Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank, Part 6

Episode 6: Peter's Teeth Change
Peter (c20 years) had set up an hobby business, making 16mm. audition movies for budding actors, actresses and musicians. With cameras and tripods, and numerous items of lighting and sound equipment to be lugged around, he desired to build a custom-made trailer or caravan to make movie-making on location easier. He purchased an old Fordson truck and, with the help of an elder brother, proceeded to convert it into a caravan/workshop. The engine and gearbox were sold to a scrap-metal merchant, and an engineering friend designed an automatic steering mechanism using two motorcycle shock-absorbers to replace the steering wheel. A solid draw bar was fashioned from steel and, although rigid enough to steer the vehicle in motion, hinged up against front of the vehicle when it was not being towed. Unconcerned about the weight of their new creation (Peter had an old two-ton Humber Super-snipe Limousine to tow it) the two brothers set about welding steel panels where the radiator grill used to be, bolting new flooring where the truck driver once sat, and installing an assortment of shelving, cupboards, kitchen equipment and bedding in the body of the van. The creation was finished with several coats of paint before obtaining the mandatory road-worthy registration.
The vehicle proved itself to be practical and Peter reaped considerable benefit from it. However, one memorable Friday it bit back. Almost two ton of van and contents was often difficult to manoeuvre unless it was attached to a vehicle and on this occasion, as they were only a few metres apart, instead of backing the limo to the van, Peter decided to pull the van towards the limo. But the van was measure heavier than puny Peter anticipated. With the dramatic grunt of a circus strongman straining against a football team in a tug-of-war, Peter pulled on the draw-bar with all his (petty) might. The van remained stationary; Peter moved. His feet slid on the roadway and he disappeared under the van.
He would have continued completely out of sight if (fortunately?) the draw-bar hadn't stopped him suddenly! It met him in the teeth and in one stunning milli-second, the heavy steel fist impacted all his front teeth up into his face, pushing his cheeks and nose against his eyes. In piercing agony and blurry vision he cautiously but quickly drove to the local hospital. There he was given injections to dull the pain and halt the bleeding -- and escorted home to await surgery two days later "while the swelling subsides"!
Peter has little recall of those two days, save that they ended on Sunday afternoon in the surgery of his regular dentist. This skillful artisan, with his patient under a general anaesthetic, extracted what remained of Peter's upper teeth and reshaped his face. Using X-rays from a previous dental consultation, he fashioned an upper denture, cleverly reproducing even a chipped front tooth for realism. Peter left the surgery that day with the denture in situ, and his first look in a mirror welled up within him a gratitude to God, for the miraculous restoration. However, the lesson for Peter is not finished yet.
-- Lionel Hartley PhD, "Not Finished Yet"
Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank
"This serial saga, although novel, is not a novel. It is merely a series of true-life episodes highlighting the extraordinary working of an extraordinary God in a very ordinary life. Each episode contained a lesson for Peter Blank, a lesson we can all learn, from a lesson-book life that is not finished yet."


-- Lionel Hartley, Not Finished Yet -- Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank
"This serial saga, although novel, is not a novel. It is merely a series of true-life episodes highlighting the extraordinary working of an extraordinary God in a very ordinary life. Each episode contained a lesson for Peter Blank, a lesson we can all learn, from a lesson-book life that is not finished yet."
As first appeared in FreEzine Magazine July 2000 ff

Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank, Part 5

Episode 5. Peter Goes To Jail
One day, quite unexpectedly, two burly gentlemen from the local constabulary confronted Peter (16 years) at his place of work. It seems that he was being charged with the theft of some equipment from a church in a nearby neighbourhood as someone fitting his physical description had been seen there late at night. The evidence was watertight, he was to be detained overnight and would face the mere formality of a trial the next day. Without the opportunity to seek for support, he was bundled into a police van and driven to a police station at an unknown location. No need for interrogation -- they had all the evidence they needed -- he would now learn first-hand what novels alone had taught him. Fingerprinted, photographed and empty-pocketed, stripped of necktie and shoes -- even the leather buttons were removed from his Harris tweed suit-coat -- before he was lead into a concrete-walled cell scarcely larger than the mattress-covered iron bunk that was cemented to the wall within. Completely devoid of windows, save a tiny grilled opening in the door, the room carried the heavy weight of dank musty air. The room was much taller than it was wide, and high in the centre of the ceiling a solitary light globe behind a wire mesh glared mockingly at the frightened form below. The putrid stale smell of the sweat and urine of previous occupants added a unnecessary melancholy to the already terrifying circumstance. Why a bed was provided was a mystery as sleep was as elusive as the reason for this sudden incarceration. Hope of an exoneration also was evasive as his imagination filled with episodes from the recently read "Foxe's Book of Martyrs". The night passed as slowly as a knee-climb on Pilate's Staircase in a thunderstorm.
Morning was announced, not by the entrance of the sun (as this room had seen none) but by the noisy arrival of a heavily guarded tin plate of some grey lumpy matter. This strange grey mound supported an equally grey spoon, which stood to attention like a solitary tree on a hilltop. One of the guards emitted some profound statement about the grey mound being porridge and that they would wait while he ate it. Peter had no stomach for such generosity despite the fact he had not eaten since the middle of the previous day and simply shook his hands in a gesture to suggest that they guard their valuable porridge somewhere else.
With no tool for measuring time, the eternity was punctured when the door swung wide and a pair of voices called for "Hey You" to follow "NOW!" Along long corridors and then into the back of a van the stocking-footed Peter padded. The drive to the courthouse was immeasurable brief compared with the long lone wait in an anteroom at the courthouse.
Then late in the afternoon, hunger having been and now long since forgotten, unwashed, unshaven, wearing a button-less tweed suit and minus a necktie and footwear, eyes red with too much anxiety and not enough rest -- just when Peter felt in no presentable state to be on trial -- an announcement was made to the effect that it was his turn "in the dock". How could a young man, innocent of the alleged crime, feel so guilty, so criminal, so miserably abandoned? The newspapers had already carried the story of his "crime" yet he knew that not. His employer had told all the staff at the office, and reports with embellishment and exaggeration had filtered through the town, but he knew not that either. He knew only that he felt the humiliation and shame of exposure as if he were on public display naked.
With an unreasonable shame in the eyes, which looked only down, with the smell of furniture polish to the nose and the buzz of unfamiliar jargon to the ears, his bewildering few moments in the courtroom told him nothing.
He was, it seemed, just as quickly jostled into another anteroom, there to wait under the heavy cloud of ignorance and anxiety.
It was there in that half-panelled leather-lounged room that matters took a decided turn when he was finally informed what was happening, what had happened, and what would happen. With overwhelming relief and unbelief, he listened as it was revealed how the real crime perpetrator had confessed and that he would receive, in due course, not only his necktie, coat buttons and shoes, but also an official letter of vindication and apology.
These he did receive, but the scars of incarceration and the unexplained feeling of needless guilt remained and so the lesson for Peter is not finished yet.


-- Lionel Hartley, Not Finished Yet -- Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank
"This serial saga, although novel, is not a novel. It is merely a series of true-life episodes highlighting the extraordinary working of an extraordinary God in a very ordinary life. Each episode contained a lesson for Peter Blank, a lesson we can all learn, from a lesson-book life that is not finished yet."
As first appeared in FreEzine Magazine July 2000 ff

Preventing Us From Falling Apart

Two Types of Sealing in the New Testament

Eph 1:13  … ye were sealed with that Holy Spirit of promise.

There are two types of sealing mentioned in the New Testament: sealing to make us saints and the final sealing of the saints. In today’s verse, Eph 1:13  ‘… ye were sealed with that Holy Spirit of promise’, the Greek word here is ‘sphragizo’ meaning to stamp (with a signet or private mark) for security or preservation. 

In Ephesians 1:13 and 4:30 and in 2 Corinthians 1:22, this first meaning (Security) is intended. This is written in the past tense

Many years ago I worked for a company with the menial task of tying parcels for posting. Each parcel was sealed with a strip of adhesive tape. The purpose of the tape was to stop the parcel from falling apart. When we are sealed with that Holy Spirit of promise, it helps to prevent us from falling apart!

The second meaning (Preservation) is found in verses such as Revelation 7:3-8 which uses the Greek ‘achri sphragizo’ (A terminal or final sealing)

-- Lionel Hartley, The Blessings of Ephesians One (booklet), Philadelphia Press, 1989

Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank, Part 4

Episode 4: The Stolen Bell
Eight-year-old Peter befriended a school chum named Buddy. Not that Buddy was really Peter's 'type', but Buddy was teased by everyone else and gravitated toward Peter for friendship and Peter responded. (Maybe it was because Peter was a loner too. Peter regretfully admits that he was also a teaser, so that wasn't the reason!)
Buddy lived in a neighbouring suburb to Peter, and the two often walked home together as far as Peter's place before Buddy continued on to his own. Unlike Peter, Buddy tried to buy friendship by doing daring things. One day, he stole the little brass bell from the counter in a shop a few doors from where he lived. Buddy gave the bell to Peter, without telling him where it came from. However in the district where Peter lived, it seemed that everybody knew everybody-else's business, and it didn't take long for word to spread around the community that the little bell had been stolen from the shop in the next neighbourhood.
Soon Peter found out the bell was stolen and he challenged Buddy about it. Buddy quietly confessed, but was scared to do anything about it. So Peter took the matter into his own hands. He boldly went into the shop and placed the bell on the counter. 'I stole this from you,' he lied, 'and I have come to return it and apologise!' He then turned to hurriedly leave.
The elderly shopkeeper looked at Peter with one eye and demanded, 'When? I've never seen you in my shop before!' This put Peter on the spot as he had no idea when the bell was stolen, but as Buddy had given it to him about three days prior, he lied, 'Three days ago.' The shopkeeper continued to stare at Peter, which made the lad feel most uneasy. He remembered his mother's warning about lying: 'If you tell even the tiniest fib,' she had cautioned, 'it will catch up with you and you will have to keep on lying to cover up and it will then take a whopper to cover it.'  Peter tried to dismiss his mother's portrait in his mind. 'I stole this from you three days ago, and I apologise!' he mendaciously announced a second time.
'You're covering up for someone else, aren't you?' the gentleman demanded. At this Peter broke down and confessed to lying, and tried to leave Buddy out of the story. But the persistence of the shopkeeper pushed Peter further and further into a corner. Finally, Peter named Buddy as the culprit. It was then that Peter felt sick in the stomach. He had betrayed the very one he had sought to protect. And he had lied in the process -- thrice.  This was a hard lesson for Peter and he wondered if lying wasn't worse than stealing. He determined then and there to shy away from dishonest at whatever cost.
His friendship with Buddy somehow survived. Peter never learned what action the shopkeeper took against Buddy but neither forgot the lesson in honesty they learned that day. Reform, however, is a process and for Peter the lessons were to continue...


-- Lionel Hartley, Not Finished Yet -- Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank
"This serial saga, although novel, is not a novel. It is merely a series of true-life episodes highlighting the extraordinary working of an extraordinary God in a very ordinary life. Each episode contained a lesson for Peter Blank, a lesson we can all learn, from a lesson-book life that is not finished yet."
As first appeared in FreEzine Magazine July 2000 ff

The Batrachian Preacher

"Every morning the rooster crows…"
(Now hang-on-a-minute – that’s not how it goes!)
Every morning when the rooster should crow,
(If we had one, that is, and I ought to know),
At the first glimpse of sun (or artificial light
Streaming from my window bright)
A Loud-mouthed Frog in the drainpipe, sings;
It’s voice in haunting echo rings
Up, up the drain-pipe (or is it down?)
He (she?) sings a song to wake the town.

ö
‘Though lacking the rooster’s plumage rare—
Bold colours of feathers, suffused with hue
The early-morning voice is there:
With a ‘croak-croak-croak’…
Not a ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’!
Not sunrise-silhouetted on a distant fence
But in a gloomy drainpipe,
Hidden from my vision
This songster chants his rousing call—
Complete with a moral,
If I stop to listen.

ö
"Just as Apostle Peter was shocked to reality
At the prophesied rooster’s cry,
The ‘croak-croak-croak’ from the unseen throat
Is a wake-up shock to reality’s call
Of the near-coming judgement to face us all."
Time to get up and confess our denial,
To be reconciled, start life anew—
By confession bold and honesty rare;
By penitence true and submission too,
And acceptance of forgiveness not withheld
(A gift freely offered, pre-paid by His blood)
To restore our relationship with a loving God
Who cares enough to preach to me
Through a noisy sun-up Frog.

©13 Feb 2008 Lionel Hartley

Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank, Part 3

Episode 3: Peter Has A Close Shave
Peter (9 years), interested in things mechanical, volunteered his services several days a week (after school) in a local wood joinery shop. Here in a converted brewery, the smell of beer long since replaced by the heady fragrance of freshly-sawn pine, and the noisy clanking of bottles was replaced by the buzz of timber shaping and cutting machines. Here the busy craftsman and his equally talented wife fashioned rough timber into beautiful furniture. Childless, they adopted Peter for an hour or two each afternoon, so hot chocolate and jam scones always preceded his labour. For Peter, no special genius was required. Sometimes he stacked timber or swept up sawdust. Occasionally he helped to hold an item while glue clamps were applied or to help steady an extra large item while it was fed into an hungry planing machine or saw-bench. Always he was allowed to take home an off-cut or two, a few nails or screws, or wooden dowels to fashion some creation of his own. Mostly he just talked with youthful enthusiasm and stood by watching with fervent interest. On one sad occasion he stayed there on his own to answer the telephone or greet customers because, having witnessed the wife loose a finger while using the band-saw, the craftsman and his wife left him "in charge" while they hurried to the hospital.
Often they chatted about their God. The couple was Christian, but not religious. Unlike Peter, they attended no church, but they knew their God personally and shared their simple faith enthusiastically, reminding Peter often that God has a personal interest in each of us and that we all have our own Guardian Angel.
One particular incident gave them opportunity to remind him of this often. That day, Peter had been helping to hold a large glue-bound tabletop while the craftsman manoeuvred it across the circular saw bench. With such a large item covering the saw-bench, neither of them gave thought to a doweling drill on the same shaft as the saw-blade. This twist drill, revolving in unison with the blade, protruded out from the side of the bench and was protected only by a little metal shelf a few centimetres below it. As the pair slid the tabletop across the saw-bench, the spinning drill bit grabbed the front of Peter's cardigan. Within seconds, his head was being pulled downwards toward the fast rotating blade. Instantly, the machine was stopped by the quick-thinking craftsman, but momentum kept the blade spinning and the relentless drill was gathering up the frightened youth's cardigan and pulling him closer and closer to the deadly whining circle of hungry teeth. Peter's eyeball felt the brush of air from the blade as it loomed closer. Finally the craftsman wedged a piece of wood against the blade, stopping it suddenly just as it was beginning to lick the hair off Peter's forehead. With hearts pounding and breath hard to come by, they both sighed thanks to God.
Peter sensed the nearness of a God who had spared him, and often the craftsman and his wife, followers of their Master's trade, reminded the youth that God must have a special work for him, a lesson for Peter that is not finished yet.


-- Lionel Hartley, Not Finished Yet -- Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank
"This serial saga, although novel, is not a novel. It is merely a series of true-life episodes highlighting the extraordinary working of an extraordinary God in a very ordinary life. Each episode contained a lesson for Peter Blank, a lesson we can all learn, from a lesson-book life that is not finished yet."
As first appeared in FreEzine Magazine July 2000 ff

Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank, Part 2

Episode 2: Peter Is Washed Away
A family seaside picnic found Peter (7 years) bored without the story books
he normally used for filling his holiday hours. This was a family affair,
which included an assortment of relatives including two maiden aunts. A
neighbour's two daughters (school friends of Peter's siblings) had also
accompanied them to the beach. Swimming, or rather paddling, in the safety
of a large netted shark protection enclosure preceded the luncheon.
While the adults chatted about the way things once were, the teens about the
way things ought to be, and the younger ones about how they couldn't care
either way, Peter, having gained a reputation as a day-dreamer, reclined
upon an inflatable mattress on the beach and closed his eyes.
The hot afternoon sun may have enticed others into the water, but for Peter
it had a different effect. The relaxing comfort of the air-mattress, the
gentle lapping of the water (as the tide came in) and the gentle rocking of
the now-floating mattress lulled Peter into a dreamy sleep. Flotsam & jetsam
may have washed up on the shoreline, but dreaming Peter drifted the other
way.
In fact, he continued to drift, unnoticed until he awoke, startled, as the
gentle waves were replaced by the more turbulent heaving of the ocean. It
was then that he realised both his predicament and the futility of shouting
for assistance as he was by now some considerable distance out to sea. Now
that he had left the protection of the bay, he was rapidly being carried
further by the wind. Although he felt no fear, he felt the anxiety of
helplessness. But God hadn't finished with Peter yet.
After what seemed ages, the bobbing head of a swimmer could be seen in the
water between him and the beach. The elder daughter of the neighbour,
herself only a teenager, had taken it upon herself to attempt a rescue. But
as fast as she drew closer, the wind carried Peter further away, until
finally she gaspingly pleaded for him to lie flat on his stomach and try to
paddle toward her. Fortunately for both of them, he did so, and she rested
on the edge of the mattress before attempting to swim back. Although
exhausted from the swim out to him, she was somehow given additional
strength to swim back to shore (against the tide) with Peter and the
air-mattress in tow.
I hope you can imagine the praise and cheers this young lady received when
they eventually arrived in shallow water again. Peter is unable to relate
that part of the story as he better remembers two other things: his mother's
rebuke for his foolishness and his maiden aunt's proclamation of gratitude
to the God who had cared for him. However, Peter's life lesson is not
finished yet.


-- Lionel Hartley, Not Finished Yet -- Chronicles in the Life of Peter Blank
"This serial saga, although novel, is not a novel. It is merely a series of true-life episodes highlighting the extraordinary working of an extraordinary God in a very ordinary life. Each episode contained a lesson for Peter Blank, a lesson we can all learn, from a lesson-book life that is not finished yet."
As first appeared in FreEzine Magazine July 2000 ff