As far as I knew, ‘The Prince of Egypt’ was given his name by Hazel and crew. His pseudonym was a little more understandable than Jemima’s in that the top half of his attire was not too dissimilar to that of the cartoon character, Moses, in the same-titled film.
He wore a sparkly headdress that reached just past his shoulders. This was most often, a deep pink colour and covered in sequins. To keep his headdress in place, a band of an opposite hue was wrapped around his head and also contained sequins. There was not a colour that he did not wear, and so he looked like a walking rainbow.
Around his shoulders he wore a white cape made of glitter fabric and underneath the cape was a neon yellow lycra top. Continuing the superhero theme, he wore tight gold lamé leggings. Around his waist was an odd-shaped metal belt and in his hand, he held a staff. This staff was not curled over at the end like that of a shepherd, but instead, it had various bits of shiny material dangling from the top.
His hair was in small braids and sometimes, very thin dreadlocks and he sported a long, pointy beard that reached to his chest.
I don’t know what your imagination is like, but I suspect that you are assuming by my description that he was comical. Comically dressed yes, but other than that, he was rather frightening. Even though his manner was less aggressive than that of Jemima’s, his presence was far more intimidating.
He would walk in and glare at us, but never came up to the counter. Instead, he would ease his way into a corner and pick up a book. He would then remain in that same spot for at least half an hour, with his staff still in his hand but holding the book with both hands, in front of him.
None of us were ever fooled by his apparent interest in our titles. To me, when he was around, there seemed to be an evil presence that lingered around him.
His favourite corner was by the window on the ground floor right in front of the “New Titles” section. Therefore, most of the books he picked up were new releases. Occasionally he ventured upstairs, and he did this most often when we were busy on the ground floor.
We knew he was up to no good, but as he never appeared to be stealing or bothering other customers, we more often than not, ignored him. This was fine by me as I wanted to have as little to do with him as possible.
After a while, ‘The Sparkly One’ suddenly decided that he knew my name and began calling me Claire. He would come in and say, “Hello Claire” in a creepy voice. The fact that he got my name wrong suited me fine and I would reply cheerfully so not to give away any suspicion that he was in error. After this had become a habit, I promptly informed my colleagues of the situation because I was scared that one day, somebody was going to call over to me and say, “Hey Sharon…”. I had made up my mind that if this ever happened, I would ignore them. I didn’t want this man to know anything about me and if he ever asked me where I lived or what church I went to, I was planning to lie without any guilt whatsoever.
A few years later, a grim discovery was made. After ‘The Prince of Egypt’ had left the shop, a colleague picked up the same book that he had been reading a few hours earlier, and discovered a small card hidden between the pages. It was covered in what looked like demonic symbols. So that was it. He had been biding time so that he could place these witchcraft cards into our books. In hindsight, it was hardly surprising, but as we had no concrete evidence that this was his doing, he was never challenged about it. After this incident, we kept a closer eye on him and began to approach him to ask if he needed help with anything. The lengths of his visits became shorter, and I never forgot to give him a cheery wave when he would whisper, “Bye, bye Claire.”
I wonder how many books he managed to mark over the years. I wonder how many sparkly outfits he owned. I also wonder who he got his fashion inspiration from. Was it really Moses or Superman? Thankfully, he never resorted to wearing his pants on top of his leggings, and as superheroes don’t sport a headdress or a staff, I think the Saturday staff were spot-on with this one.
In the middle of the month, a wad of brochures would be sent to us for the perusal of customers and for us to become familiar with what items were going to be part of the next promotion. As soon as the new promotion had begun, bundles of the magazines would be placed on the two counters by the tills, on the promotional tables and inside each carrier bag.
With one week to go, boxes would arrive from the warehouse which contained items to be priced up, ready to be displayed on the tables from the first day.
Books, bibles and CDs would be reduced in price and new titles would be promoted alongside them.
Each new promo’ had its own set of sale stickers and they had to be placed in the top right-hand corner of every item. Because these stickers remained on the product for 30 days, they would often be difficult to remove without either damaging the surface of the book or leaving a residue. So, the stickers on the existing sale items had to be peeled off very slowly and the book or CD then had to be wiped clean. This, however, could not happen until the very last day of the month, so that customers had chance to make the most of the current promotion. But posters, flyers and window displays had to be changed on time. Once the tables were ready, all the items that had been removed from display needed to go back onto the shelves at regular price.
Added to this, invoices, gift vouchers and postal orders had to be tallied and the two “Top Ten” books stands needed to be rearranged.
Sometimes the changeover happened at the same time of year that the haul of new dated material (Sunday School magazines and daily bible reading notes) arrived. These had to be placed aside until the shop was ready for the new promotion.
The most frustrating part of this changeover was the fact that we never received enough stock. For example, a popular title would be listed in the brochures as being half price, attracting the attention of many customers, yet we will have had only been sent two copies. Excited customers would often telephone to ask if we could put aside an item for them, only to be told they were completely out of stock both at our branch and the warehouse. All branches were in the same predicament and we would be contacting each other frantically trying to see if anybody had what we needed.
One day Louise was on the ground floor working next to me and she said,
“Sharon, have you noticed that those boys over there by the window keep giggling and whispering to each other?”
“No.” I replied.
“Yea,” she continued, “this is the third time this week that I’ve noticed them huddled together in that spot, laughing to themselves.”
I hadn’t noticed.
She continued, “There’s a book they keep picking up and putting back down. I wonder if that has anything to do with why they are so amused?”
“And why they keep coming back?” I suggested.
“Um, yea,” she said. “I’m gonna take a look.”
As Louise made her way towards the young lads, they dispersed and began picking up other books from the display tables. They seemed nervous when she approached them, and they soon left.
Lou stared at the books on the table, and suddenly grabbed a large hardback, white one.
“Aha!”
She flicked through the book and went very quiet. She seemed to be stuck on one particular page:
“Huh! Not surprised! Why oh why? That’s ridiculous! Did they have to make it so…”
“Bring it here!” I shouted, eager to know what all the fuss was about.
Louise shut the book before she handed it to me and smiled wryly awaiting my reaction.
I looked at the title and it all became clear.
It was from “E24”!
Every single book we stocked was allocated a code. For example, the “J” section contained all the books for kids and teenagers: Books for toddlers were classified under “J10” ones for older children were “J12” and the teenagers had “J16”. The “E” section included books about family and psychology, but “E24” was the category entitled, “Love, Sex and Marriage”.
The boys had stumbled across a sex education book and the pictures inside left nothing to the imagination. This was supposed to be an explanatory guide for parents to give to their young children when they begin asking how babies are made. With the vivid images that were displayed, and the sentences used, no explanation was really needed.
Over time, we were sent books that were far more questionable than this one and Lou and I were to be raising our eyebrows once more. But I’ll tell you about those later.
Casper claimed that Jemima got his name from the Saturday staff. I don’t recall why they came up with this nickname and I cannot find any famous thieves called Jemima on the internet, so that will remain a mystery. All I know is, every one of us referred to this man by that name and nobody dared ask him for the real one.
There was no regularity to his visits, but when he appeared, it left us affected with a mixture of bemusement and rage.
He was a very tall, slim, young man with a piercing glare and an air of arrogance. Each time he entered the shop, he left with a bible. A bible that he had not paid for and therefore, most probably had no intention of reading.
Because our shop was in a retail quarter surrounded by department stores and posh shops, there was an office nearby run by security staff, on whom we could call, for either emergency assistance or a kind of, ‘police presence’ to ward off those considered to be, ‘suspicious, but less threatening’.
Jemima was never ‘less threatening’, so as soon as we saw him enter, we would call for emergency assistance. The young man was wise to this and therefore either crept in unseen or performed his deed so quickly that he was gone before the guards arrived.
I only remember one time when he was caught, and the expletives that were directed at 16-year-old Hazel, left her shaking.
Was he working for a gang? Was he stealing to fund a drug habit? We never knew. We only knew that he was the ‘Master of Stealth’ that took great pleasure in his pilfering.
Despite finding him immensely exasperating, there were two occasions involving him that left me laughing. One day, he marched-in at the usual moment when the ground floor was heaving with customers. The first flight of stairs was to the left of the till area and lead to the mezzanine floor, and to a second flight of stairs up to the first floor. This is where all the bibles were displayed. Unlike his usual galloping up the steps two by two, this day, his strides were shorter and much slower. In his hand was a large sheet of paper which he placed at the side of his face so that he could not be seen. This was not done surreptitiously at all. It was like he was mocking us by drawing attention to himself.
This audacity caused Casper to forget that his nickname was a secret and he bellowed,
“Jemima, come back here!”
He was pounced on and left the shop in his usual cocky manner, claiming he had been treated unfairly.
The other time was when he stole the most expensive bible we stocked – a genuine leather NASB. We needed the barcode in order to obtain a replacement copy, because the description of it was not being recognised by our computer system. It was from our usual supplier, but as there were more than 60 English-language versions of the bible that came in various sizes, cover designs and inner styles, it wasn’t easy to trace. The young flouter always took our best bibles and this latest one was over £70. Because of our plight, this was the first occasion that we actually wanted him to revisit us so we could say,
“You know that bible you snuck into your overcoat last week? We know you’re not going to bring it back, but if you haven’t yet thrown away the cardboard sleeve, could you please return it so we can scan the barcode?”
I don’t know how many copies of the word of God ended up hidden inside his large coat pockets, but I hoped that one day one would fall out and land on his feet, opened onto Exodus Chapter 20. He had a penchant for large print editions, so there was a possibility that, despite being tall, he would be able to see what verse 15 said.
I am not an expert on human behaviour, but I think he was mentally ill. I think he was demonically oppressed. I think he was poor, because his attire was rather odd, and his legs were very skinny. But there is one thing I know about him for certain. He was loved by God. I hoped that one day, he would take the time to open a copy from his gilt-edged collection and read it. It had the power to change his life in a totally different way to what he believed. Whatever money he got for his stash, is nothing in comparison to the wealth of riches God gives to those who surrender their lives to him.
I will never know what happened to Jemima, but my prayer is that instead of stealing the word of God, he is letting it speak to his heart and somewhere out there, is a changed man.
Like with most jobs, there was a probationary period of 6 months. Within that time, all new staff had to complete a *Brobdingnagian-size project which would be sent up to Head Office to be marked.
The subjects covered were aspects of sales, customer service, problem-solving, marketing, the history of the parent company, details about the directors and bookshelf categorisation.
If the 22 modules were not finished within 6 months, the employee would not be guaranteed a permanent position, as they would not be deemed to have officially passed probation.
Mine, however, was completed in 4 months, not because I was a whizz-kid, but because I had become obsessed with working on it every evening.
One late night, my house mate, Kelsey, couldn’t bear it any longer and exclaimed,
“It’s only a bookshop job, for goodness’ sake! You would think they were asking you to become a lawyer! Why do they want all this work doing? It’s crazy!”
She flipped the last piece of paper in my file so hard to the left that the plastic pocket that was protecting it, folded on itself at the bottom.
“Great work Sharon, but you’re a sales assistant.” she said, tossing the file back at me. “Stupid company!”
I grabbed my precious file and smiled apprehensively, rubbing a finger along the crease of the triangle shape that had formed on the bottom of my beloved plastic pocket. I was determined to put as much effort into this task, as possible. They wanted essays and I was churning them out one by one.
Weeks later, I was attending a three-day residential training course that was held at the company headquarters near Scotland. One of the managers entered the room to hand me back my marked project and present me with my Welcome to the Company certificate. She stopped the session and called me forward to collect my items and announced that the staff at head office had never seen so much effort put into a project; so much so, that they wanted to thank me personally, rather than posting the certificate to the branch like they normally did.
I am not boasting. Who likes a bragger? I certainly do not, so I don’t expect you to, either. I was just always better at coursework than written examinations.
It made me ponder on how everybody is different, and while working at the shop, I was soon to learn that in the body of Christ, great diversity is something to be embraced rather than feared.
Our customers consisted of people from all walks of life and a wide variety of Christian backgrounds. However, haven’t there been many times in Christian life when conservative worshippers have been judged as being stoic? And in turn, they have looked upon the more expressive as being flippant and lacking self-control.
Those who prefer routine and structured bible study have been classed as unimaginative and boring and those who adapt better to varied devotions have been classed as whimsical and undisciplined.
Visionaries can think that others are spiritually blind and those with two new ideas per day can be labelled as too rough around the edges or a little unhinged.
I have learnt that some of the most expressive people prefer liturgical church services full of symbolism and structure, yet I know many who have a more reserved nature who are most at peace being in a room filed with worshippers who are jumping up and down and hollering loudly.
Some of our customers would only buy Christmas cards that portrayed scenes of the nativity or the wise men crossing the desert. Others would only go for the cute puppies wearing glittery Santa hats. (The latter shopped elsewhere for those.)
Again, many customers loved biblical fiction and we often witnessed unbridled excitement when the next volume of the “Left Behind” series came out. Others couldn’t stand ‘such drivel’ and would not pick up a book unless it was authored by, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Charles Spurgeon or A.W. Tozer.
Thus, we are all good at different things and enjoy praising God in ways that can be in total contrast to that of another.
So, I guess, that is the true project of life:
Learning to love others by learning to love God. Showing love for God by accepting others, no matter how unlike us they may seem.
Like in all places of employment, staff come and go, so I shall only mention the colleagues I worked with the most. The remaining nine were just as much a pleasure to work with, and I recall some dear moments that I had with each of them. However, most of the laughs and challenges I encountered involved the colleagues below.
Saturdays consisted of a mixture of teenagers who worked alongside whichever full-timers were on the rota for that particular weekend. They were a great asset and brought a joviality the shop that only youth can bring.
They monopolised the CD player, making sure that none of us older ones got the chance to put on an instrumental album or The Gaithers. It just wasn’t hip to have “Homecoming Hymns” blasting out of the speakers, as to them, it was mortifying to be within earshot of anything remotely Southern Gospel.
Hazel
As I had the advantage of arriving before Hazel on a Saturday, I would chuckle to myself when she walked through the door, knowing that she would cringe at what she could hear. As soon as I disappeared to do a job upstairs, “Praise Him on the Piano” would be confiscated and swapped for Delirious or the Newsboys. She would compete with the street entertainers outside to see who could deafen the customers the most and would give me a wide grin when I reminded her that older people like to go shopping on a Saturday too. Hazel was always willing to help out on extra days at short notice, which benefitted us a great deal, so she became my ‘Little Miss Helpful’.
Louise
Louise was the one full-timer who played shop music louder than Hazel. She too, wasn’t keen on saxophone versions of, “He is Lord” and preferred The Katinas, Jeremy Camp and Third Day. Being queen of the first floor, she was able to get away with having the volume up a louder than we had it downstairs. When I first named her ‘The Headbanger’, she took it in good humour because like me, Christian music was her passion. She had a heart of gold and became particularly attached to George, who was an older gentleman who worked with us for a while. Sadly, little George passed away not too long after joining us and Louise was devastated. She had been like the loving daughter he never had the chance to have.
Lou worked fast and her dancing and singing helped her keep up the busy pace of unpacking new stock and handling customer orders. Being stationed primarily upstairs, she became quite an expert in the selling of bibles, study guides, Sunday school material and children’s books. She was also the one to sport several cloth bands around her wrist that displayed various acronyms such as WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?) and FROG (Fully Reliant on God). I’m sure we sold more of those owing to how she modelled them so beautifully.
Sophie
Sophie was ‘The Opera Singer’. Normally quiet in temperament, Sophie would come to life and shriek loudly at one of Casper’s jokes. Her voice would rise several octaves as Casper calmly spewed out one of his dry-witted sentences. One could hear her falsetto voice from the restroom on the third floor and I always used to wander what amusing anecdote had I missed out on. This was never done in front of customers, so it was also an indication that the shop was at a quiet period. The funniest thing was, we all knew that should we run downstairs to see what was so amusing, Casper would be sitting at the computer desk with a straight face.
Sophie was an expert at organising the display tables for the following month’s promotion. She often came up with new ideas to make the shop more inviting and as the assistant manager, she helped Casper with various jobs to lighten his load. I loved her quiet confidence and air of calm when things became overwhelming. We were teamed-up together for our fortnightly weekend shifts and I was comforted that she knew just how to keep the Saturday teens in order. Young Anthony often preferred playing around instead of completing his tasks and she always knew just how much firmness and gentleness to use to get him to refocus his mind on the job. On one particularly trying day when Anthony was being more juvenile than normal, he began questioning everything she asked him to do. She took a deep breath and said calmly,
“Anthony, be like Niké. Just do it.”
Casper
It was no surprise that Casper had Sophie in hysterics so much, because he was hilarious. However, most of what he said was not intended to be funny. He just had one of those personalities that made you chuckle even though he was being serious. So he was, ‘The Melancholic Comedian’.
He was however, an extremely good manager and ran the shop with precision. He was especially gifted at working under pressure and as we had more work than staff to complete it, this was no easy task. The three most difficult aspects of his job seemed to be:
Having to oversee the preparation for the next month’s promotion where books, CDs would be on special offer.
Maintaining an adequate supply of merchandise, but at the same time ensuring we were not overstocked; thereby blowing the shop’s budget.
Organising the stocktake.
He managed it all superbly and even though he often did not feel cheerful himself, he kept the rest of us with smiles on our faces.
Trudy
Trudy had the best all-round knowledge of the different sections of the shop and in my opinion, should have been awarded the role of, Senior Sales Assistant. In some branches across the country, people held this position, but this title was not given to anyone in our area. Nevertheless, she had worked there the longest and was usually the best person to ask about anything. She would have denied this at the time and would have laughed at the thought of being described as more knowledgeable than me with the multi-media products, because they were my ‘little baby’. But if she had had the time to brush up on this, I know she would have caught on quickly and been more confident in this area. Given that we had all been allocated our own areas of expertise, it made more sense therefore, that whenever somebody came in asking about a particular singer, movie, DVD, or CD, I was the one to be pushed forward to assist them.
The bible says that “…iron sharpens iron.” so, when I refer to Trudy as “The Iron Lady” I’m not indicating that she was harsh. She was the one to pull me up and chastise me when I needed to be. Trudy taught me how to be more gracious, more loving and more understanding of others. She had a gentle spirit that the customers warmed to and was a diligent worker. She also was sensitive to the emotional needs of the customers and never forgot to include them in our daily morning prayer meetings if she knew someone had come into the shop distracted or distressed.
I also admired Trudy’s evangelistic enthusiasm and it was especially heart-warming to hear her talk about her love for the Russian city of Vladivostok and the people who lived in this eastern part of the huge country.
Being an Anglican vicar’s daughter, she also had the best knowledge about the artefacts and implements used by the Church of England, Methodists and most places of worship with ‘St.’ in the title.
None of us were as familiar with “The Book of Common Prayer”, candles, priest wafers and “The Lectionary” as she was, and so it was always a great relief to know she was nearby to lend a helping hand. She was also the greeting card queen and kept our stands well-stocked with a pretty supply. I had heard people say on occasions that, “Christian cards are naff”, but not in our store, as she had a flair for choosing stock with beautiful photography such as those created by artist Leonard Smith.
Helen
Casper would be disappointed if I failed to mention Helen, who was his all-time favourite colleague. She didn’t work there long and left to go back to university, but during her short spell with us, she ensured it was a memorable one. To put it simply, she was “The Rebel”. I won’t go into detail other than to say she took great delight in trying to stun the rest of us with her laid-back attitude to the Christian lifestyle. All in all, she just loved to shock. One day while three customers were browsing, she said to me loudly,
“Urgh, I’m bored of all this music, especially Hillsongs. We need something different, but we haven’t got what I’m wanting to listen to.”
I stupidly took the bait and replied,
“What is it that you want?”
“I could do with a bit of Eminem.” she replied.
Her chubby cheeks would flush a bright pink colour, not out of embarrassment, but when she knew she had ‘got you’.
Another time, she laughed naughtily when attempting to re-tell me a story Casper had told her. I interjected to explain that I already knew the story and that I had laughed so hard, tears had flowed. But she wasn’t content with that, and her cheeks began glowing that familiar crimson once more.
“No, no, no, you don’t know the whole story. He didn’t tell you what he really said, did he?”
She proceeded to give me the full version of events and relished in my surprise.
Now, I’m not going to reveal this story other than to say that Casper had cleverly omitted a vital piece of information when recounting his tale to me. She had been given the raw version and her face was now glowing scarlet at the thought that I had been filled-in with the true facts. I admit that this added piece of information only served to make the story even more comical than it already was, and I shall always remember her tiny eyes scrunched-up with mirth as we laughed together, trying to imagine the scene.
Cammie
Cammie was a close friend of mine before she began working at the shop. I would sometimes sit on the floor of her living room with a hot drink in my hand and recount tales of amusing things that had happened in my day. She would throw her head back and laugh, begging me for more stories.
During a quiet period with her job at the local hospital, I recommended that she apply for a post with us because she needed some extra cash. She was accepted almost immediately. I was excited about the prospect of working alongside her, but Casper soon blew my bubble when he decided to keep us as far apart as possible. Yes, she was my “Giggle Partner”, but only socially. However, I suspected that as Cammie and I shared the same sense of humour, he was worried that we would not get any work done if we were put together. Thus, we very rarely worked on the same floor and I hardly ever saw her during the time she was employed with us. Sadly, because of this, I cannot remember even seeing her in the shop much at all.
Cammie had been a real support to me when I had been wondering whether to take the job myself. Changing careers was going to be a giant leap of faith because I would be going from working full time at a bank with a good wage, to working part-time at a bookshop with a poor one. To put it bluntly, I knew I was going to be having a salary reduction of £8000 per year and back then, that was a lot to lose!
Cammie sat me at her dining room table and went through my financial figures with me. When she finished her calculations, she looked me straight in the eye and said,
“Well, basically, you can’t afford it, but if this is God’s will for you, he will make it work.”
In my youth group (okay, I was in my thirties) the following Saturday, a young lad gave a testimony about how he felt God had promoted him in his job and given him a pay rise of an extra £8000 per year. Later on, I approached him and said,
“Isn’t it amazing how God works? He has blessed you with the job you want and given you an £8000 pay rise. He’s done the same for me but in my case, my pay’s going down by £8000. But it’s the job I really wanted, and I know we’ll both love our new roles.”
He didn’t share my elation, but looked at me scornfully and said,
“Huh! You don’t hang your hat very high, do you?”
Nevertheless, I took Cammie’s advice, and she was right. God saw to it that I was never in lack and despite the dramatic pay reduction, I always had everything I needed.
Having the wise counsel and support of a good Christian friend is invaluable. I miss those times of sitting at the table of Cammie and Daisy, chatting away and laughing until our sides hurt.
Jessie
Lastly, there was Jessie who was the only teenager who had a full-time post. She was very bubbly and excitable which made her great fun to work with, but it also has to be said that her manner with customers was exemplary. The other teenagers weren’t bad and did their best to provide good customer service, but Jessie stood head and shoulders above the rest. She was confident and caring, and she always went the extra mile to ensure that customers left feeling valued. Because of her exuberant nature, Jessie was “The Puppy”.
I shall mention Jessie again later, in the chapter about the little green balls.
“Well, you don’t look like a Christian bookshop worker to me!”
Cammie agreed and threw her head back, filling the kitchen with one of her infectious laughs.
I tapped my fingers on the smooth varnish of their solid oak dining table and stared at Daisy with a frown.
“What do you mean?”
“She means,” said Cammie, “that you do not fit the stereotype image in our heads of what…well, you don’t dress like one of them, for a start.”
Before I could interject, she continued,
“Flat shoes, floaty skirts, flowery blouses…”
“With long sleeves and a bow at the neck.” said Daisy.
Cammie went on,
“Chains on your glasses, hair in a bun, fish brooch and five WWJD bracelets on your wrist.”
I leaned back on my chair and folded my arms.
“I’m really looking forward to this job. And after being sat in a call centre, wearing shabby clothes, I’m quite looking forward to dressing smart again. Besides, if that’s your real image of a ‘saved saleswoman’, shouldn’t it be broken?”
Daisy and Cammie continued to laugh and whenever they glanced at each other, their chuckles became heartier.
The first day of my new job – the 29th of December – was a memorable one. Telephone banking had proved to be disappointing, especially as there were no decent hours available. 2pm to midnight didn’t suit me at all. How lovely it was going to be, doing a 9-5 job again!
The staff however, felt like they too had been doing 10-hour shifts and were exhausted from the Christmas rush. On top of that, there was no respite due, because they had to prepare for end-of-month changes, new month promotions and January sales.
Casper, the assistant manager, had the task of showing me around the shop. Considering his natural introverted nature, he was quite chatty and seemed to enjoy telling me tales about the customers.
After our trip to the staff room, he stopped by the bibles on the first floor and proceeded to tell me a story about a lady who had recently demanded to know the intricacies of a certain bible version. He hadn’t been familiar with it and was immediately honest, explaining that he could not answer her queries. But she wasn’t satisfied with this response. She told him she believed that all Christians should be au-fait with this version and to admit that one wasn’t, was tantamount to confessing to being a complete heathen.
As Casper continued to recall the incident, he became more and more agitated and grabbed an NLT New Testament that had fallen on its side.
“The woman began to interrogate me and eventually put her hand on her hips and asked me if I was a Christian. When I said ‘yes’, she made a sucking noise with her teeth and claimed that a true believer would know the answers.”
I smiled encouragingly as the pocket bible banged loudly on the shelf.
“That was it! I wanted to kill her! There and then, I really could have killed that silly woman!”
There was no smile on Casper’s face.
“Ah, he meant it.” I thought.
Indeed, I could tell from his expression that this was not a joke.
I wanted to reply by saying, “Well, as you had such machinations for murder, maybe she was right to question your faith”, but thought better of it. I had to work with this man. There were three flights of stairs on the customer floor; one leg out, and he could send me hurtling down the stone steps to my demise.
“Better keep on the right side of him.”
In his defence, I was to learn later, that not only was Casper a gentle-spirited man who loved the Lord with all his heart, but that I was worse than him in the ‘grace-stakes’. As a matter of fact, there was many a time since that first conversation, that I was greatly tempted to inflict mortal harm on the odd customer or two.
He walked in, raised his head, and closed his eyes like he was enjoying the smell of a delicious meal. As he breathed in deeply, it was as if a platter had been placed into his hands, with the aroma of home-cooked food wafting past his nose.
“Umm! It’s so peaceful in here. You are so lucky!”
The young man opened his eyes and looked at me intently while he enquired,
“You haven’t got any vacancies, have you?”
I could hear a muffled laugh coming from somewhere behind the counter and I understood the wryness in the tone. As much as my colleagues and I loved our job, we knew that the grass was not always greener on our side of the fence.
Almost every week, a customer would declare that they wanted to swap places with one of us, because their secular job was too stressful. During their lunch break, they would enter, then pause to unwind, basking in what was an atmosphere of peace, compared to what they had just escaped from. While the uplifting music soothed away their stress, they would take time to browse the book titles, hoping that time would go slowly.
In reality, the only reason why these particular customers felt that way, is because they had a special gift – a coveted talent that belonged only to them. Their gift was called, “Impeccable Timing”. Somehow, this blessed minority had the ability to choose opportune moments to visit the store when no pandemonium was taking place. They had never bumped into any drunken men, who were swaying around while their lager spilt everywhere. They had never witnessed a thief being frogmarched out of the shop by burly security guards. They never encountered the scary female vicar who would order us to switch off the music because she hated Sunday School songs. They had never brushed shoulders with disorientated Satanists who were looking for books on witchcraft, Seventh Day Adventists complaining that we didn’t stock books by Ellen White, and alcoholics shouting,
“Jesus turned water into wine for people like me!”
Lastly, we knew for sure that these individuals had definitely never visited us during the week of stocktaking.
There is no greater privilege than to be in a profession that sells the word of God. There is nothing more joyful than to see somebody obtain a book that is going to help them get over anxiety, fears, guilt, depression, and loneliness. It’s wonderful to be in a workplace that is playing music that is glorifying Jesus. It’s great to know one is selling books, devotionals and magazines that are showing people how to pray and draw closer to the Lord. It is magnificent to have colleagues who are as passionate about Jesus as you are.
Most of all, nothing is more glorious than being in an atmosphere where in every corner of the workplace, the great message of salvation is being sent out in various ways, to those who do not yet have the joyous experience of having their sins forgiven.
However, every ministry comes with its own challenges and we had more than our fair share.
I loved my time working at, ‘The Bookshop’, but behind the smiles, there were frustrations we encountered just like in any other place of employment.
This is a collection of fun memoirs about my time with suppliers, customers, colleagues and all things in between.
For me, the most important thing about a book of memoirs is to exercise integrity. Therefore, whenever I cannot fully remember an incident, a person’s words, facial expression, mannerism, vocal tone, or outcome of a story, I have omitted description or mentioned that I have forgotten the full details.
Exaggeration to make a story more interesting is technically, lying. Maybe some writers do it and get away with it, but I want to honour my God by being as truthful as possible.
“Head Office” is written in capitals when it refers generically to the entire management team who were in control of all the shops.
In Chapter 20, reference has been made to certain singers whereby only first names or abbreviations have been provided. I appreciate that without a glossary, you may not know to whom I am referring. This has been done out of humour, rather than discourtesy and I am more than happy for you to contact me for clarification should you have a burning desire to know who I’m ‘on about’.
For the sake of privacy and respect for my customers and colleagues, all names have been changed – well, apart from Jemima and The Prince of Egypt; but they were already false names, so there’s no reason to alter them again.
I’m one of those old-fashioned people who puts a full-stop (period) at the end of a sentence when writing a text message or email. Most of my friends do not. For you who are shocked by this, no, they’re not illiterate, just caught-up in the impatience and laziness of these modern times.
It usually takes me at least three attempts to decipher the correct meaning of their messages and I’m often left confused:
“Hi Sharon I went to the dentist today got a tooth that hurts he looked at it and said nerve is dead man in waiting room was in pain so I let him go in before me a Labrador was in there also playing with a stick because his owner couldn’t see what have you done with that powder I need it back because I found a load of ants in my pants found that money I thought I’d lost another bout of rain coming I think.”
So, I sympathise with you if you’re one of those people who hate capitalised poetry, for similar reasons.
In order to help things flow, I tried taking away the capital from the first word in each line, but alas, it just didn’t look right to me. Therefore, apart from ‘Torture’ and ‘I’ll Believe in Anything’, I have reverted to the traditional way of penning prose with each line beginning with a large letter.
Hopefully, you will have a happy read and not be visually confused by me having used the original style.
LPW: Grab yourself a coffee
I struggle with patience. Patience goes hand in hand with self-control and therefore, when I am impatient, I cannot keep still and my mind wanders to a far-away land on the other side of the moon. If somebody is giving a testimony or I have an article to read, I expect it to be brief and succinct. In most cases, they aren’t. I begin to fidget and in my mind I am thinking, “Please get to the point!”
If you are a non-believer who considers all Christians to be hypocrites, I shall let you score a point on that one with me, because I simply cannot keep some poems short. Despite editing like crazy, if I’m trying to tell a story, sometimes it takes a good while before I get there, and thus, I thought it kind to warn you when you are about to encounter a rather lengthy piece of prose.
I originally placed the abbreviation, LPW (Long Poem Warning) after a poem title to indicate that it was lengthy, but then I realised that most of them are. Not all the chapters are succeeded by poetry, but when you see one at the bottom, this means that you may want to go grab a coffee and half a packet of cookies before you begin.
Alternatively, you could be shrewd and find someone to read it out aloud for you. In this case, I suggest you first bless them with a full glass of water and a cough sweet.
I struggle with patience. Patience goes hand in hand with self-control and therefore, when I am impatient, I cannot keep still and my mind wanders to a far-away land on the other side of the moon. If somebody is giving a testimony or I have an article to read, I expect it to be brief and succinct. In most cases, they aren’t. I begin to fidget and in my mind I am thinking, “Please get to the point!”
If you are a non-believer who considers all Christians to be hypocrites, I shall let you score a point on that one with me, because I simply cannot keep some poems short. Despite editing like crazy, if I’m trying to tell a story, sometimes it takes a good while before I get there, and thus, I thought it kind to warn you when you are about to encounter a rather lengthy piece of prose.
I originally placed the abbreviation, LPW (Long Poem Warning) after a poem title to indicate that it was lengthy, but then I realised that most of them are. Not all the chapters are succeeded by poetry, but when you see one at the bottom, this means that you may want to go grab a coffee and half a packet of cookies before you begin.
Alternatively, you could be shrewd and find someone to read it out aloud for you. In this case, I suggest you first bless them with a full glass of water and a cough sweet.
None of us are perfect. As hard as it may be to believe, we all annoy somebody. I would like to suggest that the world divorce rate isn’t high just because people find it hard to be loyal. It isn’t high just because people find it hard to forgive. It is high because nobody marries themselves. Everybody lives with another human being whose reasons for thinking the way they do seems right to them and whose reasons for doing what they do seem justified in their eyes. Thankfully, our God in heaven knows us intricately yet still loves us. Not only that, he still hangs around when everyone else has given up on us – isn’t that great?
There’s coffee in the sugar, There’s mould on the ham, Toast crumbs in the margarine, And butter in the jam.
She is so imperfect. He’s defective and perverse. They are all quite tainted, But God knows you are worse.
Yes, we are more horrible Than our conscience would believe. We’re nastier and more evil Than our minds perceive.
We’re deficient of true love, Lazy and malicious, With a tendency to think Our sin is fictitious.
But we’re gossips and we’re proud, We watch too much telly, We eat too much chocolate For the size of our belly.
We sulk when things go wrong, We boast when there’s success, We want to be admired For the funky way we dress.
We crave recognition, We long for much respect, We want our opinions To always be correct.
We want sympathy when sad, And there’s anger and tears, When it seems God is silent And not answering our prayers.
But did you see God smile? Did you see him wink? He knows you are more vile Than you actually think.
Yet he still loves you greatly, You are his delight. Despite your sinful nature, He wants to hold you tight.
He wants to protect you From your degeneration. Because all of your iniquities Are an abomination.
Our actions and our thoughts Are corruption in his eyes, And because he is a holy God, He needs to chastise
So, he sent his precious son. The only one he had, And said to him quite sadly, “Creation’s turned out bad.
Will you take their punishment By dying in their place? Will you let them beat you up And mar your gorgeous face?
Will you take their sins As if they were your own? Will you die in agony Rejected and alone?
For when you are penalised For their heinous behaviour And they gladly accept you For becoming their Saviour…
I will look upon them And see your sacrifice, And be pleased with the blood That paid the purchase-price.”
So, you see my dear friends, Jesus was attacked, To pay the precious ransom That your goodness lacked.
No matter what your faults are, Your soul was deemed worth saving. God has affection for you, Even though you’re misbehaving.
By now, you are thinking, When will this poem end? But I want to let you know God’s thrilled to be your friend.
To him you are sensational. For you, he has affection. Stop trying to earn his love. He cares not for perfection.
You make God smile because He knows your potential. But accepting his free gift Is the thing that is essential.
So, open your hard heart And let him come inside. He wants to forgive you. That’s why Jesus died.
So, run this by me again – why did you give me a copy of this woman’s book? You know I’m not into this religious stuff, right?
What? It’s not religious? Well, what do you call harping on about the state of my soul and God and Hell? You trying to convert me or something? A bit too heavy for me I’m afraid.
So, you say this Jesus was with God when he created the world. I thought he was just a good man who had an exceptional tolerance for pain. Like a butch vicar. Anyway, I don’t care what he was. I’m not offended like them over there who say he was a prophet, not a deity. What bugs me is that you’re trying to say I’m a bad person just because I don’t think like you or do the wacky, churchy stuff you do. And I assume you think if I don’t become one of your lot, I’m going to frazzle in Hell. That’s what I find offensive!
Why can’t you just leave me to believe what I believe? You’re never gonna convince me about all this, so you’re wasting your time.
I hope you’re not going to start stalking me or spamming me with stuff like this. Are you?
I’ve not done anything wrong. Okay, no-one’s perfect are they? But I’ve cared for sick children, rescued abandoned animals and given much money to the poor. You can’t go around telling people like me that we’re serving the Devil just because we’re not hot on your hero, Jesus.
Man, that is so arrogant!
Why would I want to become one of your lot anyway? Do you expect me to give up my well-earned Sunday morning lie-ins to go to a silly church? They are either full of boring, old-fogey hymn singers or happy-clappy oddballs.
To be honest, I think you Christians are all imposters – out of touch with the real world and trying to put your craziness onto others.
In fact, who do you think you are?
I bet this book is just another example of bible-bashing literature that should be tossed into the trash.
I’m happy the way I am so please keep your opinions to yourself. No, of course I don’t know when I’m going to die. Why should I dwell on it? I’m sure I’ve got lots of years left to live. I haven’t got time to think about such morbid stuff and neither should you, Weirdo.
What do you mean by saying I may not see tomorrow? Planning to murder me because I don’t share your faith? I’m not the type of person who gets seriously ill or has accidents and I don’t want to ponder about bad things, alright?
And what if I did die? No more pain for me. What? A soul? I have one of those? It lives on forever in one of two places? Oh no, here we go. Ruin my day by predicting I’m going to be tormented day and night in the home of a cackling man with horns and a red leather jumpsuit. Such fairy tales! Why do you believe these stories? You’re an adult remember.
Look, do me a favour – leave me alone and go bug someone else.
And I’m warning you, you loony, if you send me anything else like this, it’s going straight into the fire. A really hot one. I like furnaces.
One day when you’re struggling for that last breath, I hope it won’t be too late for you to remember that while Jesus was asphyxiating, he had you on his mind. He hopes you will have the privilege of getting to know him long before that time, so you can live the life he has for you and be the person he created you to be.
Torture
Pieces of metal and bone flew into the air, then came down with a great speed. Then an agonising moan was all they could hear, as his back began to bleed.
The jagged edges got stuck right inside the skin, as dust on the ground turned red. Then they gave a hard tug on the bits inside him, that were weighed down with lead.
Large clumps of flesh ripped away and fell to the ground. The torture made him shiver. As the blue sky turned grey, there was an awful sound of blood pouring like a river.
With hatred, envy and scorn, the voices all screamed, “Yes, crucify him right now!” Watching his dear mother mourn, he had failed it now seemed. He was the one to save them, but how?
Thorns on his head went in deep as they pushed them hard, and each one burst a vein. He watched his friends weep as more thorns pierced his skin, and blood poured down his face like rain.
With his whole beard plucked out – an unrecognisable face. This seemed more than he could bear. He cried out in anguish, but the soldiers just laughed and the scoffers just didn’t care.
With his back torn to shreds, They made him carry his cross, but nobody understood, how they expected his broken body to carry a heavy, splintered block of wood.
His muscles dangled like string, as they laid him down… causing a flow of ribbon-like trails. Then they grabbed hands and feet, stretching them tight, as they hammered in rusty, long nails.
So, when we become angry and emotionally charged – we’re shocked and want to exclaim, it is not okay to open our mouths, and blaspheme his holy name.
Christ is not a swear-word to declare when we’re cross, and at times when things don’t go well. Jesus suffered because he loves us so much. He did it to save us from Hell.
Jesus had self-control enough to finish what he came on earth to do – die for the guilty. It takes supernatural humility to be accused of being a weakling when you have the power to annihilate every person in the world in one millisecond. And it takes indescribable love to suffer such humiliation and brutality for people you formed cell-by-cell in their mother’s womb. The soldiers who nailed his hands to rough pieces of wood, were unaware that Jesus created the trees his cross was made from. While they spewed insults at him, they hadn’t a clue that he was the one who made the tongue they were using to curse him.
Pathetic soldiers, standing there with weapons he could melt with one gaze. People shouting obscenities from lungs he could deflate with one thought. Yet he looked past that to what his father wanted. To reconcile us to him.
I thirst. My throat is so dry. The sun is beating down on me As vultures hover in the sky. I thirst, And it makes me think, This thirst is much stronger Than just wanting a drink. It’s for the souls of those men, Cursing my name. They are the reason I’m dying. They are the reason I came. Oh, Father, these I pray for As I’m hung up on this cross. It hurts so much to die on here, But I know it’s worth the cost. They don’t know why they do these things Or who they are doing it to. I would gladly suffer, So that they might know you. The hatred in their eyes, Makes me love them all the more. I thirst for their souls. It’s them I’m dying for. Forgive them Father. I love them – I thirst.
The ghost of Tottering Towers had no manners. His behaviour was that of a teenager who had grown up having never been scolded by his parents. Afterall, who goes around scaring innocent 3-year-olds?
I was terrified. Marmaduke would stand silently at the top of the stairs and remove his head. He tucked it under his arm and just stood there. I never knew why he was dressed in a full suit of armour, nor why he chose to act in such an impolite fashion. People with etiquette don’t take their heads off in public.
I am assuming by his weird conduct, that old Marm’ was the spirit that once lived in the house. Tottering Towers was a large, dark mansion where a few people dwelled, but it was never made clear to me why the silent knight in this 1970’s T.V. programme was allowed to continue this delinquent behaviour.
It certainly made me scared to go upstairs to bed. How my knees shook! As a toddler, I was certain that while ascending to the pinnacle of the stairs, he was going to suddenly show up on the landing, with just a neck visible at the top of his metal torso.
After Jesus died, more than 500 people reported to have seen him, walking around Israel, and this was on 12 separate occasions. On top of that, many of the eyewitnesses had been non-believers who had a dramatic change of heart when they realised that dead people do not come back to life. Certainly not ones who had been abused so viciously, bled out all their blood and been stabbed in the gut.
He was traditionally bound in white linen and laid inside a heavily-guarded tomb. Not even the muscly soldiers who were stationed outside to protect it could have shifted the massive stone that was placed at the opening to make sure he didn’t escape. Well, they knew he was dead. Most people wouldn’t have survived the pre-cross violence, let alone the rest of it. But they had heard Jesus stating that in 3 days he would rise again and so assumed a few disciples would try to steal his body at night and then proclaim, ‘He is risen!”
Well, what a sight that must have been! Never mind Marmaduke strolling around on the first floor – this was a real man walking around the country, speaking to people and telling them, “All is well.”
All was not well for the Devil though. He was one of them whom Jesus decided to pay a visit.
He Took the Keys
He went deep into the prison, The core of Satan’s lair. Standing in the stinking Hell, With all the demons there. Each demonic creature Looked to their master for a cue, But Satan stood there petrified, Not knowing what to do. Jesus was alive, And they all could feel his power. After three days of laughter, The atmosphere, now sour. Jesus passed away, So how could he be here… Standing tall in victory, Filling them all with fear?
He said, “I have won the battle, And I’ve come to crush your head. You thought you’d got rid of me, But I’m no longer dead. I’ve risen to life for evermore, There’s power in my breath. I’ve conquered sin forever, And suffering, pain and death.”
He then snatched the keys from Satan’s hand, As he cowered on the ground. This evil one defeated, Dared not make a sound. Seventy two hours of mocking, With boasting and so much pride. But now seeing the Holy Son of God, Made him tremble and want to hide. He had revelled at the volume Of blood that Jesus shed, But the power in that same blood, Rose his body from the dead.
Jesus said, “The keys to sin and death, Are now held in my hand. You have no hold upon the world, You no longer stand. The blood that poured out of me, Now has power to set souls free. The cross I was nailed to, Now a symbol of victory. The lonely can now smile, Their heartache’s at an end. For now they have a Saviour, A dependable best friend. A secret place to go, To receive joy and peace, Comfort in the hard times, Love that will never cease.
The hopeless who close their eyes, Wishing the day to be their last, Will find strength to face tomorrow, And forgiveness from the past. The sad will have much joy, And there’s courage for the fearful. All the wounded in spirit, Will be no longer tearful.
But tears of joy will flow From sinners who look to me, Believing I’m the Son of God Who died to set them free.
As the ground shook beneath them, Jesus left with the keys. It went darker than the darkest night, As they all fell to their knees. Their master was defeated, Jesus was the King. And while the demons wailed in agony, You could hear the angels sing.
Enough doom and gloom! It is time that we rejoiced in the promise that God gave us when he told us that he has made a place for us to live with him forever. Imagine that!
If you knew a fatherly billionaire who lived in a massive castle with many rooms decorated in the most opulent materials, wouldn’t you be pleased to join him if you had been invited? Wouldn’t you be even more excited to go if you knew your friends and all your loved-ones were already there?
But the doom and gloom stuff is important to know about first, because going to a glorious place is one thing, knowing that you are only there because you have been saved from a stinking dungeon, makes it all the more glorious.
Yes, we need to encourage each other about the prospect of Heaven. But it is essential to be aware of what we have been saved from, so I make no apology for all the Hell stuff above.
Now that’s over, let’s console ourselves with the truth – no matter how dreadfully awful this life is, one day it will all be over, and we will have lasting joy.
Well, what more can I say? Congratulations! See you soon.
It could be anywhere, Israel, Ukraine, Armenia, North Korea, Palestine, Sudan, India, Myanmar…a large majority of the world is at war with people they have absolute hatred towards. This has lead to the most heinous crimes and evil behaviour that one could ever imagine. Babies being beheaded in their cots, women being raped in front of their toddlers, men being stabbed to death in front of their families, children being tied to a tree, then set alight. If we are aware of all these atrocities and still maintain that people are inherently good, then we are spiritually blind.
No matter our scorn, shock, or disdain for these wicked acts, we need to come to the realisation that we have the same potential to do all of the above, unless we are surrendering our lives to the control of Jesus, daily.
So, not only could it be anywhere, it could be anyone. You and I were born in sin and entered a world where the devil ruled in our hearts until Jesus forgave us when we repented of our *wrongdoings. (*See previous chapter for the definition of ‘sin’.)
That’s the only difference between Christians and those who are not. I’m not referring to people who claim they are Christians, but those who actually practice what they preach.
Over the years, many people haveclaimed to be followers of Christ, but have tortured and killed the opposition, sexually abused children, stole money from their church congregation and had illicit affairs behind the back of their wives.
It’s some of these people who you are thinking of when you say in your heart, “Man, they’re hypocrites!” and yes, you are right – those ones are. They are no more Jesus disciples than Adolf Hitler was.
However, we cannot use the excuse of wolves in sheep’s clothing when we stand before God after we have died. Yes, my friend, you will be there at his feet whether you believe it or not.
We all have to give an account of how we lived our lives here on earth and what we did about the truth of Jesus being the saviour of the world.
Make no mistake, every hardworking nun, every self-sacrificing charity worker, every generous philanthropist, every doting foster carer, every humble missionary worker, every skilful children’s doctor, every patient psychiatric nurse, every caring person who takes in stray animals, will have to answer for how they lived their lives, and no amount of good works will be able to save them from Hell.
“Oh here we go, the hell and damnation talk of the fanatic Jesus freak!”
Put simply, Hell was never made for human beings. It is the place set aside for Satan and his demonic cohorts. But God did not just grant us the gift of life – he also granted us the freewill choice of whom to serve. There are only two masters: Jesus or Satan, so:
which one are you serving?
If you have not repented of your sin, that means, acknowledged that you were born with the nature to do things that displease a holy God, and need to be cleansed of these sins, then you are certainly travelling on the wrong road.
The good news is that God has made it easy to get yourself right with him. He sent Jesus into this world to pay the penalty that we could not pay – the penalty of our transgressions. That is why he suffered torment and died on the cross. His sacrifice was the once and for all payment for the things we have done wrong.
“But I haven’t done anything wrong!”
The bible says, “…for everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God’s glorious standard.” (Romans 3:23)
We have all lost our temper, been disobedient to our parents, stolen an item, laughed at a crude joke, been selfish, proud and uncaring. We have called people names, told a lie, used bad language and lusted after things that belonged to somebody else. We have been greedy and gluttonous by eating more than we needed and not been satisfied with what we have got, but rather been jealous of somebody else’s success or possessions. Most of all, we have lived a life independent of God, by not turning to him for guidance. Lastly, we have broken at least one of the Ten Commandments found in Exodus 20, and by being guilty of just one of them, we are considered guilty of the lot.
Sorry to be so morbid, but this is the truth: you could die at any moment before having the chance to put things right with God, so please don’t delay. I am not on any divine commission – it doesn’t work that way. I tell you because Jesus puts his love in our hearts to care about where you will end up after death strikes.
There will always be people who will never turn to God and will happily die in their unforgiven evil state. Any one of those people could be planning to plant a bomb. It could be anywhere. Your nation, your county/state/province, your neighbourhood, your street.
Or, there may be some kind of malfunction in your body or brain that renders you to suddenly collapse and die unexpectedly. Again, it could be anywhere.
Well, I don’t know what will be the cause of your last breath. Though, one thing is for certain. This phrase cannot be used to describe what happens to people when they die. Deceptive people will shrug and say, “Don’t worry, nobody knows where you will go when you die, it could be anywhere.”
No, it could not.
You will end up in either Heaven or Hell.
I urge you to make the right choice before it is too late.
Death is traveling at rapid speed around the world, touching, millions per second.
And right now…it could be anywhere.
Here’s a prayer you can pray to make things right:
Dear God,
I am sorry for the wrong things I have done in my life, which you call sin.
I acknowledge that I was born a sinner, which means that it’s in my nature to do things that displease you. I know that this includes the deepest thoughts and attitudes of my heart and the real motives behind everything I do.
Please forgive me for those sins and especially for the sin of keeping you out of my life.
Even though you love me, I know that because you are a God of justice and holiness, if I die without having my sins forgiven, I will spend eternity without you, in a terrible place called Hell.
I acknowledge that I need you and I want you in my life.
I believe that Jesus Christ is your son and that he died on the cross to pay the penalty for my sins. I believe he rose again and is the living power that can take the Devil’s hold off my life. Please come into my life now and touch my heart with your forgiveness and love.
I want to have a relationship with you and to get to know you more. I believe that my very being was created for this purpose and without you, my hunger for peace and happiness will never be satisfied.
I give you my life now. Please lead me to people who will help me become a good, strong Christian and who will show me how to relate to the things of God. Help me to find a bible that suits my understanding and a church that I can call home.
I believe by faith now, that you have answered my prayer. Thank you, Lord. Amen.
I’m not going to play games with you. There will be no holding back so that you read this to the end. The word I am referring to is Hell.
More people are offended by this word than any other. Even some who profess to be a follower of Jesus find this word uncomfortable. They are scared people will hate them for saying their butt will burn if they don’t change their heart.
Think of two of your scariest fears. Even though there may be practical things you can do to prevent them from happening, you know deep down that you have no power at all to protect yourself. Millions in your bank account can pay for the best doctors and the most advanced medical treatment, but that is no guarantee against an aggressive form of Cancer that is already eating away at your organs. State of the art CCTV, electric fences and quadruple deadbolt locks cannot give you peace of mind that somebody isn’t already in your house, hiding behind the wardrobe. You lie in bed hearing low breathing noises and imagine being bludgeoned to death by a Houdini intruder who scaled past your wall of highest voltage. No amount of Valium will bring you peace. Kiss the bible all you like – it’s not a Harry Potter charm. You need to read it and do what it says.
So, here’s some Christian jargon to help you on your way:
Sin / transgressions/ iniquity / unrighteousness / ungodliness
Sin in it’s simplest form, is living a life independently of God. But it is more than just ignoring him and it’s more than just murder. Sin is willingly or unintentionally doing or thinking something that displeases God. It is also refraining from doing the right thing. It can be obvious, such as a wrongdoing that warrants civil punishment because in the country where you committed the crime, it was considered against the law. Theft, murder, rape, fraud, drug dealing are some of the most common ones. But a large variety of other actions / inactions also count as sin, such as: jealousy, pride, arrogance, gluttony, drunkenness, indifference to people’s needs, selfishness, selfish ambition, unforgiveness, lust, rage, bitterness, revelling, perverted sexual activity, lack of self-control, bad attitudes, judgmentalism, criticism, unbelief, gossiping, laziness and *idolatry. (*worshipping a possession, person or pastime, to the point that they are in a higher regard in your mind than God is.)
As you can see, living without God’s spirit to guide us and help us, makes it impossible to please him and even when we give our lives over to him, we still need his strength to help us daily live a life that brings him honour.
Even an innocent baby has an inbred proclivity to sin and that is why they have tantrums, and refuse to share their toys. It is because all mankind were born as sinners, and nobody can make themselves right with God without first acknowledging that they are in need of his forgiveness.
Sin originates from satan – the devil – and he often is the one who tempts us to disobey God. Other sins come from our own minds and hearts as we allow ourselves to be enticed. Our degenerate world is the other entity that causes us to dishonur Godin our thoughts and deeds.
Sin is a power that will never give up. It wants to control us. Even Christians struggle daily, especially with wanting to gratify our feelings and appetites for comfort, perverting our natural desires, working on what we see, and how important something makes us feel. It works on the mind, seeking to bring us back into captivity by enticing us with what it knows our natural beings love.
We all want to look great, feel great, do great things and be thought of as great.
The good news is, that God has made it extremely easy for humans to put things right and come back into his presence once more, and be completely clean.
Religious groups in Jesus’ day tried to deceive people into thinking they had to perform loads of rituals and sacrifices in order to be spiritually cleansed, and this deception is still practiced all around the world, under various religions.
God never intended for anybody to go through rigorous sacrifices in order to get into his good books. He simply sent Jesus to die in our place as the once and for all sacrifice for our sins.
So, you don’t have to cut your skin, wear ragged clothes, live in deprivation, or starve yourself to win his favour. It won’t anyway, because those activities are not part of his plan for salvation.
Holiness
God is perfect, righteous, holy. He has to punish sin. Just how like a decent parent would chastise their 14-year-old son who crept out the house, stole the car, drove to a wild party, crashed the car on the way home, then laughed about it, God needs to do something about our disobedience to him.
Punishment
If someone was facing a long-term prison sentence for murdering your child or pet, would you be okay if the judge changed his mind and let him off with a small fine?
We are all guilty of breaking God’s rules and causing him sorrow. We can never match up to his standards, that is why we are called sinners and that is why we deserve to pay the penalty for our wrong doings, no matter how nice we think we are.
Repentance
This is being so truly sorry for our sin that we make the decision to completely turn- around from the way we were going, to walk in the other direction, relying on the help of Jesus to keep going. It is recognising that the state we are in is going to lead to destruction. It’s like thinking we are okay while heading towards a deep crocodile pit, then realising we have deceived ourselves into thinking we were walking towards a shallow ditch of hamsters. A wise person will turn around and run the other way.
Hell
Imagine being in agony and the intensity of it never subsiding? Imagine you couldn’t even faint to forget the pain? Imagine a darkness so dark, screams so loud, loneliness so intense, fear so frightening, but there was no way out? Like a nightmare you could never wake up from? That is Hell, but God did not make that dammed place for you. It’s for the Devil, but if you chose to continue going his way, you will end up residing there with him. It is a place where God is not present, so there is only evil. No matter how bad this world can be, God is still in our midst, creating light and beauty and miracles of life and peace and hope. Hell is devoid of anything good.
The Devil and demons
The Bible never describes him as a red creature with horns, forked tail and pitchfork. Nor does it say he has a scary face. On the contrary, before the Devil was kicked out of God’s realm for being too proud, he was very close to God and therefore one of the most beautiful beings. He was responsible for leading worship to God and musical instruments were part of his body. He knew how beautiful he was and over-stepped the mark by trying to take God’s place. For his vanity, pride and arrogance, he was banished from Heaven forever and he took a few angels with him who are now referred to as demons because they are his stupid little cohorts.
The Devil knows that if he comes to you and says, “Here, take this, do this, say this, because I want it to make you addicted, obsessed, ruin your relationships and cause you to feel so bad about yourself you will never go to God for forgiveness.” you would resist. But he is a great deceiver and temps you with what looks good. And for a while, it seems like it is. Like a lion who closes his eyes pretending to be asleep while he is really planning to eat you alive, the Devil will try to appear harmless and cute. He is not. He hates you and wants you take you with him to Hell.
Salvation / being saved.
Being forgiven of our sins. Jesus forgave us when he died on the cross, but we have to then accept his gift of salvation by repentance. We are saved from punishment of our sins, the devil’s hold on our life and from spending an eternity in Hell.
Judgement Day
I don’t own a wooden sandwich board. We laugh at the thought of a miserable old man adorning a heavy block that has, ‘The end is nigh!’ written on the front and back while he paces forlornly down the road. But there is a time when we all will have to stand before God and give an account of how we lived our life. That’s going to happen more quickly than we realise. I mean, do you know if you will be alive in the next 60 minutes? 60 hours? 60 days? Six months?
Nobody wants to admit that they know the sandwich board guy. If he’s a relative or member of our church, we’ll claim we have nothing to do with him because he is crazy. But despite his odd attire, he’s right. Our end is just around the corner, so we need to sort out our souls before it’s too late.
Your own choice
Friends, I make no apology for repeating myself. The choice has been left to us. You may be holding back because you don’t want your boyfriend to leave you or your dad to disinherit you or your friends to mock you or your mother to abandon you. But just like you came into this world on your own, you will die alone. You will face God on your own. No disrespect to your loved-ones, but they are not worth risking your soul for.
God will not force anybody to accept his free gift. It’s up to you – yes or no – accept or reject – Jesus or Satan – salvation or damnation – peace or torture – Heaven or Hell.
Doesn’t it seem like half the world is at war with the other half over religion? It says in the bible:
“There will even come a time when anyone who kills you will think he’s doing God a favour.” John 16:2 (TM)
God doesn’t instruct people to harm one another because they differ in opinion.
If you come away from this book no more convinced that Jesus is Lord and that you need him in your life, God is not going to get offended and order me to fill a rucksack with explosives. God love you whether you believe in him or not, whether you accept Jesus is his son or not.
He doesn’t contradict his nature. He is a loving God and just like how a father will be annoyed at their children for scribbling on the living room walls, but his heart warms when he thinks about how much he still loves them, God cares about everybody despite their beliefs.
He does not want me to kill you, nor hate you, nor dislike you, nor mock you.
There are many false gods who people worship, and some may have even got their lives right with the god of the universe before they died. God instructs us to tell people the truth about his love, not attack them for seeing things differently and if anyone ever persecutes you for struggling to believe in Jesus, they are not believing in Jesus themselves.
Some Christians are scared to ‘rock the boat’ by declaring the truth outright. The truth that, Jesus is God – the only one who can save your soul from Hell. I say that not out of arrogance, but urgency. If you care about having your car, house, possessions, pets, holidays and health insured, you certainly should think about the most important thing that you could lose – your ticket to Heaven which is also your guarantee to stay out of Hell. Please insure your soul before it’s too late.
I was trapped with a mind That was tormented day and night. When I looked in the mirror, It gave me quite a fright. My eyes were so lifeless, Like those lying in the grave. My mouth spoke obscenities. I just could not behave. It seemed something was forcing me To say and do bad things. I felt out of control. My behaviour made me cringe. Then a man came into my life, And I was instantly set free! He addressed my demons, And told them all to flee. He became my best friend, My father and my guide. Whenever I was with him, I felt so warm inside. We sat up all night talking; He was the brother I adored. He was my perfect Saviour, I was glad to call him Lord.
So, where have you put him? He meant so much to me. Tell me where you’ve laid him, So I can go and see. It was bad enough watching, His flesh get ripped apart, If I could just anoint his body, That would begin to heal my heart. Sir, please do not waste time, My grief has made me weary, Just tell me where…what did you say? Sir you just called me Mary!
Oh, Jesus it is you! I had just presumed, You were the local gardener, Here to clean around the tomb. Jesus it is you! Not here to prune a flower, But risen to tell the world, You’re alive and full of power. Jesus it is you! Not here to trim the weeds, Or cut away the grass, Or plant some tiny seeds. But to plant within the heart of man, Hope and joy and praise. For you truly broke the curse of sin, By rising in three days!
My book of drama sketches entitled, “The Rhyming Drama Book”, contains a play based on some of the crazy reasons people give for refusing to acknowledge the existence of God and the sovereignty of Jesus. It’s a light-hearted sketch designed to help people think about the spiritual choices they make and the seriousness of rejecting their creator. I have included it here below, with the character parts omitted.
My daughter Sarah, takes after me – she is very slim and needs fattening up a little.
Nobody likes to eat cereals with water, not even a milk hater, but I do add cold water to my skimmed milk.
When Sarah was 6 years old, she got wise of this one morning, when I accidentally gave her my jug instead of hers.
From then on, she insisted on having ‘mummy’s special milk’, instead of her un-tampered jug of skimmed.
She loved cheese and chocolate, which my doctor assured me was a great source of calcium for non-milk drinkers. But I had a secret scheme in place.
When the season turns to Autumn / Winter, Sarah would swap her cereals for good old sloppy porridge. It would then be covered in drizzled honey, mixed nuts, apricots and raisins.
What a delight it was to watch her lapping it up every morning! It was time to put my crafty plan into place. I decided to swap her red milk carton for the blue one; full fat, greasy cow juice.
The next day, she sat at the breakfast table playing with the porridge.
“Eat it up then.” I encouraged, trying not to sound too excited.
A great big sigh escaped from her lungs while she propped up the side of her head with her left hand. Swirls of creamy oats swam around the bowl as she circled her spoon in the gruel. Nuts sunk to the bottom and the raisins bobbed about like a dinghy in a cyclone.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why aren’t you eating your breakfast?”
“It smells milky and it tastes different too. I don’t like it today.”
This confession gave her the confidence to push the bowl as far away from her as possible, almost tipping it over the edge of the table.
It was no use. Her sensitive palette was aware of a change and the very aroma of the meal was making her wretch.
Those guilt pangs that parents often get, threw themselves at me and clung on tight:
“So, you’ve now put her off porridge entirely.” “How would you like it if your mum did that to you?” “What if she stops having breakfast altogether?”
I realised that I had done the wrong thing by trying to force her to go ‘cold turkey’. A sensible mother would have done it gradually by omitting the water from the skimmed, then trying watery semi-skimmed, then un-diluted semi-skimmed, and last of all, watery whole milk.
But, no. I had made the wrong choice by deciding to deceive her into thinking she had the usual composition in front of her.
“Ooh, isn’t the devil the author of deception? Are you on his side now?”
Alas, I am a slow learner. Whether that’s from not reading my bible enough, not putting what I read into practice, or just being plain foolish, I’m not sure. Maybe a bit of all three? Either way, it wasn’t long before I was at it again.
I had seen many parenting articles warning them to not use the television as a babysitter. While I was still pregnant, I had tutted at the thought of mothers plonking their children down to watch the big screen while they got on with cleaning the oven and peeling the spuds.
“I’m never going to do that!” I had declared with a puffed-out chest.
Well, Balamory was a lifesaver.
The Scottish show had fantastic characters and wonderful jingles we could all sing along to while learning life lessons. We loved Miss Hoolie’s odd shaped hair that bounced like a tidal wave each time she spoke, and Sarah adored Josie Jump because she reminded her of her Aunty Michelle, with her never ending energy and jovial manner.
Yes indeed, I was pleased to discover that many primary school programmes were wholesome and wonderfully educational. But despite this confession, those little guilt demons were still hanging around.
“Orrr! You said you were never going to do that! Yet, you use this electric babysitter more than anyone. You baked a loaf of bread last week while your poor Sarah watched 5 full episodes of Tommy Zoom. She will become terrified of blue toys you know. You’ve damaged her for life! And what about the other day when you were on the computer and your little babe watched the entire DVD of Kipper the Dog? Aren’t you scared she’s going to start barking?”
It’s true, she had begun to watch too much television and it was my fault. I had let things slip by being preoccupied elsewhere in the house.
So one day, I decided to curb things a little. Again, rather than confronting the issue by either doing things gradually or better still, talking to Sarah about important matters, I chose the lazy way – the way of no integrity – the deceptive ‘I can’t bebothered to have a proper conversation about this’ way.
I unplugged the television and hid the cable behind the set. It was well covered and I thought she’d never guess what I’d done.
It seemed that my plan had worked. The next morning, after putting on her school clothes, Sarah pottered around her bedroom doing constructive, useful things and only half-heartedly mentioned that the television wasn’t working.
However, just before we left the house, she said,
“Mummy, I think I’ve solved the problem. It’s that plug there, see? I think it’s come out of somewhere, that’s why the telly won’t work.”
The cord had been traced to behind the television and the culprit was discovered. She went over and picked up the plug and donned a big ‘Aren’t I a clever girl?’ grin.
I let out one of those false laughs that parents express when they are pretending to be pleased. It was the same type of noise I made when she was once inside a Santa’s grotto and picked up an ugly ‘boy toy’, bypassing the beautiful Barbie staring at her from a large pink box.
I thought about how we tell our children not to lie, deceive or exercise selective integrity. Yet here was I, trying to avoid sensible, mature conversation by hiding things so I didn’t have to confront the matter.
I stood there and wondered. If she found out about my two misdemeanours, would she trust me ever again? Those voices were quick to respond:
“Not for a long time.”
In shame, I confessed my sin to God and my husband graciously opted to consume the remaining litres of full fat milk.
I sat Sarah down and had a gentle talk with her about how I’d like her to do other things in the evenings to occupy her time. I explained how television should be watched in moderation and suggested suitable alternatives for when she is tired.
Years later, we were rewarded as parents by seeing Sarah’ joy when she pass her exams, getting top grades and slipping into university with ease. Her scores were so high, she could have chosen to study anywhere in the world. She also is quite wise about how she spends her free time and has turned out to be an amazing godly woman of integrity and grace. We are so proud of her and grateful to God for his mercy during our moments of parental failure.
Between you and me, I think I still love Balamory, and I miss it now that it is no longer aired. But life is so much better when we tell the truth isn’t it?
So, I’m going to confess to my lovely daughter how much I am hankering for more episodes and hope that inspires her to put their DVD on her Christmas list.
I put my hand into my new handbag and pulled out my brand-new purse. It was covered in sticky, brown, sludgy mush. The white stitched seams were now moistened with a dark red stain and the bank cards inside were wet. When I opened the purse flap, all I could see of the Velcro strip that keeps it fastened, were blobs of gunk in between the miniscule plastic nodules. Eight tissues from the outer pocket of the bag were soggy and shredded into many pieces, as the liquid from an unknown source had softened them into pulp.
As I looked into the main compartment of my little bag, I could see that the black cloth lining was soaked with more of this soggy stuff. On removing a door key and pen, purple-brown blobs, looking like shrivelled-up aubergine skin, dropped from these items onto the car seat.
Then I peered deep into the corner of the main compartment and discovered the offender.
A rotting plum.
Oh dear. Six days before, I had sneaked it into my handbag, but then, unlike the previous 3 that I had stashed away, I had forgotten all about it.
My daughter Sarah chuckled and said, “That will teach you for stealing fruit from the restaurant.”
While on holiday, I had seen so much delicious food in the ‘eat as much as you like’ buffet, that my lunchtime fest had become one of no self-control. Thus, I had repeatedly piled my plate with the strangest combinations of cuisine, all because I didn’t want to miss out on anything.
It was really, plain, simple greed. Pushing away a bowl of watermelon that I could only manage one bite out of, I had stared at my fat, juicy plum.
“Seems a shame to put it back.” I had mused. “Plus, it’s not a very hygienic thing to do considering that I’ve touched it, squeezed it and rubbed it on my top to make the skin shine. Better take it with me.”
I had already done this before at 3 previous mealtimes and had enjoyed devouring them at a later time in the day.
After looking around the tables like a nervous owl, I popped the plum into my bag as surreptitiously as I could, while the waiters tended to other affairs. We rose to leave, trying to look innocent. There was a note displayed in our hotel bedroom about guests not being allowed to plunder food out of the restaurant. But, having seen a man stride out boldly with 2 thick slices of gateaux on a plate, putting a finger to his lips as I gawped at him, I figured there was nothing wrong with what I was doing.
In reality, I had fallen into the subtle trap of, “Well, everybody does it.”
Back in my car, I searched frantically for a baby wipe to clean my hands and to place the soiled items onto.
Sarah was right. This was a reminder about integrity and my apparent lack of it. I had tried to justify myself by saying it was only one small item – it wasn’t a gigantic piece of cake like that man had – it was something that I had planned to eat at the dining table. But the facts remained. I had been a bad example of honesty and obedience and now I was paying the price for compromising.
It doesn’t matter how many other people were breaking the rules. I knew it was forbidden and I did it anyway, even gloating that I had got away with it.
A bible verse suddenly came to mind – Luke 16:10:
He who is faithful in a very little thing is also faithful in much; and he who is dishonest in a very little thing is also dishonest in much. (AMP)
One who is faithful in very little is also faithful in much, and one who is dishonest in very little is also dishonest in much. (ESV)
If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones. But if you are dishonest in little things, you won’t be honest with greater responsibilities. (NLT)
I cringed. The Message version is the most outspoken of them all. It says:
If you’re honest in small things, you’ll be honest in big things. If you’re a crook in small things, you’ll be a crook in big things.
I want God to trust me with bigger things. Things far bigger than sweet plums. I want him to trust that when given plenty of options, I’m not going to overindulge just because I can. I want him to know that when faced with various kinds of prosperity, I’m going to be frugal and wise by only taking what I need.
Avarice and dishonesty aren’t any different in God’s eyes than murder or grand theft.
I hung my head in shame, realising that I had not passed this test and will have to go to the ‘back of the queue’ and start again.
In her book, ‘I Dared to Call Him Father’, Bilquis Sheikh talks often about losing the awareness of the presence of the Lord whenever she did something that displeased him.
I love the way she describes her avid desire to constantly be aware of his presence. It’s a wonderful book that has taught me that the Bible and inner convictions from the Holy Spirit can steer us quickly back to where we should be, so that we can feel his nearness again. And that is what he wants.
She states, “Whenever I did not feel his nearness, I knew that I had grieved him. I would search backwards until I spotted the time when I last knew his presence. Then I would review every act, every word, or thought until I discovered where I had gone astray. At that point, I would confess my sin and ask his forgiveness.”
What encouragement! This quote and the bible verse above are a fantastic reminder that it is not just the big things we do that matter to God, but the seemingly insignificant things also. Nothing is trivial if it is the wrong choice. How often do we not even realise we’ve moved out of God’s presence altogether? Do we even care?
Well, I care. I want to please him in every thought and deed – in what I do and in what I don’t do. I want to be in his presence all the time because that is where the blessings of peace reside.
Another verse that helps keep me in check when I am falling into the trap of ‘because everybody does it’ is:
Don’t copy the behaviour and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. (Romans 12:2 NLT)
It’s true – it really doesn’t matter what other people’s opinions of you are so long as you are following what God has told you to do. Did your mockers create the blazing sun and the exploding stars? Have they the authority to determine what becomes of your soul when you die? Then ignore their jibes about you being a goody-goody and do what you know to be the right thing.
I shall never look at a plum in the same way again. And in future, I shall only take what I know I can consume.
I was petrified. The dictionary definition says, ‘So frightened that one is unable to move.’
That was me, 9 metres high above the ground, standing on a wobbly piece of wood, only 18 centimetres wide.
At both sides of my body, level with my head, each fist was wrapped tightly around a thin piece of rope that swayed as my knees shook in fear. This was the moment I was expected to let go of each rope and catch another two which seemed so far in front of me, that I could only reach by leaning forward and falling to my death.
If the two 7 year old girls who were behind me knew what I was thinking, they would have laughed. Having originally been in front of me, they had already completed the course and were now positioned at the back of the queue, desperate for me to stop acting like a baby and get on with it.
But I couldn’t. All I could see were tottering platforms suspended from the ceiling so that whenever anyone placed a foot onto them, they would shake to the left, to the right, backwards, forwards and in a wobbly circle. To make matters worse, I had only just begun the 35 metre course and so there were many more obstacles to tackle before I would complete the trek and come back to a steady surface.
I looked back at the instructor who was shouting persuasive words in my direction in the hope that I’d realise that even if my foot did slip, I wasn’t going to fall. However, although I could see I was strapped into a safety harness, all I could focus on was the ground beneath. It was a white roof covered in black netting. But the net had large rips in it and beneath those rips I could see gaping holes in the roof, revealing nothing but darkness.
“Have people lost their footing before and wandered into those cavities, never to be seen again?” “Is that a bloody arm I can see reaching up to me for help after a tragic descent last week?”
I looked back again, desperate for the instructor to somehow come and get me. I didn’t care how foolish I looked – all I wanted was to be lifted up and taken bodily back to a piece of ground that had a concrete foundation.
To my horror, he showed no empathy and gestured for me to move so the 4 people waiting behind could carry on being the High Rope Heroes they were.
At another point, I stopped again, this time pleading with the Lord to give me the strength and confidence to do the impossible.
“Step onto the pegs and hug the pole.” came the bemused voice of the instructor.
As I flew onto a thick wooden pole, it swung side to side like a Newton’s Cradle at top speed. There were three more to go.
Well, I eventually made it through to the end and even though I was a little aggrieved that I wasn’t given a helping hand back onto safe ground, I was too busy thanking the Lord that I finished the course to be bothered with scowling at the man.
That was until he casually mentioned that sometimes when young children have a meltdown halfway round, he zooms across on his zip-wire and fetches them back.
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him intently. “You mean you could have come and got me?”
He smiled shrewdly and avoided my gaze.
Suddenly, displeasure turned to gratefulness as my mind was filled with the reality of God’s love for his children:
God won’t always take us out of difficult circumstances, because he wants us to learn that with Jesus, we can get through them. The bible reminds us, ‘I can do everything through him who gives me strength.’ (Philippians 4:13)
Even though it seems we will fall at the next step in life, we are being held up by him. He is our safety harness, that will never fray, snap or melt. In an arduous situation, nothing brings more peace than knowing we are secure in him. ‘The eternal God is your refuge and underneath are the everlasting arms.’ (Deuteronomy 33:27)
The instructor was watching me closely. If I had slipped and ended up dangling in the air, or if I had remained petrified, he could have easily come to my rescue. God never takes his eyes off us and is aware of our every emotion. He truly will not suffer us to go through more than we can bear. ‘I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel youand watch over you.’ (Psalm 32:8)
I was unaware that help was at hand should I fall. I am also not always conscious that God is waiting to help me, but my lack of knowledge of this fact doesn’t stop it from being true. ‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble’. (Psalm 46:1).
The instructor did not really care about me. It is his job to keep the queues moving and he’s paid for making sure everything runs smoothly. When I landed back on sturdy pastures he wasn’t stood there applauding and telling me how he was routing for me to succeed. In contrast, when we feel like we cannot go on, God does not mock or roll his eyes in impatience. He is our heavenly father who cheers us on and delights when he sees us conquer a difficult task. His immense love for us means he will not leave us to face trials on our own. ‘Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.’ (Deuteronomy 31:6)
The little girls, my husband and my daughter who had waited so patiently behind me, all went on to do 6 more rounds, including going backwards and doing it blindfolded. I may not have enjoyed my birthday treat, but I came away from that sky high adventure with a fresh appreciation of God’s love and a stronger faith that he is always with me.
So next time you are feeling scared, remember that God is waiting for you to call on him so he can show you how he is your ever-present help in the time of need.
There are three tumble driers I head for when I enter the launderette. I am sure they are hotter and more economical than the others. I was happy to see that Number 2 was empty, and I proceeded to shove my wet washing into the warm drum.
In my peripheral vision, I could see a figure standing to the right of me, watching my every move. As I inserted the first 20 pence into the slot, the figure walked right up to me, and I could tell it was a man in his forties. He was so close that he was almost standing on my toes. While I turned the metal knob that throws my coins into the money tin inside the machine, he began mimicking my wrist actions. He put his fist next to mine and twisted it clockwise as if it was him who was feeding the machine. I turned my head to give him full eye contact and realised he was a person with learning difficulties. I smiled but there was no reciprocation coming from his face. Realising that my dyer was next to his, I sat down on my laundry bag feeling a little unnerved.
Staring ahead, I could not tell if he was still glaring at me, but I knew his head was still facing my direction, so I grabbed my phone from my handbag and stared at the screen. I had no intention of playing a game, or re-reading old messages, but I realised the best thing to do was to appear too pre-occupied for conversation.
Now, even the most unobservant of people know that in this day and age, people in public places sit gawping at their phones. Long gone are the days when diners at a restaurant would remain staring into space while their friend has nipped to the toilet. It’s like it’s uncool to appear to be bored and we simply must be seen to be focussed on our devices, even if our battery power is at 4%. But alas, my cunning plan not only did not work, but instead, it encouraged my drying buddy to become over-interested in what was in my hand. He slid himself across the bench and pointed down at my blank screen:
“02? 02? 02? 02? 02? 02? 02?”
Panic gripped my throat. When was he going to stop? Hoping to deter him from his inquisition over what phone provider I use, I donned a silly grin, nodded my head vigorously and quickly shouted a loud, “Yes!”
This false confirmation prompted his hidden smile to emerge, and he looked around at the ladies on the far side of the room.
“She on 02 too! She on 02 too! 02! She 02! Everybody here on 02! 02!”
At this point, I considered leaving my bench and going back to my car to wait until my clothes were dry. However, he had also been intensely interested in my washing and I feared he may steal it before I returned.
Like I suspected, he sat back down and peered through the window of my dryer and began scrutinising the sock that was at the front of the cylinder. With his face up to the hot glass, he cocked his head to one side just like Galen from The Planet of the Apes. I wondered if he would begin to wrinkle his nose and start sniffing, but that was as far as his acting skills would allow.
As he continued to chase the sock around the drum, I was nervous that he may ask me another odd question. To my relief, he suddenly disappeared. Strange – I hadn’t noticed him walking away. A grunting noise came from the machine next to mine. He had climbed inside to fetch his vests. The poor thing had burnt his knees in the process and a sadness washed over me when I thought that he probably has been accidentally injuring himself most of his life. As he grabbed his bags and headed towards the door, patellas still steaming, he turned to the same row of women he had called out to earlier and asked them if they would be back the same time next week.
“Please come back.” He pleaded. “Come back Friday. Next Friday. See you again?”
The lying ladies nodded and I pondered on how all human beings desire company no matter who we are or how our brains are wired. There are some who prefer to be around animals and those who can only tolerate certain people in small doses, but being on your own and being lonely are two different things.
I sat there wondering what spiritual lessons I had learned from this experience.
The soulish, side of me was whispering, “You have learnt not to do your drying on a Friday.” But I began to think about how we can sometimes have a fear or incorrect judgement towards people we don’t understand, especially those from a different class, upbringing, nationality, race, gender, temperament, age, or mental capacity.
The latter are not always dangerous. The phone man had just wanted company. But misunderstandings can prevail when we are faced with people who are different from us. Both the poor and the wealthy can assume that each other are lazy. The elderly can assume the young are irresponsible and the young can think that all elderly people are boring. Some fear that those of a chatty nature are going to talk them to death, but there are people in that category who have trained themselves to be good listeners. Likewise, those of a taciturn temperament can be judged as being moody or shy, yet in reality, they can be very jolly and often have great deal more confidence than those who love the sound of their own voice.
God encourages us: “Do not judge others, or you too will be judged, for in the same way you judge others, you will be judged…” Matt 7:1-2
MacLaren’s Exposition Commentary of 1 John (a book in the bible) states that, “…there is a way in which love produces boldness and that is by casting out fear.”
He goes on to say that when we are in dread of God and what he will do with our lives, it’s because we don’t love him properly and we can also fear other people in the same way – because we have preconceived judgements about them. He said, “We cannot both love and fear the same person or thing and where love comes in, the darker slips out of the door.”
I understand that to mean that if we accepted people for who they were and made a conscious decision to have a loving regard towards them, then irrational fear is dispelled.
Not every young man in a hoodie and tracksuit is going to rob you to fund a drug habit. Not everyone struggling with mental illness is going to stab you with a pair of kitchen scissors. Not every Christian T.V. evangelist is sleeping with his secretary and embezzling the offerings into a Swiss bank account.
The biggest, ‘I’m scared of you because I’m focusing onyour stereotype‘ situation I struggled to overcome was the ‘Chinese issue’.
Have you ever squirmed when watching an East Asian citizen on television being chastised by Australian airport officials for trying to smuggle dead rats into their country? A food bag full of wrinkly brown rodents is pulled from his suitcase and when he is given an angry glare, he shrugs his shoulders and claims they are a culinary delicacy.
To prove his point, he digs a long fingernail into the rancid flesh and sucks out the juice from the tip of his finger. Twelve plump maggots slip out of the bag and slide down the table. Millions of viewers sit in their homes retching, as he gives a toothless grin and mutters, “Food, see? It’s only food.” Because of this progamme, I began to develop a predjudice towards oriental people, assuming that they all eat bugs and vermin, but of course, this is not true.
I am learning to trust that the Chinese can be good cooks and that I don’t need to inspect my rice for cockroaches. I have never seen one emerge from my Szechwan, nor have any pork balls come to life to crawl across the dining table.
It is wise to be cautious. My drying buddy could have stolen a towel when I wasn’t looking. But I have also learnt that it is also wise to not allow stereotypes to rule our lives.
“Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)
Your bedroom is cold – the sheets are even colder.
“No worries.” you say. “I’ll just buy some fluffy replacements.”
You change all your bedding so much so, that now, every time you turn on your pillow, teddy bear fleece fibres fly up your nostrils.
Just before you rise, you remember that you forgot to drape today’s clothes over every spare radiator, so now, getting dressed is going to be like wrapping sheets of ice around your frozen frame.
While having breakfast, you thank God for the provision of warm porridge, but as you do so, the contrast between the hot air coming out your mouth and the temperature in the room, causes you to appear as if you are obsessively vaping.
The cold spoon in your hand feels like you’re clutching an icicle and two of your fingers turn hard and yellow.
You grab your Bible and blanket and settle down to have a quick quiet time with the Lord, knowing that the gentle reassurance of his love will stop you feeling so sorry for yourself.
As you flick aimlessly through the pages of his Word, you notice a common theme:
“Do not fret because of evil doers, nor be envious of the workers of iniquity, for they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb…”
“Abstain from all appearances of evil…”
“Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life. Avoid all perverse talk; stay away from corrupt speech.”
Interesting.
Rita Rich who lives across the way, doesn’t have the same morning struggles as you.
As she swings her legs out of bed and places them on the warm rug, she wonders which bathroom did she leave her toothbrush in last night. Her clothes are strewn about by her feet. She tossed them right there last night, knowing that the underfloor heating would make them nice and toasty by daybreak.
As she pulls the duvet over her pillow, the book she was reading the night before, falls to the floor. It lands on the page where there are three real satanic spells described in detail for the reader to follow in their spare time.
Demonic imagery winds its way through every chapter, but nothing less can be expected from an author who is proud to admit that she is a witch.
Rita has been lovingly warned several times that this is not the type of reading material that should be cherished by somebody who professes to be a Christian.
She snorted whenever the subject was brought up, and continued to make excuses for her witchcraft collection, and the snort in time, changed to deep contempt.
Who are you to tell her what to do? You are hardly an example of virtue, with your irritating manner and ridiculously annoying exuberance for everything holy.
“Fussy, fanatic, fuddy-duddy. I have no respect for you or your opinions and all my budding besties have no problem with my lifestyle, so silence yourself and get out of my conscience.”
There’s no more time for either of you to read, because you both have to get to your jobs. As you make your way to your 20-year-old car, you carefully slide your body towards the brick wall so as to not come into contact with the side wing. That worn-out panel just below the passenger door fell off last week and was welded back on crooked. The last thing you want to do is knock it off again. You hastily write a note in your phone to pick up some strong adhesive tape from the motor shop on your way home.
Rita is making notes also. She needs to remember that they are having wild salmon for tea tonight, followed by a £40 block of Raclette to have with some crackers.
Of course she does the opposite to you. She deliberately rubs herself against her brand new car several times, because it brings out the shine in the paintwork.
While she turns on the heated seat function, you grab a blanket from the door pocket of your motor and wrap it around your legs. Your mind shifts to the book of Job and you suddenly realise you have been blinded just like he was:
Job, in his misery, declared that there was no point in being righteous – seeking to maintain a godly lifestyle in a perverted and evil world. He did a quick comparision check and deduced that there is no benefit in obeying the Lord’s commands. He looked at his ugly, stinking, decomposing body and decided that to be ungodly gets you wealth, friends, success and happiness, whereas following God brings misery, poverty, bereavement and every kind of unfathomable trial.
Nobody wanted to be around Job. Nobody considered him approved of by the Lord.
“He must have secret sins. He must be harbouring unconfessed transgressions. His iniquities must weigh in the balance far heavier than mine.”
And so, Job, like one of the Psalmists, announced that there was no point in serving God wholeheartedly. Oh, how easy it is for us to say this was foolish speech when we know the glorious end to the story!
But in reality, do we sometimes go very near to the edge and risk falling into the same trap of such ignorant conclusions?
**When there is no forseeable end to the difficulties we face, despite the constant effort to walk closely to the Lord, we are susceptible to looking around and making comparisons with the lives of the lukewarm.**
Friends, those whose behaviour proves a serious lack of the fear of the Lord, are not to be admired. Be neither jealous, nor resentful.
Ask the Lord for a softer heart so that you can pray for the blessing of the ungodly instead of alowing them to irritate you – and I’m referring at this present moment to those who claim to be Jesus followers, but are more interested in the rotting, pagan world around them. Those who are happy to dress their children up as warlocks on World Book Day and see nothing wrong in letting them walk around satanic museums, filled with wizard artifacts, books of spells that real satanists use, and all manner of demonic imagery. Those who idolise pagans and interpret the Bible according to their own fleshly lusts.
“But they lead worship on a Sunday morning and intercede marvelouslly at the prayer meetings. They teach in Sunday School, run a house group during the week, and are admired greatly by their church leader. They can’t be all that bad surely!”
I don’t care how many ‘Christian’ friends they claim to have, or church rotas they are on. I don’t care how many sermons they preach and how many people hang onto their every word. They need to repentand so do we if we have ever allowed Job-type thoughts to fester in our minds when we look upon their lifestyles and deem them to be more fortunate than ourselves.
So, DO the wicked prosper? It seems so. But only for a time. Keep being who you are and doing what you do. God is not blind. Cheer yourself with the fact that he rewards the righteous in his time, and leave him to deal with the hard hearted and spiritually comotose.
Job eventually realised that the only thing that brings true happiness and blessing is to remain stedfast in your faith and walk.
I write because it brings me joy knowing I’m doing what I was called to do and that delivers far more peace than the promise of a large paycheck. I am not perfect by any means, but I have a reverance for the Lord because I know his guidelines were given to us to protect us and if I choose to be blaise about his warnings, I will suffer for it greatly.
If you are also endeavouring to bring God glory in all your pursuits, you are already prosperous. You are blessed.
“A little that a righteous man has, is better than the riches of many wicked.” (Ps 37:16)
Enjoy your life and the joy of obeying your calling. God will help you endure the now if you will trust that his future for you is very good indeed.
He sat staring ahead while listening to a rock song – his eyes focussed on the Central Line map. The London Underground tube train was speeding towards Marble Arch as my friends and I glanced at him from seats opposite.
Looking at him, anyone of the same ilk would say that he had the best music and the best tattoos. I could see that an angry skeleton was emerging from his collarbone and a bloody dagger from both wrists.
His hair was so black, it glowed purple. The two rings in his left nostril jingled together each time the train came to a jolt. His expressionless eyes were lined with thick black kohl that made them look like a furious pharaoh. As for the chain that hung from his hips – it could have easily held down four vicious Pitbulls.
Most parts of his body were draped in dark leather and his boots were so huge, a footprint from them would frighten the meanest leopard.
With earphones positioned on both sides of his head, it was evident he was concentrating on the song playing at top volume. Had the train not been so loud, I’m sure the bass tones would have been felt clearly, thumping through my chest.
My companions were not used to travelling in the capital city, so they were unaware of the ‘Don’t stare a crazy person in the eye’rule. So, while I averted my gaze, the other 3 scrutinised him with bemusement.
“Love is death!”
He suddenly shouted.
I closed my eyes to avoid the temptation to glance across.
“Love is death!”
He shouted again.
Like many hard-core rock music lyrics, the words sounded like they were penned by someone who was deeply depressed. Sad and angry. Angry and sad.
It came again, this time with a little more melody:
“Love is death!”
This went on for ages. Each time the sang his strange declaration, he became more impassioned and begun to look our way when he realised he had our attention.
I bit my lip, Marjorie pulled her cheeks in, Nigel closed his eyes and Abigail got out a book.
All of a sudden, Marjorie could bear it no longer and let out the loudest laugh. She put her hands up to her face to cover her eyes and leant forward with her shoulders shaking rapidly. Like a domino effect, her outburst set the rest of us off and we all sat in a row, bodies quivering in hysterics.
Our entertainer got the response he’d craved and moved on to a quieter song.
Had any of us been in a carriage with him all on our own, I don’t think our rocker ‘friend’ would have seemed so amusing. His attire and actions were chosen deliberately to intimidate people or to at least cause them to notice him.
But no matter how tough we pretend to be, we are all desperate to be loved, appreciated and understood.
Scary make-up, a bolshy manner, vocabulary littered with expletives, a plethora of tattoos, tribal art on our shoulder, a noisy car exhaust, a satanic bracelet, martial art awards, rebellion and an air of nonchalance may make us feel we are cool, tough and to be revered.
However, when we are approaching the time to be taken out of this world, we are as vulnerable as a newborn baby. No-one can fight death when it is staring them in the face. Death doesn’t care how mean you look and how many bar bells you can lift. It is in the throes of passing from this world into the next, that many people cry out to God for his mercy. And at that point, they don’t care how ridiculous they look or how wimpy they sound.
When Singer-man reached his destination, he stood up, chains clanking, leather squeaking.
But just before he had time to grab hold of the thick railings near the train doors, two items fell from the inside pocket of his jacket: a Danielle Steele book and a Chupa Chups lollipop. Not a bottle of Spirytus Vodka and a pamphlet on Wicca – a soppy love story and kiddie candy.
On his clown-white skin, a crimson colour spread from his neck to his forehead, indicating that these were his possessions. Once more, there were smiles along our row.
Maybe deep down, he wasn’t comfortable with who he was portraying himself to be. Maybe he considered his tattoos to be ugly, maybe the heavy chains caused him lower-back pain, maybe the thick leather caused him to sweat profusely and maybe, just maybe, his ears hurt from the high decibels going through them. Who knows?
All I know is, despite the tough exterior we like to show to the world, there’s a big softie inside all of us.
I love anchovies but apart from my dad, I don’t know anyone else who likes them. I’ve heard people calling them ‘Devil’s Food’.
Yes, they have a strong, fishy taste and the tinned ones are extremely salty, but aside from that, so long as they are either cooked or preserved, they are greatly beneficial to the body.
“Yuck! I’m still not eating them! I don’t care how you tart them up to make them seem appealing, you won’t catch me going near them!”
A lot of men are like that – for one reason or the other, there are loads all around the world who simply hate going to church. They know it’s good for them, but they can’t bear to regularly attend.
Alaskan-born David Murrow has done an in-depth psychological analysis on why so many men love God, but seemingly hate church.
We God-fearing ladies and men who remain, know that church is great. It is the place of spiritual, emotional, and even physical protection. It is the haven where one can get rooted deeply, together with a family of like-minded believers. It is a sanctuary where one can build good-quality relationships and receive encouragement in their walk with Christ. It is a place of teaching, guidance and plenty opportunities to serve and have fun.
But David discovered statistics that show that the ratio of attendance between women and men can be as drastic as 70:30. The interesting fact however, was that this only applies to Christian places of worship, not religious ones like Hindu, Sikh and Buddhist temples or Islamic mosques. These are all male-dominated places and the mosques in particular, are growing rapidly in male attendance.
In his book and international seminars entitled, ‘Why Men Hate Church’, he talks about how he set about studying this phenomenon to establish possible reasons why. He discovered that Christian churches have more feminine attributes which on a psychological level, puts many men off.
He said that the men he interviewed who were happy to do some soul-searching and answer his questions honestly, stated that church to them were for women, those who fit in and those who are happy to be brow-beaten about all their faults.
They did not like their masculinity being challenged by having to do girly things such as: hugging, expressing emotion, hand-holding, sitting still for long periods of time, reading portions of scripture aloud in house-group settings and singing ‘Jesus is my boyfriend’ songs (for them, lyrics in many modern worship songs were too ‘touch me now, I can’t live without you because I’m so desperate for your love. So, hold me close, I want to look into your eyes and feel your arms around me.’)
His final conclusion on this subject is, men stay in church:
When they feel wanted and needed there.
When they are wanted for their manly attributes.
When they are not being pressed into a mould that’s not them.
When women are not in control or manipulating the leadership.
If you are a man and can identify with any of this, you have my deepest sympathy. I could say to you, “It takes a real man to do the right thing even if he is uncomfortable with it.” But that’s not going to make you feel any better.
I could say, “It takes a real man to go to God with these issues and ask him to help you overcome them or adapt to them.” But I’m sure you’ve already done that.
I could suggest, “It takes a real man who will think outside the box and find opportunities to use his masculinity to help in the girly areas.” But that doesn’t solve the problem of you feeling terribly lonely in a crowd at a church meeting.
I could advise you that, “A real man will look around for other men who are on their own and organise get-togethers, sports nights, cricket matches, prayer meetings, business seminars, gym days, tennis tournaments, motorcycle rallies.” But maybe you’ve tried that already and the other men weren’t interested.
I don’t know what the answer is. What I do know is that when you stay away, it makes it harder for other men to commit to remaining where they are planted because men need the support of other men. Also, it gives non-believers the wrong impression, as it fails to remove the mask of pretending your worth comes from what you do rather than who you already are in Christ.
I’m sorry it’s so hard for you. Stickability brings good results even if it takes several years to see the fruit of your loyalty. God will honour you for doing what is right, especially when all your male buddies have flown the nest, leaving you desperately looking around for guys to connect with.
Church leaders do understand your frustrations and so do women. Hand holding during unity prayers can feel horrid for both sexes and not every woman is a hugger. A friend of mine says if someone hugs her for more than 4 seconds, it no longer blesses her. Many women don’t want to lead, but when you’re not there, they have no choice, and a female-dominated church puts other men off from joining and helping it to be the healthy place God created it to be. Yes, it can be a vicious circle!
Life isn’t perfect, so neither is any church. Many cool guys like the one below, are leaving, or staying away in the first place because the current lack of stickability is hindering them also.
God understands. He knows how you are wired and why church services put you off. Each man will have a different main reason, but most will identify with similar reasons. Hang on in there because we need you. The youth need men to guide them spiritually in a way that women can’t. Women need you to take the lead in areas that were specially designed for you. New comers and non-believers desperately need welcoming men on the door when they walk in for the first time.
The rhyming reflection below, empathises with some of your struggles, but you may be able to add some I am unaware of. We need you to identify these difficulties so that you can help your local church and other men, find ways to overcome them.
In the meantime, please keep attending, even if it is hard. Stickability in a God-honouring church means you will be blessed.
Wouldn’t it be refreshing if social media posts were more real? Can you imagine what it would be like if people’s sentences on Facebook, Twitter and the like, were less superficial and more honest – like the statements in brackets?
“This is my 76th picture of my cute puppy. Don’t I have the most fluffy, adorable pet?” (“It threw up all over the kitchen floor this morning and has really bad breath.”)
“Here’s a picture of me and my bestie.” (“I’m angry that she still hasn’t given me back those stilettos I lent her 5 months ago – cow.”)
“Night-night everyone.” (“Yes, I’m that lonely that I have to log on here to let you know I’m going to sleep.”)
“Hey, I just got promotion! I’m Managing Director now and have 16 staff under me!” (“I stepped over most of them to get the job. I sucked-up to the boss and spread lies about them to make myself look good.”)
“Look, I’m at the airport!” (“There are thousands of people here doing the same thing, so I can’t show off to them.”)
“Hey, we’re about to get onto the plane.” (“I hope you’re reading this even though it’s 2am, because it makes me feel good knowing that tomorrow, you’re gonna catch a cold while I catch a tan.”)
“Wow, I ran half a marathon in 20 minutes! Can’t wait to do the 20K because I am so fit! I’ve lost 4lbs! (“I’ve lost 4 knee ligaments.”)
“Here’s a magnificent view from our balcony.” (“There’s nothing to do: hubby’s being boring, kids are playing up and I’m really missing Eastenders.”)
“Look at my beautiful cupcakes. Aren’t I talented?” (“I’ve even managed to cover up the burn marks with a great dollop of icing.”)
“Yay! look at all my qualifications. Aren’t I smart?” (“My personality’s awful though. I’ve got a bad temper, I’m very disloyal to my friends, neglective to my children and disrespectful to my elderly parents.”)
“Check out my new website!” (“I’ve not sold anything, but it looks impressive, dunnit?”)
“Oh, my sweet babe is off to university! Cambridge of course.” (“He chose there because drugs are easier to get hold of in the south.”)
“Oh, mine is off to Harvard to study law!” (“It was the uni’ farthest away from home, because she can’t wait to escape from me.”)
“Yes, I’m lounging by the pool relaxing in the hot sun and when I get too warm, I’m going to put down my ice-cold cocktail and dip into that clear, blue cool water.” (“I don’t feel calm at all. It’s too noisy and crowded – I’m constantly wondering if we’ve been burgled and how are we going pay for this holiday when we get back? I’ll have to work extra shifts – ugh!”)
“And this is what I’m having for tea. Yes, I have the most amazing oven and great culinary skills.” (“Husband didn’t like it and toddler spat it out all over the wall.”)
“My little girl is growing up to be such a sophisticated young lady! “She’s only 14 yet she’s got an award for this and a trophy for that and a certificate for the other…” (“And she’s sleeping with the lad next door.”)
“Hey look, I’m friends with all these celebrities! Looks like I chose the best career path.” (“My life sucks and so does theirs, but someone somewhere must be jealous of me surely?”)
“My intelligent son passed his chemistry exam!” I knew that paying shed-loads for tutors would pay off one day. (“He still sucks his thumb, wets his bed and leaves his bedroom like a pigsty.”)
“Look at this super steak I’m eating!” (“Most of it is stuck in my teeth and the mushrooms are giving me wind.”)
“Ha ha, my little boy is so funny! He said this and said that and said this and said that…” (“…and I’ve just clouted him because he’s being vulgar.”)
Ah, friends, it takes too much effort to try to pretend to have the perfect life. I’m not saying social media should become a platform of misery and woe, but come on, let’s get real – most people have battled with: spots, baby weight, mouth ulcers, hairy legs, thinning hair, an obstinate child, bobbly jumpers, boredom, loneliness, lethargy, business failure, flatulence, a horrible restaurant, poor sales on their website, unrisen cakes, unfulfilled dreams, torn dressing gowns, dry skin, leaking boots, dribbling cats, wet socks, miserable children, mediocre school reports, an ugly baby and disloyal friends.
“…but let the one who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows Me, acknowledges Me and honours Me as God and recognizes without any doubt, that I am the Lord who practices lovingkindness, justice and righteousness on the earth, for in these things I delight,” says the Lord. (Jeremiah 9:24 AMP)
If you regularly visit social media and end up wondering why you feel worse afterwards, know that you don’t really know what’s going on in people’s lives. Don’t take things to heart too much, as humans have a weakness for:
Attention seeking
Subtle bragging
Putting up walls
Wearing masks
The next time you’re bored or feeling nosey and tempted to log in to see what’s going on, remind yourself you are not missing out on cool conversations – just trivia most of the time. Instead, try getting a piece of paper and listing 60 things you are grateful for and 70 things you are blessed with that many people round the world are not. You’d be shocked at how quickly you fill up your sheet.
I confess that there have been times when I have been looking for the next interesting thing to do at home and instead of getting up to gather the items I need, I lazily pick up my phone and log onto either Facebook or YouTube. YouTube shorts fulfils mankind’s desire for a quick, visual fix without having to listen to something for a long time, or be interrupted by advertisements. It highlights the many different things we are interested in and feeds that constant craving for entertainment.
Facebook goes one step further because we personally know most of the people behind the posts and are therefore, often tempted to make a comment or engage in a discussion, if even it is just agreeing with a group of people that something is amusing, sad, or shocking.
While there is not necessarily anything wrong with these types of activities, if we do not take regular time-out to evaluate why we are adopting these social habits, then we will never realise:
The futility of time wasting.
Our deep desire for human connection, which can be a driving force behind the obsession.
If we are acting out of a feeling of loneliness.
If we are attention-seeking and if so, is the underlining problem insecurity or pride?
If we are being spiritually complacent by giving more quality time to worthless activities rather than the Lord.
If we are participating in these activities moderately and at an appropriate time.
Why is it easier to go onto social media as opposed to reading our bibles? Ah folks, we need to ask ourselves more questions:
Is the bible likely to highlight a sin or attitude that we are not yet prepared to face?
Are we confused about the end-time prophesies and therefore find them scary and depressing?
Have we been saved a long time, but feel guilty because we still don’t understand even the basic stories / lessons?
Does it make us feel like failures because of the many verses that talk about healing, provision and deliverance? (We are still sick, have financial difficulties and feel trapped in certain areas of our lives.)
Do we have relationship struggles that we have given up fighting for because it takes hard work to resolve issues?
One last round of self-searching will help us discipline our use of social media:
Do the lives of everybody else seem more put-together compared to ours? Do people seem to have more friends, better holidays, more exciting birthday celebrations and pose in a more photogenic way than us?
Friends, people’s lives will always appear to be more exciting than ours and it is futile to join in the gang by trying to pretend we are doing amazing, wonderful things all the time. If you spend your Friday nights at home, doing crossword puzzles and you enjoy it, then continue. If you love watching gardening programmes while snuggled up with your kitten, good for you. You are not boring, you are you and embracing the personality God blessed you with. You don’t need to share a photograph of said cat sat by your feet with your pretty curtains in the background just for effect. If you feel cosy and content, it matters not what others may think of your evening. Neither do you need to quickly go online to check what others are doing. Instead, find a Psalm that reminds you of how God loves to sing songs of love over you.
In a nutshell, the falseness will never change, and the availability of things to gawp at online won’t change. There will be more and more fantastic videos uploaded for you to watch during every second of the rest of your life. But some things, we can change. We can make a point of regularly evaluating what we are doing and why, and then we can change what we do with our spare time.
I had a wobbly. I mean a real wobbly. When I told my husband how I’d been, he thought I was saying I was unwell, but to me a wobbly is when one is feeling so emotionally overwhelmed, they react in an irrational manner.
For me, it was heaving a *DofE rucksack into the air, then hurling it across the living room, with an accompanied **expletive that Christians are not supposed to verbalise unless they have the excuse of having only been saved four weeks.
In my regenerated self, no godly attributes were on display as the polythene-bagged contents flew out and landed precariously upon various items of furniture. Sleeping bag, clothes, towel and First Aid Kit were delighted that they had been released from their suffocating interior. After having been squashed in so tightly, I’m surprised I hadn’t broken my fingers in the arduous process of pressing down with all my might.
* Dofe stands for, ‘The Duke of Edinburgh’s Award’ which is a programme for young people designed to instil confidence, new skills, teamwork, healthy lifestyles, and industriousness into them. There are different levels of intensity performed in order of Bronze, Silver and Gold and children usually join the scheme at 13 years old – each level ends with a hiking expedition. This involves traipsing around the English countryside holding a rain-soaked map and half of their lifetime possessions strapped to their backs. In truth, it causes a myriad of blisters in places you never thought could even turn red, multiple fractures of the spine, loose vertebrae, twisted shoulders, bad posture and turns the sanest parents into a basket-case when they see how much their offspring has to carry around on their bones for a gruelling 6 hours.
After sending several emails to my daughter’s school to inquire how on earth she was supposed to fit so much inside a 65-litre contraption that weighs more than she does, even when empty, I was getting nowhere.
Four weeks before the trip, I was satisfied that I had managed to fit everything in, but a week before, she casually announced that there was more to buy, hence, more to take. Her side of the conversation went like this:
“Mum, I have to take two packed lunches. And I’ve been allocated the washing up liquid. No, school are not buying it, you must. Oh, and tea towels. And a dishcloth. No, the teacher won’t be carrying them, I will. No mum, not on my head, in the rucksack. Well, she said I have to fit it in somehow. Mum, calm down.”
The day before, I had been watching a YouTube video about how to fold clothes in amazingly neat ways.
Taking each polythene bag out one by one, I refolded everything that was made of cloth. Slowly, I began to re-pack. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not get all the items into the main compartment like before. The metal crockery pushed the sleeping bag above the drawstring like icing being forced out of a piping bag.
Every other zipped orifice was stuffed full of required items.
“Oh, and I need to provide the paper plates.” came a phlegmatic murmur from the child leaning on the arm of the chair, staring at the television with a remote-control in her hand.
“What? How many? You serious?”
Teenager shrug. Teenage mumbling. Teenager’s biscuit crumbs falling onto the carpet. Paddy McGuiness shouting from the screen in the corner, “No likey, no lighty.” Mother clenching teeth and inhaling deeply.
I think I forgot to exhale, for when I did, a weird noise came from my lungs.
But do you know what it was that finally made me flip? It wasn’t just the fact that I couldn’t get the once compliant expedition clobber back into the rucksack. It was the last comment I heard just as ‘Take Me Out’ was ending.
Sarah looked round at me, smug that now her programme had finished, her memory cells were back in play.
“Oh and… I need to bring the hot chocolate.”
That is the moment when my angel winced as he witnessed my parental hysteria.
That is the moment when a whistle and a hairbrush landed on top the fish tank.
I am so glad God foresaw our angst and wrote a love letter to us. In times of frustration, it is verses like this that prevent me from doing other people physical harm:
“I have told you these things so that in me you may have perfect peace. In the world you have tribulation, distress and suffering, but be courageous – confident, undaunted, full of joy – for I have overcome the world.” John 16:33
In reality, my frustrations were totally my own fault. I was being too hands-on as a parent. The DofE is a great scheme and one of the reasons for it, is to encourage young people to become more independent. I don’t think that packing a rucksack while one’s offspring sits watching, a cheesy dating show is what the dear Duke had in mind when he set it up. Sometimes children need to be left to figure things out for themselves.
Yes indeed, I think the Queen’s husband was very innovative when he thought of this scheme, but next time, I shall do what parents are supposed to do – make one’s child do it all – sit back and stay calm, knowing that they have to make their own mistakes.
Sarah won’t have any fond memories of packing her bag, because I did it for her. Like how the butterfly’s wings are too weak to fly when they don’t go through the struggle of pushing through the cocoon, Sarah didn’t learn to appreciate her clobber and after completing the 3-day camping course, she came back with contents missing. When I enquired where they were, she nonchalantly replied that she left them behind because they wouldn’t fit inside said backpack. Even worse was the fact that the rucksack had been lent to us by a friend, yet Sarah, too tired to hitch it onto her back, had dragged it along a mile of concrete, creating 3 large holes in the bottom.
I gritted my teeth and blamed myself. I had encouraged this complacent, brattish behaviour.
**Another thing I was reminded of, was that God tells us not to sin in our anger. I do not advocate that it is okay for Christians to use bad language. I used a swear word because at that moment, I was not being Jesus-like in thought or deed.
My daughter is now at university and because she is commuting, she carries a very large, heavy rucksack around. There are lockers on campus but they are situated quite a distance away from where she has all her lectures. This means that her shoulders are constantly under great strain, especially as she positions just one strap on one shoulder rather than letting her back take the full strain. I am concerned for her posture and keep sending her Amazon links to laptop cases with wheels.
“There is no way I’m using that!”
she has declared to me on numerous occasions. Naturally, parents never stop caring, but one thing I have learnt from the DofE episode is that there is a big difference between caring and interferring. Yes, I am concerned for her spine and long-term bone health. But, as I cannot force an 18 year old to do as she is told, I have to resort to the fact that she is an adult now and can do as she pleases. So I have decided to delete the wheely cases from my shopping cart and now I’m searching for pictures. Maybe you can help me. Do you know where I can find a snapshot of Quasimodo? Could you send me the link?
They found him dead in his favourite armchair – eyes wide open with a look of shock and disbelief. Between the rigid fingers of Ned Devine, was a lottery ticket that displayed last week’s winning numbers. The entire village were soon in on a crafty plan, except for a miserable old lady who was the one villager who refused to be an accomplice to their scheme. As Ned’s jackpot was a substantial sum of money, their plan was to defraud Camelot by getting someone to pose as him and then share out the winnings between them.
But the lady who refused to join in with the conspiracy wasn’t doing so because it was immoral – no, curmudgeon Lizzie Quinn’s only aim in life was to make everyone as narky as her. Plus, if she could report them for the fraud, she would claim a ten per cent award of the winnings. This would be a whopping 700,000 of Irish money. She knew that while they were focussing on their clandestine plot, they would be oblivious to the fact that she had a game plan of her own. There was no direct reason for her revenge – the only wrong they had done her was refusing to be as miserable as she was. So, she began to connive a covert strategy that would bring down the inhabitants of Tulaigh Mhór.
How many times has somebody come along and tried to ruin your plans? You had it all worked out in your head then, ‘Bam!’ an interfering sourpuss pours water on your fire.
For some of you, it was a job promotion that another procured because they were successful in tarnishing your character or making it look like they were working harder than you.
For others, it was that boyfriend stolen from right under your nose.
For others still, it was that loan payment given out in generosity and trust, but never repaid.
It could even be an accident that occurred, but then the one at fault did not show true remorse; like a doctor who administered the wrong medicine to your loved-one or ignored you when you knew there was something seriously wrong with your baby. They are now brain damaged or dead and nobody seems to care.
We are angry and desire retribution like nothing else and a lack of self-control means we often do. This is because it is acutely frustrating when it seems like the offender is getting away with it scot-free. We humans want to see justice done immediately.
Don’t worry and don’t take revenge. God promises that *we reap what we sow. He sees everything and so long as we commit the situation to him, ask him to help us forgive and then move on, he will see you right. It doesn’t mean we should look forward to gloating over the sudden misfortune of the one who upset us – it means that we can get on with our lives in a state of complete peace.
Retaliation is not healthy and vengeance is best left to the Expert, as he also knows when to administer grace. Payback may not be immediate, but it will come. Whether you live to see it or not is not your business. It is enough that we will live to see him turn bad around for the good if we rely on him to sort things out, rather than ourselves.
For the lady in the film ‘Waking Ned Devine’, it was being thrown over the edge of the cliff while telephoning the police in a phone box. A driver coming up the hill lost control and knocked the entire kiosk onto the rocks below.
So, when people frustrate you, how do you get revenge? Don’t. Trust that there is someone much wiser than you who knows what to do. Leave the situation in the hands of God.
My sister winced as her tongue came into contact with what she thought was going to be delicious fruit.
But instead of a juicy sweetness dancing delightfully across her taste-buds, all she could detect was the sharp shock of sodium chloride.
My dad had salted the pineapple. All of it.
Five minutes before, the tropical delicacy was sitting in her kitchen with its plump, yellow slices enticing a hungry family to enjoy its flavour and be refreshed.
But alas, Michelle began to gag and promptly spat the entire contents of her mouth back onto her plate. Her husband did the same, with my two nieces following.
“Dad! Why have you put salt on the pineapple?” She asked as the inside of her bottom lip turned opaque.
“Umm! Umm! Because it brings out the sweetness, umm!” He replied with a big grin.
As he smiled, juice trickled down his chin and his mouth revealed a row of teeth with stringy bits stuck in between each incisor.
“But you know I hate salt on pineapple!” she gasped.
Ignoring this angst, Dad focused on the fork in his hand.
“Does the same with oranges too you know.”
“I don’t like salt on fruit at all! It tastes disgusting! Can I have a piece without salt on please?”
At this point, I felt really bad. I am like my dad in that I also love salty oranges and pineapple and I agree that not only does it enhance the natural flavour, but it helps to reduce the bitterness of un-ripened fruit too. But then, I am a Marmite girl. Worse still, I could tell from the guilty silence coming from across the table, that he had sprinkled salt over the entire contents of the plate. The whole bloomin’ lot.
And I knew how much she had been looking forward to consuming a few tasty slices.
Dad looked up sheepishly then shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. He added fuel to her anger by answering with his mouth full:
“Ar av puth sal arn it ull. Sor ree Meesh, bar ar thor yoo din mind. Juss try som ffth. Ish delishuss, ffth.”
Michelle’s eyes doubled in size, but her pupils shrunk. Her lips pursed until they were two thin lines on top of one another and her fists clenched into a tight ball.
“You…salted…the…whole…lot.”
She mouthed something that only she could hear and arose from the table, too infuriated to say any more.
The Bible says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick.” (Proverbs 3:12) There is nothing worse than excitedly waiting for something, to then discover that it is either not going to happen, or it doesn’t happen the way we anticipated.
The things you are hoping for are most likely far more important than a small portion of succulent cuisine. Maybe you are too scared to hope for anything because the last few times you did, it was a great disappointment.
God understands this plight but delights in seeing you hope in him, because it opens the door to see good things happen in your life and at the same time, it prevents depression from trying to take up residence in your heart. The best way to renew your hope is to read his word (the Bible) regularly, with interest and expectation that he is going to speak to you and help you rise up once more like an eagle.
So, whatever has made your life taste like rancid fruit, run to him with your shattered dreams and let his love bring you the peace you so desperately need.
There are people who have had horrendous things happen to them yet through Jesus – his comfort, his peace, his strength, they are free from acute P.T.S.D., bitterness, unforgiveness and suicidal desires. They are free because Jesus works miracles on our minds if we let him. They are free because they have learnt that he can be trusted with their emotions and all their pain.
That person. Yes that one. The one who has really annoyed you. The one who deserves to be stripped and beaten in public, or at least shamed on social media.
How could they go around acting like there’s nothing wrong? Do people know what they did to you? And…and…and they are not even sorry!
My mother once described to me a scenario that had a lasting effect on me. Whenever I am at loggerheads with anyone – especially if it has caused deep, emotional pain, I imagine we are both in a dark cell about to be tortured and murdered for our faith. Forgiveness then comes as easy as fishing in a puddle. It works every time.
There are two poems below. The first one, in this chapter, highlights what so many people go through on a weekly basis – in church. They sing worship songs for 20 minutes, then sit down and squirm as they spot ‘the offender’ in their peripheral vision.
Sadly, it doesn’t matter how much they are warned to not take communion before sorting things out. They shrug and assume they are justified because they don’t have the time to get into a heated discussion and besides, they strongly believe they are the ones who have been wronged anyway.
Er…so? Does Jesus say, “So what!” to that? No, he tells us that it is of paramount importance to ensure relationships are restored before communion is shared. He also tells us to not let the sun go down while we are still angry with someone. Have I done that myself? Oh yes. Did I feel good about it? Not at all. Did it do any good? It never has.
There are dire consequences if communion is taken while offence reigns in our hearts, but some people don’t seem to care.
What’s all that laughter?
The pastor has just said something funny and ‘the offended’ is giggling along with everyone else, but there is a sudden conversation going around in their head:
“Hey, that dreaded person has just looked across in my direction. Quick, delete laugh, cancel smile! I can’t have our eyes meet while I’m still looking pleasant! What if she misunderstands and thinks I am smiling at her? What a travesty that would be! She does not even know that I’m mad at her. How aggravating it is that she hasn’t realised that I’ve unfriended her from Facebook, blocked her on WhatsApp and darkened my heart towards her permanently. If only she would log on and meticulously check her friends list and see that I am missing. If only she would notice that my photo is has disappeared from my Whatsy profile. Oh, I can’t wait for her to speak to me after the service so that I can have the wonderful pleasure of being off with her.”
As childish as this scenario may sound, it is a constantly reality among the body of Christ.
We take communion while still offended and heap curses onto ourselves – one of which is infirmity.
I remember years ago, a time when I got mad at my cousin, but she was totally unaware of it. She lived 35 miles away, so I wasn’t due to see her until the weekend. This was too long!
Was I eager to speak to her face to face and confess my hurt so I could forgive her and put things right? Oh no, that idea was too sensible for me. Instead, I paced back and forth past my landline telephone, hoping she would ring. The Holy Spirit suddenly came up beside me and kind of cleared his throat. (Not an audible thing, just my spiritual conscience)
“So, let’s get this right. You are wanting her to ring you, so that you can respond to her curtly, be unfriendly, and not respond to her sentences in a happy manner. She will then ask you what was wrong, and you will reply angrily, “Nothing.” The call will end with her feeling hurt and confused and you will put the phone down feeling satisfied that she now knows something’s up. Can you not see how ridiculous this is?”
Oh yes folks, we need to mature greatly. Let us take time now to ask the Lord to reveal anybody we are not regarding lovingly in our hearts. Let us call it what it is, offense, and ask hm to help us do the right thing. Sort it out and if the person is not sorry, forgive them anyway. If the person does not acknowledge any wrong, love them anyway. If you are the innocent party, apologise anyway. Be the bigger person because one day you will stand before God and the scenario will be replayed before your eyes. Will you smile or cringe?
Those who are serious about serving the Lord overseas are under no delusion that it is a vacation. They often feel forgotten when their email updates are not replied to promptly. They usually have no-one to take over from them when they are feeling burnt-out. During their struggles, they wonder who has remembered to pray for them. God never forgets them, and he is grateful for all the hard work that has been put in when nobody else was watching and nobody else knew.
They know good works don’t earn anyone a passport to Heaven – they are doing it because the love Jesus has put in their hearts for others compels them to share the good news about salvation.
Thank you
You knew it wouldn’t be cosy,
Sleeping on a hard floor.
You heard the scuffle of cockroach legs
And they slid under your door.
You knew you’d need some tee shirts,
That could handle getting wet,
From all the sudden downpours,
And a shoulder drenched in sweat.
You knew you’d lie awake,
Listening to a cricket,
But nothing put you off
Buying a one-way ticket.
It was never going to be easy,
Leaving it all behind.
Flying to a country,
Not knowing what you would find.
You’ve been learning the language,
Each day and every week,
Yet the locals collapse in laughter
Every time they hear you speak.
Often, it’s hard to swallow
After taking a small bite,
Of your host’s funny-tasting,
Gastronomical delight.
It’s cost them a week’s wages
To cook this for you, and yet,
You can’t help wondering
What happened to their pet.
But this is your calling,
And there’s a smile upon your face,
For you know without a doubt,
That you’re in the right place.
Thank you for your sacrifice,
Forfeiting your own will.
The path you chose was narrow,
The gradient, a trek uphill.
Your loved-ones were left behind,
So was your ambition.
Knowing there’s more pleasure
In going on a mission.
Your colleagues thought you were mad,
Saying, your holiday was displaced.
To go and serve the needy
To them, seemed such a waste.
If you’d stayed at home,
By now, you could be rich.
But you preferred to hold a hand
And pull it from a ditch.
You preferred to hug,
Though the smell was unbearable.
You ditched your fancy jeans
For clothes that were unwearable.
Others who could not go,
Stayed behind and prayed.
Others still, gave finances
Because they were not afraid.
They knew the funds would multiply
And where desperation was rife,
They knew that God would use it
To save another life.
You all have sacrificed,
Your personal goals.
You good and faithful servants
Have a heart for people’s souls.
You did this for Jesus
And one day you’ll see,
The rewards that await you,
In eternity.
Thank you.
*****
“For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.
How then, will they call on him in whom they have not believed?
And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard?
And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent?
As it is written, ‘How beautful are the feet of those who preach the good news!’” (Romans 10:14-16)
There are two groups of people I would like to dedicate the next few pages to. Single Christians who are patiently waiting on God for the right spouse and those who give up their ordinary lives to do overseas mission work. In particular, my focus is on single females and long-term ministry, but single men and short-term mission workers are just as significant here.
You’ve done everything. You’ve been proactive in ensuring you are as outwardly attractive as suits you, without being desperate, obsessively vain or tarty. There’s nothing wrong with your personality – you are not socially awkward, over-bearing, uninteresting or downright boring. On top of that, you are highly intelligent and have a great sense of humour.
The thirties are almost over and because you have a soft, loving heart, the tick tocks in your ear are very loud.
Some of you have already celebrated your big four-zero and unlike the popular phrase, people are insinuating that your life has not yet begun, because you are still not part of a couple.
Back to the tick tocks: You want to be young enough to bear a healthy child. You want to be spritely enough to skip to playschool with them, not hobble on a stick. You want to be fit enough to give them at least one sibling. And you want to have been married long enough to have had some fun years as a couple before screams, midnight feeds, nappies and pureed vegetables are gracing your home.
But this future husband is nowhere to be seen. Your non-Christian mates think you’re a prude. And arrogant. Your family think you are selfish and fussy. Your Christian family sometimes aren’t much better, and you’re fed up with being mentally matched-up with every guy you are seen having a friendly chat with. If you are ever spotted sitting next to a single chappie in church without an empty seat between you, smiles, whispers and stares, intensify. Oh, if only you’d remembered to plonk your bible and phone and sunglasses and car keys and notebook and hymnbook and jacket down on that offending chair!
God honours integrity during the wait – that is godly patience. God also honours your complete surrender to his will. My prayer for you is that you don’t give in to the snide comments or blatant mockery. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are single because you have opted to do the right thing – to be strong enough to leave things in God’s hands and not try to intervene in his divine plan for your life. That will bring a reward far greater than you can ever imagine.
Anyone can rush down the aisle.
Anyone can pop out offspring 2 years apart.
Anyone can hop into bed with someone they’re not married to, driven by the misconception that they’re missing out.
But impatience produces heartache far sour than the pain of feeling rejected or loveless. Impatience draws out decree nisi paperwork, single parent status, illegitimate children and severe regret.
So, my dear single sisters and brothers, take no notice of people’s opinions. You are doing the right thing and God is very pleased with you for your patience and reliance on him to guide your life.
It seems like the older we get, the more offended we are at being told that our good works won’t earn us a place in Heaven. Maybe it’s because older people have witnessed more religious feuds than the younger or maybe it’s because more people have bombarded them with “convert loony” type approaches and they can no longer tell the difference between people who genuinely follow the Holy Bible and those from cults.
Only the Holy Spirit can convict people of sin and only he can convince them that Jesus is the way the truth and the life. That is why it is very emotional for Christians when they witness the conversion of people who are in their prime of life. Knowing they have spent wasted years living without him, stirs up our compassion because we know how much they have missed in their former years.
The red-light district in our town is under a bridge and the surrounding areas of pavement are very narrow. To make matters worse, the road bends sharply at both ends and drivers do not reduce their speed when navigating through it.
This makes it easy for vehicles to mount the pavement and knock over anyone loitering beneath the bridge.
As we were driving past it one evening, I pointed out to my husband how dangerous it was for prostitutes to gather under there.
He gave me a quizzical look and replied:
“Can’t you see the irony of what you are saying? You are concerned because you observe the speeding traffic and state it is dangerous for them – their whole job is dangerous!”
I saw his point. Every day they are at risk of being brutally attacked or murdered. They could contract deadly diseases, become drug addicts if not already, and give birth to children who are vulnerable to child sex slavery.
Many of them are trapped and terrified of their pimp. Those lucky to leave the trade are caught up in a web of Satan’s lies that tell them they are trash, no good for anything else and such a disgrace to society. Their own guilt eats them up from the inside and after having given themselves away to so many men, they don’t feel like there is much of themselves left that they can be proud of.
The sex trade is dangerous for ladies of the night also because many end up hating themselves so much that they deem, it impossible that a holy God would ever love, them, accept them or forgive them.
But he does. All three.
The poem below is based on a true story about a Brazilian prostitute, but if you have cheapened yourself in any way with the precious body God gave you, this is for you too.
*****
All My Friends Are Pretty
I should have worn a see-through blouse,
And put on more eye-liner.
These stockings are too thick,
I wish they were finer.
My skirt’s not short enough.
The hem is too long.
It hides my lovely thighs.
Oh, I’ve got this all wrong!
I wish my hair was straighter,
And look what I’m concealing.
My top should be lower.
That would be more appealing.
I’m never the first
To be picked up our here,
But they’ve all driven past.
No client has come near.
All my friends are pretty.
Perhaps I’ve lost my looks.
I really hope my pimp
Doesn’t scrap me from his books.
Each girl has been approached
And jumped into a car.
This is humiliating.
The worst night by far.
Now there’s only me left.
It’s cold and this sucks.
Tonight, I’ll be grateful
If I make a hundred bucks.
All my friends are pretty,
But I’m approaching thirty.
I feel old and worthless
And I feel so very dirty.
My toes are numb
From three hours in high heels.
Will I ever get used to
These nightly ordeals?
Delay prolongs the torment.
I want to sleep and forget.
Being alone on these dark streets,
Always makes me fret.
To help with oblivion,
I roll up a strong spliff –
I’ve got a stash of heroin
And some cocaine to sniff.
We give ourselves away,
So many times a night,
That there’s no time to wonder
If what we do is right.
The behaviour of some men,
Often leave me shaken,
So, I inject to numb the fear
That my life could be taken.
I really need a coat,
And I need to rest my feet.
Ah, who is this strange guy
Strolling down the street?
Does he want to get acquainted?
This part’s always scary,
But there’s a girl behind him
So, I am not so wary.
But, is he mocking me,
With his great big smile?
Now he stops and asks,
If he could talk a while.
‘Don’t want talk, I want business!
Can this man afford my price?
He hasn’t got a car
And he’s being much too nice.
But all my friends are pretty,
So, they’ve already got their work.
Seems like I have no choice
But to go with this jerk.
He holds out a small book
And beckons me to read,
Then he says to me softly,
“Here, this is what you need.”
It says, “For God so loved the world,
That he gave his only son…”
Oh no, I need a quick escape –
Shall I grab my bag and run?
Then, suddenly I realise,
These are words that I should cherish.
It says if I accept God’s son,
When I die, I will not perish.
This book, this book, this book!
Now I know what he is holding!
The words inside have come alive
And this mystery is unfolding.
It was twenty years ago
Someone did the same thing,
By showing me a bible
Which made my small heart sing.
Wanting to hear more stories,
I searched the next day,
But to my disappointment,
I heard he had gone away.
I want to know this Jesus.
I need no more persuading.
I want to be completely free
From a life that is degrading.
Oh, I must tell all my friends
When they finally get back.
They think they have all they need,
But this is what they lack.
All my friends are ugly,
They are trapped and in despair.
They block out the reality,
By pretending not to care.
All my friends are ugly,
For inside they are crying.
Because life without Jesus,
Means one by one, they’re dying.
I gave myself to many
Who wanted to use me.
But God has forgiven,
For he’s full of mercy.
I won’t compare myself
With others anymore,
For right here I have found
What I’ve been searching for!
*****
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16)
Having never had to send my child to bed hungry, travel 8 miles for a litre of water, sleep outside in a foreign country, or seen my home town blown to pieces, I cannot say I know what life is like as a refugee.
Greed for land, refusal to share resources, revenge for past killings, prejudice towards foreigners on your soil and disagreements over religious views, can all lead to civil war.
In a way, it is worse than international feuds because it is neighbours and friends and sometimes even families who are turning against each other.
In my mind, I see a man from Eastern Europe. He has trembling hands and a haunted expression. He doesn’t know Jesus personally, so for him, it is the end of the road.
