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Growing older different than growing old Last week, I read this quote, “Don’t regret growing older, it’s a privilege denied many.” I though about the truthfulness of this quote.
Growing older is a natural progression of human nature. Enjoy it! Jane Fonda struggled with understanding after she heard someone credit senior years as fulfillment time, “After all, 75 isn’t supposed to be better than 35,” she commented after celebrating her last birthday. But it is in many ways. If one’s health is good, 75 is a wonderful age. It’s a time when responsibility and accountability has changed to personal choice. If, like in my situation, one’s spouse is in good health, it is a different time to build relationship. Yet, I know many widows, widowers and single people who love this time of their life.
In one’s life time, tragedies and personal struggles are all too familiar. By learning to cope with these times in our life, we free ourselves to live each day with meaning. It is also how we release the negative and stress and welcome God’s comfort and presence that makes the difference. Everything helps as we begin to enter midlife and older age with a sense of knowing who we are in God’s love.
I love my age! I look back over the years and remember so many beginnings. For example: exercise and bone strengthening medication, watching the first man step down to the surface of the moon; the movie camera collecting family treasures, 4-track, real-to-reel recorder saving the mystery of laughter, story-telling and music; the DOS computer operating system, the Tandy 2000 and its density 5.25" floppy disks with it potential to do great things . . . slowly, and of course the flip-up cell phone where you had to tap the A three times to get C to show when texting. Plus the kitchen and car gadgets—it’s all an interesting ride and I look forward to more eye-openers. I find such a thrill in exploring more of God’s creation and putting it to good use.
Oliver Sacks M.D. says, “At 80, one can take a long view and have a vivid, lived sense of history not possible at an earlier age. I can imagine, feel in my bones, what a century is like, which I could not do when I was 40 or 60” (New York Sun Times).
The Psalmist in 90:10, says “The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away . . . considering ‘strength’ as perseverance. Shakespeare thought it worthy to paraphrase in Macbeth, 1605:  Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings.
As a woman of faith, my mother, because of osteoporosis, suffered many broken bones, surgeries, casts and uncertainties in the last decade of her life as she learned to use walkers, wheelchairs and request help. She used to chuckle and say, “I’m living in my ‘perseverance years and enjoying everyone of them.”

Donna Mann
Check out donnamann.org
The Aggie series published by Brucedale Press
A Rare Find published by Castle Quay Books Canada

Posted by Donna Mann at 3/29/2014 06:00:00 am 7 comments: Links to this post Most newly-ordained ministers are familiar with the horror stories of other newly-ordained ministers whose first wedding, baptism or funeral had been something of a disaster.  I was newly ordained and new to the congregation.  I was determined that my first baptism would not be remembered for my fumbles and botches.  I prepared thoroughly.  I memorized the baptismal service and considered every move that I would make.

The little village of Waterford sits amid the hills of southern New Brunswick in a beautiful valley where two streams join.  The Waterford United Church sits on a knoll of solid rock in the midst of the village.  It is a well-proportioned church with a high steeple, “beautiful on Mount Zion.”  The entrance was at the front of the sanctuary, resulting in some embarrassment for visitors arriving late and on entering, finding the whole congregation looking at them.

On this particular Sunday morning, two baby boys were to be baptized.  All was going well and we were singing the baptismal hymn, when I looked down from the pulpit and realized that there was no baptismal font, no bowl, and no water.  This was 1954, and the Waterford church, typical of country churches of the time, had no electricity, no running water, no kitchen – just sanctuary and vestry.  What to do?

First, I remembered that there was a brook about fifty yards down the road.  There was water.  But the hymn would be finished before I could get there and back.  Well, the congregation would just have to stand there and wait.

But what to carry the water in?  An elder of the congregation lived next to the church, perhaps I could get a dish there.  What if the house was locked?  (They were all in church.)  I would just have to take the chance. People in those days usually didn’t bother to lock doors. I started for the door.  As I came down from the pulpit platform, I noticed the wood stove used to heat the church in colder weather.  I remembered that there was an old rusty tin can used in the winter to throw kerosene on the wood to get the fire started quickly.  If the house was locked, I could get water in the kerosene can.

I went to the stove, got the kerosene can and started back for the door.  All this seemed like an eternity in my own mind, but the congregation was still singing the baptismal hymn.  As I got to the entry at the front of the church I noticed the flowers of the communion table.  There was my water!

Going to the table, I poured water from the flowers into the rusty kerosene
can and turned to the congregation just as they were finishing the hymn.
The baptism proceeded without  interruption. Some twenty-five years later, I was invited back to this congregation for an anniversary service.  I was extremely pleased (and maybe a bit relieved) to find that these baby boys, now young men, were both elders of the congregation. Water from the flowers in a rusty can, but I guess the baptism “took.”

Posted by Alan at 3/28/2014 01:00:00 am 3 comments: Links to this post Labels: baptism; making do; newly ordained ministers; holy humour


A Pivotal Point in Time - Tracy Krauss Tracy Krauss is a multi-published author and playwright. Visit her website at: http://www.tracykrauss.com
Posted by Tracy Krauss at 3/27/2014 03:00:00 am 6 comments: Links to this post Labels: drama, pivotal moment, theatre, Tracy Krauss, writing stage plays


GYMNASTY-ICS by Glynis M. Belec Five years ago my ovarian cancer diagnosis slapped me in the face. After initial moments of my world crashing in and consuming me, I pulled up my big girl stretchy pants and prayed. Then I slapped back. I decided to focus on the positive, confess that it was God in control - not me and make the best of each day.
First, I determined to be joyful that my stint at the gym for that past year had paid off. I’d jiggled and gyrated 23lbs off my middle aged body and because of that I was able to feel an odd lumpy area in my abdomen. That forced me to high-tail it to the medical wise ones for further investigation. Left any later, they tell me things might have been a lot different. They found two honking tumours on each ovary. I only felt one. Second, I was glad that the whirlwind began. Before I knew it I had surgery, chemotherapy, lost my hair, lost my dignity, fought the good fight and won!
‘Course, given the whack of steroids that accompanied the bittersweet poison, the exhaustion and the menopause, I gained all 23lbs back and then some. I blamed my weight gain on anything my addled chemo brain could muster.
But now that I have reached the magic ‘five year’ mark, I have run out of excuses. I needed to do something radical. Like exercise. So I did it. I took the plunge. I signed on at the local gym once again.
How thrilled I was that it was 24 hour access, too, this time. My plan was to sneak in at opportune times when no one was there. I feared any young buck guffawing at me and my jiggles. I wanted to become a new me again without anyone watching me sweat. I needed free reign to grunt, to move from one torture device to another and to scream in agony if I had to. It’s taken a while but this past Saturday, I found the best time to be alone at the gym. 12:30 am. All was well for the first 30 minutes on the tread mill. Then I decided to switch the station on the TV. Not sure if was my heavy breathing or grunting but I needed to up the volume. The temperamental remote didn’t seem to be communicating nicely with the TV so I hopped off the still-moving treadmill and got closer. Presto, it worked like a charm.
I headed back to the treadmill and hopped back on. Within a few seconds my life flashed before me. My middle age body was catapulted against the partition and quickly dropped to the floor. There wasn't a lot of room between the row of beastly treadmills and the back so I was pinned against the wall with my knees in prayer position – burning like rubber as the conveyor belt continued to turn at level 5. I could almost sense God shaking his head at His crazy clumsy female creation now curled in a fetal position, who always manages to land herself in immature situations.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry but I eventually untangled myself and smacked the ‘stop’ button. Perhaps I need to reconsider my workout time choices. What I am really freaking out about, though - the many 'all angle' video cameras in our 24 hour access gym.  I know God doesn't need a video camera to see me and He understands my heart and my lack of ladylike tendencies. I am really grateful that He loves me no matter what, but right now I am a little concerned about America’s Funniest Home Videos and Facebook and Twitter and stuff like that. Sigh.

Romans 8:35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?

Glynis Belec, a freelance writer, author and private tutor, faces each day with hope and thanksgiving. She rejoices daily that she is on the right side of the grass and counting blessings is getting to be a daily addiction. Glynis loves capturing life in words and can’t wait for tomorrow so she can feel inspired all over again. email@example.com
Posted by Glynis at 3/26/2014 02:07:00 pm 3 comments: Links to this post Labels: chemotherapy side effects, clumsy girl; treadmill; God's love; unconditional love; exercise, ovarian cancer; gym, weight gain, weight loss


Breaking Sugar, Fixing Me -- Gibson

Remember the nursery rhyme about the girl with the curl? “When she was good, she was very, very good. But when she was naughty, she was HORRIBLE.” That’s me, in the area of sweets. Mostly I behave well. But when I don’t, I really don’t. And lately, I haven’t.

A few Fridays ago, I sat at my desk to write. Hours later, feeling weak, I wandered over to the pantry. Yanked out the first thing I saw. A long, almost-full box of thin, square, orange-filled dark chocolates.

At afternoon’s end, the chocolate box sat nearly empty. I sat nauseated, shaky, thoroughly disgusted with myself. Sensing keenly God’s frown. I had, for some time, treated his property – my body – poorly.

“Forgive me, Lord, I know I must not be horrible any longer,” I prayed, and tossed the one remaining chocolate in the trash.

One week earlier I’d complained about my high sugar consumption to a friend, confessing my lack of incentive to change. To my surprise, she admitted that she also struggled with a passion for sugar. “Every so often,” she said, “I go on a ten-day sugar fast. It helps me get my balance again.”

I’d kicked sugar before, too – for more than a year, about a decade ago. I felt so healthy I told myself I’d never want or need sugar again. I’d lost the craving forever, it seemed. But a few major life crises later, I’d found it again: that comforting taste that stays constant when everything else changes.

No sugar had become a little sugar, and a little more sugar. Then a lot, and finally a full-blown, “oh-who-cares-we’ve-all-gotta-die-of-something-so-stuff-it-in,” attitude. That’s why, on the Friday I mentioned, eating chocolates felt as natural (and far easier) than pressing pause on my thoughts to peel carrots, make a salad or open a can of beans.

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor,” Ecclesiasties 4: 9,10 reads. “If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.”

I needed someone to help me up. “I’m ready to start my ten days,” I told my friend that Friday evening.

“I’ll do it with you,” she responded graciously. When I later mentioned my intention on Facebook, several friends who wanted to give sugar the boot joined us.

I don’t know about the others, but ten days later, I have more energy. Food tastes better. My thoughts arrive more clearly. I’m rarely drowsy in mid-afternoon. My sweet tooth has faded. Sweet balance, like long-awaited spring, is reviving my body and spirit.

Too much sugar feels like a safe, moral addiction. It’s neither. It robs us of health and years of serving others and God. We all fall down, but the only true failure is refusing to get up. With a little help from my friends, and God’s outstretched hand, I’m getting up – again.

You can too. Believe it.

The above Sunny Side Up column ran earlier this year in various Western newspapers.

Interested in busting sugar too? I've just created a Facebook page for companions on the journey. Pop over if you'd  like to start a conversation. Along with other writing, Kathleen Gibson ponders faith and life in her newspaper column, Sunny Side Up, published, among other places, in her local newspaper. Her 90 second radio spots, Simple Words, air locally and internationally on syndicated radio show, Sunday Side Up with host Ray Sargent.

Posted by Kathleen Gibson at 3/25/2014 01:04:00 pm 2 comments: Links to this post 
Ted Dekker Coming To Write! Canada - Lisa Hall-Wilson 

Ted Dekker is coming to Write! Canada

LHW: Do you consider yourself a Christian writer? 

Lisa, which of my novels was your favourite? 

Connect with Lisa on Facebook.

Posted by Lisa Hall-Wilson at 3/22/2014 12:55:00 am 8 comments: Links to this post 


Language Learning By Marcia Lee Laycock My face was beet red. I slouched into my chair with a dismal sigh. Bruno, my language teacher, having not the slightest inclination to save my damaged pride, was laughing. I managed a weak smile. It was a bit funny. I had just asked him if he wanted his sister in his coffee. When he stopped laughing, he told me the correct phrase and made me practice it several times. The difference between the word sister and the word sugar was in a single vowel. It was not my first nor last mistake of the day.

Later that afternoon, I despaired again of ever being able to speak Melanesian Pigeon, as another teacher outlined the grammatical structure of the language. I could barely remember English grammar, let alone bend my brain around a language made up of three European lexicons with a few national languages thrown in for flavour. By the end of that day, my enthusiasm for learning the trade language of Papua New Guinea had vanished. It was then I realized I didn’t want to learn it, I just wanted to know how to speak it.

I wanted to be able to communicate with the people we were to live with, so I had to dispel the illusion that I was going to wake up one morning and be fluent in their language. I had to face the fact that I had to work at it. I had to face the fact that I was going to make a lot of mistakes. I was going to be laughed at. I was going to feel dumb and have to continually ask questions. I was going to have to get used to having to listen so intently my head hurt. I was going to have to get used to being like a little child, again and again.

When I came to terms with that reality, a surprising thing happened. The process became a delight. I looked forward to going to the market to learn new names for old vegetables. I relished going to work, so I could learn new expressions and phrases. I loved standing in the middle of a crowd of black faces and just soaking in the sound. And best of all, I loved being able to communicate easily with the people around me. As my language skills grew so did my delight in living among them.

Such is the journey of a Christ follower – it’s the journey of a child, a journey of continually learning, listening, asking questions, making mistakes, yet continuing on because there is such delight in growing closer to and growing more and more like our master. When we come to terms with that reality we realize it’s worth the effort because the joy of being in His presence and soaking Him in can be compared to no other.

In Matthew 18, the disciples asked Jesus who would be the greatest in God’s kingdom. Perhaps they thought they’d learned enough, and done enough, to merit that position. Jesus says: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3-4).

Like a little child – willing to learn, willing to listen, willing to work at it. Again and again. 

Posted by Marcia Laycock at 3/21/2014 01:00:00 am 4 comments: Links to this post Labels: Canadian Christian authors, child-like faith, Christ-follower, Christian life, Christian walk, Christian Writers, Marcia Laycock
