A couple of personal bits

Friends have asked me about a couple of things, still hanging.  Has my son's book, which dominated much of 2013, progressed or not?  And is my brain upset sorted?

The book, with much huffing and puffing met the deadline at the end of June.  Itself a minor miracle. It then bounced back as 8,000 words too long!  The publisher demanded a culling within the following couple of weeks.  In anguish, Rob managed to cut parts, some of which he says were the best bits.  In each chapter he included two live examples drawn from the audio world, Intended to be highlighted in boxes, they sprinkled some magic dust. Actually, some of them were very good stories.  But the culling meant half had to be cut. Such is the writer's lot when they miscalculate length.

Anyway, he heard last week that the cuts were accepted and now the process of editing etc. whirrs into action with publication planned for early next year.  This is quite wonderful.  Readers of some of my earlier posts will have detected my doubts and weariness in ever meeting the deadline. So this is one bit of personal news that genuinely thrills me. 

And about my brain. Today, my neurological consultant ordered some specialist blood tests for detecting brain flow and is changing my injection routine in hopes of minimizing more dramatic head happenings.  I saw her with my left arm swathed in bandages from a fall on Sunday which owed everything to tripping over a folding chair rather than renewed brain trouble.  But I don't think she was too reassured about my general state.  However, I remain positive. There's so much to be grateful for.

A serious Thursday

My mother suffered a near fatal cerebral haemorrhage in her thirties and then suffered massive brain damage causing her early death at 57 years. I remember her telling me that I should beware a sudden severely piercing headache with peculiar sensations in my skull.  Her grave words struck me on Thursday.

After a quiet breakfast I was hit by violent head pain which travelled up inside my skull.  I had never experienced such a walloping before. At first I hoped that paracetemol and some quiet rest would blunt its sharpness. When it wound up instead of winding down, I shared my problem with Carol (resting upstairs) who called 111 where Kelly listened attentively to my symptoms. I was told to wait for a clinician to call and shortly after Dr. Patel listened to me, drew the conclusion I might have a brain bleed and said he was requesting an emergency ambulance. 

Within 10 minutes the ambulance was with me. The paramedic greeted me with the words: 'We thought you were dead!' I felt I was a disappointment but nevertheless she agreed I needed a hospital scan immediately. Carol sat with me in the ambulance and accompanied me as I was examined, taken for a CAT scan and then waited for the outcome.  Carol had asked our church payer chain to whirl into action which it did mightily. We both said how much we felt supported by prayer. 

The consultant hadn't yet seen my scan when he interviewed me.  Having rehearsed my drama once more he left to examine the scan.  You can imagine the utter relief when he returned and announced there was no sign of a brain bleed.  Wonderful!  But what caused the pain?  He reckons that maybe my dystonia (a form of Parkinson's disease) is misbehaving.  So, more patience is needed and who knows whether we shall ever know. Except that God's does know!  A happening like this reminds me of my vulnerability, my need to praise God for the gift of each and every day, and his gift of faith so that I can trust every day too.

Unwitting gifting

The last post jogged my memory. I was 9 or 10 living in Gloucester and passionate about camping. I had read a book with idyllic pictures of camping life and had set my heart on having my own ridge tent. With concentration, scraping every penny from pocket money and birthday money, the day eventually arrived when I had enough to buy a 6 foot by 6 foot by 6 foot canvas tent.  It was the basic model. No ground sheet nor waterproofing. But proudly I erected it in the back garden and slept on the back lawn that night. 

I needed to add vital extras, sleeping bags, stove, utensils etc. which took more effort over many months. But first on the list was the need for a ground sheet.  Again, I saved enough money to buy it and proudly bore it home in its plastic bag.

At the same time, my father's church was hosting a massive refugee appeal which went across the city, resulting in piles of donations in our main hall. The organizer spoke powerfully at its launch and its impact involved tens of volunteers.  I remember the excitement caught us all up.  And somehow my brand new, wrapped ground sheet was caught up in the donations.  I need to make it clear to you that this was not my intention.  I was shocked to the core. 

On the final Sunday, the organizer spoke about the boy who had given up his new groundsheet for the sake of the refugees.  How this was such an appropriate donation!  Fortunately, I was not identified! It's all a bit hazy but I guess the deed couldn't be undone so I swallowed my disappointment.  It was strange to be seen as an example of generosity when I had failed to be generous and rather resented what had happened.  But I tried to be positive.  Looking back I realize that I gave him a great preacher's story which would touch peoples' hearts.  And I truly hope it was useful to a refugee family somewhere.

How odd to have that memory jogged! 

Fun Regifting

We enjoyed giving lunch to a couple of friends last week who brought an attractively wrapped parcel of chocs with them.  I thought the glossy paper wrapping and ribbon bow was rather over the top.  

After the meal I unwrapped it to offer the contents around and finish off the meal in style with our coffee. A tight cellophane sleeve enveloped the chocolates in their plastic box and as I cut it, twenty-five pounds fluttered out. It had been cleverly concealed. I was truly astonished, but my surprise was nothing compared with our guests'.

Hurriedly they explained that they had been given a number of gifts as they were leaving their church and they thought they would share this one with us. The bonus gift made sense. Pocketing the money they were clearly racking their brains about who the original donor might be.

We laughed as we enjoyed the chocolates (apart, that is, from poor allergy-affected Carol).  Regifting is a great idea but this was a novel hazard.

An Enquiry

I have shared the anguish of parting with my books on a past couple of occasions and though the bulk of my books has already been given away, some outliers remain. I am grateful that my friend Ian Randall has just been able to resettle a small collection of my Baptist history and doctrine books, 

Yet, I keep finding books that were particular treasures of others who bequeathed them to me.  One is my father's facsimile copy of William Carey's: An Enquiry into the obligation of Christians to use means for the conversion of the heathen.  First published in 1792, this copy with the same type setting and f's instead of s's was re-produced in 1934 to celebrate the Centenary of the Baptist Missionary Society (BMS). As was common, the title page continues...in which the religious state of the different nations of the world, the success of former undertakings, and the practicability of further undertakings, are considered.  It became the charter for Protestant missions and produced the BMS.

It's a remarkable read. To think this Baptist minister in Moulton, Northamptonshire, could summarize the biblical imperative of mission, describe earlier missionary movements and give a ;Survey of the present State of the World  with statistics in 22 packed pages.  He set sail for India in 1793, acting on his convictions. His stats for India beyond the Ganges was: Extent - length miles 2000, breadth miles 1,000; number of inhabitants 50,000,000; religion - Mahometans and Pagans. 

I love the way he concludes the book:  We are exhorted to lay up treasure in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, not thieves break through and steal.  It is also declared that whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. These Scriptures teach us that the enjoyments of the life to come, bear a near relation to that which now is; a relation similar to that of the harvest and the seed. It is true all the reward is of mere grace, but it is nevertheless encouraging: what a treasure, what an harvest must await such characters as Paul, and Elliot, and Brainerd and others, who have given themselves wholly to the work of the Lord. What a heaven will it be to see the many myriads of poor heathens, of Britons amongst the rest, who by their labours have been brought to the knowledge of God. Surely a crown of rejoicing like this is worth aspiring to. Surely it is worth while to lay ourselves out with all our might, in promoting the cause and kingdom of Christ.

I am glad this book is now being lodged in the Cambridge Centre for Christianity Worldwide.

My opera friend

It just so happens that someone has just visited us whom I had not seen for many years which continues the music theme. In the early 90's I led daily Bible studies for the conference of European international Baptist churches, gathered in Interlaken, Switzerland.  You can imagine the delight Carol and I felt to be back in the country where we had first met (also at a Baptist conference!)  The organizers had chosen a musician to lead our worship who remains utterly bewildered that he was ever asked!  As a member of  Welsh National Opera Kelvin Thomas sang opera at heady musical heights and taught at Cardiff University.  However, he also founded a Christian choir, worked with other Christian groups and as a Baptist was known as a gifted all round musician.

The more we grew to know him the more I realized what a gem he is. Our friendship developed - one Christmas we visited his choir Cambrensis as it filled St. David's Hall and I even spoke!  When he was singing at the South Bank, London he used our home as a base.  He was the soloist for Sir Peter Maxwell Davies' Eight Songs for a Mad King - a music spectacular with a violin smashed in anger and Kelvin acting out George III at his delusional worst. (George's worst that is)! One night we attended this highly unusual piece and afterwards met Sir Peter.  I marvelled that Kelvin had one foot in this contemporary classical music and one foot in orchestrating contemporary Christian songs for Cambrensis.

As you can imagine, we had much to talk about and chuckle over as we reminisced about the past. About how our very different worlds had collided because of our togetherness in Christ. That's exactly what happens in his kingdom.

The Proms

A group of older friends mentioned that the Proms were starting today. Stories began to flow.  One friend described how for his first date with a young lady (now his wife) he bought tickets for the Proms, but his car burst into flames destroying the tickets.  Strangely, she could remember the seat and row numbers so they still turned up and after much explanation were allowed to wait to see if those seats remained empty. When they did, they claimed their first date together. 

I contributed two stories. The first was my father's cycling as a fifteen year old from the E. End of London to the Royal Albert Hall because he had never heard classical music and wanted to sample it as a promenader for 1 penny. (I think that was the current cost for standing on the main floor). The beauty of the music made him weep and that began his love for classical music which he passed on to the rest of the family. 

For my sixteenth birthday he decided I needed my own initiation into the Proms.  The Royal Albert Hall inspires visitors but especially this teenager. We were seated in one of the lower boxes. Playing that night was someone about my own age.  Jacqueline de Pre was to become famous as a world renowned cellist. Little did I know that we were present for one of her first Proms as she played Elgar's Cello Concerto. The conductor was Sir Adrian Boult, already famous, and a hush fell as soloist and orchestra prepared to play. Baton was raised and just then in the corridor behind our box a loud voice called out in conversation.  The door to our box had come open. Sir Adrian stopped and looked up at us with his baton pointing, accusing us of interruption.  Hundreds of eyes swiveled in our direction. It was excruciatingly embarrassing.  Of all the things that could happen. Why our door, and such noise at that precise moment?

The performance soon erased discomfort.  I still have an LP of her playing that concerto. It remains one of my favourites.  I was glad that group reminisce brought the memory back.