Monday, December 14, 2020

An Early Christmas Glow

What do writers want for Christmas? Here's a hint: It's a four letter word starting with the letter b and ending with k. If you guessed a book pat yourself on the back. But writers don't want just any book for Christmas. Most of all, they want a book with their name on the front cover. Well, you might say Christmas came early to our house this year with the arrival of my newest book last week. I'm still basking in the sunrise glow. Continue reading for a quick introduction to this first volume in a three book set.

Why dig into the Psalms? The Psalms are a poetic feast for the mind, soul and spirit. In them, you will find intimacy with God. For a hundred generations, hungry souls have found nourishment there.

Psalms 365 is specifically designed to help you develop a life of worship and prayer like the biblical David. Let author David Kitz take you on a journey—a journey to a deeper understanding of God’s will and his ways for your life. Each daily reading provides insight and inspiration for practical Christian living, allowing the Good Shepherd to guide you to the center of his will.

This 265-page volume packs a punch. It's slightly larger than the standard paperback size allowing for the use of a larger font. The end result is a cover and print content that is very easy on the eyes.

In total, this volume has 120 daily readings, spanning Psalm 1 through Psalm 51. Volumes two and three will be released as 2021 progresses allowing readers to journey through the entire 150 Psalms in the span of a year, hence the title Psalms 365.

Now is an ideal time to commit to a daily, year-long, devotional journey through the Psalms. Psalms 365 is written by Word Guild award-winning author David Kitz, is published by Elk Lake Publishing, and is available through Amazon and other retailers.

Despite the difficulties, isolation, and setbacks of this year, I want to wish you a very merry Christmas and a new year that sets your heart aglow. May there be good booksinspiring booksunder your tree this Christmas.

David Kitz is the chair of The Word Guild, an avid blogger, and the author of several books.

Thursday, December 03, 2020

Immanuel and the Man on the Moon by Rose McCormick Brandon

 The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel (which means “God with us”). Matthew 1:23

Jesus, our Immanuel, is our very own God to love and cherish. Immanuel knows us, listens for our voice, hears our prayers, revels in our praises. He is always with us – in the uncomplicated days of youth and in the trenches when life gets tough. Wherever we are, He is there. If we could soar to the moon, as James Irwin did, Emmanuel would be there with us.

“I felt the power of God as I’d never felt it before,” Irwin said of his Apollo 15 mission in July 1971. From his vantage point on the moon earth appeared the size of a thumbnail. It reminded him of a fragile Christmas ornament hanging in space. “It was touching to see the earth from this perspective,” he said. Irwin felt God so near He looked over his shoulder expecting to see Him.

Prior to his moon mission Irwin was a self-described “bump on a log Christian.” Afterwards, he formed The High Flight Foundation and devoted his life to sharing the love of Jesus

On the moon Irwin felt inspired to quote from Psalm 121: “I lift up my eyes to the mountains – where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.”

Soar to the heavens. Immanuel is there. Sink to the depths. He is there (Psa. 139:8). Immanuel, God with us, fills the soul with wonder and takes the fear out of living.

No power can wield any strength against me when He is with me (Rom. 8:31).

Before lifting off the earth to return to His rightful place at God’s right hand, Immanuel spoke these unforgettable words: 

“I am with you always, to the very end” (Matt. 28:20).

Prayer: Today, my Lord, I take time to consider that You are with me, always and forever. I’m never alone.


Rose McCormick Brandon lives in Caledonia, Ontario with husband Doug. An award-winning personal experience and inspirational writer, Rose contributes to denominational publications and devotionals. She writes and teaches Bible Studies, authors biblical essays and is the author of the Canadian history book, Promises of Home – Stories of Canada’s British Home Children. Her book, One Good Word Makes all the Difference, contains stories of her personal journey from prodigal to passionate follower of Jesus. She is the mother of three adult children and grandmother of four. 

Tuesday, December 01, 2020

What Will a Covid Christmas Look Like? by Eleanor Shepherd


   I think we are all wondering what Christmas is going to look like for us this year.  It will be different from our usual customs in so many ways because of Covid and the way that it has impacted our lives this year.

                For many of us there will be sadness at the renewed realization that someone we love is no longer with us, snatched from us in a most ungracious manner by this disease or another. We will mourn not only the loss of their presence with us, but also an inadequate opportunity to pay tribute to their life and memory in the way we would have wanted to do. We have not been able to hear about their kind deeds and friendly acts from friends and colleagues in the way we so often do when we meet for a memorial service to honour their memory.

                We will also realize that there are living relatives that we hoped to spend this Christmas with, but because of the isolation imposed upon us by Covid we will not be able to meet together in our usual large family gatherings, because of the risk of us infecting one another and then having to bear the guilt of that particularly if older members of the family become the victims.

                Children and grandchildren will be robbed of time to hear the stories of past Christmases from parents and grandparents and laugh together at some of the fun times that were had and cry together about disappointments experienced. Does that mean that Christmas will be all doom and gloom this year?  

                I don’t think it has to be. We can choose. We can make the most of some of the positive aspects of a Covid Christmas. Are there some? Let’s think about it.

                Covid will force us to keep our gatherings smaller and more manageable and we will not have to run around until the last minute making sure that we have everything just right. Hopefully we have learned during our lockdowns, that we really do not need all that we have. Many of us have spent the time at home profitably in ridding ourselves of acquired goods and chattel that we really do not need. With the peace and calm the lack of clutter has brought into our living spaces, hopefully we can remember that more important than the things we have are those who are with us. Then we can focus more fully on relationship time, instead of trying to impress those who know us so well that we do not fool them. That would take so much of the fuss and bother out of our Christmas preparations. We will be able to enjoy the beauty of simplicity.

                We may also arrive at the day of our Christmas celebration, not bone tired from the obligatory attendance at so many festive events that have filled our calendar. They may have been spectacular and enjoyable but were also exhausting and we often found ourselves running on adrenaline. This year we will be able to watch them on Zoom or YouTube and relax in our homes at the same time with our family or a close friend. 

                 Perhaps this year the gift giving frenzy will also be diminished with purchasing just a few things that we think those we love will really appreciate. We have the option of going on line and ordering something for family who cannot be with us and can connect with them electronically to watch them open our gift. Reduced shopping fatigue and careful unhurried selection of gifts will also impact the headaches in January when the bills come in. This will enable us to begin 2021 in a more positive and hopeful frame of mind.

                Hopefully when Christmas is over and we are able to begin receiving the Covid vaccine we will be aware that there have been some significant benefits to this unusual and challenging time. Like most of the difficult experiences we have in life, in choosing to face up to the challenges we will discover within ourselves a new depth of character that makes us people who are more attuned to the needs of others. My hope is that we will realize that this growth was fostered by a divine purpose for our good, in negative circumstances, and we have not gone through this alone. The Christ of Christmas has been with us.  

Saturday, November 14, 2020

Heart Issues

In the introduction to Psalms 365: Develop a Life of Worship and Prayer, which will be released later this month, I make this statement, "Whatever state you find yourself in, there’s a psalm for that—a psalm for every situation and human need."

When you make statements like that you can expect your words to be put to the test. And they have!

This summer on July 16th, I collapsed on the floor of my study, and was rushed to hospital by ambulance. On July 24th, I had open-heart valve repair surgery. Three of my heart's four valves needed repair.

The recovery process has been long, slow and painful, but it's now apparent the worst is behind me.

What have I learned during that time? It can be summarized in the verse pictured below.

When your flesh and your heart fail, is God there to receive you—to strengthen you?

From personal experience, I can now say, "Yes, He is. God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."

This verse from the Psalms speaks of resilience—a resilience that comes from a relationship with God. He is after all the God of resurrection and restoration. It's this heaven-born resilience that we all need during these trying times of economic woes and pandemic setbacks.

My collapse this summer came as a shock, but it wasn't totally unexpected. For my entire adult life, I was aware that I had heart issues. At age seventeen in preparation for college entrance, I was diagnosed with a barely perceptible heart murmur, technically called a mitral valve prolapse. None of this hindered my involvement in sports or fitness activities. In fact, later in life, my cardiologist encouraged me to stay active and go jogging.

I largely followed that advice. In the months and days before my collapse, I was averaging 10,000 steps per day on a weekly basis. The day before my first fainting spell I did 41 pushups extending myself out from the seat of a chair. Not too shabby for a 68 year-old man.

Suddenly, despite superior fitness, my flesh and my heart failed me. Did my heart fail me during an exercise routine? No. I collapsed while sitting at my desk staring at a computer screen. Apparently, sudden reversals like this are common for people with heart valve disfunctions.

The road to recovery has been hard on this old body—despite my recovery being aided by overall fitness before my collapse.

When your heart and flesh fail God is free to step in. You have nothing left. The reserve you need doesn't come from within. It comes directly from Him. "Underneath are the everlasting arms." See Deuteronomy 33:26-28.

Heart issues are best left in His hands.

David Kitz serves as chair of The Word Guild. His most recent published work is a translation of Mind Rooms, a psychological thriller by best-selling Turkish author Cem Gulbent.  

Wednesday, November 11, 2020

Honouring those who served


It’s hard to imagine, for the youth of our time, how veterans, once young people themselves, went off to a war they didn’t conceive.

My father was a young teen when the Second World War raged in Europe and beyond. He saw young men, older than himself, in uniform, and he told us, in our parents' collected stories, how handsome they looked, yet he never told us and perhaps didn’t know of the brokenness in those young men who returned home at the end of the war.

Not long after my father turned 16, as a young man living on a farm, the war ended. And although my dad as the youngest could have been called on to serve, he was not required to do so after all. I'm grateful he was spared.

A friend of mine who looked after her father in his last years of life recalled nights of terror for an old man reliving war memories. Make no mistake, being in the war fighting was no glorious thing, not proud as watching young men and women in uniform going off to serve their country in whatever capacity they were able.

A late minister of our home church worked as a cook on a ship as a young man. He told us stories in our confirmation class of how that ship was cleaned until it shone, and of meals he cooked in that navy vessel.

And we could listen to an account from a storyteller who made famous an imagined tale of a truce on Christmas Eve—just a short one—for the soldiers to take a short break from fighting. It didn’t really happen like that.

Even those not in the midst of fighting could tell stories—people who ran for their lives, or whose home was taken over by soldiers. We heard a few of those stories in our lifetime and many of them were challenged in telling it, recounting the emotions that went along with it. Something I do not know of, but honoured their true stories nonetheless.

A war, no matter whose conflict it is, is not a glorious thing, and those who did serve their country—to keep the freedoms we know and experience—gave more than you or me and lost more than both of us. 

I cannot imagine the horrors because I did not live them, and I would prefer not to, but I do acknowledge in the wearing of my poppy this week that others did and many never returned, but perished.

A memorial exists in a Guelph downtown church of Colonel John McCrae who wrote In Flanders Fields. The McCrae family had attended that church, one I imagine that was solemn as they learned that another one of their young bright men had died. That would have happened in countless places across Canada.

In Flanders fields the poppies grow…”

Let us not forget this November 11th the democracy and freedoms we have that were so dearly bought. Let us remember that.


Carolyn R. Wilker, editor, author and storyteller




Monday, November 09, 2020

John Wimber: God’s Risk-taking Santa Claus -HIRD


By Rev. Dr. Ed & Janice Hird

John Wimber came to Christ in 1963 at age 29 as a self-proclaimed chain-smoking, beer-guzzling, drug abuser. Because his father abandoned him the day he was born, John didn’t know how to be a good father.  His marriage was nearly over.  He described himself as a fourth-generation pagan/unbeliever who had never heard the gospel.  As a gifted entrepreneur, he owned and operated sixty-one businesses during his sixty-three years on earth.  As manager and pianist for the Righteous Brothers band who toured with the Beatles, he was at the top of his musical career, playing twenty different instruments.  He heard the Lord tell him to give up his musical career. So, he went from a $100,000 per year to a $7,000 per year as a carpenter’s helper, cleaning out oil tanks. John humorously called this time his purgatory: “I was humbled.  I used to be pretty mouthy and sure of myself…I was used to pretty much calling my own shots…God was teaching me obedience.”  As rebellion was very deep in John’s baby-boomer heart, God never stopped working on that lesson in John’s life:

Again and again and again, He taught us obedience, obedience, obedience, obedience, that he valued obedience above all things, and he wanted relationship with us, and he wanted our dependence upon Him.”

With his gift of the gab, John became a salesman for a collection agency in Los Angeles, California. Everywhere he went, he shared the gospel.  People affectionately described him as a cross between Kenny Rogers and Santa Claus.  Others saw him as a warm teddy bear. He was relaxed and playful with a winning smile.  John, who personally led thousands to Jesus, said that during the Jesus movement, you could sneeze and lead someone to Christ.  While trying to fix a leaking water faucet, John had a life-changing vision:

I looked up at the sky and it was like fire falling, so real to me that I rolled thinking that I don’t want it to hit my face.  Then suddenly I was in some sort of state where I could see it exploding in the air all across Southern California, and then a fireball going across the ocean, hitting London and exploding over Europe, and then gathering again and going into Asia and Africa…I went to London four times in the 1970s and didn’t see any revival.

Becoming an evangelical Quaker pastor at Yorba Linda Friends Church, he soon had the largest Quaker congregation in North America.  By 1974, he was approaching burnout, and resigned from pastoral ministry. After his enrolling in the Doctoral program at Fuller Theological Seminary, Dr. Peter Wagner recruited him to be the Founding Director of the Fuller Department of Church Growth.  While visiting 2,000 different churches of various denominations, he heard returning missionaries’ amazing stories of church growth, miracles and casting out demons.  He taught classes for many years at Fuller Seminary, most notably a course in the early 80s called “Signs, Wonders, and Church Growth” which had over 800 registrants, the largest in Fuller’s history.

After John Wimber had a Holy Spirit encounter, he was graciously released from the Quakers, and planted Yorba Linda Calvary Chapel in 1977.  He had a passion to not just read in the bible about the healing ministry but also to participate in it.  For almost a year, Wimber and his congregation prayed for the sick with no one being healed.  Many left his congregation.  Finally, healings began to take place.  John taught that everyone gets to play, that the work of the Kingdom breaking in is for all Christians, not just for the ordained. He loved to say, ‘If I can do it, you can do it. Look at me, I’m just a fat man trying to get to heaven.’ John gave people permission to fail.  He never hyped people up, but rather just obeyed the Lord. John spelt Faith as R.I.S.K.: “Becoming a disciple is committing yourself to risk-taking the rest of your life, just always having to take chances.”

On Mother’s Day 1980, he invited Lonnie Frisbee to preach at his church.  Lonnie was a key Jesus movement founder with Calvary Chapel. The outpouring of the Holy Spirit that day brought tremendous church growth, and resulted in John becoming the leader of the Vineyard movement in 1982. The Vineyards were originally started in the homes of Christian musicians Larry Norman and Chuck Girard, which attracted fellow musicians Bob Dylan, Debbie Boon, Priscilla Presley, and Keith Green.  It was no wonder that Vineyard music focusing on intimacy with God swept around the world.

Because John believed that church planting is the best form of evangelism, he pioneered the planting of twenty-five hundred Vineyards in North America and in over ninety nations.  In the first ten years, the Vineyard grew at about 1100%.  Wimber’s stated desire as a gifted organizer was to leave a movement behind him like John Wesley did, not just leave converts like George Whitefield. He began leading healing and renewal conferences throughout the world to hundreds of thousands of delegates. Just like with DL Moody and Billy Graham, his greatest breakthrough happened in England:

When I was invited by (the Rev Canon) David Watson to go to London in 1981, I said okay but didn’t expect much of it.  I had completely forgotten about the (earlier) vision.  …When I arrived in London at Gatwick Airport, it was like I had a hand hit my head and knock me flat on my face.  As I went down, I heard in my mind ‘this is that which I have spoken to you about.’  The next two weeks were incredible. 

Bishop David Pytches and Rev Sandy Millar of Holy Trinity Brompton, both commented that John Wimber had a greater impact on the Church of England (Anglican) than anyone since John Wesley. While John led the Vineyard, he loved the entire Body of Christ.

I (Ed) was privileged to attend with 2,500 other people a life-changing five-day Conference with John Wimber, co-sponsored with Regent College, that was held at Burnaby Christian Fellowship.  Sadly John’s health began to suffer.  "All my life," Wimber admitted, "I have been a compulsive person, always working and eating more than I should." His travel schedule of more than forty weeks a year gave him a heart attack in 1986. This was followed by sinus cancer in 1993, and a stroke in 1995. Many of us missed John Wimber when he died from a brain hemorrhage in 1997.

Though John is gone, the power of the Holy Spirit to heal and renew is still available for all today who are willing to obediently risk.  John taught that a power encounter is only as far away as this prayer: “Holy Spirit, I open my heart, my innermost-being to you. I turn from my sin and self-sufficiency and ask that you fill me with your love, power, and gifts. Come, Holy Spirit”.


Rev. Dr. Ed and Janice Hird, Co-authors of the new Blue Sky novel

-previously published in the Light Magazine

Tuesday, November 03, 2020

Ending Well by Rose McCormick Brandon

 In his small but terrifying book, Night, Elie Wiesel writes of life in a concentration camp. He tells this story of a young Polish violinist, Juliek.

Near the end of the war, breathless for the allies to break through and rescue them, Jewish concentration camp inmates were herded for miles. Starved, frozen, these men who had eluded crematoriums, some for years,  died by the tens of thousands on the snow-covered fields of Germany.

Survivors of the journey arrived at Buchenwald, a concrete graveyard. Men stacked their broomstick bodies like kindling to warm one another. Wiesel and his father were in that pile of dying humanity.

From beneath him, Wiesel heard a violin playing a Beethoven concerto. The music came from young Juliek. During years of persecution, he'd protected his treasured violin.

"The darkness enveloped us. All I could hear was the violin. Juliek was playing his life. His whole being was gliding over the strings."

Wiesel fell asleep to the music. When he awoke Juliek was dead, the body of his violin crushed.

"How could I forget this concert given before an audience of the dead and the dying? Even today, when I hear that particular piece by Beethoven, my eyes close and out of the darkness emerges the pale and melancholy face of my Polish comrade bidding farewell to an audience of dying men."

Juliek's music soothed the souls of the dying.

With his final bit of strength, he gave.

A few days later, allied soldiers arrived at the gates of Buchenwald. Rescuers. 

Sometimes in the midst of hideous happenings, a bird sings, a baby giggles, the sun pierces the clouds.  Like the violin of Juliek these remind us, in the midst of human suffering, that beauty still exists. That God is still on His throne and that He moves in human hearts.

Juliek used his last bit of strength to bless others. He ended well. Many don't end well. (Often we see this in the visible and privileged.) Some use their last bit of energy to vent, rage and avenge. They leave a legacy with an unpleasant odor. 

Ending well is supremely important for the Christian. For inspiration read the story of Caleb (Joshua 14).

Make a commitment to end well.

Note: Elie Wiesel won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986. 


Rose McCormick Brandon lives in Caledonia, Ontario with husband Doug. An award-winning personal experience and inspirational writer, Rose contributes to denominational publications and devotionals. She writes and teaches Bible Studies, authors biblical essays and is the author of the Canadian history book, Promises of Home – Stories of Canada’s British Home Children. Her book, One Good Word Makes all the Difference, contains stories of her personal journey from prodigal to passionate follower of Jesus. She is the mother of three adult children and grandmother of four. 

Sunday, November 01, 2020

A Cup of Cold Water - Another Perspective on Covid by Eleanor Shepherd


       Someone who has really appreciated the opportunities afforded to her by Covid is our feline companion, Belle.  She has been so happy to have her human companions here to do her bidding. As one of my good friends often reminds me about our pets, “Dogs have masters but cats have staff.”


                Belle has been so pleased at the service that has been provided for her by her staff during the last eight months.  She has companionship whenever she decides to leave the confines of our comfortable bed and wander into either the office where I work or the desk that has been installed at the end of the dining room where Glen works. She does not hesitate to jump up on the desk and pass her comments about what we are doing and then jump down on our laps for a brief snooze before checking what else is going on in the place.


                She has been working at training us to provide her with drinking water in the way that she prefers it. She turns up her nose at water that has been sitting in a bowl for more than five minutes. She even refuses the neat little system that we placed on the bathroom counter for her that holds water that flows into the bowl at the bottom, and replaces any that she has consumed. The problem is that the water level does not go down to be replaced because she refuses to drink from it. Oh no! That may be fine for ordinary cats but Madame Belle prefers to have it straight from the faucet. If that is good enough for her human staff, it will be suitable for her. However, she has not yet discovered how to turn on the tap, so she has had to train these dull witted humans to turn it on for her.


                It works this way. As soon as she sees someone heading toward one of the bathrooms, she runs ahead and jumps up on the counter. Then she will begin to make all kinds of noises. I think she figures she is talking to us. What she is saying is: “Please turn on the tap so I can have a drink.  I will let you know when I am finished and you can turn it off again.” So of course, I obediently turn it on for her.


                As I think about this, I realize we are talking about an animal and how she gets me to provide water for her. Then I think of all of the millions of people all around the world and even in our own country, who do not have access to clean drinking water and I feel so sad. I am grateful for what I have and I want to figure out how I can help others to have something so basic as safe drinking water.


                I think I have figured out a few things that even a retired person like me can do to help. I can write about it like I am doing today. As I have opportunity, I can contribute to the work of those who are using their effort to make it possible for others to have water. Finally, I can pray that those around me will also contribute in whatever ways they can so that many others may have that cup of cold water that Jesus us told us we were offering to Him when we give it to someone who needs it.

                I am glad the cat is such good company during Covid and that she reminds me too of some other important things that I need to remember

Word Guild Award 
Word Guild Award
Word Guild Award

Saturday, October 17, 2020


Peter Black, an ending to all fine things must be. My husband ordered the cake for the book release. Below is a partial eulogy of the little cent. 


The Eulogy

 Dear Canada and Friends,

Many of us struggle with mixed emotions before the face of extinction. Extinction brought through the decision to rid life of the one-cent piece.

For a large number, appreciation has slowly given way to indifference over the years. For many others, an almost romantic connection to the coin fosters sadness and nostalgia at the abolition of the little cent. 

For those of us who considered the penny as a friend in addition to a currency, commerce derides the sentiments of our hearts.

It was my honour to research the legacy of the humble copper coin, to be associated with its robust heritage, to trace its path from inception to demise. I have been privileged to share its richness in the lives of the older generations, to learn how it mushroomed into ever-expanding uses and pastimes. I have been inspired to capture the memories, the joys, and the meanings of its possession. 

I have seen the penny erode in value, heard debates and arguments in support and in rejection, among friends and with strangers. Then in winter of 2013, the shiny copper, the only denomination of its colour, was taken from us Removed from circulation. Never to be distributed again.

 Many will pay tribute fondly to the penny as the workhorse of Canadian commerce, a tribute born out of the recognition of the coin as the foundation for all money used in public service. Recognition that specific numbers of one-cent pieces form the larger monetary denominations. 

Many others will measure the price of its metallic composition—copper, zinc, steel—those changes driven by public accountability for profit. They have labelled it an inconvenience and a nuisance. They have judged it by its weight and unwieldiness, as useless at best. Or as a waste of time when counted at tills, or being rolled and processed.

For me, however, it is more pleasant and desirable to recall the penny as an ambassador serving its beloved Canada….   

(missing content)


 Friends, what comfort can I extend to your gloomy hearts today? What beyond the knowledge that the penny has given Canadian history a copper workhorse, which throughout 155 years has fortified the coffers of this nation and its people? 

The penny paid for goods and services, supported the needy, and assured the survival of many. A pledge that could be honoured no more.

Now for the wider good of the country, it has been declared that the penny's useful days have passed, its tiny life squeezed by inflation's ruthless hand. Its final run complete, in the winter of 2013 it was summoned back to the Mint to be converted into another form. 

To be recycled into its composite elements. Transformed from its little shape which attracted protests that it was a nuisance, the unassuming circle that met rejection and scorn from many in its last years. It makes no demand as to what embodiment the transformation should be, but goes to rest hoping that it will be beautiful and relevant. 

Every one of us knew the penny personally. We spent it. Received it. Touched it. Counted it. Picked it up. Rolled it. Emptied it. Tossed it. Forgot it. Hated it and loved it. Loved its brilliance, its power, its charitable acts, its beauty, its symbolism. 

We will miss the penny. It will be described in the past tense to the next generations, silent in the hallowed sanctums of museums. Many of you may treasure its possession more acutely now that it has been withdrawn. In this epoch, it will never be truly erased, for it may be tucked away in repositories of peanut butter jars, on shelves, under beds, and in drawers.  

Historians, collectors, sentimentalists, children, poor, and an aging generation: mourn now more for yourselves than for it. 

As in 1858 when molten metal created its being, molten metal will decimate its existence.

The penny has finished the race. It has fulfilled unto elimination, a privilege that was given from the year of its inauguration, until this twenty-first century in 2013. Now it cannot be more than a burden on the balance sheet. It cannot accomplish what it once did in commerce. It cannot control its rising production costs, so it bids you farewell.

May its metals be recycled for a noble cause. 

May the memories of the penny be perpetuated in our hearts as a symbol of patriotism for our country, an appreciation for our past, an insight into our future. 

May its departure be an acceptance of faith that speaks to our own mortality that “an ending to all fine things must be.” 

Au Revoir, little penny. 

And excerpt from Chapter 16. The full eulogy is found in Little Copper Pennies: Celebrating the Life of the Canadian One-Cent Piece (1858-2013)

Learn more of Susan Harris at

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