On Pain

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes

Revelation 21:4

As I sit here, at the end of the day, thumbing through some verses of Scripture and trying to make sense of it all, my mind is clouded by the intense throbbing at the side of my mouth. It is a troublesome toothache that will not let me focus and I dread the hours ahead when I will toss and turn and wonder why I did not get some Ibuprofen before returning home. Even as my mind wonders, I remember Jessie*, and what she said to me a few hours before.

As I was coming near the end of my evening shift I went in to see Jessie, a fiery 70-something year old on our ward. The metalwork which replaced her left hip eight years ago is slowly boring a hole into her pelvis and is causing her the most excruciating pain. As I spoke with her she held my gaze, her piercing eyes drilling their way straight through my skull. “If I were a dog”, she intoned, her voice quivering as she tried hard to control it, “If I were a dog, you would put me down! Doctor, did you hear me? That’s how I feel.” It was hard not to feel sorry for her. And the aching of my tooth is probably nothing compared to the agony she has been going through for the better part of a month, day-in, day-out.

Pain is an all too present part of our everyday lives isn’t it? From the annoying ache of a stubbed toe to the sharp and grinding tenderness of a metastatic bone lesion and the dolour that goes with it, we are never too far from a little bit of pain. And, perhaps, it is one of the most enduring Whys of our existence: “Why would God create a world with so much pain?” Most mysterious of all, he has allowed that human’s favourite gift – the gift of childbirth – would not come without this most unwelcome of accompaniments. And then there are the less corporeal and yet more oppressive emotional stressors – the pain of separation and of loss and of death.

As I pore over Paul’s words in 2 Timothy 1:4, I get the sense that he too was going through an ordeal – the sense of separation from and longing for his long-time friend and son, knowing that indeed the words he was writing might well turn out to be their last communication and that they may never again see each other this side of eternity. His long incarceration was not helping matters and every day that passed the pain of separation gets worse. But even through the tears he spoke to the young man’s heart these immortal words: “... I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me.” (2 Tim 1:9)

The great encouragement for the believer is that a Day is coming when “God will wipe away every tear from their eyes and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:4)

Amen. Come Lord Jesus.

With love, Doosuur

*Not her real name

On Being Accountable

I went in response to a revelation and set before them the gospel that I preach among the Gentiles. But I did this privately to those who seemed to be leaders, for fear that I was running or had run my race in vain.

Galatians 2:2

“Do you have any weaknesses?”, she asked me, looking me straight in the eye, unblinking.

I gave an uneasy giggle, trying to read her face. It was serious. Dead serious. All the joking and jabbing stopped here as Dr. Logan stared me down. Her pale face was framed with wiry strands of blond hair in need of a comb and her thin lips were pursed, unsmiling. It was hard to believe that this was the same person who minutes ago had been churning out one-liners a mile a second.

“Uhm… yeah…” I stuttered, my mind going into overdrive. Everyone has weaknesses, I thought. Is this a trick question?

A mere 24 hours before I had first met this wiry middle-aged lady as I sat at a desk poring over a poorly patient’s latest bloodwork. “Hi, I’m Dr. Logan,” she said, thrusting a sinewy hand in my direction, “Julie. I’m going to be your clinical supervisor for the next six months.”

Indeed I had been looking forward to meeting her for a couple of weeks now and here I was, finally in her office, for our first official encounter. The meeting had started with a quick and easy interrogation as she got a quick run-down of my medical training up to this point and a feel of what I wanted to achieve in this particular stint in geriatric medicine. She was easy to talk to, all nice and smiling, even jabbing the odd elbow in my direction every once in a while. But now, as she asked that question, her countenance had all but changed. And I felt it. This, here, was the question that mattered the most.

Indeed, like she had already noted, I have quite a bit of experience in clinical medicine and the best way she could help me to make the most of this posting was to know what my deficiencies are - how best she could help me along. And so she asked, “Do you have any weaknesses?” No, it wasn’t a trick question.

Mariam and I have recently had the pleasure of reading Paul’s terrific diatribe against the church at Galatia. In his letter he outlines how he became entrusted with the true gospel by revelation of Jesus Christ and how he preached it faithfully to the fledgling congregation. However, midway through his missionary sojourns in Asia Minor, Paul took a major detour to return to Jerusalem, the city where it all started - where the Jesus he preached was crucified and died. While there, he made no assumptions as to the truth of his own message but set it plainly, as he understood it, before the Church elders. His intention was to find out if indeed what he had been speaking was the true and complete gospel (Galatians 2:1-10).

Is it not wonderful that men like Paul, established as they were in the Word, would stop long enough to make themselves accountable to others? That they would seek to refine their message and become even better than they were? Is not that the purpose of having someone to whom one could turn - some person to hold you accountable?

In medicine it is prudent, if not vital, that while I remain in training, someone has the responsibility to see that I develop myself; that my weaknesses are identified and dealt with. Students have their professors and apprentices have their mentors. Oh, that we would have Christian men and women to whom we could turn and say, “I have a weakness…”.

A big thank you to all who have served this purpose for me through my life. You know yourselves. God bless you.

With love, Doosuur.

At the Pelican Crossing

I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance... Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first.
Revelations 2:2-5

I was sitting in the back row, taking in the sights of Scarborough in the evening, as our number 10 bus idled at a red traffic light. Out of the corner of my eye a quick motion caught my attention and I turned just in time to see it. A young man, sixteen or seventeen perhaps, with an oversized jacket full of so much color it would have made Joseph green with envy, and jeans riding oh-so-low, was approaching the pelican crossing, bopping his head to the music emanating from his extra large headphones. He took a quick step towards the pedestrian barriers at the crossing and in one fluid motion vaulted the steel barricade and then walked off with, oh, so much swagger. He had hardly broken stride from approach to scale to push off. Wow! It would have taken three or four more steps to walk round the steel bars and cross the proper way but that was so uncool, wasn’t it? Who does that when there’s a three foot fence to jump over?

I suppressed a snicker as I quickly realized it would probably have been more of a sneer borne out of my jealousy that at a measly thirty-odd years I have neither the spunk nor the sprite to do such a thing. It was all in a days work for him; for me and my growing paunch, it would take a few weeks plotting. You could excuse him and call it youthful exuberance but you’d look at me and call me downright foolish. He had hardly expended any energy, I would be lucky to get away with my front teeth intact. But oh, how I wished I could do that again!

And it’s not just him I envy. I look at our friend John’s new baby, sleeping calmly and I wish I hadn’t a care in the world! I watch my nephew trying his hand out on some Lego® and I wish I could put my creative instincts to such idle work. I have such nostalgia for secondary school and the legendary experiences I had there which we will talk about till the day we die. Can you feel me here? There are many things I did once upon a time and will never do again. But then there are some that perhaps I should!

Like just sit and read the Word and love it. Like drive off to nowhere and bask in the presence of a mighty God while I watch the beautiful sunset. Like go on my knees and pray my heart out.

Do I read Scripture? Oh yes I do. Do I pray? To be sure! But when I remember the passion and desire with which I did these once upon a time there is more than just a hint of nostalgia. I wish I could go back and do those things again with the same energy and excitement and ... and love! I want to rediscover the love of Christ that held me, the truth of God that inspired me, the grace of Jesus that thrilled me. These truths are as real to me as ever, but perhaps I do not just stop and enjoy them as often as I once did. Now I am older and wiser but surely that must enhance my worship, rather than hinder it, no?

As we grow in Christ we must stop often, take stock and, like John through the Spirit advised the Ephesian church in our verse today, “do the things you did at first.” So here’s to reliving our early Christian experience. Share with us! What did you do once upon a time that you would love to do again? You just might have a great idea that will inspire somebody’s worship and help an old Christian grow young again. Go ahead, share it with us!

With love, Doosuur.

Mini-Mental State Examination

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

They were more like the scratches of a mother hen in the loose soil, the barely legible scrawl of her scrawny hand. She had taken the piece of paper out of my hand in response to a question I had just asked and the ball-point in her small hand quivered as she held on to it, a little too tightly.

This lovely eighty-something year old lady was gaunt and unkempt, her tousled silver-gray hair framing a pale and wrinkled face with jutting cheek bones. It was clear to anyone who cared to look that she had once upon a time been quite the stunner. Her beautifully angled face would most certainly have turned a few heads in her day. Her arms must have been strong and her feet nimble. But those days were far long gone. And today, while she sat with me, in a hospital bed, I wondered how much of her life gone by she could remember. Not very much, I presume. Because the reason I was sat there, interviewing her with a string of statements I had prefaced as “silly questions”, was that the Consultant, on the rounds the day before had described her as “increasingly confused.”

I was given the rather pleasant task of conducting a mini-mental state examination on this lady in order to, if you will allow it, find out just how with it she really was. “Do you know where you are now?”, “What month of the year is it?” I asked her in turn.

She would score a respectable eleven out of thirty, but she got full marks for her response to my question, “would you please write a sentence for me? Any sentence will do.” As she took the pen from my hand and began to write I honestly did not expect her to come up with anything. What a pleasant surprise, then, when I noticed she was trying her darnedest to make out a letter “T”. Well now, I thought, perhaps there is something to hope for - a little comprehension to hang onto.

Next came an “h”. What now? Hmmm... Perhaps “The quick brown fox...?”

But then, “a”, each letter taking five or more seconds to carve out, her handwriting more like a chisel in granite than an ink pen on paper.

“T-h-a-n-k ...” It was by now obvious where this was going, but as I smiled, I let her finish. It might take me five minutes to get this sentence out of her but I would let her speak her piece.

In the end the words, “Thank you very much” had been not so much written as cajoled out of the pen but how very pleased I was. Not so much that her gratitude was towards me, indeed it most likely was not because I had done nothing deserving of thanks, but that her “any” sentence would be one of thankfulness. What did she have to be grateful for? Her beauty had been taken from her. And then her strength. And even now, in the twilight of her days, she could feel her very life ebbing away. But as ever, the one phrase she could muster was “thank you very much.”

I smiled as I took the paper and pen from her hands and leant in close to whisper to her, “No, Thank You.” She had given me a gift because I had caught a glimpse of joy within her suffering body, of beauty yet residing within, of gratefulness for a full life even when that life was at its end.

Indeed, everyday, in every moment, there’s always a reason to say thanks. Look around you now and see what God has done for you. And then say “Thank you very much”.

With love, Doosuur

Beat, Beat

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed.
Isaiah 53:5 (NIV)

Beat, beat.

And her heart would tear, as she gazed upon the cross through watering eyes.
Hers were the arms that rocked him to sleep, hers the voice that sang in his ear.
Her precious son was trussed up on wooden beams like a hardened criminal -
mocked, battered, beaten and scourged.
Oh how she longed to hold him once again,
to cradle his head close to hear heart and wipe away his tears.
What he had done to deserve this she could not tell
for he had spoken love, he had preached forgiveness and he had lived service
Surely there was an answer, surely another way
But the heavens were silent. No answer today.
Beat, beat.

Beat, beat.

And their little hearts raced, as the children ran around at the foot of the cross.
They chased each other up and down the hillside, oblivious that their Lord was crucified.
For them he had come, or so he said,
and like no one before he had showed them kindness.
One of them turned and shielded his eyes against the morning sun as he squinted to see,
Was that not “The Man”, he wondered, whom he had boasted to his friends about?
For a few weeks earlier the one they called “Rabbi”
had held him close and comforted him and had told his disciples to look after him1
It was a special moment, the best of his life.
But that was a few days back and he could not be sure right now,
for the blood and the grime had sullied his face.
“Tag, you’re ‘It’”, the other children cried,
and off he went again, chasing after them.
Beat, beat.

Beat, beat.

And he tossed and turned as the words kept ringing in his ears:
“What is truth?” he had asked the prisoner and now, finally, he knew that he knew.
Had his wife not warned him, “Pilate, have nothing to do with that righteous man”?
Had his voice not shaken as he pronounced Barabbas free?2
But now it was too late and the Truth was on a cross
and all the Governor could do was toss and turn.
Beat, beat.

Beat, Beat.

And his heart skipped one,
as blood drained from the soldier’s face.
“Truly this was the Son of God”, his confession,3
as his charge hung helpless on the cruel cross.
He had joined in the laughing, the mocking and the spitting.
He had crowned the prisoner with thorns, thinking it was only jest.
But now as creation rebelled he knew at once:
Truly this was the Son of God, and his heart skipped again.
Beat, beat.

Beat, beat.

And he wished it would stop,
for his heart kept him alive while he wished it would not.
His lips had denied his Master and friend
and he had lied to a servant girl.
The look on His face had said it all,
when the Master had glanced at him while the cock crowed.4
In His eyes he saw forgiveness, not anger or judgement,
and yet the burden of guilt was too much to bear.
Oh how he wished he could take back his words
for Jesus had always been there for him.
He had healed his mother, he had saved his brother.
He had changed his life and taught him to live better
But here and now, all that seemed lost.
And he bowed his head and wept again.
Beat, beat.

Beat, beat.

And His heart was full of love
for the people who had gathered round.
As he looked around at the world beneath,
He knew it was finished and salvation was won.
“John, here’s your mother”, he told his best friend,
who cradled and comforted His mom as she cried.5
The calls of the children came to his ears
and He smiled as he recalled the little boy’s surprise.
“Let the children come!”, He had insisted,6
for they were precious to Him and He loved them so much.
And every word He had heard he recalled,
every touch, every scent.
His experience of mortality was close to an end
but he would need to remember to represent Man after death.
Pilate, the Centurion and his friend Peter were not too far gone
if they could but open their eyes and see -
He was the Way, the Truth and the Life
and this was the moment for which He came.
Beat, beat.

Beat, beat.

“It is finished!” He cried, when he came to the end7
A cry of victory, the shout of a King.
The lamb had died, the pain was finished
Sin had been conquered and salvation was won.
Beat, beat.

And it beat no more.

With love, Doosuur.

Scripture references:
1Mark 9:36,37; 2Matthew 27:15-26; 3Matthew 27:54; 4Luke 22:54-62; 5John 19:25-27; 6Mark 10:14; 7John 19:30

"Can You Spare Me a Pound?"

And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ forgave you.
Ephesians 4:32

I was loitering just outside of Liverpool Street station this afternoon, taking in the concrete skyline of London’s business district and enjoying the sounds of leisurely weekenders out for a little bit of Sunday sun when I caught the glimpse of a kindly looking middle-aged woman standing next to me. She seemed to have a question in her eyes but after a moment’s hesitation she turned away and I moved on.

“Can you spare me a pound?”, she asked from behind me, and I turned to look at her once again, full in the face. Her’s were warm eyes and she had a gentle face and my heart was drawn towards her. It was a simple enough request. No long-winded tales of a difficult journey or no food on the table. Simple and straightforward.

“I don’t think I have any change,” I said, as I rummaged through my jacket pockets. “Oh, here’s one,” as I plopped the brass into her chubby palm. I nodded my goodbye and sauntered off to find a place to sit. I had a lot of time to kill so I made it all the way to the back of the station before I found a convenient park bench to plunk down and soak in the early spring sun - a welcome relief after months of gray skies and cold drafts. I watched the pigeons flutter about after bread crumbs as amorous couples strolled by hand-in-hand, laughing and snuggling, oblivious to the world around them.

Presently I noticed someone walking towards me, smoldering cigarette in hand. It was the same kindly woman whom I had met a short half-hour before. She came over and sat down right next to me, obviously not recognizing me from our brief encounter. I smiled to myself as I looked away, half expecting her to say something. But she kept silent, taking long drafts and shortening the stick with every breath. “What a waste” I thought, as I considered what employ my hard-earned pound had been put to.

Soon enough a disheveled man walked along, jingling a few spare coins in a calloused hand. He stopped and looked at both of us without saying a word. “Would you like some money?” my seat mate ventured. “Yes,” he answered. I froze, half expecting her to point in my direction and say “ask him.” Instead, she replied, “I’m sorry but I have none”, as she turned her face away (not so much with disdain as with nothing further to offer).

There may be few parallels but the story Jesus told of the unmerciful servant (read Matthew 18 for the full account) came straight to mind. In it Jesus tells of a servant, severely indebted to his king for a lifetime of wages and facing imminent incarceration. When he pleads the master cancels the debt and sets him free but no sooner is he out of the king’s court that he accosts his fellow servant, who owes him peanuts by comparison, and locks him up until he should repay. The king hears of this and the wicked servant gets what’s coming to him. The morale of the story as told by Jesus is that we can expect the same treatment we mete out to others from our Heavenly Father. In his words, “This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive each other from the heart.”

A similar principle is repeated several times in Scripture such as where the Lord enunciates, concerning giving (Luke 6:38) and judging (Matthew 7:1,2) “with the measure you use it will be measured to you.” We too, worldly as we are, have enshrined this same concept in the so-called Golden Rule - “Do unto others as you will have them do unto you.”

So ask yourself, have you received mercy? Show mercy. Have you experienced love? Give love. Have you enjoyed kindness, graciousness, forgiveness, compassion, friendliness? Do not hold back. Give, give, and give again. No-one puts it better than Paul when he encourages the Ephesians, “And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ forgave you.” (Ephesians 4:32, NKJV, italics mine).

With love,
Doosuur.

"Wow!"

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
Genesis 1:1


Good thing I got a window-seat today, which is saying a lot considering my recent bad luck with on-flight seating. I’ve recently “suffered” the misfortune of being stuck in the middle seat of economy class and the last time I had a window seat it was smack dab over the airplane’s wing - tough luck. But today, in a large aircraft boasting hardly two dozen passengers I can even afford to take up a whole row as, in fact, I did for my mid-flight snooze.

But it’s such a blessing that right now, nothing obscures my view as I look at out at the world beneath and one word comes close to describing what I can see - breathtaking!!! We are currently flying over a carpet of clouds as we cross French territory, soon to fly over Paris, and I could not help but strain my eyes into the distance to see whether perhaps I could see my Lord coming, “riding on the clouds” like he promised (Mark 14:62). It might have been difficult for an obstinate Jewish council to picture it when he spoke the words with such audacity two thousand years ago but then they hadn’t seen what he had seen - and what I see today.

But then again, this view is just one of many such vistas that have caught my attention. I particularly thrilled at the beautiful slate-grey rocks of the French mountains and the huge sand dunes of the Algerian Sahara. Such magnificent beauty just makes you wonder, “who could have done this?” The signature of a creator God is indelibly etched into His creation and we can hardly escape from the wonder and magnificence of the mind behind all this beauty.

When was your last “wow” moment where you took pause and considered just how great and wise our God is? Scripture is right when it says “since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature--have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse” (Romans 1:20). One can hardly argue with such overwhelming evidence against an intelligent being at the center of it all. And if we agree that Someone could create it all, how powerful must He be? To be Creator of the world - even the way I might conceive of it - He would have to be INFINITELY powerful - omnipotent like some might say. And if He were that great then surely he could bring forth into existence by a word and a breath! And that’s precisely what the Genesis account tells me about the Creator: He spoke and it came into being and by that same word creation is sustained!

I think it’s easiest to see God in the huge and magnificent as well as in the tiny and intricate but He is all around, isn’t He? You only have to watch the instinctive hunting of a worker ant or thrill in the cold and fluffy snow when it falls on your cheek. Smell him in the fresh sweet air that follows the rain and taste his goodness in a cold glass of spring water. God is all around us speaking to us through His magnificent and matchless creation and just like he beckoned to the man in Eden He longs to walk with you in the cool of the garden, taking it all in.

With love, Doosuur

Soul of a Stranger

Be merciful to me, LORD, for I am in distress;
my eyes grow weak with sorrow,
my soul and body with grief.
Psalm 31:9

You, just like me, have been there. That moment when it pulls strongly at your heart, threatening to eat you up from the inside. It’s “the urge”, that strong desire to go ahead and talk to that stranger sitting next to you. You remember when it happened most recently? I remember most vividly. But you, just like me, resisted and resisted until the moment was lost. And as you parted ways you wondered, what if I had opened my mouth? What if I hadn’t kept so quiet. Might someone’s life be different?

It happened to me today. I was at the train station, clad from head to toe against the bitter wind as it howled through the trees bringing in the cold and rain. The minutes ticked away as I waited for my transport. A young man walked up towards me, squinting as he tried to read the words on the message board. “When’s the next train?” he ventured. “Four minutes”, my curt reply. “Thanks”, he said, and sauntered over to a nearby bench. And then that nagging feeling crept up. I already had the opening, he had broken the ice; all I had to do was strike up a conversation. Well, just as always, I resisted, that is until God stepped in and pulled a “Jonah” on me.

“Hey bruv, you work around here?” It was the young man again. I turned to answer and looked him over. A tall, handsome, Indian man, perhaps my age. I took the chance and engaged him in light conversation. “I work in a sexual health office” I said. He uttered a few choice expletives in response, laughed and said, “so you can help me then!”

As we clambered onto the train and took our places I got to learn that his wife had kicked him out of the house some three months back and he was staying at a friends’. About two years ago she had begun seeing a wealthier man and the marriage had broken down. When I asked him if he had hopes of reconciliation he just shook his head, sadly. It was too far gone.

“I don’t know where it all went wrong,” he said. “We were in love when we got married; it was not arranged.” It was easy to see the hurt he felt because of her betrayal. I could tell he still loved her but there was very little hope in his voice. We gradually went on to talk about more trivial matters and when we felt comfortable enough we exchanged numbers. After that an uneasy silence fell over us as the miles rushed by.

“Doosuur, say something,” it was the little voice in my head. “Grab the opportunity before the moment passes.” This time I was somewhat more willing (the hard work had already been done, no?) and I gently asked, “do you believe in prayer?”

“Yes, indeed, I do. I pray every morning.”

“Good”, I returned, “you ask God to take care of you through the day...?”

“No,” he answered, “I just thank God, I just thank God for another...” and his voice trailed off as he buried his face in his hands, sobbing, and turned towards the window. In my short encounter with this young man I had been offered a rare glimpse into the hurt and pain that fills his soul. It was so much that he did not even have the courage to ask God for anything. The love of his life had left him for another man and he was sad, alone and sorely betrayed.

“It’ll be okay,” was all I could offer. “I will pray for you.”

As my stop rolled by I offered to meet up with him for drinks at some other time and we shook hands and parted. But those tears ... those tears! ... they tore at my heart.

Please join me and pray for this sad soul. God knows his name.

With love, Doosuur.

On the Train to... Nowhere

To man belong the plans of the heart, but from the LORD comes the reply of the tongue.
Proverbs 16:1

Right now, even as I type these words, I’m on a train headed to a town I’ve never heard about, a distance I know nothing of and I’m too afraid to even look at my watch because I know that it is creeping up on 11 p.m. I do not know how or when I’ll get home tonight and with every parting second my distress increases. Yes, you guessed it, I’m on the wrong train.

“However did you get in this quandary?”, you ask. Well, I could tell you but right now I’d rather just forget it. You see, a series of rather unfortunate turns have contrived to put me in my position, at each point my decision seemed pretty innocuous but together they have landed me in a rather spectacular mess.

I came out of Church after a particularly invigorating service and a good meal afterwards and turned right rather than left as I’d much rather talk a few more minutes with a friend I had just met tonight. Then I skipped the first bus so I could take the second. Then I stopped at a train station because I assumed the underground would be faster - only to find out that the underground is closed on weekends. So I took the replacement bus service which took me everywhere I did not want to go, eventually dropping me off at a halfway point. By now my frustration was nearing boiling point but I walked into the train station, asked directions from an attendant and ended up standing in the bitter cold on platform 10, waiting for the next train to come along.

When eventually it did come, I hopped on board without a second thought and plopped down in the closest seat, but even as the doors slowly crept shut I turned around to discover that most of my fellow stragglers had remained behind, apparently waiting for the next train. “Where is this train headed?”, I asked as it slowly pulled away, but even as someone opened his mouth to speak I knew I would not like whatever he had to tell me.

There are a privileged few people in this world who start off their journeys with a pretty good idea of where they want to be and actually end up there. Often they are those who have sacrificed their money, time and so much else in the pursuit of a golden dream - the Tiger Woods’ who have played with golf clubs from birth or the Michael Jordans whose love for “the game” supersedes all. And then there’s the rest of us - people like you and me whose plans are really just desires, whose desires are wishes and whose wishes are mere fantasies.

Perhaps for you, as for me, a decade, or perhaps even a year ago you had different dreams, aspirations and targets but one turn after the other, one decision piled onto the next, you found yourself heading in a totally different direction. If you are fortunate it will not be an unpleasant destination, but it is often very different. We discover that things very rarely end up exactly as we planned them and the blueprint keeps changing. This uncertainty can be quite discomfiting if we let it get to us but is it not a great comfort to know that even when things don’t go according to our plan they are indeed going according to a plan - His plan?

You see, although we often do not stop long enough to realize it, our lives are carefully and intricately woven and interconnected with everyone else’s and there’s only one Grand Plan in action - God’s plan. So long as we live life on God’s terms and in submission to His will we can live with the peace and confidence that regardless of what happens to us God is never surprised. With Him there are no coincidences. Where we see wrong turns, God sees opportunity; where we see frustration He encourages us to take up the challenge, to step up to the plate. And we can do so with full confidence that He knows tomorrow - after all He wrote it Himself, before time began.

And if you must know, I did find out where I’m headed after all. Shenfield...

With love, Doosuur.

A Little Piece of Bubble Wrap

However many years a man may live, let him enjoy them all. But let him remember the days of darkness, for they will be many. Everything to come is meaningless.
Ecclesiastes 11:8

I ran into the bus, hands in my pockets as I huddled against the cold October wind and I quickly settled into a seat for the ride home. As I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes I heard a popping sound. I looked up to see a middle-aged lady, with a piece of bubble wrap in her hand. She had a smug smile and a twinkle in her eye as she gayly burst the little bubbles one after the other. “Pop, pop, pop...” they went, keeping time to the seconds as they passed and it was easy to see that she was enjoying her little diversion immensely. Good for her, I thought, as I mentally recounted the pleasure I myself have derived countless times over from flattening out yards of bubble wrap.

As the bus trudged along I got caught up in a reverie as I listened absently to the creaking of the old bus and thought about that strange electronic female voice that follows us around, calling out the bus stops. I closed my eyes again as my mind momentarily recalled the movie Eagle Eye and from there, like it so often does, wandered to a hundred-and-one other minute and insignificant thoughts until something caught my attention, bringing me back to reality. It had stopped. I strained my ears to listen but I could not hear it. The popping had stopped. Whatever had happened to bubble-wrap lady?

As I opened my eyes tentatively I saw the woman, turning over the sheet of plastic and running her finger, ever so carefully over the rows of little bubbles, looking for one more elusive air cushion. Unfortunately for her there was none to be found; all the bubbles were gone. She rolled it up into a ball, folded her arms, heaved a sigh and stared forlornly out of the window. The whole gesture suggested one thing: “Now what?” She had exhausted her daily allocation of bubble-bursting pleasure and there was left for her only a flat and wasted piece of plastic and the silence.

My mind wandered again as I thought about how our lives are like that piece of bubble wrap. We squeeze out pleasure every way we know how and as often as we can in an attempt to feel fulfilled and to give ourselves a sense of worth. But with everything that we do there is ultimately a “now what?” moment where we realize that it’s all done and dusted. When we reach that climax do we have a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment or a sense that all the pleasure’s done with and there’s nothing to show for it. And so I determine that I will savor every moment that I can on this earth with a view to the ultimate “now what” when all we’ve done will be shown for what it’s worth. And perhaps when I’m done with my little bit of bubble wrap the bus would have arrived at my destination. Home.

With love, Doosuur.

He Lit a Cigarette!

What may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them. For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.
Romans 1:19,20

He lit a cigarette! He actually stepped out of church, pulled a stick out of his pocket and put it to his mouth, the end glowing in the dim light of dusk.

His name is Michele (pronounced ‘k’ and not ‘sh’) and I met him this evening. An Italian with dark hair and fine looks, his ready smile and requisite lilting accent reminded me so much of Friends’ Joey Tribbiani that I had to suppress a chuckle. We were in Church for a weekly Bible study and happened to sit at the same table. As we interacted after the session I learned that he was indeed a Catholic and was attending only his second Bible study ever. As expected, we had different views over certain matters but I could see that God was working a wonder in the heart of this young man.

He had not always believed in God. Having been born into a religious family he rebelled early on and went his own way. He had comforted himself in philosophy and agnostic thought, not wanting to confront the reality of God that was always gnawing at his spirit, demanding a response. But thankfully he had come to that point in his life where he had to face up to that most important question: “What if there is a God?” The logic taught by Pasquale (follow the link below to read about it*) seemed to have helped him make up his mind - “If there’s no God and I have believed, I lose next to nothing; If there is a God and I have not believed, I lose ... everything.”

Finally Mike made the choice to believe and it changed everything. As we spoke it was so easy to see the joy and peace that is his today and the love he has for God and His word. He is obviously well read, spending time in Luther and Calvin as he tried grappled with the issues brought up by the protestant reformation and the implications for his own faith. “There are few real atheists,” he said to me. “Most people actually do not know if there is a God - they are agnostic. They are afraid of confronting the possibility because then they will have to make an uncomfortable decision. Very few will say with conviction that there is no God.”

Recently I have been burdened by the way people have rejected the thought of God as though the very idea was a primitive concept. As I talked with a friend a couple of nights back it was sad to see the burden she carries for her friends and classmates who utterly refuse to consider the truth of God’s existence. “They will not even accept that there is a God,” she cried, “how in the world will we even get to talk about Jesus?” I do not know how it will end for all these people who burden us. But one thing that gladdens my heart is that people are coming to God. I have seen it very recently in the most vivid ways that God is still in the business of changing lives.

As we walked to the tube station Michele turned to me and gestured with his cigarette. “This is a big sin for you, isn’t it?” I truly did not expect the question but at that moment I knew that all my prejudices were not important. What matters most to God is that souls are saved. He does demand total surrender but we are all in the process aren’t we?

He finally put out the light but as we turned to go underground we heard someone yelling and running after us. We turned to see a beautiful young lady in stilettos running our way as though the hordes of hell were in hot pursuit. “Please help me,” she screamed, “I’m desparate!” We waited for her to reach us and as she stopped she pulled out a stick. “Please do you have a light?”

With love, Doosuur.

*I take no responsibility for the content of this webpage and cannot guarantee that it will remain appropriate. http://article.nationalreview.com/?q=MDc1MjI4MjkwMzBhZWJmZTU2ZjBhY2JlMTQyODUwZDQ=

The New Guy

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.
Hebrews 13:2

I had such a sense of anticipation as I prepared to go to St. Helen’s today. A missionary couple had invited me there for a first service to have a look-see and assured me I would find a warm welcome. But a couple of wrong turns contrived to make me twenty minutes late and when I arrived at the west door the service was already in full swing. I dutifully silenced my mobile and stepped through the swinging doors and voila I was inside.

Inside there were 200 hundred faces, staring intently at the preacher but, to my horror, every single one of them was white. “Uh-oh!” I thought, as I slinked my way up to a chair and slid in, hopefully unnoticed. “This is going to be a long night.” As I looked around I saw another black couple, themselves sitting in a far-off corner, looking as conspicuous as I was but they provided no relief for me as they skedaddled before the service would end.

All at once my sympathies went to everyone who’s ever been the new guy. Nobody likes to stand out in the crowd – except, of course as a hero or something – and I immediately felt the sense of desperation that they all must feel. How many johnny-come-latelies (JJCs) had I overlooked in my short experience? Oh, how I wish I was a little more welcoming to them. Payback’s a bummer.

After The Blessing I hung around the foyer, looking for an opportunity to say hi to someone but they all seemed so into themselves and no-one noticed me at all. We were invited for an after-Church informal around hot dogs and tomato soup but every bone in my body begged me to make a run for it. I was none too comfortable with the two-day growth of stubble on my beard either, but I grit my teeth and made a beeline for the food. As I stood in the queue, feeling sorry for myself, along came Richard. “Hello, have I seen you here before?” Thank God for Richard!

With love, Doosuur.

Eyes On The Ball

Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed...
Hebrews 12:2 (The Message)

The first rule of tennis, or indeed any ball game is simple. Keep your eyes on the ball. It seems straightforward enough but you’d be surprised how often a novice like me must remind myself, sometimes quite audibly, “keep your eyes on the ball.”

Today was no different. As usual, I changed into my tennis gear and began my warmup routine muttering to myself that most important mantra. As I got into the groove I went from Rule 1 to Rule 2: Move your feet. The other basic rules soon followed:
Take a backswing
Follow through
And very quickly, everything was flowing smoothly. One particular backhand drive made me feel like the new Federer come to town.

But then, almost as quickly as it had begun, it all started coming apart at the seams. I started hitting awry balls and ambitious drives became home runs as they rose over and beyond the confines of the premises. All of a sudden it seemed I just could not get it right. The more I tried the worse it became. What’s wrong? I wondered. And then it hit me. I stopped, took a breath and whispered to myself, “Doosuur, keep your eyes on the ball.” And then I started again. At the beginning.

But then it’s not just on the tennis court that I find I have to remind myself of the most important truth. It all starts well enough, in the morning, as I open God’s word and turn my eyes on Jesus. But then as the day drags on, it’s so easy for me, as I’m sure you, to get so caught up in the hustle and bustle that we neglect where our focus should be. We become so engrossed in meeting up with the demands of everyday life - pleasing a demanding boss, meeting an unexpected deadline, coping with a testy client - that all of a sudden the freshness and joy of a beautiful morning fades away.

And then if we are not careful we find ourselves hitting balls askew as we slowly lose control. We let our guard slip - a careless word here, a thoughtless gesture there - and very soon we’re headed down the slippery slope with no end in sight.

How apt it was of the writer to the Hebrews to command them, “fix your eyes on Jesus...” (NIV). He does not just say “look at Jesus”. He says, fix your eyes on Him. This is much more than a casual glance. It requires one to be involved in, immersed in, the object of their attention. Consider now, what it would mean for you if you were to really fix your eyes on Jesus. If I may use an analogy, it would be like putting on a pair of glasses. The things you look at are still the same but the way you perceive them could be very different. Life takes on a whole new perspective.

If we go through the day with Jesus constantly ahead of us, coloring our circumstances, we would discover that life could be so much more fulfilling. And perhaps we wouldn’t have to drop the ball ever so often.

With love, Doosuur.

Wickedness Unlimited

Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved.
Matthew 24:12,13

Chances are you are privy to the events that have overtaken the city of Jos, Nigeria in the past week. We have witnessed firsthand man’s inhumanity to man and seen atrocities committed in the name of God. We watched in horror as an ostensible political squabble metamorphosed into a full-scale Holy War with both sides trying to outdo the other. So many have lost life, limb and loot in the carnage and there is little comfort to be seen.

The stories are as shocking as they are true as we see man’s creativity used in the most nefarious ways reminiscent of Paul’s horror at those who “invent ways of doing evil” in Romans 1:30. I’ve heard of people being thrown down bridges to be dashed on the rocks, others burned alive, pleas of mercy ignored as young men are macheted to death by youth inebriated by their own depravity.

I met a young man today, fourth year Architecture student, who was caught up in the crisis. His friend and roommate was killed and burned before his very eyes. He managed to escape but lost everything but the shirt on his back. He offered to offload an old camera to me in exchange for enough money to make the short trip to Abuja. Imagine my embarrassment when he burst into tears and prostrated on the ground in gratitude when I offered to pay his fare. One can only imagine the terror he and many others like him have witnessed.

So where does one find comfort in the midst of such suffering? Where do you find the courage to face your neighbor with a different faith and offer the love of Christ? How do you tell that mother that she will never see her young son again? “He was so young and full of potential!” she cries. “He just left me to serve his country. Why, oh why?” And what do you tell the businessman who watched his life’s work go up in flames? How can you offer comfort without sounding banal, condescending or just plain out of touch?

I have no answers today, but questions only. But I do realize that in the midst of such seemingly inhuman suffering I can look to those who have experienced such and say, along with them, “I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God... How my heart yearns within me!” (Job 19:25-27)

Join me now to pray for those who suffer and trust God for his healing. Amen.
With love, Doosuur.

Fit To Die

Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.
Acts 4:12

I remember growing up singing native Tiv songs during Sunday evening Family Time, around a bowl of hot kunun gyeda. One of my favorite songs went something like this:

The Jews put the Lord Jesus on the ballot
To run against Barabbas
Barabbas lost the vote -
Barabbas was not fit to die

You remember the story don’t you? Pilate, the Governor, in a desperate last-gasp attempt to rescue Jesus from an irate Jewish mob makes an offer he thinks they should not refuse. “Which prisoner do you want me to pardon?” he asks. “Jesus Barabbas, or Jesus the so-called Christ?” (Matthew 27:17). As far as he’s concerned, it’s a no-brainer. Barabbas, the infamous robber and murderer versus Jesus, healer of the sick and the most fascinating character to walk the roads of Judea for centuries.

At that moment, the Jews had a choice. They could get rid of one of these two men with their vote. And they chose Jesus. Barabbas lost the vote. Barabbas was not fit to die.

All of a sudden the heavens fell silent. There was an upset. The Author of Creation had just been chosen to die by the very people he had created. They considered the life of a hardened criminal worth more than His. What horror! What an outrage! What blessedness!

Because along with Barabbas we all lost the vote that day. None of us was fit to die and, indeed, none is. Not until we have died with Christ into his own death. For at the moment of his death, he stepped up and took the mantle of redemption. He gave himself up so that we could die freely. Without Jesus’ death, ours would be a sore shame. But since he has died and, thankfully, has been raised to life we are, at last, fit to die.

With love, Doosuur

Scarred For Life

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.
Isaiah 53:5

Today, November 15, is my Thanksgiving Day or, like I like to call it, my Deathday. It was 15 years ago, to the day, that I was rushing to school, late as usual. I had just come out of the cab and was waiting for change when I heard the loud blare of a truck horn. Next thing I knew, I was airborne, looking down at Mother Earth and wondering what had happened to me. It was not till I hit the ground (seconds of course, but it felt like eons) that I realized I had just been rammed, by a truck no less.
Several months of hospitals, medication and physiotherapy did their thing and I was soon back to new - except for the scars. My body did not respond well to the bruises, lacerations and infection, and I was left with hypertrophic scars on my face, neck and legs.
Today, years later, these same scars are a potent reminder of God’s mercy in my life. As I recount my deliverance, it occurs to me that these scars, disfiguring as they are, are a medal of honor. I would not have scars except I have been healed. A scar means the healing is complete and all that remains is a memory.
As I pondered this I remembered Christ’s own scars, displayed proudly one Sunday so many years ago. It was a warm spring evening but there was a chill in the air. The disciples had heard that Jesus’ body had gone missing and they were filled with trepidation, expecting a Jewish mob to storm their hideout any moment, demanding answers. As they brooded and pondered in the dim lights Jesus suddenly stood among them. “Peace be with you!”, his first words. Words cannot describe the astonishment they felt as they stared at him, eyes full of wonder. “Could it really be...?”, they thought. But then he showed it to them. His scars. A few days earlier, the soldier’s gavel had muffled the anguished cries of their master, driving cruel nails into his hands. Those same wounds, which had meant sin and shame back then now meant redemption and healing. And Life.
Everyone of us has experienced hurt, pain and disappointment. An examination failed, a relationship broken, a loved one gone. But after the grieving comes the healing and at the end of it all we can look back and see that the scars serve to remind us how far we’ve come the grace of God at work in our lives.
Join me and thank God that I’m alive. I’ve got the scars to prove it!
With love, Doosuur

Enlarged In The Waiting

These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting... The longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.
Romans 8:23-25, The Message


As I read this breathtaking phrase from Romans I could not help repeating to myself over and over again, the words "Enlarged in the waiting... ENLARGED IN THE WAITING". What a beautiful word-picture Paul paints as he likens the hope and joy of an erstwhile barren woman expecting her firstborn child with our experience as we wait for our fulfillment in Christ. Just think of it, not a moment passes when the thought of the life growing within her is far from this woman's mind. All her actions, everything she does, is in one way or the other directed towards tending and caring for the unborn gift. The things she eats, the way she sleeps, everything in her life takes on a whole new direction for a definite period of nine months.
 
Does waiting for this child distress her? Not necessarily. Because she knows that time must run it's course if her joy is to be complete. A little too early and she knows the only result may be grief in the end. So everyday that passes, every hour that goes by, she is expectant, knowing that she is getting bigger and bigger, unto a perfect gift. She is enlarged in the waiting.
 
Same with us. Our painful experiences may be likened to early-morning sickness. Our desire for God would be just like the cravings of a primigravida. But waiting does not diminish us. Not at all. It HELPS us. Every experience of God brings us closer to the perfect person He wants us to be. He is coming for a Church without spot and blemish and time and circumstance must run their course so that we can be presented mature before Him in the end.
 
We are enlarged in the waiting. And while we wait, like a responsible mother, we must care for ourselves, watching what we ingest; careful, so to speak, with our bodies, as we nurture this eternal life growing, even enlarging, within us. We have no idea how it will look, anymore than a mother knows the likeness of the child within her, but that does not diminish us one bit. We know there will be joy in the end. It's the only possible outcome.
 
With love, Doosuur

How Are You? Really?

Encourage each other. Live in harmony and peace. Then the God of love and peace will be with you. Greet each other in Christian love.

1 Corinthians 13:11,12

At home, our early morning salutations are a pretty cursory affair as, after corporate morning prayers, everyone grunts a greeting and dashes off to whatever activity begins their day. But not when Grandma is visiting. Then greetings become a special event.

 

After prayers, we all sit down and wait in expectation because we know Mama is about to greet us. Slowly and deliberately, indeed she will not be rushed, she turns to Dad and looks him straight in the eye. "Orkurga," she says, using his birth name, "Good morning, did you sleep well?" This is no routine question, as you can feel from her tone and attitude that she means precisely what she says.  "Did you sleep well?" requires an honest answer.

 

One by one she greets us, going in a circle. I can't wait for my turn. "Doosuur." She addresses me.

 

"Eh, Mama", I answer, all the while knowing what will come next.

 

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" What a wonderful question. And I know that she would really like to know.

 

What a contrast this draws with the perfunctory salutations we offer each other every day. Offerings like "Good day" and "How are you?" have become mundane and hardly ever mean more than the barest of acknowledgements. But then, if we would take a minute to slow down, look someone in the eye and ask him, honestly, "How are you? Really?", we might be surprised at what the answer might be. Because often we will discover that beneath the veneer of a smiling face and a ready answer, lies a human being, all too familiar with the hurts, worries and concerns that make everyday living what it is.

 

A question as simple and commonplace as "How are you?" can become a veritable tool for breaking down barriers and getting into someone's world to offer comfort, healing and wisdom. And, beyond this, in that singular moment where all your attention is fixed on that one person, he feels special, very special indeed.

 

Hello there. Yes, I'm talking to you. How are you? Really?

 

With love, Doosuur.

 

 

Martha, Dear Martha

It's the same with you. When you've done everything expected of you, be matter-of-fact and say, "The work is done. What we were told to do, we did."

Luke 17:10

Martha, oh dear Martha. I've always had some empathy for the elder of the Bethany sisters and I have never for the life of me understood why Jesus was so curt with her. He had been walking all day, under the hot Middle Eastern sun when he came to her doorstep, and like any good Hebrew lady, she immediately set to preparing him a hearty meal.

 

There she was, kneading the dough, stoking the hearth, stirring the stew, all by herself, while her wide-eyed, vivacious sibling sat at Jesus' feet, listening to stories rather than letting the good man have some rest. Wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, she tossed a towel over her shoulder and marched into the living room. Arms akimbo, she demanded, "Master, don't you care that my sister has abandoned the kitchen to me?"

 

Good question. But wait for it; Jesus is not impressed. "Martha, dear Martha, you're fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it - it's the main course, and won't be taken from her." (Luke 10)

 

A friend recently shared with me the words of Luke 17, and they struck a chord - I can do God no favors. Jesus, speaking here, says it quite succinctly:

 

Suppose one of you has a servant who comes in from plowing the field or tending the sheep. Would you take his coat, set the table, and say, "Sit down and eat"? Wouldn't you be more likely to say, "Prepare dinner; change your clothes and wait table for me until I've finished my coffee; then go to the kitchen and have your supper"? Does the servant get special thanks for doing what's expected of him? It's the same with you. When you've done everything expected of you, be matter-of-fact and say, "The work is done. What we were told to do, we did." (vv. 7-10, Message)

 

Martha was working hard, doing her best to serve God. But God was not impressed. He's already done so much more to serve me that my highest service pales in comparison. All he requires of me is to do exactly what he tells me to do. And if that means sitting still at his feet, well, that's were I ought to be.

 

So take pause, stop being oh-so-busy for a minute and consider: "No matter what I do, I can do God no favors. All that will ever impress Him is that I'm in that position of submission, attentive to His Word and His Will." Stop fussing and sit down for a minute and be blessed as you do.

 

With love, Doosuur.

The Darling of Heaven, Crucified

Worthy is the Lamb
Seated on Your throne
Crown You now with many crowns
You reign victorious
High and lifted up
Jesus Son of God
The Darling of heaven crucified
Worthy is the Lamb
Darlene Zschech, 2000

There are a few songs that are, truly, in a league of their own for the simple reason that they have moved me to tears. Songs like Lenny LeBlanc's Above All, Mark Schultz' Letters From War and, most recently, Darlene Zschech's Worthy is the Lamb.

I happened to be listening to music casually some weeks ago when a line jumped up at me out of the tunes: "the Darling of Heaven crucified." What horror! Jesus was crucified. He was actually, even brutally, nailed to a cross and left to hang for 3 hours while the whole world walked on by. And there, alone, far removed from the glory of heaven - where he had legions of magnificent angels at his beck and call, where he had his Father's ear, where he was undisputed prince - there, on the cross, he died in pain and despair. From glory to grave, from Heaven to Hades.

At the height of his suffering Jesus he called out, "My God, my God. Why have you forsaken me?" Dead silence. Not even his Father would answer him now. There, at that moment, he had become sin. He was sin embodied that sin might die. It was as though God had cut off his own right hand and thrown it in the fire. The Darling of Heaven was crucified. Heaven's best Son was abandoned to death.

And most fittingly, all earth fell silent and the sun refused to shine. Creation rebelled for her Master was defiled. And with a word and a cry he breathed his last.

And there, right there in the darkness, in the silence - with the women weeping in muffled tones while the soldiers mocked - there does history find its finest moment. Christ crucified so that I could escape death.

Do we so much mourn Christ's death as we celebrate it? Perhaps not quite so much, and with good reason too - for if the full weight of the injustice of that moment should descend on us, and if we realized that we too held the hammer that spring afternoon, we might be driven to depths of despair. But thanks be to God, all that is done and the bitterness of death is past. So go ahead, mourn and then celebrate Christ's death. The Darling of Heaven crucified, so that I could become Heaven's darling.

With love, Doosuur.