A talk in Ipswich

Posted in About God, Blogs, Me & family by Phil
Sep 20 2009
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Last evening I left Lowestoft at dusk and drove down the A12 to Rushmere St Andrew, a little suburb of Ipswich.
The event was a supper where folk of Rushmere Christian Fellowship brought along their friends and neighbours to eat and hear an after-dinner speaker – me!
A12 To Heaven - book cover
It was quite daunting driving past the site of the car crash where the hedge that was obliterated has now grown back. it was as if the road had gobbled up a meal of human life and returned to normal to await it’s next supper of flesh.

I don’t have SatNav, not yet anyhow, but suprisingly Google maps guided me smoothly through the various turnings and after an hour I was there. The Tower Community Hall, hired for the evening, was decked out with rows of tables and around 50 people were there, maybe more.
After the food it was into the talk and once again re-living the events of July 1st 2006 and the aftermath battle of God vs Grief. Fortunately for me I was a willing battlefield. To this day I continue to obey God and the commands he gave on that day. I listen to the Holy Spirit within me who brings assurance that God is good and not to be questioned as if in some way he was responsible or could be blamed for not preventing what happened. This is such a sticking point to some people – it’s as if his inaction brings into doubt his love for them. How far from the truth is this.

The cross speaks of active love – the God who became man, who took the initiative. In short, he put himself on the cross but somehow people neglect this stupendous truth when accusing him of not preventing their suffereing. How can anyone accuse God of not caring when he went to the cross?

It was a good evening. I’m glad I went and there were some good conversations afterwards with people who needed to hear the account of the God who conquers even grief. Soon it was time to depart, back up the A12 on my own at roughly the same time as Claire and Jen would have been making their final journey on this earth. Up the A12, up to that point in the road where the hill begins. Up further, but on this occasion no car on the other side of the road to greet someone else head on.
Perhaps the A12 looked on and opened it’s mouth in anticipation of another meal. But it was not my time. How weird is it that people have their time. “For you”, said Jesus, “any time is right, but my time has not yet come.” Nor did mine tonight. I wonder when?
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Eastern Daily Press Article. 9 June 2009

Posted in Blogs, Me & family by Phil
Jun 09 2009
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Lowestoft father calls for tougher sentences for drink drivers
HAYLEY MACE

A father of two girls killed by a drink driver has called for tougher sentences for all those who get behind the wheel after drinking. Teenagers Claire and Jenny Stoddart died along with close friend Carla Took in a two-car accident on the A12 at Blythburgh, near Southwold, on July 1, 2006.

It will soon be the third anniversary of their tragic deaths and now their father, Phil, said there needed to be a greater deterrent to stop people driving while under the influence. Mr Stoddart, from Lowestoft, said: “Just recently the police in our region have begun another campaign to crack down on drink-driving after another set of alarming statistics showing a number of accidents to be alcohol related.

“However, police resources are limited and only so much can be done. During this latest campaign, many will continue to drink-drive and not be caught. So is there any real way of seeing a dramatic decrease in alcohol-related road offences?

“A sizeable deterrent is necessary to send a strong message out to society that drink-driving is not acceptable. Perhaps we should be looking at sentences that take less into account the outcome of the crime and more the crime itself. If people are going to drink drive, they need to be aware of huge consequences should they be caught, whether they kill anyone or not.”

Claire, 18, Jenny, 15, and Carla, 18, had been celebrating the end of their exams at a rock concert in Ipswich shortly before the tragedy. The crash also claimed the lives Simon Bonner, 40, and Kim Abbott, 41, both from Yoxford, who were in the car driven by a 22-year-old drink driver. He was jailed for eight-and-a-half years after admitting causing death by careless driving while unfit due to drink but the sentence was later reduced by two years on appeal.

Mr Stoddart continued: “Surely, the call must be for people to take more responsibility for their actions. As adults, we criticise young people for causing so many accidents, but is it not true that adults can be just as irresponsible? Perhaps it is because adults are more experienced in dealing with their antisocial choices that they do not cause as many accidents.”

He also criticised film and television for portraying high speed chases as heroic and entertaining and called for more subsidised public transport to encourage people to take a bus, taxi or train instead of driving.

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East Anglian Daily Times Comment. 1 June 09

Posted in Blogs, Me & family by Phil
Jun 01 2009
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The article below contains a general news item followed by an interview with me.
Booze and drugs link to fatal crashes
CRAIG ROBINSON

ALCOHOL or drugs were responsible for nearly a fifth of all fatal road accidents in Suffolk last year, new figures out today reveal. Police have this morning fired a warning to motorists who continue to flout the law and put people’s lives at risk.

Alcohol or drugs were identified as a contributing factor in five of the 29 (17.2%) fatal road traffic collisions in Suffolk in 2008. The figures have been released to coincide with the start of a month long drink and drug drive enforcement campaign. Roadside checks will be stepped up and officers will be breath-testing anyone involved in a collision, however minor.

Chief Inspector Mike Bacon warned: “If you drink drive or take drugs and drive, you are more likely to get caught than ever before. Suffolk Constabulary is committed to tackling this issue and we are warning those who break the law in this way that they will be caught. The police are well aware of the various means used by drink and drug drivers to avoid detection. We are taking steps to make the roads safer by making sure that those who drink or drug drive are arrested and face the consequences of their actions.”

“By drinking or taking drugs and driving you could lose your license, your livelihood and ruin your life. Your actions can also ruin the lives of others, by causing serious injury or even killing an innocent road user or pedestrian. Be sensible, be safe, and arrange a lift home, or appoint a designated driver. If you are going for a night out, remember to book a cab, choose a nominated driver or, if you are at a friend’s house, stay over for the night.”

Ch insp Bacon said they were also urging members of the public to report anyone who was behind the wheel while under the influence of alcohol or drugs.
“If you know of someone who is drink or drug driving then please call the police,” he said. “They are a danger to themselves, to you, your family and others, and they should be stopped.” Anyone who suspects someone they know of drink or drug driving is asked to report them immediately to the police on 01473 613500.

A FATHER of two girls killed by a drink driver has warned that far too many motorists are still getting behind the wheel while under the influence of alcohol or drugs.
Phil Stoddart said not enough people thought about the consequences of their actions and the devastating impact they could have.

His daughters Claire, 18, and Jenny, 15, were killed, along with close friend Carla Took, 18, in a two-car accident on the A12 at Blythburgh, near Southwold, on July 1, 2006. The crash also claimed the lives Simon Bonner, 40, and Kim Abbott, 41, both from Yoxford, who were in the car driven by Morphey.

The teenage girls had been celebrating the end of their exams at a rock concert in Ipswich shortly before the tragedy. Army corporal Ben Morphey, of High Street, Yoxford, then 22, was jailed for eight-and-a-half years after admitting causing death by careless driving while unfit due to drink. The sentence was later reduced by two years on appeal.

Mr Stoddart, from Lowestoft, said: “There are really still too many people not thinking about the consequences. Anything to get it into people’s minds is going to be good. “It’s not just youngsters. There are a lot of people – particularly blokes my age in their middle years – who think they are untouchable. They need to wake up to the dangers of drink driving.”

“Some individuals are totally unaware of the consequences. That’s where age does come into it. When you’re younger life seems to be a lot cheaper because you haven’t experienced that much. Therefore you are probably more willing to take risks and be reckless.”

“Its symptomatic of our society – people seem to care less about the consequences and are not frightened of what will happen. If they drink drive and lose their job for example they can claim benefit, it doesn’t seem that bad. However, what they don’t really understand is the trauma that it can cause the drink drivers themselves, knowing they have killed someone. There is also obviously the trauma caused to all the families involved. It is devastating.”

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Cape Town Diary. Part 7. 28 May 09

Posted in Blogs, Me & family by Phil
May 28 2009
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Phil Oct 2008

Township Tour 2

The last family we visited was a mother with two teenage kids. She was particularly amazing as she had been rushed into hospital with bleeding from cervical cancer.
Part of a Mosaic at the Jubilee Church building
Before they started to operate, she died and the doctors notified appropriate staff for disposal of the body. But the body is more than just flesh and blood. Yes, the breathing had stopped and no heart was beating, but the spirit of this lady was now standing in a field beholding someone glorious. The appearance of this person was so brilliant she could only describe what she saw as like a pure white cloud on top of a mountain on which the sun shone down. “But”, she added, “I couldn’t see his face.”

I smiled at what she said for I knew only too well of the struggle to describe Jesus. How can you describe the appearance of someone who transcends any language of Earth? How can you begin to comprehend a person who is beyond the limits of human understanding?
Gazing on Jesus does something to your insides that is unexplainable. The sight of him infuses a perception of who he is. You don’t just see him with your eyes, you also understand instantly that he is totally and utterly good, without equal; that he loves with purity too marvellous and beautiful for human thoughts and emotions to contain. In short He blows your mind!

Jesus beckoned to this lady and indicated a way to go but she was unwilling. She was still drawn to earth and looking after her children and there were people praying for her. Who knows why she was allowed to return, but returned she did and uproar exploded in the hospital room. A dead body was alive again and the doctors were in a state of panic. “It’s not possible”, they protested, but with God all things are possible.

The lady went on to tell us of her love for Jesus, for the sharing of good news in the community and of her suffering. On one occasion her husband had hung her by the neck and left her to strangle and die. Many times she had been beaten and also raped. The witchdoctor had cursed her on numerous occasions but now Jesus was looking after her.

What is there to say about this church who are hosting us? They bus in people from the townships to their services, they provide health care to the poor. We saw the two medical rooms where they provide free treatment. They educate and train the poor with skills so that they can look for jobs. They help them find employment and they even help with legal services. They are good news to the poor and oppressed and their light shines out for all to see. What they do is systematic and sustained, with careful consideration and a heavy leaning on heavenly resources. This is their calling and it would be shameful to them if they did not do it.


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Cape Town Diary. Part 6. 19 May 09

Posted in Blogs, Me & family by Phil
May 19 2009
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Phil Oct 2008

Township Tour 1

On Friday morning, our new friend Jeremy takes us on a township tour. It’s to see some of the people who have become part of Jubilee Church.
Our first stop is to see an impressive building in Guguletu that houses Khanyisa Community Church, a church-plant from Jubilee.
Once off the motorway, we drive along dusty roads surrounded by a combination of brick ‘chalet’ houses and anarchic shacks made of wood and tin. There are painted words and pictures on some of the buildings and at first I supposed them graffiti but in fact they are trading signs, saying ‘Hairdresser’, ‘Coffee Bar’ and the odd slogan announcing that ‘Jesus lives’! Most, if not all, of the people here are deeply religious, not necessarily Christian, but like in England where some people will claim happily to be Catholic or Protestant but know nothing of meeting Jesus.

As we pull up next to the building, a group of smiling young men who are part of the church are hanging around and we’re lucky they are because Jeremy’s car won’t start when it’s time to leave. There are many men walking by in two’s and small groups and you can’t help but feel a bit nervous.

So after an amusing bump start, we’re on the road to the next township which is a problematic one. ‘Joe Slovo’ is a meandering sprawl of shacks in the ‘Langa’ township. The name comes from an anti-apartheid housing minister and has over 20,000 residents. The government wanted to move most of them on to another township called ‘Delft’ on the outskirts of the city, but this has been challenged in the courts. So the government is now building small brick houses in ‘Joe Slovo’ but there won’t be enough for everyone. Community life is very important to these people; they look after one another and they’re scared at the prospect of being moved amongst strangers. Townships mostly govern themselves and who knows how they will be treated by the residents of Delft?

We hear that a while ago the police came round and gave numbers to many of the shacks. To have a number is to be on the waiting list for a brick house. Some are already complete and the shacks of the people who moved in were demolished. But into the consequent waste land came outsiders and constructed new shacks. If you haven’t a number now it’s hard to prove you were around at the original numbering time and therefore the police assume you are not eligible. We met one lady in this predicament but with the right contacts it seems like it’s going to work out for her. Eventually everyone not eligible for a house will be forced out of the land and into Delft.

Jeremy asked the lady to tell us what God had done for her. She told us first of her husband cheating on her, of many beatings and of leaving with the children to live in the township. The church had arranged for some employment for her and now she said proudly she had enough money to look after her family. It was a cleaning job at someone’s house, no great income by any means but enough to live. She pointed to the plastic roof which the church had provided to replace the leaky one. As she told her story about meeting Jesus, we were sat in a small room with two old sofas, an old TV, a fridge, two electric hobs, a table and a few ornaments. There was also a second room for sleeping in. The whole floor-space was about the size of a medium caravan. For electricity, a long extension lead ran from a meter belonging to a family we had just visited. A number of residences were being powered like this and the danger of fire was ever-present. Cables from main energy pylons dangled precariously above our heads.

As we chatted, Amy noticed two rats scurrying along a ridge where the join of the wall met with the ceiling. They do the best they can these people, make their homes as best as possible and take pride in where they live. Even with the shacks that just comprise one room there is still an order and tidiness about them for these buildings are their homes and what they have is what they have. There is no running water or bathroom facilities, they have to go to the communal ones and I saw some on the way in – but they weren’t exactly the Ritz!
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Cape Town Diary. Part 5. 10 May 09

Posted in Blogs, Me & family by Phil
May 10 2009
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Phil Oct 2008

Give a generous tip!

Our next beach visit is to a most idyllic looking place called Camps Bay.
As we arrive, another smiling ‘security guard’ waves us into a position I was going to park in anyway. Once out of the car, he gives me the customary nod that activates an unspoken contract of business between us. The beach is golden sand and surfer waves and gives no reason to move anywhere else for the rest of the day.
As the sun begins to fall, we choose a restaurant on the seafront road where a friendly waiter takes time to describe the different kinds of fish on offer. He doesn’t seek to push us into buying anything more expensive than we would and brings out a heater when the temperature drops.

The transition between day and night is much faster than England and we’re really glad of the heat as we sit outside on a veranda watching the rise of the moon and the last traces of gold as the sun sinks beyond the mountains.

At the end of the meal – shock horror – I decide to tip the waiter more than I normally would. There is a natural hospitality about him, a generosity of spirit and unassuming character.

He spent time at our table and engaged us all in conversation, even though there were other people to serve. It’s always thrilling when qualities of Jesus leap out of people. How often I forget what Jesus is like, always patient and kind, slow to anger and quick to forgive. The crowds flocked to him and those who experienced his sheer goodness loved him to bits.

Even when it was uncomfortable, the magnetism still remained. Peter considered his purity and drew back, exclaiming, “Depart from me Lord for I am a sinful man.” A sinful woman washed his feet with expensive oil, knowing her own position before him. Truly meeting Jesus involves recognition of personal evil. At first you draw back, realising he is too good for you, but then you see that he hasn’t budged an inch. You thought you’d be sent packing but instead there’s a big smile on his face and an outstretched hand. “Come and tell me about yourself and let me tell you about who I am and the difference I can make.”

Later on, when back at our apartment, the grim discovery hits me that I’ve left the camera at the restaurant. It’s my good one and all the photos of Table Mountain are on it. I left it by my chair and someone passing by on the road has probably just reached over and taken it. Even worse, maybe the nice waiter has stolen it. But perhaps it’s still there. Yesterday Simba the ‘poor’ security man told me 50 Rand was creeping out of my pocket. Also on the beach I saw a black ‘hawker’ tell a white man that he had left his jacket behind. I hated the way the man responded with an almost irritated gratitude at being approached. It made me wonder who is truly poor in South Africa. Maybe the waiter is honest like Simba and has kept the camera at the restaurant in case I return?

Next morning, Heather seems not too bothered. She says she prayed about it in the night and God said, “Don’t worry, the camera’s safe.”
So we drive back over and sure enough, the man smiles at seeing me and reaches out from under the counter. “I raced up the road to try and find you” he said, “but you must have left pretty quickly.”

We did indeed but now I’m grinning all over. That tip I gave last night was probably the most generous I have ever given and I just find it so funny. It seems God spotted the generosity and retaliated. These people who I am meeting do not have much in terms of possessions but what they do have is dignity.
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Cape Town Diary. Part 4. 05 May 2009

Posted in Blogs, Me & family by Phil
May 05 2009
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Phil Oct 2008

Beware of Hermit Crabs!
I wanted to climb back down Table Mountain but Tom insisted on the cable car and the two females didn’t complain about that. Why is it ever the same?
The women take a united stand against the men even when its mother and daughter against father. Occasionally I can manipulate one female onto my side.
When Heather does her usual ‘elongating of the conversation’ trick, Amy deserts her like lightning. An example? Let us take the booking of a overnight safari trip the next day while the kids wait in the car …

Heather: “Hi, we’d like to book a safari trip.”
Female Assistant: “Certainly Madam, how long for and when?
Heather: “Well, for two days including an overnight stop and hopefully Monday and Tuesday.”
“Just the two of you?”
“No, there’s our children; Amy’s fifteen and Tom is eight. They’re waiting in the car, probably fighting.”
The Assistant grins (bad move).
“They get on quite well I suppose considering the difference in age and such strong personalities. They’re loving being here in Africa though, so different to England …”

“Groan”. The guttural howl of a condemned man escapes my lips. Sure enough, the trading of personal stories bounce off the two new friends and I’m fidgeting by the counter, forming a sick and demented smile when occasionally referred to. As the minutes tick slowly by and all zest for life ebbs away, I manage to seize an opportunity to check on the kids’ wellbeing. A malicious grin lights up my face at the sight of their fuming faces.

“Do you realise how hot I am?” complains Amy. “Where’s Mum?” gripes Tom.
“Still in there, talking; exchanging pleasantries to be more precise. Last I heard, she was telling a dear lady about your schools.”

The replies of pure indignation and anger satisfy me somewhat, so I add that she’ll be ages and return to the office to inform Heather that the kids are fine. I love these rare occasions in life when I am not the object of protest.
Finally the ordeal is over and it’s off to the nearby beach. As we step onto golden sand, a menacing sign informs us that swimming is at our own risk. However, this is not a light-hearted tip that the Indian Ocean is surprisingly cold, but something far more sinister.
“Shark spotters are on duty to warn swimmers about sharks in the area. The following flags provide important information.
White flag: Shark spotter on duty and visibility is good.
Black flag: Shark spotter on duty but visibility is poor.
Red flag: A shark has been spotted in the area in the last two hours. Swimmers are advised to be cautious.
White flag with black shark on it and siren activated: A shark is currently in the area. Swimmers are advised to stay out of the water.
No flag: No shark spotter on duty.”

Tom is not impressed. “Why have you brought me here?” he demands. Being an avid observer of wildlife TV programs, he even knows these monsters can surf the waves, skid onto the beach and gobble you up. It is ironic that with eyes glued on the crashing waves for any sign of fin, it is something most small that gets him. A hermit crab the size of a pasta shell in fact. With a yelp of pain he is holding his toe and blaming mum for the outrage.

It’s an interesting thought that it’s hardly ever the great monster Satan or one of his scary demons that damages a Christian, but rather something much smaller.
Throughout the many years of faith, most of my struggles have been to do with everyday issues of obedience.
Sharing my faith, finding the words and standing firm on God’s word has not been as hard as the attempt to keep my word and lay my life at the feet of Jesus. I thought it was mostly about fighting sharks but in reality it’s the hermit crabs that have been the most active.

Statistically, shark attacks are really low, yet sharks attract the imagination and media attention. No one really cares much about hermit crabs hidden in the sand. I do. They blunt my spirit and set me back: selfish living damages your spiritual health. It’s not about legalism, having to do this and that to earn God’s pleasure, it’s about needing to do this and that to enjoy God’s grace. “You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free”.

I am most happiest when taking pleasure in the things that God takes pleasure in. The hermit crabs are the spoilers, the party poopers. I am still very capable of doing things that God hates. They seem preferable at the time, but I am well-tuned enough into God’s spirit to know they are really nasty little nips into our friendship and yet stupidly I still do them! He wants me more conformed into his image and I want me more conformed into his image! Why, because that’s the real deal, it’s where the party is and it’s about giving attention to the nasty little nippers who lie in wait everyday.
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Cape Town Diary. Part 3. 03 May 09

Posted in Blogs, Me & family by Phil
May 03 2009
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Once a teacher, always a teacher
– you can’t compartmentalise it!
It’s a sunny morning and before I know it, a dollop of sun-cream splats over my head and a hand smears it left and right in two rapid motions like a windscreen wiper. As I struggle to comprehend what has happened, a squawk erupts from the next room and a dozy teenager violently complains; “What you doing? Gerroff! You got it in my hair!” A brief silence follows until yet another cry of brutal anger erupts from a small boy and then finally the teacher is satisfied.

Heather has taught in primary school for many, many years and as I try to avoid tasting the sun lotion carelessly slapped on my lips, the realisation hits me that we have suffered a relentless attack similar to what her many classes of startled midgets have endured over the years. Like a mini-tornado she blitzed the family with what needed to be done. Our opinions, our emotions were of no consequence.

I imagine her whipping round the class with a pencil and some tissue, ticking papers as she goes, wiping runny noses. Tick, tick, wipe, wipe, tick, tick, wipe, wipe! Perhaps an offensive odour reaches her nose and some poor kid is yanked out and ordered off to the toilet. Oh how the adrenalin must rush around her body as she manages the flock.
So with sun cream splattered over our heads, we drive for today’s extravaganza; a casual saunter to the top Table Mountain in the heat of the mid-day sun. Parking the car is quite unnerving, involving a precise manoeuvre on the edge of a cliff face. Observing my progress is a smiling black man in a fluorescent yellow bib.
Almost everywhere we’ve parked, a ‘yellow bib’ has appeared to guide us in. For Cape Town, this is a normal occupation. For a voluntary donation they look after ‘security’, thus guaranteeing a worry-free absence from the car.

This particular man is called Simba and I take a liking to him, especially when he points out a 50 RAND note is about to slip out of my pocket. I marvel at this gesture and realise that Simba is a man of dignity who takes pride in what he does. When we get back I resolve to give him much more than normal and thank God for the privilege of being able to give. Already Africa is humbling me.
Away from the car we go and further up, passing a horde of fellow tourists on the way. They’re queuing for the soft option of the cable car to take them to the summit. As for us we find a trail and a sign that essentially says, “Carry plenty of water and don’t do this on your own”. Tom has been King Whiner so far about the climb, but now we’re doing it, he’s like a lamb on heat.
I’m finding it pretty easy as well but Heather is struggling. This does irritate me somewhat, as Stods are quite seasoned walkers. I suppose the twin evils of the sleepless flight and a hard term at school are taking their toll.

The climb is completed within an acceptable time. We beat a young couple and younger family but not a group of lads and some women who I felt we should have beat. As I get older, I must confess to being irritated at being surpassed by those who would normally trail behind me. Age is annoying. All I ask for is the ability to compete on a level playing field, but age will not let me anymore. Boohoo to my shiny head and rising belly. Boohoo to bushy eyebrows and wrinkled foreheads. Boohoo to backs of hands that resemble chicken legs and also to grey hairy chests that sag into valleys of despair. Blechh to bellies that shiver like a shimmering jelly and cast shadows over the body parts below.

What is there to see on Table Mountain?
On one side the city stretches out below like a giant bowl. The scenery is essentially divided into three semi circular curves. The first is the mountain range, the second the city and the third is the bay. The Cape is surrounded by two mighty seas; the Indian and Atlantic oceans and the locals tell us the Indian is the warmest to swim in. The sharks have no preference.

From the view of the city we move round to view the granite ridges and other mountain peaks that rise out of the deep blue water. The scenery is truly stunning and no clouds interrupt the endless flow of the sky or the heat of the sun.
Fortunately a cool breeze lingers sufficiently to allow for a pleasing overall temperature. I can see Robben Island, where the prison of Nelson Mandela kept him for many years. I can see the scorch marks of last week’s fires that spread across the mountain sides and burnt so much of the shrubbery away.

Little towns are dotted across the grand view, yet so much land is uninhabited. The salt air, the panorama and the clarity all combine to give a sense of euphoria. In the space of a year we have been washed in the spray of Niagara Falls and we have climbed Table Mountain. None of this could have been done if Claire and Jenny were still with us. The compensation we received for the manner of their deaths has funded both these amazing trips. In their humanity they would have been most indignant at such outcomes but now they are filled with the knowledge of Christ. I know that if they are aware of our blessings then they are most happy for us. My mind ever seeks them out but I will not allow the loss of them to run rampant within me. Unchecked this can cause too much grief and the mental turmoil becomes physical nausea in an instant.

Only Jesus can save me from torment. The answer to temporary loss is permanent gain. All that is good is found in Jesus. There are times when just the contemplation of him is enough to make my emotions swell beyond their capacity. There is a verse in the Bible that says a woman touched him and power went out from him. It seems that focussed contemplation does the same thing. This is why he is also called the ‘Bread of Heaven’, he is a meal for my spirit and enough provision to live to fight another day.
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Cape Town Diary. Part 2. 26 Apr 09

Posted in Blogs, Me & family by Phil
Apr 29 2009
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We land smoothly at 7.30am to cloud and a worrying temperature worthy of our jeans. On the way through customs, a courteous official asks to check my details and bag. This doesn’t normally happen to me and I was stopped at Heathrow too. Perhaps I’ve become more suspicious since our last flight, more the type with something to hide?

There’s nothing to worry about though, not like all those years ago as a law-breaking teenager when hitch-hiking around Western Europe. I can look the officials straight in the eye and even help them with their search. I wonder if that will be the case at the Heavenly Customs Point? It’s amazing to think that with all my failings I will be able to pass through with nothing to declare, all because of the blood of Jesus.
Yet the Bible tells me I will also have to give an account for my life and everything that has been ‘whispered in secret will be proclaimed from the rooftops.’ How will that work? Jesus doesn’t strike me as the type to cause that sort of embarrassment, but if the sins of the saints aren’t revealed then Heaven might not know the full extent of the mercy shown to the Church.

On the other hand the Bible tells us that our sins have been removed as far as the East is from the West. I guess I’m just thankful that I’ll be getting through at all but it does make me wonder how important confession continues to be for a Christian. In particular, there is the rather niggly verse about confessing sin to each other. I’ve always thought that verse existed to help us really let go of the guilt that comes from sin. After all, there is something more releasing about telling someone else. It demonstrates accountability and a real desire to move onwards. Rather like baptism I suppose: an external expression of something that has changed internally.

“Hi everyone, I didn’t use to believe but now I do and this little plunge in the water shows I’ve been cleansed of sin!”
So why not; “Ulp, hello Saint, I’ve just errr slagged off your brother. I really shouldn’t have done it, but I’m sorry now.”?
Maybe those little secrets I keep horded up and locked away get proclaimed from the rooftops in Heaven? Hmmm, certainly a point to ponder.
Amongst the many faces waiting to welcome the travellers from the airport are a couple from Jubilee Church. It is partly through them that our trip has been arranged and they are here to spare us the task of finding our apartment for the fortnight in Constantia, a reasonably pleasant suburb of the city.
Like most affluent properties, high fences and electric wires form the
perimeter and the realities of danger from desperate people are clear to see. There is no state welfare here and a rate of around 40% unemployment means many troubles. Throughout our stay it is a common sight to see small groups of men hanging around or walking from one place to another. People are scared and homes are cages. Our front door is protected by an iron gate and the apartment block is linked to a privately-run armed response force. The sound of their sirens are a common sound on the air whether daylight or night.
Within the apartment, mountains loom into view from the window and Tom and Amy have a bedroom each, meaning major war is averted. Moreover, the church has provided a little white Mercedes to cruise around in but first, we simply have to crash out. None of us slept on the plane although Tom still shows no signs of succumbing.
The trick is to sleep for just a few hours or else the day is lost and the rest of the fortnight will be spent sleeping at the wrong times.

A while later, it’s into the car for the first excursion. Most pleasantly, petrol costs half that of the UK and well-mannered attendants fill us up and wipe down the windscreen as a courtesy. They will also check oil, water and tyre pressure if you ask them and South Africans usually tip them between two and ten rand (16 and 80 pence). Tipping is a common event here. At the nearby supermarket, unofficial attendants wave us into spaces and ‘protect’ our car while we shop. Almost everywhere we go we find this a common practice. As for the supermarket, the food is little different to what we’re used to. Even a shelf lined with Cadbury chocolate meets my eyes, although the price is high. The wine, however, is cheap! My face lights up at ‘recommended’ wines priced equivalent to a pound, but where’s the beer? Ah, same as America, the beer is sold in liquor stores only.
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Cape Town Diary. Part 1. 22 Apr 09

Posted in Blogs, Me & family by Phil
Apr 23 2009
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“Bye, bye Lowestoft for two weeks and hello Cape Town. We leave you on a late Sunday morning in early April, underneath a bright blue sky and the promise of Spring upon your lips.”
“Yet your kiss is still as cold as ever and when the north wind is on your breath it makes me shudder.
Not that I don’t like a nice bite and the fresh inhalation of icy air, like chewing a fresh chilli or slurping back an Islay Malt.
Perhaps you’re wondering if we will truly return?
I don’t rightly know.
 Lowestoft

I must admit we are looking for something else, an elusive something that you don’t seem to have and so this venture is no mere holiday.
Yes we are looking forward to the allure of another lady, beautifully adorned in late-summer beauty, but this is more than a quest for greener grass. We will not be swayed by new and greater beauty, though I’m sure her fragrance will be most sweet to inhale.”

At Heathrow Airport, the flight is unusually only half an hour late to take off. Virgin ladies in branded uniforms welcome us on board with painted smiles and unknown lives.
Back and forth across continents they daily travel and every trip could be their last. Are they married, do they have children, do they wish for normal jobs and do they consider death?
Every time up in the sky I consider my fragility.
The flight safety instructions are never heeded; no one expects to survive an air-crash. Am I ready to meet Jesus? There is also the issue of being with my daughters Claire and Jenny again. And I would like it that all who remain of my family die together. I have become scared of any of us being able to cope with another loss. Twice bitten, thrice shy.

What it comes down to, is that I really must place every card with Jesus. Faith is not mere hope; it is a firm determination to stand on what I have believed and live accordingly. We make the journey to Heathrow to catch a 6pm flight; we do not prepare for something that does not exist. Likewise, whether I think we could cope with another tragedy is not really the issue, it’s whether Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forevermore. If he was there for us back in 2006, he’ll be there in 2009. It’s all about standing on his word and not my worries. Anything less will cause paralysis, scared to push on and live life free of fear.

So we trundle slowly down the plane, jealously past the first-class seats to the rear end where the toilets sit and the meals await heating. As I pass the thrones of comfort I digest the leg room that I will not be stretching out in. I picture half the space for my economy leg-room and sure enough am not disappointed.

Economy class means you get everything last; last to get your meal and drinks, last to leave the plane and last to get your TV fixed when it won’t work properly. Throughout the twelve and a half hour flight the screen flickers and the sound cuts out at all the best times.

So instead I listened to my trusty IPOD as the flight labours on into the night and the morning dawn. Do I sleep? Does any tall bloke sleep when they can’t stretch their legs or lean to the left or right? Even worse the frumpy lady in front reclines her chair right back so that it nearly caresses my chest. Claustrophobia beckons.

Am I an economy Christian? How little I ask of God for more of him. Here I am with all my fears and the Bible tells me that “perfect love drives out all fear”. The principle is simply: the greater your walk with God, the less your fear. At times I have known it, an invincible feeling arising from being in his presence and experiencing the purity of his love. Nothing can come between us, no hardship … no grief.

So why not all the time? It seems that some promises of God are more embedded than others. Maybe I don’t really believe some of them, maybe I listen too much to other voices. Once again it comes down to the cards and placing them all with Jesus; full gospel not half, first class not economy.

This flight is taking ages! Every so often I take relief by standing in the gangway or watching other people’s TV’s. The best channel is the one tuned into the plane navigation system and showing exactly where we are. Down, down, down the world we fly, falling through France and over the Mediterranean into Algeria and the utter blackness of the Sahara. The ticking of time is replaced by the drone of the engine as we travel further down into Benin and then along the west coast of Africa. Did you know Angola is bigger than France, that Namibia is larger than the UK? Finally we are into South Africa, yet there are still a thousand miles to Cape Town.
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