(The Nationalist, 13 July 2001)
On one occasion, when I was based in New Zealand, I took a break for a few days and went climbing in the Tararua mountains north of Wellington. But there was a problem. I had difficulty in starting the car. The electrical points needed replacing, but going to a garage would mean a delay. I knew from experience that if you don’t use the opportunity of a break when it comes, you lose it. So I went.
Arriving at the mountains in a fairly remote area a few hours later, I was worried about the problem of starting the car for the return journey. The weather was likely to be wet – it very often is in the mountains. If it was difficult to start the engine when it was dry, how was I going to manage when it had been out in the open air, and probably in the rain, for a few days?
I knew what was needed to solve the problem. If I had a heavy duty file I could file down the build-up of metal on the points, making a good contact for the electrical charge. But I had no file.
The thought of this kept nagging at me and was beginning to spoil what had promised to be an enjoyable few days. Finally, I decided to pray about the problem for a moment and then set it aside. So I did that.
After spending the night in a mountain hut, I set off for some climbing the next day. I really enjoyed it. New Zealand is a very beautiful country and I found myself stopping to admire the scenery from time to time. The following day was the same, more climbing and more scenery. About midday I sat down for something to eat and was taking in the beauty of all that was around me when the question occurred to me, ‘Has any person ever been where I am now?’
The question was not unrealistic. New Zealand is a country of less than four million people in an area equal to Britain’s, and was almost uninhabited until relatively recent times. I was in a remote area, far from any town and high up in the bush country. It could be that I was indeed the first person ever to sit in that particular place.
I was musing on this when I happened to turn to one side and glance at the bush beside me. There in its branches was a heavy duty file, lightly rusted, but very usable. I was, as young people say, gob-smacked.
The next day I returned to the car, filed down the points and turned the key in the ignition. The engine started on the first turn. My prayer was answered and so was my question. Someone had been there before me.