Canadian Writers Who Are Christian

Language of Letting Go-- Carolyn Wilker

2012-01-31T14:56:00.004-05:00

Our Toastmasters meeting theme the day I write this post is Letting Go and the Language of Letting Go. There’s multiple meanings to that phrase "letting go", whether it’s allowing children to grow up and live their own lives, someone in our circle of friends who has moved away who seems to have broken ties, or a loved one who has died and for whom we must say goodbye.

I once read a poem comparing children to kites. The kite flyer, the parent, lets out a little string at a time, such as the day a child goes to school for the first time. The kite, being the child, may fail to rise, get caught in a tree, or rip and tear in the process. A child learns what worked or didn’t work and, with guidance from a loving parent, is willing to try again, until the day when the kite rises and flies freely, that is, a child leaves home.

As each child leaves, the home feels a little emptier, and parents hope that they have taught the necessary skills. I remember having to refocus when our last child was about to leave home. I wrote a poem entitled, Letting Go (pub. 2007, Tower Poetry).

Letting go

you implore

with tear-filled eyes that mirror my own

that I neglect my preparation

for the day of release

when the kite flies free

the mist clears and I see again

the young woman before me

be brave my heart!

you will fly as you were meant to

free and strong

and by letting go

I will have all that matters:

your love

There are exceptions to that rule, such as the child who needs support for a longer time, maybe indefinitely. I also think of a young woman who lives in a group home for intellectually challenged adults. She works at tasks in the community that are appropriate to her challenges. She has been involved in Special Olympics, with her parents’ blessing and support, even before leaving home. She has won many medals in those events and is about to go off to Nationals to compete in a winter sport. Hard as it was to let her go, her parents allowed her to move on. She shines.

On the second aspect, I think of a friend who moved away and after a short interval of communication, even a trip to visit her there, has made no attempt to stay in touch. I admit that this one has been hard, one that I’m still not over. She was one who encouraged me to write, brought me the first brochure for God Uses Ink conference that I attended in 2001.

Thirdly, letting go of a loved one who has died, but not forgetting. I miss those who have been dear to me and who have invested in my life: an aunt, special uncle, a friend, a neighbour, or a grandmother. I have not lost a child, a different heart-wrenching grief that I have witnessed among friends and family. We hurt deep on our losses, like flesh cut from flesh. We feel the comforting arms of friends, the kindness of friends and neighbours. We’ve let the person go, because that life would no longer be a healthy life. We commend that person to God and try to go on. In time, we begin to live again, exchange memories and even to laugh again.

It will be interesting to hear the responses to this theme. I, for one, have learned who my real friends are, the ones who are there to comfort me when I need it most, who understands how it feels to have a child leave the nest, or someone has moved away and dropped connections, or my grief when I have lost one I loved.

What does “letting go” mean for you today?

Author of Once Upon a Sandbox.

www.carolynwilker.ca

Upcoming events:

Storyteller at Steckle Heritage Homestead Farm, 811 Bleams Road, Kitchener, ON, Winter Fun Day, 11-12am

Book signing, March 10 at Waterloo Chapters store, Waterloo ON, 1-3pm

Wasn't That a Party? by Glynis M. Belec

2012-01-26T23:18:00.000-05:00

My brain dances all over the place some days. Today I attended an interview regarding three of my students who are scheduled for a psych assessment. As I sat in the office with two psychologists and the parents of my students, discussing various reasons for the assessments and sharing information, I realized something.

If it wasn't for the first party requiring the services of a second party (although that first party is already receiving services from a third party) then that second party would not have a purpose or be able to use her gifts and then the first party would be without direction and then the third party, who passionately wants to help that first party, would have also been without purpose and likely would not have had sufficient fodder for life and therefore would have nothing to write about.
(Phew! That's what happens when I sit with psychologists for a significant length of time)

Loosely translated, God has gifted us all in various and wonderful ways and He expects us to use these gifts but He also puts 'all things' in place and just at the precise time, he works it all for good. I know God has called me to write. My bones long to do so full time; my heart yearns to sit long hours at my computer and simply string together the trillion words that seem to be stored somewhere deep in my soul.

But then I remember all of my remarkable students. I also realize the incredible privilege I have had over the years to work with every one of these uniquely created souls under the guise of helping them to hone their numeracy and literacy skills. I remember two special lads were 'labelled' borderline 'mentally handicapped' when they were six years old. Now I grin with pride as I see these (twin) boys - presently in high school - rhyming off their multiplication tables better than any of my other students and jumping to the head of the class in parts of their modified program in areas like spelling and reading. I share their joy. And all these years later, I still get to work with them. There are so many similar stories that I would not have missed for the world! God has me where He wants me.

There seems so many interruptions (caring for my aging father, teaching my students, looking after my home, charity work, church work, health concerns...) but when I stop and consider my life, I inhale and remind myself that my timing is not God's timing and those interruptions are part of God's plan.

Trust in the Lord, and do good;

dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.
Delight yourself in the Lord,
and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalm37:4

I admit that I fuss and flutter thinking that if I don't soon get writing, I am going to be too old to write anything of any value. I hear of other writers who have oodles of time to write and speak and create so I ride the envy/pity train for a while until God pulls the chord and reminds me to focus on the haves not the have nots!

Then I give thanks and grin from ear to ear as I consider how thick and wide and deep my idea files are getting!

For the vision is yet for an appointed time and it hastens to the end [fulfillment]; it will not deceive or disappoint. Though it tarry, wait [earnestly] for it, because it will surely come; it will not be behindhand on its appointed day. Habakkuk 2:3

Both authors and ghostwriters liable for fraud, in ghostwritten medical articles? - Denyse O’Leary

2012-01-26T09:45:00.000-05:00

Heads up, if you are a working writer, and sometimes ghost articles: Shape of things to come elsewhere?

In “Medical Academics Could Be Legally Liable for Ghostwritten Articles” (Chronicle of Higher Education, January 24, 2012), Josh Fischman reports,

Condemnation by ethicists and loss of grant money are not the only penalties facing academics who put their names on medical-journal articles they didn't write. Personal-injury lawyers have them in their sights now, too.

Researchers at major universities, including Brown, Emory, Harvard, Stanford, Tufts, and Yale, have been accused in recent years of signing their names to medical-journal articles that were written by others, articles that promoted the benefits of various medications and were produced under the auspices of pharmaceutical companies trying to boost their products. Last year The Chronicle reported that a University of Pennsylvania psychiatry professor accused five other academics of signing an article that was ghostwritten for the maker of the antidepressant Paxil and made unsupported claims for it.

It gets worse. The ghostwriter could also be liable:

"By lending his name, the author is contributing to fraud," says Bijan Esfandiari, one of the authors of the PLoS Medicine article. "And the ghostwriter is involved in the conspiracy as well."

Of course, the good news, from a writer’s perspective, is that instead of the usual pressure to suppress the ghostwriter’s existence, there’ll be pressure to make sure everyone knows who she or he is.

You doubt that? How do you think you got to be called a ghostwriter?

Hat tip: Stephanie West Allan at Brains on Purpose

Genetic Tears -- den Boer

2012-01-25T08:00:00.003-05:00

I would not obey my teachers or listen to my instructors. (Proverb 5:13)

“My teacher is very patient,” reported four-year-old Amanda after several weeks of junior kindergarten at the local public school. I should have realized there was more behind her statement.

That Friday while I stood at the classroom door among several other parents waiting to walk our children home, the teacher singled me out, “Amanda’s Mom, we didn’t have such a good day today,” she said. “You and I had better talk.” She arranged to have me come to see her when the children would be with the gymnasium instructor the following Monday.

This was a first. Not one of Amanda’s four older siblings in a combined 32 years of schooling had ever behaved in a way which required a talk with their teacher. Over the years there had been minor problems, but I hadn’t been summoned by a teacher since my own school days.

On the way across the playing field towards our home Amanda suggested, “My teacher is not so patient anymore.”

“So what happened?” I asked casually.

“I don’t have to play when she wants me to!” Amanda looked at me with her big determined brown eyes.

“Yes, you do,” I countered.

She continued, “I don’t have to pick a book when she wants me to.”

“Yes you do,” I repeated. “You should obey God, your parents and your teacher. The only time you don’t have to listen to your teacher is if she tells you to do something bad—and I don’t think Mrs. Van Sickle would do that!” I stated emphatically.

After some tears, Amanda said she would obey. I knew she meant it when several hours later I found her in the family room dancing in a circle, chanting, “I will obey God, I will obey God and my mom and my dad and my teacher.”

That Sunday in church a providential children’s message about obeying God, your parents, your baby sitter and your teacher reinforced my instruction.

On Monday morning I entered Amanda’s classroom prepared to tell the teacher about Amanda’s resolve to obey. I watched as the children went through their opening exercises including a jazzed up rendition of “O Canada.”

After the teacher dismissed the children to the gym, she led me to a little table and invited me to sit on a tiny chair. From her own little perch on the other side of the table, she looked at me, “Is there something going on at home that we should know about?”

I wasn’t prepared for this question. “No, I don’t think so,” I muttered. Couldn’t she see Amanda was from a warm and caring, Christian family? Apparently not.

The teacher continued, “She was running down the hall to the library and I said, ‘No Amanda’ and right away there were the tears.”

Was that it? I assured the teacher that the quick-flowing tears were genetic. Some den Boers simply don’t like to be told they are doing something wrong. It makes them cry.

“Ignore the tears,” I advised.

She did.

Amanda has been obeying her ever since.

He who scorns instruction will pay for it, but he who respects a command is rewarded. (Proverbs 13:13)

Years after this incident, 15-year-old Amanda set me straight. Her tears had been tears of pain and frustration. Her stomach hurt. The teacher had told her to hurry and then, not to run.

Even though the teacher, Amanda, and I, each had a different slightly skewed view of what was happening, through it all, Amanda learned a valuable lesson about obedience.

Excerpt from Blooming, This Pilgrim's Progress by Marian den Boer.

I am too Lazy to Turn Pages

2012-01-24T08:42:00.004-05:00

According to my last royalty statement, my digital sales are higher than my print sales. And this is for my books where the publisher sets the digital price, so the price between the two is pretty much the same.

Which can only mean one thing - readers are beginning to prefer to read on their eReaders.

It was only one year ago that I thought eReaders were the dumbest inventions ever. Why do you need a piece of technology that might freeze, that might get stolen, that you can’t take into the bubble bath with you? The printed book is a pretty good piece of technology in and of itself. Why mess with perfection?

A year ago my husband and I cancelled our landline and got two iPhones. I began reading, ever so tentatively, on my phone. I even bought a couple of Apple books for it. It wasn’t so bad. It was small and portable and light, and is with me everywhere, even when I’m stuck in a line up at the grocery store. The idea, then, of an eReader began to take shape in my luddite brain. I did a lot of research. I knew what I wanted. I wanted something featherweight and easy on the eyes.

Weight is a big factor for me. Years ago I was able to find a used uncut version of The Stand by Stephen King - which I consider to be the best apocalyptic novel ever written bar none, but that’s the subject of another blog - but in it’s paperback form it was thick and unwieldy to read. What I ended up doing was diving the book in half and carefully ripping it apart, and turning it into two medium sized paperbacks. Someone gave me King's hard cover novel The Dome. I never did read it because it was just too darn heavy to hold. Are we seeing a pattern here?

So, I researched, read reviews, and decided that the Kobo Touch was what I wanted. It’s Canadian and weighs in even lighter than the Kindle. It’s also connected to our Canadian library system and the reviews are good. I got it for Christmas.

Since Christmas I have not read a printed book. I am, therefore, the reason that bookstores are closing. I am the reason that my agent in grim tones tells me that, “print runs are down all over, Linda”. You can also blame my neighbor. He’s a retired gentleman who sits on his porch all summer and reads. He has quite a collection of hard cover mysteries and spy thrillers - his favorites. Last spring I was walking by and he called over to me, “Hey!” he said, “I just got a Kobo! I got 800 books in here!”

There is a conference going on right now in NYC all about digital books. Apparently the place is sold out. I’m not there, I’m just following the blogs. But here’s an interesting link on trends:

http://www.digitalbookworld.com/2012/publishers-otimistic-but-see-hard-work-ahead-in-2012-according-to-survey

So, what does that mean? It means we’re at the very beginning (or some might even say middle?) of a huge change, a change which has been coming since the invention of the World Wide Web back in the early 1990s. It’s quite an exciting time to be a writer!

Now, hmm, all they need to do is come up with a waterproof eReader for my bubble bath.

Kingdom Poets Presents Sydney Lea - Martin

2012-01-20T03:00:00.008-05:00

Sydney Lea is the author of ten collections of poetry including Pursuit Of A Wound (2001) which was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. He has also published a novel, A Place In Mind (1989), and two collections of essays. Lea is the founding editor of New England Review, where he served from 1977 until 1989. He has taught at several colleges, in Europe and the United States, including Yale, Wesleyan, and Dartmouth. He is the new poet laureate of Vermont.

Jeanne Murray Walker wrote of his new collection, Six Sundays Toward a Seventh, “In this book Sydney Lea invites us to take a spiritual journey . . . By the end of Six Sundays, the narrator and the reader step together into radiant light. What is so moving about Six Sundays is not only its wrestling with spiritual questions, but also Lea's affirmation that life is a spiritual journey and that this journey is of paramount importance.”

I was given the privilege of assisting him as editor for his new poetry collection Six Sundays Toward a Seventh - which is the first book in Wipf & Stock's new Poiema Poetry Series - released the first of January 2012. It is available from Wipf & Stock. The following poem is included in this new book.

Barnet Hill Brook

Here's what to read in mud by the brook after last night's storm,
Which inscribed itself on sky as light, now here, now gone-

And matchless. I kneel in the mud, by scrimshaw of rodents, by twinned
Neat stabs of weasel. I won't speak of those flashes. Here by my hand,

The lissome trail of a worm that lies nearby under brush,
Carnal pink tail showing out. Gnats have thronged my face.

I choose not to fend them off. Except for my chest in its slight
Lifting and sinking, the place's stillness feels complete.

Its fullness too: in the pool above the dead grass dam,
The water striders are water striders up and down:

They stand on themselves, feet balanced on feet in mirroring water.
How many grains of sand in the world? So one of my daughters

Wanted to know in her little girlhood. “Trillions,” I said.
“I love you,” she answered back. “I love you more than that.”

Lord knows I'm not a man who deserves to be so blessed.
I choose to believe that there's grace, that the splendid universe

Lies not in my sight but subsumes my seeing, my small drab witness.
Tonight my eye may look on cavalcades of brightness,

Of star and planet. Or cloud again. And when I consider,
O, what is man, That thou art mindful of him, it's proper

For me to have knelt, if only by habit. Pine needles let go,
And drop, and sink to this rillet's bright white bottomstones.

To tally them up would take me a lifetime. And more would keep coming.
A lifetime at least. And more would keep coming, please God, keep coming.

Posted with permission of the poet.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the award-winning author of the poetry collections Poiema (Wipf & Stock) and So The Moon Would Not Be Swallowed (Rubicon Press). They are both available at: www.dsmartin.ca

This post will appear Monday at: Kingdom Poets Follow this link to see dozens more, including some of the world's most celebrated poets, as well as some lesser known treasures.

Discovering Fresh Mercy - M. Laycock

2012-01-19T01:00:00.001-05:00

I’ve been doing the Joy Dare with Ann Voskamp and many others for the past couple of weeks. Ann has provided a list for us to follow, spurring us to notice three things each day that make us grateful for God’s grace and mercy. Some days it’s easy. Some days not so much. But even on those days the effort is worth it. Looking for gratitude. Looking for grace and mercy. How could you go wrong?

Well, we’re all human and we all do go wrong. I discovered even this process can take me off track in a subtle way. It was day eleven. We were to find three yellow things that struck us as “fresh mercy.” I hunted around my daughter’s small house, where I’m spending my days lately as I undergo radiation treatments. The first pick was sitting on the living room couch - a yellow afghan crocheted by my mother-in-law. The second was just as clear - a yellow turban I use to keep my bald head warm. It was the third item that gave me pause, not because it was hard to find - it was in the living room too - a retro chair my daughter covered herself - but it gave me pause because I realized I was focusing on the items, rather than the mercy or the One who dispensed it.

I found three things that were obvious, things that did bless me. But did I really recognize them as “fresh mercy?” That was the point of the exercise but I realized as I photographed my last pick, that wasn’t where my mind or heart was focused. I was focused on the finding, not on seeing how and why they were gifts from God.

So I took a few moments to ponder each one again. And I found the mercy was there, as easy to find as the objects themselves. I just had to take a few extra moments to recognize it. And the Joy Dare is working. The joy was there too, bubbling up as I recognized how much my God loves me. Enough to provide things like yellow afghans, turbans and retro chairs and then to show me that they are indeed fresh mercies dispensed to one who does not deserve them.

“If I say, “my foot slips,” Your mercy, O Lord, will hold me up.” Psalm 94:18

Hedged In - Nesdoly

2012-01-18T05:00:00.004-05:00

If you are like me, you don't like to feel confined. I don't like to feel physically confined. I remember fighting panic when we vacationed in our tent trailer and I slept in a narrow place between my husband, the canvas wall beside me, and the canvas roof that sloped to just inches of my face.

But David tells us in Psalm 139:5 that God confines us—fences us in, a hedge in front and in back, His hand on top.

If life is good we may scarcely be aware of this constriction. But when circumstances are hard, the job is unfulfilling, other pastures look greener, it is easy to try to wriggle out of the place we're in, to spring ourselves from what feels like a prison.

I read the blog of a special education teacher who wrote of this very thing in one of his 2011 advent meditations. His thoughts came out of a conversation with the furnace fixer, Mr. S., who confided in him, "I don't like my job," and then asked, "How about you? Are you thinking of leaving or are you going to stay?" Here's the rest of the story in Magical Mystical Teacher's own words:

“'I’ve thought about leaving,' I say to Mr. S, 'but where would I go?'

What I don’t tell him, because I’m not sure he’d understand, is that the only thing keeping me here—besides the children—is my sense of being placed here by God. Like the psalmist, I have found that God leads people who are willing to be led. If it weren’t for that, I’d be filling out as many applications as it takes to get out of here as quickly as possible.

However, until it is clear that I am supposed to move on, I listen for God’s instruction right where I am, confident that God will teach me the way to go, and lead me when the time is right."

Perhaps that attitude of trust in God, that willingness to stay or to go in God's time, not ours, is the secret of living without restlessness, anger, resentment, bitterness etc., in our hedged-in place.

Excerpt from Other Food: daily devos, January 14, 2012.

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Website: www.violetnesdoly.com

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Only Love - A Song for the Day After MLK Day - Arends

2012-01-16T22:48:00.003-05:00

Ever since we moved, I miss my old drycleaners. They never put staples in my clothes, their prices were great, and the owner's son, John, always had the best quotes up on a chalkboard in the customer area. One day I was dropping off some sweaters and read something deeply true from Martin Luther King, Jr ... by the time the sweaters were ready for pick-up, I'd gotten a good start on a song the quote inspired, and eventually I finished it up with my good bud (and brill writer) Brad Crisler. Today, in light of yesterday's observance in America of MLK Day, I thought I'd share the lyric of the song with you.

Only Love
words and music by Carolyn Arends and Brad Crisler

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." -- Martin Luther King Jr.

No one ever overcomes the dark with darkness
It takes a little light to chase the shadows back
So tell me why I try to fight the hate with hatred
When only love can do that

When I'm in this hole I just keep digging deeper
And when I lose my way I circle 'round this track
Trying to mend my heart with all the things that break it
When only love can do that

Only love, only love
Only love, only love
The more I try to fill me up
The more I lack
'Cause only love can do that

Well I could swear sometimes it seems like I'm in quicksand
Or like I'm sinking fast in water cold and black
I go deeper down the more I try to save me
Guess only love can do that

Only love, only love
Only love, only love
The more I try to fill me up
The more I lack
'Cause only love can do that

Well I have heard it said that you might be the answer
And it occurs to me -- that could be a fact
'Cause it was you who gave your life up for another
And only love can do that

Only love, only love
Only love, only love
The more I try to fill me up
The more I lack
'Cause only love can do that

c 2001 Songs of Peer, Ltd / Mr. Marley's Music (ASCAP)/EMI/April Music
Inc./Waltztime Music, Inc. (ASCAP)

If you'd like to download this song for free, you can get it HERE.

Shalom,

Carolyn

www.carolynarends.com

Planning 'Yeses" - Derksen

2012-01-16T08:45:00.002-05:00

Recently, when completing a homework assignment in a Beth Moore study, I read a segment she related about a visit with her daughter and her ten month old grandson. She told her daughter, "You'll want to set him up for as many yeses as you can because you're going to find that you will spend much of the next three years saying 'no."

Do we purpose to set ourselves up for 'yeses' when we know that "no" or rejection is part and parcel of the writing experience? I remember my first rejection notice. I had sent my baby...a three year work of art...to a publisher expecting they would be honored to receive such a masterpiece. Well, not exactly, but close. What I received was a notice that said I had a lot of work to do before they would even consider my manuscript.

While that may have been true, and looking back it was, it hurt. I thought about ending my writing career right then and there. I'm glad God had other plans for me. Now I've come to understand the attitude of divorcing ourselves from the manuscript and not injesting the comments as personal.

But do we plan some 'yes' events to pick up our spirits at times like this or even before they happen or do we wait for something to happen incidentally. I'd never thought about this quite this way but for instance...

What if we planned a spa visit before we opened the letter? What if we aligned ourselves with a prayer partner and took the publisher response to them so we could pray together about it after opening it? And it's not just publishers. How many of you have been shocked at the response of an editor who wanted you to delete, delete, and revise...again and again. I've had editors mark up my article in so much red ink that it was hard to see what he accepted.

God wants us to write. That's a given. Otherwise, we'd not be doing what we're doing. Does he want to mold us and make us more Christ-like...even through our writing? Then we need to plan some 'yeses' in your life...some positive events that build us up and point us back to Him. Time to reflect on the idea that God doesn't make mistakes so if He's asked us to write, then......write and learn to be the best example of Christ in our writing that we can be.

Barbara Ann Derksen's books can be found at Amazon.com in paperback format as well as Kindle. Just search Barbara Ann Derksen and you'll find a great mystery series worth spending some of your 'Yes' time reading.

Long Day’s Journey into Light - Reynolds

2012-01-13T07:00:00.010-05:00

In 1941, Eugene O'Neill, often described as America's greatest playwright, wrote an autobiographical play which he described as "a play of old sorrow." It was so personal that it was not produced until after O'Neill's death in 1953.

It's called “Long Day's Journey Into Night.” It's a tortured look at O'Neill's own family history, a day in the life of the "Tyrone family," their wretchedness fully exposed with uncompromising honesty: the mother a drug addict, father and two sons also addicted, but to alcohol rather than morphine. Melancholy clings to the play like poison gas. From morning through evening, the play follows the family into darkness.

Many people believe that life's like that—a long journey into night, an unending struggle gradually falling into endless darkness. History without hope. Death without resurrection. I suppose we all wonder about it at times.

As we face 2012, there seems ample evidence for pessimism and despair. Many look ahead with fear.

On the local scene, there is economic instability, unemployment, bankruptcies, line-ups at food banks, and homeless people on the streets. We see marriages breaking up, family life breaking down, confusion and confrontation over moral and social issues: sexuality, abortion, and euthanasia.

Nationally, we see lack of confidence in our political leadership, a sense of national disunity, a desperate and meaningless search for a sense of national identity and culture (at best a "cut flower culture" with no roots in any sense of national purpose or destiny), and a national debt out of control and escalating at an unbelievable rate.

In the world around us: war, terrorism, nation states breaking into ancient tribal units, the slaughter of the innocents, starvation, oppression, and ever increasing pollution and climate change.

We know the whole morbid litany too well.

Understandably some say that human history, life itself, is one long journey into darkness. Somewhere I read these words quoted from Harper's Magazine:

It is a gloomy moment in the history of our country.

Not in the lifetime of most people has there been so

much grave and deep apprehension; never has the future

seemed so incalculable as at this time. The domestic

economy is in chaos. Our dollar is weak throughout the

world. Prices are so high as to be utterly impossible.

The political cauldron seethes and bubbles with

uncertainty. It is a solemn moment. Of our troubles,

no one can see the end.

We can allow ourselves to be overcome by such reports and all sorts of pessimistic predictions. But things aren't all bad. For instance, the quotation I just read was taken from Harper's Weekly, October, 1857.

There is no doubt that the present time is a time of anxiety. We've got to come to terms with some very present realities. We are being forced to learn that we cannot continue to live as we have been living—so much at the expense of our earth and of others. We simply cannot keep going, expending, consuming, the way we have been doing. Not for very long.

There is a need for more responsibility in facing the challenges of our time: less personal greed, more concern for the common good.

The problems are great, no denying that. But if we are to persevere in seeking solutions, we must surely have some hope that there is light at the end of the tunnel, that human history does have a purpose, and that God is in fact "working His purpose out.” Surely we must believe that all our struggles are not simply futile effort and our lives ending in the eternal darkness of death. Surely we must believe that every effort we make in the cause of justice and righteousness makes its own small contribution in the ongoing purpose of our existence.

Our attitude is all important. And there are now already too many who believe that what they do doesn't matter, that it's best to get what they can out of life while they have the chance. There are too many who believe that the purpose of our living exists in games and parties, for whom "entertainment" is their religion.

If our world is to move into the future with any degree or hope, we must have faith that we are part of a purpose whose ultimate end is the good of all. We must have some basis for this faith, in spite of the arguments of pessimism and the seeming realities of history.

It's not a coincidence that it is Dag Hammarskjöld, Swedish diplomat and Secretary of the United Nations in the 1950's, who speaks a helpful word. It comes from that remarkable book we call Markings, which he described as “concerning my negotiations with myself and with God." He directed that it was not to be published until after his death. He wrote,

God does not die on the day when we cease to believe in

a personal God, but we die on the day our lives cease

to be illumined by a steady radiance, renewed daily, of

a wonder, the source of which is beyond reason. (p. 64)

Our lives "illumined by a steady radiance." That's not something in a current news report, not your daily brief inspirational message (though it is "renewed daily"). It's not something within us, dependent upon our digestion or our metabolism of the day. It's from beyond. It is in wonder and faith, rather than knowledge, experience or reason.

Arise! Shine! Your light is come, and the glory of the

Lord is risen upon you. For behold, darkness shall cover

the earth, and thick darkness the people, but the Lord

will arise upon you, God's glory will be seen upon you....

The sun shall be no more your light by day, nor for

brightness shall the moon give light to you by night;

but the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your

God will be your glory (Isaiah 60:1-2, 18).

There's a "steady radiance" for you!

We are entering the season in the church year which we call "epiphany," the season we remember those Wise Ones of old who followed a guiding light to a humble spot where the Christ was born.

And lo, the star which they had seen in the east went

before them, till it came to rest over the place where

the child lay. When they saw the star, they rejoiced

exceedingly with great joy. And going into the house

they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they fell

down and worshipped Him (Matthew 2:9-11).

One of my favourite passages in the Bible is the one found at II Corinthians 4:6:

God who commanded the light to shine out of darkness,

has shined in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge

of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

True, we have "this treasure in earthen vessels." We are afflicted, perplexed, but not crushed, not driven to despair. We may be persecuted, but we are not forsaken. We may be struck down, but never destroyed.

So we do not lose heart! . . . For we look not to the

things that are seen, but to the things that are unseen. For

the things that are seen are transient; but the things that are

unseen are eternal (II Corinthians 4:16-18).

And, of course, we don't walk alone. We walk with others of like faith and hope, in community together.

We need the support of one another. We need the support of the "community of faith." Without such support, our own faith dissipates and our hope languishes and dies. Those people who share your search and perhaps sometimes pray for you, how much we need their faith. Those friends of yesteryear as well as those now near, those loved ones both here and far away, how much we owe each other.

We come together, at times, sometimes in emptiness, to seek again spiritual fulfilment. And it is often through these meaningful others in our lives that we find inspiration and strength.

We have the right to expect some illumination. It may well come less from theories and concepts than from the uncertain, flickering and often weak light that some men and women in their lives and works will kindle and shed over the time span given them on earth.

And isn't this the bottom line, that we help, support and encourage each other in faith and hope. What greater work to do, whether you are Secretary-General of the United Nations or a semi-invalid confined to bed or wheelchair in a nursing home.

We started with Eugene O'Neill and his tortured spiritual autobiography, Long Day's Journey Into Night. But for O'Neill himself, this play was not the last word. He dedicated this play to Carlotta, his second wife, on the twelfth anniversary of their marriage. Listen to his words of dedication:

For Carlotta, on our twelfth anniversary.

Dearest: I give you the original script of this play

of old sorrow, written in tears and blood.... I

mean it as a tribute to your love and tenderness which

gave me the faith that enabled me to write this play, write it

with deep pity and understanding and forgiveness. These twelve

years, Beloved One, have been a Journey into Light. You know

my gratitude. Gene.

Confrontation - Meyer

2012-01-11T04:00:00.000-05:00

Confrontation – not a pleasant topic. Certainly, it would be more appealing to talk of reconciliation, of mediation, of restoration, of understanding, and of forgiveness.

Coming to an understanding of the absolute necessity of confrontation adds nothing to its appeal.

I am currently working on the fourth book in a seven-book series that demonstrates with fictional characters the seven steps in healing from the effects of abuse. In the book, Missy, the healing required is from past and ongoing verbal abuse, and the step in the healing journey is confrontation.

Not pleasant… Not appealing…

When Selma Poulin, mental health clinician and board chair of Rising Above Abuse Counseling (http://www.risingabove.ca/) read the manuscript, she asked, “Where is the confrontation?” When my wonderful, faithful editor from New Zealand, and my even more wonderful husband, read the manuscript, they both advised me to cut out the very nice romance I’d gotten sidetracked with and get to the heart of the issue – confrontation. After a suitable amount of whining, I have done just that. It’s hard because I don’t want to experience it vicariously as an author any more than I want to experience it in reality.

One of the hallmarks of an abusive relationship is denial – both on the part of the victim and the perpetrator. Much healing occurs when the victim can recognize the abuse and “break the silence” by telling a trusted friend or preferably a counselor. This fourth step in the healing journey involves for the first time the perpetrator (either directly or indirectly). For some victims of abuse, a direct confrontation is not safe or is no longer possible. Sometimes a letter written to the abuser is sufficient – whether or not it is actually delivered. The victim should never go alone to meet with a past or present abuser, and they should never go unprepared. Much prayer and discussion should happen beforehand.

It is important for the perpetrator to be shown the effects of the abuse.

Think of it as a victim impact statement – something that is being used to good effect in many courtrooms today.

Missy will be released (the Lord willing) on March 26, 2012. I hope you will consider reading it, if not for yourself then maybe for a friend who might need it.

And I did leave in just a wee bit of the nice romance…

Dorene Meyer
http://www.dorenemeyer.com/
Author of The Little Ones, Jasmine, Lewis, Joshua and Missy

Happy New Year! - Boge

2012-01-10T10:58:00.003-05:00

Okay, so it is already ten days in, so technically “Happy New Year” is just a little bit late now, but it’s my first time this year on the blog so I wanted to wish you and yours a happy new year.

And what exactly will make it happy?

Is it the circumstances that we hope to have this year that will make us happy? Or is it the attitude we will choose to have in the face of adversity that will make us happy in spite of what happens?

I sometimes wonder if we spend too much of our time trying to control circumstances rather than choosing to adopt a godly attitude to the difficult things that come our way.

My grandmother passed away just over a month ago. She lived through the war where she lost her brother. Then she moved to Canada to start a new life where her husband passed away from cancer at a young age. That might be cause for bitterness. But she had learned the secret of believing that God is actually in control of all things, even when he appears not to be. She loved people with her whole heart, read her Bible faithfully (she read the whole Bible through a minimum of 8 times), and was a magnet of love and acceptance to anyone she met.

Why was that?

There were a couple of reasons for sure. First, she had come to the end of herself. Life was not about her. Life was about Christ and life was about others. She loved to serve. And that is a real lesson for me.

Secondly she trusted God. I know that’s a truism. We all say it. But do we really believe that God works all things together for good? We presume that verse means God wants us to have a good life. But that’s not what the passage says and my grandmother understood that. Whether it was good things in her life or very difficult things, she trusted that God was in control and that he loved her and was using even the difficult things to shape her life and to bring him glory even if she had no idea how that was possible given the circumstances.

So I wish you a happy new year. One that is filled with the confidence that ultimately, God is the great film director who is directing every scene of your life as part of the overall masterpiece to a brilliant conclusion.

Blessings to you on all you do this year.

Paul

Words—Delightful, Expressive Words Ruth Smith Meyer

2012-01-09T10:09:00.004-05:00

Words have always brought me pleasure. There isn’t much greater satisfaction than to closely look at an emotion or circumstances then choose a word with the ideal nuance or shade of meaning to perfectly portray the situation. Perhaps that is why, as a teenager, I read the entire dictionary. People have teased me about that and some have even scoffed at the idea of such boring reading. During that time, I decided to choose words that I could incorporate into my vocabulary. Each week, I would choose one and see how often I could use it in my normal every-day life.

Take for instance, my delight in words, described in my first sentence as pleasure. Without hunting in my Roget's or other sources, just using the Thesaurus that comes with my Microsoft Word, I can choose the nuance I like from enjoyment, happiness, delight, joy, bliss, contentment, satisfaction, gratification; amusement, recreation, fun, leisure, diversion; desire, preference, wish, liking, inclination, will. All of these are relatively common, but can enhance your conversation or writing.

On line, yourdictionary.com provides added synonyms: felicity, rapture, ease, comfort, gladness, delectation, relish, kicks

Further explanation follows: pleasure is the general term for an agreeable feeling of satisfaction, ranging from a quiet sense of gratification to a positive sense of happiness; delight implies a high degree of obvious pleasure, openly and enthusiastically expressed a child's delight with a new toy; joy describes a keenly felt, exuberant, often demonstrative happiness their joy at his safe return; enjoyment suggests a somewhat more quiet feeling of satisfaction with that which pleases our enjoyment of the recital

Of course, as a writer, there’s practical help in a variety of words. When we have need to repeat the same emotion or description several times in close proximity, choosing different words with like meaning can not only keep your writing fresh, but can add emphasis and depth to any scene or account.

Some people are especially adept at using the English language in refreshing ways. Poets are often among these, but some do so with prose. If you haven’t read Ann Voskamp’s best-selling book One Thousand Gifts or her blog Holy Experience, look for them. She is a master at phrases and descriptions that bring vivacious energy into the ordinary and routine. As an example here are a few quotes from one of Ann’s recent blogs.

“I bear the stretchmarks of my 2011.” (Doesn’t that describe a growing year?)

"There's only one address anyone lives at and it's always a duplex: joy and pain always co-habit every season of life. Accept them both and keep company with the joy while the pain does its necessary renovations." (What better advice, expressed in clear terms, could one want for the beginning of a ne year?)

I encourage you to do what I want to do this year--look at my ordinary, ever-day world and describe it in ways that will bring new meaning and understanding of the opportunities each moment presents.

Yeah for stretch-marks and renovations!

What it Means to be a Christian Writer - Rose Mccormick Brandon

2012-01-06T07:00:00.001-05:00

The beginning of a new year is always a good time to reflect on what it means to be a writer who is Christian.

It means approaching the task of writing with trust in God. Abel presented his perfect sacrifice to the Lord, obediently, without needing a pat on the back to show the world he’d done the right thing and done it well. Sometimes I find the need for approval and feedback gets in the way of trusting God in my writing. Feedback comes in pits and patters, a little here, a little there. I’ve had to learn not to depend on readers' glowing comments, and when they do come, not to savour them too long. I appreciate positive feedback. But I don’t want to need it. Like Abel, I want to present my writing gift to God, lay it down as an offering and walk away to prepare my next gift. Other writers seem to develop this attitude without effort. For me, writing with trust in God is a work in progress.

It means writing with a brave heart. Perhaps no one will agree with my point of view, even be offended by it. For those reasons, I might be tempted to shroud my points in indecisive language. If God has given me something to write, I should write it clearly, with bravery. What I don’t want is for readers to scratch their heads and ask, “What in the world is she talking about?” I want to write with courage, whatever the consequences. It takes courage, not only to write, but to submit our precious words to editors, agents and publishers. Sometimes the writing alone life feels like we're dangling at the end a rope with no one at the other end to haul us back to safety.

It means writing with devotion to the task at hand. Laziness lurks. Voices beckon. Worthy projects call my name. They attempt to drag me away from God’s main calling. They’ve succeeded too often. If I don’t stick to the main thing, I’ll be overwhelmed, drowned in a sea of causes, other people’s dreams. I won’t fulfill my God-calling, the calling to write. Writing is hard work. Getting started is like trying to board a plane without a ticket. My fragile trains of thought, so easily re-routed. Only devotion can help me meet the challenges of the writing life.

Writing with trust, bravery and devotion. That’s my goal for 2012.

Glimpses of Eternity - Eleanor Shepherd

2012-01-05T06:00:00.000-05:00

At this time of year, we read a lotabout the newsmakers of the year, or the favourite albums of the year or themost popular movies of the year as we look back on 2011. When I reflect on what has beenimportant to me this past year, my list would include the 2011 glimpses ofeternity that I have had. You might want to think of the ones you have had thattouched you deeply.

Themost significant for me was the birth of our granddaughter, Sanna, born on aday that I felt appropriate, Thanksgiving Sunday. To me her birth proves once again that God has not given upon the human race, even with all of our failures and shortcomings. He still values us and sends new lifeinto our world with the births of our children and grandchildren. I cannot express the joy I feel as Ihold this little one in my arms. Iam overcome with the sacredness of the gift of life. As she begins to grow and develop and as she interacts withus, I feel like a miracle is taking place before my eyes. Her arrival has given me a uniqueglimpse of eternity, in that I know that she will be here long after I havegone and I want to leave a legacy that will enrich her life.

WhileI am aware that we have been blessed with a healthy baby girl who is growingand thriving, at the same time I am conscious of the child of close friends ofour children. She also received the gift of life, but for her it looks verydifferent. She struggles with anumber of health concerns that accompanied her arrival and I see the pain andanguish etched by fear on the faces of her parents and grandparents. I know they are grateful for the giftof her life. Yet, they wonderanxiously what life will hold for her and how long they will be able to enjoythis precious gift. For them theglimpse of eternity is at every corner. With each crisis she survives, they know that they have been close tothe veil between this world and the next and experience all of the emotionspresent in that place. Theircourage and constant care for this helpless little one inspire me and give me a glimpse of the immediacy of eternity with the awareness that it isoften just a breathe away.

A radically different view of theeternal was provided for me by a trip that I was able to take in 2011 to someof the barrios in Colombia. ThereI was awed as I saw the courage of people who had faced hardship and challengesthat I could never image just eking out a living. With the help of the microloans provided by the organizationwhere I was employed at the time, these people were working their way out ofpoverty and building a new life for themselves and their families. What overwhelmed me was theirgratitude. They knew that we werepartners in their businesses and that gave them dignity and hope. These characteristics of dignity andhope call forth from us the best. They are the hallmarks of the Eternal One and when we offer them toothers, we honour Him.

Uponmy return from Colombia, I had another glimpse of eternity that awaitedme. My father had returned fromthe hospital to his Long Term Care Facility for the final days of his life. My prayer was that he would remain alive until Ireturned. That prayer wasanswered. I arrived in Toronto onThursday evening and was able to spend the night on a cot in his room. Early Friday morning, he awoke. He could no longer swallow, so he couldnot speak. He lifted up his head andlooked at me. I knew what tosay. I assured him that I was backand that my brother was on the way. I affirmed that I knew that he loved me and he knew that I lovedhim. All was well. With that, he relaxed and lay back onhis pillow. A few hours later, heentered into eternity and I knew that those last words would remain with mealways. Although he and my motherare on one side of the veil, and I am on the other, the love we have for oneanother still unites us. Becauseit is anchored in a deeper love, we have the hope of seeing one another again.

Therehave been many other times during this year when I have had glimpses ofeternity in unusual moments.

WhenI received the Word Guild Award in the Christian Leadership category for mybook More Questions than Answers, Sharing Faith by Listening, I sensed theapproval of the One I serve for the efforts that I make to try to help othersto find ways to be authentic about faith. This event made me feel His smile upon me.

WhenI was offered the opportunity to talk about both my work and my book ininterviews on 100 Huntley Street this year, I felt that I was being invited to openup parts of my life that are usually kept closed except when I am in my prayercloset. From these places, I wasgiven a sacred space to talk about the ways in which the eternal ministered tome during some very dark days of my life through people and circumstances andthe presence of God Himself. http://www.100huntley.com/video.php?id=15BqlUECGTc

Thereare more times that I could tell you about when God has come so close to meduring this past year like losing my employment, discovering the joy ofchaplaincy and visiting a place that evoked tender memories of family. No doubt, you too have had thesemoments. I would love to hearabout them, so feel free to comment if you wish.

Yes, We Can! - Black

2012-01-04T07:30:00.002-05:00

Several years ago US President Barack Obama’s campaign slogan of “Yes, we can!” cut through the gloom of major economic collapse, massive employment loss, fast-evaporating confidence in American government and society, and the global economic downturn. It offered a welcome beam of light.

Those three words played a role in reigniting the flame of hope, and galvanized a sense of renewed optimism in many people. The slogan was a fitting companion to his overall theme of “change.” And now, the 44th President of the United States and the nation’s first African-American president will soon shift into higher gears in his bid to hold on to his job.

Despite his best efforts gloom persists. It seems that many Americans feel or believe that not all the changes were good – or weren’t good enough, or fast enough. And yet, the essential element of the “Yes, we can!” message is something that predates Mr. Obama and will continue to inspire many of us.

Yes, we can! Three words that can mean so much . . . can make the difference —
~ between fear and faith;
~ between at least trying and not trying at all;
~ between victory and defeat;
~ between success and failure.

Joshua and Caleb’s reconnaissance of the Promised Land (Canaan), and their subsequent report was a Yes, we can! thing. Their ten espionage colleagues’ report was a No, we can’t, thing. Yet, all twelve spies had seen the potential for bounty in the land.

“When they reached the Valley of Eshcol, they cut off a branch bearing a single cluster of grapes. Two of them carried it on a pole between them, along with some pomegranates and figs (Numbers 13:23).”

The ten No, we can’t-ers presumably tasted the grapes as well as the two Yes, we can-ers!

They’d faced many dangers in order to bring back this sample of good things to come. The people heeded the negative majority report, even although they saw the fruit of the land and some may have tasted of it. That fruit was a foretaste of what lay before them, if they would only have moved on in faith in the assurance that the Lord God was with them.

Albeit, the Lord knew they weren’t yet ready. They had many lessons to learn, and the unbelieving generation was to pass away–die in the wilderness, before a new generation would arise, prepared and ready to go in to possess the land.

The year is young. What will it hold? Will optimism fade and fall like spent fireworks from the night sky? What does all this mean for us? Have we tasted the fruit of things to come? Have we tasted that the Lord is gracious? Have we put ourselves out and ‘risked it’ in order to reach out into what is ahead and secured samples of the blessing and fruitfulness of walking by faith in Jesus?

If God does not go with and work with us, and we with Him, how can we accomplish His call on our lives? What great comfort we have through His promise to be with us (Josh. 1:8-9; Matt. 28:20; Heb. 13:8).

I’ve entered this infant year with a mixture of optimism and uncertainty, since three aspects of my life that I anticipated would play a definite role in advancing my future writing and ministry aspirations are curtailed somewhat, at present:

Writing (computer work and typing), music-making (self-accompanied vocals on piano or keyboard), and piano-tuning and servicing (my pre-pastoral profession). (Through the latter skill I had hoped to in part fund my writing / publishing dreams.)

Fortunately, my commitments to provide services to nursing homes and seniors residences may still be fulfilled, although the music component is in jeopardy. A healing or effective treatment of old chronic injuries may dispel this little cloud. And yet I am at the same time optimistic, anticipating the guiding hand of God in the days ahead.

It seems that, for now, I have to learn in a new way what Paul expressed in Philippians 4:13, “I can do everything through him who gives me strength (NIV).” I take that to mean, “I can do everything [that God requires of me] through him who gives me strength.”

Hmm. Can we fulfil what He has purposed and planned for us this year? Yes, we can – if God be with us, and enables us!

~~+~~

Peter A. Black writes a weekly inspirational column for the Southwestern Ontario newspaper, The Watford Guide-Advocate, and is the author of "Parables from the Pond" (a Word Alive Press finalist, 2007)-- a book finding a readership from school children to senior citizens. (ISBN 1897373-21-X)

Fruit of the Spirit: Patience - Lawrence

2012-01-03T07:00:00.001-05:00

In my regular monthly blogs for this site I have been looking at the fruit of the Spirit as named by St. Paul in his letter to the Galatians 5: 22,23: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. This month I will be considering the fruit of patience.

In the past, I have thought of patience as a passive thing. If one is a patient with an illness one passively gets treated in various ways such as intravenous fluids, surgery, or medications; tests, physio-therapy or psycho-analysis. In other words, things get done to one’s body or mind by professionals; these professionals actively perform some treatment while the patient passively receives the treatment in order to become healed.

I thought of the spiritual fruit of patience in much the same way. One meets up with many difficulties as one goes through life and one learns to passively accept them with patience. However, as I have been reading the scriptures on patience and meditating on the words I have read, I began to realize that there is more to patience than passive acceptance of life’s trials.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 1 Corinthians 13:7.

Our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armour of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything to stand firm. Ephesians 6: 12, 13.

I begin to understand that we aren’t just to be aware of the evil forces; we don’t just suffer the evil forces to perform their worst upon our spirits; we don’t just wait patiently for reprieve or passively accept the evil that is done to our souls so that we grow in patient acceptance. No, we are to fight against the evil; we put on God’s armour; no matter how often the evil comes upon us, we patiently endure every attack by putting on God’s armour and fighting against the evil.

Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. Ephesians 6: 14-17.

We discover that the fruit of patience grows actively not passively. We must actively participate in the growth of patience; we must defend the fruit of patience as it grows; we must protect it as it grows by fighting in alliance with the Holy Spirit against the evil one. We are not to passively endure whatever comes upon us but actively endure against whatever would destroy our spiritual fruit or plant at whatever stage of growth it is in.

Things that prevent our spiritual fruit from growing to maturity may come from within us or from without. We must have patient endurance to withstand the evil forces that would destroy our spiritual growth, attack our spiritual growth, uproot our spiritual growth, starve our spiritual growth, or choke our spiritual growth.

Some of the things that can prevent the spiritual fruit of patience from coming to maturity are very subtle and can even masquerade as the spiritual plants and fruit themselves. They are like the weeds that grow in our natural gardens. The weeds take on the look and characteristics of surrounding good plants while they become stronger and more aggressive while they put down deep roots and finally choke out the good plants.

The fruit of patience doesn’t grow in passivity; it needs to actively endure and stand firm against the evil forces with the strength of the Holy Spirit and the whole armour of God.

Highway of Holiness: Soul Journey by Judith Lawrence

Published by Wipf and Stock

Making the Circle Wider/MANN

2012-01-02T08:41:00.000-05:00

I’m a farmer’s daughter! As a young girl, I was often asked to take the cows to the back field and sometimes if the parents had milked late, it would be almost dark by the time I got back to the barn. I can remember those summer evenings with stars appearing like a great wide canopy over my head. Knowing the story of Jesus’ birth, I marveled at the significance of a message and truly expected to see angels at any time.

Then, later in my married years, Doug and the boys had quite a large flock of sheep. Again I can remember checking fences, following a sheep through a broken rail to the neighbour’s field and crying, after wolves had ravaged. Again, the canopy of stars hanging overhead is a comforting memory in times of uncertainty.

In Jesus’ day, shepherds or sheep farmers were not well thought of. Although they would have supplied sheep as sacrificial animals in the near-by temple in Jerusalem, they themselves would not have been allowed to enter the temple to worship. They would have been seen as unclean after following sheep day and night across the dry land or perhaps named an outcast because of their lifestyle, maybe a scoundrel, sometimes accused of stealing another’s sheep, to increase their numbers. The religious probably thought they had good reason to forbid them from holy places.

Keeping this in mind, I ask then, why did the angel’s brilliance not break through into the temple, arouse the religious and sing their Gloria to a more receptive group or at least to men who were used to discussing God's intervention into human life. But, no! It was to a group of shepherds. Luke says “And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them . . . (v.8f).”

It makes me wonder when dressed in my best bib and tucker, thinking my most pious and praiseworthy thoughts, if God is out doing the shepherd thing with those who are just doing what comes natural to them, like keeping watch over whatever people keep watch over when they’re not in church. Don’t misunderstand me – I love the church. However, sometimes we are reminded that God makes the circle wider than we can ever imagine.

All at once, it makes me want to go to the most unlikely places where I think God may be breaking into the most surprising space with a wonderful message, an invitation, and a promise that the glory of the Lord will shine around them. Sounds good to me. Now where should I look to find such a place? I might just want to go and seek out some shepherds.

Blessings on this eighth day of Christmas.
Donna Mann
http://www.donnamann.org/
http://meadowlane.homestead.com/ (children's MP3 & PDF stories)

All Things in Peace and Silence – Lawrence

2011-12-25T07:00:00.009-05:00

All things were lying in peace and silence, and night in her swift course was half spent, when thy almighty Word leapt from thy royal throne in heaven.

Wisdom of Solomon 18: 14, 15

Meister Eckhart, in his Sermon 101, cites this passage and claims that the eternal Word from the Father is new born in time, in human nature.
[Eckhart is quoted in Bernard McGinn’s book, The Mystical Thought of Meister Eckhart. Pgs. 55/56]

When all things were in the medium, in silence, then there descended down into me from on high, from the royal throne, a hidden Word in the ground. The birth of the Word takes place, Eckhart says, in the purest thing that the soul is capable of, in the noblest part, the ground, indeed, in the very essence of the soul’s most secret part, its silent middle.

So in each one of us the Word, the Christ, is born. When we are open in silence to God’s almighty Word, Christ is born in our soul’s centre. This is not only possible on Christmas Day when we celebrate the birth of Christ on the earth but at any time when we wait in silence for God’s coming to be born in our soul.

Still Centre

Return to the still centre,

Wait in patience for him who comes.

Clear the brambles from the pathway,

Open wide the gate in welcome

For him who comes to you.

Welcome him who comes

To your still centre,

Blessed Triune God.

Truth Greater Than Fiction -- Peter A. Black

2011-12-23T19:00:00.001-05:00

The following post was my article published in "The Watford Guide-Advocate" Dec. 22, 2011. I share it here, wishing you and your loved ones a joyous Christmas graced by the presence and peace of our Lord Emmanuel -- "God with us."

All too soon, it seems, Christmas rushes upon us again. The Big Day is just around the corner. Kids in the multiple millions – especially in the West – just can’t wait to see what gifts 'The Big Guy' will bring them.

Some of us, while casting a disdainful eye at the rank commercialism and seeds of greed sown in young hearts this season, welcome the employment that’s generated and the goodwill that blossoms at many levels of society. And so, we get into the spirit and set up our artificial tree, or obtain a fresh-cut pine or spruce, bedeck it with garlands and tinsel, and ornaments and twinkling lights.

The livingroom – cosy and inviting, laden with a host of seasonal trinkets and trappings, with angels and fairies guarded by cute sentinel nutcrackers – complements the tree. Perhaps the exterior of the house is adorned with colourful lights and illuminated stars. Many a front yard sports a Las Vegas-like diorama of illuminations – such as rope lights spiralling around porch pillars and trees, cute reindeer and sleigh forms – and even huge, inflated Santas.

Let’s not overlook those creches depicting the Holy Family – the Christ Child with Mary and Joseph, attended by shepherds presenting a lamb and Magi bearing gifts. Yes, some of us intentionally keep in view that Christmas is about God’s gift to the world of The Christ Child, our Saviour and Redeemer, the Son of God from heaven. Let us also give thanks to God for those from all walks of life who reach out to those in need, those who help keep our communities safe, for those who generously provide for others, and those who offer various forms of support.

Who is (that is, who was) Santa Claus? He was born during the third century to a devout Christian couple in a village called Patara in what is now the southern coastal area of Turkey. They named him Nicholas. They were wealthy, but died in an epidemic when Nicholas was still young.

However, they had raised him with a deep commitment to living out the commands of the Lord Jesus, and he applied personally the words Jesus spoke to a wealthy young man, “sell your possessions and give the money to the poor.” Nicholas gladly used up all his inheritance, providing assistance to the poor, and helping the sick and suffering.

His selflessness and generosity didn’t go unnoticed, and while still a young man, he was appointed Bishop of Myra. His love for children and concern for the dangers sailors faced were widely appreciated. Despite this, Nicholas was exiled and imprisoned for his faith.

Various legends of miraculous events surrounding his life surfaced over time, and after his death he was canonized and became known as Saint Nicholas. Yes, the historical truth about Santa is way more remarkable than the fictionalized caricature we have today.

Similarly, the Lord Jesus Christ, whom Nicholas loved and served, has been mythologised. And yet, the accounts of His miraculous conception and birth, His life and death and resurrection as recorded in the gospels are heart-warming and believable, inspiring love and hope.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16).”

Life beyond this life and joy beyond compare through the gift of God’s Son . . . that’s Christmas for me – truth greater than fiction!

~~+~~
Peter A. Black writes a weekly inspirational column for the Southwestern Ontario newspaper, The Watford Guide-Advocate, and is the author of "Parables from the Pond" (a Word Alive Press Finalist, 2007)-- a book finding a readership from school kids to senior citizens.

Christmas Assembly Line—Carolyn Wilker

2011-12-16T08:27:00.003-05:00

Recently, I worked a shift at a processing centre for Operation Christmas Child, having come on the invitation of a friend. My first experience had been some years ago, attending with my youngest daughter’s Grade 6 class. We arrived at a factory warehouse, signed in and waited for training and the third member of our group.

In the training room, a cheerful woman in jeans and sweater, topped by a green apron and a pointy hat, showed us the video about the shoebox program and answered questions. She pointed out the charts showing acceptable and inacceptable items for the Christmas boxes. It might have been an elves training session except that a chaplain led us in prayer before we began our shift.

Jane and I and other volunteers from churches, schools and community groups followed our trainer to the warehouse floor, past other volunteers wearing green or red hats. She introduced us to the shift supervisor, who instructed us on the tasks that needed to be done.

While we weren’t making new things out of raw materials, we were an assembly line, making sure these boxes were safe and appropriate for children around the world. Jane chose to tape already inspected boxes as they came to her, and I chose pre-inspection, looking for and handling the donation envelopes. The young women already at station 1B had boxes ready for Jane.

It felt a little like the North Pole in that cool warehouse with Christmas music playing, a cheerful atmosphere, and volunteers wearing Santa or elf hats. And Santa nowhere to be found, since it’s not his workshop after all. As we got our line moving, Peggy entered with the next group of volunteers, saw us and came to work at our station.

I took one box at a time from a large carton on my right, and opened the boxes— tied with string, held together with elastics and some taped really well. The donation envelopes and loose cash, I put into separate slots in a wooden box in front of me. I also had to open any other envelopes and check them as well. After taking personal cards, and sometimes a photo, out of the envelope, I put those items back in the shoebox with the other things, and disposed of the envelope. Next I put the shoebox on the shelf in front of me, ready for a more thorough inspection of its contents, which was Peggy’s job.

Peggy emptied each box, checked for items that could not be sent, and added fillers to some boxes. Sometimes she had to label boxes that came with no age, boy or girl designations on them. Jane was next on the line. After taping the boxes, she placed them on a conveyor belt that took the boxes away to be packed for shipping. The same job over and over, with young men constantly replenishing the emptying carton with more full cartons at my end of the line.

After breaking a fingernail, getting a box from the tightly packed carton, I called on the shift supervisor for a band-aid. She escorted me to the first aid box, and very soon I was back in production. My son-in-law would have been familiar with doing a particular task over and over since he has worked on a car assembly line, putting in windshields. He’d also be familiar with the location of the first aid centre. While our operation was not that technical, it worked well, and we kept the line moving with only a few questions of the supervisor.

While I worked, my thoughts went to the children who would receive them; I pictured a girl or boy, somewhere, delighting in the small gifts, even the elastics or strings that came with the box. The thought of these children getting the gifts I handled drew deep emotions within me and brought me near tears.

These boxes might be the only gift some children receive. Whether they live in a previous war zone or not, whether they have known some form of Santa Claus, or whether the children or their families know God does not matter; the gifts come through a Christian agency. While we are certainly not elves, we and the donors of these shoebox gifts are helping the children to know that someone cares about them. We are God’s hands in a confusing and often dangerous world.

With fifteen minutes left on our shift, we were asked to stop our work and watch a video— a verbal thank you for our contribution of time and energy. Someone reported that we had processed over 2 thousand boxes in those two hours, boxes that were ready to ship out to countries around the world. That too was mighty awesome.

When your post gets 65,000 visits - Denyse O'Leary

2011-12-15T12:22:00.000-05:00

Recently, I had the odd experience of writing a post (for an education site) that suddenly got 65,000 hits. The big problem was convincing my bosses that I didn’t know how it happened and was sure it would never happen again: Here's the post:

Recently, a Canadian high school teacher broke the silence about where cultural relativism really leads.

He told his Ontario students the horrific true story of the mutilation of an Afghan girl fleeing her abusive husband. He wanted to begin a study of moral philosophy with a case that students would surely agree on. But they didn’t. Most could not “pass judgment on another culture.”

Which sheds an interesting light on tolerance and diversity education: Apart from the idea of justice and injustice (moral judgment), all they can teach is moral imbecility.

A couple of other posts on related subjects that many readers found helpful were:

When we celebrate diversity, what exactly are we celebrating? And “Does a man’s honor really lie between the legs of a woman?”, unpacking the same issue using different news stories.

Our regular education offerings may also be worth a look:

Should a student go into social science? Social science’s house is on fire, and top guns don’t seem to notice.

Should a student go into criminal justice? Consider the obstacles first. The obstacles are very real, and many are misrepresented.

That’s what our The Best Schools site is like: hard-hitting. In an age when many angry students are hitting the streets because their degrees and debt don’t lead to jobs, we offer a real world look. We don’t say, you can’t. We do say, know and work with the risks.

Christmas is about giving- HIRD

2011-12-14T16:22:00.000-05:00

By Rev Ed Hird

Christmas is a wonderful time of year. What is it about Christmas time that brings out the best in us? 33% of all charitable giving by Canadians is given during the December Christmas season.

One of my favorite Christmas movies is ‘It’s a wonderful life’ where Jimmy Stewart plays the part of a generous but discouraged businessman who discovered that he really was making a positive impact.Written by Frank Capra in 1946, the movie was initially seen as a box-office flop. It did not win one Academy Award Oscar, but later went on to become one of the one hundred most popular movies of all times. It is now seen as the number one inspirational North American movie ever made.

You will remember how the Christmas angel Clarence had to earn his wings by helping out Jimmy Stewart (aka George Bailey). George was so discouraged at Christmas that he was about to jump off a bridge. Clarence the delightful angel showed George what an amazing impact his generosity was making, and how much poorer his town would be without him.

Generosity is never wasted. Love is never wasted. Goodness is never wasted. Sometimes it feels like we are not making a difference, but Christmas reminds us that love wins over despair, love wins over darkness, love wins over emptiness.

At the heart of Christmas is a tiny baby, the Christ child, born in a manger. God so loved the world that he gave his only son. Christmas is about giving. God gave. We give. Everyone wins when we are generous at Christmas and year-round.

Rev Ed Hird, Rector

St. Simon’s Church North Vancouver

http://stsimonschurch.ca/

Anglican Mission in the Americas (Canada)

-an article previously published in the December 2011 Deep Cove Crier

-award-winning author of the book ‘Battle for the Soul of Canada’

http://www.battleforthesoulofcanada.blogspot.com/

p.s. In order to obtain a copy of the book ‘Battle for the Soul of Canada’, please send a $18.50 cheque to ‘Ed Hird’, #1008-555 West 28th Street, North Vancouver, BC V7N 2J7. For mailing the book to the USA, please send $20.00 USD. This can also be done by PAYPAL using the e-mail ed_hird@telus.net . Be sure to list your mailing address. The Battle for the Soul of Canada e-book can be obtained for $9.99 CDN/USD.

-Click to download a complimentary PDF copy of the Battle for the Soul study guide : Seeking God’s Solution for a Spirit-Filled Canada

You can also download the complimentary Leader’s Guide PDF: Battle for the Soul Leaders Guide

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Remixed

2011-12-13T07:42:00.001-05:00

by Glynis M. Belec

I read an article a while ago about the song 'The Twelve Days of Christmas." Typically this song is seen as simply a nonsense musical rhyme for children with secular origins. However, some believe it dates back to the 16th century (English religious wars) and is a song of Christian instruction with hidden references to the basic teachings of the Christian Faith. An interesting perspective. Here are some of my own reflections:

On the first day of Christmas I discovered that my first true love was/is God and life has never been the same! He is always 'giving to me.' I have to remember to give back each day. I long to become all that God created me to be. But I also know that we live in a fallen world so I plod on with hope in my heart. On that final day when I get to stare into those beautiful Divine eyes, then I will be transformed and my journey here will cease. Until that day, I have a responsibilty to keep my own eyes on the goal and try my very best to do whatever I do unto Him. Emmanuel.

On the second day of Christmas I think of the two Turtle Doves and they remind me about the Old and New Testaments. Can

I even begin to fathom the wealth of instruction, love, hope, encouragement, grace, joy and the heart of God that are between those precious pages? No wonder the Bible remains the bestselling book ever. He will not be moved. I don't need to set up any book signings for God. But I do have to remember I have a responsibility to share His good news as I live and breathe. Now there is a special gift for that hard to buy someone.

On the third day of Christmas those three french hens kind of make me think about faith, hope and charity. Faith is believing without seeing - a hard thing to do in this 'prove it' kind of world. But in my heart, I know God is real and He sends us reasons to believe every day. Hope is that feeling I got when I was first diagnosed with cancer and I felt initially like I was spiralling out of control He caught me and lifted me up and whispered that He was in all this. I am living proof that my hope is in Him and He works all things for good! Charity - I go crazy sometimes wishing I could help everyone and send money to all the charities that bombard my mailbox with requests, beautiful Christmas cards, address labels, pens and more. I have found that if I pray about my quandry, then He will direct me.

On the fourth day of Christmas, those four Calling Birds illuminate the Four Gospels. When I first became a Christian people kept telling me to start with the Gospels. I thought that a little odd, because I always figured when I read I should start 'in the beginning' of any given book. Then I realized that the Bible was no ordinary book. "Now the birth of Jesus took place in this way..." "...John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness..." "In the days of Herod, King of

Judea..." and "In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God..." Then I knew.

On the fifth day of Christmas I am thinking that those five Golden Rings refer to the first Five Books of the Old Testament, the "Pentateuch", which gives the history of man's fall from grace. I dare not even think about how many times I have fallen from God's grace. But the amazing thing is that He takes me back and allows me to start over. I need to remember those Old Testament lessons and learn from them. I need a wallop somedays but God knows I am trying.

On the sixth day of Christmas those 6 Geese A-laying represents the six days of creation. I can barely imagine the magnificence of what God was doing. I get up in the morning and absentmindedly blunder my way through another day without one thought of how God created. I saw a play once at the Sight and Sound theatre in Pennsylvania about Creation. I remember leaving with tears in my eyes, struck by the incredible performance and portrayal of how God created. I know it was only a 'rendition' if you like of how God worked, but nonetheless I was awestruck at the mere thought. What possibly could it have been like to been there? What might we be doing if Adam and Eve hadn't succumbed to the lie. I need to be careful of lies...

On the seventh day of Christmas those seven Swans a-swimming might refer to some of the gifts God has already given us through the Holy Spirit:

Wisdom. Jesus is the Word made flesh. He came to seek and to save that which was lost. I was definitely on the list!

Understanding The gift of being able to perceive the hidden spiritual meaning of the Holy Scriptures - I have a long way to go here some days it seems.

Counsel - I have to admit that I don't know everything. I need to listen more and heed the wise in God.

Fortitude I learn to endure and persevere through all my difficulties, I am able to do all things in Him who strengthens me. [Philippians 4:13],)

Knowledge This is a little different from wisdom in that I need to learn in my head and then it will transfer to my heart.

Reverence - The Bible doesn't say we have to go to church every Sunday but it does remind me that we are to not give up meeting with one another and lifting each other up and supporting one another in our faith. I need to not get religiosity and relationship mixed up. There is a big difference and His name is Jesus.

Fear of the Lord. They say that the fear of the lord is the beginning of wisdom. That is a mighty thought to ponder as we celebrate the Christmas season!

The eighth day of Christmas talks about eight maids a-milking and gets me thinking about the eight beatitudes of JESUS:

1. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

2. Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

3. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

4. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

5. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

6. Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.

7. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.

8. Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Matthew 5:3-10

So am I truly blessed? I need a little time to go through these and assess where I am at. I am thinking that I need to do some serious homework over the holiday season.

On the ninth day of Christmas. Remember those nine ladies dancing? How about I refresh myself with the nine Fruits of the Spirit? Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control? And in the Bible God indicated that against these there was/is no law. What does that mean? I can freely institute them in my life, no exception? Then I had better start making a list and checking it twice.

On the tenth day of Christmas. This is where the song talks about the ten lords a-leaping. Well I know there is only one Lord and He does not need to leap so I am thinking that a good thing to think about here are those wonderfully convicting Ten Commandments. Do I think if I can adhere to at least 50% then I am home free? I don't think so. These are not the ten suggestions. They are the Ten Commandments on which society is based. I can only imagine what this world would be like if everyone stuck to them, myself included. Well...I suppose it would be heaven! One day...

On the eleventh day of Christmas I consider faithfulness. Judas betrayed Jesus. He sure wasn't faithful. That left eleven faithful disciples. Am I counted in the ranks of a faithful disciple? I am quick to point to the disgusting choice that Judas made choosing money over Christ. But then I contemplate how money motivates so many in this

world. Where do I fit in here? I often think how much better my life would be if only I had more money. I hope I would never even be tempted like Judas should I be in that position. I pray my choice would be Christian joy over worldly happiness!

Finally...on the twelfth day of Christmas. Can you hear those twelve Drummers Drumming? The Apostle's Creed has twelve points that I need to drum into my heart -
1. I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.
2. I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord.
3. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary.
4. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell [the grave].
5. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father.

6. He will come again to judge the living and the dead.

7. I believe in the Holy Spirit,

8. the holy catholic Church,

9. the communion of saints,

10. the forgiveness of sins,

11. the resurrection of the body,

12. and life everlasting.

Now that I have made it through all twelve days, it is time to contemplate number One again - my first True Love and all that He has given to me. How blessed am I? Thanks be to God for the Precious Gift of Jesus.

Merry Christmas to all...Emmanuel

Cleaning Up - den Boer

2011-12-12T08:00:00.002-05:00

One gusty, grey, garbage-day morning while waiting patiently in the van in the driveway for Angela and Allison so I could drive them to school, I noticed some of the garbage from the townhouses across the road had blown into the middle of the intersection next to our home.

I had an urge to run out and pick up this garbage, but I noticed a garbage man in a reflector vest pacing on the other side of the road apparently waiting for traffic to subside so he could do it.

Then I realized he didn’t intend to pick up the garbage; he was merely watching it. Now why would that be? Maybe the garbage people were fed up with the way garbage was always allowed to blow around. Maybe this was evidence for a supervisor to behold.

On the drive to the girls’ school and home again, I pondered the garbage situation. I came to the conclusion that the only neighbourly thing to do would be to pick up that garbage myself.

Sure enough when I came back to the intersection, the garbage was still in the middle of the road, but now a garbage truck was parked right beside it—and not a garbage man in sight. There was hardly room for my vehicle to drive by.

I parked the van, then marched into the intersection where I picked up a Tide box and a much larger box. For boxes that had blown out onto the road, they were surprisingly heavy. In fact, I noticed they were packed with garbage, but I doggedly carried them to the sidewalk.

“Ma’am, ma’am. What are you doing?” I heard as I heaved the Tide box onto the garbage pile in front of the townhouses where I was sure it had come from. I was about to drag the larger box over as well.

“I’m cleaning up,” I proclaimed indignantly. “There is no reason to keep garbage in the middle of the road.”

“Yes, there is, ma’am,” he explained patiently. “We spilled hydraulic fluid here. Our line sprang a leak. If a car drives over that it could cause a serious accident.”

“Oh sorry,” I mumbled as I dropped the big heavy make-shift pylon back onto the road. For the first time I noticed the slippery oily fluid all over my hands.

When I got home I had to scrub my hands and wash both my coat and pants.

Moral of the story: don’t be too quick to judge other people’s garbage.

How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? (Matthew 7:4)

How often do we as good Christian citizens judge and try to clean up someone else’s garbage? What we judge as garbage may really be pylons. Wouldn’t it be better to come alongside? Be a friend. Listen. Find out what’s really needed. Offer to be available. That way we’re less likely to end up with oily goo all over ourselves.

Excerpt from the book Blooming, This Pilgrim's Progress. by Marian den Boer.

During Christmas Grief, God is Close-Gibson

2011-12-09T03:00:00.004-05:00

Grief is an unruly visitor, and even more so when it drops in near Christmas. Surrounded by the mirth of others, the knife of loss cuts on both sides. For a time, the death of a loved one shuts normal faculties down. Leaves only what’s necessary to survive the next moment: our own breath, though every puff feels like a new wound.

One snowy November, my oldest sister’s husband sent word to our scattered family: “If you want to see Sandra again, you should come,” he said.

From separate provinces, my sister and I, along with our elderly parents travelled to the province in the middle. Beside Sandra’s bed, holding Sandra’s hand, we said the necessary things, then we watched Sandra go home.

Our faith told us something glorious: she’d gone to live with Jesus, pain-free. Our frailty told us something shattering: she’d simply gone, and far too soon. The pain of her absence sliced us, and twinned with the complexities of regret, devastated us.

Sorrow like that carves a gaping hollow in a body, making even simple things impossible. Picking up the phone. Driving a car. Answering easy questions. Remembering to eat and drink. Choosing what to wear. Making a choice, period.

Someone has said that God comes to us in the people who come to us. He came to our family through four earthly angels that year. Too close to Christmas, in a strange hospital far from home.

The angels, strangers all, arrived just after my sister died. They came simply to be with us. Their presence loaned us strength. They brought juice and coffee. Made necessary phone calls. Stayed with us until it didn’t hurt so much to breathe, until we could get up, limp on to do the necessary things.

In the dark hollows of your own crises, perhaps you’ve met earthly angels too. Maybe you’ve been one; a neighbour, a passer-by, a pastor, friend or family member, even a stranger. They come without beckoning, simply to be with the hurting. To do what must be done, even when what must be done is simply sitting together in one place.

I’ve wondered, in the years since my sister’s death, if it took that for me to truly appreciate the deepest meaning of Christmas—that God is never absent in our darkest moments. That when emotional paralysis prevents a victorious grasping onto him, he has already grasped onto us.

“The virgin will be with child, and will give birth to a Son, and they will call him Immanuel, which means “God with us.” Matthew 1:23

What we celebrate at Christmas is God’s answer to the most universal prayer of humanity: “God, be with me. God, stay with me.”

Through Jesus within us, and those who come to us in his compassionate spirit, God answers, “Beloved, I’m right here.”

If sorrow haunts you at Christmas, remember. But if loss has carved a chunk from someone you know, go.

www.kathleengibson.ca

Kingdom Poets Anticipates With Luci Shaw - Martin

2011-12-08T03:00:00.013-05:00

Luci Shaw is one of the most significant Christian poets of our time. She takes on topics of significance to people of faith, yet refuses to undermine her art with preconceived, didactic ways of thinking, or sentimentality. One important topic for Shaw is the incarnation.

Since childhood, Luci Shaw has annually written Christmas poems; originally the practice was simply for inclusion with her Christmas correspondence. As her poetic skills grew, so did the quality and quantity of these poems. In 1996, she and her friend Madeleine L’Engle released the book Wintersong — a joint collection of Christmas readings. Ten years later Eerdmans published Accompanied By Angels, a book of Shaw’s incarnation poems, many of which had appeared in her earlier books.

Since then, this tradition continues to result in fine Christmas poetry. In 2004 Luci Shaw sent me an early version of the following poem — followed by a revised version in 2005. The poem was further revised (as reproduced below) for inclusion in her 2006 collection What The Light Was Like (Wordfarm). Knowing how she continually returns to fine-tune her work, I would not be surprised to find she has since revised it further.

Breath

When in the cavern darkness, the child
first opened his mouth (even before
his eyes widened to see the supple world
his lungs had breathed into being),
could he have known that breathing
trumps seeing? Did he love the way air sighs
as it brushes in and out through flesh
to sustain the tiny heart’s iambic beating,
tramping the crossroads of the brain
like donkey tracks, the blood dazzling and
invisible, the corpuscles skittering to the earlobes
and toenails? Did he have any idea it
would take all his breath to speak in stories
that would change the world?

Posted with permission of the poet. This is the second Kingdom Poets post about Luci Shaw.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the award-winning author of the poetry collections Poiema (Wipf & Stock) and So The Moon Would Not Be Swallowed (Rubicon Press). They are both available at: www.dsmartin.ca

This is this week's post from: Kingdom Poets Follow this link to see dozens more. I have just added a new index to help you access all of the Christmas poems I've posted; more will be posted throughout December.

A Perfect Day...A Perfect Tree.. M. Laycock

2011-12-07T01:00:00.000-05:00

The day was perfect. The ice fog had lifted to reveal a clear blue Yukon sky and the temperature had risen to a mere 25 below. The hike to the back of our property in search of the perfect Christmas tree looked like it would be an outing we would enjoy. As a special bonus we took our two Huskies with us.

It took a while to reach the trees, but we enjoyed the relatively mild air. The dogs romped in the deep snow. I was feeling the tingle of what they call the “Christmas spirit,” as we continued into the bush. Then we saw the tree, and it was perfect: not too big, not too small and fairly well proportioned. We cut it down and strapped it to the toboggan. As we headed back, we even hummed a well-known Christmas song, something about the peace and joy of the season.

We were almost home when that mood was instantly changed. For some unknown reason our dogs chose that moment to engage in one of their all-out, let’s see who’s top dog, go for the throat, fights. They were full-grown Huskies, both about the same age, weight and strength. When they went at each other, it looked like one of them would end up dead. We tried everything we could think of to make them stop, but they were oblivious to us. All we could do was stand and watch as they tore at one another.

By the time it was over, one dog had a gash from the base of one ear to the end of his jaw, the other was limping badly and both were covered in blood. So much for our idyllic, peaceful Christmas excursion. When we got home we had to doctor the dogs, so the tree was left outside. Decorating would have to wait.

By the time we thought about the tree again, the temperature had plummeted to -60. When we dragged it inside, it was so frozen most of its needles fell off. Tinsel doesn’t look quite the same on bare branches. Charlie Brown could have used it for his Christmas show. About that time I found out the present I’d ordered for my husband would not arrive before the 25th, and the one grocery store in town had run out of turkeys. Some Christmas this was turning out to be - a bare tree, no presents, no turkey. It was enough to make even one who loves Christmas shout, “Bah Humbug!”

Well, things did improve somewhat. I found another gift to give my husband, and a friend, an early shopper, invited us to share the turkey dinner. The tree was still a Charlie Brown special, but it grew on me as time went on. By the 25th, I almost had the Christmas spirit again, but I couldn’t help but feel something was missing.

It took me a few more years to figure out what that something was. The year I declared my faith in the One for whom the day is set aside, none of the trappings of Christmas mattered. The need to have the perfect decorations, the gifts, the food, even that illusive “spirit,” faded. A deeper need had been met. That year I discovered the Christ. I understood why He came.

“Because of the tender mercy of our God, by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven, to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace.” (Luke 1:78-79)

That “rising sun” is Jesus, the one called Immanuel, God with us. He came for me, and for you. Nothing else matters.
****

To read more of Marcia's work visit her website

My Messiah - Nesdoly

2011-12-06T06:00:00.006-05:00

I shiver under my goat hair cloak. It’s cold at night on the hills outside Bethlehem. I wish I were at home in bed. But a few weeks ago my father said, "Joel, you're 12. You need to learn the night watch." And so here I am, cold and sleepy, but I have to stay awake because it’s my turn to watch the sheep. I look over at the flock, an island of wooly pebbles. Beside me, father snores a soft rhythm. Nearby, Abiram and Kohar, still awake, talk quietly.

"Plugged with travelers," Kohar says.

"Caesar is insane to command a census at this time of year," says Abiram. "He just wants more names for his filthy tax list." Then, lowering his voice so I barely hear, "I met a man in the village who's gathering an army to fight those Gentile thieves. He's training them to use swords." When he notices I’m listening, he stops. "The lamblet has, big ears." He winks at Kohar.

He doesn't want me to hear because of my father. Father’s the chief shepherd and he doesn't approve of resistance fighters. He has one passion. It’s to see the coming of Messiah.

"Messiah is coming," he always says, "and when He comes, He will be a true Savior. He will bring freedom and set up God's kingdom in His own wonderful way."

In the past, I never doubted him. But the talk tonight reminds me of the anger I feel when I see the Roman soldiers. They ride into Bethlehem and inspect it on snorting horses. They beat people who don't pay taxes. They make fun of synagogue teachers. They treat us like animals.

Above me now, the black sky is dotted with stars. Is there really a God up there? All my life I’ve heard there is, but lately I wonder. Maybe God and Messiah are only wishes. My father serves God without question. Yet for our family, things only get worse. The price for wool goes down, my mother has to open a stall at the market and my father works longer - for what? Just to give Caesar more?

I imagine my fingers tracing the cold metal handle of a sword under my cloak. I shiver, get up, toss a few sticks into the fire. The flames lick and began to dance.

Then blinding brightness!

At first I think something has flamed in the fire pit, but then I see the light is coming, not from the fire but from a man. Is this God? Has He read my doubting thoughts? Is He going to punish me? I want to run away but I can't move.

Around me the others sit up.

"Don’t be afraid," The shining man's voice booms. His bright eyes look right into mine. "I bring you the most joyful news ever told. And it’s for everyone! The Savior has been born tonight in Bethlehem! Yes! This is the Messiah, the Lord. How will you know him? You’ll find a baby wrapped in strips of cloth, lying in a manger."

Then the sky gets even brighter and as far as I can see are more shining men. They stretch way into the distance like an army, and they are chanting. "Glory to God in the highest Heaven. Peace on earth, good will to men. Glory to God in the highest Heaven. Peace on earth, good will to men."

It’s grand. Majestic. The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard! I wish they would never stop. But gradually the sound gets quieter and the shining army fades. Finally only the flickering firelight shows a ring of stunned faces. I hear the t-whoo, t-whoo of an owl.

Then everyone starts talking at once.

"Angels! Those were angels"

"Thousands, millions!"

"Messiah! He said Messiah!" It’s my father. "I'm going to Bethlehem to find that baby."

"We're going with you!"

"Father, what about the sheep? Can I come too?"

"If God can fill the sky with angels, He can surely watch a few sheep," my father says, with a laugh. "Joel, I wouldn't have you miss this for the world!"

As we hurry into town, the talk turns to how we’ll find this baby in the whole town of Bethlehem, and at night. Father's faith is unshakable. "If angels told us about the baby, we'll find him," he says. "It’s a baby in a manger."

"Many mangers here," Abiram says as we enter the town.

Bethlehem sleeps. As we pass house after house, inn after inn, no one’s awake. Then I see a light.

"There Father," I point to the dim glow, coming from a shelter behind an inn.

We trot across the courtyard and push open the door. Inside, a man leans over something in the manger. Then I hear the cry of a newborn baby.

"God be praised!" Father exclaims. The others crowd into the doorway.

The man straightens up and looks at us. "We have permission," he says. "The innkeeper—"

"We're sorry to bother you,” Father says, “but we were told about the baby by angels."

"The sky was full of them," I add.

A young woman sits up from a pile of hay. Bits of straw stick to her hair and cloak. The man picks up the wailing baby and places it in her arms.

My Father walks over and crouches down beside her. "The angels called this baby Messiah," he says as he reaches out and touches the child, then kneels. "My Messiah."

The stable is full of a holy presence and we all fall to our knees.

As we troop through town on our way back to the hills we sing and talk and laugh.

Someone in a house along the way flings open a window and shouts, "Quiet down you drunks! How's a person to sleep?"

Father calls back, "We're not drunk. An amazing thing just happened!" Then he tells it all.

As he’s talking other windows open. He tells and retells the story.

"Incredible! Amazing!" the people say. "Do you believe it?"

At our hillside encampment the sheep are still there, all safe. Only embers glow in the fire pit. I toss in some sticks and sit close to the warmth. It feels like days since I was last here.

A minute later, Abiram comes and sits beside me.

"No need to tell your father about the resistance army, Joel," he says. "I won't be joining."

I think, neither will I.

"My Messiah" was first published in Celebrating the Season (Essence, 2001).

*********************************

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Buechner and Emmanuel - Arends

2011-12-05T07:10:00.001-05:00

As we launch into the second week of Advent, consider this wonderful piece from Frederick Buechner ... and Merry Christmas!

Christmas is not just Mr. Pickwick dancing a reel with the old lady at Dingley Dell or Scrooge waking up the next morning a changed man. It is not just the spirit of giving abroad in the land with a white beard and reindeer. It is not just the most famous birthday of them all and not just the annual reaffirmation of Peace on Earth that it is often reduced to so that people of many faiths or no faith can exchange Christmas cards without a qualm.

On the contrary, if you do not hear in the message of Christmas something that must strike some as blasphemy and others as sheer fantasy, the chances are you have not heard the message for what it is. Emmanuel is the message in a nutshell. Emmanuel, which is Hebrew for "God with us." That's where the problem lies.

The claim that Christianity makes for Christmas is that at a particular time and place "the high and lofty One who inhabits eternity" came to be with us himself. When Quirinius was governor of Syria, in a town called Bethlehem, a child was born who, beyond the power of anyone to account for, was the high and lofty One made low and helpless. The One whom none can look upon and live is delivered in a stable under the soft, indifferent gaze of cattle. The Father of all mercies puts himself at our mercy. Year after year the ancient tale of what happened is told raw, preposterous, holy and year after year the world in some measure stops to listen.

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth. A dream as old as time. If it is true, it is the chief of all truths. If it is not true, it is of all truths the one that people would most have be true if they could make it so.

Maybe it is that longing to have it be true that is at the bottom even of the whole vast Christmas industry the tons of cards and presents and fancy food, the plastic figures kneeling on the floodlit lawns of poorly attended churches. The world speaks of holy things in the only language it knows, which is a worldly language.

Emmanuel. We all must decide for ourselves whether it is true. Certainly the grounds on which to dismiss it are not hard to find. Christmas is commercialism. It is a pain in the neck. It is sentimentality.

It is wishful thinking. The shepherds. The star. The three wise men. Make believe.

Yet it is never as easy to get rid of as all this makes it sound. To dismiss Christmas is for most of us to dismiss part of ourselves. It is to dismiss one of the most fragile yet enduring visions of our own childhood and of the child that continues to exist in all of us. The sense of mystery and wonderment. The sense that on this one day each year two plus two adds up not to four but to a million.

What keeps the wild hope of Christmas alive year after year in a world notorious for dashing all hopes is the haunting dream that the child who was born that day may yet be born again even in us.

Emmanuel. Emmanuel.

From Secrets in the Dark: A Life In Sermons - Frederick Beuchner

Posted by Carolyn Arends

www.carolynarends.com

Re-Gifting at Christmas - Derksen

2011-12-02T12:38:00.010-05:00

Christmas treasures surround me as I listen to Holiday favorites on my IPAD. My ITunes library consists of songs that depict an old fashioned Christmas, one that acknowledged the Reason for the season, as if it was as natural as breathing to remember that Jesus Christ’s birthday is the only reason.

Today, retailers try to have us believe that it’s all about gifts. Many struggle financially to provide yet another toy for an overindulged child and I’m not just talking about kids here. Children and grown-ups alike seem to soak up the things that the retail stores offer…whether they can afford them or not. I wonder how many of us overtax our credit cards for stuff that has no durable meaning.

Our pastor spoke on Sunday about re-gifting. The term may be new but the idea has been around for a long time. If we were to look around our homes and offices, how many items could we find that had seen little use. What about that set of towels that we purchased on sale but don’t fit our décor any more or that IPOD gathering dust because we now have a IPAD. Maybe there are some tools or kitchen utensils that we use so seldom that they still have their original shine on them.

I’ll bet we can all think of someone who needs these things a lot more than we do and would appreciate the thoughtfulness of such a gift. Re-gifting is taking something that we have used little and wrapping it for someone who has a great need for it. There’s a show on television about hoarding. The pack rats each week are encouraged to throw away stuff that clutters up their life so much they have to make a pathway to walk through their homes. Why not re-gift?

I think there’s a little pack rat in all of us. When it comes to technology, I sit back and wonder how my life would be different with it since I don’t miss it…ever…before I have it. And yet, my technologically sound children share the possibilities and so I drool. Really! It’s the same with other must haves that commercials display. Life would be so much easier, we think, so we buy. Then we truck perfectly good, hardly used stuff to thrift shops because we never needed them in the first place. Why not re-gift?

I found out last night that, in our small town, there are people who live homeless. Kids abandoned by parents who’ve decided they are old enough…still in high school…to be on their own because Momma has a new boyfriend and wants to move in with him. There are people who are overwhelmed with overdue bills so have nothing left to pay the rent. There are some who jump from one friend’s couch to another because they have no one to care for them…at this time of year. Christmas for them is just same old, same old, in the hunt for a roof over their heads. Is there something you have that you could gift them with? Sometimes the people caring for the homeless could use an extra casserole or a loaf of bread.

Let’s open our eyes this Christmas and while we are reminding everyone who the season represents, let’s look for ways to recycle the clutter in our homes into the hands of someone who desperately needs that towel or that extra toothbrush. Look for ways to bring a little joy into the eyes of a homeless teenager who might just amount to something…given half the chance.

The Problem of Prosperity — Reynolds

2011-12-01T11:30:00.000-05:00

Each year, about this time, Brenda and I do a check on our stewardship: how much have we given to church and charity? I can’t claim that we tithe, giving ten percent of our total income, but do try to ensure that we give over five percent.

Christianity has always had a problem with prosperity. Wealth seemed a bit suspect, perhaps because it brought with it a very special kind of responsibility – that those who possess wealth should use it, not just for themselves, their own comfort and pleasure, but for the benefit of humanity, of all God’s creation, and so for the glory of God.

It's not that the poor are necessarily virtuous or the prosperous are necessarily vicious, but as “sin” is essentially self-centredness, there is always the tendency to spend our wealth on ourselves rather than using it for the benefit of others, especially those whom the Bible calls “the poor”.

It does seem, that in the Biblical witness, there is a special place in the heart of God for those who are poor and powerless -- the widows and orphans, the "sojourner" and the "little ones". Jesus taught "Blessed are the poor!" The “monastic virtues," remember, were “poverty, chastity and obedience.” And much contemporary theology speaks about "God's preferential option for the poor!"

It’s not that poverty is virtuous, something to be desired in itself. In fact, evidently the reason God is concerned about it is because poverty is not a good thing.

In fact Christian faith has usually taught the virtues of honesty, industry, and thrift. When people practice the virtues of honesty, industry and thrift, they tend to become prosperous. It was true of the monastic movement of the Middle Ages. Monasteries became fabulously wealthy. It was true of our Puritan forebears and of early Methodism. John Wesley told his Methodist followers “Earn all you can; save all you can; give all you can.” His followers were very serious in observing the first two, but when it came to the third, they tended to spend more and more on themselves rather than giving to others.

And of course, it's true today. If a person works hard, establishes an honest reputation, and saves carefully, the probability is that he or she will become prosperous.

We are rightly concerned about prosperity, of course. Poverty is not something to be desired. So we wish one another "a happy and prosperous New Year!" And we keep close account of our "Gross National Product" and many other indicators of our economic strength.

We want and expect our governments to ensure the continued prosperity of our nation, including full employment and all the social benefits we've come to expect and enjoy. But these of course are dependent upon the general prosperity of the society and of the people. And that’s dependent upon the industry of the people, the honesty of the society, and the concern for the common good.

Government structures and social systems are important. But they can't guarantee prosperity. We are more and more realizing no nation can be prosperous apart from the honesty, industry and thrift of its people.

Isn't it still true that prosperity is finally built, not just on government policies or lack of them, but upon a people who covet and practice these same virtues of honesty, industry, and thrift?

If we were all a bit more concerned about these, prosperity might almost look after itself. Our governments might even erase our burgeoning deficits and begin to make a dent in the national debt.

Of course, if we're gong to have such concern, it isn't going to work if it's based only on enlightened self-interest. "Enlightened self-interest" soon becomes just self-interest.

If it's going to work, we have to believe in something other than ourselves. It’s going to mean a concern for and willingness to work for the common good, common welfare, “common wealth.” It’s going to depend on something greater than government – that is, it will depend on each one of us, on the responsibility and determination of every citizen.

And of course, it has to start somewhere. It has to start with you and me, with each one of us. Right?

Little Bits of Grief - Meyer

2011-11-29T11:00:00.007-05:00

I was reading a book today and in the story, a bride unexpectedly has her father show up for her wedding day – a father who had been absent for most of her childhood and young adult years. I suddenly found myself crying. It took me only a moment to realize that I was grieving, for the first time ever, for the absence of my father at my wedding. At the time (31 years ago), I’d put on a brave front, grateful to my brother for walking me down the aisle, and head-over-heels in love with my husband-to-be.

I’ve known for a long time now that grief is a journey, one that does not completely end until our Heavenly Father wraps his loving arms around us and welcomes us Home.

It still surprises me though – these times when there are little bits of grief for something that happened decades ago.

I very clearly remember another incident that happened a few years back. I was at a Write! Canada conference and had opted to stay in a dormitory-style room rather than the more expensive single or double rooms. There were maybe ten or so other ladies in the room. There was some friendly chatter as each of us prepared for bed then when everyone was ready, one person turned out the lights in the room. In the ensuing silence, I came to the shocking realization that everyone else around me was just closing their eyes and going to sleep. No tossing and turning. No using a small, discreet flashlight to read. No lying awake for hours then restlessly getting up for a drink or to go to the bathroom. These people just went to sleep!

In that moment, I realized that I was different – not unique, I know – but different from the norm. And in that moment, I grieved for what I had lost… for what had been taken away from me as a young child. As far back as I can remember, I have loathed those long, long hours of nighttime when I knew I needed to sleep but couldn’t do it. If I didn’t have any commitments the next morning, I’d stay up all night working and fall asleep when it was finally daylight. I loved working nightshift. The night terrors ended when I was in my late thirties (but that’s another story for another time) and as I have traveled far on my healing journey, I’m getting better and better at falling asleep and staying asleep for most of the night.

One of the big things that helped me on this healing journey was taking that moment (at the Write! Canada conference) to grieve my loss. This moment of grieving helped me to finally accept the loss. Previously, my insomnia had been compounded by frustration, guilt and confusion. With acceptance came peace – and half the battle was won right there!

The healing journey is one of transformation – of being made more like Jesus. As the Bible says in 2 Corinthians 3:18, “And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”

May the Lord bless each of you as you continue on your own personal healing journey.

Dorene

http://www.dorenemeyer.com/

Author of "the Group" series of seven young people on healing journey. Jasmine (winner of Romance book of the year award from The Canadian Christian Writing Awards), Lewis and Joshua. Published by Word Alive Press and available in Canadian bookstores and on Amazon in paperback or ebook version.

Back to the Farm

2011-11-24T20:06:00.003-05:00

Several years before my husband died, I found under a stack of paper and bills, a poem torn from a magazine. It described perfectly not only his attitudes about his love of farming, but also the kind of man he was.

It was his daily habit to fix himself a cup of coffee then sit on our verandah facing the rising sun and the pasture in which his dearly loved purebred Holsteins began to stir at first light. He would take those few minutes to sip his coffee, get in tune with his God and gear his heart and mind for the coming day.

The poem begged to have something significant done with it. I found a large sheet of paper and wrote it in calligraphy. The capital letters at the beginning of the title and each verse I made large enough that in the outline I could sketch a picture of that verandah view across the fields--one for each season and one in the moonlight, which he also loved. When I presented the framed poem the next Christmas, he first thought it was coincidence that I used the same poem he had clipped and saved. He was genuinely pleased and truly happy with his gift.

Today, along with Todd Leuty, a Ministry of Agriculture representative, I roamed around the nut plantation my husband had begun and which he had hoped to care for in his retirement years. The trees he planted as little saplings in the mid-nineties, are now thirty or forty feel tall and have begun to yield a harvest. Carpathian Walnuts, Japanese Hart Nuts, Pecans, Almonds, Butternuts and Hazelnuts hold promise of good eating.

The crisp air, beautiful sun, blue sky and refreshing calm of nature brought back to mind the poem that still hangs on my office wall. I have tried to find the author of the poem and have been unable to do so. (If you read it and know who wrote it, please let me know so I can give the author credit and let him or her know how much joy it has brought.)

Grandpa's Farm

Why would anyone live on a farm?

My Grandpa once told me why:

"You wake up at dawn, put the coffee on,

Look out at a bright morning sky.

You start chores early, work hard and long

At planting and milking or such,

But at the day's end, when quiet has come,

You know you've seen God's perfect touch.

You've worked for him as much as for you

To plow his fields and when

You watch the harvest yield its fruit,

You thank him again and again.

A farm may not be the only place

To live, to grow and die--

But," my Grandpa said, "It's the only place

I'd suggest you try."

I had wondered what I would write about for this month's blog, but when I came home I knew I had to tell you how I sensed my husband's presence there in his nut grove and I know I've seen God's perfect touch. I know my husband worked for God as much as he did for himself. He took satisfaction in knowing he was helping to feed the world which is what farmers do. When I see those nut trees yield their fruit, I truly thank God again and again! I give thanks for the privilege of having walked with such a mand for as many years as I did and to know the same God with whom he communed on his beloved farm. I am also glad for the opportunity to walk on a farm and reconnect with the memories, the values and the wisdom I learned there.

I'm in the Middle of a Marathon - Rose McCormick Brandon

2011-11-24T07:00:00.001-05:00

I've entered a marathon. Not a fund-raising muscle-burning jog around the bay. No, a run like that is many miles out of my comfort zone.
In the spirit of Novel Writing Month, I signed up for NaNoWriMo, a writing marathon. Participants must produce a 50,000 word novel by month end. That means I have to throw down close to 2000 words every day for 30 days. For some writers this comes easy. But not for writers like me who agonize over every word. Is it a repeat? Active voice? Does it express exactly what I mean? For me, November will be a month of overcoming word obsessions. The distracting colors of spell and grammar check distract so they'll be turned off. A slip of the finger here or there won't matter. All that matters is that words flow unstopped from my brain to the screen.
I've buddied up with other NaNoWriMo devotees. A little encouragement from a friend is always welcome in a marathon. A buddy 10,000 words ahead can send an encouraging message . . . don't give up, keep those fingers moving. Remember, write in November, edit in December!
November is home to both my daughter's birthday and mine. A little celebration, a chunk of cake and then back to the keyboard. It's also Christmas shopping month . . . In preparation, I've picked the brain of a shopping friend. She's given me retail websites and other gift ideas. Perhaps every five thousand words, I'll break to fill my on-line shopping cart. "Drop my purchases at the door. No signatures please. I'm tied up in my den, plunk, plunk, plunking out the next great historical fiction."
If I make it to the 50,000 word finish line, it'll be a great accomplishment for a slow-poke like me. I'll need an occasional walk and a daily upturn on my inversion table to keep my body from seizing up. Hours of sitting at my laptop make my knees scream and shoulders ache.
If you see me puffing along the writing trail, yell at me, in your outside voice . . . keep moving, ignore joints and other distractions. No pain no gain. Pick up the pace .

Being Orphans - Eleanor Shepherd

2011-11-23T06:00:00.000-05:00

MY FATHER

WITH MY BROTHERS

This Christmas I am an orphan. I realized a short while ago that with the passing of my father last January, I have now become an orphan. Both of my parents are gone. What does it mean to become an orphan?

When a child is orphaned, they are vulnerable because they no longer have anyone to care for them. But what does it mean for us when well into maturity we are orphaned?

As orphans, we have lost those who hold our earliest memories. Our parents remember what we were like before our own earliest memories. They recall how we came into the world and into their lives and changed everything for them. No longer were they free to do as they pleased. This little person totally depended on their care and nurture for survival. They noted how we responded to their interactions with us and saw the emerging personality, before anyone else could imagine what we would be like. They may or may not have shared with us their reflections and conclusions about the kind of person we were based on these observations. In any case, with their departure there is no way to verify their observations. Being custodians of our earliest memories, that part of who we are disappeared with their departure. While our faith gives us the hope of seeing them again, our new perspective and transformed natures will make these reflections irrelevant.

What else characterizes adult orphans? The particular attributes of the parents determine what we have lost in losing them. In my case and the same is true for many others I know, the loss of our parents has meant a loss of a constant source of spiritual renewal. Some of us had the good fortune to be given parents who prayed for us from before we were born and every day of their lives, as long as they had breath. When they left this world, we found ourselves bereft of a source of energy and strength that we may have taken for granted or even completely forgotten. Sometimes at an almost subconscious level, when this constant spiritual energy source is gone, there is a strange sense of void that we cannot quite put our finger on.

Whether parents have been the praying kind or not, they have tried to care for us and have given us a unique gift – our name. They were the first ones to call us by our name. The giving to us of our name created a distinctive bonding between us that lingers when we have grown and become completely independent from them in all other obvious ways. The name they chose for us is a particular marker of a stage in our relationship that in some ways may have shaped the person we have become. When they have gone, we still carry that name and it becomes a part of our legacy.

A child who has been orphaned may have only a few mementos to remind her of the parents that she has lost. We who are orphaned after many years of relationship with our parents may have material goods that they have passed on to us. More importantly, however, in our awareness of our loss, is that bank of memories where we have deposited from times spent together. Not only did we deposit them we also withdraw them. We have occasions through the years to take out the memories and examine them, giving us opportunities to discover facets of them we might have overlooked in earlier years.

Our long-term relationships with our parents gave us the chance to develop some perspective on our mutual strengths and weaknesses. We were able to make allowances for each other and forgive each other for our human failings. As we return the memories to the bank, after examining them more closely based on our own life experiences, we may see them transforming, so that hurt of the painful ones become less acute and the pleasurable ones increase in enjoyment.

As orphans, there are aspects of our past that have gone forever. We can never again have access to them. Yet, there are also keepsakes that are ours forever. Whether the relationships have been nourishing or draining or a mixture of both, the greatest treasure that we received from God through our parents is life itself. How we choose to honour this gift is finally our choice and will help us orphans find our way home.

Winner of The Word Guild Award 2011

Christian Leadership Category

‘One Book Guy’? Musing on Respect and Grace - Peter A. Black

2011-11-22T07:30:00.011-05:00

Comedian Rodney Dangerfield’s, “I don’t get no respect,” sailed into my consciousness the other day. Dangerfield’s self-deprecating humour served him well and garnered him a lot of respect from both showbiz peers and the public.

It’s interesting to me the things that start a thread of thought or trigger memories. But what brought that late comedian’s famous tag-line to mind and got me onto this track?

Earlier that day an author friend asked me to provide an endorsement for her latest book. The manuscript was to be sent off to the publisher and she requested a blurb from me. Why me? I wondered.

We’ve known each other for about five years now.During that time my friend has read and commented on several pieces of my writing and I likewise have done the same for some of hers. We are both inspirational writers – writing from a Christian world-view, with the desire to see people come to trust in Jesus Christ as Saviour and Lord and grow in their life of faith.

I smiled. In recent years I’d been asked to write several endorsements and forewords for colleagues’ books. Some of them had published several during the time frame I got just one book out. With aroused curiosity I perused this question of why me? with quiet mischievousness.

Okay, so I’m a ‘one book’ guy . . . so far. The world has a lot of ‘one book’ guys and gals; one-major-achievement-people who, while having ability in any number of areas, are known outside their immediate circle for just one thing.

I chuckled at the thought: Rodney Dangerfield pitched thousands of funny lines over his years of stand-up comedy, but his “I don’t get no respect” one-liner became a defining phrase for him. Similarly, several sports originated in this country, but ice hockey is the one that till now has been predominantly associated with Canada, and is often said (correctly or incorrectly) to define it.

Dr. Christiaan Barnard demonstrated many skills and received many honours during his lifetime, but one could be excused for thinking he was a one book guy, since he is remembered worldwide as the first surgeon to successfully implement the first human to human heart transplant. (Barnard, in fact, authored a number of titles.)

You and I may have multiple skills and be capable of many things, yet might get pigeon-holed metaphorically into a one book slot. The inspirational question is whether that slot is one of respect; that our failures don’t define us, but wholesome qualities and the grace of God working in our lives.

Few of us shine as stars in everything we attempt. Fail we do at times, whether in projects we attempt, or in attitude and word or deed, yet those failures need not define us; God’s grace is redemptive.

In my musing I came to the conclusion that those friends asked me to endorse their work and write forewords to their books because they trusted me, they had confidence that my view would reflect a valuable quality as inherent in the work they produced.

The clincher: They actually respected me; at least, respected what I would write. It had nothing to do with my own achievements, or lack of them; it didn’t matter that I’m a one book guy.

A need to be respected lies at the heart of many a person who struggles with feelings of inadequacy, does it not? Some turn that into a need to control others, and certain people resort to abusive behaviours towards themselves, their spouse and children, and even of others around them. For some, substance abuse is all part of the mix.

They want respect and they demand it, but their negative behaviour robs them of self-respect as well as that of others.

The solution can be found in welcoming the Holy Spirit to work grace in us: “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law (Galatians 5:22-23).”

~~+~~
© Peter A. Black.
Black is the weekly inspirational columnist at The Watford Guide-Advocate and is the author of “Parables from the Pond” (Word Alive Press; ISBN 1897373-21-X).

Fruit of the Spirit: Peace - Lawrence

2011-11-21T07:00:00.001-05:00

Over the last few months I have been thinking, in my monthly blog on this site, about the fruit of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control, spoken of by St. Paul in his letter to the Galatians 5:22, 23. This month, we will consider the fruit of peace.

As we go along in our spiritual life, sometimes we feel that the growth in our spiritual gardens is not corresponding well with the time we have been working on cultivation. But, as in the calendar year, we find that the reality of our flower gardens does not always correspond to our thoughts of what the season should be like, so too within the spiritual life we may see little progress in a fruit of the spirit that we have given a lot of time to cultivate; then suddenly we realize that another fruit of the spirit has had a growth spurt. Hope is given to us that the fruit of the spirit is manifesting and maturing itself within our souls as the Holy Spirit intends.

What about peace the third fruit of the spirit named by St. Paul? We see so much unrest in the world—violence and fighting, wars and uprisings—that it becomes difficult to think of peace being a possibility. Peace in the outside world is something that is beyond our control; peace within ourselves—the peace that passes understanding—the peace that we can have in our hearts and souls even though there may be a lot of difficulty in our lives, in the lives of our loved ones, and in the lives of people half way across the world, this peace that is a fruit of the spirit is a possibility because it is a gift from God.

When we get into bed at night, we often lie awake worrying about all that has happened during the day, or what we have to face tomorrow. We need to find a place for the Lord at the centre of our being. Instead of fretting, we need to put each anxiety into God’s hands. This puts all into perspective and allows the fruit of the spirit, the fruit of peace, to grow.

We ask God to forgive the mistakes we made, and show us how we can make things right. If our worries about someone’s difficulty keep us awake, we need to ask God to strengthen that person and show us what we can do to help. If we are overwhelmed by some project that we have taken on, we ask God to help us discern the amount we can do and give us the courage to say “no” to the rest.

Putting our concerns in God’s hands gives us a sense of God resting within us. We can think of Christ asleep in the boat, his head on a pillow, while the storm rages around. We allow Christ to rest within us and quiet the tempest. Finding that space where Christ dwells within allows us to sleep in God’s peace and power.

If your anxieties keep you awake find the calm place within you where Christ dwells.

Allow Christ to quiet the storm around and within and say, I lie down in peace; at once I fall asleep; for only you, Lord, make me dwell in safety. Psalm 4:8

Sanctity of Life/Mann

2011-11-18T06:00:00.021-05:00

I stood among the people at our village Remembrance Day Service: all ages, shoulder to shoulder, bowed heads in prayer and lifted voices in song. As the names were read out and the wreaths were laid, faces passed through my memory like pages in a photograph album: uncles, neighbours, cousins. Although neither of my parents saw overseas duty, my father trained with the 11th Field Regiment, Royal Canadian Artillery (Guelph) and my mother worked delinquently with other women who served in The Red Cross Home Groups. As a farmer, dad may have been the last group to get the ‘letter’ which my sister said was an invitation. She also said, “Dad was ready to go.” And I know Mom would have parented us in the same ways that other mothers did when their man answered the call to duty.

As a child I was very much aware of war, low flying planes caused me to run to a ditch or into the safety of a building, my father’s voice singing ‘The Letter Edged in Black’ reminded me that even the mail carried fear and pain. My city cousins used to talk about having to lower black blinds during air raids and pull black curtains over the windows. Even on the farm, with plenty of milk, eggs and garden produce, I remember the dish of butter with the five squares, and the ration coupons for shopping.

Walking home from the cenotaph last week, I began to think about the sanctity of life. In one congregation in which I served, we had twin brothers who had served in France. I asked them during an open conversation in worship, where they got their courage. One of them said, “Faith” and the other said, “I used to sing the hymns I learned in Sunday school.” Sanctity of life, faith and God’s presence in the moment and in our memories are the focus for courage.

Several days later following Remembrance Day, the coordinator in a small group I attend, asked us to think about similar thoughts. Stories of birth and rebirth, loss and discovery, sorrow and happiness seemed to weave the thread of life through the experiences.

I shared a story about my birth during a January storm and how my father traveled to the highway with the horse and cutter to get the doctor. Then, in the middle of another January snow storm thirty years later, that same doctor attended me in the local hospital, to herald in the birth of our third son.

Interesting how life and death repeat themselves through the generations. We stand and watch, we feel joy and pain, we look to one another for support and encouragement and when we stumble, someone offers us a hand. It is said that it takes a village to raise a child; truly it takes a village to mourn its collective loss.

Blessings and courage for the days ahead
Donna Mann
http://www.donnamann.org/

Why Christianity might survive in North America - Denyse O’Leary

2011-11-17T04:32:00.000-05:00

... despite collapses elsewhere ... as observed by David Goldman in How Civilizations Die (and Why Islam Is Dying Too) :

Why Christianity might survive?

A key reason America may be spared is the persistence of personal (not national) religiosity. As Phillip Longman noted (in alarm), it is mainly religious people who raise children. Half of all American women of childbearing age say that religion is important to them, versus one in six of European women.

That in itself provides evidence that Americans will replace themselves and Europeans will not: “When children become a cost rather than an asset, prospective parents must identify with something beyond their own needs in order to sustain child-raising.” Especially in a modern welfare state where those who raise no children expect a comfortable retirement based on the labour of the children of others. Raising children then becomes an act of faith with no earthly reward. One undertaken by evangelicals and observant Catholics but not so much by mainline Protestants.

The really remarkable and hopeful thing we learn is that the vital American model of Christianity (including sustainable populations) seems to be taking root in the global South.

Why Islam is dying too?

Islam is dying too because the Muslim birth rate - according to reliable statistics - has crashed. How badly?

Across the entire Muslim world, university-educated Muslim women bear children at the same rate as their infecund European counterparts.

Whatever they believe about Islam, they have one or two children, but rarely three or four. Not enough to deliver their societies from demographic collapse, given the size of the families they came from. For example,

The average young Tunisian woman - like her Iranian or Turkish counterpart - grew up in a family of seven children, but will bear only one or two herself.

Education for women doesn’t in itself cause birth dearth, but abandonment of the land does. Muslims are not immune from the urbanization that turns children who were once a source of wealth into a major cost centre. Increasing numbers of people, there as here, hope that others will undertake the trouble.

- From my columns in MercatorNet.

Denyse O'Leary is co-author of The Spiritual Brain. Follow UD News at Twitter!

Award Winners--Carolyn Wilker

2011-11-16T07:00:00.005-05:00

On November 8^th, the announcement was made at a black-tie dinner and awards ceremony for the latest winner of the Giller Prize. Broadcast live on CBC, Scotia Bank named Esi Edugyan as the 2011 winner.

Edugyan’s book, Half-Blood Blues, was published by Thomas Allen. Its earlier acceptance at Key Porter came up in her interview at Studio Q the next morning.

The neat thing about the Internet is having the opportunity to watch the event and press coverage days after the ceremony. The reporter interviewing Edugyan asked her how she felt about winning, pointing out not only the honour, but also the $50,000 prize money and also that her book would be in great demand.

The thrilled author was nevertheless humble and stated that she would have time for her little daughter who was born earlier this year. On watching the actual footage of the announcement, I noticed the disbelief, excitement and awe on her face when her name was called. Her response reflected those emotions as she struggled to put words to her acceptance. “Miraculous” was one of the words she used.

In her interview the next morning at Studio Q, she shared more about her publication journey with Half-Blood Blues. The book was actually in production with reading copies and a cover design completed when Key Porter made its announcement to suspend publishing operations. What a feeling that must have been for authors who had signed contracts and editors who had worked hard to make those manuscripts the best they could be. Authors, wondering if their book would ever be published, and editors, if they would be paid for the work they had put into their projects.

Edugyan said that she had no publisher for the book for 2-3 months and that there was a possible contract in Britain. She wanted a Canadian publisher, since Canada is her home, and was pleased when Thomas Allen took it on and rushed it to press early in the fall. She was equally as pleased when she learned the wide range of people reading her book.

When the radio announcer asked how she had made the voices and language sound so real, Edugyan said that she had read biographies of Louis Armstrong and another book that had been dictated by a jazz musician as he lay very ill. She studied the language of jazz musicians to get the cadence right and also invented some of the dialog herself. Of other details, she said, “My desire is to be as historically accurate as possible.”

Edugyan was “utterly astonished” to be chosen, with Michael Ondaatje, one of her literary heroes sitting behind her at the event. She had written a few things on paper, notes to herself about whom to thank if she should win, but not a real speech. Her humility was notable.

All of this makes me think of another contest—The Word Guild Awards and Gala— that celebrate excellence in writing. That is, after all, what contests are about—to recognize writers who have been working hard to improve their craft and contribute to a body of writing. While this awards contest may not have the same stature as the Giller, Booker and other public prizes, we can nevertheless, recognize and raise the bar among Canadian writers who are Christian.

Acknowledging that awards acceptance speeches are expected of winners, being ready rings true with this Toastmaster. Those who make the short list would be well advised to prepare a speech, for the emotion of such a moment will surely take over, as it did for Edugyan.

To say our writing is a gift from God is not enough. We have to be willing to revise and polish and make our writing the best it can be, in whatever genre we write. That’s where writer’s conferences, critique groups and continued writing and learning come in. When we use our gift well, we can inspire, entertain and educate with class—and change the world.

As for black tie dinners and awards— imagine yourself there on stage, delighted and surprised, like Esi Edugyan. Then get your entry into the contest. http://www.thewordguild.com/contestsawards/

http://carolynwilker.ca/

Growing through Intimacy - HIRD

2011-11-15T09:50:00.003-05:00

By Rev Ed Hird

I never imagined that we can grow through conflict, that we can discover greater intimacy through facing the conflicts in our lives. Many of us are conflict-phobic. Through taking a course with my doctoral advisor Dr Paddy Ducklow, I learned that conflict is not something to be avoided but rather to be celebrated. Many of us have learned from our families of origin to emotionally cut ourselves off whenever anxious situations emerge. But avoidance and emotional cutoff just make things worse.

It takes courage to face painful situations in our life, courage to listen, and courage to confront. Dr Ducklow modeled on this course a non-anxious presence that cared but did not get swallowed by people’s issues. It takes a lot of inner resilience to be able to stay present and calm when the storms of life blow in.

Jesus modeled this by how he acted on a Galilean boat during a storm. Rather than panic, he was totally relaxed and challenged his disciples to have more faith and inner peace. Then he spoke to the wind and storms, saying ‘Peace. Be still’. In the midst of our storms, Jesus is still saying ‘Peace. Be still.’

I first met Paddy Ducklow in 1972 during the Jesus Movement when millions of young people came to a personal faith in Jesus Christ. Paddy at that time was leading the youth ministry at West Vancouver Baptist Church which had between 800 to 1,000 young people attending their Sunday evening service Salt Circus. I remember attending Salt Circus. The place was electric. Paddy later founded the Burnaby Counselling Group before becoming the Senior Pastor of Burnaby Christian Fellowship. Wherever Paddy has gone, he has had a lasting impact on the lives of many, helping them to know greater intimacy and peace through Jesus Christ.

In more recent years, Paddy became the Senior Pastor of Capilano Christian Community on the North Shore, before stepping down to become the Professor of Marriage and Family at Carey Theological College on the UBC Campus. Over two years ago, I began to once again feel the call to do a part-time doctorate. E-mailing Paddy, I asked his advice as to where I might go to do my doctorate. Paddy responded, saying that he was being inducted at West Vancouver Baptist Church that very night Feb 26th 2009 as Carey Professor of Marriage and Family. I attended his induction, during which Paddy gave a hilarious talk on ‘Marriage for Dummies’. God spoke to me that evening, convincing me that I was to ‘step out of the boat’ and move forward on my doctorate. The exciting thing about the Carey Doctorate is that it is a part-time program designed specifically for full-time pastors.

In the past two and a half years, I have learned and grown in so many ways at Carey. Paddy’s own Doctoral Thesis was on how we process conflict. Paddy is passionate about conflict. I will be doing my Doctoral project on Strengthening Marriages, particularly looking at couple conflict and family systems theory. My vision is that many marriages will become more intimate, more life-giving as couples learn to embrace and celebrate the inevitable conflicts in their lives. I dream of couples who, instead of emotionally cutting off and running, choose to hang in there and learn how to really be present to each other in ways that do not take each out.

Marriages and families are worth fighting for. Marriages and families are building blocks of our very communities. It is so easy for us to take each other out and then give up on each other. My prayer for those reading this article is that we will find the strength to be ourselves, to embrace the gift of family and community, to forgive and reconcile at the deepest level.

The Reverend Ed Hird, Rector
St. Simon’s Church North Vancouver
Anglican Mission in the Americas (Canada)
http://stsimonschurch.ca/
-published in the Nov 2011 Deep Cove Crier
-award-winning author of the book ‘Battle for the Soul of Canada’
http://www.battleforthesoulofcanada.blogspot.com/
p.s. In order to obtain a copy of the book ‘Battle for the Soul of Canada’, please send a $18.50 cheque to ‘Ed Hird’, #1008-555 West 28th Street, North Vancouver, BC V7N 2J7. For mailing the book to the USA, please send $20.00 USD. This can also be done by PAYPAL using the e-mail ed_hird@telus.net . Be sure to list your mailing address. The Battle for the Soul of Canada e-book can be obtained for $9.99 CDN/USD.
-Click to download a complimentary PDF copy of the Battle for the Soul study guide : Seeking God’s Solution for a Spirit-Filled Canada
You can also download the complimentary Leader’s Guide PDF: Battle for the Soul Leaders Guide

Strong and Free, Defined - Belec

2011-11-14T23:47:00.003-05:00

by Glynis M. Belec

A friend posted this picture on Facebook last week. As a child of WWII veterans, it held a powerful message for me. And this timely addition to the social networking roadway, certainly has sparked conversation. I have entered into a discussion or two about our present state of society with more than one over the last few days and for some reason it is not leaving my brain.

Mom, who passed away in 2007, was a former ATS - Auxiliary Territorial Services - during the war and poppa bear who is still very much alive and in possession of all his marbles, served valiantly from 1942 - 1954 in the Royal Marine 45 Commando Division.

I nodded my head in agreement when I saw these juxtapositioned pictures and read the captions. When I showed this picture to Dad to get his opionion, I think I saw a tear.

"They have no idea..." was all he uttered.

Dad - 'marching' in the Remembrance Day parade November 11/11

I gave him a hug and helped him don his beret in time for the Remembrance Day parade. His gnarled fingers and the limited range of motion now evident in his battle-weary body interrupts his activities of daily living. Although, for 85 years of age, he does well and still manages to live alone. We keep a close eye on him and look after all his needs, just so that he can stay in his own home.
"They'll have to carry me out!" is his battle cry if anyone dare ask him about moving. I love his spunk and spirit. My sister and I are doing everything we can to help his remaining years be happy and stress free. (We have often said he might just outlive us~)

As I look again at this contrasting picture, I wonder why are we like this today? What is the difference between 'then' and 'now'? Between my Dad's willingness to enlist and today's desire to resist? Why were the boys so willing to give all back then, but now the prevailing message is take as much as you can and make everything about self?

I am probably quick to waggle my finger and nod in agreement as I consider the underlying message in this picture. But then I wonder. The boys who gave it all didn't have everything handed to them on a silver platter. People worked together and looked out for each other. Families weren't little entities with absent parents and the divorce rate was certainly no where near what it is today. My hubby said his mother would send him out to play in the summer and he would only reappear for meals and when it got dark. Not such a wise idea nowadays. [No parent in their right minds would allow that in this day and age. Besides, they would likely be reported if they did.] Yep, in our quest for a better life, it seems we have erred somewhere along the way. It becomes more and more obvious that we no longer live in a safe world where everyone watched your back. It's a different world. It's a different society. Me first. What about me? What can I get out of it? I want...want...want...

God must look down and shake his head somedays. How he must weep for the mess we are making of His creation. Looking at that first picture does make me feel a little hopeless. Then I remember our Lord Jesus. I remember the first memory verse I learned as a Christian...For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost - Luke 19:10

Yes, I suppose we do appear as a sorry excuse for humankind sometimes. Maybe we need to be reminded that Jesus came to save us from our brokenness and always gives us a second chance [and a third, a fourth, a fifth...]

They do say - a picture is worth a thousand words.

A Writer's Thoughts on this Remembrance Day - Hall

2011-11-11T04:04:00.003-05:00

On the main road heading into Fredericton where I live, there is a car dealership with a Canadian flag the size of a house. Whenever we lose a serviceman or woman it flies at half mast. It flies at half mast more often than it should, and it's a sight that always saddens me. I'm usually silent the rest of the way into town, thinking not only the individual families who will mourn the loss of a son or daughter- often the same age as my own children - but of the greater loss to us as a nation. I am silent when I think of what they have given to us as a nation.

Just a quick perusal of BBC online or English Aljazeera, two news sources that I go to on a fairly regular basis, one can see how privileged we are as Canadians. We have so many freedoms to be grateful for. We have a democracy that works.

There is a YouTube video that has, I am sure, gone viral by now, and maybe you have seen it - in it a street interviewer, microphone in hand, is asking groups of young people questions like, 'Do you know what the Halocaust is?' and when they shrug and say they don't know, he presses on. 'How about Adolf Hitler, you know who he is?' More shrugs. More comments like, 'The name sounds familiar, but I don't watch the news.'

Now, I don't know how accurate a portrayal this is of our Canadian youth, but even if only a few don't know the answers, we, as writers have a job to do, a sacred calling, if you will, to make sure generations to come never forget.

So, I will end , inadequate as this is posting is on this awesome day, and say thank you.

Lest we forget.

In Times Like These -- Gibson

2011-11-09T00:01:00.001-05:00

“Nana, am I five now?” my third grandbean, aged a mighty three, asked the other day. “Cuz when I get to five, I can SPEED!”

Slow down, child. Just a minute ago, I was five too. Back then (a half-century ago, in 1961) the average hourly wage was $1.15, and the average annual full-time salary, about six and a half thousand dollars. But $18,800 would buy a new house, and $2,275 a brand new car. Gas cost 31 cents a gallon, and you could mail a local first class letter for 4 cents.

A half-century ago, the world contained just 4 billion people. Canada’s population sat at 18,238,247. In the U.S., John F. Kennedy was inaugurated as President, and the same year marked the birth of future president Barak Obama—just in time to have his bottom pampered by the first disposable diapers in the world.

To the south, President Fidel Castro declared Cuba a Communist State. In Germany, Berlin constructed a wall.

But in 1961, entire Western families still sat together on tweed couches, watching Billy Graham’s Hour of Decision (or Dick Van Dyke) on 12” black and white televisions (perhaps munching toast that came from a 21 cent loaf, drinking milk poured from a $1.05 gallon jug.)

Those same families likely shared a church pew on Sundays, and bowed their heads to pray before they ate.

Times have changed some. Do I want my grandbean to speed, to five or fifty-five? On the contrary. I shudder to think what the next half-century holds for the simple faith already growing inside her.

Here’s why: A great and spreading ache has overtaken us. The Biblical message that God loves the world, and sent his Son as the answer for our deepest needs is under attack as never before.

In many countries worldwide, determined efforts to undermine the Christian faith—even eliminate it—have escalated. Inside many Western Christian churches, doctrine is dancing to the piper of social acceptability.

In other parts of the world, speaking up for those things that are trademark to Christianity: respect for life, right living, love for one’s neighbour, kindness to the weakest members of society, forgiveness of one’s enemies, intolerance for injustice and inequality, and defence of the Word of God, is tantamount to a death sentence.

There’s more: according to the organization, Voice of the Martyrs, in the countries of North Korea, Burma, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and over sixty other countries, one Christian is martyred every five minutes. It is routine in those countries for Christians to suffer torture, harassment, rape, imprisonment, slavery, kidnapping and death.

That organization has designated this Sunday, November 13, as this year’s International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church. They would like to remind Christians in the West to pray. If one suffers, we all suffer, they say.

Pray this Sunday, for Christ's Body West and Christ's Body East. And for the sake of my grandbeans, and yours, and all the children of God--don't stop.

***
Find more information at www.dayofprayer.org

Kathleen Gibson
author, columnist, broadcaster
www.kathleengibson.ca