...having fears to surmount

7th March 2009

I would class myself among those known as "nervous flyer's". 

Nothing debilitating; but enough to cause my palms to squeeze the armrests a little tighter than needed, my eyes to close as the pilot rotates and a prayer or two to the God of engineering.

Naturally I couldn't let this little trepidation go unchallenged! 

So cocking-a-hoot to fear I booked two flights in a glider and headed for the mountain ridge.

 Scene 1 - Met pilot 'Mike' who was a real cool cucumber emitting vibes of ease.

 Scene 2 - Introduced to the parachute. "When the canopy pops don't wait for instruction from me -I'll be gone already - Just jump!" says Mike, " oh, and remember to give a hard tug down on this right here." (or was it a tug right out ?).

 Scene 3 - I had watched the training vids. I knew it was not supposed to be this bad. The tug plane was flaying about like a ferret on a leash. Mikes' commentary evaporated abruptly and I could feel the control column gyrating vigorously between my legs (now now ladies- enough already!). With the mountainside filling the cockpit window and the glider being whipped violently by the tug I was just waiting for the line to break followed by an emergency landing.

 Scene 4 - Both legs where shaking more then I  have ever experienced. But I was alive. We had passed through the turbulence. We had had to be taken up another 1000 feet to do so. Mikes calm never faltered but he casually admitted that that kind of take-off was not normally metered out to newbies.

 Scene 5 - I was flying! The aircraft responding to my touch. Willing me to steer her and steady her. Perfect!

 Scene 6 - Brain too tired, I gave control back to my instructor. Feeling what he could do with the aircraft build my confidence a fair amount.

 Scene 7 - The clouds were closing in quickly leaving a 'hole' through which we needed to descend. Air brakes on and we dived! 

Scene 8 - Approach turn and down. Exciting. 

Beautiful. 

   Love to do it again.

http://www.blackmountainsgliding.co.uk/

I won the 'red letter' as a prize last Fathers Day. I chose the lucky Yorkie bar. Thanks All Nations Church!

...a little moose down the wye

The photos of our Canoeing weekend down the River Wye. I'll never make a photo journalist that's for sure. All these shots look quite tranquil. You will find no record of the trek through the nettles and wood to reach the castle. No snap of the mercifully bludgeoned rabbit s brains next to the coronation tuna salad. No shot of the rapids either I'm afraid.

We reached this point in the river after a lovely peaceful paddle during which Tom sighted more wildlife than I'd ever would have noticed without his keen eyes. Kingfishers, Grebe, long-tailed Tit, and other don't recall. We stopped having seen the battlements of Goodrich castle on the hill trying for a photo op, but the trees just took it out of sight.





Not so easy to get to this point as you may think. We had to brave a few ' no entry' signs to finally breach the castle walls.





Goodrich castle overlooks the Wye and commanded the trade route between England and Wales via a ford that existed in the river just past the tower in the picture below. The castle became a royalist stronghold in the civil war resulting in it being destroyed by a locally fashioned mortar cannon (still present in the castle grounds).



Tom, keen eyed as ever spotted this good spit of land for a nights kip. Just below a small weir (the one in which The Moose became stuck on the last trip) that rumbled throughout the night.

Tom surveys the grace of God in providing a ready supply of fire wood for the night.


Whilst I anticipate the potential for flood defence.




"..the front of the tent should come to about here".

(Which is about where the waters edge ended up the next morning !)



But by faith we held back them waters and enjoyed a most excellent stared night in all it's glory, followed by a descent breakfast.


A strong southerly held back the rain on Sunday providing us with a beautiful day to cruise down to Symonds Yat and the rapids. Tom did a sterling job at holding the canoe to the correct line through the rough and somehow managed to stay indecently dry. Whilst I received quite a lap full!


The final stretch through to Monmouth included this lovely spot of still water given us a little time out to play on the stoppers.




The Moose liked this spot.





Thanks Tom Clarke for great company on our mini-adventure down the Wye.

...the blog of prayer

When my life is such a rush
Experiencing the love and loss
I have the most to tell and share yet
All I manage is a prayer.

My diary lays with gathering dust
Calls to old friends remain a must-do
But it matters not for I still have you.

You will read my blog of prayer and
The simple truth is that you are always there
In your post I can always trust.

So now my life takes on a hush
The blog of life I can discuss
Of loss and love I can reflect though not forget
The blog of prayer is a must.

...the great outdoors

Thanks Tom Clark for organising a great walk across some of Wales great hills. All the chaps who came along did so in great spirit.







After a trek through a boggy pine forest (Blaen-y-glyn) and a stiff climb we came to the WW2 memorial.In memory of six Canadian pilots who died in their Lancaster bomber after crashing at this site. The wreckage is still visible today.



Tom guided us along the ridge to Fan y Big then he worked his psychology to get us to the top of the final peak. The wind was strong at the top. I could lean into it and let it support my weight. As many before me I added another stone onto the cairn to make the hill a little bigger!









Great day!

...the demonstration of the spirits power

Bishop Ricardo was awesome!
He did not come with theology or clever anecdotes but with the experiences of his life which themselves are a demonstration of Gods power.
It is impossible not to be inspired by the man.

But inspired to do what? Surely a fleeting emotional response is not enough. The power of the man's testimony allows me to feel the freshness of the holy spirit. But also his passion challenges my 'middle England' approach to Christianity.

Is it possible to have the passion without the bruises?

Dare I ask God to bring change?


It is heartening to hear the first hand accounts of miraculous healing. Normally it is easier to remain detached when reading reports of miracles from afar. But these accounts left me saying to myself over an' again "God is real!", "God is real!"

WOW!