Praying to the dark

There are times in life when we all have problems, or worries, on our minds. When things go wrong and we pray to God that He may listen to us and help us in our hour of need.

Often, after we have prayed, we feel that a burden has been taken off our shoulders; we feel all right again. And all is well!

But let's be honest with ourselves. Do we really always believe that God will listen to our prayers and that He will respond. Or is there a harbouring doubt in our mind that perhaps He is not listening. Or He will not respond. Or worse still ... maybe He does not exist at all. And maybe we are talking to a void. Praying to the dark. Talking to ourselves.

Let us for a moment assume that God does exist. Let us assume that He is an Almighty Creator God who loves us and cares for us.

How do you think He feels about our attitude? About our weak faith and trust in Him?

When we pray for something and then doubt whether He will respond or not? Whether He is actually listening or not? And when we take back the problem to ourselves, and try to sort it out ourselves, having prayed and handed it over to Him?

How do you think He feels about that? What does He think about our faith and our lack of trust?

Now there are those of course who do not believe in God at all. Well for them, life is easy isn't it? Because when things go wrong they don't pray to anybody, because they do not believe there is anybody to pray to. So they take the rough with the smooth and everything is OK!

Or is it ... I wonder. Do they also, in their darkest hour, go around searching for a God they don't believe in?

But ... we Christians believe in God. We believe that He loves us and that He cares for us. So let us at least give Him the courtesy to trust Him fully when we hand over a problem or a worry to Him.

Let us trust Him enough to do what is best for us and thank Him in advance for whatever decision and action He takes on our behalf.

At Peter's Gate

Saint Peter sat at his computer, cleaned his spectacles, scratched his beard, tapped on the keyboard and shouted "NEXT!"

A diminutive little man came in trembling in hesitation and carrying his copy of the Catechism.

"Oh not another Catholic are you?" said the Saint frowning at him.

"Yes Sir ... your Sainthood ..." mumbled the little man.

"I thought so as soon as I saw your Catechism," continued Saint Peter, "yet another Catholic trying to get in here."

"Is there a quota, Sir?" asked the man fearing the worst.

"No, of course not!" replied the Saint raising his voice a little, "there is no quota as such. Everyone enters Heaven on his merit. But Catholics can be ... ehm ... let me explain. Sit down over there for a minute.

"Now tell me. What do you understand about Vatican II?"

The man felt his throat and mouth go dry simultaneously. He tried to talk but no words would come out. He gulped once or twice and then said, "I have been married for over 25 years and I still don't understand my wife. How can I understand Vatican II?"

The Saint smiled, "precisely!" he cried, "precisely!"

"You see ..." he continued, "down there on earth there are many Catholics still arguing about Vatican II. What it meant and what it did.

"Jesus and I look down on them and smile at all their debates. They argue about which Form of Mass is better and more valid. Whether the priest should face the altar or the congregation. Whether it is OK to sing in Latin, or have guitars in church or female altar servers!

"Phooey ... that's what I say ... Phooey.

"Our Lord, my Master, said it plainly enough. Not everyone who calls me Lord, Lord will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but only those who do what my Father in Heaven wants them to do.

"In other words people should love God with all their might and love one another as Jesus loved them. His sacrifice on the Cross was not a prelude to endless debates amongst His followers about the technicalities of religion.

"Forgiveness ... action ... compassion and love. That's what God wants of people. Not sanctimonious Pharisees debating the finer points of religion." 

The Saint scratched his beard again.

"Don't misunderstand me ... many of these eternal debaters are good at heart really. They do good in life and many find a welcome in Heaven. But oh ... their endless display of knowledge makes me reach out for the headache tablets!"

The small man smiled feebly and said nothing, grateful that he never had the intellect to understand let alone debate the many intricacies of religion.

Saint Peter tapped at the computer keyboard and stared at the monitor for a while.

"I read here that you've been a good man ... trying your best as you got on in life," he said finally, 

"Your wife has been quite a handful I see. I understand now your earlier comment about not understanding her ways," he chuckled.

"She misses you ... you know. She means well and she appreciates you more now that you're gone."

The man wiped his eye with the back of his sleeve.

"Yep ... all is in order," declared the Saint, "you can come in. But take my advice. Always carry with you a tin of sardines in your pocket. Some Catholics in here still insist on eating fish on Fridays.They keep asking me if I have a haddock. I tell them that their constant chatter gives me a haddock. That's why I carry these haddock pills with me all the time. Anyway ... I gave up fishing long ago."

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Visiting A Health Club

THIS IS A TRUE STORY

Years ago when I was a reporter for a radio station I was sent to a new Health Club which had just opened in an old country manor out in the countryside.

I took with me a young reporter trainee who had just started at the station.

We were met by the owner of the club who was most eager for the free publicity. He told us how members of this prestigious establishment could enjoy meditation session, spa and massage facilities, yoga lessons and various other programs to ensure one's good health and mental contentment.

I must admit, I had only tried yoga once before and had resolved not to practice it ever again. The intention was that by getting into all the different positions one would learn to relax and become more supple in body and mind. Rather than become more supple I discovered that my legs and arms became entangled and I was more disjointed than ever before. The only thing I had learnt from that yoga session was how to hold on to a fart for a long period of time.

Anyway, after the obligatory talk by the owner of this Health Club about the importance of being healthy and eating well we were invited to participate in a session which had just started in the Grand Hall of this ancient and prestigious manor.

We left our tape recorders and other gear and entered the Hall to discover that I was the only male there. My trainee looked at me and the smirk on her face said it all.

We were asked to join the group of “Club Members” right at the back so as not to disturb the session. There were about 30 or so women standing on tiptoe with arms stretched above their heads and listening intently to their instructor up front.

My colleague and I stood at the back and copied the same position as best as I could. I was never good at standing on tiptoe because of my big feet. Whenever I stand on my toes my head hits the ceiling!

Our instructor then said, “Relax … arms by your side for a minute or so … now assume the plough position!”

I was suddenly faced with a dozen female bottoms pointing upwards as everyone in front of me lay down on the floor lifting their legs forward and over their heads whilst arching their back as best they could.

This was more than a hot-blooded young male could handle! I was really uncomfortable; I tell you.

Why is it that women who go to these gym classes have to wear those skimpy leotards made of almost transparent material?

I tried unsuccessfully to copy the plough position much to the amusement of my colleague beside me. She bent forward and collapsed in a heap on the floor in a fit of stifled laughter.

The problem with laughter is that the more you try to stifle it the more it takes control of you and the more contagious it becomes. I tried hard not to laugh as I lay on my back and stretched my legs up in the air in a V sign formation rather than held tightly together. Because of my large stomach my legs decided for themselves to go one on either side of me no matter how much I tried to keep them together. 

The instructor then asked us all to sit on the ground cross-legged with our hands resting gently by our sides.

This is easy to do if you are slim and svelte like all the ladies in that room, including my colleague. But it is impossible in my case.

My legs just would not get crossed with each other or remain crossed. The more I tried the more I failed as I wobbled from side to side like an over inflated balloon. My failed attempts were yet another source of hilarity to my colleague as I could see from her shaking breasts that she was stifling an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. The more she looked at me the more she shook like a jelly trying not to disrupt the class.

Our leader asked us to close our eyes and hum, “Ommmmmm” continuously.

Apparently this helps you relax better, or in my case forget the pain in my abdomen as a result of sitting in this unnatural position. Why not let us hum whilst lying down on an easy chair with a nice cool Guinness in hand?

As I hummed quietly I noticed an echo from somewhere. My stomach was gurgling in tune to my uncomfortableness. As I wobbled from left to right the echo from within accompanied my every movement which led to my friend giggling a little louder.

“That’s right …” said the instructor, hearing the noise from the back, “breathe in deeply as you hum!”

My friend giggled even more to the rhythmic rumblings of my insides. I have never been pregnant, my friends, but I assure you I could feel the movements of my little baby within as I wobbled to and fro.

Our next instruction, for reasons far beyond my understanding, was to lie flat facing downwards on the ground with our legs wide open – a sort of Y shape if you could imagine that.

As I lay facing down I could see from the corner of my eye that my friend’s giggles had turned into uncontrolled laughter.

“Stop it!” I whispered sideways.

“I can’t,” she said, “your nose pointing down looks like a woodpecker trying to drill a hole into the parquet floor!”

Now that’s not a nice thing to say is it? So personal too.

A few more exercises later and the ordeal was finally over. I can assure you I’ve never been to a Health Club since.

Our house ... our neighbourhood ...

My neighbour Harry has had 38 concussions in a matter of a week or so. He only lives a stone's throw away.

He is normally a well balanced man. He has a chip on each shoulder.

He often complains that his bad luck in life is due to his continuous bad health. He is such a hypochondriac that he has bought his burial plot next to a doctor's.

He used to work for the police force. His job was to trace in chalk on the ground around a body when it is found in unexplained circumstances. He was fired from the job when one day he traced round a body 25 times. He did not realise the victim was still alive and moving!

He used to jog daily to keep fit. He ran at least four miles a day. By the end of the week he'd reach the next town.

His wife on the other hand is ... very tall with long black hair going down her back. None on her head, just down her back.

She is so frightening that every time my cat sees her he loses one of his nine lives. So frightening in fact that she looks like a scarecrow. The birds have returned all the seeds they took the previous year.

The poor woman had botox surgery on her face. When they told her how much it cost she was not at all surprised.

She used to work as a typist and met a lot of interesting characters. For lunch she used to have alphabet soup.

Her great uncle died suddenly and they did not have time to say goodbye. He collapsed onto a bowl of Cheerios

Harry and her had a young son who left home to be a mime artist. They haven't heard from him since.

When their daughter announced that she was pregnant they asked her "Are you sure it's yours?"

The other night my neighbour Harry phoned me at three in the morning. Can you imagine that? At three in the morning! Luckily I was up practicing on my bagpipes.

In conversation, he complained that our dog is out in the garden barking. The following night I rang him at three in the morning and told him it was not our dog!

A few weeks back Harry complained that he was allergic to his cat's fur. So he gave him away to a friend and got himself another cat.

He went to the doctor to check on his allergy. As soon as he got in the doctor's office he asked him to lie down on the couch. Harry asked why and the doctor said he wanted to vacuum clean just where he was standing.

To test for allergy the doctor put various liquids on Harry's arm and wrote next to them what they were derived from - like house dust, animal fur and so on, to see which liquid would cause a reaction with the skin. Turned out Harry was allergic to the ink in the pen the doctor used.

When they discovered what he was allergic of, Harry had relief written all over him. His kids did it with the same pen the doctor used.

To celebrate he bought a dog, which appears to be just as stupid as you can get. To relieve himself he lifts his front leg and wonders why he is getting wet.

It's a breed I'd never heard of before. He is a pointer. He stands there and points "This is a house. A car. A bicycle ..." and so on.

And that's life in our hood.

Paperwork ... and more paperwork.

It was cold, grey and raining outside. It was so miserable that it would make a happy person miserable, and a miserable one more miserable.

I was indoors in my office. Heating full on. And miserable. Because I had a pile of paperwork to do. Tax returns to prepare. Invoices to sort out, pay and file. Letters to reply to or accidentally on purpose put into the shredder. Final reminders reminding me once more that they are final reminders. Written in red, in bold, underlined and in CAPITAL letters.

As I sat there, busily counting my paper clips, an Angel of the Lord appeared. He tapped me on the shoulder. I fell off my chair in fright. He helped me up and asked me to follow him.

I was soon in front of St Peter. He was in his office too. He had a hundred times more paperwork than me. And great tomes of books everywhere. He struggled to lift one of them off its shelf and onto his desk. I tried to help him.

He smiled and said the other day one of these tomes fell off the shelf and knocked him unconscious for a day. They found him asleep on page 376.

He sat at his desk and asked me for my Form PAX 1.

"What's that?" I asked unknowingly.

"It's your entry Form," he replied gently, "it is like a boarding pass on a plane or ship. Have you got one?"

"No ... I haven't," I gulped.

"Oh dear ..." he frowned, "no PAX 1, no entry to Heaven!"

"Does that mean I go down?" I asked gulping emptiness in my throat.

"Oh no ..." he smiled, "no soul goes to hell by mistake. Every soul is saved and is due to come here eventually. Those that go to the other place are not lost, but misplaced. Their owners have chosen to misplace their PAX 1 Forms deliberately. They knew what they were doing and chose to throw away their PAX all the same. Peace is a gift to everyone. Some choose not to want it. Is that what you did?"

"Of course not," I raised my voice a little, "I was never given a PAX by anyone."

"I think you'll find that you have. You obviously mislaid it. Close your eyes and search deeply into your past, search into your heart. Have you got any PAX there and forgot all about it because you have not used it for a long while?"

I closed my eyes for a while ... then opened them and the paper clips were still there all over my desk.

Peace be with you.

Stupid Street Names

I hate it when Local Authorities name streets the most stupid of names you can't remember; or name a whole area with the same theme. Let me explain. There's an area in our town where all the streets are named after birds - Robin Road, Eagle Street, Pigeon Crescent, Dove Street etc ... fairly easy to remember, I think.

There is also another area where all the streets are named after trees, for some reason or other.

Anyway, I was out there the other day walking the dog when I met an old friend. We stopped and chatted for a while. Suddenly he grasped his chest and fell to the ground. I quickly phoned for an ambulance on my cell-phone.

The operator asked me: "Where are you?"

I replied: "Laburnum Avenue."

She said: "Can you spell it so I can enter it on my computer?"

How could I spell laburnum? I don't carry a dictionary in my pocket. And there was nowhere a street sign I could read it from. I repeated again and again "Laburnum Avenue ... Lab ur num ... I think ... Laburnum ..." but this did not help.

In desperation, I grabbed my friend by his jacket, dragged him all the way down the street, he was heavy I tell you, and phoned again the woman and said: "I am in Oak Street. O-A-K ... Oak Street."

The man died by the time the ambulance arrived.

Now the Authorities want to know whether he died in Laburnum Avenue or Oak Street.

I told them he died on the sidewalk. But this is not good enough apparently.

What do you think?

What pets (and others) see ...

I had a strange experience the other day ... I would like to hear your views on the matter.

I was taking the dog out for a walk. I met my friend Phil who was taking his goldfish for a walk. Yes, his goldfish. He places the goldfish bowl in a baby pram and walks round the park to give the fish a change of scenery.

I suppose it’s not as strange as me taking the dog for a walk. My dog is so lazy that he now stands on a skateboard and I have to pull him behind me with a rope. Every so often he gets off the skateboard, sniffs the aroma around a tree or lamp post, and leaves his calling card before mounting the skateboard again.

Anyway, Phil and I got talking and he asked me the oddest question ever.

“Do you ever undress in front of your pets?”

What?

I must admit, I had never considered the question before; but Phil said that he noticed recently his goldfish acting most strangely and it became very agitated whenever he undressed.

I explained that looking through the goldfish bowl everything his fish sees must be out of proportion and look bigger than it really is.

Phil did not understand what I meant.

(At this point my mind was doing somersaults, as I suspect yours is doing right now!)

Phil thought about it for a while and then said, “You know … pets may be a different species to us humans but they still think, I guess. Fish, dogs, cats, hamsters and the like … when they see you naked, with nothing on, they probably wonder what is going on! They think you've shed your skin or something like that! They normally see you clothed and they assume that's normal, and then you're naked with all your bits hanging out and it could traumatise them, you know!”

I thought about this for a moment and I was about to say something when Phil continued:

“Now whenever we take the goldfish bowl upstairs in the bedroom we cover it with a towel before we undress so as not to traumatise him!”

“You take the goldfish to the bedroom with you?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes of course, he is part of the family you know. We don’t just leave him downstairs in the TV room. But you haven’t answered my question. Do you undress in front of your dog?” he asked.

I looked at my dog enjoying another tree and said nothing.

Phil did not let the subject drop. He continued, "I read somewhere that the souls of our dearly departed, when they're in Heaven, they can see us and what we do. What do you think of that when you're in the shower?"

I really don't know what to think.

What do you think? Do you undress in front of your pets?

A Impromptu Séance

Something really unusual happened to me the other day. It was totally involuntary and I did not know it was going to happen.

I was visiting friends at a party and as we were all enjoying a chat and a few drinks and something to eat, the hostess suggested that we all sit down because she had a special surprise for us all. Apparently she had invited a clairvoyant that evening, who incidentally arrived a little late due to unforeseen circumstances. But that aside, we were asked to sit down and the clairvoyant woman, who wore glasses by the way to see more clearly, took the stage and started talking.

There was no question of sitting in a circle, holding hands with all lights out or anything like that. No this séance was different. We all sat there in cinema style and she started talking.

The clairvoyant woman said she was a medium; although she looked to be extra large to me. She droned on a bit about her ability at being a clairvoyant. If I could yawn with my mouth shut she would not have noticed that I was bored. I stifled a yawn and my eardrums popped out to exclude her words trying to come in.

She explained that a séance is in fact contacting the dead; a gift she had ever since her pet goldfish died because he could not swim underwater. That and the fact that she had dropped her electric hair dryer whilst plugged in into the fish tank. There was this massive spark and she saw the light ... then everything went dark when the power in the house cut off. When the electrician fixed the power cut she saw her goldfish floating on the surface of the water; fried but not battered.

She then told us she was going into a trance. Because of her accent I thought she said she was going to dance; which is rather an unusual way to conduct a séance I suppose.The man sitting beside me misheard her too and asked me if she was going to France. I told him that if she jumped into the Paris river she'd be in Seine!

She closed her eyes, (what's the use of the glasses, I thought), and swayed from left to right a little as she stood there. She then said,

"I am getting a message from the other side ..."

There were a few murmurs around the room.

"I can see him clearly ..." she continued, "he died only two weeks ago but he wants someone here to know that he is very happy. I can see him waggling his extremity and sniffing someone's privates!"

At this the whole room spontaneously and in unison went "Aaahhh !" in disbelief at what she had just said. But she continued unperturbed, "Rest assured, whoever you are, that your little dog is very happy in dog's heaven!

"Does anyone here have a dog, or had a dog, which died recently?"

A woman raised her hand and started sniffing a tear or two in her handkerchief. Her dog had just died and she was relieved that he was now OK and happy with his new lady doggie friend.

The clairvoyant then went on to relate how the dead dog was grateful for the happy life he had enjoyed with his owner when alive. How he liked to go for walks and loved the food which she served him every day. Such a pity though that she had neutered him now that he has found a girl-friend dog.

It was all general type of commentary which you would attribute to any dog regardless of who owned it; but this lady whilst weeping silently was so relieved to hear of the well-being of her dear departed pooch.

As the evening wore on, it transpired that this lady excelled at contacting dead animals from the other side. I was quite impressed, especially considering I have great difficulty communicating with my dog and cat who are alive and well; and here we have someone who can communicate with those who are as stiff as a wooden board.

The thought passed my mind, when I say to my dog, "Go to bed!" he looks at me with a stupid face as if to ask, "Who is Ted?" How could he possibly communicate with this fraud of a woman if he were dead?

Her next message from the beyond was, believe it or not, from a cow. She said that although her body was dead and had been enjoyed by many a Sunday roast, her spirit roamed freely in a beautiful meadow sun-bathed by a warm and cloudless sky.

Unsurprisingly, no one in the room owned up to having had a cow; perhaps there were no farmers there. The clairvoyant explained that sometimes she got messages even if there was no one in the audience for whom it was meant. A crossed telephone line, maybe!

She then moved to more familiar territory and said she received a message from a parrot. She could not make out what the message was, but it was a little repetitive!

She then mentioned a dearly departed goldfish. The message was that it was not having an epileptic fit but that it was out of water at the moment and gasping for breath because a sea gull had just picked him up from the river where it was swimming. The clairvoyant then stopped as she noticed one of the guests getting distressed; presumably the owner of the dead fish. The clairvoyant continued,

"Aha ... good news. The sea gull realised that she is in animal heaven so she dropped the goldfish back in the river."

Everybody applauded in delight, whilst I downed yet another whisky. I prefer my spirits to come in bottles and not speak to me through a mentally deranged woman.

Silly Questions Party Game

I don't like parties. I don't like having to be nice to people at parties. In fact I don't like people altogether. I'd rather be alone with a glass of Guinness and something good on TV.

We went to this party. Some friends of ours got a new house and it was their house-warming party.

The hostess insisted we play games. First she started us with communal singing whilst she played the piano. Then charades. Then a new game which she had invented.

She had a pack of cards which she had made. On each card was a question which we had to answer and then discuss.

Stupid questions like do you put on your left or your right sock first? Do you prefer to shower or bath?

Being a mischievous person her questions were a touch too personal for my liking. You know me, I'll answer any question you ask me in the comments box, but some of the questions in her game were too personal.

For instance, what is the last thing you do before going to sleep at night?

Some people said they brush their teeth. Some said they put on their face cream and moisturising cream. Some were more uninhibited and described how they said good night to their partners affectionately.

I mean ... there is a limit to what one should say in mixed company, surely?

For the record, last thing I do before going to sleep is to check the park is empty. I would hate it if there's someone in a nearby bench sleeping there and he could steal my shoes whilst I'm asleep.

I then close my eyes and reflect on why I got thrown out of my home again.

What is the last thing you do before going to sleep?

A Labra Poodle

A friend of ours asked if we could look after their dog whilst they go away for the weekend.

Now if it was up to me, seeing I’m always kind and ready to oblige, I would instantly have said “No!”

The reason being that if anything is likely to go wrong it surely will; and more often than not it will affect me.

But I was not asked and the dog duly arrived last weekend. It’s a white Labradoodle. They tell me it’s a cross between a Labrador and a poodle but I’m not sure which parent was more cross when this creature entered the world. It looks more like a big sheep with fluffy white fur everywhere including its legs. A low lying cloud more like!

And it’s called … wait for it … “Koocheekoo”.

Note the spelling. The owners insist on it. Apparently it’s registered in some kennel or other by that name and they can trace its lineage further than I can trace my family tree.

It’s pronounced “Koo … chee … koo …” You must leave a little space in-between the three syllables and change the intonation in your voice as you call his name.

Anyway … I was made to volunteer to take this ball of fluff out for a walk. As soon as we got out in the street he started bouncing and galloping as if he was fitted with springs on its legs. I tugged gently at its lead and got him close to me so he couldn’t bounce all over the place as a helium balloon.

We walked up our street and then we stopped on the edge of the sidewalk to cross the road. He stood on his back legs and tried to lick my face. I gently got him down again and waited for a gap in the traffic so we could cross.

As I looked left and right for enough space in the traffic to cross the road the stupid creature lifted his back leg and did his business on my leg.

Now why did he do that? I mean … I know I was wearing my brown corduroy trousers and a green jacket at the time. But that is no reason to mistake me for a tree.

I also had my large cowboy-type hat with the big feather on at the time. Surely that should have alerted the dim-witted dog that I was not a tree inviting him to leave his territory marking deposit.

I lifted my right leg, almost as a reflex action to see the damage done to my corduroy when, at that very instant, the dog noticed a cat some distance away and made a run for it. He caught me off-guard and off-balance … I dropped flat sideways like a felled tree. I’m sure I heard someone shout “Timber!”

I held on tight to the lead whilst the dog was pulling hard, standing on its hind legs, and barking its head off to attract the attention of every passer-by.

It was at that point, whilst lying flat on the ground, that I noticed that my nose was only inches away from another solid deposit left there by another dog.

I got up hurriedly and put my hat on. I calmed the dog down, cleaned myself a little … I’ll never wear those brown corduroys and green jacket again … and we made our way to the park.

At the park the dog bounced like a balloon at the end of the lead and barked at everything in sight. It was friendly barking … more to say “Hi … look at me … am I not beautiful?” and it had the effect of attracting several sideways glances and smiles as if to say “What is an idiot like him doing with a dog like that?”

And then disaster happened.

Somehow the tiny collar round the dog’s neck broke and the animal ran away at speed.

I stood there for a second or two totally frozen as he fled at the speed of light.

Then, more as a moral duty, or because it is the stupid thing to do, I ran feebly after him with no hope on earth of ever catching him and shouting at the top of my voice “Koo … chee … koo … … Koo … chee … koo …”

It must have been quite a sight.

A man in brown trousers and green jacket, with a feathered large hat, prancing about in the park shouting “Koocheekoo!”

I don’t know what people must have thought, but I noticed parents hurriedly packing up their picnics, gathering their children, calling their dogs and rushing to their cars. An old lady walking her small dog waved her umbrella at me menacingly to defend herself. A group of young men playing football all stopped to watch whilst their coach blew his whistle loudly and shouted “Play on! Play on!”

I eventually reached the large pond in the middle of the park totally out of breath and mentally calling the dog every expletive and unrepeatable name I could think of except Koocheekoo.

To my horror the crazy animal was swimming in the middle of the pond and upsetting the ducks, swans and other wildlife.

His immaculate white fluffy coat had turned into a soggy dirty black mess as he yapped happily at the water fowl around him

Two young men in their early twenties saw my dilemma and offered to get him. They stood by the edge of the pond and whistled at the dog throwing bread on the water they had brought with them to feed the ducks.

The dog swam towards them then seeing me he got out of the pond and ran at me standing on its hind legs to lick my face.

My lovely green jacket was covered in mud, and then, as if this was not enough, the dog stood there and shook himself violently to spray me from head to toe with dirty water off its coat.

The two men managed to use the lead I was holding to tie the dog again and then, slowly and fumingly, I walked him back home.

Should we ever meet, dear readers, please do me the great favor of never uttering the word “Koocheekoo” as it stirs in me several memories of suppressed anger and dread.

When dark clouds gather ...

Let's face it folks, we all have bad hairdo days every now and then. Days when everything seems to go wrong. Days when we are feeling down yet we do not know what it is that makes us feel miserable. On the face of it, everything appears to be OK; yet we feel unhappy, depressed, and all we can see is the negatives in life.

When this happens to me I just leave home and book into a hotel.

I go to my room, and sit there, all alone, quietly, and consider the reason for my unhappiness. I try to analyse why I feel so low and depressed. Then ... as it gets dark outside as well as within my soul ...

... I phone room service.

The people at room service are different from my family and friends. They have to listen to my whining and moaning. They don't neglect me with a smile and a good word of pretend sympathy. They don't put the phone down pretending there's someone at the door ... in the middle of the night.

The people at room service have to listen to me. It is their job to listen to me. They listen to my complaints about life in general. My boring job. My demanding family. The fact that the country's GDP, that's Gross Domestic Product, if you don't know ... The fact that the GDP has gone down and that inflation is on the rise as is unemployment.

Those room service people at the hotel are kind. They listen. They never hang up or pretend they are busy. And if I happen to cry and sob on the phone they come up to my room with tea and biscuits.

I like their chocolate cookies. They are different from the ones we have at home. And they say it is free ... part of the service, they say.

They listen to my problems and eventually they tuck me into bed as I fall asleep.

Over the years, I have been to the same hotel for their room service several times.

Better than going to Confession. Our priest is not always available, and when I speak to him I get the impression his mind is on the next Bingo session in the church hall.

How do you chase away the blues when you're feeling down?

Understanding God with human logic

Let us consider logically how man came to believe in God.

From the earliest of times, it seems, when man first started to think about life and the world around him, he has found a need to look up to something, (or Someone), more powerful than himself. A supreme almighty power that he could turn to at times of need and to worship. It is as if there's an inherent need in mankind to submit oneself, or one's destiny, to someone else far superior.

Early man worshipped fire. Some worshipped the sun, or the moon, or volcanoes or whatever else was seen as superior and more powerful than them. Something they believed controlled their destiny. Offerings were made to such gods to appease their anger or in return for favours sought.

Many ancient civilisations worshipped statues which they had made for themselves from valuable metals and jewels. The ancient Romans, the Greeks and the Egyptians had many gods which they believed provided for them and protected them throughout life and beyond.

So it is logical to assume that humanity has always searched for a superior power to believe in and to worship as being in control of their lives and their eventual future.

In the Old Testament we read that there was a departure from worshipping idols or similar gods. Some writers of the time wrote about a different God to believe in and to worship. They wrote about a living God. An all powerful and almighty Being who created us all, and created the whole universe and what is in it .

It is logical to ask what inspired such beliefs and writings? Was this living God the product of fertile imaginations, (for more than one writer wrote such things), or was it inspired perhaps by this living God they believed in?

As the early Old Testament writers wrote about this true living almighty all powerful God; this belief grew amongst the Jews who mostly accepted it as part of their religion. This living God became known as the God of Abraham, the God of Moses, the God of their Kings. He was the God who spoke to the  prophets, the God who guided their nation throughout its long history. The God who got them out of Egypt and who gave them the law on how they should live and conduct themselves; the laws that became known as the Commandments of God.

This belief in one living God gained credence amongst the Jewish people for generations, and existed, side-by-side, with other beliefs such as those of the Romans, Greeks and the Egyptians. This was the norm for a long time.

Years later, a young baby appeared on the scene. He was no ordinary baby. Many stories about His birth and His very existence had been written about all those years ago by those prophets and writers of the Old Testament as we know it.

Gradually, people began to notice striking similarities between what had been predicted about this child and what was actually happening in His life. Things that He had no personal control over. Like His birth of a virgin, the place of His birth, the fact that a star would appear in the sky at the time of His birth, His lineage, the fact that He would flee to Egypt and so on.

There are in fact more than 300 prophecies about Jesus in the Old Testament specific enough that the mathematical probability of Jesus fulfilling even a handful of them, let alone all of them, is staggeringly improbable—if not impossible.

How did the many writers of these prophesies know what to write and what to predict so accurately? Was it just circumstantial guess-work or was it Divinely inspired? I leave the answer to your logical thinking.

As this baby grew up, it became apparent that He was no ordinary person like the rest of society. Somehow, He seemed more learned, although there is no evidence that He was a great scholar or attended places of learning and education. He spoke and taught with authority. Even at the age of twelve he discussed with confidence with religious elders with a degree of intelligence far superior than His age would suggest.

As He grew up He spoke with conviction. He lived a life different from that of others, on a higher moral level than the rest of society. He preached about universal love and forgiveness - concepts that were most probably alien to such people living under a foreign power occupying their land.

He performed miracles that astounded all those who witnessed them. He had supernatural powers of healing; even raising people from the dead.

He taught about a living almighty Creator God in Heaven. He even claimed often to be His Son.

This not only confused His listeners but antagonised and angered the established religion of the land who saw Him as a threat to their authority and power.

It is logical, therefore, that He was on a collision course with the established Jewish religion and He made enemies of its leaders wherever He went and by whatever He said and taught. Specifically, by His persistent claim that He was in fact the Son of this living God He speaks of.

No doubt, many of His listeners were confused by what this man, known as Jesus, said and did. As happens in such situations they took sides. Some felt comfortable following their established Jewish beliefs and be led by their elders; whilst others ventured, in blind faith perhaps, to follow this Man who claimed He was the Son of God.

As time went by, this small band of people got to associate this Jesus as being the Son of God. They had seen His many works and listen to His teachings and came to accept that He was Whom He said He was. In their minds, it was logical that the one living God had a Son and this Man was Him. To them, they could not think of God and not think of His Son Jesus, whom they had met and lived with for a number of years.

Eventually, the enmity against Jesus came to fruition and He was cruelly put to death. An act seen and witnessed by many.

Throughout His trial and cruel Crucifixion He maintained that He was the Son of God.

It is logical to assume therefore that He was either mad, insane; or that He was a liar, or that He was actually Who He said He was.

There is no evidence from His life and His behaviour throughout that He was not of right mind. In fact the opposite is true as witnessed by His teachings and His many miracles.

To say He was a liar is also a difficult proposition to consider. Would a liar submit to the torture He endured, and His cruel death, knowing full well it is not true? Would you?

This leaves the logical conclusion that He was Whom He claimed to be - the Son of God.

However, this was not the end of it. Three days after His death this same Jesus was seen alive again. There had been no doubt as to His death; and now, yet again, there is no doubt whatsoever about His coming back to life again. He was seen and spoken to by many people over a period of time.

Furthermore, His followers even witnessed Him being lifted up into Heaven and away from their eyes.

Unsurprisingly, and as expected, they were confused, worried, frightened even at what they had witnessed. This Jesus whom they had known and saw risen from the dead had now been taken away from them. Raised to Heaven.

As His followers hid in houses for their safety, suddenly, one day they were visited by a powerful unexplained supernatural force Whom they recognised as the Holy Spirit. The very Holy Spirit of the living God, had descended on them, as promised by Jesus.

They experienced this event in all its reality. It was not something they had read about in a scroll, or something prophesied by their elders. This to them was for real. It actually happened. And the result of this event was all too apparent. It gave them the courage, confidence and power to go out and tell everyone what had just happened. To tell it in every language possible even though they could not speak those languages previously.

And they went on telling their truth, their actual experience to everyone in many lands. It was the logical thing to do. Just as it would be logical for any of us to go out and tell everyone if something so great, so awesome, and so on the face of it unbelievable, had happened to us.

They went out and told the world. Even risking their very safety and their lives. Many died for that belief; and yet they held on to it to the last proving its truthfulness.

Again, the logical thing to do. Would you be willing to suffer persecution and death for something you knew was a lie?

And that is how the original belief in a living God, the belief in His Son Jesus Who was seen here on earth, and the belief in the Holy Spirit of God Who descended on His followers flourished over the years under the watchful protection of this living Deity.

It is logical, therefore, that each one of us, individually, have to make a choice.

To believe ... or not.