A beautiful place.

Upon the lake the wind dances a waltz with the water in patterns of rolling splendour joined occasionally by swirling white maidens.

As I sit the wind stiffens and the sky darkens, the blue hue gives way to grey.

Across the lake a lace curtain of a rain shower forms and draws nearer. The waltzing splendour on the lake gives way to patterns of fractal like intricacy, patterns within patterns, swirls within swirls, faster and faster. It’s like a street dance crew has invaded a tea-dance. This way and that way they dart across the waters.

I stand and ponder my need for shelter or a coat, but stand and marvel at the beautiful complexity of the scene as the lace curtain draws nearer.

Then, just as the curtain is about to become a veil the wind shifts to the north and street dancers move away from me and towards the town in the distance.

The rolling waltzing patterns of peak and trough return as if they had never been disturbed. Continuing in the dance until the next time the lace curtain and the street dancers return.

Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
      Your workmanship is marvellous—how well I know it.

Psalm 139

Home, I went in search of the rest of the family. Jonathan was outside having his tea with Anna, Sue and Emily were in the kitchen preparing mine.

“We’ve picked some more strawberries, and we’ve got some red raspberries”

“Have you picked them”

“No not yet”

Still in my work clothes I headed outside to the net tent at the back of the garden where the raspberry bushes live. It didn’t take me long to find a handful of wonderful sweet red raspberries.

If you’ve ever tasted a ripe raspberry straight off a bush you know what I mean I say that they were GOOD.

If you’ve never had the pleasure then I’m sorry but you’ve really missed out on one of life’s treats.

They call them fresh in the supermarket – but it’s just not the same.

Perhaps it’s got something to do with the anticipation at watching them grow week by week. Perhaps they taste so much better because I’ve had a hand in their growth. Perhaps they just taste better because they are fresher. I don’t know?

Almost by definition, things that are called fruits taste good. Whether they are sweet or tangy or succulent or even bitter, they taste good.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control

Galatians 5

For some reason, best known to someone in the trade, Bay Trees are very expensive to buy, but I had a cunning plan. I knew my Dad had grown some Bay Trees from seed in pots in his garden. So, when we visited recently, I acquired a couple.

Both of these trees had lovely straight trunks but had been left far too long in rather small pots making the branches all spindly with a rather lonely looking and sparse set of leaves.

As I was looking at these leaves and wondering what to do my Dad walked up behind me and said “put them in a new pot, prune them right back and they’ll grow a storm”.

And that is precisely what I did; with a couple of nice big pots, a bag of compost and my trusty secateurs I got to work.

By the time I had finished there were two pots, two straight trunks, and not too much else. If these two had stayed like that it would have been a tragedy and a waste of time, but I was confident that it wouldn’t be.

A good pruning was precisely what these two immature trees needed.

It’s been a few weeks since I gave the trees their crew-cut and, as expected, they’ve grown a storm with leaves and buds all over the place. The toughest bark has become some of the most fertile areas. They are starting to look like trees again. There are still scars from the pruning, but the growth is already worth the disfigurement. There’s even growth right next to the point where the branches have been dissected.

Jesus said:

"I am the Real Vine and my Father is the Farmer. He cuts off every branch of me that doesn’t bear grapes. And every branch that is grape-bearing he prunes back so it will bear even more. You are already pruned back by the message I have spoken.

"Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a branch can’t bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can’t bear fruit unless you are joined with me.

"I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon. This is how my Father shows who he is—when you produce grapes, when you mature as my disciples.”

John 15

“Diamonds in the rough” would be a good way of describing them, but there’s more to it than that, these diamonds are becoming sparkling gems before my eyes. I don’t know whether they realise it, but they are changing day by day. Sometimes the refining comes with laughter, at other times it comes with tears, and sometimes it comes in the most peculiar of ways,

Sue and I sometimes sit opposite each other and smile wryly at the events that are unfolding before us. Through this smile we are saying to each other “is it me?” this isn’t an accusation, it’s an affectionate phrase we use when we haven’t a clue what is going on.

The community in which we find ourselves is spiced with a whole set of characters, adding extra ingredients to the recipe of our life. Community is a bit like a recipe, if all of the ingredients were exactly the same then meal times would be quite a dull experience, it’s the variety that makes the meal interesting.

As an example there’s a lady with learning difficulties who has become, in many way, an extension to our family. Life is a complicated thing and she needs help to navigate its pitfalls and landmines, sometimes she falls in and then she needs help negotiating her way out. Some people might regard her as “difficult” but she is special in many, many ways. Listening to her pray is like listening to a  child talk directly to its dad, and while she’s conversing her face shines. She goes somewhere that the rest of us can only dream of. The recipe of our community would be missing something without her.

There are also people of learning who have insights as a result of their knowledge that enrich the life of the rest of us. Their learning doesn’t make them better, it just makes them different. They bring another different ingredient.

I have a friend who is wonderfully practical. He can make and mend things that I look at in puzzlement. Another wonderful ingredient and a different set of colours.

Jesus disciples were a mixed bag of individuals too, some of them were societies misfits and outcasts. Jesus didn’t pick them because they all fit some kind of psychometric test, he looked past the exterior and saw something inside that he was looking for. We’re not told, but I’m also sure that the disciples had different academic ability, they had different occupations, some of them requiring book learning, some requiring practical learning. I’m also sure that they had different physical builds, they were from a single ethnic group, but after that they would have been very different.

We aren’t called to live in pristine uniformity, we are called to be part of a body.

This book is subtitled “A Biography of the Beer that Changed the World” which is true, but this book is also a biography of a family, the biography of a company and to a certain extent the biography of a country.

I used to do some work for Diageo who now own the Guinness brand so was interested to understand the history of the company. Like many of the great brands it turns out that Guinness was born out of the vision of one man and maintained through a number of generations, each of them holding true to an overall philosophy.

Speaking as a product of my age, who only knows beer as a highly commercialised product, I was surprised by the ancient history of beer which is covered as an introduction to the book. I particularly liked the idea that St. Patrick won over many an Irish tribal chief with his tasty beer.

Arthur Guinness the founder of Guinness sounds like a fascinating person – forward looking and practical. Reading about Arthur I’m drawn to a man of action and of principle. Many companies talk about Corporate Responsibility, it’s a current trend, and Guinness stands as a historic example that few come close to.

It’s fascinating to read, though, about a family that continues on through the generations with the same set of high principles inspired by Arthur. It seems that there are only two career choices for Guinness’s – brewing or the clergy. Their influences read like a who’s who of western Christianity – Wesley, Whitfield, Barnardo, Hudson Taylor, Spurgeon, Moody, Booth, Shaftsbury.

My favourite of the family has to be Rupert Guinness who, having received £5 million as wedding gift decided that he’s going to move into a slum and to use the money to improve the community where he was living.

The book also goes on to talk about the more modern company that is Guinness and in particular their use of advertising. Imagine releasing tens of thousands of bottles of Guinness into the seas as an advertising gimmick these days – but that’s exactly what they did in 1954 and 1959, and these bottles are still being found.

I enjoy biography most of the time, and this book was no exception. It’s a great mix of history, biography and story. It’s also immensely challenging to see what one family can achieve.

Amazon: The Search for God and Guinness.

(This is the first book review I’ve done, but I think I’ll do some more of them. Let me know what you think.)

Heaven’s spotlights are those flashes of brilliance that light up sections of the countryside for a few moments and then move onto somewhere else.

As I was walking in the English Lake District over the weekend it was prime heaven’s spotlight time. The clouds where high in the sky and quite sparse as I walked my way up Dale Head turning around every now and again to survey the view of Great Gable and the Scafell range of mountains the scene would be ever changing (Actually, most of the time I was turning around to catch my breath, but that doesn’t sound as philosophical).

Sometimes the spotlights were radiating light from the few patches of snow that were still resident on the north side of Scafell. At other times the spotlight would be eliminating one of the lesser hills making it stand proud while being overlooked by it’s larger neighbours. Then the spotlights would make there way down into a valley picking out some of the detail there, perhaps a  river, or a house, or a wood.

Sometimes the spotlights would scan across a ridge highlighting it’s undulations. Occasionally the spotlights would merge together in a florescent dance.

I love it that this changing light seems to make the countryside come alive in a way that it just isn’t on a grey dank day. The light gives it life.

Sometimes I stand in a crowd and look around and I get a similar feeling. I see conversations that are in spotlights. I’m not talking about real light, I’m talking about something that is happening in the conversation that even from a distance seems to make it shine.

I can see other conversations that are just ordinary almost dull looking, but these conversations seem to me to be iridescent. The conversation, not just the people, seems to be alive.

We all have too many conversations that are just a passing of information and have no life in them at all. But I know when I’ve experienced a conversations that is full of life, making me fell more alive too. These conversations are like spotlights from heaven.

Sometimes I’m sure that we create our own version of a dark dank day by not bringing everything we have to our interactions with others, we make them grey. When we bring ourselves then we bring the light, and that light makes us more alive.

If you click on the image below and view it in large see how many different heaven’s spotlights you can see, it’s not just one or two. If you look really closely you’ll see that one of the spotlights is lighting up the sea in the distance:

Perhaps if we tried to bring more light we’d get more life in return, or perhaps it’s the other way around?

Even as I think about them now I’m smiling with the humour of the situations.

I’m sure that if I tried to describe them to you they would barely make you smile, but I know that if I retold the tale to the right group of people that I wouldn’t even get to the end of the story before we were all doubled up. Sometimes just the start of the story is enough for the shoulders to start to bounce and the giggles to flow.

I sure that you wouldn’t believe that some of the situations were real, you’d think that I’d made them up. Bizarre is something that seems to follow us around, pouncing out on us when we least expect it.

There’s nothing guilty or malicious about these snickers we are remembering fond situations that we treasure.

A few stories must have been shared hundreds of times and they still reduce us to gibbering gigglers. Sometimes I’m sure that it’s the expectation of the laughter that makes us laugh more than the story itself.

Laughter is such a tonic and I keep these memories stored away like little treasure boxes. Over exposing them would take away their shine so I keep them under wraps ready for the right time and the right place.

One of the most famous passages in the Bible comes from Ecclesiastes 3 and starts like this:

There is a time for everything,
       and a season for every activity under heaven:

This same passage goes on to say:

a time to weep and a time to laugh,
       a time to mourn and a time to dance,

There’s a well known statistic that compares the amount a child laughs (300 times a day) with the amount an adult laughs (15 times a day).  As we get through life we should have more laughter treasures, not less. Perhaps we aren’t very good at looking after them. We need to remember that there is “a time to laugh”.

The Bible is still hugely relevant to today’s society. Amongst all of the words and events described, those of Jesus stand out as shining lights.

Over the last 60 days, or so, I’ve been re-reading the Gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Each day as I’ve read I’ve tried to take time to think about what it means – to wrestle with the profound.

In our busy frantic world it’s not always easy to focus our lives on the important things. So rather than try to take in all of the passage that I’ve read, I’ve taken to writing down a single short verse from the text and thinking about that.
Taking just a small morsel gave me something to focus on and I’ve really enjoyed it.

The word “profound” is an over-used word, I find, so it doesn’t really give across the true meaning to describe the words of Jesus as profound, but profound is the best word that I could think of.

Profound:
1.penetrating or entering deeply into subjects of thought or knowledge; having deep insight or understanding.
2.originating in or penetrating to the depths of one’s being.
3.being or going far beneath what is superficial, external, or obvious.
4.of deep meaning; of great and broadly inclusive significance.
5.pervasive or intense; thorough; complete.
6.extending, situated, or originating far down, or far beneath the surface.
7.low.
8.deep.

Through the simplest of parables Jesus strikes through our day-to-day worries and shows us the depths of God’s love and compassion; he cuts away at our pride and demonstrates our utter reliance upon God’s grace towards us; he takes our gaze beyond the hear and now and shows us the source of our hope.

“Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep and lost one. Wouldn’t you leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the lost one until you found it? When found, you can be sure you would put it across your shoulders, rejoicing, and when you got home call in your friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Celebrate with me! I’ve found my lost sheep!’ Count on it—there’s more joy in heaven over one sinner’s rescued life than over ninety-nine good people in no need of rescue.

Luke 15

Jesus questioned provides laser sharp answers that resolve the core question, there’s no messing about with the peripheral issues. Why answer the insignificant when there’s a real deep felt question to answer. But he wasn’t beyond using his answers to demonstrate the utter foolishness of someone’s position.

That’s when the Pharisees plotted a way to trap him into saying something damaging. They sent their disciples, with a few of Herod’s followers mixed in, to ask, “Teacher, we know you have integrity, teach the way of God accurately, are indifferent to popular opinion, and don’t pander to your students. So tell us honestly: Is it right to pay taxes to Caesar or not?”

Jesus knew they were up to no good. He said, “Why are you playing these games with me? Why are you trying to trap me? Do you have a coin? Let me see it.” They handed him a silver piece.

“This engraving—who does it look like? And whose name is on it?”

They said, “Caesar.”

“Then give Caesar what is his, and give God what is his.”

The Pharisees were speechless. They went off shaking their heads.

Mathew 22

Through his actions he demonstrates a way of life that I find so counter-cultural that it challenges my actions and my attitudes. Penetrating to the depths of one’s being.

I find that if I get to far removed from these ancient stories I start to wander and to let confusion come in. The words and actions of Jesus break through all of that and demonstrate to me true value and eternal worth.

There are parts of our life that are structured and well organised, but the photographs isn’t one of them.

The other day we wanted some pictures for a purpose that I’ll probably reveal at a later date so I took the boxes down from the loft.

Sue and I then spent an evening flicking our way through the pictures.

Photographs are a capture of a time, a place and a memory.

“A good snapshot stops a moment from running away.”
Eudora Welty

Some of these photos are well constructed and thoughtfully framed images, but many of them are simple snapshots of the family in various guises.

Many of these photos remind us that our children used to be babies, that they became toddlers, started primary school and moved onto secondary school.

In some of these pictures I am reminded that I used to have a full head of hair and a trimmer waistline.

Numerous images remind us of holidays in England, Scotland, France and America; warm places and not so warm. They remind us of sandy beaches and palm trees; waterfalls and forests; cottages, caravans and even canal boats.

The camera can photograph thought.
Dirk Bogarde

There are pictures that remind us of the clothes we used to wear, some of them are remembered with fondness, others now look like a fashion disaster.

There are memories of times when there were only the two of us, a time with thee and then four.

A photograph is memory in the raw.
Carrie Latet

Some of the images we didn’t remember, some of the people we couldn’t name.

There were pictures of people who we no longer see, and a few who are no longer alive.

As we flicked our way through the multitude of images we ride the roller-coaster of emotions as we journeyed through weddings, birthdays, days out, family gatherings, holidays, activities, first days at school, anniversaries and christenings. A rich set of blessings.

Sometimes we can get so encased in the now and so focussed on the things that surround our now. But as we looked through those pictures it wasn’t the “things” that we looked at it was the people that we were drawn to. We looked at the babies and the young children and remembered the times that we had spent together, times that pass all to quickly.

The blessing of the pictures is that they took us out of our now and caused us to remember.

(I tend not to put pictures of the family on this blog, for various reasons, but each of the images I do post is a memory of a time and a place, but most importantly of the people)

It was great to spend time with friends away from the normal day to day rush. We did some walking, we did some eating, we even drank some coffee and played board games. There’s something very special about playing a silly board game in a lounge with a roaring fire and laughing uncontrollably at something that isn’t really that funny.

The weather was amazing – on Tuesday we were walking in the snow up to Easdale Tarn; on Wednesday we sat out on the balcony eating lunch in the sunshine.

As a follow-up to my last post; this holiday underlined the start of a new era with Jonathan driving himself there a few days after we left.

We stayed at Wolf House Cottages, it’s right next to an art gallery and a coffee shop, what more could you ask for:

Things are never going to be the same again.

At the start of the week he couldn’t drive and that meant that his options for going places were restricted to places his parents would take him, or public transport.

At the end of the week he has a new freedom – he can drive himself places.

One era has ended and a new one has started. There is no going back to the old era it’s finished.

I know many people who look on change as a scary thing. Each new era brings a new set of concerns and worries. Sometimes those worries are just the fear of the unknown. We can look at situation and imagine the worst-case-scenario. Our brains go wild and conjure up all sorts of terrible outcomes.

A new era is really a sign that we are alive.

Only dead things never change – things that are alive are always changing.

Watching the children move through different era is a sign that they are growing and moving towards adulthood. That’s a wonderful thing. Without it they would remain children forever and that wouldn’t be normal or healthy.

Moving from one era to another era gives us the opportunity to reminisce about the journey that we’ve been on. Much like the experience you get when your mountain climbing, and you stop to look around you, reminiscing lets you realise how far you have come. We can spend so much of our life with our head down looking at the next step, making sure that we don’t trip and fall over. We need times when we stop, look up, and realise that things around us have changed.

We’ve built up experiences in one era and now it’s time to naturally move into the next. Rather than fighting it we should look forward to it and celebrate it.

“Hooray, I’m alive, I’ve moved into something new, something I haven’t experienced before”.

I’ve never had to hand over a set of car keys before and watch a car leave the drive with my son in it on his own. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take for me to get comfortable with that experience, but I know that I will.

I’m not sure how long it will take us to work out the practicality of having three drivers and two cars, but we will.

I’m not sure how long it will be before Jonathan realises how much a car costs to run, but he will.

It’s a new era and it doesn’t quite fit yet, but it will.

And no sooner will this one fit than we will be entering into a new one.

If you look through my photostream on Flickr you’ll find a multitude of pictures  that either have them as the central feature or use them to frame the scene. I’ve created a set for them just to see how many there are.

I think it’s the intricacy that they expose from trunk to bow from bow to branch and from branch to stick and twig. Each one of them constructed in a unique and fascinating way. In the summer you can only really see the leaves on the outside, while these are also wonderful, there’s something fascinating about seeing the skeleton.

Sometimes I look at a particular tree and  ponder the reason that made a particular branch take the route that it’s taken. Whatever caused it to bend and climb in that particular way? Why did that bow shoot off in that direction?

At other time I wonder about the people who’ve climbed a particular set of bows. I think about the history that this skeleton has seen. I image which route would be best to scale the heights. Every now and then I decide that it’s time to climb myself.

These skeletons are also the promise of a season yet to come. They may be skeletons now, but soon a story of new life will start to unfold. These woody branches will soon be heavy laden with leaves and even fruit. The birds will become more active and build their nests. Eggs will be laid and chicks fledged. As time goes on, of course they will be returned to there skeletal state.

These trees go through a cycle and they know what to be doing in which season. You don’t see a tree full of leaves in the winter, and a skeletal tree in the summer is a dead tree. The trees seem quite comfortable with this, they aren’t constantly trying to fight the elements like we do. They know the rhythm of the seasons and how to live within it.

For everything there is a season,
     a time for every activity under heaven.

This little video does a wonderful job of showing the cycle of the seasons.

Lots of other people do chocolate digestives but there is only one chocolate digestive worthy of the name McVitie’s.

Every super-market that I go into has a generic version of the chocolate digestive, but none of them quite make the grade. They’re just biscuits, there’s something about a McVitie’s Chocolate Digestive that lifts it above the others.

Sitting in my home office look out as the rain gently washes the snow into a grey mush of sludge and ice my heart is warmed by a cup of coffee and a McVitie’s Chocolate Digestive. There is something wonderfully homely about the taste of a McVitie’s Chocolate Digestive. I’ve eaten them all of my life and I suppose that the smell, the taste, even the look of them connects me with periods in my life long since forgotten.

I know that some people regard a dunked chocolate digestive as the pinnacle of culinary excellence, but I’m a purest, if something is delightful on its own, why add to it.

Sue makes a wonderful Bonoffee Pie with chocolate digestives as the base. Wonderful as this is, there’s something in me that feels that this is a waste of perfectly good biscuits.

McVitie’s Chocolate Digestives – a British tradition that we should be proud of and a blessing I am privileged to be able to participate in.

The only problem is – one never seems to be enough.

Out came the trusty iPod which contains a broad selection of music, but as soon as I turned it on I knew where I was going. I selected Music, I then selected Artists and scrolled down to Bruce Cockburn – I perfect fit for the occasion. The last job was to put the iPod into random shuffle, put the earphones in and set off.

These are the first words that I heard:

Amid the rumours and the expectations
and all the stories dreamt and lived
Amid the clangour and the dislocation
and things to fear and to forgive

Don’t forget
about delight
Y know what I’m saying to you
Don’t forget
about delight
Y know

Now there’s a thought – “don’t forget about delight”. That got me thinking for the rest of my walk, where do I find delight.

I thought about the feelings of delight that I had on Saturday. We’ve been decorating our lounge for what seems like forever. Over the last two weeks we’ve been getting the finishing touches sorted out ready for Christmas – a new floor, a new TV and a couple of pieces of furniture. We’ve recently ordered the floor and the furniture but the delivery dates were all somewhere between 2 and 4 weeks away. Knowing everything would be ready for Christmas, but only just, we kind of forgot about it all.

Having been told that the floor would take a couple of weeks, less than a week later it was fitted and it looks very nice indeed.

Having had the floor fitted so quickly we ordered the TV on the Friday with a delivery date a week away – it arrived on the very next day.

We’d also ordered the furniture and been told that it would be four week while I was un-boxing the TV, Sue said – “Come on Rhodes, all we need now is the furniture”.

Less than 5 minutes after Sue’s proclamation the phone rang. Jonathan answered it and to our surprise and delight it was the furniture company. They wanted to deliver weeks early on the following Tuesday. The delight on Sue’s face was wonderful.

My normal expectation when ordering things things is that it normally take longer than first estimated, so it was delightful to have it all sorted out in double quick time.

And it’s still delightful to sit here in the lounge now looking around at a freshly finished living space.

I then started wondering what Jesus would delight in, and whether the Bible talks about him being delighted. The truth is, none of the translations actually say that Jesus was delighted. But they do say that God said that he is delighted in Jesus:

"This is my Son, marked by my love, focus of my delight. Listen to him."

Matthew 17

Now that’s a very interesting thought – the focus of God’s delight is Jesus, perhaps the focus of our delight should be the same. If it’s good enough for God, surely it’s good enough for us.

So lets now forget about delight.

Many people regard staying in a hotel as something glamorous but I’m not one of them. Don’t get me wrong, the hotels I’ve stayed in have been nice, even very nice, but they haven’t been home.

It’s great to have someone come and tidy your room for you, but it’s not home.

Eating in different places and fine restaurants can be really nice, but it’s not home.

Getting to know knew people and experience new places is interesting, but it’s not home.

Having breakfast on the 36th floor of a hotel as the sun rises over San Francisco Bay is a wonderful sight, but it’s not home.

Taking a morning walk along the beach listening to the Pacific Ocean isn’t something I can do in Preston, but Santa Barbara isn’t home.

Home is home.

It’s interesting to see how often Jesus instruction to someone who had been healed or released from bondage was to “go home”.

The man from whom the demons had gone out begged to go with him, but Jesus sent him away, saying, "Return home and tell how much God has done for you." So the man went away and told all over town how much Jesus had done for him.

Luke 8

Jesus knew right away what they were thinking, and said, "Why are you so sceptical? Which is simpler: to say to the paraplegic, ‘I forgive your sins,’ or say, ‘Get up, take your stretcher, and start walking’? Well, just so it’s clear that I’m the Son of Man and authorized to do either, or both…" (he looked now at the paraplegic), "Get up. Pick up your stretcher and go home." And the man did it—got up, grabbed his stretcher, and walked out, with everyone there watching him. They rubbed their eyes, incredulous—and then praised God, saying, "We’ve never seen anything like this!"

Mark 2

Where do restored people need to be? They need to be at home. Perhaps there’s a sense in which their restoration wasn’t complete until they were home.

I certainly feel restored now I am home. We all need a place that we can call our own and that is what makes it home. I regard myself as very privileged to have a home that is warm and dry, safe and secure, a place of rest and restoration.

I’m currently working away from home and writing sitting in a hotel room. In a little while I will be going for dinner with a colleague but I’ve just returned from a short walk around the local park.

The park is typical British town park with a wonderful mix of trees, garden, statues, playing fields and streams. I love exploring these town parks, there’s something about them that reverberates with history of the generations of families that have enjoyed them.

One of the first things I did as I entered was to pick up some conkers (Horse Chestnuts). I’ve written about them before (a long time ago now), they are great to hold in your hand. It’s something I did as a child on my way to school.

I decided to go and explore the woods near to a very large statue of the Duke of Wellington sat on his horse. It’s a mixed deciduous wood and the trees are starting to take on their wonderful autumnal colours. Just beyond the statue was a tree with a set of swing ropes hanging down out of it. What else was there to do other than to give them a go, well one of them anyway. It was great fun swinging away in a tree. Again, something I did as a child, although I don’t remember the seat being as painful.

For those of you who’ve just thought that I’m a grown man and shouldn’t be doing such things – I don’t care. Where is the rule book that says that adults need to loose their sense of adventure? Why should I adhere to societies “norms”?

Jesus had a special place for the children, and for those with childlike tendencies:

People brought babies to Jesus, hoping he might touch them. When the disciples saw it, they shooed them off. Jesus called them back. "Let these children alone. Don’t get between them and me. These children are the kingdom’s pride and joy. Mark this: Unless you accept God’s kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you’ll never get in."

Luke 18

Perhaps regressions is the title for this post – perhaps restoration is a better word.

“The advice is straightforward. Remember to be grateful. Spend your money on experiences, not objects. Volunteer. Nurture your relationships. Spend time in nature. Make sure you encounter new people and places. And never assume that you know what will make you happy.”

It’s an interesting list and I was intrigued by the parallels in my own experience and practice.

We’ve recently got back from a glorious holiday in Italy where we decided to create some new experiences and to see some new places.

On one particular day we decided to go to Pisa. We didn’t give ourselves a huge amount of time, and set off late in the afternoon after a lazy day by the pool. A few people had said to us that their wasn’t much to see in Pisa. We had nothing to go on so we didn’t plan a day around the place, but wanted to go and see the tower anyway.

With these low expectations we drove into Pisa without a plan following the signs for the Duomo. Seeing the tower and dome get steadily closer we drove past the entrance to the Square of Miracles and pulled into a street opposite paying a couple of Euros to park up for the rest of the evening. We walked down the street and across the road through the archway.

We’d already been surprised earlier in the day by the knowledge that the tower of Pisa didn’t stand on its own and was actually stood in a piazza incorporating the Duomo, Baptistery, Campo Santo and the tower itself.

We also knew that there had been all sorts of engineering work undertaken to secure the tower and rectify some of its lean. We were, therefore, surprised as we walked through the archway to see people stood at the top.

With time going on and the knowledge that the building would only be open for a couple of hours I headed off to the ticket office. The gentleman behind the counter was very helpful and advised me to buy a ticket for the Duomo and the Campo Santo ensuring me that they were the most interesting. There was a sign explaining that a trip to the top of the tower would cost 15 Euros and that they allowed 30 people every 30 minutes. There were loads of people outside and I expected the answer to my next question to be that they were sold out, but I asked it anyway.

“Do you have any room left in the tower today” I said

I was very pleasantly surprised by his answer:

“We have room for four people on the last trip of the day.”

To be honest 15 Euros seemed like a lot of money for the privilege to walk to the top of a tower, 60 Euros for the four of us. But this was an experience that we weren’t likely to repeat, and perhaps not even have the opportunity to do again.

It was a great experience.

Walking up the tower is a strange thing to do because the angle of the building makes it a bit disorientating. Being the last of the day does, however, mean that we were at the top as the sun was setting. Watching the shadows grow on the mountains and across Pisa was wonderful. The silhouette of the Duomo with the sun setting behind it was an experience in itself.

We will talk about those experiences for years to come. They make me feel happy every time that I think about them.