"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!

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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. ~~+~~

Eggnog – It’s Over . . . for Now by Peter A. Black

You – a loving and caring, thoughtful individual – may feel bombarded, if not overwhelmed, by the multitudinous matters of great import that day after day mount an assault on your consciousness, as wave after wave of distressing, heartrending news reaches you through every kind of media.

These impact your mind, engage your sensibilities and stir your emotions.
News of tragedy, disrupted lives, privation and loss that people suffer, may go right over some folks’ heads – especially if occurring on the other side of the country or the world. But not over yours; you’re sensitive. You wince, torn inside, because you’re already committed to supporting numerous causes, and are unable to accommodate yet another.

Who can fault you for lapsing into a few wistful moments of retreat to squeeze comfort from memories of good times and pleasant experiences past? – And from favourite comfort food? Although the year is young, its infancy is about over, yet there’s time enough for the resumption of diet and exercise routines or whatever you may have resolved on January 1^st. (Disclaimer: Don’t  take that as actual advice.) Point: even caring folks need a break from clamouring calamity.
 
Before I commenced framing these musings I went to the fridge and extracted a carton of eggnog, a vestige of the Christmas, New Year and Festive Season. I admit it. I’d spun this supply out as long as I could. It was still fresh, coddled in chilly recess at the back of the fridge.
Please don’t grimace if you can’t stomach that enchanting elixir of Christmas cheer, and I implore you not to judge me – at least not too harshly – for my sentimental eccentricity.

And so, I prepared a bold half-decaf coffee containing a generous dash of eggnog and milk. I ‘nuked’ it to bring the temperature back up to steaming hot and perched it nearby the computer, for sipping on the job, and then began these ramblings. Aahh, the festive season lives! But I know it’s really over once the stored up eggnog runs out.

What particularly signals a season of the year or in your life truly over? You no longer cling to it; you know it’s dead and gone. Each season in nature begins and ends, although there can be overlap and fudging of the signs, such as when wintry weather doesn’t come till well after winter’s official commencement, or we get a premature blast in an early snow dump.

A woman holds on to her wedding dress for years, picturing her daughter wearing it on her wedding day. Tragically the girl dies young. The woman’s husband forsakes her for another’s embrace, yet she occasionally plucks that cherished dress from the closet and holds it to her cheek. Fresh tears fall, spotting the silken white memory. Oh God, help him remember his vows; bring him home to me, she sobs. But no, he divorces her.

It’s over. The dress can now go. Although wounded she has no lack of love in her heart, yet this is the first day of the rest of her life. It’s time to move on – but only thoughtfully and prayerfully. Time to heal. And so, she presses on, with gratitude for the good that was, for the good that is, and for the grace that will lead her on to discover the good that God has in store.

The spirit of Christmas lives on in grateful, loving hearts. The season’s festive trappings are stored away and its comfort food and drink are gone for now. Nevertheless, Jesus our Saviour, our Emmanuel – the God who is with us – comforts us along life’s pathway. 

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Photo Credits: Eggnog Cup: Polyvore.com
Wedding dress: A. Black; Wooded Trail: P. A. Black

Peter writes a weekly inspirational column and enjoys singing inspirational music and playing piano, organ and accordion, and encourages the upward focus. His latest book –  "Raise Your Gaze ... Mindful Musings of a Grateful Heart" – reflects this in a variety of brief articles and stories:
Author:
"Parables from the Pond" – a children's/ family book (Word Alive Press)
"Raise Your Gaze . . . Mindful Musings of  Grateful Heart (Angel Hope Publishing)

Blog Raise Your Gaze
Email:      

 

Re-charged Consciousness - Smith Meyer

How easy it is to take life for granted and how quickly our perspective can change. The sudden death of a loved one can do that. So can a tragic accident that forever changes the abilities of an active, intelligent person. Even if it doesn’t happen to us, but is someone we know well, for awhile, we are more aware of the fragility of life and health. Earthquakes, tsunamis, memorable events like 9/11, even if they happen a half a world away, make us stop and think, “What would it be like if that happened to us?”

Sunday evening the skies above our town churned with layers of white, black and blacker clouds. I watched from our deck as here and there, from the blacker ones, tails formed and threatened to descend. I was ready, should those funnels really get it together in earnest, to run for the basement. It wasn’t long until we heard that a tornado did touch down and wreak havoc, demolishing the centre of Goderich, less than an hour away from our home.
We have extended family members who live in that town, and we wondered if they had been affected. We later learned they were safe. Another couple we know were there with their grandchildren. Had their little granddaughter not been in such a hurry to get her promised Timbits, they may still have been down on the beach when the storm hit. As time goes on (it happens anytime there is a natural disaster) there will be many such stories of near misses or providential moves at just the right time. Those times feel like small miracles or mercies—what if we hadn’t? is often asked. For the family of the only casualty, the quandary will be “if only.”

Three days later, I sit in the basement writing this entry, because after Sunday’s happening, our local station has been super-careful to keep the severe weather watch and warnings running across the bottom of the tv screen—it’s been doing that all afternoon. And because of my heightened awareness of what could happen if we ignore those warnings, I choose to play it safe and do my work in the basement instead of upstairs with one eye toward the west.

With communication so advanced, we hear and see video footage of natural tragedies almost as soon as they happen all over the world. We are aware of the pain and suffering of the people involved. We let ourselves feel their pain for awhile and maybe even make a donation to help them. The closer to us, the more we become involved, the more conscious we are that it could happen to us. I used to struggle with my ability to forget so quickly. Perhaps we cannot always live in that kind of heightened awareness, but we can learn from those times.
While thinking through the happenings of the past few days, I was reminded of Mr. Simmonds who taught a few evening classes I took at Toronto Bible College many years ago. He had the class all note our greatest fear, then our assignment was to write a composition about what we would do if that happened—how we would face it and get through it. That exercise helped us, as he put it, “Turn around and face our fear instead of fleeing from it.”

That exercise assisted me many times in life, to do just that. It helped me many years later when one of those greatest fears I had noted did happen—the love of my life died. Although at the news that it probably would happen, I was tempted to flee from it, I was able to turn and face it head on. However his death had a more lasting effect. Somehow, since then, it’s easier to believe that it could happen to me or to ones I love. Rather than making me paranoid and fearful, it has done the opposite.

Although I take precautions (like sitting in the basement in threatening weather) a deep contentment and peace is present even in threatening circumstances because l know that my times are in the hands of the One who planned my life in the beginning. It’s wise to live as well as we can and take precautions, but it’s also wise to take risks if necessary. However there is only so much one can do to determine the outcome of any circumstance in life. How grateful I am that Mr. Simmonds set me on the right track so long ago.

www.ruthsmithmeyer.com