Based on a True Story by Katie Gerke

I felt untethered from God in my heart, mind, and soul. I had frayed endings of disconnect on my evening walk.

My usual route takes me past an old trailer park with flowering window boxes, tiny lawns festooned with wood trinkets and elderly residents sitting on small porch stairs. Out front, is a weather-beaten picnic table that would collapse under the weight of the next person to sit on it, and a flagpole with a tattered and sun-bleached Canadian flag that no longer can fly. The park looks so very weary from trying to hang onto the past.

On the opposite side of the path, the earth falls steeply away and a wall of matted Bramble bushes, and shrubs of Saskatoon, Gooseberry, and rose hips cascades down and flows out into a floodplain of Poplar trees, slick green fairways, and abstract shaped sand traps.

Once at the bottom, I intersect with a bike path that circumvents the city, and train tracks that connect the country. If my timing were right, I would be able to sit in awe of powerful locomotives pulling dozens of cars, melodiously streaming meters away from my toes. I envy the permanence of all those connections. 

The landscape then opens up to reveal a wide expanse rough fescue. The sound of buzzing crickets and the wind scratching its way through the tall grass, try to soothe me as I tried to straighten out my "train" of thought. To complete the circuit, I would go back up the ridge, into a neighborhood that has lost itself between new infills and boarded-up houses. Large trees cover over the street so densely that the sun is unable to penetrate.

I have a decision to make; do I go up towards the darkness or stay in the valley of light?

God, in a pristine voice, tells me, "Stop, turn around and face to where you came from; look, seek, search, focus, and separate what already has been seen from something never seen before. God was a grand, cottonwood tree standing as big as the North was from the South, and as wide as the East was from the West. As I slowly moved away from God, my gaze fell upon a patch of prairie grass, void of growth and vitality, and a large bush grew beside it.

This bush represented my abundant growth through my harsh seasons living with MS, and my triumphs since I accepted Christ as my Savior, in 2003. The extension of deadwood that remained lovingly attached around the sphere of green looks like a crown of thorns.

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him. James 1:12

I watched my past life and the life I could have had flash before my eyes and disappear. A feeling of melancholy rolled over me in the clash of emotions of the past and present. When I lifted my eyes, I saw a telegraph pole representing the stick figure of myself collapsed onto a more steadfast pole – that of the shoulders of Jesus.

"The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become." Malan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

In juxtaposition, that image was Jesus carrying the cross, of my sorrow and pain, when he went through the streets of Jerusalem to Golgatha. I wept. His grace had showered me with tears. After I blinked my eyes dry, I saw an upright telegraph pole, seemingly to stand higher than all the rest. The empty cross.

After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight. Acts 1:9

I triumphantly ascended to the top of the ridge. On the green space, an oscillating sprinkler showered water high and over my path. As I sat under the cold and delicate mist, that fell like an ethereal curtain of diamonds, a rainbow was created, bringing down the Holy Spirit to dwell in me.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!2 Corinthians 5:17

Katie Gerke was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1989 and ever since, significant work continues to be done in and through her regardless of the loss of ability from the neck down. Her inability to use both arms has blessed her with the ability to creatively express herself orally through painting and writing. Katie's website is oralart.ca

CALLING FORTH LIFE by Sheila Webster

Spring and the Easter season bring forth newness not just new life or foliage but hope.

My 13 year old and I watched a perspective on the death of Christ and disciples lives following not just biblical narratives but historical.

Creative license was taken in spots. I was both amused and amazed at what my son picked out as accurate and not the way the narrative reads.  His comprehension of the facts exceeded his usual demeanour exponentially thus my surprise!

We took time to look up different historical figures and facts and discussed their believability and use to progress the story. My son and I ended up with a new respect for each other’s knowledge and a renewed relationship with each other.

My son is one of the ones who is always challenging me before a word is said and who rarely feels he should participate in chores. However, he is also the one who is always thinking and discussing the nature of good and evil in ourselves and those around us with me.

People are people - they are a mix of light and dark, goodness and less than, faithful and fearful. The word hypocrite rarely enters my vocabulary because it is something to be used for only those who show no mercy to others, or perhaps even forget to be merciful to themselves.

In my son’s and my relationship so far, newness comes every couple of days when we decide to put to death our differences, our arguments and complaints about each other. I make him breakfast and he grumbles but gobbles the homemade goodness down wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and I sigh. 

If I make him Eggs Benedict, with homemade sauce, real butter and lemon then I will hear a heartfelt thank you. My faith in his manners renewed. I have called forth new life in our relationship because I made the effort to engage him in a way he could understand.

I am thankful we both enjoy spring and the outdoors, and I am thankful for his continual reminder that I have to work on gratitude with my Father and that my Father is patient even when I wipe my spirituality with something less than the spiritual napkins of righteousness.

We are all called to new life everyday by our Father.  No matter our manners, season of life or differences at times.

Habakkuk 3:

22b His mercies never come to an end;

23  they are new every morning;

    great is your faithfulness.

Bio -

Sheila has been writing since before she could talk. Her first award was several decades ago for a fiction story. Since then she has published and won awards across several genres, poetry, non-fiction, historical, and fiction. She is a long time Inscribe member, and loves helping other writers develop their style and achieve their works.

Bloom Where You Are Planted by Lynn Dove

The sidewalks were pink with cherry blossom snow.  I could smell the fragrance of newly mowed grass, mingled with the sweet aroma of springtime blossoms.  The seagulls screeched their welcome to me as I walked towards the shoreline and embraced the full view of the ocean, the waves lapping in rhythmic cadence to the beating of my heart.  I was home.  Well, the home of my childhood at least. 

Several weeks before the travel bans and the Covid_19 season of isolation hit us all, I had left my wintry “home” in Alberta, to come to Vancouver Island for a week-long stay.  Had I known what we would be facing when we returned home from the Island, I likely would have fretted and not enjoyed this brief sojourn.  Thankfully, we were blissfully unaware of the growing pandemic looming just over the horizon so we thoroughly enjoyed our trip, drinking in the beauty and familiarity all around us.  Truth be told, I have been a prairie girl far longer than an island girl, having lived in the Calgary area most of my adult life.  Still, whenever I have had opportunity to visit Victoria and travel up and down the Island, I always feel like I am experiencing a homecoming of sorts.  The Island is where I spent my childhood, my teen years, and two years of university before I married the love of my life and returned to Calgary to settle permanently.  I have been a landlubber in Alberta since 1979, raising my family, and enduring the long, harsh winters there.  The getaway to visit parents, friends and family on Vancouver Island has become an almost yearly trek.  It is our annual reprieve from the cold of February and March in Alberta, to embrace Spring in all its glory there on the Island.  I drink in all the green, the budding trees, the crocuses and daffodils that grow like weeds everywhere I look.  I want the sights and smells to imprint themselves on my psyche, so I can recall them vividly when I again return to my Albertan home still in the throes of winter.

Last year, we did not go to the Island.  In April last year I was experiencing a myriad of strange aches and pains that was eventually diagnosed as endometrial cancer.  Spring was all but forgotten as I fought and battled up to Christmas.  During the darkest of those days, when the battle seemed almost overwhelming, I wasn’t sure I would ever experience another spring.  I felt the icy fingers of winter engulf me, even in the heat of summer.  I tried to remain positive, leaning on God for strength through the ordeal of chemo.  Always looking towards the finish line, when I could declare the battle over, I found comfort thinking about how I would embrace life after cancer.  The first item on my “to do” list, was to plan a trip to the Island. 

Wonderment.

 It’s the best way to describe how I felt throughout that week on Vancouver Island.  Wonderment at experiencing Spring in all its glory there, but also wonderment at being fully alive, fully in the moment, battle-weary, but overwhelmingly thankful to be thriving, not just surviving once again!
 

That feeling persists. 

Coming home to wintry Alberta, I didn’t complain about leaving the green of Spring there on the Island even when I saw the white drifts of snow piled up in our driveway.  I was home.  The break from winter had been refreshing, but the familiarity and peacefulness I feel here, even being in the last grips of winter chill, warms my heart like nothing else.  I remind myself that I must bloom where I am planted.  I must bloom, survive, thrive, and embrace life for as many days, weeks, and years that God gives me.  

I can't forget that.

Even in the midst of this Covid isolation, forced quarantine, and my inability to venture out because of my compromised immunity, I remind myself that this season will pass eventually.  I long to hug on my loved ones, and my arms ache to cuddle my grandbabies once again.  Still, I continue to stay positive.  I must enjoy each day as a gift from God no matter what circumstances lay before me.  I must continue to bloom, to look to the future, and be thankful.

After all, I praise God every day that I can bloom at all!

Lynn Dove is the award-winning author, of the YA “Wounded Trilogy”- a contemporary Christian fiction series with coming-of-age themes.  A wife, mom, grandmother, and free-lance writer with articles published in several magazines and anthologies including Chicken Soup for the Soul books, her blog, “Journey Thoughts” is a Canadian Christian Writing Award winner.  Readers may connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and at lynndove.com   

It Is Finished - Mid Month Moment

Another thought provoking post from Connie Inglis' archives: 

It Is Finished!

As writers/artists who have slaved over a song, a poem, a speech, a book, or a painting, sometimes our favourite words are, "It's finished." And yet, until it's finally out there in public, we can still correct mistakes, add touch-ups, or do any number of things to improve what we've "finished." (And even then, if it's writing, we can make changes in future printings).

Yet, there is one, "It is finished" proclaimed over 2,000 years ago that, when spoken, completed the task once and for all--and for all eternity.. Of course, I'm referring to Jesus' last words spoken before He died on the cross. In John 19: 28,30, the root word telos in the Greek, is used not just once but THREE times:

"Later, knowing that all was now completed (teleō), and so that the Scripture would be fulfilled (teleioō), Jesus said, 'I am thirsty' ... When he had received the drink, Jesus said, 'It is finished (teleō).' With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit."

According to the Bible Study Tools website (https://www.biblestudytools.com/lexicons/greek/nas/telos.html), the definition of telos is:

1. end

1. termination, the limit at which a thing ceases to be (always of the end of some act or state, but not of the end of a period of time)

1. the end

1. the last in any succession or series

1. eternal

1. that by which a thing is finished, its close, issue

1. the end to which all things relate, the aim, purpose

Oh the depth and weightiness of Jesus' word choice!

Firstly, consider the limitlessness of this act. The verb choice is in perfect tense which, in the Greek, means it is a past action but the effect of it continues into the present. So, within our time-conscious world, the significance of His death continues NOT just until the end of time, as we know it, but into eternity. Wow!

Secondly, it was His last act in a series of acts that began when He "emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. ⁸ And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." (Phil. 2:7,8 ESV) In celebrating Christmas, we are celebrating Jesus' first act, His incarnation, which culminates in this, His final act.

Thirdly, Jesus' final act, this climax, closes the need for any other following acts. His blood was spilled so that no other blood sacrifice needed to be offered to appease a holy God. His blood made a way for us to be forgiven and redeemed. There was no other way. Jesus had to die to satisfy the demands of a righteous God, which then made a way for us to be reconciled to Him (propitiation).

Fourthly, everything Jesus did while on Earth, led up to, and was connected with, this final act. It was, "the end to which all things relate, the aim, purpose." In Mark 10:45 Jesus says, "For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” And in John 12:27 He says, "Now my soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour."

And so I repeat: Oh the depth and weightiness of Jesus' word choice!

My prayer for us this week is that, with the beginning of Advent, we will ponder anew ALL that Jesus has done for us. May we not take lightly Jesus' final words: "It is finished." May we fall at His feet as sinners in need of a Saviour, thanking Him for the indescribable gift of His birth, His death, and His resurrection. And may we not lose sight of that in the busyness of the Christmas season.

With a grateful heart,

Connie

November 28, 2018