Grave 81 Compartment 37

My mum died in Spring 2007, aged 94.  We held a cremation service at Sheffield's Hutcliffe Wood.  I got the deeds of the family plot in Hull's Chanterlands Avenue Cemetery transferred to my name.  Then we took the ashes over and held a family memorial service in the chapel there.  I arranged for the wording on the headstone to be updated with my father's and mother's details.  Crown Memorials (Hull) did what they'd promised, and sent me a certificate.  But I'd never made the opportunity to go and inspect the finished product.  It was one of those sometime-I-must-get-round-to-it bucket jobs.  My cousin June keeps the plot tidy.

The sequence of events is interesting by which my mum came to spend her last eight years in Sheffield.  In the late 1990's I was driving over to Hull every other Wednesday to take her out shopping, go to the bank and generally make sure she was okay.  And to share fish and chips at Hessle Foreshore, under the Humber Bridge.  She was living in Lees Houses, a substantial leafy-suburbs charitably-based complex of 120 independent flats.  She'd moved there in 1984, three years after my dad died.   Throughout 1999, workmen were stripping out and replacing the asbestos insulation of the Houses' district heating system (an advanced concept for properties built around 1910).   Mum gave anxious accounts of the workmen having helped themselves to margarine from her fridge or having moved things around in the airing cupboard.  It was the classic confabulation by which we produce a 'why' story when slips of memory leave us unable to provide a consistent thread of explanation for events as we find them. 

Visiting in the September, the Warden took Mary and I to one side.  She explained that they'd found my mother in a state of confused distress trying to put some soiled bedsheets through the washing machine.  "I know she's been making up stories..." I offered.  "No," the Warden was firm. "This is the onset of dementia, and you need to plan for it."  She then summarised the stages of denial, distress and accommodation that form the recognised pattern of progression.

For Mum, it also meant she'd lose her tenancy, as her personal decline would carry her into the need for residential care.  "As it happens, she's spoken of possibly moving to Sheffield, because she can see she's become dependent on us, now," I added.  Within twenty minutes, we had a game plan.  The Warden would get Mum properly medically assessed.  I would arrange to take out Enduring Power of Attorney, and we would look for a place in a Residential Home.  Mum, unaware, complied.

Mum was registered blind, having lost the sight in her right eye aged eight through an accident that caused a detached retina.  These days, it would be routine to sort it out.   She suffered the disability all her life, and a bodged cataract operation nearly cost her the residual vision in her 'good' eye.  Over Xmas 1999 she came to stay.  I arranged for her to visit the Royal Sheffield Society for the Blind's Cairn Home residential unit, just over a mile from us.  On enquiry, Hull's equivalent facility had closed down.  She got on famously.  We agreed to put her name on 'the list', while the staff checked her eligibility as an out-of-towner.  "Mind you," they warned, "She's number 17.  And we've only had four vacancies come up in the last ten years."  No matter, it was progress, and we sensed a lot of grace in the whole sequence of events. 

In March 2000, Cairn Home rang.  "This is a long shot.  A place has come up, and we've been turned down by the the first 12 people on our list.  Would Mum be interested?"  Would she!?  We moved her to Sheffield a month later.  Viv came over from York Uni to help, including, I remember, sliding her large wardrobe out through the first floor window.

"I suppose it would be nice to spend a bit of time together..." I'd mused to Mary in August, "Y'know, before I go to India.  We could go to see the grave, and have fish and chips under the Humber Bridge," I added hopefully.  But the only suitable day was a Saturday, and the Cemetery wouldn't be open.  Then last week, Andrzej tracked me down to where I was trying to read some Jesus Centre stuff in quiet.  "I'm trying to arrange for someone to cover Mary's Help Desk slot tomorrow, so you can get some time together."  "Did you know about this?" I asked her shortly after.  I confess, I don't take kindly to folks organising me into 'quality time' scenarios. 

We left at 10.00am next morning.  It was hazy and overcast, and I predicted it would only get worse nearer the East coast, whereas Mary was sure the sun could just break through at any time.  Once on the M18, Mary asked me what had changed me on the Multiply trip.

In Hull, we threaded our way to the Cemetery through road closures and lane resurfacing .  The detour included Westbourne Avenue's cast iron mermaids that I ran into as a novice driver.  The family grave stands in a prime position near the wrought iron entrance gates.  My grandfather had secured it when he worked as a supervisor for the Council Parks Department.  He lost his right hand in WWI, and had a war pension, too.  Everything looked fine. I spotted one headstone that looked like a cherub on a space hopper.  Mary, observing the silver birches afflicted with fungus, announced that she'd like the one in our back garden taken down, because it blocks out too much light. 

We bought some fish and chips from the shop where I used to go 'as a lad'.  As I expected, from the Foreshore carpark we could barely see to the far bank of the estuary.  When Mary's brother Tony rang, she chirped, "The sun's just about to break through." 

After a walk, we headed home.  I was due to go to a business consultation meeting with with Paul Blomfield, our MP.  I'd read an article in Abu Dhabi about the disproportionate effect on GDP of mega cities and city regions.  "Look at this," I'd explained to Mary, "Six years, and between Hull and Sheffield there's been nothing more than a couple of new sheds (meaning warehouse units) and a new roundabout.  And as for airports..."  I fear that Humberside and South Yorkshire's not in the running as a 'top 600 places of global economic influence', despite our Council's glowing rhetoric in their ten-year Strategy Plan.  Mary bore with my comments silently.  I probably need another day off.

Multiply India on the Horizon

I sauntered out of our drive this morning to walk to the weekly Jesus Centre site management meeting.  I realised that at exactly the same time next week I'll be heading for the train station and Birmingham Airport. So what's it all about?

Part of our commitment to our Multiply International partners is that every three years we'll send a UK team to support conferences.  We expect these to be international, and in Africa that's not difficult.  But India, and the advent of our 'J Generation' projects has somewhat changed the landscape.  The coming India trip includes three conferences in already-familiar centres: Bangalore, Kerala and Mizoram; and two projects in which two of our younger guys will join Colney in Mizoram and Odisha.  Then we have a 'first' with a conference in Yangon, Myanmar, and we round off in Abu Dhabi.  Still with me? 

During May/June's AMEN week, we scoped out the South India programme with Daniel, and the projects in the North with Colney.  Then we had just three months to fill in the gaps.  I've been battling with flight schedules (including stop-overs, 22 to get right) and teaching material.  The Multiply office has been guiding us through visa applications, and dispatching advance funds and conference handouts.  In the midst of a hectic summer schedule of landscaping, Nathan's been scraping together donations for outdoor concerts.  Sam's been fund-raising for the orphanage in Cuttack.  Until two weeks' ago, Steve's been reorganising White and Bishop and its Internet adjunct E-Outdoor.  And Colney got married, and passed over the arrangements for Myanmar to John Biak, who's based there.

Let me tell you about the orphanage.  Three years ago, Orissa (the name's been changed since) was thick with Radical Hindu oppression against the fragile Christian minority.  The underlying motives were complex.  Colney's Restoration India Ministry reaches right into these rural parts.  Some pastors and Christian workers were killed.  Many families fled, leaving children displaced and homeless.  Colney's team scooped up about 70 of the boys left adrift, and rented a large property to house them.  The project has been fraught with problems: finance, suitable premises, and how to provide the best care.  Huw and I visited in November 2011. 

The 'house father' nervously recently approached Colney; "The boys have been listening to radios."  "How is this?" Colney questioned.  "They make them out of electronic components they've scavenged."  "Oh," replied Colney; "Then we must give them a workshop so they can do more."  So, we want to kit them out with a laptop, video cameras and editing software.  The story's immediate appeal has helped to draw donations.

I did a run-though of the itinerary at mid-August's leaders day.  The team got together last week to talk finance, medicines and programme content.  At this last weekend's Bank Holiday Weekend "Winning" Festival, the four of us were on stage for commissioning.

So what's left to make me lose sleep?  I guess that pinning down the technology remains the bugbear.  I've bought a dinky speaker that blasts out indecent decibels, because local PA has always been an issue.  I hate videos that crash because the player gets indigestion.  I'm waiting for my ICT techie 'friends' to calm my nerves.  We shall see.

AMEN Programme Day 1

I was wearing three layers of fleece to combat the wind as I dashed from my lift into Northampton Jesus Centre.  Colney sat all day in a sporty hat, and Rukundo arrived in a borrowed wet-look padded zipper.   British weather!   I found the right room by following Stephen's infectious laugh.  I'd taken my guitar, just in case.  Iain had brought his, too.  I'd also taken my laptop.  Iain asked me if I knew how to set up a projector, as Pete, our star organiser, has been unwell.  Where would the world be without engineers? 

We had plenty of time to catch up with the personal news.  Gregory confirmed that he's officially been consecrated as a bishop in Kenya (on 4th May).  That puts an end to the private joke by which I address all the African guys with, "Hello bishop", when on the phone.  He told me he was relieved that the recent national elections hadn't produced the violence of the previous round.  Once we were underway, Huw gave an update on Multiply's progress through the eyes of the UK team.  The slow progress of the intern sponsorship scheme has been a drag.  He stressed that we want to see increasing partnership in developing the future vision. 

Colney led in an inspiration taken from the Exodus account of crossing the Red Sea.  He related how one of his missionaries in Odisha had come across an unbelieving family distraught over their son.  The young man had taken up with a girl whose family had declared him to be an unsuitable choice.  He'd swallowed as much poison as he could lay his hands on.  When discovered vomiting and in a bad way, he'd been declared beyond remedy by the medics.  Two hours later he'd died; whereupon the family had call in the missionary.  "You have your own faith", he'd challenged.  He offered a simple prayer that God would return his life, as the family surrounded, wailing that they'd become believers if their son revived.  He did, and they did!  

Then Desmond shared about the false gospels he's discerned that are pervading the four continents where he's spoken.  One famous preacher and miracle worker (in Ghana) was betrayed to be being supported by witchdoctors.   When he protested, one of the accusers challenged him to admit it, else he would turn him into a snake.   The preacher fell silent.  "The real gospel", Desmond told us, "Has the power to change lives into Christlikeness."  (He also corrected me about minibuses: it's not mutatu, but poda poda.)

The Jesus Centre Cafe did us proud with chicken and vegetable curry lunch.  For the first time I heard one of our delegates pronounce the food "too hot".  We can start to bland down again now.  Somebody must have heard my stage whisper that there was no bottled water or fruit juice for those who aren't addicted to gallons of tea, because some appeared by the end of the meal.

During the afternoon the guys gave individual reports on the the last year in each of their responsible countries.  Stephen is looking forward to a conference in Malawi next Spring, and the Lusaka group is doing well.  His Workaid carpentry, welding and tailoring project has been running for six month and has produced the first crop of "graduates".  Gregory gave a similar report about the new Uganda group.  His carpentry, IT and sewing project is looking for commercial opportunities, and they aim to launch a microfinance scheme.   He rounded off with a challenge that our own senior leadership are over-loaded, and having given training to our rising generation, should now give them real work.

Iain and Emmaline updated us on the last year in Multiply UK, where we've managed to make a visit to partners nearly every month.   Rukundo described his Kigali radio ministry as "shelling" the region, followed up by visits to new groups as his "ground assaults".  His description of the tensions under which his group in Goma (DRC) operates, and the challenge to overcome tribal violence by the peace of the new creation held us all in awe.  Finally Daniel spoke of the "Candles in the Desert" prayer initiative in UAE, and his successful October conferences in Bangalore and Kerala.

"A rich day", Piet commented as he drove home.  We'd just heard that the marquee had been damaged by the day's high winds, and the customary Friday evening BHWE Festival meeting cancelled.  Back at Kings, Steve had put the heating on.  After last night's windchill in his bedroom I may need my fleeces tonight, too.

Apostolic Men Empowering the Nations

The biennial AMEN conference starts this week.  Eight Multiply leaders will arrive by Friday: Matthew from Nigeria, Desmond from Sierra Leone, Gregory from Kenya, Rukundo from Rwanda, Stephen from Zambia, Daniel from UAE, Colney from India, and Mark from Switzerland.  Their interests all also extend to surrounding countries.  I've met - and shared conferences - with five of them, on their home turf.  Brilliant.  Two years ago we took a big move forward and set up a Fund to share resources and decisions to move the Network forward.  This year we want to build on this partnership foundation.

Western Christians have earned a reputation for "gospel colonialism" in their approach to global churches.  The first world - in any manifestation - just doesn't grasp how arrogant it comes across.  Now I don't go along with the thesis that all our wider Empire - and later Commonwealth - involvement has been a disaster.  In fact, a lecturer I met in Delhi insisted that the foundation for modern India was laid by British legislation.  It meant they could trade on a par with rest of the world.  He also provocatively added that, in this regard, the British did more for India in 90 years than 900 years of previous Muslim administration had achieved. 

Then I met the contrary opinion, and somewhat more formally, in Zambia.  At the national museums, in both Lusaka and Livingstone, an unfavourable comparison was drawn between the typical standards of living before and after independence in 1964.  I understand the political desire to assert a positive self-identity for the people of a recently-emergent nation.  And the  battle for self-government wasn't pretty.  But it seemed too easy a pass-off to imply that everyone would otherwise still be living in destitute squalor.  (They have a more pressing current issue in engaging with China.)

Well, it makes it clear that we need to move with humility.  A pastor (also in Delhi) explained that Westerners - especially Christians -  wishing to do something for the plight of the disadvantaged should place their generosity in the hands of local on-the-ground churches.  He was preparing us for heart-tugging sight of beggars, street kids, and the like.  So, that's what we seek to do with Multiply.  My plea with the guys is, "Please don't take everything in the church in the West uncritically."

I've been busy researching how to get a minibus to Freetown, Sierra Leone.  It's Desmond's no1 priority from quite a bunch of projects he has ambitions to promote.  First we'd need to get him a suitable vehicle.  Although we run a over 40 Transits, the technology has got so baffling that you wonder if a decent de-fleeted one would do any favours.  The standard Toyoto mutatu, fixable with hammer and screwdriver, may be a more durable offering than Ford's drive-by-wire engine management system.  Desmond must decide!

There's an option to book half a container and just export direct from UK.  This is over £3,000, and you feel it must be more sensible to add it to the donation so they can simply source a vehicle in Africa.  Problem is, some things aren't available at any price.  Or, you can drive to Algeciras or Tarifa and ferry over to Tangier.  Then you take the coastal road (N1) right round Western Sahara, Mauritania, Senegal, and Guinea.  "And ideal job for some retired bod", quoted Kelvin, the transport guru from Darlington.  Google says 4,250 miles; 80 hours of driving.  I also found a ferry route from Lisbon into Freetown if we want to half-and-half it.  You can fly back from Freetown for £250.  We're going to have fun with this one.

Gregory and Daniel have already arrived, and Rukundo told me he flies today (Wednesday); Colney arrives on Friday.  I'm intending to stay around in Northants/Warwickshire for the duration, ending up taking the Sunday meeting in Coventry on 2nd June. 

Leicester Again

Three months on from our visit in January, we were due to spend another weekend in Leicester.  Of course, we knew we'd be welcome at Springfield.  But I needed to put myself in Richard's path, at Narrow Way, so we could have a leisurely catch-up. 

Saturday afternoon brought the first bright and warm weather of the year.  The only hiccup on the drive down was when I took the wrong turn of Narborough Road into a one-way street.  Smitten with sunstroke, Mary forbore to chastise me. 

You've got to hand it to the saints there, they've got simplicity well evident.  The uncluttered downstairs reception rooms displayed a restrained and tasteful set of framed pictures.  The spotless brothers' bathroom offered one tube of toothpaste and one shampoo bottle.  It's interesting how the prophetic naming of our community houses works out. 

Members and friends arrived for tea, and set up a buzz of conversation.   Afterwards groups purposefully set off for the evening's events.  Mary went to Springfield for the craft activity.  Richard headed for the outdoor exercise equipment in some local park.  I stayed around and chatted.  There was a promise of evangelism later on, and I'd come prepared with some extra layers of clothing.  However, as folks drifted back home, I realised it would be silly to head off out when everyone had finally regathered. 

We got onto the inevitable issue of how we're going to transition to the rising generation taking over the church and community.  I explained how I'd tried to equip our congregation to identify biblical foundations for our practices.  (Without obvious success, I fear.  So now I have the challenge to overhaul my style of communication.)  Leicester is solidly on the list of cities for our intended new-style "Tesco Express" Jesus Centres.  We talked about the prevailing spiritual atmosphere.   We tried to imagine how it would all work out.

Sunday morning I was up early to finish of some preparation for the morning's teaching that Richard had asked me to take.  I wandered into the kitchen to get some toast.  There was no marmalade in the kitchen "spreads" cupboard.  Simplicity indeed.  But, ha!, there was a large tub of chocolate covered Brazil nuts disguised as margarine.  Bonus!

Since our last weekend, the congregation's move to a new community centre for Sunday mornings.  "It's going to be acoustic." Richard had announced.  I took my guitar.  The band weren't sure what "acoustic" entailed.  My experience is that instruments keeping in time and a decent vocal lead for any chosen songs are essential.  That was all I could offer. 

Just before the "off", already past the 11.30 deadline on giving out teas and coffees, Clive popped up.  "Keep if brief, chief.  We've got to be cleared up and gone by 1.30."  Oh, great.  There were four brother over from Norway, too, and introductions were due.  I didn't take out the copies of my notes.  I shared about our times of prayer and finding a bit more the the Holy Spirit moving back home.  Everything had bounced along okay. 

At lunch Jan poked me some questions about our businesses and why I hadn't quite managed to retire.  Then Mary and I found our way over to Springfield.  Teatime included some special jams and cakes from the visitors.  Dave came for an update on J Generation activities. 

Everyone gathered for a time of worship, and to pray for the four Norwegian brothers.  Their church is in Lothen, about two hours' drive from Oslo.  They have a mission work in Romania, and are considering community: quite a plateful.  They like Multiply, too.  Marius told me, "The country is beautiful.  But in winter we have two hours of sunlight, from 2pm to 4pm."  Hmmm.  Thanks, but no thanks.

Back home everybody but Barrie had already gone to bed.  We'd missed Harriet's birthday.  I noticed how cluttered our house is.

Leicester - January

At some point towards the end of last year, probably between a Sunday leaders' breakfast and Friday morning walking the A57, I concluded that if I found time for Multiply travels then I also needed to give my UK responsibilities an equal shot.  I quit "pole position" on the Sunday morning meeting teaching, and cleared my diary to get some weekends in other regions. 

So, the first weekend of the year found Mary and I visiting Leicester.  Pretty memorable it was, too.

On the Saturday evening two car-loads buzzed into the city centre for evangelism.  Clive, probably working on the basis that what doesn't kill you must do you good, teamed me up with Alex and Dave.  They're both graduates of the Jesus Army Action outreach, and had also led four days of outreach in Swansea.  Well, at least I could hold the "Free Healing" board without getting into too much trouble. 

We headed for group giving out nightclub of flyers.  "Any of you need healing?" Alex launching right in.  After exchanges of glances, they pushed forward a guy who admitted he'd got a sore wrist.  Alex and Dave prayed.  They guy shook his arm.  "Hey, that's better!" He blinked.  With a few warm exchanges, we moved on.  Next we met three Street Pastors.  "Good to see you guys.  Busy tonight?"  Another spontaneous prayer.

"We'll head up to McDonalds, it's usually good there."  Alex and Dave nipped along the pedestrian zone, passing a couple of old friends along the way.  "When we went to Swansea, it really boosted our confidence," Dave commented.  "The folks round here remember us before we found the Lord."  He seemed bold enough to me. 

Suddenly Alex was tied up with one guy, and Dave with another, when a third group turned up.  "I'm an atheist," the guy in front announced.  "Yea, but you're the one with the bad neck!" his mates goaded.  "I don't believe in this stuff," he protested vainly.  "You might get to after..." I heard myself reply.  I prayed.  He looked doubtful.  "Feel any difference?"  "Not sure."  "Let's pray some more."  "Hey, look at this, I can move my arm and shoulder!" he confirmed.  

We stayed on the streets a little more than an hour.  I noted that eight of the nine people we'd prayed for had spoken of an improvement.  We bumped into two or three guys whom Alex and Dave had chatted with and prayed for before.  

On Sunday morning, the congregation seemed smitten with absentees.  The band was down from the customary keyboard, two guitars and vocals, to a solitary guitar and co-opted singer.  I noted, because we're still trying to work out the best arrangement.  It had all spiced our appetite for more.

Alternative Xmas

My comment about soup and roll for Xmas supper hit the mark.  It freed up the day for arranging a decent walk, although Harriet did produce an amazing chocolate cheesecake to mark Josh's birthday.  So Clive resolved we should "do" Chee Dale for our traditional walk. 

It's part of the Monsal Dale disused railway Trail between Buxton and Bakewell.  The attraction is that the main track's wheelchair/pushchair friendly; it offers a challenging alternative walk for the keener ones, and there's toilets at the car park.  Clive reccie'd out the route last week, and produced an abundance of travel directions and laminated maps. 

This was more than brotherly thoughtfulness.  We've had incessant heavy rain.  The riverside path and stepping stones (for the adventurous) were already awash, submerged.  So Clive even included an alternative alternative walk in case the river proved impassable.  Customarily, our Xmas Day walk attracts an interesting selection of folks.  Pause and think who may be induced to forgo traditional trimmings and do non-Xmas, indifferent to the weather, with a bunch of radical religious nutters.

 This year was a bumper event.  Viv had a seven or eight friends from the Christian Union international cafe: two Nigerians (brothers), two Iraquis, two Chinese, a Brazilian and a Japanese.  We had an Iranian and Slovakian, and two Chinese, and No 21 had two more Chinese.  Mark the point - these folks had no other invitations.  The hard-core single students would have likely spent the day in their bedsits. 

After a lot of mutual photographing, we cheerfully trekked out of the Millers Dale car park.  A third of the way round the adventurous route, we'd already had the whole party slithering down the river bank several times.  Progress was painfully slow.  Some folks had turned up in woefully unsuitable gear (not really their fault).  So Barrie and I took the Nigerian guys and some others along the relief route.  I didn't even get chance to let Mary know; somehow she was way ahead of me.

Pat and his brother turned out to be engineers.  We chatted about Multiply, Atmos and tent-making.  At the "here's-where-you-turn-back" point, Barrie produced a Snickers bar.  He divided it into six with surgical precision.  We were the last ones back to the car park.  The forty-plus others were crowded round three picnic tables laden with soup, pizza, quiche, crisps, rolls, cake and fruit.  "I'll always remember today," grinned Pat, as his brother took another snap-shot. 

It was dark by the time we got home.  The next thing on the agenda was Agape, starting with celebration worship at the Jesus Centre.  Viv left his international friends (now joined by a Malaysian) at No 25 next door. 

Back home again, we'd just finished the meal and prayed over Josh, when Jan appeared at the door. "Do you know there's smoke coming out of No 14 (our neighbours)?"  This is a women's refuge home.  We've tended to run our separate lives.  Plus, the relationship with the Council management has been - hmmm - asymmetrical, in the "heads they win, tails we lose" way of things.  But Harriet knows the mums from the school gate.

She found them standing in their garden distressed, wet and cold, while the fire engine attendants took over.  Some children were in pyjamas and bare-footed.  So, into our lounge they all trooped, one mum with eight kids, one with three daughters, a policemen, one of the resident staff...  Beyond sympathising with the policemen, we guys kept out of the way.  It emerged that a television set in the boys' bedroom had exploded and set the room on fire.  Nasty Xmas surprise.  They stayed well over an hour, until it was okay to return.

I doubt there would be another home in the street able to be quite so readily comfortable with this intrusion.  So here's a testimony to our alternative Jesus lifestyle.  A brilliant day.  How was Xmas for you?

So, it's, "Africa, here we come". (Repost from 28/02/2102)

We fly from Heathrow at 7pm tonight.  Gregory in Nairobi emailed just yesterday with a question about accommodation.  He proposed we change from the Methodist Guest House, Oloitokitok Road, to the nearby Musmark Christian Hostel.   No problem in principle, but I wasn’t sure how to go about answering.  Googling Musmark produced an American backpacker’s 2002 blog entry.  It seemed the accommodation was okay.  What made me smile was the further first impressions of Africa.  So, I’ll give you mine, since I wasn’t posting stuff this time last year.

Day one produced a hectic overnight flight and busy schedule with our Multiply guys.  I settled down for my evening meal at the aforementioned Methodist Guest House.  A father with two small children, of fair complexion, occupied the next table.  The older one was pouring salt onto her plate, and licking it off with her finger.  Daddy’s smile seemed to register this was normal behaviour.

 “Say, I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he leaned towards me.  “I saw your red cross, and wondered what group you’re from?”  We tried to find common ground.  He was based some miles up country, in Masai territory, developing leadership training material in the local dialect.  “We have a quarterly meeting here in town,” he explained,” So I decided to come a little early and give the girls a day out.  Only...” he went on, “We didn’t think it was important enough to let our prayer team know.  Hmm.  We’ve had a miserable 24 hours - violent sickness.  We missed that one, didn’t we?”

It was his matter-of-factness that I struggled to digest. 

“So, we got straight in touch with them,” he was explaining, “And we’re okay now.”

I have other recollections of steps into a new dimension.  There was our first Agape evening after having moved to Warwickshire.  Pete, a resident leader of nine months’ local experience, declared, “Welcome to the battlefront.”  C T Studd is recorded as writing home, “The spiritual atmosphere here is so charged, you have to sleep with your eyes open.”  That was Africa, too.

What had I come to?  Preparing to do warfare with mosquitoes had absorbed enough nervous energy.  Needing a whole intercession team to ward off gastric bugs in the course of a perfectly innocent and routine trip left me disoriented.  Suddenly, I felt very lonely.  I was glad to be pointed in some helpful direction.

Well, by this time tomorrow, Ian, Jason and Jonny will have their own stories to tell.  That’ll be interesting.