Personal Blogs

Some days I am like an ant lying in a red wheelbarrow inside a green garden shed pondering the universe in existential angst.

Outside that red wheelbarrow, there’s another world. And outside the shed, there’s a greater world. The mind of the ant has walls. But so do we humans.

But let us explore that million-dollar Biblical question: Why does God permit suffering?

Imagine the scenario: one day in spring the village passers-by would observe a tiny robin building her nest. Puffing and panting, she worked all day collecting straw and intricately weaving a safe nest for her coming family.

That evening, the farmer came out and knocked down the nest.

The next day, the robin continued her bob-bob-bobbing along working tirelessly to prepare a home for the little ones.

Once again, the farmer returned that evening and knocked down that nest.

This continued for several days until the robin sought sweeter pastures. And soon after, a storm arrived and the whole tree was horizontal the following morning.

You see, the farmer knew the storm was coming and the tree was diseased, so by knocking the nest down, it eventually persuaded the robin to evacuate to a less hostile environment.

And this is the point, many condemn and abandon God due to human suffering, but they do not understand why God permits evil.

Take a few moments to read and ponder what is being said in the following verses. There are several points being made,

1.      God has permitted suffering (Verse 20,21).

2.      There will be a deliverance from suffering (Verse 21).

3.      God is aware of the pain suffering causes (Verse 22).

4.      God requires us to be patient (Verse 25.)

Romans 8:18-25

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which will be revealed toward us.  For the creation waits with eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed.  For the creation was subjected to vanity, not of its own will, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of decay into the liberty of the glory of the children of God.  For we know that the whole creation groans and travails in pain together until now.  Not only so, but ourselves also, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for adoption, the redemption of our body.  For we were saved in hope is that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for that which he sees?  But if we hope for that which we don’t see, we wait for it with patience.

Berean Standard Bible

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Of all the words in the English language, sincere comes up top for me. I like the gentle sibilant two syllabic sounds that neatly roll from the lips.

The story goes that the word came from the Greek and literally means “without wax.” Seemingly, artists carefully working on sculptures and spending weeks, months even years on a project could accidently chip off a nose or ear when close to completion. What a disaster.

But what if they got a piece of wax and filled in the flawed piece before putting it up for sale. Devious indeed.

Now I don’t know how true that story is, but it illustrates the point I would like to make: When I think of the word sincere, I think of expressions such as genuine, heartfelt, unfeigned, bona fide, truthful, Nathanael. “What? Nathanael?” You may ask. Yes, Nathanael.

Back in the first century, when Jesus saw a fellow Israelite named Nathanael approach him, do you know what he said? Let’s read: It’s in John 1:47:

At that moment, when Jesus saw Nathanael approach, Jesus said to him “…for sure, an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.”

Oh, my goodness! Everybody lies. Everybody bends the truth. Everybody manipulates. Everybody hides who they are. Everybody is dishonest. But here is this small-town fisherman who has raised himself above all that.

I write with an overall paradigm of what it means to be human, and there is an important human standard that is being reflected in Jesus’ words that creates a feeling of discomfort in me. I think if we are all honest with ourselves; we are drawn to sincere people. They make us comfortable and secure. It’s good to be with them. Doesn’t that add some incentive for us to reciprocate that sincerity?

When I think of the word insincere, I think of deviousness, dramaturgical, dishonest, deceitful, underhanded, and Ananias and Sapphira:

https://bible.org/seriespage/12-be-honest-story-ananias-and-sapphira

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I woke up on Milarrochy Bay campsite on the shores of Loch Lomond on Sunday morning to a grand symphony of songbirds competing for the platform. It was one of these occasions were nature reveals to us that the whole is greater than the number of the parts.

The evening before, the rich sundown on the Loch captured me. It is a place of tranquil beauty that engenders one to look at the bigger questions in life. My thoughts took me to the statement by the Russian writer Leo Tolstoy who wrote,

In the name of God, stop and cease work and look around you.

I feel frustration in Tolstoy’s words. Don’t you? I empathise with his disappointment also. I recall an evening back in the sixties when I was a child when I first looked around me.

 I suppose it must have been the late summer. I had been spending the month on the idyllic Island of Bute on Scotland’s west coast. We had a cabin with no running water or electricity. My job was to go and fill up the water containers from the communal well. Cows would cautiously approach and stare curiously whilst the smaller ones would shuffle through for front-row viewing.

At dusk, we would light paraffin lamps to illuminate the nights. My father would read children’s books. We were all ears as he read Heidi, Tales From 1001 Nights and Chinese Folk Tales. We ate freshly made pancakes washed down with jam and small glasses of sweet stout.

The lamp caused a sibilant sound as it burned up kerosene. It flickered and fostered sleepiness. It finally slumbered for the evening, and we would retire.

I lay there in my bed watching the stars cascading through the window; every one of them. And I wondered if the Chinese farmer boys, or the Bedouin shepherd boys or the milk maids in the Swiss mountains were seeing and feeling the sense of awe that I felt in my heart as the universe entered in. Years later, I read the following,

"When I behold Your heavens,

The work of Your fingers,

The moon and the stars,

Which You have set in place –

What is man that You are mindful of him,

On the son of man that You take care of him."

Psalm 8: 3-6 (BSB).

Tolstoy was a believer. What would he think of humans today who deny the existence of God. It is a pity; man cuts down the tree to get to the fruit. We benefit from this incredible planet, and yet, we do not acknowledge its creator.

Do you think science has produced answers? Think about it, we do not know how the universe came to be. We do not know how inorganic produces organic. We are creatures governed by a morality that cannot be explained other than from an outside source. Why is the universe a mathematically precise? What is consciousness? The list goas on. Personally, I have found those answers in the Bible.

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When I was a child in the sixties. I would go with my mother shopping. These were the days when dogs ran after cars thinking the vehicles were predators. It was the days before supermarkets, plastic, decimalisation, Pot Noodles, and self-service.

The first stop was the fruit and veg shop and, being a weekend, there was a long queue. My mother wasted no time in starting a conversation with whoever was in the line.

Next were the butchers, and the queue scenario continued with a lengthy conversation whilst I shuffled my feet on the sawdust floor making shapes. Mother would ask the butcher to hold up fresh cuts of meat whilst she inspected it for flaws. This process would happen every week even though the meat was seen through the glass, but that is the way it was.

Then it was butter. Yes, a long queue just for butter and conversations. I was always fascinated by the way the man slapped the butter on to greaseproof paper and handed it over to mum. See, no plastic.

Then we would go on the bus and my mother would sit us near the front with all the shopping, then put her arm on the armrest and turn to everyone on the bus and start a conversation.

Well, that was Glasgow in the old days. The days when community and social connection meant something. Now we tuck ourselves away in the cyber-hive and wonder why there is so much loneliness, depression, and antidepressants.

I know this is a bit of a ramble, but let me tell you, my sister and I are no different, we find it easy to start conversations. When I visited her this week, I was telling her about a Dutch couple I met this week near Loch Lomond. My sister replied, “I think I know them.” What are the chances? There must be a million Dutch visitors who come to Scotland’s shores every year, but stranger things have happened.

Anyway, whether she knew them or not, she told me a lovely little story about appreciation. My sister and her husband met this Dutch couple at a caravan site in the past. Being friendly, they welcomed the couple and spent time with them, it is a cultural symbiosis. Tourists love to get to know the locals when they visit countries. However, when the Dutch couple left early one morning, they left a little pair of Dutch clogs as a remembrance and appreciation. Lovely!

Now if this couple my wife and I met were the same ones my sister met, all I can say is kleine wereld.

“Look, Lord, half of my possessions I give to the poor…” Luke 1: 8

The words above were spoken by Zacchaeus, a rich disciple of Jesus. What is missing from the story is the happiness experienced by the poor who were recipients of his kindness.  Having been brought up at a time where people of my generation knew the value of the pound and the price of poverty, I can relate to the actions of Zacchaeus.

One day My wife asked me what was my happiest childhood memory?

It was the day my two friends came and asked if I was coming with them? It was a spring morning, and we took the ferry across to Kelvin to visit the museum.

We were there for several hours and on our return, we were rubbing our tummies with hunger. A man said, ‘Here’s a half-crown, buy yourselves ice-cream.’ We jumped up and down singing ‘Chips, glorious chips.’ Then… we stopped…went silent. The man told us to buy ice-cream. But he just smiled, and we jumped up and down again singing ‘Chips, glorious chips.’

And I would have to say, that was my happiest childhood memory; the day the kind man smiled and thought it was okay to buy chips.

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It is spring, you were four individuals from Pakistan, exploring the scenic "bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond", as the song goes. Our conversation started with the weather, but soon our lives intertwined. We shared more than life's challenges could diminish.

Like my wife and I, you held strong moral values, and I felt at ease in your company. You were all well-educated and at the peak of your lives with promising careers ahead. What struck me was the desire you had to talk to a man over twice your age, but you came from a culture who still holds the aged in high esteem; may God bless you. I should have exchanged emails, but the owl of Minerva flies at dusk as the expression goes. And in life’s great cosmic adventure, we may meet again.

*****

There are moments through the march of time that dance and shimmer in our in our heads and hearts and rise at unexpected moment like the Northern Lights. The psychologist Abraham Maslow coined the phrase, peak experiences to describe such memories. Awe- inspiring in their scope, they reach the deepest parts of our soul, defining who we are. Moments that create self-awareness. Humorous events that impart wisdom. Spontaneous acts of extraordinary human kindness. Elliptical and incomplete, they interrupt life’s plot…they just happen. And that’s the way it should be.

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In her book, Haiku Mind, Patricia Donegan explains that Robert Aitken was incarcerated in a Japanese prison camp in 1944. By chance he met a R.H Blyth, a translator of haiku. Robert began a study of this poetry form. I wonder, did having this purpose on in life pull him through? I once read about a man who survived  Auschwitz who when asked why he never gave up? He replied, "I began reading a book and I wanted to finish it."

Some days I wake in Bullerbyn, some days I wake in Narnia. To lift the latter there is nothing better than a morning of what the Japanese call Shirin-yoku or forest bathing.

Yesterday we had a full tank, so my wife said, “let’s go to Bute.” I needed no little persuasion. So off we went on the half-hour drive to the ferry terminal at Wemyss bay for a day trip round the island.

Our car took us out the town to a peaceful place encapsulated in some ancient trees where one is at one with nature. The spring day cast incredible images over the landscape that swept down to the sea. And to crown the moment, there was the welcoming curiosity of of new born lambs

I said to my wife, “When God and Christ Jesus bring about the Restoration and the promised paradise, I would feel eternally grateful to live here.”

Our next stop was Kilchattan Bay, where a flock of sheep chilled in the middle of the road. No worries: we just admired the view whilst these balls of wool in matchstick legs decided that the grass was greener on the other side of the road.

And there's the strangers we meet: farmers, fellow travellers and locals (All part of nature). Mary Wollstonecraft, one wrote about the strangers we meet on travel and the melancholic regret of not getting to know them fully. Alas, such is life.

Back home, we sat down to some sea bass and basmati rice . I then woke in the morning refreshed by the rhythms of nature and, and the spiritual dimensions captured in Runrig's Travellers,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XoHlVvFaSo&list=RD7XoHlVvFaSo&start_radio=1

Restoration: Acts 3: 21

https://biblehub.com/acts/3-21.htm

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As a youth, I went on a scout camp to the Scottish Highlands. Brendon was our Akela and Sandra, an American, was the girls’ scout leader on the campsite we shared. Stuck in a valley with persistent rain, it was a washout. But one of the highlights was a daily reading from Uncle Tom’s Cabin. It was the first book that made me angry, made me cry, and made me question racial injustices. Why would anyone write a book with such an unhappy ending?

Life for the protagonist, Tom, was endurable. His master, Mr Shelby, was a kindly man, but a businessman who accumulated debt. The novelist, John Gardner, wrote that ‘Every novel is based on two plots. Someone goes on a journey, and someone comes to town.’ The stranger who came to town was a Mr Haley, a cruel slave owner who purchased Tom to clear the debt for Shelby. Young Shelby Junior promised Tom when he got the money, he would buy Tom back.

Tom’s journey of beatings, deprivations and cruelty rose to a deathly climax when he landed in the hands of Simon Legree, a savage slave owner. When Sandra, our reader, got to the chapter, where Legree beats Tom to within an inch of his life, her voice trembled and her eyes began to fill up, as did mine. Brendon, aware of Sandra’s emotional reaction, paused the reading by asking us what the main theme of the book was? No one answered. Sandra raised her hand and said, ‘Justice.’ I never understood that. No one explained. How can justice be at play? The black slaves were abused. One thing the book taught me was that others have had a worse life than me. My treatment from Mr Farley and tension at home was nothing compared to the cruelty of slavery fictionalised by Harriet Beecher Stowe, the writer.

A recent reading of the book took me to the part where Sandra got upset all those years before at the scout camp. When Tom is beaten and left for dead, Shelby Junior turns up to buy him back as promised:

George Shelby, the son of the owner finally retrieves Tom, but he is a kind of shell, not much left. ‘Oh Master George, it’s too late.’

‘You shan’t die, you mustn’t die, I’ve come to take you home,’ said George with impetuous vehemence.

‘Oh, Master George, you’re too late, the Lord’s bought me. Come to take me home and I long to go. Heaven’s better than Kentuck.’

And herein lies the justice that Sandra referred to all those years ago. Tom, the first genuine Christian I ever met, albeit in fiction, was faithful, kind, and loving. Justice was served as a means of hope with the immortal line, ‘Heaven’s better than Kentuck.’ Legree couldn’t punish Tom anymore. ‘Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul,’ Jesus said. Justice for Tom would be served in the afterlife.

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The length of our days is seventy years—or eighty if we are strong—. Psalm 90:10 (BSB).

I turned 68 today. Two to twelve years left according to the limits set on humankind. Sure, there are a few centenarians around, but I assume the Bible is speaking about averages.

I am grateful for the 68 years. A walk round the Glasgow Necropolis puts life in perspective when I see children entombed and cut short by cholera and other debilitating illnesses that silently scourged the population in the Victorian era.

I also think of the chances of having life at all. In the large genetic lottery, the chances of me being born is greater than winning any lottery. Firstly, my parents had to meet, fall in love, and procreate. Out of the millions of sperm cells, one had to fertilise the egg, combine the genetic information, and allow it all to grow and produce a baby two months later. The chances of all that occurring is like bouncing up and down blindfolded on a bouncy castle with a ton of sand and choosing the correct grain of sand. A miracle indeed.

I am grateful for the countries ice explored, the people I have met, the genuine friends I have made and the skills I have developed.

I love nature, hillwalking, meeting people, enjoying nice meals in good company and simple things like standing by an ocean or watching the stars. Life is good and I am grateful.

Some time ago, I was visiting the Jewish quarters in a European country. I went to enter the ancient graveyard, but the rabbi came out and apologised and said it was ‘closed for the evening,’ but went on to say, ‘They will be coming out soon.’

I mentioned Ecclesiastes 9:5 and quoted it to him,

‘For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing. ‘(BSB).

I then went on to tell him a story. I will tell you the story tomorrow.

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Having grown up in a maritime city, I was no stranger to stories of shipwrecks off the Scottish west coast. One that fascinated me was the story of HMY Iolaire. This was a vessel that was returning to the Island of Lewis on Scotland’s west coast on January 1, 1919.

On board were no ordinary group of passengers, but 283 men who were returning from WW1. As they anticipated returning to their families after much deprivation and discomfort of the war, they no doubt looked forward to catching up on the lost years of absence.

The waters were hostile that day and the captain struggled to negotiate a safe passage. Suddenly, the ship struck rocks and 201 of the 283 men perished.

When the bodies were recovered, in their pockets were toys. Yes, toys. Toys for their children whom they had dearly missed. Gifts that would re-establish the lost years with their relationship with their little ones.

I am comforted by the promise made in God's word at Revelation 20: 12,13 where we read the following:

'And there were open books, and one of them was the Book of Life. And the dead were judged according to their deeds, as recorded in the books. The sea gave up its dead, and Death and Hades gave up their dead, and each one was judged according to his deeds.'

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Have you ever wondered why there is something rather than nothing? Think of the complexity of DNA, the complexity of genes, and chromosomes. Think of the chances of life on our planet. If the other planets like Mars and Jupiter were not present, life would be impossible. If the earth’s axes were not tilted, you would not be reading this. If the gravitation force were altered by one iota of a  degree, you would not be eating your next meal. If the earth never had a 24-hour rotation, life on this third planet from the sun would be impossible. What are the chances? None, unless the hand of God brought it all into being.

Many centuries ago, a wise man with acute critical thinking skills said the following in prayer to God,

When I behold Your heavens,

the work of Your fingers,

the moon and the stars,

which You have set in place—

what is man that You are mindful of him,

or the son of man that You care for him?

Psalm 8:3,4 BSB

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I’m a writer. I became a writer because I don’t like the world I’m living in. Therefore, I desire to write about the more positive qualities in humans. I like to create my own world.

Does your heart tremble like Areola Borealis when someone who is kind approaches you? We all know that feeling.

I recall being in Pisa, Italy, and a family of strangers invited my wife and I to join them. In Rome, a group of Filipinos offered me food.

One day I was walking on one of the Scottish islands and a man invited my wife and I to join him for a coffee. This happens often when I’m on Scotland’s Western islands.

My wife was in a baker’s shop in the UK. She ordered a coffee. She then realised her credit card did not work. The girl behind offered to pay for it.

There are two kinds of kindness. The random acts of kindness that is kind, but works on a pay-back paradigm, that of feeling happy that you have done so. However, there are people who are considerate and kind just because that’s the way they are, and that’s the way it should be.

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it. Hebrews13:2 (Berean Standard Bible).