Lake Lessons Like Life

Fay and I spent New Years Day by ourselves. Having had some friends over the night before and staying up until past midnight, I didn't feel a twinge of guilt in my conscience for sitting at the breakfast table at 9 o'clock instead of 7 a.m. In any case, it seemed to be the right time. Daylight had once again revealed the beauty of the winter landscape of mountains; tree limbs, covered with snow, gently moving as if rocking an infant in a cradle. The lake is covered with a solid blanket of ice.

As I sipped my coffee and looked onto Okanagan Lake, which from our perspective is less than 5 Kilometers long by about 2 km. wide and surrounded by mountains, a new thought came to me. I should say, ordinary common sense became profound wisdom. In reality the Okanagan Lake is over 100 kilometers long, but we can't see around the bend or over the mountains. So, the familiar cliche, a day at a time takes on a whole new meaning on the first day of the year. We don't know what's around the bend (tomorrow). Faith compels us to go there. Life's journey has many surprises but we will not necessarily know what they are until we get to the bend.

Table Talk

One of the most important items in any home is the kitchen table, especially at Christmas time.

In today's busy world it seems less important. We are rushing to meet all our appointments and often the kitchen becomes a fast-food drive through, stop at the kitchen bar or maybe grab a coffee to go in a travel mug.



Whether it is new, elegent, antique or simply four legs and a top, the actual value is the same, The latter describes the table I remember as a child in Saskatchewan. It matched the decore of our log house. The table is a symbol of what family is all about. That is where families come together in one group. And if anyone is missing in the house it will be noticed when an empty chair is discovered at the table. Everyone who sits at the table will interact on an equal level. Smaller children will sit on a high chair to bring them up to a level, which is equal to the biggest person at the table. The Table is where daily blessings are set out for all and shared according to their need. That is where thanksgiving is offered That is where conversation is engaged and opinions are exchanged.



I think of the table as a peaceful place. If anyone has a score to settle -- that can wait. After a meal together, the "score" may not seem that important.



May your table this Christmas be overflowing with good things and may your generous heart help some needy person to sit at your table.

Ring them bells

"Let's leave a little early tonight for the church Christmas banquet. And on our way I would like to stop at the shopping center," I said to my wife. There is usually a volunteer for the Salvation Army collecting money for the poor." I was angry and this offering would be a protest vote of sorts.



A week ago, the bells which the volunteers traditionally ring to attract passers-by had been silenced. This action followed complaints of some "scrooge" customers who claimed that the ringing of the bells was very annoying and offended customers. The Salvation Army willingly complied with the request of some shopping malls. Then the customers spoke. They said NO to no more bells. Let them ring. Its all about giving and giving is all about Christmas.



We parked our car at the shopping center and I spotted a bell ringer outside the liquor store. I normally would drop in a few coins. This time I folded my offering and pushed it through the slot in the kettle. And I said to the volunteer, "Keep those bells ringing." He smiled and said "Thank you."



I walked back to the car and said to my wife, "I should have said,

"Ring them bells

Ring them louder

Bring out the guitars

Bring out the horns and blow the trumpets

Bring out the whole orchestra and let this town know that if there is generosity in the hearts of the people, there will be no animosity in the streets and homes of our city."



"Blessed is he/she who considers the poor, the Lord will deliver him/her in time of trouble." Psalm 41:1



This could turn out to be the biggest global warming - of a different kind.

skin deep

I received a letter in the mail recently, which raised my curiosity. The letter bore no return address. Thinking that my curiosity would be satisfied as soon as I opened the letter, to my surprise there was no information inside the letter except the words, hand printed, "Walt, read it, it works. Then, as if this were a detective story where the murderer carelessly dropped a glove at the scene of the crime, there was the letter J. Hmmm, a glove? J? Could it be O. -- Nah. What it was was a full page of a newspaper ad promoting the virtues of wrinkle-free skin. I'm still curious and a bit annoyed. I am puzzled because I can't think of any acquaintance or relative who lives in California (the place of origin according to the post office stamp), who knows my latest mailing address perfectly and who cares so much for me that he/she would want me to have perfect wrinkle-free skin and then not want to be thanked for such revolutionary advise. Furthermore, I am insulted to have someone suggest to me that wrinkles are a curse. And then to insinuate that I would be better off if I got rid of something for which I worked hard for years to call my own, is an affront to my intellegence.

I think wrinkles are a thing of beauty. They are the cartoonist's subject of caricatures; the artist's favorite lines in a portrait. Haven't you seen the old wizened faces that have the skin of a rhinoceros in a photograph? Beauty may be only skin deep, the skin 0f a wrinkled face is deep. It's like a landscape that shows years of experience etched in every wrinkle. Look at the face with skin that is smooth like a billiard ball then add a few wrinkles and you have a character that has a story to tell. You're looking at history. Sadness and joy permanently exhibited. You see endurance, hard fought accomplishments, longevity.

There is one more thing to say about wrinkles -- they don't hurt.

The Tool Box

The crawl space of a house is not a very comfortable place to be in. Recently I was looking through some of the things we have stored in the crawl space. The word "stored" is perhaps too gentle, for it denotes an item or items of some value, which you are proteting, to be retrieved at some future date. Many of the items in our crawl space are simply stuffed or thrown in with a "good ridance" shove.

Recently I was inspecting the contents of various boxes in the crawl space when I sneezed and bumped my head on the floor joist. Cobwebs were draped over my face -- which was probably the reason for the sneezen. Then I spotted it, the old tool box. I had forgotten that I had put it there. I remember making it about 40 years ago. It was a simple rectangular box made of plywood. The box was made to carry a few basic carpenter tools such as a saw, a square, a hammer and a level and a few other FUT's (frequently used tools). It measured 2 feet long and about 8 inches deep and wide, carried by a 1 inch dowelling from end to end. I used that tool box at carpenter jobs I picked up from time to time. The extra income was needed to augmented our salary, which we received from pastoral ministry in small churches. Somehow I felt that carrying a tool box gave labor a little dignity.

Now I discovered the box in a very undignified place. I had to decide what to do with it. I don't need it anymore. Nobody else will want it because there are tool boxes, which are much better than this one. I could burn it. But I am far too sentimental to throw away something that has significance because of its link to the past. Some would call it collecting junk. I call it restoring usefulness. I'm cleaning the old tool box to be painted and it will become a flower box.

LESSON
Like the old tool box when I am not needed for what I used to do, I can still be what I should be...a container exuding beauty and fragrance.

Thankful

I have a friend who is 96 years young. He is in a care home and is almost blind. His hearing is good and his mind is sharp. He used to be an avid golfer and when I told him a week ago that our local golf course was open, he smiled and said, barely above a whisper, "A hole in one, a hole in one." So I played my first game of the season. Maybe I should say I was stepping off the distance from tee to t(r)ee. The next day the course was covered with a blanket of snow. It was a short season.

Getting back to Frank. In a way I envy Frank. I can't say that I would like to take his place in the care home where he needs help for every little task. But Frank has a healthy attitude. Since I have known him, his reply to: "How are you?" has always been, "Thankful" I believe that is an attitude which can get us through a lot of pot holes in life's journey.

Just for fun I wrote 3 lines of a simple rhyme and asked a group of seniors to make up words for a 4th line. Here it is - try it.
The seasons are winter, fall summer and spring.
There's beauty in each to behold,
We don't know the myst'ry that each season may bring.
[ ]

My friend Bill

It is three years ago this week that my friend Bill Friesen was tragically killed while clearing land on the site where he was planning to build their new home. Bill and I had not seen each other very often in recent years, but I alwlays called him my best friend. Bill was a man of integrity. He was honest, compassionate, faithful and wise. Bill was the kind of a man that is needed to make this world a good place. But he is gone. Why?

The mysteries of life cannot always be explained by doctrine, but they must always be accepted by faith. The will be understood in eternity.

Seasons

From my desk I have a clear view of beautiful Okanagan Lake, which is really an extention of our front yard. As I'm writing a coyote is crcossing the lake. It's March 3rd. Usually by this time of the year he would have to swim, however, winter is staying around a little longer than normally.

Seasons come and go. They are nothing more or less than opportunities to enjoy and accomplish different things in life. Sometimes when a season lingers longer than expected we long for change. And if a season comes sooner than anticipated we could be unprepaired. Here is my point (from a modern translation of the Bible "God's Word) "We can't allow ourselves to get tired of living the right way. Certainly, each of us will receive everlasting life at the proper time, if we don't give up. Whenever we have the opportunity, we have to do what is good for everyone..." Galatians 6:9

CUP OF LIFE

THE CUP OF LIFE
If the fortunes of life were held in a cup, for some it would spill over while others would go thirsty. For B.C Lions football players last Sunday (yesterday), drinking champagne from the Gray Cup was the sweetest taste. After the final play and the Lions enjoying a score of 25 -14 over the Montreal Allouettes, the players couldn’t wait to get their hands on the coveted cup. And when they did get their turn they didn’t sip, they guzzled, allowing the frothy contents to spill over their bearded faces. I’m sure they would have loved to swim in it. One player was maxed out in his emotions. He expressed his feelings this way; “I don’t even know how to be that happy, it doesn’t get any better than this

As I think about this the day after the game, which by the way, in my opinion, turned out just the way it was supposed to, I remember that we don’t all drink out of the same cup nor do we drink the same drink Some people’s cup is half empty while others, more creative, look at their life in terms of a cup that is always half full. For many individuals life is like a broken goblet, which can never be refilled. For some, life’s cup is overflowing with wealth and popularity; while nearby I see a hand with an empty tin cup begging for mercy. One Man in history who had everything going for Him. His cup was filled with a bright future, with power and wealth that no one could match. He passed it by. Then he came to a cup that was very bitter. It contained all the evil and wickedness that has ever been practiced by human beings on this planet. He pushed it aside saying He couldn’t drink what was in that cup. It would kill Him. But if He would drink it , it would expunge all the evil in people’s hearts if they would believe that He did it for them.
He drank all of it. Thank you Jesus for the beautiful cup filled with blessings. It’s truly a trophy of your love and grace.

A time to remember

This story written by my wife Fay, is a true account. It's a bit long for a blog, but it is worth the time to read it. First have your tissue box handy.

A TIME TO REMEMBER
November 11, 1943, Armistice Day, as it was called, took on a new meaning for me, a very personal one.

The service preceding the ceremonies at the cenotaph was always held in the largest church in town. As I sat on the hard, cold pew among the school children, I had mixed emotions. I felt proud and patriotic and yet sad and fearful.

Our class was part of the school choir, which was to sing the hymn, “Land of Hope and Glory.” We had practiced for a few weeks and I was quite sure of the words. If I did happen to forget some, there were others who would know them.

Yes, I was filled with Hope, hope that this war would soon end.

My father who was in the army had been away from home for over three years and only came for short visits, “leaves,” which seemed too far apart for me.

All seven uncles on my mother’s side of the family had joined either the army or the airforce. Now they were far across the ocean in some foreign county. Maybe they were fighting in a battle at this very moment.

Fear welled up from deep within me, and it just wouldn’t go away. I wondered would my dad be sent overseas and would the rest of my uncles come home again?

My thoughts were interrupted when it was announced that the choir would sing. This was followed by the poem, “In Flander’s Fields,” recited by a grade eight student. After a short message from the pastor of the church the rest of the ceremony took place outside at the town cenotaph, which was near the church. This was the part of the ceremony I liked best, when the men who had been in World War I, led the parade behind the pipe band. I suppose it was the music that caught my attention. Also I was impressed with the way these older men kept time to the beat of the drum. They proudly wore their medals on their chest as they took their place before the cenotaph. I was glad that I had something to display – a poppy, which I had bought with my own money. I had pinned it on my lapel.

The majority of people in the crowd who had gathered on the chilly November day were women and children. Most of the strong and healthy men were in one of the armed forces; but there were those who were needed at home, such as teachers, doctors, store keepers and farmers who tilled the land to produce food for the people.
Then the bugler took his place on the steps of the cenotaph and raised his instrument. Somber notes of the Last Post filled the air, making the gray sky seem even darker. This was followed with two minutes of silence. This was a time to remember the men who had left home and had died on a foreign battlefield.

As I bowed my head, I gathered my coat closer around me. The cold air reached not only my body but chilled me inside. I remembered the face of a young man whose smile was contagious and his dark sparkling eyes held a hint of mischief. I felt warm tears on my cold cheeks as my mind went back to that dreadful day in February, some nine months ago.

My Grandmother had come to stay with us for a while so that mother, who had been ill could take a needed rest.

It was late afternoon on that cold February day. My brothers were busy with chores; filling the wood box and making sure there was a good supply of coal. Meanwhile I was warming myself by the heater, a favorite spot of mine on a cold day. I knew by the aroma coming from the kitchen that Grandma was there and by the sound of scraping metal, that she was stirring one of her hearty soups as it simmered on the stove.

I heard the crunch of heavy footsteps on the snow covered porch – then a firm knock on the door. I left my place of comfort and opened the door. There stood our minister from the little Nazarene church, with a police officer beside him. Our minister asked if my grandmother, Mrs. Muirhead was in.

“Yes she is,” I replied.

As they stepped on the mat and closed the door behind them the cold air pushed back the warmth in the room. Instinctively I knew that this was not a social visit that our minister was making. I went to tell Grandma that she was wanted at the door. I shall never forget the look of confusion and fear in Grandma’s eyes as she looked at our minister and then at the police officer.

Our minister stepped forward and gently took grandma by the arm and led her to the sofa. The officer seated himself on a chair nearby and cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Muirhead, it is my duty to give you this message from the War Office.” He said as he unfolded a yellow paper and read aloud these words.

“I regret to inform you that on February 19, 1943 Flight Sargent, Donald Harvey Muirhead was killed while serving his King and Country. Details will follow. With kind regards. The Minister of War.”

Grandma sat in stunned silence for a minute or two as the words penetrated her mind. Her clear blue eyes filled with tears and her slender shoulders began to shake. Our kind minister put his arm around her as if she were his own mother.

Momentarily Grandma seemed paralyzed with shock and grief. Then she lifted her tear stained face, straightened her shoulders and said, “If one of my sons had to be taken I guess it is best that it was my youngest son, as he didn’t have a wife and children to leave behind.”

Before our minister left he read one of Grandma’s favorite portions of Scripture, Psalm 46 which begins: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in the time of trouble. Therefore will we not fear though the earth be removed and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.” Then he prayed that God would comfort and give strength to her in this hour of trial.

Grandma seemed to have gained some of her composure and thanked our minister for his prayer. After the minister and officer left Grandma retreated to her bedroom for a while.

My brothers and I poured some soup into our bowls. Usually we had hearty appetites, but tonight we could only get a few spoonfuls down then pushed our bowls away. Later I made a cup of tea and carried it to Grandma, hoping that it would warm and comfort her.

That evening Grandma gathered her thoughts and courage. She put aside her own need for rest and explained to my brothers who had been outside when the news came that our uncle “Mickey”, as he was known to us, was killed in a plane crash and would not be coming home when the war was over.

It was hard for us to realize that this strong, handsome young uncle would not be coming to visit us any more. I remembered one of his favorite tricks when he came to visit us. He would reach out his hand and offer a stick of gum then quickly pull it back and say. “Guess in which hand the gum is.” We thought a lot of all our uncles but Uncle Mickey was special. Maybe it was because we knew him better than the others. Or was it that he made us the center of attention when he came?

Grandma and I shared a bedroom. That night after we had said our prayers and crawled under the covers, I lay still for some time, trying not to disturb Grandma. In the stillness of the night I heard Grandma’s muffled sobs as once again grief overtook her. I snuggled closer to her, hoping to help take away some of the loneliness, which she felt. This was the beginning of many nights when I would wake to hear my dear Grandma softly crying.

Although grandma was proud of her sons yet war was repulsive to her gentle spirit. Grandma was invited by the Prime Minister of Canada to attend a reception in Regina in her honor for being the mother who had the most sons (seven) from one family in Canada who were serving their country in the armed forces. She was reluctant to attend in case someone might think that she thought war was glorious.
It was her nightly prayer that God would keep her sons and that none of them would be personally responsible for taking another man’s life or that they would hold hatred in their heart.

It was somewhat of a comfort to Grandma when she later learned that my uncle had been killed while on a training mission and not in actual combat.

At the end of the war the rest of my uncles and my Dad returned home. Some of them had body wounds that eventually healed; but the wounds which did the most damage were the ones to their spirit. Not only did they suffer; but also some of their families suffered lasting effects from the long separation. War cost not only in military equipment but also in human relationships.

Grandma looked forward to the day as the scripture says, “And they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation neither shall they learn war anymore. Isaiah 2:4


This was written to let my grandchildren know how I experienced the affects of war and to help them appreciate a land of peace and the cost of freedom.

Fay Reimer

I think this a beautiful story. Fay has done an excellent job of putting it together. May the memory of war be just that - a memory.

60 minutes

Yesterday we turned our clocks back one hour. This has to be a procrastinator's dream -- to be able to turn the clock back and get an extra 60 minutes to do what should have been done an hour ago. Of course we pay it back in spring.

What is one hour of time worth and how significant is it?

In one hour one can go 100 Kilometers down the highway, which would in most cases reach the next city. One hour could be spent with a friend over coffee. In one hour the financial picture of the world could change dramatically. In one hour you could watch a boxinga match or play a game of Scrabble. (the two are not related). In one hour you could read the newspaper or play nine holes of golf. Some would call that wasted time. They would rather spend 12 hours in a boat, dangling a fishing line. That has never been my game. I'm convinced that time has no value of its own -- we give it value by how we spend it. We spend it in different ways.

Time is the facilitator for our actions. Time is like a silent messenger that never stops. It passes by like a shadow.
Here is my thought for today.

Only hours before Jesus was crucified He suffered in prayer, as a precurser to the Cross. His disciples, however, had fallen asleep. He asked them a very poignant question. Matthew 26:40, "Could you not watch with me ONE HOUR?"

nostalgia

 

nostalgia

Fay and I recently spent a week in the northern part of our province (or should I say in the central interior) - Prince George. P.G. is a growing city with a population approaching 100,000. We celebrated Thanksgiving with several members of our family.

While in Prince George we took a trip down memory lane and visited the train museum. I'm really not a railway buff, but it was for us the only way to travel from Prince George to Penny, which was 70 miles away. A penny in your pocket is a piece of metal almost worthless; Penny as a community was to us, 51 years ago, a community of several hundred people with whom we had the privelge to share the message of God's love and grace.

Back to the museum. The Penny railway station just as it was a half century ago is now sitting in the train museum. That was the coolest exhibit. We saw the station agent's living quarters with the usual furniture in the living room and the bedroom The coffee pot on the stove was a reminder of the need for the Agent to be awake day or night as trains arrived and departed. We smelled the old wood and the old typwriter and in our minds we heard the dot-dot-dash-dot of the Morse Code being tapped out. Also we "heard" the lonesome whistle of the steam engine; the swwoooosssh of the escaping steam as the engine came to a halt; the clunk, clunk as each coupling that joined the train compacted. On our way out I spotted, in the souvenire department, a piece of wood measuring about 10 inches long and 1 1/2 inches square with notches at one end. I bought it for $12.00 to amuse my friends -- It's a whistle that very accurately mimics the old steam engine whistle. Ladies you should buy this, it would wake your man any time of the day or night.

If I can do this I'll post a picture.

My story

About eight years ago I set out to write my autobiography. Three years later I published a 250 page illustrated book - the title of the book, "Boots & Bibles". As a pastor of small country churches I was sure that notoriety would not follow me for the rest of my life. However I felt that in order to preserve the accounts of my life, which in many ways are similar to pastoral ministry regardless of the size of the community lived in, I needed to put my story into print. It was by far my greatest writing challenge. I believed that the stories would be interesting enough to hold the attention of the reader. I have been assured that that has been so. I am very grateful. "Boots and Bibles" is an easy read written with a touch of humor, romance, poetry and pictures.

I should say that I come from a very large family --I am the youngest of 16. That could be my second book. Let me see...I could call it

Family Planning -- Lots!

or Ten, and a half dozen

or Sweaty socks in the soup and other homestead humor

By the way if anyone reading this and can identify with a large family (10 plus) I would be interested in hearing from you. email me waltreimer@shaw.ca

God has been and is very good to us.

Morning mist

It's a cool late summer day -- the first day of frost.

Morning Mist

Before the sun breaks through the cool morning air

There hangs a fog above the lake.

Like ghosts that have no life yet moving constantly.

Changing shape as I stare.

One cannot tell, to look into the mist,

Whether sea or sky

'Til I see a flock of geese,

Not flying but swimming by.

Beauty, 'tis not always clear to see.

If color is the only thing that stirs ones fantasy.

But in the morning mist -- though a mystery,

There's a calm, peace and serenity.

52 years

In a few days (Sept. 6) we, my wife Fay and I, will be marking our 52nd wedding anniversary. From the day we first kissed until today life has been heaven on earth. How is that for a big lie on a Sunday morning? Maybe it's not a lie because marriage is "made in Heaven" but it is always played out on earth. Marriage will never fail because of poor planning in heaven, but it fails because of poor practice on earth.

Here is my chance to tell the world that I have a wonderful wife. Fay has been my greatest inspiration. She has been my best friend. She has never put me down, she has forgiven me for my failures, she has loved me unconditionally. She prays for me (and gives me freedom to golf whenever I want---most times).
Those qualities have a sticker that says "made in Heaven"

Thank you Dear for loving me. When I feel like the old sway-back horse that grazes in the pasture across the road by himself all day you make me feel like the eagles that nested within sight of our home. Thank you for bearing our four children: Dale, Kerry, Maureen and Elaine and feeding them a healthy diet of meat and vegetables along with mental challenges of understanding the higher values of life -- about knowing God and serving Him.

I don't know who is going to read this, but I'm not ashamed to say it.
I LOVE YOU!!

To play again

HARLEY MADE IT. I didn't think he would survive to tell about it. I was sure that he had gone to check out the greens on another "golf course" when I saw him lying on the grass just after he had teed off on the 3rd tee-box. I hope Harley will play again. More importantly, I hope that before he takes his last swing with his golf club here on earth, he will have booked a tee-time for a celestial "game."

It's a busy week for a retired preacher. On Monday I conducted a funeral for an 85 year old lady. On Saturday I will officiate at the wedding of the grandson of the 85 year old lady. On Sunday I will preach at Cherryville -- the church we had the privilege to pastor for 9 years.

Thanks Heather Cyr for mentioning my book on your blog. And thanks for the very kind things you said about me.

A better game than Harley's

I should really call this blog "fore" or "putt, putt" or "slice" or whatever would more accurately describe my frequent comments about the game of golf the way I play it.

Yesterday morning I was on the golf course with my son. He and I each had a friend with us. The golf course was not crowded and everyone moved at a steady pace. We were just coming up on #4 fairway, which runs parallet to the 2nd and 3rd, both par 3's, when we heard someone yell. "Has anyone got a cell phone?"

I have golfed with a lot of people, but I don't recall ever golfing with Harley. It looks like I never will golf with Harley. Harley was laying flat on his back on the ground and his buddies were making efforts to resuscitate him. In about 10 minutes the ambulance arrived to take Harley away. (to be continued)

Maxims

Summer time finds me most mornings on the golf course - early. I prefer to play with someone, but not everyone is willing to tee off at 6:00 a.m. This morning we will be attending a worship service at our home church. I must remind myself that alphabetically God comes before Golf. That must be true when we take that out of it's alphabetical setting.

Max Lucado, a favorite author, writes in his book entitled "When God calls your name," a chapter about maxims. The word ''maxim" is defined as a brief statement of a general principle; truth or rule of conduct. Lacardo says: "I believe in brevity. Cut the fat and keep the fact. Give us words to chew on not words to wade through. Thoughts that spark, not lines that drag. More periods. Fewer commas."

Here are a few lines of wisdom from the book.
"Greed I've often regretted, Generosity - never."
"Pursue forgiveness, not innocence"
"Don't as God to do what you want. Ask God to do what is right."
"Know answered prayer when you see it, and don't give up when you don't"

KNOT NOT FOR NAUGHT

I love anniversaries. Fay & I are going to Penticton today to join our daughter, Maureen and her husband, David in the celebration of their 25th wedding anniversary, which was Aug. 1.

I remember the day when I as pastor of the church in Hope, which they attended, I had the honor and the privilege of tying the matrimonial knot. That same week 25 years ago Prince Charles of Great Britain had married Dianna who then became Princess Dianna. The whole world heard about the Royal Wedding. Unfortunately Charles and Dianna's relationship became estranged as husband and wife and the "knot" that tied them together slipped and they divorced.

What the world didn't hear was that a young couple in the little town of Hope, British Columbia, Canada exchanged their vows of love and commitment. So today I'm going public. CONGRATULATIONS, to David, you hansom prince. When life has not always been bliss it has always been blessed. Continue to build your castle with love and faithfulness. Maureen, you charming princess, when life for you wasn't fair it was always fun. You bring the music of the soul into the palace. So dance with your prince through dark days as well as bright days. Remember the cord that tied you together was made of unbreakable material called unconditional love.

Bppp..rrrr..ooom!!

I went to a car racing show last night. I had declined my son, Dale's, invited several times previously. So when he offered to pay for my entrance fee I accepted.

It was my first time at a live car racing event. It captured my attention for over 2 hours and it had some surprises for me. Not surprising was the deafening noise of the cars speeding past our vantage point at each lap around the track. The smell of exhause fumes mixed with the smells of crunched metal and spilled flueds was nauseous to the point of tasting it. The sight was frightening. To involve all my senses I could say that the feeling was gripping as the cars crashed against the wall in excruciating pain. "It's all right," Dale said. "They are not even bringing in the medical people."

I was surprised at the behavor of the spectators. I had expected outburst of unruly demonstrations of approval or disapproval. After all this is an emotional high speed sport. On our way home I commented to Dale, "I actually enjoyed that." I think he was surprised.

How do you link this to God? Probably you could find many points of analogy. Just let me say this. I'm going to attend a church service this morning to settle my nerves. Why don't you find a place of worship...the experience may surprise you..

The Dash Between the Dates

Elsa is 93 years old and she has only one prayer. "Lord take me home." And she has only one unanswered question that matters to her and that is, "Lord why don't you take me home?" Somehow we are not familiar with, nor are we comfortable in agreeing to that kind of prayer. I'm not sure that we would feel the same way if a person died while praying for them as when, from death's door, they suddenly spring back to life. From visiting Elsa in a home for elderly women we went to the hospital's maternity ward.



So it was with a different sense of purpose for our prayer. The day before we had visited Tatiyanna, who at that time was very distraught because one of her twin girls, born on Friday was not breathing on her own, and required a specialist to fly in from Vancouver. We prayed that life would be sustained and fully developed. On our second visit yesterday we received better news. Little Isabella was improving. Hopefully it will be a prayer that will be answered. I wondered, "what is in store for Isabella should she live to the age of 93?" Someone else will record that chapter. Consider Psalm 103:15-18

489 and counting

The man who was the founder of an organization called Burden Bearers, which is an organization that will help people who have scrwed up their life too many times to be trusted, had this personalized license plate on his car. "7 x 70". Jesus, the master teacher recommended that equation as a formula for peace. See Matthew 18:21 & 22. Here is my thought that is worth thinking about.


When we have LOVE THAT IS UNCONDITIONAL

And grant to others GRACE WHICH IS UNMERRITED

It is posssible to extend FORGIVENESS, UNLIMITED

Then RELATIONSHIPS ARE UNBREAKABLE.

Mentors from another kingdom

In the book of Proverbs an unusual role model of wisdom is presented. Proverbs 6:6. "Go to the ant, you sluggard, consider her ways and be wise."
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We fought to eliminate the ants that appeared in our kitchen every spring. We found them stuck in the honey, surrounding a piece of fruit on the counter, drowned in a glass of juice and generally a big nuisance. One day our neighbor gave us an "ant stick", which we smeared along the ant's suspected path of entry. The result is - no more ants.
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I always thought that the ant was a part of the curse placed on mankind, along with mosquitoes and thistles. My question to the ant wouldd be; where do you get away with claiming some kind of divine right for youer exisetence - then to receive an endorsement from the writer of the book of wisdom, as our mentor? But I'm afraid to ask the ant lest I am really considered to be an idiot. So I'll ask the creator of the ant.
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God why did you make the ant? To this God has already stated a reason in the book of Proverbs, that is, to teach us a lesson about the folly of laziness. Citing the ant as a diligent provider the author reminds us that that is a mark of wisdom. In the animal kingdom we call it instinct, (in this case I suppose antstinct would do). Doing what is logical and proper is a sign of wisdom. There are many other things that the ant can teach us like cooperation, committment, endurance, timing. It also teaches us the importance of little things. I guess what the author of Proverbs is saying is, "If you think you are so smart, take a look at a tiny creature and learn some valuable lessons.
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Okey ants, I'll give you that - but STAY OUT OF OUR KITCHEN!

cool it

We knew it would be another hot summer day in the Okanagan. So we were looking forward to the Sunday morning church service in a refreshing air-conditioned building. We were met by a deacon of the church in the parking lot. He was visibly in some kind of a crisis, frantically gesturing the effects of the heat. We soon discovered that it wasn't the heat outside, it was inside. "The power is off," he said. "I came down yesterday to make sure that the air-conditioning was properly working. We have checked all the breakers and they are all on, we can't find the problem. Do you know anything about it.

Soon a group of "experts" were looking for the problem and offering tips while looking through a maze of wires installed a half century ago by volunteer labor. There were murmering of discontentment among the ad hauk commitrtee. Comments were heard; "It will have to be a shorter service." "People will fall asleep in church. One person was heard to say, "I'm not coming back to this church if it doesn't have air-conditioning." I wondered if the pastor had anything to do with this. Did he conspire with the janitor and jinx the system. Was this going to be one of his illustrated sermons? Let me guess. "If you think it's hot up here - don't 'go to hell.'" Romans 6:23

The service commenced with the deacon offering a disclaimer. Half way in the service the poweer came on and the deacon interupte the service and explained that the hydro service people had arrived and found a dead crow at the bottom of as power pole. It doesn't take much to interrupt your journey of life.

gratitude

Yesterday Fay and I visited Frank. Frank is 95 years of age. He calls us children and we are not offended coming from a man who is nearly a quarter century older than we are. Frank is now in a care facility. He is almost blind and gets around very slowly with the aid of a walker. However his mind is clear and his wisdom is sharp. There are many reasons people may give for longevity, but I think Frank has discovered the key and has use it constantly. When you ask Frank, "how are you?" Frank will most likely reply with one word - "thankfull"

Frank was a successful potatoe farmer at one time and took the title of potatoe king of Canada. He was an avid golfer. Can you imagine a farmer being a golfer? Born in Poland he came to this country as a young man, bringing his skills with him. He also brought an attitude of gratitude. At 95 Frank is ready to meet his Maker. He has finished his chores so why hang around on this planet. Maybe if for no other reason it is to teach the rest of us compassion and patience toward the needs of others. How about this gem of wisdom from Ephesians 4:32. "Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one anotheer just as Christ also forgave you.

eagleeye

I wouldn't call myself a bird watcher, I just watch birds. From the smallest song bird to the great preditors of the sky, birds each in their own unique habitat are such clear evidence of a Creator. So call me a bird watcher. More specifically an eager eagle observer. On the back steps of our home I have the binnoculars mounted on a make shift tripod and focused on an Eagle's nest with a family of Mom & Dad and to babies. They are probably looking at me without binnoculars. For several weeks now I have observed their daily routine, which is actually quite boring at times as they sit in or on the edge of their nest for hours. They are finally learning the use of their wings and flying several feet off their nest. Since I can't talk eagle dialect I can only wonder. Are they afraid of height at first? Does the mother worry about her babies safety? Will they survive on their own? Of course the Eagle will survive - he is the monarch of the sky. I will update my observation in the days ahead.

The prophet Isaiah wrote about the weariness of human life. Then he gave the analogy of an eagle soaring as it takes flight far above the landscape, in a figure of speach to talk about God's buoyant strength over life's struggles. Check it out Isaiah 40:28-31.

G-0-L-F

The game of golf is not everybody's cup of tee. Some would call it downright silly, pointless; chasing a little white (color optional) ball all over a grassy field. Personally, the game had always intrigued me, but I never swung a golf club until I was in my late 40's. You might say that I was in my mid-life crisis. Since then I have learned a few valuable lessons.

Golf is a healthy sport that one can pursue longer than most sports. The game provides opportunities for developing new friendships, which leads to conversations among fellow golfers, which are totally boring to non-golfers. It brings out the human tendancy to stretch the truth - in this case shrink the truth - swing the club five time, yell fore and write three on your score card. There are endless excuses most golfers have in their vocabulary, for example: "It didn't break", "I pulled (pushed) it", "It's a fast green." This, however is not to be taken too seriously. The quicker you go in the hole the more succesfull you will be."
I love to golf with my neighbor, Dave and I love to golf with my sons, Dale and Kerry and my sons-in-law Mike and David. Yesterday I golfed with my neighbor AND my boys. Life doesn't get much better. Appendix: I have lived with Parkinson's disease for over 10 years. Things we take for granted become huge accomplishments in life. My ambition is to share some of my experiences with readers of my blog and if somehow they sound familiar I welcome your comments.

The Master painter

This is Canada Day and the beauty of our country is always an inspiration to burst out in poetry

GOD'S GALLERY

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An artist dips his brush

To draw a line and mark the scene,

'Twil be the outline of a Thrush,

Or rolling hills of summer green.

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His work of skill will be displayed

For all who love to see,

The prize for which a price they paid

In a famous gallery

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The Master Painter comes each morn,

With brushes and varied hues,

Upon His easel paints again

The reds, yellows and the blues.

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Each day mountains are not new

But always painted differently.

One day they're crowned in royal blue

The next time shrouded in secrecy.

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Just yesterday the sky was clear and blue,

It framed the sun, which sparkled on the dew

But while all were sleeping in the night,

He etched a cloud in shades of white.

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To pay for this we'd be denied

The price for merely a glimpse to see,

But who could be more satisfied

Than those who visit God's gallery.

Thank you Dr. Rev.

I received an email from my friend Rev. Les Holdcroft. CeeTec Publishing a few days ago. Dr. Holdcroft is one of those people who just keeps on ticking long after retirement. Les (as I call him and get away with it) is a former Bible college president and the author of several books. There are many things I could say about him, but the outstanding quality of this man is that he is a cheerleader. He said he would follow my blogging with interest -- Wow! What can I teach an old college professor? Please bear with me as I feel like a new kid on the blo(ck)g.

poem, in memory of

In my collection of poetry I have many poems, which are written for special occasions and special people. I suppose that is true for most poetry. Poetry, I believe is a form of inspiration that has interpretation for all who read it. The following was written in memory of an avid fisherman.

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A FISHERMAN'S HARBOR

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A working man is who I saw,

When tales he told of younger years

His body strong with arms like steel

He wrestled men midst rousing cheers

~

A fisherman's heart - he searched the coves.

The inlets, lakes and streams

In waters rough, in waters slow,

His hands too tough to let the big ones go.

~

Of hooks and lures he learned the craft

He fashioned flys with finesse

Then passed his skill to other folk

Those who would follow aft.

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He loved his home, he built it well,

Oh - not with wood and stone.

But love and care that are the steps

Which make a building - home

~

For 50 years he lived among us

He labored with the best

In idle times he carved in wood

His skills were never loss.
All the while with perfect hands,

God carved for him The Cross.