“I didn’t ask for your life story.” #10 – Very faint memories of a holiday in Derbyshire.

Like most people, I do not remember very much from early childhood. I’m not one of those idiots who claims that they can remember being born. I’m also not one of those people who says they can remember things, even though they’ve just seen those occasions in a photograph and they have made them up in their mind (most of the time anyway).

The earliest holiday I remember was to a place called Derbyshire. I seem to recall firstly that I was an only child at the time, and that we drove there in an old blue Austin (I’m sure parents will correct me on this). There was an older lady who welcomed us to the cottage, and seemed very kind.

I am able to recollect that early one morning, I badgered my Dad to come down stairs with me, as I hated being on my own. Then Dad said that I was a big boy and that I could watch TV on my own, and let them sleep for a while. Then Mam pointed out that it might have been because I had heard about the recent child murders that had taken place, I hadn’t, but this made me even more scared.

Dad got up with me, took me out, and introduced me to an old farmer who must’ve been the owner of the land. The farmer took my hand and said that we were going to see the chickens. We walked up to a large hut type thing which he unlocked and opened the door of. Out came about twenty flapping chickens, and they all gathered around my knees. I wasn’t scared by this at all, just in awe. Then he took me into their hut where we managed to find six eggs, which the chickens had apparently laid that very night! I boasted to my parents about it when I got back, they were very impressed.

I believe that one day we went to a place called Gulliver’s World, a theme park of sorts. I remember a gigantic statue of a man (I assume he was Gulliver) and Dad telling me that in the story he wasn’t actually the big one, the people were small. My parents took me to what I identified as a river, there was a dark brown wooden boat which we sat in and the seats were soaking wet. “Why are we sitting in a wet boat? Why is it moving?”

To which my Mam replied “We’re going to sort of go down a waterfall!”

“What? Hello? Huh? What!?”

“It’s like a slide with lots of water on it! It’s fun!”

“Will I get wet?”

“A little bit.”

I hugged up to Mam tightly, fearing my inevitable death.

Sadly, the actual plunge does not exist on my mental records, perhaps it was so traumatic that my brain deleted it for fear of nightmares. But parents, take note, do not take your kids to strange theme parks and tell them that they will then fall down a waterfall, they have watched to many cartoons and know that it is always a crisis if you’re heading towards the end of the river, you never do it by choice.

I also went with Dad on a Helter Skelter. I retain the thought of trying to say Helter Skelter and what a magical name for a twirly wirly slide it was. I also loved the fact that we had to sit on door mats. Amazing.

The last memory of that holiday is of me sitting in the car, in the front seat, with Mam in the back. We stopped to get some petrol and Mam asked if I wanted a swap. “What’s a swap?”

“You’ll see when you get out of the car!” she giggled.

Thoughts of a fantastical chocolate bar called Swap came to mind, Willy Wonka style. I stepped out of the car, she lifted me up, placed me in the back seat and did up the strap. This was followed by her sitting in the front seat with me left waiting for my treat.

“Can I have my swap now?”

“You’ve had it!”

“No I haven’t!”

“Yes you have, a swap is when you change places with someone.”

Harsh. Very harsh.

A Miraculous Testimony?

One of the first thoughts of God I remember having as a child was one of ridicule.

“How on earth can people not believe in God? It’s so obvious that there is a God, when a man and a woman get married; God sends them a baby! Where else could a baby come from but from God!?”

I was later corrected on my somewhat naïve logic, but my theories on God didn’t stop there. A few years later, I found myself saying and thinking things like:

“How can we be sure there really is a God?”

“I really do hope there isn’t an after-life, because then we could actually enjoy our time here on earth, instead of having to follow a set of rules and regulations.”

My parents always encouraged such honesty, and my Father was used to answering such questions as he was the pastor of the church I had been taken along to since I was a baby.

As life went on I found that if things were going well in my life, I would only give God the odd thought or two; however if things weren’t going too great I would find myself turning to God and praying to him often.

I decided that if I was going to be part of this Christian thing I should ask for forgiveness for my sins, that’s what I’d heard was the right thing to do. I did that, or at least I tried, but there was no light from above and no change of feeling inside. This was not as romantic as it had been made out to be.

Going on in my early teens I found myself more and more drawn towards the world’s way of thinking. People in school seemed to find me funny and as puberty wore on, my hormones were pulling me in all sorts of directions. I was never a naughty boy in school, but I couldn’t say that I wouldn’t get in trouble on a daily basis from various teachers.

I was having a great time, Sundays were a drag but it was something that I didn’t want to let go of. I felt that I wanted to have a foot on each side of the fence. Have a great time in the ‘real’ world, and have a bit of time to think about spiritual things.

I felt I was “on the fence” so to speak.

My answer was always the same if someone asked me whether I was a Christian, “I’m not sure”. I don’t think I was lying when I said that, I really wasn’t sure, I had asked God to forgive my sins but I wasn’t living as a Christian; and looking back – I wasn’t a Christian.

Summer 2004, I was 14 years old. I had been booked to go along to a Christian camp in Wales, under canvas and all that. It seems that God really does bless such ocassions, and he did so on that week. I suppose it was partly due to me having many examples from older Christians, as well as being out of the context of ‘a church’ and also having a real focus on God’s word. I know that people were praying for me, and God spoke to me throughout that week. I was really persuaded that to ask God for a new life was the right thing.

Looking back on my story, in a way I wish it was different; more romantic. I think to myself,

It would sound better if I wasn’t brought up in a Christian environment, or if I had gone off the rails a bit more, taken drugs, gone to prison – it’s those conversions that are truly miraculous.

But that isn’t true. I was a lost soul. I was heading for destruction. I had no hope.

God saved me. God helped me, and he continues to do so to this day. Through Jesus my sins are forgiven, that is a miracle!

This post can also be found on new theology blog, Onward Motion.

“I didn’t ask for your life story.” #1

In this series I intend to share with you some anecdotes from my short & uneventful past. It just means I get to recall some funny stories and possibly bring a smile to your face as you read them.

Swimming Lessons

I hated swimming lessons. This abhorrence existed for a number of reasons. I always ended up getting water up my nose, andthere’s nothing worse than getting water up your nose.

I went to these lessons with my best friend from primary school, Daniel. He was inconveniently a few months younger than me which meant that when we got in the pool, I got dragged off to be taught in the ‘older’ group – all on my own.

My group consisted of two extremely boisterous kids from Pakistan. They loved the water, and they loved any challenge involving water – jumping, bombing, splashing and various other forms of suicide. Why are you having swimming lessons if you can already do back-flips into the water?

Another reason I hated swimming lessons was due to my sickeningly enthusiastic teacher, Caroline. She must have been in her early twenties. The more excited she got; the higher pitch her voice would go. When I finally managed my first back stroke, I could have sworn I heard dogs barking to the sound of her supersonic yelps.

I also hated the ridiculous arm-band system that they ran. For my first lesson I brought along my retro-classic blow up arm-bands, they looked like and served the function of things that make you float. This center for aquatic education seemed to think that rectangular pieces of fluorescent orange polystyrene were appropriate tools to aid swimmers.

On week one they allow the students to wear four arm-bands on each arm. Don’t get me wrong, they allowed you to float, however they constricted any upper arm movement.

Their simple and ineffective system was, to each week remove one arm band until eventually you could swim without them. Well, that was the theory however when I eventually had to swim without these glorified Frisbees I was left with highly irregular arm movements.

Then there was the time when Caroline asked us if we wanted a ‘dunk-in’. I heard the word ‘dunkin’ and immediately my face lit up. Finally, a treat for having to undergo these loathsome lessons.

Of course, the fish children both knew exactly what she meant by a dunk-in and were equally enthusiastic. She asked us to get out of the pool, by now I was drooling with excitement. “Where are they?” I asked politely.

“Stand in a line!” she screamed as she shuffled us to the edge of the pool. “After three, you jump in!”

What? I suddenly felt my arms being tugged abruptly and before I knew it all I could hear was bubbles. My so called arm-bands were long gone, I could faintly hear the noise of Caroline’s gleeful shrieks, and of course; there was water up my nose.