The Dawning of the day.

No hint of lightening sky as Mary walked alone towards the place where they had buried him,
but fear and vague anticiparion filled her mind of what would be revealed when journey reached its end.
But that scene had changed,
the stone was moved away
and Jesus lay no longer in the tomb.
So she glanced around, not knowing what to do
and saw a man unrecognisable.
"Where have you taken him? Tell me now I pray."
She pleaded as warm tears rolled down her face.
With just one word
he brushed all doubt aside
and recognition dawned with the whisper of her name.
Then the sun burst through,
its rays alighting on his face
and resurrection life rejoiced
to see the dawning of the day.

It is time.

It is time to seek The Lord . The same Jesus who the disciple Thomas called God, who was God in flesh. He died so that we might live in him forever.

And it was night.

And it was night when they left their warm abode,
the remnants of a final meal.
a chill of fear entering each watchfull traveller
as through shadowed streets they walked a silent walk.

Yes he was with them but seemed a man apart,
engrossed in something somehow close at hand,
which only he could fully contemplate or comprehend.

Beyond the ancient walls
where cultured olive groves held sway

Jesus stopped and prayed,
pleaded with his Father
while his disciples slept,
dreaming of times gone by.

Was it the food, or unknown thoughts of horror
thet brought on sleep where he cried out in agony?
And that was when they came
to hustle him away,
and it was night.

Who told him?

"Who was the girl about your size with long dark hair and a red coat son?" Dad asked soon after I had arrived home from Blackpool after a holiday with the lads. Now we lived in Armthorpe, a mining village three miles from Doncaster eighty or more miles from the seaside town that boasted a tower and the three Ms. Matthews, Mortensen and Moody all played for Blackpool football team He never did say who had given him the very accurate information about Betty.
Another incident that sticks in my mind took place five years earlier when I was twelve. I had been to town with my friend Eric. One the way there he had asked where my Dad was. "The old man is down at the pigeon loft", was my reply. On arriving home I was met with the words. "Less of the old man when you are out I' m your Dad." Dad tapped his nose when I asked how he knew................................. And they talk about surveillance today.

We did it for Pearl.

Life can last for minutes, hours, days, weeks, months. Pearl was given sixteen years, until, on her way home from work she was knocked off her bike by a speeding car. just over a week later, on a sunny day with birdsong ringing in the air, Pearl was laid to rest in the local churchyard.

Pearl had been a leading light in the Methodist youth club, a club with a membership of eighty and waiting list of forty. She had also with seventeen others stood one sunday evening to give her life to Christ and was the only one to continue going to the discipleship meetings.

Six of the members, including myself, carried the coffin, that day, and we had no answers, no assurance in our hearts. This girl, young woman, friend to all had gone.

Within weeks the membership was just over twenty and we had no waiting list, such was the impact of Pearls death. At the start of the Autumn ( Fall ) session the committee held a crisis meeting. We came up with about two dozen suggestions, some mad, some bad, and some that were to prove essential in both long and short term, and as a group we laughed for the first time in months.

It took time but the membership grew and once again we had a waiting list. I have often asked the question. Did we do it for God, the club? My answer no. We did it for Pearl. But what was God doing?

Well he was training at least one young lad for the future in leadership, preaching, and communication. Over fifty years later I am so glad for the life of Pearl, so short ,but so effective. That we did something for her not knowing that The Lord was doing something for us. Dave.

Sparrowhawk.

About three years ago this fine raptor landed on a branch of our back garden tree. I managed to get nine photograps of it through an upstairs window, three were good ones. A month later June took a photo of the male on a dividing fence between us and next door. From time to time we still see them.

Sparrowhawk.