, he had to wait for a bit of a lull in the conversation before he got his chance at the leftovers. Ruth and I are not sure what they put in the water round our way, but everybody shouts across the table all the time. We were right in the middle of a really deep discussion about the lyrics of an R.E.M. song when I noticed that he was looking just a bit weepy.

“Go on then,” I said encouragingly, “help yourself man. No standing on ceremony. If you are still a bit peckish I’ll get the lovely Mrs Hardy to boil up a couple of goldfish from the garden pond. They just might see you over till tea time.”

Of course, I’d put my foot in it again. It turns out he wasn’t; actually crying with hunger.

“Whatever’s the matter?” I asked moving into caring, father-like mode.

“I was just thinking that we don’t get to do this at my place,” he replied. “You know, like just sit around and shoot the breeze. I was enjoying it so much it really moved me somewhat.”

Well, I must admit that I thought it must have truly moved him ”somewhat” if, for even a passing moment, he had been put off his stroke in the scoffing department. But the point is, I think, reasonably well made. ‘Fact is that, in our house, it can be a challenge getting a word in edgeways. So, do you ever have the same problem? Do you have kids who interrupt each other when you are around? Or do they all behave with just incredible and impeccable manners? Do you ever have to get to the point of shouting “Can you all just pipe down and give a body a bit of peace and quiet in his own home?” Well, do you?

I’m sorry. I know I wander off at a tangent far too easily but you seem to have the knack of drawing stuff out of me just when I am least expecting it.

Which brings me round full circle to the real business in hand. I have been sussed.

For over thirty years I have been trying to spring surprises on Ruth. I long to manage it just the once but I think I am condemned to failure in this area of life. It all began with the first serious present I ever bought for her. It was a wristwatch. I bought it in Leeds when we went out on a Christmas shopping trip. I worked so hard at disappearing for a short while. I had a great excuse and took only moments to do the deal as I had well and truly done my homework. I knew exactly which shop to go to, how much it cost, make and model number. I got back with the watch burning a hole in my pocket.

“Where have you been?” she asks me.

“Oh, just…”

“Getting me a watch?”

“Well, err, err, no, err not exactly…”

“What do you mean, “Not exactly”?”

I can’t bore you with the rest of the sordid details – how apparently my mouth turns up into a sort of wry smile when I try to lie, how the words fail me as I try to explain myself.

The present case in point is not important. It’s more the principle of the thing, and I am beginning to think that you have had some kind of a hand in the matter.

My other dad was good at this kind of thing too. Always knowing stuff about me. It was like he was operating CCTV cameras on the streets of our village before we even had a television set of our own at home. (It was years before I uncovered the secret of his spy network. Thankfully this was just in time for me to work up my own version of it for use on my own kids.)

There was the time we (the other kids off our street mostly) decided to have a fire. Matches had to be bought after money had been “found” from somewhere or other. Someone had to go to the pit canteen for the matches and that someone was me. Everything went swimmingly. In fact we got on like a house on fire. All was consumed and we went home. Dad then appeared and asked about the fire.

“What fire?” (Was that a wry kind of smile accompanied by…)

“You know full well what fire. The canteen lady just happened to mention that you had called in for matches “For my dad like.” She saw me when I came off my shift.”

At this point all reason left me as I launched into a full frontal denial of all things incendiary. Unfortunately, the lingering smell of wood smoke and the singed appearance of my eye-length fringe may have helped give the game away. Rear facing parts of my anatomy began to sting and give off heat enough to match the front facing parts which had recently been exposed to the fire. It was certainly an afternoon to remember.

Which brings me unerringly back to you and your part in all this. It is just the way you get into the things that happen without actually appearing to be there at all. My daughter Laura made some sense of it once when she said that she didn’t get involved in some scam or other with her mates.

“Why not?” I wondered out loud. “I mean, it’s not as if I was even there.”

“Well, I knew that you wouldn’t have liked it” she said wandering off about her business and letting me work that one out for myself.

For some reason or another – maybe because I knew that I was thinking of writing to you – the smoking episode crossed my mind. My other dad was very philosophical about it. His spy network had provided him with all the necessary evidence. I suppose I might be even grown up enough now to credit him with some common sense of his own and admit that he worked most of it out for himself. The missing matches (not matches again!), the sauntering off just a smidgeon too early for the school bus, the packet of fags he found under my bed (that might have tipped the balance somewhat.) But, philosophical he definitely was.

“There’s not much I can say is there? I’ve smoked since I was eight. I wish you didn’t but I can’t stop you I suppose.”

End of story, or so I thought.

I managed to develop a well-rounded and satisfying habit. Forty a day was well within my sights with more during periods of stress. French cigarettes were always the most welcome and I remember a particularly generous gift for my twenty-first birthday. (Generous but, as it turned out, endued with a certain built-in redundancy.)

Two days after the event, and with plenty of the Gallic treats still waiting to be consumed it all came to a halt. The fire of desire fizzled as it were.

I was working at a local pub (as you will well recall.) As it happens, I had been chatting to a number of the customers about my “new-found” dad. (That would be you I suppose.) It was time to stop serving and (oh blessed relief) time to light up one of the French beauties lying under the counter. We had been just taking over the possibilities of us having a second dad (like yourself.)

I was setting a match to the Gauloise as one of my customers finished off his pint. “We’ve all got our gods,” he said as he consigned his beer to the depths and seemingly pointed at me lighting up at the same time.

To this day, I can’t say that I saw you there. Equally, to this day I can’t be certain that you were not somewhere lurking behind the bar. All I know is that you could at least have been there in spirit and I felt a bit like our Laura (“Well I knew that you wouldn’t have liked it”.)

The fact of the whole matter is, as well you know, I didn’t light up then, and I haven’t since. I must be a good fifty-four years between fags now. It’s my record for giving up.

As I look back on it – and so very many more incidents like it – I am put strangely in mind of my granddad. He was my mum’s dad and I found him irresistible. I think I loved nearly everything about him. The way he spoke – broad, slow, colourful Norfolk. The way he walked – legs supported by marvellous boots and iron contraptions since a road accident robbed him of much of his own power and ability. The way he sang everywhere he went. How he chain-smoked and could still beat anyone at billiards whilst blinded by the ever-present “Wild Woodbine”. The way he ate – deliberate and with a deep sense of thankfulness and enjoyment.

H particularly loved winkles.

“Nuthin’ better boy” he would declare as he inserted one of my grandma’s needles into the shell and picked out the “little booty”.

Accompanying this would be a slice off a brown loaf, fresh from his work at the bakery and buttered with no concern whatsoever for cholesterol or any other such related disease. His whole face would wrinkle up in delight as he made a banquet from so little. Looking back on it now, when he was eating and when he was sleeping were the only occasions I can imagine him being without the ever-present “Woodbine” – one out of pure necessity and the other out of pure and unbounded personal satisfaction.

It is that winkling action that reminds me so much of you. There was granddad, needle in hand, eyes screwed up to the task. He never missed, and each winkle came out oh so cleanly (“No trouble at all boy!”) And now I can’t think of you as being anything other than terrific with the needle. There you are – just out of sight - needle poised, and you give me the feeling that you can’t wait for some things to be out. Funny thing is, I don’t even seem to miss them when they are gone.

How good is that?

So. I’ve been sussed. Seen through. Just a bit uncovered.

I think, if I close my eyes for a moment, I catch a fleeting glimpse of you, some fresh pulled sea creature skewered, your eyes screwed up to the task and a look of pure, unbounded personal satisfaction on your face.
More love than I used to think I had in me,
Pete

come on home

I love you
as I love my own.
For, by your choice,
that's what you are.
By your own will
(that makes it twice the thing!)
And that's how Jesus sees us now;
yes bought,
but coming to Him
by our own desire
sets hearts afire -
both his and ours,
both yours and mine.
But finer still
(as He views the thing)
is how His father warms
to this old theme.
His words come fast,
and tumble out -
can't help themselves -
as He gives word to heart,
"I love you
as I love my own."

show far show good...

Overheard between low-level passes at the airshow...

“Hey mate! My son has been asking all year if that man who salutes him will be on the air-show gate. He was over the moon when he saw you. I don’t really understand it.”
“Well it’s because God likes both of you and does nice things for you.”

“Hey. The weather looks a bit bad for the flying. Fingers crossed for tomorrow eh?”
“Nah. Let’s pray and ask our Dad for something good!”
“Hi! So the sun is shining this morning then? Did you do that talking to God stuff?”
“Yup!”
“And you really think it works?
“Yes. He likes you, you know.”

“Oh sir, why the long face?”
“I was pick-pocketed yesterday at the show and they took every penny I had. I really don’t even know if I have enough petrol to get back home tonight, but I came to make the best of the last day.”
“Oh man! So bad. I can’t think of anything to say to make it better, but I will ask if my Dad in heaven can help out.”
“Well I never. I don’t know what made me look behind a different seat to mine in the grandstand. But there was my wallet. It was jammed in where it must have landed yesterday. Amazing thing is that there’s £200 in it – all still there!”
“Well that’s great. I could only pray for you sir. I think God likes you.”
(We gave everybody back their money donated in the emergency relief whip round later. Moral? Do something in approximately the right direction and God might just go the extra mile!)


“Morning madam. I was thrilled to see you walking so well this year. Even with the sticks you look so good now. It was a wheelchair last year and I’ve been asking God if He could see his way to improving things. I know it was so hard for you.”
“Yes, and that’s not all. I met my future husband on the grandstand here last year. He’s with me now. It’s been a fantastic year even though I still have a lot of pain.”
“Ever get the feeling that God likes you madam?”

“We still remember your bad jokes even months after the air-show. We sort of look forward to seeing you again despite them.”
Well thank you very much, we aim to please and we only want to brighten up your day. God likes you, you know.”
“Well, maybe. All we know is that there isn’t another air-show gate with entertainment thrown in!”

“Can we take you home with us?”
“No madam, but you can take my Dad – actually, He’s going your way anyway!”

“What sort of church are you part of?”
“Er. Church church!”…You know, Jesus is making it and he’s like restoring us.”
“What?”
“Well, making us what he always planned us to be. You know, more like “Will the real me please stand up?” and it’s starting to happen.”
“I’m looking for some of that.”
"Look. I’ll talk to my Dad in Heaven. You came back to the air-show next year and tell me how He surprised you. It won’t all be over by then but you will be on the journey!”
“Really?”
“Really!”
“You think so?”
“I know so!”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because He likes you!”

Love,
Pete

rising damp...

It's been a bit wet down our way lately. I know there are folks out there who have had it much worse. But this is England... and this is June. At least a month's rain fell in less than 24 hours and huge areas of the country have been transformed. The whole geography of the place - if only for a few days - has been redrawn. Hillocks are islands, slight depressions are lakes. Homes are aquariums, streets are rivers. Cars have become submarines,wellingtons the latest high street fashion.

Speaking of cars...Suddenly, people who have lived in an area for years need to develop a kind of on-board sonar just to get around. We are fine with what is above water, but figuring out what lies just a metre down below is really tough. Getting it right or getting it wrong - for some at least - has been literally a life or death decision.

Anyway, it's very reassuring to know that it's all down to climate change. I mean, as long as we know the cause surely we can effect some kind of a solution. Maybe, but that doesn't get Worcestershire's next cricket match played, does it?
What if the spiritual climate changed just as quickly. How now would the land lie? How would we find our way then?




Sonar? The book I'm currently reading talks about walking by faith more than relying on what you can actually see. It's full of the wildest suggestions - like God saying that He would send his spirit to live in us so that we'd have a kind of on-board sonar for figuring out what lies beneath the waves. Could be a kind of thought for the day, couldn't it?

Hope it stays nice for you.

Pete

answers on a postcard please to...

9 year old:

"Where was the most exciting place you ever prayed Mister?"

"Er. Good question Kid. Lying on the glass floor of the CN Tower in Toronto, looking down at the ants crawling into the stadium next door to watch the Argos. My wife wanted me to dance on the glass floor with her."

So. Where was your most exciting place?

Answers in the usual way.

Anticipatorily yours

Pete