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Mystery Object Guessing Game!!

Jul9

Play a guessing game with me!

Last year, I gave my youngest daughter a personalized Advent calendar for her November 25th birthday. Susanna loves to unwrap presents and I knew she would enjoy having a gift to open on each day of Advent. The calendar was full of fun, interesting and useful items. There was one present, though, that we couldn’t identify. This was really the best gift at all because it quickly turned into a mystery object guessing game.

A friend found out the answer but we extended the fun.

Susanna suggested that I take the item to my local writers’ group and use it for an activity. I passed it around and asked everyone to write down what they thought it was and why. They came up with many novel suggestions. One or two gave an answer which was pretty close to the correct one. Many of the incorrect answers, though, were imaginative possibilities.

It all depends on the way you look at something.

Now, play the guessing game with me! As a member of our group described it, this object is “orange, made of hard silicon, holey, garlic-shaped, knobby, and has a hanging hook at the back.” It is also flexible and can be bent in half. Send me your guesses on my blog site, Facebook, in an e-mail, or in whatever way is convenient. I will compile all the answers, make a list of them on my next post and identify the object. Writers’ group members and others who know what the object is can still play, using your variety of responses!

I look forward to your answers!

 

 

The Tale of the Orange Crush, republished in honour of my husband’s birthday!

Jan25

Today is my husband, John Andrew’s, birthday. Now in his 60s, his dark brown hair has  developed a few patches of white. He is calm, serious, kind and loves to challenge people with trivia questions. Over the years, though, I have heard stories of a younger, different Andrew, capable of driving his parents and other authority figures to distraction. The story I am about to share, in honour of his birthday, is his favourite and mine.

In the late summer of 1960, Andrew was five and a half. His mother was expecting his baby brother, Christopher. The family were living  in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, not far from where Andrew’s father, John Adams, grew up. Andrew’s maternal grandfather was visiting, awaiting the new arrival. In order to give Mom a break from caring for a very active little boy, Dad, GrAndy young boy picandpa and Andrew went for a trip to the foothills of the Canadian Rockies.

By August, the long days of sunlight and limited precipitation had taken their toll on the vegetation. Andrew looked out the window of the car and saw brown, barren land. The grass had turned yellow and most of the beautiful wildflowers had disappeared or gone to seed. Some of the trees had started to turn yellow, a contrast to the faithful evergreens. Harvest was about to burst into full swing, with harvesters, combines and grain trucks.

The rambunctious five-year-old was hot and probably a little bored. Their route was taking them along a highway  which was  away from any major centre.

“I’m thirsty!” Andrew said.

There weren’t many places to choose from. Finally Dad and Grandpa found a roadside Orange Crush concession booth. Dad stopped the car and the three of them went in.

“What do you have to drink?” Andrew asked.

“We just serve Orange Crush,” the clerk explained.

“I don’t want Orange Crush,” Andrew complained.

Dad and Grandpa grumbled as they took Andrew back to the car.

“I’m still thirsty!” Andrew whined.

About 10 to 15 miles down the road was a hotel with a diner. This might prove more promising. They went in and sat on the  bar stools in front of the counter. The interior was dark. The middle aged lady behind the counter was occupied with another customer, Andrew was restless. He begin to swing over and over, round and round, on the bar stool.

“Stop that, Andrew,” Dad commanded, increasingly irritated  with his young son’s behaviour.

Finally, the lady was free to serve them. “What kind of drinks do you have?” Andrew asked.

“We have Coke and Orange Crush.”

Andrew didn’t want Coke. He realized that Dad and Grandpa were unlikely to take him to a third place, so he said, “Okay, I will have the Orange Crush.”

It was all Dad and Grandpa could do to keep their tempers under control on this hot August day in the Rocky Mountain  foothills. However, Andrew got his drink, most likely having no idea why they were so annoyed!

Happy Birthday to my beloved husband! We will make sure that there are other selections of drinks at your party, besides Coke or Orange Crush!

Graduation

Jun29

Last evening was the twenty-fourth graduation ceremony for a high school I teach at. Graduation is the highlight of my teaching year, a time to watch with pride as our Grade 12 students walk across the stage to receive their certificates and awards. The principal said in her address that these young men and women had the ability to create their lives. I thought that while some circumstances would be out of their control, their responses would always be their own.

More years ago than seem possible, a group of my fellow high school graduates and I stood on the stage of the Owen Sound Collegiate and Vocational Institute. The principal announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, here are your Ontario Scholars!” It was a proud moment. The hundred dollars we each received went a lot further than it would now but the biggest reward was in the achievement itself.  Our moment in the spotlight was also balm to the soul. Since graduation took place during October, most of us had already experienced our first weeks of university or other destinations, and with them the sometimes difficult transition period change involves.

The future was before us, unknown, full  of possibilities. I knew what my goals were: to become an English teacher, write, marry and have children. Even though, I have done all these things I could never  have anticipated what lay ahead. I had no idea that my future husband  sat at the back of the room in my Canadian Literature course.  I would never have envisioned that his job would take us across Canada, that our first child would be born in Saskatchewan and graduate from high school in Nova Scotia. There would be difficulties to face, loss and family tragedies, but also unexpected opportunities, adventures and rich relationships. My strong faith in God would always empower me to rebuild and carry on.

After the ceremony was completed, last night, the students threw their hats into the air. This is always my favourite part: a celebration of the past and a nod to the future!

Congratulations and much happiness to our 2018 graduates!  Write your own stories.  Life awaits you. Seize it and use it wisely!

 

 

Guest Post by John Andrew Adams, for Father’s Day

Jun17

Father’s Day tribute to my father, John Rayson Adams, 1916- 2006, by John Andrew Adams

One of the teachings of Jesus was that believers in the true God could and should address Him as “Father.” Even more distinctive was the fact that Jesus addressed God as “father,” and used at least some times a very intimate personal word for father, “Abba.” When Jesus was praying the Gethsemane prayer he used this word as Mark indicates: “Abba, Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will” (Mark 14:36, NIV)). Paul the apostle also indicates that the Holy Spirit gives true Christian believers the ability to address God as “Abba, Father.” Romans 8:15 in the NIV says: “The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.” Galatians 4:6, NIV, also states,:“Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, “Abba, Father.”

The interesting thing about the Semitic word for father, “Abba,” is that it not the formal way to address one’s male parent but is best translated in English as “Dad,” “Daddy,”or “Papa.”God wants those who know Him through faith in Jesus Christ to address Him as not just the formal “Father,” but as we would have addressed our fathers as young children. God wants us to relate to him as Father, as we related to our earthly fathers.

Now for many Christians this is a problem because their earthly fathers were either absent or abusive. I, however, have been blessed in the fact that my earthly father was a very good image of God as father to me. My father, John Rayson Adams, really showed me, especially as a young child, something of God’s Father-love. I can remember one instance in particular when I was probably about 7 years old. We were discussing a number of issues, including who the real Santa Claus was. when my father made this wonderful comment about his life. It went something like this: “Your mother and I got married and we we’re very happy. But what was really special was that then you came along!” By this he was referring to how I, as his firstborn child, made him a father and gave him one of the highest pleasures of his life just by my very existence as his son.

Because of this and other times, I always felt that he loved me, just because I was his son, not because of anything I did. I also could depend on him, to really have my best interests in mind. I even deep down understood that he was being a good father when he applied some, at the time, unwelcome discipline.

Quite some time ago, when I was seeking God for some personal and professional problems, I felt called to address God as I usually addressed my earthly father as “Daddy,” in a prayer about the situation I was facing. Minutes after I typed out this prayer to God, addressing him in this way in a computer prayer journal, I walked to the mail box of my then employer and in the mail there was a check for a large sum of money  that actually allowed my employer not to force me to take a significant pay cut! God was clearly underlining that He wants his children to call Him, “Daddy,” and He was pleased to answer my prayer at this time to show this.

More recently, when I address God as “My heavenly Daddy,” I really sense His love and his presence that was so adequately represented by him. I realize that God loves me just because I am me, no matter what, just as my earthly father John Rayson Adams, just loved me because by being his firstborn son, I made him a proud father!

The Birthstone Ring

Apr3

29745020_10160192418570156_3318653196796217566_oA close friend unexpectedly slipped a ring onto my finger. “A birthstone ring!” I exclaimed. Not only was this Easter gift a beautiful expression of the generosity and love of my friend, but it  took my mind back to the first birthstone ring I had owned…and lost.

When I was eight-years-old, my grandma gave me a beautiful birthstone ring on Christmas morning. It was an amazing gift for a little girl to receive and even more special because it came from Nana. I wore it with pleasure. Then the unthinkable happened and my ring disappeared. I was attending university at the time and living in a student residence, a charming, older building covered with vines. Where did my ring go to? My best guess is that I left it unattended on a bathroom counter  and it was stolen by a lady who had been seen in the building and was suspected of committing petty thefts. It was a great loss and I did not think to replace the ring Nana had given me. After a few years, a diamond engagement ring and then a wedding band graced my hand. Life went on and the ring was a treasured  memory from the past.

Then suddenly, this Easter, after  many years,  God restored my ring – a different ring, but given with thoughtfulness and friendship. I thought of how fitting this gift was for the Easter season. God is in the business of restoration, sometimes in areas that we would never expect. The Bible is full of verses about God giving back that which is lost. One of my favourite is from the book of Joel: “I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten…(Joel 2:25, NIV).”  Growing up in Ontario, I was familiar with grasshoppers (similar to locusts), but when my husband and I lived in Saskatchewan for three years, I saw the damage these insects can do. I yelped the first time a grasshopper leaped in the car window next to where I was sitting, but this was nothing compared to the fields with large sections stripped bare of crops. The farmers had a saying that next year’s crop would be better and eventually the grain would stand tall once more. Restoration  would occur. There are many areas where we need restoration: relationships, finances, sickness, shattered dreams, broken hearts. Like the farmers, we can hold our hope before us, knowing that losses do not define us and that God will in his time and way repay us for all that has been stolen.

This brings us to Easter. Adam and Eve lost their intimate relationship with God in the Garden of Eden. Since God’s  holy nature cannot tolerate sin, the only solution was for Jesus to die on the cross, take our sins upon Him, and restore us to being full sons and daughters of God. All we need to do is believe. This is the greatest restoration of all.

As I look at the birthstone  ring on  my finger, I am reminded of what Christ does for me on a daily basis, and of the priceless gift of salvation, that we celebrate at Easter. Jesus has risen, and because He has risen, all things are possible!

 

 

Loss

Feb1

AscensionA few nights ago, my tabby coloured cat, interspersed with lovely shades of brown, passed away with almost no shadow of warning. Ascension, or Gorgeous as we sometimes called her, was 14 years  old. She came to live with us when several of my daughters encountered some people outside a pet store who had a small abandoned kitten to find a family for. Ruthmarie and Andrea failed to mention to their Dad exactly what they were bringing home. He said her little squeaks sounded like a bird’s. However, she was a fully-fledged feline and we fell instantly in love with her.

To our knowledge Ascension had not been ill. Except for a little extra stiffness in moving around, she did not look like an older cat. Her fur was glossy and thick, and as the alpha cat, she had no trouble maintaining her position. The day she died, Ascension appeared to be fine until around suppertime. She was lethargic but that had happened before. We made sure she had some water and my daughter, Andrea, settled her comfortably in her bedroom.

Sometime around 2:30 a.m. Andrea came to our bedroom door and said there was something terribly wrong with Ascension. We brought her to our room and I lay down beside her. She had a short spell of convulsions and then was still. I kept my hand on her, certain she was still alive. My husband had to do the hard part and convince me that she had slipped away, with me crying and telling him not to take her  from me. He put her in a little box and I cried inconsolably. She was very much my cat and I wonder if I will ever get over feeling the way I do now.

We all experience loss and it is never welcome. Losing something or someone is highly personal and unfortunately, one loss can trigger feelings from  a host of others. Over the past few years, there has been way too much of it – the deaths of family members and friends, the unforseen  breakdown of a close relationship, and a temporary loss of identity and purpose as roles shift and self examination takes place.

We also grieve for the losses of others. Dementia, for example, takes a terrible toll People lose a loved one twice: the gradual, downward spiral until the person is not longer him or herself and then death itself.

Since I am in the grieving stage, this all sounds like doom and gloom, but there is hope. Some losses require forgiveness and understanding. Some require fresh ideas or altered paths to travel, an inventory of what is next in life. We never really get over the deaths of those we love but as many have pointed out to me, we may have wonderful memories to sustain us, as I do with Ascension.

My mind keeps going to Paul’s words in Philippians 3:8: “What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things” (NIV). Perhaps Paul is saying that none of these earthly losses compares with the joy of knowing Christ in a personal and intimate way. He is the one who gives us peace and holds our hand in the storm. Our own losses also enable us  to comfort others, to really understand their pain, even if the actual details differ.

And, as several friends have pointed out to me, Ascension is immortalized in a story I wrote and had chosen for publication in Hot Apple Cider with Cinnamon, edited by N.J.Lindquist. How many cats have a claim to fame like that?

If you are grieving be gentle with yourself, put your hand in God’s and know that he will never let it go.

Thanks for listening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

100th Anniversary of the Halifax Explosion

Dec5

Today is the 100th anniversary of the Halifax Explosion. We remember not only a devastating  casualty of war but the courage and compassion of the Halifax people and their ability to rebuild from the ashes of tragedy.

As a tour guide, I told the story of the Halifax Explosion as we travelled from Agricola Street to the Hydrostone area in the North End. This is my story.

 

Remember the three red and white smoke stacks that I asked you to keep in mind as we drove down Citadel Hill? Now I am going to tell you the story of the Halifax Explosion.

The early morning of Dec.6, 1917, during the First World War,  seemed no different than any other. Adults went to work or attended to household tasks and children walked to school. The Halifax Harbour was bustling with ships. The two principle characters in our story are the Mount Blanc, a munitions ship from France, under Captain Medec,  and the Emo, a relief ship headed to New York City, under Captain Fromm. The Mount Blanc was like a sailing bomb, carrying such dangerous items as TNT, picric acid, gun cotton saturated with nitric acid, and benzoyl, which was placed in secured barrels on the deck, away from the other explosives. Normally, such a ship would have flown a red flag to warn people of danger but Captain Medec did not want to fall prey to enemy vessels.

On the evening of Dec. 5, both captains were anxious to complete their missions.  Captain Medec wanted to enter the harbour and  join a convoy of vessels which would give protection sailing across the ocean, and Captain Fromm was in a hurry to exit the harbour and load his ship with relief items in New York City.  However, the captains were stalled because the submarine nets, created to keep out German U-boats , were already in place.

The next  morning both Captains were eager to be off. They both travelled towards the narrows, where the smoke stacks are, but because of some blundering decisions, crashed into each other at 8:45. The Mount Blanc caught on fire. It proved  impossible to put out and both crews abandoned their ships.

Few people knew how much danger they were in. They stood at the waterfront, watching the burning vessel. Children looked  out through the large school windows. They were no different than us, full of curiosity about an unexpected event.

Curiosity soon turned to terror. At 9:04:35 the Mount Blanc exploded, the biggest explosion caused by man  before the atomic bomb. Approximately 2,000 people were killed and 9,000 injured. Windows were shattered and slivers of glass damaged people’s eyes. Many wooden  houses caught on fire and people were stranded underneath the boards. Halifax immediately took control, calling in medical help from doctors, nurses, and  student doctors studying at  Dalhousie. People without homes were taken in by the Armouries, factories, churches and homes. A flood of help arrived  from other provinces and  countries. Can you guess which was the first city to send in supplies and medical help? I will give you a hint. It was a city in the USA. You’ve got it! Boston, Massachusetts! Each year, Halifax sends Boston a gigantic Christmas tree, as a thank you to the people of Boston. The tree is placed in the Boston Commons and beautifully lit.

When my husband and I decided to move to Nova Scotia, 17 years ago, we  read a novel called “Barometer Rising” by Canadian author, Hugh McLellan. The book is a fictional account of the explosion. A comment that has always remained in my memory is that we often remember a smaller event because of its juxtaposition  to a larger one. For example, many of you can likely remember exactly what you were  doing or where you were when you heard of the death of a loved one. During the night of Dec. 6, a ferocious snow storm hit the area. This made the task of finding family members much more difficult. There are many winter storms in Nova Scotia but this one is remembered because it is part of the story of the explosion.

There were several trials but finally the Halifax Explosion was judged an accident.

Here we are now at the Hydrostone stop. This area was completely destroyed. New houses were built of hydrostone, a fire resistant material. Look at the lovely green area and the many interesting shops. Much work was put into reconstruction.

Postscript  for reader:

Halifax has proven to be capable of handling major disasters. I am a transplant from Ontario,  but am proud to be part of an outstanding community. On Dec.6 we need to remember the people who died, and all those who showed great bravery,  provided aid and rebuilt the city.

Lest we forget.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Road to Emmaus

Apr17

Two men travelled to the village of Emmaus, seven miles distance from Jerusalem. The most momentous events in human history had just occurred. For three years, Jesus, a carpenter’s son, had healed the sick, raised the dead, taught the multitudes and gathered a group of disciples to carry on his mission. Jesus claimed to be the Son of God, the Messiah. He drew massive crowds, which filled the religious leaders of the time with anger, jealousy, and since the Jews were under Roman occupation, probably fear. They stirred up the same crowd who had laid their coats and tree branches on the ground just days before to welcome Jesus as King, to call for his death by crucifixion. He was flogged and hung on a tree, left to die as a common criminal.

Now rumours were circulating that Jesus was alive, risen from the dead!

Did the men understand what had happened, that the destiny of mankind would never be the same? It appears not. They met a man on the way they failed to recognize. At first, this man seemed to have no idea what had transpired in Jerusalem. Then, to their amazement, “he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself'” (Luke 24: 27b, NIV). Something stirred in their spirits but, still, they had no idea who the stranger was.

They stopped at a house and the man broke bread and handed it to them. Then suddenly, they recognized that the stranger was Jesus and the stories of his resurrection were true! In their confusion and disappointment, they had not realized that Jesus had been sharing with and teaching them, as they were together on the road.

We all travel the road to Emmaus. Things happen that we don’t expect, can’t comprehend or have no answer to. Jesus is always with us but do we always recognize him? Perhaps we need wisdom but don’t recognize God’s voice, even though the answer is right in front of us. We need comfort and fail to see all the little blessings God sends us each day. We are in grief or pain but don’t hear the small voice speaking words of love to our spirits. Or, someone needs our care and we walk by, not realizing that God is calling us to extend our hands and hearts.

For some reason, this story holds great appeal for me. God has answered prayers in ways that I could never have anticipated.  Sometimes, when I listen, I can sense his spirit assuring me that he has the problems I face well under control, that it is only a matter of waiting.

Look for God on your own road to Emmaus. He will be there, drawing you with his love, comforting you in times of sorrow, pouring out his blessings and giving you the wisdom you seek. Ask him to reveal himself to you and he will break bread before your eyes.

Christ has risen, and because He has risen, all things are possible!

 

Reposted from April 2017, with the addition of a photo from my own personal collection.