Be careful what you throw away

It’s amazing what one can find on the internet.  This week I came across an inspirational short video.  It concerns some young people living in Cateura, Paraguay, described as a slum area built on top of a landfill site.  Not surprisingly, the people who live there are desperately poor, and yet the video portrays a message of great hope.

It shows a group of young people who have formed an orchestra.  That is not unusual in itself, but the remarkable thing about this orchestra is that all their instruments have been created out of discarded items which were found on the landfill site!  Items which had been thrown away as worthless have been reclaimed and transformed into sweet sounding instruments which are being used by orchestra members.  The lives of the young people have also been transformed through their love of music.

Orchestra Director Favio Chavez made the challenging comment: “We shouldn’t throw away rubbish carelessly … and we shouldn’t throw away people either.”  It could be said that we live in a “throw-away” society; sadly, society even seems to consign some people to the scrap heap.

When one reads the gospels it is clear that Jesus treated every person with love, compassion and respect.  There were many in that society who were written-off as outcasts, and Jesus was roundly criticised by some of the religious leaders for associating with such people.  For example, the Message translation puts Luke 15:1-3 like this: ‘By this time a lot of men and women of doubtful reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently. The Pharisees and religion scholars were not pleased, not at all pleased. They growled, “He takes in sinners and eats meals with them, treating them like old friends.”’

The video reminds us of a message which lies at the heart of the Christian gospel, namely that no-one is rubbish; every human being is precious in God’s eyes.

If you would like to watch the video, click here.

No hidden secrets

Not long ago I was visiting someone in hospital.  We had chatted for a while, and had shared a prayer.  Just as I was about to leave the hospital ward, two nurses approached the bed.  The patient I was visiting commented, “They have come to weigh me.”  My instant reaction was to say, jokingly (knowing that some people are a little secretive about their weight), “I’ll stay and watch!”

Sue and I are in 36^th year of our marriage.  On the whole we are fairly open with each other and don’t tend to keep secrets.  There is one area of Sue’s life, however, which I have never been able to enter, and that is the area of her weight.  On the few occasions when, over the years, I have walked into the bathroom to find Sue on the scales, a look of horror has spread across her face and she has jumped off before I had the opportunity to peek at the reading!  Of course I understand that traditionally there are certain areas of a lady’s life about which it is not polite to enquire (age, weight etc.)  I do know how old Sue is, but I find it funny that she is so secretive about her weight (after all, she looks fine to me!)

 Perhaps all of us have some secrets which we try to keep hidden, even from those nearest and dearest to us.  Yet there is One from whom we can hide nothing.  One of the communion prayers on the Methodist Worship Book begins, “Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hidden…”  God knows absolutely everything about us, even things which we may have forgotten, and certainly those things we might prefer that he didn’t know!

In some ways we may wish it wasn’t so, but I believe that the fact that God knows everything about us can be a liberating truth.  When we struggle to keep a secret, and have an area of our life which we hide away from our dearest friends, it can have a negative effect on us and act as a hindrance to our friendships and relationships.  How wonderful it is that God knows all about us, our failings, our ‘guilty secrets’, and yet he loves us just the same.  God knows the very worst about us and yet still loved us enough to send Jesus to die on a cross for us.

Someone once said that a true friend is someone who knows all about us but loves us just the same.  That’s how God is!  Our whole lives are open to him.  We can share with him our deepest thoughts and emotions, our hopes and anxieties, our successes and our failures, knowing that nothing will stop him from loving us and wanting the very best for us.

Fred who?

Ever since 1936, when the late Fred Perry won his third consecutive Wimbledon men's tennis championship, male British tennis players have struggled under the burden and intense pressure of trying to emulate the feat of becoming Wimbledon champion.  A few have got close, notably Tim Henman who reached four Wimbledon semi-finals.  In recent years the burden has fallen on the broad shoulders of Andy Murray.  He fell one hurdle short in the 2012 championships, when he was beaten in the final by tennis great Roger Federer.  The immense hurt and disappointment of that loss was clear to see in Murray's tearful post-match speech.  Although Murray was roundly criticised in the press for letting his emotions get the better of him, it may have been that incident which led so a softening in the British public's attitude towards Murray.  They saw past his apparently dour persona to something of the man underneath.

Certainly by the time this year's final arrived, the public seemed firmly in the Murray camp as he strode out to face world number 1 player Novak Djokovic.  Some time ago we had rearranged the second service at one of my churches to start at the earlier time of 4pm on 7 July.  I didn't realise at the time that it would clash with the Murray v Djokovic final!  Fortunately the match turned out to be such an epic and hard fought event that it was still going when we arrived back from church.  That last game was an agony to watch, swinging as it did first one way and then the other, until finally Murray threw off the shackles of 77 years of disappointment by overcoming his dogged opponent.

Murray later paid tribute to Djokovic, who he described as "one of the biggest fighters in tennis".  Even though the match was won in straight sets, it was no easy thing for Murray to gain victory.  Murray himself described it as an "unbelievably tough match."  So how did Murray manage to achieve what no other British man has been able to do since 1936?  Obviously he has great talent.  It is equally clear that he has immense determination: the way he kept battling when he was not doing so well was a tremendous example and inspiration.  But great personal skill and determination alone would not have accomplished victory.

In Andy Murray's post-match speech he paid great tribute to the team who had supported him: "they've been through everything with me ... stuck by me in a lot of tough moments.'  In particular, Murray mentioned coach Ivan Lendl, himself a former tennis grand-slam event winner.  Perhaps Lendl's own experience of several several losing grand-slam finals before eventually becoming a winner enabled him to empathise with Murray's own situation.

I must admit that I have found myself warming to Andy Murray as he seems to have opened up a bit this year, not least through the excellent BBC programme which Sue Barker did with him.  Certainly I admire and am inspired by his tenacity and devotion to achieving his goals.  I believe also that in paying tribute to those who has supported him and helped him through the tough times he has reminded us all of how vital it is that we find those who will support and encourage us.  

There are obvious parallels with the Christian journey.  There are times in our Christian life when the going is tremendously tough.  When Church is working as it should, we can find there the support and encouragement we need in the hard times.  The writer of the New Testament letter to the Hebrews challenges, 'let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.'  I know that I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to family and friends who have been there for me over the years; I couldn't have managed without them.

So well done Andy, thanks for the inspiration, and for the reminder that we all need to surround ourselves with the right people if we want to achieve in life.

The Sandpiper

Like many people, I receive a fair number of e-mails each day.  Fortunately I have an efficient spam filter which removes most of the junk e-mails before they arrive on my laptop.  From time to time I receive circular-type e-mails, mostly from people I know (often with the instruction to forward it to others).  Sometimes they are worth reading, and at times they make me laugh.  Most are soon consigned to the “deleted items” file.  A very few I might forward to friends.

I received an e-mail last week with the title “The Sandpiper”.  As I read the e-mail I found that I was both moved and challenged by the story.  Many e-mail stories of this type purport to be true, when in fact they have been made up.  It appears from a little research I have done that this story is based on events which actually took place, although some of the details appear to have been changed over time.  I thought that for this week’s blog I would simply repeat the story.  I hope that you find it helpful.

The Sandpiper - by Robert Peterson       

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me.  She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.  "Hello," she said.  I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.  "I'm building," she said.  "I see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.  "Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."  That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.

 

   "That's a joy," the child said.  "It's a what?"  "It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."  The bird went gliding down the beach.  Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself, hello pain, and turned to walk on.  I was depressed, my life seemed completely out of balance.   "What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.  
"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."   "Mine's Wendy... I'm six." "Hi, Wendy." She giggled. "You're funny," she said.  In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.   "Come again, Mr P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."

  
The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. After a few days of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother. 
I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.  The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.  "Hello, Mr P," she said. "Do you want to play?"  
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.  "I don't know, you say."  "How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.  The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."  "Then let's just walk." 

 
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.  "Where do you live?" I asked.  "Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.  Strange, I thought, in winter.  "Where do you go to school?" "I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on holiday."  She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things.  When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.  Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

  
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic.  I was in no mood to even greet Wendy.  I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.  "Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today."   She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.  "Why?" she asked.  I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, My God, why was I saying this to a little child?  "Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."   "Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and - oh, go away!"  "Did it hurt?" she enquired.   "Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself. "When she died?"  "Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself.  I strode off.

  
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.  Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door.  A drawn looking young woman with honey-coloured hair opened the door.   "Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson.  I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."  "Oh yes, Mr Peterson, please come in.  Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."

  
"Not at all - she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realising that I meant what I had just said.   "Wendy died last week, Mr Peterson.  She had leukaemia. Maybe she didn't tell you."  Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath. "She loved this beach so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.  She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left something for you ...if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"  I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues - a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:  

   A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.   

Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.  The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words - one for each year of her life - that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.  A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the colour of sand - who taught me the gift of love.  

The e-mail concluded with the following words:

NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson ... the incident changed his life forever. It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other. The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.  
Life is so complicated; the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can make us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.  
This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means, take a moment...even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses.  

There are NO coincidences!   Everything that happens to us happens for a reason.  
Never brush aside anyone as insignificant. Who knows what they can teach us?  

I wish for you, a sandpiper.  

Virgil was right

For the past few years I have liked to use an 18 month academic diary, which runs from 1st July to 31st December in the following year.  Using such a diary makes it easier to plan well ahead without having to carry two diaries around for a long time.  Another option, of course, would be to use an electronic diary; it is something which some friends have encouraged me to do, but I prefer the old fashioned method.  It somehow seems a bit safer (unless the unthinkable happened, and I lost my diary).  I also love crossing out completed tasks!

Today I started a new 18 month diary, which will run until the end of 2014.  There mere fact that I have started a new diary reminds me that it will soon be a year since Sue and I moved down the M1 from Doncaster to Leicester.  In some ways it feels like we have been here a long time; on the other hand, the past year seems to have gone by very quickly.  I believe that it was the Roman poet Virgil who first penned the oft quoted words, "tempus fugit", most commonly translated as "time flies."  Many people would agree with those words!

Sue and I have been tremendously blessed in the past 18 months with the births of Max and Beth, our wonderful grandchildren (and we look forward to welcoming grandchild number three in a few months' time).  Being a grandad has been a thoroughly enjoyable experience; seeing both Max and Beth last weekend I was amazed at how fast they are developing.  They are now into the walking and "investigating everything within arms' reach" stage!  Our own three children are now in their late 20s/early 30s, but it seems like only yesterday when they were taking their own first steps.

The exact words written by Virgil all those years ago were, "fugit irreparabile tempus," literally, "time flees irretrievably."  It seems to me that what Virgil was saying was not so much that time goes by very quickly (although it can certainly appear to do so), but that time moves inexorably on, and once it has gone we can never go back and retrieve it.  Time wasted is time lost forever.  I am reminded of St. Paul's advice in his letter to the church in Ephesus, when he wrote, 'Be careful, then, how you live - not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil'  (Ephesians 5:15&16).  I find those words very challenging: Do I make the most of every opportunity?  Do I appreciate the gift of each new day, and use my time wisely and fruitfully?  Food for thought!