Tuesday, December 03, 2019

Lesson From a Reader by Rose McCormick Brandon


Joan Sepp
A man dropped in to read my articles on Joan Sepp. His reason for visiting was the death of Joan’s husband, Toivo. (Joan passed away a few years ago.) He left this comment – “I had a hard childhood and was often upset when I delivered the newspaper (to the Sepp home). On the days when I was most alone, one of them often met me at the door and chatted with me. I can't even count the number of times I didn't do something rash because these strong people had taken time to speak with me. Whether it was ten seconds, or ten minutes, it didn't matter. They were good people who were tested by tragedy.”

This caused me to think about the invisible people who cross our paths each day. They serve us in restaurants, grocery stores and banks. They deliver mail, parcels, newspapers and fliers, fill our gas tanks, pour our coffee, clean our messes and repair our stuff. They take our complaints, reduce our phone bills, ask us to please subscribe to their magazine, offer us deals on this and that, tempt us to buy chocolate bars and cookies. Mostly, they are front-line people who serve. They don’t control their product. But, often we act like they do.

Jesus was always mindful of individuals whether he found them in the synagogue, begging on the street, fetching water, tending sheep, fishing or collecting taxes. He connected with the person behind the job. Because of His personal approach, lives changed, miracles happened, eternity erased the temporary. 
People mattered to Jesus; they weren’t invisible.

This reader’s comment has reminded me that it really matters how I treat people, whether I meet them face to face, on-line or talk to them on the phone.

I have pledged to be kinder. If a busy man like Jesus always found time for people, can’t I do the same?

Joan and Toivo Sepp lost two children to murder. They suffered many dark days, yet they took time to notice and talk to a lonely paper boy. Their noticing made a difference in his life. “After everything that happened to them,” my reader says, “they still had time for a chubby autistic kid delivering the paper.”

Jesus of Nazareth went about doing good and healing all that were oppressed of the devil; for God was with him. Acts. 10:38

Making it Personal: Lord, forgive me for not following your example of showing kindness to every human being who crosses my path. Make me alert and mindful to do better. 

***
Rose McCormick Brandon writes about personal experiences, her faith and the children who came to Canada as immigrants, the British Home Children. She contributes to publications in Canada, the U.S. and Australia and is the author of Promises of Home - Stories of Canada's British Home Children and One Good Word Makes all the Difference. Find her faith writings at her blog, Listening to my Hair Grow. Visit her website at http://writingfromtheheart.webs.com

Sunday, December 01, 2019

A PARENT’S PAIN – THE INTERRUPTED LIFE XI by Eleanor Shepherd

            
The second story in The Interrupted Life series that I posted in this blog in March 2019, was about the interruption in the life of Stephen Pelley when his older sister and only sibling was killed in a car accident. Today, I want to share the story from the point of view of Stephen’s mother, Brynhild.

            I don’t think there is anything more difficult for a parent to contend with than the death of one of their children. This is what Stephen and Suzanne’s parents Brynhild and Melvin had to face. 

            Suzanne was 21 years old. The family had recently been transferred back to Montreal and the parents were engaged again in pastoral ministry, after spending several years working with people who relied upon the social service programs provided by The Salvation Army. 


            Both parents and children were in transition as Stephen had just completed High School and was taking a transition year to determine what he wanted to study and Suzanne had completed CEGEP (Junior College) and was preparing to enter university to study voice. As I mentioned in Stephen’s story, it was music that bonded the siblings together. 

            Brynhild described herself as a person of faith at the time of the accident, as a result of having a father who was trustworthy and cared for his family. This made it relatively easy for her to give her life to Christ at age eight and subsequently grow in her faith. The example of her father made it easy to trust God as her Heavenly Father. As she grew, she senses a calling to ministry and felt led to pursue a romantic relationship that led her to Canada, where she and her husband were living out their calling. 

            The summer that the family returned to Montreal, Suzanne decided to attend a National Music
Camp offered by The Salvation Army in Ontario. It was there that she reconnected with someone she met at a Brownie camp when she was seven. They decided to go to Calgary together that fall and find work so they could attend university the following year. It was Suzanne’s first experience living apart from the family and she was really home-sick, calling her family several times a week during the month of September.

            On the evening of October 13, before climbing into bed, Brynhild knelt by her bed and in prayer offered her children to God asking for His care and protection for them. When she heard Stephen come in a little while later, she went off to sleep. About four o’clock in the morning, the jarring ring of the ringing of the telephone woke the family. Brynhild’s husband Melvin reached it first. It was the police in Calgary informing the parents that there had been a motor vehicle accident involving their daughter and she did not survive it. 

            Brynhild remembers indescribable feelings that seemed to be a strange mixture of pain, numbness and unbelief. She said to herself, “A few hours ago, I felt so safe as I committed my children to the Lord, and then He took my daughter away!” It did not make any sense to her. Her pain was too deep for tears, yet she was confident that her child was now in the presence of God. 

            She felt this affirmed when a few days later she received a letter from Suzanne’s landlady. The woman told how the evening before the accident, they had been discussing something in the Bible and Suzanne had taken the time to bring down her Bible and help them understand more clearly what they were talking about. 

            It seemed that the full impact of her loss hit Brynhild the following spring. She had always loved the springtime with new life arising in nature, the warmth of the springtime breezes and the bright colours as the flowers and trees began to blossom. That year everything lost its allure. The spring scenes held no beauty for her. She felt like her heart had gone and in it’s place remained a painful void. Yet in spite of her desolation, she sensed that somehow the presence of the Spirit of God was with it. That was all that kept her going about her daily tasks. 


            His parents found that their remaining child, their son Stephen who was 18 at the time was a great comfort to them. Two of Brynhild’s sisters from Norway came to be with the family for two weeks and supported them through the finality of the funeral. Some of Melvin’s family from Newfoundland also came to offer their sustenance to the grieving family.

            Through this dark time, Brynhild became more dependent on the Lord than she had ever been. Though the pain at times made it more difficult for her to open herself to the pain of others, she knew that she could still point them to the One who would help them bear their pain. She slowly came to understand that although God’s plans may not be the same as the ones she might have, she can still trust His promise to be there for her and that has helped her to remain faithful.   
Word Guild Award
2011
Word Guild Award
2009





Word Guild Award
2018

Eleanor Shepherd from Pointe Claire, Quebec has more than 100 articles published in Canada, France, the U.S.A., Belgium, Switzerland and New Zealand. Thirty years with The Salvation Army in Canada and France including ministry in Africa, Europe, Haiti and the Caribbean furnished material for her Award winning book, More Questions than Answers, Sharing Faith by Listening as well as her Award winning stories in Hot Apple Cider and Christmas with Hot Apple Cider. She co-authored with her husband Glen the Bible Study book Why? Families. As well as writing, she conducts workshops on listening skills and prayer. Eleanor recently retired from being the pastor of an English speaking congregation in Montreal with The Salvaton Army. She is currently pursuing studies to become a Prayer Companion.

Monday, November 11, 2019

Snow! What fun!

Raking leaves ...



then later the snow


I was already outdoors cleaning snow off our car when our grandson arrived with his mom. His eyes were bright with excitment seeing all that snow on the ground and watching more coming down. He slipped on the driveway and fell down a couple of times as he made his way up, for it was already slippery underfoot. He cried a little because it hurt, but a hug from his mom and the tears were soon gone.

When one is two and a half, one does not necessarily remember the winter before. He’d helped his dad rake leaves days before, as only a toddler can do, and now there was this white stuff. Heaps of it. He scurried off to the side of the house and chose a shovel. Nolan is tall for his age, and the shovel was meant for an adult, but it did not matter. He proceeded to do his version of snow clearing.

Bundled up in warm winter coat, hat, boots and a neck warmer, he started pushing snow around. I would have loved to get a video of him eagerly pushing and pulling shovelfuls of snow from one side of the driveway to the other, around the car, across the grass, but you’ll have to imagine the scene. It was play and he was loving it.

When I cleaned the car off a little more, he said, “Gamma, shovel.” Meaning, I want you to do it too. And so I joined him in making his rabbit trails around the driveway. At one point, he’d had enough and declared he was ready to go in. “Snack,” he said. It was clear that all the energy he’d used meant a refuel was needed.

After awhile indoors and watching a short cartoon, I said, “Time to go for a walk.” I told him my friend lives far away and we’d put a card in the mailbox for her. At first he didn’t want to go, but then neither did he want to be left behind, even with his Papa, so he decided to come out again.

We had our trek down the street to mail the card. I lifted him up so he could deposit the envelope in the big red box. Then on the way home, he found a stick that he trailed along in the snow. We saw rabbit tracks in the snow and maybe tracks of a dog being walked. Then we shovelled again.

I marvelled at my grandson’s exuberance, and his love of this new weather. When I mentioned snowballs, he was eager to try it out, even if it was just a tiny ball. To him, there was nothing scary about handling a big shovel and trying to dump the snow he’d collected, although he was quite tired by nap time.

We never did get the whole driveway cleared, and if our neighbour had looked out his front window, he would have seen a toddler making a single path past his house and enjoying the task.

We, as adults, may be weighed down by many cares, but, oh, how fun to see a new experience through a toddler’s eyes. May we, too, approach our days with such enthusiasm.

Saturday, November 09, 2019

‘POW’ Tom Gains His Freedom

True Story: WWII had ended. And yet . . . for about thirty years afterwards Tom, haunted by the ugly scenes that he’d witnessed when engaged in the theatre of war, agonized deeplytortured especially by the fact that he’d killed fellow human beings. He eventually sank into the dark dungeon of depression and despair. 

One day in the mid-1970s, while alone in his house, he took his shotgun and, in a suicide attempt, blew off a large portion of his face. Amazingly, help reached him in time, and he survived. 
I don't have Tom's photo.
Pictured here is my late father-in-law.
Following the Normandy Invasion he 
was assigned to the British Liberation
Army, and was the only one of four 
school buddies to return home alive. 
He didn't like to talk about it.
 

After much reconstructive surgery, including the fashioning of a new jawbone from another bone and graft tissue from elsewhere in his body, Tom was on the road to physical recovery. Yet the emotional wounds persistently pained him. Until . . . 
Until the psychological and spiritual prisons that led to his committing that desperate act were broken open and demolished. 
A neighbour of Tom’sa pastor friend of minevisited with him and gently encouraged him during his long journey towards physical recovery, sharing faith and hope in the love of Jesus. Other Christian folk also came by. Tom, like a prisoner of war and hungry for relief was finally heart-ready to be set free from the shackles that held him bound; ready to find the peace that had eluded him all those years.
Tom opened up his life to God and received Jesus Christ as his Saviour. He experienced a palpable sense of forgiveness and release, peace and wholeness. It was for real! Hungry for more of this grace, he and his wife began attending a supportive Christian fellowship. 

I shared many a conversation with Tom, for I also became his neighbour, during his continuing journey of healing and faith.
Quite some years ago I wrote about Tom, and suggested that until He received the healing presence of Jesus into his life he’d remained, in effect, a 'POW' prisoner of war, although the war had long before been fought and won.
Many people live like POWs, even though, through His death and resurrection, Jesus Christ won our war against the forces of evil and the sinful nature that are at enmity against the goodness, grace and will of God. 
Do you remain imprisoned within yourselfbound up in chains of sorrow, anger, unforgiveness, guilt, unfounded fear and wounded pride, and more? Is your heart broken, in a state of perpetual fragmentation, because you’ve been unwilling to let Jesus heal it?
May God grant this year’s Remembrance Day season to be one in which you are released from any prison cells of the soul that have too long held you in spiritual chains. It will be a Remembrance Day season well worth remembering.
A Prayer:
Dear God our Heavenly Father, I thank You for the gift of Your Son, who shed His blood on the ‘battlefield’ of the Cross to secure my pardon. I claim Your forgiveness of all my sins. Cleanse me, renew my spirit and mind, and lead me in Your way everlasting. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
~~+~~
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. ~+~

Thursday, November 07, 2019

What's behind plant worship? "Forgive me, Gourd, for I have sinned..." - Denyse O'Leary

Recent findings show that plants can "think," like animals (not that they are gods, but - as you will see- that won't deter some):

---

In an interview with Suzanne Simard, a forestry prof at the University of British Columbia, science writer Brandon Keim explores the way mother trees, other trees, and a dense network of fungi in forests stay in constant communication. In many ways, it’s strikingly like animal intelligence.



Keim asked her whether she thought plants had a sense of “self”:

Probably the best evidence we have—and keep in mind that scientists have looked at humans and animals a lot longer than plants—is kin recognition between trees and seedlings that are their own kin. Those old trees can tell which seedlings are of their own seed. We don’t completely understand how they do it, but we know there are very sophisticated actions going on between fungi associated with those particular trees. We know these old trees are changing their behavior in ways that give advantages to their own kin. Then the kin responds in sophisticated ways by growing better or having better chemistry. A parent tree will even kill off its own offspring if they’re not in a good place to grow.
Brandon Keim, "Never Underestimate the Intelligence of Trees" at Nautilus

 That’s more than we expected to learn about trees. But, assuming the research is replicated, it doesn’t quite add up to a sense of self. Recognizing chemical signals (or not), without any conscious awareness, would suffice.

Keim went on to ask, “Can a mother tree choose whether or not to provide care, and then at some level does she know this?”:

 We have done what we call choice experiments, in which we have a mother tree, a kin seedling, and a stranger seedling. The mother tree can choose which one to provide for. We found that she’ll provide for her own kin over something that’s not her kin. Another experiment is where a mother tree is ill and providing resources for strangers versus kin. There’s differentiation there, too. As she’s ill and dying, she provides more for her kin.
We’ve done lots of experiments where we adjust the health of the donor—the mother tree—versus the health of the recipient, the seedling, by altering levels of shade or nitrogen or water. It matters what condition each of them is in; they can perceive each other, and those decisions are made depending on conditions. If we suppress the health of the recipient seedling, the mother tree will provide more resources than if we don’t.
Brandon Keim, "Never Underestimate the Intelligence of Trees" at Nautilus
Again, research suggests that the world of trees is vastly more complex than we have supposed and Simard is right to see that we neglect it at our peril. But she does not demonstrate that the tree is doing any thinking. Pest insects and deadly bacteria can communicate and change their environment (often the environment is the human body) just as well as plants. But we are less apt to endow them with romantic qualities.

A philosopher like Steve Meyer would say that there is an intelligence beyond nature which did a lot of thinking to make all these complex interactions possible. But that intelligence, assuming you accept its existence, does not reside in the tree or insect.


A recent discovery showed that plants use glutamate neurotransmitters, as mammals do, to shape their environment, emit clouds of warning chemicals, etc. However, the further claims we now hear that plants are conscious or have a sense of purpose, etc., are a product of the human imagination. They are reminiscent of claims decades ago that dolphins speak a human-like language, "Dolphinese." The program did not provide much insight and was harmful to the dolphins.

From time immemorial, we have endowed what we find in nature with our own characteristics. That is called mythology. The people who think that salad is murder or beg plants to forgive their sins are not helping the environment; they are incorporating a mythology into their lives:

Union Theological Seminary (UTS), a progressive-identifying school located in New York City, which is affiliated with nearby Columbia University, tweeted out a picture and message on Tuesday from a chapel meeting where students gathered around various plants as an “offering” to the “beings who sustain us but whose gift we too often fail to honor.” The tweet asked the question, “What do you confess to the plants in your life?”
In subsequent tweets following the initial announcement, the school continued to refer to plants as “beings,” and acknowledged they were “worshiping,” and “speaking directly in repentance.”
Michael Marcavage, "Seminary Students Repent to Plants, ‘Confess’ and ‘Sorrow in Prayer’ to Vegetation in Chapel Ceremony" at Christian News

“Forgive me, Gourd, for I have sinned?” Any relationship between this nonsense and science or stewardship of our environment is, alas, incidental.

What we are learning today is that the ability to exchange information is very widespread among life forms but rational thought is unique to humans. So a fellow human might “forgive” the Union seminarians for forgetting to water the garden; the garden can’t. But decades of accepted claims that the human mind is simply an accidentally overdeveloped animal mind has robbed many of the ability to make such common-sense distinctions.

---

Further reading on plant communications: Scientists: Plants Are NOT Conscious! No, but why do serious plant scientists even need to make that clear? What has happened? Quite simply, the need to see humans as equivalent to animals has now spread to the need to see us as equivalent to plants.

Can plants be as smart as animals? Seeking to thrive and grow, plants communicate extensively, without a mind or a brain

Is salad murder? If we think plants are “equal organisms” with respect to humans, it’s not clear whether salad is or isn’t murder. Or whether murder is even a serious ethical problem.


Researchers: Yes, plants have nervous systems too. Not only that but, like mammals, they use glutamate to speed transmission





Sunday, November 03, 2019

The Simple Act of Prayer by Rose McCormick Brandon

Jesus stood by the tomb. 
He wept. 
Lazarus, his good friend, had been dead for four days. Lazarus' sisters, Mary and Martha, and a crowd of mourners waited to see what Jesus would do.
Jesus prayed. "Father, thank you that you have heard me" (John 10:41). Then He did the impossible. He called Lazarus back to life.
Earlier Jesus had taught a simple lesson - when you pray the Father will reward you. Why? Because He hears you pray. Religious teachings often complicate the simple act of prayer. For example, I have a booklet that tells how to pray perfect prayers - each of the nine points it offers begin with the letter "P." The insinuation is if you follow this plan God will answer your prayers.
Jesus taught the simplicity of prayer. We see this in the first few verses of Matthew 6. His teaching boils down to three simple things:
God sees us
God hears us
God answers us
     We don't need the "right" words. We don't need a team of pray-ers. We don't need to be "somebody" in the religious world. We can pray as simply as Jesus did - "Father, I know that you hear me."
Nobody has God's ear more than you do.
Talk to the Father from your heart. He hears you. And nothing is impossible to Him.

Rose McCormick Brandon writes books and articles, teaches Bible studies and writing classes, speaks at churches, libraries, historical societies and museums. Visit her website. Contact her at: rosembrandon@yahoo.ca. Visit her blog on Canada’s British Home Children.


Friday, November 01, 2019

THE INTERRUPTED LIFE X - A GENERATION OF WOUNDED HEALERS by Eleanor Shepherd

            In 2004, I had the opportunity to meet with young adults from seven sub-Saharan African countries who were a part of the African School of Youth Leadership. Most of these young adults had been touched personally by the AIDS epidemic that was sweeping through Africa at the time. 

            I was impressed how these young people, many of whom had become orphans by losing their parents to AIDS were reaching out and helping children in other communities whose parents were sick, and dying or were already orphans also. Onesmus Mutuku was one of them and I was deeply touched when he told me his story.  

            Onesmus was the eldest of the eight children in the family. When his father died in 1994, he was 13 and the youngest child in the family was only a year old. He felt a huge responsibility hoisted on his shoulders by the departure of his father and was greatly relieved when his Uncle Philip offered to help with the education of the children, but knew that it was still going to be a struggle trying to manage for the care and feeding of all the children. Fears loomed that his brothers would feel pressured into a lifestyle of stealing to get what the family needed or his sisters would see no other alternative but to sell their bodies as so many women were doing to try to meet basic needs.  These were the things he wanted to avoid, and felt education was their hope of doing so. 

            Friends and family played a vital role in the survivial of the family, and helped Onesmus to hang on to hope during these dark day. Julius, his friend from school would realize that the family had no food for dinner and would share his meal with Onesmus at school during lunch time. When school closed and Onesmus did not have money to pay the bus fare to get home, Julius would pay it for him. 

            In order to help with the meagre family income, one of Onesmus’ younger brothers was able to get a part time job with a butcher. However, the situation became disastrous when Ben was arrested on a false accusation of mismanagement and placed in a jail cell. Once again Julius came to the rescue and was able to put up the bail in order to get him out. The bail demanded was 20,000 Kenya shillings which works out to about $250 American dollars. There was no way that the family would have been able to pay this.  

            As was often the case with AIDS, the death of the parents was slow and agonizing and
although Onesemus must have known it was coming, he could do litle to prepare. He tells how for the last year before his father died, not only did the children have to miss school to care for ailing parents, they also had to find ways to pay the bills for treatment with no income coming in from working parents.

            Onesmus was so grateful that his Aunt Martha adopted into her care his three younger sisters who desperately needed the example and attention of a female mentor who would help them to find their way as they grew. She moved in and helped them in every way she could. 

            With the help of his church family Onesmus tells how he and his siblings were able to find solace during those difficult years. More than that, they helped the children to get their heads together, as they grew and rethink their destiny and their future. You see, before AIDS interrupted their lives this was a family that Onesmus describes as having a good sense of authentic care, though not driven by material things, as their parents were peasant farmers. He says, “We were happy with what we had and were sure of a bright future together.”

            
Onesmus was able to use his negative experiences redeptively and instead of dwelling on what he lost, he looked outward to see what he could do to make the world a better place, not only for his siblings, but also for many others. As an adult, he has become an encourager as he learned from those who believed in him, when he did not have the stamina to believe in himself. He demonstrates this in practical ways through The Salvation Army Health, Healing and Reconciliation Ministries.

            
Today Onesmus and his wife Catherine are not only raising their own little ones, Claire and Ian. Catherine with encouragement from Onesmus has also assumed a mothering role with the rest of the siblings of the Mutuku family.

Word Guild Award
2011

Word Guild Award
2009
Word Guild Award
2018
Eleanor Shepherd from Pointe Claire, Quebec has more than 100 articles published in Canada, France, the U.S.A., Belgium, Switzerland and New Zealand. Thirty years with The Salvation Army in Canada and France including ministry in Africa, Europe, Haiti and the Caribbean furnished material for her Award winning book, More Questions than Answers, Sharing Faith by Listening as well as her Award winning stories in Hot Apple Cider and Christmas with Hot Apple Cider. She co-authored with her husband Glen the Bible Study book Why? Families. As well as writing, she conducts workshops on listening skills and prayer. Eleanor recently retired from being the pastor of an English speaking congregation in Montreal with The Salvaton Army. She is currently pursuing studies to become a Prayer Companion.

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