Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Jesus Manifesto


This following post is my comment to my son's rhetorical question that he has posed on his blog. Some of his friends are asking Mikael if his faith in Jesus Christ makes a difference in his life. That's a good and insightful question, and Mikael has answered very appropriately on his own. My comment to his post is to affirm his belief and to support his courage in believing.


Why do I believe in Jesus as my God?

  • Jesus is the only God who, I know of, comes down from His heavenly throne to my earthly level by demonstrating His true humanity and genuine humility.
  • Jesus is the only God who is both love and justice personified. By the standard of justice, I ought to have been totally separated from this loving and sinless God because God and sin are mutually exclusive. But, He is also a God of incomprehensible love for me and you. How does our God reconcile these two qualities? He sacrificed Himself to suffer and die on the cross for me where I ought to have been nailed. To love me and to administer justice, God took my place and carried on Himself my sins and ailments (Isaiah). What an awesome God Jesus is! No other god of any other religion has done that; or would ever do that for me.
  • Jesus died to give me what I do not deserve: eternal life and His blessings. That's called GRACE. Instead, Jesus forgives me for what I DO deserve: death and eternal punishment for my sins. That's called MERCY. Which god dispenses grace and mercy like Jesus?
  • Jesus, though Creator, King, Everlasting God, is also my Saviour, Redeemer (in redeeming my sin-debts), Forever-Friend, and the best of Fathers who parents me, watches over me, and tailor-makes a plan for my life.
  • Jesus teaches me to hate sin, but, love the sinner. He also reminds me that none of us is sinless; only Christ is. However, the way Jesus dispenses His grace and mercy on me makes me feel as if I am made just, pure as snow (Psalm). That's what is meant by JUSTIFIED (as if I am made just and righteous again).
  • Jesus forgives whenever we repent our sins. He reassures me that there is no condemnation in Him for those who loves Him and follows Him.
  • Jesus is not about religion. In fact, He fought religion while He was walking this earth. Jesus is about doing His Father's will. Thus, as we are supposed to be Christian ("Little Christs"), we ought to reflect a glimmer of His light as His followers and ambassadors. Therefore Jesus is not concerned so much about we going to church and doing "churchy" things as much as about we being His church wherever we go. Do I represent Him as His church on earth? Someone else puts it this way: If I were put on trial in a court of law for being a Christian, a follower of Jesus, do they have enough evidence to convict me? That's the kind of acid test that I should subscribe to.
  • Jesus cares about the poor, the disenfranchised, the marginalized, the weak, widowed, fatherless, the sinners, and the homeless.
  • Jesus teaches us that His is an upside-down Kingdom where the poor is rich, the powerful is weak and powerless, and the first is the last. He teaches and practises social equity.
  • Jesus, by His life, shows us what true leadership is like: that He would roll up His sleeve and become a servant of all by washing our feet and by stepping up to the plate and substituting for me at my death sentence. Wow! What kind of God is our Jesus? He is the only true God. Case closed and Amen.

To Mikael from Dad

December 30, 2008






Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Blue Print for Christmas

When I previously wrote about "The Blue Print for Easter", it never occurred to me that the birth of Christ is as much an act of divine design as His death on the cross. In fact, Christ's birth and death is one single blue print of God's inexplicable and immeasurable love for me and you, played out over 33 earth years 2000 years ago, but conceived and born in Eternity.

That an almighty and awesome God volitionally traded the glory and majesty of Heaven for a life of incomprehensible humility, suffering, and eventual death on the rough-hewn trunks of a tree is beyond all human understanding. That's why Jesus, God among us, Emmanuel, is mystical and divine.

The human story (history) of our Lord reminds me so much of Mark Twain's classic, The Prince and The Pauper. In his desire to experience what life would like outside the cocooned luxury of the palace, Prince Edward traded places with a beggar boy, Tom Canty, who bore a remarkable resemblance to himself. Thus began the prince's adventure and misadventure in a cold hard world (which was his father's kingdom) where common folks lived. In the end, the prince was restored to his regal state. Trading places is where the similarities end.

God knew how depraved His created world had become. But, the prince never in a million years knew what poverty, injustices, depravity, and selfishness looked like. He traded his throne for the life of a beggar. Whereas, God knowingly humbled Himself to become the least of us by choosing to be born lowly, lived simply, taught passionately, fought hypocrisy and injustices fiercely, and died on a criminal's cross shamefully.

Why did God do that? He did that just for me. God did that because He loves me so much that He could not, and cannot, see me spend eternity without Him. He is the Good Shepherd who loves every single sheep! He would roam around the countryside looking for the lost sheep. When the enemy demands a pound of flesh from me as a result of my debt of sins, Christ offers up His life to pay my unpayable debt. Debt paid and debt-free, I am ransomed by my faithful and loving God.

Being conceived in the womb of a mere mortal and born a baby are the beginning steps of redeeming my debts by trading places with me. That's what Christmas is all about! It's God's thirty-three-year-and-nine-month journey on this earth to redeem my unpayable debts.

On the cross, God says,"It's paid in full! It's done!" God defeated the enemy, his evil intent, and death itself as He rose from the dead in the same mystical and miraculous way when He was born a baby in a manger in Bethlehem.

The cuddly gurgling baby in Mary's arms is the same beaten and deformed sin-carrier on the Roman cross. Most amazingly of all, He is the same Good Shepherd, the same Creator, Redeemer, King, and loving God who loves me by offering His "pound of flesh" for me so that I may be free from the yoke and bondage of my enemy.

The blue print of Christmas and that of Easter are, indeed, a single divine design, conceived in love and eternity, for the salvation of all.

"Oh Happy Day when Christ was born!"

No wonder the choir of angels still sings!

Sunday, December 21, 2008

God Sighting


In the almost utter darkness on the frozen Assiniboine River, where bare branches reaching out from their snarled trunks sheltering the dim glow of city light above the treeline, appears an unusually tall figure who looks like a 9-foot tall man of Nordic descent. His thick head of silky blond hair appears to glow in the dark as it flows gently. He is dressed in a white cotton tunic with matching loose-fitting pants. The ends of his belt, made of the same material as his attire, dangle breezily as the man gracefully moves on the frozen surface of the river, as if gliding on a layer of thin air. He is definitely not dressed for a minus 37 degree Winnipeg winter. He is unearthly out of place, and out of time (Or, is he?). How very strange!

With a seemingly effortless swish of his arms, this ethereal being gives a desperate young man, who had fallen into the frigid river, a tuck and a push so gentle that the rescued hardly notices anything as he finally succeeds in heaving himself onto solid ice after several desperate attempts.

God shows up and saves my son from an untimely death, again!

Another God sighting in my totally oblivious, insensitive and undeserving life!

Last night, at 10:30 p.m., Mikael decided to go for a walk down the Assiniboine River to the Forks for skating on the river. He dressed for the cold and equipped for the walk and skating.

In his curiosity to check out a riverside sewer culvert, Mikael edged along the riverbank to check out the big metal conduit that looked empty and dry. As he bent down to look closely at knee level, he felt the earth gave way below him. The thin ice cover broke as Mikael slowly sank down while he watched a surrealistic eruption of snow rushing skywards.

His next sensations were the stench of raw sewage and the icy sensation in his back. He found himself nipple-high in the sewer-saturated Assiniboine River.

Mikael tried to grab onto ice pieces, but, they simply disintegrated and floated away. He did not feel any river current swishing him away. He floated on his back and dog-paddled backwards until his head touched solid ice. He turned around and made several desperate attempts to get up onto the ice surface. However, his layers of soaked clothing weighed him down so much that he had difficulty heaving himself up. He simply hung onto the edge of the ice while dangling in frigid water to catch his breath.

That was when God showed up. He sent an angel, a Nordic one out of His sense of humour for the 50% of Mikael's biological and cultural make-up, to save him as He has done so many times before.

God simply loves Mikael so much and He watches over him and saves him in His right time.

Is that ever wild or what!

God has done so for me as well so many times that I, in my absolute oblivion, never even noticed.

Like Michelangelo's famous painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican, God reaches down towards Adam (that's me; that's Mikael, that's you) with an extended arm, hand and index finger. All we need to touch Him is to make an effort to believe that He is only a wisp of a prayer away.

God is always as close to us as He can be without violating our freedom of choice. Having come so close to touch us, He allows a little space, like a finger-sized gap, between us and Himself so that we may choose to touch Him, ask for His help, or not at all.

Our God is a gentleman God who never imposes His divine will on us. He gives us the freedom of choice to invite Him to bless us, heal us, save us, dwell in our live, or sadly, leave us alone.

God waits for us to ask.

Yes. Can you believe it? My God waits for me to ask. He is patient, to boot! He has an eternity within which to wait for my response. But, I have only my lifetime to respond. If I were too late, I'd be out of here for good.

Isn't He an awesome God?!

Thank you, Father, for showing up for Mikael last night.

Thank you for being our Creator-Saviour-King!

Amen

P.S. To read a first-hand account of Mikael's misadventure, please go to:

http://mikaelsmisadventures.blogspot.com/2008/12/on-falling-into-river-and-perfect-hair.html

Have fun reading Mikael's account.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Autumnal Family Reunion

I have spoken sufficiently about the pang of pain in a father's heart in my previous blog postings. Today, I am speaking about the joy in a father's heart as our family is reunited for Thanksgiving.

Our third son, who has been taken ill quite suddenly and hospitalized for the past three weeks, has come home to stay. And, we all rejoice and pray for his continued recovery.

Our fourth and youngest son is home for a visit from Vancouver where he lives because he was concerned about his brother's health. He is in time for his second brother's birthday, a one-month-delayed birthday for his third brother, and a family reunion Thanksgiving.

It had delighted my heart when the six of us, like many years before, sat in the living room fighting to get a word in edge-wise, while shooting pellets or elastics at each other at the same time. Happy cacophony!

The joy I am feeling is just a drop of rain in the vast and deep Atlantic of the heart of Father God when His one-and-only Son ascended to Heaven and was reunited with Him in His throne room, celebrating Paradise regained.

Dear Father, thank you for allowing me to enjoy a mirrored image, though through a glass dimly, of Your joy as Christ accomplished what You have sent Him to do and returned home to be with You, a forever family reunion.

Thanks. This is sufficient cause for Thanksgiving, indeed.






Friday, July 25, 2008

Diamond in a Lump of Coal

Though coal propelled the Industrial Revolution, which, in its turn, birthed the Information-Technology Age in which we seem to be thriving, it is a common commodity. It's coarse, dirty, flaky, ugly in appearance, and it does not have much of a symbolic or poetic meaning in and of itself.

Whereas diamond, on the other hand, has long been held in the human imagination as pure beauty, highly valued and valuable, hardy and rare. It even symbolizes the essence of something of superlative quality, like the unbeatable human spirit in the face of less than ideal situations in life; thus, the saying:"diamond in the rough".

Diamond is a rare commodity. Only those who have great means can own the brilliant lustre of a piece of pure carbon. The funny thing is, both a lump of coal and a diamond are related. They have the same parentage. They are carbon molecules of different density as a result of relative degrees of pressure and heat in their formation in the earth.

The following real life story illustrates well "life is not always what it seems to be". It's an uplifting story. It's a modern-day "My Fair Lady" and "Pretty Woman". It's a Pygmalion Theory coming true!

In reality television craze such as American Idol and Canadian Idol, the U.K. has their version called "Britain's Got Talents". It was in one of those appearances that this self-fulling prophecy took place.

Paul Potts, a mobile phone salesman from South Wales and an unknown (talent) took the stage. Paul stood in front of a large audience and three very hard-nosed judges in his "horrible looking suit" and a most nervous posture. He carried a nervous smile.

Simon, the head judge, and by far the most hard-nosed of the three, asked Paul what his occupation was. Paul answered that he was a mobile phone salesman.

Amanda, one of the judges asked Paul:"Paul, what are you here for today?" Paul nervously, and almost apologetically, replied:"To sing opera."

The judges looked at one another as if to say, "C'mon. Give us a break!"

What had appeared metamorphosed instantaneously into something totally unanticipated the moment Paul sang his first note of canta Opera. What followed was a miracle. The seemingly impossible happened... a charwoman became "My Fair Lady"; Paul Potts rose above to become an opera singer!

Paul's angelic voice brought everybody in the audience to their feet. The audience was wildly wowed (and so were the three judges), and it applauded unceasingly long after the last note was sung.

Amanda, the only lady judge, with tears running down her cheeks complimented Paul with this poetic device:"I think we've got a case of a little lump of coal here that's going to turn into a diamond."

Into a diamond, indeed, is Paul Potts turning. Not only did he win round after round of the talent contests, he has his first CD, and has made many appearances with big names like Sarah Brighthman and Andrea Bocelli.

What lessons have we learned from this true tale of transformation and transcendence?

1. Paul admitted that as he grew up, having a healthy self-confidence has been a difficulty for him. His metamorphosis is an inside-out and outside-in one where he is more confident, looks more confident, sings more confidently, and live more confidently. He rose above!

2. At an interview before his performance audition, he passionately admitted to the world: "My dream is to spend my life doing what I was born to do... to sing." Sang he did, and very well, too.

3. From the moment Paul Potts set foot on stage for the first time for the "Britain's Got Talents" show to now when he is warmly received with world-wide acclaim, Paul never exhibits one single hint of arrogance. Instead, Paul has etched in my mind a man of humility and meekness though he knew what he was capable of performing.

4. As a valued colleague of mine, Jennifer Blair, so beautifully reminded me that we work with young lives most of whom, unfortunately, are deemed by those who are most significant to them to be worthless, unlovable, commonplace, and troublesome. We, who are privileged to be entrusted with this sacred duty to care for these little ones, ought to see diamond in every child, everyday. Period!

5. Yes. Each one of us is created with gifts and talents. Let us patiently uncover them and humbly use them for the betterment of everybody with whom we come in contact in life's journey daily. Let us, as Paul emboldens us to do: "My dream is to spend my life doing what I was born to do." Whatsoever that may be.

Thanks, Paul, for your life-statement of encouragement to each one of us who has the need to transcend the commonplace and drudgery of life and become whom we are meant to be.

The attached video of Paul's performance is for you to enjoy. Have a Kleenex ready!


Tuesday, July 15, 2008

A Kernel of Wheat: Remembering a Gentle Giant of Faith and Scholarship


A giant has fallen asleep, but has left precious legacies of roots and wings to all whom he touched.


On July 5, 2008, in the company of his loved ones, Clifford H. C. Edwards passed away from a fast-spreading cancer at Riverview Health Centre. He was 84 years old.

Here was Dean Emeritus of the Faculty of Law, University of Manitoba, Queen’s Counsel, Chair of Law Reform Commission, member of the Order of Canada and Order of Manitoba, but, most distinguished of all, a “faithful servant” of the King.


Cliff was a giant of a man. He was my legal history professor in law school in 1972 and my conscience thereafter.


Cliff was a man of quiet faith and great moral fortitude. I remember attending his Wednesday noon-hour Bible study sessions with other law students in his office – the Dean’s office. Cliff made it all right to practice faith in a highly secular subculture.


Cliff was indeed, as praised by many, a fantastic teacher. His lectures, like his Sunday sermons, were clear, concise, to the point, and well illustrated with anecdotes.


Yes. It’s true that Cliff loved alliterations. He used this literary convention to sculpt memorable concepts in his audience.


On many occasions when I happened upon Cliff, he would kindly, with a smile, remind me that I should help my wife in taking our four young boys to church every Sunday, instead of letting her struggle with carrying two tiny ones and shepherding the two older ones to church. It was Cliff’s attempt to disciple me. But, he did it so gently and so … effectively, not right there and then, but, certainly years afterwards in helping to save my soul.


The last time I saw Cliff was at the Tuxedo Shopping Centre parking lot outside Safeway three months ago in March. We had a brief chat. He looked frail. Those were one of many opportunities I regret having missed in telling him how much he had impacted me and my life, as he had many others on his life’s pilgrimage.


“I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” John 12:24


Now, Cliff is with the Lord, and indeed, we can all hear the trumpet sounded on the other side as he had sown many seeds of salvation for those who cared to pay heed.


Thank you, Dean Edwards, as you were so affectionately and respectfully called, for caring about my God-precious soul.




Monday, June 30, 2008

Teaching as a Counter-Cultural Activity



Some kids can be down-right unruly and rude in school. They spit, swear, curse, put each other down with sexual innuendos, cultural insults and racial slurs. They bully, harass, fight and physically hurt each other. They disobey and talk back to teachers as they do their parents.


Are we surprised at this phenomenon? The kids are just learning so fast and well from what some members of the society teach them by example. The school is merely a mirror of the society at large.


At least that’s how parents and the public perceive how school kids behave today. And, the popular, yet near-mythical, belief is that schools are doing nothing about it.

Is this perception true or false? The answer is “yes” and “no”.

This kind of student behaviour does happen; however, seldom is it true that schools are doing nothing about it.


Some schools deal with the concern more effectively than others. Effectiveness in discouraging inappropriate behaviour and intentionally teaching students and encouraging desirable ones along with common courtesy and inter-personal respect is built upon a team effort made not only by the school staff, but parents as well.

I know that dealing with this problem is "do-able" because my staff and I, a school principal, have effectively brought not only order to the school, but courtesy and respect back in the lives of students. And, we have maintained and enjoyed this kind of peaceful school culture for the past 15 years.

Our school was not the same fifteen years ago. The behaviour I cited above was the school environment then. When I was appointed the principal there, I had to do something proactive, unusual, and drastic. I visited all 250 families of the school community in the summer before my official term of office began.

The serendipitous outcome of my home visits was amazingly productive, way beyond my wildest expectations. Since I was new to the school, I had no idea who was a “trouble maker”. I met the students and their parents on their home turf. I listened to their concerns and filed them away for later use. I shared with them my stance on school issues. As I left each home, the parents pledged their support.

The staff and I saw the urgent need for an effective strategy to re-gain the behavioural beach-head at the school. We took time and care to hammer out a school discipline plan which consists of three simple rules (no physical and verbal violence, and total respect) and a behaviour management protocol. The backbone of this strategy lies in the principles that discipline is everybody’s business and the rules must be enforced fairly and consistently.

The students and parents had plenty of getting used to this new set of expectations and a new way of doing things. However, by golly! It worked.

In a brief period of three months, behavioural change at the school was so evident that parents made positive comments at the November parent-teacher conferences. The community as well as the staff have experienced that small miracles can and do happen when we live as we believe.

To prod the proverbial beast along, the carrot works doubly well with the stick. We implement positive reinforcement strategies also. We publicly award the top four well behaved classes of the month with certif
icates and banners. We reward teacher-nominated “Students of the Month” from each class to have lunch provided by the principal. We recognize deserving students with certificates and “warm fuzzies”, and by sendig home "good News" post-cards.

Although the standard of courtesy and respect is not perfect, having basked in the relative safe, happy, and dignified school environment for the past fifteen years, we never looked back. With misbehavior mostly out of the way, we have been able to focus on the business of teaching, learning, and
relationship-building in fun, excitement, and wonder as a school community.

Hodding Carter, a journalist and author, was quoted to have said: “There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children, one is roots, and the other, wings.”

Roots are the eternal verities such as honesty, integrity, justice, compassion, charity, faith, hope, quest for knowledge, and the pursuit of excellence. Having an anchor of deep roots helps one to withstand the shifting tides of societal values and storms in life. Roots begin at home. Children learn by watching at home and, eventually, at school.

Wings, on the other hand, are the innate gifts, talents, knowledge, and skills which are uncovered, developed, and inculcated through years of guidance and nurture. Wings help us fulfill our human potential in life. Winglets sprout at home when children are young.

Against the back-drop of a “Me! Me! Me! ” societal culture where self-indulgence, ME-centredness, disrespect, and violence tragically teach such destructive lessons to our children, schools can rise above and teach them to be different... to become courteous, respectful, non-violent and other-centred.


Is that wildly counter-cultural, or what?

There are many Manitoba schools which have impressive tried-and-true records of school discipline and academic excellence practised in a warm and nurturing environment. Parents just need to look around, talk with friends, and shop for those oases for their children.








Sunday, May 25, 2008

Tomfooleries

For the past 15 years, I have been laying down an annual reading challenge to the whole school community of students (around 300) and their families.

I began, in 1993, with the reading challenge of 1million pages of collective reading within a 10-month school year. I invited all students, their families, and the school staff to take part. That was 15 years ago. Today, the reading challenge has crept up to 2.5 million pages of reading each year for a 12-month period.

I had wanted to turn my school community into a reading community. Have I succeeded? I truly do not know the extent of the impact. However, there are indicators that glimmer, once in a while, that my antics that accompany my annual reading gauntlets have taken on a life of their own.

You see, as a motivator for the first reading challenge 15 years ago, I told the students, staff, and the community that when 1 million pages would have been read, I would kiss a pig. That went really porky!

They read, and read, and read. I did end up kissing the wet snout of a pig, which was so un-amused and shocked by my affections that it did a smelly number of stage. Stinky stunt No. 1!

After the first challenge, each subsequent challenge stretched the size of reading quantity as well as my imagination as to what Tomfoolery I would be able to pull off next.

Debbie always advises me, ever so wisely, not to do anything that I need to be trained for. Just fool around, in effect. But, my childish and mischievous propensity informs me otherwise over the years.

The second year, I promised that I would milk a goat, thinking that milking anything requires more luck than skills. Know what? I was right!


Had I an inkling that my sand pail would be almost filled to the brim with goat's milk, I would have been cockier than what I had allowed myself to be... I would have a tall clear glass with chocolate powder in it, ready for a warm glass of chocolate goat's milk on tap.

Nonetheless, my reading challenge did backfire on me when the entire auditorium of kids and adults chanted: "Drink the milk! Drink the milk!" Yes, I did... with much theatrics mixed with finesse. It almost brought the house down.

"How do I top the last stunt?" has always been my annual question.

The third stunt required my being trained to exercise my wrist. I promised to lasso a bovine. I received my after-school in-services at Miracle Ranch (out by Bird's Hill Park) in learning the art of lassoing for two months straight.

Everyday after school, I'd be practising the art on my garbage bins at my driveway, much to the puzzling delight of my peeking-through-the-curtain neighbours. The day arrived. My challenge was met with roping this cute little baby calf (I just said bovine, didn't I?). I performed again and again as encores in a warm bath of televion light and media attention.

The third stunt also required acquisition of high level of skills and even higher level of good fortune. You see, it was suggested to me by a farmer that I could hypnotize chickens! Yikes! Being an urban cowboy, I had never heard of that before until I was taught how to do that stunt deftly and effectively.

Just when you are dying to ask me how I hypnotized chickens, I am not about to succumb to betraying a rural farming "trade secret". Suffice it to say that when all three large avians were down on their back with their legs sticking up in the air fast asleep, the audience broke up in a sustained applause of disbelief.


In the midst of a rather high level of noise, blended with applause, cacophony, and kerfuffle, the sleeping beauties awoke, shook their feathers as if clucking, "What's happened to us?"

One chicken did an unexpected. It flew (Yes. A chichen flew!) into the audience, causing more cacophony, kerfuffle, and screams of mixed fear and delight.

I had wanted to ride an ostrich the following year. That stunning scene from the movie, "Swiss Family Robinson", was quickly and cruelly snuffed out in my want-to-do list.


You see, I called all the ostrich farmers across Manitoba about my idea. With one accord (in separate responses, of course) they all said the same: "An ostrich would sooner kill a man than to allow him to ride it." Big time "Yikes!" Time to switch gears.

A llama has got to be tamer and more polite than an ostrich is, I conjectured.

I called all the llama farmers across Manitoba, and there were not a large number of them. One was ready to let me try his llamy.


On the day I made the acquaintance with Mr. Llamy, he decided that I was too heavy for him to fool around with. He refused to cooperate, and eventually galloped (yes. Like a horse) into the sunset.

The farmer, his assistants and I spent the rest of the Sunday afternoon in May chasing after this errant llamy. I could have used my lassoing skills on him, but, running after him already winded me out at that point that I couln't skip rope with the lasso had I wanted to. By sundown, we rounded up the beast, and I gave up on him.

The following week, I got in contact with another llama farmer. He told me that a llama (should be "an" llama because in Spanish, it's pronounced as "yama") is only a pay-load animal, not a riding animal. He allowed me to try his llama, Silver, but he cautioned that I should lie flat on his back and pretend that I was a sack of, you've got it, rice.

Silver was a stronger and more cooperative llama (Is llamo a male llama? One wonders). He let me ride him all right. That made my day as I had bagged another reading challenge Tomfoolery. I garnered the front page of the Winnipeg Free Press, and was interviewed on "This Morning" from Toronto on what in the world was I doing.

What else could top hypnotizing chickens and riding a llama? Everybody wondered aloud with me.

Well, how about doing tricks on horseback and lassoing something? Somebody suggested.

I trained for three weekends with Stephen, an elderly equine (elderly by equine standards). He allowed me to rotate on his saddle as he galloped. I was tickled pink. I even practised my well honed skills in lassoing while riding Stephen.

When the day arrived, the chair of the parent advisory council offered to be the subject of my galloping lasso. It was a sight to behold when the lasso roped around her, she sqealed in excitement as she went down on the ground and was dragged for several metres. She was a good sport and she survived without a scratch while Stephen and I continued to gallop as I did my tricks in turning 360 on the saddle.

Learning to play illusionary trick with a speed that is faster than the eye may discern was my next challenge. Two very prominent "magicians", Brian Glow and Jo Kauffert, donated their time and talents to teach me how to perform an hour-long show of illusions. It went without a hitch. However, the performance failed to garner the same level of enthusiastic response as the previous ones.

As years went by, "do-able" Tomfooleries became harder to come by. Allowing my hair (whatever was left of it) to be dyed by my staff wasn't exactly the same stella performance as before either. But, the enthusiasm for and joy of the reading challenge survived.

As I had studied ballet as a young man for three years, I decided to choreograph a jazz ballet and taught 8 students to dance with me. The entire process was fun! My "ballet troupe" loved it. As it turned out, the jazz ballet Tomfoolery captured the rhythm of the entire audience, and they clapped with zest to the music throughout the entire dance! It was exhilarating and rewarding!

Sitting on the plank-seat of a dunk tank reading the daily in a suit and tie was my next trick. I was quite content to sit there and finish my reading until the first targetted hit of the dunk tank trigger occurred. In I went... very cold tap water 6 feet deep. I persisted. Climbed out in my wet suit (I kept my promise... going into the dunk tank in a wetsuit).


I sat on the plank-seat again, and continued to read. Splash! There I went again...and again... and again. 45 minutes later, I was turning blue with cold. Our phys ed teacher was offered to stand in (sit in and fall in, to be accurate) for me.

The next stunt was inspired by my admiration for the highly energetic and charismatic River Dance. I had wanted to learn how to dance an Irish jig.

The very first dance academy I called was a hit. Yes. They had an Irish dance teacher. And, yes. They had heard about me and my antics. The director offered her studio and teacher time for me, free of charge, to fulfill my dream. I began a dance course of 5 months, having lessons twice a week on learn the Irish jig.

As I learned each disembodied step, nothing truly resembled River Dance at all. It was hard and contortionist foot work. I was getting worried when May rolled around.

However, towards the middle of May, my teacher put all the steps and designs together in one choreographic whole for me. A River Dance emerged. I was thrilled.

The evening of the performance went very well. As a matter of fact, it went too well.

The audience applauded an encore, and my dance teacher, who was my dance partner in the performance, abandoned ship, leaving me alone on stage.

As it turned out, it was all a big conspiracy. Somebody turned on the dance music again. I had little choice but to humour myself and an audience of 500 with an encore. I mused afterwards: "That wasn't too bad!"

A year later, with the help our our very friendly and cooperative Winnipeg Fire and Paramedic Services, I played a fire fighter. This time, no pre-training was required. I felt smug.

The fire captain helped me don a fire fighter's suit, with helmet, mask, and a strapped-on oxygen tank. My job was to enter a "smoke house" (a training trailer with dense artificial smoke) and rescue a "victim" by getting him to safety.

That day, I gained a lot of healthy respect for what our fire fighters do. The smoke was so dense that I might as well have closed my eyes. Through the plexiglass of the mask, I saw nothing... just grey matter. I crawled on the floor and felt with my hands for a door into another room. Couldn't do it. Felt nothing either.

I crawled back to the door where I entered and started moving on my hands and knees again, hoping that my sense of direction would sustain me. I felt a door handle this time as I stood up against a wall. I opened it, entered, and continued to feel my way around the "house" as the sense of touch was the only sense I could summon.

I located my "victim" at the foot of a couch in the living room. I did all the preliminaries to see if he was conscious, breathing, and/or pulsing. No. He displayed no sign of life. I had to move him out of the "house".

I attempted to put him on my shoulders. Forget it! He was much heavier and taller than I. I found the exit door, opened it to the setting sunlight and the loud applause of the crowd gathered. I pulled the victim out of the "burning house" onto the hardtop. I attempted CPR... on this 180-pound training dummy.

That was when it happened. Three fire fighters, turned their hoses on me (not in full pressure, thank God! Otherwise, I would be blowned into the Red River half a mile away) and thoroughly soaked me. Another big conspiracy!

I had always enjoyed and relished the rousing rally scene and the speech made by Mel Gibson as William Wallace in "Brave Heart". That became my inspration as the next Tomfoolery.

Using stage make-up, two make-up artists transformed me into William Wallace, complete with a wig, bi-coloured face, leather armoury, celtic sword, and kilt (I wonder why people always wonder what is worn underneath a kilt). I performed the rally speech with gusto, contextualizing it into a message that we all can rise above any situation that pulls us down. That drove home the point... a social-educational message.

Last year, I dared myself with eating half-a-dozen night crawlers, though fried with onion, garlic and sauces. The event attracted a lot of media attention with all local televison and radio stations and local newspapers. I was on the front page of the Winnipeg Sun this time with that disgusting 12-inch earth worm dangling from a fork into my gaping mouth. Yuk! and Yuk again!

In a week's time, I will be performing a hoop dance. Brian Clyne, a talented young hoop dancer, has been teaching me twice a week for three weeks now. It was such an educational experience for me when Brian took time explaining to me the "story" behind each dance design. I began with two hoops. Now, I am working towards dancing with 7. What a hoot! Hoop!

Tomfooleries are about motivating students and their families to read as a lifestyle. It's not about me. It's all about them. I play the supporting role. No more. No less.

A librarian in New York City has been in touch with me for the past two years now as she was "inspired" by my reading challenges. She is doing very well herself in motivating children to read with her sitting in a tub of jello and being shot at with sticky "silly strings" from a spray can.

Nick Martin, a news reporter in the education beat with the Winnipeg Free Press, attributed to me as having started a zany trend across the country in motivating students to read. While I am happy to be a trend-setter, I have no monopoly in nor copyright to this motivator; nor would I want to.

Reading takes one to places that imagination, spurred on by the written word, may take. It takes you to the centre of the earth, the bottom of the sea, and on the craggy surface of the moon. The sky is, indeed, the limit. What's more, reading is a ticket to places in life... in rising above in life.

Enjoy reading, with or without Tomfooleries!

Best wishes,

Tom

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Life's Gentle Lessons


At 7:00 a.m. this morning, I broke the law of the land.

And, to boot, I didn’t even know it as I did it.

As usual, I left home for work at 6:45 a.m. Although school does not begin until 8:45 a.m., I relish the smooth ride to work in relatively lighter early morning traffic and the alone time I enjoy in my office, over a cup of hot coffee, doing paper work that needs my attention in the relaxing cadence of Mons’ tunes in deep basal stereophonic sound.

This morning, as I cornered north-east bound onto Disraeli’s Bridge from Main Street, I was totally booby-trapped in the glory of the rising sun fully blasted into my retinas. For a split moment, I was almost blinded to the road, the traffic, and the traffic lights in front of me, except my driving instinct, misguided by the half-ton truck in front of me in my lane.

I followed the vehicle and crossed the intersection as I have done so for the past 15 years, day after day. Although I could not see the traffic lights at all due to the intense sunlight that smacked me in the face, I made the erroneous assumption, through my daily experience, that the traffic lights would be green to go.

As I entered into the intersection, I realized it was w-a-y too late.

The strobe light of a radar photo cam flashed in my rear view mirror. I looked to my left and saw the traffic light sporting a bright red.

Instinctively, I slowed down from my 55 km-per-hour speed to close to a crawl, wishing I could crawl back to the other side of the intersection behind the camera.

My heart dropped. My pulse raced. I tightly steered the wheel as my head half-drooped in abject defeat.

The feeling of remorse and “too-late-to-go-back” was overwhelming! I felt like crying.

“How could I be so idiotic?” my mind churned in instant video replays.

Awaiting the $167 traffic violation fine that will be forthcoming in snail mail within the next three weeks, I am pressing hard into what object lessons I could have learned through this incident.

1. It could have been worse, such as causing a serious accident where life is endangered and properties are damaged.

2. It is, after all, just a traffic violation ticket that I'll get. No more, no less. If viewed in a different light, it is a $167 worth of a refresher course in defensive driving.

3. Regardless of my internal reaction to this event, be it a day of joyless heaviness as I have lived today, or an ability to rise above and place the event in its proper perspective against the endless array of ponderousness in life, I still have to wait for three weeks for the dreaded fine to arrive, like it or not.

4. Despite my best and feverish attempts at Googling the sizes of fines relative to the kinds of traffic violations and seeking advice from Manitoba Justice whether this would be a contestable case, I am immediately reminded of Proverb 3 : 5 – 7a where Solomon strongly brings me to my knees in humble submission: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your way straight… Do not be wise in your own eyes…”

5. This is not even close to the "It's Too Late; No Turning Back" scenario where I might find myself were I to spurn the grace and mercy of a loving God after His relentless pursuit of me with His love before the beginning of time. This temporal consequence will fade away and life on earth will eventually even out. However, the eternal consequence of turning away from God is irreversible, lamentable, and truly regrettable.

Is today's lesson worth learning even if it costs $167?










Monday, April 21, 2008

Meditatio


Debbie just told me how an on-line friend of hers, a deathly ill woman, has been so horribly mistreated by her husband in her illness and dire needs that, in my most callous moment, would consider that kind of human behaviour as beastly and evil.

Winnipeg has honestly earned its ill-repute as the murder capital in the nation as it has added onto its curriculum vitae four more murders in this past weekend.

A plot to blow up his high school in a Columbine-scale massacre by a fifteen-year-old boy in the U.S. was uncovered by his alert parents today.

One truly can’t help but shake one’s head and fatalistically wonder what everybody else has been wondering, “What has the world come to?”

American poet, Ezra Pound, deeply considered this troubling question over 70 years ago in his poetic judgment of human nature, "Meditatio".

"When I carefully consider the curious habits of dogs
I am compelled to conclude
That man is the superior animal.
When I consider the curious habits of man
I confess, my friend, I am puzzled."

How far have we fallen since Genesis 1!

“Let us make man in our image, in our likeness... So, God created man in His own image, in the image of God, He created him, male and female, He created them. (Genesis 1: 26, 27)

In His image! In His likeness!

Psalm 8 echoes the divine intent:

“When I consider Your heavens,
The work of Your fingers,
The moon and the stars,
Which You have set in place,
What is man that You are mindful of him,
The son of man that You care for him?
You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
And crowned him with glory and honour.
You made him ruler over the works of Your hands;
You put everything under his feet:
All flocks and herds,
And the beasts of the field,
The birds of the air,
And the fish of the sea,
All that swim in the paths of the sea.” (Psalm 8: 3 - 8)

Nowhere did the Creator intend that man rules over one another and does atrocious acts to each other! Human nature turned horribly wrong and twisted at the first bite!

We disobeyed God and began a life-time of struggle between allegiance to God and our contorted propensity to satisfy our lust for “Me! Me! Me!” at the slightest prompting of the sneering enemy and the desires of the flesh.

We began a human journey in a twilight zone of time and space between the divine light of God and the sordid darkness of unspeakable evil, Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness".

Seemingly, we are forever thoroughly lost… Not so fast!

The Divine Drama did turn out to be “All’s well, ends well” as the following story tells.

The story narrates about two friends who were visiting a world famous art gallery in a big European city. As they went from one masterpiece to the next, they came upon one that depicts the dynamic tension brought about by two players at a game of chess.

One man, with a cigar in his fingers, blows a puff of smoke with a sneer of his broad grin, a grin that blares out that he has just made the final decisive unequivocal winning move. One can even hear the loud boastful yell across the airspace of the gallery: “Checkmate!”

The other player, with his face half-cupped in his hands, looks dejected, defeated, downcast, and soundly beaten. The painting is entitled, “Checkmate!”

While looking at the painting for some minutes, one of the pair was eager to move on to enjoy the hundred other works on display. But, this young man, a chess player himself, became so entranced by what he saw that he asked his friend to go on alone. He needed more time to appreciate this painting.

Fifteen minutes turned into thirty minutes. Thirty minutes turned into forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes turned into an hour, while an hour turned rapidly into an-hour-and-a-half.

The young man was still looking intently at the game board and the positions of each piece as if he was retracing every single move of how the entire game had been played. All the while, he was making deliberate hand gestures as if he were strategically moving the game pieces and totally engaged in re-playing the game itself.

Lo and behold! Totally oblivious to him, a crowd of curious on-lookers had been watching the most peculiar behaviour of this seemingly enchanted art connoisseur for quite some time.

Almost two hours had elapsed when this young man awoke from an apparent trance and yelled jubilantly to himself, “This is not over! The king has one more move! The king has one more move!!”

Yes. Against the backdrop of sin, corruption, hopelessness, desperation, despair, loss, wickedness and unspeakable evil in this world, God is in solid control and majestic sovereignty because “The King has one more move!”

In the end, the Good Guy wins!

Quite contrary to what T. S. Elliot says in his poem, “The Wasteland”, the world does not end with a bang, neither does it end with a whimper.

The world, according to God, ends in His majestic glory, clothed in love, justice, mercy, grace, and His eternal goodness!

Amen.











Monday, April 14, 2008

"Who Is My Neighbour?"



This past weekend, I attended a conference, dubbed, “Cross the Street”, organized by the Evangelical Fellowship of Canada. The conference is meant to be the “show” part of a twin "show-and-tell" evangelical tool designed to tell the world about the love of God.


The “tell” part is another conference, called “Ignite the Light”, aiming at defending the faith… in short, a conference on apologetics.


I was invited to attend as a news correspondent for ChristianWeek, a bi-weekly Christian newspaper. The privilege was all mine as conference speaker after speaker spoke viscerally and inspirationally on how to proclaim loudly God’s incomprehensible love for each one of us... not with empty words, but with come-from-the-bottom-of-the-heart love decisions and actions.


St. Francis of Assisi taught, “Preach the gospel to the world by all means. Use words, only if necessary.” I am at once humbled and shamed by that gentle reminder that how often I simply talk the talk, but, seldom do I walk the walk.


As a purported believer and follower of Jesus Christ, I ought to begin to “cross the street”, leave my comfort zone, and go the extra mile for anybody, particularly those who are in need, as Jesus would have done.


Why?


“Why not?” would be a better question.


Do I deserve Christ’ immeasurable love when He chose to become a mere man so that He might die a horrific death in order to rescue me?


He was the God-turned-one-man SWAT team who stormed the gate of hell to get me out of there.


What did I do to deserve that?


Zilch! Nada!


But, Jesus did it anyway, even were I the audience of one!


That’s how much He loves me (and all of us)!


Crossing the street to love my neighbor, the poor, the helpless, the sick, the weak, the maimed, the hurt, the handicapped, the distraught, the undone, the fatherless, the widowed, the marginalized, the disenfranchised, the enslaved, the captive, the hostage, the down-trodden, the discriminated, the prejudiced, the maligned, and the seemingly unlovable is what my Lord and Saviour would do.


He did it and continues to do it for me. I didn’t and do not deserve it. That’s why it is called grace.


Is it difficult to love others as Christ loves me? To extend grace and love to others as Christ does? To simply love as He does?


Pastor Mark Hughes of Church of the Rock calls that the “Titanium Rule”, a higher standard by which to live a victorious life in Christ: “Do unto others as Christ does unto me.”


A story that Claude Houde, founding pastor of New Life Church in Montreal, the largest French-speaking evangelical church in North America, told at the conference raised every hair on the back of my neck (and the back of everybody else’s neck as well).


Claude, as a young pastor several years ago, was late arriving at a pastors’ meeting at a church. It was a particularly bone-chilling morning, with severe wind chill whipping the crisp frigid air. As Claude rang the door bell for what seemed like eternity, no one came to the door. He was so uncomfortably cold that he was about to return to his car and warm up for several minutes before trying the door bell again.


Just as he was about to turn around from the building, the door opened a sliver. A big burly man behind it asked who he was. Claude identified himself, and, just at the corner of his eye, he saw behind the burly guardian of God’s dwelling, a group of pastors having a jovial time enjoying fellowship, warm aromatic coffee, and honey dripping donuts.


Both the warm air and the aroma of food and drink on the other side of the door were at once comforting and welcoming to this half-frozen young pastor.


As Claude was about to step inside the door, out of nowhere, in charged a little woman and her tiny boy of about 5 years of age, both were in thin tattered layers of garment. To this day, Claude could not forget the distressful look on their faces. They were frost-bitten with whiteness around their cheeks, noses and ears. The woman could hardly utter a frozen word. She begged to be let in. They were severely exposed to the elements and famished.


The little woman sobbed and begged the big burly custodian to have mercy and allow them inside for warmth. The man sternly said, “No! You can’t come in!”


Claude, already inside the door, intervened and spoke on the pair’s behalf, but, to no avail. The man refused to budge his position.


Finally, the big burly custodian raised his loud voice and yelled at the unfortunate pair, “We cannot help you. THIS is a church!”


At the last syllable of the concluding sentence of the story, the entire congregation of conference attendees gasped collectively with utter disbelief and strong emotions.


Claude, who was in tears by now, said with an uncontrollable shake in his voice, “THIS is not the church Christ has in mind! We’ve got to undergo a paradigm shift. We’ve got to change. We’ve got to repent. And, we’ve got to be different than that!”


Tony Campolo, a sociology professor and author, reminds us to see in the eye of the poor and downcast, the very eye of Christ. He further stresses that “the church ought to be the only club in the world which exists for the benefit of non-members.”


That’s what “crossing the street” is all about: Show to tell (not so much show and tell) the love of God in our own sacrificial love for others as Jesus has sacrificially loved us.


David Macfarlane, an evangelist and the Director of National Initiatives of the EFC, puts it another way: people would not come to know the truth unless they see faith, expressed in love, that cannot be explained any other way.


Dutch Sheets, an author and a teaching pastor, echoes those sentiments when he said, “God is not so much concerned about us going to church as He is about we be the church wherever we go.”


God has the final word on His kind of love in the famed "Good Samaritan" parable, entitled "Who is My Neighbour?", and in Paul's first letter to the Corinthians.


“If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have no love, I am nothing.

If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails…”


1 Corinthians 13 : 1 - 8




Thursday, April 3, 2008

The Relay for Glory

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In His great mercy, He has given us new birth to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade – kept in heaven for you…” 1 Peter: 3-5


The above scripture speaks of an ever-present, irrevocable, unequivocal and glorious victory, wrought by Jesus on the cross, over sin, guilt, shame, judgment, despair, and death for all who believe in Him.


It is a message of joyous hope and gracious assurance of better things to come against the transitory backdrop of earthly sufferings, disappointments, heartaches, and dashed dreams.


Yesterday, Bob King was remembered and praised for a life well lived as an ambassador of Christ in a memorial service at church.


Bob impacted many lives while he lived. He brought school children to church week after week. He did what Jesus would have done, taking care of the fatherless. I was so touched by Bob’s actions that I developed such an admiration for this man of God.


Little did I know that Bob was not well, suffering from diabetes, kidney and liver problems. But, interacting with this joyful soul, one would never know that he was suffering from serious health concerns. He was always cheerful, positive, loving, humble, giving, and forgiving.


When Bob’s condition worsened, he was admitted into Health Sciences Centre towards the end of February. For 31 days, Bob suffered physically and emotionally. He was in constant pain from the build-up of toxins in his body.


Though his wife, Lynn, and his children had been by his side day and night in the hospital, there must have been moments of deep and painful longing to be home in his own bed surrounded by those whom he loved and who loved him.


In one’s race in life, it was not exactly what one would like to see the “home stretch” to being placed in a double occupancy hospital ward, dressed in an uncomfortable medical gown, hooked up to tubes and bags, enduring bed sores, listening to the rhythmic beeping of medical gadgetry, the irritating white noise of an unwatched television on the other side of the thin partition, and the constant cacophony of intercom calls in the hallway.


Yes. No doubt, Bob suffered. But, he didn’t complain.


Paul reminds us that whatsoever we go through now is worth the eventual outcome promised by God.


“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed to us.” Romans 8: 18


Bob just hoped to be home soon.


He wished that he could return to his wood shop and carve something for me as a keepsake.


Bob, probably you have done it already. Keep it for me when I see you.


Bob is in an unimaginably gloriously joyous state now.


Heaven is being with God in His holy presence in essence and eternity. Wow! I can only imagine! Only that my imagination were not so limited!


As we see eternity darkly as if through glass, Bob King is in it and its glory.


I, too, have a living hope in our Lord and Saviour. He knocks on the door of my heart and invites me to open it so I may see the glorious eternity on the other side.


“Now we see but a poor reflection; then, we shall see face to face. Now that I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” 1 Corinthians 13: 12


Thank you Bob for finishing your leg of the relay!


I just hope that I am worthy of the baton you just passed onto to me as I run for and towards Christ’s glorious victory as you so humbly and courageously did.


Amen










Wednesday, April 2, 2008

The Get-Away

Debbie and I just returned from a three-day, two-night get-away in the silent beauty of the Whiteshell.

We rented a beautifully hand-crafted chalet at Pinewood Lodge at Dorothy Lake in the Whiteshell Provincial Park. The chalet, one of five, overlooked the frozen stillness of Manitoba’s winter wonderland.

The chalet consisted of two floors. The second floor boasted a Jacuzzi and an open bedroom. The main floor unwrapped a master bedroom, bathroom with a Swedish steam bath, a living room with a fireplace and a satellite-fed television, a kitchenette, and a dining room which overlooked a wrap-around wooden deck, with a gas barbeque on it.

Wow! Describing all that was quite a mouthful! But, the experience with it was quite something else!

It was a private, undisturbed, uninterrupted, unhurried, and wonderful experience for us both.

I gourmet-cooked, on the grill, succulent standing rib steaks, juicy prawns, and skewered mushrooms, served with baked potatoes and stir-fried broccoli, carrot slices, mushroom, asparagus, and chilled white wine that Debbie bought last August in Missouri (for a special occasion, said she).

We ate whenever we wanted. We viewed a movie on the DVD each evening. We had our own version of water sports: running from the Jacuzzi to the Swedish steam bath, having a lot of 6-year-old fun.

While Debbie read, I played the guitar. When she wrote on her laptop, I painted some watercolour. We even sang together until my chording fingers began to ache.

We both agreed that that was what the doctor had ordered and what we so desperately had needed.

Debbie suggested that we’d make it an annual retreat in the same chalet; except, this time would be for six days and five nights.

Well, I have 365 days to work hard in earning that privilege to get away in this quiet haven again this time next year.

Did I say “heaven”? Or, “haven”?





Friday, March 21, 2008

A Blueprint for Easter



In God’s Kingdom, Good Friday is no chance encounter… It is a divine plan, a providential act, and an eternal design.

God created man in His image… And, what a glorious image! (“A little lower than the angels” Psalm 8:5)

So complete was man created to be like God, he was created with a God-breathed authority and free will.

From the start, God knew that man could not survive the acid test of free will. God had already planned for man’s failure with Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday in mind.

Adam failed the test of free will with the Tree of Knowledge. He threw away the God-given authority to the enemy. Also sadly enough, he passed on to all mankind the original sin, a separation from God, thus, a physical and spiritual death.

The Second Adam, Jesus, the Son of God, passed the test of free will (denying His own will and obeying His Father’s will) by dying on the tree (the cross) to reclaim for all mankind the original blessing, the lost authority, and a re-unification with God, thus, an eternal life with Him.

The cross is where justice and love meet.

The cross is where sin and mercy meet.

The cross is where poverty-stricken soul and grace meet.

The cross is where death and life meet.

The cross is where the seen and the unseen meet.

The cross is where the temporal and the eternal meet.

The cross is where evil and good meet.

Those are no chance-meetings and random encounters!

They are meetings designed in eternity.

At the cross, unequivocal and permanent victory was won and secured for all mankind for all eternity.

That’s why Good Friday (the cross) and Resurrection Sunday (the empty tomb) are “Hallelujah” occasions that resonate an eternal impact.

On Good Friday, God invites us to meet with Him at three places of the heart and spirit.

Firstly, we are invited to meet with Jesus at the table of the Last Supper, a symbol of His ultimate act of sacrifice for us.

Secondly, we are invited to meet with Jesus at the Garden of Gethsemane, a token of partnership with God in His redemptive plan for us.

Thirdly, we are invited to meet with Jesus at the cross, where the Good Guy won and where our spiritual death became revived life.


Finally, on Easter Sunday, we are invited to His table again (coming full circle) - only this time is the wedding banquet table where the Lamb of God is nuptially united with His bride, the Church. We are all invited to attend.

These are by no means chance meetings.

They are God’s heart beat and finger print of love for us.

For me? I can’t believe it!

Isn’t He so amazing?!

"Hallelujah" for the Cross!

But, more than anything, "Hallelujah" for the empty tomb!


The Eye of the Beholder

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” is meant to be a declaration that anything that is good is subjective and relative, as beheld only by the one who experiences it.

While the above adage is not above a healthy debate, it also raises a seldom considered notion: to behold something, the person’s cognitive, affective, and spiritual senses must be unobstructed, unveiled, wide-open, sensitive, and receptive to possibilities that are beyond the familiar, predictable, and mundane.

Yesterday, I was treated to three distinct expressions of beauty and God’s glory.

On his hospital bed yesterday, Bob told me a story of the inexplicable beauty of an indescribable frosty morning in Northern Manitoba when he was a copper miner.

Emerging from the bowel of the earth after a graveyard shift of mining copper, Bob and his fellow miners walked down a long, windy, and sloppy gravel road from the icy peak to the valley below where the bunkhouse lay. They could see the coy curl of smoke rising from the promise of where warm shelter would be, but hidden in the valley below.

The sun’s ray just pierced through the cracks of the mountains and shone on a thick shroud of frost hanging heavily in the morning air. The air was heavily laden with sparkling frost crystals. The morning light was so regally glorious as if it were the face of the Almighty.

“That was beauty! That was God Himself!” Bob gasped his exclamation to me.

“It was so cold that I could see in my mind’s eye wolves raising up their frozen paws in discomfort” Bob continued.

Bob’s total being was wide awake to behold the physical vision and to transform it into a spiritual experience.

Yes. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder indeed.

Last evening, our oldest son, Mons, had the rare of opportunity to play the piano at an art exhibit at the Piano Nobile Gallery of the Centennial Concert Hall.

Mons is a very talented musician. His music is soothingly enchanting. What’s exceptional about Mons’ musical talent is his ability and preference to compose as he plays, never missing a beat.

The art exhibit showcased Neil Kolton’s creative acrylic works, a unique technical and artistic style to which I was not exposed until last evening.

Somehow, the music of the sphere and the shapes, hues, and shadows on the canvas blended together in a complementary and beautifully sensual experience for all.

Once again, beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and the glory of God was in the hearts of those who graciously appreciate that all good things come from above.






Sunday, March 16, 2008

Letting Go


My entire life is one of hanging tightly onto things, as if I may be able to control the variables which shape my destiny. I would not dare to let go, lest I plunge my life into an uncontrollable abyss.

I have a big problem! I have a control issue, as psychology diagnoses.

To be honest, there is very little I can do to control the uncontrollable in life.

Besides, control is illusionary. Only the Maker of heaven and earth has absolute and sovereign control of things and events on earth.

Life is not an exact science that one may manipulate the variables to bring about a formulaic desired outcome.

Though largely predicated on principles of cause-and-effect, sowing-and-reaping, “the Law of the Farm”, and natural laws of physics, life is a giant human billiards games where one life interacts with another in shaping the course of one’s life, a day at a time.

In other words, life is excitingly unpredictable and hopelessly uncontrollable.

When I hang on tightly to things and become entrenched in stagnant positions of thinking, feeling and living in a vain attempt to exercise control, I am basically a stick in the mud, too afraid to live life as one big adventure, with both pleasant and jolting surprises.

The ultimate irony is: my failure to let go would result in being held captive by self-induced anxiety.


The more I am anxious about controlling my destiny, the more out of control I feel. I live under the weight of not having (an illusionary) control that never existed anyway.

This is where faith in a sovereign and loving God comes into my billiards game of life: “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)

King David’s advice resonates with my heart: “When anxiety was great within me, Your consolation brought joy to my soul.” (Psalm 94:19)

I shall resolve, from this moment forward, to “be still and know” that He is God (Psalm 46:10), and He is in total control of my life.

I must invite Him, the Author of Life, to co-write the remaining chapters of my life story so that it may be His story.



Monday, March 10, 2008

Homeward Bound



I just came back from visiting Bob… at Health Sciences Centre.

I walked into his room and saw a mop of white hair, bending over and throwing up in a green plastic basin. He spilled most of the contents onto himself. He was too tired and weary to care much.

I said, “Hi, Bob.” His hollow eyes looked up.

I continued, “This is Tom… Tom Chan.” He smiled, “Hi, Tom”, though his vomit dripped from the unshaven white chin.

“Bob, I am here to encourage you and to pray for you.”

“You are beautiful,” he responded.

I left the room briefly to fetch a nurse’s aide. One came by as I was reading Psalm 139 to Bob. She said, “Go ahead. I’ll come back.”

Bob was moved with the soothing truth of God’s word through the mouth of King David in Psalm 139. As I read, he intoned with his echoing prayers.

I anointed Bob with oil and prayed for him, invoking the mighty name of our Saviour, enforcing His victory, claiming His authority, and leaning heavily on His promises.

Bob was at peace. He was in tune with His peace which surpasses all human understanding.

I read him Isaiah 44:2 and Isaiah 46: 3-4.

I believe God has a plan for Bob, whether on this side of eternity or the next.

I thanked Bob for his servant heart in bringing those school children to church Sunday after Sunday and acted as their surrogate parent.

He thanked me. I felt so humbled that he thanked me.

I gave Bob a crude home-made, hand-hewn cross, “This is your life insurance plan, Bob.”

He was moved.

I was moved.

I said good-bye to Bob, and promised that I would return the day after.

“See you on Wednesday, Tom.”

“See you, Bob, and God bless you.”

As my CD player blared: “You are the Everlasting God. You do not faint. You do not grow weary. You are the defender of the weak. You comfort those in need. You lift us up on wings like eagles,” I sobbed uncontrollably driving all the way home.

Have mercy on us all, Lord!

At the end of the day, Your grace is sufficient for us.

Bless you, Bob!

May He be very close to you!







Sunday, March 9, 2008

Eternal Impact


Two years ago, I heard a sermon about the grace of showing gratitude to those who have made positive impacts in one’s life. (By the way, “grace” and “gratitude” comes from the same root word.)

I was touched by that message. I went home and made a list of all the dear folks who had left their imprints in my life and helped sculpture me the way I am.

Unfortunately, there were those, like my parents and an awesome high school teacher, who had passed on, and to whom I was way too late to express my gratitude. This, in itself, is a lesson: show gratitude and love, and say sorry if that's necessary, while we still can.

For each of those whom I wanted to thank and who were still around, I painted a watercolour card and wrote my heartfelt sentiments. I mailed them my expressions of gratitude.

I never anticipated the kind of responses I received.

People wrote me back to thank me for my thoughtfulness. Some expressed their near-shock and oblivion that they had, in any way, made a difference in my life.

The second kind of response certainly highlights for me that, in living out my life, I may never know where my influence, positive or negative, begins and where it ends.

That’s an awesome thought! That’s a frightful notion!

As if how I conduct my life is likened to the “butterfly effect” which impacts lives and shapes courses of events here and now, in the future and far, far away.

Well, that’s exactly how my parents taught me to live. And, that’s exactly how Jesus taught us to live.

Howsoever we live our lives in the here and now inevitably ripples eternal impacts on others, those who are close to us, those whom we barely know, and those whom we do not know. And, most frightening of all, for the most part, we do not and will never know whom will be affected and the nature of those impacts.

Am I a history-maker?

Yes and no.

“No man is an island,” John Donne was right in saying that. We all live in a community where one life is daily shaped by other lives, as the balls on a billiards table. In that sense, we are able to exert, intentionally, unintentionally, or subconsciously, both positive and negative influences on one another. Likewise, I am daily shaped by those with whom I do life together.

Viewed this way, we write the next chapter of our collective memoir together.

So, am I a history-maker? Or, are we making history together?

Or, would we want to invite the Author of Life to co-write our story.

What kind of story would we like to write? What kind of history would we like to make?

That’s the bigger question, a rhetorical one, that begs an answer which helps make this life and the next heaven or hell.

Yes. Who I am and how I live may impact others is an awesome thought and a frightful notion, and it deserves my daily reflective and honest attention.