Our Daily Bread Revolt - Bruce Atchison

I actually had a friend once who said to her mother, "Then give them this," after she told her that there were starving people in India who would want that food. Though that mother had a point, her daughter's remark made her angry. In fact, she gave her daughter such a hard slap that it stung her cheek all the rest of that day.

We certainly can be picky about food, the Israelites especially so. Numbers 11:6 (KJV) shows how bored they became with God's provision of food. "But now our soul is dried away: there is nothing at all, beside this manna, before our eyes."

And why did God feed Israel this way? Deuteronomy 8:3 (KJV) explains why. "And he humbled thee, and suffered thee to hunger, and fed thee with manna, which thou knewest not, neither did thy fathers know; that he might make thee know that man doth not live by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the LORD doth man live."


But as sweet as manna tasted, the people wanted meat. Though God gave them quail to eat, he also did that to show them their error in complaining to him about the Manna. Numbers 11:20 (KJV) says that he wouldn't give them meat for five or ten days, "But even a whole month, until it come out at your nostrils, and it be loathsome unto you: because that ye have despised the LORD which is among you, and have wept before him, saying, Why came we forth out of Egypt?"

Children are much like those Israelites. I remember the terrible food we had at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind. They fed us such child-unfriendly food as parsnips, squash, and the worst coleslaw I've ever eaten. The liver was dry and the canned peas were a disgusting shade of greenish-brown. We also tired of lumpy oatmeal porridge which we had to eat most mornings.



It's understandible how eating the same food day after week after month after year after decade can become tedious. Nevertheless, we ought never to grow tired of spiritual nourishment from the scriptures. I wrote a blog post recently about how immature Christians just want to work signs and wonders rather than delving deep into God's Word. I find that I never tire of studying the scriptures. It's my prayer that none of us will ever tire of it.

Just Keep On Walking - Bruce Atchison

August's InScribe blog theme is one I can't relate to. This is because I have zero interest in competitive sports and those who play them. Neither do I care for games. Even so, I remember the first time I walked twenty-five miles and the exhilaration I felt while doing it.

In May of 1968, the federal government and OXFAM held an event called Miles for Millions in Vancouver, British Columbia. Having been exiled to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, I accepted the challenge of walking that distance to support the cause of feeding the poor. Not that I was that concerned about poverty but it was a good chance to get out of that disability prison camp for a while.

We had ideal  weather on that Saturday morning. The school bus dropped us off at the armory, where the walk began and ended, at eight-thirty. We each received a map, though I had no magnifying glass to read it, and a bag of raisins to munch on. Then we started out at nine.

I felt jubilant as I followed the throng. For the first time in Vancouver, I wasn't being watched. That freedom seemed similar to being allowed to visit my family for the holidays. No supervisor was there, telling me I couldn't do this or I must do that, either. The day was my own.

Heat and weariness overwhelmed me in the afternoon when I was half way through the walk. As I sat on the curb to recharge my muscles, the bus drove up. "Want a ride to the dorm?" the supervisor offered. I shook my head and insisted I'd go on to the finish line. There was no way that I'd quit and go back into captivity while I still had a few hours of freedom left.

Pushing myself to the limit, I shuffled into the armory at nine that evening. I proudly presented my map with all the checkpoints validated to the walk organizers. I had made it!

Our Christian walk is much like the one I participated in. The victory isn't won by one person but by all who go the distance. But unlike the Miles for Millions walk, we will be home with the Lord and the family of Christ when it's done. Like Paul said in Acts 20:24, I eagerly await crossing heaven's finish line.

WHY THE NEW CHURCH SEEMED STRANGE - Bruce Atchison

For adults, choosing a church can be a bewildering experience. Doctrines, worship styles, and liturgies vary widely from one denomination to another. Imagine how much more confusing going to a new church can be to children.

I was in that precise position in September of 1964. Having already suffered the shock of knowing I wouldn't return from Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind until Christmas, being forced to attend a different denomination's church each week confounded me even more.

On my first Sunday morning at the dorm, drivers from local churches arrived to bring us sight-impaired children to their worship services. When my supervisor asked which church I attended, I answered that I was a Lutheran. Nobody from that denomination came to the school so she sent me with the Anglican children.

The church was much fancier than the one I attended at home. For one thing, it had stained glass windows and ornately-carved pews. The building was also larger than the Lutheran church I was used to.

Having never seen kneeling pads before, I assumed they were foot rests. "Get your feet off there," a woman scolded. "Those are for kneeling on." I leaned forward and dusted off the spots where my shoes had rested as we waited for the service to start.

The hymns were different too. I didn't understand a word the congregation sang. It all sounded like "blah blah blah" to my uneducated ears. Not being able to read the hymn books, I stood mutely while everybody else sang.

The minister then gave his weekly homily. I recall only one of them regarding a donkey who wouldn't work on the Sabbath. I also remember him leading us in The Lord's Prayer.

Then all the  children were sent downstairs to Sunday School classes while the adults did whatever they did next. I never did find out what mysterious things happened upstairs while we heard Bible stories and played with play dough.

A woman rang a bell at the end of Sunday school and all the children stood in the isle between our cubicles. She prayed, asking God to help us be good little boys and girls. While the sighted children rejoined their parents, we waited for our driver to take us back to the dorm.

I certainly had many new customs and routines to learn at that residential school. Being only seven years old, these sudden changes were hard to take. No wonder I received so many spankings and detentions that autumn.

Bruce Atchison is a legally-blind freelance writer as well as the author of How I Was Razed, Deliverance from Jericho, and When a Man Loves a Rabbit. He lives in a small Alberta hamlet with his house rabbit, Deborah.

MORE THAN A MERE STORY - Bruce Atchison.

Though adults assured me the accounts were true, Bible stories seemed like fables to me when I was young. In the black-and-white comprehension of my juvenile mind, tales of crossing the Red Sea on dry ground or the walls of Jericho falling down had no bearing on my daily problems. God seemed to be a remote figure who perform miracles, such as healing blind people, long ago in "Bible times." Now he seemed to do nothing to help those who prayed to him.

While attending a vacation Bible school in my home town of Fort Saskatchewan during August of 1969, I heard the gospel for the first time. Until then, I believed I had to be a good boy or I'd go to hell. The glorious meaning of Christ's resurrection finally burst upon my mind, blowing away those unbiblical notions.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I described how Christ's resurrection took on a whole new dimension for me. In this excerpt, I wrote of the impact that the Easter Sunday service at the Church of the Nazarene had after I gave my life to Christ.

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Now that I was a born-again Christian, the Easter message held special relevance. In years past, it was merely a story like all the others in the Bible. Now I understood the tremendous price Christ paid for purchasing our forgiveness as well as why he needed to die and rise again the third day. I believed in previous years that Pontius Pilate defeated him. Now I understood that Jesus died voluntarily for everybody who put their faith in him and rose victoriously on the third day.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on this link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

What Could Be Better Than Kool-Aid and Cookies? - Bruce Atchison

Bruce Atchison

In August of 1969, I received something far more important than the usual goodies at a Vacation Bible School. From my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here's how my life changed for all eternity.

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Once we were settled down, Mrs. Blacklock began her lesson. "Did you know that you can have a personal relationship with Jesus?" she asked. As I had never heard that doctrine before, I listened all the more intently.

"The Bible says that we are all sinners and that nobody is good enough to go to heaven," she continued. "Going to church is nice but it won't save you on Judgment Day. Only believing in Jesus Christ will save you from going to hell."

I felt shocked. Could this honestly be true? No one told me about that before. I thought only wicked people went to hell.

"If you give your life to Jesus, he will come into you and live in your heart." This sounded impossible too. Jesus was up in heaven and God appeared uninvolved with his creation.

As she outlined how Christ died to pay for our sins and that we could be forgiven because he took our punishment, my heart stirred within me. Could this actually be true?

Then Mrs. Blacklock told the story of Nicodemus and how he was an outstanding religious teacher in Israel. Even with all his education and status, he had no understanding of what it meant to be born again. Suddenly, I realized the meaning of what Jesus said.

A few years previously, a Christian clown visited Jericho and performed magic tricks in the boys' Playroom. Along with the usual vanishing objects and interlocking hoops, this man told us how Nicodemus met Christ late one night. It was merely one of many Bible stories to me then. Now I realized that it applied to me as well.

On Friday, Mrs. Blacklock asked us a life-changing question. "Would you like to invite Christ into your heart and accept him as your saviour?" Though I could think of no serious sins of which I was guilty, except for stealing the glass lumps, I decided I had nothing to lose. I raised my hand and said yes. Our teacher led us in the sinner's prayer and then she welcomed us to the family of Christ. Though I felt nothing dramatic happen, joy and a sense that God was pleased with me filled my heart.

I ran all the way home, a distance of a few blocks, after the school ended. "I've been born again!" I exclaimed to the family as I rushed through the front door. They all stared at me, saying nothing. Doubtless, Mom and my sisters thought I had lost my mind. I felt let down because I thought they would understand this important life-transforming decision I had made. Either nobody told me or I failed to understand that not everybody would comprehend my spiritual transformation.

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This memoir and When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) are available through the InScribe site. Click here to visit the page for more information about these paperbacks.