God! or God?

Is man one of God's blunders, or is God one of man's blunders?

I try very hard to not move back into my mode as a minister of religion or for that matter back into my mode as a teacher of world religions and philosophy. There come times when I find this very difficult and today almost impossible.

On Tuesday I visited Barcelona to visit again the world famous Sagrada Familia. I have not seen it for real for some twenty years and may not see it again.

The work has gone on for one hundred and forty years and will not be completed until 2026. Designed by the architect Gaudi, it is a marvellous conception. it was Gaudi who said, "nothing is invented, for it is written in nature first. Originality consists of returning to the origin.  here was a man who marvelled in the wonders and beauty of nature and wished to express this in the buildings and parks he designed.

He never doubted that the beauty and the wonder of nature were from the very hand of a creator god. The Sagrada Familia was to be his homage to this belief. Its intricate design was to reflect the movement and flow of nature in its every curve. if you have not seen it it is worthy of a visit to the site where you can see both exterior and interior views.

Sadly Gaudi was killed by a tram car while shaking his collecting can to help raise money for the work of the building. 

The existence of God means that we are living in a moral order, and in a moral order we can no more sin and get away with it than we can break all physical laws and escape the penalty. 

Gaudi would have agreed with this, believing that we did indeed have to answer for our actions. He wanted his to be good.

These thoughts filled my head as I stood in awe of the building. 

But also in my mind, I heard the words of the philosopher Neitche who said, "God is dead." So often we stop there shocked or pleased by the statement. But he went on to also say, "Killed by humans. We have therefore to become gods ourselves."

If we take this stance then indeed we have to be fully responsible for our every action, not because of any future punishment on a day of judgement but in the court of humanity.

Either the way of Gaudi or the way of Neitche leaves us no out froms our human and moral responsibility to care for this wonderful planet and its nature so wonderfully protrayed in the work of Anntonio Gaudi.

I walk the world of wonder day by day and am never lost for the amazement of it all. The painting today I saw growing where people had thoughtlessly dumped their unwanted rubbish. This plant had taken root and was begining to transfer the mess into a thing of beauty.

Have a wonderful day. Go have a look at the Sagrada Familia, and those of you who are fortunate to be young enough to be here at its completion on that day say a little hello to me.

Problems and life.

One of the best classes I liked as a teacher was the one where I met a class of students for the first time. I had a number of favourite lessons that I kept for those classes. One was based on a well-known lesson task.

The first thing I did was write on the chalkboard the two figures, 4 2. Nothing more just the two figures.

I would then ask, "What's the solution?"

One student would call out, "Six." Another would say "Two." Then several would shout out "Eight!" 

I would shake my head in the negative. Then I would point out their collective error. "All of you failed to ask the key question: What is the problem? 

Unless you know what the problem is, you cannot possibly find the answer." 

In everyday life, too much time is spent trying to solve the wrong problem, like polishing brass on a sinking ship.

If the only tool you have is a hammer, you tend to see every problem as a nail. 

Experimental psychologists have long been studying the thinking process in solving problems. Here are some approaches you can use to improve your score as a problem solver.

1. Consider the elements of the problem several times, until a pattern emerges that encompasses them all. This helps you get the total picture before you become lost in details.

2. Don't make a hasty judgment. Avoid succumbing to the first interpretation that comes to mind.

3. Try rearranging the elements of your problem. This may help uncover a familiar pattern previously masked by an unfamiliar arrangement.

4. Attempt a different approach. A proficient problem solver has learned not to persist in one approach if it's obviously not working. He or she will jump from one approach to another until a solution is found.

5. Take "time out" when you're stuck. This will permit you to get away from the problem and perhaps to be able to come back to it with a new perspective.

6. Discuss your problem with others. This will cause you to consider aspects you might otherwise ignore. A listener can serve as a useful feedback source to reveal inconsistency in your reasoning if it exists.

You cannot force a solution to a problem to come to mind. But you can keep your mind open so you can recognize possible paths to solutions when they present themselves.

There are many paths to follow to help find the way of life that brings us joy and happiness. 

Have a wonderful day.

It is just weather.

My wife lives by the weather. Well, that is not exactly true she has a kind obsession with the weather forecasts. She will constantly tell me that rain is coming at 4-30 pm or such. if we are going walking then she will make sure we do so around this forecast. When it does not happen as she expects she will say it was supposed to.

My answer is always the same, "Did you ask the weather what it intended to do?" The weather has a mind of its own. Last night we had to return to the van in time to have our meal outside before the weather turned to rain at 5pm. It never happened I was still sitting out three hours later watching my live-stream of the Berlin Philarmonic. 

Back in 1839, James Espy claimed that rain could easily be produced by heating the air. But his plan to saturate parched farmland by building great log fires across vast stretches of the American West never materialised for which Espy's contemporaries were probably grateful!  

Later in the 19th century, a new theory emerged, loud noises would bring rain. 

This theory was put to the test in Texas, where Robert Dyrenforth piled up enough munitions for a small war. He blasted away at the skies, but as one observer wrote, "Dyrenforth attacked from the front and rear, by the right and left flank. But the sky remained clear as the complexion of a Saxon maid."

Neither of them had asked the weather what it thought.

I left Haro in Spain this morning very early with the thought of at least five hours of driving towards one of my favourite cities in the world, Barcelona. The weather forecast said, "A possibility of rain."

The reality was two hours of horrendous torrential thunder and lightning. A terrible journey. To make matters worse it was to be raining where we were going. IN despair I stopped at a service station and purchased a bar of white chocolate comfort food. We arrived and sat out in the sun and enjoyed the relaxing weather.

While I was at university I managed to get a job working in a very popular bar-restaurant at the West end of Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland. I lived in a commune about two and a half miles away. Because I was a student the manager thought I was always available at the drop of a hat. One day he called me asking me to come in as soon as possible. The weather was terrible but being a diligent employee I made my way. 

I was a student, I had no car or bicycle so I had to walk. I arrived soaked to the skin. I was told that because of the very bad electrical storm the electricity had gone off and the backup generator was broken.

No meals or beers would be on sale that day. I was excused. Off I headed home to get a second soaking. As I arrived in the doorway of the commune the telephone rang. The generator was repaired could I please return. 

I leave you two guesses what my polite answer was, and what I thought of the weather that day. I had never taken the time to check the forecast.

I try very hard to live my life going with the flow seems sometimes that means just what it sounds like.

All this talk of weather took me back to one of my first loves, abstract art. I just could not resist expressing what I saw during those two hours of weather. It is my inner feelings not exactly what I saw at any one time but I think it expresses what in the time I saw changing clouds and feelings. 

Back in the world of abstracts, I know that nothing in life can be assured, even the weather.

Have a wonderful day I hope, "The sun shines on the righteous."

Equal, unequal, same or different?

One of the things about living in my motorhome is being very aware of the people around you and how they respond to situations. Most families seem to have set routines and tasks that are carried out, and they seem to be allocated according to sex. Now I do not think for one minute that caravaners or motorhome people naturally sexist it just seems to be the way things are.

But living so close to one another and seeing and hearing people live out their days makes you notice the many differences in behaviour. Being a people watcher I am very aware of this.

Iknow that if I hear a child screaming the chances are very hard that this will be coming from a girl, boys tend not to scream.

A recent study of several hundred preschool children revealed an interesting phenomenon. 

As they taped the children's playground conversation, they realized that all the sounds coming from little girls' mouths were recognizable words. However, only 60 percent of the sounds coming from little boys were recognizable. The other 40 percent were yells and sound effects like "Vrrrooooom!" "Aaaaagh!" "Toot Toot!" 

This difference persists into adulthood.  

Communication experts say that the average woman speaks over 25,000 words a day while the average man speaks only a little over 10,000. What does this mean in marital terms? . . . On average a wife will say she needs to spend 45 minutes to an hour each day in meaningful conversation with her husband. 

What does her husband sitting next to her say is enough time for meaningful conversation? Fifteen to twenty minutes--once or twice a week!

I also noticed that over here in Spain females are much louder when speaking to males and males seem to respond much faster. Now that is just an observation not a comment of preferences or my feelings about the differences just something I have noticed. 

I stopped to rest my feet in a village square yesterday and drink from a spring. Peace perfect peace. Five cars came into the square and parked. The occupants got out and prepared to set off for a walk together. The ladies of the party were by far the more vocal and very loud about the preparations to be made.

I got up and left the square to make my return journey back to my van while they set off in the other direction. As the distance between us increased I could still hear the voices loud and clear and very definitely female.

But just to let you for that these are merely observations I share with you let me remind you of a tale.

A young couple met and almost in an instant felt that they had met the perfect soulmate. They had a perfect male-female relationship and decided to get married. The marriage turned out to be a perfect marriage in a perfect home.

One day they were out having a perfect afternoon in their perfect car when they saw one of the seven dwarfs. They thought that he looked lost so being the perfect people they were offered to help him. He was lost but they would get him home.

Unfortunately, they had an accident and only one survived. Whom?

Of course, it was the female. Because there was no such thing as the seven dwarfs and there is no such thing as the perfect male.

Have a carefree day, I am moving on today to Barcelona. Have not been there since I stopped teaching so a little trip down memory lane.

Oh Dear those responsibilities.

Arriving on site yesterday I discovered that the connector for my water pump did not fit the connection on the tap. I envisaged a fair bit of carrying water back and forth to my van and using the smaller pump that works from a bucket rather than directly from the tap. Just at that a gentleman appeared having noticed my dilemma and offered me the use of an adapter that turned my connector into one that fitted.

Later in the afternoon a family appeared with a caravan and were struggling to get their caravan onto their pitch. I instantly got up to offer my aid. I did after all have a feeling of some responsibility I had been offered aid earlier and all such acts of kindness should bring about some feeling of responsibility to pass on the good karma that I felt had been offered to me.

It is a strange thing responsibility. We live in an age when people seem very familiar with their rights but seem to forget that all rights bring with them some sense of responsibility.

There is a lovely story of the art of passing the buck. We often like this phrase but the bottom line of it is that passing the buck so often means not facing up to our responsibilities.

Let me share with you a very true account of passing the buck. 

I remember visiting an old lady while I was chaplain at the hospital. The lady I was visiting spilled a cup of water beside her bed. She was afraid she might slip and fall on the water if she got out of bed, so she pressed her buzzer and asked the nurse very politely if she could help by mopping it up.

The old lady was not at all familiar with the hospital policy. The policy said, that small spills were the responsibility of the nursing staff and nursing aids, larger spills were to be mopped up by the hospital housekeeping group.

The nurse's aide decided the spill was a large one and she called the housekeeping department. A housekeeper arrived and declared the spill a small one. 

An argument followed.

"It is not my responsibility," said the nurse's aide, "because it's a large puddle." The housekeeper did not agree. "Well, it is not mine," she said, "the puddle is too small."

The exasperated patient listened for a time, then took a jug of water from her bedside table and poured the whole thing on the floor. 

"Is that a big enough puddle now for you two to decide?" she asked. It was, and that was the end of the argument. 

In the time it took for them to arrive at this position I could easily have taken a bit of kitchen roll from the patient's cupboard and wiped it up about three times. And it was not my responsibility.

It is very true that all rights bring responibilities but is it not sad that life has come to this? I can hear my old trade union friends telling me it is important or people get taken for granted. 

My own experience in life is this, no matter how often I have done things to assis others whether it was my responsibility or not is far outweighed by the number of times I have rejoiced that somebody was there offering me unasked for assistance that was never their responibility.

I am here if I can ever help in whatever way my dear friends. 

Have a great day. I am now in a new part of Spain for me and about to go and explore the environs.

The little niggles of life.

I am sure like me you have often been annoyed over small things that happen in life. I remember when conducting weddings how it was not the big things in life that broke up marriages but the things that started small and became niggles and grew out of all proportion. The fact that a wife squeezes the toothpaste from the middle of the tube then leaves the tube lying about on the bathroom sink. 

I was always a person who liked things in a strict order a place for everything and everything in its place. I, therefore, took bad having to share with somebody who did not see this as so important.  I solved the problem by instead of being the first to use the bathroom for washing each day I waited and went second and put everything back in its place before I left. problem solved.

So it is in life. 

Do any of you who are old enough remember the chalk and the blackboard?  Now it is the chalkboard or whiteboard. My problem with that was the horrible noise that the chalk used to make. It sent horrible shivers up my spine.

It happened everytime someone was called out to solve a problem on the board. They would frequently hold the chalk wrong and sends chills up and down the spines of everyone in the class with that familiar classroom torture technique We had a name for it, "squeaky chalk." 

Why does a piece of chalk produce that hideous squeal? 

According to the book, The Flying Circus of Physics (With Answers), squealing chalk results from the phenomenon of "stick and slip." Incorrectly held chalk actually sticks to the blackboard. But when the writer bends the chalk enough, it suddenly slips and vibrates, sporadically striking the chalkboard and producing that squeal we hear. As the vibrations decrease, the friction between the chalk and the board increases until the chalk sticks again and the torture begins once more. 

It was a very simple thing to eliminate. The first time I asked any student to do a task on the board I told a funny and gave a lesson on how to and how not to hold a stick of chalk. Problem solved.

A minister friend tells a true account of an annoying event in his life. The Public Library introduced a system called "Dial-A-Tale." Anytime a young child wants to hear a fairy tale, they can call the number and a voice comes on reading a short fairy tale to the listening young ear. 

However, the number is only one digit different from my friend's number. 

Because the small fingers often make a mistake, He gets frequent calls from a child listening for a fairy tale. After several unsuccessful attempts to explain a wrong number to the small child, he felt he had only one alternative. 

He obtained a copy of Three Little Pigs, and set it by the phone. Now, whenever a child calls, he simply reads them the tale. A beautiful illustration of yielding personal rights. He didn't, as you might have thought, change his telephone number to avoid the "invasion of his privacy." 

Problem solved. 

It is so often the case that those little dilemmas can be solved before they become big issues we just have to stop and think and find a cheerful way to get around it. 

Two caravans away from me the caravan site owners have planted a new young poplar tree. It is still very young so they have tied a support to it to give it a good start in life. Sadly the person the caravan next to it has used a bungy around it and another tree to make a wash drying line, the tree is bending under the weight.  They are Spanish I cannot speak Spanish so how do I find a nice way to get them to find another solution for the drying of clothes? 

Not a big isse one of lifes little niggles but I am sure there is an easy answer. 

It is always wise to sort things out when they are just small little things before they reach explosive proportions.

Hve a good day. The painting was a rose I spotted yesterday on my walk growing wild.

It is all in a look.

No matter how many colours I use in the painting of this face it is always recognised instantly by all who see it. I painted a version of this a year or so ago but looked at it again and once more felt it could be improved. I am still not sure I have got it right but I am sure he will be instantly known.

The human brain has a tremendous capacity to remember faces and often the names that are attached to them. But this marvellous capacity also brings a side effect that can be dangerous. The very same brain can often be fooled by first impressions. It can often see what it want to see and is therefore fooled.

Throughout my life I have always taken people at what we call, "Face value," and it has on more than once led me to future pain and being deceived by people less trusty than they would have you believe.

When architect Christopher Wren designed the interior of Windsor Town Hall near London in 1689, he built a ceiling supported by pillars. After city fathers had inspected the finished building, they decided the ceiling would not stay up and ordered Wren to put in some more pillars. 

England's greatest architect didn't think the ceiling needed any more support, so he pulled a fast one. He added four pillars that did not do anything -- they don't even reach the ceiling. The optical illusion fooled the municipal authorities, and today the four sham pillars amuse many a tourist. 

Those so-called experts had been fooled and they all saw what they wanted to see.

During one of his political campaigns, a delegation called on Theodore Roosevelt at his home in Oyster Bay, Long Island. The President met them with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up. "Ah, gentlemen," he said, "come down to the barn and we will talk while I do some work." 

At the barn, Roosevelt picked up a pitchfork and looked around for the hay. Then he called out, "John, where's all the hay?"

"Sorry, sir," John called down from the hayloft. "I ain't have time to toss it back down again after you pitched it up while the Iowa folks were here."  

He wanted those who were going to vote for him to see him as a hardworking man. The hardest working man was the one who was not seen at all, John.

Politicians have an often clever knack of making you see what you want to see and even hear what they want you to hear. Frequently this art leads to people being fooled into making unwise choices. On this, I will say no more and leave you to ponder.

But let me conclude on a note of laughter. 

I heard this tale many years ago, the old ones are always the best.

A Texas rancher driving through Vermont had to stop to let a farmer's cow cross the road. As the farmer passed in front of the Cadillac convertible, the rancher called out to him, "How much land you got, partner?" 

"Well," the farmer said, "my land runs all the way down there to them alders along the brook. On the meadow side, over there, it goes clean up to those larches on the hill."  

"You know," said the rancher, "I got a spread in Texas and I can get in my pickup and drive all day without reaching any of my boundary lines." 

"That so?" said the farmer. "I had a truck like that once." 

Things are not always what they seem to be and the brain must be alert. Who was it that said, "Beware of wolves in sheep's clothing,"?

Have a marvellous day.

It is not how I will remember.

I painted this little fellow, Alfie, on canvas a few years ago for a very good friend. I thought it was time, with all this practice I have been having to have another try and depicting him but now using my Ipad. I Like this new version.

I remember painting him well and at the time thought I had managed to get to know him. I think I know him even more now. Is this how I will remember him? Let me say a little more.

I was remembering my best friend and an incident that happened with his mother. Sadly she has now passed away but I will always remember this story of her loyalty to my friend.

She was in the kitchen of the local church. It had been a joining of two congregations for an evening of praise and signing. My friend's mother was now standing at the sink washing dishes while a member of the other church was drying them. From some reason, this woman began to say some not very nice things about the minister who had been in charge of the evening. She listened to some of the horrible things she was saying. She then turned to my friend's mother, " What do you think Peggy?" "Well," said Peggy, "my son is a minister and if I ever heard you saying things like that about him I would find it impossible not to slap you."

It is how we act that tells us more about us than what we ever say.

I remember a lad who was in my class at school. he was bullied regularly by the male members of the class. One day I was also bullied into doing some of the things they did and said to him. I did not wish to participate and did so but nothing like they did. 

Later that day I spoke to him again and apologised and asked his forgiveness which he did instantly. He was, in fact, a very shy and very intelligent person and did not deserve the treatment he got. A few years later after we had left the school he bought a motorbike. About six months later he had a terrible accident and was killed. I will not remember him because of the accident but because of what I participated in that day.

It is never what we say that matters but the actions of our lives.

Have a marvellous day one and all.

I accomplished a little.

This will be my last Iris for a bit I am sure you have seen enough and I have certainly spent more than enough time painting them, but I really have enjoyed them as a subject.

I must thank all of my friends who took the time yesterday to congratulate me on my little sense of accomplishment. What a surprise to be told that my snow and cloud painting had been voted the best in the competition on this subject. My painting Freuchie in Snow did just that. Thank you also to the person who cajoled me into submitting it to this topic.  I liked the painting but did not think for one minute that it would do that. I know that I had already had one of my paintings very highly rated to be one of a pack of playing cards so to actually be voted by fellow artists at the top of this theme has certainly made me feel quite humble.

Way back at the beginning of my painting encouraged by two dear friends I thought I might one day be a mediocre artist, never did I ever dream that one day I might actually paint one or two paintings that might stand the test of time. How did I do it? By sheer hard work, reading about how to, watching others so much better than I ever will be and being diligent.

The most refreshing thing is that I now have something nobody can take away from me.

But the real lesson this has brought me is that nothing comes easily. If I want to discover the inner peace and happiness I seek that too will only come to me by the same sheer diligence. There is a saying we have in Scotland, "There is nae such thing as a free meal." Nobody is ever going to just hand me the answer to life on a plate.

Yesterday I reached a little milestone in my artist journey, I still have many little milestones to reach on my spiritual path. I was told by many that there was nothing at all wrong with a little self-indulgence and contentment. But once I have done that the journey of life starts again.

Those little moments when one stands at a peak gives the encouragement to make that onward journey.

Thanks once again to all for your encouragement. I hope in some small way I can be an encouragement to you.

Have a great day.

Rest.

This is the blue Iris that is just like the ones that were in my garden as a young boy. I am certainly going to try and find some of those for my own garden. Found this one difficult to paint as the memories came flooding back

Now in Spain Spain.  After two nightson the ship then time to relax for a bit before making the journey to Barcelona where I hope to see the famous Gaudi Cathedral. Have watched it grow over the years with school trips, but not seen it for a few years now.

A time for rest is not really something I am good at, I tend to be constantly doing something keeping the mind and hands active. Or out there walking, which is never for me a relax rather a brisk journey of hope looking to find things to paint.

It is good though to get out there where the only noise is the chatter of nature and not the background noise of TV.

Noise affects human behaviour. 

In an experiment carried out by psychologists, a student leaving a library intentionally dropped an armload of books. In 50% of the cases, a passerby stopped to help the student pick up the books. 

Then the experimenters brought out a lawn mower without a silencer and started it near where a student would again intentionally drop the books. This time, only about 10% of the people who passed stopped to help. It was clear that behaviour changed because of the earsplitting sound of the nearby lawnmower

.  

In experiments in Los Angeles, researchers found that children who lived in neighbourhoods near the airport could not complete certain tasks undertaken when jets were landing and taking off as easily as children who lived in quiet neighbourhoods. 

Some studies of prison conditions have shown that the high levels of noise cause more complaints by prisoners than the food or other prison conditions do.

I find noise very difficult to live with, and the music I sometimes play while writing or painting has to be soft gentle and inspiring. 

Music has something to say about rest.

I heard it said there is no music in a rest, but there is the making of music in it. 

In our whole life-melody, the music of life should be broken off here and there by 'rests.'  

Be it ours to learn the tune, and not be dismayed at the 'rests.' They are not to be slurred over, not to be omitted, not to destroy the melody, not to change the keynote. If we sadly say to ourselves, 'There is no music in a rest,' let us not forget that there is the making of music in it. We all, each and every one of us needs a time of rest or the melody of life becomes discordant. 

Have a marvellous and restful day.

What will they remember?

My friend and I were joking the other day there about how we might be remembered after we have parted this earthly realm.

I would love to be remembered as he who gave some of his life sharing with others the things I thought important and worthy of learning, both as a minister of religion and as a teacher.

Maybe some might be remembered me as an artist who made a good attempt at producing artwork. Possibly and hopefully as a good father, and as a loving caring husband.

Then we got into the ridiculous. My friend thought that I might be remembered as the idiot who ran a half marathon on a broken ankle. Or maybe I would be remembered as the teacher who sent a student across to the technical department to borrow a small set of pliers with which I removed a tooth that was giving me a great deal of discomfort with a toothache.

Thinking of those latter two things I can see just how silly they both were but at the time it seemed like the correct thing to do.

I did not know my ankle was broked and friends and family had all given up a precious weekend to run this half marathon. I did not wish to let them down. It was nearing examination time for my students and the lessons I was teaching might just be the ones that helped the students achieve a good or better grade. I did not wish to miss a lecture. 

We laughed and I shared the following account with my friend. Neither he nor I know anything very much about baseball but the tale seemed appropriate.

 The tale is about a man called Steve Lyons. He will be remembered as the player who dropped his trousers in the field of play. 

He could be remembered as an outstanding infielder, as the player who played every position for the Chicago White Sox,  as the man who always dived into first base, as a favourite of the fans who high fived the man who caught the foul ball in the bleachers (whatever they are?). He could be remembered as an above-average player who made it with an average ability. 

But he will not. He will be remembered as the player who dropped his trousers on July 16, 1990.

The White Sox were playing the Tigers in Detroit. Lyons hurtled and raced down the first-base line. He knew it was going to be tight, so he dived at the bag. Safe! 

The Tiger's pitcher disagreed. He and the umpire got into a shouting match, and Lyons stepped in to voice his opinion.

Absorbed in the game and the debate, Lyons felt dirt trickling down the inside of his pants. Without missing a beat he dropped his trousers, wiped away the dirt, and twenty thousand jaws hit the bleachers' floor. 

And, as you can imagine, the jokes began. Women behind the White Sox dugout waved dollar bills when he came onto the field. "No one," wrote one columnist, "had ever dropped his trousers on the field. Not Wally Moon. Not Blue Moon Odom. Not even Heinie Manush." 

Within twenty-four hours of the "exposure," he received more exposure than he had got in his entire career, seven live television and approximately twenty radio interviews. 

"We've got this pitcher, Melido Perez, who earlier this month pitched a no-hitter," Lyons stated, "and I'll guarantee you he didn't do two live television shows afterwards. I pull my trousers down, and I do seven. Something pretty skewed  in this game." 

Fortunately, for Steve, he was wearing long underpants under his baseball pants. Otherwise the game would be rated "R" instead of "PG-13." 

Now, I don't know Steve Lyons. I'm not a White Sox fan or any kind of football fan for that matter. Neither am I normally appreciative of men who drop their trousers in public. But I think Steve Lyons deserves a salute. 

I think anybody who dives into first base deserves a salute. How many men do you see roaring down the baseline of life more concerned about getting a job done than they are about saving their necks?

How often do you see people diving headfirst into anything? 

Too seldom, right? But when we do, when we see a gutsy human throwing caution to the wind and taking a few risks,  we know that is a person worthy of a pat on the back. 

So here's to all the Steve Lyons in the world. To all those who go the extra mile, who give their very best at every opportunity. I think it silly to say give 110% but let me just say those who for others give more than is asked. I would love to be remembered as somebody like that.

Have a great day.

Missing Something?

It is Sunday morning and in just a very short time I will be heading off to make the journey from home to Portsmouth to catch the ferry to Bilbao. 

I am not sure about the wifi on the ship so not sure if and when I may be able to post another blog. Will I miss home? of course, I will, I will be living in a motorhome for the next almost two months. This is a different way of life and I will miss having m computer to hand at all times and I will miss some of the other home comforts. Some friends wondered if I might miss my own bed. The bed in my motorhome is a very comfortable bed and it is my own so I will not miss my home one at all. This is, in fact, one of the advantages of a motorhome as opposed to an hotel.

Having spent all of my youth in just two homes I did have a feeling of missing home when I upped sticks and went off to live on the little island of Iona to have a year of work and study.

This morning I have no deep thoughts for you my head so full of all the last minute things I have to make sure I have packed to take with me. The last time I ventured forth I did so without the charger for my watch.

What I do have is a lovely story that I have been keeping in mind for just such a day as this. This is a true story. 

Many years ago in England, a circus elephant named Bozo was very popular with the public.

Children especially loved to crowd around his cage and throw him bananas, and other treats. Then one day there was a sudden change in the elephant's personality. Several times he tried to kill his keeper and when the children came near his cage he would charge toward them as if wanting to trample them to death. It was obvious he would have to be destroyed. 

The circus owner, a greedy and crude man, decided to stage a public execution of the animal. In this way, he could sell tickets and try to recoup some of the cost of losing such a valuable property. 

The day came and the huge circus tent was packed. Bozo, in his cage, was in the centre ring. Nearby stood a firing squad with high-powered rifles. The manager, standing near the cage, was about ready to give the signal to fire when out of the crowd came a short, inconspicuous man in a brown derby hat. 

"There is no need for this," he told the manager quietly.

  

The manager brushed him aside. "He is a bad elephant. He must die before he kills someone."

  

"You are wrong," insisted the man. "Give me two minutes in the cage alone with him and I will prove you are wrong." 

The manager turned and stared in amazement. "You will be killed," he said. 

"I don't think so," said the man. "Do I have your permission?"

  

The manager, being the kind of man he was, was not one to pass up such a dramatic spectacle. Even if the man were killed, the publicity alone would be worth millions.  

"All right," he said, "but first you will have to sign a release absolving the circus of all responsibility." The small man signed the paper. 

As he removed his coat and hat, preparing to enter the cage, the manager told the people what was about to happen. A hush fell over the crowd. The door to the cage was unlocked, the man stepped inside, then the door was locked behind him. At the sight of this stranger in his cage, the elephant threw back his trunk, let out a mighty roar, then bent his head preparing to charge. 

The man stood quite still, a faint smile on his face as he began to talk to the animal. The audience was so quiet that those nearest the cage could hear the man talking but couldn't make out the words, he seemed to be speaking some foreign language. 

Slowly, as the man continued to talk, the elephant raised his head. Then the crowd heard an almost piteous cry from the elephant as his enormous head began to sway gently from side to side. Smiling, the man walked confidently to the animal and began to stroke the long trunk. All aggression seemed suddenly to have been drained from the elephant. 

Docile as a pup now he wound his trunk around the man's waist and the two walked slowly around the ring. The astounded audience could bear the silence no longer and broke out in cheers and clapping. After a while, the man bade farewell to the elephant and left the cage. 

"He'll be all right now," he told the manager. "You see, he's an Indian elephant and none of you spoke his language, Hindustani. I would advise you to get someone around here who speaks Hindustani. He was just homesick." 

And with that, the little man put on his coat and hat and left. The astounded manager looked down at the slip of paper in his hand. 

The name the man had signed was Rudyard Kipling, the author of Jungle Book.

Have a good day I hope to be back online one way or another soon.

It is a Wedding.

Right now it is Saturday morning as I sit down to right this little blog. I have the door of mt study firmly closed because for this moment of time I want to hear not another word about the fact that here in the UK today their is to be a special wedding. It has been impossible now for over the last week to avoid hearing about this. Speculation guessing and everything else about what will happen. The answer is simple two people will do the same as hundred, thousands, millions before and say I do.

I have found it almost impossible to avoid it all, I turned to a radio station that only plays constant classical music but even they were going to give a running commentry of events. I wonder who is catering for the many who wish to listen to something else?

Over the years I have conducted weddings for a great many couples and many of them still from time to time keep in touch. Some of them have even got in touch to thank me for the advice I gave on the day and in the days leading up to their wedding.

But I would never venture to offer advise to todays wedding couple.

I should be able to, having been married for forty five years if not more. So what can I say on this day?

Openness is essentially the willingness to grow, a distaste for ruts, eagerly standing on tip-toe for a better view of what tomorrow brings. 

A man once bought a new radio, brought it home, placed it on the refrigerator, plugged it in, turned it to The World Broadcast and then pulled all the knobs off! He had already tuned in all he ever wanted or expected to hear. 

Some marriages are "rutted" and rather dreary because either or both partners have yielded to the tyrany of the inevitable, "what has been will still be." 

Stay open to newness. Stay open to change, my best words on the topic.

MY last little thought this morning can be for couple married or thinking about it but is equally true of any friendship.

Do you and your partner feed each other a steady diet of put-downs? If you do, your marriage could be headed for divorce court.

When a psychologists studied newlyweds over the first decade of marriage, they discovered that couples who stayed together uttered 5 or fewer put-downs in every 100 comments to each other. 

But couples who inflicted twice as many verbal wounds - 10 or more putdowns out of every 100 comments later split up.

Watch what you say! Little, nit-picking comments are like a cancer in any relationship, slowly draining the life out of a committed friendship.

I will post this blog do my morning Tai Chi and meditation and then head out into the wilds where I will be unable to hear the sound of wedding bells. Later today there are two cup finals I just might watch one or other and tonight the berlin Phiermonic have a concert I am able to watch live. This will be my day . if you are to be wedding watching have a joyous day. 

It is good to laugh.

I was thinking that I had, in these blogs become very serious, almost preaching or teaching again. It is time for a bit of humour. First a little note about the painting. I found some plant and seed catalogues in my study and had a look through them. I was amazed to discover that there were so many different types of Iris. Looking at them reminded me that my father grew these plants when I was not even a teenager. he only had two varieties, blue and yellow. I had never noticed there were now so many more.

I decided to create a painting or two from looking at the catalogues. As I sat painting the memories began to flood my mind. happy funny and sad memories all brought about by an Iris. I feel a few more coming on.

I remembered my old scoutmaster, John Lyson.  He used to recite verse and such and always made us laugh. He often told the tale of Albert at the zoo being eaten by a lion.

He also had this wonderful act of whipping from his pocket a sheet of paper and pretending he was reading a letter. 

They were always different but went something like this.

Dear Mother,

"I am writing this slow because I know you cannot read fast. 

We don't live where we did when you left. Margaret read in the paper that the most accidents happened within twenty miles of home, so we moved. I will not know the address for a while yet as the last family that lived here took the numbers with them for their next house so they won't have to change their address.

This place we're renting has a washing machine. The first day I put four new shirts in it, pulled the chain, and I haven't seen them since. 

It only rained twice this week, three days the first time and four days the second time.

The coat you wanted me to send that you forgot was too heavy to send in the mail. So we cut off the big buttons and put them in the pockets.

I heard that Sis had a baby this morning but I haven't been over there yet to find out if it's a boy or a girl so I don't know if I'm an Aunt of an Uncle.

Our neighbour up the road fell in the whisky vat. Some men tried to pull him out, but he fought them off playfully, so he drowned. We cremated him and he burned for three days.

Three local kids went off the bridge in a pick-up truck. The one that was driving rolled down the window and swam out. The two sitting in the back drowned. They couldn't get the tailgate down.

Not much to tell this time. Nothin' much happens 'round here.

Love, Your Son John

As a preacher my style was loose and I  was often criticised again and again for bordering on frivolity in the pulpit.  Some of my fellow clergymen railed against this habit of introducing humour into my sermons. 

I remember once saying to them "If only you knew how much I hold back, you would commend me. As a  preacher, I think it less a crime to cause a momentary laughter than a half-hour of profound slumber." 

I am frequently accused of taking life to seriously, let me explain. 

I may seem serious when often I am not what often makes it seem so is my desire to get things exact. Precision. Surgical precision has always been important to me. I was saying to a friend yesterday how one little word can change the whole meaning of a sentence. 

Let me give an illustration to finish. There is a true story about Noah Webster, the man who wrote the  Webster Dictionary. The story told that his wife once caught him in the pantry in the act of kissing the maid. 

"Why, Mr. Webster," she said, "I'm surprised." 

"No, my dear," he replied. "I'm surprised' you're amazed."

Have a laughter filled day, or relax and start the day with a laugh.