Past Failure

 As I sat staring at the unfinished canvas in front of me, my shoulders slumped, and the $90.00 brush dropped from my limp hand. I was a failure! It was time I took off my blinders and faced that fact. If you have ever gotten to that place in your life where you just want to crawl into a dark hole and shut out the world, you will possibly understand how I was feeling.

I had barged my way into the world of art rather suddenly just a couple of years before this. I had always believed I was an artist, even though I had never had any formal training. I knew I was creative. There were so many things that my dyslexia made difficult for me, but drawing and painting was something I excelled at, and I loved to prove that to myself.

I wanted to prove it to the world, too, so when I was handed a check for $1000.00 for one of my first oil paintings, I was soaring. Everything else, including my writing, was either completely set aside, or specifically used to propel my new career in art forward.

My husband was as eager as I was to see me succeed, and so we opened our new business, Grey Bruce Art World. We showcased other artists, gave lessons, sold art supplies and of course, prominently displayed my work. I did everything I could to promote myself. I wrote a monthly opinion column in an Art Magazine, I featured an artist from our gallery regularly in a weekly regional magazine, and I had a monthly segment in a local TV show. On top of that, we spent thousands on advertising.

But there was something important in all of this promoting that I had failed to take into account; or more accurately, some-One important. God had a different plan for our lives, and we had been ignoring it. God had called my husband to the ministry many years before, but we had been postponing it. Now the Lord was saying it was time, but I was too wrapped up in my plans to be able to hear, and my husband, even though he had heard the call, wanted to please me, and therefore said nothing to discourage me.

Moving forward without God's blessing was a huge mistake. Before the year was up, I had to acknowledge my inability to make it on my own. We had lost everything. The hard part was knowing that all my promotional efforts had been useless. I couldn't bring in the customers no matter how hard I tried.

The final spike to the coffin of my pride came when the group I had formed to organize an art tour made a decision about my gallery. I was expected to continue to be the biggest promoter of the tour, but my gallery was not to be included in the tour. I knew that I would never be part of the elite artists of the community. I just did not fit the mold, and I was mortified. It was a slap in the face, and I reeled under the sting of the blow.

But God was there, and I was ready to listen. Have you ever noticed that it's when you are at the end of yourself, the still small Voice becomes clearer? It happened that way for me. It was a pivotal point for both of us. We started following the leading of the Holy Spirit and our lives became blessed. We gave up the business and my husband followed the call on his life.

The struggles of our art business seemed a thing of the past. I still painted occasionally but had stopped trying to promote myself. God was always there and provided for us financially in miraculous ways, so when the thought came that I should go back to writing my mom's story, I pushed it aside as a temptation to try to make a name for myself again.

When I had started writing “Susie's Story”, my dreams of writer fame had been high. My night school teacher was highly impressed and tremendously encouraging. I had been buoyed up by the prospect of being a published author. But after the first four chapters and a few rejections, I was ready to switch to the new art field where I had already made my first $1000.

But now, when I thought of going back to writing, the memory of my failure, with its allure of fame, made me cautious. My niece, a published author, was telling me that the publishing company that she was writing for was creating a new series. They were looking for exactly the type of book I was writing. Was this another temptation to put myself forward? I couldn't let that happen.

I talked to my husband. “Think of it this way,” he said. “Your paintings never actually led anyone to Christ that I know of. Your story could.”

I asked the Lord what I should do. He answered me with a passage of scripture. It said to tell your children and your children's children what the Lord has done, and to do it in parables (stories). Susie's Story was about my mother's eventful life growing up in Russia during the revolution and I knew the Lord was saying he wanted me to write it. But because of my experience at Art World, I knew that everything I did would have to be directed by Him and that He would get all the glory. My dreams of self-importance were gone.

When I finished the book I queried the publisher. The reply was not what I had expected. It said they liked my book, but they had discontinued that series and couldn't use it. What had happened?

Had I made a mistake? Had I wasted my time? But no. I could be a failure, but God was not. This was His book. I had listened to Him, and He had confirmed to me that it was part of His plan for me.

I decided to self publish, and amazingly, doing publicity God's way, with a whole new mental approach, it sold. But of far more importance, it did lead people to Christ. It made a lasting impression on lives, something of far more importance than fame or any best seller list in the whole wide world!

Years later, we did start another, different kind of business which the Lord directed us to, but that's a whole other exiting story for another time.

For the previous post see: Goodbyes.

Goodbyes

 Goodbye Grandma, I'm going to miss you. She sounded sincere, and her lips formed into a compassionate shovel, but at the same time I could tell that my four year old granddaughter was looking forward to the new adventure that lay just around the corner.

I had gone through this before. The day her mother left us to join the love of her life across the border, it had hurt almost as bad, but at least I could be there to watch her glow with joy as she headed up the isle.

We could travel to see her any time, and when their son was born, I was there to help. And when they came back to Canada, I was able to home school him and his younger sister. God had been so good to give me that privilege. I was blessed.

But now, this littlest, the late arrival, was ready to start school. I was going to miss out on that special bonding that happens between a teacher and her student. I had already had a taste. She had been coming over a couple of times a week to “have school” with me, and I loved it. I believed I could make a difference in her life, but now she is gone. I can't even expect to cross the border to see her any time soon. The border is closed. Why Lord?

And then He speaks to me. “Trust me! I have a plan!” His words bring comfort, as I realize that God has it all under control. He still expects me to do my part. My biggest job has always been to fight the battles through prayer, and that hasn't changed.

My littlest granddaughter is having a wonderful time in her new environment. She has fallen in love with a very special auntie who is showering her with lots of personal attention, and the grandma that was left behind is almost forgotten.

But I don't mind. You see, I love her and her family, and I want, above all, to know that they are in the place God has designed for them to be. That's what a mother's, (and a grandmother's) love is all about.

For the previous post see: I Can and I Will if it is God's Will

For the next post see: Past Failure.

I Can and I Will if it is God's Will

 “I can't do this!” I muttered. I wanted to shout it out, but my upbringing had given me a strong aversion to use that negative phrase. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” must have been my parents favorite verse of scripture. Still, I couldn't help thinking “I can't!” out loud.

A few days earlier I had won second prize in a competition, a consultation to have my Website revamped, but all I had was a blog, not a proper website. I had tried once or twice before but had never been able to set up a website for myself.

Now was a good time to try once more, but before long I was ready to shut my laptop and walk away from Word Press for good, even though I had paid for a year's subscription. It was way different from Blogger. I couldn't get anywhere. I kept getting lost in the different settings.

Before long, I was ready to give up not only setting up a web page, but also doing anything that required any kind of brain power. Was I out of my mind to think that I could write another book? I really wanted to write Hugh's story, and he certainly was looking forward to it, but I am nearly 73 years old. My brain is obviously not as young as it used to be, and I have noticed that nasty brain fog frequently threatening to creep in and steal my clarity of thought.

But “no!!” I will not listen to that negativism, even if it is just in my mind. I CAN do all things through Christ who strengthens me! As long as it is His will, He will give me the grace and wisdom to do it. It will not be me, it has never been me. If He wants me to write Hugh's story, it will happen His way and in His timing. If He wants me to have an author website it will happen, otherwise there is no point in trying to set it up.

I will not fret about it. I will not beat myself up over my inability to do something that was never really one of my God-given gifts.

My consultation got postponed today because I had trouble getting on Zoom for the call. I will wait and see what the Lord wants for me in the mean time.

For the previous post see: Blew it again

Blew it Again!

 

“Oh no!” I thought desperately, “I can't believe I am doing this!”

Just that afternoon I had been smugly reflecting on how well I was handling myself. I was maturing. I was certain of it. I felt I had finally started handling situations with a lot more wisdom, and at almost seventy three years old, I figured it was about time.

But here I was, only hours after that reflection, seeing myself as that same very flawed creature I had always been.

I had wanted Hugh to come with me to town that day. I had known it would feel terribly lonely being in the town where I used to be able to stop in and see any one of my three girls, and some of my wonderful grandchildren, but now Owen Sound felt empty. True, one family had only move less than an hours drive away from us, but it seemed far because I almost never saw them, and then my oldest daughter left and went way up north, and now my youngest had taken my littlest granddaughter and had moved way down south.

While I was in town, I made the mistake of driving by their old house. Already, I could see signs of the change of ownership. The deck that used to be cluttered with the toys of a four-year-old, was now graced with beautiful cushy furniture, and in the front garden, a pair of solar lights flanked the steps. Two cars lined the driveway. I could picture the incoming family, tired from the move, but excited to make this new house their home.

I came home from town that day tired, and sad. I was glad it was raining. It would mean that Hugh probably wouldn't have been able to take a walk the short distance to see his brother or his son. He would be home to give me the hug I desperately needed.

The rain had turned to drizzle by the time I pulled in the driveway. As I entered the house, I heard Hugh on the phone to his son in Sudbury. Good! He was home! He quickly ended the conversation and I rushed to him for my hug. But then I stopped short. He had been out. He had gone out in the drizzle to have a coffee with his son.

Normally, we do our visiting with his son outside. Denis is a smoker, and because his house bears evidence of that fact, and because I am bothered by the smell of smoke, we don't usually spend time in his home.

But while I was out, Hugh had been in that home, and his clothes, hair and skin bore the evidence. The comfort I sought was shattered by the odor that infiltrated my nostrils. I broke. My self-pity habit returned in full fury, and I lashed out at my dear husband. I was ready to throw something at him. It was a totally unreasonable reaction, but I had spun out of control.

As he walked away from me and went to have a shower, I knew in my heart, that I had reacted foolishly. I thought of my little granddaughter and her words of wisdom. (see Wisdom of a Child) It took only a few short moments of talking with my Lord to calm down and to see how my lack of self control had just hurt my husband.

I reached Hugh before he entered the shower and hugged him and apologized. That day we had a good talk. Quarrels are never good, but talking and admitting our failures can be immensely healthy. God says in His word to confess you faults one to another, and as always, following the path God has set out in His word, brought healing and blessing.

That incident, yesterday, reminded me of how far I still am from the place where I know God wants me to be, but it will never make me say that It's pointless to try.  The New Testament is full of admonition to “be perfect just as your Father in Heaven is perfect,” so I continue to "press toward the mark" just as Paul did even though I can say with Paul that I am definitely not there, and even though I keep seeing how far away that mark is. I am His child, and I know He loves me, but just like any normal child, I want to be just like my Father.

And as I allow Him, He will continue to work on me, to change me into His image.

For the Previous post see: Wisdom of a Child

For the Next post see: I Can and I Will if it is God's Will

The Wisdom of a Child

 "I'm happy again now, Grandma," my littlest granddaughter assured me as she came back to the garden. "Nate told me that whenever I get upset and want to get mad, I should go up to my room until I calm down." She gave me a little smile and then said, "I'm going to pray now." And that's exactly what she proceeded to do.

The three of us had been working together, her mommy and I, frantic to get the garden weeded before putting the house up for sale, and Maddie using her shiny new shovel that I had given her, trying to help. But Maddie is more of a leader, than a follower. She is always trying to direct the project in progress, and that day was no exception. It turned into a confrontation, and Maddie's ire was rising. Suddenly she stopped and said, "I've got to go up to my room."

Her mom and I continued working for a while, and then she reappeared. She prayed a sweet, earnest prayer and then told us that we all should pray together now. This time we were quite willing to follow her direction, and we had our own little prayer meeting right there in the garden.

Later, she told me that Jesus was in her heart and that someday she was going to go to Heaven. I believe her. Her child like faith is growing, and her wisdom, some of which has been gleaned from her older brother, is helping her to be an overcomer.

Maddie is only four years old, and some may say she is too young to understand, but I can remember when I was only four and God started dealing with me. I started my Christian walk at the same age Maddie is now.

I pray that she will never loose that childlike faith.

For more stories about Maddie, see: Leaving it behind.

For the previous post, see: Unreasonable Anger

Unreasonable Anger

 I was so upset yesterday morning. It was crazy, absolutely nuts, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. Have you ever had that terrible urge to hall off and smack someone? You know your being unreasonable but the feelings won't go away. Well that's how it was when I woke up from my dream. I was ready to smack Hugh or bite him or something else equally horrid, all because of a stupid nightmare. I tried to reason with myself. I even rewrote the dream in my mind to make more sense, but it took all my willpower to brush it off.

Why was this happening? I hadn't had a dream like that for years. They had ceased after I had stopped having dairy products. But then I remembered; The day before I had yielded to the temptation to have some ice cream, the first I had had in a long time. Weirdly enough, every time I have milk products, my brain wants to celebrate by having its own pity party.

Divine Encounter Surprise

 

“That's you!” I whispered, trying not to miss a single inflection. It had to be him. Nobody else could sing exactly like he could. We had turned on the radio for the first time in almost a year. Bill Murdoc was supposed to be talking about the crazy situation between the United Church of Canada and the Massie Church, on his talk show, but that didn't seem to be happening. A song came on, and I knew that I knew that voice.

Hugh wasn't so sure until he heard his name. “That was Massie's own Hugh Neelands!” Bill announced and then went on to explain that he had requested and had been given one of Hugh's Cds by Hugh's son a few years ago, but it didn't work for him in his truck, and then he had lost it, but he had just found it the day before, and decided to play it that day. He talked a bit about the days in the past when Hugh was a hit, singing in dance bands and how he now blessed many, volunteering his services singing at nursing homes.

Now I do not believe in mere coincidence in relation to the Christian. Things don't just happen for no reason. There could only be one alternative. God must have had some purpose in mind when he nudged us to turn on the radio this morning.

The night before, I had been contemplating the book Hugh and I were preparing to put together. After I finished my own story, The Path He Chose for Me, I had suggested that we start working on one about Hugh. It would be fun just letting him reminisce, and hearing his stories.

We had already had a few of those sessions but I still had no idea how I would begin. Then last night I remembered an incident that I knew I wanted to include, and now, with the help of the divine encounter on the Bill Murdoc show, something clicked in my mind, and I realized God had just given me the key I needed to put it all together.

I can't wait to see how God is going to weave this story together to bless the people who will someday read it.

He's Still Working on Me

 

If my Heavenly Father had an advisory committee to coach Him, I am sure by now they would be urging Him to give up trying to help me fix certain flaws in my character. “It's no use,” they would say, and they would have every reason to make the claim. After all, He's been working at it for 72 years. “Enough is enough already!” they would exclaim in exasperation.

But thanks be to God, He needs no committee; He needs no board of directors; He needs no nagging wife (like Job's wife) to tell Him when to give up. I thank God that He hasn't given up on me.

On days when the humid index is over the top, and I haven't gotten enough sleep, or old age is flaunting its presence and my shoulder is hurting, sometimes I hear myself sounding way too cross. I answer abruptly and possibly, I offend. I am blessed to have a gentle husband; he doesn't swing back with stinging words, he still loves me. He understands when I am tired or hurting.

God understands too, but He hasn't given up on me. He gives me a firm nudge. He counsels me, just as my earthly father would have done, and lets me know, through my conscience, that I need to make an attitude adjustment. 

He reminds me that I need to apologize. It is essential to my relationship with my husband, and it is essential to my relationship with my Lord. And gradually, though the process still seems slow, He is teaching me, changing me.

Oh how I appreciate those nudges. They tell me how much He loves me, how much He cares, how much He wants to see me continue to grow. It tells me He's still working on me.

He's still working on me,

To make me what I aught to be

It took Him just a week to make the moon and stars,

The sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars.

How loving and patient He must be,

Cause He's still working on me.

                                    by the Hemphills

What a blessing to know that He is still working on me! 

If you would like to be inspired by the many ways God has been at work in my life, please give my story, The Path He Chose for Me a look. I know it will bless you.

For the record: the relationship I have with my beloved Hugh has just been getting better and better, especially as the conditions around us are getting worse and worse. So, once again, I thank God for adversity.

Leaving it behind

 

"I don't want you to give away my toys," my sweet grandaughter pleaded with her mom. “I love them!

Anita tried to reason with her heartbroken daughter. "It's OK, sweety, when we get to our new home, we will get to be with Daddy again, and he will get you some nice new toys. We just can't take a whole lot with us now." But even with the thought of seeing Daddy again and the beautiful new toys, it was hard for Maddie to give up all her old favorites.

Maddie will get to take a few things with her. The items that she cherishes most have been set aside to take along. She clings to those. She doesn't hold all her hopes in a hazy future somewhere else; she grasps the security of that little suitcase of the present.

I just read another writer's blog yesterday morning, What Death is Teaching Me  He was writing from the perspective of having lost a baby, a baby that didn't have a chance to get attached to the the toys of this world. As I read the blog about death, it brought thoughts of Maddie's situation to the forefront.

Many of us are like four year old Maddie. We cling to our present life and the material trinkets we love. Oh yes, we've been told that our Heavenly Father is waiting to give us awesome treasures when we get to our new home, but that future seems hazy, and like Maddie, we cling, and that clinging spoils some of the anticipation of moving on.

The only real way to approach the move we are getting ready to make, is to forget about that suitcase of cherished items that we hold so dear, and focus our thoughts on the One we are going to be able to see face to face.

What a joyful day that will be!

My Path

The Path He Chose for me on Amazon.com

Dysfunctional Home?

 

“Yes, you did come from a dysfunctional home.” he insisted. “The fact that you won't admit it is just proof that you are in denial.”

I shook my head in frustration. “How can you say that? You didn't even know my parents. You didn't know how they parented according to the Word of God.” I proceeded to point out that my brothers all turned out well. I couldn't say much about myself, after all, he knew me enough to know I wasn't perfect, and I knew that I hadn't been the perfect mom that I had expected to be. I had made plenty of mistakes, and if you were to ask any of my kids, I am sure they could give you examples to illustrate that statement. You can read about all that in ThePath He Chose for Me.

But the man, whose partner happened to work in the field of counselling, was insistent that most people come from dysfunctional homes. I thought about it later, not that I was willing to apply that label to our wonderful home, but I wondered whether I could find reason to complain if I wanted to.

I remember specifically, when I was about 6 or 7 years old, my mom chopped off my hair. My neck and back felt bare and exposed, where once my silky blond hair had almost totally covered them. I went up to my room, faced my strange reflection in my mirror and bawled. I continued crying hard for a long time.

Mom and Dad came up and told me to stop crying. I couldn't, of course. They insisted, but it didn't help. Dad pulled out his belt. I tried to stop crying but I couldn't. I didn't understand that it had to start from the inside. I had to stop my pity party, but that's a hard concept for an adult to learn, and I was only a child.

That incident lives on in my memory. For years I felt sorry for myself when I thought about it. For years I didn't forgive. Then I became a parent. I had not yet learned how to stop the self pity, so I had no plan of action when my child went into the same mode, crying in hysterics over some, possibly overblown, but to them, very real injustice.

I still don't know how my parents could have handled the situation differently. Could they have convinced me that I was being too focused on me? I doubt it. We so often heard about the poor starving children in Africa to which my parents had wanted go as missionaries, (see Susie's Calling) but it hadn't gotten the self out of me. In fact, it took years of work on the Lord's part (see The Path He Chose for Me) to break me of the self pity habit, and it is still something that I have to constantly guard against.

Do I hold that day's disciplinary action against my parents? Not any more. Not since I, myself, discovered the joys and sorrows of parenting. But the world is teaching us through modern psychology and philosophy that if our parents aren't perfect, we are broken and we come from dysfunctional homes. We are learning the skill of placing the blame on someone other than ourselves, and in the process, we are disregarding a very important commandment: Honor your father and your mother.

To you moms who are feeling like failures, it's OK to go to God and have a good cry. We all need to do that sometimes. But then stop and remember, since the fall of Adam and Eve, there has never been anyone, other than the Son of God, who was perfect. Remember, too, that God hand picked you to be parents to your children, knowing what flaws you would be plagued with and knowing how those flaws would ultimately help your children be able to mature into His sons and daughters. 

And instead of that dehibilitating feeling of failure, you can have peace in knowing God still has a plan that He will carry out in spite of all your imperfections. Thank You Heavenly Father!

If any of my readers have answers to the can't-stop-the-crying problem in child-rearing, we would love to hear about it, so please leave a comment. Or if you have felt frustrated over this issue please let me know.

If you are interested in reading about the process the Lord took me through to break the pity party spirit in me, please read The Path He Chose forMe. and if you are interested in hearing more about my wonderful mom and dad I would recommend my Susie Series for you or your children.

Acknowledging Danger

Josh must be exaggerating about the danger. She didn’t want to think about it. Her words came out sounding defiant. “It’s not that bad!”

Jacob came to her rescue. “Don’t try to scare her, Josh. She’s got enough on her hands without that.”

Josh tossed his hair back. His eyes caught hers and held them for a long moment. “A good scare might be just what is needed right now.” He pushed himself away from the tree and strode off.

It's just the excerpt from my book “Susie's Story”, a true story of course, but one that happened to my mother a long time ago, way over in Russia. It couldn't have anything pertinent to do with what is happening to us today, in our democratic country, or could it?

Things were changing rapidly in Russia in the late 1920s, but to Susie and her mother, acknowledging the dangers would mean having to step out of their comfort zones, not something they were prepared to do until it was almost too late. A “good scare” did wake them up to their danger, and the story ended triumphantly, but what about us now.

I know we don't have the option that Susie's family did. The Canadian CPR had put out a call for the Mennonites to come and settle in western Canada providing them with a loan for the money to get there. It was a short window of opportunity, and the Plett family were part of the last group to come across before Canada closed it's doors.

Running from the coming persecution is not an option for most of us, but it still is important to acknowledge our situation, and be prepared. Maybe God is depending on us to be a comforter; maybe a prayer warrior. As Christians we all have a purpose in this life, and we should be asking our Heavenly Father to fulfill that purpose in us.

As far as just moving away from our problem like Susie's family did, there is really no place left to go. But then again, maybe I am wrong. Maybe there is one place left. Yes, it is true, there is one place, and one place alone that is still safe. It is a secret place, a safe place, a place of refuge, a fortress.

Psalm 91:1 He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. 2 I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. 3 Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. 4 He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

Yes, we do have a place to flee to, just as Susie and her family did; we can flee to Christ, and no matter what the future holds for us, we can rest secure in Him. But that door will soon be closing. This is no time to hold onto a false sense of security. We need, above all things, to make absolutely certain we are found in Jesus Christ.

Strength to Stand

 It was 3AM and I definitely was not ready to get up yet but no matter which way I turned, the pain was unbearable. 

I had been having problems for the past few weeks, maybe from pulling too many weeds, maybe from the all the stretching to reach climbing beans above my reach, but most likely from a combination of bad bed posture,weather that encourages arthritic pain, and too many acidic foods.

I gave up and got up. Maybe the Lord wanted to talk to me through His word, or maybe, just spend some time with Him in prayer. Usually my first thought when I wake through the night like that is that the Lord wants me to hold my children or even someone else's children up in prayer, but I was so tired so at first I tried to lie down on the couch. Sometimes it's a bit more comfortable, but tonight it was not. I sat back up, turned on a light and reached for my Bible.

I don't usually pay much attention to the words on the carrying case but today I did. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Phil. 4:13. I thought about it. 

I thought about the many Christian families in Afghanistan and around the world who are suffering untold horrers for their Christian stance. And then I thought about my shoulder and I wondered how I would be able to handle the kind of pain that could come with persecution, and I felt ashamed.

I unzipped my Bible and let it fall open on my lap. It opened to Philippians, and you guessed it, the verse I was, once again, staring at was "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

My pain is subsiding slightly as I write this, and I am being called to prayer ... prayer for the persecuted church in Afghanistan, prayer for the strength to stand when our turn comes, and yes, prayer for the children.

Eventually, the Lord will send me back to bed and I will wake up refreshed in the morning, blessed to have spent some time talking and listening to my Lord.

Turfed

 No, we weren't having church outside because of covid restrictions. We had been locked out, but no, it wasn't the Canadian government, or even an Ontario Ruling that put us outside on a drizzly day in August. 

    Hugh and I had started singing on a regular basis at a little church down the road from us in the Hamlet of Massie. We didn't pay much attention to the denominational title. It was really just a community church. They read a lot of wonderful scripture, sang some awesome hymns, the fellowship was great, and they seemed to appreciate our music when we came.

    But that denominational title did turn out to be way more important than any of us realized. When John Wesley started his ministry he had a fiery message from the Lord. The Methodist churches that sprang up in his wake spread the gospel throughout our nation. Gradually things changed, and when the organization decided that unity was more important than slight differences in doctrine, a large contingent of Methodist churches in Canada united with some of the Prespeterian churches and became the United Church of Canada.

    It sounded like a great idea to many of the churches who wanted to knock down their fences and have fellowship with more Christians. The little church in Massie became the Massie United Church. 

    It was still just a community church. If you lived near by you would hitch up the horse and buggy on a Sunday morning, pile your children in, and head to the property that the Neelands family had donated and the men of the community had built, and you would blend your voices in song with your neighbors and listen to the word of God being read and preached about. 

    It was a good way of life. It brought the community together while reminding them who kept the rain coming in its season, and who blessed them with a harvest each year, and most important, who paid the price for their salvation. All seemed fine, but wherever man gets his finger in the pie, things start to deteriorate. 

    I believe that is what has happened to the United Church of Canada. They still continue to claim to be a Christian organization, and I know that there are still, within its circle, true God fearing, Jesus loving, Christians. But the organization itself?  

    About a year ago, the United Church of Canada sent Massie an ultimatum. Do what we tell you to do, or we will close your doors. They wanted the little Hamlet to take a preacher of the organization's choosing, not a local boy whose training had not been with the United Church of Canada. They had successfully closed all the other United Churches in the area, and now they were targeting Massie.

    Massie balked. They couldn't afford a different minister, besides, they loved their preacher. He was one of them. He spoke words of wisdom that they appreciated, and they saw no reason to turf him or make him go through all the United Church hoops. 

    Last Sunday the locks were changed on the doors of the church that their families had built. Their bank account was frozen and the United Church of Canada sent a letter saying that most of the members of their board had been removed. 

    Hugh and I do not see this as a such terrible thing. Although it hurts Hugh to lose a building that his family built and that he played a large part in renovating, we have felt that the connection to the United Church of Canada would be a chain around the neck. God is starting to bring His people out of "religion" and is seeking to have a people that just rely on Him. Sometimes that could mean the loss of our comfort zone, but the "way it's always been" is really not the way it has always been. Churches have changed. Maybe God is saying, "Here is the way it has always been with Me: I have always wanted you loyal to Me, and no other, not even the United Church of Canada."

The Blessing of Acknowleging your Blessings

The guy with the microphone was coming straight towards me even though I hadn't raised my hand. He reached across the pew to position the mic right under my nose. He grinned. “I didn't see your hand up today, but I know you always have a testimony, right?”

He was right. I always did. I couldn't imagine going through a whole week and not having something for which to thank my Lord. This time I was trying to leave the talking to others, but no one else was speaking up. I might have been like that. I could easily have turned into the kind of person who just lets God do all that good stuff in their lives, yet never openly gives thanks, but oh, what a blessing I would be missing!

I can remember the small youth group where my testifying started. There were maybe six teens, and we all were trying to grow. We had testimony time every week, and the guy leading that day made a suggestion that I will never forget. He said, “If you can go through a whole week with nothing to thank God for, then you better start wondering if you are starting to back-slide.”

Now I realize that's a mighty strong statement, and I know not many people are willing to bare their soul to whoever is willing to listen, but the concept still holds true. If we are walking with God, we should take note of His hand in our life, and whether we speak it out loud to an audience, or whisper our thanksgiving to Him, our acknowledgement of the way He has blessed us will bring us a second blessing.

When I started writing The Path HeChose for Me it was with this thought in mind. After all, There is only so much time in even the longest church service for testimonies, and everyone needs the chance to be thankful. I also new that sometimes, what I had to say struck a cord with someone else, someone who may have been going through the same situation and needed to know that God still had their back just as He had mine.

I knew God wanted me to share, not only my blessings and my victories, but also my failures. Sometimes that's where we get bogged down, and the blessing stops because we are too ashamed to praise Him for the victories which eventually follow. Always remember, they will follow if we keep praising and looking to Him.

I pray that as you read The Path HeChose for Me, and follow the continuation as it will appear in this blog, that it will remind you of situations where God worked in your life to bless you or help you grow. If this happens, please share it with us in the comments. We would love to hear of your blessings, and pray for you as you go through the trials that will eventually lead to blessings.