Where Two Or Three Are Gathered Together ...

It had been a particularly tough day, Tuesday. Dad was almost motionless all day: he could barely open his eyes, barely eat or drink anything, barely speak to us.

Even Matt, when he came over, was unable to capture his interest.

We called our dear Naomi and our dear Navaid, who reassured us of their constant support and availability.

Later on Elliot and Oliver, and an assortment of Dad's children, filled up the house and the space with sound, with laughter, with conversation; and he managed to sit up for a while, to half-enter into what was going on, to walk around behind us when the swirl got too fast.

Wednesday was slightly more promising. He was more alert and he could move around with greater ease. But his eyes were dead, glassy, no light or spark in them.

Then Brian came over to visit.

Brian may as well be another son to Dad. They have known each other since Brian was about 16, and Mum and Dad loved Brian as though he was their own from all those years ago.

He sat across from Dad, not saying too much or forcing the conversation, his penetrating, loving gaze never leaving Dad's face. 

And suddenly Dad began to talk.

"You know the verse, The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous shall run to it and be safe?" he asked Brian, who nodded.

"I've been giving these kinds of verses to people for decades. I need them for myself now ..."

Deb said to me later, "When you can't talk to your best Friend, who you're used to talking to throughout the day every day, you just want to die ..."

"They're still there," Brian replied confidently, with conviction.

"Yes," Dad whispered.

Wednesday evening Bronwyn came over with the boys; and she brought Ian Trigg, the lead pastor of Foothills, with her.

Ian sat on a little stool that had been drawn up next to the couch where Dad lay. He took Dad's hand and started to ask him questions about India, about his ministry.

They began with Dad arriving back in 1959 and teaching a few students in Chembur, Bombay. They went on to how the college moved to Bangalore but how Dad stayed in Bombay to continue studying with the students there, to work in the churches he had become involved with.

We talked about coming back to Canada on furlough ... the educational systems for us as third culture kids - "Fourth culture kids, really!" Bronwyn exclaimed when we looked at it through the eyes of Ian ... what it was like for Dad and Mum to leave us in Canada  - "The worst kind of pain," he admitted.

We talked about how, through the seeds planted by two men who sent letters requesting Dad to join their work, John Teibe and Jake Johnson, Dad went to India to fulfill God's calling for his life.

And as Dad told Ian about churches planted, colleges started, orphanages and children's homes flourishing, work with prostitutes and victims of HIV, deaf schools, music ministries, Ian marvelled at how God had worked and continues to work because Dad and people like him were and are so faithful to their call.

Bronwyn told Ian that the verse that has governed Dad's life, that has comforted him and directed him and sustained him, is the one found in the first letter to the Thessalonian church, chapter 5 and verse 24: "FAITHFUL IS HE THAT CALLETH YOU, WHO ALSO WILL DO IT."

"It's about His faithfulness," Dad replied to Ian. "He is the One who does it all."

As he prepared to leave, Ian asked if he could pray for Dad. These two godly men linked hands and Ian thanked God for the ministry Dad has had that has impact all over the world today. He thanked God for the ministry that Dad continues to have, preaching, leading Bible studies, counselling, sharing, helping to shape the characters of those who will seize the baton and carry on with the race. He prayed for strength for Dad in a huge ministry that he has and that will continue to develop: that of praying for people, of holding them up before God, a ministry of intercessory prayer.

And then Dad prayed for Ian - for his ministry, for his family, for him.

And in the hush, all of us in the room knew that we were standing on holy ground.

For where two or three are gathered together in My name,
there am I in the midst of them.
(Matthew 18:20)

Power In The Blood

Just a brief post - this morning Dad has to go to the lab for blood work. He is having extreme pain in his right hip, which makes weight bearing difficult. Bronwyn and Deb are going to take him as Bronwyn's van will be easier for him to negotiate.

His wonderful doctor has ordered that the blood work be processed instantly and the results sent to her STAT.

There is knowledge in what is going on in his blood. And, as we have heard so often, knowledge is power. Therefore, there is power in the blood.

Which we, as children of God, already know. It was the shedding of Jesus' blood that has the power to give us all eternal life. And because of that life, even though Dad is so ill, so frail, we KNOW that the One who shed His blood for Dad that awful day is with him now, is watching as Dad gives some of his blood today. 

Make no mistake - God is in control of all of this; He, who knows the end from the beginning, loves Dad more than any of us do; and we are so thankful.

RtL just received a comment from the girl I have been waiting to hear from. This 16-year-old girl adores Dad as much as any of his grandchildren do, both Ironside and Chelli grandchildren:

Dear Aunty Karyn, All of the youth at Berean had a special time of prayer after the service yesterday for Grandpa. I continue to pray and hope for a speedy recovery. May God give all of your family His grace during this difficult situation. Psalm 91:1,11 "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways." Give my love to Grandpa. 

Chloe

Please pray for him today; please remember him.

Not Above What You Are Able To Bear

It was a very rough night for Dad; and Deb being the resident RN, the majority of the responsibility (she would say privilege) fell to her.

Dad has been prescribed Tamiflu and its side effects can be daunting for people who are healthy. For someone with pulmonary fibrosis the side effects can be staggering.

He managed to keep down some electrolyte-spiked beverages and a small bowl of thin oatmeal gruel this morning. He spoke a brief birthday greeting on the phone to his beloved Lloyd, friends for over 60 years now.

But then this afternoon, when I was in the grocery store getting ready for the weekend at the Tea House, I got an urgent text from Deb at 4:41:

Really bad cramps - please pray

And in the aisle that holds basmati rice and dosai mixes and coconut milk and mango juice I stopped and forwarded on her text to a few of you whose numbers I have in my phone. 

Immediately the responses came back:

• Praying
• We're on it
• Praying
• I will pray for him. I'm sorry to hear that
• xoxo

Two of my Chelli sisters, Salome and Naomi, called me, and others of them called my Ironside sisters.

Then at 4:47 I heard from Deb again:

Seriously ... subsided within 5 mins of sending out a text for prayer! 

He's almost resting now

I got back to Deb's house as fast as I could and went up the stairs to see him.

He was ashen against the sheets, and utterly exhausted. In a very muted voice he said that the pain had been so intense he thought he couldn't bear it.

"But then God brought two thoughts to my mind," he said. The first was of Mum."

One night, at about 2 a.m., Mum's pain was so eviscerating that she groaned, "Dad, the pain is too much ..." 

"There was nothing I could do," he whispered to me with tears rolling down his face at the memory of that awful night.

The second thought that came to him were these words from the Bible, found in the apostle Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, chapter 10 and verse 13:

There has no [testing] taken you but such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be [tested] above that you are able, but will with the [trial] also make a way to escape, that you may be able to bear it.

"And I thought to myself, 'Just think how Christ suffered - He has felt every pain that we go through and far more!' " he exclaimed.

"And as I concluded that verse, the awful pain started to subside."

"God is able, honey," he said. "He might even want me to go to India - He is already providing ..."

I must have reacted adversely, because he hastened to assure me that he wouldn't go if he felt like this. "Dr Rimmer won't sign off on you," I interjected dryly. 

"Not only that, but I would have to gain a lot of strength. I feel so, so weak right now," he acknowledged.

We talked briefly about how many people are praying for him all over the world, how many people love him and are rooting for his recovery. And then I had to leave, to come back to the TH and unpack the groceries that this evening seem like sandpaper and sawdust to me.

I kissed him on his forehead, our family's traditional "blessing kiss" started by my grandmother or her mother or hers before that.

"I love you, Dad," I murmured as his eyes drifted shut again and he settled more deeply back into the pillows and covers.

Deb had to give him his second dose of Tamiflu later this evening. The worst of the effects should hit him between midnight and 1 a.m. Please remember this man, a treasure in so many of our lives, as once again his already frail, tired body has to battle the medicine that is supposed to help him.

Here Comes the Sun

Images this morning as I returned from picking up my car where I had left it yesterday afternoon in order to drive with my friends to Red Deer:

White-out!

We had been at the Red Deer Rebels hockey game on Friday night. We got on the road and discovered wind flailing the snow until it was tumultuous.

Three of us wanted to turn back and stay in Red Deer. But the driver felt we needed to keep going, that there was a reason ... We stopped at every vehicle that had hit the ditch, ensuring that there was no one inside; the reason we were not there ourselves was that there were three of us navigating between the bumpy yellow centre line and the suddenly wavy outer white lines - on both sides of the highway. 

 We had just passed a little town called Huxley when we encountered a complete white-out. With our hazard lights on, we sat in the middle of the highway for a few moments until the wind died down somewhat and we could inch our way forward again. 

Suddenly: "Are those footprints?!" and a few yards up ahead there was the bobbing figure of someone walking on the side of the road. We picked him up. His truck had swerved all over the road before coming to rest, stuck at the side. He had no cell phone and had running shoes on his feet and a Red Deer Rebels cap on his head. He was trying to get to Trochu, where he lived. He had about eight miles to go, and he was pretty frozen and somewhat disoriented. 

We drove him to his home: his wife was sitting in the semi-dark next to their front window. And then we pulled wearily back onto the highway for the last 15 kms to Three Hills. 

What if we had stayed in Red Deer and that man had been struck by a vehicle in one of those white-out spells or had wandered off into a drift himself? We ourselves made it safely to Three Hills, three hours after we had set out from Red Deer. I am so grateful that our driver didn't listen to the majority vote and listened instead to the "still small voice" in the middle of the storm compelling him to carry on. God moves in mysterious - sometimes terrifying - ways!

And we, all four of us, are so grateful.

Three Hills, AB

Three Hills, AB

BLOWING SNOW WARNING IN EFFECT

WIND WARNING ENDED

Current Conditions




-18°C

• °C
• °F

Observed at:

Three Hills

Date:

12:00 AM MST Saturday 28 December 2013

Condition:

Not observed

Temperature:

-17.6°C

Dewpoint:

-19.5°C

Humidity:

85%

Wind:

NNW 51 km/h

Wind Chill:

-32

Forecast

Graphic forecast

Fri
27 Dec




• 60%
•  
• -19°C

Sat
28 Dec




• 60%
• -15°C
•  

Sun
29 Dec




•  
• -8°C
• -21°C

Mon
30 Dec




• 60%
• -12°C
• -14°C

Tue
31 Dec




•  
• -7°C
• -17°C

Wed
1 Jan




•  
• -4°C
• -10°C

Thu
2 Jan




•  
• 5°C
• -9°C

Detailed forecast

Issued: 1:33 AM MST Saturday 28 December 2013

Blowing snow warning in effect.

Tonight

Snow ending overnight then mainly cloudy with 60 percent chance of flurries. Amount 5 to 10 cm. Blowing snow with visibilities frequently less than 1 kilometre. Wind north 50 km/h gusting to 70 diminishing to 30 gusting to 50 overnight. Low minus 19. Wind chill minus 27.

Saturday

Mainly cloudy with 60 percent chance of flurries. Local blowing snow early in the morning. Wind north 30 km/h gusting to 50 becoming light in the morning. High minus 15. Wind chill minus 31 in the morning.

Of Sparrows and Black Purses and the Hair on Your Head

For about two weeks I had been searching for a new black handbag to replace the fairly old one that was wrecked last season.

I knew what I wanted: a slim purse with a pocket for keys, etc.; short strap so that it wouldn't weigh my poor shoulder down; it had to be elegant and leather. I found nothing: of course there were lovely handbags, but completely out of my price range. I tucked the purse shopping thoughts firmly into the back of my head and boarded the plane for Chicago.

The morning of the wedding we were attending dawned cool and clear. I was fretting because my hair, which I am trying to grow out, wasn't working at all. As I sat in the breakfast nook by myself after a delicious baked oatmeal breakfast, prepared with such love by the exquisite Mrs Shoaf, I heard a thud in the next room. Hurrying over to the window, I saw that a sparrow had hit the window and was now lying motionless.

As I stood there helplessly, Pastor Shoaf walked by and saw the direction of my gaze. "It's happened several times before," he remarked.

I remained on guard, and suddenly the little thing's chest puffed out and its feet started to quiver. Its head had not moved, however, and its eyes remained shut. I didn't know what to do: I thought wildly of dropping a brick on its twisted neck and putting it out of its misery: I thought of trying to flip it over to see if that would help it; and I realized that because of my paralysing fear of birds, the only thing I could do was ask God to put the tiny quivering thing out of its misery as fast as possible.



About 20 minutes passed. And suddenly - just when I was debating whether it would be frivolous to call Dad, who was getting ready to speak at the wedding that afternoon - the little sparrow opened its eyes, flipped over, and was gone in a flutter of wings!

I told the Shoafs and Dad, my heart pulsing with gratitude. Shortly after this, Mrs Shoaf took me to a drug store to buy a gift bag - we had just a few minutes. The bag was the easiest thing to choose; but just down the aisle from the card section, I spied something sparkling on a shelf. Like a magpie I darted toward it, and my eyes lighted on a package of sparkly bobby-pins - just the thing to tame the unruliness of my hair ...

And then at the wedding itself, a wonderful encounter: one of my dear childhood friends, Naomi, was also attending. We hadn't seen each other for 30 years!

Naomi and me - and the sparkly barrette!

We met again later at the reception, and Naomi handed me a large gift bag: "I wanted to get you some little thing ..." she said.

Trying to be polite, I placed the bag under the table, opening it only when we returned to the Shoafs' home that evening after the reception.

Inside was a cute collection of four Norman Rockwell mugs; a stylish "tea-for-two" set; and a black handbag.

A gorgeous black handbag.

Exactly the handbag I was looking for.

I showed it to Dad and Pastor and Mrs Shoaf.

Pastor S summed it up: "The sparrow ... the hair on your head ... the black handbag. I think God cares about you!"

Here's the childhood song we would sing together as little girls, my friend Naomi and I:

(Video found on YouTube, created by CelestinoZ)

Breath of God

This morning at 7:15 he had to be at the hospital for breathing tests. An hour later he had to meet with his pulmonologist, who had refused to sign the authorization for him to fly to Chicago until she had evaluated him.

Many people were praying for Dad this last week, praying that he would be strong this morning and that he would be able to go.

Dad himself was quite calm. He had already sought God's will about going to Chicago, and had agreed to speak at the wedding, to be held on the 18th, as well as twice on the 20th morning at the church he and I love.

God had told him to go, and so Dr R would of course sign off on the trip.

And - of course - she did.

I woke up this morning with an old, simple hymn playing in my head:

Breathe on me breath of God
Fill me with life anew
That I may love what Thou dost love
And do what Thou wouldst do

Breathe on me breath of God
Until my heart is pure
Until with Thee I will one will
To do and to endure

Breathe on me breath of God
Till I am wholly Thine
Till all this earthly part of me
Glows with Thy fire divine

Breathe on me breath of God
So shall I never die
But live with Thee the perfect life
Of Thine eternity

• 
  
• Edwin Hatch | Robert Jackson

How could I have forgotten, even for an instant? How could I have so much as entertained the slightest doubt that when God tells Dad to go somewhere and to do something, He might not also see to it that Dad will have all the obstacles cleared from his path?

God continues to give Dad breath, continues to breathe power onto his ministry. 

For this I am suffused with gratitude.

Here is Steve Green's beautiful rendition of this prayerful song:


 

In Every Thing Give Thanks

October is "thanksgiving month" here at Reading the Leaves. It's the month that I try to write each day about something for which I am thankful.

I have so much to be thankful for this year; my heart some mornings feels like it could burst when I think of all the many goodnesses that fill my life, ranging from Bob's sweet little lemon loaves to gracious Debbie, who has taken over cleaning the TH every week as part of the many ministries she is involved in all over town.

But even though my heart is overflowing, the words are having great difficulty being released from inside me to RtL this year. Nevertheless, I will try, on as many days as I can, to tell you one thing for which I am grateful this month.

________________________________________________________

I was dreading the flight to Toronto last night: I was already so tired from the weekend, then I had a full Monday, and the Tuesday 00:05 departure loomed over my head like that cloud of crows over the dead porcupine on the bridge to Big Valley last Sunday morning.

I checked in and cleared security in good time and managed to find a comfy armchair in which to rest and wait for the boarding call. I whiled away the minutes by chatting to a friend on the phone. We were talking about how much we had to be thankful for and while we spoke, the verse from Paul's first letter to the Thessalonians came to our minds:

In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you (I Thessalonians 5:18)

And it struck me for the first time ever that notwithstanding all the hours I spend thinking about God's will for my life and praying that it will be revealed to me, God's will has been right in front of me all these years.

God's will for me is that I give thanks for everything! Every thing ...

I boarded the plane, jacked up on a large coffee, double-double, from MacDonald's.

Big mistake. The plane was overbooked and overwarm. A couple of men were snoring resonantly. The tiny ancient lady in the middle seat next to me slept fitfully on her neck cushion.

My legs and soon my whole body started to feel restless, fueled by caffeine way too late in the day; then I began to feel lightheaded, like I couldn't get enough air. I fiddled with my personal air vent but nothing happened. Finally, I thought that if I didn't get out of my seat, I was going to faint or throw up or both. I grabbed the dreaded paper bag so thoughtfully provided in every seat pocket and gently yet urgently tapped the lady's shoulder. "I have to get out, I'm so sorry ..."

Immediately she was awake and in full maternal mode. "My dear, are you all right? You're completely white!" She shook the man on her other side awake and they hastily got out of my way. I staggered to the back of the plane and stowed myself in one of the washrooms, praying not to be sick, trying to figure out if every thing meant even this. I locked myself in and doubled over, pretty much on the floor, trying to get oxygen to my head and push the waves of nausea down.

I happened to glance up: this particular washroom was equipped with one of those same air vents with which I had unsuccessfully battled at my seat, pointed down directly at me but turned off. When I twisted the nozzle, to my great relief gusts of cool air hit my face.

My hand, clutching the sink counter for balance, landed on a couple of small square paper squares. Upon examining them I saw that they were sealed packages containing antiseptic swabs, the very thing to place on the back of my neck and my wrists to cool my head and temper the pounding of my pulse. Why they were on the counter, I had no idea; I was just grateful that they were.

Thank you for the relief of air and the icy coolness of the alcohol swabs, I silently offered to God. Thank you that every one else is asleep and no one's pounding on the door.

When I finally felt well enough to make my way back to my seat, my row mates were sleepy but kindly enquired as to how I was feeling. I settled into my seat to learn that the pilot had made tremendous headway and somehow our plane was going to be landing almost 45 minutes early. My suitcase was the third one to land on the conveyor belt. There was a cab waiting and no line up. I was at the hotel by 6:10 a.m., and the wonderful man at the counter said, "I happen to have an available room - I'll check you in right now so you can rest for an hour."

I slept for an hour, splashed water on my face and tidied my hair, and headed down for the day, committing myself to choosing to be grateful and positive for the duration of the conference.

And I remembered something I had heard on Phil Callaway's program "Laugh Again":




We get to choose our attitude, even when we are powerless to choose anything else.

So even when I can't seem to figure out what God's will for my life might be, I know that if I choose to be grateful - if I choose to live - I am in God's will for me.

Kerala: "His Precious Ones"

In Dad's ministry and work he was privileged to travel with a team of some of the finest men ever to pass through the College's halls.

G.S. Nair
V.G.Philip
Joy Benjamin
Mathai Varughese

These men comprised the Kerala Gospel Team and they worked tirelessly in the villages, travelling, sleeping, eating, speaking, ministering, praying, weeping, laughing, helping the locals in whatever way they could - all in often merciless heat and what would seem to us softies today like untenable conditions.

Dad worked right alongside them. He slept on thin straw mats outside the front door of houses where the home was already too tiny for even the family that inhabited it. He ate the food that all the people ate. He drank water from wells and streams and other questionable sources.

As Mathai said in his introduction of Dad at a chapel service, "I do not know whether he travelled with us or whether we travelled with him."

He poured his life into these men, teaching, listening, discipling, counselling, leading by example. There was nothing that they could eat, nowhere that they could go, no one that they could speak to, that he too would not do the same. He stayed in their homes, was involved in their weddings, followed their progress even after the members of the team struck out on their own for different aspects of ministry.

He loved them wholeheartedly, unconditionally. He was always available to them. He showed them that the work they were called to do is a joy and a privilege, not drudgery.

Mathan, one of the next generation of these men, introduced Dad at the chapel hour a couple of years ago when we visited as "a good friend to God". 

And this time when he came back home to be with them, all they wanted was be near him, to love him and to do even the slightest thing to show him how much he means to them.

GS Nair was unable to be there and, sadly, was unable to work his schedule to see Dad at all this time. But Philip and Mathai, Mathan and OJ John were there.

The following are a couple of series of pictures that capture in a slight way the depth of affection Dad and "his boys" have for each other:

Mathai introducing "my Sir" at Chapel

The first day in Chapel:

Dad going up to speak:
"These men are very precious to me"

After Chapel - Philip had traveled quite some
distance to be able to see and hear him again!

Another happy surprise - OJ John ...

Dad and the boys leaving chapel

Mathai and Dad sharing a laugh

They just wanted to make things easy for him throughout his brief visit with them. As we got to the shade of the office building, they cracked young coconut and gave us glasses of the refreshing coconut water. There is NOTHING like that coconut water on a hot Kerala afternoon ...



But what they really wanted to do was sit and talk with him. Philip came over first:

BA and Deb joined them, enjoying the stories and the reminiscing. Then they noticed that Mathai and Mathan were hovering close by, so they willingly gave up their chairs and perched on the perimeter of that close-knit circle.

Four old friends enjoying each other

We all trooped off for lunch when Dad was a little bit rested. Sadly, Philip was heading back to his place immediately after lunch, so he said a heartfelt goodbye to Dad in the cool of the dining room:

Mathai taking charge of the O2 concentrator
after chapel

The next day no one kept him chatting for too long after the coconut water was consumed - the day was extremely hot and they were concerned for their Sir's well being. They led him tenderly into the office, and there he found a bed - placed there so that he wouldn't have to climb the severely steep stairs up to the guest suite above the office - taking up the bulk of the office floor space ... They made sure he was comfortable and then everyone cleared out to allow him a few moments to rest.

When Dad arose it was time for lunch, and not a moment sooner. This day, Mathai rarely left Dad's side; and Dad didn't mind a bit.

If Dad is a good friend to God, Mathai is a good friend to Dad. In many ways he has modeled his ministry on Dad's, coming quietly alongside people and leading them by example; by quiet words of direction, correction and encouragement; by giving them his time and his undivided attention. I happened to step out on the back verandah of the college dining room to wash my hands after eating. There I saw Mathai walking with a young student, his hand on the younger man's shoulder exactly like Dad's hand had been on his as they walked together to the dining room. He was building up this man who was in fact not much more than a boy still and who had come to tell Mathai of some silly error the boy had made.

The other bond that Mathai and Dad have is an extremely rare one. Because they travelled so extensively together through the villages of Kerala, Mathai was more often than not Dad's translator when the latter preached. Dad would speak in English and Mathai would translate into the local tongue. People have said about the two of them that they were so in sync it was like one man speaking.

On the Sunday morning we were there, they asked Dad to preach at the local church. Mathai was right next to him to translate; there was no question that it would be he who stood next to his Sir that morning. The clip below is just shy of 12 minutes long. In the first five minutes Mathai introduces Dad to the congregation in words so tender and heartfelt that my heart was filled to bursting point; and as Dad responds just before he begins the sermon, my heart overflowed.

The message went on for close to an hour - rather short for what they are used to! - and people were blessed and challenged and moved by what they heard. The presence of God was very real that morning in that simple, humble church building with the raw, uneven concrete steps and the dog barking incessantly outside.

As they were leaving, Dad looked over at where Mathai was standing and, with a smile in his eyes and lurking at the corners of his mouth, he commented: "It was like we have never parted ..."

From 2012: Dad with some of his boys - and Debbie, the daughter of GS Nair, one of his original boys, who has also entered the ministry and teaches at the college!