Where Does the Time Go?

Well another year has come and gone. It's 2012 already. I can't believe how quickly the last year flew by. I am reminded of a poem by Henry Twells, written on a clock in Chester Cathedral:

When as a child, I laughed and wept,

Time crept.

When as a youth, I dreamt and talked,

Time walked.

When I became a full-grown man,

Time ran.

When older still I daily grew,

Time flew.

Soon I shall find on travelling on-

Time gone.

O Christ, wilt Thou have saved me then?

Amen.

Henry Twells lived between 1823 and 1900, so he wasn't feeling the effects of our modern electronic age. Our time on Earth is short, no matter when and where we live.

Every New Year's eve Holland turns into a  massive fireworks display. For the few days leading up to December 31st, shops sell a mind-boggling variety of things that sparkle, pop, whizz, hiss, and boom. For three days, our local bicycle shop stops selling bicycles in favour of little bundles of gunpowder. We bought ours from a garden centre.

Normally, we don't buy fireworks. As a parent I am possibly a little bit too careful with my kids. I know what fireworks can do to little fingers so would rather leave it to the professionals. Besides which, there's really no need for us to buy our own because everybody else seems to spend a fortune on the stuff. Each year, if the weather is good, we climb onto the roof and watch as the sky lights up in a spectacular display of colour and light. This year I relented and we splashed out on a small selection for the princely sum of fifty Euros.

The few rockets and candles in our "family pack" lasted about ten minutes and we were left with about three hundred firecrackers, each resembling a little stick of dynamite. After the novelty wore off, we had about two hundred and eighty left over, so we spent the next half hour performing what amounted to a series of science experiments. We made a small fire and stood watching the flames. My son commented how ironic it was that we were having so much fun with a our handful of fireworks while, all around us, the sky was filled with spectacular explosions, each one of which probably cost more than our entire budget for the evening. 

As we stood watching our little bonfire, it struck me how temporary life on this planet really is. One day, everything I know will be gone. My children, my wife, my house, my life. No wonder people feel the need to party like it's the end of the word. I think that, deep down inside, they know that everything must come to an end, and so they party as hard as they can while they can. If only people would understand that this is not all there is. When the clock stops on each and every one of us, eternity begins and we will realize the importance of the choices we made during our brief sojourn on planet Earth. God's love is infinite and we get the option to spend eternity enjoying that love. How exciting is that?

The end for us here on Earth is not really the end but the beginning, because where we are going, we won't need clocks.

GIANT HARVEST--By Christine Lindsay

It happened just as we prayed. Don’t you just love that when it happens? It doesn’t always, but man . . . when it does . . . .

I was there to see a Guinness World record beaten. On a quarter section—for the non-farmer-type reader that means a quarter of a square mile— I saw 200 giant, gleaming combines harvest wheat in record time. The event was so big that Guinness sent not one of the regular people out to judge, but one of their main administrators.

It was a hot August day under a clear, cerulean sky. And this Canadian felt pride in the size of the golden wheat field around me. To me that represented a lot of bread baskets--a lot of food for empty stomachs.



I also felt joy to see the various Christian communities from this small prairie town come together in support of the event. You talk of old fashioned barn raisings—this was bigger.

Over 200 farmers gave up their time out of a busy harvest season. Many local businessmen in southern Manitoba, Canada, gave of their product and time to cultivate, plant, and nurture this wheat field.



I felt goosebumps as I watched the mammoth combines, in two steady rows of 100 combines each, roll in an unwavering line to meet in the center of the section. And my heart rejoiced with these God-loving prairie people.



The event began with a group of farmers singing our national anthem--Oh Canada--and then heading out to their machines. Three yellow crop-duster planes flew in formation over the field. Several helicopters and two other visiting planes also flew overhead. The Lord even sent a gentle breeze to blow the chaff away so that the spectators weren't covered in dust. A petting zoo entertained the children, and Christian music entertained everyone.

It was a great day. And it all happened because of the love of hundreds of volunteers who want to make a difference in the world, folks who want to feed the souls of the spiritually starving with the Bread of Life—Jesus Christ. But why would simple, Christian farmers go to the bother of breaking a world record? Why work so hard for 15 minutes of fame?

A Christian organization I’m associated with arranged this huge fund raiser. I’m not naming or promoting this group on this website, because most of the writers on this forum are involved in ministries all over the world.

But for all of us in the Lord’s service, it’s good to share when the sun breaks through the clouds of struggle, hard work, and months and years on our knees praying for something. In each of our own ministries and our work, it’s good to be reminded that God does allow our plans to succeed . . . more often than not.

God couldn't have provided a more perfect day for our event that brought in over 10 thousand spectators, TV stations, radio stations, newspapers, and dignitaries. So that on this past August 6th, the Lord graciously rewarded this ministry I associate with. It was especially sweet when many of us remembered the faith-testing disappointments of a day back in 2006 when they attempted the same thing, and did not receive the prize.

It just goes to prove that when we step out in faith, and our hearts are set on honoring God first, He lovingly rewards that faith.

So I say to you today, Go to it—whatever the Lord has called you to. Though you win no awards on this earth, though no one sees the hard work you put in. The Lord sees, and the Lord will reward.



To read more by me, Christine Lindsay, please stop by my website www.christinelindsay.com There you can find encouragement if you are someone whose life has been touched by adoption or missions, or the grinding struggles of life. You can find out about my recent trip to India, and the books I am currently writing. Thank you for dropping by. Blessings on you today.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

-- by Alice Valdal


It's seeding time in my neck of the woods. Time to break up the crust of winter, bring in fresh compost, dig out the old and plan anew.



I love the garden, both in real life and as a metaphor for writing. I consider this preparation time like the dreaming time for a book. The time when all things are possible. The time when characters and settings and themes and the perfect hook float in my conscience, as enticing as the packets of seeds at the Butchart Gardens.



I can't wait for the days to get warm enough, so I start some seeds indoors on a sunny windowsill. My heart lifts when I see those first green sprouts.
In my writing life, I go out and buy a new notebook, one with a pretty cover, and I write snippets of dialogue, character interviews. I try out a few titles, play with names. I draw a picture of the town where the book is set, or sketch out the heroine's house. Ah, my story is coming to life, just like my little seedlings.


Once the garden is up, the weeding and hoeing become reality and I question my decision to plant such a large area! Can two people really eat four rows of green beans, not to mention turnips, onions, lettuce, beets, carrots, corn, peas. . . Like I said, I get carried away in the planning stages.

In my "great Canadian novel" I'm running into similar difficulties. Too many characters, too much useless detail. I have to yank out these "weeds" as ruthlessly as I attack the thistles in the strawberry patch, and we all know how that can hurt.




But finally, as the days grow hot and the dried up seeds respond to light and water and heat, my garden grows. I harvest those first tender leaves of lettuce. Onions and radishes adorn my salads. I feel rich as a king when I pluck the fruits of my labour.
My book takes shape. There is a beginning and middle and an ending. Somewhere among the tangle of words a theme emerges. The "weeding" becomes more like flower arranging. Move a word or phrase. Tidy up the syntax. The slash and burn of the first edits is over.

When I began my garden I envisioned something like the picture above, or maybe this one at right.

I dreamed of bidding wars for my novel. Saw it crowned with a "best-seller" sticker. Imagined the millions of people ( no point dreaming if you don't go big!) who would be moved by my words.


My garden, as seen below, doesn't quite measure up to the Butcharts. But it's pretty and it feeds my body and my soul.

Full of hope, I send my book to editors and agents. So far, no bidding wars, but I've written something I'm proud of. The work of creating the story has fed my soul and humbled my pride. I'm thinking it's time to buy a new notebook. Do you like the name Daria for a heroine?


The Bible is full of garden metaphors. "A sower went out to sow." The mustard seed. The Garden of Eden and the barren fig tree just to name a few. In John 12:24, Jesus spoke of his own death as resurrection in gardening terms. "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. (KJV).
As a gardener and a child of the land, all of these passages speak to me. But what of the inner city child who thinks milk and bread come from the store? I cannot think of a metaphor that would resonate with that urban child. Can you?

To read more of Alice's adventures in publishing land or in the garden, check out her website http://www.alicevaldal.com/