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.

Counting My Blessings by Loretta Bouillon

Here I sit, in a Starbucks in Vancouver, listening to jazzy Christmas songs. I am fortunate to have a friend in the city that welcomes me any time I need a place to escape the north, collect my thoughts and write. Starbucks is packed with Christmas shoppers that need to take a break and refuel. As I happily tap on my laptop, the barista in front of me is dressed in a red festive Starbucks t-shirt with a saying on her back: “Let There Be Bright”. I don’t really know what it means, however I take it as a positive Christmassy message.

  

I love Christmas. This year, I have been reflecting on exactly why I love it so much. Of course, the obvious and most important—Jesus was born and because of Him and His life, we have hope and salvation for eternal life.

There are other reasons attached to the season that hold significance for me. Gary Chapman wrote a book called The Five Love Languages. He talks about how we all have one primary and one secondary love language. In his book he outlines five ways to express love: gifts, quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service and physical touch. These “love languages” translate into “I love you”. I have to admit, my “love language” is gift giving. It is also “quality time”.

Christmas means family time to me. Our traditions are not elaborate but they are ours and I cherish them. It is a time where my oldest son comes home from university and is reunited with his brother and sister. It is a time where our family shuts down for a few days and just enjoys being together.  On Christmas Eve we dress up in our best clothes and make fondue, play some board games and eat boxes of chocolate. We sleep in on Christmas day. Attempting to buy perfect gifts for my family, I usually end up buying too many of them. We savour our gift opening and spread it out through the day. We stay in our pj’s, go for walks (in our pj’s) and work on puzzles. We eat boxed appetizers, brie cheese and jumbo shrimp rings for dinner so no one has to cook. It is low stress and it is lovely.

During the week we have more family time. There is no agenda except being together. We save our turkey dinner until New Year’s Eve, invite friends to join us, and have the kids invite their friends as well. We have a house full of all ages and enjoy food and games. The kids often play a “mission impossible or a “hide and seek survive” game outside. They usually have all-night board games or movies and I am happy they still want to be at home with us New Year’s Eve.

My love languages are fed….lots of gift giving and quality time!

But as I walk the streets of Vancouver, I see people that will have no gifts at Christmas. Most likely they will not be with family. Some of them will not even have shelter or enough food. As well, I have a few friends in the city that are single, Christmas is a difficult time for them and they can’t wait for the season to be over. I think of the Syrian refugees, the families of the Paris attacks' victims and so many other people in the world that will not have their love languages met this Christmas.

I will still treasure my time with my family but this year I will make more of a conscious effort to pray for those people that will struggle through the season. And I will count my blessings.

A Bad Father Is Better Than None - Bruce Atchison

Father's Day can be a lonely time for children deprived of their dads through divorce or death. While their peers are happily making cards and buying presents, these unfortunate children feel unfairly excluded.

My dad was far from perfect but he occasionally demonstrated his fondness for me. In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote of one sublime moment when I felt that rarely-experienced parental bond strongly. In the following vignette, I had just been flown home for the summer holidays after six months at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, B.C.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I felt glad when I met Dad at the airport but my joy turned to disgust when he insisted on stopping at a bar on the way home. He had left me many times before in the Volkswagen with nothing to do, occasionally for hours, while he had fun with his friends. Now Dad kept me waiting once more, delaying my arrival. As my father drove through Fort Saskatchewan, the Volkswagen stalled and refused to start. After he tried to revive the engine and only succeeded in wearing down the battery, he slammed his fist in disgust on the dashboard.

It was fortunate that the breakdown happened by Ray's Auto Body Shop, a place where I often played. The old cars were extremely entertaining to sit in. I spent many happy hours in the yard, driving to many wonderful places in my imaginary world, whenever the adults weren't watching.

"Well, I guess that's it for the car. Let's walk the rest of the way home," Dad suggested. "I'll phone the shop and they can fix it." I agreed and Dad unloaded my suitcases.

"Is that too heavy for you?" he asked as I picked up a case with each hand.

"It's alright, Dad. I'm a big boy now."

The walk home in the warm sunlight was one of those sublime moments in my life. I felt that father-son bond as we talked and strolled through the familiar streets of my home town. "I wish Dad was like this all the time," I thought. I heartily longed for a real dad and not an alcoholic who occasionally hit Mom.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. This 196-page paperback, containing 6 black and white photos, is available through the PayPal-equipped InScribe website.