Spurts

The Joy Dare - Behind a Door

2012-02-13T16:48:00.002-07:00

Three Gifts behind a door -

1- My brown sweater hanging behind the door in the spare room at my daughter's house.

2 - The selection of coats in the front hall closet at home - no matter the weather, I have a choice of what to wear, all to keep me warm and dry.

3 - My mother-in-law's story about piling the dirty laundry behind the dining room door when her mother-in-law came to visit - and how that was the beginning of my love for her.

The Joy Dare - Three Hard Eucharisteos

2012-02-13T16:42:00.002-07:00

1 - being thankful for cancer.

2 - being thankful for this year-long hiatus, this detour

3 - being thankful for people who continue to make bad choices, manipulating, deceiving over and over again.

The Joy Dare - Three Gifts in Working

2012-02-13T16:35:00.002-07:00

Three Gifts in Working -

1 - the sense of accomplishment when the job is done.

2 - the joy of working well with others.

3 - having a reason to get up each morning.

The Joy Dare - Laughter

2012-02-13T16:16:00.003-07:00

Three times I heard laughter -

at church when my favourite pastor joked about his own foibles.

at home when our manipulative cat got the best of us once again.

on the radio, listening to two women, obviously friends for a long time, discussing one woman's book newly released.

The Joy Dare - Unexpected Grace

2012-02-13T16:04:00.003-07:00

Three Gifts that were Unexpected Grace -

A lovely box full of home made cards and a journal. From two friends who just stopped by to wish me well.

Lunch with a friend who was visiting her mom in the same hospital where I'm receiving radiation treatments.

My husband saying, "Let's go out for breakfast."

The Joy Dare - Feb. 8 - Broken, Fixed and Thrifted

2012-02-08T17:46:00.002-07:00

A gift broken - the 1 cup measure given to Laura for her wedding. Heavy plastic that shouldn't have broken but hit the floor with a wicked snap.

A gift fixed - the pedal on my daughter's drum set. Fixed by Dad. :)

A gift thrifted - a white coat given by a friend but never worn.

The Joy Dare - Feb. 7 - Three gifts Red

2012-02-07T13:43:00.003-07:00

My turban - to keep my bald pate warm

My red purse - a gift from my daughter. It's just the right size. :)

My red tunic top - it's roomy and warm - perfect for after radiation treatments.

The Joy Dare - Feb.6 - Gifts outside

2012-02-07T13:26:00.005-07:00

1 - the pond across from our house. I've spent many hours watching the kids play hockey or just skate. Especially love the families - dads teaching their little ones warms my heart.

2 - the midnight sun on our back deck - a gift from a Yukon friend. :)

3 - the wonderfully dry roads as I drive from home to Calgary and back again each weekend.

The Joy Dare - Feb 5, Stitched, Hammered, Woven

2012-02-04T16:22:00.006-07:00

One Gift Stitched - A favourite pillow, white on white.

One Gift Hammered - The brass tray bought by my father-in-law many years ago -http://marcialaycock.blogspot.com/2009/10/hammered-shape-of-truth.html

One Gift Woven - Well, not woven exactly - a shawl knitted with love and prayer by a dear friend.

The Joy Dare - Feb. 4 - Gifts Found While Bent Down

2012-02-04T16:15:00.003-07:00

1- The softness of my dog's head, the cold touch of his nose.

2 - The pleasure of watering my plants in my own living room.

3 - The joy of discovering my old slippers under my bed, worn and comfortable.

The Joy Dare - Feb 3 gifts found in writing

2012-02-04T16:12:00.003-07:00

1 - The gift of helping others to draw closer to Jesus, through words in story

2 - The gift of drawing closer to Jesus myself as I write as He leads

3. The gift of community with other writers of like mind and readers who connect.

The Joy Dare Feb. 2 - Things overheard

2012-02-02T20:07:00.005-07:00

A server in the dining hall where my mother-in-law lives, to an elderly lady a little confused - "No dear, this is a chair. Your walker is behind you." Her gentleness as she directed her hands was the gift.

That's all I overheard today because I had my turban on and it tends to block sound. I sometimes tuck it over my ears but then my ears get cold. Can't wait for the hair to grow back. It's coming along, slowly. :0

The Joy Dare - Feb. 1 - Timely Gifts

2012-02-02T19:00:00.000-07:00

11:30 - Heading out the door with my daughter to have lunch with her grandmother, then spend the afternoon together.

2:30 - Back to back laptops at Starbucks- L is working "from Home" today. :)

6:30 - Cheese sandwiches for supper with blueberry pie, homemade by my daughter.

The Joy Dare - Day 31 - Paper, Person, Picture

2012-02-02T10:54:00.000-07:00

A gift found on paper - this list of prompts to search for the blessings each day. It's been enjoyable, uplifting, helping me "take every thought captive."

A gift found in a person - the generosity of spirit and gift of humour accompanied by twinkling eyes - in my friend Gus who will soon be face to face with his Lord and Saviour.

A gift found in a picture - on Facebook - Perception/Reality - made me laugh out loud and gave me the topic for my next speaking engagement. :)

The Joy Dare - Day 29

2012-02-01T15:41:00.003-07:00

A Song heard - Praise You in this Storm by Casting Crowns

A Soft Word - "I love you." Okay that's three words - in my husband's soft voice on the phone from home.

Where I saw light - in the eyes of the volunteers at Tom Baker Cancer Clinic - they work so selflessly doing small things like bringing patients coffee and tea while they wait for their appointments.

The Joy Dare, Day 28 - Graces in Friends

2012-01-31T20:25:00.001-07:00

1 - an email telling me I'm missed

2 - offers of rides when needed

3 - the pleasure of a friend's great sense of humour.

The Joy Dare - Day 27 - Gifts that might Never have been

2012-01-31T20:19:00.003-07:00

Day 27 - three gifts that might never have been.

This one is easy - the answer, my three daughters. You can read about it on my webpage.

The Joy Dare - Day 26 - Gifts in Time

2012-01-26T12:57:00.002-07:00

Before 9:00 - sleep! ;0

Before noon - a volunteer driver who gets me to my radiation therapy appointment on time.

After dark - a small pot of crocuses given to me at a ladies' meeting the other night. Then passed on to my daughter because it was her birthday. They are so gorgeous on the kitchen counter - makes me think of spring, when all these treatments will be done. :)

The Joy Dare - Day 25

2012-01-25T15:30:00.003-07:00

One Grace borrowed - a necklace made with a brown stone, a filigree leaf added - to wear to go to be with a bunch of lovely ladies to talk about writing and Inscribe.

One Grace found - that a day alone can be long and a little bit boring but still a blessing.

One Grace inherited - my mother's optimism - she always knew how to put a positive or even fun spin on things for us kids, even when life wasn't at all fun for her. When my dad lost the business they had both built and then they lost the house too, she made it into an adventure - a new home, a new school, new friends ... oh boy! Then she went away to a corner by herself to shed the tears.

The Joy Dare - Day 24 - 3 Things Blue

2012-01-24T15:48:00.003-07:00

1 - The clear Alberta Sky - I realized I'd been taking it for granted when I asked a Korean exchange student staying with us, What did you notice first about Canada? Her answer - "the sky - it's not grey or yellow with pollution."

2 - My new shirt - blue chambray, soft and roomy

3 - My husband's eyes, which I'm missing. So looking forward to going home this weekend. :)

The Joy Dare, Day 23 - 3 Gifts Found in Christ

2012-01-23T12:01:00.002-07:00

1 - Gentleness - always, with all of us.

2 - Patience - without which He would have given up on me a long time ago.

3 - Love - the greatest of all, the embodiment of who He is. So astounding that He bestows it on us and reveals Himself to us, in love.

There are so many more ... could go on for pages.

Day 22 -The Joy Dare, Wrinkled, Smoothed, Unfolded

2012-01-22T19:49:00.003-07:00

One Grace wrinkled - broken down vehicles causing wrinkles in schedules until friends emerge and come to my aid.

One Grace smoothed - the stresses of the week smoothed away in a church sanctuary listening to the music - a fine guitar, a sweet flute and the rhythm of drums, and then the scripture read in different versions and then ...

One Grace unfolded - the word of God by a seasoned preacher.

The Joy Dare - Day 21

2012-01-21T14:28:00.000-07:00

One thing in the sky - a wheeling bird, beauty in motion as it plays in the wind.

One thing in my memory - the look in a young boy's eyes when he understood that Jesus takes our sins away forever. "Wow," he said. "Wow!"

One thing that's ugly/beautiful - trees with no leaves, stark against a blue sky.

The Joy Dare, Day 20

2012-01-20T14:23:00.000-07:00

Three gifts close up -

The beauty in a piece of raku pottery.

The underlying friendliness of the shopkeeper in the second-hand bookstore. Her smile was slow in coming but worth the wait and getting a little closer to see it.

The smell of a fresh tomato.

The Joy Dare, Day 19

2012-01-19T13:39:00.004-07:00

The Joy Dare, Day 19 -

A Grace in the kitchen - watching my daughter and son-in-law making dinner together, discussing their day, laughing, hugging. A joy to watch the comfort they share.

A Grace in the weather - ice fog gave me the chance to tell Laura and Ty more about the Yukon, the magic of -60

A Grace that might never have been - my 3 daughters - go here to read about this. I shudder to think what my life would have been like without God's intervention.

The Joy Dare - Day 17

2012-01-18T13:36:00.003-07:00

Three gifts from God's word - blessed by the Psalms -

Psalm 3:3 - But you O Lord are a shield for me, my glory and the One who lifts up my head.

Psalm 12:6 - The words of the Lord are pure words, like silver tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times.

Psalm 85:8 - I will hear what God the Lord will speak, for He will speak peace to His people and to His Saints.

The Joy Dare - Day 17

2012-01-17T18:26:00.002-07:00

One Gift that made me laugh - all the funny posters etc. on Facebook. ;0

One Gift that made me pray - leaving my car keys at home ( 2 hours away ); having to depend on Laura to get me to the hospital and back again.

One Gift that made me quiet - the Doctor's words, "this could cause you problems." Hmm ... thanking the Lord for medicinal solutions.

Day 16, The Joy Dare

2012-01-16T17:30:00.000-07:00

Three ways I witnessed happiness today -

1 - sitting in a warm house eating a hot bowl of soup when it's -26 outside.

2 - watching two nurses at Tom Baker Cancer centre working with such joyful efficiency.

3 - seeing my son-in-law welcome his wife home from work - that would be my daughter. :)

Day 15, The Joy Dare

2012-01-15T11:38:00.000-07:00

Three more things -

One thing I wore - long johns that kept me warm in this -20 degree winter.

One thing I gave away - a box of chocolates made by a friend. We were blessed with so much we had to give them away!

One thing I shared - more chocolates - with my daughter and son-in-law.

Day 14

2012-01-14T11:34:00.000-07:00

Three ways I glimpsed the startling grace of God -

1 - in my son-in-law as we chatted about his experience with Jesus and his desire to stay close to Him.

2 - in our church family who are so quick to support and love those who are hurting or afraid.

3 - in a very strong woman whose grace in the face of the infidelity of her husband has been astounding. Only through Christ can we attain such heights.

The Joy Dare, Day 13 - Things I've Heard

2012-01-13T16:33:00.003-07:00

Three things I've heard -

The purring of our cat as she sleeps on my husband's chest while he naps.

His laughter as he chats with someone on the phone.

His footsteps on the stairs.

It's so good to be home, if only for the weekend. :)

Things above, Things below, Things beside Me

2012-01-12T21:02:00.004-07:00

Day 12 -

Something above me - the many levels at Tom Baker Cancer Centre, rooms where patients lie watching doctors and nurses coming and going dispensing medicines and diagnoses and the limited wisdom of limited but seeking minds. The blessings and curses of modern medicine flowing through hallways and up and down elevators, shadowing visitors with flowers and candy or toys and balloons.

Something below me - my shoes squeaking on hard linoleum washed and polished every day by men and women with tired eyes who still take the time to smile or say good morning as I follow the green line to the dressing room and on to the waiting room, the signs about privacy telling us all to wait for the assistance of the nurses.

Something beside me. Yusef, Katie, Matt, Amanda, who step to my side as I lay on the table, their smiles telling me this is all normal after all, as they make sure my body is lined up, "perfect," "Yes that's just right," and we chat about countries we've seen, their comments interjecting like exclamation points of victory as my mind slips back to Spain and Portugal, their "wonderful people." Yes, I think, wonderful, truly wonderful. And filled with mercy and grace.

Three Yellow Things

2012-01-11T10:01:00.008-07:00

Three Yellow things that strike me as fresh mercy -

The afghan made by my Mother-in-law - just right for curling up under for an afternoon nap.

My yellow "chemo turban." It keeps my bald head warm on mornings like this when it's -13

The Chair in my daughter's living room - it is almost always empty so it reminds me there is always Someone else in the room.

Sour, Sweet, and just right

2012-01-10T15:23:00.003-07:00

Day 10-

A gift that was sour - overhearing the mom of a 20 year-old cancer patient say, "all she wants is to be normal again."

A gift that was sweet - watching the nurse bounce toward that young girl, exclaiming how good she looked as she went in for her last radiation treatment.

A gift that was just right - knowing I'm blessed to be able to witness these snippets of other people's lives and being able to be grateful for mine.

The Joy Dare, Day 9

2012-01-09T12:38:00.003-07:00

Three things:

a gift in my hand - the small carved wooden pin from Honduras given to me by Pene who is returning there with a medical mission team at the end of this month.

a gift I walked by - the patient room at Tom Baker where the chemo drips from too many IV poles. So glad I'm past that part of this journey.

a gift I sat with - a Muslim woman in the waiting room who picked up the Bible sitting on the coffee table. Perhaps I'll get to chat with her at some point.

Hope is a Dimension of Light

2012-01-08T15:28:00.003-07:00

It had been a long grey day in a long grey week. The new chemotherapy drug they had said would be easier wasn't. It knocked me to the ground then stomped on me until every bone ached. I was seriously thinking about cancelling the next dose. I didn't think I could do it.

Then, late one afternoon, I opened my eyes. A thin beam of light had pushed through the clouds, through my living room window, and along a slim tendril growing out of my small Spider plant. The tendril had looked so fragile as it reached out, pale and oh so thin. But when that beam of light touched it, it began to glow. Then the light illuminated the tiny white flowers that had just bloomed. The flowers glowed in that ethereal light. It took my breath away. And hope blossomed. I managed to get up off the couch and find my camera. It took a few tries to get a picture that wasn't blurry. But I managed to steady my hands and do it.

Hope. At that moment it was a living dimension - a shaft of real light that slipped into my living room along that tendril of plant at just at the right moment. At just the right moment God reminded me that he was here, watching, waiting with me and smiling as he made that tiny flower glow.

"When Jesus spoke to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." John 8:12

The light of life, the light of hope. It's Him. Jesus Himself. Right here. Right now.

1000 Things

2012-01-07T13:21:00.009-07:00

New Beginnings -

I'm a little late getting started on this, but I've decided to that the Joy Dare with Ann Voskamp and many others. I'll be posting here as well as keeping a hand-written journal. So far this is what I've done -

Day One - she picked a hard one to start off - 3 things about myself I'm grateful for -
1 - an ability to adapt and "go with the flow" - most of the time. :)
2 - a willingness to keep trying, even when I blow it badly.
3 - the deep seed of Christian heritage that has kept me rooted in Christ.

Day Two - A gift outside - clear sidewalks; Inside - a clean house, dishes done thanks to my hsuband; On a plate - this one was easy - Turkey! :0

Day three - three lines overheard that were graces - will have to continue to listen for these -

Day four - One gift, old, new, blue
old - my geraniums that just won't quit blooming, even in January

new - the lovely journal I'll use for this project - a gift from my dear friend Pauline

blue - a soft chambray shirt, found on sale. :)

Day five - Something I'm reading - Sutter's Cross - Dale Cramer's first book - have loved some of his others, especially Summer of Light.

Something I'm making - this journal

Something I'm seeing - birds in a tree near the hospital. They made me smile - all grace, singing.

The photo to the left is of a painting done by my daughter, Laura, given to me for Christmas by my daughter Kate. Do you see the bird?

Day six - one thing in my bag - two gift certificates to local bookstores. Have been pondering what books to buy. :)

in my fridge - leftovers - they are always better the second time around.

in my heart - thankfulness for clear roads and sunshine - in January!

Day seven - three graces from people I love -
1 - Laura's spontaneous hugs and kisses that always surprise me
2 - Katie's text messages just to see how I'm doing.
3 - my husband's smile when I arrive back home.

2011-12-03T13:52:00.000-07:00

If you could help the poorest of the poor just by running an article, would you be willing?

I'm tithing my time to make a difference in the world and asking you to do the same with your blog. I have a beautiful article all ready to go, all you would need to do is post it. You'd be helping potentially millions of the world's neediest. Thanks in advance!

Here's the article: http://www.inspireafire.com/940/

HTML:

“We have much to be judged on when he comes, slums and battlefields and insane asylums, but these are the symptoms of our illness and the result of our failures in love.” -- Madeleine L'Engle

When my brother traveled to the Sudan he had an encounter that changed his life—and as it ends up, mine too.

He stood in Darfur at an orphanage filled with children leftover from the genocide. There were over 800 children, and during the night wild dogs were dragging them off and killing them.

My brother already felt shell-shocked from the travesties he'd witnessed in Uganda.

The day was hot. The sun beat down upon him. His camera had nearly been ruined from all the dust. He'd barely slept. His gear was heavy. Yet his conscience was seared by the numbness he felt, so he turned and confessed to a Sudanese pastor.

"We shall pray right now that your heart will be opened," he was told.

Not long after that prayer three young children approached Joshua and started to follow him. After a bit, his father nature kicked in and he stopped and sang Father Abraham. It didn't take long before the four of them were dancing and going through the motions.

When they finished, he asked the children to tell him how they came to be there.

The oldest, a girl, answered. "The soldiers came and shot my mother and father, so I came here."

The two other children nodded in agreement. "Me, too."

He was grief struck, but it was what transpired next that tore my heart. "Do you have a Mommy?" The little girl asked my brother.

"Yes," he answered.

"And a Daddy?"

Again, his answer was yes.

"Oh," she said, her voice hinting at a strange intermingling of numbness and grief.

Her question stirs me still. For I believe it came from her soul and revealed the thoughts of her heart. She didn't want to know what his country was like, what kind of food he ate, or what he did for a living. She had her own bullet holes leftover from the genocide. Her world consisted of this single question: Who still had parents and who didn't?

In her questions I heard her worry and fear. Imagine being trapped in a war-torn country, a land of famine, drought and disease. Imagine trying to survive it as an orphan with death threatening you every hour. No matter how much she's endured, at the end of the day, she's still just a little girl. And all she really wants is her Mom and Dad.

I imagined my daughter living as an orphan in the Sudan. If I were shot and dying, it would be my hope that my brothers and sisters would care for her. But what if her aunts and uncles were killed too? What was it then, that her parents hoped?

As members of the body of Christ these children are not alone. They have aunts and uncles. Multitudes and multitudes and multitudes of them. Talk about staggering! These kids are our nieces and nephews! Mine. Yours.

So who, I wondered, within the church has the responsibility to step in?

I didn't like the answer that came. Earlier that week I was shocked to learn that globally I was one of the richest people in the world—even though as an American, I'm pretty poor.

Like it or not I was the rich aunt. I had knowledge of the situation. That made me accountable.

I wasn't comfortable with the knowledge then, and I'm not comfortable with the knowledge now. But I am determined to do something. Anything.

That day Joshua had in his possession a picture book that someone had asked him to give to someone in the Sudan. It was a children's book with a story about how we have a Heavenly Father who always loves and cares for us. Joshua read the book and gave it to them.

An American woman took it upon herself to raise the money to build shelter. Every person who donated, even a dollar, helped to create a place where the little girl now sleeps safe from wild dogs.

When Joshua told me he's going to start a branch of Watermelon Ministries called Media Change, a non-profit encouraging Americans to give up a portion of the money spent on entertainment to serve those fighting world hunger and thirst, I wanted to support it.

For seven years he's helped non-profits raise money that serves the "least of these." He's seen the impact a small investment can have. This is a brand new initiative. He's not quite ready to launch, but you can sign up and be kept updated at www.mediachange.org. His first goal is garner the support of 10,000 people who are willing to give $10 a month. I'm number #3.

This is only a blog post, but who knows what one blog post can do.

What if the task of helping others isn't as overwhelming as we make it?

Thanksgiving and Contentment

2011-11-23T13:22:00.002-07:00

"The voice of the special rebels and prophets, recommending discontent, should, as I have said, sound now and then suddenly, like a trumpet. But the voices of the saints and sages, recommending contentment, should sound unceasingly, like the sea." – G.K. Chesterton

Contentment - an elusive quality, and, for many, one that seems to fly in the face of our modern culture, in which we are ever urged to ambition and the accumulation of status symbols like new cars and bigger houses, bigger advances and better royalty percentages. Some would perhaps argue that contentment is a vice, not a virtue. Yet the scriptures advise that we seek it. The apostle Paul even goes as far as to say that “Godliness with contentment is great gain” (1 Tim. 6:6). He says he has “learned the secret of being content in any and every situation…” (Phil.4:12).

I suspect a good part of that secret is being thankful. I suspect being thankful is the key to a lot of things in our lives.

I once spoke at a women's retreat in a tiny town in Alaska. There were over 200 women there from all across the state and the Yukon. Friday night was testimony time. One woman in particular touched me as she shared how her entire family had died, one by one, of Tuberculosis. When she was taken to hospital she knew she was dying but asked God to heal her. She said God responded in these words, "Give thanks before you receive." So she did. She lay in her bed for hours, through the night, thanking him for her life. Then she got out of bed, something she hadn't been able to do for days. When the doctor came that morning she told him she was healed. They took x-rays. Then they took them again. Then they sent her home.

"Give thanks before you receive." We do it before meals; why not do it before everything? Before getting out of bed, give thanks; before dropping your kids at school, give thanks; before driving to work, give thanks; before participating in the office gossip, give thanks; before blaming your spouse for all his/her failings, give thanks.

I suspect such a routine would indeed result in great contentment and great gain, perhaps in more ways than we could imagine.

"Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever." (Psalm 107:1)

Hope is a Dimension of Light

2011-11-01T15:54:00.003-06:00

It had been a long grey day in a long grey week. The new chemotherapy drug they had said would be easier wasn't. It knocked me to the ground then stomped on me until every bone ached. I was seriously thinking about canceling the next dose. I didn't think I could do it.

Then, late one afternoon, I opened my eyes. A thin beam of light had pushed through the clouds, through my living room window, and along a slim tendril growing out of my small Spider plant. The tendril had looked so fragile as it reached out, pale and oh so thin. But when that beam of light touched it, it began to glow. Then the light illuminated the tiny white flowers that had just bloomed. The flowers glowed in that light. It took my breath away. And hope blossomed. I managed to get up off the couch and find my camera. It took a few tries to get a picture that wasn't blurry. But I managed to steady my hands and do it.

Hope. At that moment it was a living dimension - a shaft of real light that slipped into my living room along that tendril of plant at just at the right moment. At just the right moment God reminded me that He was here, watching, waiting with me and smiling as he made that tiny flower glow.

"When Jesus spoke to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." John 8:12

The light of life, the light of hope. It's Him. Jesus Himself. Right here. Right now.

Thankful for Trees - by Marcia Lee Laycock

2011-10-04T12:55:00.002-06:00

The two Poplar trees stand side by side in the park across from my living room window. I've been watching them slowly turn golden for the past few weeks and a few days ago the fall winds came and began to strip them bare. A few stragglers are still hanging on, but soon the trees will be only trunk and branches. The inner sap has probably almost completely stopped flowing.

They mimic how I'm feeling these days as I continue through chemotherapy. Bare. Sparse. Dried out. Enthusiasm is a word that seems foreign. I've forgotten what it's like to have hair. There are days when I want to rail against what's happening to me, days when I'm just angry. But then I look at those trees and I think of the scripture that has so often come to mind as I've watched them fade into dormancy.

"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. ... You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills will burst into song before you and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Instead of the thornbush will grow the pine tree, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the Lord's renown, for an everlasting sign, which will not be destroyed." (Psalm 55: 8-13)

So I'm thankful for those trees that are standing guard so close by. I can see they're still standing, still swaying in the fall winds, waiting. I know the biology of tress; and though I know winter is coming I know their sap hasn't disappeared, it has just stopped running for a while and will run again in a few months. When it does they will sprout tiny green leaves that shout the word 'Revival' and will grow and clap loudly in the spring winds as their sweet scent permeates the air.

God is in the business of revival on all levels. But there is purpose in the dormancy. A friend sent me a link to a wonderful song, Blessings, by Laura Story. The lyrics rang true -

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near?

What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
This world can't satisfy?

Comfort Overflowing by Marcia Lee Laycock

2011-09-05T15:43:00.003-06:00

Two doses of chemo over and I'm feeling like it's letting go of me again. Such a blessing to be able to eat normally and not have indigestion that makes it feel like a small block of wood is forcing its way through your intestines. Slept through the night last night too, another blessing I don't think I'll ever take for granted again. I even went shopping with my daughter today, though I sat through it while she searched the racks. :)

Sitting in the mall it was interesting to watch all the "normal, healthy" people. Some avoided my turbaned head, some smiled a wee bit, some just stared then looked away. Then I noticed a woman walk by whose neck was a bit crooked. Another had a slight limp, another dragged an oxygen tank behind him. Not so "normal and healthy." And I thought, how many times did I breeze by them all in a mall like this, uncaring, oblivious to all the hardships and pain around me. In the glitz and glimmer of a shopping mall it's easy to think the world is all as it should be as we spin along on our quest for consumer items, avoiding the pain, the sadness, refusing to look it in the face, refusing to do anything to alleviate it.

But the reality is, the world underneath all that shine and polish is rather sad and broken. A friend posted a quote from CS. Lewis on Facebook recently - "Human history is the long terrible story of man trying to find something other than God which will make him Happy." So very true.

Yet there is hope, there is purpose.

The author of the second book of Corinthians said it this way - "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows" (2Corinthians 1:3-5).

As we see the pain and suffering around us and attempt to minister to it, we enter into the ministry of Christ through His suffering. We enter into the humanity of our race, joining ourselves together with bonds that hold us all up as we stand at the cross. And in so doing we are made more human, molded more and more into the image of God, which is our true identity.

And some of the brokenness is healed, the sadness turned to joy, the reality of God's love made known. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
********

Please note - in honour of 9/11 I am offering my devotional ebook, A Traveler's Advisory for FREE at www.smashwords.com/books/view/54831 Just use the code GK32H for the freebie. I ask that if you are blessed by it you would consider leaving a review at Smashwords. Thanks and blessings to you all. Marcia

Clinging to the Rock

2011-08-03T10:48:00.003-06:00

The far north is a place where things are pared down, taken to the lowest common denominators of life. Rock, water, sun, insects and wind. And of course, in the winter, snow and ice. It is a place where the word survival is never far from one's thoughts.

It was a marvel to me how the tiny delicate flowers of Baffin Island could survive. There is very little soil yet they spring up and cling to solid rock. Vibrant dwarf fireweed, saxifrage, anemones and the ever-present Arctic cotton. The tundra seemed to be in motion as they swayed in the constant wind, lifting their heads toward a far-away sun. We stepped around them, our heads bent in homage, our camera shutters clicking.

As I moved across that barren landscape I couldn't help but think of the barren landscape of cancer I have been wandering in. The similarities are stark. There isn't much to hang onto at times. The winds of fear and loss seem always in my face and the sun can seem oh so far away. But I stared at a bright yellow anemone and took heart. If this little one can survive in this, her desolate place, then so shall I in mine, by doing what she does season after season. Cling to the rock.

My Rock is more solid and everlasting than those slowly disintegrating across the tundra. My Rock speaks and comforts and holds my hand. My rock carries me when my knees buckle and cradles my head when I just need to cry. My rock hides me in its cleft and sets my feet on a firm foundation.

And when I "lift up my eyes to the hills," and ask, "Where does my help come from?" He answers - "My help comes from the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip, he who watches over you will not slumber ... The Lord watches over you, the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm, he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming going both now and forevermore" (Psalm 121:1-8).

Chemotherapy begins tomorrow.

What it's all About

2011-07-09T16:54:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I have a problem with people. They do things I think they shouldn't, say things I think are inappropriate or just plain mean, act like they don't know who Jesus is and what he wants us to do.

Then they surprise me.

I was surprised the other day when I encountered a couple of these people I had a problem with a while ago. "We've been praying for you, they said. Every day."

Every day? Wham. Smack. Ouch. On my face again, tears in my eyes asking God to forgive me and please, please take this monumental log out of my eye so I can see as he does, hear as he hears, love as he loves. Please.

Then I realized maybe that's what all of this journey is about. Putting me on my face, on my knees, talking to God about things I've been trying to ignore for too long, putting me in places, like cancer clinics and hospital waiting rooms where there aren't many people I can have a problem with - just people in need of one another and God.

Not a bad place to be, in spite of it all.

Ordinarily

2011-06-24T10:35:00.003-06:00

Ordinarily I don't like it when people send me those forwarded-forwarded-forwarded emails. Ordinarily I consider them a waste of time and often delete them without opening them. But lately a dear friend who knows what it's like to be facing an illness like cancer has been sending them regularly. She has picked beautiful pictures, inspirational thoughts and, best of all, laugh-out-loud jokes. I've been reading them and I must admit I've even gotten to the point where I look forward to finding one in my inbox each day.

I guess my idea of wasted time has shifted a bit. I stare out the front window of our home more often, just to watch the wind ripple on the pond across the street - (I call it pondering ;0 ). Each time I walk by them I lean down to smell the flowers my husband bought for me last week when I had to spend the day having tests at the hospital. I scratch my cat's ears more than I used to. I stand on our back deck, watch the clouds and listen to the laughter of our neighbour's children. I lay awake in the morning and stare at the outline of my husband's face in the early morning sun. The accumulation of these little things seems to make a difference as life has slowed into a rhythm of waiting.

I've also found that scriptures - those oh-so- familiar passages that can seem trite or even cliché at times - have a whole new depth now that I have a deeper understanding of my need for them. I get regular emails with scripture delivered to my inbox too, and I open them first. The accumulation of verses seems to make a difference when my mood slips a little, when my heart is longing for something beyond this reality to hang onto.

One of the passages that arrived recently was this one from Philippians 4:8 -"whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable ... if anything is excellent or praiseworthy... think about such things."

I noticed there was no action connected to this passage, just thinking. You can do that anytime, anywhere, but to do it deeply you have to slow down a little. You have to pause, perhaps stare out a window at a small pond, and just think.

Ordinarily I wouldn't be doing such things. My life would be bustling with urgencies like deadlines and projects and to-do lists. But there is nothing ordinary about living with cancer. It changes things. It changes you. Ordinarily I would think that a bad thing but now I treasure it. I treasure the tingling awareness of this world now that I now how tenuous my hold on it really is. I treasure the small things, the pondering.

Interesting - I seem to be smiling a lot.

In a State of High Dudgeon

2011-05-30T09:49:00.003-06:00

I found myself there this past week. "In a state of high dudgeon." - a state or fit of intense indignation; resentment; ill humour

A more common word for it is discouragement. It's a nasty word and an even nastier reality. But it happens. We have days when things overwhelm us, when bad news brings us low, when we wonder if God really has given us this task, this ministry of writing. And if He has, why doesn't He let a few others in on the secret?

I had one of those days this week. I'd been fighting it for some time, ever since learning that the treatments I'll have to undergo for cancer may be more extensive than originally thought. That could mean I'll have to cancel a trip to the arctic that has been planned for over a year. Then I got an email from my publisher telling me my next novel may not be published after all. And an attempt to solicit help from friends to promote my ebook was a dismal failure. A phone call from my sister who is watching our mother die in a town on the other side of the country left me on the edge. All of this has left me feeling tired and unwilling to keep trying to roll that huge ball of life uphill.

Discouragement. It can lead to frustration and frustration to anger and anger to lack of faith. It was my husband who reminded me of this. I guess he was seeing the signs. He reminded me that my worth is not dependant on selling millions of books. He reminded me that success does not rest on being on the best sellers list. He reminded me about some of the changes in people's lives because they've read my novel. He reminded me that joy does not rely on the circumstances around me but comes from knowing I am loved by a God who gave his own life for mine.

That lifted my head, made me look up again and realize that God is here, with me. He's the one who gave the ball a mighty heave to get it moving in the first place and I know he's not going to abandon me or let it roll back on top of me.

A friend sent me this scripture yesterday. It helped lift my head up too.

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down but not destroyed" (2 Corinthians 4:8).

And then there's this one - "I lift my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber" (Psalm 121 - 1-3).

So I am lifting my eyes to see the gifts of God around me - the burgeoning green of spring; the deep red of geraniums in my living room that just won't quit blooming; the hugs and prayers of friends who just won't quit encouraging me. And I am thankful.

Roadblocks

2011-05-22T19:44:00.002-06:00

I was on my way to meet some friends for lunch and already running late. Seeing the flashing sign on the highway did not make me happy. Expect delays. Construction ahead. Haarrummph. Sure enough, the vehicles ahead of me started to brake. I slowed down with the rest of them and slid into the long line that was almost at a standstill. Then I noticed my hands were gripping the steering wheel rather tightly.

I took a deep breath and told myself to relax. Then I remembered commenting to my husband that it was about time this stretch of road was repaired. I sighed. The work was necessary for everyone's safety and there was no other way to do it than to make the traffic slow down and take a bit of a detour. Causing my blood pressure to hit the roof would not change anything. My friends would wait for me. I sat back and turned on a favourite CD.

Road blocks, whether on a physical highway or in our lives, are not easy to deal with. We have people to see, things to accomplish - delays look like nothing more than something that will add stress to our days. But, as a friend recently reminded me, they usually have a purpose. Like the construction on that local highway, the work is usually necessary - perhaps essential - to our mental, physical and spiritual well being.

I ran into a few road blocks in my writing career this week. They were frustrating and I admit they did not inspire me to praise. They almost pushed me to rage. I have books to write, books to market, words I know God will use to help and to heal - but the roadblocks keep popping up. Yes, I know God's timing is always perfect but these detours into cancer clinics and other road blocks that are suddenly thrown in my path don't seem to help. But yes, I know they do have a purpose.

Slowing down has its advantages. I'll be able to do more editing on my manuscript, since its publication has been delayed again. I'll have more time to pray about those who need to read it and how I should go about getting it into their hands. I'll have time, in those cancer clinics, to pray for and minister to people whose lives are all too real, all too painful. Perhaps stepping out of the realm of fiction into cold hard reality will give me a different perspective about my writing and about my life. Perhaps these detours and roadblocks are necessary, even essential to the work that God has ahead for me to do.

Perhaps there is no perhaps about it. I just need to "imitate those who through faith and patience inherit what has been promised" (Hebrews 6:12).

Possibilites - M. Laycock

2011-04-28T16:09:00.003-06:00

It seems that all the earth is waiting. Spring has been slow in coming, the warming breath of a stronger sun somehow delayed. Ice still skims the pond across from our home. The geese seem puzzled, flying low but not touching down. Each day we hope for warmer temperatures, each day there is disappointment.

But the clouds are looking more like the burgeoning mounds heavy with rain and here and there a sprout of green tells us the season is unfolding. Soon it will break forth, resplendent in green. Soon spring will be a reality, not just a promise.

Last Monday, lying on the cruciform table in a hospital's operating room, I prayed and wondered about waking up face to face with my creator. I thought about all the promises He has made to us about eternity, the possibility of living always in His presence. On that day, the possibility had never before been so real.

"There are always risks with surgery," my doctor had said. As the anaesthesiologist approached I stared at the sets of gleaming lights and gave myself, once again, into the hands of Jesus.

I woke a few hours later on a respirator in the ICU, my hands tied down so I wouldn't attempt to yank the tubes from my throat. Anaphylactic shock required intubation. One of the risks - being allergic to the radioactive blue dye they inject to find the sentinel node in the armpit, which they test to determine if the cancer has spread.

I was thankful for a medical team that was quick to respond; thankful that I woke; thankful to see my husband standing beside my bed; thankful the sentinel node is not cancerous. And then all the "what ifs" began to flow through my mind ... what if the intubation wasn't done quickly enough? What if I had died there in that sterile OR? I believe I would have been instantly standing face to face with Jesus, so the what ifs were not so much disturbing as intriguing. Like the reality of the signs of spring, I know what's to come. Someday.

But the time has been delayed. I still stand on the seemingly firm soil of this earth. God has plans for me still, it would seem. So I look to the future, look to His hand to guide, His Spirit to move, His peace to engulf me as it has continually since hearing the fear-ridden word, cancer. I look and see the new sprouts of green that tell me the promises are real. Life in His presence is possible, now, and someday ... then, when all the possibilities become reality.

When God Puts You in the Sidecar

2011-04-15T01:00:00.003-06:00

My husband is a motorcycle enthusiast. So far he hasn’t gone out and bought one, but whenever he sees one he likes on the road he’ll point it out and say, “Nice bike,” then look at me to gauge my reaction. We were sitting at a stoplight not long ago and a shiny motorcycle pulled up beside us. It had a sidecar attached.

“There you go,” Spence said.

I laughed, imagining what it would be like to ride in such a little appendage. “I think I’d rather be on the bike with you,” I said, “or better yet, on one of my own.” Sidecars are for kids, I thought. You don’t have any control in a sidecar; you just have to hang on and try to enjoy the ride.

It seems God has put me in a sidecar for a time. I’ve just been diagnosed with cancer and suddenly my life is not mine to control. Doctors are telling me what will happen, when and where I will go. I don’t really want to experience any of what they’re telling me I will go through. But I have no choice. All I can do is hang on and find ways to cope with the ride.

In the book of John, Jesus tells the apostle Peter about a time when the same thing would happen to him. “I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!” (John 21:18-19)

I don’t know exactly what lies ahead for me. I’m hopeful that this cancer can be eradicated and I’ll go on with my life. I’m praying my time in the sidecar will be short. But perhaps God has another plan. In the meantime, I take encouragement from those few words, “by which Peter would glorify God.” What happened to him was not in vain. It had a purpose. The events of our lives all have purpose and are meant to bring glory to God. We have agency in that, by his grace and mercy - we can choose to hunker down and cling to the sidecar in fear, or we can sit tall and trust the driver.

I’m spurred on too, by the next words Jesus spoke. “Follow me!” That’s a path Peter tried hard to take, one that changed him into a man of God, a leader of men. It’s a path that leads to “a spacious place,” (Ps. 18:19), where God’s presence is evident, to the joy that comes in understanding God’s undying love and the peace that makes us lean into the wind and relish every moment on this earth – even moments in the sidecar.

“but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me” (Psalm 18:18-19).

Waiting

2011-04-12T10:13:00.002-06:00

Waiting ….

I’m not good at it. But these things help …

Visits from friends and family who like to play cards, dominoes and laugh a lot.

The brightness of cut spring tulips yellow against the brown stone of the table.

Big geese breaking through thinning ice on the pond; laughing with my husband as we watch.

Driving across country watching the dark earth emerge in patches from beneath the white; willows turning red and beginning to sprout; a spring wind bringing rain.

Studying the Word with friends; scriptures written just for me, just for today, just for that moment.

Waiting … with blessings.

Awakening to Joy

2011-04-08T10:01:00.011-06:00

You might find the title of this post strange since, for the next while I will be using this blog to journal about my experience with breast cancer. I don't know how long it will go on, or how often I will post, but I would welcome your comments and covet your prayers. Bless you all. Marcia *********************

On March 24th, 2010, I had a mammogram and ultrasound and then a biopsy on a lump that seemed to be getting bigger. (I had a biopsy last year which they said was negative but there was a bit of a bump there after the cyst had been aspirated and recently it seemed to swell). I saw my Dr. and the results of this second biopsy came back positive for breast cancer. I see a surgeon on Wednesday April 13th and will know more after that. I expect to be having surgery within the next 2-3 weeks and then, best case scenario, a short dose of radiation treatments as a safety precaution. If there is further sign of the cancer in the lymph nodes that will mean more aggressive treatment.

So ... only God knows what the future holds for me. It's been a bit of a roller coaster ride sometimes, but I have had that amazing "peace that passes all understanding" as I've been dealing with this. Now I understand what that phrase really means and it is truly amazing. God is good. Jesus is my strength.

It has been amazing to me how relevant scripture has been “showing up.” Friends have been sending them, of course, but for the past while we’ve been studying The Psalms of Ascent – a Beth Moore Bible study and in the two weeks prior to these results the scriptures seemed to be speaking directly to me. I also get a scripture quote sent to my email inbox every day. For the past two weeks they have all been about leaning on God or about his care for us in hard times. These words have been a great source of strength and even joy to me.

Joy in the midst of this? Yes. My husband and I were driving through central Alberta the other day. It was one of the first truly spring-like days we’ve had. The sun was warm, the mountains gleaming in the distance and I found myself thanking the Lord that this is happening now, when the earth is awakening and renewing itself. And the joy was there. Not just in a trickle but in a torrent, like the rivers that are breaking free of the ice.

Perhaps this is a spiritual awakening in me – no, not perhaps, it’s already happening – or perhaps it’s a picture of what death is – not an ending but a beginning. I find myself totally willing to accept either. How could I not? Both are gifts directly from the hand of God, purposed only for me.

Glory to His name.

Rejoicing in the Present by Marcia Lee Laycock

2010-11-24T10:44:00.002-07:00

It's almost the end of November, we have lots of snow on the ground and the temperatures are telling us it's definitely winter. Some of my neighbours turned on their Christmas lights this week and a friend emailed to say she had put her tree up. We're planning the Christmas program and dinner at our church and we've even starting singing the carols. It all makes me smile. It's a little early for me to turn the outdoor lights on or put the tree up, but I am looking forward to Christmas. Looking forward to the bright decorations, to having my family around a table laden with good food, to the laughter and perhaps even tears as we open presents.

Traditionally Christmas is a time to look back, far back, to a day over two thousand years ago, when a tiny baby was born in a village in the Middle East. But, because of who that child was, it is also a time to look forward and a time to ponder the present. That child, Jesus Christ, was God's present to us, a child who was to change the course of future history, not just for a space of time on this earth, but eternally in that mysterious place called heaven. Because of Jesus, heaven would be populated with humanity, those who would accept Him as their Saviour and the Son of God.

But I'm also trying to practise the 'present' of Christmas in another way - taking time to pause and enjoy all the moments, all that comes with this season - the music that tells the story in public places, the lights that proclaim His glory on the streets, the bustle of shoppers on a city street that speak of the spirit of giving and grace.

I'm also practising the 'present' of Christmas by taking time to pause and listen for the Saviour's voice, time to read His story from the Bible and get to know Him more. I know my present - every moment of the day - can be transcendent when I draw close to Him. I rejoice in each day He gives me, enjoying His creation, yes, even the snow and cold temperatures, His people, family, friends, even strangers, and most of all, His presence.

This Christmas I'll be looking back, looking forward and rejoicing in the present. All because of Jesus.

Visit www.vinemarc.com to learn more about Marcia

Home Movies and A Procession of Importance

2010-03-27T10:21:00.002-06:00

Watching old home movies can be a hoot, especially if the amateur moviemaker was as technologically challenged as my father. We have reams of family memories on film, but you have to know the people well to figure out who they are. "Oh look, that's Mom's knee ... isn't it?" "And Ron's feet. I'm sure those are Ron's feet!"

When my parents made a trip to San Francisco, the camera went along. A few weeks later the rest of the family enjoyed seeing China Town - superimposed over an inverted Golden Gate Bridge. It was a little blurry, but no one seemed to mind.

On one occasion my father relinquished his camera to my eldest brother. He was somewhat better at capturing the significant events of our lives on film. In fact, the footage he took on the main street of our hometown, one day in the mid 1960's, could be called a classic. It's a bit bouncy, but that was because Ron was running as he filmed. It's a bit blurry, but that's because the vehicle he was filming wouldn't slow down. In spite of these disadvantages, my brother managed to capture a brief picture of Queen Elizabeth II, waving to a large crowd.

Well, okay, the film isn't really a classic, but somehow it does capture the wild enthusiasm of the people. We see them leaning forward, smiling, hands upraised, eager to dispense their praise as the procession flows by. Somehow that blurred, bouncy film makes you lean forward eagerly too, straining for a brief glimpse of that person of importance.

Such was the atmosphere surrounding the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. The crowd leaned in, chanting their praise, waving their palm branches, laying them at the feet of their hero. "Hosanna to the Son of David!" they cried, "Hosanna in the highest!" (Matthew 21:1-11). If we had been among them, we would have been chanting and waving palm branches too. This was indeed a man of importance, they said, "This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee."

A few days later they crucified Him. When He rode into Jerusalem they thought He might take over the city, or set himself up as a King, or at the very least, lead a revolt. Instead, He allowed himself to be arrested. He allowed the hated Romans to beat Him and execute Him. And He did nothing to save Himself. So those who had leaned in close with praises on their lips now spat on Him and demanded his death.

If we had been among them, we probably would have done the same. But His mercy and grace is poured out on us anyway, as it was on those who were there that day. The procession Jesus led into the city looked like a triumph and His death looked like a defeat. In reality, His death was His victory. In reality, His death was our victory.

"Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!"

In Good Company

2010-03-17T11:31:00.002-06:00

Both young men must have thought their lives were over. Taken into a country of foreigners where they were sold into slavery, they must have despaired of ever seeing their families and homelands again. They had to adapt to a new culture, learn a new language and suffer the humiliations of slavery. They must have believed God had abandoned them. But God does not abandon his people. These two young men, one who lived hundreds of years before Christ, the other hundreds of years after, would change the course of history. God gave their lives a purpose and meaning that could only have come through the struggles they endured.

Joseph, son of Jacob, father of the Hebrew nation, was responsible for saving not only the people of Egypt from starvation, but his own family, and therefore the Hebrew nation as well. And Patricius, a sixteen-year-old Briton who would become known as Patrick of Ireland, was the first to take the message of Christ to that nation, the very country where he had been enslaved.

There is another man whose life took a turn for the worse. He was in the prime of
his life. He had a huge following among common people and those of influence. It looked like he was going to take the nation by storm. But then he took his friends aside one day and told them he was going to die, and very soon. He told them be would suffer indignities and be treated like a criminal. He told them it would look like utter defeat. But God does not abandon His people. That young man’s name was Jesus.

As with the stories of Joseph and Patrick, God had a purpose for the suffering Jesus endured. It was a purpose that would change the history, not just of a nation, but of mankind. The suffering and death of Christ freed us all from slavery, slavery that was meant to separated us forever from our Father. But God’s purpose could not be thwarted. Through the death of Jesus, His will was accomplished. We were reunited with our true family, reinstated in our true country. What looked like defeat was in reality complete victory.

There are times in all our lives when it appears God has abandoned us. We see the horrors of wars and famines raging all over our world. We experience the loss of loved ones to the plagues of cancer and other diseases that seem to be out of control. We cry out at the injustices that happen every day.

But God has not abandoned us. He will bring all things to completion in His time and according to His purposes. Therefore we can stand in good company, with Joseph, Patrick and Jesus, and repeat the words of Paul, “Yet I am not ashamed, because I know whom I have believed and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him, for that day.” (2Timothy 1:12)

Rooted in Love

2010-02-13T17:34:00.002-07:00

The Bible college professor handed out the syllabus for the first term and I gulped as I read it. The course dealt with two books written by the Apostle Paul to the Corinthians and it included choosing a chapter to memorize. A whole chapter! I started praying that God would give me the capacity to cram that much scripture into my brain and be able to get it all back out onto paper, verse numbers and punctuation included.

We had several weeks to do the assignment but I picked chapter 13 of First Corinthians and began right away. I picked it because I already knew a portion of it by heart and I figured memorizing the famous "love chapter" would be easier that some of the others. I had no idea what memorizing that portion of scripture would do to me.

At the time, I was in the middle of teaching a women's bible study on campus but after getting half way through the love chapter I seriously considered quitting. My motivation had been all wrong. I hadn't accepted the teaching assignment out of love, I had accepted it out of pride and my need for affirmation. I spoke with an older woman of God about my dilemma and she gave me wise counsel. She said that even though my motives may not have been the best, God was teaching me through the process. The challenge was to rise to the need for change, to pray for guidance and then obey.

I began to realize that the love God had poured into me the day I accepted Christ as my Saviour was not meant to stay buried in my heart. It was meant to be poured back out. That wasn't easy for me. Still isn't. Because of some of the damage that was done to my heart and soul as a young girl, I'm a bit afraid of love, afraid to receive it and to give it freely. I'm sometimes afraid it will cost too much, hurt too much.

But little by little God is helping me to trust Him enough to know that His love is patient and kind it is not easily angered. His love keeps no record of wrongs. His love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. His love never fails.

I take courage in the Apostle Paul's prayer in the book of Ephesians chapter 3, verses 17-18 -"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ."

Rooted and established in love. That's what being a Christian means because God is love. So we are rooted and established in Him. We may fail to show it, fail to do it, but that is the reality of who we are. My prayer is that as we write, as we speak, as we live our lives day to day, the love of God may not be a trickle that seeps out of us, but a torrent flowing through all we do.

Happy Valentines Day!

No Answers - thoughts on Haiti

2010-01-23T16:56:00.001-07:00

I’ve just finished reading this letter from a woman who was in Haiti when the earthquake hit and like many of the stories and images coming out of Haiti, it has left me stunned, weeping and asking questions.

Paramount among those crowding my mind is one thought – Why does God spare some and not others? Why did one man suddenly decided to leave his hotel for a “breath of fresh air” and stand on the other side of the street as the building collapsed, killing almost everyone inside?

Why was that bus load of Canadians held back in the airport so that they were not in the Hotel Montana when the earthquake hit?

Why was an eighteen year old girl and another man killed on a busy Canadian highway when her car suddenly flew across a median and hit another head-on, five minutes after my husband had been at that very spot?

There are no answers to those questions, nor are there answers to the many others that plague us when disasters hit, when some are slain and others saved. The lack of answers might lead some to say, “There is no God,” or “God has abandoned us all.”

But there are other voices to be heard and heeded - like the voice of the woman who was dragged from the rubble of a building singing. Singing! And telling her rescuers there is no need to fear death because God is there. God is there. And then there are the voices of the people who gathered outside the crushed ruins of their church and prayed and sang and praised. The power of such faith is mesmerizing and awe-inspiring. They silence the voices of doubt and despair. They make all the unanswerable questions moot. God is there. Faith sustains.

Yet we, as communicators of the Gospel, need to puzzle over all the unanswerable questions, we need to wrestle with them, not so that we may arrive at any wisdom from within us, but so that our wrestling might bring us to moments of faith that echo and resonate with those we are seeing on our television screens.

Tragedies like the earthquake in Haiti open doors of opportunity for those of us who have been gifted with words or music or art, because it is at these times that people look for meaning, for purpose and for beauty in the midst of the chaos. They look to us and, as the scripture says, we must be “prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have” (I Peter 3:15). We must be able to point them to Jesus, in spite of the pain.

So as we weep, as we mourn and struggle and wrestle with God, let us dig deep into the foundations of our faith and cry out, through our art, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

A Verse for the New Year

2009-12-29T11:32:00.002-07:00

Last year I was challenged to ask God for a scripture verse for the year. I thought it was a great idea – a guiding verse can really make a difference at times when things get a little grey and blurry in your life, or when discouragement threatens to keep you from doing what God wants. I prayed about it right then but quickly forgot all about it. A reminder brought it to mind again and again I thought, yes, good idea, must do that. I tossed up a short prayer, something like, “Lord, a verse would be nice.” And promptly forgot about it again. That went on for about two weeks. As time went on each time I thought about it I felt guilty. Still haven’t done that, I chided myself, and went on my way doing all the busy things that are occupying my life.

Then one morning I sat at my computer ready to write my column and opened my Bible to find the scraps of paper on which I scribble ideas and thoughts during the sermon and throughout the week. Last Sunday’s bulletin caught my eye. I scanned its pages and stopped on a four by four inch square on the back page – it’s a picture of a lake in winter, the steam rising from grey water. I was raised on Lake Huron, so it made me a little nostalgic. Then I read the words superimposed over the scene.

“Ascribe to the Lord the glory due His Name; Bring an offering and come into His courts.” Psalm 96:8-9

It was one of those moments when you feel like you’ve been tossed a lifeline. “It’s perfect,” I thought to myself and clipped it out of the bulletin. Then I smiled as I realized how gracious and good God is. He heard those little prayers tossed up quickly and without much thought. I didn’t have to go searching for a scripture for the year, I didn’t have to struggle over it, and I didn’t have to feel guilty. All I had to do was receive what He had for me, ready and waiting.

How often do we do this to ourselves? We burden ourselves unnecessarily with the weight of guilt, of “should have’s” when God is quietly working and putting things all in place, getting it ready to be revealed at the perfect time.

2010 is about to leap into our lives, ready or not, but we don’t have to worry. God is in control. Let’s all be encouraged and filled with the joy of knowing Him.

A Perfect Day,A Perfect Tree...What More Could I Need?

2009-12-05T10:36:00.003-07:00

The day was perfect. The ice fog had lifted and the temperature had risen to a mere 25 degrees below zero. The hike to the back of our property in search of the perfect Christmas tree looked like it would be an outing we would enjoy. As a special bonus we took our two Siberian Huskies with us.

It took a while to reach the trees, but we enjoyed the relatively mild air. The dogs romped in the deep snow. I was feeling the tingle of what they call the “Christmas spirit,” as we continued into the bush. Then we saw the tree, and it was perfect: not too big, not too small and fairly well proportioned. We cut it down and strapped it to the toboggan. As we headed back, we even hummed a well-known Christmas song, something about the peace and joy of the season.

We were almost home when that mood was instantly changed. For some unknown reason our dogs chose that moment to engage in one of their all-out, let’s see who’s top dog, go for the throat, fights. They were full-grown Huskies, both about the same age, weight and strength. When they went at each other, it looked like one of them would end up dead. We tried everything we could think of to make them stop, but they were oblivious to us. All we could do was stand and watch as they tore at one another.

By the time it was over, one dog had a gash from the base of one ear to the end of his jaw, the other was limping badly and both were covered in blood. So much for our idyllic, peaceful Christmas excursion. When we got home we had to doctor the dogs, so the tree was left outside. Decorating would have to wait.

By the time we thought about the tree again, the temperature had plummeted to -60. When we dragged it inside, it was so frozen most of its needles fell off. Tinsel doesn’t look quite the same on bare branches. Charlie Brown could have used it for his Christmas show. About that time I found out the present I’d ordered for my husband would not arrive before the 25th, and the one grocery store in town had run out of turkeys. Some Christmas this was turning out to be - a bare tree, no presents, no turkey. It was enough to make even one who loves Christmas shout, “Bah Humbug!”

Well, things did improve somewhat. I found another gift to give my husband, and a friend, an early shopper, invited us to share the turkey dinner. The tree was still a Charlie Brown special, but it grew on me as time went on. By the 25th, I almost had the Christmas spirit again, but I couldn’t help feel something was missing.

It took me a few more years to figure out what that something was. The year I declared my faith in the One for whom the day is set aside, none of the trappings of Christmas mattered. The need to have the perfect decorations, the gifts, the food, even that illusive “spirit,” faded. A deeper need had been met. That year I discovered the Christ. I understood why He came.

“Because of the tender mercy of our God, by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven, to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace.” (Luke 1:78-79)

That “rising sun” is Jesus, the one called Immanuel, God with us. He came for me, and for you. Nothing else matters.

Finding the Words

2009-11-10T17:43:00.002-07:00

Several years ago I heard Eli Wiesel speak at a writers’ conference. He told the story about the catalyst that made him write his prize-winning book, Night. After WW2, he had gone to Paris to try and find surviving members of his family. He got a job as a journalist and on one occasion had to interview Francois Mauriac, the famous writer.

Mauriac spoke about Jesus and Wiesel finally could stand it no longer. He exploded and told him to stop “talking about your Jesus.” He said that not far from where they were sitting atrocious things had happened to his people. “And we have no words,” he said. “We have no words.”

Mauriac was deeply moved and responded – “You must find the words. You must write this story.” Wiesel began to write.

He was fortunate. Some did not find the words and the result was depression, mental illness, even suicide.

My father was one of those who had no words. He talked very little about the war. I learned more about his military service from my mother than from him. But once, late one night when we were having a rare father-daughter talk about faith and religion, he told me how God met him in an old church in Germany.

He spent the first years of the war in Canada, working as a clerk in the RCAF,because he “made the mistake of telling them I could type.” We have a picture of him in uniform, brandishing a rifle, smiling proudly, the Halifax harbour behind him. Then he was moved to England where he again worked at a desk. We have another picture of him on a golf course in Ireland. Then the war was over, and somehow – he always thought it was a mistake of paper-work - my father was sent to continental Europe with the occupation forces. He found himself moving with the liberation army through France and Germany. One day he found himself at the gates of Bergen-Belsen. It was at that point, after the allies had won and the Second World War was over, that my father's war began.

He would never say what it was specifically that caused it to happen. Perhaps he looked too long into the face of one man, a man his own age, whose eyes were glazed with hunger and shadowed with pain, a man who looked a hundred years old, 'though he was only twenty. Perhaps my father looked into another face, one without any sign of emotion, of anguish or compassion, a face which, though living, was dead. Perhaps he could not stop staring at the piles of dead bodies, the bones and skulls, or perhaps he was required to record the numbers, the unfathomable numbers. Perhaps he could not bear the smiles, the smiles of survivors who welcomed their deliverers in silence. He would never say what it was, but something that day, in that place, made my father's mind stop. It stopped and could not go beyond the horror, the fear, the guilt.

I don't know how long he was in the psychiatric hospital. I know he was afraid to leave it, afraid even to go for a walk beyond the doors of the building. Until one morning when one of his nurses brought him his clothes and told him to get dressed. She walked him down the hallway, outside and to the front gate. She unlocked it, pushed him gently beyond it and closed it behind him.
My father told me he didn’t know how long he stood there, afraid to move, afraid that someone would walk by, afraid most of all, that he would hear the German language spoken. Then he said he was filled with a desire to find a church. He started walking and soon stood in the centre of a huge cathedral. He sat in one of the pews and stared at the stained glass windows all around him. Then he fell to his knees and wept. When he looked up the light was streaming through the windows above the altar. He said it was like watching a movie – the life of Christ flowed by in brilliant colour. When it was over, the fear was gone. He never returned to the hospital.

When he returned home he was not the man my mother had known six years earlier. He could not sleep and loud sounds made him shake. He had not conquered his fears but buried them in a shallow grave. Many times they were resurrected and continued to plague him. I know in some ways he remained an unreachable stranger, even to those who had been closest to him. I know my father never found the words.

And I know Francois Mauriac was right. We must find the words to express those things that are ugly and even evil. We must find them and write them down and then allow them to go out into the world. We must find the words, words that help us remember, words that help us to heal. Lest we forget.

“The Hammered Shape of Truth”

2009-10-28T10:59:00.003-06:00

“The apartment is small.” My mother-in-law sighed and glanced around her. “So I’ll have to get rid of a lot.”

She was glad to be moving into a senior’s residence, but it meant parting with things she had treasured for a long time. She glanced at a large round metal tray on the wall of the dinning room.

“Would you like that tray?” she asked. Your Dad bought it in a Persian market in Mozambique.”

My husband nodded. “Sure Mom. It will look great in that niche in our living room.”

She got up right away, took it down and handed it to us. It’s made of hammered brass. You can see the tool marks where the artisan placed whatever he had used to make the design. As I touched the chiselled surface I could almost hear the ring of the metal as the hammer struck.

I thought about that tray as my favourite pastor preached about the Book of Ruth recently. The sermon resonated with a number of people in the congregation. One sentence stood out for me - “The hammered shape of truth in your life is meant to lead you to harvest, not defeat.”
He said it was significant that Ruth and Naomi arrived back in Bethlehem at harvest time. Their lives were about to change, again, and this time it was for the better. After all they had been through they were ready, now, to receive the harvest. There was a plan, a purpose in all they had suffered.

I thought of people we’ve known who have been through difficult things in their lives. Women whose husbands walked away; others who wished they would. Families torn apart by foolishness and others devastated by disease; some who have been victims of violence, others, victims of their own wrong choices.

Then I thought of those we’ve known who have triumphed in spite of it all – those who are enjoying a time of harvest. It seems they were able to recognize that the hard times were for a purpose. They recognized that no matter what they were experiencing, God loved them deeply and unconditionally. They held on to Him for dear life.

That was the “hammered shape of truth” in their lives. The result was a life shining with the beauty of gleaming brass, a life filled with purpose, a life ready for harvest.

There is no greater example of this than Jesus himself. Through all that He suffered He held on to his understanding of what it was His Father was doing. He knew His father loved him and loved those whom He would reach. And He knew there would be a time of harvest. So, “for the joy set before Him, he endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2).

Like Jesus, those who suffer yet hold on to God will “see the light of life and be satisfied.” (Isaiah 53:11). They will receive the harvest.

Wayfarer's Chapel

2009-09-02T15:10:00.002-06:00

The Wayfarer's Chapel sits serenely on a cliff face in California, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Its architect, Lloyd Wright (son of Frank Lloyd Wright), named it well. It is entirely made of local stone, Redwood and glass, its geometric shape beckoning from its height those who race by on the highway and stream boldly into the bay below.

It is a small chapel but its effect is powerful. The California sun streams through its massive glass panels, yet the green trees and other vegetation surrounding it keep the heat from rising to an uncomfortable level. There seems to be no barrier between what is inside and what is out.

The altar is also small, tucked up against the front under massive Redwood beams and a circular window that frames the branch of a reaching Pine. The altar is made of stone, its front engraved with the words Our Father Who Art in Heaven. The steps that lead up to it continue the prayer… Hallowed be Thy Name … Thy Kingdom Come… Thy will be done. Those words, emblazoned in that place, seem to invite the universe as well as God to make it so. They invited me, drew me, sanctioned me to that calling.

Standing in the middle of that small place on a clear winter's day, there seemed to be no barrier between me and the earth and sky and God Himself. I felt exposed, yet did not shrink away, seen, yet lifted my head and heart toward the One watching. All in the stillness, all within the strength of soaring wood, within the delicate and fragile enclosure of glass and grace.

In his book, Chasing Francis, Ian M. Cron wrote - "You go on a pilgrimage because you know there's something missing inside your soul and the only way you can find it is to go to sacred places, places where God made himself known to others. In sacred places, something gets done to you that you've been unable to do for yourself" (p.42)

I didn't know I was on a pilgrimage that day. The pilgrimage found me, perhaps, when I entered that sacred place and became aware, again that there was "something missing inside." Just looking at the photographs I took that day stir that longing in me still, to be united fully, to see face to face, to be known. To have something done to me that I cannot do for myself.

I remembered, in that place, which seemed to have no barrier between me and God, that it was He who had accomplished just such an astonishing feat. It was He who reached through the barriers I had erected against Him, and invited me, drew me with irresistible grace and sanctified me according to His purposes. It was there I recognized once again, that something had been done to me that I could not do for myself. Salvation.

"... But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God" (1Corinthians 6:11).

A Divine Appointment by Marcia Lee Laycock

2009-08-22T10:23:00.002-06:00

“Do you know anything about these flowers?”

The young woman’s eyes were hopeful but I had to disappoint her and explain that I did not work in the hospital gift shop. I was just there to stock the book rack. I pointed to two ladies at a nearby counter. “Maybe they can help,” I said.
She nodded, stared at the flower display and sighed. “I’m not really sure what I want.”

I took note of her dress then – a baseball cap pulled over messy hair; a thin pair of pyjama bottoms topped by a hospital issue housecoat wrapped around a frail frame; pull-on terrycloth slippers, two sizes too big.

“My friend is dying,” she said, then turned back to me. “I am too.”

I put my clipboard down and waited. Her story unfolded in simple language, the words slipping from her mouth almost as though rehearsed. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a picture of her seven year old daughter. I could see the resemblance. She smiled when I mentioned it and went on to say there was a surgery that she was hoping for – highly experimental, there was only one doctor who could do it and he just happened to live in a nearby city. But then her voice fell and I had to lean close to hear. Her friend had had the surgery. She was still dying.

The conversation turned to the word hope then. She had hope they would agree to do the surgery, hope that, unlike her friend, she would recover, hope that she would live to watch her daughter grow up.

She said a pastor came to visit sometimes and “we say our small prayers together. They seem small, just words, but maybe not, eh?” Again that hopeful look in her eyes.

I was praying small prayers right then. She’s so young, Lord. Please. Please.

Then she was gone and I resumed stocking the rack. I do it once a month and in that hospital, the rack is usually almost empty by the time I return. As I filled the pockets with books I was acutely aware of their contents. They hold pages about the love and mercy of Jesus, pages filled with stories of courage and faith, pages of humour to lift a sad heart and inspiration to encourage a weary soul. Pages of hope.

I knew I was sent there that day to do much more than “just stock the book racks,” but my job suddenly seemed important. My other job, as a writer, suddenly seemed essential, “That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of all thy wondrous works.” (Ps. 26:7, KJV).

Thin Spots

2009-07-17T13:34:00.001-06:00

The day was glorious, full of sunshine and light, full of fellowship and a strong sense of belonging. It was all the more significant to me because I was not in my home church. I was in a beautiful little church in a tiny village in Nova Scotia Canada. And I felt right at home.

We sang a few songs, led by the pastor and a worship band, then one of the leaders stood to talk about all the upcoming events at the church. He did so with a flourish that made us laugh often. Then he grew a bit more serious and said he knew of an old Scottish legend about "thin spots." They are described as places where we sense we are close to heaven. He sincerely hoped we would all feel that we'd been in a "thin spot" by the end of the service.

I realized at that moment that we were already in that place, whether or not we were all feeling it. No doubt there were people there who were not - people who were feeling dry spiritually, people who were angry with one another, people who were angry with God. No doubt there were people there whose pain blocked any sense of heaven whatsoever.

But that does not change the reality. Jesus promised - "For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them" (Matthew 18:20). When God's people gather to praise Him, we not only draw close to heaven, God comes to us - He is in our midst! What an amazing thought.
Even more amazing is the reality that He is always with us - not just when we're in a church building, not just when we're singing songs of praise. He is with us when we're dry and angry and so overcome by pain that we can't see or hear or feel anything else. He is right there beside us, waiting for us to turn to Him, waiting for us to acknowledge Him, waiting for us to cry out to Him. And He will never walk away. We are His people. He is our God.

Everywhere is a "thin spot." Glory be to God.

Letting Lucy Lead by Marcia Lee Laycock

2009-06-16T12:04:00.004-06:00

I’ve just returned from four days on the road, traveling to various communities and speaking to Christian women’s groups. Three of those engagements were in a large city that I’m not terribly familiar with. So I took the time before leaving to check on the internet for the locations of each event. Using an internet application I was even able to find out exactly how long it would take me to get from A to B. I printed out the directions and maps and felt well prepared. Just to be safe I also took our trusty GPS along.

For those who might not know, GPS stands for Global Positioning Satellite. It truly is an amazing little gadget. You type in the city and address and a screen lights up with a map and your position is monitored as you drive. Then a friendly voice tells you where to go and when to turn right or left. As I turned it on before leaving for a venue that was in the very heart of the city, I thought there would be no way I could get lost or confused. Famous last words!

You see the map and directions I had copied from the internet did not match with what my GPS was telling me. To make things worse I was heading into the downtown core at the height of the morning rush hour. The traffic was bumper to bumper. The radio had told me there was a city-wide teachers’ convention on that morning so the traffic was expected to be even worse than usual. Great, I thought, and my information is contradictory.

As the lilting GPS voice (I call her Lucy) directed me to turn right, I glanced at the written directions I had printed out. Turning right didn’t make sense. I turned left and ended up where I didn’t want to be. Then I remembered my husband telling me about the training given pilots in the military. They are taught how to fly blind – literally. The cockpit is covered so they can’t see a thing and have to rely entirely on their instruments to take off, fly and then land the aircraft. The number one rule is, believe what the instruments say. Don’t rely on your own understanding.

So I turned left and found myself heading into what looked like a residential area. That made me nervous. But Lucy said turn left, so I did. Then left again, and suddenly I was at an intersection. Left one more time, and Lucy triumphantly announced I was “arriving at destination, on right.” I looked up and sure enough, there was the hotel where the meeting was being held. Letting Lucy lead me had proven the best course. There was no need to worry.

Sometimes it doesn’t seem to make sense to follow what God wants us to do. Logic can dictate a different course of action and we often worry. But God’s ways are higher than ours. Like Lucy, He is able to see from a clear vantage point. He knows the beginning and the end and the winding route in between. He knows exactly the best route for each one of us.

Proverbs 3:5&6 says it best – “Trust in the lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight.”
God will always get us to where we need to be. No need to worry. Much need to trust.

A Sermon Just for Me by Marcia Lee Laycock

2009-06-03T10:44:00.004-06:00

Last Sunday, as I settled in my chair I prayed a quick prayer.

“Talk to me, Lord.”

My husband tends to be a spontaneous person and I’ve gotten used to him doing unexpected things. Sometimes. But last Sunday he surprised me by announcing that I was going to give my testimony that morning, in 3 minutes or less.

He hadn’t warned me about this, probably because he didn’t know he was going to do it until that very moment. As I walked up to the front I was thinking, "Good thing I’m good at public speaking. The testimony part is a breeze, but in 3 minutes?" No doubt he gave me a time limit because he knows my tendency to go on and on. He did have a sermon to preach that morning. So I did what he asked and all went well. As I expected it would.

Then my husband got up to preach. The sermon was on Mark 12:41-44 – a short passage of scripture that seemed straightforward as he read it out loud. The widow gave all she had. She was extremely generous. She put the religious leaders to shame. But my husband, bless him, took a different tack when he said, this little bit of scripture is really about pride and humility.

Huh?

I felt God tapping me on the shoulder. I was feeling quite self-satisfied, having just given my testimony clearly, with just the right emphasis. In fact I was thinking, "I really am good at this."
The more my favourite preacher spoke the more I felt like crawling under my chair. I knew that what had just happened was no coincidence.

God was talking to me but I wasn’t particularly happy to hear it.

Then my favourite preacher started talking about generosity. Okay, that’s better. I sat up a bit. Then he said, “the core of generosity is humility.” Oh. And he gave Haddon Robinson’s definition – “humility is confidence properly placed.”

Oh dear.

When Proverbs 29:23 appeared in big bold letters on the screen I had to grin just a little. “Pride brings you low.”

Right. I really should remember that.

I was encouraged, when my husband acknowledged that he, and everyone else in the room, all struggle with pride. It’s a big part of the human condition. The trick is to catch ourselves at it, repent of it, and put ourselves back in the place where we all need to be, at the feet of Jesus. Confidence properly placed.

Right. I definitely have to remember that.

P.S. - If you'd like to hear my favourite preacher's sermon, go here and click on The Widow's Mite at bottom right.

Because He First Loved by Marcia Lee Laycock

2009-05-27T12:20:00.002-06:00

There was once a young woman who looked for love. She didn’t know that’s what she was doing, but she did it with ferocious need. She left her home in search of it, attached herself to many people thinking they would give it to her. She moved from place to place, thinking some day she would find it; she took on various jobs and followed a few careers. She delved into all kinds of creative endeavours. But she was never satisfied. Love was elusive. She began to believe it didn’t really exist.

Then someone challenged her to look in the one place she had avoided. She was convinced she would not find it there, believed she had already looked but been barred from it. Deep in her soul she knew that place was where love lived, but she believed she was not worthy of finding it, so she avoided going to that source.

But eventually she came to the end of her desperate running. Every other source had proven empty and false. There was nowhere else to go, so she turned her face to that source and gave in. “Okay,” she said, “show me that it’s real. Prove to me that love exists for me.”

Then she admitted she had done a lot of things wrong in her lifetime of searching and she asked forgiveness. She didn’t know that was the key that unlocked the barrier.

Nothing happened right away. The clouds didn’t part, lightening didn’t flash, but some time later a miracle occurred. She birthed a child. What grew in her as she cared for that child was a love she could never have dreamed of. It swelled inside her and overflowed. She recognized the miracle and was thankful. She recognized that someone did indeed love her. He loved her enough to intervene in her life and cause a miracle. She was loved and nothing else mattered. She had found the true Source.

She had learned what the word love truly means. It doesn’t mean receiving at all. It means giving.

“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God and God in him. … We love because he first loved us.” (1 John 4:16-19).

What Easter Means to Me

2009-04-10T09:35:00.001-06:00

No more loneliness. The One who stepped out of that tomb is holding my hand.
No more striving to perform and please. I don’t have to earn His love, it’s freely given.
No more guilt. “For there is now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus.”
No more self-loathing. I am known to my innermost depths yet loved as a child of God.
No more hate. He gave His life for me, forgave me and made it possible for me to forgive.
No more stress about loved ones. They are all in His care.
No more fear. I know when I face God some day the Spirit of His Son will be shining out from within me.
No more confusion about death. I know some day I’ll rise just like He did.
The glory of Easter shines over us all, over all the pain and strife and ugliness of this world. Some day He will return and wipe it all away. Come, Lord Jesus.

a long day

2009-03-10T17:46:00.003-06:00

It's been a long time since I posted here. I wish I could say I'll be more regular but I'm afraid I can't commit to that. Sporadic will have to do.

Today was long. -35 when I woke up this morning, and my husband had a two hour drive to meet another pastor for lunch. He said it was worth it when he got home, about 4:00 pm. The man was in need of a little encouragement. My husband is good at that. He has an infectious optomism.

I spent the day online - checking emails, reading a submission over, chatting with my daughter on facebook. A good day, but no writing done. Again. Don't know when the dam is going to burst but I hope it's soon. I did manage to get a few pages written on the sequel last week. Maybe next week will be better. Maybe tomorrow ....

A Sermon of Worth

2008-12-30T11:18:00.003-07:00

My husband is a good preacher. In fact, I'd say he's a great preacher. I am a little biased, but others have echoed that sentiment. So I thought I'd give you a chance to hear him. Just click the link - The Misunderstoon Gift

To Resolve or not To Resolve by Marcia Lee Laycock

2008-12-27T12:19:00.001-07:00

I was delivering Christmas cards last week and stopped in to the small gym where I have been noticeable only by my absence lately. I admit I felt a little guilty going in the door. The owner greeted me with a wide smile and we wished one another a Merry Christmas. Then I said, “One of my New Year’s resolutions will be to get here more often.” My friend shook her head. “Oh don’t do that, don’t make yourself feel guilty about it!” Then she stammered a bit. “But …. I don’t mean …. Do come back!”

We laughed and I assured her I would.

I’ve been thinking about what she said ever since. I’ve been thinking about guilt. It does seem to be a big part of what we do at this time of year. We feel guilty for all the things we didn’t do in the past year and most of us resolve to do better. So guilt isn’t such a bad thing, if, and that’s a big if, we make the changes necessary in our lives. If guilt is unresolved it becomes an unhealthy thing and can lead to bitterness and anger that will only make us miserable. But guilt that leads to change, that’s healthy guilt.

So I have decided to make that New Year’s resolution, and a few others, and I’ve gone a step further. I have a plan for carrying it out. Often that’s the key. If we just dwell on our guilty feelings and set no goals or plans for how to change, nothing constructive will happen. Unhealthy guilt will result.

I’ve heard many people scoff and say that all religion does is make you feel guilty. They are absolutely right. But Jesus has gone a step further. He has set out a plan that wipes away the guilt. All we have to do is move from religion to relationship. Accept Him as our brother, our friend, our saviour, and no amount of guilt can hold us down.

The word guilt appears a few times in the Bible. My favourite is in the book of Hebrews, chapter 10, verse 22 – “let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water.”

I like those words, “assurance”, “cleanse” and “washed with pure water.” Though the guilt of our sin may bear us down, there is forgiveness. No matter what we have done, or what has been done to us, God forgives, and we are set free “by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body…” (Hebrews 10:20).

The best resolution any of us can make as we move into 2009 is to get to know Him more. I pray we will all resolve to do so. It’s the only way to get rid of all that guilt.

The Day God Laughed

2008-11-29T22:52:00.003-07:00

“See what you have to look forward to now?”

The whisper in my ear came from a friend in the pew behind us and it made my smile widen. It was Dec. 10th and we were on our first outing with our new baby. She was only 10 days old, but we braved the frigid Yukon winter to attend the Christmas pageant at a small mission church.

I knew the service wouldn’t be a grand production. The church was just a hall, tiny and dilapidated. The Carols were sung a cappella, without a pianist to help keep us in tune. The pageant consisted of six or seven children dressed in bathrobes, their heads in kitchen-towel wraps. The backdrop was made of cardboard stars covered in tinfoil.

But I was seeing everything attached to Christmas in a new way. The tinfoil stars glittered more brightly than a chandelier. The carols were as harmonious as though sung by angels. And the children... ah, the children made the story live! I was bursting with thankfulness. I had just been given the desire of my heart, the precious gift of a child of my own.

We had been told it wouldn’t happen, and after five years without conceiving a child, my husband and I tried to resign ourselves to that reality. I took great pains to hide the deep sadness I found almost unbearable. No one knew how much I wanted a baby, but the clues were there. I was angry much of the time. Convinced God was punishing me, I hated Him. The bitterness poured into all aspects of my life.

Until the day God laughed.

It was on the road to Mayo, Yukon. I was going to visit a friend, determined not to think about God or religion or any of the baffling questions my husband kept bringing up. But no matter what I tried, my mind would not rest. The question of God’s existence and what he had to do with me would not go away. In desperation, I pulled my vehicle into a lookout point above the Stewart River.

The beautiful river valley stretched out below, but I barely saw it. In turmoil, I challenged God to do something to prove He was there. Then I realized how foolish I was, talking to a God I did not really believe existed. At that point something happened which I have never been able to describe adequately. I “heard” laughter, like a grandfather chuckling, and the words, “Yes, but I love you anyway.”

None of this was audible, yet it was real. I thought I was going insane. The turmoil had finally pushed me over the edge and now I was hearing voices. I stomped on the gas pedal of my truck, turned the radio up as loud as it would go, and fled.

My visit with my friend turned out to be more discussion of spiritual things, but by the time I returned home I was determined not to pursue Christianity. Besides, I had something else on my mind. I had been suffering from a strange flu. On about the seventh day of this “flu”, the realization I was in fact pregnant flooded over me like warm rain. With it came a thunderbolt of truth.

This was the “something” I had challenged God to do. The child growing in my womb was His answer, the proof of His love. He gave me the desire of my heart. She was born Nov. 30, 1982.

“See what you have to look forward to now?”

Oh yes, I saw. I saw a future filled with the knowledge there is peace without measure, grace without limit and love without conditions. I saw a future suddenly bright because I believe the Christmas story. A tiny baby, whose sole purpose was to die for me and all others, was born in Bethlehem. I saw the reality that the Christ is still intimately involved in our lives here on earth. Though the church may be just a hall, the music less than perfect, and the costumes homemade, the story is exquisite.

The story is true!

2008-10-08T13:19:00.007-06:00

I'm writing this from the library in the bustling berg of Bow Island, Alberta. That's about half an hour west of Medicine Hat. Yesterday I was in another "bustling berg" called Foremost, a village of about 500 people who apparently take their snakes seriously as you see by the photo at left.

I spoke at the Christian Women's Club in Foremost, in their brand new Community Hall. About 30 ladies turned out for thier "Fall Fair" and were enthusiastically bidding on bags of carrots and potatoes, quilted items, home made preserves, canned apple pie filling and an assortment of fresh baking. Over $500.00 was raised for Village Missions. It's been a good fall for the farmers in this area. The fields that go on and on to a wide horizon are spotted with large round bales, or resting with pale yellow stubble where wheat waved just a few weeks, or even days ago. The immensity of this land and its bounty is truly one of the wonders of this world.

I feel as though I've entered a bit of a time warp here, and the isolation of vast distances is evident, yet people are people. In the cafe I overheard a young woman talking about passing out on her couch after a night at the local bar but I was served by Mennonite women wearing long cotton skirts and dresses, with their hair bound into a bun at the back of their heads. There was a small plastic holder on the counter holding tracts like - What does Salvation Really Mean and How You can Tell You are Saved. The Bible belt is a reality.

Being among these folks gives me comfort. Though the radio is full of news of doom and gloom, not only in N. America but world-wide, I find myself being calmed by the stability I feel here, the solidity of people who live and work and raise their children in this far flung place, with a dignity and perseverance that is inspiring.

Tomorrow I'll be at Dove Christian Store in Lethbridge for a book signing for One Smooth Stone and Hot Apple Cider, with Jane Harris, author of Stars Appearing: The Galts’ Vision of Canada. Jane has done some promo in the area for the event, so we're hoping for a good turn out. With book signings you never know.

But today I relax in Bow Island and tonight I'll have the privielge of speaking at the Christian Women's Club here, and enjoy another Fall Fair. Perhaps I'll even bid on something this time.

Consider Carefully

2008-08-21T13:46:00.001-06:00

“Therefore consider carefully how you listen.” Luke 8:18

It never ceases to amaze me how you can read a passage of scripture that is very familiar and suddenly see - or hear - something that you’ve never seen or heard before. Such was the case when I read Luke 8:16-18.

It’s a familiar passage, one often quoted in the context of gifts and talents. But that is not the context. The context is talking about hearing and receiving God’s word. It comes immediately after the parable of the sower – that wonderful and somewhat convicting passage about those who were hearing the word but received it in different ways, under different circumstances.

For a while I wondered how these two passages were connected. They seemed isolated – one about hearing, the other about sharing. But as I pondered it, the light began to dawn. You cannot have one without the other.You will not have a light to put on a lamp stand or anywhere else if you are not receiving that light from a pure source. If you are not hearing from God, you have nothing worth saying.

Now I’m not talking about divine revelation in the same terms as we would consider scripture divinely revealed. I am talking about the everyday, ordinary way God speaks to us. I’m talking about how we listen. That is a difficult thing to do in these days that are so full of busy-ness and stress, but it is an essential thing, especially for those who would dare to be writers.

I remember a day some time ago when I realized how important it was. The day couldn't have been more perfect. The sky was clear, the sun dancing off the water. The beach slowly filled with parents and children, out to enjoy a day at the beach. After an overnight camp‑out, my friend and I had brought a few girls from our church's Kids' Club to have a swim and a picnic. We stretched out on the sand and chatted as we watched the children play. Little ones were busy making sand castles. An older pair tossed a frisbee above their heads.

A little red-haired girl caught my attention. She had wandered in front of us a few times, as she dashed from the edge of the lake to her mother, sitting in a lawn chair not far away. I watched as she stood still, her small head bent studiously over something in her hand. She turned and started toward us, stopped and peered at her hand once more, took a few more steps and stopped again. Her progress was slow as this pattern was repeated. As she approached, I could see a moth cupped in her palm. She tilted her hand each time it moved, stopped when it crawled dangerously close to the edge and moved slowly forward when it was secure again. Eventually the little girl reached her parent, holding her hand out for her to admire the precious treasure.

My delight in watching that little girl deepened as I heard God’s voice. “That’s how I carry you, to my Father’s delight.” The depth of Jesus’ love overwhelmed me in that moment.I know I could have missed His voice that day. I could have been anxiously watching the little ones under my care. I could have had my mind on all the stresses that come with being a pastor’s wife and mother. I could have let all of “life’s worries, riches and pleasures” get in the way. But somehow He broke through. I heard and was blessed and several times I have used that story in written form to illustrate God’s care for us.

We must take time to listen, consider the circumstances in which we have placed ourselves and see to it that we find a place that is conducive to hearing God’s voice. Then we will indeed, have something worth writing about.

A Faithful No

2008-08-06T10:13:00.002-06:00

Having to promote your own books is a daunting business. It can also be quite frustrating at times.

There's a large church near where I live that often has large events. Thinking about selling books, I clicked into their website to see if there was anything coming up. I was hoping they might allow me to set up a book table. I was glad to see there was an event coming up almost immediately, one that I decided I wanted to attend, so I e-mailed the woman in charge with my idea.

She e-mailed back right away but the answer was no. She explained that her committee thought it might be too much of a distraction. That did not brighten my mood. Other doors had closed that week and as I looked at the total number of books I have managed to sell in the past year, I became discouraged. In fact, I was downright depressed. I sat at my computer that day and thought, why am I hitting my head against this brick wall? I was sorely tempted to quit.
But I went to the event. It was a simulcast - a live video feed - with Beth Moore, speaking from a church in Louisville Kentucky. As I walked into the sanctuary that Friday evening, I wasn't feeling in the mood - I was still angry and frustrated and, underneath, wondered why God wasn't helping me to get the word out about my books. The video began and I found it did nothing to help. The sound was a bit wobbly and the music seemed "canned." I thought, oh yeah, here we go with another hyped-up performance that will leave me cold.

Then Beth Moore began to speak. Slowly her passion and sincerity began to break through. Her humour broke the heaviness. And I began to listen for what God was saying to me. He said plenty. Then the worship group came back on and suddenly the music lifted me into that place of praise and worship. By the end of the evening I was in tears at God's wonderful grace and mercy and unconditional love. I felt ashamed at my lack of trust. I knew my discouragement was a slap in God's face.

The next day was more of the same. I don't think it was a coincidence that Mrs. Moore spoke from Luke 8, which lays out the parable of the sower and talks about those who hear but don't respond, those who in "the time of testing fall away," and those who "hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by life's worries, riches and pleasures and they do not mature."
I left that place with a renewed sense of how alive my God is, how good, and how faithful. Best of all, I had a renewed passion for His Word. And I was so glad for that faithful "no." Had I been concerned with selling books I would have been distracted from what God wanted to say to me. I might not have heard Him at all.

As I read the rest of Luke 8 at home later, another verse popped out - verse 18 - "Therefore consider carefully how you listen." That's a verse to which I think we can all say, "Amen!"

Choice, or Not?

2008-08-04T09:54:00.003-06:00

This morning I was reading this blog that has caught my attention lately. Her post today is about one of Michaelangelo's sculptures, which she saw at the Louvre - and about God's creation. As I read it I was reminded of going to the Prado in Madrid, walking into one of the galleries where some of Goya's more grostesque paintings were hung. And it raised thoughts about what we choose to create and how much choice we really have after all, in the creation process.

Goya's "Black Paintings," depicting war and suffering, were done after he'd gone through an illness that left him deaf. The dark images no doubt reveal the darkness that was in him. Did he have a choice? Could he have painted a lovely pastoral scene during that time in his life? And is one image of more value than the other because it brings pleasure? We would tend to think so, but I wonder. Goya's dark images had a powerful affect on me as a sheltered young woman from North America. They opened my eyes. I began to see more in the streets of Spain than just the architecture. I saw the people. Sometimes I saw their pain.
This leads to questions about writing as a Christian. Many would prefer that we write only about what is pleasant, never allowing the darkness of the world onto the page. But what if that's what is in us? What if that's what needs to be written? What if our readers need to be shocked into opening their eyes?

A Small Pond

2008-08-01T10:34:00.006-06:00

When my husband and I started talking about leaving the community we had lived in for almost 20 years, I started praying. We had no idea where the Lord would take us but I had a few ideas about what I wanted.

I decided to share them with Him. I told Him how much I loved the fireplace in our living room. It would be nice if there was one in our new home.

And water. Oh, Lord, how I would love to live by water again.

And now here we are. There is a fireplace in our small living room - not a wood-burning one, not a very big one, but it does bring warmth on a cold winter night. And water? Well, the Lord does have a sense of humour. I was thinking Lake, or River, or even Ocean.

What I got was pond - a tiny pond. But well used - skated on in the winter, played around in the summer. I can sit in my front window and watch the play of light and wind across it. Right now it's kind of ugly because the town has drained it again. Someone said they did that because they want the beaver to move out. They're killing the trees. (The beaver, not the town). I was amazed to learn there were beaver in what seemed to me little more than a puddle. But they were there. And of course there are birds of various kinds - a family of geese for a while, and a duck or two now. My family and I were getting out of our car one night and stopped to listen to the frogs. They were putting out a veritable chorus. It made us smile.

So it's not a Lake or a River or the Ocean. It's just a small pond. But it is full of life.

As we plant this small church, and live in a small house with a small fire place across from a small pond, I am reminded of the scripture that says - "Who despises the day of small things?" (Zech.4:10)

God's hand, His life, is in it all. And I am grateful.

The Master's Hands

2008-07-06T19:34:00.003-06:00

I was having trouble. It was a few weeks into the term in my pottery class and I still wasn't able to create a descent piece of work using the potter's wheel. I was getting tense about it. Most of my classmates had by now managed the skill of throwing on the wheel and were producing perfect cylinders. My cylinders were not working. Either I tried to bring them up too quickly and their walls grew too thin, or a jerk of my hand would put them off centre and a wild wobble would result in nothing more than a pile of goo. Every time my instructor walked by I got more nervous and tried harder. The harder I tried the more I failed.

Then one day my instructor came up behind me as I was attempting to centre the lump of clay. He was a big man with huge hands and he towered over me. I looked up, ashamed of my incompetence, but instead of a scowl, I saw him smile. "Relax," he said. "Trying too hard just causes more failure." He put his large hands on my shoulders and kneaded my tense muscles. "Now, take a deep breath and try again," he said.

I positioned my hands on the clay but the lump continued to wobble. I slumped back on the chair and looked up again. "Will you show me?" I asked. My instructor nodded and told me to try again, then leaned over me and placed his hands over mine, guiding them gently until the lump was spinning at perfect centre. When our thumbs pushed down into the centre the lump gave way and formed a perfect donut shape. Then he took his hands away. "Gently," he said, and stood back as I slowly drew the walls of the cylinder up. He laughed with delight when I clapped my hands at the finished product - a perfect cylinder. I had no trouble producing them from that time on.

I've thought about that day many times over the years, when I've become stressed about one situation or another. Too often I allow myself to get tied up in knots over something, forgetting that God is standing with me, waiting to guide me, waiting to give me the peace that seems so elusive. Then I remember my pottery instructor's large skilled hands and I remember to ask for God's help.

It comforts me to know that even Jesus' disciples sometimes failed to understand that when they are with Jesus there is no need to worry. The day they sailed across the Sea of Galilee, for instance. The wind began to rage and it looked like their boat would sink. Jesus was sleeping through it all until they woke Him. He quickly calmed the storm and said, "Where is your faith?" (Luke 8:25). Their response was to wonder, "Who is this?" That is the perfect response.

When we see the hand of God move it is fitting to ponder who He is, to recognize His power and sovereignty and to relax in it. Perhaps the next time we will be a little slower to get stressed and a litttle quicker to ask, "Will you show me?"

Watching Someone Read

2008-05-27T21:47:00.005-06:00

I was on my way to Winnipeg to participate in the School of Writing at the Canadian Mennonite University. I was nervous about going, even though my work had been accepted and I'd been granted entrance to the advanced fiction class with Canadian literary icon, Rudy Wiebe. I had submitted three short stories that I'd worked on long and hard but I had chosen to workshop another ten pages - part of the sequel to my novel, One Smooth Stone. Would they like it? Would the writing be good enough?

As I settled into my seat on the plane, the stewardess came down the aisle and asked us all to move forward, to balance the load. i ended up sitting one seat back and across the aisle from a young woman who took out a book to read. As she did so, the colour caught my eye. Hmm ... same colour as the cover on my book.

I watched out the window as the ground dropped away and the plane lifted off, then glanced across the aisle again. The young woman had turned the book. My book. It was a surreal moment. A comforting, though in a way, disconcerting moment. What did she think of it? She seemed to be reading eagerly enough. But did she like it? Was it good enough?

The day my excerpts were to be critiqued, my palms were sweating and my heart was beating a little faster than normal. Finally the comments began. According to the rules I wasn't allowed to speak until given permission by the instructor. Staying silent was at once a relief and a hardship. Then Rudy made some comments, asking for further input from the class, dissecting the work.

Then his words, "this is good writing."

Words from "the master." I could have danced down the aisle.

But now the euphoria has worn off and I'm working on the sequel. What will people think of it? Will it be good enough?

And then I go back to why I write - because it's the way I'm "wired." Because I can't not write. Because the images and characters and scenes and emotions flood out of me through a keyboard and I can't stop them any more than I could stand in a flood and stop the raging waters.

And then I remember who made me this way, who controls what happens to the words I type on this computer, and who will some day say, "well done," if I work in obedience to Him.

And I realize how much I want to hear that Master's voice and how much I want to some day dance down that aisle. So I go on, trying to be obedient to the task of being a writer, fighting off the self doubt and the need for affirmation from men when the only thing that counts is affirmation from Him.

2008-05-16T12:21:00.001-06:00

A Barn Full
By Marcia Lee Laycock

My daughter just sent me an email - it was one of those forwarded, forwarded, forwarded things, which I ordinarily don’t like receiving. But this one was intriguing. It was the story of a man who purchased a piece of property for half its value. The property had been hard to sell because it had an ugly barn on it with a huge steel door welded shut. When the man took possession of the property he immediately got a grinder and opened the doors on the barn. What he found inside no doubt made his heart beat a little faster. It was full of old vintage cars, worth over thirty-five million dollars!

That man took a chance – he could have ended up with a barn full of worthless widgets, or something more disappointing. But the risk paid off. What intrigued me about this story is why so many people were unwilling to take the same chance. What held them back?

Perhaps it has something to do with the glass half full image – perhaps all those other people who looked at the barn envisioned all the disagreeable and inconvenient things that could be inside it. Perhaps they looked at that barn and thought about animals and what they produce. Perhaps they looked at those steel doors and just couldn’t be bothered trying to figure out a way to open them. Pity. They could have been the recipients of a storehouse of treasure.

Sometimes Christians miss out in this same way. We look at the “barn” of involvement in other people’s lives, of loving our neighbours as ourselves, of following Jesus in obedience and humility, and we think it all involves too much risk. We aren’t sure what will happen when we open those doors. It takes a little too much work and it could be pretty messy inside. So we walk away. Pity. We’re missing the treasure of being blessed. You see it’s through some of these hard and messy things that God teaches us about Himself and teaches us about the joy of serving. It is through obedience that God leads us closer to Himself. And there, indeed, we will find a storehouse of treasure – a more clear understanding of His character and His deep love for us.

Failing to trust God and take the risk of obedience means we may miss the indescribable joy of hearing Him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:21). So the next time you’re looking at a barn full of unknowns, go ahead. Open those doors.

An Inheritance by Marcia Lee Laycock

2008-04-30T15:01:00.002-06:00

"Wake up!"
I felt my mother's small hand gently shaking my shoulder. My eyes flickered for a moment, then closed again in the bright light. But Mom shook me again.
"Come and see," she said, her voice a whisper.
My eyes popped open then. I knew there was something wondrous in store. I slipped out of bed and padded at her side into our living room. My brother was already there, kneeling on the couch as he stared out the front window. There on our front lawn was a pair of long-billed curlews. We were used to seeing sandpipers, but this large bird was new. We knelt there for some time, watching the pair peck at the grass, then make their way to the water's edge. When they were gone, the three of us dressed quickly and hurried to the beach to look at the tracks they had made in the sand.
As a child I was blessed to inherit a kind of child-like amazement about the world from my mother. She would often wake my brother and me to show us something new and wonderful. One morning there was a whistling marmot that had taken up residence in a pile of railroad ties beside our house. Another, it was a family of muskrats. Sometimes it would be the long-legged blue heron that fished in the reeds just beyond our door.
One of my most treasured memories of my mom is the day I happened to look out the window and see her sitting in a recliner on our front lawn. There were four tiny hummingbirds hovering around her. That was breathtaking all on its own, but it was the look on my mother's face that I've never forgotten. It was pure delight and awe and joy. My mother was passionate about the world in which we lived and she was able to communicate that to others around her, especially her children.
But over the years, as I grew, and as life "happened," that passion died. The world has a way of doing that to us. Disappointments dull our sensitivity to the beauty around us, pain and suffering make us oblivious to the wonder of it, and cynicism begins to live in us to the point of joylessness.
It wasn't until I became a believer that the world suddenly became an amazing place again. I remember the first spring just after I became a Christian. We were living in the Yukon and springtime there seems to arrive almost overnight. I wrote a poem to try and express it -
FIRST YUKON SPRING

Green.
Green so fills my eyes
I sway
with spring
a song
alive and swelling
out of winter grey and white
the colour
in fields and ditches
dances
and I wonder
was there life
before this day?

Truly, there was no life before that day. Life had dried up and blown away long before, leaving me like a dry husk, alone and miserable.
But on that day, the day when I asked Jesus to forgive me and to be the centre of my life, the dry husk drank in the living water of Christ's love and I came alive again.
The book of 2 Corinthians, chapter 5 verse 17 says - "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"
I began to see with new eyes, or rather, eyes that had been reclaimed by Christ. And the world became a beautiful place once again, full of colour and vibrancy and even grace.
I owe that child-like sense of wonder to my mother, but I owe my life - the abundant life God promises all believers - to Jesus Christ.

Shadows and Light by Marcia Lee Laycock

2008-03-26T11:29:00.003-06:00

We had to stoop low to enter the church through a portal in the thick stone wall. The chill of the interior was warmed by the hum of voices, some chanting prayers, some murmuring as tourists wandered about the interior. Our guide pointed out the architecture and mosaics unearthed on the floors as he led us through narrow corridors and down warn stone steps toward the focal point of the cathedral. This was, in the minds of many of the pilgrims lined up to enter, the birth place of Christ, the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.

The "manger" had been made into an ornate shrine, a silver star inlaid into the stone floor, marking the place where the babe was laid. Coloured glass oil lamps hung from above on golden chains and heavy draperies surrounded the spot. Golden icons of Christ and various saints rimmed the grotto.

A monk knelt to pray at the entrance to the stone stable opposite, and a pilgrim all but crawled into the manger itself, bending low to kiss the star. Candles burned down to mounds of wax at every turn. The dim lighting seemed appropriate as many more pilgrims wove their way by, descending the stone stairs, then climbing back out again to emerge in the sanctuary where confessional booths were labelled with various languages - English, French, German, Dutch, Arabic.

I could not help but have a deep sense of sadness as I watched. I could not help but see the shadows in a place that should have been full of light. Many of the paintings on the walls were blackened by the smoke from oil lamps and candles. Mosaics and frescoes were crumbling. That too seemed fitting. For it seemed the devotion of many of these people was misplaced. They attributed power to relics of wood and cloth, wept at the sight of a shrine built by human hands, and prayed to saints long dead and powerless to help them.

And yet, the focus was still Christ. And yet, the power of God does break through, in spite of every misconception, every dimness of thought and theory, in spite of the inherent corruption of man and the shadows he creates. For the story of His birth is true, the example of His life undeniable and the plan of His salvation accomplished. For centuries people have worshipped Him and His church has been established forever, "and the gates of Hades will not overcome it" (Matthew 16:18b).

The light of Christ will shine, even in ancient dim cathedrals. It shines in the hearts of believers and in the work they do in His name all over the world. Though our motives are sometimes suspect and our understanding limited, His grace and mercy are pure and powerful. The purposes of God, though accomplished by flawed servants, are moved forward as He establishes His kingdom on this earth. The light does dispel the darkness. The shadows do flee away.

All glory to Him, all honour to Him, all praise to His name.

Psalms of Ascent

2008-03-07T14:20:00.003-07:00

Psalms of Ascent

Psalm 124 rang with poignancy and prophecy as I read it this morning.
My husband and I have just returned from Israel. The experience of being there is overwhelming in many ways. You are constantly reminded of the country’s history and its future, constantly reminded of God’s hand at work. Having read Epicentre, by Joel Rosenberg, just before going there, the echoes of past, present and future were everywhere.

Our tour guide, a very knowledgeable and respectful man named Moshe (Moses), often referred to a phrase that rings with determination in the Jewish mind – “Never again.” Never again will the Jews be persecuted in the way they were during WW2; never again will the Jews allow their people to be isolated and abandoned. Men like Moshe believe it is their military might and human skill that will save them. But Psalm 124 says - “If the Lord had not been on our side – let Israel say … if the Lord had not been on our side when men attacked us, when their anger flared against us, they would have swallowed us alive…” (vs. 1-3).

As I left Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem, I could not help but fear that, as Rosenberg believes, Israel will one day be isolated and abandoned once again – perhaps very soon. Her military might and human skill will not be enough to save her.

Standing on the heights of Megiddo and looking out on the Jezreel Valley, (see photo), I was chilled not only by the cool breeze but by the echo of prophecy that says that the enemies of Israel will descend upon them. But God will protect them. The Bible tells us thousands will die that day and all of Israel will know it was the hand of God.

But in the meantime there are wars and rumours of wars – death in the villages of Gaza and the Israeli towns bordering it and death in the city of Jerusalem itself.

Psalm 122 tells us, Pray for the peace of Jerusalem … may there be peace within your walls and security within your citadels.” (v.6,7).

Perhaps now, more than ever, we need to take those words to heart.

Epicenter

2008-02-05T16:06:00.000-07:00

I purchased Epicenter by Joel Rosenberg for my husband this past Christmas. I thought it would be a timely gift since we are leading a tour to Israel soon. He read it cover to cover in record time and then suggested I read it too. I've just finished it and found it a fascinating read.
Mr. Rosenberg is extremely well connected in the political spheres of our world - in the U.S., Israel, Russia and many Arab countries as well. He is in a good position to speak on the topic of prophecy since many call him a modern day prophet. And justly so. His novels have proven to be prophetic over and over again, to the point where he has attracted the attention of media and govenment officials alike.
No, he's not a member of the CIA or any other intelligence organization. He's just a Christian who has read his Bible and is able to interpret modern day events in light of Biblical prophecy. Astonishingly accurately in fact.
Read this book. It's important.

Quoting My Husband

2008-01-24T22:15:00.000-07:00

This is a short excerpt from the sermon my husband gave last Sunday. I found the stats. surprising, to say the least -

The focus of the Bible is not, as we might suppose, on the events of Christ’s first coming as Messiah, though this is certainly foundational. The focus of the Bible is on the Second Coming of Christ. “It’s been estimated that there are 1,845 references to Christ’s second coming in the Old Testament, 17 books give it prominence. In the 260 chapters of the New Testament, there are 318 references to the second advent of Christ – an amazing 1 out of every 30 verses! Twenty-three of the 27 New Testament books refer to this great event. For every prophecy in the Bible concerning Christ’s first advent, there are 8 which look forward to the second. In short the Bible is not all about the historical Jesus, it’s about the pre-eminent, soon to return, majestic and glorious Son of God, Lord of Lords and King of Kings. It’s content on this subject cannot come from man, for man cannot live in the future and come back to the past. The content of Scripture has its source in the author behind the author – God Himself.

Off the Back Burner

2007-12-17T00:03:00.000-07:00

I've been hearing about "End Times" since I became a Christian about 25 years ago. There was a time when I was very much caught up in the idea that Jesus was coming back any day. Then it sort of got put on a back burner. I still believed it was true, but I wasn't so concerned about watching for all the signs.

Then last year my husband and I went to Israel. I stood on the Golan Heights, stared down at the Valley of Tears and thought, "This place is the pivot of history - past, present and most certainly too come."

Since then some things have happened that have rekindled my interest in those age old prophesies. The one that talks about miraculous things happening, for instance. I've been seeing a few miracles lately. These aren't the kind that come from a friend of a friend of a friend who knows someone who... these are healings that have happened to friends of mine - some of them almost family. These are people I know - people I trust. And they are miracles. Brain tumours don't just disappear on their own. People on their death bead don't usually suddenly get up and go home.

And then there's that news broadcast that talked about the "breakthrough peace agreement" in the Middle East. Well, we'll see.

Yes, we will see all of what the book of Revelation depicts. I suspect it may be quite different from what we think it will be like, but there is one certainty - you won't want to be a stranger to Christ when that day arrives.

It makes me think of those I love who don't know Him yet. And that makes me shiver. I want to shout, Come Lord Jesus, but I also want to shout, Not yet, not yet!

It could be any day. It really could.

Window Shopping

2007-12-08T11:04:00.000-07:00

The street twinkled with Christmas lights. Our boots crunched on a skiff of snow that had fallen the night before and my daughters and I smiled and laughed as we window shopped, chatting about possible gifts for members of our family. It was fun window shopping – oohing and ahhing over the bright Christmas displays and pointing out things we liked. Now and then we’d see something we all thought was particularly ugly and we’d all groan at the same time. Now and then the display in the window was enough to draw us into the store.

Window shopping is fun, but it can’t beat being able to walk into the store and buy the perfect gift. It can’t beat taking it home and wrapping it in bright paper, knowing it will soon make your loved one’s eyes light up when they open it. It can’t beat the feeling of anticipation as you put it under the tree.

As we turn to spiritual things during the Christmas season, too often many of us just window shop. On the internet it’s called lurking. We look but don’t buy, we listen but don’t participate. Standing on the outside looking in has its advantages. We believe it’s a safe place – God can’t ask anything of us if we don’t make a commitment. We won’t have to change if we stay on the edge and stay quiet.

But window shoppers never get to feel the excitement of finding the perfect gift. Lurkers never get to express their feelings and thoughts – no relationship develops with other people of like mind. Similarly, those who do not make a commitment to Christ never know the joy of the gift of salvation. They are never able to dialogue with Jesus as a friend, a brother, a saviour. Too many are missing the perfect gift – the gift of Jesus himself.

Are you window shopping but never buying? Are you lurking but never participating?
Find the true joy of Christmas this year. Step inside where it’s warm. Find that perfect gift and take it home. The perfect gift is Jesus Christ and He’s waiting for you.

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6).

The Longing in Our Hearts

2007-11-21T11:39:00.000-07:00

Some time ago I watched a video that I'd heard a lot about. People said it was inspiring. They said I just had to watch it. Sometimes I ignore these kinds of messages, but eventually I gave in and clicked into UTube to see what all the fuss was about.

The small screen showed a rather plumb, unassuming middle aged man with crooked teeth. He stood at a microphone looking decidedly unsure of himself. Then the camera panned to four judges watching him. Their expression seemed to say, "Okay, let's just get this over with." Finally one of them asked why he was there. "To sing opera," he said simply. The judges smirked. I think one of them rolled his eyes. But they let him go ahead.

Then the man opened his mouth. The judges' jaws dropped. The man's voice boomed out as he sang from his heart and soul. Some in the audience began to weep. So did one of the judges. When he was done the audience was on its feet cheering for the cell phone salesman who had just demonstrated that you can't always tell a book by its cover.

The man's name was Paul Potts and he went on to win the competition called Britain's Got Talent. He's a star now, singing around the world and recording cd's. His is a fairytale success story that has captured the imagination of millions around the world. It made me wonder why. Why have so many, and I count myself among them, responded so strongly to Mr. Potts' performance? I think it's because all of us have a tiny part in us that says, "there's something great in me, if I can just find a way to let everyone see it." Some might call that 'delusions of grandeur.' I think it's something more. I think it's a deep belief that we are more than we seem to be.

And we are. When God created the first man he "breathed into his nostrils the breath of life" (Genesis 2:7). He also created him "in his own image" (Gen. 1:27). Man is much more than just a bunch of bones, tissue and blood. We were created to house the very spirit of God himself, to be a temple and in a sense a representative of God. I think we all feel that, even long for it to be fulfilled - it's a longing for the nobility, the beauty, even the glory we were intended to have.

Every now and then we get a glimpse of it - as that audience did when Paul Potts sang. We respond to it, we stand to our feet and applaud it, and we weep because we long for it.

And it's more than a longing to be greater than we are. I believe it's a longing for God. That audience will remember Mr. Potts' performance but it will only serve to intensify the longing in them. Only a relationship with God will satisfy it, only striving to be like Him will fulfill it. The longing will never completely go away until we are face to face with our Lord, but when we connect with the One who put that longing in our hearts, and serve Him by acting according to His plan for our lives, there is a joy and fulfillment that can come from no other source.

That short video of Paul Potts made me weep. I will always have that longing in my heart, because I am a child of God yet separated from Him. My encouragement comes from walking the path He has laid out for me and feeling His presence with me. My hope lies in the reality that one day we will be reunited.

Go here to view the video of Mr. Potts. You might want to have a box of Kleenex handy.

War Story

2007-11-12T16:47:00.000-07:00

In Honour of all war veterans and my Dad -

My father would never talk much about the war. For many years he refused to watch T.V. programs about it, be they comedies or documentaries. He became very uneasy on armistice day. Over the years I was able to find out a bit about his experiences, and to understand why he wanted to forget.

He spent the first years of the war in Canada, working as a clerk in the RCAF. There's a picture of him in uniform, brandishing a rifle, smiling proudly, the Halifax harbour behind him. Then he was moved to England where he again worked at a desk. There's a picture of him on a golf course in Ireland. Then the war was over, and somehow my father was sent to Germany with the occupation forces. Somehow he found himself with the liberation army at the gates of Bergen-Belsen. It was at that point, after the allies had won and the World War was over, that my father's war began.

He would never say what it was specifically that caused it to happen. Perhaps he looked too long into the face of one man, a man his own age, whose eyes were glazed with hunger and shadowed with pain, a man who looked a hundred years old, 'though he was only twenty. Perhaps my father looked into another face, one without any sign of emotion, of anguish nor compassion, a face which, though living, was dead. Perhaps he could not stop staring at the piles of dead bodies, the bones and skulls, or perhaps he was required to record the numbers, the unfathomable numbers. Perhaps he could not bear the smell from the crematoriums or perhaps it was the smiles, the smiles of survivors who welcomed their deliverers in silence. He would never say what it was, but something that day, in that place, made my father's mind stop. It stopped and could not go beyond the horror, the fear, the guilt.

I don't know how long he was in the psychiatric hospital. I know he was afraid to leave it, afraid even to go for a walk beyond the doors of the building. I know he could not sleep, that loud sounds sent him screaming. I know when he did leave and return home to his wife and children, he had not conquered his fears but buried them in a shallow grave. Many times they were resurrected and continued to plague him. I know in some ways he remained an unreachable stranger, even to those who had been closest to him.

Time heals and memories fade, but my father, that young man from Canada who never fired a gun in battle, would never talk much about the war. There are those who say we must talk about it, that the memories must never be allowed to fade, for if we forget such a past, the future will be in peril. They are right, but I wonder about the hope to which they cling. Will a generation that has not seen with its' own eyes nor felt with its' own heart have the courage, should circumstances demand, to stand and say with determination, "No. Never again?" Will all the television documentaries, all the books, all the trials be in vain after all? Perhaps that particular history will never repeat itself. But what about the other histories being lived now in so many parts of our world? Africa, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Asia ...... Are we doing all we can to say no, or are we too comfortable, never having had to fire a gun in battle? Perhaps the real danger lies, not in forgetting the past, but in ignoring the present.

For more on WW2 go to http://www.triciagoyer.com/ww2stories/

Standing Still

2007-11-09T16:47:00.000-07:00

We had our first snowfall a few nights ago. We woke to a thick layer of the white stuff coating our yard and making the streets and sidewalks slippery. I must admit I wasn't particularly happy to see winter arrive, but as we drove down the highway later that day I had to admit it was beautiful. The sun had come out, making the landscape shine as the rays bounced off the fresh coat of snow.

Not far from our home the highway crosses a good sized river. Large Spruce trees line the banks and the hill rising above it. Seeing their dark forms outlined in white made me want to be among them, standing still in the middle of that dark forest. It reminded me of earlier days when I used to go cross-country skiing in a large park. The trails we skied ran for miles into deep forests of large pine and spruce trees. Often there were few people that far out and I remember many times taking a few moments to stop and just stand in the midst of that forest, breathing in the scent and the quiet and just loving being there. As we whisked by that forested hillside the other day it made me realize how long it's been since I did something like that. It's been too long and I have felt the lack of it in my life.

There's a short verse in the Bible that we are all too apt to miss. It's in the middle of Psalm 46 that speaks of our Mighty God - a God who is all powerful and sovereign over all the earth. That small verse says - "Be still and know that I am God" (Ps.46:10).

Our lives are so busy in this modern world that we don't often take the time to walk in a deep woods, to be still and take in the beauty of our world, or to take in the awesomeness of God. Whether we acknowledge it or not, we feel the lack of taking that time in our lives. Some of us don't even know how to be still. We are so used to going at a frenetic pace that slowing down leaves us feeling uncomfortable and even irritable. Road rage is evidence of the fact. High blood pressure and stress related diseases bear witness.

In a spiritual sense, we often are so busy "working for the Lord" that we don't take time to enjoy Him. We will feel the lack of that in our lives too. We will suddenly wonder why we're working so hard, why we don't feel refreshed, why we don't feel the presence of God anymore. It won't be long before we are feeling dry and burned out.

Perhaps it's time for us all to be still. Go stand in the middle of a deep dark forest resplendent with snow. Or stand by a roaring ocean and watch the waves crash. Or stand in a quiet room and know God is there beside you - the God of the universe who is sovereign over all.

A little Blue

2007-10-26T16:59:00.001-06:00

I'm a little blue today. Things have been hectic at our house. I'm trying to start up a new business, trying to write when I can, trying to be patient while my husband finishes building the office in our basement, trying not to get depressed when I hear my publisher say "sales are down by 30% this year." Great time to launch a book, hey?

And a good friend emailed yesterday to tell me her husband has advanced cancer and has only a short time to live.

And it snowed today.

So I'm kind of blue, kind of cranky, more than kind of heartsick for my friend.

Sometimes life just seems like one long uphill road on a mountain covered in fog. Thank God sometimes the sun breaks through. Thank God sometimes He breaks through and lets us know this isn't all there is. It's about so much more - it's like Mt. McKinley - you can live right beside it and only see the base most of the time. Then every once in a while the fog clears and you just can't stop looking up.

Lord, help me to keep looking up.

From Grey to Glorious

2007-09-15T15:42:00.001-06:00

It was one of those mornings that don’t start off very well. My alarm clock didn’t work and my husband forgot that I had to be up early to make it to an appointment, so he didn’t wake me. When I finally opened my eyes, I had just enough time to throw on some clothes and rush out the door. I made it to the appointment, but by the time it was over my stomach was growling and I was pining for a cup of decaf. So, true to the traditions of my country and culture, I headed for Tim Hortons donut shop.

The line for the drive-through was long, as usual, and I wasn’t any too patient by the time I gave my order at the speaker-phone. As I edged forward to pick up my coffee and breakfast sandwich, I was digging in my purse for money and not paying too much attention to where I was going. No, I didn’t bump into the car ahead of me, but I did not see what was going on around me either.

I didn’t see them until I was right in front of them - two little boys, perhaps four or five years old, dressed in identical blue shirts. They were blonde, with huge blue-eyes and toothless grins. They were waving with great enthusiasm as the cars filed by the large windows. My reaction was immediate – I burst into a smile of my own, laughed out loud in fact, and waved enthusiastically back. It was then I noticed that the crowd inside the restaurant was taking great delight in watching the reaction of those driving by. Everyone was smiling.

I imagine God’s delight at those two little boys, who, just by being themselves, brightened the day of everyone around them. I imagine He was pleased because they were just being who He had made them to be – a blessing to others.

We delight Him in that way too. He has made us to be a blessing to one another, as the writer of Ephesians said – “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Eph. 2:10). Every time we bless someone around us, He is blessed.

It doesn’t take much – often just a smile or an encouraging word is enough to turn someone’s day from gray to glorious. All we have to do is be who we were made to be. Those two little boys were doing it. We can too.

An Exciting Discovery

2007-08-19T19:09:00.000-06:00

Some time ago I made an exciting discovery. I got so excited about it I called my husband into the office so I could show him. He smiled indulgently but looked like he thought I was overreacting just a bit.

I’ve been critiquing and editing manuscripts for writers for some time. I would usually do the edits on a hard copy of the manuscript, then transfer them onto the computer and send the finished product to the writer. The task was laborious since it is important for the writer to see the changes I make and in some cases, understand my reasoning. I used the highlight feature as well as the font colour feature on the computer, making the changes as I went, then highlighting and putting comments in red. This required continually clicking buttons and using the mouse.

Then one day I joined an online critique group. Each person submitted a story and all the others critiqued it. As we got started someone asked how to put the changes right into the manuscript. I was about to send a message explaining my method when I read a message from another group member. He explained that all you have to do is hit the Tools button and click on ‘track changes.’ The computer does everything for you! I immediately pulled up an old manuscript and tried it. That’s when I got excited. This little discovery has saved me a lot of time and ‘fiddling.’

In my own defense I must explain that I am self-taught on the computer. I have never taken a course, but learned by doing. For the most part that has worked fine, but when I discovered this tracking feature it made me wonder what else I’ve been missing. Maybe it’s time I investigated all the features the program designers put into my computer. Maybe it’s time I discovered how it’s meant to be used. There are probably a few other things I’ve been doing the hard way.

Sometimes we go through life the same way. We are self-made, self-taught and self-focused. Usually, that means we’ve been doing things the hard way. Maybe it’s time we discovered our designer had a different plan. Maybe it’s time we discovered what that plan is. God has provided everything we need to live our lives according to His plan. The Apostle Paul knew this when he wrote to the Philippians – “And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19).

Did you notice that last phrase? That’s the important part, the part that can mean the difference between living life the hard way, and living life with abundant joy. In Christ Jesus. Why do things the hard way?

Sing with Me - How Great is Our God

2007-07-27T11:49:00.000-06:00

The other day I wrote about my daughter's wedding and watching my new son-in-law as he awaited his bride. I likened it to the way Jesus waits for us and how joyful we will be when we are joined to Him.

This morning I read the first devotional in a book I just picked up by John Piper - Taste and See. The devotional talks about how we would be transformed when we realize how much God delights in us. At the end of the piece he quotes Isaiah 62:4-5 - I was struck by the words - "You shall no more be termed Forsaken and your land shall no more be termed Desolate; but you shall be called My delight is In Her and your land Married; for the Lord delights in you ... As the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you."
The words reminded me of when I first became a Christian. That's exactly how I felt -as though I had been a barren dessolate land and now had been claimed, made fruitful and as joyful as a new bride. My story is here, if you'd like to read more about that.

I also take great comfort in the fact that this is present tense. God is doing all of that now - delighting over us each moment, loving us as only He can. Another verse Piper quoted - Jeremiah 32:40-41 - "I will make with them an everlasting covenanat that I will not turn away from doing good to them; and I will put the fear of me in their hearts that they may not turn from me. I will rejoice in doing them good ... with all my heart and all my soul."

That last sentence astounds me - that God would pour all of his heart and soul into doing something for me, into rejoicing over me! It's hard to wrap my mind around that.

It makes me want to sing that song - How great is our God, How great is our God - oh sing with me, How great, how great is our God!

Don't Spurn the Small Stuff

2007-07-26T20:46:00.000-06:00

The auditorium was jammed with thousands of eager listeners. The woman on the platform was a high-profile speaker. Her books and other resources filled three tables in the foyer and much of it had already been snapped up by her fans.

I too was eager to listen. I wanted to hear about Jesus. But it did not appear that I was going to get what I wanted that night. I confess I had a skeptical attitude as I watched her begin her presentation. So when she started to rant about how the men of her church had tried to hold her back, I got more than a little irritated. But it was when she made a statement about her previous ministry that I got angry. She said, “If I had listened to them I’d still be back there teaching six people in a tiny living room instead of up here on this stage teaching thousands.”

I felt like screaming. I was one of the many – probably a large percent of that audience – who were teaching six people, sometimes four or even two, in a tiny living room. Did that not count? Was my ministry a waste of time because it wasn’t broadcast on cable T.V.? Was this high-profile woman more valuable as a teacher of the gospel than I was because she was reaching thousands?

It seems our culture would answer yes, but I don’t believe Jesus would. He chose a small isolated country in which to make his first appearance. The synagogues in which he spoke were usually small. His close group of disciples numbered only twelve. He never once appeared on T.V.

I confess there have been times when I’ve wished for more of an audience. When I received an e-mail from a friend on the mission field telling me she had fifty women turn out for her Bible Study, I was jealous and even thought, “Lord, what am I doing here?”

But then I went to my Bible Study. The hostess was a recent widow and often expressed her gratitude that we always met in her home so she didn’t have to drive at night. Another woman was having serious struggles in her marriage and said it was that tiny group that kept her from walking away from the church and from God. Another was a brand new Christian, still in awe of what the Bible said and of this amazing God named Jesus Christ.

I came home that night and thanked Him for the privilege of meeting with those women each week, to learn about the scriptures with them and from them, to share what God was saying to me and what He was doing in my life, to listen to what He was saying to them and doing in their lives.

I’ve repented of my anger at that high-profile speaker. God is undoubtedly working His will in and through her. Perhaps she is where God has put her. And I am content in knowing that I am where God has put me – in a small town, a small church, a small Bible Study group. I pray that I will never ever spurn the small stuff.

Wedding Day

2007-07-18T23:03:00.001-06:00

It all began with green balloons. My middle daughter had ordered them as a surprise for her older sister who was to be married that day. But there was a problem. Someone had to be at the park to meet the balloon lady. My husband and I volunteered.

Three thirty on the afternoon of the wedding found us circling the park to keep the air- conditioning going in our car. Finally a van showed up, filled with six dozen large lime green helium filled balloons. That’s when we discovered how fragile helium balloons are. If they touched the trees they’d pop. If they touched the grass they’d pop. So okay, we’ll just hold onto them. Well, no, if they expand in the heat they’ll pop! We could not fit 72 balloons in our car, so we convinced the balloon lady to wait.

As often happens at weddings, however, things had gotten behind schedule and she finally said she had to leave. So we carefully deposited the balloons on the grass behind a large bush, to keep the wind from blowing them away. Then we sat in our air-conditioned car and guarded them, praying none would pop.

In a little while I saw a young mom with three small children and two dogs heading in our direction. You could tell the moment those kids saw the balloons. They started running. So did their dogs. So did I. They stopped dead when they saw me, giving their mom time to catch up and when I explained we were waiting for the bride and groom, the mom led her brood away. I was thankful both her children and dogs were obedient.

The look on the bride’s face made the wait and the inconvenience all worthwhile. She was totally surprised and delighted and it made their photo shoot a lot of fun. As we drove away I thought, well, that’s what the parents of the bride are for, right? And we were delighted to delight her.

Then I thought about the Lord, when it’s time for Him to come for His bride. I thought about how much he wants to delight us, to take us to His home and love us as only He can. Later that evening, as I watched my new son-in-law wait with great anticipation for the moment when his bride would walk toward him, I thought of how good our God is, to wait so patiently for us, to love us that much. And as joyful as the day was for all of us, I knew it was nothing compared to the joy we will all know on that day when Jesus comes for us.
“And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Now the dwelling of God is with men and he will live with them. They will be his people and God himself will be with them and be their God” (Revelation 21:3).

Come, Lord Jesus, come!

God Doesn’t Go “Poof”

2007-06-27T10:08:00.000-06:00

The other night I went to see the latest box office rage, Evan Almighty. I enjoyed the first film, Bruce Almighty, produced by Tom Shadyac, so decided to try the second. The comedy had some hilarious moments - like when God suddenly appears in the back seat of the main character’s vehicle and he screams in fear. God says, “Let it out, son, it’s the beginning of all wisdom.” And then there were a couple of scenes that brought God’s truth to the wide screen.

Like the scene at a restaurant, when God shows up as the waiter. He chats with the wife of the man who would be Noah, and tells her (I’m relying on my memory here, so the words may not be exact) – “If a person prayed for patience, do you think God would just go “poof” and give her patience? Or do you think God would give her the circumstances in which to develop patience? And say a person had prayed that her family would draw closer together – do you think God would just magically make that happen or would He put that family in circumstances that gave them the opportunity to be closer?” The woman sees the wisdom of his words and goes back to her husband.

I’ve been thinking about the truth in that scene, in light of my own prayer requests lately. For instance, in light of my prayers for my writing, specifically my new book, One Smooth Stone. It’s not likely that God will go “poof” and make it an instant overnight success. But He will create the circumstances around that work that will lead me and teach me much. It will be an opportunity to learn and grow both in terms of the world of publishing, and in terms of my relationship with Him. It’s another example of how God is often not so much concerned with the end result as with the process.

And that brings me to the difference in our perspectives and the need for me to adjust
mine. I want to see my book on the best seller’s list. God wants to see it change lives. I want to become known as a writer. God wants me to know Him more.

I’m thankful for the reminder. And I’m thankful that I know God well enough to trust Him with the process. As he said to Evan – and to me through that crazy comedy – “I’m doing it because I love you.”

Almost There?

2007-05-29T11:01:00.000-06:00

I plunked down into the largest, most comfortable chair in our family room, looked around me and groaned. "Will we ever be ready?" I asked my husband. He chuckled. "Almost there," he said, "Almost there." I didn't like that word 'almost,' but I recognized he was right. Even though the house looked like a hurricane had struck, with tools and cans of paint scattered everywhere, boxes half full and bags brimming to the top, I did concede that we were getting closer to our goal. The house is almost ready to show to a realtor.

It's been two months or more of constant work, laying new rug, washing and painting walls, replacing doors, fixing and adding trim, sorting through closets and drawers and making umpteen trips to local shops in search of boxes. And I concede it has all been worth the effort. Our home is looking so good I'd like to stay and live in it for a while longer! But that is not to be. It's time to move on.

Our spiritual life can often seem like this same process. Sometimes we look at what seems like the chaos of our lives and we think, will we ever be ready to meet the Lord? We put in a lot of work and effort, doing what we think is expected of us as Christians. Sometimes we can see good results and are encouraged, but often it seems like we take two steps forward and three back. So we try harder and over time we can see that we are making progress. We might even start to think we're almost there.

But we're wrong. Working hard at the spiritual disciplines is a good thing, but if we believe that's what is going to get us 'there,' we've slipped into a mentality that denies the power of the gospel and the power of what Christ did for us on the cross. You see there is nothing we can do to get there - nothing we can do to make God love us more - nothing we can do to make us worthy of entering into the presence of Jesus and His Father. Nothing.

Jesus has done it for us, by sacrificing his life, shedding his blood and taking on our sin so that we are able to stand justified before God Almighty. The astonishing mystery of that act is the pivot of history, the pivot of our very lives. The moment we recognize that Jesus died for us, we are free from having to work to 'get there.' We have already arrived.

All that we do from that moment on should not be from a sense of duty or need to do more to please God. It is rather an outpouring of our love for Him and the outpouring of His love through us. Perhaps the most profound and most effective phrase in scripture tells us this - "Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10) That is the moment of arrival.

Is it time you moved on?

2007-05-10T09:48:00.001-06:00

Incongruent Things
By Marcia Lee Laycock

Last Sunday I was struck by the image on our church bulletin. It's a picture of a clay pot, with a scripture verse below it. I think I liked it and was moved by it because I love incongruent things - things that somehow just don't fit. If you've been reading my column, the Spur, for long, you know I often use such things in my devotionals. This is another example.

You see the pot is quite ugly - it's wrapped in burlap and has a twist of jute around its neck. It has no handles, and the neck looks a little too tall for the rounded base. But these are the words that go with it - "He shall be a vessel unto honour, sanctified and meet for the Master's use, and prepared unto every good work" (2Timothy 2:21). The context of the scripture is well known. The Apostle Paul is warning his apprentice, Timothy, not to associate with "ignoble things." He is telling him to avoid "godless chatter." He goes on to exhort him to "preach the word." All good advice for us to follow.

But that's not what struck me when I saw that picture and read that scripture. (Which I suppose goes to show that we must be careful how we handle the Word). What struck me was another truth that I believe all of us can testify to. We've all heard the expression, God uses cracked pots. The pot in that picture does not look like a "vessel unto honour" or an "instrument for noble purposes," as the NIV reads. The pot looks very common, very un-noble. It also looks well used.

Many of us tend to think that God will only use the 'giants' of Christendom to accomplish His purposes - those who are especially gifted - those who can speak well, write well and present themselves well. But God is not limited by our perspectives. He sees the heart, and looks for one that is humble before Him. That is all He needs to work mighty things.

We see this principle over and over again in the Bible. David was the youngest in his family, a mere shepherd boy when God chose him to be king of Israel. The woman at the well was an outcast in her town when God chose her to lead many to Jesus. The apostles were ordinary fishermen when He called them to be the leaders of His church.

Though we do not always look nor act 'noble,' God can and will use us to accomplish His purposes. Though we often fail and have motives that are less than pure, God can and will continue to teach us and lead us into places of amazing discovery and profound service. That fact gives me great hope. It also makes me want to bend my knee before a Saviour who extends such amazing love and grace to us all.

He is, indeed a God who loves the incongruent things in life. In fact, He created them - things like you and me.

That's Just Life

2007-05-07T18:35:00.000-06:00

That’s Just Life
By Marcia Lee Laycock

As I waited in the line-up at the post office the other day I overheard a conversation that is quite common for this area of the world. One person asked after the other and the response was, “Fine, but too busy.” The other responded, “That’s just life here now, isn’t it?”

The comment arises from living in a province/county/town that is at the height of economic boom. We here in Alberta Canada have seen unprecedented growth in business, housing and population. As I zoomed into the traffic on our main highway the other day I had a moment of nostalgia for the days when it was not so. This fast pace takes its toll. I find I’m often rushing, often trying to think in several directions at once and often afraid that one base or another hasn’t been covered. And I realize it has indeed become, “just life” for me and those around me.

And then I realized that expression is really an oxymoron – something that does not, or should not, make sense. Life is not “just” anything – it’s all we have, a gift from God that should be cherished every moment, not lived at a pace that prevents us from truly experiencing it. When we live at that pace we risk missing life entirely – missing our family, our friends, the needs of those around us. And most important of all, we risk missing God and what He intends to bring into our lives each day.

At a retreat I attended recently the speaker commented that Jesus always lived in the moment. He lived life to its fullest every day, yet never rushed, never worried about what wasn’t being done, never fretting over tomorrow or tried to get ahead of himself. How did He do it? Jerusalem wasn’t so different from our here and now. It was a busy place of commerce, the crossroads for streams of journeying people. No doubt Jesus could have been, indeed was, a busy man. So what was different for Him?

The key, I believe lies in the words Jesus spoke to the Pharisees in the book of John, Chapter 5. “By myself I can do nothing; I judge only as I hear and my judgment is just, for I seek not to please myself but him who sent me.” (v.30).

Jesus knew where His strength came from, where to go for peace, and who to listen to. He was so in love with His Father he wanted only to please Him. Jesus had a lot to do in a very short time, yet he did not rush – He knew His Father was in control of the timing. He worked with people who were slow to understand and constantly messed up - yet he did not get frustrated. He knew His Father loved them deeply and had sent Him to die for them. Jesus was ridiculed and scorned and ultimately handed over to those who hated Him – yet he never retaliated. He knew His Father was in control of the beginning and the end of His life.

In short, Jesus knew the Father. It made all the difference in His life and it makes all the difference in ours. It’s the difference between “just life” and “life to the full” (John 10:10).

A Long Lonely Road

2007-04-26T10:53:00.000-06:00

I made a discovery this past weekend. There are not many people on the highways of northern Saskatchewan on a Sunday morning. My husband and I attended a conference in Melfort SK. and unfortunately he took ill on Saturday night so rather than attend the church service as planned, we decided to run for home. The Flu, or food poisoning had high-jacked our plans. It’s an eight hour drive so we left as soon as we were able Sunday morning.

I don’t usually like driving for that length of time; I have a hard time staying awake after three to four hours. I knew my husband would sleep most of the way, and I can’t drink regular coffee so I started praying that the Lord would keep me alert. I knew there would not be much to look at as we drove. Or so I thought.

It’s a rather melancholy time to drive the prairies. Everything is a pale tawny brown – no shoots of life showing yet. We saw a small group of pronghorn antelope – just in time to slow down and avoid hitting one of them. They were the colour of the prairie but for their distinctive white markings. The skies were the colour of lead and a faint haze often sprayed the windshield. The last of the snow had melted that week, leaving large pools of water on the surface of the ground. Birds were everywhere. We saw flocks of Canada geese, hundreds of ducks and large graceful white swans flying high on their way north.

As our vehicle sped across the prairie I thought of how tiny we would seem to those birds looking down from such a height. Compared to their fragility, I tended to think of us as the stronger entity, but then I thought of how they would see us. Our vehicle probably looked like a dinky toy, its noise muffled or perhaps even muted by the distance. To those birds, we were probably quite insignificant as they set about their purpose in migration. We weren’t even a small distraction to them.

Then I pondered how God sees us from on high. We aren’t a distraction to Him, either. We are his focus. How astounding to realize that! God’s eyes are continually on each of us, whether we are sitting in our living room, in a church sanctuary, or speeding across a lonely prairie at 100 kilometers an hour. He knows where we are, He’s watching out for us, and He cares where we are going.

King David’s psalm 121 states this plainly. He tells the people of Israel – “… the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore” (Ps.121:8).

The Lord did keep me awake and alert on that lonely drive across the prairie. He gave me lots to see and lots to think about. Wherever we are, He is there - above us, before us, behind us and beside us. With us always. What a comfort!