While we were in York it started to snow, but nothing too dramatic.

By the time we had finished dinner it was dark and the snow had continued to fall.

It’s not far from my parents to the M62 motorway and we decided that while it may take us a while to get home that we’d be fine to travel.

So we set off.

It was slow going, but we never felt that we were doing anything too dangerous. Eventually we joined the motorway and the road, while impacted by the snow, still felt like a safe place to be.

Steadily we moved down the road, the snow continued to fall and we were becoming more remote.

As time passed we found ourselves in deeper snow, so deep that we could no longer tell where the edges of the motorway were – on either side. We had travelled beyond the street lights and were in utter darkness. The tracks that we were following became fainter and the snow became thicker. The snow continued to fall and the windscreen wipers became frozen. There was no one visible in front and no one visible behind. We were on our own.

It no longer felt like a safe place to be.

We wondered how long we would be travelling like this. We already knew that there wasn’t any snow back at home, but there was more than 120 miles between us and home. Having phoned a friend to see what information was available we concluded that things were confused.

It now felt like a very uncomfortable place to be.

Although neither of us said it but we could both tell that we weren’t happy.

After a while we concluded that it was time to turn around, go the other way and spend the night at my parents.

Having made the decision we spent anxious minutes waiting for the next junction to come into view, limited as the view was.

It felt like a long time before the next junction and it wasn’t easy making our way up the slip road and back onto the other side of the motorway. We still couldn’t see the edge of the road so had no idea where the slip road started. We made a short stop to clear as much of the snow from the windscreen as possible.

We were still on our own in the darkness. The road was a bit clearer on this side but we were still travelling on and through a lot of snow.

After what seemed like a very long time we saw some lights in the distance which turned out to be a queue of cars. As we caught up with them it felt good to be with others in the journey. We’d found some other people in the same predicament as ourselves, but that wasn’t the end of our worries we still had a long way to go.

Cars passed us trying to get to the front of the queue, covering the car with snow as they did. It was then that we saw something that made us even more relieved. As these cars went dangerously zipping down the queue some blue lights came on at the head of the convoy. We were being lead by a police car. If anyone knew there way down this road then a police car would.

Knowing that there was a police car at the front of the queue changed our outlook on the situation we were in.

We had a guide we could trust.

He quoted a proverb: "’Can a blind man guide a blind man?’ Wouldn’t they both end up in the ditch? An apprentice doesn’t lecture the master. The point is to be careful who you follow as your teacher."

Matthew 6:39-40

Even with a good guide it took us a long time to get back to the streetlights and eventually to my parents.

We followed the queue all the way to the end of the motorway and made our way back to my parents house. We spent the night there and made our way back the next day.

It takes me a second to realise what it is.

There is now a white fridge door where a cupboard door used to be.

We are the first and only people to live in our house. It wasn’t built when we bought it and it came with a built in kitchen. Along with the kitchen came a built-in fridge.

Apart from it’s ability to keep things cool this built-in fridge has always been something of a disappointment. It has a freezer box at the top of it that kept freezing up so we didn’t use it. That left a couple of shelves that you couldn’t see to the back of and a box bit at the bottom which was supposed to have a salad box in it, but that proved useless so we didn’t use it.

For years now it has been my intention to take out the built-in fridge and replace it with one of more practical use, but for some reason I never got around to it.

Part of the reason was a fear of what I might find. Other jobs I’ve undertaken in the kitchen have consistently turned into something bigger than planned.

And I never got around to doing something about it.

It hung there as a job that needed doing, but never got done.

Every time I couldn’t find something in the fridge I would wonder why I hadn’t got rid.

We even went to look at new fridges. You’d think it was an easy job to find a fridge to go in the standard sized 600mm wide gap that a kitchen cupboard leaves, but it’s not that easy at all. We did find one we liked, but it was expensive.

And the job remained as something that needed doing.

Every time I found something way out of date at the back of the fridge, that we’d forgotten about because we couldn’t see it, I would wonder why I hadn’t replaced.

We’ve lived in this house for 11 years now.

Then about 10 days ago I decided that enough was enough, it was time for a transformation. I searched around the internet for a deal on the fridge that we really wanted and I bought it.

(I was still worried about what I might find when I took the old fridge out so made sure that I could return the new one for free)

The new fridge arrived last Friday. Before doing anything I searched around to find the installation instructions for the old fridge and found them.

On Saturday I started to remove the old fridge.

Within an hour the old fridge was out and the new fridge was installed. AFTER 11 YEARS -AN HOUR!!!

The new fridge is fabulous. We can store things sensibly in it. It hasn’t got a redundant freezer box so has more room at the top. It’s got a new style of design so has shelves all the way to the bottom. The shelves are more like drawers and pull out all the way so there is no back for things to get lost in.

If I’m honest I’m quite excited about this fridge. When I go to get the milk out of it in the morning it’s a pleasure to be able to pull out the drawer at the bottom and pick up the milk.

A job well done.

Why did I put this off for so long I ask myself?

Why?

I have some reasons, but none of them very good ones.

As I look around my life there a number of jobs like this one, some of them practical, some of them a bit more personal. They’re sitting, waiting for me to do something with them.

I suspect that you are the same?

Work brings profit, but mere talk leads to poverty!

Proverbs 14:23

(For those of you that care about these things it’s a Bosch Logixx fridge)

After a little while I heard some music that I haven’t heard for what must be nearly 20 years.

I used to have it on cassette tape, that’s how old it was. The tape got played over and over when I was ay Polytechnic and trying to study.

It was played so often that it just wore out.

Hearing those notes reminded me of a little red JVC portable cassette player that I used to play it on when I wanted to focus in on myself. It was the red one in the picture:

The particular music is a stripped back instrumental piece with a guitar and very minimal strings accompaniment.

The melody brought back all sorts of memories of early married life when Sue and I lived in a rented bungalow. We had time to sit and to listen and to be together.

It revived memories of pray times when I felt the presence of God in a way that I can neither explain nor describe.

The rhythms of those days rang down the years straight back into my mind and my spirit.

It’s left me with a bit of a dilemma though. Now that I’ve remembered it and know what it’s called should I purchase it and return it to my music collection? Or should I leave it as a memory, a reminder that I may one day again rediscover?

We can’t live in the past and yet the past is so much of who we are.

A friend recently quoted someone else on twitter saying:

The Bible describes salvation in three tenses: past, present, future. To ignore anyone of these tenses will skew our view of salvation.

How true.

(The music was from an album by John Michael Talbot called The Quiet)

I want to make this point clear because there seems to be a bit of confusion for the owners of supermarkets when it comes to the placing of the Hovis Digestive biscuit. There is only one place to put the Hovis Digestive and that is with the cheese biscuits, that is its rightful home. And not on some lowly shelf hidden away but on the middle shelf at eye level where it can be seen and found by all.

What I would like to know though, is what is going on with the supply of this most delightful of cheese biscuits. They are really hard to get hold of. I’ve asked in a few places and they always give the same answer – "we can’t get hold of them either".

There’s something about the combination of the more angular Hovis Digestive with a good mature English Cheddar or French Camembert that is just perfection. You might have your own choice of favourite cheese but I’m yet to find someone who would disagree that the perfect accompaniment is a Hovis Digestive. I’m also yet to find someone who eats them plain.

There’s something about the Hovis Digestive that means that is needs the company of another to make it truly sing. Perhaps that’s why I like them so much, because that’s precisely what I am like. I’m not much good on my own, I need others to bounce off, to inspire me, to draw me out of myself. The Hovis Digestive needs to be in community with others and so do we.

It was lovely to read through the kind comments from friends near and friends far.

It was a special thing to take note of who had taken the time to send cards.

I really enjoyed reflecting on them all and it reminded me of an early blessing when I talked about a study done with people over the age of 95. They we asked what they would do differently if they had their life to live over again. Their answers were:

• They would risk more.
• They would reflect more.
• They would do more things that would live on after they were dead.

I keep reminding myself in the busy days to reflect more.

I hate to imagine how many night’s sleep I have lost because I have been facing a situation that I wasn’t in control of. I was reminded of this the other week as I lay in my bed looking into the darkness and turned over and over a situation that was going to face me the next day. This wasn’t even a very important situation, but it had got under my skin.

Over recent years I’ve tried to change this as I’ve become increasingly aware of two things. The first is an obvious one – I’m never going to be in control of everything. The second is not so obvious, but is more profound – control pushes people away and puts me into a cage of isolation.

If I’m going to be someone who lives a life that is connected with other people, truly connected, I need to drop the control, be open and as a result be vulnerable.

In a study of what makes people wholehearted Brene Brown made this observation: "In order for connection to happen we need to allow ourselves to be seen, really seen". Brene has some really profound insight into what it means to be vulnerable and open and wholehearted, a video of here presentation at TED is at the end of this post.

She also makes the observation when talking about how we numb our vulnerability "We make everything that is uncertain certain. Religion has gone from a belief in faith and mystery to certainty – you’re wrong I’m right." I’ve definitely been guilty of that in the past, and probably will be again, but I’m trying not to. I’m trying to be someone who embraces the vulnerability of the journey of faith that I’m on.

Jesus never asked us to have all of the answers, he did ask us to journey together. I’m trying to embrace the unknown alongside the known. I’m trying to let my relationship with Jesus grow in the weakness.

Part of this journey of vulnerability has been to create a few places where I can be open and exposed in safety – places of vulnerability. One of these places takes place on a Thursday morning as myself and two other men get together for breakfast and to chat. Most of the time we talk about things that others might regard as trivial, but they are things that are close to each one of us. They are things that we feel the need to share, in vulnerability, with the others. We don’t even have the answers most of the time, that’s not the point either. Our aim is to allow ourselves "to be seen, really seen".

I’m sure that part of Jesus statement "Unless you accept God’s kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you’ll never get in" Mark 10:15 is that children have a wonderful ability to make themselves vulnerable without condition.

We cannot live a life completely in control, it would be madness to try, but we can try to live a life of hiding. Jesus us asks us to come out of the hiding and to make ourselves visible, exposed and vulnerable.

Brene Brown

1. Blessings #169 – The Visits from the Little Voices
2. Count Your Blessings #144 – McVitie’s Chocolate Digestives
3. Blessings #161 – Coincidences?
4. Blessings #171 – Inspirational Lives
5. Silverdale – Half Term
6. Book Review: The Search for God and Guinness
7. Blessings Top 20 for 2010
8. Jimmy is Missing!
9. Blessings #156 – Crossing the Chasm of Inadequacy
10. A short break in Scotland
11. Blessings #168 – Listening
12. Blessings #160 – Sun’s Rays
13. Count Your Blessings #128 – Walking hand-in-hand with my children 
14. Blessings #165 – Cycling (to work)
15. Count Your Blessings #91 – Decorating Christmas Trees
16. Holiday Pictures – Summer 2011
17. Blessings #166 – Shared Experiences
18. Blessings #167 – Hot Feet on Cool Damp Grass
19. Blessings #162 – The Swallow’s Return
20. Blessings #158 – The Free Radical
21. Blessings #146 – New Era
22. Count Your Blessings #64 – Stories, Fables and Parables
23. Book Review: Fasting (The Ancient Practices)
24. Blessings #164 – A Story about a word
25. Blessings #159 – Thursday Morning Breakfast
26. Count Your Blessings #129 – Gratitude
27. Blessings #163 – Garden Pottering
28. Count Your Blessings #138 – Buttercups and Dandelions
29. Following: Jesus and the Apostles 
30. Blessings #172 – A Warm Glow

It’s nice to see that posts all the way back to 2006 are still being read.

This tree sits in the middle of a small piece of ground that is covered with slate chippings.

The chippings are quite large and the tree branches are only thin.

When the wind blows the small branches brush across the chippings backwards and forwards.

It’s only a gentle brush, and each swoosh can only move a few small chippings a small distance. If you sat and watched it you’d struggle to see that anything was changing.

Each step is tiny but it doesn’t take long and it doesn’t take much wind for the tree to clear the chippings from beneath it’s branches in less than a day. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to move a pile of stones off the drive and back under the tree. Of you added the piles up it would form a huge mound.

We don’t have to take massive steps to move mountains, we just have to take consistent small steps, moving a stone at a time is enough.

Likewise, you can’t finish a marathon in one huge step, you finish a marathon by putting one foot in front of the other over and over again. Each step gets you nearer to your goal, put together enough steps and you’ll get to the end.

Christians are also called disciples which means follower. We don’t follow for a day, we follow for a lifetime. The Christian faith is a walk of thousands of steps and he walks alongside us in every one. Sometimes it’s good to look back and see how far we’ve come.

Someone has turned the thermostat down recently, it’s not freezing yet, but getting that way. I decided that my thin gloves would be ample to keep my hands warm, I was mostly right. My hands ended up cold, but not frozen.

After a few minutes sat working at my desk I could feel my fingers take on the warm glow that occurs as a result of warming up after being cold.

There’s something unique about the warmth that gets generated after our extremities have been at the mercy of the elements.

It reminds me of playing in the snow, keeping going until my hands are absolutely frozen and then coming in to warm up.

It reminds me of winter weekends gardening with my parents.

It reminds me of long hikes crunching frozen leaves through woodlands, by streams and up mountains.

It reminds me of early morning paper-round deliveries with stiff hands that make it difficult to slot the papers through the letterboxes.

It reminds me of winter rugby training, running in the snow trying everything to keep my fingers warm.

The glow is almost worth the pain of the cold.

His name was Tom.

I moved to Preston as a young student over 25 years ago. I didn’t really know anything about Preston, but I did know some people. These people helped me to find a local church where I could fit in, and I’m still part of that church.

One of the things that attracted me to this community was a set of handshakes. There was a particular set of handshakes from people who had hands that were big, rough and sturdy – hands that had done a solid days work over a number of years.

There was also a set of smiles and twinkles in eyes that talked of a life of purpose and a deep knowledge of the important things.

Tom was one of those people.

Tom’s background was completely different to mine.

He was a farmer and I was young student, the son of an engineer.

He’d lived all his life amongst his extended family. My family was, and still is, scattered all over the world.

He was from a different era. I suppose I’ve always thought of him as old, but your perception of old changes as you get older yourself.

He’d known hardship and heartache that I have never experienced.

Tom was an inspiration.

I’d sit in prayer meetings and listen to Tom pray. He’d talk to his Father God in a way that spoke of an intimacy I craved.

I’d watch Tom in church as he sung praise to his Father God and see his face light up. He wasn’t just singing words he was worshipping.

I’d speak to Tom and he’d show a knowledge about my family’s life that demonstrated deep care for people beyond his immediate concerns.

On one occasion Sue and I joined Tom on a trip to Glasgow where we were to minister to a small church. Tom had taken the young pastor there under his wing showing a commitment to join people in their ventures.

I’ll miss that handshake and I’ll miss that smile and I pray that my life might follow Tom’s inspirational example.

Could you please keep a look out for the dark haired youth from the picture below:

A search party comprising Granddad and Dad has been sent out to investigate the Land of the Left Behind which has recently been (partially) vacated by one of the Big People.

Below are some pictures taken during the expedition, but unfortunately the results were not great and Jimmy is still missing.

As you can see they search high and low.

If you do find Jimmy please do let us know, please!

They are a favourite.

I couldn’t tell you how long I’ve had them; long enough for the labels inside to have to writing left on them. When I bought them they were an olive colour. I’m not sure what colour you’d call them today other than the obvious ‘faded olive’.

These trousers have travelled some miles. If I’m flying somewhere and had a choice of what to sit in for the next 8 hours I’d choose these trousers.

They’re walking trousers and they’ve done some walking. I have in my mind that when I bought them they were advertised as quick drying and that’s still true today. It’s one of the reasons why I love them. I tend not to go walking if it’s going to rain all day, but you can’t go walking in the UK without expecting a shower.

But as well as walking these trousers have also journeyed with me as I’ve visited the beach, camped out, mowed the lawn, hung a picture, watched the television, read a book, driven the car and sat by a lake. They’ve been with me on all sorts of adventures.

These trousers are part of my history and carry that history in their fibres. There’s a couple of places where they are a bit worn out and a few places where there are little rips. Some places have faded more than others, some places appear as vivid as they were when I bought them. A bit like my history.

Weaved through all of these fibres of history is another thread. A different thread. A thread  that manages to touch all of the other fibres adding vibrancy. This thread doesn’t fade and doesn’t wear out.

It was with this in mind that I started reading Scot McKnight’s book Fasting which is part of a series of books called The Ancient Practices.

I must admit I was expecting this book to give me a set of working instructions on how to fast and a few reasons as to why I should fast. I’m not sure why I thought that because that’s not the way the blurb reads:

Fasting is the body talking what the spirit yearns, what the soul longs for, and what the mind knows to be true.

In one sense Jon does give a process for fasting, but his process of A > B > C that is used throughout the book refers to a sacred moment > fasting > results. Even then Jon tries to be very careful with not drawing a causal link between B and C.

In conclusion Jon summarises it like this:

We began this book with a definition of fasting, and as we close, I want to bring this definition to your attention one more time:

Fasting is the natural, inevitable response of a person to a grievous sacred moment in life.

The elements of this definition should now be clear. Fasting is the choice not to eat or drink for a specified period. Fasting is not the same as abstinence, which is the choice not to eat or drink specific items even though one is still eating and drinking other items. Neither is fasting the same as dieting, which is the choice not to eat or drink various items for health reasons. Fasting, as we see it in the biblical tradition, emerges from an organic and unified sense of the whole person – body and spirit (or soul) acting in consort. For the unified person, fasting is both natural and inevitable when that person encounters sacred moments in life.

There is also a lot of good sound advice on the practice of fasting, it’s not all theory, but understanding the context for biblical fasting is very helpful. Like many people I suspect, I’ve regarded fasting, a bit like prayer, as something I should do more of without any real understanding of why. This book gives a really good description of why and in what context.

Having established the framework of A > B > C the main body of this book is spent in describing the different ways that fasting is a body (whole person) response:

• Fasting as body talk
• Fasting as body turning
• Fasting as body plea
• etc.

The book concludes with some practical advice about some of the physical effects of fasting and the dangers which, again, is very informative. I don’t think I’d really thought about the medical dangers before.

There are some book which I pick up and read through without really stopping to think too much. This book is one to take a little slower and to ponder along the journey. I suspect it will also be a book that I go back to from time to time to ponder some more.

I can’t say that this book has revolutionised my approach to fasting either, but it has put me in a place where I now what I would like to do and now just need to get on and do it.

The other evening I got home from work, put my bike in the garage and walked through the front door. I could immediately hear that there more than the usual number of people in the house and all of them were in the kitchen. As I listened I realised that there was an extra voice, a little voice.

We don’t really have any little voices anymore.

We were being visited by the little girl from next door. Today’s activity was cake baking. Birthday cake baking to be precise.

Little voices have a way of saying things with a delight that we lose somewhere along the passage of time. There’s a wonderful honesty too.

I love it when the little voices come to visit.

Jesus had a particularly special place for people with little voices, and not just children.

The Bible talks about children, women, widows, orphans, servants, aliens, foreigners, the outcast and the indebted, all of whom still have a little voice in our society today.

About children, though, Jesus had this to say:

The people brought children to Jesus, hoping he might touch them. The disciples shooed them off. But Jesus was irate and let them know it: "Don’t push these children away. Don’t ever get between them and me. These children are at the very center of life in the kingdom. Mark this: Unless you accept God’s kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you’ll never get in." Then, gathering the children up in his arms, he laid his hands of blessing on them.

Mark 10

We should love to have the little voices at the centre of the kingdom too.

All of this noise – but I’m not really listening.

Recently I’ve been trying to learn how to listen, really listen.

Listen to the humming sound that my home makes when no-one is home. Hearing the central heating awaken and go back to sleep. There’s always a click from the radiator in the kitchen a few seconds after it starts up.

Listen to the rustling sound that the hawthorn hedge at the bottom of my garden makes when it’s windy. And when it’s really windy the sound of next-doors silver birch rubbing against the fence between the two gardens.

Listen to my breathing (panting) as I cycle to work. Hearing how it changes from street to street and hill to hill.

Listen to the different tone of my footsteps as I walk around the woods. Squelch, squelch, tramp, tramp, squelch (at the moment).

Listen to the rhythm of my fingers on the keyboard as I type. And the click of the mouse as I run it around the desk.

It’s amazing what you can hear when you listen. I’ve been trying to savour this mundane sounds.

I have to be honest though, the sounds of the washing machine still drives me mad.

If listening sounds like a terribly dull thing to you perhaps this talk will inspire and challenge you:

Whenever it’s warm the part of me that feels it the most are my feet. Sometimes they sometimes feel like they are on fire.

The day ended warm, but was rounded off with heavy showers.

My feet feel particularly fiery when I’ve been standing for a while. So this evening after a period of standing I made my way outside, kicked off my sandals and enjoyed the lush cool dampness of the lawn at the back of our house.

In the cartoons there are times when people get set on fire that they run off to the nearest water bucket, sit inside and steam.

As I wandered around the garden this evening my feet felt the same way, like they were steaming as they cooled. But it wasn’t just my feet that was cooled, my whole body felt refreshed by the experience.

There is something about the temperature and texture of a damp lawn that is better than anything else for cooling tired feet. It’s almost like it was designed for that purpose.

It was lovely.

The Bible tells of a couple of events where Jesus had his feet washed, and one where he washed everyone else’s feet.

I’m sure that it felt just as lovely, but much more significant because of the meaning of what was happening:

Just before the Passover Feast, Jesus knew that the time had come to leave this world to go to the Father. Having loved his dear companions, he continued to love them right to the end. It was suppertime. The Devil by now had Judas, son of Simon the Iscariot, firmly in his grip, all set for the betrayal.

Jesus knew that the Father had put him in complete charge of everything, that he came from God and was on his way back to God. So he got up from the supper table, set aside his robe, and put on an apron. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the feet of the disciples, drying them with his apron. When he got to Simon Peter, Peter said, "Master, you wash my feet?"

Jesus answered, "You don’t understand now what I’m doing, but it will be clear enough to you later."

Peter persisted, "You’re not going to wash my feet—ever!"

Jesus said, "If I don’t wash you, you can’t be part of what I’m doing."

"Master!" said Peter. "Not only my feet, then. Wash my hands! Wash my head!"

Jesus said, "If you’ve had a bath in the morning, you only need your feet washed now and you’re clean from head to toe. My concern, you understand, is holiness, not hygiene. So now you’re clean. But not every one of you." (He knew who was betraying him. That’s why he said, "Not every one of you.") After he had finished washing their feet, he took his robe, put it back on, and went back to his place at the table.

Then he said, "Do you understand what I have done to you? You address me as ‘Teacher’ and ‘Master,’ and rightly so. That is what I am. So if I, the Master and Teacher, washed your feet, you must now wash each other’s feet. I’ve laid down a pattern for you. What I’ve done, you do. I’m only pointing out the obvious. A servant is not ranked above his master; an employee doesn’t give orders to the employer. If you understand what I’m telling you, act like it—and live a blessed life.

John 13

After a good while eating the usual al-fresco food as we sat at the tables near to the play area we decided to take a stroll around some of the paths.

We set off through some woods, across some grasslands and around some ponds. We stood for a while as a Skylark sang to us from a dizzy height. We then took a path down towards the river Ribble. It was a scorching hot day (for England) so we meandered along the river until we came to a point where we could get down to the water. Paddling and skimming followed – then into the middle of the fun someone shouted out “Kingfisher”.

This single word turned our afternoon into a whole different experience.

Eyes immediately scanned the line of the river in expectation of a blue flash. Adults and children alike were transfixed. Like Meerkats looking for danger we were all alert and focussed in the same direction.

I’ve only ever seen Kingfisher as a flash of colour coming into view and leaving just as quickly.

What we experienced that day was much more than that.

There were a pair of Kingfisher who flew from tree to tree along the opposite riverbank. They sat in full view on perches as they scanned the water below for potential food. We even watched them diving into the water and retrieving fish glistening silver in the sun.

The two pairs of binoculars that we had with us were passed up and down the line as together we tried to make sure that we didn’t loose the objects of our focus amongst the foliage.

As we stood there on the riverbank others came to ask us what we’d seen and the sharing broadened.

There are all sorts of events in my life that I treasure but I’m struggling to remember any that I experienced alone. All of the best experiences have been shared experiences and the very best have been experienced with those that I love.

In the Bible the book of Acts tells of the events that happened during the early days of the church. In the middle of this book is a definition of togetherness and community that most people would regard as an ideal:

The whole congregation of believers was united as one—one heart, one mind! They didn’t even claim ownership of their own possessions. No one said, "That’s mine; you can’t have it." They shared everything.

Acts 4:32

Shared experiences give a glimpse of why we are built for community and not for isolation.

(No pictures I’m afraid, my camera battery was dead. Emily took some wonderful pictures, but she hasn’t posted them yet)

(Update: I did have a picture, but from a previous visit.)

There were all sorts of bikes, I even used a bike that had been my Mum’s. I fell out with that particular bike when it’s front wheel locked up one day, throwing me in the air and leaving me with a nice scar in my side.

I’ve no idea why I blame the bike because the incident was completely my fault. If I’d tied my shoelaces properly they would have got stuck in the spokes.

There was a certain fashion to the paper-round boys at that time. We fancied ourselves as real bikers (not cyclist, but bikers). In the winter we wore large leather gloves that came half way up our forearms. Our bikes had to have large cow-horn handle-bars. We would imagine ourselves twisting the handle-bars, with the noise levels rising as the revs kicked in and we floated away into the distance.

It was, of course, a fantasy. The only way that I was going anywhere was through my own power as my legs turned the peddles. Wobbly peddles, riding on worn our bearings, pulling a squeaky chain, through a misaligned derailleur, onto a wheel with even more worn out bearings, to drive a wheel buckled by too many abrupt meetings with curbs.

On one particular occasion this collection of engineering mismanagement nearly cost me my life. I was peddling along (I’d like to say’ powering along’ but I don’t think I was ever that boisterous) when I decided that I needed more speed to manoeuvre around a stationary car.

I stood up on the peddles and pushed hard. As I stamped down the chain bounced off the gears and my stamp met no resistance. The combination of forced flipped the bike from underneath me.

As the bike wrapped itself around me the two of us fell to the ground in a crumpled heap in the middle of the road. With my head on the tarmac I opened my eyes to see the number plate of a double-decker approaching fast and breaking hard. The fact that I am writing this is testament to the responses of the driver and has ability to bring his vehicle under control.

The wide handlebars may have made us feel cool but they were useless when it came to delivering the papers to the alms houses down the narrow alleyway that ran alongside the local common-land.

The large leather gloves were useless for handling the papers and just sucked up the water in the rain.

It didn’t matter what the weather was – the papers needed delivering.

The last house on my normal round was to one of the alms houses. It was there that every morning I received a welcome smile from the elderly couple who lived there.

I’ve been reminded of these events recently. Following a rather thin cycling history since those days I’ve recently been pressing the peddles as a method of getting to work.

These events are part of my heritage and occupy a scene in my story. Each of us is, in many respects, the combination of these events, our stories create our history which forms our heritage.

As a father I see that part of my role is to help to build similar memories for my children. I’m very thankful that I can look back on my history and see many enjoyable occasions and I’d love my kids to have the same heritage.

My cycle to work is quite different to my paper-round experience. I have the luxury of choosing when I go in. If it’s too windy or too wet I can choose to take the car. I’ve purchased the bike through a scheme at work which means that it’s a nice new bike which I’m endeavouring to look after.

All-in-all it’s a much more enjoyable experience.

Once upon a time, in a land not that far from here a Servant middling-in-age was walking along with his Master. They often walked this way, but not as often as the Servant would like.

During a day of unfamiliar weather the Master turned to the Servant and said – “I have a treasure for you to find”

“I treasure, really” said the Servant excitedly “what kind of a treasure”.

“This is no ordinary treasure” said the Master “it is not gold, or silver. It’s not even made of precious stones, but it is beyond all worldly wealth. No one could buy this treasure and keep it to themselves.”

Excited by the thought the Servant was now beaming from ear to ear. All sorts of thoughts were flashing through his mind – what kind of treasure could this be?

The Master continued “This treasure is small, very small actually, and yet is great in stature”

The Servant’s heart sank a little. He didn’t really like guessing games. His wife liked guessing games, but they just made him feel a bit dim.

The Master wasn’t playing guessing games though; he was talking about an adventure, a voyage, a discovery.

And so the Master continued “This treasure is already in plain view; it’s out in the open for everyone to see. Be careful though, sometimes it’s not really the treasure at all that’s there, sometimes it’s fools treasure.”

This still sounded like a guessing game to the Servant and he was feeling a bit dim.

The Master knew his thoughts and so he started to make himself very plain indeed “The treasure that I am giving you is a word. Only a small word, but a mighty and powerful word. I will reveal this word to you in a new way and write it into your heart. You’ll see this word in places you’ve never seen before and it will shout out at you. When it doesn’t shout, be careful because it’s not the real word, it’s a foolish use of this mighty word when people really mean a smaller easier more cosy word.” And still the Master continued “This word is also an unforgiving word, it doesn’t allow compromise and you certainly can’t shrink it or put it in your pocket.”

The servant wondered when it was going to stop being a guessing game and turn into something else.

At the moment the Servant had a panic “What if I do forget the word, what if I lose the treasure?”

The Master concluded “The treasured word that I am giving you is fortunately very easy to remember. Let me spell it for you, are you ready: The first letter is A as in Apple, the second is L as in Lion and the third is the same as the second”

“A.L.L -’All’ is that it. A.L.L.” thought the Servant to himself, he was far too polite to speak it out, even though he knew the Master could read his mind.

In due course the Servant did indeed see the treasure and it was in plain view so why hadn’t he seen it before?

And so the walk ended and the journey began.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.

The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

John 1