The longest journey

My iPhone is over 2 years old and its battery was enfeebled by age. Looking at new contracts to upgrade to the very desirable iPhone 4 made my eyes water a bit, so I decided to attempt to replace the battery with a new one.
The ifixit site has exceedingly well-illustrated manuals for free and a UK-based supplier sent a battery for a modest £9.99.  A couple of spudgers swelled the total by a couple of quid and the whole kit arrived in the mail, albeit delayed by the snows.
This evening, with great trepidation, I began the journey from the outside of the enfeebled iPhone to its heart, finding the instructions very easy to see, but the tiny screws far less easy - 2.3 millimetre philips 000. After an hour, pride filled by breast as I snapped the case back together and put in the two remaining screws. Nothing missing, nothing left over.
Then amazement as the phone booted up and worked fine. Amazement because there were two possibilities at one juncture - lift a plastic lock or slide out a delicate cable. I thought the former, but it was the latter. My plastic spudger damaged the cable "socket", one of the smallest connectors I've ever seen. But the cable did slide back in. This far there is no consequence to that damaged socket - thank the Lord!
This journey called for millimetres only to measure its length, but joy is full that my iPhone lives, hopefully for a couple of years before the eye-watering upgrade.

Plans, what plans?

My oldest and youngest sons and I planned to have a day's walking last Sunday, one travelling down from London to Amberley, the other already headed for his in-laws' home in Coldwaltham for the weekend.
Then came the snow, then the rain, turning our proposed route down the Arun Valley into a champion bog-snorkelling venue. So, the walk was off.
Instead eldest son arrived as planned and we came home to Worthing for a leisurely lunch and a walk along the promenade. That, at least, was paved and flat and non-hazardous.
His wife was due down late afternoon so she, youngest's wife and mine could join us for an evening meal in Houghton. The Bridge Inn there is a small, welcoming, warm, family-run pub serving great food. Except, the train she caught was abruptly terminated at Three Bridges due to a lack of a driver. The next train was an hour later. Instead she got to Haywards Heath, as the three of us already in Worthing did, by car. Then pell mell to Houghton to await youngest and his wife.
What a great meal! Lots of laughter, amazing solutions to most of the world's problems, until the two London-based couples took the mid-evening train back to Victoria together.
So, all plans seemed to be modified as the day went on, but the desired outcome was fully achieved - a family meal.

Ain't Going Nowhere, No How, No Way

Snow, December, Worthing, south coast of England, a little enclave sheltered from the harsher weather on the northern side of the Downs. Except this year this town was suddenly under 10-12 inches of snow. Most came down through the night, down straight enough to form vertical edges on roofs, garden furniture and even telephone lines. Then came a night and day of rain that washed all of it away. Now the temperatures are very low and frost makes things white again.

Not a time for travelling, as many have found across the U.K. and Europe. So, no way do I travel far these days.

Backward Progress

I have an iPhone 3G. Apple offered an upgrade to their version 4 operating system and I took it. Regret followed immediately when the phone slowed down so much passing snails were smirking. Today I discovered how to downgrade to the last of the version 3 systems and speed has returned, leaving amazement among snails all over Worthing.

A step backwards brings progress. Vive IT!

Great design

My church has a new web site. There's a link to it on the right of this page. Take a look, I think it's really good.

Slow Reader

I bought Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder on 8th May, 1999. I finished reading it a few days ago in September, 2010. Like so many other books, I bought this one to read on a trip for Feba, that time as I flew out of Heathrow to Nairobi and on to Seychelles. On the way home I visited Kampala, Uganda. Well, the book then went on the shelf and stayed there on and off as I accumulated others on different trips.


This particular literary journey to the end of Sophie's World began with a visit to Francis Schaeffer's Escape from Reason in the hope of understanding how British culture has so wholeheartedly turned away from Christian faith. His brief review of the history of philosophy made me want more, so I turned to Sophie. I only wish I was as bright as this fictional young lady, just 14 years old but able to absorb with great ease and rapidity all her mysterious philosophy teacher gives her.

Marvellous App

In one of the many emails I get from helpful (sometimes) groups and lists, DropPic was mentioned as a quick way of reducing the size of a digital image for use on a web site. Even the little camera I most often carry makes a picture of about 1MB. DropPic reduces to around 20KB, much faster to load from this log, for example. DropPic is for the Mac, so Windows users will have to find another solution. (Whenever I move back into the dark side my blood pressure rises.)

Pulborough, West Sussex

Sunday afternoon, Marian had a convincing cough but wanted to get some fresh air. So, we drove over to Pulborough, stopped in the car park near the library and walked south across to Pulborough Brooks. The path crosses the River Chilt just where it joins the Arun. The whole flat plain reminds of the area between Rumney, where I lived in my teen years, and the River Severn.
The Brooks has the RSPB reserve; that afternoon there were hundreds of Canada Geese. A helicopter passed overheard, disturbed the geese who flew around making a marvellous racket before settling down again.
Now September's here, so are autumnal signs, like these berries -- possibly of the viburnum opulus -- beautiful against both green and redding leaves.

 

Anne Rice

I was kind of disappointed to read that Anne Rice has given up on formal, churchy Christianity. Her reasons are typically liberal and I don't agree with all she says, however, I do share her despair at the un-Christlike hatred she quotes as one reason. My view is that neither liberals nor "haters of sinners" have got it.

Jesus loved sinners, being accused by the religious establishment of his day of being a friend of sinners. On the other hand, Jesus did not single out any particular sin as being smaller or bigger than any other; all sin is against God and will be judged by Jesus one day. Everyone, everywhere has fallen short of the standard set by God. And that's why I can't swallow modern redefinitions of sin and morality; God decides right and wrong not me.

Churches are made up of all kinds of people in all kinds of spiritual condition, so it's no wonder that any one of us might feel it's a beneficial thing to give up on church when we have bad experiences, either of sin within the church or of judgementalism that does not reflect the gracious Saviour we claim to love.

I talked about Ephesians 3:10 to a group of folk this week and emphasised that despite its failings and our bad experiences, the church belongs to Jesus Christ and God's manifold wisdom is still revealed through the her. Giving up on God's work is too easy an option.

And that raises the question - what is the church?

The Hazards of Walking

  Walking is claimed to be the safest way of exercising, with little collateral damage to the body. Last Saturday Marian had some ladies here at home for a breakfast together and I thought it wisest to go for a long walk. Walking east along the A27 past Lambleys Lane I took a path north that climbs the hill with Sompting Church on the right, then Sompting Abbots School. 

First hazard
  The path had been blocked off at its northern end, no one had walked it for ages and stinging nettles had conquered the territory. That discovery came as I clambered through, moving nettles with my feet before every step. My thin cotton walking trousers are permeable to nettle stings.


Second hazard
  The path opens up into a large, south facing field, following what used to the dividing hedge between two. On the breast of the hill I saw numerous cattle, walking east. Fine, I thought, I will cross their path behind them. They decided to reverse direction. Fine, until they stopped, straddling my path.
  They turned out to be curious, year-old heifers and bull calves. So curious they pressed towards me until I took refuge behind a broken signpost surrounded by old wire fence. Still they pressed. Eventually I noticed a more diffident heifer and shouted until she started to move away, the rest following like a flock of - well - young heifers and bulls.

Third hazard
   The path goes due east, then turns north again over the brow of the hill. The farm has seen much investment in the past couple of years, especially on the fencing.
  In the field behind the fence was some flowering clover and buttercups, pretty enough to photograph. My camera does not have a great telephoto lends, so I crouched and leaned towards the fence, framing the picture carefully. Wham! The top wire of the fence was electrified. My forehead touched it, I sprang back after a loud sound in my head and a degree of pain. The only damage was to my camera that stored the photos in internal memory, neglecting the memory card in it.

  The rest of the walk was great and hazard free, along the valley where Marian and I have seen many deer, up to Cissbury Ring and back down alongside Worthing Golf Course.

A Great Day Out

Marian and I went to the Big Church Day Out at Wiston House on Sunday, 30th May 2010, our first time at such a big Christian music event. Last year's event was not so well organised, apparently, but this was well done - from traffic flow and parking arrangements, to food supplies, facilities for thousands of people, plus an interesting programme. 

The Goring family used to live at Wiston House; the vast estate is still farmed by them and a forbear planted trees at nearby Chanctonbury Ring, atop the South Downs - the chalk hills lying just to the south. The main stage and b-stage lay north of the house, nearly far enough to avoid interference with gentler performances near a tea tent and in Wiston Church, right next to the house.

My first stop was to hear Bosh on the b-stage. Their message was clear and the music convincing. Turn the sound off, though, and I doubt I could distinguish them from hundreds of similar guitar-waving, stage-hopping bands. Maybe that's a good thing; why should Christians stand out on the basis of just appearance? Wouldn't that be legalistic?

On the hill slope down to the main stage people settled for nearly 7 hours of music by British, American and Australian groups. "It's going to be loud," a friend warned. Not as loud as a Kings of Leon concert, it turned out, but why was the bass drum amplified to sternum-splitting levels when that part of a drummer's kit does so little for the overall sound? 

One lady took to vigorous worship in flag waving, but not as energetically as the wind keeping numerous flags at stiff atttention through the day. Others were absorbed in the worship songs, swaying, lifting up arms and faces, oblivious to wind, sky and cloud. 


For Marian and me the tea tent was important, being the age we are. But a heavily pregnant Lou Fellingham demonstrated that advanced expectancy need not inhibit good breath control when singing. Stuart Pendrel sang a lot in Italian, a language he learned to help his operatic career, his fine baritone expressive and beautiful. The Kings Chamber Orchestra played in the church after Stuart sang. What fun to hear such a varied programme in such a small space! No need for amplification at that distance. The players moved to different stations in the church for some pieces, a truly surround sound.

For me the most moving aspect was being with such a large number of Christians in one place. Sharing in worship with a crowd evokes words of heaven, thrones and innumerable multitudes in musical adoration, totally focused on God. And no amplified bass drum, I bet, or solitary policeman pondering how well the crowd behaved.
Sorry about the formatting on this post. Having a few problems with pictures.

How interesting...

I happened across this web site earlier today - Atheist Anne Rice’s Surprising Discovery - which relates to my last post about her book. I don't know much about its host site, but this article made an interesting read for me.

Called Out of Darkness

Over Christmas I read Called Out of Darkness by Anne Rice, which turned out to be a very interesting story of a famous and wealthy writer, brought up in the Roman Catholic Church, who lost her faith, yet "…after thirty-eight years as an atheist, she turned back to Christ, not in blind faith but in a profound transcendental surrender made with open eyes to an all-knowing God…" So says the dust jacket.

With so many prominent people in the U.K. who are former Catholics and now determinedly antagonistic to Christian faith, this was an unusual and moving story.

Jolly Good Chap

The more I read or see of the Archbishop of York the more I like him and his views. If you have 15 minutes read his City of Peace Lecture to Newcastle City Council on 3 February, 2010. Well worth the time.

Friday Night Buzz

Marian and I have just returned from a meal at a Spanish restaurant opposite Westminster Cathedral. The food was excellent, the young woman who served was very helpful and friendly and the place was packed with people enjoying the end of the work week. In terms of noise levels, I got a sore throat talking to my son who was sitting next to me. No way could we converse across the table. Under the din some music strove to be heard. A great evening.

St Paul's

Yes, we made it. So did hundreds of others. Little realising that the cathedral was such a popular tourist spot, we arrived at the end of a long queue to pay the entrance fee. An excellent audio guide added £4, but was worth every penny. And it is a really remarkable building. The guide gives historical background to the debates about the building and its decorations, with the Reformation much closer then than now. Church leaders wanted plain, not anything that reminded of Rome and Romishness. Over the years much has been added to bring colour; my favourite is the mosaics of broken coloured glass in the ceiling high over the Quire-three shallow domes showing creation's phases. In places it's clear how the politics of European struggles and then imperial affairs dominated public perceptions; the famous are interred with a singular lack of humility, apart from Christopher Wren, the cathedral's designer, who lies under a simple slab with a nearby wall plaque inscribed in Latin chosen by his son to explain who lies there. Horatio Nelson's tomb was designed for a cardinal who fell out with his monarch, the cardinal's hat being replaced by a coronet to transform the tomb from ecclesiastical to military. Another change in practice was that of commemorating ordinary soldiers who fell in battle, rather than their magnificent leaders. This was a 20th Century change, probably after the magnificent buffoons in charge caused so many deaths by misunderstanding how warfare needed to accommodate new weaponry during World War I. Beyond the high altar is a chapel commemorating the US fighters who died in the second World War. Instead of huge stonework a glass case displays a book inscribed with the names of the fallen; yesterday dozens of Wilsons were listed. A page is turned each day. My wife had major heart problems last year; this year she is so much better that she ventured to climb up to the whispering gallery, then up to the stone gallery and finally up to the golden gallery, 528 steps and 85 metres above the cathedral floor. For me, I enjoyed the misty views over London, but as much the sight of centuries old brickwork that forms the inner dome high above the intersection of nave and transept below.

London in February

For a few days Marian and I are staying in Central London at our son's and daughter-in-law's flat. It's really close to Victoria railway station, next to which is a bus stand, so we can get around easily at no cost using our bus passes. Old age has at least one compensation.

We had hoped to visit St. Paul's cathedral today, Ash Wednesday; its web site informed us it is closed to visitors as many Anglicans will be going on this special day to start Lent properly. Being true non-conformists we decided not to go and be ashed, or whatever the technical term is. I have memories of C of E schoolboys having a daub of grey ash on their foreheads decades back. So, we plan to go tomorrow.

It's odd that visitors to our wonderful country visit more of the tourist spots than many Brits. I guess we locals take too much for granted. Not only Brit locals, either; when we lived in Seychelles my daily walk home was beautified by a view down the mountainside over the reefs and inner islands on the east coast of Mahe. I asked a Seychellois colleague one day if he thought it beautiful. "Not really," he replied, "I am just used to it." To me it was, and still is, the most beautiful sight I had seen. While London is not in the same league for beauty, its history is evident on every side. Tomorrow we'll see a bit more.