Book 12 - Chapter 6 Written / Published 28.11 - 30.11.13
(Pics by author, unless indicated)
|HOME THE WINNER GAVE IT ALL Given your all? Now what?|
"HE wakens me morning by morning ...". (Psalm 50,4)
On the day of commencing this chapter I woke at 5.13 am. How this fitted with my plans to start this chapter on 28.11 and publish it on 30.11. Two registration plates, 228 and 301, were among the earliest digits to lead my journey into the world of numbers. 301 is part of my birthday. Read about an encounter with a (good) DOB.
It all works together ... for good. We shall also in this chapter conclude our visit to Sydney, New South Wales. On the day of publishing (30.11) I woke at 1.35 am.
One final thought came, moments before publishing: The date is 30.11.13. It is the 10th anniversary of cyclist Ian Humphrey's reported death on the Kapunda Road. Amazing timing - this is Book 12, 6.
6. U r - That's you.
At the charity shop, where my wife and I volunteer at, we receive donations from the public. People drop in all kinds of things, some very good, some not so good and occasionally useless trash. We take it all and say thank you, knowing in the end, the good outweighs the bad.
The day after publishing the previous chapter, my wife unpacked a bag and found, among other donated items, a rather large quantity of silver coins. I counted them. They totalled $ 9.60. My mind started thinking. Engaging the big C (100) those 960 cents became 9.6, as in Isaiah 9,6: "... a child is born, a son given!"
The $ 9.60 in silver coins reminded me of an earlier encounter with a customer in our shop. That same morning, Sat Nov.16, a lady received a phone call on her mobile phone. She had a rather loud voice. I heard all she said, but could not understand a word. She spoke in a foreign language.
Whilst I did not understand the language that lady spoke, I overheard one word, repeated a few times: dobre. After she had paid for her purchase, I asked her: "Did you speak in Russian a moment ago? What does dobre mean?"
"No, Polish", she answered. "Dobre means good". As I opened the door for her on leaving, I wished her a dobre day. So where does the 9.6 Dollars link in?
It came a day or two later. My mind suddenly saw dobre in a different way: re dob, or Re: Date Of Birth. I had found a link to the 9.6 Dollars of silver coins.
Now you may understand why, when God woke me on the digits of my birthday, I could not help but fall on my knees in prayer, thanking HIM for HIS amazing ways (NOS*). What a way to show HE is near, near Christmas. HE is interested in all details of our lives. HE is good. HE is dobre.
*(Unfortunately, the team of No. 7, 50N, lost 5:0 to Man United.)
One way of viewing the above, the attention W is receiving, is in the context of my discovery in the previous chapter. In the photo of the road sign, en route to Batemans Bay, I noticed how a blade of grass, totally unplanned, pointed to the letters W and r u.
The short word no, one that features many times in my books, made a timely appearance on the day of commencing this chapter. A TV journo was presenting his regular segment about finances. He spoke so fast, swallowing letters to fit all his info into one minute, I queried, if the TV station pays him in words-per-minute?
At one point he smoke, sorry spoke, what sounded like ecomy. I knew he meant economy and noticed the missing no immediately. I emailed the station: "...for a TV journo to skip letters is a no no!"
Reading no backwards takes us to the little word on. It (on) also plays a remarkable role in my books. Recently, on TV Channel 9 I noticed a name, no two names, appear on the TV screen. One was the surname Fergus, which looked like a popular name, minus son.
This in turn jolted my brain, reminding me of another name, which I had seen on TV the night before. A man appeared on a quiz-show. His surname was Dix. Automatically, my brain added the little word on. Dix became Dixon, a name very much in the forefront of my mind, in regard to the Peter Liddy court case:
Popular name: DIXON - 509 ON
Below: I saw more ON - WENDY ICON
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Friday 15.11 was the date of uploading the previous chapter 5. I had started the chapter at a time when a huge storm in the Philippines was fresh in the news. Next I wrote about two storms, a hailstorm on the south coast and a firestorm, which had struck the Blue Mountains west of Sydney.
That same Friday night, just as I was editing and publishing Chapter 5, a storm lashed Sydney and the north coast of New South Wales. A day later, a severe hail storm caused a huge repair bill in Queensland, from the Gold Coast to the suburbs of Brisbane and further north on the Sunshine Coast. Here, hail stones, the size of tennis balls, did much damage.
Why am I dwelling on storms?
The next day I read the little booklet, ODB (it was DOBre Day). Again I was a day late in my bible reading. The text was from the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 8. Jesus had gotten himself in a big storm.
Verses 23 - 27 tell the story of Jesus and his disciples in a boat. Jesus was asleep as the vessel got into a big storm. His disciples panicked. They woke the Master, asking HIM to save them. He did. At his command the storm calmed immediately. They marvelled that even the wind and the waves obey HIM.
It raises in my mind the question I had asked long ago: How can it all be co-incidental, meaningless? The timing of it all. No, no and no again. God is control. HE knows our pain, our struggles. HE never promised smooth sailing all the time! HE has reason for allowing storms.
If only the world would* turn away from doing wrong, turn to HIM, trust HIM to calm the storms that are raging in our troubled world!
Pictures from the TV screen
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At this point I quit writing for the day. My wife had gone out with a friend to a fundraising event. I decided to play some of my records from my collection. Totally at random I had chosen a couple of LPs by Perry Como. His voice and the relaxing songs he sang were just right for the occasion.
What came next was a thought process, which suddenly, totally unplanned, filled the chambers of my puzzled mind. Is this for real? If I write this, readers surely will think I made it all up. But no, the script here is just as it was.
I had pondered about waking at 5.13 am and the dobre date of birth. This took my mind to the place where I was born, in the Esslingen suburb of Kennenburg. I remembered I had a postcard of the place in my large collection. Pondering this name, I perceived three letters n, then b ur g.
Right at that moment my ears suddenly heard Perry Como sing the phrase "You are, yes your are..."
What amazing timing, I thought. Not only had I ended writing for the day, highlighting the letters u r, but was drawn to these very same letters minutes later, via a record, played on my LEDSONIC.
Out of curiosity I took a closer look at the album cover. You be the judge, if I had reason to marvel at the way God was leading me; to the right song at the right time:
The song Perry Como was singing is titled: That's you. But what DaNinci, the Spanish translation Eres Tu? Take a look:
I Believe in Music - Perry Como sings 18 relaxing favourites
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(Back to Sydney, October 2013)
My wife and her mother had arrived in Sydney on Monday, 14th October. I met up with them again on October 17th, the day before they were to fly back to Adelaide. My plan was to stay for the weekend. There was no point in only spending one night in Sydney, after pushing a bicycle all the way from Adelaide.
About 45 minutes before the two ladies were to get a cab from Manly to the airport that Friday, I had mounted my GIANT to farewell them in Mascot. It felt great to cross the Sydney Harbour Bridge, something I had looked forward to. All went according to prefect timing. Just as I parked my bike at the Domestic Terminal, I spotted the two ladies embark from their taxi cab.
I would have preferred to say good-bye to only one of the two, but still looked forward to a great weekend in the city, which I remember so fondly from my early days in this new and exciting place. Cycling back toward the city through a busy, industrial district, I wondered what surprises the weekend would bring?
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Not far from the airport, cycling on O' Riordan Street, I had to stop at the traffic lights at the corner of Gardeners Road. A thought (prayer) only seconds earlier had been: What do you have in store for me this weekend in Sydney, Lord? Where are you going to lead me?
A few moments later I looked on the ground and there was a coin; not a silver coin this time, but brass - 1 Dollar. The spot-on timing, as was so often, surprised me. As I picked up the coin I looked around. Was there something I should be seeing? Across the road I spotted a broken sign. I took this photo:
The place where I stayed in Sydney for two nights was in one of the most scenic parts of Sydney. The suburb's name, already mentioned, has a masculine ring to it - Manly. Riding back to there from Mascot, again via the Harbour Bridge, I discovered a bike route on the northern side of Spit Road. It was a little hilly, but far less traffic than busy Military Road.
Passing a triple-story mansion en route, the open garage door revealed a vintage car inside. Outside, the owner most likely, was talking to another person beside his other, distinguished vehicle, a classic Mercedes Sports Coupe. The two-digit registration plate - 09 - was probably worth as much as the vehicle itself. In my younger days I would dream about owning a vehicle like that. Now? Why envy a man with classic Merc, when you are riding high, on a GIANT?
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On the 2nd night in Sydney I watched Round 2 of the A-League on TV at Isobel's brother's house. Adelaide United was leading by 2 goals, when their opponents Melbourne Victory scored 2 goals in the 2nd half. They celebrated the 2:2 draw like... a victory.
October 20 in 2013 was a Sunday. I resisted the temptation to take a trip down memory lane to Mosman, where the 2 10 incident took place some years earlier (Bk. 4, 28). Plus, I had relocated from Manly to the Rocks district, the oldest part of Sydney, where among old stone structures, cobble-stoned lanes and steps I felt right at home. These reminded me of the historic centre of my home town Esslingen, Germany.
I stayed in the modern youth hostel, which had opened only in 2010. The facilities were perfect for relaxing on the rooftop, overlooking Sydney's harbour, Opera House and skyline. The location was perfect for exploring many tourist sites on foot, the Rocks galleries, the foreshore, the famous Opera House and, of course, the city for shopping. (Not that I did much of that.)
It was Sunday, time for church; time for experiencing magic, totally unplanned. I had risen early, finished breakfast and had plenty of time to check, where and when I was to catch the bus to Castle Hill. I had planned to attend the 11 am service at the Hillsong mega-church. I only took a few minutes to cycle from the youth hostel to the bus stop on Clarence Street.
The time was just before 8.30 am. The T 62 was not leaving until about an hour later. I got on my GIANT to ride to the Opera House, which was celebrating its 40-year anniversary. (From 9 am the public was allowed in to view for free. I had intended to take a brief look.)
A few metres across the road from the bus stop I spotted a sign outside a large stone church. A few people were entering the open doors. A sign outside indicated that a service was starting at 8.30 am, right then. It all looked inviting and I considered just walking in. But I had planned to go to Hillsong and may miss the bus, if impulsively I just walk into an Anglican service?
Somehow, I felt drawn to enter through those large, open doors, but hesitated. Until I saw this:
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The church service (20.10 - 11 am) at Hillsong, as expected, was much different to that of St. Philip's Anglican - no empty seats, much younger congregation, faster, louder worship etc. This is not to be critical of one or the other. We are so fortunate in Australia to have the freedom to choose a style of worship to suit each congregation. What if a believer lived in a small, remote place, where there is only one Christian church. He or she is limited to worshipping there, or nowhere! They certainly would have to adapt to whatever style of worship is presented.
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In the evening of the final day in Sydney, having already attended two church services, I decided to take a bike ride to the Eastern suburbs. Earlier, I had considered to see, if there was a church service at the Wesley Mission in Pitt Street. But two sermons in one day, I felt, were sufficient food for thought. I mounted my GIANT and headed north on George Street.
Only metres from Circular Quay it happened, after hardly a minute on the bike. Just as it did in the USA the year before, the gear cable to the rear derailleur snapped. To fix it would be a professional repair job for later. Was I meant to get a message? Did God want me to check, if there was a service on at the Wesley Centre in Pitt Street?
I wheeled the bike back to the Youth Hostel and locked it into the special room provided. It was lovely evening, what a nice time for a walk. Confident that God wanted me at a church, I walked south, through the city, through the Pitt Street Mall, looking for the former Lyceum Theatre, now the Wesley Church, which I had known from the time I lived in Sydney.
I arrived a few minutes before 6 PM. When I found out that there was an evening service just starting, I knew it was no co-incidence that my bike gave me trouble, right on time.
The style of singing in the comfortable auditorium was between the two other services I had been to - not real quiet and no loud rock-music. And I knew each song. I felt very much blessed, even though there were many empty seats also.
Reverend Keith Garner was the speaker that evening. I had watched him many times on television, early on Sunday mornings. The title of his message that evening was just for folks like me: SIMPLY growing older.
On a wall in the foyer of the Wesley Centre was a large piece of writing. It was by the founder of the organisation, which bears his name. I took this photo because I saw the little word ALL all over. (Just now, after pasting the picture below, I noticed that among the 9 lines, ALL appears 6 times.
6 ALL good, at Wesley Centre, Pitt Street, Sydney.
Lucky there were virtually no hills on my way to the airport the next day. I was able to ride my bike in the high gear it was stuck in. I knew I can. And there was plenty of time at the airport to prepare my GIANT and pack it into the box supplied ($ 15 fee) from the airline. (Virgin Blue is a very bike friendly airline.) And how the numbers worked out!
Take a look in my diary (Note the faded parts, caused by adhesive tape):
Departure: 1530 - Arrival: 1710
The clock on my P/C shows 5.31 am.
The wisest man who ever lived said this:
Reading on ... "a time to be born ..."