Getting Back into the Swing of Things - T. L. Wiens

After a very different summer, I find myself at last wanting to sit down and write. Yesterday, I wrote a song. That’s not quite getting at my novel or taking on my usual two thousand words a day. But it was writing.

My world has been a bit upside-down as of late. I’ve talked to others who have been assaulted and found out most of them took three years to get back into the swing of things. In that case, I am very blessed to be getting back to regular life after several months. Or at least a form of it.

Of course, there is that small complication of our business being vandalized after I pressed charges against my attacker. That has other aspects of my life stalled. Our means of earning a living has been trashed and we have to rebuild before any money will be coming our way. My mind is jumbled by it all.

So it might be another song today. It doesn’t matter—it’s writing. Painful, heart retching writing that has me weeping at my piano. A journey with God that I know will leave me in a better place in the end.

Some might say, “Don’t do it. It’s too painful—why would you want to go there?” Others may question God’s hand in all of this. I’m going to trust God and His word on this one. And who knows, I might even write enough songs for an album.

“But is now made manifest by the appearing of our Saviour Jesus Christ, who hath abolished death, and hath brought life and immortality to light through the gospel:

Whereunto I am appointed a preacher, and an apostle, and a teacher of the Gentiles. For the which cause I also suffer these things: nevertheless I am not ashamed: for I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day.”

II Timothy 1:10-12

The Day God Laughed By Marcia Lee Laycock

 “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!

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Visit Marcia's website.

Why Pray Daily? - Bruce Atchison

When I gave my life to Christ in August of 1969, nobody mentored me in the faith. As a result, I drifted aimlessly through my first few years as a believer until a friend invited me to a cultic house church. Though they held many blasphemous doctrines, they also taught me some valuable truths.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed memoir, here is an excerpt that relates how I began communing with the heavenly Father daily.

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Though I petitioned and thanked God once in a while, as in the case of Mom finding me my new room, nobody taught me about the importance of having communion with him through prayer every day. That changed soon after I moved to Mr. Forcier's house. "Are you praying every day?" Terry asked me after church one Sunday as we ate lunch in Sister E's kitchen.

"No. Why should I? I don't need anything now."

"You really should do that, you know. Prayer is important because it's part of your relationship with Jesus Christ."

"Oh? I didn't know that."

"Well, it's true. You shouldn't pray just when you need something. The apostle Paul used to pray daily. He even said in his letter to the Ephesians that he prayed for his friends each day."

I considered this new concept as I ate and later as Sister E drove me home. "What if Felix or the Forciers overhear me praying?" I worried. "Jesus did say to go into your closet and pray so nobody else will hear? Will I lose my blessing or get in trouble with God if somebody overhears me?" As I pondered, I recalled that a science teacher once told me about white noise and the way its broad frequency spectrum drowned out speech. The sole source of that type of sound I had on hand was my radio.

Once I was alone in my room, I selected the F.M. band and tuned the dial between stations. Then I spoke in a low voice to Jesus. My first daily prayer only lasted a few minutes. Since nobody knocked at my door and demanded to know to whom I was speaking, as Mrs. R often did, I omitted the white noise from then on.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

My previous books are now available for purchase online by clicking here. You may click here to e-mail me directly as well.

The Strange Practice of House Dedication – Bruce Atchison.

During the seventies and eighties, I attended a cultic church. Not only did its self-appointed minister teach many aberrant doctrines but he claimed he received revelations directly from God. One of these was that all Christian homes must be dedicated to the Lord. He never told us the scriptural basis for this but Deuteronomy 20:5 fits it well. He added to this doctrine the superstitious beliefs that blessing homes kept out wicked spirits and that they attached themselves to evil possessions.

I described how this peculiar ritual was performed several times in my upcoming How I Was Razed memoir. In this excerpt from my manuscript, I relate how the cult leader himself dedicated my furnished room.

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Sister R, Brother H, and Sister E participated in the ceremony one evening a few weeks later. As Brother H waddled around my twelve-by-fifteen-foot room, reaching out his hands to detect demons, he pronounced blessings and rebuked foul spirits. Then he dabbed anointing oil on the corridor and balcony doorposts as well as the window frame.

After having gone over the whole room, including the closet, he hesitated. "I feel that there is still an evil presence in this room. Do you have anything here which is wicked, Bruce?"

"Well, I have some war memoirs by Spike Milligan. They do have some vulgar language in them I suppose."

"That's it then. You must get rid of those books. They're attracting demonic spirits."

My heart sank. I loved Spike's hilarious war memoirs. They contained some obscene humour, but that was how secular soldiers coped in battle. I also bought his comic novel, Puckoon, a fictional story of an Irish village divided by the Boundary Commission when the country was partitioned in 1924. As that book also contained some bawdy humour, I sighed as I dropped it and the other brand-new paperbacks in the garbage.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

My previous books are now available for purchase online by clicking here. You may click here to e-mail me directly as well.

A Wise Answer For Christian Schoolchildren - Bruce Atchison.

Evolution is now the default belief system in public schools throughout western countries. This places pupils of faith in an awkward position. Should they answer test questions as if they believed the textbook or should they stay true to the Bible and risk receiving a bad mark?

One church friend gave me a clever answer to this quandary in 1974. From my upcoming How I was Razed memoir, here is a valuable reply which satisfies the faith convictions of students as well as the needs of teachers.

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I faced a dilemma when I returned to science class that January. Like millions of public school students, teachers taught me that the theory of evolution was the only reasonable explanation for the origin of the universe. "What can I do about this?" I asked Sister E one Wednesday evening as we sipped coffee in her kitchen after the meeting. "I like science but I hate that Evolution junk."

"I know how you feel," she said as she set her cup on the table. "When I was going to school, I had a lot of difficulty with science. I didn't want to write that this or that was true. Brother H told me I should say 'scientists believe that...' or 'the book says...' when I answer test questions."

"Wow! I'll have to remember that. That's so cool. You mean I could just say, 'According to the theory, this happened,' or something like that?"

"Sure. You wouldn't be lying or betraying Jesus. All you're doing is telling them what you had learned."

"That's brilliant," I smiled. "Thanks for telling me that. I'll do that the next time I write a test."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

My previous books, When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), are now available online by clicking here or by clicking here to e-mail me directly.

True Brotherly Love - Bruce Atchison

We certainly live in a self-reliant culture. For example, people would rather drive than take the bus or walk. Many folks frown upon those who live on welfare payments. In my own experience, I've had friends avoid me after I've asked a favour of them for the second or third time.

On the other hand, I've striven to be as self-reliant as possible, even though I'm almost blind. This character attribute is good in moderation but it can cause us to miss out on being blessed by our brothers and sisters in Christ.

In December of 1977, I went on a short term missions trip with Operation Mobilization to the Mexican city of Saltillo. While there, we went door to door with tracts, held street evangelism meetings, and studied methods of spreading the gospel in foreign lands. From my upcoming How I Was Razed memoir, here's a vignette of how I nearly missed out on being blessed by a fellow Christian.

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Since the Americans and Mexicans did not celebrate Boxing Day, we resumed our usual routine. I was blessed again, this time by a kind deed done by a soft-spoken Mexican brother named Adin. "May I please wash your coat?," he beamed. "It looks a bit dirty."

"That's all right, I think it's clean enough."

"Please let me do this. It is my way of serving my fellow Christians."

As I was about to demur again, I suddenly realized that letting him help me would honour Christ. Apart from that, bright yellow tends to show the dirt quickly. I removed the contents of my pockets and handed the nylon jacket to him. As I watched, he rinsed it under a tap over a ceramic scrubbing board and poured a little laundry detergent powder on it. Then he laboriously scrubbed every inch of the coat, rinsed it under the tap, wrung it out thoroughly, and handed it to me. I thanked him several times for blessing me with his selfless act of service, feeling chided by memories of occasions when I forgot to express my gratitude.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

My previous books, When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), are now available online by clicking here or by clicking here to e-mail me directly.

My Writing Testimony - M. Laycock

I'm following Kimberley's lead. Thanks, Kim! :)

I began writing when quite young, and kept it up under the tutelage and encouragement of several teachers through grade school, high school and on into University. Then my life took a rather wild detour, taking me north to the Yukon. I wrote sporadically while there, finishing a fantasy novel and pages of poetry since lost into the dust of oblivion (some of it litearlly eaten by mice!).

Then God intervened. Our lives were turned upside down by the suicide of two friends, the disappearance of a neighbour's baby and the drowning of a friend's husband. Suddenly we began asking the "big questions," and God slowly and graciously led us to Himself, the true and only answer.

Two years after telling our pastor we had decided to "give Jesus a try," we found ourselves at Briercrest Bible College where my husband enrolled in pastoral studies. Caring for two little girls and taking classes when I could left little time for writing, but in my last year there a friend invited me to go with her to a seminar called Speak Up with Confidence, led by Carol Kent.

I wasn't too keen on going - after all, I'd never be a public speaker! ;) But I went along to keep my friend company.

As she taught about speaking Carol talked a lot about writing. The match was struck and the fire became a passion to write once again.

Shortly after we arrived in small town Alberta to begin pastoring our first church. My husband met with the previous pastor who had been a proverbial "one man show." Spence was feeling somewhat overwhelmed with all the responsibilities when the pastor said, "Oh, and I almost forgot - you have to write a weekly column in the newspaper and it's due tomorrow."

Spence came home and asked if I would put something together. That was the beginning of a twenty year run of my devotional column, The Spur. Then came my first devotional book, The Spur of the Moment, then another, Focused Reflections, then my novel One Smooth Stone won me the Best New Canadian Christian Author Award.

Now the second edition of The Spur of the Moment is going to press and a sequel to One Smooth Stone is in process. In between there have been articles and poems, short stories and full length novels, radio and video scripts, newsletters and even a play or two.

Through it all God has taught me much about myself, others and most importantly, about Him.

I'm excited to see what's around the corner, knowing He is going to bless me and others through the words He gives me to write.

The journey hasn't always been easy but it has always been joyful.