Restoration 10:10

Have you ever written to a book agent or editor and been fortunate enough to get a reply? I have. Quite amazingly on more than one occasion, but not too often. You see book agents and editors have a very heavy workload. They have mega demanding schedules which cannot be interrupted unless you write a best seller. I have however attempted to buck the trend. I’ve tried to enlist some help by name dropping with one prolific author. I mentioned a mutual editor friend of ours. He recommended me to her and suggested that she might be able to provide me with a helpful contact. I stepped out of my comfort zone and asked this great fifty-book published writer if she could recommend me to an agent. I was looking for someone who would tolerate my poor attempts at writing and read at least one line of my work. Did I get a reply from this big fifty star published author? Like neck! I was blanked out like a school dunce standing in the corner separated from a great class of authors. But we shouldn’t give up or be discouraged. We shouldn’t be affected by these trivial matters. My optimism was soon rewarded. I searched the internet and found a special agent’s website. Now this book agent is different from your ordinary ignorant novelist or extremely busy publishers. He’s interested in unknown pen-pushers and keyboard-slappers. He wants to work with authors who have undiscovered talents. He wants to work with new writers and develop their skills. He’s particularly interested in writers who want to make a difference. All we have to do is tell this understanding agent why we want to write. Then we need to list our ambitions. Finally, we should forward on three magic chapters for his professional attention. And so I did. I emailed 3 chapters of my book to this friendly agent. Did I get a reply? Like neck! But the good news is I believed in him. This time I leapt out of my comfort zone like an athlete jumping for a gold medal. There are no flies on me. This time I emailed the whole of my masterpiece. Did I get a reply? Like neck! So if you are fortunate enough to receive a rejection slip for your work, keep it! Frame it! Put it in a secure safe-box. Rejection slips will be worth a lot of money in the future. Along with refusal emails rejection letters are becoming a rare entity these days. In view of this fact, we should consider it a great privilege to be rejected by these very busy people. Don’t forget they handle an immeasurable amount of correspondence which avalanches into their already hectic world. You must apologise in advance for taking up their precious time. Remember they should not be distracted from their great commission by the likes of us.

The Dudley out-pouring of Christian revival is well under way. There is a wide acknowledgement and acceptance by Christians that God is in deed pouring out His Spirit and people are being converted and healed. On the other hand nothing much has changed for most folks in the area and there’s some rejection and criticism for the strange conduct going on. ‘I ain’t going there again’ one lady told me because ‘they are kneeing people in the groin’. The reason for the physical assaults is because the revival has been instigated under the ministry of preacher Todd Bentley. He has commissioned Pastor Trevor Baker to bring the move of God to England. Basically Todd believes that the Lord told him in some instances to assault people. Speaking on a YouTube video Tom admits to kicking a woman in the nose and she fell under the power of God. At another church meeting he called out a Chinese gentleman who Tom hit so hard the man’s tooth popped out of his mouth. Then he tells of an incident when God told him to leg drop (Dead Legg) a pastor so revival could break out. Now that last one is a good idea. Kneeing the clergy should be adopted by every member of every congregation. I think they should start with Tom but not aim for his knee. Rather knee him in another place. Then perhaps he might bark like a dog or cluck like a chicken. Having said this Todd Bentley and Trevor Baker are genuine Christians. I would say that they both live out their Christian faith better than I do. But even good Christians can be daft at times.

FACE- IN-DEATH             

I don’t want to die. If I’m honest the idea of taking my last breath on this planet spooks me out. Psychologists and sociologists tell us that death is by far the most pervasive fear among humans. No points for stating the obvious. Death is a real bummer as if we didn’t know. Take a look at this man.  

He is a former terminally ill patient Heiner Schmitz aged 52. He’s well qualified to speak about death. He’s not only got the T-Shirt but what he says about death makes you sit up and listen.

"What do you talk about with someone who's been sentenced to death? Some of (my friends) even say 'get well soon' as they're leaving (the Hospice). 'Hope you're soon back on track mate! No one asks me how I feel because they're all s*** scared. I find it really upsetting the way they desperately avoid the subject (of my terminal illness and impending death), talking about all sorts of other things. Don't they get it? I'm going to die! That's all I think about, every second when I'm on my own."

Heiner’s chilling words uttered in the Guardian newspaper haunt me a little. But nothing could prepare me for the next portrait I saw of this terminally ill man. He no longer had the sparkle of life in his eyes. The warmth of his face had vanished.

All that remained was a cold portrait of a departed soul.

Heiner Schmitz is no longer with us and this picture of him was taken after he passed away. It’s not the kind of photo you would put in your family album. I’m even more surprised that someone would think about displaying it in a public gallery. But that’s the world we live in today. Heiner’s living and dead images are on display at the Wellcome Collection, London, until May 18. The pictures are the work of artist Walter Schels. His work is not considered to be like the gory Faces of Death videos posted on the internet. Schels’ portraits have a dignity uncharacteristic of the dead. The 72-year-old German artist is said to have ‘crafted a moving study of how the inevitable affects us all’. .

I’m sorry guys. I’m still spooked out by the dead show. In my opinion the emotive art exhibition is nothing more than a glorified mortuary display. But I do believe the intention behind the project is well meaning and pure. But I prefer to be comforted by the

Shepherd’s Psalm found in the Bible.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me". Thanks Lord!

I reclined in a chair; book in hand, sipping a cold can of pop. Only to be interrupted by my dear wife. She started to breath somewhat uneasily. So I closed my paperback, placed the drink on a table and sidled up to the hospital bedside. I pampered my beloved gently and reassured ‘everything will be alright darling’. But my bold words were tested within the hour.

‘You need to get ready now’ said a round faced lady standing at the foot of the bed. I gulped when I saw the woman clamp a chunk of flesh together. Then I grimaced as she thrust a pair of scissor like cutters into my right hand. ‘You can do it now’ she instructed. And so I did. I cut the umbilical cord on my new born baby. I was a hero again. Twice I had performed this operation. Since then I’ve enthusiastically advised my ‘expectant dad’ friends to, ‘be with your wife when she gives birth to your kid. If things are going well, ask the midwife if she’ll let you cut the umbilical cord’. But now I dare not speak of such things. You see, there’s this top obstetrician bloke who’s penned an article for the Daily Mail warning that men should NEVER be at the birth of their child. Now he tells me. He reckons that he has a friend who watched his wife give birth and it started a chain of events that led to the couples divorce. I wonder, what upset the apple cart? Maybe it was the baby crying? Or was it the sight of a bursting blood vessel? Perhaps the kid did a whoopsy? Anyway whatever it was they got divorced over it and the top obstetrician warns us of the great dangers that lurk for men who are present at child birth. It can cause you to disappear. Honest. The obstetrician quotes a woman who swears the day after her husband had watched her deliver her child; he fled to his home town of Rome and never returned. I don’t know anything about this man. I wouldn’t judge him for absconding. But puleez, he decided to go before he was pushed. Or he planned to walk before the kid dropped. But what do I know about these things? The obstetrician has been involved in child birth for 50 years and he’s been in charge of 15,000 births so he speaks with authority. He claims that if a man’s present at child birth he denies the mother the quiet mind that she needs. This is because ‘the father's release of the stress hormone adrenaline as he watches his partner labour causes her anxiety, and prevents her from relaxing’. The obstetrician also has reservations as to whether we men can easily cope with the strong emotional reaction that we have when we participate in the birth? Over the years, he’s seen something akin to post-natal depression in many men who have been present at their children’s birth. He reckons the men have had stomach aches, migraines and problems relating to the sexual attraction of their spouses. Perhaps that’s why some couples only have one kid? The man denies his wife nuptial pleasures after seeing his whipper-snapper born. But don’t be fooled, it’s more than a physical dilemma. The obstetrician says ‘one perfectly healthy man had his first experience of schizophrenia two days after watching his wife give birth’. So what’s the solution? I make four proposals. The first is to ban all men from maternity units with immediate effect. Break off diplomatic relations with Rome. Outlaw childbirth videos on YouTube. And most importantly, sack all male obstetricians! I’m only joking; about the first three proposals.

After walking about 3 miles into Dudley Town centre I arrived at the Jobcentre Plus office. I strolled through the doors, well nearly. A security man at the entrance engaged me with polite conversation before I could enter the building.

‘Can I help you sir?’

‘Er, Yeah I’ve come to look for a job’.

‘Sorry viewing is by appointment only today’.

How unlucky is that? No one told me about it. I didn’t get a letter in the post. But I wouldn’t be discouraged. I returned next day. Thankfully I got past the security guard but I did have a question for him.

‘I’ve had heart attack and unfortunately I need to find a less stressful job. Can I talk to someone about changing my career and getting back into regular work?’

‘We don’t do that anymore. It’s all self help these days’. He walked away from me briefly and returned handing me a leaflet. It was almost like receiving an unwanted gospel tract telling you about Jesus. But his leaflet contained the details of the Jobcentre website address. But I wasn’t discouraged. I remained on the premises and trawled the computers looking for an alternative job. This was important as my doctor and I had talked about my work and we concluded that working with behaviourally challenged adults was not appropriate. I enthusiastically searched the job’s data base. Until I felt someone tap me on the shoulder with their hand. It was another security man. He had a request to make.

‘Can you turn the music down please’? He was referring to my Ipod. A tiny noise was emanating from my ear phones. I apologised immediately. But I don’t know how they managed to hear my music with all the bantering going on in the job centre. My Ipod is also set to a safety level so it couldn’t have been that loud. Perhaps I got picked on because I was wearing my Wolves cap? Maybe he was a Sandwell Town supporter? However I wasn’t discouraged. I trawled the computer for jobs. I took immediate action I printed off contact details. I used the Jobcentre phone and left messages on company answer machines. I naively thought they’d contact me or return my call. I had more chance of winning the lottery. But not all were ignorant. Neither did all the companies have an answer machine waiting to take my call. I telephoned a number for a court usher’s job. Thankfully I managed to speak to a real human being on the other end of the phone. She was a very nice person but my hopes were soon dashed.

‘I’m sorry’, the job vacancy was filled a couple of weeks ago’.

Never mind. I was not discouraged perhaps I’ll have better luck next time. I resigned from my Care Support workers job for health reasons. After all I did have the heart attack in the work’s office. I started looking for alternative work. I filled in some forms and claimed incapacity benefit. I filled in some more forms and claimed Job seeker’s allowance. I filled in some more forms and told them why I’d left my present job. Then I filled in some more forms and signed on. Quite rightly I do not get Job seekers allowance or incapacity benefit because I hadn’t previously paid enough class 1 National Insurance Contributions. I paid class 2 National Insurance Contributions as a self employed church minister before I worked as a Care Support worker. But I was not discouraged. Jobcentre Plus offered me an incentive. If I continued to sign on they may pay my national insurance contributions. They might, but then again they might not. It seemed like a nice gesture to me, especially as it didn’t come from a Job Centre Plus bouncer. Sorry, I mean security guard. But then again the offer might have been a load of bull. The last letter I received from the Jobcentre Plus office was to tell me that they won’t be paying me anything at all. They explained why,

‘because we recently told you that a decision would be made about a doubt, on how your job with ___ ___ ___ ended. We have now decided that this doubt no longer applies’. They then gave me some details of another lot of forms. I could fill in an INF2 form. Or I could call the local council and fill in forms for housing benefit and tax benefit. I could also appeal by filling in a GL24 form. But if we wanted to claim milk tokens from Nov 2004 the pregnant member of the household must obtain and complete a claim form from the local Jobcentre Plus, office. I don’t think I’ll bother!