Hope Meets Grit - by Heidi McLaughlin

Hope is not optimism or a good luck charm. It takes grit to walk through darkness and believe in something better for tomorrow. On a recent Facebook post I declared: “The darkest storms make way for the greatest sunlight.” I believe this with all my heart because God is a good God who promises that our future plans are good and abundant. But how do we survive those endless, dark seasons without any cracks of sunlight?

We need to have grit to grab hope.

Sometimes hope feels like an exploded dandelion seed floating in the air teasing my fingertips as I try to grab it.  Hope is not nebulous.  It is real and tangible but it takes backbone to step into it. I am at the three-month marker after the death of my second husband. It’s been a long, cold and hard winter outside and in my soul.  As I wait for my new season to arrive I need to do what my brother-in-law Bill says, “Give ‘er snoose.” Not entirely sure what it means but I know it entails hard work.

Give ‘er snoose.

With determined grit I step into hope every day. Here is how I do it:

• Whether I feel like it or not, I get out of bed, feet on the floor and start my day. Time with God, a shower and I make intentional appointments with friends to get out of the house each day.
• In spite of how I may feel, I start each day writing in my Gratitude Journal.
• I keep my body strong by eating healthy and walking 5 km every second day.
• I DECLARE that I will live in God’s light and that God has my glorious future. Out loud I speak against defeat, discouragement and despair. I will not allow the enemy to sabotage my thoughts with negativity and hopelessness.
• I stand on God’s promises with hope for my future. I look up verses that proclaim God’s truth for my fulfilling life. “So after you have suffered a little while, he will restore, support, and strengthen you, and he will place you on a firm foundation.” (1 Peter 5:10)
• I remember God’s faithfulness in the past. I suffered through the death of my first husband, watched my father die of ALS and my mother of a pre-cancerous blood condition. God was with me in those grieving journeys and He restored my soul and placed a beautiful “new normal” in my life. Because God did is then…He will do it again.
• After a thundering, black storm the sun emerges and we enjoy a gorgeous rainbow. A visual imagine of an eternal promise.  Life is circular. Babies are born-we die. Winter is here-spring comes. We die-we go to Heaven. The suffering seasons we are in do not last forever.  “Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. “(James 1:2)

There are many more but I will end on this note. God is the I Am of all I Am’s. The name of God is YHVH, which means “I Am.” When I say, “I am Heidi McLaughlin” that means that my “I am” only exists because of His. I know that everything in my life flows from Him and He would never intentionally hurt himself, so why would He hurt me? The only time He hurt himself was when He sent His son Jesus Christ to die for my sins and freedom. 

What kind of radical love is that?

That’s the hope I cling to each day. My God who loves me like that will walk me into a new and glorious future. I believe it with all my heart.

Heidi McLaughlin lives in the beautiful vineyards of the Okanagan Valley in Kelowna, British Columbia. Heidi has been widowed twice. She is a mom and step mom of a wonderful, eclectic blended family of 5 children and 12 grandchildren. When Heidi is not working, she loves to curl up with a great book, or golf and laugh with her family and special friends.

Her latest book RESTLESS FOR MORE: Fulfillment in Unexpected Places (Including a FREE downloadable Study Guide) is now available at Amazon.ca; Amazon.com, Goodreads.com or her website: www.heartconnection.ca

Who Gampa USED to be - Kathleen Gibson

Ah, fresh air. Standing outside the house with then six-year-old Dinah Jane one pleasant evening, I took a deep breath. And inhaled at least three mosquitoes.

“Oh, brother,” said I, “let’s get back in the house before we catch West Nile!”

“What’s West Nile, Nana? Can we still play with that when we catch it?” she asked.

Her questions startled me. Not until then did I realize that our grandbeans, as we call our grandchildren, have little understanding of my husband's ongoing struggle with neurological West Nile Disease. In many ways, we’ve moved past the 2007 invasion of what we called “the pirates.” We seldom name it in their presence. Life is full, God keeps sending daily strength and our blessings far outnumber our troubles.

But perhaps it’s time to explain to the little ones just why their grandfather can’t run and play like many other men his age. Why he uses a walker, a cane or a scooter. Not even the eldest, four years older than Dinah, can remember when Gampa could chase a ball, shingle a roof, swim a hundred lengths, climb down into a cave or slam a shuttlecock over a net. If he could suddenly do those things, they'd welcome them – but perhaps they’d also miss the grandfather they know and love now. 

To them, Gampa's the grey-haired, bearded mountain of a man who gives them rides on his walker, and lets them drive his scooter. The gentle giant who quietly slips from the room when they get too noisy. The Candy-man who adores giving gifts and watching kids’ shows. The man who takes frequent naps, and stays home while Nana goes to work.

Of course, he does far more than that. That’s the kid’s eye view. And that’s how they love him. How we all love him.

Every summer, the media reports West Nile statistics, along with the usual warnings: Eliminate standing water. Stay inside between dusk and dawn. Wear repellant. (And no, certain well-known linaments, mouthwashes, and body oils cannot substitute for Deet). But nothing warns better than a personal story.

Rick, then 54, contracted WND in 2007. He spent six months in hospital and rehab centre, battling his way back from not knowing his own name or the names of his vegetables to remembering both. From paralysis in three limbs to limited mobility. Except for our faith in God and supportive family and community, we could not have endured the upheaval the mosquito injected into our lives.

My book, West Nile Diary, One Couple's Triumph over a Deadly Disease, details our journey. It's a journey that carries on today, as WND-related complications spiral Rick's health slowly downward, just as the long-term research indicated it would. We grab the happy moments and the opportunities to share God's faithfulness -- in spite of our particular pirate.

As we've watched the reporting on West Nile Disease, we've noted that a greater percentage of people – almost half – who become ill from WND, contract the more serious neurological form. In 2007, it afflicted only a small minority. This means there's even greater reason to take mosquitoes seriously. Worldwide, the bug still kills more people than anything else.

We thank God for what remains. We count our blessings. We swat mosquitoes. And sometimes, we still tell our story.

Kathleen Gibson is a writer, broadcaster and newspaper columnist. She and her clergyman Rick Gibson, have shared their story widely. This Sunny Side Up column was previously published in various Western newspapers.

God Surprises Ruth Smith Meyer

This summer we planned a trip to Alberta to visit family. We’ve done it before with less unease. This time I would be doing all the driving since my dear husband has refrained from that for almost a year because of his cataracts.  It’s not that I haven’t done long distance driving—even if I usually shared the task, I have done half the distance as the sole driver.  But I am several years older.

My family questioned it, reminding me that I sometimes asked for them to drive on the busy highways.  I love my family and give serious consideration to their concern.  However driving through Northern Ontario and the Prairie Provinces is quite different than, say the 401 and Queen Elizabeth.  With prayer and conversation, we decided that if we made the days short and took our time, stopping for naps if needed, we could venture out. 

The first day, we started off under sunny skies—lovely warm but not too hot weather.  My husband had a stack of business cards from various motels where we stayed other times. We decided that New Liskard might be our first stop, but thought we’d wait to see if Cochrane was possible. 

Soon after Barrie, it started raining.  The further we went, the faster it rained and the more tense my shoulders felt. Finally, about 2:30, I suggested he call and reserve a room at the New Liskard facility for which we had a telephone number. 

“Could we reserve a room for tonight?” Paul asked,

“Sorry!  We’re fully booked for tonight.”

“Now what?” I asked as he disconnected.

“I guess we’ll just have to go and see if we can find another one.  We don’t have any more telephone numbers.”

“Oh Lord,” I prayed out loud, “Could you provide something for us?  We didn’t want to have long days, and this one is going to be long enough by the time we get to New Liskard.  We’ll just relax and trust you.”

“Amen!” Paul chimed.

When we neared the town, we prayed again, reminding the Lord of our request—as though he needed it. We saw “our” motel ahead.

“Let’s pull in there first, see if they had any cancellations before we look elsewhere,” my husband suggested.

I dashed through the rain as fast as I could with aching, stiff hips from the long sit.  I opened the door and as I approached the desk, I saw the attendant with her eyes wide open and lips apart as if in great surprise.  I wondered what was so shocking about me.  I’m too big and solid to be a ghost and I wasn’t carrying a gun.

 I asked, “Is there any chance you have a room available?”

“I do, I do!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know where it came from, but just as you drove in, I was going over my bookings and I found this empty room!  I don’t know how I could have missed it.  I thought we were fully booked this morning already and I told someone who called at about 2:30 that we had nothing available.  I still don’t know where it came from, but it’s yours if you want it.”

“We do!” I assured her.  “In fact it was we who called and we’ve been praying all afternoon that you’d have something for us.”

“Your prayers must have worked. It must be your room.” She kept shaking her head as I filled out the forms and she handed me the keys and wished us a good night’s sleep. It was obvious that she was astounded at the turn of affairs.

Now, after a busy, busy few weeks, as my day for this blog neared, I felt I was completely empty of words or thoughts to convey to our readers.  Tonight I sat down knowing it was time, but my mind was blank. 

“Lord what would you have me write, when I feel so empty.”

Immediately, the surprised eyes and open mouth of that motel attendant came into my mind. 

Sometimes life (including my writing) happens at times like that when I think my mind is just too full, like those motel rooms were—no room for inspirational thoughts—then he surprises me with something that I couldn’t conceive—a little space where I can find his love and care and know that he is here.  Reminds me of a Haldor Lillenas song my sister and I used to sing.

God was there to hear my prayer,

to lift my load of anxious care,

to every burden with me share,

God was there, yes God was there.

Visit me at ruthsmithmeyer.com