"The Difference – a Tiny Moment" by Peter A. Black

They played basketball together in highschool and regional tournaments. And,

TVRA-South-East-boys. Highschool successors 2.5 decades later.

Credit: hometownplay.ca

for some years after they’d established themselves in their careers and were raising families, they still got together for friendly old-guy games.

Eventually they got wise, as their aching knees told them it was time to quit their favourite sport – after all, they’d soon be entering their middle-age years. Instead, they made an annual pilgrimage into the USA for a concert, since they shared a common liking for a particular artist.

They used to ride down on motorcycles. One of the group’s families owned a Harley Davidson dealership, and those buddies who no longer owned a bike would rent one for the weekend. In more recent years they’d travel in a couple of trucks.

A month or so ago two of those friends and their families got together to celebrate one of the youngsters’ birthdays. The boy’s dad was an avid Harley owner. It was an enjoyable time by the pool with family and friends.

Three mornings later my wife’s mobile sounded. It was a text message. “Good Morning . . . Last night was not a good night. . . .” It went on to say that Brent was killed in the early evening, near Belmont, Ontario, and that his fellow biker was in a London hospital with life-threatening injuries.

Credit: Courtesy of CTV. 

One bike seems partly under the other & partly in the ditch.

These biking buds were devastatingly struck while riding their motor-cycles—Brent on his beloved Harley. As of my writing the full story has not been given in the media, but it appears that an SUV coming from the opposite direction, suddenly, without warning, made a left turn and plowed into both riders.

A tiny moment in time. Fractions of a second. Mere metres. The difference between life and death for one man, and for the other the difference between prime-of-life strength and serious injury, possibly with life-altering effects. A tiny moment spelling the difference for both men: between a welcome home and supper together with spouses and kids, and heartbreaking tragedy.

Our son Chris and his wife and family were the friends who hosted Brent’s youngest son’s eleventh birthday celebration only two days before that fatal accident. They grieve the loss of their friend and grieve for his wife and children. They will surely be concerned about the injured motorcyclist and his family. I grieve too. And I pray—even for the driver of that SUV.

The biblical scriptures say that after death we are to give account to God (see Hebrews 9:27). We may not know just when or how our appointment with death will come. However:

We have this moment.

It only takes a tiny moment to invest our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, God’s Son our Saviour, and to apply to our hearts and lives the sacrifice He made in our behalf to purchase our redemption. The Saviour says,

“. . . whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be judged but has crossed over from death to life” (John 5:24 NIV2011).

A tiny moment . . . an eternal difference!

~~+~~

Peter A. Black is a retired pastor – well, sort of retired – and lives in Southwestern Ontario. He writes a weekly inspirational newspaper column, P-Pep! and is author of Raise Your Gaze ... Mindful Musings of a Grateful Heart, and Parables from the Pond – a children's / family book. ~~+~~

The Master Architect by Rose McCormick Brandon

St. Paul’s Cathedral, designed by Sir Christopher Wren in the late 1600s, is a magnificent example of craftsmanship. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, not an inch of space has been neglected. In nooks and crannies and seldom seen corners intricate, time-consuming designs memorialize long-forgotten carvers, metal workers, tilers and painters. Many craftsmen devoted their entire adult lives to this one building. Some viewed their work as a calling from God. They were building a house dedicated to worship.
            After the great fire of London in 1666, Wren was given the monumental task of rebuilding 52 churches but St. Paul’s is his masterpiece. Visitors to the cathedral can't help but marvel at the man's genius.
           Writing of Jesus in his letter to the Hebrews, the apostle Paul, for whom the cathedral is named, explained that just as an architect deserves more honour than the house he builds so Jesus is more important than anyone who works for God.

  So, my dear Christian friends, companions in following this call to the heights, take a good hard look at Jesus. He’s the centerpiece of everything we believe, faithful in everything God gave him to do. Moses was also faithful, but Jesus gets far more honor. A builder is more valuable than a building any day. Every house has a builder, but the Builder behind them all is God. Moses did a good job in God’s house, but it was all servant work, getting things ready for what was to come. Christ as Son is in charge of the house. Hebrews 3:1-6

The Hebrews, to whom Paul was writing, had a high opinion of Moses because he was faithful in his service to God. Moses understood that after him would come someone far greater - a Savior, healer, mediator, redeemer, Master and Maker of all. Paul was stressing the point that someone far greater than Moses had come.

As some honour a building like St. Paul's without thinking of the builder, the Hebrews tended to honour the servant more than the Master. This tendency continues. Christians often seek a leader, a fixer, someone they can look to for all the answers. This person has already come. His name is Jesus.

At this Christmas season, as we celebrate the coming to earth of our Savior, Jesus, the Founder and Builder of our faith, let's make Him the focus of our devotion.

* * *

Rose McCormick Brandon is the author of four books, including One Good Word Makes all the Difference and Promises of Home - Stories of Canada's British Home Children. She writes personal essays and devotionals for several publications.

Shakespeare had it right—Carolyn R. Wilker

In his time, William Shakespeare knew a thing or two about the stage, but curiously, a thing or two about life as well. He wrote:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

You may not think you’re on a stage, but really you are. While you might not be acting to earn your wages, people still watch what you do, how you behave.

Think of all the people who have been part of your life for a short or long time. Friends who seemed to disappear from your circle when they moved away or when life circumstances changed for one of you and you were no longer able to spend time together. Or a friend died and you seemed cut off from the family since you were merely a friend and not family. Many exits and entrances indeed. 

A long-time friend died last January; she was younger than me by a year. I’ve known her since we were four or five years old. Maybe it helps that our parents are also long-time friends, but our friendship developed of its own accord. That was her entrance to my life and mine to hers.

I thought long and hard about her exit—too soon for me. She went to the hospital having been diagnosed with pneumonia. She thought she’d be in a few days and arranged for meals for her husband who’s disabled and older than her. But that’s not how things turned out. 

My husband and I drove down the highway to the London hospital on a snowy winter day. I had asked permission to go and had a sense that I needed to be there. She couldn’t speak, we couldn’t hug, but I did have a brief moment, if that, to say her name and touch her gently on the shoulder. I was prepared to read a psalm, but there wasn’t enough time. In my heart I thought it was close to goodbye, but I couldn’t say it, even if she was the sickest of the patients in the Trauma Care unit.

We’d been in the room barely a moment when staff asked us to go to the waiting room. We would learn later that she went into cardiac arrest.

My friend’s life was a testimony to her faith. She was always reminding us of God in our lives. We often talked about the spiritual and our last conversation just after the New Year last January was no different. Still I wasn’t ready for her exit the end of that month. It was painful.

That’s when I addressed life as a stage play.

Enter left, exit right

or is it enter right, exit left?

Only it was all wrong;

you exited too soon

Your role ended

before our play was over

and we were powerless to stop it

Unaware of the gravity,

the rise in suspense

       —an outcome we feared in Act IV—

that would drop the final curtain

or like a trap door in the theatre floor

that takes the actor out of the scene

the lines you were to say next

were never spoken

Even if I’m not ready to say good-bye to a loved one, God knows the pain in my heart. The place she—and others—have held there. It's real and not forgotten.

It is said that life is not a dress rehearsal. There’s no rewinding of stage time, only going forward. This season, while celebrating the gift of the Saviour, Jesus, consider your place on the stage and go forward in the knowledge of God’s grace. May he give you much peace and joy this season in the middle of wherever you find yourself.

Carolyn R. Wilker writes and edits from her home in southwestern Ontario. She was a speaker at December MoMondayGuelph. She is the author of Once Upon a Sandbox as well as devotionals, poetry and articles. She is also a writing instructor and storyteller.

www.carolynwilker.ca

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat--Carolyn Wilker

Christmas is coming,
The geese are getting fat,
Please put a penny
In the old man's hat.

If you haven't got a penny,
A ha'penny will do,
If you haven't got a ha'penny,
Then God bless you.

                                                                       -old English rhyme

Christmas is coming, really it is. The stores advertise it, albeit since Halloween. And we knew all year that it was coming. 

The mail brings flyers with ads: Buy this for your honey for Christmas. Get your personalized Christmas cards here. Buy this book for your reading pleasure.

Oh, wait, that last one was mine. I’m not immune to advertising my own wares. We authors have to advertise too, and not just at Christmas.

 The goose—or the chicken or turkey— is getting fat, so that our Christmas feast is assured, and we are urged to start preparations early so we are not overwrought by Christmas when the festivities are upon us. 

Ads urge us to get our shopping done, while the deals are good. Decorators invite us to fill our homes with pine boughs and candles, and of course, to fill our tree with beautiful ornaments, so the warm glow of Christmas will be with us all season.

I like to decorate my home too and have my favourite pieces that I put out. Our tree goes up, but not until the 10th or so of December. The cards get mailed early so our recipients will be sure to get them on time, wherever they live. In fact, the cards we receive are part of the décor. I enjoy waiting for special mail during December.

But back to the rhyme. It admonishes children to share with others. If they had a penny to give, that would do. If they had no penny, then the singer of the rhyme blesses that child. 

Where did that message come from? Was it from a teaching in the Bible, or a lesson offered up by the church, parents or grandparents? And if it came from the parents, did they demonstrate giving?

I’m thinking that the little rhyme for children applies to young and old alike. To share from what we have, whatever that may be, at whatever stage of life we may be. It could be coins in a Salvation Army kettle or a small gift. If the budget is limited, it could be a pair of mittens or two to go with a food hamper, or maybe some cans of food for the food bank. If resources are greater, a larger gift may be appropriate. 

We’re urged to share because there are people for whom Christmas is not so jolly, not overflowing with food or warm clothes for a cold Canadian winter. Some folks are very lonely as I was reminded again at a recent Kiwanis meeting where I was speaking. The Christmas dinner delivered by folks for Meals on Wheels may be the only outside contact some poor souls have that day.

Our church collects food items and takes it to the local Food Bank. We also have people coming to the church who are in need, and that goes on all year, not just at Christmas.

Our family has cut back on gift giving at Christmas. It began one year when we had a student in the family, someone laid off, and another family member buying their first home. My husband and I no longer struggle with what to buy each other. We set an amount and pick a cause. We really do have what we need.

Who penned the rhyme, Christmas is coming? Does it really matter? Pay attention to the lyrics of the songs and carols you sing this season, that is if you’re not tired of them after shopping throughout December. 

When you’ve sent out your cards, decorated your home and wrapped your gifts, remember the reason that this celebration is called Christmas—the gift of a Saviour, Jesus.

 “...to you is born this day in the city of David, a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”      -Luke 2:11, The Bible (NRSV)

Carolyn Wilker

www.carolynwilker.ca