Making the Circle Wider/MANN

I’m a farmer’s daughter! As a young girl, I was often asked to take the cows to the back field and sometimes if the parents had milked late, it would be almost dark by the time I got back to the barn. I can remember those summer evenings with stars appearing like a great wide canopy over my head. Knowing the story of Jesus’ birth, I marveled at the significance of a message and truly expected to see angels at any time.

Then, later in my married years, Doug and the boys had quite a large flock of sheep. Again I can remember checking fences, following a sheep through a broken rail to the neighbour’s field and crying, after wolves had ravaged. Again, the canopy of stars hanging overhead is a comforting memory in times of uncertainty.

In Jesus’ day, shepherds or sheep farmers were not well thought of. Although they would have supplied sheep as sacrificial animals in the near-by temple in Jerusalem, they themselves would not have been allowed to enter the temple to worship. They would have been seen as unclean after following sheep day and night across the dry land or perhaps named an outcast because of their lifestyle, maybe a scoundrel, sometimes accused of stealing another’s sheep, to increase their numbers. The religious probably thought they had good reason to forbid them from holy places.

Keeping this in mind, I ask then, why did the angel’s brilliance not break through into the temple, arouse the religious and sing their Gloria to a more receptive group or at least to men who were used to discussing God's intervention into human life. But, no! It was to a group of shepherds. Luke says “And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them . . . (v.8f).”

It makes me wonder when dressed in my best bib and tucker, thinking my most pious and praiseworthy thoughts, if God is out doing the shepherd thing with those who are just doing what comes natural to them, like keeping watch over whatever people keep watch over when they’re not in church. Don’t misunderstand me – I love the church. However, sometimes we are reminded that God makes the circle wider than we can ever imagine.

All at once, it makes me want to go to the most unlikely places where I think God may be breaking into the most surprising space with a wonderful message, an invitation, and a promise that the glory of the Lord will shine around them. Sounds good to me. Now where should I look to find such a place? I might just want to go and seek out some shepherds.

Blessings on this eighth day of Christmas.
Donna Mann
http://www.donnamann.org/
http://meadowlane.homestead.com/ (children's MP3 & PDF stories)

The Morning After - MANN

I returned home from Write!Canada totally zonked. My energy drained as I willingly released it in scurrying from appointments to workshops to continuing classes. No time to put up my feet and too much caffeine slowly ushered me into the delightful position of information-overload. I hugged friends I hadn’t seen for a year, kept tabs on my VISA as I chose books in the overflowing bookstore. Thank you Word Guild for providing these schedules and a great bookstore.

I find writing this Morning Page extremely stressful as I spent my Continuing Class with Kathryn Dean, a catch-it-all editor who appeared to enjoy her class as much as I did as participant. Thank you Word Guild for your excellent choice of faculty.

As a Word Guild volunteer responsible for billeting, I had opportunity to place two registrants with welcoming hosts. Many volunteers and staff work together to offer the best, longest and biggest conference for writers who are Christian, in Canada. Awesome! Three, I want to mention with full appreciation with many others: Heidi – we love you. I do enjoy my chicken soup, casseroles and BBQs, Brian for your undying effort to provide books for us. And a special thank you to Adele for your story and song. What a witness – truly an offering overflowing with grace. And Charlie didn’t have to do anything to get something – a true example of God’s unconditional love gave her opportunity to affirm Jesus love for him. What a gift!

I came to the conference, tired from the previous late night at the Gala, yet vigorously elated from winning the Long-Feature-Article award. Thank you for Word Guild sponsors.

As good as it was, I reflect quickly on some missed opportunities: being in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting side-tracked in interviews and at the end of the day, wondering about some of my choices. Yet, each of the above was a learning opportunity and does not take away from invitations to submit further work, encouragement to continue in the writing process and to welcome mentorship. So I press on!

Even though my cat seemed surprised to see me sitting in my chair this morning, she tested our friendship by immediately jumping up and claiming her space. And my Happy Hubby asked, “Is this Mother’s Day or Father’s Day?” as he brought coffee and juice to my side table.

Where to from here? What do I do with the plethora of writing guidelines, purchased and free books, piles of hand-outs and notes from classes? I’m going to take some of my own advice from leading the Orientation class last year: Make my lists, set my priorities, set some goals, create a calendar and begin my writer’s prayer log, but right now, I’m going back to bed ( 9:00 AM Sunday).

Blessings,
Donna Mann

P.S. I just checked Judith’s Blog schedule and I see where I’m due on Tuesday, so today’s Morning Pages have graduated to my blog.
http://www.donnamann.org

The Theme of My Life - Meyer

Recently, I was listening to a series of CDs recorded at last year’s Write! Canada. They were of a continuing class by Sheila Wray Gregoire. On one of the CDs, she asked the question of her audience: “What is the theme of your life?”

I really puzzled over that one. I know that the books, stories, articles or poems that I write need to have a theme. Even this blog post must have a theme. But my life…? How could an entire lifetime be summed up in one theme?

But as I gaze backwards now and think about my life’s journey, it can indeed be summed up in one theme.
As a young child, I dreamed of love. I had a crush on my grade 2 teacher. As a ten-year-old, I wrote an eight-chapter book about a nurse during WWII who travels overseas to find her brother and ends up falling in love with a soldier. I loved watching Roy Rogers movies where the hero would rescue the beautiful young lady from the men who were trying to steal the deed to the ranch owned by her recently deceased father. They would ride off together into the sunset with sweet music playing in the background. I dreamed even of a time when my father would return to be reunited with my mother. I dreamed of love.

But I never believed in it. Not really. The fairy tales of happily-ever-after were places I traveled to and places I inevitably returned from. They only lasted as long as the movie or book or the day dream in my mind.

I had given my heart to Jesus at a young age. I longed to serve Him. Every day, I worked hard to please Him. I worked hard so that He would be pleased with me.
Looking back, there are specific people whom I remember who began the breakthrough in my disbelief of love. I began to think that perhaps it might truly exist – for other people. It wasn’t until I met my husband and he said, “I can’t prove that I love you; you’ll just have to trust me,” that I came to understand what love was. I experienced it for myself and KNEW I was loved.

Still, I strove hard to win my Father’s love. I was constantly vigilant, fearfully aware of every little area where I might need to improve.

Then one evening, walking out under the stars, arm in arm with my husband, the Lord spoke to me and told me that the way that I trusted John’s love was the way that I could trust God’s love. I could rest in His unconditional love. I didn’t need to strive or live in constant fear and doubt. I could rest. As the Bible says, I was “accepted in the beloved.”

That should have been the end of my story but it isn’t. I still struggle with accepting the love of my husband, my family and friends. And I still struggle with accepting God’s love.

Coincidentally, I have just finished the sixth book in a series of novels that depict a seven-step journey of healing. The sixth step is: “God loves me.”

It’s true. God loves me. God loves you. “For God so loved the world that He sent His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” John 3:16.

We just need to “believe in Him.” We just need to trust that He loves us. Walk into His arms and let Him hold you close. God loves you.

God loves me. The theme of my life. The theme of my song for all eternity.

Dorene Meyer
www.dorenemeyer.com

Contributor to Hot Apple Cider and A Second Cup of Hot Apple Cider
www.hotapplecider.ca
Author of Lewis, Jasmine, The Little Ones and Deep Waters
Now in book stores across Canada
Distributed by Word Alive Press www.wordalivepress.ca.
Available online and as ebook on Amazon www.amazon.com (key in title of book and publisher: Word Alive Press).

Grieving Those Still With Us - Austin

Like joy, grief comes in many forms. Often it takes us by surprise. We think we are prepared, then find that preparing our minds fails totally at preparing our emotions.

No one lives forever here, and we grasp that without difficulty -- as a theory. But some people, even in long distance relationships, have entwined themselves in our lives so deeply that we cannot imagine a world without them.

Can this be the same man who moped around when he hit 50, because life was over? He's done quite a bit of living in the years since. Ninety-two is just nine days away as I post this.

In his 70's and 80's Dad was one of the key fund-raisers for the Canadian Leprosy Mission. With another man of the same vintage, they gathered scrap aluminum and copper, as well as old betteries and raised more than $50,000 each year. At 76 Dad set an age record for the zip-line at Camp Harmattan, and he still talked of getting roller-blades at 80, his wife telling him to act his age. On that particular birthday, Dad reached 80 push-ups, a goal he had worked toward for quite some time. It seems only yesterday that he would go for a walk and break into a jog.

Can this be the same man, tottering on uncertain steps, turning his body, then trying desperately to convince his feet to cooperate? Can this be the same man, who can still recite "The Cremation of Sam McGee," but asks the same question five times in 15 minutes? Can this man who relates stories from 70 years ago in minute detail, be the same one who cannot remember where 'home' is? Can this be the same man who moves so slowly from the couch to the phone, who has enough alertness to know he is losing some of his mental abilities, but no way to slow that loss?

How many times have I joked that he would outlive me, more than half expecting it would be true? How many times have I anticipated his line on the phone, "I'm pretty good for an old man," and somehow delighted in its predictability? How many times have I reflected on the richness of knowing he and Evelyn had prayed for my wife and I, each of our children and grandchildren -- by name -- within the last 24 hours? With close to 80 names in 10 extended families the last time I was present for one of those prayer times, there were mixups and prompts. But what price could you put on such a heritage?

Thirty-five years of daily prayer with Mom & Dad until Mom died in 1978. Thirty-two years of daily prayer with Dad & Evelyn. I'm getting up there, but that's more years of prayer than I've been around. They might have left millions for the seven families on Dad's side and the three families on Evelyn's side to squabble over. But how many millions would it take to balance this richer heritage of a lifetime of prayer? How many millions would it take to balance lives lived for God -- not perfectly -- but consistently?

I ache as I write this. I can hardly wrap my mind around this man who would still walk five miles a day two years ago, now shuffling in slow, uncertain steps. Yet in the midst of the ache, a deep joy wells up. Dad's time here is almost over, but he is finishing well. The losses hurt, for him and for everyone around him. But his faith in God remains strong. As we plan a trip west for another visit, the richest tribute I can pay him is to let him know my wife and I carry on this tradition of prayer -- daily -- for our children and grandchildren. I know the same thing is happening in most of those 10 extended families. These days it is also our privilege to be praying for Dad and Evelyn on a regular basis.

Dad's involvement in fundraising for the Canadian Leprosy Mission was integrally tied to his workshop. He stripped insulation off hundreds of pounds of copper and aluminum wire for recycling -- a tedious task, but somehow deeply satisfying for him. He also spent countless hours puttering with tools acquired over a lifetime, often reparing something for a neighbour who might be 40 years younger. Ranking someone else's losses is a dangerous thing, but possibly the biggest single loss in Dad's life since Mom died so many years ago was the loss of that workshop.
Those first years in a luxurious senior's complex wore at Dad. If he could have just gone out to the shop for an hour or two, the rest of it would have been a foretaste of heaven. He might have needed an ambulance on standby. His workshop had seen quite a bit of blood spilled through the years, but it had also left an imprint for good on many, many lives.

Grieving. . . It's a strange process. Dad is grieving a body that no longer does his bidding, and a mind that delights in the distant past, but is baffled by the present. Every one of his kids, the youngest past 50 now, grieves as well -- that this man who has seemed timeless, now somehow measures every day against a clock fast winding down.

Ah, but love is a rich, rich treasure. And we do not grieve like those who have no hope. For love, combined with a life lived for God and for others, leaves a legacy of immeasurable value.

Thank You, God, for Dad! And thank you Dad, for living your faith in God!

Two Worlds - Mann

Have you ever had an experience that changed your direction in life, or perhaps dismissed a judgemental attitude or even created an abundance of grace? I had such an experience while serving on my church National Evangelical Team a number of years ago when I had opportunity to travel to Washington. It was here that I had the blessing of interacting with people who came regularly to the mission.

It was an experience of two worlds in many ways. While walking up the street with the drug mind-altered poor, through littered alleys and muddy weed-ridden areas with graffiti walls, one could look further down the same street and easily see the manicured lawns and the pillared columns of the rich.

I sat on a weathered-beaten windowsill late one night after worshipping with the street community, anticipating fellowship. The leader asked a woman who had been off the street one week to assist with communion and as she bend down to serve me, a small cup tipped and the red fluid spilled across her hand and mine. I wrote the following poem out of that experience:

Coming into the Light
“God, you come to me
through the dark, sad eyes of my black brother and sister,
through the homeless,
the hungry,
the rejected.

God, you touch me
through the alcoholic
the prostitute
the storekeeper,
the prisoner

God you watch me and make me feel no guilt for my wholeness, yet
you call me to share out of it.
you ask me to use my strength to take down fences and borders that limit
you show me unconditional love that reveals itself in compassion acts

God, you confront me to seek out those who have not discovered their need for you.
You challenge me to speak with others who have not found a voice to honour you and themselves
You convict me to share with others all that has been graciously shared with me.
You teach me to free those in exile and you offer the way to do this.

Your people have proven there is hope:
- to wait for a promise
- to listen for a word
- to receive a touch

Your Spirit is here in your fullness, giving birth to wholeness.”

I departed physically from that place, and yet, I will never totally leave it, for regardless of where I go, I will return in memory to touch the joy, the family, the wholeness, that was shared with me in brokenness.