Sluggish Systems - Marcia Laycock

This is a recent edition of my column, The Spur

I had a friend over recently to have a look at my computer because I was having a few annoying problems - nothing that shuts everything down, but annoying things that get in the way of it being able to function the way it should. The whole system was kind of sluggish. Shawn checked for adware and spyware and began to clean things up. He often mumbled, "hmmm... lots of pollution here."

The programs he installed will help to keep that pollution to a minimum and make my system run more efficiently.Our lives are a lot like that - we get polluted by our own sin, the distractions of the world, etc. etc. You've heard it all before. But do we do anything about it? How often do we do a 'virus check' or run spybot on our lives? What have we installed that will help our ‘systems’ run more efficiently? The more often we do it - the more often we take the steps we need to get rid of the junk in our lives - the closer communion we will have with the Lord.

My husband preached a great sermon on Sunday that relates to this. Okay, I'm biased, but it really was.(If you’d like to hear it click here). Sometimes it astounds me how things that we have known since becoming a Christian can suddenly hit you between the eyes and you have an 'epiphany' so to speak. This was one for me - that we can have a relationship with Jesus that is the same as the relationship he has with his Father!! Astounding! Profound! And true.

Look at John 10:14,15 – “I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me – just as the Father knows me and I know the Father …”I so look forward to the day when we will be in his presence, face to face, and all the pollution will be gone. But for now we are able to move toward that kind of communion. The challenge is to get all the inhibitors out of the way so that the communion will be whole and clear.

My friend Shawn warned me that the programs he installed on my computer would help but not completely cure the problems. "None of them will catch everything," he said, "but each one has its strengths." It's a combined effort. Kind of like the combined effort of praying, reading the word, attending church, teaching Sunday School, reaching out to our friends and families, writing the words God gives us to glorify Him. Put all of those together and it's a pretty powerful program that leads to communication.

I think maybe it's time I started using the programs God has built into my life to help me reach that place of communion with Him. Some of them have been sitting idle for a while and things have gotten a little sluggish.

Blessings to you all as you strive toward that place of whole, pure, delightful communion with our Father.

The Christmas Guest - Donna Dawson

As Written in the Journal Argus' column 'Out of the Blue'

Donna Fawcett
Author of Thriving in the Home School--A Parent's Guide
Author of the Donna Dawson books Redeemed and Word Alive Press's 2007 feature novel The Adam & Eve Project. www.inscribe.org/donnadawson

The Christmas Guest

I’ve been asked many times what Christmas means to me and have always been able to sum it up in one incident that happened many, many years ago.

I was quite young and had already enjoyed the excitement of unwrapping my gifts. Being the youngest of six children, you can well imagine the mayhem in our household on Christmas morning. But as the noise of the gift exchange faded and the preparation of the feast ahead commenced, the old bell chime at our front door rang.

Anyone familiar with our family knew that the front door was never used so when the shrill ring announced a guest, we crowded into the front hall curious as to who it could be.

Dad opened the door, welcoming onto the narrow carpet of the hall the blast of a winter storm and a ragged figure. The strong smell of an unwashed body told us instantly that our Christmas guest was a homeless wanderer and I was sure that she would be quickly sent back out into the bitter blast from whence she had come.

She carried a covered bird cage that held a thin, shivering rabbit—her only companion—and she was clothed in bits and pieces of cast-offs that had seen better days. Grey, greasy hair hung in limp and stained ropes around a thin, wrinkled face. Her eyes had that watery, faded essence to them that comes from living too long in the streets and she hunched into her scraps of clothing as though to shoulder off the wild winds.

As young as I was, I wondered why my parents didn’t just tell the old woman to be on her way. After all, it was Christmas Day—our family day—and she really shouldn’t be bothering people—so I thought. She had come to the door, fingers blue with the cold, asking only for a bit of lettuce for her bunny, and I watched in amazement as my parents ushered her in and settled her near the fire. Their kind gesture became a lesson of true Christian love stamped firmly into my youthful mind—one that I will never forget.

My mother, as tired as she was, asked the old girl if she had eaten.

“Not in awhile,” was the timid reply amidst the chattering of teeth.

“Come join us for dinner, then. It would be our privilege.”

I was floored. My parents were inviting this dirty, smelly, strange woman into our home for Christmas dinner? And so I watched with fascination as Mom and Dad settled this new guest at the head of our table and treated her to a feast such as she had probably never had. They would have offered her a bed for the night too if she had agreed to stay, but the old woman had her fill, warmed herself by the fire for a bit longer, then creaked to her feet again and headed to the door.

As I watched her thank my parents, tears in her faded eyes, I understood what shame was for the first time in my life. I, who had been taught about a God who loved me enough to send his Son to earth as the child of a poor carpenter, hadn’t thought enough of that love to pass it on to someone who desperately needed it. And as young as I was—I knew better.

My parents had taught me of the love behind the first Christmas. My church had taught me of it. But until that Christmas Day, when a vagrant landed on our doorstep, I hadn’t really understood it. As I watched my Mom and Dad fuss over society’s outcast, I began to see what sacrificial love really was. In that brief span of time, my parents showed me the true spirit behind Christmas—a giving of one’s self with no thought of gain—a helping hand to those who are without help—a demonstration of love for love’s sake alone.

Since that time, I’ve seen many Christmases come and go. None have affected me as that one did but all have reinforced the beauty of that one moment in my own history. And that single moment reminds me every year to look beyond my safe, warm cocoon and remember the reason for the season. May God bless you with a very Merry Christmas!

January, February . . .

It's January, all must change
my resolutions cry it!
I'll clean the cupboards, shine the glass
completely change my diet.
The constant list of things I need
has changed from Christmas treats
to organizers, storage boxes
and a set of sheets.

It's February, nothing's changed
the bathroom scales decry it
(that frozen stash of Christmas treats
has sabotaged my diet).
The hopeful list of things I pledged
discreetly tucked away --
ten months to do just as I please
until next New Year's Day!

c. 2004 - Violet Nesdoly

****************************
Happy New Year everyone! Hopefully you'll do better with your resolutions than I usually do with mine.

This bit of light verse was first published in a Faithwriters Anthology and also in the poetry journal Time of Singing.

The Day God Laughed - Marcia Laycock

This piece has been around - in the Edmonton Journal, Living Light News, Ponoka News and on the web. I read it at a Debbie Zepick concert last week and almost broke down. What God has done never ceases to amaze and humble me. Merry Christmas, everyone! :)Marcia

“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 about 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!