Handsome Paramedics, Painkillers, and Overall General Stupidity by Pamela Mytroen

“Whatever you do, don’t leave the path!” my brother warned us as we left for a day of hiking Lynn Canyon in North Vancouver.

But what do you do when you see groups of people sun tanning on the rocks, laughing, and cheering each other on as they took turns jumping off the cliffs to the pure mountain water below? Well, you just saunter off that little trail and have a little look.

What could it hurt to have a look? That led to, “What could it hurt to change into our bathing suits?” From there it was as slippery as those water-fall drenched cliffs. “What could it hurt to peer over the edge at the pool 30 feet below?”

The cool water pulled me into its shocking embrace and popped me back up again after I’d jumped the first cliff. Delicious. Let’s do it again. Well, we really didn’t have much choice. The only way out of the canyon now was to finish cliff jumping. There were two more cliffs to go and then a trail leading up and out.

The next cliff was easy. It wasn’t slippery like the first one with a waterfall running over its edge. (Never tell your mom that part.) My sister and sister-in-law took different routes down the jagged rocks. It jutted so far out that we couldn’t jump from the top. We scrambled down the outcropping of rocks until we found a safe place to dive. But I didn’t see the rocks lurking beneath the dark blue water.

That hurt, I thought, when I dove in and struck my knee on a sharp rock below the surface. But the cool mountain water numbed my knee until I swam to the shore. When I rolled over and sat up, I saw something I’d never seen before. My knee bone. I was delighted at its white shine until the blood began to pour out.

People who cliff dive are all of one category: lunatics. So when I’d hurt myself, everybody joined in for the rescue. A stranger ripped off his t-shirt in slow motion to the tune of “Just when I needed you most” and sent it down for me to wrap my knee. Blood soaked it within seconds. I fell when I stood up. So somebody called the Ambulance and reported that a fellow cliff diver broke her leg. People, looking like little dots on the suspension bridge far above, waved at us and ran to the nearest pay phone (this episode was before the Renaissance) to call the Vancouver Fire Department and said they needed Paramedics to scale the cliffs. Some other enthused cliffie called the Vancouver Police Department to block off the suspension bridge. They would need to make room for the nearly "paralyzed" victim to be transported across.

The paramedic that strapped me into a harness and guided me up the cliff had a smile as decadent and tempting as dark chocolate. The throbbing in my knee became the rhythm to “We’ve only just begun...”, especially as he carried me over the suspension bridge swinging high above the canyon. All traffic was blocked from the bridge until I was safely across. Crowds of onlookers drooled in jealousy at a fellow cliff-diver in the arms of Donny Osmond.

Several stitches later and water on the knee erased the memory of the handsome paramedic and caused me to ask for my Bible and an extra painkiller instead.

Because I was such a wise young person, I was quick to share many spiritual lessons with my parents immediately after calling them from the emergency room: First of all I shared with them, with bitter disappointment, that good-looking paramedics never stick around. And they don’t help take away pain. God does. Secondly, listen to your big brother when he tells you to stay on the path. When you leave the path for a little look, it can lead to a little mishap. Thirdly, when you do have a mishap, God is there. “For He will give His angels charge concerning you, to guard you in all your ways. They will bear you up in their hands, lest you strike your foot against a stone” (Psalm 91:11,12).

And as the years passed and my wisdom diminished with parenthood, I learned that you never, ever tell your children about the dorky things you did as a teen, lest they follow in your stupidity. Even if there was a gorgeous paramedic!

Pam (with a mysterious scar that her children often ask about...)

Where's the Room? - Lorrie Orr

Her days were busy, full of activity with little time to think. It was better that way. Better to fall into bed each night ready to sink into an uneasy sleep than to stare into the grim darkness that reflected the black hole in her heart. Better to fall into oblivion than to be crowded by the empty space beside her. Her heart was shattered, broken into shards that pierced and stabbed in every waking moment.

She rose with the morning light, filled with the ache of unshed tears for the loss of her beloved husband, Jacob. She moved through the day, caring for the needs of her guests. Rooms filled at a steady pace because of the egotistical whim of far-off Caesar. It was a nuisance, this census, but it was great for business.

Morning turned to afternoon and as the sky darkened, every room was taken. A knock sounded at the door and she went to answer it, a refusal already forming on her lips. The inn was full. She’d rented out even her children’s room, placing a mattress on the floor in her bedroom for them to sleep on. These travelers would have to find somewhere else to sleep.

She opened the door and saw a young man with tired, desperate eyes.
“Please” he said, “we need a place to stay for the night.” He gestured helplessly towards his wife.

The innkeeper’s eyes fell on the young woman leaning against her husband. One hand protectively cradled her enormous belly. The innkeeper looked into the woman’s face and read weariness in the drooping mouth and eyes ringed and dark. A question formed in her mind and was answered unspoken as the woman closed her eyes and clung to her husband. When the woman opened her eyes and returned the innkeeper’s gaze a flash of womanly intuition passed between them. The innkeeper sighed.

She knew that her hotel was full to the brim – there was no room anywhere. But how could she turn away travelers with such a compelling need?

“There’s the stable – it’s dirty, but the hay is clean and the animals provide some warmth. It’s all I have,” she offered hesitantly.

Relief washed over the faces of the young couple.
“Thank you,” they said as they turned towards the small cave behind the inn. “Thank you so much.”

The innkeeper’s thoughts strayed often to the young couple throughout the evening. When the pace at the inn slowed down, her guests replete and quiet, she collected clean linens and a container of hot soup and walked out into the starry night towards the stable. With only her husband there, the young woman might want some female companionship, someone who knew a little about giving birth.

In the hours that followed, the innkeeper and the husband bathed the young woman’s face, held her hands, and encouraged her labor. Their reward came as a squalling but perfectly formed child slid into their hands. The innkeeper wrapped the baby boy tightly, then, with a smile, handed him back to his mother.

An amazed look of joy filled the parents’ faces as they gazed at their son. The sight took the innkeeper back to the memories of Jacob’s exuberance at their children’s births. But there was something different here - the innkeeper sensed that she was in the presence of someone extraordinary. She, too, admired this little child. He looked like any other tiny, wrinkled newborn, yet there was a tenderness about the scene that gently touched her raw, oozing inner scars. A single tear trickled down her face to the corner of her mouth. She bit her lip hard but was unable to stop the salty water from covering her face. Seeing her emotion the young couple told her the story of the child’s conception, and the promise that he was the hope for whom they had longed, that somehow he would be the one who could ease her pain.

“Could it be?” The aching woman reached out to touch the baby’s soft skin. “This child? My hope?”

The innkeeper walked back to her work, her emptiness filled by the healing presence of hope breathing softly in his mother’s arms.

Community - Bonnie Way

The midwife only had to ask one question to get the women in the room talking eagerly. Those who had already been pregnant told stories from their previous pregnancies and what they had learned, and even those who were pregnant for the first time like me pitched in with their experiences. I listened as they shared what they were dealing with, what solutions they had found to the problems they encountered, what questions they had. The midwife mostly listened, adding comments when necessary or asking another question to keep the discussion going.

As I walked out of the room, I felt encouraged. Somehow it was good to know that what I was going through wasn’t unique; that other women were also dealing with it and it was just a part of pregnancy. It was also good to hear their “can do” attitude, that pregnancy is normal and natural and something every woman can handle. They were realistic about their discomfort or questions, yet also upbeat and enthusiastic. I could see in their faces as well that this support and encouragement was deeply needed and helpful.

It made me realize how much we need communities in our everyday life. Too often in our modern, busy world, it is easy to get caught up in our day-to-day tasks and to ignore those around us. I go to work, come home to my husband, dash off to dance classes or youth group meetings, come home to start it all again. Until something like a group prenatal appointment reminds me of how important it is to share all of that with others.

As women, writers, Christians, mothers, wives, friends – wherever in life we are – we can benefit from other people who can share our struggles and our joys, tell us that they’ve “been there, done that” and pass on their advice.

Better Questions - Janet Sketchley

It’s great to find an excellent book or CD and discover it’s by a Canadian. Inside, I give a little cheer for my fellow citizen and bask in a bit of shared pride. We have some amazing, God-given talent in this country, and too often we don’t hear about it.

I feel the same way when I find a book or CD by a Christian. Little cheer for my fellow believer, and a bit of shared pride: “hey, that’s my brother or sister in the LORD.”

Although I’ve read some great writing by Canadian Christians, and worshiped to some great Canadian music, today I want to tell you about the new CD from my favourite Christian musician, who happens to be American: Todd Agnew.

Better Questions (Ardent Music LLC, 2007)

Artist: Todd Agnew

http://www.toddagnew.com/

Todd Agnew is the gifted songwriter who brought us the life-changing “Grace Like Rain” and “My Jesus.” The title of his new CD comes from the first track: “I’ve got better questions than I have answers….”

Better Questions’ music ranges from the rocky, driving “Least of These” and “War Inside” to the pensive “If You Wanted Me” and “Can I Be With You?” to the playful and catchy “Funny.” 

“Martyr’s Song,” co-written with novelist Ted Dekker, gives a poignant view of God’s longing to welcome His children into Heaven.

The songs are Agnew’s own, except for “Our Great God” (a duet with Rebecca St. James), “Can I Be With You?,” and the bonus track “Glorious Day,” which continues his tradition of reprising a public domain hymn in his own unique style.

Todd Agnew sings as everyman/woman, exploring Christians’ struggle to live right and challenging us to see past the labels we put on others into their hearts and needs. His lyrics leave no room for plastic Christianity.

The songs remind me of the group Casting Crowns, who also call Christians to authentic living, although Agnew’s music is heavier. His straightforward lyrics remind me of contemporary Christian music pioneer Keith Green, but they don’t have the harshness I sometimes felt in Keith’s delivery. There’s no judgement here, just an awareness of our common need for grace and a heartfelt “We have His heart, what is keeping us from being His hands?”

Better Questions packs a challenging message, but it’s no sermon set to music. Todd Agnew delivers vibrant music with raw, honest lyrics that could have come from our own souls—or our neighbours’. Like the old man in “A Corner in Memphis,” “he’s telling us our story, or at least his side.” It’s worth a listen.

Grace and peace,

© Janet Sketchley, 2007
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For devotionals, reviews and conversation, stop by Janet Sketchley's blog, God with Us: Finding Joy.