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Winner of the Best New Canadian Christian Author Award, 2006, for her novel, One Smooth Stone, published by Castle Quay Books
Winner of the Award of Merit for her devotional book, Spur of the Moment
Blogs of Interest: International Christian Fiction Writers Check out this month's edition of
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Marcia's Column of Devotionals also goes out by email
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"And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds." Hebrews 10:24
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To comment on any of these posts, e-mail Marcia AT vinemarc DOT com
Something to Learn from Ants by Marcia Lee Laycock A column of ants creeps determinedly through the jungle, their pilgrimage instinctive and unstoppable. Then they come to a fast-flowing river. They stop, swarming about one another for a time, then one ant descends to the edge of the water. Another steps over him and they clasp arms; then another and another does the same until their bodies form a raft. The raft grows and eventually the ants clinging to the shore let go and the group floats safely to the other side where they await the rest of the column who are forming more rafts with their own bodies. There is much to learn from the habits of ants, and much to learn about God's plan for our lives as we study them. We, like the ants in the story above, are meant to work within community. When we stick together like those ants using their own bodies to cross a river, we can accomplish what God has laid out for us to do. We need one another, in our spiritual lives, in business, in life in general. That's why God has put us in families, in churches, in work situations. His plan has always been community. Isolation is dangerous, to our mental, spiritual and even physical health. We were made to be connected to one another, support one another, love one another. When we cling to one another like those ants we can build rafts that will take us to wonderful places - places where God will bless because of our obedience to his command - " A new command I give you: love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another" (John 13:34). The writer of Hebrews knew this when he wrote - "Let us not give up meeting together as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another ... and all the more as you see the Day approaching" (Hebrews 10:25). Look around you today. Is there someone you can join arms with? Perhaps it will be the beginning of building a raft. ****
Thankful for Trees - by Marcia Lee Laycock The two Poplar trees stand side by side in the park across from my living room window. I've been watching them slowly turn golden for the past few weeks and a few days ago the fall winds came and began to strip them bare. A few stragglers are still hanging on, but soon the trees will be only trunk and branches. The inner sap has probably almost completely stopped flowing. They mimic how I'm feeling these days as I continue through chemotherapy. Bare. Sparse. Dried out. Enthusiasm is a word that seems foreign. I've forgotten what it's like to have hair. There are days when I want to rail against what's happening to me, days when I'm just angry. But then I look at those trees and I think of the scripture that has so often come to mind as I've watched them fade into dormancy. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. ... You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills will burst into song before you and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Instead of the thornbush will grow the pine tree, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the Lord's renown, for an everlasting sign, which will not be destroyed." (Psalm 55: 8-13) So I'm thankful for those trees that are standing guard so close by. I can see they're still standing, still swaying in the fall winds, waiting. I know the biology of tress; and though I know winter is coming I know their sap hasn't disappeared, it has just stopped running for a while and will run again in a few months. When it does they will sprout tiny green leaves that shout the word 'Revival' and will grow and clap loudly in the spring winds as their sweet scent permeates the air. And their creator will be glorified. God is in the business of revival on all levels. But there is purpose in the dormancy. A friend sent me a link - to a wonderful song, Blessings, by Laura Story. The lyrics rang so true -
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
"His mercies in disguise" - things like trees that have been stripped bare but still stand in the wind. ****
Clinging to the Rock The far north is a place where things are pared down, taken to the lowest common denominators of life. Rock, water, sun, insects and wind. And of course, in the winter, snow and ice. It is a place where the word survival is never far from one's thoughts. It was a marvel to me how the tiny delicate flowers of Baffin Island could survive. There is very little soil yet they spring up and cling to solid rock. Vibrant dwarf fireweed, saxifrage, anemones and the ever-present Arctic cotton. The tundra seemed to be in motion as they swayed in the constant wind, lifting their heads toward a far-away sun. We stepped around them, our heads bent in homage, our camera shutters clicking. As I moved across that barren landscape I couldn't help but think of the barren landscape of cancer I have been wandering in. The similarities are stark. There isn't much to hang onto at times. The winds of fear and loss seem always in my face and the sun can seem oh so far away. But I stared at a bright yellow anemone and took heart. If this little one can survive in this, her desolate place, then so shall I in mine, by doing what she does season after season. Cling to the rock. My Rock is more solid and everlasting than those slowly disintegrating across the tundra. My Rock speaks and comforts and holds my hand. My rock carries me when my knees buckle and cradles my head when I just need to cry. My rock hides me in its cleft and sets my feet on a firm foundation. And when I "lift up my eyes to the hills," and ask, "Where does my help come from?" He answers - "My help comes from the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip, he who watches over you will not slumber ... The Lord watches over you, the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm, he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming going both now and forevermore" (Psalm 121:1-8). Chemotherapy begins tomorrow. ****
Wind, Water and Rock - Those are three of my deepest impressions of my recent trip to Canada's eastern Arctic, Nunavut. But there are many others. I've always considered myself a "northerner," having been raised in Northern Ontario and then lived in the Yukon, Canada's western arctic, above the sixtieth parallel. But I gained a new perspective on that word during this trip to Baffin Island. It was indeed a new kind of "north" and a decidedly cross-cultural experience. Nunavut is a vast area with lots of water, ice, rock, very few people and even fewer roads. The capital, Iqaluit, is its largest community with a population of about 6,500. Visiting there in July, the height of tourist season, made me think our group of five women would not be too conspicuous, but that proved false. People stopped to chat on the street, asking where we were from and why we had come north. Their interest was genuine and their smiles warmed our hearts as they said, "Welcome to Iqaluit." We met a few of the local characters, like Al who was delivering a loaf of banana bread to the post office clerk. He invited us outside to meet his companion, Freddie One Eye - a friendly mutt with a bright red bandana around his neck. We met Yvonne, who gave us a tour of the Legislature library, Charlotte, a film producer who gave us a sneak peak of her company's latest project, and Carolina, a doctor from Guatemala whose journey to Canada's north is inspiring. To name just a few. The taxi drivers (there are about 80 in town) were also friendly and always happy to give guided tours as we paid our six dollars to be ferried anywhere in and around town. Our first driver was delighted to take us to the end of "The Road to Nowhere." We hiked the five kilometres back to town, enjoying the barren vista with thousands of tiny wildflowers clinging to lichen-covered rock. There were also thousands (maybe millions) of mosquitoes, but a brisk wind helped to keep them at bay for most of the hike. We were happy to see Frobisher Bay come back into view as we neared town. Walking the streets of Iqaluit made us easy targets for carvers and craftsmen who offered us their artwork. Some of the carvings were well done but we had already visited the museum gift shop, where our friend advised us to shop. I was delighted to acquire a polar bear made of white marble from Arctic Bay and a wall hanging of dancing polar bears made by a young woman named Eve, from Pangnirtung, who just happened to be there. I enjoyed chatting with her so much I forgot to take her picture! Since we were visiting a Parks Canada employee we were fortunate to be invited to a community feast honouring a new project launched by Parks and the Canadian Wildlife Federation. Arriving a little late to the community hall, we were surprised to see there were no tables set up. The food was piled in mounds on plastic and cardboard in the middle of the floor, with the people seated around the edge. After a few short speeches an elder demonstrated how to skin and gut a seal. Then the feast began. It was a feast of "country food" - raw seal, Muktuk (frozen whale blubber), Beluga whale meat, Caribou and Arctic Char. Yes, I had a taste of it all. Liked the Beluga best. :) Our time in Iqaluit drew quickly to a close as two of us headed yet further north, to experience a smaller Nunavut community, Pond Inlet. Set at the northern tip of Baffin Island, Pond is headquarters to another Parks Canada office which administers the Sirmilik National Park, stretching across the islands north of Baffin. Pond gives a spectacular view of the inlet, Equinox Sound and three massive glaciers on Bylot Island. Two good sized icebergs had floated into the Sound just a few days before our arrival - one resembling a seal, the other a large white wall tent. We strode the beach, chatted with people on the streets and in the Co-op and had a wonderful encounter with five ladies in the craft room at the visitor's centre. They were making small crafts from seal skin, in anticipation of a cruise ship due to arrive the next week. Not many ships stop at the small community so they take advantage of the boat load of tourists when they can. Two of our traveling companions joined us in Pond on the second day and we celebrated by having supper at the Sauniq Hotel. Turkey and trimmings for only $35.00 each. Since staying at the hotel cost $200.00 per night per person, we figured we were getting a pretty good deal. The trip ended all too quickly as we once again boarded the First Air turbo prop for the flight back to Iqaluit where we had time for a quick lunch with our Parks host before boarding again for the long flight to Montreal. Northern images continue to swirl in my mind - the deep tourquoise of Pond Inlet, the dancing dark eyes of the children, the wide smiles of the moms and grannies as we took their pictures, the startling clarity of the light at midnight, the roar of ATVs and the sighing of the waves of Frobisher Bay. I do consider myself a northerner and I consider myself wonderfully blessed to have experienced Nunavut, Canada's eastern Arctic.
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Some Christians Have a Problem by Marcia Lee Laycock
Some Christians have a problem with other Christians being involved in dance, art, writing novels, playing certain kinds of music. They see these endeavours as being part of the world from which we are to keep ourselves separate.
My daughters wanted to join a local dance troupe when they were young. Over the years we watched their performances and there were times when we doubted our judgment. It was not all good, it was not all redemptive, but we came to see that their time there was marked with God’s purpose.
In her senior year with the company, Laura, our middle daughter, was asked to dance a lyrical solo in the troupe's year-end performance. She agreed under the condition that she could choose the music and her costume and do the choreography herself. Over the next weeks the music seeped through the walls as she practiced in her bedroom.
When the night of the final recital arrived, Laura’s excitement was intense. The auditorium was packed; the first two rows were taken up by teens from Laura’s high school. I thought that was why she had seemed so nervous. When she stepped onto the stage to take her place, I sat up to get a good view.
She was dressed in a flowing green velvet dress, her hair smoothed back in ballerina style. She stood poised, waiting for the music. Then the words began to flow and Laura began to move. She danced the words of a song by Sara Groves – “I’m just a seeker too, in search of God.... I have no other way to communicate to you that this is all I have; the only thing that isn’t meaningless to me is Jesus Christ and the way he set me free.” As the last verse rang in the auditorium, my heart pounded as my daughter’s boldness amazed me and the audience stood to their feet in applause.
As we left the theatre that night, a local pastor tapped me on the shoulder and said, “That was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.” Then he grinned. “So when is she going to perform it at your church?” We laughed together at my reply, “Oh, I wish.” Then, simultaneously, we said to one another, “Maybe, someday!”
Some Christians have a problem with dance and other creative endeavours. But it was through dance that Laura formed an expression of herself that will, for many years to come, reinforce her understanding of her identity in Christ. In some ways, that final recital was like a baptism, a dying to what is not good, an embracing of all that is redemptive. It was, as a baptism is meant to be, a public display of who she truly is, one set free by Jesus Christ.
Some Christians have a problem with Christians writing novels. But it is through the writing, the telling of "story," that we come to understand who we all are in Christ; it is through the writing that we communicate how we all must die to what is not good in ourselves and embrace what is redemptive, that core that is the essence of our being, the very image of God.
"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." Colossians 3:17 ****
Ordinarily Ordinarily I don't like it when people send me those forwarded-forwarded-forwarded emails. Ordinarily I consider them a waste of time and often delete them without opening them. But lately a dear friend who knows what it's like to be facing an illness like cancer has been sending them regularly. She has picked beautiful pictures, inspirational thoughts and, best of all, laugh-out-loud jokes. I've been reading them and I must admit I've even gotten to the point where I look forward to finding one in my inbox each day. I guess my idea of wasted time has shifted a bit. I stare out the front window of our home more often, just to watch the wind ripple on the pond across the street - (I call it pondering ;0 ). Each time I walk by them I lean down to smell the flowers my husband bought me last week when I had to spend the day having tests at the hospital. I scratch my cat's ears more than I used to. I stand on our back deck, watch the clouds and listen to the laughter of our neighbour's children. I lay awake in the morning and stare at the outline of my husband's face in the early morning sun. The accumulation of these little things seems to make a difference as life has slowed into a rhythm of waiting. I've also found that scriptures - those oh-so- familiar passages that can seem trite or even cliché at times - have a whole new depth now that I have a deeper understanding of my need for them. I get regular emails with scripture delivered to my inbox too, and I open them first. The accumulation of verses seems to make a difference when my mood slips a little, when my heart is longing for something beyond this reality to hang onto. One of the passages that arrived recently was this one from Philippians 4:8 -"whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable ... if anything is excellent or praiseworthy... think about such things." I noticed there was no action connected to this passage, just thinking. You can do that anytime, anywhere, but to do it deeply you have to slow down a little. You have to pause, perhaps stare out a window at a small pond, and just think. Ordinarily I wouldn't be doing such things. My life would be bustling with urgencies like deadlines and projects and to-do lists. But there is nothing ordinary about living with cancer. It changes things. It changes you. Ordinarily I would think that a bad thing but now I treasure it. I treasure the tingling awareness of this world now that I now how tenuous my hold on it really is. I treasure the small things, the pondering. Interesting - I seem to be smiling a lot.
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Bad News, Good News Bad news - the final pathology report showed a trace of cancer in the sentinel node. When I heard the doctor say those words I stopped breathing. But then he told me the good news - it was only a trace and that node was removed. Like the tumour removed last month, it's gone and can do no more harm. I choose to focus on the good news that the cancer has been removed. Because of the skill of my surgeon, I can now say I had cancer but now I am free of it. So I am rejoicing and thanking God. I also recognize there has been another surgery done in my life that was far more serious, far more essential and far more effective. It didn't take place in a sterile operating room, but on a dusty road in the Yukon, high above the Stewart River Valley. (You can read the whole story here) That's where I finally gave up and let Jesus use His scalpel on my heart. He cut out all the bad parts - the anger, bitterness and pain, all the sin that had been eating away at me for many years - sin that would have not only killed my physical body eventually, but killed all hope of eternal life. And He didn't just cut it out. He replaced all that rottenness by the sacrifice of His own flesh and blood and left His Holy Spirit to remain there as a "seal of ownership." (2 Corinthians 1:22) At that moment He reclaimed my life and redeemed my soul. Because of Christ's death I can now say my sin is gone. Forever. I am free of it. I am forgiven. I love the verse in a very old hymn, It is Well with My Soul, that says - "My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought! My sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more, Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!" It's because of that surgery I don't fear death. I wonder what it will be like to stand face to face with Jesus but I don't fear that encounter because I know "there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus" (Romans 8:1). That's truly something to rejoice about. That's truly Good News! "When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your sinful nature, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins, having cancelled the written code with its regulations, that was against us and that stood opposed to us; he took it away, nailing it to the cross" (Colossians 2:13-14). ****
It seems that all the earth is waiting. Spring has been slow in coming, the warming breath of a stronger sun somehow delayed. Ice still skims the pond across from our home. The geese seem puzzled, flying low but not touching down. Each day we hope for warmer temperatures, each day there is disappointment. But the clouds are looking more like the burgeoning mounds heavy with rain and here and there a sprout of green tells us the season is unfolding. Soon it will break forth, resplendent in green. Soon spring will be a reality, not just a promise. Last Monday, lying on the cruciform table in a hospital's operating room, I prayed and wondered about waking up face to face with my creator. I thought about all the promises He has made to us about eternity, the possibility of living always in His presence. On that day, the possibility had never before been so real. "There are always risks with surgery," my doctor had said. As the anaesthesiologist approached I stared at the sets of gleaming lights and gave myself, once again, into the hands of Jesus. I woke a few hours later on a respirator in the ICU, my hands tied down so I wouldn't attempt to yank the tubes from my throat. Anaphylactic shock required intubation. One of the risks - being allergic to the radioactive blue dye they inject to find the sentinel node in the armpit, which they test to determine if the cancer has spread. I was thankful for a medical team that was quick to respond; thankful that I woke; thankful to see my husband standing beside my bed; thankful the sentinel node is not cancerous. And then all the "what ifs" began to flow through my mind ... what if the intubation wasn't done quickly enough? What if I had died there in that sterile OR? I believe I would have been instantly standing face to face with Jesus, so the what ifs were not so much disturbing as intriguing. Like the reality of the signs of spring, I know what's to come. Someday. But the time has been delayed. I still stand on the seemingly firm soil of this earth. God has plans for me still, it would seem. So I look to the future, look to His hand to guide, His Spirit to move, His peace to engulf me as it has continually since hearing the fear-ridden word, cancer. I look and see the new sprouts of green that tell me the promises are real. Life in His presence is possible, now, and someday ... then, when all the possibilities become reality. ****
When God Puts You in the Sidecar My husband is a motorcycle enthusiast. So far he hasn’t gone out and bought one, but whenever he likes one he sees on the road he’ll point it out and say, “Nice bike,” then look at me to gauge my reaction. We were sitting at a stoplight not long ago and a shiny motorcycle pulled up beside us. It had a sidecar attached. “There you go,” Spence said. I laughed, imagining what it would be like to ride in such a little appendage. “I think I’d rather be on the bike with you,” I said, “or better yet, on one of my own.” Sidecars are for kids, I thought. You don’t have any control in a sidecar; you just have to hang on and try to enjoy the ride. But now it seems God has put me in a sidecar for a time. I’ve just been diagnosed with cancer and suddenly my life is not mine to control. Doctors are telling me what will happen, when and where I will go. I don’t really want to experience any of what they’re telling me I will go through. But I have no choice. All I can do is hang on and find ways to cope with the ride. In the book of John, Jesus tells the apostle Peter about a time when the same thing would happen to him. “I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!” (John 21:18-19) I don’t know exactly what lies ahead for me. I’m hopeful that this cancer can be eradicated and I’ll go on with my life, publish my next book and continue to enjoy all the blessings God has showered on me for so long. I’m praying my time in the sidecar will be short. But perhaps God has another plan. In the meantime, I take encouragement from those few words, “by which Peter would glorify God.” What happened to him was not in vain. It had a purpose. The events of our lives all have purpose and are meant to bring glory to God. We have agency in that, by his grace and mercy – we can choose to hunker down and cling to the sidecar in fear, or we can sit tall and trust the driver. Perhaps God will give me the privilege of bringing Him glory through words of encouragement to others going through this same journey. Perhaps He’ll even allow me to continue to write about it. Or perhaps it will just be Him and me. That will be enough. Jesus is always enough. And I’m spurred on too, by the next words Jesus spoke. “Follow me!” That’s a path Peter tried hard to take, one that changed him into a man of God, a leader of men. It’s a path that leads to “a spacious place,” (Ps. 18:19), where God’s presence is evident, to the joy that comes in understanding God’s undying love and the peace that makes us lean into the wind and relish every moment on this earth – even moments in the sidecar. “but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me” (Psalm 18:18-19). ****
Out of Love By Marcia Lee Laycock
Staring at a blank page, knowing you have to fill it with something by a specific time is a little daunting. Knowing there are a lot of rules that have to be followed, that the words have to be just right, the content intelligent yet interesting enough to keep a reader’s attention, is a little nerve wracking. Realizing that the end result could be summarily dismissed with “does not meet our needs at this time,” is more than a little frustrating. Yet, as a writer I do it, day after day, week after week. Some might wonder why. The answer is quite simple – I love the process, the challenge, and yes even the struggles and frustrations of writing. I do it because I believe in some small way, what I write can make a difference. It can change things. It is what I was created to do. We all have these same fears, struggles and frustrations in our lives. We all do things that others shake their heads at and wonder why. We do them out of love. An interesting phrase, that. Out of love. Because of love. On account of love. It has been said there is no more powerful a force on the face of the earth. There is One whose demonstration of that force must have been confusing to those who watched. He left a home and position that was beyond anything we can imagine. He allowed himself to be born into a poor family and a race that was one step above slavery. In accordance with His father’s plan, he kept himself hidden for the first thirty years of his life and when he did finally reveal himself, even his own family did not believe who he really was. He did miracles of healing and grace but people spat on him. He taught everyone who would listen how to find true peace but no-one understood, not even his closest friends. Then He offered eternal life to the world by offering himself in atonement for all their sin, and still, some refuse to acknowledge him. Why did he do it? Out of love. Because of love. On account of love. And you can add grace and mercy to that. The gospel of John, chapter 13 describes it – “It was just before the Passover Feast. Jesus knew that the time had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he now showed them the full extent of his love.” Then John describes the moving scene when Jesus washed his disciples’ feet. An act of servitude, an act of profound love and grace that changed those whom he served. But then he topped it. He went on to suffer the humiliation and torture of the cross. That was an act of love that changed the world. That was why Jesus was born. As Christians we strive to imitate Christ. As writers we must do the same. Do it all out of love. Because of love. On account of love. Not just of the process, the challenge and the end results, but of Him and those whom we serve.
A Perfect Day...A Perfect Tree...What More Could I Need? By Marcia Laycock
The day was perfect. The ice fog had lifted and the temperature had risen to a mere 25 below. The hike to the back of our property on the Klondike River, in search of the perfect Christmas tree, looked like it would be an outing we would enjoy. As a special bonus we took our two Huskies with us. It took a while to reach the trees, but we enjoyed the relatively mild air. The dogs romped in the deep snow. I was feeling the tingle of what they call the “Christmas spirit,” as we continued into the bush. Then we saw the tree, and it was perfect: not too big, not too small and fairly well proportioned. We cut it down and strapped it to the toboggan. As we headed back, we even hummed a well-known Christmas song, something about the peace and joy of the season. We were almost home when that mood was instantly changed. For some unknown reason our dogs chose that moment to engage in one of their all-out, let’s see who’s top dog, go for the throat, fights. They were full-grown Huskies, both about the same age, weight and strength. When they went at each other, it looked like one of them would end up dead. We tried everything we could think of to make them stop, but they were oblivious to us. All we could do was stand and watch as they tore at one another. By the time it was over, one dog had a gash from the base of one ear to the end of his jaw, the other was limping badly and both were covered in blood. So much for our idyllic, peaceful Christmas excursion. When we got home we had to doctor the dogs, so the tree was left outside. Decorating would have to wait. By the time we thought about the tree again, the temperature had plummeted to -60. When we dragged it inside, it was so frozen most of its needles fell off. Tinsel doesn’t look quite the same on bare branches. Charlie Brown could have used it for his Christmas show. About that time I found out the present I’d ordered for my husband would not arrive before the 25th, and the one grocery store in town had run out of turkeys. Some Christmas this was turning out to be - a bare tree, no presents, no turkey. It was enough to make even one who loves Christmas shout, “Bah Humbug!” Well, things did improve somewhat. I found another gift to give my husband, and a friend, an early shopper, invited us to share the turkey dinner. The tree was still a Charlie Brown special, but it grew on me as time went on. By the 25th, I almost had the Christmas spirit again, but I couldn’t help feel something was missing. It took me a few more years to figure out what that something was. The year I declared my faith in the One for whom the day is set aside, none of the trappings of Christmas mattered. The need to have the perfect decorations, the gifts, the food, even that illusive “spirit,” faded. A deeper need had been met. That year I discovered the Christ. I understood why He came. “Because of the tender mercy of our God, by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven, to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace.” (Luke 1:78-79) That “rising sun” is Jesus, the one called Immanuel, God with us. He came for me, and for you. Nothing else matters.
Rejoicing in the Present by Marcia Lee Laycock It’s almost the end of November, we have lots of snow on the ground and the temperatures are telling us it’s definitely winter. Some of my neighbours turned on their Christmas lights this week and a friend emailed to say she had put her tree up. We’re planning the Christmas program and dinner at our church and we’ve even starting singing the carols. It all makes me smile. It’s a little early for me to turn the outdoor lights on or put the tree up, but I am looking forward to Christmas. Looking forward to the bright decorations, to having my family around a table laden with good food, to the laughter and perhaps even tears as we open presents. Traditionally Christmas is a time to look back, far back, to a day over two thousand years ago, when a tiny baby was born in a village in the Middle East. But, because of who that child was, it is also a time to look forward and a time to ponder the present. That child, Jesus Christ, was God’s present to us, a child who was to change the course of future history, not just for a space of time on this earth, but eternally in that mysterious place called heaven. Because of Jesus, heaven would be populated with humanity, those who would accept Him as their Saviour and the Son of God. But I’m also trying to practise the ‘present’ of Christmas in another way – taking time to pause and enjoy all the moments, all that comes with this season – the music that tells the story in public places, the lights that proclaim His glory on the streets, the bustle of shoppers on a city street that speak of the spirit of giving and grace. I’m also practising the ‘present’ of Christmas by taking time to pause and listen for the Saviour’s voice, time to read His story from the Bible and get to know Him more. I know my present – every moment of the day - can be transcendent when I draw close to Him. I rejoice in each day He gives me, enjoying His creation, yes, even the snow and cold temperatures, His people, family, friends, even strangers, and most of all, His presence. This Christmas I’ll be looking back, looking forward and rejoicing in the present. All because of Jesus.
Safety in Numbers by Marcia Laycock "Come quick!" My husband was calling from our living room where I found him staring out the front window, laughing and shaking his head. He waved me over. Outside on the sidewalk was a neighbour's cat. I'd seen him often, hunting birds near the small pond across the street. But this morning he wasn't hunting. He was surrounded, by about fifteen large Magpies. They hopped around him as he crept slowly along the ground, his head swaying back and forth. I could almost hear his growling and just about imagine what he was thinking. His body language told us he wanted very badly to leap on one of those birds but he knew under the circumstances that would not be a good idea. The birds looked menacing, even from a distance. Watching them, I wondered if Alfred Hitchcock had ever seen a similar display. They kept up their ominous vigil, hopping all around him, leading him slowly along, seeming to dare him to do something. Then suddenly they took flight and roosted in a nearby tree. The cat sat still for a moment, then made a bee-line for home. "Maybe there was a nest nearby, or an injured bird," I said. "Whatever was happening, it's obvious there's safety in numbers." Safety in numbers. It made me think of Elisha's servant whose eyes were opened to suddenly see "the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around" (2Kings 6:17). Unless the Lord draws back the curtain as He did that day, we are all blinded to the spiritual realm while we are on this earth, but we can be assured that it is there. God's armies are about us, his angels waiting to do His bidding on our behalf, His Spirit, living in us, ready to guide us forward according to His plan. Even as I tap away at this computer, writing this devotional or finishing my next novel, I can know that they surround me, just as they surrounded Elisha that morning. In the Book of Hebrews, chapter 12, verse 1, the writer says, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." There might be a snarling enemy close by, bent on my destruction, but I don't have to worry. He's surrounded too.
The Power of Brokenness by Marcia Lee Laycock It seems there were two men, two of Jesus' disciples, who were deeply loved by Him. He loved them so much that he took the time to chat with them as they walked away from Jerusalem toward their home in a town called Emmaus. That would not have been particularly unusual, except that Jesus had been crucified three days before. The account of this story in the book of Luke tells us that the two men were "kept from recognizing him" (Luke 24:16), even as Jesus "explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself" (v.27). It wasn't until they were eating with him that their eyes were opened and they saw. It happened at the moment when Jesus broke the bread. I don't think that moment was a random act. I believe Jesus chose it to teach those two men something. I believe He was also teaching us something about brokenness. The Psalmist David knew about brokenness. When the prophet Nathan confronted him about his sin with Bathsheba, David poured out his heart to God, acknowledged his sin and sought God's forgiveness. He knew what was required - "You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise" (ps.51:16-17). It's not easy to think about that, let alone desire it. We don't often pray, "Lord, break me." We don't often recognize that we are already broken people, damaged by our own sin. It's common knowledge among those who work with alcoholics that they cannot be helped until they have "hit bottom." Until they recognize their need for help they cannot change. We are all in that place. Until we recognize our need for God, for his mercy and grace and forgiveness, we cannot fix our brokenness. He is the only healer who can accomplish it. Why brokenness? Because it leads us to our Saviour, to the one who loves us so deeply he takes the time to walk with us and reveal himself to us. He has broken the bread of his own body and offered it to His Father as a sacrifice to atone for our sins. He offers it to us. All we have to do is acknowledge our brokenness and reach out to take the gift that will give us complete healing in every way.
Mercy in a Gift Shop By Marcia Lee Laycock I received this scripture by email this morning - Jude 1:21 keep yourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life. (NKJ) I was struck by the words, “looking for the mercy.” I believe this is a big part of being a Christ follower – we are to be looking for evidence of His hand everywhere we go, watching for His grace and mercy, looking for signs of His incomparable love. Sometimes we are to be that hand ourselves. I was in a hospital gift shop, stocking shelves with books some time ago. A young woman asked me about the flowers in a nearby display case. Her eyes were hopeful but I had to disappoint her and explain that I did not work in the hospital gift shop. I was just there to stock the book rack. I pointed to two ladies at a nearby counter. “Maybe they can help,” I said. She nodded, stared at the flower display and sighed. “I’m not really sure what I want.” I took note of her dress then – a baseball cap pulled over messy hair; a thin pair of pyjama bottoms topped by a hospital issue housecoat wrapped around a frail frame; pull-on terrycloth slippers, two sizes too big. “My friend is dying,” she said, then turned back to me. “I am too.” I put my clipboard down and waited. Her story unfolded in simple language, the words slipping from her mouth almost as though rehearsed. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a picture of her seven year old daughter. I could see the resemblance. She smiled when I mentioned it and went on to say there was a surgery that she was hoping for – highly experimental, there was only one doctor who could do it and he just happened to live in a nearby city. But then her voice fell and I had to lean close to hear. Her friend had had the surgery. She was still dying. The conversation turned to the word hope then. She had hope they would agree to do the surgery, hope that, unlike her friend, she would recover, hope that she would live to watch her daughter grow up. She said a pastor came to visit sometimes and “we say our small prayers together. They seem small, just words, but maybe not, eh?” Again that hopeful look in her eyes.
Home Movies and A Procession of Importance Watching old home movies can be a hoot, especially if the amateur moviemaker was as technologically challenged as my father. We have reams of family memories on film, but you have to know the people well to figure out who they are. "Oh look, that's Mom's knee ... isn't it?" "And Ron's feet. I'm sure those are Ron's feet!" When my parents made a trip to San Francisco, the camera went along. A few weeks later the rest of the family enjoyed seeing China Town - superimposed over an inverted Golden Gate Bridge. It was a little blurry, but no one seemed to mind. On one occasion my father relinquished his camera to my eldest brother. He was somewhat better at capturing the significant events of our lives on film. In fact, the footage he took on the main street of our hometown, one day in the mid 1960's, could be called a classic. It's a bit bouncy, but that was because Ron was running as he filmed. It's a bit blurry, but that's because the vehicle he was filming wouldn't slow down. In spite of these disadvantages, my brother managed to capture a brief picture of Queen Elizabeth II, waving to a large crowd. Well, okay, the film isn't really a classic, but somehow it does capture the wild enthusiasm of the people. We see them leaning forward, smiling, hands upraised, eager to dispense their praise as the procession flows by. Somehow that blurred, bouncy film makes you lean forward eagerly too, straining for a brief glimpse of that person of importance. Such was the atmosphere surrounding the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. The crowd leaned in, chanting their praise, waving their palm branches, laying them at the feet of their hero. "Hosanna to the Son of David!" they cried, "Hosanna in the highest!" (Matthew 21:1-11). If we had been among them, we would have been chanting and waving palm branches too. This was indeed a man of importance, they said, "This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee." A few days later they crucified Him. When He rode into Jerusalem they thought He might take over the city, or set himself up as a King, or at the very least, lead a revolt. Instead, He allowed himself to be arrested. He allowed the hated Romans to beat Him and execute Him. And He did nothing to save Himself. So those who had leaned in close with praises on their lips now spat on Him and demanded his death. If we had been among them, we probably would have done the same. But His mercy and grace is poured out on us anyway, as it was on those who were there that day. The procession Jesus led into the city looked like a triumph and His death looked like a defeat. In reality, His death was His victory. In reality, His death was our victory. "Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!"
What is Truly Great? By Marcia Lee Laycock
I picked up a copy of a national newspaper last week, as I do now and then, to fill in the gaps in the news that television coverage leaves. As I read through the articles I thought of the Sunday School class I was about to teach. The class was all about greatness – how our culture sees it, and how God sees it. The articles were about people who were being lauded as great – a man who conducts seminars on how to become a millionaire overnight, another whose company makes “the Porsche of snowboards,” and movie stars who, when they decide it’s time for a vacation, buy themselves a tropical island. I pulled all of these articles out and handed them around to my junior high class on Sunday. The boys liked the one about the snowboards. We talked about why these people were considered worthy of having their names, and faces, in the paper. What had they done that was so great? It didn’t take the kids long to conclude that making snowboards wasn’t exactly worthy of the Nobel Prize. Then I showed them the article on the front page of the newspaper. It pictured four young men in RCMP uniform. There were other articles about them, articles that talked about their short careers, their families. The front page mostly talked about how they died. It's been five years since that day but still they are honoured. I asked the kids why these men where considered worthy of being in the paper. The answer was obvious. They had died in service to their community and to their country. It added a whole other dimension to the discussion about greatness. It’s sad that it took the tragedy of their deaths for those young men to be recognized. It’s sad that we forget about all the other men and women in our communities who are doing their jobs every day, serving us in police forces, hospitals, ambulance services, fire departments, town councils and a myriad of other jobs. Why do we only call them heroes when they die? It seems our culture loves to mock what is good, loves to ridicule what is right, moral and ethical. And when it does, it condemns itself. The apostle John wrote about this when he said – “Whoever believes in him (Jesus) is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he has not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son. This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men loved the darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed.” (John 3:17-20) There is only one way to love the light – become part of it. When we allow God’s Spirit to enter into our hearts and minds, He will convict and guide us into that light. Only then will we recognize and truly honour what is truly great.
Love and Such by Marcia Lee Laycock The Bible college professor handed out the syllabus for the first term and I gulped as I read it. The course dealt with two books written by the Apostle Paul to the Corinthians and it included choosing a chapter to memorize. A whole chapter! I started praying that God would give me the capacity to cram that much scripture into my brain and be able to get it all back out onto paper, verse numbers and punctuation included. We had several weeks to do the assignment but I picked chapter 13 of First Corinthians and began right away. I picked it because I already knew a portion of it by heart and I figured memorizing the famous "love chapter" would be easier that some of the others. I had no idea what memorizing that portion of scripture would do to me. At the time, I was in the middle of teaching a women's bible study on campus but after getting half way through the love chapter I seriously considered quitting. My motivation had been all wrong. I hadn't accepted the teaching assignment out of love, I had accepted it out of pride and my need for affirmation. I spoke with an older woman of God about my dilemma and she gave me wise counsel. She said that even though my motives may not have been the best, God was teaching me through the process. The challenge was to rise to the need for change, to pray for guidance and then obey. I began to realize that the love God had poured into me the day I accepted Christ as my Saviour was not meant to stay buried in my heart. It was meant to be poured back out. That wasn't easy for me. Still isn't. Because of some of the damage that was done to my heart and soul as a young girl, I'm a bit afraid of love, afraid to receive it and to give it freely. I'm sometimes afraid it will cost too much, hurt too much. But little by little God is helping me to trust Him enough to know that His love is patient and kind it is not easily angered. His love keeps no record of wrongs. His love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. His love never fails. I take courage in the Apostle Paul's prayer in the book of Ephesians chapter 3, verses 17-18 -"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ." Rooted and established in love. That's what being a Christian means because God is love. So we are rooted and established in Him. We may fail to show it, fail to do it, but that is the reality of who we are. My prayer is that as we write, as we speak, as we live our lives day to day, the love of God may not be a trickle that seeps out of us, but a torrent flowing through all we do. Happy Valentines Day!
No Answers – thoughts on Haiti I’ve just finished reading a letter from a woman who was in Haiti when the earthquake hit and like many of the stories and images coming out of Haiti, it has left me stunned, weeping and asking questions. Paramount among those crowding my mind is one thought – Why does God spare some and not others? Why did one man suddenly decided to leave his hotel for a “breath of fresh air” and stand on the other side of the street as the building collapsed, killing almost everyone inside? Why was that bus load of Canadians held back in the airport so that they were not in the Hotel Montana when the earthquake hit? Why was an eighteen year old girl and another man killed on a busy Canadian highway when her car suddenly flew across a median and hit another head-on, five minutes after my husband had been at that very spot? There are no answers to those questions, nor are there answers to the many others that plague us when disasters hit, when some are slain and others saved. The lack of answers might lead some to say, “There is no God,” or “God has abandoned us all.” But there are other voices to be heard and heeded - like the voice of the woman who was dragged from the rubble of a building singing. Singing! And telling her rescuers there is no need to fear death because God is there. God is there. And then there are the voices of the people who gathered outside the crushed ruins of their church and prayed and sang and praised. The power of such faith is mesmerizing and awe-inspiring. They silence the voices of doubt and despair. They make all the unanswerable questions moot. God is there. Faith sustains. Yet we, as communicators of the Gospel, need to puzzle over all the unanswerable questions, we need to wrestle with them, not so that we may arrive at any wisdom from within us, but so that our wrestling might bring us to moments of faith that echo and resonate with those we are seeing on our television screens. Tragedies like the earthquake in Haiti open doors of opportunity for those of us who have been gifted with words or music or art, because it is at these times that people look for meaning, for purpose and for beauty in the midst of the chaos. They look to us and, as the scripture says, we must be “prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have” (I Peter 3:15). We must be able to point them to Jesus, in spite of the pain. So as we weep, as we mourn and struggle and wrestle with God, let us dig deep into the foundations of our faith and cry out, through our art, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Angels Around Us The week after Christmas always seems a bit like the twilight zone to me. The fuss and flurry of Christmas is over but the New Year is still a few days away and everything seems to be on hold. Perhaps that’s why it seems like the perfect time for pondering. I was straightening up around the Christmas tree this week, and looked up just as the sun dipped. The angel on my windowsill became a silhouette while the three hand-made carollers beside it seemed to glow. I love my angel - I love that he’s extremely tall, which is an accurate depiction according to the Bible. I love his copper wings and long crimson gown. I love the serenity on his face. I also have a particular fondness for my little carollers even though they’re made of Styrofoam and cloth and I usually have to reattach their heads at least once during the season. As I looked at them that day it seemed that the tall one was looking down and protecting the small ones. It made me smile. As I pondered them that day I thought of all the times I’ve lived so totally in this world without any sense or understanding that there is another realm watching. I do believe in angels. I’ve known people who swear they’ve been visited by them, helped in some way. Perhaps my positioning of my angel beside and slightly behind my carollers was a subconscious nod in that direction. But I don’t think about angels very often. The Bible tells us that angels are “ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation” (Hebrews 1:14). Their appearances in the Bible tell us they refused to be worshiped and always pointed to the One who sent them. I’m quite sure there are many times that angels help us in some way and we remain unaware. Just look at the famous story in the Bible about Elisha and his servant. When the servant despaired because they were surrounded by their enemies, Elisha asked God to show him what was really there and “he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha” (2Kings 6:17). As I looked at my tall angel and my little carollers that day I wondered about all the angels who watch over us and God’s goodness in providing them. There are times when I wish I could see them, as Elisha’s servant did, but I don’t have to see them to know they are there. God has promised to keep us under his wing, protected. He has promised to guide us with his Spirit. He has promised he will never leave us. These are fine promises to take with us into the New Year. Whatever 2010 may hold for us, we can know God is with us. His angels are hovering near. May He bless you all abundantly with all the spiritual riches of His mercy and grace.
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