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Fun is something you make

11 tips for family road trips

*****

“Bored” is a curse word in our house. Say that word, and my mom is liable to wash your mouth out with soap.

Because here’s the thing: boredom is just a socially acceptable word for ingratitude, for being discontent with the things God gives us. Your kids have plenty of toys and activities to occupy themselves, so why are they coming to you looking for something to do?

Maybe it’s because we tend to think the toys are the ones doing all the work, the ones keeping kids from getting bored, when in reality, the child is the one bringing the fun. As with everything else, this is a heart issue. This is an attitude that needs changing.

And that is all well and good if you are in your home, surrounded by possibilities during a normal day. But let’s say you’re in a situation where you literally have nothing to do, like waiting in the waiting room of the hospital, or driving six long hours to visit relatives, or standing in a long line at the grocery store. How do you teach them to occupy themselves? How do you ban boredom from your family?

It is fair to say that my family and I have done a lot of driving. We have always been the one family that is farther away from relatives, from town, from church, and from practically everything, so we have had to learn how to pass the time well!

It bears repeating, so I’ll say again that with the tips and suggestions I have for you the key to the success of all remains gratitude. Without gratitude, without recognizing that God has given you the exact moment you are in and equipped you to delight in it, you are waiting for the game to entertain you, which almost always end in boredom. But if you enter everything with gratitude, it’s like sitting with your hands outstretched, just waiting for God to bless you with that present you know you’re getting. And the gift is ten times better when received in thankfulness.

With that said, here is a list of things that have helped my siblings and me numerous times.

Would you rather?
A simple game where one player makes up two scenarios, and each of you say aloud which you would rather do if given the choice. Questions can be as wild or as ridiculous as can be! Encourage the players to explain the pros and cons of each situation, and the hows and whys.

I have played this very recently, and my brother gave the following scenario: “Would you rather be on the very top of a skyscraper, or below the earth approximately the same height as the skyscraper?” Personally, I’d choose the skyscraper, because there’s no oxygen the deeper into the dirt you go, but my brother was assuming there would be air. See how many digressions there can be within one topic?

Rock, paper, scissors
A classic that is highly underrated! Play multiple rounds high speed, and your kids will dissolve into giggles. (Maybe it’s only me...)

We have learned a trick to the game from watching YouTuber Mark Rober: You have rock, paper and scissors in a row in your head. Let’s say you start with rock. If you win with rock, you move to right, which would be paper. If you win with paper, you continue with scissors. Now, if you lost with rock, you go to the left, which would mean you would play scissors. If you lose with scissors, you play paper. This is a tested strategy by Mark Rober that, if followed, will help you win a disproportionate percentage of time. But if you want to have plain fun without all the technical junk, just play the game as you normally would. It’s still fun either way.

20 questions
Definitely a go-to for us, because each person comes up with the weirdest things to think about! Each person has 20 questions to ask the one who has the topic in their head. If I’m thinking about spiders, well, you have 20 questions to find that out. No cheating! No giving hints!

And make your topic as clear as possible. I once picked oblivion as a topic, and my siblings were infuriated because they couldn’t figure it out. It’s literally nothingness! You can’t guess that! (Which is why I chose it.)

Make everything a competition
I cannot begin to relate how many things my siblings and I turned into a competition! Who can leave their bare hand on the icy car window the longest? Who can hold their water bottle at arm’s length the longest? Who can make the silliest face? Who can hold their breath the longest? And the list goes on! (All of those examples are real competitions that have been hosted in our van on long drives, and all too recently. I participated in them all. In fact, I came up with them. Mad skills, anyone?)

Buggy Fingers
What an odd name for such a simple game that can be played anywhere, because everybody I know possesses fingers! Many long hospital stays granted us ample opportunity to play Buggy Fingers. You stick your pointer finger out, and this becomes the head and face of “Buggy,” while the rest of the fingers on that hand act as the legs. Now, the original character, made by my father, was named Artie, and Artie would eat everything in sight, but finding it inedible, would spit it out and grunt, “Needs salt.” The future generations of Artie broadened their horizons, and tales were spun surrounding these little misbehaving fingers.

Stuffed animal adventures
Grab those stuffed animals, because you’ll be needing them here. My older sister and I would place our stuffed animals on the ledge of the windowsill of the car, and pretend they were on a motorcycle. The motorcycle would travel along the scenery that rushed past our windows. Was Kitty Cat about to collide with a barbed wire fence? Well, for pity’s sake, JUMP! Once you were over that obstacle, you might have to navigate through a field of smelly cows, and end up on the other side without getting caught by the farmer. So many stories and exciting adventures are at your fingertips here!

Sing hymns
My whole family loves to sing around the piano, and in fact our parents are trained musicians, so a love for singing runs deep in our veins. We enjoy bringing our church hymnal, the Cantus Christi, into the car, and singing in harmony to the various hymns selected, especially the 4-part melodies. It is much like caroling, but not in winter. And not to an audience. So feel free to warble your way through a song. We won’t laugh.

Count cars
Who hasn’t done this, seriously? My brother is an avid vehicle enthusiast, and he and my little sister began counting how many Teslas they would see on any given drive, because we live in the Seattle area, and Teslas seem to be popular there. There were so many Teslas, we soon got tired of counting them, so we have now moved on to cool and unusual cars, as well as vintage vehicles.

Make landmarks
We have driven across Washington State many, many times, and we have come to recognize familiar landmarks along the way. There’s the lonely tractor that’s always sitting at the base of a hill; there’s the bicycle that is parked by a street sign; there’s the company that Grandpa used to work for years ago, before we were born; there’s the blue bridge with the American flag mounted on it; there’s the train yard, where we count how many trains’ lights are on. I have such happy memories of those drives, and the excitement of searching for the “landmarks.”

Make traditions
As a child, my older sister and I were forever going to the children’s hospital in Seattle, and those doctor trips were depressing and no fun in and of themselves, but we made the time fun. There are a couple of tunnels you have to drive through on your way to that specific hospital, and my sister and I, as soon as we entered the tunnel, would suck in our breaths and hold them until the car emerged out the other side. Of course, Dad would slow down on purpose and see how purple he could make our faces by the time we finally could draw a breath.

Another tradition we had was ducking under tunnels, overhead signs, and traffic signals. To signify this, we would shout “Duck!” To signal that it was clear, we would shout “Peacock!”

The point is, make your own fun. With a bit of prodding, and a dreary situation to be placed in, you can come up with a lot of great games and memories that will be treasured for decades, and will hopefully help you survive those long relentless hours with nothing to do.

Count it all joy

I’ll say again, how much fun your kids have with these will depend largely on the gratitude they bring. They might not like you for reminding them of this, but they should take even boredom as an opportunity for joy, like the Apostle James says in James 1:2;

“My brethren, count it all joy, when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.”

God has given you so many gifts; you just have to use them.

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Write down your story

Sharing your history is sharing His story ...things that we have heard and known, that our fathers have told us. We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the LORD, and His might, and the wonders that He has done. – Psalm 78:3-4. ***** There are half a dozen people in my group of older friends who have written their autobiography, or who are working on completing their life story in print. When someone commented “you should write some of those stories down” they responded! And that they did has benefits for both themselves and their children. How so? Writing might seem an artform slowly losing ground in a world of emoticons and AI-written essays. Fortunately, for some people, writing is still a joy to do, and an even greater pleasure to read again later. Young people who keep a daily journal can attest to this (except perhaps on their wedding day, when someone roasts them with readings from their journal pages). Words are like pictures in that they tend to bring back memories; good and bad. We can enjoy our own writing. And others’ words can place you in the shoes of someone dear to you. Imagine reading a story that your grandpa or grandma wrote many years ago. It helps you to understand who they are, and how they lived their life in those days, and perhaps even why they are the way they are. Writing history 37 years of Bram Vegter’s extended family’s chronicles, bound in some 15 volumes, there for children and grandchildren to enjoy Writing your family history doesn’t need to be a solitary effort. My Dutch family members started publishing our own chronicles in 1987 and kept it going (monthly, and later bi-monthly) until 2024. It was kept “in-house” which enabled us to write freely and openly, and we did. These 37 years of chronicles, which are bound in some 15 volumes (!), are wonderful to browse through and relive all the weddings, birth announcements, vacations, highlights and low points in the lives of my family members. These many years also cover the time when computers and phones were introduced, and you can imagine how things changed because of these and other incoming electronic devices. You can see the changes as you turn the pages, from the old typewriter font to a variety of new typefaces we could select from, and from photocopies to email. The printing press invented anew! Now the grandchildren browse through the pages and are elated when they find the page where their birth was being announced with joy! “Look Mom – this is when I was born!” And Mom looks at a relieved and tired face in a bed… with a tiny newborn on her tummy. Your story If you don’t have a family chronicle, you can take up the quill yourself. It takes just one to start. And the writing you do for your autobiography is your story. How and where it began. Someone who is reading your story sixty years later lives in quite a different era. To read about your younger years and how things were then, will partly explain who you are now! Your story can be so fascinating and encouraging for others who may not have lived close to you, or perhaps even lived in a different country. Different times, different settings, even a different church maybe. You may tell how it was when you were growing up, and these are beautiful word pictures for your descendants. “The times, they are a-changing” Bob Dylan sang years ago, and he wasn’t wrong. This is what makes a time capsule, in the form of an autobiography, so interesting. Some Vegter Dutch relations showing off their just-received copy of Bram’s own autobiography, Overdrive. And there is much to write about: your family, your siblings, your friends, your church activities, your school, your neighborhood, what it was like growing up there. And then of course, what you did after your studies: where you worked, or where you traveled to, what kind of things held your interest. And for those who got married, how did you meet your better half? Explain to readers yet to be born how that went, and what has the “I do” meant to you before your spouse, and before God? We often say so little about that, and these can be fascinating, fun and encouraging stories. Especially for a new generation growing up in a time when marriage is becoming less common. Then you probably want to write a bit about what you have done in life, how you have filled your time with work, perhaps some volunteer work and hobbies. Many of these move to the background as you get older, but they were once front and center in your life! They kept you occupied, and (grand)children want to read about them. What made you tick? His story! Ultimately, whatever you write will be His story, as God has put together your life. In the beginning, when you were just getting started, it was perhaps a bit of a puzzle; maybe you had trouble seeing where He had you heading, and how all the pieces would fit in. Often later in life you recognize God’s hand more and more, and you begin to see how His plans for you came together… though when the picture of your life will be complete, only God knows. It is so beautiful to pass on to (grand)children what you have gone through, how you trusted God in uncertain times, and how God often gave more than He promised you. His goodness, His grace, and His faithfulness are often more fully understood later in life, so your story can encourage younger people still figuring it out. It is also good to relate some of the foolish things you did when you were young, and how God forgives the sins of our youth (Ps. 25:7). Often, when people become older, they tend to reminisce and look back on their life. They may regret some of the things they did when they were young. Be honest about that (without sharing all the details) and tell your children you were once (and still are) far from perfect. Then rejoice together in God’s love and forgiveness! In these days, it has also become much easier to share information with each other. Many families now share a WhatsApp account to regularly keep in touch with each other. This is beautiful, but it misses the rich spiritual heritage of the past. There is still nothing like really writing to help you reflect and remember. I want to end with the first Bible verse I ever wrote on a card to a friend. It is from Proverbs 3:6 and it says: “In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.” God was there, also in my early teens. May we acknowledge Him, even to our children’s children! So, start your Word doc today, 8.5x11 will be just fine. Write your story down – for your family....

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Don’t follow your heart

When it comes to finding true happiness, do the opposite of what culture says ***** Making the happiness crisis in America even worse, especially for young people, are completely wrong diagnoses. What’s needed to increase happiness is not more money, more stuff, or more “authenticity.” As Dr. Thaddeus Williams explains in his book Don’t Follow Your Heart, at the root of our problem is the terrible advice about how to achieve happiness that’s been repeated across our culture for over a decade now. Here’s Dr. Williams to explain: “For years my children and I have played a game together called Spot the Lie. If they can identify a false idea in whatever we happen to be watching, they earn one dollar. When she was nine years old, my daughter Holland (‘Dutch’ for short) came cheerfully bounding down the stairs, saying, ‘You owe me another dollar!’ ‘What did you find this time, Dutch?’ ‘The commercial told me I should follow my heart,’ she answered. ‘Okay, so where’s the lie?’ I asked. Her answer, and I recall it verbatim, was, ‘Daddy, I don’t want to follow my own heart. My heart is fallen. I’d way rather follow God’s heart.’ Cue the proud daddy tears. Let’s just say she earned five dollars for that one. “Some may think, What a shame—he’s indoctrinating that poor girl. The opposite is true. I’m trying to make a heretic out of her. I want her to question and ultimately rebel against the doctrines of our day. According to Barna, 84% of Americans believe the ‘highest goal of life is to enjoy it as much as possible,’ 86% believe that to be fulfilled requires you to ‘pursue the things you desire most,’ while 91% affirm that ‘the best way to find yourself is by looking within yourself.’ It was Apple cofounder, black turtleneck enthusiast, and former Pixar chairman Steve Jobs who publicly declared, ‘There is no reason not to follow your heart.’ “Let’s resist the propaganda of expressive individualism of our day and answer the late Steve Jobs with four good reasons not to follow our hearts. “First, our hearts are too dull. Validating our every feeling might be exhilarating at first. Yet we end up as what David Foster Wallace called ‘lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation.’ Looking inside our hearts does not give us limitless freedom so much as a bad case of claustrophobia. Don’t get me wrong, I have no doubt that our hearts are fascinating. But compared with following the heart of God, our hearts hold all the thrill of a prison cell. “Second, our hearts are too dithering. The Greek philosopher Heraclitus famously said one never steps in the same river twice because it is always flowing. Our hearts, too, are in constant flux. Some hearts may be as turbulent as the Ganges in monsoon season, and others move like molasses on a cold day, but all human hearts are in motion. What God says is true about his image bearers is infinitely more trustworthy than whatever our fallen feelings say from one moment to the next. If we don’t want to end up in a chronic identity crisis, we shouldn’t take our flowing feelings at their word; take God at His. His joyous verdict about us is trustworthy and solid as stone. “Third, our hearts are too divided. In The Abolition of Man, C. S. Lewis said, 'Telling us to obey Instinct is like telling us to obey people. People say different things: so do instincts. … Each instinct, if you listen to it, will claim to be gratified at the expense of all the rest.' Even Buddy Pine, the supervillain Syndrome from The Incredibles, gets the point. 'You always say, "Be true to yourself,’" Pine complains to his former idol, Mr. Incredible, 'but you never say which part of yourself to be true to!' “Fourth, our hearts are too depraved. The call to automatic obedience makes sense only if we follow Rousseau in his dogma that 'there is no original perversity in the human heart,' or Joel Osteen in his teaching that the 'heart is right.' The Bible offers us a humbling dose of realism. Jeremiah said, 'The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?' Ecclesiastes tells us, 'The hearts of the children of man are full of evil, and madness is in their hearts while they live.' Given the sickness and insanity of our hearts, Proverbs 28:26 draws the blunt but correct conclusion: 'One who trusts in his own heart is a fool.' “Want to be miserable? Follow your dull, dithering, divided, and depraved heart. Want to find real joy? Take the wise advice of a 9-year-old, and follow God’s heart instead.” Dr. Thaddeus Williams is a professor at Biola University and author of numerous books on theology and culture, including Don’t Follow Your Heart and Revering God. For more resources to live like a Christian in this cultural moment, go to Breakpoint.org. This is reprinted with permission from the Colson Center....

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How to write

…for Reformed Perspective ***** Everyone has at least one article in them – I’m convinced that’s true. It doesn’t matter who I’m talking to, they all have a story, some lesson, a piece of wisdom earned or received, that is so valuable they should feel obligated to share it with the rest of us (Ps. 71:17-18). Sure, we aren’t all writers, and yes, there are other ways of telling “the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord” (Ps. 78:4b). Sharing can happen via chats at church, over coffee, or in the car with the kids. Maybe you can start your own podcast – that could be brilliant too. But there is something about putting pen to paper and just pondering, what has the Lord been teaching me? And if it’s something you’d share with your spouse, friends, or kids, then couldn’t a few thousand others benefit too? You don’t even have to be the writer to get it down on paper – one of my favorite Reformed Perspective articles is Alice Kuik’s World War II remembrance “War through the eyes of a child,” as told to her writer friend Jane DeGlint. Together they crafted something that should be read every single Remembrance Day. The point is, we all have our God to glorify, and we all have a story to share, and pulling out your laptop and typing away might be a really good way of doing both. But what if you’ve never written much of anything before? Well, then you’re like the new homeowner who has to figure out for the first time how to get your shower draining like it should. There’s nothing to it but to start, turn to whatever advisors you might have at hand (“Hey dad, have you ever…?”), ask YouTube and ChatGPT for a few tips too, and then slog through until something works. Yes, there are master plumbers out there who could do it better, and master writers too – folks who can just churn out poetic, punchy stuff – but for the rest of us, it is just a matter of putting in the sweat and time. And I’m here to help too. While I can’t make it easy, I can make it easier. What follows are my own best tips, the same half dozen I’ve been sharing with aspiring writers, and repeating to myself every time I’ve run stuck, these last 25 years. I’m not sure I like the acronym (so if you think up an alternative let me know) but I’m going to run with it – let’s see if we can get your writing to pass the SMELLS test. 1) Specific detail (or, Show, don’t tell) If I told you that Wes Huff is a witty Christian apologist, you’d have to take my word for it. But what if I showed you? In his recent appearance on The Joe Rogan Experience, Huff explained why it’s not enough to respect Jesus as a great teacher: “I have a friend, Andy Bannister. He’s out in the UK, and he says if you take Christ out of Christian, all you’re left with is Ian. And Ian’s a great guy but he’s not going to save you from your sins.” Now, instead of just taking my word for it, you’re a witness – this guy is funny. Specific details like this key quote help a writer to show, rather than tell. Specific details that liven up your writing could include pertinent statistics (so long as it isn’t just dry data), on-the-ground facts, setting-the-scene descriptions, and the right biblical text. The key here is specificity. The difference between an insightful blog post read by only dozens and an insightful article read by thousands can come down to whether the writer is talking in generalities, or whether he is willing to dig up specific examples and illustrations and facts and figures. So, it’s one thing to say abortion is devastating and another thing entirely to say that it may account for 52% of all deaths worldwide. It’s one thing to say we are facing a demographic crisis, and another to explain, as Mark Penninga recently did, that “if we look at Italy, in just 30 years it is projected that 60 percent of Italians will have no brothers, no sisters, no cousins, no aunts, and no uncles.” It’s specific details that catch our attention and drive home the truth. 2) Murder your darlings In her latest book, Upheld, Christine Farenhorst remembers when her husband Anco was taking classes in veterinary school, and they were thankful for folks who’d take compassion on their poor student status and invite them over. The Pots were an example, but “rather impoverished themselves.” So when Mrs. Pot offered her a pastry, Christine was grateful for the treat. But after a few bites, she was horrified to discover her pastry was full of mold. Should she say something? The elderly woman was quite delighted with her own piece: “Isn’t it good? I’ll bet you haven’t eaten anything like this for a long time!” “Mrs. Pot beamed at me again and a patch of sunlight caught a faded spot of the carpet. I knew she considered both Anco and myself underfed, and had taken great pains to buy something special for us.” And so, Christine ate it all down as quickly as she could, and when asked whether she’d like another piece, she “croaked a trifle hoarsely” that no, she did not, “but it was delicious.” “ appeared very pleased with the comment, and I knew that my statement, strange as it sounded to my stomach, was Gospel truth to my heart.” I love this exchange, and since reading it I’ve wanted to use it in an article about how Christians’ love of the truth needs to be better understood. The point I want to make is that it would be no lie for a high school boys’ basketball team to identify as girls for one particular game against that team – the one with the “girl” with the 5 o’clock shadow who’s been dominating the women’s league. In trouncing that team, our boys would be highlighting the truth that men are not, and cannot become, women. I wanted to use Christine’s story because here too, a lie is no lie at all – the cake was both disgusting and also delicious; stomach-churning, and heart-warming all the same. But try as I might, I can’t make Christine’s story fit smoothly. It is a fantastic story, but to include it and explain its relevance will only complicate things, distracting from my point, rather than illustrating it. And so, for my purposes, I need to cut it (though in Christine’s book, it is perfectly placed). This is what G.K. Chesterton meant when he said “Murder your darlings” (or was it Faulkner?). Every line and paragraph in your piece has to advance your plot or argument. If it doesn’t, it can’t matter how much you like that passage – how well written it is, or how funny – it needs to go. So yes, you must be able to “murder” your favorite lines, paragraphs, and examples. 3) Evocative God’s Word is evocative – He calls us to not only hear, but to live out what He’s told us (Matt. 7:24-27; James 1:22-25). That’s what we want in RP articles too – there needs to be a call to action. The reader should not, once the conclusion is consumed, be able to simply file this away for information. We are trying to pass along wisdom, not just knowledge, so an article has to evoke a response: it needs to become wisdom used. 4) Lead (or lede) line The most important sentence in your article is the first one, with the second almost as much so – if you don’t grab readers right from the start, flipping the page is really easy to do. That’s why your lead line and lead paragraph have to start things off with a bang and it’s also why I spend the bulk of my editing time on just the first few lines of each article. What’s the key to a good lead? A question can draw a reader in – here are examples from the last couple issues: • How do you buy a house when you are 19? • Want to reduce your chances of being depressed? A pithy quote (both, again, from last issue) can also be a strong start: • “How we see is who we be.” – a wise pirate • “The public school has become a counter-church” – Abraham Kuyper And a solid standby is to begin with an anecdote – pull us in with a story. But while there are all sorts of tricks, it’s really about effort. Flip through a few RP issues and study how each article begins, and jot down the openers you like best. Then figure out what you liked about them. Grab a Christian Renewal or your local paper, pull up your news feed, and start collecting the best beginnings. Learn by just opening your eyes to the writing you are reading every day. 5) Less is more Blaise Pascal quipped this apology in one of his articles: “I have made this longer than usual because I have not had time to make it shorter." Brevity takes time, but it’s key to readability. If you could have said it in two pages but take four, you either won’t get your article accepted in the first place, or your double-stuffed piece will get half the readership it might otherwise have. So a key to good writing is to be a good editor who can cut away all the fluff and confusion. Fortunately, if you are a reader (as every writer should be), you have all the makings for being a pretty decent editor – you can already tell when something is wordy, confusing, or repetitive. So get your first draft down, put it away for a week, and then with fresh eyes get to cutting, cutting, and more cutting. 6) So and but, not and Not all your paragraphs should begin with “so” or “but” – that would get repetitive fast –but it’d be good if it was at least possible. These are transitional words that show there’s a tight linkage from one paragraph to the next. In contrast, if you could only begin a paragraph with “and,” it would indicate that this paragraph isn’t all that connected to what came before it. You can test that out on this article, and here are some sentences that illustrate the same point: • I ordered a chicken burger and an egg salad so I could see which came first. • I tried to write a joke about procrastination but I never got around to it. With “so” and “but” the second part of the sentence is responding to the first. We end up with what’s basically a very short story, and that’s great because stories are great. But substitute the word “and” in either case and you just have a series of unrelated events. I ordered a chicken burger, and I ordered an egg salad, and I could see which came first. If that’s how your article sounds, you need to work on your transitions, tightening up your story or argument so it’s clear how it flows from one paragraph to the next. Conclusion This SMELLS Test is just a half dozen tips that should be taken for the helpful suggestions they are intended to be, and not as some sort of unbreakable rules. Shucks, sometimes these tips conflict. For example, in writing up Tip #2, I wanted to use some “specific detail” to “show rather than just tell” what it would look like to have to “murder your darlings.” All that showing meant it became one of my longer tips, ignoring Tip #5, that “Less is more.” However, in this case I judged that more was more. Some of these tips are more important than others, and #3 is a big one, so I don’t want to end without issuing my own “evocative” call to action. So, how about it? Will you seriously consider writing for RP? Yes, not everyone is a writer… but it sure does seem like we’re all storytellers, and that’s almost the same thing. If you’ve got a story you’ve just had to share with all your kids or grandkids, or if you’ve been sharing business tips or marriage, parenting, mentoring, and general life lessons, how about sharing them with a few thousand more? If God has gifted you a lesson, pass it on. We’re not all writers… but that doesn’t mean we can’t be. ***** You can send your queries or articles to [email protected] and I’ll try to get back to you within two business days. If you want to dig deeper into the topic of writing as a Christian, you can’t go wrong buying a copy of Marvin Olasky’s “Reforming Journalism,” which offers all sorts of thoughts and lessons. For more tips in a much shorter format, see ReformedPerspective.ca/write-for-RP....

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Life in bloom: The gift of flowers

“Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” - Luke 12:27 When God created the first humans, He placed them in a garden. So it’s natural enough that, since then, people have not only cultivated plants for practical reasons (food, medicine, clothing), but have delighted in the beauty of plants and flowers. Our love of flowers seems to be built into our DNA. In a sense, a garden is our natural habitat. I was reading an article recently about all the ways flowers are good for us (which include lowering stress, improving mood, and boosting memory and concentration). The article quoted from a 2005 Rutgers University study that investigated why exactly humans have the seemingly innate positive relationship with flowers that they do – which is, after all, hard to explain from an evolutionary perspective. I was struck by how the researchers (with their evolutionary assumptions) seemed baffled as they summarized their findings: “For more than 5000 years, people have cultivated flowers although there is no known reward for this costly behavior.... There is little existing theory in any discipline that explains the findings. We suggest that cultivated flowers are rewarding because they have evolved to rapidly induce positive emotions in humans...” But what baffles evolutionists simply delights Christians, teaching us about our Creator. Surely our love for flowers points us to a God who made the world more extravagantly beautiful than it had to be, a God Who takes pleasure in His creation and invites His image-bearers to do the same. Surely flowers are one of His good gifts to humanity – a gift with many different facets. Flowers are good for us Flowers do more than bring us passing joy; their impact can go much deeper, offering benefits in a variety of ways. Mental, emotional, and physical benefits As the Rutgers study, among others, found, flowers are good for people – mentally, emotionally, and even physically. The positive response of humans to flowers seems to be universal, crossing age and gender lines, and going beyond cultural associations with flowers (for example, the idea of flowers as gifts representing affection or gratitude). As the Rutgers study summarized it, “The presence of flowers triggers happy emotions, heightens feelings of life satisfaction and affects social behavior in a positive manner far beyond what is normally believed.” Exposure to nature in general, and to flowers in particular, can contribute to many health benefits. Even the simple presence of a vase of flowers has been shown to reduce stress and increase wellbeing in studies of college-age women, male office workers, and hospital patients. Other research in multiple settings has shown that the activity of flower arranging can lower blood pressure and heart rate, and decrease stress, in participants (including the elderly and those struggling with mental health issues). Theresa Brouwer and Christine VanEerde, sisters who own a flower shop in Fergus, Ontario (and who happen to be my cousins), wouldn’t be surprised by the results of these studies. “Being in the floral industry can be quite therapeutic,” they told me. “We get to be creative and expressive using God’s creation. To be busy with one’s hands, creating floral designs, is a great way to spend one’s day.” The sisters agreed that flowers generally bring a lot of joy to their customers as well. “People typically leave the shop with flowers in hand and a smile on their face. Flowers tend to bring joy all around – whether it be the joy of giving them, or receiving them. To be able to assist others in ‘making their day’ is quite rewarding." John and Margaret Helder at Muttart Conservatory, where John served as director for many years. Horticultural therapy John Helder is a horticulturalist with many years' experiences working as both the long-serving director of Edmonton’s Muttart Conservatory and greenhouses, and as the city’s Principal of Horticulture. He and his wife, Margaret, a botanist, appreciate flowers both personally and professionally. Their beautifully planted front and back yards bring smiles to the faces of many passersby; and John has seen first-hand the far-reaching benefits of flowers in his work. “At Muttart , opportunity is provided for people to be exposed to and enjoy the beauty of plants of God’s creation. Many people come to relax and to be spiritually or emotionally refreshed in such a beautiful, calm setting.” His work with the city of Edmonton also involved working with plants for social improvement. “As Edmonton’s Principal of Horticulture, I worked with community beautification, school plantings, community gardens. Some projects were with various social agencies whose clients were helped through their volunteering in horticulture (planting and caring for floral beds) and using their activities for horticultural therapy.” “Horticultural therapy” was a new term for me, and I was fascinated to learn more about it. This type of therapy is generally designed for people with physical limitations, mental illness, or other particular challenges. Working with plants can stimulate, engage, and bring joy and satisfaction, as well as give opportunities for beneficial socialization. John described his work in helping establish community gardens and community planters in several low-income, troubled areas of the city. Over time he witnessed both personal and social growth for those who participated. Residents began to take pride in their neighborhood, interact more, and even support each other more (in one case by developing a cooperative babysitting service) as they built relationships and trust while working together. Community gardening was a catalyst with many ripple effects, providing “a non-threatening environment start to interact, socialize and counter their loneliness and grow as people.” John also told me about a member of his church who lives at a seniors’ home which started making planters available for residents’ use. “A number of people now gather at the planters and chat, interact and enjoy the growing or just observing and enjoying each other’s company.” Horticultural therapy can be a structured, formal activity; but everyone can benefit from growing or simply appreciating natural beauty. “In my mind, gardening, working with plants and soil, is enjoyable, and people should be exposed to horticulture from an early age to learn to appreciate flowers, plants, nature and beauty,” John concluded. He added, “This also goes for music, the arts, literature, culinary arts, and in whatever other ways we can stimulate our senses and our talents, enjoy life and God’s gifts, and through our interests serve and share with others. As per Philippians 4:8: ‘Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.’” Flowers teach us Like all of the “book” of creation, flowers teach us about their wise and creative Designer. And we can learn other things from them as well. Lessons from God’s Word In the Bible, flowers are sometimes used as a metaphor to remind us of the brevity of life. As David soberingly put it, “As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more” (Ps. 103:15,16). Flowers remind us to “number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom,” as Moses expressed it (Ps. 90:12). Flower imagery in the Bible also gives us a vivid picture of the blessings God will pour out on His people: “I will be like the dew to Israel; he shall blossom like the lily; he shall take root like the trees of Lebanon; his shoots shall spread out.... they shall blossom like the vine” (Hosea 14:5-7). In Isaiah 58, when God promises restoration to His repentant people, He tells them, “you shall be like a watered garden” (Is. 58:11). In Isaiah 35:1, the result of the coming of the Messiah is described as the bursting into bloom of a dry and lifeless land: “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus; it shall blossom abundantly and rejoice with joy and singing.” These types of word pictures sink into our minds and hearts in a way that more dry, abstract teaching may not. “Working and walking in my garden... reminds me of God’s goodness, blessings, and grace,” says Gina. Learning experientially Working with flowers can also teach us lessons, and help us experience truths, that we wouldn’t as easily learn in a less tangible way. For myself, my (very small-scale) flower-growing is always a hopeful but also a humbling endeavor. So many variables are outside my control, and the final results are usually not quite what I’d pictured. When I do end up with vases full of vibrant flowers, I know I can’t really take any credit. The flowers from my garden – like so many of the good things in my life – truly are a gift. Gina is one of the women in my church who enjoys growing and sharing flowers on a somewhat larger scale. She shared how working in her garden is a powerful reminder that she has a choice every day whether to focus on all the weeds – the difficulties and discouragements of life – or on the flowers, the beautiful blessings in the middle of the messiness. “Working and walking in my garden full of flowers reminds me of God’s goodness, blessings, and grace,” Gina told me. “Just like life, my garden is chaotic, often a mess full of weeds. I can’t control the weeds or stop them from coming – they keep popping up – but in the midst of this messy garden I can see little patches of beautiful flowers growing. “I will need to deal with the weeds and mess on a daily basis. Sometimes it can be discouraging or overwhelming to keep going. So it’s the flowers in front of me I choose to focus on – like beautiful rays of sunshine of God’s grace and goodness.” Theresa and Christina, co-owners of Grand Floral, love helping their customers “say it with flowers.” Flowers communicate & express “Say it with flowers” is the slogan of Grand Floral (the Fergus, Ontario flower shop), and it captures this key communicative aspect of flowers. As co-owners Theresa and Christine explain: “There are so many things you can express to others by giving flowers…. Gratitude, love, thankfulness and celebration to what may already be a joyous occasion. Expressions of sympathy or simply ‘thinking of you’ to lift someone’s spirits on a difficult day. “Being able to help our customers convey this message to others is often a joyful task – either in meeting their needs or supporting them through any of these occasions. It is often through the difficult times (grief, loss) that we have the opportunity to provide a word of encouragement and support.” Expressing joy and gratitude Flowers have meanings, or can evoke emotions, which make them a beautiful way to express things like joy and thankfulness – also in the context of worship. Both the Old Testament tabernacle and temple included floral designs, and flowers can add a note of joy and vibrancy in our own churches as well. My church has enjoyed beautiful bouquets and arrangements at the front for many years. Mrs. Lenie Noort provided these for well over a decade. “Going to church should be a joyful thing,” she told me, explaining that it’s natural to express that joy with the beauty of flowers. “I loved using the flowers God created to make His house beautiful.” Kim sees her flower arrangements as a way to express and share gratitude and thanksgiving. Several years ago, Kim Kieneker took over providing flowers for our church. Kim, who comes from a family of flower growers and arrangers, loves all things green and colorful; she’s always had a perennial garden as well as a vegetable garden, and enjoys growing as well as foraging for beautiful flowers and plants, and then using them in creative ways. “I love the soil,” she told me. “I enjoy beautiful and created things, I enjoy creating with them.” As she described how she goes about putting together arrangements for the church, and her thoughts during the process, the words “thanks” and “thankfulness” came up often. Kim sees her work as a beautiful way to express, share, and inspire gratitude and thanksgiving in the congregation, giving glory to God for His bounty and blessings. “God gives us so much natural beauty around us,” she commented; “it’d be shame not to give a thank offering of it to Him.” Kim often subtly integrates meaning into her arrangements. She likes researching the meanings of particular flowers, and also thinking about the church season and significant occasions or celebrations in the congregation. She finds it interesting how different people often see different things in her arrangements, and she loves giving people something to reflect on. For example, in her arrangement for Good Friday last year, she made use of palms (looking back to Palm Sunday), thorns (representing the crown of thorns, “but pulled apart to recognize that Jesus no longer wears the crown of thorns”), white lilies (which are often association with Christ’s resurrection), and yellow forsythia (which evoke hope, joy, anticipation, and the coming of spring and new life). Even if we don’t consciously make all these connections, we as members of the congregation often experience an emotional response and are given something to ponder. More simply, some Sundays Kim just enjoys providing “seasonal bouquets from nature” – many of which she gives away to church members at the end of the day. She loves foraging for plants and flowers, wherever she happens to be – “I always keep a pair of rubber boots and a pruner in my vehicle” – and delights in creating from what she finds. Kim is drawn to asymmetrical designs and interesting shapes, finding beauty in the natural “quirkiness” of nature, rather than aiming for stiff, static perfection in her arrangements. Often the results are a bit unexpected or whimsical; I loved the flowers arranged inside a pumpkin last fall, and the blueberries peeking out of a bouquet early last summer when they were in season. “Sometimes it’s hard to find a way to use your talents and passions in a special way to serve in the church,” Kim commented. In her case, providing weekly flowers has been a beautiful and rewarding way for her to do just that. Flowers connect us Finally, flowers can connect us – with our roots, our families, and with our neighbors – sometimes in wonderful and unexpected ways, Connecting the generations My parents grew (and still grow) big, beautiful dahlias, while my father-in-law introduced me to colorful, sturdy zinnias. Both flowers have become standbys for me, and I enjoy how they remind me of people I love. And, although I’m several generations away from the Netherlands, I have a soft spot for tulips and like seeing these bright little reminders of generations of flower lovers before me. Similar experiences were shared by many people I talked to. As Theresa Brouwer remembered, “My Oma always had windows full of plants, and took such good care of her gardens. I spent a lot of time there and must’ve picked up on her love for ‘everything nice.’” Her sister Christine VanEerde felt the same way. Even before working with flowers at Grand Floral, she always had a love for them; “Often you could find fresh cuts on my table after a grocery run.” Mrs. Lenie Noort also reminisced about her flower-growing family when we talked. She says she inherited her love of flowers from her mother: “After the house was cleaned up, then the flowers went on the table. A table without flowers was nothing.” Gina has also found flowers to be a wonderful way to connect the generations. Her young granddaughters enjoy working in her garden with her, and Gina has especially loved helping them pick and prepare flowers as gifts for other family members. Gina described the rewarding feeling of “seeing the joy in whole being when she picked, arranged, and wrapped up a bouquet to give to her great-grandmother. I realize I am passing on the joy of giving. The anticipation of thoughtful giving by choosing the flowers from the garden, arranging them into a bouquet, wrapping them up and seeing the smile of the person receiving your hand-picked gift – it’s worth more than words can describe.” Henk and his daughter Shelley planting dozens of their yearly baskets together. In Henk and Ginny Vanderhorst’s family, planting baskets together in spring has been an all-day father-daughter tradition for twenty-five years now (although, with one of the two daughters having moved away from Langley, BC, where her parents and older sister still live, the tradition has changed over the years). The sons of the family don’t participate, and Ginny understands that, although she is politely welcome to bring coffee, it’s “dad and daughter” time. Preparations begin several weeks ahead of time, as the three visit favorite nurseries and select a variety of plants and flowers, which they’ll later share and exchange with each other. Back at the parental home on the designated planting day, the three use the back of Henk’s truck as their work surface, putting together countless planters and baskets – enough for all their homes, and often a few to give away. The running joke is that, while shopping for their plants, they “didn’t go over budget” – mainly because they didn’t have one. Some things are priceless. The Helders’ frame-worthy front yard, which features a diversity of ground cover, flowers, and shrubs, gets a lot of attention. Connecting with our neighbors The beauty of flowers and plants can also connect us to neighbors and even strangers around us. John and Margaret Helder have found that their beautifully planted (and unfenced) property has become a draw for acquaintances and passersby alike. At first, this “sharing” of their yard and garden was unintentional; “we never thought of fencing our yard because I (a cheap Dutchman) thought a fence to be an unnecessary expenditure,” John told me with a smile. As well, the couple liked having an open play area for their children (and a small collection of outdoor pet rabbits, pigeons, and a chicken), connected to the municipal grassed walkway and treed berm behind their property. “As the grassway became more popular for residents, our menagerie became a popular destination for the neighborhood: little children with parents, as well as school and child-care groups,” John explained. Over time, as their yard matured and the Helders made various changes and additions, including adding an experimental rain garden, “people continued to stop by.” A number of years ago, as part of a more dramatic makeover, they replaced all the grass in their front yard with “a wild diversity of ground cover, flowers and shrubs.” Especially in the spring, when all the front bulbs were blossoming, “we got a lot of attention,” John told me. Eventually the Helders started “sharing” their property in more deliberate, organized ways: “Along with the general public, school and summer camp groups stop by and learn about plants, composting, our rain garden, etc. We have invited specific groups to our garden as well” – including sending out an impromptu invitation to their congregation for a “yard open house” this past summer. “Many people enjoy our property and chat with us about our garden,” John concluded. “The conversations lead to a wide diversity of topics well beyond flowers and plants.” Connecting in Covid A unique example of connecting with the community through flowers took place in southern Ontario in the spring of 2020, during the first of the Covid lockdowns. During the “Covid spring” of 2020, the Ravensbergens’ full greenhouses (shown here this past February) called for creative solutions. Many wholesale florists, including P. Ravensbergen & Sons in Smithville, Ontario, found themselves with greenhouses full of flowering plants – hydrangeas, begonias, chrysanthemums – that were no longer needed by many of their regular buyers. Although Ravensbergen was already regularly donating surplus flowers to charitable organizations such as the Grimsby Benevolent Fund, Habitat for Humanity and others (as they still do today), the sheer volume of “extra” plants called for creative solutions. Staff searched for new and creative ways to sell and donate the plants. “We sold some from trucks by the side of the road,” said general manager William Ravensbergen, “and donated some to seniors’ homes and senior living neighborhoods in the area.” Help was received from a local business that wished to help scale up the distribution from the immediate West Lincoln area to create a larger impact. This involved reaching out to many local Reformed churches with an offer to sponsor flower distributions in the churches’ communities, if groups such as home mission and outreach committees were interested in organizing these activities. The response was positive – both from many churches, and from neighbors who eventually received the cheerful blooms, along with messages of support and encouragement, during that difficult and isolating spring season. Countless plants were delivered door to door or, to avoid physical contact, left on porches, and the gesture clearly made an impact. “We received literally hundreds of thank-you cards from those who got flowers,” William told me. I spoke to one young woman who had been part of the “flower drop” around Dunnville, Ontario. She described how her young people’s group knocked on doors around town, delivering the flowers along with encouraging notes and invitations to their church’s live-streamed services. She remembers it as a very positive experience; “you never got tired of seeing people’s reactions to the flowers.” One older woman broke down and cried when she received her flowers, explaining that she hadn’t had contact with anyone for days. The young woman who had brought them was struck by the older woman’s utter loneliness, and decided to maintain contact. The two of them continue to visit regularly to this day. Although the older woman has hesitated to accept her new friend’s invitation to church, she says she sees God’s hand in making their paths cross. Another friendly church family has recently moved in down the street, and the woman has also expressed that she now feels so much less lonely – surrounded by caring community. And sometimes during a visit the older woman will smile and say, “It all started with flowers, eh?” “O LORD, how manifold are your works! In wisdom have you made them all...” – Ps. 104:24...

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On the Truth, and the cost of lies

"Remember: one lie does not cost you one truth but the Truth" - Hebbel **** It seems that truth is bendable - it has become elastic during the last decades. People can twist and turn it any which way they want, especially if they have a good lawyer. "Guilty or not guilty?" "Not guilty." "Have you ever been to prison?" "No, this is this is the first time I’ve been caught stealing.’ Surely truth is a question which has plagued mankind for centuries. The question of what, exactly, truth is, has been particularly in the headlines during the last year. There are those times in which we do not speak the truth in order to shield others from something. The Bible records incidents in which people did not speak the truth and two incidents immediately come to mind: the first deals with the protection of the small Jewish babies by the Hebrew midwives (Ex. 1:15-21). The second recounts the hiding of the Jewish spies sent to search out the land for the Israelites (Joshua 2). Incidents such as these remain relevant to the present times. We have only to think of the Second World War during which time many Christians hid Jewish refugees. **** My husband and I had such an incident in our lives as well. It had not nearly the magnitude of life and death to it, but it does illustrate the fact that things are not always black and white. A few years after my husband’s graduation from the Ontario Veterinary College, we had our third child. An aunt of my husband’s, Tante Til, had come over from Holland to help me out for a week or two. She was cheerful, lively and a bastion of cleanliness. We enjoyed having her around. Tante Til had a wonderful sense of humor but she also had a passion for sterilizing whatever came within her reach. Perhaps this was because she mistrusted my husband’s close daily contact with stables and their inhabitants and distrustfully eyed the mud caked to his large rubber boots. Tante Til was “proper” and would never dream of letting a soup bowl function as a cat dish or using her handkerchief to wipe away a cobweb. Tante Til was not extremely fond of animals and the kitten, dubbed “Little Grape” by our two girls, had to stay out of her way. The litter box was vies (dirty), and my husband was delegated the task of cleaning it while I was in the hospital. He gladly did so. We had, I am ashamed to say, acquired the habit of cleaning out the litter box with something I had never found much use for – a silver salad fork – somehow failing to inform Tante Til of this rather disreputable habit. The fork lay in a secluded corner on the kitchen counter. It was a dirty black because I hated cleaning silverware, finding it a useless chore when it would only get dirty again. Besides that, we had lots of stainless steel. One of my first nights home from the hospital, Tante Til cooked us a special dinner - mashed potatoes, vegetables, pork chops, applesauce and salad. It looked and smelled delicious. As we sat down and bibs were tied around the girls’ necks, Tante Til shone with goodwill. "Nou, eet maar lekker, jongens! (Eat hearty, guys!)" We prayed and then began to put the food on our plates. It never hit us until my husband began scooping some lettuce onto his plate. He suddenly realized that he was holding the silver salad litter fork. Only the fork was not holding cat litter but green salad. His second scoop, therefore, hung in mid-air. He caught my eye and I grinned at him. He didn’t grin back. "Good salad, isn’t it, sweetheart?" I said wickedly. "Dank je (Thank you)," Tante Til beamed. "Zal ik jou ook wat geven? (Shall I give you some too?)" "No, thank you," I answered virtuously, "it might give the baby gas." My husband ate around the salad on his plate as Tante Til explained in detail how she had cleaned the fork she had found on the counter and wasn’t it nice and shiny now? "Je moet je zilver wat vaker poetsen hoor, kind (You should polish your silver a little more often, dear.)" She gave me a sidelong glance but smiled tolerantly for wasn’t I a young mother with a great deal to learn? I cannot recall whether or not my husband ate the salad on his plate, but I do know that we never told Tante Til what the salad fork had actually been used for. "I speak truth, not so much as I would, but as much as I dare," said Montaigne. **** Most incidences in daily life, however, call for plain, unadulterated truth - truth you should never shy away from. A number of years ago, during a snow-infested January day, I noticed a car slide to a stop behind a snowbank in front of our house. Our driveway was engorged with snow and I watched to see if the driver of the car would wade her way into it or head for our neighbor’s house. She turned into our driveway. It was a slow process, getting to our door, but it gave me time to put the kettle on, arrange some cookies on a plate and finally, wipe a few hands and noses while giving instructions on good behavior. When I looked through the window again, the woman was only about three quarters way up the driveway. I walked to the door, opened it and smiled a welcome. The woman was small and carried a briefcase. I did not know her. She smiled back and her funny, black hat tilted in the wind. "Why don’t you step in for a minute?" I said, fully confident that this tiny lady was lost and in need of directions and a hot cup of tea to warm her up. "Bad weather." The short, terse statement was carried by a strong voice, albeit a strong voice with a quaver. I nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. She pulled off her gray, leather gloves and began opening her briefcase in the kitchen. A watchtower tract fell on the ground. I bent simultaneously with her and we almost bumped heads. She reached the pamphlet first and picking it up, held it out towards me. "No, thank you." My words came automatically. The pamphlet quivered. The hand that held it was blue-veined and old. "It’s free," she said, mistaking my refusal to take it with fear of having to pay for it. I shook my head. "I know." She put the tract back into her briefcase. The kettle was boiling and I turned to unplug it. Her voice followed me to the counter. "The world has many problems." My oldest son toddled into the kitchen and smiled at her. I walked past him and said, "It’s a good thing that Jesus Christ came into the world." She nodded, her little hat nodding with her. "Jesus was a good man." I both agreed and disagreed. "He was a good man," I said, "a perfect man, yes, but He was and is also God." She smiled and answered, "How could He be both at the same time?" Shaking her head, she laughed at what appeared to be a foolish and impossible notion. And when I persisted in speaking of the Triune God, she gave up and put her gloves back on while two of my children fingered her briefcase. With her gloved hands she pulled the small, black hat firmer onto her wet, gray hair and then opened the door. The wind blew swirls of snow into the foyer as she stepped back outside. I watched her go, the snow filling in her plodding steps almost as soon as she lifted her feet. And a few minutes later there was no trace to show that she had been by. Pascal said, "Contradiction is not a sign of falsity, nor the lack of contradiction a sign of truth." **** Providentially not only the liars are in the news. The January 30, 1999 issue of World magazine records that a man by the name of Daniel Crocker confessed to murder. Daniel Crocker, who at that time was thirty-eight years old, was sentenced to twenty to sixty years in prison. He will be eligible for parole in ten years. The unusual aspect of Mr. Crocker’s case is that he was living free and easy, with a wife and two children in Chantilly, Virginia. He had committed the murder twenty years previously, smothering a nineteen-year-old girl with a pillow following an attempt to rape her. However, his Christian conscience, following his conversion later in life, would not let him alone. Compelled by the Holy Spirit, he confessed his murder and was consequently tried and convicted. Mr. Crocker and his wife, Nicolette, reportedly were able to pray together twice before the sentencing. Mrs. Crocker said that their two children, Isaac, 6 and Analiese, 9, who were not at the trial, "know what Daddy’s doing is right." Mr. Crocker apologized tearfully to his family "for embarrassing and shaming them" and to the relatives of Tracy Fresquez, his victim. Mr. Crocker submitted, at this point in his life, to the Truth. And that Truth, even though he is a murderer, will set him free. **** According to the NIV Exhaustive concordance, the word truth is used 224 times in the Bible. One of the phrases recurring throughout Jesus’ ministry reads, "I tell you the truth." When the truth of the Bible is compromised, there is no sweet, roundabout way to avoid conflict. Emerson aptly said, "God offers to every mind its choice between truth and repose. Take which you please - you can never have both." Although in this phrase the word choice smacks a bit of arminianism, the fact remains that you cannot have both truth and repose. A lot of people today, however, are convinced that you can have both, never realizing that they have thereby lost their hold on Truth. Although they might agree with Mark Twain’s quote, "Truth is the most valuable thing we have", they subconsciously go one step further with him when he adds, "Let us economize on it." But there is no way to economize on the Truth of creation; there is no way to economize on the Truth of headship; there is no way to economize on the Truth of God’s judgment on homosexuality; and there is no way to economize on the Truth of being servants of one another in love and compassion. Because to economize on one principle does not cost merely one truth but the Truth. And only if you believe this Truth in your heart and confess this Truth with your mouth, shall you be saved. This is an abridged version of an article - "Remember: one lie does not cost you one truth but the Truth" - that first appeared in the June 1999 edition of Reformed Perspective....

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Why write?

You might not make a lot of money writing, but you can have an impact ***** It’s been said that all that is needed to become a writer is the strong desire to say something. Writing is simply taking your thoughts and research and organizing them on paper, or in your computer, or on your blog, to prove a point or tell a story. It may soothe someone’s soul, clear up a dispute, record family history, challenge someone to live a more godly life, or simply brighten a person’s day with humor or appreciation. This issue marks the 20th anniversary of my first article in Reformed Perspective, and over the years I’ve had people ask me how they could get started in writing. Sometimes what they mean is, “How can I make money off of writing?” and the short answer is, that probably isn’t a good motivation to write… at least not for most of us. I heard at a Christian writers' conference that with most books you might only make about a dollar off each one, so unless someone famous promotes your book, you won’t earn much. Magazines pay a bit, and if you can get into one with a larger circulation, it will pay more. Newspapers may take articles on a volunteer basis, or give you $25 (for the 6 hours you spent on it!). But getting paid is only one reason for honing your writing ability. In her book The Hidden Art of Homemaking, Edith Schaeffer shared that she thought there was all sorts of “art found in the ordinary areas of everyday life.” “Each person has, I believe, some talent which is unfulfilled in some hidden area of his being – a talent which could be expressed and developed.” Schaeffer pointed out that the ability to write ought to be used to express our creativity and/or to bless others, and not just considered as a way to possibly earn money. She gave many examples of how one might use writing in daily life, such as letters of appreciation, explanation or persuasion; poems, anecdotes, adventure, humor, family history, or stories given as a gift. Writing also helps the writers themselves organize their thoughts and process their feelings – as one best-selling author put it, “I write to find out what I think.” This is true of journaling and of writing fiction, as it can aid you in processing your own thoughts and emotions through your characters. So how did I get started? Let me outline how it has progressed for me. Writing just for fun I discovered in grade school that I enjoyed writing. In 5th grade I wrote 50 stories in 6 weeks to earn an A, and a funny poem in 6th grade that was well-received by my classmates. In high school I found essays very easy to write. However, when I got to college, my previous attempts were deemed "average" and I was challenged to improve. My professor said, "Somebody has to write the books and tracts and magazine articles – why not you?" I kept that advice in mind over the years. When I taught English Grammar and Composition for 5 years, I honed my abilities while seeking to inspire my students as I had been inspired. My interest in writing didn't stop when I got married and had 6 kids. I found opportunities to write for various company and club newsletters for free. I wrote occasional poems for family members, and composed songs for my children. I wrote Sunday School lessons for little children. I also wrote a letter to the sellers of a house we dearly wanted to purchase – and that letter caused us to win the bid! I wrote three articles for free for our local newspaper, which turned out to be good listable experience on my résumé since the articles were posted online. I also attended Christian writers' conferences. These seminars provided advice, encouragement, and connections with seasoned writers and publishers. One thing led to another We cannot know what we might do that will lead us to something else. As far as paid writing goes, here is how my journey has progressed: In 2005, with high hopes, I sent an article to Reformed Perspective. After improvements, my first and second articles were published. Then I was on a roll, tackling numerous topics for my own column, entitled "Soup and Buns." An article about those earlier Sunday School lessons that I had written with a friend, led to an Orthodox Presbyterian Church in California hiring me to write a 2-year curriculum entitled “Bible Overview for Young Children” with matching topics for ages 2-6 and 6-9. Copies have been sold to churches, families, and Ladies' Bible Study groups and given to missionaries. In 2009, I published a book, a collection of Reformed Perspective articles, entitled Soup and Buns: Nourishment from God's Word for Your Daily Struggles. From 2010 to 2013 I began writing SEO (Search Engine Optimization) paragraphs for clients' websites. Each paragraph of 350-500 words paid from $3 to $9 each. I found the opportunities through Upwork.com and wrote about everything from credit cards to chicken recipes. After a month using Upwork.com, I bid on three requests for community newsletter articles in small towns about an hour away. Note: those freebie newspaper articles I wrote a few years back were the proof to this new company that I knew how to write. They got me the job! One thing led to another, and soon I was invited to apply for a full-time position as their Publication Manager. I have continued to write for Reformed Perspective, and occasionally for Una Sancta (a Free Reformed Churches of Australia publication) and New Horizons (the OPC denominational magazine). I have a new book entitled Life and Breath and Everything which contains over 50 articles first published between 2010 and 2024. Encouragement The best writing teacher I ever encountered assigned numerous projects to her 7th graders, and graded them only on content. She wanted them to express, explain, or exult, not be exasperated! Each student then chose their favorite 3 projects and cleaned up all the grammar and punctuation in them for their final grade. If you had a teacher that frightened you away from writing by marking you down for each misplaced comma and word on every project, don't think that you cannot write. Write. Express yourself! If someone else is going to see it, fix it up before you deliver it. Very rarely is a first draft perfect. Conclusion In Ecclesiastes 9:10, we read, "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might." Schaeffer's book applies this to writing, but also to other forms of creativity, such as sketching, painting, cooking, gardening, or music. We all have God-given skills that can be used in our daily lives. The important thing is to start doing it, and then see where one thing might lead to another. Sharon's new book “Life and Breath and Everything” is available on Amazon.com and Amazon.ca. Her first book “Soup and Buns” and her “Bible Overview for Young Children” are available by contacting her at [email protected]....

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How to be happier

Keep long lists, and short accounts ***** As I pad down the hallway to my home office, sometimes I’ll look down and remember that the laminate planking I’m walking on was laid down with the help of friends. I’m not the best with a hammer or saw, so while I did some of the sweating, my friends brought the skill. I was so very thankful at the time, and now whenever I remember it’s a warm feeling still. As of late I’ve been remembering these friends more often because of a curious book. It’s about a guy who set out to personally thank every person involved in getting him his morning brew. There’s the barista, of course, but a farmer had to grow the beans, and then there’s all the people in between – it turns out there are an astonishing number of people involved in a simple cup of coffee. Who picks the blend? How many are involved in the actual roasting? Someone had to design the lid (there’s quite some engineering to it), and then there’s the coffee cup sleeve – there wasn’t always a sleeve – and when we remember that coffee is about 1 percent beans and 99 percent water, then there’s a whole municipal water department to thank too. And who makes the pipes that carry the water? We haven’t even gotten into the boats and trucks involved and all the crews who man and make them. A long list to be thankful for This guy wanted to personally thank everyone involved but quickly realized that might amount to millions. So he narrowed it down to the one thousand most directly involved. G.K. Chesterton said that, “When it comes to life the critical thing is whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude,” and this book was an eye-opener for just how many blessings I’ve been taking for granted. If thousands – millions – are involved in making a cup of coffee, how many could I thank for everything I find even on my short journey from bed to shower each morning? How many designers, engineers, miners, and factory workers were involved in making the Kindle that wakes us up each morning? And what about our bedding, the bedroom carpet, bathroom tiles and that long-shower necessity, our tankless water heater? I normally clomp past it all, but I could choose to start each day just looking around in amazement. As Chesterton reminds us, “gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.” The author of this book is a sometimes-blasphemous atheist (which is why I’m not sharing his name - I don’t want to promote him) but even as an atheist he recognizes that his disposition to grumpy ingratitude isn’t good… for him. “…gratitude is the single-best predictor of well-being and good relationships, beating out twenty-four other impressive traits such as hope, love, and creativity. As the Benedictine monk David Steindl-Rast says, ‘Happiness does not lead to gratitude. Gratitude leads to happiness.’” But why is thankfulness next to joyfulness? He doesn’t seem to know, but we do. God created us to glorify Him and then gave us innumerable reasons to do just that. And because He loves us, He so fashioned mankind that when we do what we were made to do, it is good for us. And He’s so gracious that even when we do a half measure, thanking the people around us, but forgetting the God Who made us, it is good for us still. Sometimes we need a Jordan Peterson or Elon Musk – someone outside the Church – to remind us of what we have, and what unbelievers don’t. I was struck by that here, when this author shared, “…I’ll occasionally start a meal by thanking a handful of people who helped get our food to the plate. I’ll say, ‘Thank you to the farmer who grew the carrots, to the truck driver who hauled them, to the cashier at Gristedes grocery story who rang me up.’” This fellow is “praying” to people he knows will never hear him because he feels such a need to express gratitude. To quote Chesterton again, “The worst moment for an atheist is when he is really thankful and has no one to thank.” When I look around the dinner table at the food that’s there once again, and the family gathered around, and when I really stop to think of all I’ve been given here, my heart can’t help but swell, but now there’s another blessing I can bring to my giving, loving Father – I can thank God that I can thank God! Keeping short accounts But if Christians have so much to be thankful for, why aren’t we more joyful? Why am I too often grumpy, sullen, and short to the people God has gifted me? Part of it is that we take so much for granted. We easily forget what we have, so there’s something to keeping a thankful journal. Around Thanksgiving each year my wife gets some notecards and encourages us each day to draw something we’re grateful for, and then we put the cards up on the hallway wall. It’s quite the display by month’s end. But even more of it is taking for granted the biggest gift we’ve been given: forgiveness. In his booklet How to Maintain Joy in Your Life, Jim Wilson shares how, upon his conversion, he experienced joy liked he’d never had chasing after the world’s substitutes. But as this Navy midshipman set out on his Christian journey, he found that joy diminishing. And it continued diminishing for the next three years. Sitting in the stateroom of an American destroyer stationed in the Sea of Japan, he was struck that for the 3 years since his conversion he hadn’t really been confessing his sins. Oh, sure, he’d confessed some sins, but there were many he hadn’t taken to God for all sorts of reasons. When he confessed his sins, God forgave him, and once again he started feeling that same joy. Guilt is a weight. But, thanks to Jesus, it’s one we don’t have to carry. Guilt is also God’s way of getting our attention. As it says in Hebrews 12:11: “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” Jim Wilson was trained by that discipline, but like the rest of us, he was a slow learner. “I would again disobey, get disciplined, and lose my joy. This time, instead of not confessing, I would confess after a while… ten hours, a week, 2 weeks.” Eventually he realized that he didn’t have to wait to confess his sins – he could “keep short accounts.” Then, instead of a series of ups when he was forgiven, and downs when he wouldn’t go to God (or at least not yet), he started to experience ongoing joy. “Sometimes I went for a while before confessing, but generally I would confess right away or within a couple of hours. I’m not saying I have not sinned in those years…. But I have a low tolerance for discipline. I do not like it. As long as I am unrepentant, the discipline stays on me, the hand of the Lord is heavy. I can remove the discipline of the Lord by repenting now.” For those of us who’d prefer to stay miserable, he concludes his booklet with a list of what you can do instead of confessing your sin. You can justify, excuse, or hide it. You can blame someone else, procrastinate, or stand on pride. A favorite for many is “generalization,” where you readily admit “mistakes were made” without really getting into the dirt of what you did. But tricking yourself doesn’t trick God, and you can’t enjoy Him if you are hiding from Him. Conclusion If you want to be happier, it isn’t complicated. Open your eyes wide, and see the world as it really is. There are troubles, but then there is God, and He continues to bless us beyond any measuring. And the biggest of those blessings is that we can know for certain – we can count on Him – that when we come to our Father with our sins, He will always and forever forgive. That’s got me a little verklempt but I can assure you, they are happy tears....

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How to look forward to the future

Hopefulness is a skill we can learn, because… God ***** Doomerism: despair and apathy caused by a disbelief that anything can get better; most often used with regard to global warming, lack of positive social change, and the risk of AI takeover. – as defined by Wiktionary I am shocked at how much optimism has died just in my own lifetime. I didn’t even realize the cultural atmosphere in my childhood was particularly optimistic – it was just “normal” to me. But compared to the current atmosphere, with the oppressive worries of natural disasters, new diseases, social tension, authoritarian governments, and renewed nuclear threats, the previous decades take on a rosy hue. Why do so many people, especially young people, feel an impending sense of doom? It’s less about our current circumstances, and more about the loss of hope for the future. We might be all right at the moment, the feeling seems to be, but we’re just hanging in there. Who knows how long we’ll be able to hang in there for? You might argue that this is worldly thinking. Climate change, authoritarianism, social issues are all things “the world” is concerned about. But I can relate to feeling like my actions and decisions are pointless, my life is going nowhere, and that the future looks bleak. I have had times in my life where I felt paralyzed, like anything I did would likely lead to doom. It turns out that being hopeful takes a lot of effort sometimes. And when the world around us persistently sends messages about how bleak everything is, about how young people are worse off than their parents’ generation, and how disaster looms on the horizon, it feels even harder to go against the flow. But as Christians, shouldn’t we know how to hope? Yet Christian discussions can also be full of how the world is getting worse. Christians are worried about what will happen to their families and their churches. And so, hopefulness becomes a hard skill for us to learn. How do you learn to have hope for the future? Here are a few perspectives that have helped me along the way. 1. Don’t miss the big story by obsessing on the details One helpful way I’ve found to think about the future is to remind myself that I already know the ending, and that ending is a happy one. The day-to-day right now might look like it inevitably leads to doom and gloom, but I know that’s not the big picture. I just need to zoom out enough to see the whole big story, and see that I’m just in a small part in the middle of it. I’m muddled down in the details, but a detail isn’t the whole story. And the best way to remind myself of the big story is to read the Word of God. That’s where we hear the end of the story and are reminded about who’s writing it. Ok, ok, you might be thinking, that's the big picture, but I still feel hopeless about my life. I might know in the end everything will turn out all right, but I still don’t feel capable of doing anything right now. I still feel like the current circumstances make whatever I do seem pointless. It’s true, it can be hard to connect what we believe to how we feel. Sometimes we know something, but we still feel anxious or paralyzed. But this means that it’s worthwhile examining what story our feelings are buying into, if we feel that way. We might not realize the degree that we’re accepting other people’s narratives about our lives. 2. No, the pessimists don’t know it all You might be sitting at home, doomscrolling on your phone, and some talking head on TikTok pops up bringing all these facts together: while wages in Canada have increased by 74.3% since 2003, housing prices have increased by 227%. Add to that the information that Canada’s population has also increased during this time, and that housing starts have struggled to keep up with the demand. Your heart sinks. You weren’t thinking about when you’d be able to afford a house before that moment, but now you’re convinced you never will. What’s the point of going to work tomorrow? And that’s just one example. It doesn’t take much time online to find theories about why Gen Z, or millennials, or whatever generation is doomed – why they will never get married, or afford a house, or be able to have children, or ever retire. These theories all seem so airtight, based on facts and statistics laid out in a logical fashion, with each piece of data leading to the next. But life is not so airtight. These theories are not prophecies about your life. Perhaps some of the stats and data might be useful for bureaucrats trying to understand social conditions, but when they become reasons for you to give up on life, they’ve left the realm of usefulness. We’re often skeptical of mainstream media narratives about politics and the environment, but somehow this kind of data can sneak into our brains. Sometimes it starts off being comforting, because it explains why we’re not quite where we want to be in life yet. It’s not us, it’s just our circumstances. But an inescapable path of doom unfolding beneath your feet doesn’t help you in the long run; it paralyzes you. What will help? Stop listening to these voices. No one theory can take into account all the information available – each tends to cherry-pick facts that fit. Online influencers and writers and videos tend to emphasize the negative narratives because that’s what gets clicks. And no theory can predict the unexpected event that changes everything and throws all accepted theories into chaos (sometimes known as a black swan event). The world is not predictable, and events that don’t fit the theories do happen (and disprove the theories). So why base your life on one of those theories? 3. Learn from history as it actually was When my grandma was a young woman in the Netherlands, World War II started and all the young men left town to join the army. She didn’t think it was likely she would get married. Then she met my grandpa, who was a resistance fighter. After the war, they wanted to get married, but so many houses had been bombed in the Netherlands that there was nowhere for them to live. We can look back on the past with nostalgia – “in the 1950s you could support a family on one income!” But we don’t remember all the times that a future didn’t look possible for them back then, all the times when, logistically, there was just no one around to get married to, or statistically there were zero homes for newly married couples to live in, or that the “better life” looked a lot harder than the old life. Maybe life doesn’t give us “optimal conditions.” Sometimes “doing something” really looks like doing the impossible. My grandma just kept taking the next step, even if circumstances didn’t look great. After all, nothing is impossible with God. So don’t base your life on disheartening statistics. Instead, why not base your life on the Word of God? 4. Trust God with the future God loves you, and He didn’t design your life as a kind of trap you can’t escape. But He also doesn’t reveal our life paths to us before they happen. He calls us to trust in Him as we walk in His ways: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Ps. 119:105). In other words, God hasn’t shone a spotlight on your destination, but He does light your feet as you take each step. You are part of a big story, but your part might not include our society’s preferred narrative of buying a home to fund your retirement, or finding the one career where you can make a meaningful impact. Or, who knows, maybe that will be part of your story one day. But the fundamental thing to hold onto is that you are a part of the story God is telling, and this means your life has meaning. What does knowing this do for us? It means we don’t have to be paralyzed. It also means we don’t have to see what will happen to us before it happen, even though we think predicting our future will make us feel better. We don’t need to add up all the facts together to predict our future and come to a negative conclusion (“there’s more women than men in the average church I attend, therefore the likelihood of me finding a husband is less than...”). God doesn’t work according to statistics. God doesn’t stop working out His plan because forecasters say most millennials won’t be able to afford a house. He will do whatever His will is for your life. The question is, are you open to that? 5. Trust Him one step at a time Can you keep taking the next step God lays in front of your feet, and the next step, and the next step, without always knowing where it will go? Can you find the courage to try things that are a little scary for you, if He calls you to them? Sometimes moving forward in life feels like plunging into the unknown, into something that could go terribly wrong (because any momentous choice in life could go terribly wrong) but with the willingness to try and see what God will do with your life. It’s easy to say, just do something, but doing something come with risk. We can take actions that make us suffer, we can make wrong decisions, we can do the wrong thing. That’s what scares us, and makes us paralyzed. The reality of risk feeds our paralysis. But to begin to exercise our faith and trust in our God Who is bigger than us, we do have to step out and learn to leave what’s out of our control up to Him. The Bible is full of examples of people stepping out in faith and leaving the future up to God. There is Abraham, who "went out, not knowing where he was going... to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land” (Heb. 11:8-9). People did not live their lives by theories or statistics: “By faith Sarah herself received power to conceive, even when she was past the age, since she considered him faithful who had promised” (Heb. 11:11-12). And in the face of our fear of the future we can still act: “In the morning sow your seed, and at evening withhold not your hand, for you do not know which will prosper, this or that, or whether both alike will be good” (Eccl. 11:6). We’re urged in the Parable of the Ten Talents, and in Proverbs, to do the work in front of us. But we’re also urged to leave the results up to God. “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain. It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for He gives to his beloved sleep” (Ps. 127:1-2). So let go of what you can’t control. God isn’t calling you to navigate what’s out of your hands. And then do your part. Take steps in what areas you can do something. This is the only place to start. Conclusion Hopefulness isn’t a journey we can travel on our own. We can’t always formulate or speak the positive story to ourselves, and others can come alongside us to tell us their own stories of God’s work in their lives. If you’re feeling hopeless, reach out and talk to someone you trust. But at the same time, lean into God and His Word. He can contradict and counteract the negative narratives from culture that surround us every day. He can give us hope when the world claims it is dark. And we know His promises to us never fail....

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Lost and found: God’s guiding hand in seeking and finding a missing girl

Just before going to bed on a Thursday evening in mid-September, Michelle Dykstra read a Facebook post by a mother whose six-year-old daughter had gone missing. Earlier that evening, around 6 pm, Oaklynn Schweder had disappeared from her home on the Skin Tyee Reserve, an isolated community in northwest BC. Her mother, Gail Skin, shared the devastating news on social media as the RCMP called in a canine team to help find her. “I felt for her, because she is only six” recalled Michelle, a mother of three who lives just outside of Houston, BC. “I couldn’t sleep very much that night.” Not only is Oaklynn young, she is on the autism spectrum and is non-verbal. To make it even more challenging for searchers, she would sometimes hide in unusual places or up in trees. Adding to the urgency, nighttime temperatures around Oaklynn’s home dip below zero, and the surrounding wilderness teems with wildlife, including bears and wolves. Oaklynn was still missing the next morning, and the updates kept coming back negative. Search and Rescue teams throughout British Columbia joined in, along with the Canadian Rangers and the BC Wildfire Service. In addition to specially trained dogs, the RCMP deployed thermal-imaging drones to try to spot Oaklynn’s heat signature in among the trees. As more help was brought in, media outlets from across the country picked up the story of the missing Indigenous girl. Heart for the lost Unable to stop thinking and praying about Oaklynn, that evening Michelle talked to her husband Tim about whether they could help. They had never been involved in a search before, but they lived just a couple of hours away and felt a strong pull to do something for Oaklynn. “I really did feel like it was definitely put on my heart” Michelle reflected. Saturday wasn’t possible because Tim and their son Owen had to work all day, but they decided that if she was still missing Sunday, and if the search and rescue teams were open to volunteers, they would go out to help (even though they don’t normally miss church). In spite of a team that grew to 600 searchers carefully sweeping the area, by Sunday morning Oaklynn was still missing. The searchers were professionally coordinated, using GPS plotting to ensure every part of the land was covered. By this time, hopes of finding Oaklynn alive were diminishing. Michelle was restless and eager to start searching. They filled a vehicle with Tim, Michelle, their children Owen and Morgan, along with Tim’s sister Mandy Jaswal and her two sons Mica and Carson. Providential frustrations In spite of their eagerness to help, they were frustrated by one snag after another. A forgotten coat resulted in a short delay, which resulted in a missed bus ride, which in turn resulted in a missed ferry across Francois Lake. By the time they got to the search area, they missed the team that headed into the bush and had to wait to be called. They spent the next three and a half hours eating bannock, drinking coffee, visiting, and helping out with things like hauling groceries to the search teams. And then a search coordinator passed their group over, as he was concerned that they weren’t experienced enough for the bush. It was afternoon when they were finally called to search, and they were put under the lead of Glen Franz, a search and rescue volunteer from their home town. Two volunteer firefighters also joined their group. In their designated search area, they were to walk 5 meters apart from each other back and forth, to cover a grid over the land. Only ten minutes in, they hit another snag. The search leader was having trouble finding his location on the map and realized that they had started in the wrong place on their quadrant. By this time, they decided to keep searching from where they were, in the hope of going back later in the day to get the area they missed. The problems didn’t stop there. The devices that the search and rescue team was relying on to chart their progress had almost run out of battery. And there were strong winds gusting, with trees falling regularly. It wasn’t until later that day that they began to see that all of these worries and frustrations were actually the means by which God was guiding them exactly to where they needed to be at just the right time. Calming the wind Although dogs, GPS devices, helicopters, drones, and about 1,400 searchers were all devoted to the singular goal of finding Oaklynn, Michelle turned to another “tactic” – going to God. “I remember walking through the bush just praying, ‘Bring her out! Just show her to anybody. We've got hundreds of people out here. If she's hiding, just bring her out.’” As they walked, they saw bear signs everywhere. Tim shared that some searchers even had to climb into bear dens to look for Oaklynn. Although they at first felt they might turn around a corner and just find her, after hours of searching it sunk in to Mandy that: “the only way that a kid is going to be out here, especially since she is only wearing socks and a t-shirt…is if an animal dragged her over here…. Your brain just goes somewhere else to try and prevent you from the pain of thinking of that.” At 6 pm the organizers informed the searchers that it was time to call it a day and head back to the base. They were only half done their search area when it was shared that their GPS search devices were almost out of battery. They were given the option to end their search. Mandy reminded the group that they still needed to go back to the corner where they were supposed to have started. She insisted that they search there so it wasn’t missed. The group agreed, but they also discovered it was the most challenging land in their area, with a steep gully and a lot of trees blown over that weren’t easy to cross. Recent rain made it all very slippery. “We all went up to the top of that gully,” Michelle said, “just so that we could all get together and then leave.” Given that it wasn’t dark yet, the group wondered if Oaklynn had been located. “The thought came to my mind that maybe they had found a body,” said Michelle. They later learned that the search was called because of the strong winds and the danger that falling trees posed to the searchers. Michelle carrying Oaklynn out of the forest, with the team assisting Then, for just two or three seconds, everything got quiet – the static on the radio stopped, and the wind fell silent. As Mandy explained, “All of a sudden were like, ‘Did you hear that? We heard something, Mom, it sounded like a kid!’” The others listened too, hoping it wasn't just an animal. When they heard the noise again they all started calling Oaklynn’s name. That’s when they heard a response coming from the bottom of the gully. They all heard it. None of the adults remember climbing down the gully, even though it had just been a major chore to climb through it. They said it felt like they were transported there. “I just kept hearing ‘I see her, I see her,’ and I couldn't see her till the last second,” recalled Michelle. “So I just kept running. I could not see her until I got around this bunch of trees, and then all of a sudden there was that log, and she was standing behind it, and then she sees me, so she took a couple steps, and I'm full on running, and I just grabbed her and then sat down on the log. It was like, what just happened? What happened?” While Michelle held the little girl, the others rubbed her feet to warm her up, checked her for injuries, got her some warm clothes, and gave her something to drink. They were amazed to find that, other than looking dehydrated, being covered in berries and grime, and smelling like urine, she looked to be completely unharmed. Tim described the occasion as joy all around. Michelle kept saying “thank you Lord!” Their team leader used his radio to report “subject found,” to the disbelief of those at base camp. And then Michelle proceeded to singlehandedly pack Oaklynn through the forest, with the rest of the team holding back branches and helping her over trees. They were so close to the base camp that they could even hear the cheer of the crowd when they were told that Oaklynn had been found and was okay. Just twenty minutes later and they were back to where her mother and father were anxiously waiting. The mom’s reunion with Oaklynn was caught on video and has been viewed on Facebook over 3 million times, in addition to the TV reports that used the footage around the world. But what wasn’t captured was Michelle and the team that God providentially used to find Oaklynn. Recognizing Providence As Tim, Michelle, Mandy, and their children recounted the day’s events, they kept coming back to the same conclusion: God was orchestrating every detail, even the mistakes and frustrations, to allow for the joyful reunion of Oaklynn and her loved ones. If they had started searching where they were supposed, to, they likely wouldn’t have found her because she was moving steadily and wasn’t even in their search area when they actually found her. They also thank God for the young ears of their children, who were the first to hear Oaklynn, even though she couldn’t speak and even though she was more than 100 meters away. Likewise, they praise God for calming the wind and radios so that they could hear her voice. “So all these little glitches, all these little things, all the little breaks, all the perfect timing up to the point of the wind stopping. Like, Who stops the wind?” asked Mandy. “It's obvious, right?” Confessing Providence The previous Saturday, when Michelle was still at home folding laundry and thinking about Oaklynn, she recalled how so many Christians athletes who competed in the Summer Olympics used their platform to give glory to God. “I was thinking, if there’s any chance, I would make sure I would glorify God, right? Because you’ve got to do that.” The day after Oaklynn was found they were invited to a feast organized by the local Indigenous band to thank the many people involved in the search. There was singing, drumming, and speeches, including a mix of traditional native spirituality and Christianity. “The person at the mic asked ‘Does anybody else want to say anything?’” recalled Michelle. “And everybody else is quiet. And then all of a sudden, I'm like, ‘Wait, no, I do. I have to say something.’” Although she is fearful of public speaking, she took the opportunity to share with everyone that it was God who orchestrated all of this. She recalled how she had prayed while searching, and how God directed everything to work together so that Oaklynn was found. Her testimony was shared on Facebook live, and part of it was quoted in their local newspaper. Rejoicing and weeping In Matthew 18, Jesus shares a story of a man with a hundred sheep, one of which goes astray. When he finds it “he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray.” The searchers shared how vehicles were honking on the ferry ride as they returned from the search, and how they received numerous texts and messages of joy over the news that Oaklynn had been found. Although their children slept well that night, Michelle and Mandy shared how they both had a hard time sleeping, and experienced their share of tears in the days following. By Wednesday, Michelle was back to doing laundry. “I find the sweater that I was wearing, and I pick it up, and it was just this strong smell of pee, like urine, and I just start crying like crazy. I completely broke down.” Later, she went “to bring laundry from the washer to the dryer, and I find the sweater again, and it doesn't smell like pee, and I'm crying again, and it's just a complete mess.” The group admitted they had a hard time in the following days, feeling like a piece of them was missing, since they put their heart out for Oaklynn and now she is back with her parents and doesn’t even know who they are. In many ways, that is exactly what love is. Photos by Mica and Mandy Jaswal....

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The quickening

"The great mass of this bleary-eyed world can see nothing of the ineffable glories of Immanuel. He stands before them without form or comeliness, a root out of dry ground, rejected by the vain and despised by the proud. Only where the Spirit has touched the eye with eye-salve, quickened the heart with divine life, and educated the soul to a heavenly taste, only there is He understood.” – Charles Spurgeon **** Solving vexations, conundrums, predicaments, heartaches, questions, challenges, dilemmas, mysteries and, in short, anything, is hopeless and impossible unless there is a hunger and a thirst within a spirit for righteousness. This hunger and thirst is not fathered by the human heart. This hunger and thirst is created by God. **** The bird feeder area was literally teeming with birds. It had been a long, hard winter and food was difficult to find; the feeding station provided an oasis. Tiffany stood by the windowed patio door and smiled at the little bodies strutting about while pecking at the seed. Sparrows, nuthatches, juncos, and robins mingled freely on the lawn. What pretty individual names they bore. Adam had chosen well. Of course, he had not spoken English. Probably the many different species of birds had been given individual names over time. She smiled to herself and considered that although her generic name was Woman, because she had been taken out of Man, her personal and unique name was Tiffany. Her mother had not really given her a reason as to why she had been named Tiffany. "I don't know, child," she had said, "I think I just liked the sound of Tiffany. Or maybe I read it somewhere. I just don't know." Several sparrows burst out into chirping. Were they alarmed by some hawk flying over? She searched out the sky, pressing her nose against the window pane. Or were the little birds perhaps arguing about why their name was sparrow and not flitterwing? There had been various times in her own life, times during which she had pondered the significance of her name, stages of discussing with her parents as to why they had not named her Johanna, after her paternal grandmother, or Helen, after her maternal grandmother. It had a curious dictionary meaning – the name Tiffany. It meant sheer fabric. Eventually, when she was a teenager, rapidly approaching adulthood, she was reconciled to the rationale that her father held out to her. “It doesn't really matter, does it, Tiffany? When people hear your name, they should automatically think of what you do, of what you stand for, and how you speak. After all, your name ought to signify the reputation you give it. So be careful about what you say and do. That's what it comes down to.” Tiffany smiled at her reflection before moving back from the window. She remembered Dad's words very clearly. And she also remembered Psalm 139. “For You formed my inward parts; You knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are Your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from You, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.” Surely a fabric, a sheer fabric, such as her name denoted, was precious to think on as being woven together by God. It was an intimate thought, between God and herself, and it was a thought that made her feel special and whole. **** She and Evan had been careful when they had named their children. Their oldest, a boy, had been baptized John, meaning “God is gracious;” the second, Noah, had “rest and repose” affixed to his person. They had frequently spoken to both boys about the meaning of their names. Both John and Noah had been fascinated. Their names had cultivated their identities. Like a gift that could be unwrapped over and again, the truth was that the bestowal of a good name was better than giving a child riches. Their third child, a daughter, had been a wee, tiny thing when she was born. A total surprise, born a good seven years after Noah, this baby had been considered an added sweetness by Evan and herself. She was an extra joy, which was why the name they had chosen for her was Joy. She was now married and had a family of her own. Tiffany sighed. Time went by fast, inexplicably fast. Leaving her place by the window, Tiffany walked through the dining room to the kitchen. The counter was still cluttered with washed breakfast dishes which she had not, as yet, put away. Absently, she took her place in front of the sink, picked up a dish rag and began wiping a spot that needed no cleaning at all. Painfully aware of what made her so reflective and philosophical, she fought the desire to put on her coat, to escape outside and take the car for a long drive out into the country. If she did that, she would not have to wait for the doctor's phone call; if she did that, she would not have to hear the results of her recent lab tests. Even as she doggedly continued to wipe the counter, she fought a rising compulsion to leave. There was no appetite in her at all to digest the knowledge that the doctor might impart. A terrible dread encompassed her that after his phone call this morning nothing would ever be the same again. A fly landed on the counter and she swatted at it with her dish rag. In the middle of her third swat, the phone rang. Startled, Tiffany froze for a moment. She waited for the fourth ring before she finally walked back through the open kitchen door to the diningroom. The phone, large and black, stood on the table. Hesitantly, she picked up the receiver. "Hello." "Hi, Mom." "Joy?" "Yup, it's me. Your one and only daughter. How are you, Mom?" Tiffany's left hand fiddled with the telephone cord. Then she took a deep breath before she answered, "Oh, I'm fine, sweetheart." There was no need, no need at all, she thought, to worry this child, or the others, when there was really nothing to tell. Not yet, anyway. "Listen, Mom, Rob and I thought we might drive up for a visit this weekend, maybe from Friday night until Monday morning. That is, if a visit suits you and Dad." Joy's voice still sounded just like it had when she was a little girl. "Sure, honey. That's fine. We'll look forward to that. I'll have Dad take the playpen out of the shed and the crib's still up in the spare bedroom." "Thanks, Mom. I was hoping it would work out. For some reason, I've missed seeing you guys so much the last few days. Also, and I admit it freely, I really, really want to see how the addition to the house is coming along. Rob and I are so excited about it! But I have to go now. This is a middle-of-the-day call and Rob always tells me to wait until the evening when the rates are lower. But I just had this sudden impulse to call and ask you if we could come and I just wanted to hear your voice." "OK, honey and I'm happy to hear your voice too." Tiffany smiled at the telephone cord which she was crumpling in her left hand. Joy was impetuous, as impetuous as she had been when she was six and had asked the mailman over for supper because she supposed that he looked lonely. "Bye, Mom. See you soon. Suppertime Friday?" "That'll be fine, Joy. Bye, honey." "Bye, Mom. I love you." "I love you too, sweetheart." Tiffany hung up the receiver slowly, and drifted back to the glass patio door. They had begun construction for an addition to the house. She viewed the cluttered backyard with some misgiving. Evan and she had talked about putting on the addition for weeks before finally coming to the decision that it was the right thing to do. However, Noah... She turned abruptly and slowly meandered back to the table, remembering that Joy and Rob might not be the only ones visiting this weekend. Noah and Amy had mentioned that they might drop by on Sunday afternoon. Noah did not approve of the addition. Noah did not approve of Joy any longer either. The remembrance of it fell on her like a shadow and a hard knot gathered in the pit of her stomach. Should she call back and ask Joy to wait – to come another weekend? The phone rang again. This time her hand was on the receiver before it finished its first ring. Somehow she had expected to hear Joy's voice again, but this time it was the doctor. "Tiffany?" "Yes. Dr. Brewster?" Her voice was hoarse. Dr. Brewster wasted no time. "Tiffany, I'm sorry, but the results of your lab tests were not good." "Cancer?" She barely had the breath to push the word out. Behind her, in the kitchen, Toby, the dog, moved about in his woven, wooden basket. The creaks interrupted the doctor's reply. "Yes, but I don't want you to panic." His voice was impersonal, calm and professional. "If you have to have cancer," he went on calmly, "the uterus is not such a bad place to have it in the beginning stages. And that's what I think the lab results show – that you are in the beginning stages of uterine cancer." "So what do I do?" Tiffany felt helpless, hopeless, and tremendously lonely all at the same time. She had not even told Evan about this doctor's appointment. It had, after all, only been a routine appointment, an ordinary appointment. However, Dr. Brewster's insistence on lab work after her last physical had made her nervous, had put a barbed wire fence around the appointment. It had seemed to her that telling Evan would unnecessarily emphasize the possibility that something might be wrong. And she had not wanted to consider that possibility. "Well, Tiffany," Dr. Brewster's voice bruised her ear, "I would suggest a hysterectomy as soon as possible to be your best option. How quickly would you be able to arrange to check into the hospital? The earliest possible arrangement I would be able to make for you would be next week Tuesday or Wednesday. Is that too fast for you and Evan to come to grips with the idea?" "No, that would be fine." What was she saying? What was happening here? Just a few moments ago she had been watching sparrows, and chatting with Joy. "Good." Dr. Brewster's voice was competent, almost chipper as he went on. "Well, keep your chin up. I'll go ahead and book you in for next Wednesday. Just count on the fact that you'll probably have to check into the hospital on Tuesday evening." Tiffany swallowed. There was a lump in her throat and words would not come. "I know this is difficult to take in, Tiffany," Dr. Brewster's voice suddenly became more sympathetic, "it's all rather sudden, isn't it? So, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to call me back. My nurse will call and confirm all these things and will also let you know this week what you may or may not eat prior to checking in." "All right." Tiffany's whisper was barely audible. "Bye, Tiffany." "Goodbye." Woodenly leaning her left hand on the diningroom table, Tiffany's right hand still clutched the receiver. Laboriously she placed the phone back on the hook. She had always loved the Romans 8:28 text. The recitation of it came easily. And we know that for those who love God all things – all things – work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. It rolled off her tongue smoothly, effortlessly. She had always accepted it as totally true, absolutely true – for everyone else. But now she had to apply it to herself. Now she had to say and believe that cancer would work for her good. Now she had to acknowledge that cancer would surely build a closer relationship with the Lord. But she was quite satisfied with the relationship she had with Him presently. "Oh, Lord!" she moaned, and again, "Oh, Lord! Slowly inching over, she sat down on one of the leather-backed table chairs. Then she slumped forward, dropping her hands at her sides, shivering as she did so. Feeling the hard wood on her face underneath the tablecloth was not exactly the most comfortable position. But the tablecloth had belonged to her Mom and right now she longed for her Mom and for her Dad and for Evan. She sobbed, first softly but then the whimpers spilled over into great wails of such an anguished nature that the dog got up from his basket in the kitchen and trotted over. Sitting down at her side, he began licking her left hand, whining as he did so. Eventually, Tiffany stopped keening. She was totally depleted, weary in both body and soul. It came to her that Janice Edgar had died of uterine cancer. Janice had been a strong Christian, often testifying in front of the church, often speaking at women's groups, that God's grace sustained her. Would she be able to do that too? Janice Edgar had been dead for almost fifteen years now. Sitting up in slow motion, Tiffany reached for the hanky in her skirt pocket. Blowing her nose and wiping her face, she contemplated the shades of red in the tablecloth. Mom had also died of cancer, of breast cancer, seven years ago. Mom was in heaven now and so was Dad. “What is your only comfort in life and death?” Tiffany could see her father, grey hair unruly and ruffled, teaching catechism to a room full of teenagers. He had boomed out the answer himself. “That I, with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ." And his fist had hit the table at the word “belong.” All the catechism students had jumped, herself included. Tiffany blew her nose again, and her thoughts shifted back to Joy. Joy was a teller of tales and Joy was coming home this weekend. How often, Tiffany recalled, had she not been glad at that six-word phrase, Joy is coming home this weekend. After graduating from a journalism program and accepting a job at a newspaper, Joy had left home. Regularly sent overseas on assignments, the child had a drive to speak the truth and had an amazing ability to weave words together. She was a stitcher of stories. Joy was a writer, a writer like her Dad had been. Tiffany shook her head sluggishly. Writing was an ability she herself did not possess. No, as a matter of fact, stuttering came easily and her heartrate accelerated considerably whenever she was called upon to say something. She continued gazing down at the tablecloth. How often had they not, the five of them, Evan, John, Noah, Joy and herself, sat around this table? How often would it still happen? **** Joy and husband Rob, and their children Lacy and baby Evan, lived about two hours north. Rob was a graphic arts designer and worked from home. After her marriage, although still writing articles, Joy had opted not to be sent on assignment any longer. She was a full-time mom and loved it. Five years ago, before she was married, Joy had been on assignment in Pakistan. Gone for about ten months, she had returned with a baby. That baby was Lacy. "The name Lacy is like Tiffany, Mom," Joy had smilingly told her, "they are both a fabric. Lacy though, like her name, is frail – very frail. But she is named for you and you'll have to pray that she will acquire strength." Lacy had been frail. She had been the tiniest nursling Tiffany had ever seen and she and Evan had loved her instantly. They had been sitting by this table when Joy had come home with the baby the first time. "Where…" Evan had carefully begun, but Joy had stopped him. "I can't tell you much, Dad. Just a little. But I'll tell you what I can." Evan, who had started to speak again, stopped and nodded. And Joy had commenced. "Thousands of children go missing or are abandoned each year in Pakistan. Neonaticide is common. This is the act of a parent murdering their own child during the first twenty-four hours of life. Some babies are found ...." Joy stopped for a moment, swallowing before she resumed her narrative. "... some are found in piles of rubbish, some in garbage cans...." And then it had almost been as if Joy began reciting a lesson. Her voice had turned neutral, monotone. She had gone on, repeating herself. "Many girl babies are found in garbage dumps. There is a strong preference, you see, for boys in Pakistan. One day a four-year-old girl was found in my street. Her throat was slit." Quiet for a moment, she eventually continued, continued wearily. "I found Lacy in a trash bin next to a toilet. I only noticed her because some of the garbage was moving and then there was this tiny cry." Tiffany had found herself reaching for Joy's hand. "Mom and Dad," Joy resumed, "I loved this child the moment I saw her moving underneath the garbage. In a flash I could see myself, covered with the filth of sin. And I felt God reaching out to take me away from garbage, to remove filth from me. So, I reached down for Lacy and she became mine." "How?" Evan asked again. But Joy had gone no further than to say that the child now had her name, was properly registered with the authorities, and that she was listed as the child's legal mother. And Lacy was a Down Syndrome child. **** Tiffany’s focus returned back to the present. She could see that a woodpecker had landed on the birdfeeder. Birds were Noah's passion and he had built the feeder when he was twelve years old. "I want to live here forever, Mom." She smiled. Noah loved coziness, delighted in family games, and he had always maintained that he would take care of her forever. Noah had become a teacher, and had married Amy a few years later. He loved children, very much appreciated imparting knowledge, and taught grade ten. He had bombarded Joy with questions about Lacy. Joy, however, remained close-mouthed and had steadfastly told him no more than she had told her parents. "That information is between myself and God, Noah." He had seemed satisfied with that answer, as was his brother, John. As a matter of fact, Noah had related Joy's story to his students. He'd even had Joy, Lacy in tow, visit his class. Retelling the story, she emphasized the need for the Gospel in Pakistan. Later he told his mom and dad that the students had listened, wide-eyed and very impressed. Ten months after coming home from Pakistan, Joy had come home with someone else. "Mom, Dad, Noah, Amy, John, I'd like you to meet Rob Khan." Almost ten years older than Joy, Rob was an immigrant from Pakistan. Crippled in one leg, Rob had initially seemed shy. Lacy, a determined little pipsqueak, was just beginning to pull herself up to stand when he first visited and she chose to do it by his chair. It set him at ease, and even as everyone applauded Lacy's effort, he relaxed – relaxed enough to be able to tell everyone that he was employed by the same newspaper as Joy, but that he had not really known her until she had been sent on assignment to Pakistan. "It was during this time that I also was in Pakistan, visiting my father. He was seriously ill and we met at the hospital. Joy was pursuing an article and while I was sitting in a waiting room, she asked if she could interview me. I agreed and we laughed pretty hard when we found out we were both working for the same newspaper. During the year that followed, it became very apparent to everyone that Rob and Joy were attracted to one another. Tiffany and Evan had been thankful that Joy had met a prospective, godly husband. That surely was the Lord's work. Rob proved to be a gentle man, one who loved God as both Creator and Redeemer, and one who took his responsibilities as a Christian seriously. There appeared no reason why the couple should not marry. And so they did when Lacy was just beginning to walk on her own. She was then twenty-two months old and there was no doubt that Rob loved the child as much as Joy did. His income, although not high, seemed secure. While his walking impairment did not affect his work as a graphic artist, it was this physical disability which to some degree worried Evan and Tiffany. It was for this reason that they prayerfully decided in the ensuing year, the year little Evan Jr. was born, to put an addition onto their bungalow – an addition which would easily accommodate a small family. It was their hope that, at some point in the future, they themselves would live in the addition, and that Joy and Rob would take up residence in their single-story, four-bedroom home. Not in a hurry, they had worked out the financial details with the young couple and, presently, everything would stay as it had always been. As soon as construction work was completed, they would sit down to reassess. On the surface, both John and Noah approved of Rob. That is to say, there had been no problem until the matter of the addition cropped up. To Evan's and Tiffany's great astonishment, Noah became reserved and uncommunicative during this time. He refused to be included in the plans for the addition and vetoed the idea of sitting down with everyone for a family meeting. When finally confronted by his father, he suddenly flared up in anger. "How do you know Rob's not actually Lacy's biological father," was his first sentence, "and that Joy was not an unwed mother who was looking for a decent way out." When Evan, astonished at both the outburst and the words, had remained silent, just staring at his son, Noah bristled on: "And it's not as if the pair of them don't have an income, Dad, as if they can't manage on their own. They earn a decent salary." "But, son," Evan responded, "Rob's lameness puts him at a bit of a disadvantage with regard to, well, for example, snow clearing and such things. So your mother and I, as we are now middle-aged, thought ...." "You're giving them everything, Dad ...." Noah stopped and Evan immediately and painfully recognized that both money and jealousy were controlling Noah's words and emotions. "Son," he tried again, "your mother and I have talked about this long and hard. It was, after all, our decision to make. And we did discuss with you that we were thinking of adding an addition. You voiced no objection at that time. Add to this that Mom and I would like to stay in this home until we die, and you have a rationale as to why we came to this decision." When Noah did not respond, Evan went on. "You can also certainly understand that Joy could use help, especially with Lacy. Your mother would happily provide that help. And Rob and I, between the two of us, will be able to manage the garden and enjoy the benefits of country life. That is not to say that you and Amy ...." He got no further. "Yes, what about us, Dad? Did you ever think about us?" Evan sighed and repeated his words. "Initially, son, your mother and I came to the conclusion that this was a good thing in the eyes of God. Secondly, it was primarily our decision to make. We prayed about it constantly and, after much consideration, felt assured that this was God's will." "Well, it's certainly not my will." The words lay between them. They were only six words but they were as lengthy as the Sinai Desert. Evan sighed again. "Why not, Noah?" "Think about the money you're spending on Rob and Joy, Dad. Isn't that part of the family inheritance? Isn't that ours?" "Noah, they will be paying their own way. They will purchase their own part of this residence. That will be worked out between us." "They're using you and Mom. They have a handicapped child, a baby and a crippled leg between them – and they're using these things to evoke your sympathy." When Evan passed Noah's words on to Tiffany later, she felt sick at heart. A week after this incident, Evan spoke with John about the issue. His oldest son's response had been hesitant, conflicted. "You are free to do as you like, Mom and Dad," he had countered, "I know that Joy can use the help, but honestly, I don't want to become embroiled in a family argument." "But there is no argument," Evan said, "unless you allow for an argument." John had just shaken his head and changed the subject. **** Tiffany moved her head back and forth as she recalled the conversation, even as she ran her right hand aimlessly along the tablecloth, trying to focus on something else. Her eyes concentrated on the feeder. The hairy woodpecker was still there, larger than life. The red patch on his head stood out in sharp contrast to his black and white feathers. Perhaps he was from Trinidad or Tobago. Their flag was black, white and red. Now that thought, Evan would say, is a silly thought. And truly, it was. The dog wandered over and sniffed her left hand. "Do you have to go out?" He sat down next to her and looked up, brown eyes sympathetic and loyal. "All right, Toby, I'll let you out. Just don't chase all the birds away." There were some things which a person could easily chase away, she mulled, as she followed the dog to the kitchen door which led to the backyard, but there were other things which refused to disappear. And there was this one thought which now haunted her – that this hostility in the family was worse pain than the knowledge that she had cancer. **** She told Evan about the doctor's phone call as they were lying in bed that night. She whispered the news under the protective cover of the dark. He held her tightly, very tightly, and she could feel that his cheeks were wet with tears. "It's all right," he whispered through the dimness of the bedroom, "It's all right. God will lead us through this, Tiffany." She gradually fell asleep in his arms, spent with emotion and weary with thinking. **** "What about Sunday?" she asked Evan at breakfast before he left for work. "Should I call Joy and Rob and tell them not to come? But next weekend," and she swallowed painfully, running her spoon along the edge of her dish, "I'll probably be in the hospital and I won't be able to see the grandchildren." Evan didn't answer and she continued. "Or should I call Noah and Amy and tell them not to come?" "Don't call anyone," he advised, "Just let them all come." "But they won't get on." Evan smiled at her. "No, they won't." She wanted him to say more and when he did not say anything else, she went on. "If they don't get on, Evan, it will be difficult." She stopped, perplexed. Looking at her crestfallen face, Evan took pity. "Oh, Tiffany, you know that I understand with all my heart how you are feeling. I feel it too. But presently we won't be able to solve this. Perhaps there will be a breakthrough. Perhaps Noah will gradually be able to accept the situation and support it as he ought to have from the beginning." Tiffany nodded. Evan was right. He came over and kissed her cheek, adding a postscript. "We cannot change him, but we can pray for him. Remember, sweetheart, we have done nothing wrong. As a matter of fact, what we are doing is very right." **** She performed her housework mechanically that day. She dusted what was not dusty, and often stopped to stare vacantly into either the front or the back yard. Her thoughts alternated between the cancer and Noah. To have one's uterus taken out, one's womb, was an incomprehensible thought. The word hysterectomy was easy enough to say, even though it was a big word, but its inference, its significance and essence, was unambiguously difficult. She cringed at its somber implication as it shouted: "You will lose your femininity. You will no longer be able to have children." Now, it wasn't as if she and Evan would have any more children. After all, she was in her late forties and the time of bearing children was past. But the whole concept of losing part of her femaleness was abhorrent to her. And what if one thing led to another? Aunt Catherine had died of cervical cancer. After Aunt Catherine's hysterectomy, her bladder had been removed. There had been tubes in her sides and it had seemed a downward trajectory after that. The large intestine had to be operated on next and then the exit to her lower abdomen was relocated. Not that it was carved in stone, she told herself stoically as she vacuumed the stairs, that this would happen to her. And if it did, well then, that would be something which God wanted her to go through. All things work together. All things work together.... The vacuum cleaner droned the words – words to which she must cling. Nevertheless, as the vacuum cleaner suctioned dirt, she shivered. She hummed quietly through the hoover's discordance. When there was a lot of noise, you could sing and no one knew that you were off-key. Walking back up the stairs, she pulled the plug and then pulled the machine back into the hall closet. After she shut the closet door, she walked over to the piano. What music, what words could comfort now? The Psalter was open and she sat down on the piano bench and played softly, singing the familiar words. They caused tears to trickle down her cheeks. "Praise to the Lord, Who o'er all things so wondrously reigneth, Shelters thee under His wings, yea, so gently sustaineth! Hast thou not seen How thy desires e'er have been Granted in what He ordaineth?" Wiping her cheeks, she re-asked herself the question. Had God ordained the cancer? And she answered herself. Yes, He had. And, she knew as well that this was for her good. Swinging her legs around, she got up from the bench. Evan had said that it might be wise to call the minister. He had offered to do it himself, but she had said that she could manage. Let's see. Could she say it? She cleared her throat. "I have cancer." The words emerged dull and lusterless. "I have cancer." She spoke louder this time. But her heart had begun to thud. Then she said, "Tiffany has cancer." This came out easier. It sounded as if she was speaking about someone else. The clock ticked in the background and through the ticking she tried again. She whispered, "I am Tiffany." And then she sat down and wept. **** The minister was very kind. She did begin to cry as she told him and he patiently waited until she was calm and coherent. "Shall I come and visit?" he asked, but she replied that this was not necessary. But then, all of a sudden, without deliberation, she poured out her heart about Noah, about the intense grief she and Evan were feeling because their son's heart seemed to be turned away from God and towards himself. "Dear heavenly Father," the minister prayed with her, "Touch Noah's heart ...." "Thank you," Tiffany enunciated with difficulty, "but this Sunday ...?" "I know," he answered, "but these things often take time – possibly years and years." "I might not," she responded, "be there after years and years." But even as she said this, she felt it was unfair towards him and her spirit recalled the words, "Granted in what He ordaineth." **** It was Wednesday and Wednesday was her regular day for shopping. Not that it was a hard and fast rule, but she felt a need to go out. The phone rang as she was putting on her coat. She ran up the stairs to answer. It was Evan. "Tiffany, are you all right? I've been thinking about you all morning and just want to say that I love you so much." She smiled. "Hey, I'm just fine. A little teary-eyed every now and then, but I think I'll manage. How about you?" "Oh, I'm fine too." He stopped talking and there was quiet. "Well, I'll call you again later. I just wanted to hear your voice for a minute." "Evan, actually I'm just leaving for some shopping, so if you don't get an answer when you call again, don't worry. I'll give you a call when I get back in." "OK, sweetheart." She hung up the phone slowly and retraced her steps to the front door. **** There was no shopping. On a whim, Tiffany drove to a local conservation area. Here it was that she and Evan often came at dusk to just sit a while, not necessarily speaking. The park was built on a bluff and from it you could look out over a valley lush with maples. Half the view was sky. She sat in the car and stared into the horizon. A memory came and she vividly recalled a time that she, Evan, John, and Noah had camped in Algonquin Park. The boys had been three and five. Joy had not yet been born. She and Evan had slept in one tent and the children right next to them in another. In the middle of the night, they had heard growling. Belly-crawling over the canvas floor towards the tent flap, an unnerving spectacle had met their eyes. The open flap had revealed a mother bear with two cubs. All three animals were nosing around in the little trailer housing their bikes and their food. The trailer stood about ten feet from their tents. Her heart had begun to thump so loud that the ground beneath her shook. "Are you scared, Evan?" "Yes." Two-year-old Noah had unzipped himself out of his sleeping bag about half an hour before, yelling, "Bear! Bear!" at the top of his lungs. They had soothed him, tucked him back into his bedroll, assuring him that there was no bear. Comforted, he had fallen asleep again as quickly as he had woken up. If reawakened, he might have come running out, provoking that mother bear. Their soft prayer for safety had been salted with fear. There really had been nothing they could do except pray. Evan and she had watched the mother bear with her cubs until she lumbered off with them at dawn. God had protected them that night. It felt a bit like that right now. It felt like she was lying flat on her stomach, watching the world around her through a tent flap. The cancer was nosing through her life and she was afraid of its presence. And Noah, next to her in his tent, might be swallowed up by... by what? "By his unnecessary greed and jealousy." She whispered the words towards the sky. **** Later, she reached into the glove compartment of the car for the small Bible Evan had given her on their twenty-fifth anniversary. Inscribed on the flyleaf were the words: “On your forty-seventh birthday. May God's words be a lamp unto your feet. You are my sweetheart. Love, Evan.” She held the small leather volume between her hands. Both words of life and words of death were contained within its cover. She did not read but just kept the book on her lap. The almost-teenager Joy abruptly appeared in her memory. She had been tucking the girl in for the night. "Mom, does the Lord's Supper bread taste good?" "It's a symbol of Jesus' body, Joy." "Oh, Mom," Joy was indignant, "I know that. That's not what I meant. I meant, does it taste good in your heart?" "Yes, it does, Joy. It tastes very good in my heart." "What do you suppose, Mom, we'll eat at the wedding supper of the Lamb? I suppose," she added softly, "that it doesn't really matter. What really matters is that you've been invited." The girl smiled at Tiffany before she continued. "What do you suppose the invitation looks like, Mom?" Again she went on without waiting to hear what Tiffany would answer. "I know what it looks like, Mom. It looks like this." She took the Bible off the nightstand next to her bed. "Can you imagine the price of the postage, Mom? Can you imagine what you would have to pay to send out invitations like this?" She grinned and sat down cross-legged on her bed. "But that's not really true is it, Mom. The real price was not postage stamps. It was a lot more expensive. It was Jesus dying on the cross." "Yes, Joy." **** It was late afternoon when she drove the car back into the driveway again. She turned the car off, opened the door and stepped out. It was almost at the same time as Eleanor Trask, her neighbor, walked by on the sidewalk. "Hi, Tiffany." "Hi, Eleanor." "Tiffany, I need to speak with you a moment." Eleanor approached at a rather quick clip, and there was something in her demeanor which made Tiffany uneasy. Eleanor was a sweet neighbor, a widow in her sixties, and someone she trusted. Before she had quite reached her, Eleanor's words spilled out. "The doctor has been trying to reach you all afternoon, Tiffany. He knew you were my neighbor and asked that, should I see you, I pass on that you come to his office as soon as possible. Even if it's late, he said, you were to go directly to his office." Tiffany blanched. "Did he say why?" "No, dear, he didn't. Is anything wrong, Tiffany? Can I help you with anything?" "Thank you, Eleanor, but no. I'll talk with you some other time. I'll just go in now and phone Evan before I leave." "All right, dear. But are you sure? You look pale. I could make you a cup of tea before you go." Tiffany smiled. "No, thank you. Really, I'm fine." With that she turned, not trusting herself for fear of weeping, trembling, and blubbering on Eleanor's shoulder like a child. Inside, she sat on the stairs for a few moments, praying. "Please, Lord, help me, for Jesus' sake." Then she got up and phoned Evan. He had been, he informed her, trying to call her and was about to call her again. When she told him about Dr. Brewster's phone call via Eleanor, he immediately said he would meet her at the clinic. "Oh, and sweetheart," he added, but then said, "Never mind, I'll tell you when I see you." It was barely twenty minutes later that they checked in at the nurse's desk. Even though it was late afternoon, several people were still sitting in the waiting room. "I don't have an appointment," Tiffany explained, "but Dr. Brewster seems to have called me and ...." She did not have to say more. The nurse smiled up at her. "Yes, I know. Please have a seat. I'll let you know as soon as he can see you." **** "Tiffany," Evan began in an undertone, "there's something I have to tell you. Right after you phoned, I called both John and Noah. I told them what Dr. Brewster had said in his first phone call, and that you had received another phone call from him because... well, I don't really know why, but..." "Oh, Evan, we were going to wait to tell them until the weekend." "I know, sweetheart. But when you told me Dr. Brewster had phoned again, I thought it was better to let the boys know sooner. I think I would have wanted to know if my mother..." Evan's voice had become rather unsteady. He stopped talking and she reached out her hand. He took it, cradling it within his two much larger hands even as he kept talking. "I love you, my sweetheart, and I wish it were myself who..." "Oh, don't, Evan." They had not noticed that the nurse had left her place behind the counter and was standing in front of them. "You may go in now. The doctor is waiting for you." Unsteadily, Tiffany rose even as Evan's arm supported her back. **** Dr. Brewster, a tall, middle-aged man, stood up from behind his desk as they entered. "So glad you received my message and came, Tiffany. Good to see you too, Evan. Please, please sit down." Tiffany had difficulty catching her breath and she leaned on Dr. Brewster's large bureau before she took her place on one of the black, chrome-edged chairs stationed in front of it. Both she and Evan sat down gingerly, as if by relaxing on the chairs too comfortably, tragedy might strike them unaware. Tiffany's breathing was shallow. She couldn't bring herself to speak. Dr. Brewster smiled at her, but her face was a mask – a hard mask that would break should she move even one muscle. "Tiffany, Evan, I don't quite know how to tell you this. There's been a mistake." Tiffany reached for Evan's hand. Her eyes were riveted on Dr. Brewster's mouth. He had a tiny gap between his front teeth and she noted that the bristles of his moustache quivered as his voice orated on. "I have no idea how it happened. I suppose living in a computer-age, we're all subject to mistakes because of machines." Evan interrupted. "Tell us, Dr. Brewster, what you're driving at. Can't you see that this is tremendously difficult for us." "Yes, of course." He half-stood up and then, thinking the better of it, sat down again. "Well, you see, the tests that I spoke to you about earlier this week on the telephone, Tiffany, those tests were not yours. They belonged to someone else." It was quiet for a long minute. Then Evan cleared his throat. "Are we to understand that you are telling us that Tiffany does not need a hysterectomy – that she does not have uterine cancer?" His voice had a sharp edge. "That is correct." Dr. Brewster answered quickly, almost nervously. He stroked the mustache above his full lips and went on. "I am, as I am sure you are, tremendously relieved. Please accept my apologies for the trauma you must have gone through." It was quiet again – a quiet in which all sounds seemed beautiful to Tiffany. Suddenly she relaxed against the back of the chrome chair. "But my tests, Dr. Brewster, what do my tests actually show?" Tiffany's voice was slightly higher than it usually was. "Well," leaning back in his chair as well, and adopting a more commanding presence, Dr. Brewster's voice resumed a professional tone, "your tests were absolutely healthy. They were normal. There is nothing for you to worry about." "How…" Evan began, and then stopped. "Why…" he started again, but pressure from Tiffany's hand deterred him from continuing. She stood up. Both her legs and her voice were a bit unstable. "Will you need to see me again, Dr. Brewster?" He stood also, as did Evan. "Not until next year, Tiffany." "Thank you." She moved towards the door, pulling Evan with her. "We are walking through a miracle," she whispered, "We really are walking through a miracle, Evan. It's like I'm the daughter of Jairus." Faltering through the office, unmindful of the waiting patients, Tiffany began to weep and stumbled. Evan put his arm around her. "It's all right, sweetheart," he whispered, "I love you." They made it down the clinic hallway, and Evan pushed the door to the parking lot wide open. "I think I'll drive you home," he said, "and tomorrow you can drive back here with me and I'll take the car to work." She nodded, unable to speak. Her throat was dry. Evan held her hand and directed her towards the car. It was beautiful outside. The birds sang what she felt in her hearts in that moment. The nearby maples on the edge of the parking lot, were alive with notes of praise. She noted with delight a grey squirrel scampering up one of the trees. The air was pure and she inhaled deeply to taste it. "Taste and see that the Lord is good." Indeed, He was. "Evan, let's ...." She stopped short for there in the car parked next to Evan's car, she could see Noah. He was staring at them and her whole wall of thankfulness came tumbling down. "Evan!" "Yes, I see him." Even as they spoke, Noah opened the door of his car and came out. "Mom! Dad!" She loved Noah. She loved him so much that she ached. "Oh, Evan!" “It's all right, Tiffany! It's all right!" “Can I come and sit in your car?" Noah's voice was strangely sober, and Evan nodded, simultaneously answering, "Of course, you can, son." As they took their places in the front seat, Noah edged into the back seat. He began speaking as soon as Evan closed his door. "Mom, I know you must be wondering why I'm here, although I think that Dad might have explained to you about how he called and told me..." He stopped here, touching the back of her shoulder before he went on. "It doesn't matter what the doctor said, Mom. I love you. It will be OK. I know it will and I've been praying for you the whole time while you were in the office. We'll deal with it together as a family should." Tiffany felt a sob rising in her chest, a sob that she suppressed. "I know what you must think of me," Noah went on, "and I want to tell you something – a story actually – a devotional read by one of my students this morning. I was very much moved by that devotional. I'd like you to hear it before you tell me about the doctor. Would that be all right? Would you listen to it, Mom and Dad?" Again it was Evan who answered. "Sure, son." The trees, tall and majestic, surrounded the parking lot. Tiffany gloried in their beauty, even as she strained her ears to mind the words Noah was beginning to share. The grey squirrel ran up a nearby tree and took his place on a low-hanging branch, chattering up a storm. "There was a man," Noah began, "a preacher. He was a good preacher, always saying the right things, preaching excellent sermons on how one's life should be transformed by the Holy Spirit, and how we must study and act on what God's Word tells us. One day, a stranger attended one of the preacher's services. The sermon was particularly personal that Sunday and the man felt something stir within him, something he had never felt before. As a matter of fact, he felt so guilty with regard to the unwholesome way of life he had been living, that he followed the preacher after the church service with the intention of asking him questions. "Now there were other people as well who wanted to speak with the preacher after the service. So, the man who had just been shamed for his way of life by means of the sermon, was not able to reach the pastor's side because the pastor was literally surrounded by these other folk. So he lingered at the tail end of the group. But even though he was not directly among them, he did pick up their coarse language and their crude jokes which were being told. And he noticed with bewilderment that the minister laughed as loud and as long as the others in the group. "After some fifteen minutes or so of walking, the group entered a home, probably the home of one of the men in the group. Everyone was invited in and beer was served. The man went in also and the joking and unhealthy manner of speaking continued in the home. The minister was in the thick of it but he said nothing to halt the vulgarities of his companions. After some time of observing this unrestrained behavior, the man left. "It was at least twenty years later, that this preacher was called out to visit a dying man. He readily acquiesced and was led to the bedside of someone he did not know. And this dying man, after fixing him with a long stare, began to speak. "'I suppose,' his lips muttered, 'that you do not recognize me.' "'No,' the pastor replied, "indeed, I do not.' "'I heard you preach once,' the man went on, 'a long time ago.' "'Praise God,' the preacher said, 'I'm thankful for that.' "'Perhaps you ought not be thankful,' the dying man answered, 'even though I admit that at that time I was initially thankful for what you said.' "'What do you mean?' "'When I heard you preach, I was living a sinful life – a very immoral and wicked life. But your words, the words you preached on the pulpit, made sense and I was sorely shamed. So I followed you after church, wanting to speak with you privately so that you might help me understand what it was I ought to do to make amends.' "'Yes?' "'You were walking with a group of men. Their joking and rudeness amazed me. But what amazed me more was the fact that you participated. Even when I walked into the house you entered with these disgusting companions, you did not correct them. So after some time, I left. Once outside, I stamped my foot upon the ground and vowed that if such was a changed life, I didn't have to do much to change. I might as well keep enjoying what I had, up to that point in my life, delighted in.' Even as the man spoke, a death rattle in his throat, the minister paled. Shocked and chastened, he could find no words to speak. And then the man died." Tiffany and Evan had been totally quiet throughout Noah's telling of the story. When it finally appeared done, Evan cleared his throat. But Noah was not done. "You need not say anything just yet, Dad," he carefully went on, "You see, I came to understand during that devotion that the preacher in the story resembles me. I often tell the kids in my class how important it is to share, how important it is to show the love of God not just in words but in deeds. And I came to understand that I myself have been hypocritical." Noah's voice was breaking, even as he went on. "Oh, Dad and Mom, I am so sorry!" A bird alit on a tree branch overhanging the car and began to sing. And Tiffany knew that this last miracle was greater, much greater than the first. Pictures are by Havilah Farenhorst....

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The Colson Center: a sibling we look up to

Growing up as the second youngest in a family of ten, I learned a lot about life from my older siblings. Once grown, most of us continue to lean on our siblings in Christ as we navigate what it means to run a business, parent children, or serve in a church. We’ll get in trouble quickly if we think we can figure things out all on our own. That’s why, through the years, we have introduced our readers to some of RP’s “siblings” – organizations and individuals that we have learned a great deal from and aspire towards. If you appreciate what we are doing, you will probably like them too. I have already shared about WORLD Media Group, which covers the news from a solid Christian perspective via a magazine, video program for kids, podcasts, and more. RP is taking steps in that direction (with more journalism). But we don’t want to give up something that has always been core to our identity – worldview training. And the organization that best models this to us is the good folks at the Colson Center, a Christian organization which exists to “equip Christians to live with clarity, confidence, and courage in this cultural moment.” The organization is named after Charles Colson, whose books Kingdoms in Conflict (now retitled as God & Government) and Loving God have been very influential to both RP’s Editor Jon Dykstra and myself. Colson had served alongside President Nixon, before being thrown into prison for his role in the Watergate Scandal. By God’s grace, he repented and became a born-again Christian. God used him in a powerful way, first through creating Prison Fellowship (a ministry in prisons around the world), and then in developing Christian worldview training. He was concerned by the emphasis among evangelicals about “getting saved” without understanding the life of thankfulness we are saved to. The Colson Center trains Christians through many mediums including their daily Breakpoint commentary (on many radio stations), e-newsletters, podcasts, conferences, and intensive courses/programs. Over the past year, my wife Jaclyn and I have been enrolled in the Colson Fellows training program, following a curriculum that requires daily, weekly, and monthly training commitments that average about an hour a day. If you are looking to grow in your biblical worldview, I highly recommend it. Like WORLD, the Colson Center isn’t explicitly Reformed. But a Reformed perspective is very evident in both the underlying principles that guide them, and the teams that lead them. Both organizations seek to be faithful to God’s Word, applying it to the issues of our day, and waging war against Satan’s lies that abound in so many other resources. And they do so with grace, maintaining a positive tone that should always be found among those who hold to the Lordship of Jesus Christ and the sovereignty of God. I heartily encourage you to get plugged in to their short daily Breakpoint newsletter or podcast (available in both formats at no cost). You won’t be disappointed. To give you a taste, we included a Breakpoint article in the magazine on occasion, such as "When 'helping' kids hurts them" and "Is AI just another tool, or something else?" As Jon Dykstra explained in the March/April 2024 issue: Breakpoint has an American focus and is not specifically Reformed (though some writers are), so we differ in some notable respects: they are anti-evolution and RP is specifically 6-day creationist; we'll highlight problems with the Pope both when he is acting Roman Catholic and when he is not, while they stick to the latter. So, as with everything, there is a need to read with discernment. But when it comes to the hottest cultural battles of our day – sexuality, gender, the unborn, and God's sovereignty over "every square inch" of creation – they get it right consistently, and they are timely, often replying to events that happened just the day before. That's why Breakpoint articles have been featured in our online “Saturday selections” column for years now. You can also find more about them at Breakpoint.org and ColsonCenter.org....

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