MOVE ASIDE, SANTA! (A THANKSGIVING MEDITATION)

                       THANKSGIVING MEDITATION:  MOVE ASIDE, SANTA!         by Frances K. Van Mil (520 words)

              I waited in breathless anticipation.  It was Christmas!  Besides the carefully-wrapped  gifts for each family member, I had exceeded my budget at the last minute to buy piles of stocking-stuffers for everyone.  The stockings had looked so bare, my family was so dear to me and had come from so far, and I just wanted to see smiles of contentment on each face.

How much fun I had had wrapping all the carefully-selected gifts and placing them in the stockings after everyone was asleep!  For my granddaughter, aged nine and highly creative and artistic, I had purchased something I knew she would love: a whole scrapbooking kit with books, specialty papers, alphabet  letters and themed stickers.  I could not wait to see her pleasure at receiving this gift.

Finally, it was Christmas morning.  What fun to see the children open their stockings.  The scrapbooking set was a success.  Joy and merriment abounded.

After all the presents were opened, and scrambled eggs, coffee and Aunt Judy’s Christmas stollen had been consumed, everyone picked up their new things and took them to their rooms.  The children brought out their new playthings.

My granddaughter, with a determined look and obvious enjoyment of her gift said, “I’m going to do my scrapbooking now!”  I waited for the usual “Thank you, Grandma!” and a kiss, but I did not receive any acknowledgement at all.  I felt disappointed.  Then I remembered that the stocking gifts were supposed to be from Santa Claus, not any family member.   I certainly hadn’t given the gifts with any thought of getting credit or thanks, but somehow I was let down, and missed having her know that it was MY love for her that was behind the gift.  As I entertained this thought, I seemed to hear the Lord’s voice within my spirit, saying,

              “How do you think I feel?”

His words seemed to come with great plaintiveness and vehemence, showing empathy with my feelings, while expressing His own.  I felt that Someone understood.  My thoughts turned to Him.

              I thought about how God must feel all the time to have created this beautiful world- the planets, the stars, the woods, waters, animals, flowers and birds; to have created each one of us uniquely; to have devised a plan to redeem us all to go to Heaven at the cost of the gruesome death on the cross of His divine Son Jesus.  I thought of His provision of family, food, water, shelter and jobs; His guidance of our lives into meaningful occupations and use of our talents;  His desire for intimacy, His lavish giving and His caring about the smallest detail and desire in our lives. 

              So often, God is not given even a cursory thought, much less the credit, obedience and relationship which He craves.  My small disappointment became overshadowed by His ongoing, much greater one.  How I longed for Him to be acknowledged, thanked and loved by the people He created to be His own.  Let us do this in our hearts today.

Every good and perfect gift is from above (James 1:17a, NIV)

 

 

                 

 

 

 

A SILENT SHOUT

     Every August  I hopefully place a chair by my bedroom window to watch for the Perseid meteor showers late at night.  On the peak nights this year, there was much cloud cover, yet I managed to see many faint streaks for a short while on the second night between 10 and 11 pm through an opening in the swirling black clouds - surely this was an answer to my silent prayer.
    
     I remember as a child sleeping out with my brother in our large back yard every August, capturing summer before school began. We lay in our flannel-lined sleeping bags on air mattresses under the open sky, seeing who could point out the best "shooting star".

"Oh, there goes one - see, over there!"

"Hey, look at that one!  She's a beaut! Quick, look!"

     We had no idea  that we were watching the annual Perseid meteor showers, but grew up thinking that this display occurred every night.
Huddled in my cozy bag against the night chill enveloping us like a huge tarpaulin, listening to the occasional cricket and the soft hums and clicks of nature's lullaby, I would gaze at Heaven's navy polka-dotted dress, enthralled with its majesty, before drifting off to sleep. We awakened to the enthusiastic face-drenching kisses of Penny, our Cocker Spaniel, released early in the morning by Mother.

The thrill of watching, so small, the vast, ordered canopy of the Heavens has remained all my life.  I cannot help but feel the greatness of God and the comfort and peace of His presence at such times.

I really shouldn't wait a whole year to succumb to the allure of the stars .

"The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows forth his handiwork"  Psalm 19

                          THROUGH THE FAITH OF A LITTLE CHILD

                      

            Our time at Cape Croker was rapidly coming to a close.  Rien began attending 

house meetings at Saugeen Reserve, to the south of us.  A group, often including Georgina, would carpool every Friday night.  I stayed home with our young children, but waited expectantly for reports of the meetings.

            The meetings were charismatic, Spirit-filled small-group gatherings where God moved and anything could happen: healings, deliverances, utterances in other tongues, prophecies, visions and more. Rien, partly because of his formal Dutch church background, and partly because of his down-to-earth personality, was not easily convinced that God was at work in these things. 

            One night, the host’s little four-year-old boy became excited and tried to get his Dad’s attention:

“I-I-I-I….”

“Sh-h-h, don’t interrupt.”

“i-I-I-i…”

‘Sh-h-h!

Finally,

“Okay, son, what did you want to tell Daddy?”

"I saw Jesus standing behind that chair!”

Shivers went up and down the back of Rien’s neck.  Adults might exaggerate or be suggestible, he felt, but a child as young as that could not be making it up.  From then on, Rien allowed the group to pray for him, and he began to acquire ministry gifts and anointings from the Holy Spirit which prepared him for the next chapter of our lives on another reserve out west.  When he came home, he told me that his feet had been rooted to the floor, and he had felt as if 10,000 volts of electricity were flowing through him. 

       

     I noticed a difference in Rien’s whole bearing.  He was bolder, more authoritative in praying for people.  When he prayed, the tears would flow.  The uninitiated jokingly called him a ‘cry-baby”, but I noticed that miracles of healing and deliverance happened whenever he interceded with tears.

            And God had done all this through a little child.

Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift! (2 Corinthians 9:15 NIV)n

                               

JUST A RIDE TO TOWN

 

                                                  JUST A RIDE TO TOWN

            One summer afternoon, there was a knock at our door.  Cecil, our middle-aged neighbour, was standing on the porch.  We were accustomed to surprise visits, as the native people were not formal in their ways.

            “Come on in, Cecil.  Would you like some coffee?”

            “Uh, no thanks.”

            “Nice weather, eh?”

            “Sure is.”

            We knew there was a purpose to the visit, but what was it?

            “Garden sure looks good,” Cecil was saying. “Good job, there.”

            “T’anks, ja, we be working hard,” Rien responded.

Not to be impatient, but would he ever get to the point?

            “Say, I was wondering, would you happen to be going to town today? And could I get a ride with you’s?”

So that was it! We should have known, as it happened quite often with different people.  They needed a ride to town, but not wanting to be rude they would visit for a while before asking.

            A simple ride to town –such an easy thing for us to give, but such a huge need for one with no vehicle.  Sometimes, our role here seemed to be to help in a thousand small ways:  to drive someone home from the hospital in Owen Sound, to take a single mother out for coffee, to drive a friend around to pay her bills.  We seemed to be regarded as providers, counsellors, helpers, and rich by many reserve residents.  At times, people took advantage, as people anywhere sometimes do, and I, for one, had to learn how to say the word “No.” (I’m thinking of a perfectly fit young man who called me for a ride from one place to another on the reserve at 4:30 every day, right when I was making dinner for my family.)  And there were many people who had jobs and money and were not in the least dependent on anyone.  For the others – a ride to town once in a while was not too much to ask. 

But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret.  Then your Father, Who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. Matthew 6:3,4(NIV)

           

           

           

           

RED SALAMANDERS AND SNAPPING TURTLES

                              RED SALAMANDERS AND SNAPPING TURTLES

The children had the wildest, most beautiful and educational playground in the world.  As a family, we explored its beauty often.  We went to the Cape Croker Park which was a money-making campground.  We enjoyed the swings, then walked or drove among the lovely, mature blossoming trees and the dense birch section which we dubbed the ”birch ballet”.  In the woods near our home, we picked up pretty brown and white snail shells and watched for the small, red salamanders which I have never seen anywhere else in Canada.  We walked and waded along the beaches, collecting “fossils”.  Once, on the shale rock in the shallow water behind our house, we actually watched fish hatching.

On Sunday afternoons, we usually went for a hike along the bluffs.  We parked our car near the Akiwenzies’ house, which backed onto the bluffs, telling them where we were going, and about when to expect us back.  This was because the bluffs, full of exotic beauty, were dangerous.  There were crevasses, often covered by fall leaves, into which you might fall and break a leg if not careful.  You might fall off the bluffs themselves, as there were no guardrails.  I think the untamed beauty was part of their fascination. We came to know our trails quite well.  Imprinted on my soul forever is the image of the huge, chalk-white bluffs covered with orange maple leaves, against the deep blue water below.  Small wonder our children grew up loving nature and hating cramped offices.          

            The children, whether with one or two friends or a whole group, played for hours in the woods.  They had their own special ‘monkey tree’, Tarzan tree’ and laboriously-constructed forts.  I can still hear the plaintive cry of Grace, two years younger:

 “Stephen!  Wait for me!”

 and the fear-inducing instructions from Stephen, in front,

“Watch out for the snapping turtles!”

In the winter, we skated along the wild and windy north shore of the Cape on ice ranging from bumpy to so clear we could make out rocks on the bottom, but watch out -there was open water nearby!  Skating at our favourite place on the north shore during the bleak February days, and seeing a summer toy frozen beneath the ice, inspired me to write the following poem:

                        Unreachable

Icy branches rattle their marimbas,

Snow-pyramids wink and sparkle in the distance.

I stand on the thick, bumpy ice.

Peering through frozen gingerale-green bubbles

I see a child’s blue plastic boat from summer –

A glimpse of yesterday,

Unreachable.

We have loved ones who have passed on.

Like the boat, they seem unreachable –

Caught in another dimension.

Isn’t it wonderful to know that

When the hard, frozen time of winter

Is overcome by soft spring rains

We will find them again?

                                        F.V.M.

…Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty,

the whole earth is full of his glory. (Isaiah 6:3NIV)                                                                                                                                                                          

SOMEONE ON THE OTHER END OF THE LINE

 

                            SOMEONE ON THE OTHER END OF THE LINE

            I was restless, seeking, searching for more of God.  Deciding to do a personal Bible study, I went to the Christian bookstore in Wiarton, operated by the leader of Women Aglow there.  She directed me to a booklet  “Alive in the Spirit” (I cannot remember the author’s name ), which I began to read. 

            One of the things I learned from the book was that prayer is a two-way conversation.  If I say something to God, He will respond.  As basic as this sounds, it was revolutionary to me at the time.  Up to then, with my solid evangelical training, I would read a chapter of Scripture, sensing what God was saying to me through that Scripture.  I would pray about my concerns, and wait in faith for God to take over in that situation.  But I had no experience of God ‘s actually having a conversation with me.

            Excited to try conversing with God, I woke up early the next morning and listened to hear what He would say.

            Here is what God had on His heart:

            “I wish My children would get along with each other.”

Whether applied to families, the church or the various races created by Him, He was almost plaintively appealing to His children to try to understand others different from themselves.  Like a mother, He loves and understands each one, and wants that one accepted and appreciated.  He grieves over the fighting and misunderstanding which go on when we think everyone should be the same as we are. A doer might have disdain for a dreamer, yet both are created by God for His purposes. 

            I was honoured that God shared His heart with me. 

            He speaks, and the sound of His voice is so sweet, the birds hush their singing…(In the Garden, by C. Austin Miles)

            Since then, I have come to know His voice, and to treasure the intimate words of encouragement and love which He speaks to me alone.  No one else can set me free, with a healing word, from self-condemning thoughts about things done long ago.  No one else calls me “Curly”, the pet name my late husband Rien used to call me, with the same husbandly level of intimacy. 

            Having heard His loving voice, I cannot live without it.

For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given,

and the government shall be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

Wonderful Counselor,

Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:6 NIV)

 

 

A DAUGHTER COMES HOME

 

                                        A DAUGHTER COMES HOME

            Lizz waltzed into my life as an answer to prayer.  I had prayed for a native friend – someone to have coffee with and develop a relationship with.  Soon after that prayer, there was a knock at the back door.

            “Would it be all right for me to do some laundry here?  Gram said I could.”

A native woman with long, straight black hair, looking to be in her late twenties, stood at the door with several giant bags of laundry. 

            “Sure, come on in!” 

I was getting used to the fact that although we were renting, with MCC paying the rent, Verna was still the matriarch of the house and yard.  The washer and dryer were our own.  However, it would be good to help meet a practical need.

            “I’m Lizz, Verna’s granddaughter.  The machine is broken over at Stella’s, and I have three weeks’ worth of laundry.”

            When the machines were both filled, Lizz came up to have coffee.  With a start, I remembered my prayer for a native friend with whom to have coffee.

            “I see you have some magazines in the basement–they’re interesting.”

Magazines? Oh, that series of booklets from an evangelist.  Could Lizz be seeking God?

            After that, Lizz came over often and a friendship developed.  Sensing her spiritual search, we introduced her to Ron, our volunteer co-ordinator, the next time he came.  He was also a pastor, very warm and experienced in ministry. We were all praying for Lizz and sharing the Gospel with her.

            At the next United Church Women’s Bible Study, held this week at Gail’s home, Georgina excitedly blurted out:

            “We have a brand-new baby born-again Christian with us today!”

Who?  Could it possibly be……?

            “Lizz!”

            “Tell us about it, Lizz,” we all begged.

            “Well, “ Lizz ventured shyly, “Our people are taught to go to our elders when we have problems or need advice.  So I went to see Georgina, and received the Lord Jesus Christ into my heart yesterday!”

            How beautiful!  God had sent Lizz to the one elder who had a bold, evangelistic Christian faith:  Georgina, who had had everyone sing the Doxology at her and Jonah’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, with no fear of anyone, although Christians were in the minority.

             A daughter had come home! And we had played a small part.  Now it would be our joyful job to help her grow in her new-found faith.

…there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.(Luke 15, 10 NIV)

…Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved…(Acts 16:31 NIV)