Even the Devil Believes

It's an oft-used cliche in pulpit circuits: "Even the Devil believes in Jesus."

That's true. Satan believes that his arch-enemy is Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God. But, Satan does not, and cannot follow Jesus. He wars eternally with God, and he is condemned to do so until Jesus' Second Coming in bringing about the New Heaven and New Earth.

But, what about us, those who proclaim to be believers of Jesus? Other than not considering Jesus as our arch-enemy, how ought we be different than the evil believer?

We are invited to go beyond believing in God. We are created to follow Him, like Jesus' disciples did.

For me, it's a gargantuan fear to follow Jesus. It means I would live a life that is consistent with what Jesus teaches in the "Sermon on the Mount".

Consider the famous Beatitudes.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

I need to soul-search whether I watch out more for my own pleasure than for taking some responsibility in helping the poor, the needy, the widow, the fatherless, the oppressed, and the marginalized?

When God calls, as He did to Isaiah, did it ever occur to me to respond, "Here am I, Lord. Send me"?

I am so afraid to be a follower of Jesus. There is so much I want to hang onto, and not to let go.

Like the rich young ruler in the Gospel story, I am sad and on edge because I care more about myself than I do about God and the world of hurting people around me.

But, am I content to remain being a mere believer, or am I willing to take one more step... a very steep step of a plunge and become a follower, a disciple of Christ in living out my life for what He stands for - justice, peace, charity, mercy, grace, love, other-centredness and Kingdom-mindedness?

My life, thus far, says, "I don't mind being a Christian... only up to a point. But, to go all the way? I'm not that sure."

God didn't say give me a tithe of your life, Tom. He has called me to be a living sacrifice and give Him my ALL!

That's a huge gauntlet thrown onto the floor for me to content with.

Tony Campolo says there's nothing wrong with making a million dollars. But, it's wrong to keep it for myself. The issue here is not how much I tithe for God. The issue is how much is left for me to possess after my tithing is done... in material possessions, my heart, spirit, and life.

You see, following Jesus is self-actualization and self-fulfillment, not too different than Abraham Maslow's prescription for attaining the two top rungs of his hierarchy of human needs, those of self-actualization and leaving a legacy.

On my own volition, I can never will to become Jesus' disciple. He has to first invade me... deep in my soul and the core of my being, like His apostles who left everything behind and followed Jesus.

I have to allow Christ , who is knocking at the door of my heart, to come in... to invade me.

With His strength, I will be strong enough to live out my faith in God and be His follower, eager to collect the dust thrown up by the Master's sandals.

Lord, I hear You knocking at the door. I am totally humbled that the King of kings and Lord of lords is seeking me. Please come in, Lord! Invade me! Give me Your strength to believe and follow as one of Yours!

Amen

There's Probably No God

The kill-them-softly message on the side of a London double-decker bus echoes such a controversy and commands such an attention around the world!

The paid ad by the Humanist Society of Britain allures, "There's probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life."

This triggered a copy-cat response from the U.S. Humanist Society with this message on their buses in Washington , D.C., "Why believe in god? Just be good for goodness' sake."

This outburst of anti-Christianity sentiment is by no means new. I remember the "God is Dead" movement in the early '70's.

This is the kind of of arrogant statement of anti-faith that totally delights the enemy!

Apparently, the United Church of Canada offers a response to the bus ad with "Probably there's a God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life."

That's a very clever response as well as a statement of theology that is deeper than what appears.

However, I would like to remove two words from the United Church response. I'd take out "probably" and "a" all together.

My response is: "There's God. Now stop worrying and enjoy life."

If the world and its humanists know experientially what kind of God we have, they would truly relax with no worries and begin to enjoy life abundant on this side of eternity.

It's God who is the constant in a state of flux. It's God who is order in chaos. It's God who is love in a world of hate. It's God who is light and hope in a world where there is only darkness and despair. It's God who is mercy in a culture that demands a pound of flesh. It's God who is grace in a school of thought that demands a perfect score.

Jesus comforts us with these words in the Gospel of Matthew: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear...Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" Matthew 7:25-27

The world and its humanists have totally missed the point of Christ-faith (synonymous with Christianity). They do not know who God truly is. They tend to attribute to God the qualities and characteristics found in other gods. The word "humanist" denotes limitations in being able to discern notions that defy human cognition... notions of the spirit and the heart

Belief in an almighty and loving God and faith in a Redeemer-King cannot, though too often, reducible to rule-based religiosity that contains a litany of behavioural objectives, such as ten thousand "Thou shall nots".

The Christ-God (Christian God) is all love, truth, and unchanging faithfulness.

He created us out of love. He gives us a free will out of love. He lets us self-destroy out of love because His gift of allowing us freedom to choose is bigger than an imposition of His will on us. Yet, He often turns our mistakes into positive outcomes out of love as well. That was why God chose to trade His majestic throne room for a wooden cross out of love for each one of us. He knows that I cannot pay the sin-debt that I owe. He chooses to pay it for me, thus making me totally solvent.

He is the God who says to me: "Relax. Enjoy life abundant I am giving you. Eternity is now. As a matter of fact, it is made up of nows. Have My peace that is beyond all carnal understanding. Live well and prosper!"

Now, with a God like this, who wouldn't stop worrying and enjoy life?

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

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!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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 certificates 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.

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