Since my heart attack earlier this year I have been regularly attending the gym in an effort to get my body fit and healthy again.

Twice a week I have a session with a Personal Trainer who carefully assesses the improvements I am making and sets out exercises I can do to further improve my fitness.

I also attended a twelve-session rehabilitation course at the Chermside Community Health Centre in Hamilton Road, Chermside at the The Prince Charles Hospital. This gave me insights into other sets of exercises which could help me.

I have tried to make sure I get to the Gym at least five or six days per week. My “Home” gym is the Active Life Fitness Centre in Chinook Street, Everton Hills.  (See http://www.activelifefitness.com.au/evertonhills/ and https://www.facebook.com/activelifefitnessevertonhills/ ) There Olivia and Kim the managers and the other staff all cheerfully greet me by name every time I come in; it really makes me feel at home being greeted like this.  The whole reception staff at the gym are worth their weight in gold!

However, as I type this post, I find myself 1,729 km away from home by the shortest practical driving route (or so my Maps program tells me) and I have been here since 9th June – thirteen days.  What could I do about my gym work while I was away from home?

Before I left Brisbane, I researched a few gyms around Geelong on the Internet and tried ringing a few of them on the phone. Most didn’t even answer their phones! Of the two gyms that did bother answering their phones, I was very impressed by a lady named Tamara Vella, who patiently answered all my hesitant questions and encouraged me to come and see the gym as soon as I could when I got to Geelong. This gym was Anytime Fitness located in the Westfield Shopping Centre in Malop Street, Geelong. (See https://www.facebook.com/AnytimeFitnessGeelong and http://anytimefitness.com.au/gyms/AU-1193/gym-Geelong-Victoria-fitness-center  ). I also spoke on the phone to the staff of another gym located in West Geelong.

The gym in West Geelong was much closer to my Mother’s home in Bell Park, so I went there first. I knew I was in trouble the moment I got off the bus: I had to wait for absolute ages before I could cross Pakington Street, because the traffic was too heavy and there were no traffic lights anywhere near the gym to cause breaks in the traffic, and me being in my seventieth year am not quite as quick and nimble as I used to be when I was younger. When I eventually got across the road I discovered that the gym was all locked up and that no staff would be in attendance for another couple of hours.  I crossed the road again and caught the next bus in to the CBD. I walked to the gym in Malop Street where I was cheerfully greeted by Tamara.  She remembered my phone call from two days earlier and we sat down and worked out the details of a temporary membership. Tamara took me around the gym to show me all of its amenities and equipment.

Thereafter, each day when I went in, Tamara cheerfully greeted me by name. It makes me feel good when somebody remembers my name. It somehow helps me to feel welcome.  I observed that she also similarly greeted all of the other members as they came in.  This young lady is truly a tremendous asset to her employers.

During my workouts I could feel my body becoming stronger: my performance on the exercise bike was measurably better and my inclined push-ups on the Smith Machine improved every day.

Today was my last day at the gym in Malop street and it seemed almost sad to be saying goodbye to Tamara this afternoon. During my last workout there I spoke with some of the other customers who were also very encouraging to me.

I suppose I had begun my journey somewhat apprehensive of going to a strange gym where nobody would know me. As it turned out, I need not have worried at all. As the Bible says in Romans 8:28, “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”
‭‭Romans‬ ‭8:28‬ ‭NKJV‬‬
http://bible.com/114/rom.8.28.nkjv

Years ago, my wife Wendy and I lived for a couple of years in a flat in Kernick House, Queen’s College, Parkville, just north of Melbourne’s CBD, while I studied Theology to earn my degree. The flat adjacent to ours was occupied from time to time by visiting professors, so we usually got to meet them face to face.

One such visitor was Professor Ernst Kasemann, born 12 July 1906, died 17 February 1998, who spent about a term as our next door neighbour. I read some of his books and sat in many of his lectures, the content of most of which I have totally forgotten during the intervening decades. But what is totally unforgettable to me are a couple of the things he said to me in person.

One day, Professor Eric Osborn knocked on my door and asked if I could assist in carrying some of prof. Kasemann’s luggage across to the car park. As we commenced our long walk across the beautiful green lawns of Queen’s College,  prof. Osborn said, “Just think, Phil, when you are old and grey and your grand children are sitting around your feet, you will be able to say to them, ‘I once carried the luggage for professor Kasemann from the University of Tubingen!'” Kasemann instantly replied, “If Phil’s grandchildren have any sense at all, they will respond,’Kasemann? Who is Kasemann? Please Grandpa, tell us the stories about Jesus!'”

Shortly thereafter, Eric asked, “Professor Kasemann, in all your studies, considering all the books you have read, and considering all the Theological truths you have learned throughout your life, what do you consider to be the most important theological fact a man can possibly learn throughout his life?” Instantly, without a moment’s hesitation, the response was: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so!” At this, I leapt up, punched the air and enthusiastically yelled out, “Yes!” Kasemann said, “Phil already knows this fact.” He then went on to say that no matter how many books one could read or how many lectures one could audit, there was nothing more important a man could ever learn but that Jesus loves him.

I still reckon this is a true statement to this day.

Recently someone asked me about modern-day miracles and it reminded me of this report I first wrote more than forty years ago and published on a website at http://www.drdisk.com.hk/motorbikes/default.htm#miracle almost twenty years ago. So today I decided it was worthwhile to copy the story here and add a couple of photos of the same motorbike.

Miracle on the road to Morwell

One Sunday at evening service at St Luke’s Methodist Church in Morwell a visiting preacher spoke on Hebrews 13:8 “Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.” and made the claim that there was no miracle recorded in the Bible anywhere between Genesis 1:1 and Revelation 22:20 that God could not do again today if the occasion called for it.
Next day I read Acts 8:39-40, “And when they were come up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord caught away Philip, that the eunuch saw him no more: and he went on his way rejoicing.   But Philip was found at Azotus: and passing through he preached in all the cities, till he came to Cæsarea.”
I thought to myself that miraculous transportation from one physical location to another was one miracle I had never ever heard of happening in the twentieth century, so I prayed about it and asked the Lord to lead me to a book in which I could read about such a modern day miracle.

I did not for even one moment suspect that he would make me the subject of that book.
Now at that time, my daily transport was a single cylinder 250cc Yamaha motorbike and sidecar which was painted in a bright day-glo orange-red colour (which, according to the Taubman’s paint company, was officially known as “Boeing Red”) and was so eye-catching that everybody in my country district knew that machine and knew who rode it.  It was capable of just 35 mph (60 km/h) or perhaps 40 mph (70 km/h) if I had a tail wind.  Having a very small fuel tank that held only about a gallon (3 or 4 litres), it was necessary to stop every forty miles (70 km) or so for petrol.  At that same time I was a member of Christ’s Crusaders Motorcycle Club and had become well known for attempting to preach the gospel to other motorbike riders such as the members of Hell’s Angels and Satan’s Cavalry.  At that time also I was a Lay Pastor in the St Luke’s Methodist parish at Morwell.
The following Sunday I was not scheduled to do any preaching in the parish, but I was scheduled to lead the opening worship at the 7pm (19:00) evening service.  I decided to visit my parents who lived in Bairnsdale, about 80 miles (130 km) away.  I had figured that if I left my parents’ home soon after lunch on the Sunday, I would have plenty of time to make the 2½ or 3 hour journey back to Morwell, have some dinner, go to the pre-service prayer meeting and then lead the opening worship.  “No worries!” I thought to myself.
About 3pm (15:00), I pulled on my motorbike outer clothing and went out to the front of my parents’ house where my bike was parked at the side of the road on Main Street.  I checked my tyres, brakes, lights, oil level, and petrol and, satisfied that all was in order for a safe trip to Morwell, I kick-started the motor.  I had already pulled in the clutch and, just as I was about to push the hand gear-shift lever to the right of the petrol tank forward to engage first gear, seven or eight Harleys and Triumph motorbikes arrived and pulled up all around me.  I was receiving a surprise visit from several members of Satan’s Cavalry.  I stopped the motor and started talking right there on the street.  They had lots of questions for me: “If the God you preach is a God of love, how could He let all those innocent people die in the train crash last week?”  “If God is really all powerful, how come he didn’t stop that gang from raping the pastor’s daughter in Melbourne last month?” and so on.
I patiently answered their questions as well as I could, yet was also aware that time was ticking away.  “I don’t need dinner when I get to Morwell,” I reasoned with myself;  and a little later, “If I don’t make the prayer meeting, it will be all right, I can pray while I am riding along the road.”  All this time, I had never seen these outlaw bikers, who would normally make themselves scarce pretty soon after we started preaching to them, so interested in asking and listening intently to the answers to so many questions.  “I am really getting through to these guys at last,” I thought to myself.
Eventually, the questions ran out, and one of the guys announced, “Let’s all go to the pub for an hour or two.”
I excused myself and said I needed to get back to Morwell and started on my way.  I looked at my watch as I pulled on my gloves … it was 17:45 (5:45pm).  I had only an hour and a quarter to do a trip that would normally take at least two and a half hours!

The above photo of my bike was taken a few months before the incident described in this report.
As I drove up the road, I prayed that Richard or Pepe would realise that I wasn’t at the pre-service prayer time and step in and lead worship.  I was soon cruising along the highway at about 35 mph and felt strangely peaceful about missing the evening church service.  When I was about seven or eight miles out of town I was on a nice straight stretch of road with State Forests on both sides and was thinking to myself how beautiful all the trees appeared in the evening sunlight.  Suddenly, almost without being aware of it, I realised that I was approaching the railway crossing to the East of Traralgon.   I thought to myself, “I’ve been day-dreaming while I was riding.”   “I can’t remember any details of any of the towns I went through along the way.”  ” I can’t remember passing through Stratford.”  “Did I cross the Avon River Bridge?”  “Did I travel via Sale or via Maffra?”   “I have no recollection of passing through Rosedale.”  “How come it’s still daylight … it ought to be quite dark by now.”  “I cannot even remember filling up with petrol.”
I felt down to the petrol tap, it was in the “Normal” position; I had not yet switched to reserve.  I thought to myself, “I must have miss-read my watch when I was about to leave Bairnsdale.”  I sang and prayed as I drove through Traralgon, up the hill past the Hospital, and along the Prince’s Highway to Morwell.   As I approached the traffic lights, I made the right turn into the St Luke’s Church car-park.  I had missed the pre-service prayer time, but was just in time to walk straight in and start the service, still wearing all my motorbike gear.  I put my helmet and gloves in the lectern and started leading worship.  As I led worship, I noticed that a guy from Satan’s Cavalry was in the service, not one of the guys I had talked to in Bairnsdale, but a different fellow.
After the service, he asked me, “How did you get here?”
I responded, “What do you mean, how did I get here … by motorbike of course.”
He continued, “Our guys planned to foul up your day and make you real mad by missing church tonight; they planned to hold you up in Bairnsdale.”
I ran to my bike and got out my petrol book (I was in the habit of writing down in a Shell Driver’s Log Book, every petrol stop I made: the date and time, odometer reading, the amount of petrol I purchased and how much it cost were all faithfully recorded.)  The last entry in my petrol book showed that I had filled it up at Bairnsdale and I compared the odometer reading I had recorded with that on my motorbike now:  I had travelled only something like twenty miles instead of eighty!
It was only then that I suddenly realised that I had not miss-read my watch at Bairnsdale after all.  The Lord had worked a miracle of the transportation kind.  He had somehow moved my motorbike and sidecar and me from somewhere West of Bairnsdale to somewhere East of Traralgon in just a moment.  Even saved me a tank full of petrol!   I have no explanation of how it was done.  Mileage-wise, one could say I had loaded my bike onto a trailer and carried it from one place to the other.  But that is not what happened.  That week I was stopped several times by members of Satan’s Cavalry, “How did you get to church on Sunday?”  When I told them that the Lord had worked a miracle, they just said I was nuts.  A lot of people said I was nuts, but I can only report what happened to me.  You just have to take it or leave it.

The above picture shows me on the same motorbike I was riding when God worked the miracle, but the photo had been taken a few months earlier by my brother Mick.