The road less travelled

Privatisation clearly did nothing to improve the godliness of our nation's Public Transport system.

Today I was led to travel to another local market town to bring the Good News.  It's ridiculous for a small church such as Frisby Independent Baptists to attempt to evangelise a whole county on its own - even deep faith must have its limits.  And so I have drawn a zone of 40 mile radius around the Leicester Space Centre, and defined that as our sphere of influence.

Technically it's not a sphere, it's a circle - a circle being a 2-dimensional body, whereas spheres are possessed of 3 dimensions - but that need not worry us for the purposes of evangelism.
So today I brought the Glad Tidings to the benighted souls of Melton Mowbray. A race that sojourns in perpetual darkness, chewing on pieces of pork pie and Stilton Cheese in a doomed effort to haul themselves to the end of each day that dawned without hope, and will see the sun set without meaning.  Except for when they get excited, once a year in the summer, and take the kids to Twin Lakes for the day.

So it was with the thrill of sharing the Good News that I spent the morning at various places around the Town Centre. I was using my new replica car number plate that says "J35US", which I think is particularly witty - it is important to share the Gospel with humour, breaks down barriers. And yet, no matter how times I told people that their lives were sinful and licentious, and only Hell awaited them, I barely made any contact. In fact, when I was at the Cattle Market someone assumed I was trying to sell novelty number plates, and tried to get me arrested for trading without a licence.

Shaking the dust from my feet, and clutching a large - but not gluttonous - slice of pork pie, I boarded the bus and headed off back to Frisby-on-Soar. But truly all my ways had traps set on them by the Enemy, even on the return journey. About halfway home, a ticket inspector climbed on.  As the inspector neared my end of the bus - I sit at the back, on the principle that those that are last shall be first - I became aware that said operative was a woman.

You can see my dilemma. Clearly, in those circumstances the woman was assuming headship over the driver - a man who was innocently steering the bus in accordance with its appointed route.  I stood up.
"Young lady," I stated in a clear voice, "you appear to be assuming headship over this fine vehicle, and its male driver, in direct contradiction to Holy Writ. I must insist that you either stop, or I will be forced to forgo the services of Arriva and trust to the Good Lord for my journey home.

Truly wide and easy is the street that leads to destruction. But the road that leads to Frisby is narrow, and windy, and full of cars that will not give you a lift but will tear past you at 80 miles an hour, missing you by inches.  And the Church's Portable Evangelism Apparatus, although convenient and easy to use, becomes rather more cumbersome when you have to walk twelve miles home.  Especially the car battery. That really starts to hurt.

So enough for today, I need a shower, and to apply a liberal quantity of Vaseline to an area that I cannot describe on this family blog, but that suffered terribly from chafing. And I shall not be asking any of my flock to lay on hands for healing. But to the stars in my crown will be added the blisters on my feet as the marks of the martyrdom that we suffer daily, and that is a reward that will last forever.