Isaiah 40:31 – But those who wait on the Lord Shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint.
List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?
The Library
There’s good and bad to being a diagnosed hoarder. Ok, mostly not great, but there’s some good sides.
Before 2020 I was an avid reader. I’ve read every book on the shelves in the photo several times, from Narnia and Lord of the Rings through about 20 Max Lucado books, John Eldredge, six different translations of the Bible and all the pre-2020 Alex Cross series by James Patterson.
Spending 3 months in a coma in 2020 didn’t affect most of my higher functions, but my ability to concentrate was impaired – not great for someone with ADHD to begin with.
I’ve switched to “reading” through Audible, a very different experience, but one I’m relieved to say enables me to enjoy books again – albeit not as rewarding as the full tactile and olfactory experience of a bound volume.
At 53, picking 3 books of the hundreds I own that have impacted me isn’t easy. Not just because of my age, but because in some cases I’m not sure if the book or the person who introduced it to me is what created the impact.
So I’m going to go with these…
Anyone who has read anything I’ve written shouldn’t be surprised that the first on my list is actually a collection of 66 books written by over 40 writers over around 1500 years, in three languages – each with a different alphabet – on three continents. Not all the writers had access to all the other books contained, yet the collection contains 63,779 cross-referenced quotes internally.
2000 years BG (Before Google)
Obviously (I hope) I’m referring to the Bible. And as to why, read some of my other posts.
My second book is also a collection. The CS Lewis Narnia series. The seven stories captured my imagination as a child and by the time I was 8 I’d read all of them. My son is six and loves them as much as I did, even reading them himself.
Narnia is one of those rare collections in literature that carries a different meaning each time you read it. As a child it was a simple story about a magical land. As a younger adult I revelled in the beauty of the allegorical weaving of the story, the parallels of the journeys each character travels with different people in the Bible and their journeys. Reading them with my son is a new experience again, and one which I’m delighted is helping the problems I’ve had for 5 years finally heal. Seeing him fall in love with the Pevensie children, Caspian, Bree and Shasta, and especially Reepicheep the mouse nearly fifty years after I did is a very special experience for me.
My final book is Bruce Wilkinson’s The Dream Giver. Part parable, part sermon it helps me see how the seasons of my life are part of a single story, not disjointed events of happenstance lost in time, and that nothing that happens is meaningless if I give the events to God and let Him show me the Truth through them.
Life is a funny experience. There are hundreds of other books that have hit me. Waking the Dead by John Eldredge, Six Hours One Friday by Max Lucado, the Tripods Trilogy by John Christopher and more than I can list.
That’s the advantage of hoarding books – I’ve got enough to keep me going another fifty years!
Describe one simple thing you do that brings joy to your life.
Where our hearts truly lie is in peace and quiet and good tilled earth…
I’m not sure if it’s in either Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit, but the quote is certainly in the start of Peter Jackson’s movie Fellowship of the Ring.
I think I’d have been happy as a hobbit. Maybe not the pipeweed, but certainly I have a love of things that grow.
The past year has seen some major upheavals in my life. The loss of my wife, my son moving from Kindergarten to Grade School and by the end of this year (hopefully, although not planned) the sale of this house and a move to somewhere we can be debt free and start fresh.
Over the last few years I’ve been researching if I’d be able to make my joy into something more practical.
So now I’m looking for a smallholding – which in South Africa can be 40+ acres/20+ hectares – where I can, literally, put down roots.
There’s very little that brings me joy more than seeing something I’ve planted as seed growing and becoming fruit or vegetables I can put on my table. Admittedly 20 hectares is a tiny bit bigger than my garden with two tomato plants and a herb bed this year, but having looked at the pros and cons I’m optimistic about getting it off the ground.
It’ll also give me an opportunity to focus a bit on my writing and build a small retreat to host small-scale conferences aimed at refreshing church leaders – those men and women who give 52 weeks of the year and are often burned out by 50.
So I’m aiming to kill two birds with one stone. Produce more food than I need so I can sell it locally, including meat and eggs, and to provide a refuge for weary Shepherds to be refreshed.
For starters I just want the joy of working the earth. I’d like to use horses instead of diesel and do it at a slower pace than the insane tempo of the world.
Over the years I’ve only had two out of the last 35 when I’ve not had a small crop of tomatoes, peppers or other vine plants. And that was because I didn’t plant them.
It’s a simple pleasure, moving at the speed of the seasons instead of the speed of click.
Losing my leg in 2020 actually helped me focus on this passion. I couldn’t read the way I used to. But I could listen. So I listened to hours of lectures on farming, preservation without electricity, and a lot about how farms ran in the late 19th century. Worked with horses or traction engines powered by steam.
Growing food and talking about my Faith both bring me Joy. Simple, slow-paced joy that can’t be taken from me.
Describe a phase in life that was difficult to say goodbye to.
October 16th 2024 is a day that will be with me for the rest of my life. It was the end of my marriage.
My family.
The future we’d planned.
Rene had been in intense pain for over two years. In October 2023 it had reached a point where she stopped working to try to find answers and healing. She sold her medical practice – another far more complicated story I won’t get into here – and for a few months she rested. Physically she was getting stronger, but things are never that straightforward.
She took classes learning to sew, something she became passionate about and was developing a real gift for it.
But the pain still overshadowed her. By early September she was struggling both emotional and physical agony.
She’d seen 17 doctors in 14 months. Nobody had an answer. She’d found different issues including a tumour – benign, but agonising – in the nerve in her knee. But nothing to explain why she was falling frequently, her memory issues and anything else.
But the last was the hardest.
She went to sleep on 16th October in the afternoon and slipped away.
I’ve lost people I love before. My brother, four grandparents and my dad for starters. This is different. I wake up expecting her to be there. I fall asleep – eventually – missing the sound of her breathing beside me.
A marriage is a strange thing. It ends with heartbreak either way. Divorce or death.
The hardest things to say goodbye to are the things you don’t have a choice about.
Nine days ago, my beautiful wife died. There’s no sense in any language to describe the experience.
Over the last few years she’d been losing a battle with depression, but most people who met her had no idea. They also didn’t know how much physical pain she was in.
The thing is, her Faith kept her going. She never allowed anything she was going through to take it. Of course, she would ask “why?” when the storms hit.
But mostly, she was an amazing lady. She would give the clothes from her back to keep someone else warm. She’d taken food from her plate to feed the hungry.
Professionally, as a GP in the community she was someone who refused to just do the bare minimum. Consultations with emotionally hurt patients would take an hour because she knew they needed to be heard. I never heard anyone complain about having to wait because they knew she was going to give them the same love.
In our family life she lived the last six years for our son, Ethan. His happiness was the reason she got out of bed each day. The strength to fight to find an answer to the pain she was in was driven by her passion to be the best mother she could be.
Two hours old…
I’ll never be blessed with anyone like Rene again. She was my Joy, my Love, my Soulmate. Truly my Helpmeet. She drove me mad making lists about everything. She will always be the One I Loved to the end.
When we marry, we don’t easily think about the vows. ‘Til Death parts us.
Now death has come. We celebrated 21 years of marriage last month, and next week I will have to say “goodbye” to her in Church.
The pain is indescribable.
I am left with the memory of the most amazing gift she could have ever given me. 21 years of shared love, laughter, pain, joy, sickness, health. A little more time “richer” would have been good, but we’re not promised everything, just asked to be faithful to each other. For 21 years I have known the most important thing of all. Love.
I don’t know what the next step is. Such a powerful person missing. We were supposed to have another 20+ years.
To my darling Wife, René Elise Lewin: I love you more than you knew. More than I could express. You gave me your heart and blessed me with your companionship for almost half my life. The intensity of your presence is matched only by the emptiness in your absence.
I’m stunned at how many pseudochristian streams get dumped into my social media feeds. From well known “leaders” who now teach a very different message than they did 30+ years ago to relative children in their late teens or early 20s the message is clear: John the Baptist was wrong when he said we had to repent. It’s more loving to tolerate. Better yet, stay silent altogether.
One feed showed a Christian Pastor reading aloud from the Bible in England as a “Pride” parade went past being arrested for “hate speech”. Others include the “sparkle” creed – a collection of buzzwords including “non-binary, rainbow and gender-fluid” strung together that mean precisely nothing other than that church has totally lost its mind!
I’m truly concerned about the state of our World.
But then, it isn’t “our” world, is it?
We read great writers such as CS Lewis, John Wesley and John Eldredge pointing out that This World is not our home. St Paul says we are in the world but not of it. At least, we should be.
I recently had the following vomited onto my streams though: An “archbishop” from the “open Episcopal church” telling us to embrace whatever sexuality you are because god made you that way. Others include the said “Archbishop” proclaiming Christians should not read the Bible because human men wrote it down thousands of years ago and it’s not “relevant” to us today. A “rev. dr.” spewing out the phrase “drag is holy”, and trying to justify it by twisting scripture so hard I’m sure I heard the Bible crying. There was a lot more, but you get the idea.
On the alternate side there was musician Alice Cooper and WWE wrestler Mark Callaway, aka “The Undertaker” talking about how important their relationship with Jesus is to them in interviews given over the last couple of years.
I was totally blown away.
How can we hope to see our children grow up strong in the Faith when Ministers are being arrested and the Bible labelled “hate speech” because it doesn’t fit the “woke” narrative of the World? But then – so far at least – the West isn’t executing Believers the way Nero did 2000 years ago.
I hate how the “Rainbow” flag seeks to appropriate – or rather misappropriate – the symbol of the Covenant God made Noah not to flood the World again into something God is written about hating: sexual immorality.
The latest twist of the knife from the UN suggests the term “paedophile” has too many “negative” connotations to be used in the world today, so the PC brigade comes up with “Minor Attracted Persons” instead. Because this world – apparently – feels grown adults wanting to sexualise our children into abusive situations where they can be raped with impunity is not something to be discouraged or the practitioners told they’re wrong.
Please excuse me while I’m physically sick at the thought of someone raping my son. And what I’d want to do as a Father to them…
Where are our Godly Men?
Where are the Fathers?
A child sex offender in the US gave an interview saying he wouldn’t go near a child when he could see there was a “dangerous” father present in the child’s life. Not dangerous to the child – a father who he could see would rip him apart for touching his children.
There’s nothing wrong with being a dangerous man. God made us that way. I’m missing my right leg and, as of June 2023, I’m down to four toes on my left foot. I still maintain I’m dangerous. My son runs to me when he’s scared to protect him from the threat – imagined or real. Even if I’m in my wheelchair instead of on my prosthetic leg. He feels safe in my arms.
I expect in a year or two things will change. I’m 51 and although I’m confident I could defend us if it came down to it I’m under no illusions that this will last indefinitely. Partly because of my age, and partly because I’ve been four years now trying to recover my physical health. God has been gracious in that – and I’ll write a fuller testimony another time – and I don’t imagine He’s going to let me down any time soon. But at my age and condition I need to be realistic: my son will realise eventually that I’m not actually invincible. So I’m looking at how I can teach him to be strong for when that day arrives.
Until then, and afterwards, our greatest strength lies in our Faith.
Our Faith, however is not born out of tolerance…
Jesus “tolerates” our Sin when we come to Him, simply because we are inherently sinful beings. There’s no other way to look at it. The issue is that these “progressive” ministers of the Gospel are telling people it’s ok to stay in our sinful ways. That’s the exact opposite of what Jesus said.
In Revelation 2, Jesus speaks Judgement against the church in Pergamos for compromising the Gospel.
“‘But I have a few things against you, because you have there those who hold the doctrine of Balaam, who taught Balak to put a stumbling block before the children of Israel, to eat things sacrificed to idols, and to commit sexual immorality. “I know your works, and where you dwell, where Satan’s throne is. And you hold fast to My name, and did not deny My faith even in the days in which Antipas was My faithful martyr, who was killed among you, where Satan dwells. “And to the angel of the church in Pergamos write, ‘These things says He who has the sharp two-edged sword: Thus you also have those who hold the doctrine of the Nicolaitans, which thing I hate. Repent, or else I will come to you quickly and will fight against them with the sword of My mouth. “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes I will give some of the hidden manna to eat. And I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written which no one knows except him who receives it. ” ” Revelation 2:12-17 (NKJV)
Then He said to them all, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it. For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and is himself destroyed or lost? For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words, of him the Son of Man will be ashamed when He comes in His own glory, and in His Father’s, and of the holy angels. But I tell you truly, there are some standing here who shall not taste death till they see the kingdom of God.” Luke 9:23-27
“Let him deny himself“. Sin is selfish. It is tolerant. We are called by Jesus to deny ourselves. To take up our Cross daily. That’s not indulging ourselves in the sexual perversions of the “Pride” lunatics. It’s being prepared to remove our children from any school or college that teaches the indoctrination of the extreme Left or brands itself as “progressive”, and if you get to church on Sunday and the minister is talking tolerance and wearing a rainbow, look to see the brimstone ready to fall.
It’s taken me a long time to write this. Too long. For a long time I thought this kind of message was unloving in it’s message.
Recently I realised it’s unloving not to say something. By staying silent we prevent someone hearing the Gospel. By staying silent we are implying their behaviour is acceptable to a Righteous God.
That’s unchristian.
Accept the sinner, reject the sin. That’s a very fine line we mustn’t cross. It takes the presence of the Holy Spirit to pull it off.
But whatever else we may do, “tolerate” unrepentant sin in the Church is something we must actively war against.
80% of divorces are initiated by women. Traditional male roles are undermined and undervalued in society today.
Why don’t marriages last the way our grandparents generation did? Because we let the media become our role model.
Think about the movies from our generation – those of us born in the 1970s. How many feature a stable, loving relationship between the lead actor and actress? Compare that with the movies from our grandparents generation.
We grew up being told sex was free and had no consequences. That marriage is old fashioned and saving ourselves for the person we’d want to spend a lifetime with was outdated. I can’t think of a single movie I loved made in the 80s or 90s that didn’t have that message in the relationships depicted.
TV shows are even worse. The casts jumping into bed with as many people as possible on screen. And where the relationship started it was the kiss of death for the series – think of “Moonlighting” losing ratings after Dave and Maddie get into a permanent relationship – not even a marriage, just not sleeping with other people.
And we wonder why the divorce rate is so high? Seriously?
Normalise divorce in the culture, which is exactly what happened, and it makes specifically MEN expendable looking at the statistics.
Women’s role models are slaves, working to increase profits for strangers so they can avoid the “trap” of instilling a moral backbone into the next generation. The “trap” of becoming mothers and showing their children the value of a single, loving, supportive relationship with one man for a lifetime.
Men’s role models are oversexed rutting dogs. All muscle and no morals. Never shown the values that made two consecutive generations go to war to protect their families from tyrannical ideologies on a global scale. Never shown in the light of why their role was essential for bestowing genuine masculinity to their sons and teaching their daughters what a Good Man looks like.
The comments about women who “suffered” ignore that our grandfather’s and older worked 80 or 90 hour work weeks, six days a week. Seven if they worked on the land. Farming isn’t a 9 to 5 job. The “sh1t” women had to put up with has been handed down by the organisers who have sought to destroy family as a stable, safe option that was the model for ten thousand years or more of civilisations around the world. And our generation ate their excrement because they told us it was “freedom” to sleep around and break our spirits so they could live in luxury and give us scraps.
Yes, some women face abusive situations. Some, not all. There’s a problem with abuse because young men see their fathers replaced so easily and are told that they weren’t wanted. Children are weaponised in divorce. “Why didn’t daddy fight harder to see me” shouldn’t ever be the question. “Why did daddy HAVE to fight to be given time with me” never gets asked until the damage is done.
Why don’t marriages last the way they did in the past?
Because we’ve been lied to for seventy years about what “Freedom” truly is, and that “happiness” – a hedonistic emotion – is more important than “Joy” – the state of being underlying the foundation for the future.
I’m sure some people will be offended by this response. Maybe I’ll get banned by a moderator for daring to say such “outdated and hateful” speech.
Nothing I’ve said here is from a place of hate. Rather it’s a place of deep sorrow. I grieve for the next generation who get the job of cleaning up this current generation’s excrement because we’ve been sold the lie and we swallowed it.
We’ve stood by and watched while the Word of God has been systematically removed, first from schools and then from society.
We’re living in a time where Christian preachers are being arrested in England and America for hate crimes because they stood reading the Bible out loud while a “Pride” parade went past.
How has Sin become so bold?
Our politicians refuse to defend the idea that a woman is not a man and a man is not a woman. They refuse to risk offending the minority.
As Christians we have a responsibility to be a light to the World. How can they see they’re in darkness if we keep the Light hidden?
Our salt is flavourless.
Formerly bold and prominent teachers in leadership of the church are abandoning teaching repentance and embracing tolerance. Tolerance in the church is like a cancer. It’s insidious. It creeps in, disguised a “love”, sowing confusion in the pews.
Pastors who dare speak out against it are thrown to the lions. Torn apart by popular opinion while the road is widened to make the path easier.
There’s a stench of sulphur in the air in many churches today. Two Thousand years of Christianity and Six Thousand of Judaism before that, without which our Faith has no place to stand, are swept aside because some loud-mouthed Spirit of Jezebel – usually with blue hair – says it’s “offensive”.
The Word of God should offend the World. It stands in opposition to the Spirit of the Age. If our words don’t challenge and tear at Sin, we’ve become lukewarm. Christ Himself will vomit us out.
I want to publicly REPENT in this post. I started writing a decade ago but for the last few years I’ve been one of the silent. I’ve fought some battles I should have shared alone. I’ve not been a voice testifying to what God has done for me.
I want to change that. I hope I will find the strength to start writing regularly again. I want my voice to respond to His.
I had intended to start writing on this page again in 2020. The best laid plans can be thwarted by a global pandemic. 2021 wasn’t much better.
This entry serves as something of a testimony of God’s Faithfulness over the past couple of years and hopefully a fresh start to regular writing!
We moved to England in 2017. My son was born in 2018. Probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me was becoming a father. That little guy has taught me so much already – most of it in the “I didn’t realise a child could do THAT” category. He learns at an alarming rate and tends to repeat the things he shouldn’t. Case in point, last weekend I didn’t realise he was behind me until I knocked into a table and said “Bugger it!” Ethan thought this was hilarious and waddled past me, repeating loudly “Bugger it! Bugger it! Bugger it!”
So much to learn. Me, not him.
2020 changed everything. For most of the world we encountered the new reality of being told we couldn’t enter the bank because we weren’t wearing a mask. The whole “pandemic” was a bit of a minor inconvenience.
Then people started getting seriously ill.
Then they started dying.
We were just moving back to South Africa on 1st March 2020 when the world began closing its doors for travel. And I mean travel to the grocery store, not just between nations.
Covid-19 was an inconvenience initially, but it changed everything.
In March I had to go into hospital for the umpteenth time in a year because of a problem with my right foot. After about ten days I was allowed out as I was seeking a second opinion. The second opinion was a little better than the first, but not much. The bones in my 2nd toe were badly infected and the toe needed to be removed to preserve the rest of the foot.
April 16th 2020. My 48th birthday. The day my toe was amputated.
I’d actually signed consent for a complete below-knee amputation if necessary so they would be able to remove as much as necessary. The bones behind the toe itself were, however, sound. My doctor removed the infected tissue and bone and the following day stitched the wound closed. Quite scary.
Then came the long road to recovery.
By June it was apparent Covid needed to be taken seriously. It also was apparent I needed a six week course of IV antibiotics, something pathologists had been saying for a year since my foot had become infected in England (that’s another, very long story I’ll share another post). My surgeon having been forced to close her practice because of Covid protocols, I went to another doctor in my third hospital and 4th admission of 2020. I was admitted for the antibiotic treatment. Thankfully I remember very little of the first two weeks. I do remember the Covid test on admission, being placed in a ward with 3 or 4 other guys waiting for our results from our first test and then having the second. Then I was moved to the surgical ward for the remaining 6 weeks treatment. It was a sound theory. My journal shows that the surgical ward had 3 other men in it. After 2 days, one had begun to cough badly – but hey, we’d all been tested. I overheard the doctors discussing him and mentioning that he now had covid.
Within a week all four of us were on the covid ward. Relying on my journal I can say I was the last to show symptoms, but I succumbed more rapidly. Within a week of testing positive I was on a ventilator because my blood oxygen levels were at 80%. They should be 99%.
I spent July, August and most of September bouncing between delerium, coma and lucidity. The hallucination I lived in for that time was truly terrifying. It felt real. Another story for another post.
Rene contacted my friends via Facebook and asked for prayer. By the time I woke up There were prayer groups on five continents praying for me.
I saw my Covid specialist this week. He told me I’m part of a very select group. That group is people who:
Contracted Covid in hospital Required ICU therapy Went into a coma Required a Ventilator Came out of the coma Required a second use of a ventilator Went into Kidney failure, Lung failure, Liver complications, Heart failure Went into a second coma Suffered cardiac arrest Required CPR to revive. More than once.
I was legally dead for four hours while the doctor and his team fought to revive me. Paddles are useless if the heart isn’t beating at all. The team broke 5 ribs saving my life. It hurt a lot to breathe when I woke up, but I had an idea because of where the pain was what might have happened.
Fewer than 100 people in the world survived what I went through. I lost over 35 kg/70lbs in weight and looked like an animated corpse when I came out of the coma. I had no idea what had happened. I honestly thought it was just one day after I’d fallen asleep in June.
I went to a step-down rehabilitation facility once I’d recovered enough strength a couple of weeks later. Then the biggest blow came. I’d had to stop the IV course saving my foot when I developed Covid because of the severity of the infection. Now the infection was back and I was too weak to survive either the treatment or the infection.
Where can I buy a parrot?
The only choice left was amputation. Everything below the knee. Not a great choice. Not a choice at all really.
I’d just spent three months so far gone I’d essentially died, and now I had to choose between living between a wheelchair and a prosthetic or dying – for good this time.
I looked at the latest pictures of Ethan and told them to go ahead.
It’s actually simple. I’m still the man I was before the operation to remove my foot. Only now I have fewer feet. I dislike the word “disabled” as it implies a severe incapacity to do anything. People now treat me like I’m made of glass and I have offended several who have seen me drop onto a footpath and insisted they would be “helping” by getting me back onto my foot. Just because I’m sitting on the floor next to the car doesn’t mean I need or want any assistance. My left leg is quite capable of lifting me, I’m just heavy so sometimes I need/want to rest for a moment before I stand. If I wasn’t an amputee these people would have ignored me. Now they are offended I reject their assistance because I want to sit for a moment.
Loading a wheelchair into the back of a small car is a challenge at first, but after a few goes you get it down to an art. Enter the “helpful” people at the supermarket car park. They insist on grabbing the chair from me, often with such helpful comments as “You can’t do that yourself!” without considering that I got it to the store by loading it into the car.
It’s a new reality for me. And one that won’t be going away any time soon. I have a prosthetic leg – the picture was the day I received it in December 2020 – which I’m slowly getting used to. It still needs a bit of fine tuning, and I have a stubborn rash on my stump that prevents me using it all the time yet, but I’ll get there.
This post has been much longer than I’d intended, and I still have by necessity left out much of the detail.
Reality is flexible. We must adapt to what goes on around us.
I love the Old Testament heroes. Joseph and David in particular. These two young men were destined for greatness from a young age. David was a teenager when Samuel arrived and anointed him as King over Israel. Joseph was a teenager when God gave him the dream showing him he would be the ruler over his family and beyond. Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers. David’s Father-in-law tried to have him killed. Both men endured trial after trial, prison, exile, hunger. But they adapted. They kept God as their focus.
Joseph is the only Patriarch God does not admonish at any point. David is a Man after God’s own Heart. No matter what the Enemy throws at them, they adapt to overcome the new reality.
Viktor Frankl’s incredible story of his time as a prisoner in Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp is especially significant as one reads it because he clearly had a greater sense of freedom and peace than did many of the guards.
Circumstances will always change. But life is what we make of it.
It’s not the first time I’ve “cheated” death. It may not be the last. Each time I do, my reality changes. I try to keep God at the centre. Right now I’m seeking inspiration listening to Terry Waite read his autobiography “Taken on Trust”. I find his story moving. Inspiring.
My hero as a boy was Douglas Bader, the fighter pilot who led not only a squadron, but a fighter wing in World War Two despite losing both his legs in a crash several years before war broke out.
My Faith carries me, as always. I will continue to write more of a bible-centred message for the next entry, but for now I’ll leave with this thought: I’m not special. God promised me a long life 25 years ago. I’m not finished with it yet. The enemy has rarely hit me directly like this in the past. But I never thought I was exempt from his direct assault.
My heart I try to use to focus on Jesus. It’s not always easy and now I have to make major changes to my physical environment anywhere I go so that I can be certain I can do something as basic as shower or use the toilet safely as well as align my heart to Him. But actually very little has changed. I am still the same man I was – mostly. I choose to follow Christ in all things, despite what I’ve lived through in the past year. Someone said to me recently that the devil only attacks when he’s scared of what you’re capable of.
I’m not the only one that applies to.
Let’s take the changes in the way things are done and as Christians let’s throw dirt in the devil’s face. Right now the World needs our presence more than at any time in the last 2000 years. The persecution we’ll face will make my last 12 months look like a picnic, don’t get me wrong. Something Ethan has taught me is that people who are hurting push away everyone – even when we’re bringing the answer to their pain, but after you help them once or twice something changes and then they will start to come to you for the answer.
We have the answer. For us as Christians that’s not new. But it’s a new reality for the World as they realise they need that answer.
I don’t usually write an entire post in response to a comment, but “Nip” commented that, after reading “New Things… Again…” I should do what other over-qualified people do – get a job at Tesco rather than expecting God to “do it” for me.
I found it a rather troubling comment and I’ve spent the last 10 days pondering how to respond.
Scripture, both Old and New Testament, shows us time and again that when God’s children look to Him, it delights Him to open up the windows of Heaven and pour His Blessing down on them.
It’s easy to sit back and blame God for nothing happening in your life.
It’s easy to blame God for lack.
It’s easy to say we have to do ourselves.
There’s nothing wrong with relying on God. Abraham left Ur with only his household. A few sheep, servants, but basically just his Faith.
Joseph had only his Faith in prison until Pharaoh promoted him to Prime Minister.
David simply asked God about every move he made. He didn’t apply for any position.
Jabez simply asked God to increase his circle of influence and God did.
The crazy thing in this world we live in is that God’s own children have lost how to really hear His voice and live each day in a constant conversation with their Heavenly Daddy.
On 22nd August, my life changed in the most massive way. My son was born.
My life will never be the same. I have the tremendous Blessing that I write this Blog and do the other things associated with the Ministry from home (or a local coffee shop with WiFi!) It means I get to be an “at home” parent because I have the privilege of setting my own hours for work – although now my son sets the hours available to me.
The point of my post was that we can and must learn how to call on the Lord as our provision. Sometimes He will provide through a job at Tesco. Sometimes, Tesco will be the ones who tell you you’re over-qualified for the job, but thanks for applying. That’s God’s way of saying “Not this door”.
I have a box of samples now from Kenya of traditional tribal beadwork made by some of the village widows. I’m getting them ready for sale to raise funds for the villagers after raids left their cattle slaughtered, some of the villagers dead and orphaning more children. They can make blankets of pure wool too with vibrant colours. My ministry partner in Kenya, Peter, is trying to get some samples to send to me so I can get an online store open.
In the area, teachers earn around 10,000Kes a month. That’s about $60 (£50). That buys food, rent, travel expenses and all the necessities of life.
Peter is hoping we can start to sell the items being made so that the proceeds can build the orphans a school house in Isiolo. As an example, one wool travel rug in a store in the UK sells for around £40. So just two blankets can provide the average monthly income for a teacher, plus any admin fees, shipping etc. He just has Faith.
So do I.
It doesn’t mean he is just sitting around doing nothing.
It doesn’t mean I am.
Faith in God’s provision is nothing more than trusting He will open the doors for us to receive the Blessing that He wants to give us.
I love the story of Jabez.
Jabez was honorable above his brothers; but his mother named him Jabez [sorrow maker], saying, Because I bore him in pain. Jabez cried to the God of Israel, saying, Oh, that You would bless me and enlarge my border, and that Your hand might be with me, and You would keep me from evil so it might not hurt me! And God granted his request.
[1 Chronicles 4:9-10 AMP]
Two verses that challenge us to redefine our constructed ideas about God and His Provision.
I’m not into the “Prosperity” Gospel the way it’s been forced onto us recently.
But I’m not afraid of being prosperous. I’m not afraid to really look at God the way my son looks at me when it’s time for his bottle.
Jesus said we had to come into the Kingdom like a little child. I never truly understood that until two weeks ago.
My son has no doubt that I will give him his bottle of formula. He does not call out to me and beg me repeatedly to be certain his bottle will be made up with clean water in a sterilised bottle and the correct ratio. He doesn’t worry whether his nappy will be changed.
He does nothing whatsoever to earn my love for him.
And he will never have to earn it.
God tells us that this is how we must approach Him. He will give us what we need on a daily basis. For some people, that may be a private jet – if what He has called them to do requires they have access to one. Others may just get a good pair of walking boots. Whatever it is we need, He longs to provide it for us.
Maybe we need to look at the Provision Gospel instead of the Prosperity Gospel.
I don’t particularly want to be a millionaire. I don’t care if I work in a supermarket as a cashier or as CEO of a Fortune 100 company. I just want to be where God wants me to be, so I push doors and see what happens.
And for now I am content to write this blog, slowly develop the website to allow the sale of the goods from Kenya, and most importantly learn what it means to be a Christian by watching how my baby son looks to me.
“There was an old man named Michael Finnegan.
He grew whiskers on his chin again.
The wind came up and blew them in again!
Poor old Michael Finnegan
Begin Again!”
As my dear followers can’t have failed to observe, I’ve been absent from writing on a regular basis for some time.
Actually, I’ve not been absent from writing, just from being prepared to publish what I’ve written. I have 11 “Draft” entries on this site, and about a dozen more in actual notepads strewn around my home.
But, like the song says, time for me to “Begin again!”
The tide of my life changes regularly, a typical ebb-and-flow existence. I move through the time and try to ride the waves as best I can.
I returned to England in April 2017 after 14 years in South Africa.
I got a shock.
This country is not the country I left. Not by a long shot.
I finally truly get what CS Lewis meant when he wrote “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.” (I think that’s from “Mere Christianity”, but I’m not 100% certain – but I AM certain it was Lewis that said it!)
I loved living in Cape Town, my family is there now since my mum moved there ten years ago to be closer to me (ironically, since I’m now 8500 miles away again!), and my wife’s family is mostly in the city. It’s a wonderful place and some of my dearest friends I met there. But as much as I loved it, the country somehow never felt like “home” to me. I longed for the Westcountry of England, the only place I ever felt “happy” as a younger man.
I couldn’t really talk to Rene (my wife) about it because I didn’t have the words to explain it to her. Now we’re living in Somerset and she tells me most days how much she longs to be “home” in Cape Town again I’ve finally been able to talk to her a bit about it.
But there’s a problem.
This isn’t the country I left.
I said this to someone recently in town, and they immediately launched into an extremely offensive moaning session about immigrants coming over and taking British jobs etc, etc. He shut up and walked away when I interrupted him by saying “My wife isn’t British.”
It’s nothing to do with migrants, travellers, refugees or any other group that’s come into the country.
It’s the people who were here to start with.
Since the whole “Brexit” insanity and the open hostility since the vote towards anyone perceived to not be “British” is not the country I left. There was a certain racist element I experienced before leaving in 2003. My wife is South African, and we are of different “ethnicities”, whatever the hell that means. As a Brit, I can trace my ancestry back to both the Normans and the Anglo-Saxons that fought at Hastings in 1066. It made watching “Ivanhoe” very confusing for me as a young man since I had no clue who I should be rooting for! I also have Viking ancestry, as shown by the red in my beard (which is now going grey), and my skull shape (I’m told) has Celtic features. In short, I’m more of a “Heinz 57” than anyone from South Africa – as are most Brits.
The young racists I encountered before moving away saw me walking with my then fiancee and decided to give us some local sedimentary formations… by throwing them at us as we sat on a bench. They ran quickly when I challenged them – probably because I was at the time 240lbs, 6′ tall and a biker: hair I could sit on and a beard ZZ Top would be proud of.
Then the move to Cape Town (and a trimmed beard & return to a short-back-and-sides haircut).
Much of my time there is chronicled in earlier posts, so for brevity’s sake I won’t go into fine detail here, but in a nutshell…
The area we moved to was a previously “Whites Only” area, and Rene still got some hostile looks from the less enlightened white inhabitants. Particularly the ones who were left in a low-income employment bracket despite living on the “beneficial” side of Apartheid. There was a great deal of jealousy towards her for her achievements professionally and academically – which she managed in spite of the regime.
Then there was the area we worked in.
Rene had grown up there and wanted to give back to the community. I was cool about that. Until we got there.
The first few months were insane. Despite everyone knowing her, and knowing she was the doctor, people called me “doctor” – no matter how I tried to explain I wasn’t the doctor – and treated her like the receptionist!
After a few months it (mostly) settled down, and eventually I went to being simply “David” instead of “Baas” or “Doktor”.
The racism there is still far more overt than it ever has been in England – stone-throwing teenage jerks included. In the 14 years I lived there I watched the tide turn and saw what Madiba had left as his legacy become bastardised into a format that prevents experienced, qualified “white” or “coloured” people getting jobs or promotions over the inexperienced young “black” applicants. The biggest difference between the immoral and corrupt Apartheid government and the government of the ANC in recent years is nothing more than the amount of melanin in the skin of the people at the top oppressing the poorest members of society. I’m sure if I were to visit Nelson Mandela’s grave that the sound of his turning in it would be deafening.
But after 14 years away we decided to come to England after Rene got a job offer too good to turn down (on paper, anyway).
So we’re back, and now if I get a reply to a job application I’m being told regularly that either my experience is not “relevant” because it was in South Africa – apparently there are different criteria for “relationship management” specialists there than here. Presumably managers think I will be conversing in Zulu (because they don’t know there are 10 other “official” languages and cultures in South Africa) or that somehow the nature of a business relationship in Africa is different than it is in Europe (hint – it isn’t. We’re all human!). Alternatively, I’m told I am too experienced for a job. I have applied for several entry-level positions recently in fields which, while related to Relationship Management, are different enough that I know I would need to start at the bottom and be trained. Yet when I called some managers to ask if they could guide me I was told I should be applying for positions in senior management – just not with them!
So I’m back to my fail-safe position: Trusting God for guidance and provision.
But suddenly I find that’s not as easy as it used to be.
I’ve listened to Him though, and this week I have registered this ministry as a company in the UK: Eagle’s Wing Ministries Ltd.
It’s daunting.
Terrifying, even.
Having to draw up a “business plan” for a ministry is difficult to say the least. I mean, how do you put “I do what God tells me to do” into language that a bank will take seriously when you go to open an account?
I have a number of people through the years who I have looked to as a form of mentor spiritually or in business, and sometimes both. One of the men I admire most, Dave Duell, went Home to his Friend, Jesus, a couple of years ago but I still have some of his teachings on cassette tape and one or two I even found on “YouTube”! Another is Andrew Wommack. The best thing about these Men of God is that I don’t agree with everything they say – and they don’t expect me to! I loved listening to the late Mike Yaconelli as well for the same reason. He said that he hated when people would come up and say “I agreed with everything you said”. I remember asking him after one talk at Greenbelt in 1991 in the UK why, and he said simply “I want to tell them ‘one of us isn’t necessary!'”
So I’m back. I hope regularly.
And I don’t expect you to agree with everything I write here, or that I post on the updates on Facebook or even when I finally start making videos and audio files on eagleswingministries.org
In fact, I’d love to interact with you! “Iron sharpens iron” says Proverbs 27:17. We are supposed to learn from one another.
So let’s sharpen each other.
And I’ll try to make sure I don’t have to begin again, again!
My “in progress” box on here has a dozen unfinished entries I’ve abandoned for some mundane reason or another. I’m struggling to focus and my mind is racing all the time.
Even more than usual.
Normally I try to focus for a couple of hours a week to write an entry or two on this article factory, but for the last few months – I realise now – I’ve actually been battling quite a deep depression.
Moving back to England last April was supposed to be the move that opened the doors for me to finally really get EWM growing in a big way. I had dreams of renting an office, launching a magazine and truly moving into the vision God put on my heart nearly 25 years ago. Instead I’ve found myself being trapped in an endless cycle of stalling and writer’s block that has stopped me getting things done.
I got trapped in the “you have to apply for a job” cycle, where I sent out my CV for jobs I’m qualified for, have experience doing and that hopefully won’t drive me completely insane.
It’s a small window.
I’ve mentioned my battle with ADD before in this blog. I had anticipated that getting a continuation of the medication I’ve used for about 6 years in South Africa would be straightforward in England. After all, it’s a “first world” country.
The problem is that the NHS is grossly underfunded, and the “requirements” for treatment have to be met precisely. To that end, the NHS sends out a questionnaire to establish whether a person actually needs treatment for ADD.
That’s Attention Deficit Disorder.
The questionnaire is about 15 pages – front and back – long.
I wanted to cry when it arrived in August last year. It took me five days to get through it because one of the problems people with ADD have is an inability to concentrate on things like 15 page (front and back) questionnaires. I sent it off, and waited.
And waited…
And waited…
And – well, you get the idea.
In October I called them to be told the form had not arrived yet, but I’d probably get an appointment in November. In December I decided I’d wain until I got back from my visit to see family in Cape Town (I’ll get to that in a minute).
On my return in January, a lot had changed.
So I called the ADD/ADHD clinic to see what had happened.
The form had never arrived – but (the helpful lady said) they would happily send me another to complete.
I don’t cry very often, but I actually broke down on the phone. The thought of having to go through 15 pages (front and back) again was too much to bear. The lady asked me if I was ok. They must get a lot of 45 year old crying men on the line who are actually perfectly fine. Then she asked if I had any suggestions what they could do.
So I said “Can we just fill it out over the phone now?”
She freaked out a bit – it’s a long form, after all – but then she said she just needed to get a glass of water, and we spent the next 90 minutes going through the questionnaire together.
Hopefully I’ll get an appointment in March.
But enough of the negative stuff.
December and January saw some massive changes for me, and in particular the beginning of an answer to a prayer I’ve been praying for 30 years…
It’s taken 14 years of marriage, more heartache than I thought I could ever deal with, and some extremely expensive medical help, but a week ago we went to the hospital and were given this amazing picture.
I don’t care that it’s only 10 weeks this coming Friday. I’m going to be a daddy!
God has been telling me to pray for my children since I was 15 years old. I’ve never doubted this day would come, but I’m completely blown away that at 45 it’s finally arrived.
Now, however, the real test of my Faith begins.
While I try to do what God tells me to do, I don’t get an actual income from it (yet). Since my wife will need to take maternity leave, I need to begin earning an income in the next two months.
It’s a scary thing,starting a family at 45. Even scarier when I’m not in 100% health. But I’m doing it. It’s too soon to say if it’s a boy or girl, and honestly I don’t mind.
So things can change. And we never know when the change will come, or how it will impact our lives.
I started worrying I was too old to be a dad before Christmas. Then God reminded me Abraham was just a little older than I am. I can deal with that.
I’m still trying to work out where I am in regard to the “Dream Giver” project. But I’m fairly sure I’ve reached the Giants.
Ordinary reaches the Land of the Giants with nothing but his Big Dream. The first giant he meets is “Moneyless”, a giant I know we can all identify with. But his dream is enough to slay the giant.
I’m fighting that battle right now. This ministry is my dream, and right now I’m battling the same giant Ordinary had to fight.
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