God With Us by Ramona Furst

 

Kerosene lamps were being lit in the mission house. I heard my mother's voice speaking in a whisper to someone outside on the veranda. Later, the mission station's large generator started up the electricity for the compound and Baba, our much-loved African cook, coaxed me out of bed. My sister and I were to stay with another family while my mother had to go to the clinic. Our father, we were told, had been hurt.

 A rogue elephant damaging villager's crops and homes (in the Central African Republic near the Cameroon boarder) had been tracked down by a small group of hunters and my father, who had taken the lead, had been the elephant's chosen target when it turned and charged the group of hunters. Miraculously the elephant did the unthinkable, he picked up my father, crushed him against his chest but when he dropped him to the ground to trample him with a foot (which they often do) he stood briefly for a minute and then walked away. The stunned African hunters waited until the elephant was gone before rushing over to see if my father was dead. God had indeed been with him when he saved his life. Many of the villagers later began to listen to my parents speak about their God who cared enough to save this white missionary's life. 

Not until my father was recovering at home did my parents realize that our family was to be prayed for every February 11th throughout their time in Africa. 

My God encounters haven't been nearly as spectacular as my father's elephant accident, but I have always known when those tailor-made "I love you" moments from God have shown up. They have been timely, unique, suiting my personality and particular need. Even people outside my family who heard me say, "you won't believe what just happened" would often say, "Now that's a God moment for sure."

Unlike God’s presence with Israel, a presence that seemed to come and go, and unlike Jesus who walked with his followers for a limited time, I understand and give thanks for the work of the Holy Spirit who will be my constant companion. (John 14:16,17).

Jesus also said that this advocate would help me. The Holy Spirit does not just walk with me, he helps me to live a holy and godly life. He teaches me the things of God. And he empowers me for service in his kingdom. His help is indispensable for a follower of Christ.

What does it mean? It means that I am never alone. Even in my darkest times, he is with me. I can trust that no matter what might come my way, he will keep me safe. We can have no greater privilege than to have God with us. 

As Oswald Chambers says in My Utmost For His Highest (October 11): "When you cannot hear God, you will find that He has trusted you in the most intimate way possible - with absolute silence ..." 

With a recent and apparent season of silence, I give thanks and acknowledge the sign of intimacy that can be found in his silence. My response? As Oswald Chambers says it is to praise him.

"Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, to God who alone is wise, be honour and glory forever and ever. Amen." (1Timothy 1:17 NKJV)

Ramona Furst can often be found out of doors with her husband and two Labrador Retrievers. If she is not hiking, skiing or kayaking Ramona is in her office writing or painting.

Ethical Dilemma - A Matter of Choice by Ramona Furst

"Art, like writing, can be so frustrating," I thought as I trashed my third attempt of a sketch. "What am I missing? I love the challenge of faces. The planes, angles, contours, the tonal values..."

I studied the photograph from an upside-down position, noting how the shadows of my daughter's face accentuated her cheekbones."That's it," I thought, "I need to work first on the shadowy areas of the face, then move to the darker angles much like an abstract." As I picked up a pencil something within me whispered, "Nothing's ever black or white."

"Ramona, is that you? It's hard to know for sure with your mask on." Stepping away from the shelves lined with kidney and lima beans I didn't recognize the masked gray-haired woman standing two meters away from me, but I recognized her voice. "Joan! I haven't seen you in years. How are you?"

 We reminisced about how she founded an organization in the 1980's for clients who were terminally ill and how her volunteers assisted family members with their loved ones who were dying in the hospital or at home. "Do you remember," Joan asked as she pushed the mask back up and under her glasses, "your interview for the position to teach 'Orientation to Palliative Care' so we would have enough volunteers to help with our growing caseload?"

"I remember being nervous, hoping I answered all the hypothetical scenarios correctly. When you later offered me the teaching position, I often wondered why you chose me."

By now we had left the aisle of tinned foods and found ourselves walking towards frozen pie crusts and pizzas. "Yes," Joan replied, "I saw you struggle to keep your personal opinions to yourself even when family members or a dying patient asked, "What do you think?" You wanted everyone to have the best death possible and it broke your heart when you couldn't fix the families' emotional problems or the messy death some clients experienced and all the while making sure you handled things professionally. You cared. "

"And I remember. Joan, what you would say to all of us in your tiny office after one of our clients had died. It's their story and journey not ours."

"Do you remember what you said to your students hoping you'd see it remembered and written down in their journals?"

While I closed my now open mouth, Joan laughed saying, "Yes, I often read your students' homework assignments and take-home exams. You were quoted to have said, "Nobody knows the whole story, and nothing is ever black and white. You would tell them about the elderly couple who had been married for sixty-five years. Both of them were suffering from two very different diseases. You had earned their trust and they wanted you to 'help' them die together at home."

Yes, I remembered how miraculously my shifts were changed and I never had to care for this couple again after our conversation. God released me from my need to say anything. And yes, there will always be people who are suffering or have a terminal illness. Christians will reach different conclusions on whether or not they wish to support assisted dying, but the Christian gospel of God's love transcends all such discussions. As Paul said to the church in Rome,

 "For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38-39 (NRSVA).

Ramona Furst lives with her husband in Northern Ontario. She facilitated a bereavement support group for fifteen years, taught Orientation to Palliative Care for ten years giving input for the program's "Biomedical Ethics" module for students.  

Easter and the Coming of the Spirit ~ Guest Post by Ramona Furst

 

We had only been married for a short time when my husband's engineering company relocated us from Toronto to St. John’s Newfoundland. During the last leg of our road trip to what would be our new home, we experienced snow, rain and fog that often swallowed up all signs of life outside the car windows. We were told later it was a normal occurrence in Newfoundland. 

  

One of the perks of the new job was that my husband could pursue his love of sailing at the local yacht club crewing for members who had larger boats than our sixteen-foot dinghy. I was invited to come along and looked forward to the opportunity to see some of the outposts I had only read about in books. 

 

During the first leg of our excursion, we enjoyed sun, brisk winds keeping all hands on deck and trimming sails. Until that is, I first felt and blinked away tiny beads of moisture turning within seconds to a dense curtain of fog. As it thickened, the wind all but disappeared leaving us only the occasional muffled sound of the mainsail and jib flapping against the mast. 

  

Soaking wet I was about to locate the stairs down to a small galley to get warm when we all heard a loud thud. Near my feet, still, with its head bent at a crooked angle was a small bird. A disembodied voice said, “It must have been lost and tired and thought we’d be its safe haven, poor thing.” 

  

Before I could reply I heard what sounded to me like someone taking a deep breath. Then I felt the air all around us vibrate and a whoosh was released by a whale near where I stood. The watery spout and wake of the whale’s thrust up out of the water before disappearing away from our sailboat were so profound no one spoke for a few minutes. 

  

The Newfoundland fog and my close encounter with the whale make me think about the first chapter of Genesis. “The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.” (Genesis 1:2 ESV). 

 

The Hebrew word behind spirit is “Ruach” meaning “air in motion” and the same word for breath. When I come across a scripture passage in the Old or New Testament about the spirit, air or breath, I often think of a whale. What I find so intriguing is this word in Hebrew can also mean life. It is through one's breath that our words take form. No wonder the opening lines of the book of John are so powerful. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God.”  

 

I can relate to Jonah's encounter with his whale in the Old Testament. I have spent periods of my life believing I could run away from a God who I know full well inhabits all of me and all of creation because, “In Him we live and move and have our being.” Jonah survived the ordeal because God had prepared a place in the storm for Jonah to survive. This is the key take-away for me during this time leading up to Easter. Like the story of Jonah, the Holy Spirit breathes and propels me to a place of safety in every storm motivated by a sacrificial love. 

 

Christ is risen, He is risen indeed. Halleluiah! 

  

Ramona Furst lives in North Bay, Ontario with her husband and two black Labrador Retrievers. When she is not writing or painting she is in the bush hiking or on Georgian Bay kayaking.