In sickness and in health

sandy-millar-YeJWDWeIZho-unsplashThis week Fiona and I celebrated our 36th wedding anniversary. We thank God for bringing us through so many ups and downs, and we keep asking him to help us love each other whatever the future may hold. We don’t have a perfect marriage and we’ve got lots still to learn. But the promises we made weren’t conditional. They weren’t dependent on feelings or good circumstances. We went with the traditional options… you know… better/worse, richer/poorer, sickness/health. I suspect we made these promises without pausing to contemplate very deeply. We just knew we wanted to get married and we wanted to stay married. Still do.

Back then it was…

Richer? Who cares?

Poorer? I doubt it—we were both students.

Better? We’re about to get married. It can only get better, surely?

Worse? I hope not.

Health? Of course, we’re both young and fit and full of life.

Sickness? Everyone gets sick sometimes, don’t they?

Fast forward to 2019 and one promise stands out. Never would we have contemplated what this could mean, what it would mean. “In sickness and in health”.

On any count, the typical annual dose of the flu, occasional colds, a few broken bones, irregular migraines, four caesareans, bouts of labyrinthitis, recovery from a major car accident, and eight years of living with cancer, add up to a lot of time “in sickness”.

And what about all the sicknesses and injuries to our children? More than three months in the NICU, regular injuries from skateboarding, cycling, or rugby, catching the bugs from school friends (sometimes literally). And then there are ageing parents. And mental health struggles. And pregnancy complications. And, and, and.

Let me go out on a limb and say I reckon marriage for us has been at least 1/3 sickness, 2/3 health.

Marriage is not for the faint-hearted. It’s not for casual or temporary affections. Marriage is a covenant to love. It’s about putting your life partner before yourself. It’s about “we will work it out—whatever”. It’s about let’s keep asking God to help us.

It’s about learning to love, actively, showing the initiative, being the first to forgive, killing our selfish pride, overcoming our discontent, and rejoicing in the wonder of growing together in all the ups and downs of life. It’s about a love that grows in patience, and kindness, without envy, boasting or pride. This is a love that isn’t self-seeking, doesn’t get easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs, and always protects, trusts, hopes and perseveres.

How can you learn to love like this? Two thoughts come to mind:

  1. Even though he never got married, Jesus shows us the kind of love that will make a marriage work.
  2. You know love when it gets put to the test. Seems like “in sickness” is a challenging place to grow real love.

We have dear friends whose marriages have faced the challenges of better and worse, richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, more than we will ever know—friends who have no relief from continual pain, perpetual fatigue, aching brokenness, chronic illnesses, and more. Please pray for friends’s marriages, pray for your marriage.

Now it’s time to seek God’s help to practice what I preach.

 

Round 2

This post is by Fiona McDonald. We are in this together.

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Ding. Ding. Ding.

The bell sounds the start of round 2.

This will be a different round from the first round.

Round 1 had seen an unknown featherweight sent into the ring against a known heavy weight—LC.

No one had known why the round had even been scheduled. It was a total mismatch.

There had never been any doubt in the minds of most as to the outcome.

It had just been a warm up round for early spectators to the main event, a small sideshow off to the side.

But as the young featherweight danced around the ring, in his naivety throwing punches that LC hadn’t expected, fighting in a totally unconventional style, this round had gathered the interest of the spectators, both professionals—medical and theological, and amateurs—believers and non-believers.

Much to everyone’s amazement, including the featherweight himself, blows had been delivered that had knocked LC around, causing him to stumble and fall.

The judge’s decision was totally unexpected—the featherweight had won the first round.

But now the bell is ringing for the second round.

It has been a long time since the first round.

The crowd has drifted on to other matches, other things in life.

The featherweight himself has moved on from that first round.

The unexpected win had given new lease to life.

There had been the book written of the experience and talks to encourage others in their unexpected fights with LC’s brothers.

There had been a new job—leading a church in the Stromlo region. Then taking on and shaping the first FIEC national director job. With pastoral ministry to the local, national and even international church.

There had been the fulfilment of bucket list prayers—kid’s graduations; weddings; special birthdays; the joy of four grandchildren; family holidays to beautiful places; joy, beauty, life; celebrating the life God continued to give; celebrating NED.

But there had also been occasional reminders—scanxiety every 3 months; the serious oncologist with somber warnings; the progression of LC in others; and the deaths and funerals of fellow LC and other C brothers and sisters.  Life, and sometimes even breathing were reminders of LC not being far away.

And now the bell sounds for round 2.

Years later…

Some had thought the battle had been won and there would be no round 2.

But the wise, including those in the corner of the featherweight, hadn’t been caught totally unsurprised when LC suddenly scheduled a second round. LC didn’t like losing. His backers didn’t like losing. They’d bided their time before turning up again, hoping to catch the featherweight off guard, untrained, unprepared.

It’s now an older, middleweight who now steps into the ring against LC.

Older, wiser, more tired, still bearing the bruising and scarring from last time.

But not totally unprepared.

Not quite so naïve as last time.

Maybe more skill than last time?

They’ve been working on the left jab, fighting hard, building strategies.

Jab… the research and experimenting with new treatments that has happened in the last 8 years. No longer is the world so scared of LC, or his siblings. Great advances have been made.

Jab… no longer is all LC the same. Now it is understood at the molecular level, cell types and genetic mutations promptly looked for.

Sure, there’s still the discrimination… “you must have been a smoker” and “You get what you deserve”.

Sure, funding for other Cs is still greater… who doesn’t want to help their mum, their girlfriend when they’ve got BC? Which bloke hasn’t come to realise more about PC? Who hasn’t been encouraged to do their poo test when the government sends it out? Which lady hasn’t been cheering that pap smears are now only every 5 years and encouraging their teenage girls and boys to suck it up and have their HPV immunization.

The middle weight is grateful for groups like the Lung Foundation Australia, and for their support, research, and advocacy. He’s got involved. He’s joined the team. He’s been in the papers and on TV.

HIs involvement in Rare Cancers Australia has opened doors to better government understanding and funding.

The middle weight has been glad to be another little voice in the PBS listing of new medications and the need for genetic testing. It’s been a pleasing change from the initial “I’m sorry, we don’t speak with the public” to now being asked to participate in public forums, as a ‘consumer’.

Jab… many LCs are able to be treated more like a ‘chronic disease’ than a ‘death sentence’. It’s still the largest C killer, but things are changing.

Jab… in 2011 research was still deciding that chemo could continue beyond the first four doses to a maintenance regime—something the featherweight had proved in person, with four gruelling years of maintenance chemo to back up his surprise win.

But the glimmers of targeted therapy had been just beyond the featherweight’s reach. Now they are a reality, things have changed.

Jab… the targeted drugs are now first line therapy, and second line therapy and even third line therapy. They are now standard treatment. And they are available to our middleweight combatant. The question is more “which one to use?” rather than desperately trying to get access.

Jab… we’re not alone. Last time the featherweight coach had been desperately researching, desperately trying to find specialists with understanding and experience. Now these people are all in place. They are on our team.

A respiratory physician/oncologist in our neighbouring town of Port Macquarie.

A world class researcher and expert in Melbourne.

Access to the best research through the LC international symposium. Research that comes straight to our email box, rather than having to wade through the internet.

Initially it was the patient experts on the online community, Inspire, and the medical experts who took time to answer on CancerGrace.

But now a specific ALK group—connections in Australia, NZ, Canada, the US. Friends online have become friends in person. Friends we’ve shared our lives with, who’ve stayed with us, and at whose funerals we’ve wept.

Jab… Jab… Jab…

Our technique has certainly improved.

But it was the right-hand knockout punch that caught us as much as our opponent by surprise.

It totally blew us away. LC throwing in the towel. NED being announced and continuing to be announced with successive scans.

The joy and privilege of life granted, the miracle of healing despite the odds and the usually powerless chemotherapy combination.

The knockout punch forged through desperation last time, has now strengthened.

The right-hand cross of trust in God, forged in the battle last time, supported by the reading and writing of books and, most importantly, given its power by people’s prayers.  This punch has continued to be practiced and used and refined.

It’s been humbling to have had so many people say to us over the intervening years that they’ve been praying for us.

David didn’t want you to be uninformed.

You prayed and many have given thanks on our behalf for the gracious favour granted to us in answer to the prayers of so many. To see prayer—intentional and interventional—makes us more aware than ever that we’re not alone, and we don’t suffer alone or in silence. God had given us the community of the church to care, love, support and pray for each other.

We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about the troubles we experienced in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. 10 He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us again. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us, 11 as you help us by your prayers. Then many will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favour granted us in answer to the prayers of many.
(2 Corinthians 1:8-11)

It’s been amazing to see God at work in so many ways through this first round.

To know the reality of Romans 8:28 in our lives, and to see the effect flow on into the lives of others.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who[a] have been called according to his purpose.

It’s been wonderful to enjoy the peace of Philippians 4:6-7, rather than anxiety.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

It’s been a blessing to rejoice in our physical, emotional and spiritual sufferings, and to know the hope that God gives. It’s been a privilege to see God act in mercy, reconciling people to himself.

we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance;perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.
(Romans 5:3-5)

It’s been a joy to receive comfort from God and to seek to offer real comfort to others, through the comfort we have received, praying with and for them, trying to encourage others to persevere through suffering because the rewards are immense.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.
(2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

It’s been a privilege to continue to minister to God’s people, to hear David preach, to be part of our local churches—Crossroads, Stromlo, and now Salt.

It’s an awesome thought to know that we’re in the plans and purposes of God for our lives. To know that nothing is beyond his control, his knowledge, his reach, his working. To know that our time is in his hands, that he is all powerful and all good, and that he is indeed our Rock and our Redeemer.

The bell rings for round 2.

They had never wanted to enter the ring first round. They wouldn’t have wished it on their worst enemies, and yet it has been a joy and a privilege and something that had brought them closer to God and given new ways to serve others.

The bell rings for round 2.

Slowly the middleweight climbs onto the canvas. The scoffers and jeerers can be heard. The doubters are fearful. The resilient stand grim-faced and determined.

The crowd is expectant.

The bell rings.

The combatants face off, mentally preparing for jab, jab, jab, right cross.

But this round and many others were all won so many years ago.

Jab… the creator and sustainer of the world entered our world as a human being.

Jab… his teaching brought wisdom and understanding of the one true God.

Jab… his miracles pointed out the presence of God in their midst.

Uppercut to the jaw… his crucifixion.

Knockout punch… his resurrection.

The bell rings for round 2.

The combatants step up.

There is confidence and a trusting smile, for we know that Round 2 was won many years before. And even if we lose, yet we win.

20 I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. 21 For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. 22 If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! 23 I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; 24 but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.
(Philippians 1:20-24)

And through it all, we keep trusting in our great God—faithful, kind, good, sovereign, loving, and powerful— and we are deeply grateful for those who will pray with us through this next round, comforting, encouraging and spurring us on.

More changes ahead

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I find it hard to sit still. I’m sure if ADD had been a diagnosis in 1967, then I would have been labelled. All my school reports said something along the lines of “He would do better if he stopped talking and concentrated more on his work…” Not to mention all those sitting close to me would have done better too.

But just when we were thinking that life would stabilise here in Bonny Hills, another change comes along. This year I’m taking on the role of Pastor at Salt Community Church. Salt meets between Bonny’s and Lake Cathie in the local primary school. This Saturday at 5pm (yes our church gets in early!) I will commence this role, as I begin preaching through 1 Peter on the theme Make Your Life Count. Tonight, Fiona and I are meeting with some of the leaders to talk ‘church’ and do some preparation together.

My role at Salt will be part-time, as I am continuing with the role of National Director of FIEC. It will mean a bit less travel than the past two years, but that is needed anyway. Together with Dean, Jim, Fiona, and our executive, I will seek to provide good leadership, support, and direction to our Fellowship. I will need to work smarter, not harder, as they say!

I am excited about regular preaching and pastoral ministry in the local context, as I have a growing passion for God’s work in the Bonny Hills area. It will be nice to have the rhythm of regular preaching to keep me growing in God’s word. I also hope that it will keep me fresh and add a new dimension in relating to pastors in my work as National Director.

Over the past couple of years I’ve been involved in some mentoring, ministry coaching, and professional supervision of pastors and Christian leaders. Most of this synchronises nicely with the FIEC role. This year I’m up-skilling by taking on some supervised training in Christian mentoring. Last week Fiona, Dean Ingham, and I, all took the first intensive in a course at SMBC aimed at improving the manner in which we support, equip, and encourage growth in other leaders.

While we miss our friends from 28 years in Canberra, we are enjoying living on the Mid North Coast. It’s a joy to wake up to the sun and the surf. We love being nearer some of our kids and grandkids, and we are eagerly anticipating the birth of another grandchild in a few weeks. The year is filling up already and we will need God’s help. If you are in the business of talking to God and praying for others, we’d value your prayers for 2019. Please pray that God will equip us to serve him competently and faithfully. And ask God to help us walk the line of going out on a limb for him, while looking after ourselves at the same time.

God save the kids

I’ve been on holidays. It’s been wonderful. I’ve been with my grandkids—swimming, fishing, camping, eating, even singing. Kids are awesome. Having kids is awesome. Having grandkids is grand awesome. Now, I know some can’t. Many suffer under the unrelenting weight of infertility, longing for children of their own. Others weep daily for their lost children due to accident or disease. The crushing pain of miscarriage and still birth haunts many, leading to deep depression and despair. And many bear the scars of being stolen children or having had their children taken away.

I’ve come back from holidays and my world has gone crazy. America, New York, to be precise. On the 46th anniversary of Roe vs Wade, abortion law has taken a giant leap. New York city is celebrating full term abortions. Not just passing law, but celebrating! Lighting up the World Trade Centre. Painting it pink to party at the passing of the Reproductive Health Act.

Donna Lieberman, Executive Director of the New York Civil Liberties Union, declared, “Today the New York legislature is poised to take a historic vote to protect women’s rights and autonomy … While there is still more to do to ensure New York can be a safe haven for women all over the country, today is a day for long-overdue celebration.” Is that really true? Wouldn’t it be more accurate to limit the safe -haven to the women who are lucky enough to be born already. What about all the unborn women? How safe is New York for them?

This is the first time I’ve ever written a post about abortion. It’s too easy to cause hurt and harm in every direction. Perhaps, the complexity of the matter has kept me quiet. Maybe, I’ve been gutless in the past. So why now? To put it simply, what has just taken place in New York Sate fills me with fear and moves me to tears. I feel compelled to cry out.

There used to be a cut off date for abortion—24 weeks. They’ve taken that away. Not that I approved of any date, but this is a step too far. The thing is, I’ve met a number of children born before 24 weeks. They are alive and healthy today. I’ve walked with couples who’ve spent weeks and months in the NICU, caring and praying for their little ones born at 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28+ weeks. They are precious jewels.

aujaI have a first hand, hands on, deep connection to this matter. Our little girl wasn’t due until 7th January, but she arrived early on 1st October. Do the maths. That’s early. Very very early. More than 14 weeks early. We visited our beautiful girl every single day, sometimes 3 or 4 times, for 97 days in the NICU. We stood by her as she took one step forward and two steps back. We agonised over every setback and rejoiced at every advance. We put life on hold for her. We prayed for her. So many others prayed for her. A treasured daughter, sister, granddaughter, child of God. We watched her grow, develop and mature, day by day, until the day she was due. We had the privilege of seeing what is normally kept hidden—a perfect, precious, baby growing outside instead of inside the womb.

It horrifies me that anyone would celebrate the right to terminate the life of my little girl. Sometimes, there must be an agonising choice to save a mother at the cost of the child. But celebrate? Hold a party? Light up the World Trade Centre? Really? How twisted have we become?

It saddens me that we champion the right to choose over the right to live, and right up until the due date. I don’t trust people. And it deeply worries me that this is not going to be the end.

The Friend who Forgives

forgiveNow that I’m a grandpa, I’m on the look out for great kids’ books. We’ve still got a few at home that our kids haven’t taken with them, but we’re keen for some new ones for when the grandkids come to visit. So I was pleased when the The Good Book Company sent me a new children’s book to review. It’s The Friend who Forgives: A True Story about how Peter Failed and Jesus Forgave, written by Dan DeWitt and illustrated by Catalina Echeverri.

Firstly, this is a beautiful book. The pictures are captivating—not just for kids, but adults too. They are lively, funny, colourful, and expressive. And the words, too. They’re written in a clear, simple, conversational style, that works for adults and children. The listener is drawn in with the occasional question. And most importantly, it’s beautifully theological. It introduces the readers and listeners to the wonder of Jesus’ forgiveness.

IMG_1171We tested the book yesterday with our nearly five year old grandson. He’s not reading yet so Nona read it to him. He listened intently, answering appropriately, and told me he enjoyed it at the end. We’ll read it to him again, next time he comes over.

But this is a review and not the ramblings of a grandpa. I need to mention the inside back cover. It helpfully reminds the readers that this is a ‘tale that tells the truth’. DeWitt explains that this story is taken from the New Testament Gospels. This is God’s revealed will. It’s anchored in history and it has significance for us. I think it would be worth reading the account from an easy-to-read Bible with the children from time to time, so they make the connection with the Scriptures.

I do have one concern about this book. It uses the words ‘forgive’, ‘forgave’, ‘forgiven’, ‘forgiveness’ without giving an explanation of what the word means. Not all words need explanation, but I think this one does. It’s central to the book and our grandson couldn’t tell us what it meant. When we thought about it, we realised that it is a difficult word to define simply. I recommend that you work out a simple explanation of forgiveness to share with the children who read this or have it read to them. Perhaps, you can think of an example or two they will quickly understand or identify with. Maybe, the author could add another page at the start or back, with a ‘For the reader’ section, defining and describing forgiveness.

For now, why don’t you make a comment or suggestion on this post. How would you explain forgiveness to a five year old?

Another author in the family

P1070341Over the past couple of years my father has been working on his memoirs. He’s been reflecting on more than eight decades of seeing God at work in and through his family, in many different locations. In the last few days these words have been delivered—printed and bound—to his home. Dad has called his book From Donholme to Nareen Terrace, and he has shaped the book around each of the places he has lived. I’m glad the book has a title, because otherwise I might be tempted to call it The Book of Norman! (That’s got that joke out of the way. It was bound to emerge at some point.)

I am eagerly waiting to get my hands on a copy—not least to reflect on my own life through the lens of my father. But more so, to read and learn from the experiences of my dad. It is a joy to see this book come out. Roughly six years ago, my father was diagnosed with cancer and we all wondered how long he would be with us. Then my diagnosis made it seem highly unlikely that we would have much of a future together. Tomorrow marks my father’s birthday, and how great it is to be able to look back and celebrate the goodness of God over 82 years.

Maybe you know my father. Perhaps you’ve shared a part of your life with him. If so, there’s a chance you might even get a mention!

Let me know if you’d like to buy a copy. Perhaps I can get a job as a promoter.

Then again, I should probably read what he has to say about me first!

A long legacy of caravanning

Yesterday I received this reflection from my father, who turns eighty next birthday, on his experience of life in caravans. I thought some of you might be interested in his reflections…

From time to time in recent years I have written of our movement through the stages of life—the marked changes that occur from time to time in our health, or work, or the circumstances that shape the course of our life.

This week there has occurred another change; this one effectively marking the end of an era in my life. In fact, the era of which I write is almost as long as my life. I write, of course, of my caravan experiences which have been brought to a close by the sale of our caravan of the last ten years.

I do not remember the beginning of my life with caravans but a photograph of my brother, Graeme, and me indicates that those first experiences began before I was four years old. The first caravan was a home-made foldaway unit built onto a trailer by my father. Towed behind our 1928 Chrysler Royal motor car, it was the pre-cursor of today’s Camper Trailer. Its facilities were the most basic and our caravan park was but a clearing in the bush or a space among the dunes beside the sea. I know not how we fitted into the caravan or how we would have fared in the inclement weather which surely came our way from time to time. My memories of this early period are sparse, but they mark the beginning of a life time of holidays in which we took our home with us behind the car.

In the late 1940s, “after the war”, my father purchased the first of several caravans which would become the base of family holidays over many years. Each one of plywood construction, each slightly larger and having a little more comfort and convenience than the previous one, they enabled us to travel further afield. The cars changed, too. The Chrysler was replaced by a 1934 Plymouth Fluid Drive, which I later purchased as my first car and re-named ‘Esmerelda’. Then in 1953 came Dad’s first new car, the Ford Customline. Our holidays took us to many parts of Victoria—along the coast east and west of Melbourne, to inland cities and towns and along the Murray River. Interstate and around Australia caravanning was still in the future for most people. For us, Victoria had much to offer and we returned often to the beaches and surf and the forest country along The Great Ocean Road.

Caravan1The second phase of the caravan experience is easy to identify. It began on 25 February 1961 when Ruth and I set off on our honeymoon, driving the Customline and towing the streamlined ‘Don’ caravan. It began dramatically when a shattered windscreen on our second day prevented us reaching our intended destination. The only parking available was at the local football ground, and the only facilities were the open-to-the-skies change rooms and their cold showers. Although this was not Ruth’s introduction to the caravan, as she had accompanied our family on several occasions, it surely was a cool introduction to marriage.

That journey took us along the unsealed Princes Highway through Gippsland and the NSW south coast to Sydney and Palm Beach where we spent an idyllic week near the Barrenjoey Lighthouse with views to both Pittwater and the Pacific Ocean. Our return was via Canberra where we spent several days exploring the still young National Capital, little knowing that fourteen years later it would become the home for our family during a very significant period of our lives. Coincidentally, exploring the centre of Canberra known as Civic, we happened on a Canberra Day event—the commissioning of the new Ethos Fountain in Civic Square.

For several years, family holidays followed a familiar pattern. Travelling from Tasmania (King Island or Longford) to the mainland, we would borrow car and caravan and head for such places as Echuca or Mildura, Philip Island or Western Victoria. Thus another generation of McDonalds was being introduced to the caravan experience.

Eventually, it was time for phase three. In 1970, whilst at Longford, we purchased from a Launceston caravan hire business, which had fallen on hard times, our own caravan, a heavy 16 feet long, 8 feet wide Millard with high flat roof. With caravan in tow behind our HR Holden station-wagon, canvas annexe and stretcher beds for the children, many accessories stowed away, and three children in the back seat, we visited much of Tasmania and enjoyed many summer holidays near the sand dunes and beaches of St Helens.  They were happy days.

There was one near disaster with that caravan. On 5 January 1975, we left our Launceston home for the last time, to travel to Devonport where the ferry, Empress of Australia, would take us to Melbourne for some holiday time before travelling on to Canberra and the Reid Methodist Church. A tyre on the heavily-laden caravan blew out just a short distance from Launceston and without a replacement tyre we could not continue. It was Sunday afternoon and shops and garages in Tasmania were not open for business. Eventually we found the owner of a small garage who was able to open his workshop and fit a replacement tyre for us. Resuming our journey, the caravan was wandering a bit behind the car. A policeman stopped us, commented on the erratic driving, warned us to take care and allowed us to continue. We arrived at Devonport just in time to be the last vehicle to join the ferry, but too late to enjoy the picnic with the many friends who had travelled to Devonport to farewell us. One of those friends noticed that the replacement tyre did not match its partner.

Sadly, a real disaster occurred that night, just a few hours into our Bass Strait crossing. News travelled through the ferry that the bulk ore ship Lake Illawarra, had collided with the Tasman Bridge, linking western and eastern shores of the Derwent River at Hobart, sinking immediately and causing a major portion of the bridge to fall. Many lives were lost and the life of the City of Hobart and its citizens was affected for long time. That date is deeply etched in our memory.

Now mainland residents, our family holidays and occasional travels took us further afield. The summer family holiday was always at the coast—Pambula Beach, Bateau Bay, and Nambucca Heads. After ten years, it was time to replace the Millard which, though very spacious, had felt somewhat like a brick wall being towed behind the car. We replaced it with a lower-profile Viscount pop-top. Later again, the Viscount gave way to a Golf pop-top. With these lighter vans we not only continued our summer holiday bookings, but travelled throughout NSW, learning much of the history and geography, and building a photographic record that now fills many albums. These caravans were frequently our home as occasionally we crossed borders into Queensland or South Australia, or travelled by various routes to Melbourne to visit family and friends.

Caravan2In 2004, it was farewell to the Golf and welcome to our first ‘new’ caravan, a Jayco Heritage pop-top. The government’s pension bonus and an extraordinarily generous trade-in on the Golf enabled us to up-grade just one more time. (The story of that purchase is itself remarkable and may become the subject of some later writing.) No longer was there need of space for family members, though the beachside holiday tradition continued at Shoal Bay on Port Stephens; and visitors were always welcomed. There were dreams of travelling further afield, including particularly the Flinders Ranges and other parts of South Australia, but some health issues for both Ruth and me, and other circumstances caused the postponement, and eventually, the setting aside of those dreams.

In recent years, the caravan travelled less, but in fact was used more. It was the occasional extra bedroom if the number of visitors stretched beyond the resources of our small home at Valley Heights. It was a private space where Norman would meet and talk with colleagues or people who sought his counsel. It was the prayer room for many years where Ruth met regularly and prayed with several women in our community.

The realization that we would not use the caravan again for holiday or travelling was hard to accept and our initial attempts to sell were unsuccessful; so the caravan came with us to our new home. The night and day after our arrival here, the area experienced a ‘one in one hundred year’ storm with much local damage. The caravan suffered serious water damage, via a broken seal in the roof. Repair work has taken many months, covered by insurance, and now the caravan has passed to a new owner.

For the writer, the caravan experience era has spanned a lifetime; for Ruth it has been a part of our life together. For me, it is an experience I have embraced with joy and enthusiasm; for Ruth, probably less so as the caravan still carries with it many of the familiar duties of domestic life. It just puts them in a more confined space. But the caravans have enabled us and our families to enjoy holidays that would not otherwise have been possible, to tour and visit parts of our country we would not otherwise have seen and to enjoy a freedom that is different from that of many holiday environments.

photoPerhaps for Ruth and me it is the end of an era. Family holidays have found different expressions in the next generation. Heather and her family enjoy the Canadian cottage by the lake. Stephen and his family enjoy erecting their tents in remote places. The caravan experience lives on as David and Fiona and their family have continued to enjoy the sand and surf of the coast, as well as exploring the vast outback of Australia on their several safaris. Their Ultimate Xplor Camper is more directly a descendent of the home-built fold-away caravan with which I was introduced to the caravan experience. Perhaps the era of the McDonald caravan experience has not ended, after all.