When a chiropractor says “I’m going to cuff you to the bed and manipulate you” something inside you wakes up. When they continue to inflict a wave of pain on your lower spine and diagnose you with a defected joint, book you in for an X-Ray and tell you the condition is “most interesting”, something inside you starts to get a bit scared. “I hope it’s not serious” I said.

I drove from the surgery two inches taller and tried to think about something other than the possibility of having an operation on my back. So, I thought about my imminent MOT which was scaring my Fiat Punto so much that the car was shaking. All the time. “I hope its not expensive” I mumbled to my dodgy gearbox.

On my return home I received a text from a French friend about Wales’ biggest game of the Six Nations tonight. I thought about how much it was going hurt if I saw us get beat by the blue-shirted bread lovers. “I hope we score early” I said.

As I caught a glimpse of my “hopeful” face in my interior mirror, I noticed that when I hope I frown a lot.

Why is that I “hope” for things but what I actually mean is this: My life is not floating my boat at the moment and there’s a few things that need to happen before I can take a big sigh and start to think happy thoughts. When my X-Ray comes back clear, my car passes its MOT, and Wales hammer the French, well then, and only then, can I stop frowning. Then, and only then, I won’t need to hope for anything else.

The other day I sang a song about Jesus. It was weirdly apt for my week of false hope. The first line of the song hit me between the eyes reminding me that the the things of this world WILL pass away. Cars, spines, rugby, frowns, jobs. The whole lot. It’s not going to last.

Check the first verse out of this hymn about Jesus.

In Christ alone my hope is found, he is my light, my strength, my song;
This Cornerstone, this solid Ground, firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace, when fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My Comforter, my All in All, here in the love of Christ I stand.

Where is my hope? In my job which is here today and gone when the company wants to save some funds? In my body which fails on impact? In my car which sounds like Gollum retching?

If it is, then I’m in a spot of bother. Jesus is quite clear about this world. Though he died for it, gave his spirit to it, and is coming back for it, he tells all his followers not to put their hope in it.

In Christ Alone.

The interest rate is a lot higher.

Nine years ago this week I became a Christian. (That’s a weird turn of phrase isn’t it?)

I celebrated the occasion with my bread-stealing flat mate Mark. Together, we sat in front of the box, cracked open a bottle of Sailor Jerry Rum, and talked about life, love and loaves.

If someone had told me I was going to become a Christian on the morning of February 16 2001, I would have probably told them to have a drink and drive to the coast.

Though I had paid two very unsatisfying visits to the local church, I was still living my daily life as if I was in complete control. To be honest, until around 7.35pm that evening, my heart actually believed that whatever felt good, was good. It was a surprisingly liberating experience to find out that I wasn’t the man at the centre of the universe.

Since that moment when I honestly asked the Jesus spoken of in the bible to lead me in my daily life, I have had to constantly fight the temptation of reclaiming the throne of my existence.

The weird thing is, that until recently, I looked back on that day as a 16-year-old in Cardiff and thought it was the most important day of my life. But it was not.

From looking closer at the stuff in the New Testament I now know that today is the only day that matters. The message that Jesus came to bring to this earth was “Today if you hear my voice, do not harden your heart.” Jesus did not say, “In your own time, when you’ve got your life sorted out, come and see me.”

I’ll be honest with you. These last six months have tested my faith in ways I couldn’t imagine when I was a teenager. Grief has really had me by the balls recently, and though my emotions are often mirroring that of a monkey on LSD, I am so happy that Jesus is still in my life.

The number of mistakes I’ve made in the last nine years as a Christian is quite simply embarrassing. Which makes the fact that Jesus not counting my sins against me sound so good.

And not only that, since that day I put him at the front of my mind, he has been strengthening my faith and character. And the truth is he doesn’t seem to be running for the door any time soon. So nine years later, here I am.

And as Mark and I took a fair chunk of rum and coke on-board, I shed a few tears looking back at the last six months. (Don’t worry lads, I’m going rugby training later tonight to man up a bit.)

But because of recent losses to people close to me I am always a few steps away from a good cry. However, I also felt an overwhelming sense of sadness for my many friends and family members who do not have God as an anchor in their lives yet.

I thought about how accessible a living relationship with God was and how a whispered prayer of tiny faith started the most immense journey of joy, adventure and truth any boy could wish for.

Nostalgia got the better of me and I prayed the same prayer that kicked it all off before I went to sleep to mark the 9th year anniversary of my Christian faith.

“Lord Jesus, I reckon you are who the bible says you are. I want you to be my Lord. I’m so sorry its taken me all this time to admit all this. I’m also sorry for ignoring you and doing it my way. Thank you for dying on that cross for us Jesus. I believe. Amen.”

The Love Your Uni tour is coming to York on Saturday 20th Feb. Our very own Carl Beech will be taking part, along with loads of others.

Be sure to check out Love Your Uni on Facebook and follow them on Twitter.

For now, check out Luke Smith as he introduces Love Your Uni York.

Mark Stubbs held a bunch of men in suspense as he gave his story at the beginning of the month. John, a CVM Group Leader, has the details …

At the Reading Men’s Breakfast on Saturday 6 February, nearly 100 men heard Mark Stubbs give an amazing account of his attempts to row across the Atlantic Ocean from West to East to beat a record set up 108 years ago The first attempt failed after 21 days rowing when the rudder broke.

On the second attempt he and his crew got within 300 miles of home when a hurricane overtook them. The boat capsized in the 50-foot waves and, whilst Mark was initially trapped in the hull he wondered if he should pray. However he reasoned that as he did not really believe in God, it was a bit hypocritical to call on Him in a crisis!

Fortunately his wife and daughters were praying for him. The signal from the boat’s distress beacon was picked up by a freighter only 50 miles away and changed course to rescue them. Even then it took an hour and a half to get them on board once the vessel was alongside, as the sea was so rough. Mark had us all on the edge of our seats as he recounted the rescue.

Once home Mark was encouraged to find out something more about God and went on an Alpha course. Subsequently he believed in Jesus and now is pleased to tell others about how he was saved!

Nowadays he is happy to spend more time with his family and has not made further attempts on the Atlantic.

Mark’s story is a combination of determination, preparation and planning, together with the over-ruling hand of God on his life. I can thoroughly recommend his talk to other CVM Groups.

For CVM partners, you can log in to the Partners Area to find Mark’s contact details to request that he speak at your event. Alternatively, find out more about becoming a CVM partner or find a group near you.

Carl Beech shares his thanks on behalf of CVM for the overwhelming support received from our January newsletter.

My voice started to waver as the Welsh national anthem came to a close. Singing alongside my Welsh brethren in a packed English bar as our homeland took on the infamous white army in Twickenham, was quite simply an honour. Our pocket of Welsh escapees had taken over a Preston watering hole with choral bombardments and banter to the highest level. I could imagine Jesus sitting with both sets of fans laughing out loud over a neutral pint of Guinness. (Probably wearing a Welsh shirt though).

Just before kick off a man standing just to the left of me pointed straight in my direction and started chanting “sheep shagger”. Though I have heard this insult a thousand times spilling from English lips, it still hurts. But why does it hurt!? Quite simply because its true. Not really, but I thought that would get your attention.

It’s the most average insult to use on anyone. The likelihood of it being true is so remote, its like me calling someone a petrol drinker, or a cloud maker.

So why does it hurt? It hurts because its the here and now, its the circumstances, its the six inches in front of my face.

Things just hurt. Like when my boss doesn’t thank me for going the extra mile, or when I’m mocked for going to bed early, or when one of the lads takes pity on my inability to relate with women by suggesting I try men, or when nobody asks you how you are on a really bad day, or when the little chav calls you a cube headed geek, or when the girl doesn’t feel the same way about you.

The here and now hurts. The here and now seemingly has complete control of how I feel.

However, after reading a bit about Jesus, I have come to the conclusion that there is a difference between living for the here and now and being controlled by it.

Jesus calls his followers to be in the world, to sympathise with the sad, to grieve with those in mourning, to stay alert everyday and to work hard. We are called to throw ourselves at life.

But he also calls us not to be governed by what we see. In fact, he calls us to be governed only by what is unseen.

Consider these words by Paul the Apostle:

But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body. Philippians 3 vs 20 to 24

I don’t think Paul’s identity would have been rocked by off-handed comments.

Peace.

So I’m through the op. It’s not nearly as bad a thing as many blokes who may read this have had to face. But I’ve allowed myself to get down and frustrated over this. There have been weeks stuck in the house, off work, a premature retirement and being made to face for myself, the sort of risks/benefits decision, as a medic I ask my patients to take. Like the decision to have a treatment which carries risks, not as a life saver (as it often is with my patients), but to give me full exercise capability in the long term. For instance, getting back to 100 mile-a-day cycle treks across France, with the mad Revd. Beech. And after making the decision, with difficulty, I get an infection so the op’s delayed for a week with one day to go and the risks increase and other things go wrong.

Nothing new for many blokes reading this, but one of the things I do best is worry. I’ve done dangerous sports in the past and now, extreme (some would say) endurance cycling, which literally reduces grown men to tears. But through it all, I worry. I worry about all sorts of things, not just this. During these frustrating weeks, I’ve been reading the first part of the Book of Psalms. It’s all there; The Lord is always with you and will guard you and guide you through everything including in David’s case, life and death situations, not just non-urgent back surgery. That’s the unchanging truth in Scripture and that’s enough for anybody. But because I’m weak and a worrier, I keep asking God to give me some more reassurance that I’ve made the right decision. But I’m not looking around for ‘signs.’ I don’t do that, much.

Then 2 days before the final date of the op, I’m reading a national daily paper. I don’t get it normally; I’ve just read it a few times while stuck in the house and not for several days previously. Again, my mind’s a million miles away from ‘signs’. I’m just browsing, filling in the boring hours, when I realise I’m reading an article featuring my surgeon and the hospital where I’m going to be a patient. It’s not a complaint, by the way, it features him as a leading expert in something. Then, at the top of another article on the same page, I catch sight of a photograph of a familiar face–someone who was a medical student in my year, who now does medical articles for that paper. I haven’t read one for years, but that day, his column was about the latest evidence showing that the best treatment for people with back problems like mine is not to mess about delaying things with physio etc, (the previous traditional way to deal with it), but to get on with early surgery–which was just what I had decided.

Carl came to see me and I showed him the page. And just as though to underline it, while we’re talking, in a lull in the conversation, a voice on the radio solemnly names the newspaper. We both smiled and thanked God. This sort of ‘fleece’ experience hardly ever happens to me, but when it does, it comes completely unexpectedly. I shouldn’t require it and I don’t deserve it and it’s always possible to dismiss it as a coincidence. But I’m taking it as a kind reassurance to a worrier at just the right time, from a God who amazingly cares about details. What do you think?

I went for my op with much more confidence. The lesson I suppose is to be thankful for the health I‘ve got and when fit again, to strengthen my all too weak resolve to use it in following Jesus–and perhaps, to try and stop worrying so much. Lord help me to do that.

Discs gave me trouble in my mountain bike brakes, now one’s gone in my back, so I’m in hospital, to have it removed. I worked in the same hospital as a consultant till last year, so it’s interesting being a patient. An hour before I go to theatre, the anaesthetist turns up. I didn’t realise at first. He looks 16. ‘Hi, I’m Dave.’ Nice bloke–he whizzes through what he will be doing. I remember ‘there’s a 10% chance of you getting a bit knocked off your teeth,’ and ‘there’s a 1 in 200,000 chance of dying under the anaesthetic, or waking up disabled, or with brain damage.’ If you are supposed to feel positive when they tell you, you could win the lottery (1 in x million–more chance of being struck by lightning ) how are you supposed to react when they give you a 1in 200,000 chance of waking up (if at all) with the brain power of a Tesco trolley?

Half an hour to go and three nurses I worked with there, come in, grinning like idiots. Sensitively they tell me about some of my ex-patients who I handed on when I left the hospital and who are now dead. I then get taken away to theatre, where I meet Dave again. Nice bloke– he tries to be chatty while putting me under, but remember, anaesthetists are people who’ve made a career decision to work with a clientele who for most of the time, are unconscious.

‘Hi, I see you’ve not gone to Canada then, like Dr…’

‘Er, no.’ (How can I have gone to Canada? I’m lying on a trolley in front of him).

He tries ‘reassuring’.

‘Better grit your teeth, this will hurt.’ (It didn’t).

He tries ‘informative’.

‘This may sting a bit as it goes up your arm.’ (It hurt like blazes.)

‘Yeah, that hurt.’

He tries ‘apologetic.’

‘Yeah-sorry.’

He tries ‘chatty’ again.

‘Retiring soon?’ (Crumbs, do I look that old?)

‘End of the month actually, then back part time.’

‘Fed up with it all then?’

‘Er…’

‘At least you’ve only got back trouble. What about old Prof…?–Heart trouble. Retired, then died.’ Shortly after that, I lost consciousness. Nice bloke, Dave. What you see is what you get. I like him. Anyway I didn’t die. I woke up feeling rather more alert than a Tesco trolley. And no this wasn’t written days after the event, it’s being written now, 2 hours after the anaesthetic. With the CVM blog, at least you get the action live.

The nurse enters my dimly lit room with two bottles and some sinister information:

‘Some blokes can do it on their back. Some blokes have to lie on their side. Some blokes have to stand up out of bed, but stay close in case you start to pass out. Any probs, just give us a bell-then we come and stand beside you and say the word “catheter,” then they nearly all manage it.’ She disappears.

So, sometime later, halfway through penning this masterpiece and in-between chapters of Jeremy Clarkson, ‘Driven to Distraction’, Penguin Books (great read, present from Carl), I manage it-lying on my side, actually. I’m greatly relieved, in more ways than one. I carefully balance the bottle on the bedside table, on top of Michael Wilcox, ‘The Message of Psalms 1-72’, IVP, (another great read but it will have to wait until my brain has climbed further above Tesco trolley level).

My symptoms are much better but I don’t sleep all night. Instead I write my retirement speech, a talk (unasked for), for CVM, half this blog, read a large chunk of Jeremy Clarkson, pray through the rest of the night and by morning I’m still firing on all cylinders. Something’s wrong. I’m not depressed enough. I have a suspicion. I look on my drug chart–yes, straight after the op, while I was still out, they gave me a big dose of steroids–body and mind rocket fuel. I’ve been on a high all night. What goes up must come down and for the next two nights I sleep like a log. I often have to give my patients the same steroids. Now I know first hand why they seem so chirpy.

Part 2 out tomorrow …

In an article from the 9th of February Steve Doughty of the Daily Mail picks up on the problem of male attendance in the church, as highlighted by the Church of England.

Dwindling numbers of men at Church of England services have resulted in a ‘testosterone deficit’ among the faithful, leaders have been warned.

Speaking at the Church’s General Synod meeting in London yesterday, Canon Simon Bessant, from Sheffield, said there was ‘plenty’ of evidence the gender balance in congregations was getting ‘seriously out of line’.

Read more: dailymail.co.uk/

By current accounts the problem is still acute and poses a threat to the church. CVM want to see healthy, balanced churches up and down the UK and that’s why as a ministry we are focussing our efforts on the men. Somewhere along the line church stopped connecting with men and we need to address the problem quickly and effectively if we want to see balance reintroduced to the church.

For more about why we do what we do, check out Why We Do Men’s Ministry or read Carl’s ‘Real Men Don’t Do Church’ articles:

• Real Men Don’t Do Church, Part One
• Real Men Don’t Do Church, Part Two
• Real Men Don’t Do Church, Part Three
• Real Men Don’t Do Church, Part Four

Love the e:Quip videos? Well now there’s an easy way to stay up to date with them. Introducing the CVM e:Quip iTunes Podcast Feed Link Thing.

Ta da!

Click on the link and it will open up iTunes. Hit subscribe and enjoy e:Quip goodness. Whenever there’s a new e:Quip video iTunes will grab it for you and let you know.

Enjoy!