The Country Quills

The writing group I've been a part of for one year, where the oldest member is 95 and the youngest is 15, and everyone gets their say and their amber glass goblet!

My Alma Mater

Last day of Derek's Career Trek at my alma mater.  Beginning of a new year for me.

End of an Era

I have decided that my blog, Along the Way, will cease in its current format.

I am intending to begin a photo-a-day format for my blog beginning at the end of February. 

However, in honor of the end of an era, so to speak, and just because I have always wanted to be a published author (even if it is only self-published), I have turned my blog posts into a book which is almost ready for printing.  Now, my family will be obliged to accept copies of this book, whether they want one or not, but beyond that, if anyone else is interested in a copy, please let me know so I can order a sufficient number of books.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading my thoughts and musings and for the encouragement I have received from so many of you over the years.

With deep gratitude,

Donna

Full and Complete Stop

It's not always glamourous to learn life lessons, much less to have an audience during the process. It's especially humbling when you put your audience in grave physical danger in the course of your education – and then report on it in a public forum.

Wednesdays after school in our house are a little bit crazy. As soon as the kids get home, they have to grab a snack and head to piano lessons. It would be less crazy if they didn't come home and grab a snack and just went directly to piano lessons, but then we'd get to piano too early and the kids would be hungry and grumpy by the time we were through with piano and home for supper.

This particular Wednesday also involved Christmas play practice at church for the kids, conveniently located in the next town over, same as piano lessons. Except I momentarily forgot about it and then ended up hustling the kids out the door in a frenzy to get to piano and play practice.

We have to cross the railroad tracks between our house and the highway. This we do multiple times a week. Our rural railroad crossing even has a stop sign, installed several years ago after the number of fatalities involving trains became too much of a pattern.

I (almost) always stop at the stop sign. And I always look both ways for the train. Around the same time they installed the stop sign, they also cut down a section of our neighbour's bush to assist me in that activity.

So, here's the thing: we were in a rush, I had some ice inconveniently located on my windshield, and while I have winter tires on my vehicle, the road right in front of the train tracks is always slipperier than the rest of the road because it's sheltered.

I came up to the train tracks, slowing down with the intention to stop – and roll on through immediately. There's not usually a train there. And I didn't take as much time to check as I should have and there was that ice in the way, so when I did look and see that there was indeed a train coming, I hit the brakes. But with the slippery road, I realized the nose of my vehicle would be only feet away from the train by the time I finally stopped. So I headed off the road, towards the ditch trusting the increased friction to stop the vehicle sooner or at least give us more time with travelling a slightly different angle. Our chances of survival tipping in the ditch were greater than getting acquainted with the wheels of the train. All this very rationally thought out in milliseconds while the conductor leaned on the horn and then glared at me panting, eyes bulging, in our weird angle off the road.

It was a long train, two or three minutes to pass. Long enough to do some serious pondering and give my oldest son a mild sense of vertigo, he being closest to the ditch and most aware of the tilt of the van.

I was deeply grateful we were all alive, safe and sound, no tipping or crashing today.

On the way home, I came to a full and complete stop – with the intention to stop – before proceeding over the tracks. Of course, I did my motherly duty and admonished my kids (none of whom are of driving age) to remember this and always stop at stop signs, especially this one. They say, as you know, that accidents are most likely to occur within three miles of one's home.

Thanks for the demonstration, Mom.

But it got me thinking about stopping and waiting in other parts of life. Sometimes we come across other signs in our lives that tell us we need to stop. Maybe our bodies give us signs – shin splits telling us to stop running on concrete (or so I've heard!), or pressure in the chest telling us to ease up on the stress. Maybe people in our lives let us know we need to stop some destructive behaviour. Sometimes we ignore the signs or stop with the intention to keep right on going and we either meet with disaster, or perhaps, if we're lucky, only a brush with disaster – this time.

I wonder if that's what the season of Advent is for. A sign for us to stop and wait and ponder the import of the coming event – Christmas, the introduction to the Savior of the world. We're tempted to rush on through – we have places to go, things to do, people to see – on a collision course with burn out, or perhaps worse, indifference.

Perhaps Advent is the time to reassess our needs, our “driving” skills and habits, time to take a refresher course in being aware and mindful of how God works in the world and in our lives. And why.

Could you imagine? The four weeks before Christmas being a time to come to a full and complete stop spiritually, a time to wait patiently yet eagerly for the gift of life and love you are deeply grateful for?

For God so loved the world

that He gave his one and only son

that whoever believes in him

will not perish

but have eternal life.

John 3:16

November Love

I had just stepped outside on Sunday afternoon and was gazing up at the sky that was clear for the first time in eleven days when my oldest son came bounding up behind me. I could hear his long legs leaping, could feel the joy radiating from his presence.

“Were you trying to sneak up on me?” I joked, not sure how so much happiness could be sneaky.

“No,” he responded, spray paint can in hand. “Do you want to see my latest painting project?”

“Yes, I do,” I said immediately. Here was my big, 13-year-old boy, still eager to show his mom what he was up to. My heart swelled. How could I refuse such an invitation? I followed him to behind the newly deposited wood pile to the open space on the cement pad that used to be an old barn. Leaning up against some lumber, he had his snowboard, his most recent canvas. He had spray painted it black.

“See?” he said, and then went on to explain his next steps: how he was going to spray it yellow next by standing far away so it just got little drops of yellow and then move closer as he sprayed closer to the bottom of the board so that would look like light from a city dissipating into the night sky and turning into stars closer to the top of the board and then he would paint a cityscape at the bottom by hand with grey paint. He had it all planned out.

And I stood there, admiring his black snowboard, admiring the creative energy bursting out of him, thankful to share this moment with him.

 Later that evening, after a delicious supper made by my husband, consumed around a fire on that surprisingly warm November evening, I listened to my second son singing at the top of his lungs about being “on top of the world” while standing at the top of a mostly fallen-down tree. I watched my daughter take a long stick from the fire, move into the darkness, and make the glowing embers on the end of the stick dance and swirl along to her own movements. And I felt filled to overflowing with unadulterated love, love with no expectations, only gratitude. 

Later, I wondered does God ever feel that way about me? Christians often talk about God's unconditional love, but I guess I would have to admit that it often seems to me that the love they talk about is a love SO THAT.... God loves us SO THAT we can share His love with others, SO THAT we can serve or reach more people, SO THAT we will be saved from ourselves or destruction, SO THAT His investment in the relationship won't be wasted. Does God ever love me simply because He loves me? For my own benefit? Because He's interested in what I'm doing and wants to be in my life? Because He thinks I'm a pretty awesome person that He knows? Or are there ulterior motives to God's love, like invisible strings-attached love, all the better to make you feel guilty with, my dear?

When I think about the love I have for my children, I would acknowledge that love is a mixed bag of goods. I do hope that my love for my children will help them to be better people, will help them to have a greater capacity to serve others, will keep them from getting into difficult and destructive situations, but those are not my motivating factors for loving them; they are hopefully positive by-products of a loving relationship. I love them because I love them – they are my children, they've been with me all their lives, they are my most important contribution to the universe and they belong to me while at the same time being very much their own independent beings. I love them because I want to, because it gives me great pleasure and because they thrive with love in their lives. And I am a mortal and flawed human. Do I have expectations of my kids? Yes. Do I sometimes make my kids feel guilty? Yes. But do I love them simply because they're pretty awesome people that I know and I'm thrilled they're in my life? Absolutely!

Is it possible that God feels that way about me, but more and better because He's God?

That might open up a whole lot of freedom and possibility in my life.

And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.

God is love.

Whoever lives in love lives in God and God in them.

This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgement:

In this world we are like Jesus.

There is no fear in love.

But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment.

The one who fears is not made perfect in love.

We love because he first loved us.

1 John 4:16 - 19

Before They Call

In every family, there are stories which define its character. Some of these stories get told and retold and enter the realm of legend.  This is a story my Dad told at our most recent family gathering. We children have heard this story many times over our lives, but it was new for the grandchildren. It is a story of faith in a good God, a story that, had the outcome been different, there might not have been a family to retell it to.

The day had dawned grey and cold over the rocks and lakes and pines. The low-hanging clouds forewarned of a coming storm. It was early November, 1971. Fires were already crackling in stoves all over the village of Pauinguassi as Vic and Norma began their day in their log cabin. It had only been a few short weeks since they brought their baby daughter home from the hospital but things were beginning to fall into a routine with their first child.

Pauingassi is a small fly-in First Nations community located on Fishing Lake in eastern Manitoba, 280 km northeast of Winnipeg, close to the Ontario border. Vic and Norma had moved there in 1970 shortly after their marriage to work with Native Ministries to serve the people in the community. At that time, the isolated community, reachable only by plane or boat, had a store, a church and a school but did not yet have a nursing station or telephones. The nearest nursing station was located in Little Grand Rapids, 24 km away across lakes. The only mode of communication with other communities was two-way radio.

It didn't take Norma long into the morning to realize that something was amiss. Postpartum bleeding had been tapering off, but this morning had brought about a new, heavy, terrifying surge. Something was not right. She alerted Vic to the concerning situation then headed back to bed, trying to lie as still as possible, hoping things would correct themselves shortly. It soon became apparent that the bleeding wasn't going to stop on its own. Fear began to creep in. As the morning wore on, Norma began to feel emotionless and numb towards the danger she was in.

Victor, on the other hand, was feeling strong emotions. His own mother had died from postpartum hemorrhaging shortly after his own birth only 28 years earlier. He did not want to see his wife succumb to the same fate. This drove him to action.

As soon as the seriousness of the situation was evident, Vic attempted to contact the nursing station in Little Grand Rapids on his radio. All he got was static – the dismal weather and low clouds were interfering with reception. His own small plane was at Red Lake having the summer pontoons taken off to be replaced with winter landing skis, or else he would have flown Norma out of Pauingassi himself. Early to mid November was when the weather typically shifted and the lakes began freezing over, creating difficult conditions for any plane to land, where the water was neither completely liquid for landing with pontoons nor hard and thick enough ice to land on with skis. He tried the two-way radio again, getting only static. He tried contacting Pine Falls – still only static. He tried to keep his panic at bay, but the situation was becoming dire. The day was wearing on, the bleeding was not abating, the weather was worsening, and still he could not get through to anyone for help. What more could he do?

By the middle of the afternoon, Vic came to accept that he would not be able to contact anyone by radio. Norma was lying pale and still in the bed. Vic knelt down beside the bed and began to pray aloud, pleading with God to save his wife, to send help, to bring about a miracle. Mid-sentence, he heard the faint rumble of an engine. A plane! It must be landing, or it wouldn't be here in this storm. He jumped up, not waiting to finish the prayer. Grabbing his coat on the way out, he ran half a mile to the store. Hurriedly, he gasped out the situation and his request to the pilot: please, would he please take Norma to Pine Falls, to the hospital?

The pilot, Jim Campbell, agreed, but indicated that he would be leaving immediately while he could still get out. By this time, the weather was terrible. Snow had begun to fly, the clouds were ominously dark and the sun had set, leaving little time and light to take off and fly in these adverse conditions. Vic ran back home through the howling wind, bundled up Norma and the baby and took them by boat down to the loading dock. As soon as they were buckled into the four-seater Cessna 180 plane, Vic untied the plane from the dock, pushed it off and the engine roared to life and took off into darkening sky.

To the west the storm morphed into white-out conditions over Lake Winnipeg where there were few landmarks to guide their way. Jim, a veteran bush pilot, was was clearly anxious on this ill-advised flight, pulling his toque down over his brow and then pushing it back repeatedly. Norma, however, sat beside him with her precious cargo, calm and completely at peace, full of trust that God had already answered their prayers and would bring them to safety.

By the time they reached Pine Falls, the storm had calmed enough for them to land safely. The wife of the air service director, a nurse, drove Norma, weakened from loss of blood, to the hospital where she was cared for.

Some time later when Norma and the baby were healthy and at home again, Vic ran into Jim. Vic asked him why he had flown into Pauingassi on that fateful afternoon. Jim said he didn't know. He had been leaving Little Grand Rapids to head back to Pine Falls but for some reason he had decided, despite the inclement weather, to head back to Pauingassi first. He had left Little Grand 15 minutes before Vic even uttered his prayer.

Before they call I will answer;

while they are still speaking I will hear.

Isaiah 65:24

Faith in the Fog

Confession: I ran out of gas.

In the middle of nowhere.

At midnight.

Three events coincided on the same evening to bring about this condition: we were invited over for coffee at some friends, my daughter was at a sleepover at a different friend's, and the van was running low on gas.

When we got home from a pleasant visit late in the evening, there was a message on the phone from the supervising mom that a certain girl was having some difficulties sleeping over after all and would I please call as soon as I got in. This I only mention to explain how and why I ended up on a dark highway in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, without gas.

Of course I went to get my daughter, despite its being late at night. When I got into the van, I remembered how low it was on gas. Unfortunately, the local gas station closes at 9:00 PM and it was much later than that. Our jerry cans also happened to be empty. I asked my husband if I should just take the truck. He said no, you could go pretty far on empty.

So away I went into the dark, foggy night to collect my daughter. Sometimes the fog was so thick I could hardly see right in front of me. “Would you say this weather is dodgy or sketchy?” queried my son, who had come along for the ride. I hoped I would be able to see the road to turn off the highway. I did manage to find the right road though I was doubtful it was the correct one until the very minute I turned into their driveway.

I collected my tired, disappointed daughter and headed back. About halfway home, the van began to slow of its own volition. I headed to the side of the road and coasted to a stop. “What's wrong?” asked my son.

Out of gas. You can't go forever on empty.

  

Thank goodness for cell phones.

My husband, who answered on the first ring as if he were waiting for this call, asked where we were. I couldn't really tell because of the fog. He figured he'd find us somewhere on the road.

My knight in shining armour arrived in due time. He hooked up the tow rope, and told my son to get on the cell phone so there would be constant communication between the truck and the van, between rescuer and rescuee.

I have never yet developed an enjoyment of being towed. I try to avoid it, generally speaking, not being a huge fan of the absence of control and the unpredictability. But we went, truck pulling van, my husband coaching me via my son on the cell phone. Of course, the first thing to be done was to get off the top of the hill. Getting towed downhill is not fun. Getting towed downhill in the dark and fog with a clouded windshield where the only thing to be seen is flashing hazard lights is even less than not fun. I tried very hard not to clutch the steering wheel too hard or press the brakes too furiously. I made a conscious effort to lean back instead of forward. I listened: when to brake, when especially not to brake. And I talked. I asked if I could brake now and I called when we became detached and I pleaded not to go so fast. And I tried to trust the wisdom and encouragement of my rescuer.

We made it home.

We even managed to coast to a stop on the other side of a puddle in our driveway instead of right in the middle of it. My son noted that an hour had passed since we had picked up his sister, taking about 45 minutes to travel three miles.

My relief at being home was great, greater than if I hadn't run out of gas.

Even while I was in the midst of my white-knuckled, murky drive home, I could see parallels in the rest of life. Each of us sometimes ends up stranded at a spot in life, unable to proceed on our own. Life can be murky and the way ahead unclear. But we have a Saviour in front of us, leading the way. We can't see where we're going, but He can. Sometimes we may feel like He's leading too fast, and we slam on the brakes, and other times too slowly, and we try to pass Him. But always there is a line of communication available for us to be encouraged and coached and for us to make our requests and feelings known. These are times for us to exercise trust in our Saviour's wisdom and ability to see and know what's coming, that He will prepare us for what lies ahead, and that He will get us safely to wherever it is that we're supposed to be going.

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

he leads me beside quiet waters,

he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the right paths for his name's sake.

Psalm 23:1 - 3