God With Us - Lawrence

(This was first published on my website as a meditation in December 2007.)
Once more the Christian year rolls round to the last few days of Advent. We repeat the oft-told tale of God-with-us in a child’s body. The tale is oft-told but each year different as we change and grow in spirit. Our interpretation of God-with-us matures; we have a new understanding of the meaning of God’s life and light in us from the one we had a Christmas ago. God is the same—it is we who are different—changed by life’s events, our willingness to go the extra mile, love the extra measure, laugh the extra joy, and cry the extra sorrow.
These gifts, unwrapped, are the gifts of the Universe, the Divine gifts, the gifts born from struggle, freely accepted and freely given again. Though darkness may come in one way or another, yet light shines ever more brightly upon us and in us because spiritual maturity and light cannot die but must grow more strongly in the shadows where someone lights the Divine candle.
Pain that one endures knowing that its outcome will result in a cure is easy to bear. When the outcome of one’s pain or burden is not known or is uncertain, it is more difficult to bear. When one is willing to endure pain in faith that God has a good purpose in mind for the growth of one’s soul, it is worth the uncertainty of physical cure. To think that one has been chosen to witness to God’s love in endurance is a great honour.
Mary bore Christ two thousand years and more ago, not knowing what the outcome would be. She endured humility at the Virgin Birth, willingly accepting God’s request to bring the God-child into the world for human good. Let us bear our burdens with this same simple faith in God’s love.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith—being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honour when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although you have not seen him you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls. 1 Peter 1:3-10

Attitude Measurement - Smith Meyer

Several years ago after a pre-Christmas sermon on servanthood, these two poems came to me. Often I return to them at this time of year. I offer them to you for your contemplation as we near the celebration of Christ's birth.


A Double Take on Attitude Measurement


How great our God, to manger come,
How calm and still he lay,
As tiny babe of lowly birth
He slept upon the hay.

He grew to walk upon the earth,
A carpenter his trade:
As royal heir, he humbly toiled
As common things he made.

He did not deem it beneath him,
To hold a leper’s hand,
Nor to hold a child on his lap
Or help the lame to stand.

He walked among the common folk
And fed the multitude,
And though he was God’s very son,
Quiet, bore taunting rude.

Sometimes do we get to thinking,
As folks, we’re mighty good?
We’re owed a trouble-free living-
The poor – not understood.

We trample on each other’s rights,
To make sure of our own,
We greedily hoard our riches,
Leave hurting people lone.

We search to buy ornate gifts
Expect lots in return,
As more abundance we gather
For more we seem to yearn.

How good ‘twould be, this time of year,
To use the manger crude,
As you’d use a measuring stick ,
To gauge our attitude.

Ruth Smith Meyer

Manger Moment

God,
A babe
In manger laid-
All
Royal splendor
Traded freely
For stable stall.
Inner strength,
Inner knowing
Who he was
Not changed at all.
Come adore him!
I knelt before him,
Taking full note
Of more than
Meets the eye.
I arose,
And as I stood,
I saw the manger
As measuring stick
of
My attitude.

Ruth Smith Meyer

Finding Our Voice - Dick

(The following is a guest post by Janice Dick who is a member of InScribe Christian Writers Fellowship, His Imprint, Chi Libris, The Word Guild, American Christian Fiction Writers and Toastmasters International. Among other writing, she is the author of two historical novels that won first place in The Word Guild’s Best Historical Novel in 2003 and 2004. Janice Dick may be found at www.inscribe.org/JaniceDick.)

I’ve been amazingly blessed with grandchildren over the past seven years—seven of them. And we have just received word that there will be another one by spring. And yet, here I am, still so young!

While visiting Jordy’s family in July, I snuck away to the bedroom with him so we could talk privately. After all, a grandma has to get to know her little ones. I lay on the bed with six-week old Jordy and began to talk to him. He fixed his eyes on mine, connecting with my soul. He watched my face, and my mouth, and then his mouth began to move. He struggled to make a sound, and when he did, we celebrated. He had found his voice.

I tried making the same connection with Sydney at about the same age and the result was exactly the same. She wanted to express herself to me, and when she was successful she wiggled with pleasure.

As writers, we talk about “voice” and wonder what it is. Is voice something we create or something we discover? Jordy and Sydney taught me more about voice than any books or workshops could ever do.

Voice is who we are. Jordy’s cry is squeaky and pitiful. Sydney’s is demanding. Neither baby decided what he or she would sound like. They are who they are. We each have our own voice, are born with it in its raw form. This is the voice we eventually use for speaking and writing.

Voice is not something we create. It is in all of us. It is who we are, expressed in words, or the equivalent of words for the pre-speech set. We all have thoughts and feelings and ideas that long to be expressed, but they do not always come easily. Consider how varied the stages of development are from baby to baby. Some, very early in their lives, jabber in an alien tongue. Others refrain from speaking until they are older and then launch out in full sentences. Neither is right nor wrong; each is unique.

Once we discover our voice, we are responsible for developing it. How? By using it. Our older daughter practiced words until she got them right. Hers was a determined approach to capturing the essence of speech.

Find some of your earliest writing and read it over. Unless you were especially gifted, the early writings seem weak and unformed. As you grow and experience life, as you struggle to express yourself, your voice, both spoken and written, gets stronger.

Some writers, like my friend Bonnie Grove, broke out in an amazing voice that captivates and communicates in a most unique manner. Others, like myself, struggle to discover how best to express our inner selves on the computer screen. Either way, we are who we are. Let the struggle begin. Keep practicing.

I didn’t expect to learn about voice from Jordy and Sydney; it was a bonus. They and the other grandchildren have also taught me much about tenacity, but that’s a blog for another day.

The Sleeping Giant Awakens - Part 2

The Aboriginal writing community has, in the past, been a relatively small and unknown element in the Canadian publishing industry. Now this awakening giant is becoming a major player in the field.

Still many challenges remain. I recently had a publisher turn down an excellent manuscript (he agreed it was excellent) because it was written in the Cree language. Another manuscript was turned down because the story premise wouldn't be acceptable in the mainstream market. When I talked to the author, she said it was Native humour. I agreed with her. It was something that a lot of people in the Aboriginal community would think funny but perhaps most other Canadians would not understand.

And joining the growing number of Canadian Aboriginal writers is a much smaller group of Christian Canadian Aboriginal authors. And yes, there is an added challenge for these writers. Their writing is typically not “mainstream.” Often the books are set in the far north (Churchill north; not Sault Ste Marie north!) where many Canadians have never traveled. Their plots, characters and dialogue may be more reflective of Aboriginal, rather than the mainstream, culture. But the Lord we serve is the same. Jesus’ love crosses time zones and transcends cultures.

A pioneer in Native Christian writing was a woman from the USA named Crying Wind. Her self-titled book, Crying Wind, crossed the cultural barriers into the Christian mainstream in 1977. Her publisher, Harvest House released her second book, My Searching Heart in 1979. More recently, Crying Wind has authored: When the Stars Danced and Thunder in Our Hearts, Lightning in Our Veins – both excellent titles available from http://www.indianlife.org/.

Today, many more fine Christian Aboriginal authors are joining her ranks and some of these are Canadian. Howard Jolly’s book, Hope for the Hurting, has become an important resource for parents, teachers and pastors who are counseling teens who have experienced childhood sexual abuse. Free-lance journalists, Brenda Fontaine and Brenlee Longclaws, bring a Christian, Canadian, Aboriginal perspective to the articles they write. Children’s book authors Flora Rideout and Brenda Fontaine are paving the way for a new generation as budding authors such as Corrine Clyne begin their writing journey.

It is an exciting time we live in – a time when many new voices are blending with ours. And today, we have all have the joyous opportunity to step out of our comfort zones, open wide our hearts and minds, and read some books by people who are perhaps not so very different from us after all.

M. D. Meyer

http://www.dorenemeyer.com/

http://www.goldrockpress.com/

Author of The Little Ones, available from http://www.wordalivepress.ca/, author's website and bookstores across Canada.

Peace - Christmas 2009 - Shepherd

Each year, during the Christmas season there seems to be a word or a phrase that catches my attention and seems to recur throughout the season. I take it as God’s personal message to me for that Christmas. One year it was Emmanuel – God with us. Other times it has been words like joy or incarnation. This year it is peace.

Our world is in need of peace. We affirm again this year through so many of our Christmas activities the reality that only One can really bring peace to our individual lives and to our world. It is Jesus, the Prince of Peace, who calms our storms and who quiets our troubled hearts. His presence is synonymous with peace.

A few years ago, I sang in a choir and one of the songs I loved that we sang included these words. “Jesus came with peace to me. His strong hand was stretched to me. He, my burden took from me – my Saviour.” I also lived it.

I really do not like to fly, which was a challenge for me, as for many years I spent so much of my life in airplanes. I discovered a way to find peace and calm my fears when I flew. After I checked in at the gate, as I walked down the ramp to the airplane, I would whisper a prayer. I said, “Dear Lord, I am placing this plane in your strong hands. Please take us safely to … (wherever our destination was that day).” Then I pictured placing the plane, whatever size it was in His big, strong hands. I know they were even bigger than the largest jumbo jet. With confidence I then entered the plane, knowing it was in His hands.

Knowing that God is in control gives us peace. His disciples discovered that in the middle of the storm, Jesus could bring peace. He has not changed. He, whose name is peace, brings peace. As Paul reminded the new Christians at Thessalonica, “Now may the Lord of peace himself, give you peace at all times and in every way. The Lord be with all of you.” 2 Thessalonians 3: 16.

When He is with us, we know peace. May that peace permeate our lives and our world this Christmas. “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace” Numbers 6: 26

Gift ideas for writers - Payne

‘Tis the season. Looking for some good gift ideas for writers? Here is just a sampling of what you can put in your writer’s stocking this Christmas:


* A good set of dependable pens

* Lovely notebooks

* An ergonomic keyboard

* Kindle or Sony e-reader

* Magnetic poetry

* Books on writing

* An inspirational coffee mug

* A nice candle

* Speech recognition software

* A laptop

* A maid, a cook and a chauffeur

* A quiet private writing retreat


Have any other ideas for Santa?

Are We There Yet?

by Glynis M. Belec

He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 18:2-3

When Ruthie, Eddie and Annie came to visit one week, I was reminded about what it meant to be a mommy to junior munchkins all over again.

The week was…uh…well…full. Yes. That’s it – full. Full of creativity cleverly disguised as messes. Full of cooperative play opportunities often interpreted as arguments. Full of educational moments initiated by questions upon questions upon more questions.

When my visiting trio walked into a room they exploded. Books, toys, craft supplies, dress-up clothes I’d forgotten even existed, were scattered about the house.

Messes I could overlook. A sore back from bending to pick up after everyone could easily be soothed by a good night’s sleep. Who knew how many kilocalories I burned dancing around the kitchen with five-year-old Ruthie to the ever hip sounds of “Going to the Zoo, Zoo, Zoo; How about You, You, You?”

Activity and creativity I could handle. It was the not-so-cooperative play part that sent me into colorful stages of bridling the tongue. Whining made me crazy. Bickering caused headaches. Telling tales grieved me somewhere in my teeth. That week I experienced a taste of all three. But I knew my junior relatives were going home in a few days. So I decided to grin and love them anyway.

The voluminous questions were the best. “Are we there yet?” was Eddie’s favorite. Every 60 seconds I had to give a run down on lap time, RPMs, distance, speed and ETA every time we went anywhere.

One afternoon we went swimming. I think the best question that day came from Ruthie’s lips. “Aunt Glynis. Why do you gots two towels?”

“Because I have a lot to cover,” I said with lilting laughter.

“Oh,” came the sweet little beep in response. Ruthie didn’t get the joke. She believed me. I could tell by the look in her eye. Now she would tell everyone I was fat and needed two towels to wrap around me. She didn’t hear me say I was kidding. I should have known better.

Then there was Annie. Annie was nine going on sixteen. She was a vegetarian, so she informed me. I thought vegetarians had to be at least 25 years old. Each evening she’d check out what was for supper and announce her hatred for the poor dead animal sizzling on the stove.

“Eggs are okay as long as they are not fertilized,” she told me.

I hesitated to tell her about Belshazaar, the macho rooster who dwelt amidst my contented egg-laying cluckers, lest she suspected. I pretended not to notice when I spotted her picking a bit of pork chop from her brother’s plate when no one was looking, though. I’ll wait ‘till she’s 25.

Night times were the best. I had no complaints then. Was it the anticipation of lights out and tender, young bodies resting peacefully between the sheets?

Nah…it was the stories. I loved the stories. I loved to tell the stories. I loved to act the stories. Bedtime was fun.

“Stand back…I’m going to sneeze,” said the elephant.

“Look out for the falling cloud!”

Ruthie, Eddie, Annie and I dove for cover under the bed. I was a kid again. I loved it.

I sure do miss those kid-like moments. Big kids don’t ask for bedtime stories. Adulthood requires adult conduct – which doesn’t often involve high drama and various sound effects. Childhood is just too much fun.

When I contemplate the scripture where Jesus talked about becoming like a little child, I get excited. I have a lot of grown-up hang-ups. But I also have a lot of child-like (much to the chagrin of many) urges. How hard can it be to become a child again?

My adult mind tells me the criteria for entering the Kingdom of Heaven involves a little more than whooping it up when the elephant sneezes, though. I’m thinking this is more about the flawless faith of a child and his ability to wholly trust. Can I do it? I think it’s time to evaluate how childlike I really am.