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.

Adelphi and Other Scouse Gems

So, a slimmer Church diary for September.  The Sheffield leaders decided to join with Liverpool for a day on the freed-up weekend.  Mick had already arranged to take Birmingham saints there, too, and to do some evangelism.  Because it made sense to catch the Uni Freshers Week, we agreed on the Saturday a week behind the remainder of the Church's Regional get-togethers.  The Liverpool saints staged a coach campaign, and booked a function room for a Saturday evening event. 

Thus the early morning found us heading for Snake Pass.  The sunshine had raised a covering of mist on Derwent reservoir.  We took a short diversion to enjoy different perspectives.  The satnav got us straight to the car parking adjacent to St Johns Gardens, opposite the Museum and Library.  First off we met Colin and Carley, a couple from Fleetwood who are aiming to get married at Cornerstone early in the New Year. 

An interesting place the Gardens, with a central statue that looks as if it has a pigeon permanently perched on its head.  It turns out to be a plume adorning the helmet.  We enjoyed chatting until lunch, after which folks were encouraged to disperse for the afternoon into the nearby city centre.  I sat on the wall that runs around the Gardens with my guitar and sang some favourite songs.  This was a welcome creative interlude after a week of wearing my Jesus Centre admin head. 

Groups of families were parking up to visit the Museum or Library, and folks seemed to appreciate my efforts as I nodded a welcome.  A bunch of guys dropped some pound coins into the polystyrene cup that contained my half-finished tea. 

We had our picnic tea in the Gardens and exchanged stories about the afternoon.  As the evening chill began to take the edge off the welcome sunshine, we sauntered across the Lime Street Station concourse to the Adelphi Hotel.  I'm always amazed at the contrast between the two maritime cities of Hull, my birthplace, and Liverpool.  The extravagant architecture and decor of the hotel speaks of prosperity and cultural aspiration that's somewhat foreign to flat-footed Humberside.

The evening event buzzed along nicely, led by Loz.  A couple of folks met during the afternoon had made it, too.  A guy from the Uni, armed with a reel tape recorder, added our worship to his catalogue for a media studies assignment.  Altogether it was a great boost for the local Lighthouse saints.

We walked back to the parked car past a pub advertising 'full Irish breakfast'.  Interesting place, Liverpool.

A57, A625, A61, A621

It seems that Sheffield Council provides a footpath to the city boundary on all the main outbound roads.  I don't know when I first realised this, but I've made walking the 15 miles to the Derbyshire border along the Manchester Road a regular exercise.  

At points the footpath is a bit grim.  Invariably there's evidence that a car has recently skidded off the road.  This is the route to the Snake Pass (A57), and ice hangs around long after it's cleared in the suburbs.  It's usually headwind on the way out, and buses only run on Saturdays: I recently got soaked when heavy rain started when I was well out in the countryside.

Last summer, I fancied a change.  I did the equivalent walk on Ecclesall Road (A625) towards Castleton.  This is a shorter distance (about 12 miles).  My attempt to take a 'selfie' with the Peak District National Park millstone as a background, was ruined by the direct sunlight from the south.  The footpath has disappeared at some points, so you only want to walk the roadside verve bits in dry weather.

For years we've passed the city boundary sign at Lowedges as we've returned from trips down the M1.  We usually use the A61 to Chesterfield, then head along the A617 to junction 29.  I hadn't been attracted to this route because it's all built-up area.  But the other Monday I had to call in at Skaino's office, round the corner, so just kept on walking.  Returning is down hill all the way (some six miles), which is a compensation.

Skaino's offices also run onto the Abbeydale Road, which heads towards Bakewell.  Twice I've got out to Totley, only to be soaked by rain, and forced to catch a bus home.  This week I completed the walk to the boundary, only to find the footpath goes about two and a half miles further on.  So this was an 18 mile there-and-back marathon.  And I got caught in a brief hailstorm, but it produced a lovely rainbow.

Our dentist surgery lies on the A6102 Stocksbridge Road.  The city boundary intersects this on the main A616 Bypass.  It's way beyond the end of the Middlewood tram terminal, but countryside all the way from that point.  It's next on my list.

It's a great way to get familiar with the city's main radial routes.  And a shame not to make full use of amenities that our Council Tax has paid for!

Liverpool Weekend

We'd promised the Lighthouse saints we'd visit again, and this time took Stephen.  We discovered that they don't do breakfast, lunch and tea on Saturdays, but brunch and tea.  However, when we arrived at 1.00pm, they busied to provide us with a meal.  The Snake Pass has been closed near Rivelyn, and the Woodhead Pass proved bright and sunny.

Ian took his two children back the front garden to finish building a little hut to attract various wildlife, and Stephen went to find the local Tescos.  Mary and I headed to Otterspool Promenade.  I'd discovered it last time on a brisk walk before the Sunday morning meeting.  The sun had turned to drizzle and the wind was blustery.  I suggested we stayed in the car so Mary had a doze and I'd catch up with some reading.  I rang Gav.  "We're sitting on the Mersey Estuary, watching the twinkling lights from the Ellesmere Port oil refineries.  Romantic." 

Back at the house we had an update on their building repair work.  The 'Gate' external wall had lost its plaster ready for waterproof treatment, and provoked interesting comments as visitors for the evening meeting gathered.  Mark spoke about finding fresh faith.  Joe, responding, asked for prayer, and Tommy and I led him into speaking in tongues.  Over supper Lill led the younger folks in a round of riddle-solving, while Blaze got busy in the kitchen.

As we left for the Sunday morning event, we saw Ian's finished hut.  A good number gathered at the Arche centre, and Joe was happy with last night's touch from the Holy Spirit.  I led the '40' meditation (by Chris Goan and Simon Smith), and we interacted well.  The folks chatted warmly before we returned for lunch at Lighthouse. 

 Mary and Stephen left mid-afternoon.  I was staying over for a mentoring session with Ian and the Monday evening.  I fell into conversation Rob and Pauline, and discovered (like me) he'd read Pope Francis's recent Exhortation.  We chatted about what 2014's changes may bring for us.  This included the paradox between us maintaining good stewardship of the application God has led us into, and our stamp of character by which we love to pioneer new things.  I fancy there's something around peace - the work of the Cross - that we can afford to amplify.

We had an early supper of pizza.  "It's Deno's birthday", Ian announced.  "Blaze has done him a cake.  Coming to see him for an hour?".  I was glad to, and we headed to Speke, where he looks after his 79-year-old mum.  Deno had lived with us for a year in Sheffield, then settled at Dayspring in Northampton.  But first his father's then his mother's failing health had called him back.

We heard the dog as we reached the door.  It yapped incessantly - from under the sofa, in front of the television, and in the hallway.  I struggled to identify the breed - some form of soft-haired terrier.  Deno make us a cup of tea, and divided Blaze's cake - complete with fresh cream - into five huge chunks.  Meanwhile the television entertained us with a Sunday evening omnibus on serial killers. 

Monday morning was cold, and Ian and I shared the office.  We stopped for a cuppa, and spent a couple of hours on Professional Development stuff.  The evening get-together was a new 'prophetic pioneers' group that represents the grassroots initiatives being promoted by the younger half of the church.  Viv and Harriet came over from Sheffield, so there was a good Northern mix.  It was great to hear how Lill and Blaze have vision for eleven younger girls, and are planning a camp for the summer.  Kerry wants to beg a piece of waste ground in Kensington (Liverpool) from the Council, and set up a community gardening project.  Harriet wants to start a 'Come dine with me' group.  I related how the Leicester saints had had a year of amazing initiatives, but somehow not reached a breakthrough.  It seems to point to a need for more prayer, so we prayed.

Viv slept in the back of the car as Harriet and I chatted our way back over the Pennines.  Many good things seem to be stirring.

Liverpool Black-E

For the past dozen years we've used a Saturday in September to hold concurrent celebration events at two locations across the UK.  North/South approximately describes it, though East/West has sometimes been geographically more accurate.  Ours (i.e. 'North') was in Belfast last year.  For fairness, we aim to toggle between the respective 'patches' of our apostolic team guys.  This year, we opted to return to Liverpool.  The previous city action day, and evening event at Black-E, had been a great success.

I'd leaned on our household to get over to Liverpool on a Saturday earlier in September, to give a bit of moral support to the local saints' preparatory publicity and prayer walking, etc.  Despite the distance, we are Lighthouse's nearest neighbours.  I returned from the Multiply trip to find an A3 sheet scheduling the transport arrangements already pinned up on the hallway bookcase.  Josh and the guys had been hard at work.  They all chipped off early to do set-up.  I didn't scrutinise the list until Friday evening, when I discovered that Mary and I were due to ferry (older) Ray and three Chinese students.  An interesting mix.  I'd expected that Ray should have had his electric scooter.

Come Saturday morning, it all emerged as a considerable challenge, as Mary was poorly in bed.  I'd single-handedly have to deliver the passengers to the march start/gathering point (Chevasse Park) on the edge of the posh retail zone, and shuttle the car around between start and finish parking spots.  Last time we'd had an extensive trek, having parked on the docks.  We also found ourselves snagged up in the Labour Party conference, by which the minibus was taken through a full-on Police security check.  But that's another story.

I opted to go via the Woodhead Pass.  I couldn't face crawling though Glossop's Saturday shopping traffic.  (Older) Ray remained morosely silent.  I couldn't quite manage sustained conversation with the Richard, Flora and their friend Ray on the back seat.  We pulled into what's left of Burtonwood Services, as I couldn't remember that there were toilets near the shopping centre drop-off point.  (My enduring memory of Burtonwood is driving a swaying broken-down double-decker into the now-defunct West-bound carpark, accompanied by four motorway Police cars.  Three points on my License for a CU30 offense.)  My passengers had spotted Jack, Harriet and family tucking into their lunchtime rolls, so whatever other ideas I'd had for food were highjacked.

Our 'Together' instructions for the day thoughtfully included postcodes for the march start point and for Black-E.  So I cranked up the satnav and sought to follow directions.  As we got to the Waterfront, the satnav stubbornly insisted that I should turn up a one-way bus lane, and I was abandoned to my wits.  I recognised a couple of landmarks, but missed a vital turn just in time to see the Lighthouse minibus emerge from the side road.  Round the loop we went again for another 20 minutes.  "Jump out now!  You wait just beyond that barrier," I urged.  To my relief a Birmingham member had spotted my passengers, as I roared off to Black-E, hoping to park up and walk back in time for the march.

Georgie opened the Black-E stage door, much to my pleasure, and I gave Nate, Neive and Elise the small carved elephant I'd brought from Myanmar.  Neive offered to come on the march with me.  We set off at a pace to find the rest.  There was another mission, too.  Over breakfast, I'd broken my glasses trying to tighten the nose bridge.  Two weeks' of perspiration meant my glasses kept slipping down, annoyingly.  If it hadn't been the third morning that I'd found myself fully awake at 4.15am, I may have had more tolerance.  Because I declared on my driving license renewal that I need glasses, and I haven't got a spare pair with my current prescription, I needed to get them fixed for the journey back to Sheffield.

The march was lively, but somewhat undirected.  Leaders Chris and Loz only had a hand-held megaphone, and couldn't make themselves heard past the first few rows of followers.   Ray was puffing along half a mile behind, supported by Andy and Tracy.  I wondered if we should get medical help, but instead they put him in a taxi to Black-E.  As we all peeled off to our respective evangelism spots, Neive and I went on a hunt for Specsavers.  "No, sorry. It's a discontinued line" the helpful assistant reported.   I fortified Neive with a bottle of cola, and we trekked off in search of another optician.   This time it was Boots.  Same story, "We don't do a frame like this."  And in answer to my next question, "There's a Vision Express round the corner."

The afternoon had hotted up and I felt overdressed, insulated against the UK climate.  The man at Vision Express looked doubtful, but dived off into the 'laboratory'.  Yes, I know the glasses are now well out-of-date (and design).  But I'd fully expected to have to replace them last after my last sight test, only to find the assistant had declared it unnecessary.  The Vision Express man found a spare nose bridge.  Apologising that it wasn't exactly what I needed, he handed it over with a smile.  Back at Black-E, Gav produced a tube of superglue, and all was well.

The evening event cracked off brilliantly.  Elise joined me sitting on stage, as her bit of time with Grandad.  Gav had rung Mary and told her that I was looking lost.   As Viv was leading a song in the kids' spot, "All of God's children...", everyone joined in with enthusiastic whistling.  Only the insistent penetrating squeal wasn't us, but the fire alarm: we all had to vacate the premises.   Flora, Richard and Ray were nowhere to be seen.  I correctly surmised that they'd sneaked out to the inspect the several nearby Chinese restaurants.

I don't know how my passengers found the journey home.  With the twists and turns on the Snake Pass, and my indifferent speed control, I was just grateful to arrive safely.  Mercifully, my satnav proved reliable as I dropped off the three Chinese folks at their respective student digs.  "Mick says we should do this every year," I commented to Mary.  "Not without Ray's scooter," the bedclothes replied.

Multiply India Visit Day Sixteen, 18 Sept

"You look a lot better than you did when you arrived," Hephzi observes over breakfast.  "Hmm, my blog was so pedestrian that I commented that I may be on the point of total collapse," I agree.  "And the hearing-aid that's not been working suddenly decided to start again."  Mizoram and Myanmar were desperately wet, and the climate here in UAE would dry out anything .  The fact remains that I've shied away from conversations because I just couldn't rely on hearing adequately .  Daniel and I talk budgets, expenses and receipts.  "You know Greatheart, when I see how much of this goes into the visit, you really need to get someone to take it over," Steve chides.  Later, at the airport, we have a similar 'what-we'd-do-differently' and 'what-would-work-better' conversation.  It takes in baggage and clothing, gifts for people here, relative priorities in the use of our time, etc.  Maybe we'll get there for the February/March 2014 trip to Africa.  Certainly, I've carted around too many clothes, and a heavy and unnecessary church laptop. 

Daniel and Hephzi talk some more about their future.  I feel like we should have given them more opportunity.  There can't be many friends 'outside the scene' they can refer to.  We pray together and zoom the short drive to the airport.  I see Daniel waving furiously from the car window as we push the trolley towards check-in.  "Ooh, I must get a shot of a 777," Steve enthuses.  And then admits: "I clean forget to take a picture of Daniel and Hephzi".  What have we done to him?  I check the time, 9.30am, and realise Nathan and Sam will just be at Heathrow. 

I find it difficult to rest on the eight-hour trip.  A crammed schedule awaits me, and I won't really 'unpack' until Tuesday next week.  It's no consolation that John Biak was due to fly to the US within two weeks of returning home after leaving Yangon.  The meal offering is very Western, and tasty, too.  As we descend slowly into Manchester, the nose camera view on the video captures Derwent Water.  Yes, we've come right over the Snake Pass.  The lady across the aisle is twisting her hands in agitation.  After ten flights in two weeks, I can't raise any adrenalin about this final touch-down.  "Didn't you offer to pray for her?" Mary asks later. 

I give Sam a quick ring, and he's obviously been asleep.  "Did you get today off work?" I tease him.  "Listen, when can we get together for a debrief?" he counters.   I find out why Mumbai was a nightmare - they landed into Domestic Arrivals, but it's two miles distant from International Departures, then they were stopped by endless security checks.   Manchester beats its reputation for being painfully slow clearing arrivals, and Steve and I are soon at the rail link station.  "I'll probably see you tonight," I explain.  "I've got to travel down anyway, and it makes as much sense to come tonight.  Make sure Dave leaves the door open."
Mary rings me three times as a trundle out of the station in Sheffield: there are too many ways you can miss people arriving here.  I get a lovely reception from Jack and Harriet's kids, and challenge Grace to carry my case upstairs.  Within an hour, I've got another case packed and we leave for cell group.  Barrie will pick me up later, and drive us both to Kings House.  Over our meal, Phil and Donna fill me in about the 'vision review' Agenda that's been in full swing: it seems good progress. 

At Kings, I find Steve's case contents exploded around the room.  He's under his quilt, and sensibly an extra layer, too.  I find an incredibly thick blanket and snuggle under it gratefully.  At 4.15am, I wake up with cramp.  And the Malarone tablet I took (without a drink of water) has catalysed heartburn.  My body clock tells me this is a perfectly fine time to be getting up.   From past experience this will continue for three or four days.  Steve sleeps on.

Blackpool

Andrea's voice sounded hesitant.  "Erm, my sister Melanie's died.  They've already done a post-mortem and found nothing.  She was only 42.  We wondered if you'd take the funeral...?"  This was a blow.  I'd taken Andrea's mum's funeral six years ago.  It seems Melanie, who had lifelong learning difficulties, had simply missed her too much.  I had a couple of questions.  "I expect the rest of the family know you're asking me?"  They did.  "Any idea when it may be?  I'm away in Belfast soon."

It turned out that Andrea and Alan were also due to be in Belfast.  The Blackpool Crematorium and Cemetery could only fit in one burial a day, so there was time to make arrangements.  I like Andrea's family.  Without being irreverent, I'll try to describe the previous after-the-funeral eats.  Everyone squeezed into the modest family home.  Sacha, Andrea's big brother, ordered 36 rounds of fish, chips and peas from the local shop they'd always used.  With mugs of tea, and bread and butter for the traditionalists, we all tucked in, without the flow of good-hearted banter diminishing.

It's not for nothing that Lancashire boasts so many comedians.  For a start, most of the men were wearing with their white shirts tangerine ties, in honour of Blackpool's football team.  "Go easy with that tomato ketchup.  You might get it on my shirt. It's got to go back in the box to get my money back from Marks and Spencers tomorrow!"   I confess that Al Reed remains one of my favourites.

Sacha designed a colourful order of service sheet for Melanie.  We would file into the chapel to Michael Jackson, have Two Little Boys for our first song, and exit to Boyzone.  How great Thou art would represent the family's favour hymn.  Andrea hinted that sequins, rather than bright ties, may be the order of the day, since Melanie 'liked her bling'.   Sacha had also drafted a letter to the Blackpool Gazette, praising the local Social Services and expressing thanks to the three families who had cared for Melanie.  He hoped I'd read it out.

"I think I'll take my guitar," I muttered to Mary as we loaded the car.  "I may just try to lead How great Thou art."  But I wasn't convinced.  The Snake Pass greeted us with bright sunshine, but further west it just got gloomier and colder.  As we got to the gates, I recognised the Cemetery.  "Goodness," Mary commented.  That was all new last time we came, and now it's all full."  It was true.  Row after row of shining headstones marked this corner of the world's love for the traditional way of doing things. 

Uncle Harry parked his car in front of us.  At the same time Sacha and his wife appeared.  They'd been first held up and then diverted coming over A66.  There was a brisk exchange about Auntie getting stuck in the toilet at the tea rooms.  Mary gave me a knowing look.  Ever since meeting my wider family, she's never been able to fathom Northern humour.   Seven or eight random folks wandered by.  We suspected - and were right - that they were Melanie's friends from the MENCAP drop-in.   At points they sobbed on each other's shoulders.  We all respond different ways.

Hearses and limousines came and went, and we weren't quite sure what was happening.  It turned out the previous "slot" was overrunning by a quarter of an hour.   Workmen wandered back and forth with lengths of metal ducting.  Taken with the parked Heating Contractor's van, it suggested all wasn't well with the Crematorium, er, facilities.  We stood around in the perishing wind, cutting through my JA jacket so even my hands were freezing.  "Auntie" joked with Andrea and Alan.  "We've got an hour's slot, so we're not going to be hassled," I offered to Sacha.  "Well there you are then.  Preach for as long as you like."  The chapel cleared.  Michael, from the undertakers, showed me the control buttons for the sound tracks.

We filed in with the coffin.  To the left, mostly the family; to the right the MENCAP and Social Services friends.  Michael Jackson faded.  I got on with things.  Rolf Harris was impossible to sing with.  It wasn't going well.  I silently prayed that somehow there'd be space for the Holy Spirit to move, and for Jesus to signal his triumph over the grave.  Michelle and Andrea shared some heartfelt stuff; their voices dropped with the emotion.  I did my preachy bit, trying to be friendly and to connect.  Then I hit play for How great Thou art.

Now, I'm not afraid to give it full volume when needful.  But the PA speaker was on my left, and my hearing-aid on my right, and the track was running far to fast for a congregation to follow.  Eyes darted.  The chorus was no better.  I poked the red control button and hoofed over to Mary.  "Quick, go and get my guitar". 

"Right; we're going to sing this properly." I announced to the half-standing and half-sitting and half-undecided chapel.  I read Sacha's letter, name-checking all the folks mentioned in it, and giving them warm acknowledgements.  We were getting somewhere.  Brought in from the car, my guitar wasn't in tune; and my fingers were still half-numb.  But we cracked all four verses and a final repeat of the chorus.  They were brilliant. 

Now there was a challenge to make the committal as lingering as respectfulness required, but as brief as the wind permitted.  Sacha had thoughtfully provided daffodils to cast onto the lowered coffin.  We spoke out a prayer from the service sheet, and I said a couple of final prayers from a selection I've compiled for funerals.  Folks stayed around a little.  "Auntie" fixed me with her large grey-blue eyes.  "When my turn comes, will you do my funeral?" 

We thawed out with hotpot at an in-laws home near Stanley Park.  Uncle Harry cracked more jokes, and I missed the call for a cup of tea.  I told Sacha I still owe him a chat about charity fundraising.  Will I be back in another six years?   Next day I sent a text confirming how it had all gone.