Jesus tells us not to call ourselves sinners - it's not humility but arrogance to say that we judge God's creations as imperfect. Who are we to judge God? Rather, Jesus suggests, we should assume that God is perfect and so are his creations. So, in the interests of the grandness in which I find myself - as yet another perfect creation of God - I came upon an interesting thing. Of course, I have no idea whether I'm right or wrong but, I assume I'm always right as God, my creator, is.
Years ago I had choices and I took all of them. I had many, many different jobs as a qualified accountant had no trouble finding work. I had many interests, including yachting, photography, public speaking, motor bikes, rugby, snow skiing, water skiing, drinking, smoking, partying, tramping, horse riding, riding in rodeos, renovating houses, writing and playing my saxophone or guitar. The things I chose to do were endless and, at times, endlessly dysfunctional. None do I regret.
Now we find ourselves in the situation where there are few … actually, one … choice left to us. We need to move very soon and I only have one job opportunity and I feel weird about that - I always used to have lots of opportunities to choose from. So, what does that tell me?
What I chose that it tell me is that I'm realising my dream of becoming closer to God every day. Though my ego might rebel at the thought of having less choices, my spirit rejoices that there is one choice -my soul's choice. When I am disconnected from God, I can wander in the jungles of "the world" endlessly, going nowhere. However, when I'm listening to the voice for God, there is one direction to take and that is the only direction there is … all others are an illusion of direction.
So, this freedom-lover is finally free to take the only path that exists, the path I have always been on but just forgot. The endlessly dysfunctional paths exist no more and simplicity has snuck up on me … at last!
So now Arthur Bayly has some choices to make ... continued from yesterday's blog.
"Good, then call me back on this number - that's my direct dial number. Save you going through the reception. Much quicker," said Mary, quickly.
"Right, yes, I'll do that," said Arthur, surprised that direct numbers existed in his old firm.
"You'll ring me right back, yeah?" asked Mary, begging.
"Yes, yes, I will Mary," said Arthur, still trying to absorb the rising sense of urgency coming at him. As he put the phone down and pondered, the children rushed past him to the lounge.
"So what was that all about?" asked Joan, coming up to him. "You look a little shaky."
"Do I? Yes, well, it seems they want me back at work," he said, more to himself than to her, shaking his head.
"You look like you need a hug, too," she said, throwing her arms around him.
"That's the only thing that's normal or understandable, isn't it?" he said with a sheepish smile.
"What is?"
"Well, hugs and you and our family," he said into her shoulder.
"Nothing else makes any sense any more."
"Mmm."
"I don't know, life used to be regular, stable, predictable," Arthur said as tears filled his eyes. "I keep doing what I've always done and it suddenly isn't good enough any more … and then it is and they want to pay me treble for it! I sit on a park bench, minding my own business and become a hero. Your mother dies and we're supposed to be bereft but it's brought us closer together. And then there's Martin's situation … and there's all these Australians and New Zealanders popping up ..."
"Well, dear, you have to admit that every insane thing you've mentioned has brought us closer," she said, standing back a little and looking into his eyes. "Not just my mother's death but everything has reconnected us. Maybe that's what it's all about, do you think?"
"Actually, my love, I just don't know what to think!"
As they returned to the lounge, Arthur explained to Martin what the call had been about.
"So, Dad, what's so important about this job that they want you back onto it?" asked Martin.
"The Atkinson case?" said Arthur.
"Huh, it's not the Lord Atkinson case, is it?" asked Martin, laughing.
"Well, he is a lord, actually ..." said Arthur, looking quizzical and feeling a chill in his bones.
"Oh my God!" said Martin, the laugh quickly falling from his face. "Not the one with the hunting lodge in Ludlow, the apartment in Kensington and the resort in Jamaica? The one with the race horses?"
"Exactly the one," said Arthur, incredulously. "How did you know?"
"Oh, one of my partners has been working for one of Lord Atkinson's larger claimants, the Colonial Agents Bank, the CAB. You know, the development bank that used to be a crown agent - an agent for the crown, supplying everything from railways to cutlery for the ambassadors."
"Yes, yes, I know the bank," said Arthur quickly. "They're claiming money for some project in Nigeria ..."
"Absolutely, that's the one," said Martin, excitedly. "After the bank was privatised in 1998, it really got into funding in developing countries, using aid money from, mainly, the English, Japanese and Swedish governments."
"So what's the project in Nigeria?" asked Joan.
"I'm not sure but what I do know is that the CAB has been having a few slip-ups, lately," said Martin. "You see, it's over 150 years old and, for most of that time, was a government department, dispensing help to colonial governments around the world."
"What sort of slip-ups? Large ones?" asked Arthur.
"All sorts, really - big and small," said Martin, warming to his favourite subject, commercial intrigue. "Since the British colonies have dwindled over the last 100 years, they needed to diversify to keep all the jobs for the boys and girls there. So, they privatised the bank, sort-of, and became an agent for many governments, beside the British one … and the United Nations aid programme."
"Sounds like a good cause to me," said Joan.
"Yes, and that's the problem," said Martin. "When people are dealing with what seems like benevolent work, others are loathe to question or audit that work. For example, the British government's aid department, Department for International Development, or DfID, runs no aid programmes but just gives CAB money to dispense as per its requirements."
"But the DfID must audit or check that spending," suggested Arthur.
"Well, yes it does, but only superficially, not wanting to take away any jobs from people in the government 'club' and afraid of interrupting 'benevolent' acts of helping people in developing countries," said Martin. "So, the two-yearly audit is simply a matter of visiting friends at the CAB's London head office, enjoying drinkies and food and listening to two or three inspiring talks on the great works of CAB and watching a CAB video of their amazing success."
"But they must be doing a lot of good helping these poorer nations, surely?" asked Joan.
"Oh, absolutely," said Martin, "much of the money does go in the right direction but no one knows how much … not even CAB! No one in government - or from anywhere else, for that matter - traces each pound … or even a million pounds. They pay the money to CAB, see a result and assume they're linked!"
"So where does our Lord Atkinson come into this," asked Arthur.
"A good question and no one's quite sure, yet," said Martin. "But Simon Cruickshank, the partner I mentioned, knows that Atkinson is great friends with many in the current government and he has, over the years, provided large sums of money to both Labour and Conservative administrations."
"You're talking about bribery! Surely not!" said Joan, astounded.
"Not sure. However, what we're very sure about is that the privatisation and the change in direction has created some holes in the organisation," said Martin. "Instead of employing experts in international development, they've favoured existing staff and moving them sideways, some to their levels of incompetence, one might say. So, when they're able to admit that they can't do something, they do the quick-fix thing by bringing in a short-term consultant … who never remains short-term. Because they know little of the function they're hiring the consultant for, they don't know whether they're getting valuable consultants or charlatans - it's a bit of a lottery, really."
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