Genesis

The Earth lay in darkness
cold as a tomb
there was no warmth or light

It lay without life
like a barren womb
of a woman alone in the night

.... It waited for Jesus

'The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now He commands all men everywhere to repent, because He has fixed a day on which He will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom He has appointed, and of this He has given assurance to all men by raising Him from the dead.' 
                                                                           Acts ch.17 vs. 30,31

Once again the Earth waits
as in days of old
Again there is darkness
again it is cold
But now there's a moon
to reflect the sun
to announce the return
of God's Holy One
to tell of salvation
from sin and death
by receiving God's Spirit
...... His life-giving breath

'' For so the Lord has commanded us, saying, 'I have set you to be a light for the Gentiles, that you may bring salvation to the uttermost parts of the Earth.'
                                                         Acts ch.13, v.47

How can I keep silent

A kaleidoscope has always been something that has fascinated me since I was a small child.  It is an optical instrument which has a tube containing two reflecting surfaces inclined to each other at a suitable angle.  These two surfaces are able to exhibit, by reflection, the most incredibly beautiful colours and symmetrical forms from just ordinary pieces of coloured glass.  I am reminded by it of the plan of salvation that was brought about when God said in Genesis ch.1 v.26 'Let us make man in our image.'  God and His Son Jesus Christ can make a beautiful new creation out of sinful man.

Days in My Life

Some time ago I put together a booklet called ' Days in My Life '.  It contains actual occurrrences in my life through which I have experienced the teachings of God, and some of the poetry that I have written as a result of those experiences.  One of these articles I called ' The Space '.

 The Space

I had been to a prayer meeting at a local church fellowship, where much of the theme had been about patience.  I came out of the meeting with most of these thoughts fresh in my mind.  My friend and myself decided to go to the supermarket, and on the way we met a man that  used to live near me.  ' Hello ', I said, and was about to say ' I was only talking about you the other day' when I remembered that the ' talking about you the other day ' was a neighbour of this man telling me that the man and his wife had parted.  I did not want to embarrass him so I said nothing.  We had a very pleasant conversation and I went off feeling quite pleased with myself at being so tactful.

After visiting the supermarket I dropped my friend off at her house and proceeded to go home when I suddenly remembered that I did not have any bread in the house.  I wanted the bread from the bakers in the middle of town but did not want to pay sixty pence car park fee, so I thought that I would park at the edge of town in a street that had free parking for an hour, which was a rarity as most streets had double yellow lines.  I decided that the walk back to the bakers was better than paying the sixty pence car park fee, which was nearly the price of the loaf.
When I arrived at this particular street there was just one space left empty.  I was about to pull into it when I noticed a lady who was just driving out of a pub car park into the street, which was a dead end, in order to come out onto the main road.  'Oh ' I thought, ' I'll let her out and then pull into the space. '  I then also noticed a car that had been turning at the top of the street.  This disturbed my peace a little as I thought he might be going into what had already in my mind become ' my space '.  Then guilt crept in and I thought ' Well he was in the street before me, and if he was going to go into the space then he would be entitled to it.'  Then the thought crossed my mind that he had already passed the space, being at the top end of the street, so maybe he was the previous occupier of the space, and was just turning around to come out onto the main road, after which I could drive into ' my space ' as it was now firmly established in my mind.
Smiling faces and courtesy were all around, with the lady waiting to come out of the pub car park into the side street, with the man who had by now turned at the top of the street and was facing me preparing to come out of the street, and with myself waiting to go into the space after they had both come out.
Suddenly the happy picture became distorted.  There was a large car pulling into the street alongside me. 
' Can't he see me waiting to go in and these two waiting to come out' I thought.  'Beep ', I gave him a gentle attention catcher, pointing to the situation inside the street, and waited for a response.  the only response was his slowly moving into the street.  ' He's trying to get into my space!'  My peace had disappeared and anger was shoving its way in.  ' Beep - beep!' Now much louder attention catchers, and twice as many.  He turned to me with a look that said ' I'm half in now, I might as well go '.  Feeling a threat in the fact that he might have to pull into the space to get out of the way of the other two cars, and that there was nothing I could do about it, suspicion and frustration joined anger in the void left by vacating peace.  He drove past the space however, and tucked himself into a turning area at the top of the street.
I felt a twing of guilt at thinking that the man was out to steal my space.  He might not even have noticed me waiting at the entrance of the street.  He might have thought I was a parked car.  After all, I had left the centre of the road free to allow the two cars to come out.  I began to feel ashamed.  Suddenly, another car entered the street from the main road, this time with a woman driving it.  I beeped the horn and pointed out the situation once more, but she proceeded to try to enter the street.  Now guilt and shame were the first to leave, and frustration and anger ballooned to such a size that there was no room for anything else.  I pulled out into the middle of the road to prevent this new ' space stealer ' from entering the street and immediately tried to get into  the space, which was in front of the car I had been waiting behind.
Afraid that this new driver might drive into the space instead of me, I did not pull forward enough to allow myself to be able to reverse close enough to the curb so that the lady in the car park could get past me.  After several futile attempts, with an audience of the man waiting at the top of the street, the lady waiting in the car park, the man tucked in the turning area, and the lady waiting behind me, the lady in the pub car park motioned to me that if I moved forward past the car park entrance, then she would be able to get out and I would be able to park my car in the space.  Shame returned as anger and frustration diminished in size.  Suspicion edged its way in as a reminder that maybe the lady behind me would move into the space as I pulled forward, but I realized I had no alternative.  I pulled forward and the lady came out of the car park and drove out of the street.  There was no sign of the potential space stealer, and I reversed slowly into the space.  By now there was not room in my mind for anything except shame and humiliation.  Frustration and anger, along with ridiculous suspicion, had been pushed out by these far more powerful spirits.  I lowered my head as the man who had tucked himself in the turning area pulled into the pub car park, probably where he'd always intended to go.
Where was my Christianity?  If the Lord had appeared at that very moment and asked the righteous to step forward, probably everyone in the street including those in the pub would have been more entitled to respond to His call than I would have been.  Righteousness is born in thought, wickedness takes residence through action.
Jesus says ' I desire mercy, and not sacrifice '.  Mercy overlooks injury to self, sacrifice is something given in order to gain something else.  True discipleship will incur loss to self before any gain is achieved.
Not wanting to embarrass my ex neighbour, and wanting to park in the right place were right things to do, but these acts had become smug self righteousness in the light of my latest actions.  I should have been more concerned about the space that housed the spirits than the space that housed my car.
I sadly went for my loaf of bread and thought about the spiritual bread the Lord had already offered me in the prayer meeting, the words on patience.

Lord help me to listen when I hear You speak
Create in me a spirit that is lowly and meek
That I should be a ' doer ' Father of Your precious word
And not just walk away forgetting all that I have heard

Go into the highways and the byways

When I first felt that the Lord was telling my friend and myself to go into the streets to evangelize, poems started forming in my mind that I felt could be put together in leaflets to hand out to people, some of which spoke of my own life.  Since doing this we have always had a good reception, we simply ask the people if they would like some Christian poetry.  Some take it, some refuse, and we have had some very interesting conversations with variouos people.  One such leaflet was created when a picture of a person in a rowing boat lifting another person out of the water into the boat came into my mind and the words
 ' Sometimes it is as if I am swimming in deep water, exhausted, whilst my Father is rowing a boat alongside me saying, ' Get into the boat child, let me take you to your destination'.  I placed them on the front of the leaflet with a poem and the scripture  'Come to me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.'  I then put the poem, 'The sinner's prayer' inside

The Sinner's Prayer
You didn't come for the righteous - for the sheep as white as snow
The ones that are whole and healthy, who know which way to go
No Lord You came for the sinner - the sheep that went astray
You came to guide him back to God along the narrow way

Lord here stands a sinner, a lonely child of the night
I walk the paths of darkness where there is no guiding light
My feet are bruised and bleeding as I stumble down life's track
The brambles cut across my flesh, there's no coat upon my back
My hands are torn and calloused as they push aside each thorn
My clothes give no protection - they are tattered and worn
I'm lost in my inheritance of pain and misery
Lord I call upon Your name - Jesus .... Save me!

The Lord's Answer
' I hear you child ' says Jesus - 'Your cry in in my ears
My heart is burning with your pain, my face wet with your tears
These feet have felt your bruises - my hands were torn for you
Those thorns were laid upon my head, my stripes were for you too
Yes child I hear you calling from your dark and miry grave
'Twas this very reason that God sent me to save
So lift your eyes my lost one, don't look at earthly things
Look to the Son of Righteousness - there's healing in my wings
Don't bear your heavy burdens and remain among the dead
I came two thousand years ago and bore them in your stead
Just look towards your Saviour, I'll be your guiding light
Cast your cares upon your Lord - Your God for you will fight
And I'll give you a garment, a new coat for your back
You'll wear my robe of righteousness to save you from attack

' For I am come not to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance. '  Matthew ch.9 v.13

Windows of Opportunity

' Stay in bed for the day ' my husband said ' get rid of that cold '.  ' Hmm.. ' I thought, ' maybe I will have a few hours in bed.'    ' I could do with a rest.'  I replied.  So I had stayed in bed that morning and much of the afternoon.

As I lay there, gazing out through the window, I watched the people passing by in the street and reflected on how their lives might be, on whether there might be sadness behind the smile, or worry and anxiety behind the sombre look.  I thought of how little we might know about one another's lives, whether we be workmates, neighbours or even strangers.  After a while my husband brought me a cup of tea and I started to feel a little better, and decided to read.  I looked at my collection of books on my shelves and chose a book of poems called ' In Memory Of ', a collection of poets' tributes to, and memories of, friends and loved ones that had died.  As I read poem after poem of peoples' feelings, some of joyful memories and some of grief, I began to realize that God was revealing to me what I had pondered on earlier while gazing through my window.  He was now showing me what lay behind a face in the street, revealing to me peoples' innermost feelings, people who were mostly hurting through loss and loneliness.

I don't believe that God does anything by chance.  I am a Christian and, as it says in one of the Psalms, ' every day in my life is written in His book before even one of them was formed '.  As I lay in my bed I had to question my part in life as far as my fellow man was concerned.  I read on and became filled with compassion for the people who had allowed my to see into their lives.

I know that on that day, when I was brought to see inside the hearts and minds of others, I felt compassion which brought in turn responsibility.  I had been made aware of the loneliness and suffering of others, Christians included, and it had compelled me to want to play my part in life to the best of my ability.  May the Lord help me always to be alert to where and when I may help another.

One poem in particular about a man who was grief stricken at the loss of his soul mate and looked to God for release filled me with such sadness that it brought me to write this poem which contains, I suppose, some of my own deepest feelings.

The Window

' Twas sickness caused me on that day to rest and in my bed to lay

While through my window I could see the world outside did not need me

It carried on its busy life regardless of my pain and strife

Yet as I gazed upon the scene that lay beyond lace coverd screen

I wondered at each passer by .... If face reflected truth or lie

I lay in comfort needing naught - my husband food and drink had brought

But for my mind to idle be was nothing short of misery

Then suddenly my eye was cast upon my books - a treasure vast

A book of poems I should read to satisfy my spirit's need

To see what lay within the mind of other creatures of my kind

I turned the pages one by one .... A stirring journey had begun

For hidden there in every leaf was joy and sorrow, love and grief

A vast collection here was seen - of frozen dreams that might have been

Of past regrets and loneliness - sweet memories of tenderness

Lost loves and breaking of the heart when sudden death caused to depart

A soul mate of so many years

My burning cheeks felt cooling tears

Such moving stories I had read as I lay sick upon my bed

A window had been shown to me through which I'd seen reality

Of pain that lay behind a smile - of need to go the extra mile

What of my part in life I thought - What words of comfort had I brought

In all my years upon this Earth - What words of love, support and worth

Had touched the lives of those I'd met - Was there remorse, was there regret ?

What use is it if kindly word is left in thought and never heard

This world that from my bed I saw, that looked so proud and strong before

Hath need of me .... and I of it - each soul to do its special bit

To share with others words of love - God's seeds of blessing from above

Is all that may be asked of me to help to set another free

From pain and hurt and misery that death and loss has caused to be

But seeds can never come to birth unless they're planted in the earth

So Father help me in my life to ease a fellow creature's strife

To seek my Lord to try to do the things that I have learned from You

And may You cause my eyes to see windows of opportunity

To stretch a tender loving hand towards the suffering in this land

To sow Your seeds of love and peace - that word and deed might bring release

The Power of Love

There's something about You Jesus
That just escapes my mind
About how You cause the lame to walk
And restore the sight of the blind
And how You can take the lowly
The broken hearted ones
And place them in Your Kingdom
To bring them up as sons
There's something about You Jesus
There's something about Your face
'Though I can't see any features
I see mercy, compassion and grace
There's something about those eyes Lord
That shed those tears for me
There's something about those healing hands
That they fastened to that tree
What made You say 'Father, forgive them,
For they know not what they do'
When they saved the life of Barabas
And they chose to crucify You
I know what that ' something ' is Lord
As I look to my Father above
It's the one thing that covers all others
It's Your totally unselfish love

A short story called ' Shoes '

This story was written whilst I was attending a writer's circle in Bridgend.  We were given the title to write on and immediately a story came into my mind which was partly inspired by my near death experience that I had experienced several years previous.

Shoes

Mark felt like he had just stepped back in time as he quietly closed the door behind him.  the old man slowly raised himself from his chair behind the counter, bowed his head slightly, and said, ' Good morning to you young sir '.   ' Morning ', the young man replied as he looked around the large dusty room.  Mark had come into the old second hand shop to look for a pair of shoes with very little money, and optimism to match.  For some time now a pessimistic attitude had gradually been taking over his naturally pleasant personality.
Slowly he scanned the cluttered shop, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.  It was getting harder to live on job seekers allowance and at the moment, although he was only seventeen, the prospect of finding work with a decent wage seemed to be as much in another era as did this shop... only in the far distant future. 
 'I ... er, I'm looking for a pair of shoes, size eight ' Mark said slowly, ' strong leather shoes. ' .  The old man came around the counter and limped over to a dark corner of the shop.  ' These are size eight ' he said, as he bent down and picked up a pair of dark brown shoes.  Blowing the dust from them he held them towards the young man.  Mark took the shoes and examined them.  They were strong shoes, leather too, and hardly wotn by the look of them.  ' How much? ' he asked, as he pulled his old worn trainers from his feet and eased the dark brown shoes on in their place.  They were a perfect fit.  ' Three pounds ' said the old man, with a tone that said ' No offers '.  ' Three pounds ! ' Mark said, rather too loudly.  ' I could practically buy a new pair for that '  He was fed up with the old cliche which had now become part of his life as he traipsed around charity shops and second hand shops whenever he needed something, and which rarely got him a reduction in the price anyway.  He decided he would slip into silent acceptance in future.  ' I'll take them ', he said grudgingly.  He slapped three pound coins onto the counter, behind which the old man was now wrapping the shoes in a newspaper, that lay on the counter, while muttering ' I have to make a living you know ', half to himself and half to the boy, adding ' I'm sorry, I don't have a carrier bag '.   Mister, I wouldn't mind being in your shoes ' Mark said, as he took the package and walked to the door.  As he tugged at the latch he turned to see the old man now bathed in a brilliant shaft of light that was coming through the open door, and saw something in the dark, deep set eyes that made him feel a little uneasy at what he had just said.

That evening Mark was getting ready to go out.  It was Friday, the day his mother made his favourite meal, spaghetti bolognaise and although he loved his mother very much, even this weekly event had become a monotonous chore in the light of his poor social life.  He hated not having enough money to be able to go out somewhere special with his friends even one night a week.  He hated also the fact that his mother had to do a cleaning job every day to make ends meet ever since his father had left her for another woman.  How he would love to be earning enough not only to enjoy his own life, but also to enable her to enjoy her life too.  ' Why couldn't I have been born rich? ' he sighed as, seated on his bed, he reached down and put on his brown leather shoes .....

Back in the flat above the second hand shop the old man blinked, suddenly startled as he sat in the antique, worn, once beautiful, burgundy velvet chair.  What a strange feeling, for a split second he had actually felt as if he had been transported into his past, when he had been a boy of seventeen.   The memories came flooding back.  He had been sent at the age of eleven to England to live with his mother's cousin, Rosa, in Northants.  Things were none too good for Jews in Germany in 1939, and his parents had felt that England would be a safer place for their son, Benji.  How he had missed his beautiful homeland, and the family home with its fine furniture and extensive grounds.  He'd had a wonderful, happy childhood, wanting for nothing.  His father had owned a very grand jewellery shop, catering for Berlin's high society, and his mother had always had servants in the house, enabling her to spend a great deal of time with her son.  His parents had intended to follow him to England, but things had happened so quickly after he had arrived at Rosa's.  His mother's letters were regular once a week for a time, then they started to arrive every few weeks and he began to sense a fear in the beautifully penned lines, a fear which eventually became a deep anxiety that could not be hidden by her over assurance that everything was alright in their homeland.  Eventually the letters had stopped coming altogether.  Weeks turned into months, months into years, and a war with Germany raged that was to ensure he was never to see his beloved parents again.  He would willingly have sacrificed all of the wealth he had been born into not to have had to bear the extreme heartache and suffering that finally learning at the age of seventeen, that his parents had been sent to the gas chambers, had caused him throughout his life.

' No, no! ' Mark was flung forward from the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.  ' Mother!, father! he screamed, the feeling of grief was unbearable.  He looked around the unfamiliar room, ' Where was he, this was not aunt Rosa's house, what .... where ... Slowly, comforting reality returned, and Mark realized that the only explanation for what he had just experienced had to be supernatural.  He'd felt as if he had actually been another person, Jewish and born in Berlin.  He's had a complete memory of a seventeen year old boy living in England, who had just been informed that his parents had been sent to Hitler's gas chambers.  He could not believe what had just happened to him.  ' Are you alright Mark ', his mother's concerned voice travelled up the stairway from the kitchen, where she had been happily washing spaghetti bolognaise from dinner plates.  She always loved Friday nights when she prepared her son's favourite meal.  He had missed out on so much during the five years that her husband had been gone.  ' I heard you shouting '.  ' Uh... yes mum ' he called back to her ' it was nothing, er I just slipped off the bed '.  How could he possibly explain to his mother what had just happened.  He could not explain it to himself.

Later that evening he and his friends walked along the same old streets that led to the same old cafe that they congregated in with the same old kids in the same old predicament, jobless and with very little cash to spend.  Every aspect of life had become monotonous and boring to Mark, he felt there was nothing to look forward to.  As they walked they discussed what they would do if they only had money.  ' Even if I had a job, I probably wouldn't have enough to buy the things that I want ', one of Mark's friends spat out angrily, ' what they pay in some of the jobs offered wouldn't buy a pair of designer jeans. '  ' You're better off being a criminal these days' added another friend.  'You're right, ' said Mark ' who says crime doesn't pay.  I wish right now that I was the most famous thief that ever lived '.

Suddenly Mark found himself spinning backwards in a dark tunnel at tremendous speed, noises, smells filling his ears and nostrils, changing by the second from familiar to unfamiliar,.  He had the distinct impression that each change in sound and smell represented an era in time, and that he was being drawn back into those once distant ages.  Fear and fascination mingled in his emotions, fear of what was actually happening to him yet fascination at a deep sense of a great power that was totally in control of the situation, and in whose presence he would be completely safe.  The spinning gradually ceased and he was aware that, although he was still being drown backwards, the darkness was disappearing and he seemed to be drifting past scenes that changed almost as if he was being shown an incredibly enhanced slide show.  There were scenes of beautiful mountains, rivers and tribes of foreign looking men on horseback with spears in their hands, and more scenes of soldiers of different nations and different eras, all bright pictures on a dark background.  After a while Mark was suddenly aware of a green glow filling the dark space around him, and of the scenes gradually becoming drawn into this glow, which itself was now before his eyes changing into a scene, a truly breathtaking scene of a magnificent garden of sheer beauty.  Mark had never seen colours of this kind before.  There were flowers of every sort, exquisitly beautiful, alive and in harmony with everything around them, and animals of every kind that showed no sign of aggression towards one another.  What was this strange place where no decay appeared to be present?  It was like Mark's own world and yet totally different.  Mark felt absolute peace as he watched from his position which seemed to be within the scene and yet outside of it.  The feeling of well being in him was immense, and he was aware that it was a feeling he had never experienced before in his life, and was a force that was also reflected in this place before him, and which he had felt in the great power he had known was in control of his strange journey, as if all were connected and from the same origin.

Suddenly the beautiful picture began to crumble before his eyes, reverting back to the green glow, which gradually started changing to pale purple and orange colours mingled with shades of grey.  Now Mark saw before him a totally different scene, and was aware that his position had also changed.  His body felt completely restricted, and he was elevated.  A cool breeze brushed across his face carrying with it a strong, pungent smell.  There were sounds also in the air, diverse sounds.  He could hear strong sounds, aggressive, cursing and mocking.  Gentle sobbing sounds also hung in the air, the two sounds combating one another almost as in a tug of war in which two opposing parties wrestled for victory.  Mark turned his throbbing, swollen face to the left as horror slowly became the dominant emotion, eventually struggling with grief at what he saw.  He looked upon the most beautiful face he had ever seen, the forehead of which was torn by and encompassing gircle of long, ugly thorns.  Mark realized that the amazing beauty was coming from the man's eyes and was not a physical attribute.  The deep, dark eyes appeared to reflect a love and compassion beyond comprehension, and something else too was reflected there... It was suffering.  Mark had seen a glimmer of this kind of suffering before, it was back in the second hand shop, in the eyes of the old man as the light from the open door had shone on his face.  He knew immediately that he was not only witnessing, but experiencing the love of his and all of mankind's creator.  It was as if the eyes had the ability to convey to the one gazed upon a love which could never be described with words, but which the one gazed upon had been searching for all his life.  He knew that the blood that flowed from the piercings in this man's head, hands and feet was shed for him.  He knew that the pain, the cramps, intense thirst and dizziness he was feeling in his body was nothing in comparison to the sufferings that this man who hung beside him had been brought to bear.  In that instant, as he looked into those eyes, he knew as surely as the thief whose torment he was now experiencing had, that everything he had ever heard about this man was true.  He felt himself being made to say, rather than speaking the words, ' Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom ', knowing at the same time that he was only experiencing a glimpse of what had actually happened that day, that for him there was no such suffering requred as that thief would have experienced in those times.  He was living in a time where there was hope for all mankind, a hope that had been bought by this divine Saviour, which all of manking could now search for and have fulfilled through faith in Him.

The magnitude of this revelation was so intense in Mark that even the dimmed physical pain of the torture of his body had little effect on him, and it had been dimmed.  He knew that the physical pain he was experiencing had to be no where near the actual pain of crucifixion.
 

Once again change began taking place as he felt himself evving out from the twisted flesh.  His soul ached both with the loathing and longing as he began slowly to be drawn away from this incredible scen, not wanting to remain in the teffible reality of crucifiction, yet his desire to remain in the compassion, love and total protection of those beautiful eyes causing him to dread his departure.  ' Truly, I say to you.... '  The words could be heard plainly by him, even though the scene was fast disappearing.  In dense blackness now, he felt himself once again starting to spin, being pulled backwards.  ' today you will be with Me in Paradise. '  As if in an echo chamber the words vibrated right through his being, over and over until eventually he felt himself slowly emerging from this strange experience as if coming out of anaesthetic in an operating theatre.  ' Whoosh... ' .  There was a blast of cold air against his ear drums as reality returned in time for him to hear himself speaking the last word of the sentence about wanting to be the most famous thief that ever lived.

Fully aware of what had happened Mark knew that there was no hope of explaining his experience to his friends.  How could he possibly have had that experience when no actual time had passed.  Even if he thought they would believe him, there was a strange feeling of reluctance to say anything of his experience to them, almost as if it was too precious to share with anyone.  Yet he knew now what it was all about.  His amazing spiritual slide show had portrayed images of what mankind had turned into, and it was aggressive and warlike.  He had been taken right back to what had been originally intended for man, love and harmony with God,  as shown in that beautiful garden. Then he had been shown that he had a choice in this world.  There had been two criminals crucified with Christ, but Mark had only been put in the position of the one who trusted, and asked to be brought into God's kingdom.  He had been shown which choice to make, and it was the positive one in every circumstance that grew from love, trust and hope, not the negative that sprouted from greed, envy and hatred.  His friends' laughter at what he had said filled the air and gave him time to compose himself, and then he was able to withdraw into listening mode as they continued their negative conversations along to the cafe.  Something had changed inside Mark, a new, or maybe a reviving of an old, attitude.  By the time they got to the cafe he was in a completely different frame of mind.  Instead of the usual doom and gloom conversation, new ideas and encouraging thoughts of work prospects caused him to speak positively about his situation, and by the time they left the cafe Mark's candle of encouragement had become a beacon of hope and determination in the little group.  They had spent this evening in the cafe discussing, not the situation itself, but what they could do about it, and it had all been dur to one person's unforgettable experience of love and hope.
 

' Goodnight mum ' Mark shouted as he mounted the stairs to his bedroom.  How strange his experience just a few hours ago in this room, when he had been shown that being born rich also had its griefs.  The anguish of losing his mother had been so real...... .  He had so much to be thankful for.  Even with all the diffeculties in his life at the moment, he still would not rather be in anyone else's shoes.  As he started to undress, he noticed the newspaper in the little bin in the corner of the room.  It was the newspaper that the old man had wrapped his shoes in.  Something stood out to him as he focused on it.  He went over and picked it out of the bin.  ' Wanted, ' He read ' young person to train alongside handyman in care home for the elderly.  Good pay and a chance to go further in social services in the future '.  Mark decided he would ring the number given the following Monday, and yes, he would accompany his mother to the local Pentecostal church this Sunday.  She had gone there for as long as he could remember, and he knew deep down that her faith had helped her through the hard times in her life.  He had stopped going with her to the church about two years ago, but he now realized that his attitude to life had changed during those two years.  He had allowed weeds of negativity and cynicism to choke optimism and joy in his life.  Thengs needed to change.  Then he settled down in his bed with a great feeling of well being as he thought about his incredible day.