HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH A SKEPTIC?

HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH A SKEPTIC?

Being a widow with much time on my hands I have chosen the internet as my way of ministering to those that are interested in reading or watching what I have to say.  I Blog and have a You Tube Channel where I try to uplift the name of Jesus and reach out to help others in any way I can.  I care about those that take the time to read or to view what I have to share. 

Recently I received a comment on a video I presented, by a 19 year old that was brought up in a Christian church.  He entered University and is now studying Science, other religions and Christianity.  The studies in Science have caused him to question and doubt the Supernatural and the studies in other religions have caused him to question the prominence of Christianity over these other religions.   In one letter he asked “How do you validate your faith on a personal level? Rejecting these other religions and promoting yours?”  

Some in the Christian community are at a loss to answer these sincere seekers of truth because they don’t really know what they believe or why they believe it.  Many grew up in Christian homes never doubting what they had been taught.  Many converted after some sort of experience.  Is there any kind of “proof” that we can offer this doubting world as to the validity of our faith over that of another?

I know what I believe and why I believe it but how does one communicate that to a skeptical world?  How does one prove that we have not just believed on “blind faith”?  How does one put many years of study into a brief conversation easy for another to understand?  This was the dilemma I faced.

The world doesn’t want to hear quotes from the Bible because they think the Bible is archaic and merely written by men and not by God.  Personal experience is thrown out because other religions have personal experiences that back up their claims.  The threats of eternal punishment in hell – they believe – are scare tactics to keep followers in line.  They see no “proof” of God or any kind of life after death.  They want scientifically verifiable evidence before they are willing to believe anything.

Many Atheists/Skeptics on the net are not trying to find truth as they believe they already have it.  They comment on Christian videos and blogs hoping for an opportunity to prove how unintelligent or unaware the Christian Community is.  Sad to say, many well meaning Christians tend to prove them right.  In trying to give articulate answers they don’t stop to think, pray or discern who their audience is.  Many offer Bible quotes or refer to their personal experiences. Others resort to anger and threaten with hell to try to prove their point.  The non believer tends to look at this as the normal response from an uneducated unintelligent individual. 

I nearly fell into the same trap. 

The first comment I received from this individual was somewhat mocking. I immediately grouped him with all the others who “troll” the net looking for unsuspecting Christians to attack.  I was at the ready with a reply that would have been sarcastic and dismissive when a little voice inside me said “What if this person is really seeking the truth.” 

It would have been easy to dismiss that voice and continue as I had planned but when I thought about it, I reconsidered what I was about to write. 

We are Ambassadors for Christ sent to do what he would do were he personally present. 

Wanting to communicate as Christ would, I went to Him in prayer asking him to direct every word I wrote. 

I tried to think as this young man would think.  I presumed he probably encountered people that offered him glib answers to his heart felt questions only to be let down with the results.  I assumed he didn’t want to hear the “five and dime store” version of Christianity, as he’d already heard enough of that.  I speculated that he was looking for something new and something real that would make an impression on him. 

I tried to meet him where he was; on his level, that of a skeptical Christian who has struggled with many of my beliefs showing him how I found answers.

My first response was somewhat unconventional as far as Christian witnessing goes.  I figured he would be ready to counter all the customary answers he had probably heard in the past and already had dismissed.  I was hoping to demonstrate that I was not simply regurgitating things I had been taught or heard elsewhere. 

My individual response seemed to spark his interest and he was willing to converse further.  I continue to communicate with him using my God given intelligence and reason using principles and experiences that are common to everyone.

The lines of communication are open because I chose to listen, to go to God first and to try to discern where this person was coming from.  He is now more open to listen to the explanations I offer as to how I validate my faith.  Hopefully through continuing dialogue I will be able to demonstrate to him why I am able to reject other religions and promote my own.  

I cannot lead anyone to Christ.  Only God the Holy Spirit is able to do that.  I can only be an instrument in the Master’s hands appealing to one’s sense of logic, intellect, reason and curiosity.  They must do the thinking for them self and ultimately make their own choices. How it all ends is in God’s hands.

WHY DO I WRITE?

Why Do I Write?

I write because I feel like I have to write.  I feel driven to write.  I desire to write.  I have a longing to write.  I create when I write and I love to create.  It is like there is something inside me that is screaming to get out, to let my voice be heard, to express feelings and emotions.  I write because I want to honour My Lord and my King, share all that I know about Him, and that others might get to know Him also. 

I’m not a great writer.  I’m not even a good writer but I still desire to write and let my voice be heard.  I want to share all my joys and sorrows, my ups and down.  I want to let others know that I am a person, a real person on this side of the screen. 

I write to share experiences, thoughts and dreams.  I want to share my inside as well as the outer me.  I write about everyday occurrences to inform friends and family.  I share little anecdotes I find amusing,  hoping someone else will find pleasure in reading them.  I write about things I’ve learned hoping that others might benefit as I have.

What is in us makes us want to share?  Is it the oneness we feel inside even when in a room full of people?  I find that even then I feel like they don’t see me – the real me – the inside me.  It is important for me that they know the real me.  Why?  Why should it matter to me?  What difference does it make if they think that I am someone that I am not?  Will it really change anything in my life?  Probably not but then I feel like they believe a lie.  Truth matters to me.

We live in a corrupted world full of evil and dishonest people.  I don’t want to be one of them.  I want to be separated unto the truth, the real Truth.  There is not one truth for one and another truth for another.  There is only one Truth and that truth is found in the person of Jesus Christ.  He said “… I am the way, the truth and the life.  No man cometh unto the Father but by me.  (John 14:6)

Our whole world system began because of a lie and that lie is still being perpetuated even today.  “Hath God said?” Three little words changed the course of History.  These same three little words continue to grieve and hurt people today.

I see around me a world full of pain suffering and dying.  Everywhere people are searching for something – anything – that will fill that void and emptiness they feel inside.  All too often I see them searching in the wrong places.  They find pleasure for a season but it is fleeting and does not satisfy like they hoped.  They move on in another direction never seeming to find that peace that passes understanding. 

I write and I hope.  I hope that maybe, just maybe, my words might bring a ray of hope to a hurting soul.  I hope that maybe someone will listen and really seek to understand.  I hope that just one soul will turn to the only Hope we have in this world. 

Tit 2:13 Looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ;

Tit 2:14 Who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works.

OLD THINGS ARE PASSED AWAY - AT LEAST I HOPE SO

Dear Jesus,

Today I am beginning to blog for you - again.  I should have been blogging for you all along but somewhere along the line I lost sight of the whole purpose.  I am so sorry.  I got caught up in the “numbers” game and I was looking for “followers” and “comments” instead of only caring what you thought.  I asked you to send the people you wanted to read my blogs and then I got caught up in the “game”.  How quickly I lose sight of things and forget (and how easily the enemy can deceive).

Day after day I question what I can do for you.  I made a few videos I put on You Tube and I would blog the odd time – but - I thought those weren’t good enough.  Even with my videos I began to look for viewers and numbers and began to leave you out.  Sheesh! 

I thought that if I wasn’t getting the “numbers” then you weren’t really pleased with what I was doing.  I looked to myself to accomplish instead of looking to you to do.  I wanted the ratings and the glory and the honour and you would not have things that way. 

I said to you that it didn’t matter if anyone read my blogs or not.  I wasn’t worried.  I just did it because I thought you wanted me to and that you would lead others to read.  I was only fooling myself, I did care what others thought.  When I checked the “stats and comments” and no one seemed to be reading or responding then I began to question myself and what I was doing.  I wasn’t leaving it in your hands but took control once again.  Instead of writing what was in my heart, I began to write what I thought others would want to read about.  I began going over old blogs to see what others had commented.  I felt pressure to blog more often because I thought I would lose readers if I didn’t keep it up.  How silly of me. I was trying to stroke my own ego.

I really am sorry.  I let it become about me instead of being about you.  I don’t need others to affirm what I do.  I only need to do it for you.  You read every word I write and I am creating for you.  I am opening myself up to you and trying to be honest with myself and my feelings.  You already know them, but sometimes I need to be reminded and writing helps me to remember.  In this world I am so quick to forget all you have done for me and how you work things out in my life. 

That article my sister forwarded to me was a real wake up call.  In the article the woman writes about how you only had 12 followers and lost one of them.  Yet look at the changes made throughout the world because of those few.  Even if I only get one person that reads, I know that you led that person to read and it is for a reason.  Ministering to one is just as important as ministering to thousands.  Even if no one ever reads, I hope that in some way I can minister to you and to myself.  Thank you for that article. 

As I write this, I wonder if I should even be sharing this on a blog.  Should this be a private thing between you and me or should I post it?  Well, duh, I know you can block anyone from reading it if you don’t want them to see it and maybe in some way I might be able to help someone else by sharing my thoughts and struggles.

You know what?  I am going to try to be open and honest as I can be on this blog.  I want to go back to being “me” and not trying to be something I am not.  I want to take off my mask and just let loose with my words.  I want to be free to write whatever I want to write.  I have so many things in me that I want to talk about but when it comes to writing I never feel like I am good enough.  I feel I have to impress others or stay away from certain topics because they might not be accepted.  I have let “political correctness” rule my life and I am sick of it.  I don’t care if others don’t like what I have to say.  I am not writing to them, I am writing to you. 

I want to try to do my best for you.  Please remind me before posting each time to pray first, check my spelling and let it bring honour and glory to you and you alone.  Even if I write about myself, let it only be to show how I am imperfect and struggle like everyone else.  If you lead others to read what I write, please help them to see my heart and not necessarily the exact wording I use.  I have a hard time explaining certain things and sometimes they are taken the wrong way.  Help anyone you may send to see the truth in what I write and to see what it is I am really trying to say.

Thank you for reminding me that I can not do anything on my own.  If I try to do things on my own and leave you out of the process, I will fail miserably.  I need you to lead and guide me every step of the way.  I need you to check me and prevent me from writing things you don’t want me to write about.  I need you to speak to me through my own writing and if you care to lead someone else to read, then please bless them in whatever way you see fit. 

Well, I think I have said enough for this time.  I have so much in me that wants to get out on various topics so please direct which ones you would like me to talk about first. 

I love you so much Jesus and I thank you.

P.S.  Usually when I go to write a blog it can take me a whole day searching for just the right topic or right words to say.  This was so much easier and much more fun.  Hee Hee.

PEOPLE ARE WEIRD - At least I am.

This is from an older post I wrote in 2006 but I wanted to update it and see if I can get some other people sharing.  I do some (what I call) “weird” things and I wonder how many others have these same habits or similar type weird habits.  Many think they are alone in their “weirdness” but I am finding we all share this “weirdness” in some way or other.  I wonder what causes it.  Is it something we are born with, or do we develop these habits as we age?    

I’ll start with the age old question: When you eat your Smarties do you eat the red ones last?
I find myself sorting mine into piles of different colours.  Then I try to make even piles of the colours.  I put the odd numbers in a pile by themselves and eat those first.  I will eat one of each colour to make sure the piles stay even - and yes, the red are usually the last to go.  

I also do this with M & M’s, Jelly Beans or any other small candies that have a lot of colours.  Smarties seem to be the only instance where I keep the red ones till the end.  I wonder why?  Is it because the commercials have brain washed us?  (As a child I liked to lick the red ones and smear them on my lips to make lipstick.)  

 

Eating Potato chips is an adventure for me.  I can’t seem to just grab a handful out of the bag and eat them.  I have to go through this ritual of sorting them into sizes first.  Largest in one pile, medium in another, smaller in yet another, folded have their own pile, and last is all broken smallest pieces.  I eat the broken smallest pieces first and work my way up to the biggest chips at the end.  It is like I am rewarding myself with those nice large Potato chips.

 

I seem to be a person that likes to count things.  My favourite character on Sesame Street was the Count and I consider myself Mrs. Count.  It seems it doesn’t matter where I am, I find myself counting things.  It isn’t a conscience choice; I just catch myself doing it.  When we are driving a long distance I find myself counting cars that pass on the highway.  I’ve observed that cars seem to pass in groups of six at a time and then there will be a long space before another group of six appear.  It’s weird I tell you.  I wonder why that is?

I can understand why farmers will tend to have more advertising signs in their fields as you near a town or city but one farmer had a total of 20 signs in his field alone.  I think that is overkill.  Mind you maybe it is those advertising signs that help pay for his field. 

Another strange thing I seem to do is to buy things in groups of two when grocery shopping.  I like even numbers and I always want an extra “just in case”.  Three of an item seems too much and one not enough.  Certain things I will buy in fours if they are on sale - again there is that even number.  Things like ketchup and mustard are a few of the single items I buy.

 

As I’ve aged, I seem to get more of these strange foibles.  I have certain forks, knives and spoons that are my favourites.  I will search through the utensil drawer just to find my favourite, even going to the extreme of washing them if they are dirty so I don’t have to use a regular utensil.  I somehow feel deflated if I have to use a regular utensil and can’t use my “special” ones.  I have a few dishes that I re-act the same with.

When I pay for something with cash (doesn’t happen too often anymore) I find myself paying with bills even though I may have the correct amount of change. I have this thing about having a lot of change. When my bills run out, I may think I am broke till I begin to count my change.  Then I feel like I’ve won the Lottery when I see how the change adds up.

One of the things I’ve noticed is how people will sit with an empty seat between them and another person in a waiting room unless they come in with someone or know that person.  If I am sitting in a large area with lots of empty chairs and someone comes and sits right beside me, I feel uncomfortable.  Why can’t they find their “own space.” It is like we have this magic circle of protection around us and we don’t want people we don’t know in that circle unless it is necessary. 

Here are a few more of my foibles:

• When I drink anything out of a cup I have to have a spoon in it.
• If I drink something out of a can, I always have to shake the can at the end to make sure there is no liquid left or I sip till I don’t hear anything. 
• When it comes to certain paper type products I seem to be “stingy”. 
• I count the sheets of toilet paper I use. 
• When using paper towelling, I will rip the sheet in half and sometimes even quarter size depending on what I need it for. 
• I will reuse dryer sheets at least once. 
• When jotting notes, I try to use the correct size paper.  I hate wasting a whole sheet for just a few lines. 
• If a napkin only has a little part used, I will use that same napkin for something else -as a coaster under a drink, or to wipe up a spill, etc.

Now you know some of my deepest darkest secrets and you can see how REALLY WEIRD I am. I guess you already knew that before.
 

Here are a few habits that others were willing to share on the original post. (Names withheld to protect their identity)

Poster 1

• I squish my can when I finish a drink.
• I can't sit a drink down if there is a little pop on the top. I have to have a clean top.
• I eat my ravioli in layers--one at a time.
• I wipe my teeth all the time--in the car, shopping--everywhere. I use a tissue.

Poster 2

• I have to have all of my movies in alphabetical order as well as my CDs.  
• If there are items with a bunch of different colors, I always have to put them in the order of the rainbow.
• I don't like to let anyone else help me when I am putting up my Christmas decorations because I like it just so...
• I lick my ketchup chips before I eat them.

Poster 3

• I sort my M&M's and eat them in order as well, one of each color until finished.
• The sound of the microwave beep drives me nuts so I turn it off one second before it beeps.
• I almost always use the back door into the office rather than the front door even though the front door is closer to the parking lot.
• I can never hug someone just once; I’ve got to give that second little hug for good measure.

Poster 4

• I bite my Smarties, and I make wishes on the green M&M's.
• I eat the chocolate rim around a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup first and then the middle.
• I never touch my food with my hands. I'm quite adept at it.

Poster 5

• I like to read three books at a time.
• My CD's are in alpha order, but my DVD's are just stacked up.
• I have a big basket of beanie babies up on the hutch of my computer desk--I haven't touched them in a year or so.
• I cannot bear to throw out a piece of paper that has something printed on it. I might need it some day. Same thing with odd bolts screws and nails.
• M&M's – I can't eat them because of cholesterol.
• Now I've said too much. IF you print this comment, be sure to save the paper.

Now it is your turn, come on now - Fess up!  Share some of your “weird” habits with the rest of us.  Just click on the pencil below the post to share your comments. 

Enjoy your “Weird” habits.  We all have some.

THE SPECIAL MAN IN MY LIFE - MY NEW HUSBAND

I want to tell you about a very special man in my life.  My husband Val and I met him about 33 years ago.  We instantly became the best of friends.  There was just something about him that stirred something deep within. It was like we had known him all our lives.  We loved being around him and really wanted to get to know him well. We began to spend every spare moment we could with him.

He would tell us stories of long ago and of various accomplishments in his life and how he handled them.  He was so fascinating to listen to, we couldn’t get enough.  I admired him and what he had done so I would try to incorporate things he said into my own life.  I noticed Val was doing the same. 

He was so kind and gentle and was always willing to answer our questions or to give a hand whenever we asked him.  He never complained or seemed like it was an inconvenience.  He was closer to us than our own families were. 

My two girls grew to love him as much as we did and they always wanted to introduce him to their friends.  They loved hearing his stories and would often share them with others. He loved the girls and got along so well with children.  He seemed to know exactly what they needed and wanted and would share his insights with Val and I.  We really appreciated his knowledge. 

Many times he would drive to and from work with Val.  Sometimes he even had to take over the driving as Val would get so involved with talking to him that he wasn’t keeping his eyes on the road.  I was glad he was with Val as he helped to keep him safe on those long trips.

Over the years he taught me so many things.  He was always so well mannered and polite that being around him changed me.  I used to swear a lot but he helped me to realize that there was no reason for using vulgar language in expressing myself.  Besides it wasn’t very ‘lady like’. He had a great impact on me.

One thing about him that really impressed me was his calmness and forgiving attitude towards others.  People would say bad things about him, but he forgave them and didn’t let it bother him.  When I asked about it, he told me that forgiving others was something we did for ourselves.  If I held on to anger or resentment, I would only be hurting myself. The other person would go about their merry way and wouldn’t give it a second thought.  I would be letting their actions or words control how I felt. By forgiving others, I would be able to let go and not give anyone power over me.  It all made so much sense.  Everything he said made sense and came from years of wisdom and understanding. 

We went through a few really hard times over the years but he stood by us the whole time.  He often helped out financially as well as in other ways.  He was the best friend you could ask for. There were a few times I really didn’t want him around but he stayed anyway and I am so glad he did. He didn’t try to tell us what to do or what to think. He just went through it all with us and that was exactly what we needed.

I was so thankful that he was there when Val died.  He helped him on his journey.  He also helped me through the worse time of my life.  I don’t know what I would have done without him at such a crucial time.  He would just sit with me and let me know that I wouldn’t have to carry the burden alone.  He would help me every step of the way.   All I had to do was call on him and he was there.  He gave me the strength to go on when I felt abandoned and alone. 

A few months after Val’s death, I decided to invite him to move in permanently and to take control of everything.  I couldn’t do it on my own and I needed his help day and night.  He had been my best friend and confidant for so many years but now I wanted him as my husband.  He was delighted because he wanted that very thing.  He had been looking forward to it for a very long time.  I knew Val would be pleased.

He moved in and became my husband and my very life.  He is my constant companion and is always taking such good care of me.  I love him so much.

 

Two and a half years ago, we moved back to the city so I could be closer to my family.  He took care of all the details and our move went so smoothly.  When my sister was without a home for a short while, he suggested I let her come live with us till she could get back on her own two feet.  He is so considerate of others.  He loves my family and only wants the best for them. 

A little over a year ago, the apartment we were living in became a bit too expensive.  He found this great apartment that is a little smaller but less than half the price. We have plenty of room here and such a beautiful view.  It’s our little getaway from the rest of the world and so special to us.    

I can’t tell you how much he loves me and is always doing all sorts of things to show me his love.  Often I don’t notice till much time has past but he never seems bothered by that.  He just does them because he loves me.

He enjoys helping me write my articles and often has a lot of input in what I write.  He was the one to suggest I write this article about him as he would really like to meet anyone who reads this. 

Oh, did I forget to mention his name?  How silly of me!   

Some call him Yeshua but I call him Jesus.  

 Isa 54:5  For thy Maker is thine husband; the LORD of hosts is his name; and thy Redeemer the Holy One of Israel; The God of the whole earth shall he be called.

MOM MOMENTS

Luk 2:19  But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

My oldest daughter walked into the room crying. I went to her and put my arms around her as I asked her what was wrong. I felt the uncertainty and pain as she tearfully told me that she had lost her unborn baby – again.

My heart cried out for her.  “Oh, God, why?  Help me to help her.”

As I held my crying daughter I was reminded of the adorable little girl she once was.  Her only concerns then were playing with dolls, tea cups and dishes.  Her biggest calamities where when her toys didn’t do what she wanted them to do.  Life was so much simpler for her then.  When had my little girl grown up so fast?

I felt so close to her at that moment.  I was thankful that she was able to share her deep pain and feelings with me at such a time.  She was confused and afraid but I was there for her and she knew it. I would have done anything to ease her pain.  I would have taken that pain upon myself if it had been possible. 

In that instance I began to realize the love our Heavenly Father’s has for all of His children.  I realized that there was nothing too big or too awful that I couldn’t take to Father God. He would understand.  He would be willing to die to take my place.  He understood. I loved my daughter so much and yet God loved her much more than I ever could.  In fact, He loved me so much that he entrusted this person into my care from the time she was conceived.

In my mind I had to give her over to God and trust Him to comfort her as only He could.  There wasn’t much more that I could do to help her. I reassured her of God’s love and told her that He had it all under control. He knew what was best and He would eventually work things out in the best way possible.

Many years have come and gone and God has gifted my daughter with two extraordinary sons.  My special Grandsons!  The oldest is 5 years old and the youngest is 2. She was unable to have children of her own but God knew that one day these two little boys would need a good home.  He knew that she would love them as her own and that she would teach them about His love.

Psa 113:9  He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children. Praise ye the LORD.

Isa 55:8  For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD.

Isa 55:9  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

--------------------------------

I anxiously waited for news that my grandchild had arrived.  No news was forthcoming so I decided to go to the hospital and wait there.  I arrived on the scene only to be told it would still be awhile but they let me see my daughter for a short time while.  She was in labour but nearing the end.  I looked at my little girl laying there about to give birth.  It didn’t seem that long ago that I was laying on a hospital bed giving birth to her.  As one pain after another came she seemed to handle it so well.  I thought about how brave she was; how great she was doing; and how she was being so strong. I wanted it all to be over for her sake. 

In the waiting room I paced back and forth, sat down, stood up,  walked a little, lay down, everything I could think of to relax but I couldn’t.  I wondered if this was how fathers felt when they were waiting for their child to come into the world. 

Finally my son-in-law came into the room and told me I was the grandmother of a healthy baby boy. I was overjoyed as I hurried to my daughter’s side.  There in her arms I saw my first grandchild for the first time.  As they placed that little bundle in my arms, I burst into tears.  I couldn’t help it.  He was so precious and so beautiful. I let my tears flow as I looked into his tiny face. I felt like he was as much mine as he was hers. I was holding a little miracle in my arms.  Here was a new life that came forth from my daughter; my little girl! She was all grown up now and starting a family of her own.  I was so very proud of her.

Psa 127:3  Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.

Pro 17:6  Children's children are the crown of old men; and the glory of children are their fathers.

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I’ve shared these special "Mom Moments" with you in the hopes that it would remind you of our Father in Heaven.  I wonder if He ever gets “Father Moments” as He looks down on His children.  Does He sense a special closeness when we are willing to trust Him with our deepest pain?   Does He look on us with so much love and admiration that He feels like He will burst?  Do we sense His arms reaching out to gently hug us when we are having problems?  Do you think He chuckles when we do something funny or foolish and enjoys seeing us have fun?  And then I wonder how He really feels when a lost soul is finally born into His kingdom?  I wonder how He will feel when He finally gets to take His adopted children home to live with Him for all eternity?

The apostle John describes our experience as God’s children who have been born into His family by the new birth. 

John 3:3  Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.

Romans 8:23 tells us “we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.”

At the Second Coming of Christ our resurrected bodies will be glorified and will then possess all our inheritance that the son ship involves.

Many think that the Bible says that the angels rejoice when someone gets saved.  Well, maybe they do, but let's read it again:

Luke 15:10  Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.

The joy is in the presence of the angels.  Could that be referring to God?  Maybe it is God that is expressing joy! 

“Maybe He is having a Dad Moment.”

BACK TO GRANDMA AND GRANPA'S HOUSE THROUGH MEMORIES

This picture was taken years after my Grandparents passed on. It is so sad to see it this way.

I remember the long trips to my grandparent’s place with fond memories.  We had memorized all the sign posts we needed to watch for.  As each one passed, our anticipation increased, and we knew our destination would soon come into view. 

“Watch out for the ruts.” mom would say as dad drove down the long gravel road singing out a favourite song. He had traveled that road many times before and could probably have driven it blindfolded.  As we passed a certain clump of trees, we knew our Aunt’s house was next and just across the field was Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

Their house was set a little ways back from the main road and as we turned onto their dirt driveway we could see their house.  As a child it looked so big.   Little bits of green paint still clung to the old weather worn boards.  Poplar trees surrounded their house and lined the yard.  The leaves would rustle in the breeze with a warm welcoming sound.  There was a special kind of quiet there.  No more hum of city life but just the silence of nature.

As we entered the back porch I would check to see if Grandpa had any of his treasures out there. Sometimes there would be the heads of sunflowers lying out to dry and sometimes he would have a batch of his home made chocolate covered puff wheat.  I would anxiously wait to see if he would offer me some and if he didn’t I would hint by saying “Grandpa, what’s that brown stuff you have in the porch?”  He would get the hint and offer me some.  Yummy, I was happy. 

Going through the back porch we entered what seemed to be a small kitchen.  I used to wonder why Grandma had two kitchens.  It wasn’t till I was older that I realized it was a summer kitchen, a place where people cooked when the weather got hot.  That helped to keep the main house cooler.  On the left was a door that opened to a shed where piles of wood were stored for the cook stoves and to keep them warm during the winter months.  Straight ahead was the door to the main house. 

The first room we would enter was the kitchen.  As you stood in the doorway there was a counter and a few cupboards to left hand side.  To the right was their table and chairs with their fridge on the far wall facing in.  Close to the cupboards but directly across was a wood burning cook stove.  Beside that was the doorway to the living room.  There was a small jut out area where the door to the root cellar was.  In front of that was their water pump and along that same jut out was the narrow landing to the stairway.

Their living room was long with two small bedrooms off to the left hand side.  A sofa, chair, small table with plants on it, a wood stove, piano and piano stool were the only furnishings in that room.  The bedrooms were very small.  The one my grandparents slept in only had room for a double bed up against the wall and a small dresser.  The other bedroom had a moveable closet and an old couch. 

The kitchen was where most of the visiting took place.  Sometimes the men would go to the living room but if the weather was nice they would be outside checking out one of my grandpa’s latest inventions.  Meanwhile grandma would busy herself getting food ready as you could never leave their place without having a meal first.  While mom and she talked in Low German I would try to help with what I could.

Lifting the heavy cast iron plates, I would stoke the fire or put another piece of wood in to burn.  If Grandma needed anything from the root cellar I would quickly volunteer as I loved the musty smell and the spooky feelings I got down there. 

The old water pump in the kitchen was my favourite. A plastic pail sat under the spout with a metal pot they called a dipper, hung on its edge.  I enjoyed pumping and filling that pail and then rewarding myself with generous sips from the water dipper.  It would taste so cool and had a unique taste that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Doing dishes at home for our family was a chore but at Grandma’s house it was an adventure.  Potato skins, vegetable cuttings, coffee grounds or leftover food were put into a slop pail to feed the pigs (when they had some) or to go into a compost heap.   After heating the water on the cook stove, we would add it to the cold water where the dishes were soaking.  Sometimes a little milk was added to help break up any grease but oftentimes I would use her Lye soap.  I liked swishing the soap in the water or rubbing the dish rag on it to wash the dishes.  A quick dunk in the steaming rinse pan and then onto the drying rack they went.  As I would dry each dish I was careful not to drop any.  Grandma didn’t have a lot of dishes and none of them matched each other.  They were heavy and old but useful dishes with a character of their own.

After everything was cleaned up I would venture out and about to do some exploring.  My favourite place was their second floor.  The narrow stairway led to a small open room which they used for storage.  To the east was a brightly lit bedroom with a small bed and dresser in it.  There wasn’t much of interest in it and there was no room for the imaginations of a young girl.  To the west was another small room.  The sun wasn’t shining in on this side of the house and the light that was there cast eerie shadows around the room. A few boxes were stacked in one corner and an old roll top desk stood alone on one wall.  This room gave way to imaginings of all kinds.  I would sit on the old swivel chair and spin around.  I would roll it across the floor to hear the squeaking of the wheels.  Then I would pull in closer to the desk and lift the old roll top.  I would let my imagination run wild as I inspected the treasures beneath.  As I picked up each new treasure I would think “Who owned these old glasses and why aren’t they using them anymore?  Humm, I wonder what this is?  Wow, look at this old book.  I wonder how old it is?”  I was lost in my own world of make believe and adventure.  Sudden my mother would break the spell and call up the stairs.  “Get down from there and go play outside.”  Reluctantly I would leave, hoping to get back there real soon.       

Outside I would check what the men had been busy doing or I’d venture into one of the old dilapidated buildings on their property to see what kinds of secrets were hidden there. Usually I only found old pieces of wood or rusty machine parts but still, I loved the adventure of it all.

The day would seem to go by so quickly and then it was time to so home. Sometimes I would be lucky enough to spend a week there.  Those were fun times, except when I had to use the dreaded “Outhouse”.  I hated it.  I was a city kid and this was going just too far.  “How did they manage it in winter?” I wonder.   

  

In the early years they had a few animals which I don’t recall.  I do remember that after they would milk the cows I would love watching them separate the milk in those old separators. I couldn’t understand how the spinning could separate the heavy cream, regular cream, and milk into different spouts.  I always marvelled at how it all worked. 

There was one time my aunt, that lived near by, let me help make butter.  She gave me a large jar full of cream and told me to keep shaking it as much as I could.  I carried that jar around most of the day shaking and shaking and hoping to see it turn into butter. I don’t remember it working but I do know we had home made bread with home made butter later that day.  Yum.

I loved most of the old Mennonite recipes my grandmother used to cook but there were some things she used to do that would make me wonder.  One time she had a bowl of cream sitting on the table and it was getting all lumpy and looked awful.  Then she cut up green onions and put them on top.  I asked her about it as I thought it should have been thrown out.  She told me she was making sour cream.  I’ve never really liked sour cream.  I wonder why? 

She used to make this pudding she called “Plume ma mouse”.  I was scared to eat it as I thought it might have a mouse in it.  She explained that it was made from raisins and plums.  It was actually really good.  

I can still remember her painting her old wooden floors with little squares of sponge or rags.  She would try to make various patterns on the floor to decorate them a little.  She would weave old rags into throw rugs and put them around to help keep our feet warm.  I’ll never forget the feather pillows and her colourful patch quilts which I would snuggle under as I would drift off to sleep.  Those are special memories I will always cherish. I sure do miss those times. 

People in the ‘olden days’ led a much simpler life.  They didn't have a whole lot but they were happy.  They had each other and talked a lot more.  Imaginations were allowed to run free and explore all kinds of possibilities because they weren't distracted by televisions, radios or the internet.  They used and reused whatever they had.  Many became inventors while trying to make their lives a bit easier.  They learned how to make and do things from scratch.  They ate from the land and were much healthier for it.  There is so much we could learn from the past.

Jer 6:16  Thus saith the LORD, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls. But they said, We will not walk therein.