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.

Long Live the Love - Karen Toews

Roses to say "I love you" when we can't be together on Valentine's Day.

My husband, Derryl, and I have a long love story, in spite of our young ages (honestly - our total is less than 115). It started back in elementary school, when my now-father-in-law was the pastor at our church. Our families shared many visits and meals - and though Derryl and I are the same age (whoops, now you have the age mystery figured out), I spent more time doing girl fun with the younger sisters than with the cute, cool guy who sometimes had the "older brother" attitude. There were the occasional sparks that expressed our mutual attraction and when we were about years old, Derryl gave me a Valentine's card with 6 red cinnamon heart candies taped to it. That wasn't as surprising as the fact his is the only childhood Valentine that I saved; it survived all the years of purging my cupboards and boxes of papers. I still have it.

The preacher's kids have to move when the preacher follows another church call and it was a sad day when we said good-bye to the family. Winnipeg was a world away from this prairie farm girl, and at the age of 12, Derryl's and my long distance friendship lasted about one letter's worth.

A couple summers later, surprise of all surprises, my farmer father agreed to make a road trip (albeit driving 16 hours straight through in one day) to visit Derryl's family. I had looked forward to seeing all of them - but I was definitely disapointed to get there to discover Derryl was away. He had a job picking fruit with his uncle in the Okanagan. The fact this guy had ambition was lost on me - I just thought, what a bummer.

Four years later, another summer trip to Minnesota for a family camp where the preacher and his family had moved. Was it the fact we were both sweet 16; or that I was wowed by Derryl's handsome, tanned and fit body; or that the two of us had a history which the other teenage girls didn't? It was soon evident - the chemistry was there and we spent as much time together that was allowable. It was a true sweet summer romance, topped off with a last-night kiss under a huge oak tree - and it was short - as I was soon back home in Alberta where after a couple notes in the mail our relationship again went dormant.

Three years later. After high school, to avoid conscription to Viet Nam, Derryl moved back to the country of his citizenship. Through his extended family I had heard he was living in Calgary and on my next visit there I phoned him up, cold call. He'll never let me forget that I was the one who contacted him, but this seemed to be our pattern: this time it was the set-up for the proverbial "the rest is history". Two years later we were married, which is now over 37 years ago.

In fun, we accuse our parents of arranging our marriage (my mother-in-law was one of the servers at my parent's wedding) and they just didn't tell us. We do feel that God directed our lives to be together. Like many long-term relationship commitments, ours has been one of challenge, adventure, fun, disappointment, growth and joys of children and grandchildren.

It's been a long love life, one I pray God allows us to continue to share for many years to come.

"Let your own fountain be blessed, and enjoy the girl you married when you were young...." Proverbs 5:18a

LOVE IS A BRIDGE CROSSED by Lynda Schultz

A tiny cry
Lustier now
One large finger reaches
Five tiny ones grasp
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is born.

A solid thump
Dignity hurt
Tears fall, wailing starts
Some comfort sought
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is strengthened.

Oh lonely walk
School begun
Strangers at each turn
Seek kindred souls
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is started.

Cross my heart
And hope to die
The pledge is given
Friendship forever sealed
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is cemented.

This sweet love
The first to be
With every intention
Of lasting past forever
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is expanded.

Long black robes
And sweaty palms
Fine speeches made as
Superior becomes equal
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is spanned.

Nine to five
Joyous terror struck
Until new minion is
Equal to old master
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is possible.

A coffee shop
Pumpkin pie
Double sugar, double cream
Eyes meet, hearts unite
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is completed.

Some angry words
Senseless battle
Second thoughts, wisdom prevails
One face turns to another
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is repaired.

Two, then one
Alone again
House empty, heart full
One thing forever sure
Hand reaches out for hand
A bridge is gone.

In stillness now
The bonds released
Peace fully and forever known
A nail-scarred welcome
Hand reaches out for hand.
A bridge is crossed.

A Rosy Valentines - Dorothy Bentley

I woke up early the day before Valentines Day, and the house was empty, which almost never happens.

Odd.

I wandered around, looking in all the rooms, inspecting the coat closet to see which boots were gone.

Strange.

Did they all ditch me and go to church without me?

I texted my older son, who has a habit of going to the early service at church on Sundays, with his friends, to leave time for doing other things during the afternoons. He had no idea where his dad and younger brother were.

I decided to relax and have a cup of herbal tea while I had some peace and quiet.

Without know where they were, though, my imagination went wild.

What if they went to the store and got into an accident and that is why they are gone so long.

Or maybe they did ditch me and go to church and were sitting at the back and my older son didn't know there were even there. Why wouldn't they have woken me? I love going to church!

On and on went my imagination.

A little while later, my husband and young son came home with gifts.

My son had bought several different types of chocolates, including a bag of Hershey's Kisses, given to me with his hugs and real kisses.

And
my husband brought me a dozen velvety red roses.

I felt so spoiled and blessed!

Why had I panicked? Why had I doubted their love?

When I look at the roses, a little wilted but still alive after more than week, the thought crosses my mind that each rose stands for one month that my husband loved me and was faithful to me, just in the last year. (There were plenty of years before that one!).

I am so thankful for his love,
yet it is just a shadow, a mirror of the love my Heavenly Father has for me.

He is faithful always,

Loving always.

Help me not to panic, Lord, when I am going through a time of uncertainty.
Rather, help me to remember my dozen roses, the twelve months of my husband's love and faithfulness, which in turn will remind me of You.