Showing posts with label Observations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Observations. Show all posts

Sunday, May 11, 2014

And His Mother's Name Was ...


Today's reading from the 2014 edition of the Choice Gleanings calendar, a daybook our family has read each morning for years, reminded me anew how much influence our mothers have on us:

In the seventh year of Jehu, Jehoash began to reign; and forty years reigned he in Jerusalem, and his mother’s name was Zibiah. And Jehoash did that which was right in the sight of the Lord all his days, in which Jehoiada, the priest, instructed him. 
2 Kings 12:1-2

The little phrase “and his mother’s name was,” appears 23 times in the Old Testament. The significance seems to be the influence each mother had on her son. With the help of the priest of the Lord, Zibiah's son was properly instructed and he was enabled to carry out his responsibilities with God’s approval. A godly mother is a treasure and one for whom Mother’s Day should be celebrated!     —David McCulloch


I live in a world where men feature prominently these days, and I see firsthand the impact their mothers have had on their lives.

Just a couple of weeks ago I had the privilege of meeting my friend Derek's mom, Diana. This lovely lady, who until her recent retirement held positions of responsibility in the corporate world, nonetheless has ensured that her priority is her home and her son. I watched the easy interaction between the two of them, the way she could anticipate his words and actions, the way he would step in to help her in little ways around the kitchen table where we sat.

I've also seen the impact that the loss of a mother can mean. I remember a man close to me remarking that exactly one week after his mother passed away he "could feel the loss of her prayers."

I've never been privileged to have a child of my own; but I have had the privilege of working closely with numbers of young people over the years, particularly in the Tea House. This reading gave me pause. We women, do we consciously take the time to realise the importance our sway is in the lives of the impressionable children God has given us? Some of the 23 mothers listed in the Old Testament were not wise in their dealings with their children, causing detriment to the child as well as domino-like calamity to people and situations around that child.

Here, off the top of my head, is a list of 23 names of mothers who influence sons who have an impact in my life in some way. I'll start with Derek's:


  • And his mother's name was Diana Cleland
  • And his mother's name was Ruth Ironside
  • And his mother's name was Brenda Spilsbury
  • And his mother's name was Zeba Husain
  • And his mother's name was BA Ironside
  • And their mother's name was Angela Ironside
  • And their mother's name was Bronwyn Spilsbury
  • And his mother's name was Irene Walsh
  • And his mother's name was Katherine Creasser
  • And his mother's name was Darlene Johnson
  • And his mother's name was Alice Tateson
  • And his mother's name was Debbie Tateson
  • And his mother's name was Muriel Kirk
  • And his mother's name was Marion Warnock
  • And his mother's name was Jeanne Carlzon
  • And his mother's name was Eileen King
  • And his mother's name was Margaret Kremer
  • And his mother's name was Thankamma Cherian
  • And their mother's name was Salome Cherian
  • And his mother's name was Evelyn Ironside
  • And their mother's name was Merah Chelli
  • And their mother's name was Jacqueline Benavides
  • And his mother's name was Patricia O'Halloran Ironside 

You are your mothers' sons. And I am so thankful for each of them.


Monday, April 14, 2014

April 13, 2003


Eleven years ago on April 13, we opened the doors of Nilgiris Tea House.

Yesterday morning my Dad came over after church and cut up all my potatoes for the evening meal - the first time he's done that since October ...

Dad and Mum were with me when we first opened the doors at 7:00 a.m. on that fateful April 13, 2003. We were woefully unprepared and ludicrously naive as to how it would all work.

But by the grace of God and the kindness of Nilgiris' friends, the little TH perseveres still.




Yesterday evening Dad came  back with a box of cookies he had made that afternoon: sugar cookies, his mother's recipe.

Attached to the box was this note, summing up the last decade-plus-one as only Dad can:

My dearest Karyn,

[Eleven] years ago today the "Nilgiris Tea House Adventure" began.

There have been so many experiences and challenges. I want to congratulate you today, for under God, great blessing and life have proceeded from this mountain stream.

Congratulations for pressing on and touching many lives ... May [our Lord] continue to guide you as to the future, knowing His way is the best. There are no surprises or unexpected events with our Lord.

May our Heavenly Father bless and provide - as He will - for all the future holds.

My love and prayers,

Dad xxoo




Thanks to my artist sibling for infusing the present
with the past for the perfect cup of tea ...

Friday, February 7, 2014

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)

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Calling 9-1-1 ...


Josephine, bless her, has an incompetent for a driver on some nights. Last night was one of those nights. I managed to run right into my very own snow drift on my very own driveway. And I actually managed to grind my front tires into the multi-layered snow and ice until she was not budging.

I called BA, that genius sister of mine who can figure out the logistics of pretty much everything. She dug snow out from under Josephine, pushed, pulled, put down that gravel stuff around the tires ... one hour later, and Jo hadn't budged. I crawled out the passenger side of the car (the driver's side was firmly entrenched in the snow bank) and BA helped me lug the groceries from the bottom of my driveway into the Tea House.

The next day Don, the man who rescues me from all sorts of peril, came to take a look. He enlisted Mike, who had brought his snow blower to the TH and blew clear my parking lot before starting on his shift. Together they whittled away the snow on the driver's side of Josephine, and dug around the tires some more. 

Nope.

Rick, one of my kindly neighbours, joined the men with his shovel. The tires kept spinning. They needed another person to push, Don decreed. That would be me, I surmised.

While I put on my boots and coat, I asked the occupied tables in the TH if they would be patient with me as I was running outside to try to help push my car out of the icy rut it had ground itself into.

One table had four EMS professionals at it. They asked me what was going on; when I told them, they all jumped up as if they had just heard the first notes of the Hallelujah Chorus playing. "We'll push!" they volunteered and all trooped out of the back door at the TH.

Within 30 seconds or less - actually, JUST long enough for me to snap this picture - Josephine was free. No, no, they didn't want any thanks, they said; they were just happy they could be of service and that it all worked out.

However, Lisa, Mel-Mal, Ben and Erica - with Don tucked in between them! - you don't know what a re-charge you gave to my heart and to my day by your great kindness. 


  
Our paramedics are amazing. Three Hills is so blessed to have people of such calibre working and living among us.

But please, keep parking across the road when you come to the TH for your breaks ...

Hallelujah!

Saturday, December 28, 2013

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


    Current Conditions


    -18°C
    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

      Chance of flurries
      • 60%
      •  
      • -19°C

      Sat
      28 Dec

      Chance of flurries
      • 60%
      • -15°C
      •  

      Sun
      29 Dec

      Cloudy
      •  
      • -8°C
      • -21°C

      Mon
      30 Dec

      Chance of flurries
      • 60%
      • -12°C
      • -14°C

      Tue
      31 Dec

      A mix of sun and cloud
      •  
      • -7°C
      • -17°C

      Wed
      Jan

      Sunny
      •  
      • -4°C
      • -10°C

      Thu
      Jan

      A mix of sun and cloud
      •  
      • 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.

    Wednesday, December 4, 2013

    Breakfast With Brent


    I will never be a morning person, although most days I can steel myself to get up and at it when day breaks.

    But one day this semester it was easy for me to get going: I was meeting Brent for breakfast at the Belmont Diner - take one of my most favourite breakfast places and add in one of my most favourite people, and you have the perfect recipe for a wonderful morning!



    Who knew when I hired Brent so long ago that almost seven years later we would be sitting together over Cody Scramblers and coffee (I never could convince him of the merits of tea ...) and catching up on what had been going on in our lives?

    Who knew that that bashful teenager would turn into a fully fledged adult able to think for himself and able to tackle what life throws at him, both the tough and the tender?

    It hasn't been easy to achieve all that he has accomplished in these years. It's required single-minded dedication, discipline at a level we don't witness in many post-adolescents; a denying himself some of the many extracurricular activities that university life offers at every turn; and a determination to succeed in reaching his goals.

    And in all those tough areas, he has indeed more than succeeded. 

    Fortunately, there has always been in Brent a tender side too. He is part of Big Brothers / Big Sisters and every week he makes time for an elementary school kid who doesn't really know how to be a kid. Brent hangs out with him, plays games with him, and is generally the great big brother he's been to his own younger brother all these years. He also spends time with a senior citizen, going for coffee, listening to his stories. He's president of a mixed martial arts club. He runs marathons.

    And - best of all! - he's met his match in a wonderful woman who complements him, challenges him, encourages him and cares for him.



    The caption he has on this profile picture is "She's got it all" - and I would agree, because in addition to being more impressive, more endearing to me each time I've had the privilege of being in her company, I see how everything good she adds to his life, he brings back to hers.

    Happy 22nd birthday, child of my heart. My Dad's life's verse is the one I want to leave you with as you enter into your last semester of undergrad and prepare for the fresh challenges ahead:

    "Faithful is He who calls you, who also will do it." 1 Thessalonians 5:24 

    I am so very proud to be your friend.

    Monday, October 28, 2013

    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)

    Friday, October 18, 2013

    Burning bush


    I arrived at Dad's place on Sunday morning and was just about to head up his driveway when I was greeted by the most beautiful autumn sight I have seen this year:



    This exquisite bush was posting sentry to his residence. It seemed to me like it was telling me, "Slow down. Take a moment to be grateful for the beauty around you. And remember where you are - you are approaching holy ground."

    Sure enough, Dad was studying and meditating on the things of God when I went in ...

    And it reminded me of the night my Mum passed away. Just as she drew her last breath, my brother quietly started to sing: "We are standing on holy ground." Soon the room was awash with song as one by one we joined in, thanking God for a life well lived, recognizing the sacredness of that room in that moment.




    Tuesday, October 15, 2013

    Gold Standard


    This year for my birthday, you gave me a knife. "It's my favourite kitchen knife," you explained. "I wanted you to have one for the TH."

    And indeed, it has become the kitchen go-to piece of cutlery. It's perfectly weighted for my hand, and it can chop at lightning speed a pile of ginger root ...


    ... or it can settle in for the long haul, tackling with methodical precision enough turnips and sweet potatoes to feed 60+ people:

    It is so like you, Brian, to notice what is difficult for me and then try to mitigate it. You've always had that kind of insight into the inner workings of me, the core that is unexposed, for the most part, to mere cursory examination and interpretation.

    I think it's been that way almost since we first met as teenagers, both working for the town of Three Hills. You, preternaturally careful, thought before you spoke; I, impulsive to a fault, would blurt out what came to mind.

    Somehow we became friends. 

    Both of us went on to use sharp implements: you - always seeking to heal, to help, to restore - became a dentist.

    I discovered the power of the pen - both for ill and for good - and attempted to learn how to write.

    Thirty-four years later, with much water under the bridge, we both strive to rightly divide the word of truth, using what instruments we have in our respective reaches.

    And here you are, at 50, the gold standard for what a friend should be.

    You are balanced, fair, reasonable; you have a sense of humour and don't take yourself too seriously; you seek the highest good for others, sometimes to your own detriment.

    You love your family unequivocally, celebrating milestones and accomplishments with them as often as you can. As I write, you and your beautiful Viv are close to heading to the airport on a trip of a lifetime, a trip that celebrates what it means to have lived fifty years well. 

    You make time for what's of value. Thank you for making time for my Mum and Dad, for being with us as she slipped the bonds of her earthly home and went to be with God. Your presence and the words you spoke to me that day have been a source of great consolation over the past six years. Thank you for lending Dad your oximeter when we went to India - you suspected it would give him enormous reassurance, and it did.

    Thank you for showing up at the TH unexpectedly every now and then and lending a hand just when it is needed most.

    You have always been able to cut straight to the heart of the matter. I remember once, when I was planning a trip back to the States in 1989, you took me out for coffee and - looking me directly in the eyes - asked me if I was sure I knew what I was doing. You listened to me babbling away, and then in a few succinct sentences you laid out the reasons not to go.

    I went anyway. And you were right.

    You have always heard me; you take my dreams seriously. And because you have been listening with sympathy and without judgment for all these years, you are able to encourage me to be the best "me" I can be.

    As I've been ruminating on our friendship I turn to Mary Oliver, who knows a thing or two about friendship so comfortable which stands the test of time, and who can say everything so much better than ever I could: 

    I want to write something
    so simply
    about love
    or about pain
    that even
    as you are reading
    you feel it
    and as you read
    you keep feeling it
    and though it be my story
    it will be common,
    though it be singular
    it will be known to you
    so that by the end
    you will think—
    no, you will realize—
    that it was all the while
    yourself arranging the words,
    that it was all the time
    words that you yourself,
    out of your heart
    had been saying.

    And I want to say thank you for a friendship which endures through the vagaries and the vicissitudes of life. My own life would be so much less without you in it. Happy 50th birthday to the friend of my heart. 

    Here are Lyle Lovett and Randy Newman - two of my favourite singer-songwriters, singing one of my favourite songs:


    Sunday, October 6, 2013

    The Tru-man Event


    The September Event this year was last Friday, October 4 - my September schedule being so frenetic - and with Elliot. He chose to go to Kane's Harley Davidson Diner in Inglewood ...

















    ... followed by a trip to Recordland where you can choose three CDs for $25 - and where, when he chose an obscure jazz artist, the erudite, knowledgeable store assistant looked at him with deepening respect.


    On his first trip to Recordland!




















    The best part of the Event this month, as is true for most months and most Events, was the conversation. Elliot is discovering a new interest, and that is films. And - being Elliot - he doesn't merely watch the film; he digs deep, peeling back the layers to get to the core truth.

    This Event we talked mainly about one movie: The Truman Show.

    I have never seen this film; but now I know that I want to, and with Elliot and Elliot's Granny. Elliot quoted it, dissected it, elaborated on themes, alluded to the poignant passages - by the time he was finished, I felt almost as if I had watched TTS with him ...

    The thought of the for the most part happy, strangely vulnerable, Truman growing up unaware of his artificially maintained existence; the parallels between TTS and CS Lewis's The Screwtape Letters; the authenticity of life in general and of our own lives in particular, and what constitutes a "real" life anyway.


    How do we know what's real?

    This lovely boy, teetering on the cusp of manhood, and I didn't stop talking as we drove from place to place, as we ate, as we checked out the CD options, as we dashed through Costco, as I paused long enough to dump him unceremoniously off in his driveway because of my abbreviated time allotment for Superstore before picking Dad up to head home.

    We talked about how things change, how people move on - our grouchily dear Armand Cohen (who, in 1997 helped me catch the guys who broke into my apartment and stole a bunch of my stuff including my CD collection - but that's another story!), at 71 years old, had only three weeks earlier decided to retire from Recordland, leaving it in his sons' care - but how there is a thread of continuity, a measure of grace, to be found from birth through death and even beyond.

    As I thought about our time together, I realized that we, he and I both, like Truman, are tapping timorously against the blue screen of the boundaries of our lives; we are learning discernment; we are working out our own salvation.

    And in our season of change and thanksgiving, I am so very thankful that this wonderful young man, who is one of God's greatest gifts to my life, said to me as we skittered through the cars blocking the crosswalk, "I love our Events, Auntie K."

    Me too. And in case I don't see you later, good afternoon, good evening and good night!

    _________________________________

    Here's a clip of some of the final moments in The Truman Show:




    Thursday, October 3, 2013

    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:


     

    Thursday, September 19, 2013

    Perhaps Patricia


    At the beginning of 1959, just before my Dad was to set sail from Port Arthur, Texas, for Bombay, India, he stopped for a few days with his elder sister, Mary, who lived in Texas at the time.

    And he got to meet and know Mary's eldest child, Patricia. Patty.

    Dad forged a bond with Patty in that short time that remains to this day. As a matter of fact it's flitted through my mind, like a breeze through sheets hanging on a clothes line on a fragrant summer afternoon, that the warmth of Dad's affection for his little Patty predisposed him - a stranger in a strange land - to look toward a familiar name when he heard it, to look in the direction of another girl named Patricia, a girl with brown eyes and an enormous heart who would become his wife a couple of years later.

    My eldest cousin, Patty stayed with Dad for the last few days and was with us yesterday, the sixth anniversary of Mum's death.


    Eight yellow flowers growing on one stem ...







    Both our Patricias know what it is to suffer. Like Mum, Patty has undergone brutal treatment for cancer - and, also like Mum, her indomitable spirit and her deep strength of character have carried her through.

    Like Mum, Patty is warm and loving.

    She's quick and funny.

    She connects with people.

    She came along with Dad to the Manor on Tuesday and to our Wednesday TH Bible study yesterday - the actual anniversary of Mum's death. 

    Dad is guiding us through Paul's tiny letter to Philemon on Wednesday evenings - you'd think that it would take one study, right?! But Dad is revealing a wealth of meaning and such a source of challenge and comfort through this little book.

    This Wednesday he addressed three topics: Prayer, Human Nature, and The Providence of God, all as seen in the letter to Philemon.

    The providence of God has been defined by Henry C. Thiessen in his book Lectures in Systematic Theology:

    Etymologically, the word “providence” means foreseeing. From this basic
    idea has developed the meaning of providing for the future. But in theology
    the word has received a more specialized meaning. In this field, “providence”
    means that continuous activity of God whereby he makes all the events of
    the physical, mental, and moral realms work out his purpose, and this
    purpose is nothing short of the original design of God in creation. To be sure,
    evil has entered the universe, but it is not allowed to thwart God’s original,
    benevolent, wise, and holy purpose. [Emphasis added is the part Dad quoted.]

    (1989: Wm B Eerdmans Publishing Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan, p. 122 ff)


    Dad asked the question "If God is not the author of sin, how do we explain the horrible acts of sin if God is ruling over all? How is God related to [humankind's] sinful acts?"

    Providence, Dad went on to say, is manifest in four ways:

    Preventative Providence, where God restrains a person from the sin he or she is intending to commit: Genesis chapter 20 verse 6 is an example of this.

    Permissive Providence is where God sometimes permits sin to take its course: the book of Acts chapter 1 and verse 16, and Psalm 81 verse 12 is God telling how He let people go their own way.

    Directive Providence is where God allows evil to occur, but He directs the way it goes in order to accomplish His will: John 13:21-27 is the tragic vignette where Jesus tells Judas Iscariot to "do quickly" what he intends to do.

    Restrictive Providence reveals God determining the limits to which evil and its effects may go: the book of Job chapter 1 verse 12, and chapter 2 verse 6 shows God saying to Satan, "So far, but no further."

    In the letter to Philemon Paul is pleading with his friend for mercy to be extended to the latter's runaway slave, Onesimus. In the 15th verse Paul says, with great gentleness and insight, Perhaps he left you for a while so that he would return to you forever ...

    The word perhaps in Philemon opens the door to the doctrine of Providence, Dad commented.

    The other notable occasion the sense of this word is used is in the little book telling the story of Queen Esther: Esther chapter 4 and verse 14 gives us Mordecai, Esther's uncle, speaking to her fairly sternly regarding her responsibility to her people. "Who knows whether [Perhaps] you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?"

    There is more written in the Bible about the providence of God than about creation, Dad observed; and yet the word itself is never used. God cares about every aspect of our lives - if it's big enough for you to be concerned about, it's big enough for God to be concerned about. He has known us and cared about us from before we were born.

    As I sat across the room from my beautiful cousin, who had no idea when she planned her itinerary that she would be here on such a significant date to our part of the family, I thought of her and my arms entwined as we shed tears and supported each other in remembering our mothers at Mum's graveside. I thought of the songs we sang, BA, Dad, Patty and I, into the sting of cold air that held no victory that day. 

    For each one of us who has watched helplessly while a dream dies and we are left with a yawning hole stretched out before us, perhaps there is more to this story as we trace the providence of God working its mysterious way through our life? I think of my own life, of dreams that shattered or shifted last year and this one. Now, in hindsight, I can see the hand of God smoothing the way for me, guiding me in a new way, restoring my soul in ways I could not have imagined at the time.

    And I thought to myself, Perhaps Patty was with us on this particularly hard anniversary, both for us and for her?

    "Praise the Lord for the word perhaps ..." Dad ended.