When I think I have extolled all the many virtues of my friend and blogger, Ann Voskamp, she goes and does something else that blurs my vision and causes the tears to flow.
Ann is in Gautemala the small nation ripped apart by landslides and the accompanying heartaches and pain.
But I must let the Farmer's wife tell her story. This is indeed a Holy Experience. Read, listen, cry, rejoice and give.
Recently a friend suggested that I read a book which had impacted him in a significant way. The book entitled Souls in the Hands of a Tender God chronicles the lives of a number of "souls" who struggled with mental illness, homelessness, and a variety of social struggles.
The author, Craig Rennedohm, is a minister in the Seattle area who is widely recongnized for his compassionate work supporting those who have been largely disenfranchised by mainstream society.
A quote in the first chapter caught my attention.
Rennedohm writes:
"We are pilgrims. Some of us travel familiar roads throughout our lives, highways well marked; we might never leave the village or neighborhood in which we grow up. Others of us move out into new territories, different and distant lands, to follow our calling or our dreams. And some of us are taken, not of our own will or choice, into the landscapes of illness. But wherever we are on the journey, we are on holy ground. Our lives are sacred - and no less so when our brains are in disorder. God holds our souls and walks with us."
A good friend just reminded me that Yorkshire Pudding should be near the top of my list of things to be thankful for. Sorry, Roz, it just slipped my mind.
We enjoyed a wonderful meal which included Yorkshire Pudding at Elim Lodge on Sunday at noon. Delicious!!!
#6 - Yorkshire Pudding...best enjoyed with roast beef and gravy.
Ann Voskamp from Holy Experience began something called One Thousand Gifts where other blog writers could list 1,000 things for which they are grateful. Ideally, the bloggers would begin their list...starting at # 1 and over a period of time build the "Gratitude" list up to the 1,000 "things". Usually these would be posted on Mondays (see the graphic posted here..."Multitude Monday"). Surely all of us have that many things and multitudes more to thank God for. Rather than waiting for Monday, I'm beginning my list today. I've always been somewhat of a non-conformist anyway. Look for more on Monday. Maybe I can't wait until then and I'll list a few more things. What are you grateful to God for today? Think about it!
#1 - God's great gift of salvation offered freely to sinners like me
#2 - Ann Voskamp's incredible writing skills
#3 - The eerie call of a loon in the early morning
#4 - The sound of waves lapping against the shore here at Elim Lodge
The following story appeared in our local paper, the Peterborough Examiner, yesterday. Written by a good friend and editor at the Examiner, Ed Arnold, the article chronicles the health concerns of another friend of ours, Tim Dalliday (pictured). Please pray for Tim and his family as they trust God to provide a donor and to give His strength and abiding peace as they wait patiently.
Ed Arnold writes:
Tim Dalliday is looking for a new life.
A healthy life that doesn't include fever, chill, fatigue, internal bleeding, that sense of never knowing and the threat of a decaying life.
The 45-year-old father of two, Rachel, 14, and Jack, 11, is hesitant to go public with his problems, but it's another way he may get that new life . . . by finding a donor.
From the outside he looks fit and trim but an organ inside him is eating away at his life.
The athletic Tim, who was running half marathons only a year ago, has a rare liver disease called primary sclerosing cholangitis (PSC), without a definite cause that inflames your bile ducts. Bile is the stuff we need to digest fat and take the waste from our livers.
When the ducts narrow, of course, the bile stays in the liver, which causes damage and leads to various problems. Some people can be treated and live a good life but it can be a life-threatening disease for others.
In Tim's case doctors have told him he needs a portion of someone's liver within two years.
He has been searching for some time for the right match and had two donors rejected at the last minute when their own medical issues showed up.
Now, he waits again. His life is in limbo.
"I have one more donor who has sent in his medical information and waiting to hear back if TGH is going to proceed with the tests they put donors through."
But he's worried that this one may not work out. He also knows his sporting hero, former National Football League superstar Walter Payton, died of the disease while waiting for the same transplant. In the meantime he contacted pancreatic cancer and any hopes of a transplant faded. There is a good chance Tim could develop the same problems, so he is taking a proactive approach while he is still relatively fit hoping he can get a donor sooner rather than later or worse, never.
In 1993 Tim was diagnosed with Crohn's disease. About 5% of males who have this develop PSC and five years later he did. He was put on medication with the knowledge that most people would be in need of a transplant within 10 years. He lasted 13. He believes it was because he kept so fit doing half marathons, triathlons, and playing sports.
However, it has became progressively worse and there has been more damage to the liver.
Now he waits.
He works at Peterborough Volkswagen and says work is the best thing for him right now.
"I park my worries at the curb and that helps." The Eatson family (owners of the dealership) has been very supportive and completely understanding."
Tim might be off work six months if he goes through the transplant operation that would regenerate a liver after doctors removed his diseased one.
His frustration, concern and worries are obvious. He has a wife, Leslie, the two children and anyone that knows Tim knows he a family man first and foremost.
"I just want to find a donor and move ahead with the procedure and hopefully lead a healthy, active lifestyle for years to come."
The donor would give up a portion of his liver, which would regenerate.
Another local man Nicci Johnston, 30, did this five years ago to save the life of his wife's uncle. It's the only organ in the human body that does regenerate.
Nicci, an active athlete with two of his own children, donated about 70 per cent of his liver, which regenerated and he has had few problems since. The person who gets that portion grows a healthy, operational liver.
Tim, the son of well-known retired sports broadcaster Gary Dalliday, and brother of another popular local broadcaster, Pete, was placed on the organ donation list at Toronto General Hospital in February.
"My rare liver condition has hit the point where transplantation will give me more life than my current liver will."
"I'm feeling pretty good and have bounced back nicely from a recent blood infection in July."
Because his original transplant operation was scheduled for Aug. 4 he looks on the positive side. "I got to finish the season coaching Jack's baseball team."
"So where do things go from here you ask?" he tells his friends in a recent letter to them to update his condition and look for a willing donor.
"Well, I still need a donor to step up who has type A or O blood and is healthy and under age 65."
He took the plunge to write the note in case they could, or would, help.
He knows how difficult it is to ask for this kind of assistance and how difficult it might be to make the decision to assist, but what else can he do, sit and wait for a phone call?
"If they are willing to help they should go their family doctor to learn their blood type and fill out the health questionnaire on the T.O. General Multi-Organ Transplant website (about a six page form).
"You fill it out and then fax it back to them. They are pretty quick at getting back to you; they will book you the next week for various testing such as MRI, CT Scan, ultrasound and blood work. They do it all in one day! Fun stuff eh! The medical information is confidential and I don't even know who has stepped forward. They assign a cocoordinator to you and I have my own. (Tim wouldn't even know you've done it.)
"Until then I will wait patiently (Job should have been my middle name...) and put the situation into God's hand for I know He has a plan and a purpose for my life."
Tim says "The biggest thing I'm looking for is someone's generosity to make that ultimate sacrifice so I can live a regular life. I would be humbled by their generosity."
On a recent Insight for Living broadcast Chuck Swindoll referred to the book The Call by Os Guinness. As I already owned the book, I took it off my shelf to peruse it.
The following quote caught my attention:
"Perhaps you are frustrated by the gap that still remains between your vision and your accomplishment. Or you may be depressed by the pages of your life that are blotched with compromises, failures, betrayals, and sin. You have had your say. Others may have had their say. But make no judgments and draw no conclusions until the scaffolding of history is stripped away and you see what it means for God to have had His say - and made you what you are called to be."
I'll wait 'til later to comment on this quote. All I can say is that it grabbed me and made me think...deeply. Perhaps it will do the same for you.
When I was a kid they called me "Red", "Stretch", "Bucky" and a few other not-so-nice nicknames.
It wasn't until I started working with the Peterborough Petes 15 years ago that I got the nickname "Fish".
A few professional baseball players would refer to me as "Fish" but it was mostly hockey players who called me that.
I certainly didn't get the nickname for my ability to catch fish. The only catch of any consequence was a nice largemouth bass I snagged as a teenager. Little did I know that it was caught out of season. What a sinner! I was so proud of the picture someone took of me holding that beauty. It's good I didn't show it to the game warden.
Nowadays our vehicles have a "fish" symbol on the back, signifying that we are "Christians". Hopefully my driving doesn't negate what I'm trying to convey.
Anyhow, enough of this "Fish" talk. The kid in the picture is NOT me but I "loved" the photo, courtesy of the Sacred Sandwich web site. Check out some of the pics. Hopefully you'll get a few good laughs. If not, all I can say is "Lighten up, my friends!"
Regular readers of these Pilgrim Scribblings know how much I appreciate the writing of fellow scribe (do you call a lady..."fellow"?) Ann Voskamp and her Holy Experience blog. Today's post grabbed me and Ann's story kept my attention right to the end.
Ann writes:
"When love slips in from behind unannounced, it arrests, and who can do anything but just surrender to the happy grace?
Yet what could have prepared me, really?
Prepared me for what I find out the back kitchen window on an August afternoon all tired and greying with clouds... I mean, some kid did yell it as he rocked the front porch swing like a bronco, “Grandpa Morton’s here!”
But that didn’t warn me much, ‘cept to clean away a stack of books from the counter, gather up the tomatoes lining the sill. I pile them, summer’s largest berries, and I know how Dad likes his tomatoes.
With salt and pepper and a slice of cheese on thick bread and a dark glass of Welchel’s grape juice frothing. Maybe I could pick him quick a basket of Beefmaster ’s, red juice suns, from the kitchen garden? Right after I wipe the counters, pick up the shoes strewn in the mudroom, and how exactly do these the errant pieces of Stratego keep migrating, an army into kitchen territory?
Dad did just happen to mention when he called last week — and I do just happen to remember right now — that he prides himself on his house where guests are scared to misplace anything. I scoop up a dropped sock, a broken purple crayon, a shriveled up apple core. I look out the back window.
Where have the kids got him at now? Have I still got time to get a way a mess of laundry?
And out the window I see him right there. On the back stoop in his Wranglers, the tongues of his work boots all flopping open, and Malakai talking his ear off all aminated with his arms circling gestures nearly as big as his smile and Shalom tugging on his arm and attention and Dad’s nodding and grinning under his tattered farm cap. I stand fixed. The wonder making me memorize. I can't quite believe this... just like this.
Crumbly floor? Laundry stacks? Shoe piles? I don’t remember. I whisper it, barely audible, to me, to the moment, to the Farmer somewhere in the study paying bills.
“I never could have imagined this.”
I open the back door and he gives me glads in a recycled Cheez Whiz jar.
"Oh Dad." He's got oil stains on his work shirt.
I swallow hard. He shrugs his shoulders. He was just driving by. Had equipment to pick up.
I’ll happen to remember this forever. How you never know when love might come knocking unannounced at your door. How you never know who loves. How you mustn't ever stop believing. How he even blushed, boyish, shuffling in boots.
I pick him a basket of tomatoes from the garden, ruby love jewels, and he pulls out one or two redroot pigweed as tall as his waist and he tells me I sure do grow some pretty exotic vegetables out here. And I remember not to be so sensitive, not so serious, and I laugh.
He tells me he saw better bouquets of glads at the end of other Mennonite lanes on his way home and he felt sorta bad, but this Cheez Whiz one was more in his price range anyways, and I have to laugh because why let anything snatch away love? His eyes glint.
I hand him his tomato basket. He looks in my eyes. I nod. He nods. We exchange more than gladioli and tomatoes and I’m had by the love unexpected, the hope still strong, the tender surprises only God can imagine.
But maybe none of this requires imagining, only the opening of eyes.
To all these moments... when the Father brings flowers."
Note: Photo by Ann Voskamp. Good photographer too!
Determining who a Christian believer is and what he or she stands for has become a complicated exercise over the last half century or so it seems.
When I entered my teenage years, the world’s population was divided into two people groups the “saved” and the “lost”. You were one or the other. That was my simplistic opinion at least.
If you were fortunate to be among the “saved” you were likely a fundamentalist or an evangelical. A handful of others professed to be “Christian” but affiliated themselves with “liberal” protestant denominations thus causing me to question their salvation. I had all the answers and had established myself as the supreme judge.
Then there were the Catholics. Even though they accepted the deity of Christ, His virgin birth, sinless life, death, burial and resurrection, their veneration of Mary, belief in purgatory and insistence that entrance to heaven was gained though infant baptism made them suspect. How could you be a Christian and a Catholic at the same time?
With the passing of time the term “fundamentalist” became a label to be scorned, resisted and even despised by some. The fundamentalist’s tendency towards legalism caused many to abandon the term and refer to themselves simply as “evangelicals”. Nowadays some are even re-thinking that terminology and defining themselves in other ways.
At times it seems like the things that separate and distinguish us from each other are greater than those that bring unity. Reading some of the current “Christian” literature, books and magazines makes you feel as though you’re from another planet. What are these writers talking about anyway? My own biases will become apparent here. The proliferation of terms like “moving in the prophetic” and “the new apostolic reformation” scare me. Am I “less than” because I’m not an apostle or a prophet? But I digress…
So what label do those who claim to accept Jesus Christ as God’s only means of salvation accept? Here is where the waters get muddied. We could be classified by any mixture or combination of the following terms. Pick one, two or even three or four, add them together (in any order) and define yourself.
Arminian, Amillenialist, Baptist, Bible-believer, Calvinist, Charismatic, Contemplative, Cessationist, Dispensationalist, Evangelical, Emergent, Full Gospel, Holiness, Independent, Liturgical, Name it and claim it, Non-cessationist, Post-modern, Post-post-modern, Premillenialist, Postmillenialist, Pentecostal, Preterist, Reformed, Spirit-filled, Word of Faith, ad nauseum.
So who am I? How would another Christian define me when they don’t really know what I believe, what I think, what I aspire to? How could they know when much of the time I’m not even sure myself?
The conclusion…
I’m a child of God, redeemed by His grace alone, a recipient of His mercy, forgiven, transformed and being conformed into His likeness, guaranteed a place in heaven according to His promises.
I could add more but…we’d be back where I started from…confused.
While rummaging through my desk the other day, trying to make sense of stacks of papers, I found the following note that encouraged me. I trust you will find it helpful as well.
It was entitled "Walking Beside the Weak & Wounded".
For weeks my office (in our home) has been in disarray. Pictures sitting against the wall waiting to be hung. Files unorganized. Books stuck on the shelves in no particular order. It was hard to get anything done.
Today I looked at one of the texts that was sitting on the floor, leaning up against the wall. It reads simply..."The Lord Provides". Does He? Will He? Is a miracle just around the corner?
This present (and long-lasting) bout with depression has been a catastrophe in more ways than I care to think about. Now, at age 65, I'm out of work and wondering..."will the Lord provide"? I know He does. I know He has. But will He again?
Sometimes we overlook the "small" ways that He meets our needs. We are looking for the BIG miracles when smaller ones are all around us.
In the past week there have been two HUGE examples of how a sovereign God looks after His own.
We needed a van. We had looked "everywhere". Well, not quite, but we had searched for four weeks but to no avail. On Monday we finally found one...right here in Peterborough. The price was much too high. Carol told the salesman what our circumstances were and what we could spend. The van was listed at $10,995. We could only spend about $9,000. taxes included. So what did God do? He gave us the van for that price. The salesman dropped the price by over $3,000.
When I left my job I lost all our medical benefits. Both boys have braces on their teeth. How would we pay for the balance owing? Incredibly the plan at my work had covered orthodontics. Very generous! Carol spoke with the staff at the orthodontist's office about our dilemma. The doctor was consulted. His response? 'Don't worry about it. It's been looked after." The amount owing? About $4,500. Does God still supply our needs? Without question.
So why do I worry? Why do I fret? The Lord has never failed us yet.
But please pray for a job for me. I need meaningful employment. I can't sit around scribbling like a pilgrim all day long.
From the archives...hope you get a laugh. These guys were around long before Southern Gospel arrived...
The Tunesmiths from West Croydon, England traveled throughout the British Isles on weekends singing the great old gospel hymns and songs.
Although all four men had the same last name, Smith, these old tyme songsters were from three different families and were not related. Delbert Smith (in white in the center) played the organ and occasionally sang with the others. His brother Albert, in the back row, was an excellent baritone who also enjoyed a solo career and often performed at Albert Hall (what a coincidence?). Elmer on the left and Samuel on the right added incredible harmonies to the group.
The group was formed in 1892 and crossed over to France for an evangelistic campaign in 1899 where thousands came to know Christ.
I've been unable to find a CD of The Tunesmiths but their legacy lives on... in my mind at least...for, you see, I just concocted the story because I liked the old-fashioned picture.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer was hanged as a traitor for plotting to assassinate Adolf Hitler on April 9th, 1945. A committed Christian, he left us a legacy in his writings.
This quote is worth repeating as I contemplate the value of good friends during a time of struggle:
"The physical presence of other Christians is a source of incomparable joy and strength to the believer...the Chrisitan needs another Christian who speaks God's Word to him. He needs him again and again when he becomes uncertain and discouraged." from Life Together (New York, Harper & Row, 1954)
What did Sir Winston Churchill and David Fisher have in common along with hundreds of thousands of others? They/we all had to deal with our "black dog" of depression.
It was said of Churchill:
"Had he been a stable and equable man, he could never have inspired the nation. In 1940, when all the odds were against Britain, a leader of sober judgment might well have concluded that we were finished."
Churchill's black dog
"I don't like standing near the edge of a platform when an express train is passing through. I like to stand right back and if possible get a pillar between me and the train. I don't like to stand by the side of a ship and look down into the water. A second's action would end everything. A few drops of desperation." - Winston Churchill (1874-1965)
Churchill made frequent references to his depression, which he called his "black dog".
Many believe Sir Winston coined the expression "black dog" himself, but this expression is actually much older. Click here to read brief history of this metaphor for depression from Paul Foley through the Black Dog Institute.
Churchill's depressive periods tended to be intense and prolonged. Sometimes they were connected with traumatic external events such as his dismissal from the Admiralty after the Dardanelles disaster in WWI. Other times they could not be atrributed to such outside causes, fitting the classic profle of serious unipolar or bipolar depression. His depressions came and went throughout his long and remarkable life, and commenced in his youth.
Churchill seemed to be aware that his depression was a medical condition. In 1911 a friend of Churchill's claimed to have been cured of depression by a doctor. Churchill wrote about this with some excitement in a letter to his wife, Clementine:
"I think this man might be useful to me - if my black dog returns. He seems quite away from me now - it is such a relief. All the colours come back into the picture."
However, Churchill was writing at a time before the development of effective medication, when the main medical approach to mood disorders was psychoanalytic. Churchill's doctor, Lord Moran, wrote a memoir about his famous patient, emphasizing the black dog - it describes plenty of symptoms but no treatment. (Although when Churchill was almost 80, Dr Moran did prescribe some speed to give Sir Winston enough of a boost to make a final speech in Parliament.)
David's comment...Praise God for the tools He has given us to fight off our black dogs. We may be dogged on every side but we have His amazing grace and His unlimited power to equip us. Oh that I might remember that when he comes barking every day!
Note: Thanks to my friend Mary Elliott for inspiring me to look into the "black dog" of Sir Winston Churchill.
In response to an earlier post which mentioned Jim Elliot, the missionary martyr, I received a comment from Robert Lloyd Russell concerning a book with several of Elliot's sermons in it. I am ordering it. Maybe you should too.
Get more information on the book here and also read his excellent blog here.
Jim Elliot lives on and his life continues to challenge and inspire Christian believers everywhere.
Sometimes you just can't win. Some well-meaning friends encourage me to write as I'm engaged with this present saga of dark depression. They tell me to write for the sake of others who are facing similar struggles. They also feel that it would be therapeutic for me (I know that is true).
Others feel that I write too much. Spare the gruesome details. Don't hang out your dirty laundry for all to see. Honestly, I don't feel that I'm doing that.
So, who do I listen to? At this moment I will listen to the promptings in my own spirit. I will write!
During this latest bout with the awful "D" word which has lasted 18 months, I have experienced every imaginable emotion. The one loss that the Lord has graciously protected me from is the passing of a loved one. I'm certainly grateful for that.
Other losses have been stacked on top of each other with several recent ones in the past 2-3 weeks. Does one's heart or spirit become immune and insensitive to heartache? Sometimes I think that's true. Immune in a sense but the pain still persists.
Have I caused others undue heartache and pain through this valley? Without a doubt! Am I pleased about that? Absolutely not! Do I want to correct my path on which I find myself? Of course! But sometimes the fog won't lift long enough to allow us to see the face of God, the scriptures He left to be our lifeline or even the outstretched hands of family and friends. We are blinded by circumstances and need His balm lovingly applied to our bloodshot eyes.
So here I sit, baring my soul. Some will be blessed by my comments, encouraged to know that they are NOT alone. Others will be critical that I have been so honest and transparent.
Only the sovereign God knows my heart, my struggles, my joys, my all. He knows why I do what I do. In the end He, only, will be my judge and "write" now He wants me to "write".
I've gone fishing in the archive pond again. As I battle this present bout with depression I often find solace in things I have written in the past while I looked up from the bottom of the pit.
Here's one from 3 years ago:
Long-time friends of the Pilgrim might recall this post from the "dark ages". This dreaded guest, clothed in black, came knocking again this weekend and especially this morning, causing me to recall this post. Through the support of friends and the Spirit of God I was able to right my ship before it hit the rocks. THANKS.
Here's that post:
Lately another guest, or maybe I should call him a predator has been lingering around my "house". The dreaded "D" word...depression... has been lurking. Many of you, no doubt, have had to deal with this unwelcome visitor.
Back in January I penned a brief "post" entitled Dark Night of the Soul. In the midst of our darkness may we experience His deliverance, His delight, His divine presence.
Dark Night of the Soul
Fear Pain Panic Terror Shaking Hot Sweats Desperation Cold Sweats Apprehension Introspection Uncertainty Trembling Heartache Insomnia Anxiety Horror Dread Guilt
"The peace of God which passes all understanding shall GUARD and GARRISON your hearts, through Christ Jesus our Lord." - Philippians 4:7
My creative juices have dried up during this warm spell so I went fishing in the Scribblings archives again and found the following post. It was written three (3) years ago today. With the exception of a couple of slight changes I have reproduced the post as it appeared on July 28th, 2007. Your comments are welcomed.
Here it is:
O. K. friends, here are Sixteen Saints who I'd love to spend time with on a quiet summerafternoon. I've listed eight (8) women and eight (8) men who I would love to get to know better. Many are dead now but these would be my SIXTEEN SAINTS.
WOMEN:
AMY CARMICHAEL
ELISABETH ELLIOT (pictured)
SUSANNA WESLEY
RUTH BELL GRAHAM
FANNY CROSBY
ELIZABETH SKOGLUND
FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL
EVANGELINE FISHER (my grandmother)
MEN:
JIM ELLIOT
GEORGE MULLER
CHARLES HADDON SPURGEON
D. L. MOODY
ROBERT CLEAVER CHAPMAN
BILLY GRAHAM
ANDREW BONAR
ROBERT MURRAY M'CHEYNE
J. HUDSON TAYLOR
Oops, that makes seventeen. I neglected to add my hero, Hudson Taylor and I couldn't remove a name from the list so we have SEVENTEEN SAINTS.
Of course I could add 50 more but this would be my list as of now. What about yours?
I'd be curious to read your list of Sixteen (or Seventeen) Saints. Go ahead! Make your list! God bless!
Although I don't frequent Facebook as often as I used to, I still check in from time to time and leave an update regarding my "status". The following "status" was posted yesterday:
"David Fisher found a "quiet" spot in a secluded (?) place to read a book this morning. Friends from Quebec came long. We chatted. Then a childhood friend and his wife just "happened" to be walking past. They joined in the conversation. Another couple I've known for 50 years approached. How many pages did I read? None! But I cherished the conversation!"
Often in our attempts to "get away" from people in our quest for solitude we find ourselves in the presence of those who God has "sent" to encourage us and lift our spirits during a difficult time. That was the case yesterday. I just wanted to be alone for an hour or two with a good book, never dreaming that I would be "found" by three Christian couples whom the Lord would use to bless me. Each one spoke of times in the past when I had encouraged them or ministered to them in a significant way.
The scriptures remind us that "the steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord." (Psalm 37:23) When we aren't feeling very "good" ourselves He will direct the steps of other "good" people to intersect with ours.
Thank you Lord for Lloyd and Pamela, Gord and Lynda and Gord and Marg. You all quietly refreshed my spirit in my search for "quietness".
The original intent of this Pilgrim Scribblings blog was to share my innermost thoughts, feelings, convictions, beliefs, struggles, victories, defeats, concerns, etc. with the blogging community at large.
That's why I called my posts "scribblings"...writing out what was on my mind so others could perhaps identify with the joys and sorrows of another pilgrim.
Well...writing about the "dark" times can often be misinterpreted as "hanging out the dirty laundry" so I have not always posted how I really feel or...how I am really "doing". That likely won't change...at least in the near future.
I was thinking about this the other day while riding the tractor, cutting the lawn, and was concerned that readers might not really want to read the truth, the stark realities of the pilgrim's day to day struggles. Those thoughts prompted the following poem that I leave with you to ponder over:
Today is Canada Day north of the U. S. border. Celebrations are taking place from the smallest hamlet to the huge metropolitan centres. Hundreds of thousands of proud Canadians will be waving our flag.
To be brutally honest, the design of our flag doesn't do a thing for me. It has been called "Pearson's Dishrag" as Lester B. Pearson was our Prime Minister when our "new" flag was introduced. Seeing the Stars and Stripes in the U. S. inspires patriotism in me like nothing else even though I'm a Canadian.
But I am straying from my point...
The other day as I drove home from Toronto I witnessed another celebration as thousands of sad but proud Canadians lined the overpasses on the Highway of Heroes, a stretch of Highway 401 between our Armed Forces base in Trenton, Ontario and Toronto, our province's capital city. Each time one of our Canadian troops is killed in battle, he or she is flown "home" to Trenton where a repatriation ceremony takes place. Then a motorcade of police cars, military personnel, hearses and family members travels along the Highway of Heroes to the coroner's office in Toronto.
Each time I drove under an overpass (and there were dozens of them) I saw hundreds of Canadians waving flags, waiting for the motorcade to pass. There were fire engines with their lights flashing, ambulances doing the same and police cars lining the side of the highway at the overpasses.
That's when our Canadian flag becomes a thing of beauty for me. It's difficult to hold back the tears as I think of family members mourning the loss of their loved ones who gave their lives to buy freedom for others.
So, my friends, Happy Canada Day and wave that flag with all your might!
When I think I have extolled all the many virtues of my friend and blogger, Ann Voskamp, she goes and does something else that blurs my vision and causes the tears to flow.
Ann is in Gautemala the small nation ripped apart by landslides and the accompanying heartaches and pain.
Recently a friend suggested that I read a book which had impacted him in a significant way. The book entitled Souls in the Hands of a Tender God chronicles the lives of a number of "souls" who struggled with mental illness, homelessness, and a variety of social struggles.
Ann Voskamp from Holy Experience began something called One Thousand Gifts where other blog writers could list 1,000 things for which they are grateful. Ideally, the bloggers would begin their list...starting at # 1 and over a period of time build the "Gratitude" list up to the 1,000 "things". Usually these would be posted on Mondays (see the graphic posted here..."Multitude Monday"). Surely all of us have that many things and multitudes more to thank God for. Rather than waiting for Monday, I'm beginning my list today. I've always been somewhat of a non-conformist anyway. Look for more on Monday. Maybe I can't wait until then and I'll list a few more things. What are you grateful to God for today? Think about it!
Tim Dalliday is looking for a new life.
Regular readers of these Pilgrim Scribblings know how much I appreciate the writing of fellow scribe (do you call a lady..."fellow"?) Ann Voskamp and her Holy Experience blog. Today's post grabbed me and Ann's story kept my attention right to the end.
The Tunesmiths from West Croydon, England traveled throughout the British Isles on weekends singing the great old gospel hymns and songs.
Churchill's depressive periods tended to be intense and prolonged. Sometimes they were connected with traumatic external events such as his dismissal from the Admiralty after the Dardanelles disaster in WWI. Other times they could not be atrributed to such outside causes, fitting the classic profle of serious unipolar or bipolar depression. His depressions came and went throughout his long and remarkable life, and commenced in his youth. 
In response to an earlier post which mentioned Jim Elliot, the missionary martyr, I received a comment from Robert Lloyd Russell concerning a book with several of Elliot's sermons in it. I am ordering it. Maybe you should too.
While browsing the web this evening I came across a powerful song by Amy Grant. Can anything be better than a "Hallelujah"? Maybe.
That's when our Canadian flag becomes a thing of beauty for me. It's difficult to hold back the tears as I think of family members mourning the loss of their loved ones who gave their lives to buy freedom for others.
