How it all started...

As a preacher, public speaking is very much a way of life for me. I have been asked to speak this Friday evening at a local cafe, to share the story of how I became a Christian. I have done this many times before, in schools, churches, even at a couple of annual dinners as the guest speaker. The story I have is an interesting one and I have yet to find anyone, Christian, atheist or somewhere in between that didn't at least find the story thought-provoking, challenging, exciting, or at least different. The difference this time is that folk are paying to be there. They are shelling out their hard-earned cash to come and listen to me speak. Thankfully there is food laid on as part of the package but notwithstanding that, I feel rather uncomfortable about it.

It's not that people should not pay for a meal, nor that they should not pay to go somewhere to be entertained. They know who is speaking so there are no surprises in store. I am not the "mystery" guest speaker (who would doubtless remain a mystery to most long after he had spoken, sat down and gone home). So what is it that rankles? Simply that I do not like to charge for sharing a story that is designed to lead people towards a relationship with Jesus Christ, or to help deepen a relationship that has already started. It smacks of some sleazy televangelist proffering the credit card numbers to his TV audience while he indulges himself in more witty quips about how his big buddy in the sky has made him rich. Perhaps I am overstating it a little, but I am sure you see my point.

I am also aware that the full story of what I will be talking about will be available for purchase in the bookshop or on-line after next month, and there is a link on this blog to highlight that fact. So my purpose here is to give a brief synopsis to all those who will not be hearing me on Friday night, and who have no intention of buying the full version anytime soon. At least this way I might feel a bit less mercenary.

This is me 25 years ago:

What was I thinking wearing big plastic boots and carrying ice axes when there is no snow in sight? In one word: workout. Everything was about getting fitter, stronger and better. That was my life, and the mantra that I lived by was, "if you put the work in, you get the result out". If I worked hard enough I was invincible; I could not fail. I started climbing because I had tried other sports and they did not satisfy. Climbing brought a new dimension to extreme workouts; it introduced me to the world of the adrenaline junkie and I was hooked from the first fix. It was all about climbing harder, working harder and overcoming every obstacle along the way, no matter what form it took. I felt good being defined as a mountaineer. It was who I was, not merely what I did.

I went on an expedition to Norway with a close friend and two of his climbing pals. We did quite a lot of big wall climbing, and for a novice at least, I was becoming quite good. I had a blend of physical strength and absolute determination that enabled me to climb, in effect, well above my pay grade. Unfortunately big forearms and self-belief do not help when for example, you find yourself off route in the pitch black with the rain coming down. Oh, and you are over 1,000ft above the ground.
And did I mention it was a sheer rock face.
I had also forgotten my head torch so I was effectively blind. My mate had forgotten his as well. Decidedly inconvenient.
So we had to abseil the whole way down in the pitch black.
Being the more experienced climber my mate went ahead of me and started to abseil further down the crag, and promptly disappeared in a flurry of sparks down the mountainside accompanied by the crashing sound of boulders. I called his name for a while but he was missing, presumed dead.
I also omitted to say, the 8" wide ledge I was sitting on started to give way because it was rotten granite and my weight was causing it to crumble.
Oh, and finally I should point out, I had no rope because it was stuck, jammed in some root higher up as we had tried to abseil diagonally across the wet, slippery rock...in the pitch black.
Actually, that was not finally, because then I climbed across the blank wall of wet rock, in the pitch black, with no rope and no torch and no experienced climbing buddy.
And then I stopped, turned around...and stepped off.
Did I say I was 1,000ft up a sheer rock wall?

Just prior to that little climb across the blank wall, in absolute desperation and bereft of hope, I had had a little chat with the God I erstwhile had not believed in. I decided the following day that He had proved Himself to me, and that demanded a response. My response was a life dedicated to serving Him.

So that is my story. Or at least it is the start of my story as one who claims Jesus Christ as his Saviour and Lord.

Now at least you do not have to go to a cafe in Kendal this Friday to hear about it (in a little more detail). Nor do you have to go and buy a copy of my book Over the Top, which comes out in April.

But please feel free to do either or both. You would be most welcome.