Living in the Ark

Now I am into Genesis...where it all began. Chapter six - The Story of Noah.
Many expeditions have been made to prove or disprove the existence of the great flood. To the skeptics, it is a fairy tale, a joke, a silly impossible story.
It's so unbelievably unreal, that it is natural to doubt its' validity.

I choose to accept the biblical account as true. But I can't help but ponder.....hmm.

How did the animals know when to start walking, flying or slithering towards the ark?
Was Noah's wife a good mother-in-law?
How many pairs of species came on board?
What did the family eat? How did they cook?
Where and how did they dispose of sewage and waste?
Where did they go for peace & quiet?
Did they rest on the Sabbath?
Was Noah's family in full agreement with the plan?
Where did they store all the food for the animals?
Did they get seasick?
Where or how did they get water to wash or drink?
How many clothes did they pack?
Did animals try to eat each other?
What was the temperature in the Ark?
What did they use for lighting?
How could they keep their sanity, confined for 150 days till land was dry
enough to disembark?
Did they ever doubt God?

I imagine and I wonder.

Revelation

The biblical writer, John, calls his book "Revelation", and what a revelation it is! The imagery and descriptions of the visions he saw are so bizarre and "out of this world".

I would not be at all surprised if todays script writers of modern science fiction/ animated monstor movies have taken ideas from this book.
I must confess that Revelation is not my favorite. It has always left me with a confused, eerie, uneasy feeling. But this time I am reading it in the contemporary language of "The Message".

Like a great finale to a fireworks show, Peterson writes...."The Bible ends with a flourish; vision and song, doom and deliverance, terror and triumph. The rush of color and sound, image and energy, leaves us reeling. But if we persist through the initial confusion and read, we begin to pick up the rhythms, realize the connections, and find ourselves enlisted as participants in a multidimensional act of Christian worship."

Hearing a good choir sing the Hallelujah Chorus gives me tingles all over. This morning I really got that feeling reading the following words in chapter five. What a picture of worship!

"I looked again. I heard a company of Angels around the Throne, the Animals, and the Elders---ten thousand times ten thousand their number, thousand after thousand after thousand in full song: THE SLAIN LAMB IS WORTHY! TAKE THE POWER, THE WEALTH, THE WISDOM, THE STRENGTH! TAKE THE HONOR, THE GLORY, THE BLESSING!

Then even more joined the singing...can you imagine! Every creature in Heaven and earth, in underworld and sea...all voices in all places.

TO THE ONE ON THE THRONE! TO THE LAMB! THE BLESSING, THE HONOR, THE GLORY, THE STRENGTH, FOR AGE AFTER AGE AFTER AGE.

YES!

About Dancing

I watched an elderly, smiling couple waltzing across the ballroom floor...a perfect romantic picture of sychronized movement and rhythm.

Since my husband and I grew up in an environment where dancing was considered evil, forbidden and frowned upon, we never learned how.

Yes, we have tried, but our stilted, awkward movements usually result in a comedy act rather than an activity of grace and enjoyment.

One night we were dining with friends at a fancy restaurant. We were enjoying the live entertainment of a trio and band. They offered to do special requests for the guests. Since this was our 40th anniversary, I asked them to please sing, "The Rose", one of my husbands favorites.

After a few songs, the singer spoke into the speaker, "And now we'd like to do a special request for John & Esther, who are celebrating their 40th anniversary, and we ask them to take the dance floor at this time."

Well, my husband gave me this shocked, "no way" look. But they were waiting for us, so I said, "We have to do it." I dragged him onto the floor, and said,"Just follow me, wiggle your hips and smile."

I laughed through the whole song as they sang all the verses and repeated the chorus. John was not enjoying this experience at all. He kept saying, "I never knew this song was so long." I got a fit of giggles and laughed through the whole thing. I guess it looked like we were having fun because later in the evening, a gentleman even came to our table and said, "Why don't you dance again. I really enjoyed watching you." Too funny.

When dancing with a partner, it works best if one person knows where he/she is going and is allowed to lead and the other follows.

A few days ago I got this interesting article from a friend, called "Dancing with God".

It focused on the word Guidance which contains the word dance. The first letter G reminds us of God, followed by "u" and "i".

God, you and I dance. God, you and I dance. (interesting observation)

These thoughts came to mind. If I just allow God to lead, the dance can be beautiful because he knows the steps.

Some days our dancing is very awkward because I want to lead, sometimes it is slow and quiet because I am sad or tired. Other days the dance is happy, light and free.... some days He just carries me.

Reminds me of the beautiful song, "Lord of the Dance", but we'll leave that one for another time.

Christmas Day Dinner

It was a different Christmas because our family met on the 23rd. What a wonderful time we had! The little ones had been counting the "sleeps" before they could open the presents that were stashed under Grammies tree. After dinner, it was precious to watch our six year-old granddaughter bring nativity characters to life as the old story was read.

Our Family Christmas Day was over! Now what?
So we enjoyed visits with people who did not have family nearby and brought leftover turkey and trimmings to a sick neighbour.

Looking beyond my comfortable home and space, I see so much hurt, need and pain.
God, please forgive my blinded eyes.
Scripture encourages us not to forget the needy, widows and orphans.

My cousins, Don & Diane, are orphans and have often been forgotten. Their father died when they were very small. Their mother, my aunt, was a hard worker and tried as best she could to raise them, but I am ashamed to say, she did not get much help and support from her extended family. Her parenting consisted of much shouting, slapping, verbal and physical abuse. She remarried which added many other negative family dynamics. This second husband died very suddenly and now they were on their own again. A few years later, she also passed away.

Diane had back/spine surgery and has had difficulty finding a job. She was married, has one daughter, but her marriage ended in divorce. Her common-law husband of ten years, just passed away very suddenly, and she was devastated, so I helped her plan a memorial service for him. Even though she is not physically strong, I admire her amazing strength and courage.

Don was married for ten years, but his wife left him. He has asperger syndrome, which makes him very nervous, agitated, impulsive and exasperating. Constant ridicule and some childhood sexual abuse has left him with bouts of depression and emotional scars. He has worked as a restaurant dishwasher for 25 years. Since they both don't drive, commuting from the city to visit relatives is difficult, therefore many times they have been left out or forgotten.
Their social circle is small. Both are trying to trust God for their future and struggle to "keep the faith" inspite of lifes disappointments and hurts.


On Christmas Day, my husband and I packed up a dinner, picked up Diane, went to Don's cluttered apartment and shared a meal with them. He excitedly tried to clean his kitchen (no running water at the kitchen sink) and prepared mashed potatoes and "well-charred ham".

He kept giving me gifts from his hoarded stash of collectibles. "Here, I want you to have this"......a turquoise necklace and earrings, an old CD, a wooden goose, a silver chain, etc. etc. Over and over we heard, "You are my favorite cousins, I love you."


Needless to say, it was a most memorable,unforgettable Christmas dinner.

ONLY ONE ORANGE

When the boxes of Japanese/Mandarin oranges appear in our stores, we know Christmas is nearing. This reminds me of a poignant story.

Ten boys lived in a small orphanage. It was their only home, a roof over their heads, their only family. The house rules were strict; each lad knew his duties and paid careful mind to obey the rules. Food was meager and carefully rationed, especially fresh fruit.
The boys' very favorite highlight of their drearisome life was Christmas and the greatest treat of all was that on Christmas morning every boy got one orange.

The day before Christmas, Harry was working in the yard, but neglected to clean his boots upon entering the house, tracking mud onto the front hall carpet. The angry headmaster meted out immediate punishment. "No orange for you tomorrow morning!"
At dawn, while his friends enjoyed their delicious fruit, the dejected lad wept bitterly as he lay on his cot till evening. All year he had waited for this one orange. The other lads had kept their distance for fear that he would beg a taste of theirs. At evening he knelt in the darkness, on the cold hard floor beside his bed, trying to say his prayers, but words wouldn't come, only moans and tears of disappointment and hurt.

Suddenly he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder and a soft lump was placed in his hand. Hesitatingly, he began to unwrap the crunched paper and in it were orange peels, carefully taped together in the shape of a ball. He started to nibble at the tart, bitter pieces. As they fell apart, inside were nine orange pieces.
Each boy had given up one small delicious segment, just for him.

I hope this ORANGE story will be a reminder to share from our abundance with those who have so little.

Time really Flies

My apologies for not contributing to this blog for a long period of time.



My husband reached his three score and ten, so had a big party with more than eighty people coming by to help him celebrate this milestone. We are very thankful for his good health and zest for life.



Two days from now, my first grandaughter is getting married, so needless to say, we have been in wedding planning mode for the last several months. Seems like just a few years ago when I held that tiny little bundle in my arms and now she is walking down the aisle to share her life with the man she loves.

I have done flowers for many, many brides, but this is most exciting to design beautiful bouquets in her favorite colors of pink and blue, so I must get busy.



So no theological rhetoric today, but as I am working with flowers, my mind and heart are filled with many emotions, hopes, and dreams for them. I hold them up in prayer to my heavenly father who loves them even more than I do.

The Prairies

We just returned from a wonderful trip to Winnipeg.

There is something beautiful about the wide open prairies. Even though I was only 3 years old when my parents moved from Saskatchewan, my roots are there. So I feel a connection and a bit of nostalgia sweeps over me whenever we pass through, but I would not want to live there.

The BIG skydome covering the vast flat land conjures up feelings of awe and wonder and loneliness. A simple, fresh earthiness prevades. The huge fields of wheat, canola, rye and sunflowers speak of endless hours of hard toil and labor. Dusty little towns look hauntingly sad. There is an unforgiving harshness in the sweltering heat and in the never-ending strong wind that blows sand and snow over the plains.

We saw many abandoned, weathered old buildings such as this one. I wonder what kind of stories this old house could tell?

In the 1930's and 1940's my grandparents and many of my kin experienced unbelievable hardships on this land.
As we travelled the straight endless highway, two such instances came to mind.

On a beautiful winter day, my aunt and her daughter set out to visit their neighbours. They travelled over the snow in a horse-drawn caboose (like a boler trailer on skis). During their visit, they noticed storm clouds forming and decided to head for home. The drifting snow became so blinding that they lost their way. The next morning they were discovered only a short distance from their home, both frozen to death. In my mother's old family album is a little black & white snapshot of them both lying in a home-made coffin. How incredibly sad.

My grandparents, with ten children, travelled on foot from Manitoba to Saskatchewan. A team of horses pulled a wagon with their milk cow in tow. The children took turns walking and riding. At night, Grandma and the girls slept under the wagon part that was canvas covered, while Grandpa and the boys slept under the wagon. After endless miles, a wagon wheel broke. They were tired, discouraged, and alone. With no one in sight, little money, and little food they felt overwhelming despair.
In their distress, they cried out to God for help. They waited..........
As the young boys were walking down the road, kicking stones, a sudden gust of wind blew across their path. Amongst the dust and leaves was a small piece of paper. Imagine their amazement when they realized it was a ten dollar bill. I wish I could have been there to witness the family's rejoicing over this miracle that God had sent. Now they had money to get the wheel fixed!

Over the years they experienced many other hardships on the prairies, but this happening always reminded them that God is faithful.