May 2015 and AMEN comes round again

I must have been slow off the mark when the Multiply planning team chose to hold a meeting in the office that I share.  My name appeared on the minutes, and I was co-opted into the monthly agenda.  Or maybe it was my mild protest when Huw said we wouldn't be holding an event on the opening Saturday of the Conference week, even though that was the focal point in the Church diary.  "You can't do that, Huw.  The guys will have travelled here with that date in mind.  Ed and I will be happy to sponsor an informal Welcome/Reception event for them." 

Apostolic Men Empowering the Nations is our catchy title for the main leaders of the International Network.  They each operate in clutch of countries.  Regular readers of this blog will have met Gregory (Kenya), Steven (Zambia) and Rukundo (Rwanda) from my trips to East Africa, and Colney from India.

I usually stay at Kings House throughout the week's deliberations.  But the saints there moved to Coventry in April.  This year I'm toggling my time between Kings-in-Coventry and the Farm.  But the story starts at Cornerstone in Birmingham.  I'd planned to stay one night en route to a family Trust get-together in Cheltenham.  This AGM fulfills the legalities surrounding Mary's aunt's inheritance money, which got invested in a tax-efficient pot that can't be touched for twenty years. 

"Rukundo arrives at Birmingham at 9am," Mick announced after Thursday tea.  "And Steven's landing at Heathrow at 6am.  So we'll have them both here tomorrow."  'Tomorrow' Mary was catching a train from Sheffield, and Mick and I would collect her from Cheltenham station. 

Friday morning, just as I greeted Rukundo with an unpolished "Habari ya asubuhi", Mary texted to say the train was an hour late leaving.  No matter, Mick and I headed down the M5 as planned, and parked near the Italian eatery that Tony proposed for lunch. 

Actually, it was worse than that.  Mary booked her journey with our common purse pre-paid 'plastic', and only collected the sales receipt - not her tickets - from the station machine.  She'd nearly been thrown off the train, and had had to fork out an extra £16 to get from Birmingham New Street.  It wasn't for the first time this week that I commented, "We seem to be battling with the 21st Century and losing."  Maybe my 70th birthday on Tuesday made me uncustomarily defeatist.  I'd just loaded a forkful of Penne al Gianni when Mary rang to say she'd arrived.  Then the frustration of Cheltenham's one-way system.

Later, back at Cornerstone, Steven had arrived.  We sat together for tea.  Rukundo declined to give Steph's guide-dog his apple core.  Ah, cultural tides.  We chatted about Tanzania, the current political unrest in Burundi and children's school books.  Then the household gathered for their weekly prayer time.  They were keen that Saturday afternoon's 'bluebell barbecue' should go well.  I made a mental note to book the four of us in for lunch at Cornhill, ahead of the planned Reception.  After their overnight flights, the guys headed gratefully for an early night in bed. 

All Quiet in Liverpool

Strong winds and high seas were pounding the west coast.  "I quite fancy the idea of going up to Formby or Crosby to see it",  I suggested to Ian.  He'd asked us if we'd got anything in mind for Saturday afternoon.  We'd already cancelled our customary Friday evening outreach outside Sainsburys by the University tram stop.  Mary couldn't guarantee keeping the barbecue from blowing over.  Then we'd had a blustery drive over the Snake Pass and along the M62 before lunch.  Apparently, flights from the United States were arriving in Europe up to two hours early.

Mark was away in Cornerstone (Birmingham) for the weekend.  "For his annual hair-cut", one wag suggested.  Blaze was away with Dave in Leicester, Chris had been admitted to hospital with pneumonia, and Moira had a bad cold.

After lunch, Ian was keeping an eye on the children, while Lil and Kerry went to buy a sewing machine from the local charity shop, and then tried out all its fancy stitches.  He was in a good frame, obviously having benefitted from the central Church events over the past two or three weeks.  We chatted on-and-off, and I read a conference paper from The Global Think-Tank on Business As Mission (BAM).  We've got to get our act together to help our Multiply partners with developing business plans, ahead of the summer visit to Kenya and Uganda.  I don't know why I say 'we', as it's basically down to me to scope.

Because we'd cancelled the barbecue, we had a big box of donated cream cakes left over, so they constituted a 'Red Cross' parcel for the deprived saints of Merseyside.  Not too deprived - they've got a nice new coffee machine.  I mentioned to Ian that we'd been singing a few new songs, and we rolled out a couple before the evening bible study on John chapter 1.  It was great having Kerry playing, too; but Ian and I were the only guys.

As I lay in bed, I hoped to enjoy the sound of the winds, but Mary and I were on the wrong side of the house.  By Sunday morning, the gales had blown out.

We arrived early at the Arche, for our morning meeting.  Usually the back yard section is alive with ducks and chickens, part of the charity's social enterprise activity.  Today it was bare.  "Oh," I commented to Nick, "don't tell me they all voted for Xmas?"  "Well, they were here last week," he added thoughtfully.  It was due to be his 60th birthday, and back at Lighthouse, they'd put up balloons and made him a generous jam and fresh cream cake (with candles).

He normally does the after-lunch washing-up.  But I nipped into the kitchen, and Wayne and I got stuck in instead.  Wayne worked like a machine, keeping up with the draining, drying and stacking as fast as I was simply washing.

I was due to take the evening bible study in Sheffield, so Mary and I got away at 3pm.  On the way to the motorway I thought I could here the rhythmic rumble-plap-plap of a (very) flat tyre.  But, stopping and checking, it wasn't us.  I got stuck behind a real Sunday driver in Glossop, and negotiated the whole Snake Pass at nothing more than 30mph.  Down at the Jesus Centre, "Gender in the Church" went well.  Even John, our gritty heckling old Pentecostal, appreciated the exchanges.

On Monday morning, Jack asked me where the heavy-duty wheel brace had got to.  Our car had a completely flat back tyre.