It doesn’t work that way. I know it, you know it, but we don’t live it. What I am talking about is the way we live our lives connected to God. It’s too many years since those early days of childhood. Days of going out and doing things and just having fun. On one occasion or maybe two, we would fall and in the terror of the moment we would call out . . . You got it, “Mom.” With tears streaming down our young pudgy, ruddy face, we would look for consolation and a well place kiss. As we grew older, the calls lessened as we realized we were made of stronger stuff. Yeah, right. We didn’t want to be known as the neighbourhood cry baby.
I remember the day our family moved into a new house. Paul and I were just six and five years’ old. In actual fact I had just turned five. It was a new housing development on the west side of Hamilton Mountain. While mom, dad, and our two older sisters were working away moving our possessions, the boys went exploring. This was back in the days when parents were not paranoid about where the children were. Remember the age, it’s important and you will be tested on this next week.
Being one of the first houses of this new development there was much to explore. This was only the beginning of many years of exploring the area. We started out by looking at other building sites. The more we saw the more we wanted to explore. Eventually, and we are talking a few hours, we were standing in the middle of a stream, looking for anything that moved. The bush was being cleared for the new houses and this area with the stream was the last hold out to progress.
To say the least we were dirty, wet, walking in water filled shoes and we noticing it was starting to cool off. Coatless, we had not taken notice of where we were headed or how far we had gone. Of course we were made of tougher stuff but inside those words were welling up . . . “Mom! Where are you?” Well, we did what any young child did back then, we went up to a stranger and asked them where we lived. Yes, you read that right. We asked him where we lived.
His reply was customary for the time, “Yes I think I do.” With that he loaded us in his old car, (my first ride in a Model A) and drove us the three blocks home. It was so good to see the new house. Yelling into the air a ‘thank you’ filled with relief, and two boys went running into the new home and the security of our loving parents. They never noticed we were gone.
Today, as I write this and smile of those early simpler days, I wonder if we are made of tougher stuff? I wonder if we assume our parents are there or if God is there? I question myself and wonder if the only time that I really think I ‘need’ God is when I am lost and all alone. In the society that we are in, parents are the ones who are always watching out for their children. Kids just want to be kids. They leave the worrying up to us. You know this and so do I, ultimately and eventually we all cry out to God asking Him where He is when we feel cold, wet and all alone.
Let’s not be like many people out there only calling to God when it hurts. Let’s move in and get closer every day, and totally connected to Him.
Something to think about
Robin

What We See

They tell me that taking the first step into a building is the most difficult. In most cases, people are afraid of the unknown. They have no idea what to expect. I remember doing this a few times when out shopping, wondering what’s inside. Once I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t need to be there. Some stores leave their front doors open all the time as a way of removing the barrier between customers and their products.
Today I want us to ask, “What do people see when they’re on the inside?” You go to some place new and find yourself looking around and wondering, what’s that for, why did they do that, who picked this architecture or decorating style? All kinds of questions, once inside.
When we apply this to church, it adds another dimension. How do they worship? What can I expect? Will I feel at home or uncomfortable? Will things happen that startle me or put me at ease? You see, when people arrive they have not only these questions but many more.
What does our church look like to a new person who has never been here before? Will it reflect who we are or is it too old fashion or too traditional? After they get by the front door, this is what I think they see. If I am wrong, please email me and let me know I am totally off base. barlowrw@yahoo.com
They have made the effort, arrived early, been greeted and seated. Now, what do they see. I think they see the people engaged in saying hello, smiling, laughing, and just enjoying seeing old friends and meeting new one. There are people going from one side to the other, front to back and back again. It looks like they not only enjoy where they are, but the people seemed to act like family. This is the warm feeling they are greeted by and they like what they see. There are even the odd person, odd, meaning number not odd in strange, coming up and saying hello. What a wonderful time.
Just when things are really getting going, the minister walks in and everyone sits down and put on a sullen face. What happened? Arriving at the podium, (they don’t like the word pulpit anymore), and say, “Welcome to worship” And everyone looks sad. I would be too. And so begins worship. Stand up, sit down, sing songs you will never remember the words to, and just listen and do what you are told. There the people sit trying as they must to stay awake. Worship is to be connecting to a God of love and . . . “What is happening?”, these people must be asking themselves because they dare not ask out loud.
When the sermon is over, some of them are woken from their slumber by the announcement of the closing hymn. This then followed by the benediction, whatever that is, and a solemn, “Amen, Amen, A-a-a-a-men.” Now how can we top that. We have begun with laughter and conversation and what happened. Just when it seems all is lost, the sleeping arise and continue on where they left off when the minister came in the door. Not to be sacrilegious, it is almost as if it is a pre reflection of the resurrection. Take a look around, fourteen seconds after the last amen, those who were dead in Christ are raised.
Sorry, but I want to meet with God. I want to feel the privilege of meeting with the King and stepping into His presence. Not with a solemn face, but with radiance, shining with love and joy that we know just by being close to Him. If you were given the chance to meet one on one with Queen Elizabeth, would you be reserved? Would you just sit there stone faced and listen or would you have questions, or have answers for her?
The same can be said for those moments when we step into the presence of God, recognize Him for who is, really sing those words and realize, “The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children. Now IF we are "children" -- then we are HEIRS -- heirs of God, and co-heirs . . Something I thought about Rob

I Write Because I Can

In recent weeks I have been asked why I keep writing my articles. I guess they wonder why a person does something when they don’t have to. I originally started writing because I needed to. At the same time it was also something I liked doing. My writing career began in my graduating year at high school. I was the editor of the school paper and the first tech student to hold that position.
One of my favourite ways of writing is to take an everyday event and pulling from them a spiritual lesson. If you remember, Jesus did this. How about the woman at the well and never thirsting again? For reasons known only to God, I enjoy writing and thinking of the unthinkable. Of telling stories of life, where we have all been and all those joys set before us and of course the agony of defeat. As we look back on them, we can use them to help us in our own spiritual journeys.
A case in point relates to a time in my life when I spent great periods of time just practiced writing. I wanted to have the best writing in our class. I remember back to one night in particular. The electricity was off and it was going to be off for a while. I didn’t normally do any homework. But this night, due to the novelty of the situation, I decided homework would be fun by candle light. There I was, cross legged on the floor, writing away on the coffee table with the candle in front of me.
I was practicing writing and the more focused I became, the closer to the light I moved. I didn’t realize it, until the telltale smell of burning hair filled the room, that I was too close to the flame. Yes, I did have hair at one time. Very quickly I jumped back and snuffed out the red glow of the burning ends. The next morning, in the daylight I noticed something more. I had a red glow on my forehead.
Today, as I reflect on that one incident, I can think of the spiritual connection. When we get close to God, I wonder which of these two evidences we will have. The evidence of a face glowing as we get closer to Him or the loss of hair as He singes our sin. I think of Moses and the glow of his face after seeing God.
So why do I write? Today it is something I can not do. I love to write. It may not be the best writing you have ever read but it’s the best I can do. I look at my writing today as practice for the future. I’m sitting cross-legged leaning closer to the light. Someday, in the not to distant future, my life will be most spent. I will have given my last sermon. I will have lead my last worship service and I will have finished teaching others to reach out and touch others for Christ. When that is all over, I pray, that the practicing I am now doing will be perfected. I will still be able to keep writing about the Lord I love because He Loved me first.
And when I see Him face to face, I pray I will have radiant skin from the Glow of his presence. What will you have?
Rob

For the first time in my life, I had been picked! A kid my age, and with my experience, never imagined being picked. Every time before, the last one picked for anything was always me. Out on the street with sticks and a ball, the boys would pick teams. And who was the last one to be picked? Baseball seasons, last one picked for a team? This became the norm for the youngest, smallest, skinny kid with little athletic abilities. After a while, trying out for a team seamed the furthest thing from my mind. After all, there were individual sports. Or so I thought.
Until the realization came to me that the last one across the finish line was actually the last one picked. Swimming went well until I was the first one off the team for being the slowest swimmer. Then there was the same result at track and the last attempt when I tried my lack of talent at the gymnastics. I finally got the picture.
And that is when I was picked. Now, I have to admit that I was the last one picked but there were still others not picked at all. We were having a school play. A big production. It was Burkholder Drive Middle Schools production of “The Mikado.” And I had been picked. Unlike today where there would be a camcorder churning away forever the historic even, all that is left are some dim off coloured photos, the gestetnered program of those nights and the memories.
It had been a triumph of sorts for a thirteen-year-old. I can still remember the words of the song I sang. Yes, I sang in public and people didn’t leave. We excitedly shouted, “Let’s do it again.” But stopped when we saw the tired look of the two teachers, who had given up so much time to work with a ragamuffin group of wannabe.
It was time to call it a night. Reluctantly, one by one, each of us washed off the makeup, changed out of our costumes for the last time and gathered up our things. We all thought we had finally won.
As the night wound down, there was only one thing left to do. Turn out the lights and say goodnight. The gym was bright and empty. The seats that only moments before had been filled with parents and students, now sat empty waiting to be stowed away. I volunteered to jump up on the stage, go behind the curtain and throw the switch. Still excited, I jumped back down off the stage and started to run in the dark toward the dim exit sign.
Then it happened. Just getting up a head of steam I was laid low by an errant chorus bench. One of those oak benches that don’t move when you push them took me out. It was a reality check where I went from a great high to deep low. As I stumbled out of the gym I told the teacher I was fine and faked that I would be all right.
Monday morning, with a fresh bandage on my leg, I arriving at school and went straight to the gym to see what had caused my down fall. There it was. It was the only thing in the room, out of place. For some unknown reason I pushed it back into place and went off to class. Today, as I sit here running my fingers over the damage of that night, I feel the indentation of skin and the chipped bone in my leg. Doing so always reminds me of the bible verse I learned back them, “So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!” We stand firm in Christ. We think we have arrived and all is well. But one thing, one small thing brings us down. I don’t know if God intended it this way. But I do know, that when it happens, (not if it happens) we have to go back to where it happened and make things right. And that means going back to the light, which is Him and make things right. The wonderful thing is, He feels our pain and dries our tears, picks us up and sends us on. Been there?
Something to think about.