Tag Archives: god

God’s Heart for People: Insights from a Montreal Visit

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Greetings from Montreal, Quebec, Canada! The hubby and I have escaped for a few days and are staying at a really cute little place in the heart of Montreal… country folks back in the city. Admittedly, I don’t miss it. It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t wanna live here. Too many cars, too much traffic of said cars (okay Montreal-ers are crazy drivers, I know) and the people are everywhere. And the only chickens we saw were the ones deep fried in a bucket to go. Nonetheless, it was worth the sore feet to tour through old Montreal and enjoy the hustle and bustle for a change. Street vendors, your pick of food, (including two giant farmers markets with European meats and cheeses!) and the sights and smells of city life. Montreal has some great churches, building rich in history and beautiful to look at. It was good to see a collection of diverse faces and the sounds of many languages and cultures for a change.

Like the story of the country mouse and the city mouse, each place has its pros and cons, but as the mice discover, home is always best. Yet, the visit had me thinking about cities. Big, diverse, bustling cities. Of course, I grew up in the “city” and should be used to the chaos. I learned how to drive with traffic in winter. I do miss the conveniences of city life: a shop on every corner for quick pick up of milk and coffee. Don’t like this selection of shoes? You can find another store just around the bend. No car? The transit system in most cities will get you to where you want to go. And the culture of a city. Yup, people. People from every walk of life and every level of education.

Perhaps a little taste of heaven? Every colour skin and language, all praising God in the way they know best. I’m sure it will be cool when we get there! Not that I’m ready to go just yet, but it will be cool when we do get there… I hope God lets us all cook our favourite foods in Heaven. Can you imagine Pho noodles or an authentic Italian pasta in Heaven ?! Fabulous!

Anyway, I digress. I was thinking about “cities” in Bible times. Unlike now, people rarely traveled out of their own space, and if they did, it wasn’t far. Yet, big cities would have similar characteristics: people of diversity with busy businesses and a way of life reflecting that city culture. Paul talks about it. He traveled enough to see the sights. Ships similar to the current means of transport that we saw on the great St. Lawrence in the old port in Montreal. Okay, maybe not shipping containers littered with graffiti, but I’m sure there were trunks and wooden containers piled high with the same stench of rotting fish as we experienced.

Still, above all the sights and sounds comes the target of God’s heart: the people. At one point on our one-too-many tours, I sat resting my ever aching feet and marveled at all the people. Tourists, like us, wondering around the streets. I wondered about how many knew that God loved them. How many people sitting in the great cathedrals of Montreal knew that God didn’t need their lit candles and silent prayers in gold lined alters. He wanted their hearts and a relationship with them. I wondered if the families sharing breakfast with us knew that God watched over their travels as He did ours. Or the young girls who served us were aware that God sees their devotion and cares about their work. Or the homeless folks sleeping on park benches knew that He cares about them, too.

My mind is reminded about people when I go to the cities. I think about it, but rarely does my heart follow the thoughts long enough to actually do something about it. Admittedly, my faith is weak in this. I don’t have a heart for people as some do. I don’t cry out for justice for the homeless or care for the poor in the ways I should. Jesus stood at the footholds of Jerusalem and wept for its people. He cried over the hearts of the people who were so lost in their sin, and the “ways of the world” that are so rampant in our cities still. May He soften my heart for them, too. May a vacation to “the big city” change my heart for not only all the people in the crowds there, but for the few in my circle here at home too.

Sounds of a Silent Saturday

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Welcome back, my friends. Apologies for skipping out last week… just wasn’t there. It was Easter and I was certainly musing, but I didn’t get a chance to sit down at the computer to write about it. So it’s going to overflow into this week. It’s my blog, I’m allowed. It’s been an eventful week this week too … two words: baby chicks! Therefore, I am a little late in posting. But: it’s my blog, I’m allowed.

Okay. Here we go. I want to invite you in to the middle of the night at my old farmhouse. I have very few neighbours. It’s not the big city. We have one streetlight, so that permeates the absolute darkness of, let’s say, three o’clock in the morning. I’m lying in bed awake, as some women of my age do, listening. The chubby dog takes up half the space I have allocated myself and I pull the remaining covers up over my shoulders. It’s chilly, but that’s okay. The dog snorts. I hear myself and the hubby breathing. My eyes are closed and block out the streetlight. I listen again.

Photo by Kseniya Budko on Pexels.com

During the day, our old farmhouse creeks and we hear the wind outside. Our neighbouring cows are loud most of the time. The occasional car, truck or farm vehicle zoom past our front yard and kick up the dust – the dog barks at the slower traffic. Up until recently, Morris our rooster could be heard. (It’s a myth that roosters only crow in the mornings. That crazy bird yelled all the time at us!) However, I’m sad to report he’s been missing now for a few weeks. I’d like to think he was heroic and was “taken” fighting the whole time to protect his ladies. Even our buddy down the road commented he hadn’t heard him lately and kinda misses him. Enough about that sad event. Moving on.

Back to three o’clock in the morning and the snoring dog. Imagine you hear a gurgling like a giant belch emanating from some underwater jelly-bellied monster. That monster happens to be the sump pump located in the basement, directly underneath our master bedroom. It belches several times throughout the day and night. Earlier in the spring it followed a constant sound of rushing water as the spring melt emptied and got flushed back out by the sump pump. I’ve learned to appreciate the sound of the it, because it means my basement isn’t flooding. Like the sound of generators running constantly during our ice storm a few weeks ago. Thankfully, those have stopped now, and we are back to a general quiet.

Listen again. Hushed breathing. The cat jumps down from something upstairs with a soft thud. My new baby chick birds finally rustle. I listen to hear them as I’ve only had them a few days (yeah!) and I’m still at the new momma “please don’t die” stage. Somebody peeps very softly, and I say a prayer of thanks for signs of life in the middle of the night. They settle back down in their living room home with the soft red light of the heat lamp. Silence again. Gurgle belch. Hushed breathing. The furnace clicks on briefly, with a rush of pilot light flame. Otherwise it is pretty quiet here.

I’m a week behind in this muse, but I’ve been thinking about it since a comment I heard Easter weekend. You’ve heard of “good Friday”. You may have heard of “celebration Sunday” or “Easter Sunday” or even “resurrection day”, but this year, for the first time ever, I heard someone use the term “silent Saturday”. The day between Jesus’ death on “good Friday” and rising again on the third day… the day when all was absolutely silent. Apparently, I am late to the party on this concept, for google has lots to say about silent Saturday. Not so silent on the internet. Well fine. It was a new thought for me. And so, I share it with you!

One imagines Jesus, stone cold in a dark tomb. Obviously, corpses don’t say much. God the father did a lot of “talking” on Friday, but no signs and wonders happen to be recorded on the day in between. Jesus’ followers have probably gathered, but may be hiding out, keeping a low profile. It seems like it really was a “silent Saturday”. And it seems, with some reflection on my part, and the internet sparking my thoughts, a day of quiet reflection should totally be a part of the Easter story! Life is difficult. There will be hard days. Yet, life is also beautiful, and there will be many a day filled with joy and celebration. And we often need a few silent Saturdays, to balance it all out. To question why God seems to have abandoned us. Why He seems like He is not answering our prayers. Then to reflect on His faithfulness, and draw strength for the next step. Like me listening for signs of life at three in the morning, thankful that things are still “okay so far”.

So, thanks to that friend that happened to mention this phrase to me last week… it ignited a muse that’s spanned a week! Was it news to you? Even if it wasn’t and you knew this lingo way before me, I hope it’s been a good reminder to you, to appreciate a bit of silence. May you take the opportunity to hear the gurgle belch of a good sump pump and appreciate all you have. Be blessed, beloveds.

The Beauty of Harvest Season: Lessons from Nature

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How many times have you heard or seen this verse? Especially around this time of year as the days grow shorter and the sun goes to bed earlier. Canadian thanksgiving has past and our turkey comas are subsiding. Harvest is upon us. Yet, I never fully understood it until we moved out to a more rural landscape.

Every morning as I drive in to work, the golden sun is just beginning to peak above the horizon. I’m a nighthawk by nature, but I am beginning to love the morning sunrise. The colours are fabulous, and as the dew and misty morning fog gets burned off by the early sun, it truly is a fabulous drive in to town. Along the route, I meander over the hills and valleys and the farmer’s fields all blend together with hues of brown, golds and yellows. Farm stands are filled with the last few sunflowers and wagons of squash and pumpkins add to the landscape with pops of orange. It even smells like “earth”. Technically, I suppose everything is dying… yet it is alive somehow with the change of season.

Now I certainly don’t claim to understand “the harvest”. On our drives, we marvel that some fields have already been clear cut to the ground. Others are still drying out and looking very sad up close. Our nearest neighbourhood farmer had half of his field cut … the other half sitting dormant for what seemed like days. We didn’t understand. Did he just get tired half way through? Did the machinery die? Did he get called in for an emergency? Or simply get hungry and gave up on his work in hopes for a leftover turkey sandwich? A few days later … the field was all clear. Seemingly worked on by fairy farmers in the middle of the night.

Speaking of the middle of the night, we have seen the giant headlights of monster machines working into the darkness (okay, darkness might be 7:00pm nowadays, but still.) So. What’s the deal? I have come to understand that harvesting of field crops: hay, corn, soy etc. are specialized feats of proper timing. First hay cutting and second hay have to be done dry, at certain temperatures to survive rolling into those big hay bales without molding. Soy beans are practically dead … shriveled into loose pea pods so they can be easily shaken out of their crispy casings and loaded into the harvester. Silage corn is also dry as a bone. No sweet juicy corn for the cows. Corn meal gets blown into those silos. It’s a wonder cows like it. Blech.

And the backyard farmer? Homesteaders with plots of veggies and flowers? That’s a whole other adventure. Our own garden was a disaster. The weeds took over and took over fast and furious. We chalked it up to an experiment gone wrong and just let it go. My kale is now five feet high and has all gone to seed. We did manage a few small pumpkins and some yellow cucumber like things? Plant pumpkins people… those things will grow anywhere. Vines are resilient. The other cucumber things? Not even sure what they started out as? Roald Dahl’s BFG fans will certainly label them as “snozzcumbers”. Slimy, but satisfying. I’m sad my strawberry plants are buried under there somewhere. There’s always next year, I suppose.

And so, we return to my muse about the verse in the gospels. Farmer’s fields are Huge. Backyard gardens are a lot of work. Trial and error have developed into perfect timing over the years to create “agricultural science”. Specific machines and gadgets that help with this or that. Measuring devices for moisture measuring for peak harvest timing. And then the labour. I don’t think a single farmer can harvest acres and acres on his own. Are their groups for these things? I suspect they share equipment. No one family can purchase those mortgage breaking pieces of machinery and survive can they? It has to be a group effort.

Snozzcumber anyone??

Which makes me think about the point Jesus is making in the verse… those plants grow full and expansive and wide on their own. The world we live in contains vast numbers of hurting, helpless people just trying to survive. No one has to “cultivate” wild weeds. They are doing just fine out there … in fact, they are flourishing. Pumpkins grow in the compost pile. Fed by the manure. Can you imagine what would happen if people took the time to truly cultivate the world around us? To nurture and feed and encourage one another to fully grow and bloom where we are planted?

There are plenty of people who need our love. Plenty of people who need God’s love and guidance. The fields are limitless. The weeds are thick. Those of us who are trying to do good in the world and live by His principles are few. Our task is hard. There are no fringe benefits. Only the fruit we collect. We go out into the pasture like “sheep among the wolves” (we’ve learned about predators out here too… they are quiet and sneaky and hide among the shadows…). So, please, encourage your fellow workers. Lend your expertise. Share your equipment. Put in the hours. Volunteer your time to be there when the time is right. It’s not an easy job…. but it is worth it. When your storehouses are full and you have an abundance of joy for when winter hits … your efforts will be rewarded with the peace that you can make it though the ‘leaner’ times in life.

I can drive up and down the hills every morning and marvel at the fields ready for harvest… and think how beautiful they are. Yet, I must remember to pray for more workers to do the hard stuff… and encourage those who are trying. For they are few and far between. And if you are one who is out there driving the tractors late at night: thank you. I’ll meet you at the compost pile for a snozzcumber snack.