Comfort in the Fire of Grief, Guest Blog Post, Brenda Steinacher

Mar14

My guest blogger is my sister, Brenda Steinacher. In 2014, Brenda and her husband, Mark, lost their beautiful, vivacious, 31-year-old daughter, Sarah Jane, to kidney failure. Brenda’s passion and ministry is to bring hope and comfort in Christ to others who grieve.

Isaiah 43:2: New International Version:

Sarah

When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
They will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.

 

 

When we walk through the fire of grief we are certain that we will burn to a crisp. Our very bones burn with pain for the loss of our loved one. But God assures us that the ‘flames will not set us ablaze’. He comes alongside us with internal strength and comfort. He assures us that He will never ‘leave us or forsake us’. Be assured that Jesus is your guide through the trials of grief and that His love will saturate you. Rest in His arms and call out to His name. He will bring you through the fire of grief.

Photo: Sarah Jane Steinacher, personal family photo from our collection

Sibling Love

Feb13

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While Valentine’s Day is traditionally for sweethearts, there are many kinds of love that we celebrate. One of these is the unique relationship between siblings.

One of my greatest joys in life is my sister, Brenda. We live in different provinces but almost every day phone or message. I still remember the first time I saw my tiny baby sister in my mother’s arms. Far from being jealous of the new arrival, I was extremely proud. Mom and I would peek around a corner to watch her as she walked. If she caught us looking,  she would  immediately sit back down again.When Brenda was  three, I taught her a simple French song and then boasted that she could speak French. She was adorable, incredibly cute with her dark hair and chubby cheeks. One night, I had a dream of an older version of her, tall with long, dark hair. That is exactly the beautiful  young woman she became.

Brenda and I seldom fought. We had a few incidents, of  course. One day when we played a game of tag, I told her she had to chase me around a tree. Being older, I whizzed around it while she tried to keep up on her sturdy little legs. Once, for some unknown reason, I locked her outside the house. On another occasion, I planned games for her birthday party, and she promptly went off with her friends, ignoring my carefully prepared agenda. She also drove me wild when we played  Chinese checkers. After she became bored with the game, Brenda would laugh and upset all the marbles. However, fighting or aggravating was something that was the exception, not the rule.

Our own children were a different story. When my second child, Christopher, was born, his sister instructed me: “Put Christopher in his seat. Put Christopher in his bassinet. Put Christopher on the floor!!” When he was a little older, she complained that her brother was “breathing her air.” Christopher, however, was not innocent. I can still see him in my mind, blinking at her across the table, evidently enjoying her howls of protest.

When our next three children were born, jealousy wasn’t the issue but sibling fights abounded. During long car trips, I used to dream of sound proof glass that would allow me to see the children in the back seats of the van but not hear the noise. “Aunt Brenda and I never fought,” I told them numerous times.

There were many happy moments as well when they played together for hours.  One of the best ways to keep them peacefully occupied was to read to them. Our children devoured books and my husband and I spent wonderful  evenings reading to them.

They  also looked out for each other. We were at a park one day when little Hannah ventured up the slide. I started to get up from my bench, to ensure she didn’t fall, but didn’t need to. Her three older siblings were waiting at the bottom to ensure her safety. Christopher, as the only boy, also saw it as his duty to size up some of the young men his four sisters dated in their teens.

Fast forward to adulthood. Our five spirited children are thoughtful and caring. Andrea has started “sister nights,” a time  when the  girls go away overnight and have fun together.  Christopher organizes family fishing trips. We celebrate birthdays, special occasions and the siblings share interests and activities.  Since they are all highly verbal, we  have lively discussions, and occasionally have to declare some topics off limits to keep the peace!

Of course, all families have their particular style. Our youngest child, Susanna, wrote me a funny description  of sibling life:

Upon entering my parents’ house you will most likely see the oldest child cuddling the cat, drawing pictures which use her art skills, and thinking about how soon she can leave and go to bed. The next oldest and the only boy in the family may be loudly playing his guitar, talking about computers, or taking off his socks  so he can throw them at you. The next child is either obsessing over cats or books, as both appeal to her more than humans. The next child may outwardly look quite normal but is actually as strange as everyone else. She will be occupied  getting others to make her drinks, bring her slippers and  boring them with stories of Canadian law. As for myself, the last and youngest, I am likely to be lying on the floor, being ridiculous, and attempting to bother other people in the room, by causing a scene. As I write all this, however,  I know I have the best family and would not change it for the world. From my family to yours, be yourselves and never change. 

On Valentine’s Day, celebrate and love your siblings. Brenda, I still adore you!

 

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!

Searching for Sheep

Jan10

Each year at Christmas, I give my friend, Janet, a gift card to thank her for the rides she gives me to our local writers’ group meetings. Last Christmas, I decided to do something different. Janet has a collection of sheep: stuffed animals that have names and sometimes accompany her to meetings or on trips. Adding to her collection would be different and special. It shouldn’t be a hard gift to find. After all, sheep and shepherds share the spotlight with angels and wise men, coming to worship Jesus. So the hunt began.

My husband was quickly enlisted in the search. While I went into a craft store one day, I sent him elsewhere to look for a sheep. He came back and said, “There was one but I don’t think it was exactly what you wanted.”

I thought of another store. “Would you check there?” I asked.

He walked off to the second store but with no success. We kept searching. “I found an animal,” my husband said, “but I am sure it was a llama. It had a long neck.”

One afternoon, I searched through another pile of stuffed animals and pulled out one that I thought might pass for a sheep. The little knobs at the top of its head were troubling, though. Could it possibly be a sheep? I had the unhappy thought that it was likely a goat. Still, time was running out. I whipped my cell phone out of my bag and googled sheep and goats. The pictures weren’t promising. The sheep had smooth heads while the goats had horns. One article did say that some species of sheep have horns, but I thought it unlikely that this stuffed animal was one of them.

I was about to totally embarrass myself by asking a complete stranger her opinion when my husband walked in. It was a good thing. She might have questioned the sanity of someone blathering on to her, in the midst of a crowded store, about the characteristics of sheep and goats. “Do you think this might be a sheep?” I asked my husband. “It has knobs on its head.”

“Well, perhaps,” my husband ventured, “but with those knobs, I really think it is a goat.” Reluctantly, I  placed the animal back on the shelf.

It was becoming apparent that sheep were not the hot Christmas commodity that I had imagined. “I may have to look for a sheep at Easter and give it to Janet next Christmas,” I told my husband. “There are sure to be lots of lambs for sale then.”

Early one evening, we went into a store to mail off some parcels at the postal outlet. There at the front of the store was a stack of stuffed animals. One last try. My husband pulled one out and said, “The neck is too long. It’s a llama.”

“Yes, it is, and I want a sheep.”

A sales lady said to me, “Are you looking for a sheep? I may have one!” She reached to the bottom of the pile and just like that pulled out a sheep. I waved my arms in the air with excitement! She waved her arms in the air with excitement! I was excited because I had a sheep! She was excited because she had found one for me! My husband refrained from joining us in this public display, but he was pleased, no doubt relieved, that the sheep quest was over.

The Bible contains many stories and references to sheep. In Luke 15, Jesus tells a parable about a shepherd who has 100 sheep in his flock. One wanders off and the shepherd leaves the 99 to rescue the lost sheep, the one who needs him most. When he finds the sheep, he is filled with great joy and shares his happiness with his companions.

Jesus uses this story to illustrate God’s passionate love for the individual. The shepherd cares for the 99 but he cannot rest until he rescues the one. No one is dispensable. No one lacks importance. No one is outside of God’s love. The shepherd will not sacrifice a single sheep in his flock.

The parable also teaches us the value of persistence. The shepherd refuses to give up his search. We need that type of tenacity. A new year has arrived: a year to love, to create, to show kindness, to dream big and to keep going, keep going, until we reach our goal.  The sheep we are searching for may be right ahead of us, among the llamas and goats, at the bottom of a pile of stuffed animals.

May 2019 be your best year yet!

Note: The recipient of our sheep is a Canadian writer of devotionals and Christian suspense stories. Check her out at: https://janetsketchley.ca

A Thanksgiving Birthday

Oct10

Since my October 8th birthday coincides with either the week of Thanksgiving or the day itself, it has always felt extra special. At a time when we consider our many blessings, I am also reminded that God gave me the gift of life. We are not random creations but chosen by God to be uniquely who we are.

On the evening that I was born, my Dad rode his bicycle to a London, Ontario hospital. Mom and Dad were not rich. Dad was attending London Bible Institute and working long shifts at Canada Bread. Now a child was entering the equation. My parents often told me that before I was born, someone gave them clothing for a baby girl. This occurred long before modern technology could determine the sex of a child before birth, but God knew precisely that a girl child was on her way.

God provided for me before I was born but didn’t stop there. Over and over, he has met my needs and those of my family. Sometimes it has taken both courage and faith to believe in what I could not yet see. God often works  outside the  box, answering prayers in ways I could not possibly imagine. Why not? He is the creator of the universe, with infinite knowledge and power.

This year, our adult children and sons-in-law gathered on Sunday to celebrate both Thanksgiving and my birthday. One of my greatest joys is having all ten of us  together. My family spoiled me, as always, with thoughtful birthday gifts, including the lovely blue rug now gracing our living room floor. When we sat down to eat, my daughter, Hannah, asked us to each name something we were thankful for. This has become a tradition, a time to reflect on the many blessings we have. All of us have so much. As my pastor says, many of the best gifts are free. We only need to recognize them.

When my Dad rode his bicycle to the hospital, he likely felt many emotions. Perhaps he wondered how a baby would impact his already hectic life.  However, Dad knew that God provided. He understood gratitude.  At Thanksgiving and my birthday, I know that God is my Jehovah Jireh, my provider, who bestows life and all that is good.

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

 

 

 

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.