Church

I am not a fan of hospitals.

Perhaps my childhood memories crowd in too closely.  I am told (and I think I feel it in my bones) that I cried as I was taken to a hospital when I was around two years old.  My parents could not stay — I think this was back in the days when visiting was very strictly enforced.  A snowstorm came and I was stranded at the hospital.  My parents sent in their hired man to bring me back to the farm — they couldn’t get out of the homestead.

Around the age of 9 or 10, my middle finger was pinched between the folding seat in our station wagon.  There was blood and a new shape which I couldn’t quite envision was my finger.  I was rushed to emergency.  There I sat while a worse casualty was attended to.  Apparently a tire had blown up in his face and spatters of blood covered his body.

Again, a few years later, a strange virus attacked me.  No one knew what this alien was!  So, off to the hospital for tests.  My mother accompanied me.  We wandered through tunnel like halls and sat in stiff backed chairs.  Blood was taken and fear seemed to exude from the walls.

My first years of ministry I did the required hospital visits.  I learned some etiquette and proper procedures.  My heart was with the people, but my guts churned with the smells and sights of the hospital.

Now, I’m relearning.  Again, my heart is with the people.  And I have personally sat through extended hospital stays.  My wife had open heart surgery and for 18 days recuperated.  This past year my brother died of cancer.  A friend, Mary Muir, exited to heaven after a struggle with cancer.  And now, Lloyd Orthner, is fighting deadly cells in his body.

I sense that listening is paramount!  Sometimes I need to be sensitive to activities, prayers and quietness that will provide spiritual care — more than merely performing certain pastoral rituals.  And in my heart I am praying and crying.

So I walk a hall, to a room, to a bedside — and there trust God to provide . . . for them and for me.

Let’s just pick an age — any age!

Can you imagine where you were when you were 17?  Can you think back to 1994?  What was the sun like on your 21st birthday (if you aren’t that old yet, just wait!)?

As I open my memory box, I can bring back visual images and even smells.  As I age, I’m sure that my stories I tell to my friends are embellished.  That’s why oral history must always be balanced with archival records.  Or so I learned when I went through archival studies!

So imagine this story.  Believe as much as you want!

When I was about to go into grade 11, we moved.  From Toronto area to Regina, Saskatchewan.  My parent’s “house to be” was not yet built.  We needed a place to live.  The apartments were only so large — and by that I mean not large!  There were nine of us altogether in what I remember as a one bedroom apartment (it was probably two bedrooms). 

Mom and dad were wise.  I wish to be as wise as them in my old age. 

They sent us off separately to camp — freeing up vital room.  When we came back, we were able to move to a small rental home with a little more room.

Funny, but the most memorable times in life are often the most squeezed, exhausting and disconcerting times.  And I wouldn’t have missed it for anything!!

Our regional pastors got together in Milden, Saskatchewan yesterday and today.  This is officially called a Strategic Planning Network (SPN) meeting.

We talk lots.  About our church plans, about our personal lives and about what God is doing.  Sounds spiritual (and I suppose it is).  We also played golf — I’ve hit a golf ball better with my shoe — my score for 9 holes was 59.  Highest score wins??

So here is Milden!!  Those two farmers there are actually pastors!!

Today our church heard from Jason Ambros.  For the past four years he has been with Operation Mobilization.  His workplace has been a ship called “Doulos”.  The last two years his job has been to line up the ports they enter.  At one point he slipped and mentioned that he was glad to be in “port”.  But he is no longer on board, in fact his current residence is in the middle of the bald prairies!

Each person has their place in the work of the ship.  Their desire is to bring Jesus to areas around the world where Jesus is not well known.  Although Jason did participate in direct “witnessing”, without his administrative work the full impact of the ship would not be known.

Now, he is at home – farming with his dad north of town.  He is looking to see where he will end up.  God knows – and I say that with full assurance that He does!!

Gald to have Jason on board with us here in the prairies!