Fading Flower to Fruit-Picking Time by Peter A. Black

Apple Blossom

Courtesy: FREE Stock Photo

This morning I fell into musing about the marvels of nature, of the flowers and blossoms of spring, and the summer-through-fall season of harvesting fruit. 

How beautiful the cheerful, creamy-white apple blossom on several neighbourhood trees was this spring. Driving down a city street, elsewhere, I marvelled at several trees clad in rich burgundy cherry blossom.                                                 

I mused on how great it would be if the fruit trees could keep their blossoms all year, instead of appearing for only a short time then fading so quickly away? Fact is, flowers bloom, then their petals must fade and fall in order for fruit to develop and bear seed – a process necessary for ensuring the survival of their kind, as new trees get a start. With that kind of tree, no matter how much we love seeing and smelling the blossoms, they must fade and die before the fruit can fully develop and we get to enjoy eating it!

Cherry Blossom

Courtesy: FREE Stock pexels

A seed dies in the process of giving birth to new life. It illustrates the spiritual principle of life coming out of death. That’s the opposite of what we tend to think, in relation to the natural world. Commonly we figure that people are born, they live, and then they die. True enough.

In the realm of spiritual life, however, we are called to die to our self-life in order to live in the fulness of the life of Jesus and in the love of God. Jesus had to die on the Cross before He could rise from the dead to make new life available to those who trust in Him.

People might Ooh and Aah at the glorious sight of blossoms on trees, but do the trees puff with pride because of the praise? Of course not.When their flowers fade and fall they lose their glorious adornment.  

Sometimes segments of the Christian community experience periods during which they garner admiration in the general community, only to be cast aside when hypocrisy and failure become apparent with it; the glorious flower and verdant leaves of popularity fade and fall. Bitter fruit!

Credit: Google duty-free images

But wait, the Scriptures teach: “... the fruit of the [Holy] Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. . . Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. . .” (Galatians 5:22-24).

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There it is – the principle of spiritual life following spiritual death. The fruit of a life lived in the grace of Jesus under the  sunshine of God’s love produces good and pleasant fruit, regardless of our age and physical appearance. But, surely God is grieved when bitter fruit causes people to turn away from faith in Jesus.

Even sour lemons have beneficial uses and are, in fact, good fruit. A touch of honey can make quite a difference. As an old Gospel song says: There’s honey in the Rock, my brother [my sister, too]!  Jesus is our Rock.

Pensive Prayer: Dear God, even though the flower of our youth eventually fades, grant that good fruit will continue to form in our lives, as the divine harvest-gathering time draws ever near! In Jesus’ name, Amen.

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Peter is a retired pastor – well, sort of retired – as he is currently engaged as an associate volunteer pastor. He lives in Southwestern Ontario with his wife, May, and writes a weekly inspirational newspaper column and occasional magazine articles. Peter is author of two books: "Parables from the Pond" (Word Alive Press) and "Raise Your Gaze . . . Mindful Musings of a Grateful Heart" (Angel Hope Publishing). He and May are also engaged in leading nursing home / residential chapel services, pulpit supply and music. ~+~

Living to Live or Living to Die?

No big surprise. Death is inescapable.

Although not a pleasant thought for most of us - life, as we know it, will one day cease.

We just don't know the day or the time, which is probably a good thing. It is the one event in this world that, without a doubt, will happen. No matter how we try to prolong it, once our time is up, our time is up.

Many of us don't want to think about dying because it puts a whole different perspective on living.

The way I see it, that can be a good thing, though. Well it's a good thing as long as we choose living to live over living to die. There's a difference between living life to the fullest or not bothering because we are going to die anyway.

When I was going through a health trial and I didn't know what the road ahead looked like in the survival department, I was introduced to that popular country song by Tim McGraw - Live Like You are Dying. Great idea as long as living like you were dying includes more joy than dread; more peace than fear; more love than friction.

 

Dread, fear and friction arise from an unsettled heart and a feeling of unworthiness. But the good news is that dread fear and friction can be replaced with joy, peace and love. And I have found, firsthand that when that joy, peace and love stroll hand in hand with faith, death becomes a beautiful thing and something I do not have to fear.

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, 1 John 4:18 a,b

I think it's when faith hits home that you learn to love deeper, speak sweeter, and give forgiveness that you've been denying. After all we will have eternity to contemplate how we lived our life. . .

I am in no rush to leave this world, but if my time is up, no matter how much kicking and screaming I do, it won't matter. I have two choices when it comes to life and death. I can choose to see death as something horrific, formidable and something to fear. Or I can choose to see death as the cessation of life here as we know it - but wait - there's more.

As a believer I have the hope in my Saviour, Jesus, that eternity awaits. Yay! That is my prayer for my entire family and all my friends - in fact, as naive and cliched as it may sound - it's my prayer for the world. 

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:4

And for some final, parting wisdom, Snoopy shared some profound incite with Charlie Brown.

Charlie Brown: “Some day, we will all die Snoopy!’

Snoopy: “True but on all the other days, we will not.”

How's that for a little motivation to go sky diving or Rocky Mountain climbing or 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu?

I'm in. You? 

Glynis lives, loves, laughs and does an awful lot of reading, writing, publishing and praying in her home office. Her latest children's book - Hopeful Homer offers hope and encouragement to anyone who might find herself in 'the pit'. 

www.glynisbelec.com 

writer@glynisbelec.com 

Away, On or Through? Ruth Smith Meyer

“Why do we have so many ways to talk about the ending of life?” a writer asked a while ago. “A person croaked, kicked the bucket, bought the farm, bit the dust, departed, expired, passed away, passed on or passed through—why not say it like it is?  They died!”  The many expressions, she thought, stem from people not willing to face the bald fact that death has taken place.

Death is a subject many are uncomfortable talking about and many would rather not think about this inevitable part of life. Even those who have confronted the idea and dealt with their apprehension may still have some qualms. My first husband when told he was terminal said “I’m not afraid of death; it’s the unknown process of dying that makes me anxious.” 

            Talking about it, though, is one of the best preparations for the time when we are confronted with death, whether it happens suddenly or we are told we or our loved ones are terminal.  More than a year before my first husband’s death, as part of a Marriage Encounter team, we wrote a presentation about our feelings as we think on the death of our spouse.  It was a difficult time of writing, but we trudged ahead until it was written.  That encouraged us to go ahead and make some tentative funeral plans.  We had no idea how soon we would be glad we had done the talking and planning before the reality stared us in the face.

            In the time after his death, I was glad for those whose comfort level was such that they could listen to my grief and weren’t afraid to mention Norman and talk about him.  I was also confronted many times with those who didn’t know how or were afraid of talking about death.  The tension was tangible every time I mentioned my husband’s name, and many times, the subject was abruptly changed.  I became acutely aware of the need of education about death.

            When my second love, Paul and I got married ten years ago, we knew that one of us would probably have to face the loss of a partner the second time. When he was diagnosed with a very aggressive cancer just two weeks after our marriage, we thought this may happen much sooner than we had hoped.  However, God gave me incredible peace, assuring me that I was exactly where he wanted me to be.  In spite of the hours and hours spent in waiting rooms and hospitals, those ten years brought joy and blessings far above what we could have anticipated. Even when at the beginning of January this year we were told there was nothing left to fight the cancer and that Paul would now be placed under the care of the Palliative Care Team, that incredible peace and joy remained.  We had ten years!

Having gone through the experience of ushering a second husband into the next life, I’ve been thinking a lot about that woman’s statement. Yes, both Norman and Paul died, and I’m not afraid or shy to say so. Somehow, to say they died, is not enough.  I was right there and sang both of them into eternity although this time I had the help of family around me. “Home!” Norman whispered with joy, in his final moment.  Paul relaxed as we sang “I can only imagine” and other hymns. He breathed his last with a smile on his face.  It did not seem like death so much as stepping through the gossamer curtain dividing this earthly life and eternity. Both of those occasions were not so much death scenes as times replete and abounding with life—life abundant.

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful ones.”  Psalm 116:15

 

Out of the Ordinary, the story of her life,  is Ruth Smith Meyer's latest book.  You can read more of her journey there.  She would also welcome conversation with you, or is available to speak to groups.  You can visit her at www.ruthsmithmeyer.com

Shock and Sudden Loss—Carolyn R. Wilker

Recently a young teen died.  When I got the news, I found it hard to believe. No, it couldn’t be. The message bearer gave me no reason to disbelieve, but the shock came as disbelief as it often does.  

It still feels unreal, even though I’ve seen Samantha’s photo on the funeral site, then at visitation when we talked with her parents about what her life meant to us. Her family had spread out precious photos, her beautiful artwork and played a video of photos of her alone and with family. School friends, classmates, her extended family and people from our church attended that day at a celebration of her life.

I taught Samantha in Sunday School when she came as a 7- or 8-year-old with her great-aunt Darlene. Samantha brought with her the usual child-like energy and willingness to learn and she seemed to enjoy the stories we shared each Sunday, acting some of them out in the sanctuary after our initial worship time. Her brother came along sometimes too.

One Sunday stands out for me, when we talked about the baptism of Jesus. The writer of the curriculum reminded us that some children might not be baptized and to assure them that God loves them, regardless. Samantha may have seen a baby baptized in our church and was learning what it meant. I was quite sure that she probably had not been baptized, but I learned soon after that she’d been asking her parents for permission. Her Dad relented and a date was set.

Sunday School Fun Day, May 2008. We looked around for Samantha and found she had climbed a tree

I remembered, too, her delight and joy on her baptism day, wearing a brand new dress that her great aunt had bought for the occasion. I was there to celebrate with her and her family who came that day, and then later also for her confirmation. Our congregation, who had been welcoming from the start, celebrated with her.

Some time passed when she began high school and was involved in other activities, however, the seed planted earlier had not withered. Her aunt waited patiently, praying for her and that she might return, and it happened. Samantha started coming to church again with her great aunt, as she was able, and I noticed that she had become a confident and competent young woman. 

The last I saw Samantha was the end of June, and in late July her Aunt Dar shared the news with us, with much sadness. Samantha died after a short illness that turned out to be an undiagnosed medical condition.

 Her illness and ensuing death must feel like a bad dream or nightmare to her parents and her brother, one they hope will end and their girl will come walking in the door saying, “Hi Mom, hi Dad.” 

It seems contrary to nature to bury one’s child, and it must be devastating. Even for others who know her, it's difficult to say good-bye to one we've known and loved, especially one so young. And yet Jesus knows Samantha as his child and will have already welcomed her home. 

This week on a long drive, I pictured Samantha meeting with my friends Kathy, Annie and others who have already gone on ahead. And here I picture Jesus wiping the tears from our eyes with the largest handkerchief ever, for there have been many tears already.

Carolyn R. Wilker, author, editor and storyteller

www.carolynwilker.ca

Word Hungry by Pamela Mytroen

How hungry are we for words? Hungry enough to steal books, like Liesel did in the film, “The Book Thief”[1]? Living in the paralyzing fear of Nazi Germany, she became desperate for life-giving stories.   

Books were rare, most having been burned through Hitler’s ‘intellectual cleanse’. Liesel is in awe one day as she drops off clean laundry for Ilsa Hermann, the mayor’s wife, and is invited to read from her extensive library. With reverent whispers, Liesel chooses her favourite books each week and indulges in a page-turning feast. However, when the Mayor finds out about her secret reading sessions, she is banned from the hallowed library.  

But Liesel has tasted the power of words. She has also become close friends with Max, a Jewish fugitive her family is harbouring in their basement. When he falls seriously ill, Liesel begins a journey to save him through stories. Though books are forbidden, Liesel secretly returns to the mayor’s home, and at the cost of her life, “borrows” a book. She begins reading to Max, breaking the bread of life one precious crumb at a time, story after story, book after stolen book, until the fever is broken and he awakens to life and health.

Having been fortified by her beloved words, Liesel turns her attention to others starving for hope. She whispers stories to the scared families in the Air-Raid Shelters where her words tug smiles from their captive spirits.     

One day before Max leaves, he hands Liesel a copy of Mein Kampf, in which he had whitewashed every page. He says, “Write. In my religion we're taught that every living thing, every leaf, every bird, is only alive because it contains the secret word for life. That's the only difference between us and a lump of clay. A word. Words are life, Liesel.”

Writing in her re-purposed journal saves Liesel’s life one night as she falls asleep in her basement with pen in hand while all around the bombs fall on her village.

There is a secret word for life, like Max said. One word splits the rock of our tombs and calls us out. This Word is referred to in scripture. “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1). In verse fourteen we learn the identity of this Word: “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.” Jesus Christ is the Word Who gives abundant, never-ending life.

It was the spoken words of the Word that created all we see. Jesus spoke the light into being. And he speaks light into our being too when He calls us from death to life.

Words are life. But there is one Word – Jesus – we cannot live without. Only His whisper has the power to break sin’s fever and wake us back to life.       

Writers would be wise to follow the example of Liesel. In our desire to share life-giving words with others, we must first find Jesus, the source of all life. We, like Liesel, may need to risk our lives in our search for the precious Word. When we find Him we must not let go, no matter the cost. Take Him in, and indulge in the feast of His love. Finally, being strengthened and built up by grace, we will be able to write the words that stir others back to life; words that shine light into darkness, and hope into despair.

---

[1] From the film, “The Book Thief”, a 2013 American-German war drama film based on the book by Marcus Zusak, 2005, TransWorld Publishers.

by Pamela Mytroen

Final Triumph by Ruth Smith Meyer

“Oh, I’m sorry!” —a perfectly normal response to someone who just told you her father has died.  It happened over and over when my 100 year-old dad died two days before Christmas—and still does. 

It is hard to know how to reply to these dear people.  I usually say, “Oh no, don’t be sorry!  This is what we’ve been praying for and we’re rejoicing!”

Callous, you may think, but let me explain.  He was a good father in many ways. Throughout his life, his central focus and burning passion was to follow Christ and live for him. He was an avid reader and enthusiastic learner all his life.  He encouraged his children and young people in the churches he pastored to do the same and think for themselves. His children weren’t handed everything on a silver platter.  Seldom did he buy small treats for his offspring, but if we asked for a book, he did his best to provide one. 

He had his flaws and limitations, too.  Among them: I longed to hear him express his love, but he was unable to do so.  That inability left a gaping hole in my own life.

As we neared adulthood and began to act on his advice to think for ourselves, he sometimes found it difficult if we didn’t reach the same conclusions he did. He and I had some heated discussions that resulted in us hurting each other. Our visits became filled with tension and intense debates as we differed on how to live our lives in Christ. 

At one point, God revealed to me that I should begin expressing my love for him.  At first it felt almost phony, but as I obediently continued, I recognized that his inability to express his love was an impediment in his life, stemming from his own experiences.  My attitude shifted to empathy and then greater love.

Each time we visited, I gave him a hug and told  him, “I love you.”  Each letter I wrote, I finished with a few happy memories of him or expressed thankfulness for one of his traits.  For a long time, it seemed it had no effect on him, but subtlety it was changing me!

He was already in his nineties when he began to ask when I was coming to visit.  The next time I did, he exclaimed with great joy, “Ruth!” when I walked through the door.  That time, my hug was returned and he assured me, “I love you too!”  Those were words I had given up ever hearing from his lips.

In the years since then, each time I visited, I spent a lot of time sitting, holding his hand, talking to him and singing some of his beloved hymns.  What joy as his strong bass voice joined mine.  What beautiful fellowship we enjoyed.  We had both lost our mates and that, too provided a mutual understanding of the emotions such loss brings.  When I found another dear man to be my husband, he rejoiced with me and expressed it often—“I’m so glad for you!”

When his slowing heart and lack of oxygen reduced the ability of his mind, he still prayed and preached and planned for meetings where he could proclaim the gospel and bring other souls into the fold.  He often voiced his longing to go to heaven.  In the last months that wish became his hearts dearest desire. We longed for his release from his earthly fetters. The morning of my mother’s birthday, he quietly let go and his face relaxed in utmost peace, while his spirit returned to his Maker.

So, yes!  Don’t be sorry!  We rejoice for that final triumph for the dear man who gave his life in God’s service and parented us well.