I'm Glad I Missed That Bus - Bruce Atchison.

Why doesn't God do miracles today? That was what I often wondered throughout my childhood and early adult years. The Bible is filled with accounts of supernatural healings, storms being stopped, days being lengthened, armies routed, food being multiplied, and dead people being resurrected. Not until a few years ago did I learn of a special sort of miraculous process that occurs continually, yet we rarely acknowledge it.

As R. C. Sproul once explained on his Renewing Your Mind radio program, providence requires much more in the way of miraculous power than any straight-forward miracle would. So many factors have to line up perfectly for the providential act to take place. I experienced many of these, one of the most notable being the time I missed the last bus home after a meeting of shortwave enthusiasts.

When I told Don, the man in whose house the meeting was held, what happened, he graciously let me sleep on his couch. Since he didn't provide me with a disposable razor or tooth brush, I looked dishevelled the next morning when I reported to work at the airports branch of the federal government. I usually brought a bag lunch to work but as I hadn't been home to make one, I ate lunch at the cafeteria. While speaking to an acquaintance seated across from me, I mentioned that I needed a new place to live as my current apartment was too noisy. She said the main floor of her house was vacant and asked if I would be interested in seeing it. When I arrived there the next Sunday afternoon, I knew that the place would be much better than that hole in the wall I currently rented.

Because of one missed bus, I ended up renting a much better place where I had three years of peace. The embarrassment I felt about waiting on the wrong side of the street and having to beg a night's lodging from the president of the Canadian International DX Club was far outweighed by the years of quietude I enjoyed at my acquaintance's house.

My upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir contains many examples of God's kind providence. Even his letting me join a cultic house church has redounded to his glory in that I now know the truth. Because of being deceived, I feel a burning desire to defend the Word.

My previous books, When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) also show the Lord's providence in my life, even though some experiences were far from enjoyable. Read more about them here. You're also welcome to write to me directly if you like.

Praying in Pink - Denise M. Ford

The CFL (Canadian Football League for anyone oblivious to the world of football) hosted a Pink Night on Friday, October 21. When my husband turned on the television to tune in the Calgary vs.

Saskatchewan game we discovered players, coaches, referees, and fans alike all transformed by touches of potent pink in varying shades. While my husband concentrated on catching up on how his favourite Calgary Stampeders were faring against the Saskatchewan Roughriders. I on the other hand felt like I had landed in one of those find the hidden picture puzzles, as I tried to spot all the many ways that pink had become the third team in the stadium.

It looked as if the pink fairy had literally pounced with a paint brush and dabbed it liberally throughout the playing field and spectator sidelines. Pink chinguards protruded from under helmets, pink tape wound about players ankles, arms and legs, pink shoelaces looped through cleats, quarterbacks and receivers grasped the football with pink gloves, pink penalty flags flapped from referee pockets and they shoved pink whistles into their mouths to target wayward players; pink hoodies, caps, scarves and toques dotted the bleachers, cheerleaders pushed pink pom-poms together to pump up their respective teams. Pink, pink, and more pink!! Even the television station logo promoted prominently in pink!

I couldn’t wait to call my Mom to tell her about Pink Night which proudly supports the ongoing battle against Breast Cancer. My Mom is a breast cancer survivor who this year celebrated 25 years since her mastectomy, a quarter century without cancer causing havoc in her body.

I’ll never, ever forget the morning of Mom’s surgery. I had come to stay at my parent’s home in Pennsylvania a few weeks before when my Mom received her diagnosis. This was no small feat since we lived in Massachusetts, I was 6 months pregnant with our second child and we were in the middle of moving to Virginia. Nonetheless I made the trip with our toddler Donnie in tow, leaving my husband to pack up and complete the sale of our condo.

I didn’t go to the hospital but waited at their home with Donnie. So the day began with the usual rescue from the crib, the happy snuggles as Donnie knew he would soon be free to explore. I kept glancing at my watch as I silently prayed for the surgeon to use his skill and expertise in my mother’s surgery. Suddenly the phone rang, and I quickly grabbed for it, hoping to cut off any unwanted news. Surprisingly it was my mother’s voice on the other end.

I pictured her in her hospital room, submitting to the inevitable process of getting ready for the staff to wheel her to surgery. But her voice sounded determined and focused. She simply asked me if Donnie was awake and if she could talk to him, because she had a right to talk to her grandson on his birthday morning. I took the phone to Donnie, telling him that Gammie wanted to wish him Happy Birthday. Then we both listened as she sang with joy and love, “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday Dear Donnie, Happy Birthday to you!”

Afterwards she simply said, okay, “Now I’m ready.”

She probably wasn’t even wearing any pink, the surgery staff probably didn’t have any pink paraphernalia to arm themselves with on that particular day. Perhaps only the prayers being sent by those who loved Gammie shimmered in a pink hue of loving energy.

Following successful surgery she told her doctors that she had to recover quickly as she was needed to help take care of her grandchildren. She repeatedly said that she prayed that she would survive at least five more years to see how her grandchildren would grow. To date she has celebrated her 50th wedding anniversary, her 81rst birthday, attended two grandchildren’s weddings, welcomed two great grandchildren, and this year sang Happy Birthday to Donnie over the phone for his 26th birthday! Now she hopes she lives as many years “as the Good Lord allows me.”

I am forever grateful that we are still only a phone call away, and I can continue to send powerful pink prayers of love to her from Calgary to Pennsylvania!



To read Denise's personal blog and writing website go to: www.walkingwithDustyandDee.com

Write it Down - Karen Toews

Probably all of us have attended writing workshops, strategy-planning sessions, business retreats - a sojourn where we brainstorm, discuss, and pursue clarity for future goals pertinent to that event.

These "exercises" involve the action of writing down goals, a process that requires thinking, then physically moving the pen or tapping the keyboard so that plan becomes a visual thing. This is not a new tactic, yet a useful tool to keep us moving forward in a specific direction.

If you've followed my blog over the last year (and more), you'll know that I've had challenges accepting setbacks with my physical fitness activities. Coming to terms with making changes I didn't ask for and/or want, has encouraged important soul-searching - evaluating priorities and trusting God for direction and comfort.

Thankfully, with His help, along with that of a lot of other friends (trained in massage, physio, acupuncture, chiropractic procedures, MELT therapy, etc.) I'm able to run again without pain - as long as I don't run every day and use a minimalist shoe. I've gained a new respect for this passion of mine and accept it as a gift to be used with care and thanksgiving.

This spring I committed to my desire to return to the racing scene and registered for the PEI half marathon, scheduled for October 16, 2011. Training went well - other than wiping out in June while running on the road, resulting in a knee gash, swollen bursa sac and some very painful ribs. I had a pretty flexible training routine: there were other activities happening, like taking grandkids to the beach, going for bike rides and overall, enjoying the sweet days of summer.

I drove to PEI with friends who were also running in the event; the day before the race we picked up our bib numbers and checked out the booths at the race expo. OptiMYz (a fitness magazine) had a promo for something free (I didn't win whatever it was) for those who dared to write down their projected finish time for the distance they were doing, and have your picture taken. Uh oh. From previous racing experience I knew how nervous I could get by predicting finishing times, thus I'd invariably go for the maximum end of what I thought I'd be able to do.

This race was for fun and throwing out caution (and possibly common sense), I jotted down a number on the low end of my wish-time, still knowing anything could go awry "tomorrow."

Within an hour, I was thinking, "what have I done?" - not wanting to look like I was totally dreaming. Then waffling back to "what does it matter if you're off by 3, or 5, or 10 minutes?" Regardless, the pre-race jitters were back just like the past: I rolled with it, still enjoying the day sight-seeing, eating the "right" food, drinking water and visiting the bathroom.

All because I'd written down a number.

Race morning. Muscle memory is a term runners embrace and count on - in spite of getting a less-than-restful sleep or your legs are lacking the usual "punch", those muscles of yours will remember what to do because they've done it so many times before. Well, my mind also remembered that my pacing on the first 12km would determine if I would have enough gas or time to finish well so I had to run smart.

I decided to hang close to a pace bunny and a group that were aiming for the same time I'd written down - resolving to pay close attention to my breathing and how I was feeling. With favorite worship songs in my mind, an eye on my watch, and prayers of thanksgiving to be enjoying this sport - plus some diligent effort - I did it. With more than a minute to spare.

A goal that became my focus - because I'd written down a number.

Where else do I write down goals, plans, dreams? Journals, work binders, devotional books and Bible margins. These words are important motivators and reminders.

But we have been given eternal writings, valuable signposts from the greatest designer of all.

"This is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel....declares the Lord. I will put my laws in their minds and write them on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be my people." (Jeremiah 31:33, NIV)

And if we're on His "team", we all win.

"Nothing impure will ever enter it, nor will anyone who does what is shameful or deceitful, but only those whose names are written in the Lamb's book of life.......and they will reign for ever and ever." (Revelation 21:27, 22:5c, NIV)


http://www.realfoodmatters.ca
(Photo courtesy of OptiMYz - Facebook)

an end and a beginning - Dorothy Bentley

One of the most difficult things happened to me recently

My Saturday Today column was cut



I phoned and politely pressed the editor for reasons

I wrote for the newspaper for seven-and-a-half years

They wanted more political

More opinionated

I have opinions

But they don't want mine




Turns out they cut another Christian writer, too

Turns out they don't want Christian opinions

Maybe we're too political




But

I have to say

I think it was really the hand of God

Chopping down some of the trees in my woodlot

I couldn't see the important trees

With so many standing



Now it's becoming more clear

God doesn't want me to be so busy writing

That I leave Him out of it



I am loving having more time

To pray

To worship

To write the outpouring of my Holy Spirit filled heart




I began a new blog

And it's more real

More raw

More full of Jesus

And I'm lovin' it





I hope He loves it, too