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THE MIRACLE JACKET

  THE MIRACLE JACKET With the times becoming so turbulent, and all the signs before Christ’s return in place, I want to tell as many true stories as I can about His special goodness to me all my life.             I remember a time when I had just changed jobs.   A graduate of Hamilton Teachers’ College, I had only been able to get supply work, and so accepted a job in Mississauga at a day care until I should get a teaching position.   Teaching jobs were hard to find just at that time.   However, between paychecks and beginning a job at which I would wear slacks, rather than dresses as in teaching, I needed a jacket to wear with the slacks, it being fall. My new landlady, from whom I had rented a furnished room, was selling some of her clothes.   For very little money I bought a beautiful, warm brown jacket lined with fleece.   The interesting thing is that while my landlady was shorter than I, the sleeves of the jacket were exactly the right length for me.   Too-short sleeves are o
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BACK IN THOSE INA DAYS!

BACK IN THOSE INA DAYS!      I was a newly born-again Christian, back in 1968.   Two Christian colleagues at the downtown Hamilton bank in which I was a current account teller at the time, had sensed my spiritual search, got others to pray for me, and had used a Gospel tract to lead me into an eternal relationship with our Saviour Jesus Christ.   What joy was mine, as I now attended Philpott Memorial Church, formerly the Philpott Tabernacle, a church with a heritage of city-wide revival in Dr. Philpott’s day, one even respected and remembered by my Anglican grandmother.               I had many mentors at the church as a new Christian: my Sunday School teacher- yes, at this evangelical church, adults attended Sunday School too for an hour before the hour-long service – my teacher training instructor and his wife, the organist; the elder who led me to the Lord with his wife and daughter, who showed me so much hospitality on Sundays, a real Sabbath day for me after working all week
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A CRY-AMISADVENTURE-AN ANSWER

                                 A CRY - A MISADVENTURE – AN ANSWER Oh, the excitement!   It was time for the annual school trip.   Rather than the usual educational trip by one class to a museum or farm, the annual school trip was more like a community event.   All year long, families saved up and planned for the day-long trip to Canada’s Wonderland, near Toronto.   Children whose parents could not go were assigned to another parent, usually the parent of a friend, so that they would have companionship.   Once there, the families were on their own, needing only to return to the bus by a certain time.   To disadvantaged children, as some were, it was educational to leave the reserve and travel to the Toronto area, to see new sights.   And it was fun! Rien and I were unable to go with Stephen one particular year.   Judy, the public school principal, had put Stephen with one of his best friends, in the care of his father.   In the back of my mind, anxious thoughts were nagging.   T
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TAILINGS

  Tailings When you go out into Christian volunteer work and your young children (aged 2 and 4 when we left) had no choice in the matter but had to grow up on two native reserves, you wonder if you should have made them suffer in this way.   Then your daughter goes to Bible College, becomes a missionary to Africa in charge of an orphanage of sixty children. I think of the scene in which repairs were being made to the orphanage and my daughter held her own with the African workers who wanted to be paid before they had finished the work.   They threatened my daughter, a young white female-against their rules, with reporting her to her boss.   Her famous response: “I don’t care if you report me to the Pope; you are not getting paid until you finish the job!”   This is no reflection on African workers in general. Then my son, currently vice president of construction in a developing construction company, agreed to be dunked in water at a “Dunk the Boss” event just because the proceeds wou
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RED SALAMANDERS AND SNAPPING TURTLES

                                RED SALAMANDERS AND SNAPPING TURTLES The children had the wildest, most beautiful and educational playground in the world.  As a family, we explored its beauty often.  We went to the Cape Croker Park which was a money-making campground.  We enjoyed the swings, then walked or drove among the lovely, mature blossoming trees and the dense birch section which we dubbed the  ”birch ballet”.  In the woods near our home, we picked up pretty brown and white snail shells and watched for the small, red salamanders which I have never seen anywhere else in Canada.  We walked and waded along the beaches, collecting “fossils”.  Once, on the shale rock in the shallow water behind our house, we actually watched fish hatching. On Sunday afternoons, we usually went for a hike along the bluffs.  We parked our car near the Akiwenzies’ house, which backed onto the bluffs, telling them where we were going, and about when to expect us back.  This was because the bluffs,
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THROUGH THE FAITHOF A LITTLE CHILD

  n                                    THROUGH THE FAITH OF A LITTLE CHILD                                    Our time at Cape Croker was rapidly coming to a close.   Rien began attending house meetings at Saugeen Reserve, to the south of us.   A group, often including Georgina, would carpool every Friday night.   I stayed home with our young children, but waited expectantly for reports of the meetings.             The meetings were charismatic, Spirit-filled small-group gatherings where God moved and anything could happen: healings, deliverances, utterances in other tongues, prophecies, visions and more. Rien, partly because of his formal Dutch church background, and partly because of his down-to-earth personality, was not easily convinced that God was at work in these things.               One night, the host’s little four-year-old boy became excited and tried to get his Dad’s attention: “I-I-I-I….” “Sh-h-h, don’t interrupt.” “i-I-I-i…” ‘Sh-h-h! Finally, “Okay, so
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JUST A BAG OF MARBLES

  (23 rd Psalm devotional)       JUST A BAG OF MARBLES           by Frances K. Van Mil Our family was at the farmers’ market two summers ago near Gimli, where my son lives. There were many colourful booths and craft demonstrations   on this busy Saturday morning. There were fresh farm vegetables, artists selling hand-painted cards and jewellery, knitted shawls, candles, pottery, baking and more.   My son bought us doughnuts hot off the griddle, and later a breakfast sandwich.   There were cute farm animals including a fearless baby pig who was let loose into the crowds.   There was a lovely garden and the smiling owner with his truck. I had my walker with me, and steered it into a booth, my two granddaughters calling, “Grandma!” when I forgot to stop to sanitize my hands. “Come in, Grandma”, said the smiling lady at the door.   No one else in the family was interested in this particular booth but me, as I love looking at old-fashioned things and wanted to buy something retro for m
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