When I was 7 years old my family lived on a small farm in the southern part of the province I live in. I loved it there. I fit in great. I knew I had found the one place in the world that I wanted to spend all of my days. In my first 7 years of life my father had kept us moving around a lot. We were never more than 6 months in a town or city before it was time to move on to another one.
This was the first time we were not living in a city. My brother and I had to take a school bus through winding, gravel, country roads every day going to and from school. In fact, in my grade 2 class of approximately 35 students, only 2 of them lived in that little town 10 miles away from our farm. The rest of us were all out-of-towners. It was into this environment and time of life that I learned something that would effect me for the rest of my life.
Because we took a bus to school, we had to bring our lunch every day. My brother had a great "Batman" lunch box, but I had none. And it was neither practical nor economical for me to carry a bag to school every day. So one Saturday, near the beginning of October, my mother and I headed off into the “big city” to buy me a lunch box. No matter how many stores we went to or how hard we looked, we just couldn’t find a lunch box that was appropriate for a little girl of 7. As it was getting dark and we were both feeling tired, we settled on the nearest lunch box at hand, bought it and headed home.
The last store we were at only sold lunch boxes for working men. You know the kind. Big, black with a thermos in the lid. Except Mom just couldn’t send her little girl to school with a black one, so she grabbed for the only other color they had. A bright orange one. The same color you would find on a traffic pylon cautioning drivers that there are men-at-work. I suppose that’s exactly who it was made for.
On Sunday my mother scrubbed the life out of that lunch box. If it was going to be anything, it was going to be CLEAN! But all through Sunday she just kept apologizing to me.
“I’m sorry, Laura-Lee. Mommy really goofed. I know that’s not a lunch box for a little girl. I promised I’ll make it up to you. Next Saturday we’ll go and get a better one. It'll be the perfect one. One that you could be proud of and not embarrassed by.”
Oh, nobody knows us like our mothers do. She was right. That massive, man’s, orange, road construction crew lunch box was going to be an embarrassment to me. All the other little girls had Wonder Woman, Ballerinas or at the very least were small, delicate and in some little girl colour. I went to bed Sunday night with my fearful little heart dreading the next day, even though I had assured my mother that I didn’t mind the lunch box at all. I told her it was great because it was new. I told her it was wonderful because it could fit so much more food (including cookies). I didn't want her to think she had failed me. (My pain has always been her pain).
I woke Monday morning with a heavy heart. The whole situation was a mess. From the first moment I entered the kitchen, I saw the bright, orange lunch box sitting on the kitchen counter. ( I mean, who could have missed seeing it?). But now, all over it were big flowers of different colors. My mother had stayed awake for the entire night making the lunch box more “girlie” by putting flowers all over it. Mom had found some scraps of “Mac Tac” which was a roll of plastic (like wall paper) that had a backing you removed, which made it very sticky. However, since this was 1973, the “Mac Tac” we had left over was olive green, brown, orange, red and purple in very vibrant patterns. She had cut out flowers from this Mac Tac and put it all over my lunch box. She had done it to be kind, but it had actually made the lunch box all the more ridiculous. Now it was about a 9.3 on the Richter scale. It was a lunch box catastrophe.
Not only had she been up all night “fixing” the lunch box, but she had taken extra care in packing my lunch, which included my favourite home made cookies and a thermos of hot soup.
She looked at me with her sleepy, sad face and all she could say was,
“I’m sorry. I meant to make it better and I guess I just made it worse. I bet you wish you had any other Mom but me right now.”
I said nothing in response because it was one of those moments where words would have cheapened it. If I had told her that I didn’t want the lunch box she simply would have gotten me a brown bag and the next weekend we would go and buy a prettier lunch box and my problem would be over. But if I did that, I would hurt her and make her feel worse than she already did. She put so much of herself into that lunch box that to reject it would have been like rejecting her. I just couldn't do it!
I told her the lunch box was great and I wouldn’t think of not taking it. She took me on a tour of all she had done to “spiff” it up and all the “goodies” she had included for me. I realized even deeper just how much time and energy and love she had spent in doing that for me. Then I thought about the long, busy day without sleep she was about to endure and an intense determination took root and grew inside me. I would display that orange box for all the world to see and just dare them to say anything !!
But as the school bus was bumping down the back road toward our driveway, my courage failed and I looked around desperately for a way to hide my orange monstrosity. I did a pretty good job of it until I arrive in my classroom.
In order for us to take off our coats, we had to put our lunch boxes on a shelf above us to get into our locker. It was time to take off my coat and take my seat, but I didn’t want to put my lunch box on that high shelf. I looked around everywhere and thought hard for an alternative but found none. As I hoisted it high onto the shelf, I swear it started to look as if it was actually glowing.
Behind me I heard the snickering start. I didn’t look back but as I took off my coat the laughter spread. But instead of being scared or embarrassed, I got mad. I thought of my wonderful mother, the work she had done for me and all the love represented by that lunch box and when I whirled around to look into the other kids eyes, they took one look at my face and choked back their comments and giggles. If they had any intention of saying something about my lunch box, it died then and there. But I grew bolder still.
I asked calm and cool, “Is there something anyone would like to say to me?” At that moment the entire classroom fell completely silent with all eyes on me.
Just then our teacher walked in and took note of how quiet everyone was and gently inquired, “What’s going on here?"
One of the boys, who had been about to tease me responded, “Laura-Lee was just showing us her lovely new lunch box”. And what amazed me most was that he had said it with deep feeling and respect, not a smart mouthed way.
Our teacher did a quick scan and her eyes fell on my orange lunch box and a look of understanding came over her. She simply said, “Well. Isn’t that nice of you. It is very lovely with all those nice flowers too.”
In her wisdom she had commended the boy for not teasing me; encouraged me for taking a stand; and she had taken her stand by showing her approval for the lunch box.
Needless to say, I was never teased about my lunch box, but that is still not the end of this story.
In that small town near our farm, there was only one main store. It sold everything from breakfast cereal to horse halters. The next weekend Mom and I didn’t go into the “big city” again. There was no need to because I didn't need a new lunch box . We went to the little town's main store. But as we were checking out with our groceries, the man who owned it asked Mom,
“Mrs. Rahn, if a person wanted to get Mac Tac where exactly would they go?”
Mom was a bit puzzled by the question because I had not told her all that occurred at school about my lunch box.
She told the man that she wasn’t sure because she had bought some such a long time ago and had forgotten where it came from. We finished checking out and paying for our groceries. The store owner walked us to the door (which he had never done before) and asked her another question. “Mrs. Rahn. What exactly is Mac Tac?”
On the way home Mom and I were puzzling over his questions and wondering why he was asking all about Mac Tac. I figured it had something to do with my lunch box, but I didn’t understand the extent of it until Monday morning when I got to school and found 7 other little girls had flowers put on their lunch boxes too.
I laughed to myself trying to picture the scene of those little girls trying to describe to their parents what my lunch box looked like and what Mac Tac was. (This little farm town was not exactly a "hip and happening" place.) And then the parents trying to recreate it and finally in exasperation heading to the only store for some answers. Answers the store owner didn't have.
Probably saying things like, "Well, the little Rahn girl has Mac Tac. Why can't you get it?!"
Until finally, the store owner saw Mom and I walked in and decided to get the information about "Mac Tac" directly from the source. Looking back on it though, I think he was trying to go about it subtly.
The other parents had tried to put flowers on their little girls lunch boxes with glue, construction paper, wool, chicken wire, you name it, because none of them had any idea what Mac Tac was.
Now it might sound like I've made a big deal made out of something little, but I was little and it was a big deal to me. And a big deal to Mother as well.
I look back now and realize that God teaches us only what we can handle, when we can handle it.
And I ask you, is a person ever too young to learn the lesson of standing by those you love and who love you?
Not to mention the great lesson of what life can bring when you refuse to just "give in" and "following the crowd".
What I learned from that orange lunch box got me through my teen years practically unscathed. And through even more turbulent adult years.
Also, as Christianity becomes more and more unacceptable, I realize that someday, standing up for Jesus may cost me a great deal. Maybe my all. I wouldn’t be ready for that moment unless I had gotten it right with that precious orange lunch box at that very young age.
Yes, now I call it "precious". What started as an eye sore, turned into a problem and then an embarrassment. But in the hands of the Lord, it became a lesson in loyalty and love I will ponder and treasure forever.
I don't know what became of that neon orange lunch box, but like casting a stone on the water, the ripple it began all those years ago keeps growing and growing. And now that I am telling YOU about it, God only knows how much farther the ripples will spread.
It's not easy to be who you are without any apologies. To stand up for what's right even if the rest of the world stands against you. But if you do, I guarantee you won't be standing totally alone. Jesus will be right beside you. And he always reserves a few people who have not bowed to idols. (whatever the idol may be)
It never ceases to amaze me how the Lord can use the most ordinary people and our every day events to make the most profound impact.
“What then shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31)
Laura-Lee Was Here
January 31, 2013
NEVER Fear Satan Again
Satan has two main tricks: 1) he wants people to believe that he doesn't exist and 2) if you do believe in him, he wants you to be afraid of him.
To the first group of people, there is nothing I can do for you right now. You are currently delusional.
BUT, for those of you who believe in Satan and he gives you the "hebe jebes" or the "creeps" or you're just plain scared, I want you to do the following:
Take you thumb and pointer finger (right or left hand-doesn't matter) and between the two of them measure out about 2cm. (For Americans make it 2 inches)
Look at that space between your fingers "real hard". Then say to yourself, "I wonder how big Satan is."
The Bible never actually says his size. The Bible says he appeared as a snake in the Garden of Eden. Maybe it was just one of those time grass snakes. How do you know he's not the same size as the space between your fingers? And it's sort of hard to be afraid of someone that small.
It's like "Satan Thumb" (instead of Tom Thumb).
Next time you think Satan is scary or running your life or too powerful to fight against, just put your two fingers together and think of him as "itty-bitty".
Because there is one thing everyone knows about Satan.
He is a liar! And he will try to make you think he is bigger and smarter and stronger than he really is.
Don't forget the real way to beat Satan ...
To the first group of people, there is nothing I can do for you right now. You are currently delusional.
BUT, for those of you who believe in Satan and he gives you the "hebe jebes" or the "creeps" or you're just plain scared, I want you to do the following:
Take you thumb and pointer finger (right or left hand-doesn't matter) and between the two of them measure out about 2cm. (For Americans make it 2 inches)
Look at that space between your fingers "real hard". Then say to yourself, "I wonder how big Satan is."
The Bible never actually says his size. The Bible says he appeared as a snake in the Garden of Eden. Maybe it was just one of those time grass snakes. How do you know he's not the same size as the space between your fingers? And it's sort of hard to be afraid of someone that small.
It's like "Satan Thumb" (instead of Tom Thumb).
Next time you think Satan is scary or running your life or too powerful to fight against, just put your two fingers together and think of him as "itty-bitty".
Because there is one thing everyone knows about Satan.
He is a liar! And he will try to make you think he is bigger and smarter and stronger than he really is.
Don't forget the real way to beat Satan ...
My New Song: "Christian Soldiers 8 Days a Week"
I wrote a song for church worship that combines the hymn, "Onward Christian Soldiers" and "8 Days a Week" by The Beatles.
I sang it and made a little video. So here it is. You may feel free to steal it for Sunday services and anything else non-profit.
CAUTION: I will be singing in this short video and "the old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be".
Love Laura-Lee
I sang it and made a little video. So here it is. You may feel free to steal it for Sunday services and anything else non-profit.
CAUTION: I will be singing in this short video and "the old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be".
Love Laura-Lee
Deductive Reasoning 101 - Part 1
For as long as I can remember I’ve been doing deductive reasoning. (just like Sherlock Holmes or The Mentalist). You look at the things and people around you and draw a conclusion from them. I don’t know any other way of doing things. Add to that my many years of studying peoples’ behaviour and patterns, and it’s come to a point where I am quite good at it.
I remember about 20 years ago, my Mom’s brother (my Uncle) had come over to visit my mother and I. The three of us had been conversing for some time when suddenly my mother turned to me and said, “Oh, Laura-Lee. Could you go and get the , the uh, you know, the uh, …”. She snapped her fingers a couple of times and said, “help me. you know. the uh, …”
I responded, “The mop.”
“Right! That’s it.” She answered.
Just then my Uncle piped up and, looking at me asked, “How in the h*** did you know she was going to ask for that?! Out of all the things in the world your Mom could have asked for , how did you know she meant to say ‘Mop’?”
Just deductive reasoning: I knew my mother. I knew my uncle. I had been listening to the conversation.
Mom had said something about the mop a while back and also that she wanted to show it to her brother next time he was visiting us. Then when he said a specific thing, I figured out that it had reminded her of the mop. Presto!
I remember about 20 years ago, my Mom’s brother (my Uncle) had come over to visit my mother and I. The three of us had been conversing for some time when suddenly my mother turned to me and said, “Oh, Laura-Lee. Could you go and get the , the uh, you know, the uh, …”. She snapped her fingers a couple of times and said, “help me. you know. the uh, …”
I responded, “The mop.”
“Right! That’s it.” She answered.
Just then my Uncle piped up and, looking at me asked, “How in the h*** did you know she was going to ask for that?! Out of all the things in the world your Mom could have asked for , how did you know she meant to say ‘Mop’?”
Just deductive reasoning: I knew my mother. I knew my uncle. I had been listening to the conversation.
Mom had said something about the mop a while back and also that she wanted to show it to her brother next time he was visiting us. Then when he said a specific thing, I figured out that it had reminded her of the mop. Presto!
Deductive Reasoning 101 - Part 2
But now I do deductive reasoning constantly and it’s hard for me to even realize how my brain has come to a conclusion.
Last week I was getting groceries and since I don’t have a car, I have to take a taxi home. I was standing at the store’s door and saw the taxi pull up. I came out with my cart full of stuff and the driver popped open his trunk, but he didn’t get out of the car right away. When he finally emerged from the cab a couple minutes later, he had his cell phone pressed against his ear. Another minute passes then he finally hung it up and started helping me put my groceries into his car’s trunk.
To make a joke I said, “You teenagers and your phones!” (the guy was probably in his 50’s)
Then I continued, “Your wife can bark at you on her own time.”
He laughed out loud and said, “Oh she doesn’t bark at me anymore. We’ve been divorced for a couple of years and we don’t even speak now.”
So I responded, “Well then I forgive you. Nobody can hang up when they are talking to the Government. And especially NOT when it’s something as important as what you were talking about.”
His eyes got big and round and afraid and he looked at his cell phone. Then back at me. Then at his cell phone. Then back at me. He was obviously a bit freaked out. But I was obviously a bit cold (it’s Canada in the winter), so I got into the back seat of the cab.
He got into the drivers seat a moment later. I gave him the address and he started to drive, but I could see that he was glaring at me in the back seat through his rear view mirror. The he left the parking lot and headed in the opposite direction to where I live.
I looked up and said quickly, “Hey. You’re going the wrong way!”
He looked around quickly and realized what he was doing and shut off the fare meter. He apologised profusely and finally got his car headed in the right direction, (turned the meter back on) but he still kept stealing glances at me in the rear view mirror.
I asked him, “Is there something wrong? Are you alright?”
He responded by saying slowly, “How did you know I was talking to someone from the Canadian Government on my cell phone?”
I was digging through my purse for something, so I had to stop and think for a moment. How did I know? I retraced my thoughts out loud:
“Well. Let’s see. When you arrived with your car you popped your trunk, which let me know you were going to accept me as your fare. BUT, you didn’t get out of your car right away, even though you saw I had a bunch of groceries. When you finally came out of the car, you had your cell phone to your ear but you weren’t saying anything. You were just listening. Then after another minute you said, ‘Right, right, right. I’ll be there at 10:00 am tomorrow. No problem.’ before you hung up.
Your manner on the phone was polite, accommodating and you were actually standing up very straight. However, I know that taxi drivers cannot waste time, especially in cold weather due to the price of gas. So you should be accommodating ME most of all because I’m a paying customer. Yet you had more respect for the person on the phone. It was someone that you would obey without question, even though you’re a grown man.
I figured that if it was your boss, he would want you to make as much money as possible and not keep a paying customer waiting. With your boss you could have said, ‘I’ve got a fare. I’ve got to hang up’. But you kept ME waiting instead. So, no boss!
Then I made a joke to see if it was your wife. I figure that it might be your wife and she was ticked off with you , in which case you would make a customer wait a moment and would agree to do whatever your wife said whenever she wanted you to do it. Wherever she said.
But when I teased you about your wife, you said you hadn’t talked to her for a long time.
So, who is it that you can’t hang up on, you do whatever they say, you are nervous on the phone, even though you’re a grown man? But someone who is NOT your boss or wife, yet can make you jump through hoops whenever they wish you to?
The Government!
And it must be important if they are giving you an appointment as quickly as tomorrow morning, when the government is famous for slowing us down with their bureaucracy and red tape.
Simple.”
The Alphabet: Too Many Letters!
I absolutely couldn’t wait to start grade one. I didn’t care about Science or Geography or Math. The only question on my mind (and expressed to my mother) was, “Will they teach me to read?”
I tried Kindergarten for a few weeks, but it was mostly a bunch of 4 and 5 year olds running around and hitting each other with toys (when they weren’t stealing the toys from each other). We didn’t even get a “Story Time”.
So one year later, as grade one approached, all I could ask was, “will they teach me to read in grade one?”
So I marched off to grade one, which was at the school just around the corner, in the hopes I would FINALLY be able to read all those many words in all those books that I had been seeing. I figured it would be a massive job to learn to read because I had seen a LOT of books and I would have to know each word in each one of them. But I was determined to get the job done. I loved words that much. I loved the look of them. The mystery of wondering what they meant. To look at them all neatly lined up in a row. My desire to read was what gave me the power to face my fears and go to my first day of school.
At my first day of school I was introduced to someone that would be my friend for the remainder of my life: “The Alphabet.”
When I got home that day, I was fairly bouncing off the walls with excitement. I could barely wait to tell Mom the amazing things I had learned.
After I changed into my “play clothes” and drank my milk and cookies, I became to unfold the events of my day.
“Mom? Did you know that all the words in all the books in the world are made up of only 26 letters. And that you can make all those different words just by jumbling the letters around in different orders?” (From her expression I could tell Mom was as excited about the whole concept as I was)
Every day at school, several times a day, we would go through the letters of the alphabet, which were hanging along the top of our classroom. We would recite each letter, followed by the sound or sounds that the letter made.
I loved learning to read, but I was still the petrified, little girl that I’ve been confessing about lately. So I never asked a question the entire first week of school, even though I was bursting to.
By the second week, I could stand it no longer. I put up my hand for the first time and asked the question,
“Why is ‘C’ in the alphabet?”
My teacher, Mrs. Long, looked puzzled for a moment. “What do you mean, Dear?”
“Well. The letter ‘C’ makes the sounds “ka” and “ssss”. But so do the letters ‘K’ and ‘S’. So why do we need the letter ‘C’ when we already have the letters ‘K’ and ‘S’?”
My seat was near the back of the class and it’s at that moment that I noticed that everyone, including Mrs. Long, was staring at me. I thought I must have asked a really stupid thing and that’s why everyone was looking at me. Then suddenly, everyone turned back around to look at Mrs. Long, for the answer.
She turned to look at the letters arranged in order at the top of the blackboard and said, “Well. [pause] Well, it’s because, … [pause], … it’s because. To tell you the truth, I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve been teaching grade one for almost 20 years and you’re the first one to ever ask me that.”
She promised to “look into it" and “get back to me”, but I still had more questions about the alphabet, so I put my hand up again.
“Yes, Laura-Lee?”
“While you’re looking up the question about the letter ‘C’, maybe you could see about doubling up the letters.”
She asked me again, what did I mean.
I responded, “I noticed that some letters have more than one sound. Like the letter ‘A’. It can sound like it does in ‘cake’ or like in the word ‘cat’. But there are other letters like, ‘D’ that only have one sound. So maybe we could take some of the letters that have only one sound, like ‘D’, ‘M’, ‘P’ and those kind and give them more than one sound. That way we wouldn’t have to have so many letters in the Alphabet and we could read and write faster.”
Mrs. Long just stood there and looked at me for a minute, sort of blinking her eyes. Then she said, “I’ll talk to the Alphabet people and see what I can do.”
Now some people say that I had those silly ideas about the alphabet because I was just a little child. But I still haven’t gotten a satisfactory answer as to why we can’t get rid of the ‘C’ and double up on some of the other letters. Especially the consonants.
Plus, so often I’m trying to find the absolute perfect word to describe something and it just doesn’t exist in English. Maybe if we made some extra room with fewer letters, then we could create extra words, so we can communicate closer to what we exactly mean. You must admit that most fights and wars are started due to misunderstandings and miscommunications. My “Alphabet-Ideas” would stop that.
Just a suggestion. … by Laura-Lee
I tried Kindergarten for a few weeks, but it was mostly a bunch of 4 and 5 year olds running around and hitting each other with toys (when they weren’t stealing the toys from each other). We didn’t even get a “Story Time”.
So one year later, as grade one approached, all I could ask was, “will they teach me to read in grade one?”
So I marched off to grade one, which was at the school just around the corner, in the hopes I would FINALLY be able to read all those many words in all those books that I had been seeing. I figured it would be a massive job to learn to read because I had seen a LOT of books and I would have to know each word in each one of them. But I was determined to get the job done. I loved words that much. I loved the look of them. The mystery of wondering what they meant. To look at them all neatly lined up in a row. My desire to read was what gave me the power to face my fears and go to my first day of school.
At my first day of school I was introduced to someone that would be my friend for the remainder of my life: “The Alphabet.”
When I got home that day, I was fairly bouncing off the walls with excitement. I could barely wait to tell Mom the amazing things I had learned.
After I changed into my “play clothes” and drank my milk and cookies, I became to unfold the events of my day.
“Mom? Did you know that all the words in all the books in the world are made up of only 26 letters. And that you can make all those different words just by jumbling the letters around in different orders?” (From her expression I could tell Mom was as excited about the whole concept as I was)
Every day at school, several times a day, we would go through the letters of the alphabet, which were hanging along the top of our classroom. We would recite each letter, followed by the sound or sounds that the letter made.
I loved learning to read, but I was still the petrified, little girl that I’ve been confessing about lately. So I never asked a question the entire first week of school, even though I was bursting to.
By the second week, I could stand it no longer. I put up my hand for the first time and asked the question,
“Why is ‘C’ in the alphabet?”
My teacher, Mrs. Long, looked puzzled for a moment. “What do you mean, Dear?”
“Well. The letter ‘C’ makes the sounds “ka” and “ssss”. But so do the letters ‘K’ and ‘S’. So why do we need the letter ‘C’ when we already have the letters ‘K’ and ‘S’?”
My seat was near the back of the class and it’s at that moment that I noticed that everyone, including Mrs. Long, was staring at me. I thought I must have asked a really stupid thing and that’s why everyone was looking at me. Then suddenly, everyone turned back around to look at Mrs. Long, for the answer.
She turned to look at the letters arranged in order at the top of the blackboard and said, “Well. [pause] Well, it’s because, … [pause], … it’s because. To tell you the truth, I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve been teaching grade one for almost 20 years and you’re the first one to ever ask me that.”
She promised to “look into it" and “get back to me”, but I still had more questions about the alphabet, so I put my hand up again.
“Yes, Laura-Lee?”
“While you’re looking up the question about the letter ‘C’, maybe you could see about doubling up the letters.”
She asked me again, what did I mean.
I responded, “I noticed that some letters have more than one sound. Like the letter ‘A’. It can sound like it does in ‘cake’ or like in the word ‘cat’. But there are other letters like, ‘D’ that only have one sound. So maybe we could take some of the letters that have only one sound, like ‘D’, ‘M’, ‘P’ and those kind and give them more than one sound. That way we wouldn’t have to have so many letters in the Alphabet and we could read and write faster.”
Mrs. Long just stood there and looked at me for a minute, sort of blinking her eyes. Then she said, “I’ll talk to the Alphabet people and see what I can do.”
Now some people say that I had those silly ideas about the alphabet because I was just a little child. But I still haven’t gotten a satisfactory answer as to why we can’t get rid of the ‘C’ and double up on some of the other letters. Especially the consonants.
Plus, so often I’m trying to find the absolute perfect word to describe something and it just doesn’t exist in English. Maybe if we made some extra room with fewer letters, then we could create extra words, so we can communicate closer to what we exactly mean. You must admit that most fights and wars are started due to misunderstandings and miscommunications. My “Alphabet-Ideas” would stop that.
Just a suggestion. … by Laura-Lee
January 25, 2013
FEAR Destroyed by LOVE (Part 4) VCSS Memories
Since I’ve been going down memory lane about my terrible Fears for the first 42 years of my life, a lot MORE stuff has come up from the dusty corners of my brain.
I started grade 8, for the first time, at a Catholic High School. It was brand new and really big. My family had moved into that neighbourhood and since I was a Catholic, I attended it.
The previous year, Grade 7 at Miller Park Elementary School (which was a public school) was a great year for me. Mostly due to my best friend, Sacha Barrie. We had a total riot! Plus, I also attended Miller Park Elementary with a couple of my younger cousins. It was wonderful. But, my family moved and I had to said “Good-bye” to my best friend, Sacha, and start Mailllardville Secondary School, in Coquitlam at the beginning of grade 8. That was not a great time!
I interrupted drug deals in the bathrooms, got the ‘crap’ kicked out of me several times (which makes it difficult to make friends) and finally got thrown down a flight of 30 cement stairs. Three stories straight down. After the fall, as I looked up into the faces of the girls who had pushed me, their only comment was “The B**** will die next time”.
Needless to say, if I was usually a scared person, being at that school didn’t exactly motivate me to embrace life. My Fears became Terrors.
My Mom and I went to see the vice-Principal AND school counsellor, who both claimed I was a liar and that all their students were nice, Catholic girls and would NEVER behave like that.
I couldn’t stand the constant fear and beatings anymore, so in May of that year, I quit Maillardville Secondary School just 6 weeks short of the end of the year.
The next year I tried the public school. I had to take some grade 8 classes, but then I was going to be bumped into grade 9 classes because I had gotten such high grades for the first 3 semesters at the Catholic school.
But I had my eye on a little, Christian School I had read about in a TV Guide. Yup. The local edition of the TV Guide. I had become a Born-Again Christian a couple years earlier, and when I heard that there was such a thing as a “Christian School” (that wasn’t particularly a Catholic School), I wanted so desperately to go there.
A few weeks and a few miracles later and I had an interview to apply to go to "Vancouver Christian Secondary School" (V.C.S.S). This meeting was with some ‘big-wig’ people, that I had No idea who they were. Even though my family was “officially” still Catholic, AND my parents were Divorced, they let me in.
(*NOTE: Even though VCSS was interdenominational, it was mostly Baptists and Christian Reformed, who adhere to strict Christian codes. So my still being a Catholic and my parents being Divorced were big obstacles to my acceptance)
There was another big problem, since VCSS was such a small school, they didn’t have semesters. If I attended, it would mean taking ALL of grade 8 over again. But even though it meant an extra year of school, I knew God wanted me there, so off I went to my first day at Vancouver Christian Secondary School.
At the other high schools I had been given identification numbers and was told to “NEVER forget your number or the computer wouldn’t know who you are”. But nobody from VCSS had given me my number. They just told me to start on a certain day and go directly to the school office upon arriving at the school.
The three days leading up to that my thoughts untamed:
And on and on my mind rolled. The same thing it’s been saying and the way it’s been behaving for 42 years. The manic fear and worry that never gives me a break or a rest. Never a day off, never a holiday for 42 years!
I did arrive for my first day of school and I did find the school office. I went in the door and a pleasant lady said, “You must be Laura-Lee. We’ve been watching out for you.”
I blurted out, “I’m terribly sorry. Am I late? Nobody told me exactly when to be here. They just told me school started at 8:45am. I hope I haven’t caused any problems.”
She responded, “Oh. No, no, no. It’s only 5 minutes after 8:00. There’s lots of time. I just meant I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I thought, “Oh no. She’s probably heard that I’m a trouble maker that gets involved in fights in bathrooms.”
The lady continued, “My name is Mrs. DeVries. I’m the secretary. Mr. Van der Kamp is in his office waiting for you.” Then she pointed at a shut door.
I had to walk around a counter, past her desk and then thought, “I hope I’m allowed to be behind this counter.”
I paused outside this Mr. Vander Something’s door, but didn’t know what to do next because it was shut.
As I was debating all these options, Mrs. DeVries said, “you don’t have to knock. Just go right on in. He said to send you in when you came.”
Well, that problem was solved. On to the next …
I opened the door a crack and peeked inside. A dark haired man with a strange beard/gotee type of thing, looked up and saw me. He got up from his chair, came from behind his desk, shook my hand and motioned me to a chair. Then I remembered him from the night of the interview.
At that interview he had barely said two words the entire time. He had sat 2 chairs to my right and just watched me with his dark eyes. He looked like he was trying to analyse me or maybe read my mind. It had made me feel very queer. Now here I was stuck in a room with him and, apparently, he was the Principal of Vancouver Christian Secondary School.
He said a few words of greetings and small-talk and I figured he was probably trying to put me at my ease. Even without massive Fears, anyone’s first day at school can be a bit nerve-racking.
Then he sat up in his chair, laced his hands on his desk and looked straight into my eyes and said quite seriously, “Something of a mistake has been made!”
I thought, “Oh oh. Here it comes! He’s going to give me the boot. They had probably gotten my application mixed up with some good kid’s application and the mistake has just been discovered. Now they’re leaving it to Mr. Van der KAMP to tell me I have to leave”.
I felt so bad that I wouldn’t be allowed to go to this school that it almost physically knocked the wind out of me. But I can’t say I was totally surprised. That’s the way Life is: You think you’re up and then, BAM, you’re down.
Did I really think they would let ME go to this school: Homicidal father, Divorced parents, 'Sort-of' a Catholic, Born Again while watching a Religious TV Show, Not even Baptised yet, Couldn’t get past grade 8? It would have been a miracle just to have been allowed on the property. Of course they wouldn't accept me.
I decided I would make it easy on Mr. Van der Kamp and just quietly leave. After all, it wasn’t his fault they had made this mistake. He was just the guy who had to do the ‘dirty work’ because he had the misfortune of me sitting in front of him in his office.
Before I could get up to leave he said, “Apparently I forgot that your class is going on a field trip today. So there won’t be regular classes. Did you bring a lunch with you? Well. No matter. I’m sure someone will share with you.”
I sat there for a minute just blinking my eyes. I couldn’t get my brain to process what he was saying. “No classes? Field trip? Lunch? A walk in the woods? University of British Columbia? A car full of girls?” The man was making no sense at all. What did that have to do with me being kicked out?
He looked at me and could tell something was wrong. He said, “Don’t you want to go on the field trip, Laura-Lee?”
Now, to my credit. I did recognize my name. But when my mind shuts down I do a very strange thing. I blurt out the truth. He wanted to know if I wanted to go on a field trip at that moment so I answered, “No! I want to go home.” And believe me, at that moment it was the ABSOLUTE TRUTH! One minute I thought I was being kicked out and the next I’m going on a field trip.
Mr. Van der Kamp looked very concerned and leaned over his desk even closer towards me. He paused for a moment and did that “analysing/mind reading thingy” again and said, “What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to go on a field trip? I thought that’s what all students live for. You can tell me what’s wrong.”
To put it quite frankly, I was not used to anyone being that nice or straight forward. Especially not a stranger. I figured that if I didn’t get out of there soon I would make a bigger fool of myself by bursting into tears. And also, the sudden knowledge of going on a field trip with a bunch of kids I didn’t know and to a place I didn’t know sent my fear level right off the Scared Scale. I really, really did just want to go home. To be somewhere peaceful and quiet and try to get my Fears under some sort of control, because they were bursting out all over the place!
But instead, I gently replied to Mr. van der Kamp, “Oh, there’s nothing wrong. I just said that because I was nervous. Of course I want to go on a field trip. Sounds like a wonderful way to start at a new school.” (so much for blurting out the truth)
I stayed at Vancouver Christian Secondary School for 5 years of my life. Those teachers and kids that were so scary became like family to me, including Mr. Van der Kamp.
Five years later, only weeks away from graduation, my class startled me with a little Birthday surprise at the beginning of May. (with presents too!!) We sat around for a few minutes talking and the topic turned to my first day of school. My classmates had remembered it because I came a few weeks after the first of the year AND it was the Field Trip to the UBC Endowment Lands.
Ben (Kocsar) said he thought I was a new teacher. We all laughed at that. I asked him, “Why did you think I was a ‘teacher’?!”
He responded,“Well. You were wearing that blazer. I’d never seen a kid wear a blazer before.”
Karen (Ydenberg) said after seeing me that first day she started bugging her Dad to allow her to wear make-up, because I was wearing make-up.
There were still many people in my class who had been there on my very first day and to hear their first opinions of me was both funny and enlightening. It made me wonder if people really know what others are thinking about them. I don’t think any of my classmates knew how terrified I was on that first day with them. Or even that at the moment while we were remembering it, I was still living with all my massive fears.
Five years of your life is a lot to share with people, and we had shared it all with each other. Somehow we had gone from being fellow students to friends to family members to eternal family members. That only happens while travelling down a long road with many twists and turns, together.
The miracle, at that time, was not that the walls of Fear had fallen (because they hadn't), but that I had been able to love and be loved in spite of them.
My Prison of Fear fell only in 2009, yet it didn’t stop me from experiencing good things in the years before. Maybe that’s what it means to be a Christian and to know Jesus and have him in your life.
In Heaven, we expect everything to be great, to be peaceful, to be joyous. But if you know Jesus while on earth, then you don’t have to wait. He doesn’t take away all our obstacles but simply slips past them to give you tastes of what’s waiting for you. And the Eternal things are worth waiting for … even if you have to wait while in prison. Some Prison walls will fall here, while on earth. But others might not fall until we are out of these earthly bodies (which can also be prisons) and in our Heavenly Homes, ... Forever.
I started grade 8, for the first time, at a Catholic High School. It was brand new and really big. My family had moved into that neighbourhood and since I was a Catholic, I attended it.
The previous year, Grade 7 at Miller Park Elementary School (which was a public school) was a great year for me. Mostly due to my best friend, Sacha Barrie. We had a total riot! Plus, I also attended Miller Park Elementary with a couple of my younger cousins. It was wonderful. But, my family moved and I had to said “Good-bye” to my best friend, Sacha, and start Mailllardville Secondary School, in Coquitlam at the beginning of grade 8. That was not a great time!
I interrupted drug deals in the bathrooms, got the ‘crap’ kicked out of me several times (which makes it difficult to make friends) and finally got thrown down a flight of 30 cement stairs. Three stories straight down. After the fall, as I looked up into the faces of the girls who had pushed me, their only comment was “The B**** will die next time”.
Needless to say, if I was usually a scared person, being at that school didn’t exactly motivate me to embrace life. My Fears became Terrors.
My Mom and I went to see the vice-Principal AND school counsellor, who both claimed I was a liar and that all their students were nice, Catholic girls and would NEVER behave like that.
I couldn’t stand the constant fear and beatings anymore, so in May of that year, I quit Maillardville Secondary School just 6 weeks short of the end of the year.
The next year I tried the public school. I had to take some grade 8 classes, but then I was going to be bumped into grade 9 classes because I had gotten such high grades for the first 3 semesters at the Catholic school.
But I had my eye on a little, Christian School I had read about in a TV Guide. Yup. The local edition of the TV Guide. I had become a Born-Again Christian a couple years earlier, and when I heard that there was such a thing as a “Christian School” (that wasn’t particularly a Catholic School), I wanted so desperately to go there.
A few weeks and a few miracles later and I had an interview to apply to go to "Vancouver Christian Secondary School" (V.C.S.S). This meeting was with some ‘big-wig’ people, that I had No idea who they were. Even though my family was “officially” still Catholic, AND my parents were Divorced, they let me in.
(*NOTE: Even though VCSS was interdenominational, it was mostly Baptists and Christian Reformed, who adhere to strict Christian codes. So my still being a Catholic and my parents being Divorced were big obstacles to my acceptance)
There was another big problem, since VCSS was such a small school, they didn’t have semesters. If I attended, it would mean taking ALL of grade 8 over again. But even though it meant an extra year of school, I knew God wanted me there, so off I went to my first day at Vancouver Christian Secondary School.
At the other high schools I had been given identification numbers and was told to “NEVER forget your number or the computer wouldn’t know who you are”. But nobody from VCSS had given me my number. They just told me to start on a certain day and go directly to the school office upon arriving at the school.
The three days leading up to that my thoughts untamed:
“That’s it! Go to the office? No more information? Who do I talk to? I had never been in that school before, what if I can’t find the office? Maybe I could ask another student where the office is? What if another student isn’t around? What if the student I ask decides to hate me? What if on the way to the office I get beat up? Will they think I started the fight? They don’t know much about me. Will I have to leave this school too? I’m starting this school weeks late and it’s not the first day of school and I won’t know what classes to go to. Nobody gave me a class schedule. How will I know what class to go to? Who do I talk to about getting a class schedule? How will I explain that I’m a new student? What if they kick me out before I can explain I’m new? What if they find out I’m not a Protestant? I’ll just explain that I love Jesus and maybe they’ll still let me stay. What if they want to talk to my dad and I have to admit that my mom is divorced? How will I prove I was accepted into this school? I don’t have a receipt or acceptance sticker or anything. I don’t have one piece of paper saying I was accepted. I don’t even remember the name of the man who phoned and said I was accepted. I can’t even remember the name of anyone who was at my interview. Maybe Mom remembers the name of someone who was there. I could call her at work, but I’d have to go to the office to use the phone (*NOTE: before cell phones invented). But if I have to ask to use the phone in the office, I’m back to square one again and trying to find my way to the office.”
And on and on my mind rolled. The same thing it’s been saying and the way it’s been behaving for 42 years. The manic fear and worry that never gives me a break or a rest. Never a day off, never a holiday for 42 years!
I did arrive for my first day of school and I did find the school office. I went in the door and a pleasant lady said, “You must be Laura-Lee. We’ve been watching out for you.”
I blurted out, “I’m terribly sorry. Am I late? Nobody told me exactly when to be here. They just told me school started at 8:45am. I hope I haven’t caused any problems.”
She responded, “Oh. No, no, no. It’s only 5 minutes after 8:00. There’s lots of time. I just meant I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I thought, “Oh no. She’s probably heard that I’m a trouble maker that gets involved in fights in bathrooms.”
The lady continued, “My name is Mrs. DeVries. I’m the secretary. Mr. Van der Kamp is in his office waiting for you.” Then she pointed at a shut door.
I had to walk around a counter, past her desk and then thought, “I hope I’m allowed to be behind this counter.”
I paused outside this Mr. Vander Something’s door, but didn’t know what to do next because it was shut.
“What should I do? Should I just go in? Should I knock and then go in? Should I knock and wait to be asked in?”
As I was debating all these options, Mrs. DeVries said, “you don’t have to knock. Just go right on in. He said to send you in when you came.”
Well, that problem was solved. On to the next …
I opened the door a crack and peeked inside. A dark haired man with a strange beard/gotee type of thing, looked up and saw me. He got up from his chair, came from behind his desk, shook my hand and motioned me to a chair. Then I remembered him from the night of the interview.
At that interview he had barely said two words the entire time. He had sat 2 chairs to my right and just watched me with his dark eyes. He looked like he was trying to analyse me or maybe read my mind. It had made me feel very queer. Now here I was stuck in a room with him and, apparently, he was the Principal of Vancouver Christian Secondary School.
He said a few words of greetings and small-talk and I figured he was probably trying to put me at my ease. Even without massive Fears, anyone’s first day at school can be a bit nerve-racking.
Then he sat up in his chair, laced his hands on his desk and looked straight into my eyes and said quite seriously, “Something of a mistake has been made!”
I thought, “Oh oh. Here it comes! He’s going to give me the boot. They had probably gotten my application mixed up with some good kid’s application and the mistake has just been discovered. Now they’re leaving it to Mr. Van der KAMP to tell me I have to leave”.
I felt so bad that I wouldn’t be allowed to go to this school that it almost physically knocked the wind out of me. But I can’t say I was totally surprised. That’s the way Life is: You think you’re up and then, BAM, you’re down.
Did I really think they would let ME go to this school: Homicidal father, Divorced parents, 'Sort-of' a Catholic, Born Again while watching a Religious TV Show, Not even Baptised yet, Couldn’t get past grade 8? It would have been a miracle just to have been allowed on the property. Of course they wouldn't accept me.
I decided I would make it easy on Mr. Van der Kamp and just quietly leave. After all, it wasn’t his fault they had made this mistake. He was just the guy who had to do the ‘dirty work’ because he had the misfortune of me sitting in front of him in his office.
Before I could get up to leave he said, “Apparently I forgot that your class is going on a field trip today. So there won’t be regular classes. Did you bring a lunch with you? Well. No matter. I’m sure someone will share with you.”
I sat there for a minute just blinking my eyes. I couldn’t get my brain to process what he was saying. “No classes? Field trip? Lunch? A walk in the woods? University of British Columbia? A car full of girls?” The man was making no sense at all. What did that have to do with me being kicked out?
He looked at me and could tell something was wrong. He said, “Don’t you want to go on the field trip, Laura-Lee?”
Now, to my credit. I did recognize my name. But when my mind shuts down I do a very strange thing. I blurt out the truth. He wanted to know if I wanted to go on a field trip at that moment so I answered, “No! I want to go home.” And believe me, at that moment it was the ABSOLUTE TRUTH! One minute I thought I was being kicked out and the next I’m going on a field trip.
Mr. Van der Kamp looked very concerned and leaned over his desk even closer towards me. He paused for a moment and did that “analysing/mind reading thingy” again and said, “What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to go on a field trip? I thought that’s what all students live for. You can tell me what’s wrong.”
To put it quite frankly, I was not used to anyone being that nice or straight forward. Especially not a stranger. I figured that if I didn’t get out of there soon I would make a bigger fool of myself by bursting into tears. And also, the sudden knowledge of going on a field trip with a bunch of kids I didn’t know and to a place I didn’t know sent my fear level right off the Scared Scale. I really, really did just want to go home. To be somewhere peaceful and quiet and try to get my Fears under some sort of control, because they were bursting out all over the place!
But instead, I gently replied to Mr. van der Kamp, “Oh, there’s nothing wrong. I just said that because I was nervous. Of course I want to go on a field trip. Sounds like a wonderful way to start at a new school.” (so much for blurting out the truth)
I stayed at Vancouver Christian Secondary School for 5 years of my life. Those teachers and kids that were so scary became like family to me, including Mr. Van der Kamp.
Five years later, only weeks away from graduation, my class startled me with a little Birthday surprise at the beginning of May. (with presents too!!) We sat around for a few minutes talking and the topic turned to my first day of school. My classmates had remembered it because I came a few weeks after the first of the year AND it was the Field Trip to the UBC Endowment Lands.
Ben (Kocsar) said he thought I was a new teacher. We all laughed at that. I asked him, “Why did you think I was a ‘teacher’?!”
He responded,“Well. You were wearing that blazer. I’d never seen a kid wear a blazer before.”
Karen (Ydenberg) said after seeing me that first day she started bugging her Dad to allow her to wear make-up, because I was wearing make-up.
There were still many people in my class who had been there on my very first day and to hear their first opinions of me was both funny and enlightening. It made me wonder if people really know what others are thinking about them. I don’t think any of my classmates knew how terrified I was on that first day with them. Or even that at the moment while we were remembering it, I was still living with all my massive fears.
Five years of your life is a lot to share with people, and we had shared it all with each other. Somehow we had gone from being fellow students to friends to family members to eternal family members. That only happens while travelling down a long road with many twists and turns, together.
The miracle, at that time, was not that the walls of Fear had fallen (because they hadn't), but that I had been able to love and be loved in spite of them.
My Prison of Fear fell only in 2009, yet it didn’t stop me from experiencing good things in the years before. Maybe that’s what it means to be a Christian and to know Jesus and have him in your life.
In Heaven, we expect everything to be great, to be peaceful, to be joyous. But if you know Jesus while on earth, then you don’t have to wait. He doesn’t take away all our obstacles but simply slips past them to give you tastes of what’s waiting for you. And the Eternal things are worth waiting for … even if you have to wait while in prison. Some Prison walls will fall here, while on earth. But others might not fall until we are out of these earthly bodies (which can also be prisons) and in our Heavenly Homes, ... Forever.
“ So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. I know that you are Abraham’s descendants. Yet you are looking for a way to kill me, because you have no room for my word. I am telling you what I have seen in the Father’s presence, and you are doing what you have heard from your father.”
John 8:36-38 (NIV Bible)
January 16, 2013
“Liars and Fighters and Swears, Oh My”
RE: COMMENTS on My Blog Posts
I’m happy to see that people are leaving comments at the end of my blogs posts. Or even commenting on other peoples’ comments.
I want to remind you again that you have the ability to leave an “Anonymous” comment. And it remains anonymous to me as well.
Usually, I hold to the belief that if someone doesn’t have the courage to attach their name to whatever they say, then it’s something NOT worth paying attention to, or should be taken with a ‘grain of salt’. However, this cannot be the blanket rule here. There are many reasons on the Internet to stay Anonymous and I can appreciate that.
BUT, there are some reasons that will keep your comment from being published:
1) If it is hostile in a way that makes a specific attack on a certain person.
2) If there is profanity in it. On occasion, I may let a swear get by, if I feel it’s pertinent to what you’re saying, But I want people of ALL AGES to read my blog and that means being responsible enough to protect them with a certain amount of censorship.
3) Blasphemy will NOT get through! Blasphemy is any comment that uses the name of God or Jesus Christ as a swear word.
4) If you are purposely lying in order to defame someone.
HOWEVER, your comment will be published if:
*You keep to the above guidelines, you will get through with your comment, even if you disagree with me or anyone else. You are free to your beliefs and I wish to foster an environment where you can say anything without being jumped on.
** Remember: Even if your comment does NOT get posted, I still read it (even if the sender remains Anonymous) and I do appreciate your feedback.
I have no fear of learning what other people are thinking. If I just wanted everyone to agree with me on every subject, I probably wouldn’t be on the Internet at all. I come here to expand my thinking and discover what other people are thinking too.
*** When it comes down to it, the best advice is usually the one our mothers gave us:
“If you don’t have something nice to say;Of Course, the BEST advice is what Jesus told us:
Then don’t say anything at all.”
“However you wish people to do to you, that is how you should treat them also.”Many thanks. Love Laura-Lee
(Matthew 7:12)
FEAR Destroyed by True LOVE (Part 3) “I’ve Got the Music in Me”
I’ve been discussing that I’ve had Fear as a part of my life until God healed me of it about 5 or 6 years ago.
I thought of a good example of how overly afraid I was, even at an early age.
When I was young, and my mother and father were still married, we lived in a small town in Northern Canada called, “Yellowknife”.
It had only one hardware store in it (at the time) and in this store it sold just about everything. From hammers to wristwatches.
One day my Dad had to go to the Hardware store and pick up some sort of gadget or another and invited my brother and I to go along.
Bro and I were wandering around this massive store (things seem “massive” where you’re a little girl) and looking at this and that. Even though Mom wasn’t with us, she had us trained to know that we “don’t touch things that belong to someone else”.
My brother wandered off to look at something, Dad was at the counter talking to the owner about some sort of “doo-hickey” and I had found a magnificent item, straight out of a magical Fair Land. I saw my first stereo system. It was so amazing, I seem to remember it was glowing.
And it had MUSIC coming out of it! I remember looking at the naked speakers and they were actually pulsing with the drum beat in the song.
I don’t remember what song was playing on that stereo system, but I definitely could “feel” the music coming out of it.
There are two things that always made me momentarily forget how incredibly terrified I always was, and music was one of them. Since, “I’ve got the music in me”, I just had to start dancing. Right there in the hardware store. I had “zoned out” and right into the music and the store melted away.
I didn’t even realise I was doing it , until …
I looked up into the face of one of the Salesmen who worked there. He was leaning on a shelf and watching me dance with a big smile on his face.
As I look back, down the tunnel of my memory, I can tell from his expression that he was just thinking, “What a cute little girl”.
I thought he was an “old” guy, but he was probably only a late teenager or maybe in his early 20’s.
This is when my sweet, little, childhood story turns into a nightmare. That’s when the Fear, that I had momentarily forgotten, came rushing back in. It was like being caught in a Tidal Wave of Fear and not being able to get your head above water to breath. I had been seen by this “man” and I felt like I had been caught doing the worst sin the world had ever invented.
In a panic and without checking with my older brother or father, I just ran out of the store and hid in the back of my Dad’s van, where I was found later..
When I walked into the door at home, Mom took one look at my face and turned to Dad and casually said, “How did it go at the Store?” while motioning her head toward me with a questioning look.
Dad responded equally calmly with, “Fine. Nothing unusual.” as he motioned his head back towards me and shrugged his shoulders.
(Like kids can’t see their parents making all those faces at each other)
I didn’t speak or eat for the rest of that day. And from that day forward, I absolutely refused to ever go anywhere near the Hardware store. In fact, I stopped going anywhere with Dad altogether, just in case he made an unscheduled stop at the Hardware store.
I was 6 years old at the time.
All of that personal agony, and having worried parents, just because a teenager saw me dancing next to a stereo.
We don’t have to physically be in a prison to be trapped in one. Fear. Loneliness. Hatred. Bitterness. Unworthiness. Denial. Addictions.
Prisons that have no walls but keep our souls and bodies locked up tighter than bars of steel. Because when your soul is in torment, how do you escape and where do you run to.
“For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of son-ship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father’ The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.”
(Romans 8:15-16)
FEAR destroyed by True LOVE (Part 2) “Limited Performance, at The Dollar Store”
Saying, “I love ‘Dollar Stores’”, is putting it mildly. If I am anywhere near them, some inexplicable force pulls me into them (and it doesn’t have anything to do with “Star Wars”)
So, about a year ago, I was going into the Dollar Store to pick up some greeting cards that have a basic idea that inspires me and that is rather blank, so I have room to do my own “enhancements”.
As soon as I walked into the door of the Dollar Store, I turned my glance to the Greeting card section. There was nobody there except for one man looking through cards.
He looked up and we shared a momentary look while I was still at the door. I’m not sure why, but I had the distinct impression from the way he looked at me, that his interest in me was more than just a passing glance.
I decided to stall a little bit and browse around the store until this man left. As I walked around, I was keeping my eyes on him and then realised he was also continuing to look at me.
But I didn’t have much time, so I figured I had better just go over and pick out the cards I came for.
Now, I’m a single woman, so whenever a man is watching me for longer than a minute or so, it usually means he’s going to try and talk to me and “make his move”. It’s not that this person was particular not nice looking or anything, but “romance” of any kind was NOT on my agenda for that day.
I started reading the various Greeting cards and noticed that he was gradually getting closer and closer to me. Until at last he stood right beside me. There was no way to avoid this situation, so I was putting up my “shield” and getting ready for my polite, “buzz off buddy” speech.
He suddenly turned to me and said, “Excuse me, Miss, but could you read this greeting card to me?”
He was very polite, sort of shy and spoke with just a hint of embarrassment. I thought to myself, “This is one of the weirdest pick up lines I’ve ever heard”.
He held out the card to me and asked again, “Do you mind? Could you be so kind as to read this card to me?”
He spoke with a bit of an accent but his English was very understandable, so I was a bit confused as to why I had to read it.
The confusion must have shown on my face because he explained,
“I can understand English fine, but I haven’t been able to conquer reading and writing it. In my language, we don’t even have the same alphabet as you do.”
This was something I had never thought of before. Many people may come to Canada being able to speak English (or French) but reading it and Grammar is a whole different thing. Exactly how would you pick a card out for someone if you couldn’t read it?
The card he handed me had a bouquet of lovely flowers on it, so I cleared my voice and began to read it to him.
I chuckled and responded, “No! You definitely don’t want to send this one.”
I showed him where they kept all the “In Sympathy” cards and let him have a look around there.
As his eyes were scanning, suddenly a lady handed me a card and said, “While you’re reading out cards, maybe you wouldn’t mind reading this one for me. It’s for my grandson’s birthday. He was born in Canada.” She said with a hint of pride in her voice.
I read,
But she had a frown on her face too. She responded, “But he’s 18 years old. Do you think it’s okay for an 18 year old boy?”
So it was time to help that lady find a different, more appropriate birthday card. Right about that time, the first man had picked out a couple “Sympathy” cards for me to read out loud. I read them both and they were both nice.
He stood there thinking on which one would be better to give when another 3 cards were thrust at me from 3 different directions. I looked up and around to see that a crowd of 12-14 people had gathered. They all wanted me to read their cards for them because they all had trouble reading English and it’s very important not to give the wrong Greeting card!
The two ladies at the cashier looked up to see what the crowd was about, and I sort of shrugged my shoulders at them. What could I do?
So, I gave a Performance of Greeting Cards at the local Dollar Store. And I thought, “Hey. If I’m going to do this, I may as well take it seriously and do my best.”
It was met with both critical and audience enthusiasm. Laurence Oliver couldn’t have done better. Especially if his literary material included, bunnies, bouquets and birthdays.
After about 15 minutes, everyone had gotten their cards and the area thinned out. The only person still remaining was the man who had originally asked me for help.
He told me,
He wasn’t much taller than me and he gave my face a good look over. He was scrutinizing me so closely that he made me feel sort of nervous.
Finally he declared, “Your forehead!”
“I beg your pardon?” I responded.
He said again, “It was your forehead. I’m not sure what there is about it, but when I saw you I couldn’t help but look at your forehead.”
So he thanked me and left and I finally bought my own cards.
Later that night, as I read my Bible, I came across:
There was a time when anything as surreal as “Giving a Greeting Card Reading at the Dollar Store” would not have happened to me. Basically because I would have been too scared to let it happen. If this had happened back in my “Fear Days”, the moment I saw that man staring at me, I would have immediately left the store and skipped buying what I had come for.
How many things did I miss out on, simply because I let fear keep me from doing it? Jesus had that moment planned for me.
What are the chances that all those people who needed help to read their cards were there for THAT specific moment? It would take up some time, but not so much time that I couldn’t spare it.
That it would develop in me warm and sympathetic feelings for people in a situation I didn’t even know existed before that moment. To understand how scary it must be to live in a country where you can’t read or write the language but you’re trying to make a life for you and your family.
Jesus’ finger prints were all over that circumstance. And I’m so grateful I wasn’t too scared to be a part of it.
So, about a year ago, I was going into the Dollar Store to pick up some greeting cards that have a basic idea that inspires me and that is rather blank, so I have room to do my own “enhancements”.
As soon as I walked into the door of the Dollar Store, I turned my glance to the Greeting card section. There was nobody there except for one man looking through cards.
He looked up and we shared a momentary look while I was still at the door. I’m not sure why, but I had the distinct impression from the way he looked at me, that his interest in me was more than just a passing glance.
I decided to stall a little bit and browse around the store until this man left. As I walked around, I was keeping my eyes on him and then realised he was also continuing to look at me.
But I didn’t have much time, so I figured I had better just go over and pick out the cards I came for.
Now, I’m a single woman, so whenever a man is watching me for longer than a minute or so, it usually means he’s going to try and talk to me and “make his move”. It’s not that this person was particular not nice looking or anything, but “romance” of any kind was NOT on my agenda for that day.
I started reading the various Greeting cards and noticed that he was gradually getting closer and closer to me. Until at last he stood right beside me. There was no way to avoid this situation, so I was putting up my “shield” and getting ready for my polite, “buzz off buddy” speech.
He suddenly turned to me and said, “Excuse me, Miss, but could you read this greeting card to me?”
He was very polite, sort of shy and spoke with just a hint of embarrassment. I thought to myself, “This is one of the weirdest pick up lines I’ve ever heard”.
He held out the card to me and asked again, “Do you mind? Could you be so kind as to read this card to me?”
He spoke with a bit of an accent but his English was very understandable, so I was a bit confused as to why I had to read it.
The confusion must have shown on my face because he explained,
“I can understand English fine, but I haven’t been able to conquer reading and writing it. In my language, we don’t even have the same alphabet as you do.”
This was something I had never thought of before. Many people may come to Canada being able to speak English (or French) but reading it and Grammar is a whole different thing. Exactly how would you pick a card out for someone if you couldn’t read it?
The card he handed me had a bouquet of lovely flowers on it, so I cleared my voice and began to read it to him.
“This bouquet is so you’ll always know,He got a big frown on his face, so I asked him what he needed the card for. He said, “My brother-in-law died and I don’t think this one is quite right.”
We all will miss you when you go
Grab the best, as you climb the corporate ladder
Someone else has your desk, but it’s your pay raise that matters.”
I chuckled and responded, “No! You definitely don’t want to send this one.”
I showed him where they kept all the “In Sympathy” cards and let him have a look around there.
As his eyes were scanning, suddenly a lady handed me a card and said, “While you’re reading out cards, maybe you wouldn’t mind reading this one for me. It’s for my grandson’s birthday. He was born in Canada.” She said with a hint of pride in her voice.
I read,
“This little bunny is jumping your way,I said, “That’s a good card for his Birthday”.
to wish you a
“ ‘Hoppy’ Birthday”
But she had a frown on her face too. She responded, “But he’s 18 years old. Do you think it’s okay for an 18 year old boy?”
So it was time to help that lady find a different, more appropriate birthday card. Right about that time, the first man had picked out a couple “Sympathy” cards for me to read out loud. I read them both and they were both nice.
He stood there thinking on which one would be better to give when another 3 cards were thrust at me from 3 different directions. I looked up and around to see that a crowd of 12-14 people had gathered. They all wanted me to read their cards for them because they all had trouble reading English and it’s very important not to give the wrong Greeting card!
The two ladies at the cashier looked up to see what the crowd was about, and I sort of shrugged my shoulders at them. What could I do?
So, I gave a Performance of Greeting Cards at the local Dollar Store. And I thought, “Hey. If I’m going to do this, I may as well take it seriously and do my best.”
It was met with both critical and audience enthusiasm. Laurence Oliver couldn’t have done better. Especially if his literary material included, bunnies, bouquets and birthdays.
After about 15 minutes, everyone had gotten their cards and the area thinned out. The only person still remaining was the man who had originally asked me for help.
He told me,
“ I waited for 10 minutes, watching people come in before I saw you and KNEW you would be the person to help me.”I was curious and asked him, “What exactly about me was it that made you think I would help you and not just tell you to ‘get lost’?”
He wasn’t much taller than me and he gave my face a good look over. He was scrutinizing me so closely that he made me feel sort of nervous.
Finally he declared, “Your forehead!”
“I beg your pardon?” I responded.
He said again, “It was your forehead. I’m not sure what there is about it, but when I saw you I couldn’t help but look at your forehead.”
 |
| Laura-Lee Being Silly (Using new face cream to stick foil to head with "Christian Seal" - see Revelation in Bible) |
So he thanked me and left and I finally bought my own cards.
Later that night, as I read my Bible, I came across:
“… Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees, till we have sealed the servants of our God in their foreheads.”That is another example of the strange and wonderful turn my life has taken since Jesus took my Fear away.
( Revelation 7:3)
There was a time when anything as surreal as “Giving a Greeting Card Reading at the Dollar Store” would not have happened to me. Basically because I would have been too scared to let it happen. If this had happened back in my “Fear Days”, the moment I saw that man staring at me, I would have immediately left the store and skipped buying what I had come for.
How many things did I miss out on, simply because I let fear keep me from doing it? Jesus had that moment planned for me.
What are the chances that all those people who needed help to read their cards were there for THAT specific moment? It would take up some time, but not so much time that I couldn’t spare it.
That it would develop in me warm and sympathetic feelings for people in a situation I didn’t even know existed before that moment. To understand how scary it must be to live in a country where you can’t read or write the language but you’re trying to make a life for you and your family.
Jesus’ finger prints were all over that circumstance. And I’m so grateful I wasn’t too scared to be a part of it.
“;and who knows whether thou has come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”TO BE CONTINUED …
Esther 4:14b
FEAR destroyed by True LOVE (Part 1)
“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear; because fear has torment.”
( 1 John 4:18)
My entire life I have been plagued by a tormenting and unrelenting fear. This may come as a surprise to many of the people who know me, because I am an expert at hiding it.
But if you wish to know how bad the Fear is, I explain it this way:
“Whether I am going for a job interview or to mail a letter, I am equally terrified.”
There is never a moment when I didn’t have it. I was about 8 years old when I finally realized that other people didn’t panic over the idea of taking a bus or buying a chocolate bar at the corner store. I thought we ALL felt that way!
It’s like being locked in Solitary Confinement for your life and the person with the key to your cell is YOU! But you can’t make yourself open the door. You’re cut off from joy, peace, happiness or even the warm companionship of another human being. My mind knew it was irrational, but you can’t reason your way out of it because it’s your FEELINGS that are “out of whack”.
This fear goes way beyond shyness and I’m sure there are all sorts of psychological terms for these phobias (although that wouldn’t help me much). Human beings are God’s greatest creation. I find them fascinating. I am bursting to talk to them, tell them my bad jokes, comfort them, help them, to be their friend, to tell them about Jesus, and mostly, to love them. But my fear was so crippling and debilitating, that just speaking to a person brought on the possibility that I would faint from the fear of it.
And of course, being a Christian brought about it’s own guilt and shame. If I truly loved Jesus, I wouldn’t be consumed with fears day and night. Therefore my faith must be severely lacking in some area. Perhaps a “secret sin” I was not repenting of ?
In my brain there was a never ending barrage of worry and debating going on, as I tried to “reason” my way out of my fears. But they remained. Day and night; Sleeping or waking. Never knowing one moment or one second outside this suffocating, prison of terror.
About 6 years ago …
My health had become so bad that I couldn’t even keep a part time job any more. Having my life changed so quickly and radically due to my illnesses, I sunk into a deep depression (as if living with the fear wasn’t enough). I went to my doctor and we decided for me to try taking anti-depressants and for me to see a Psychiatrist.
A few weeks later, I developed “night terrors”. Night Terrors are uber nightmares, made even worse by being so vivid, horror filled and very hard to wake up from. And they occurred EVERY time I went to sleep!
After another 18 months and 13 different types of anti-depressants, I gave up on that idea.
The counselling hadn’t worked, nor the pills and (since I had been praying many hours each day) my Christian faith seemed to be ineffective as well.
EXTREMELY discouraged that my life would never improve, I said this prayer to Jesus:
“Lord? I don’t understand why I have to live my life this way. I’m so tired. I feel so useless. But I promise you I will do my best not complain and try to serve you just the way I am, whatever that is worth. I’m always afraid and now sometimes too sad to even get out of bed. But I won’t turn my back on you. I WON’T be your fair-weather friend. I know you have your reasons and they are always good ones, so I promise to continue to follow you, WHEREVER you lead! Amen.”
A couple of weeks later, I was walking down the sidewalk on my way to do some shopping. I was humming a tune as I walked along on this pleasant, sunny, Spring afternoon. Wait a minute! I was humming Out Loud (which I never do because it would have drawn attention to myself). And I would never want someone to look at me on purpose. NEVER!
I wondered to myself, “My goodness. What has gotten into me?”
At that precise second, I realized that I was no longer depressed. Not even a little bit. And not only that. ALL my FEAR was gone. Every bit of it. After more than 40 years, I’d been set free. And it happened when I hadn’t even noticed.
That was 6 years ago and the “Fear” has never come back. Even in situations where it would be normal and healthy to be afraid. I talk to everyone and anyone. I crack jokes. Talk to people about Jesus. Pray in public. But mostly, I just enjoy getting to know people. And I’ve met some amazing ones. The prison cell was opened. I should have guessed I wasn’t the only one with the key. Jesus had the Master Key.
If someone from my past, who knew me when I had all that fear saw me now, they would barely recognize me.
Even my own mother says, “I can’t believe the change in you. My same sweet, little Laura-Lee, but just without all the running to hide in the bathroom when someone wants to speak to you.”
Now, I always say, “The proof is in the pudding”. It’s not what I say I am that counts, as much as the way I act.
So get comfortable and settle in for some more true stories.
“My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth.” ( I John 3:18)
TO BE CONTINUED …
Follow Feelings or FEELINGS FOLLOW?
Here’s a true story:
There was a married couple who had been together for many years. They had not only gone past the point where they annoyed each other, they were at the point where they HATED each other!
In a last ditch attempt to salvage their marriage, they decided to go and see a marriage counsellor. They went to the meetings separately and together for several weeks but all they ended up doing was arguing. They decided that the therapy was a waste of time and that they should just “chuck it in” and get a Divorce.
Since they had been married for more than 15 years, the Therapist convinced them to give their marriage just one more try. They agree and he told them:
“I know that the two of you can barely stand being in the same room together anymore, but I want you to try an experiment for the next 6 months onlySo the couple gritted their teeth and agreed to go through the experiment. After all, they had waited this long, it’s not like another 6 months is going to make a difference.
For that time I want you to “act” like you love each other. You don’t have to feel it. You just have to pretend to feel it. Even when you can’t stand the other person anymore, I want you to be sweet and kind and thoughtful to each other. Go out of your way to do nice things for each other. Even if you have to completely FAKE IT.
At the end of doing that for 6 months, if you still want to get a Divorce, go ahead. You will get no argument from me.”
At the end of the 6 months the couple went back to the Counsellor. He was ready to “give his blessing” to the Divorce because during those 6 months they hadn’t even come in to see him or get any advice. He had heard only silence from them for the 6 months, so he figured they hadn’t even waited that long to begin Divorce proceedings.
The couple came into his office and sat down being extremely quiet. He told them they would get no more hindrance from him as far as the Divorce and asked them if they had seen lawyers yet.
They finally spoke to him and told him that they had no intention of getting a divorce. Now or never.
During the first days and weeks of the experiment of “being nice” to each other, they figured it would either end in homicide or suicide or both. But somewhere along the way, the feelings that they were “pretending” that they were having for each other started to become real.
It stopped being a chore to be nice to each other and eventually, they found that they were talking (and listening) to each other and had eventually fallen in love with each other. Even more than they had when they had first met and gotten married.
This is a very important truth that is has taken most of my 46 years to figure out:
“Your feelings will follow an act of your will.”
Believe me, it is not easy at first. But eventually your heart starts melting and you start seeing things from the other person’s point of view.
It’s a truth that Jesus knew when he told us to “love our enemies” and “pray for those that persecute you” and “if someone hits you on the right cheek, turn the other one to him,” and “if someone beats you and forces you to go a mile with them, go with them another mile”.
When I have told someone who is not a Christian that someone did something “nasty” to me, they don’t understand why I don’t do it back. If I’ve been hard done by, they the other person has it coming.
But that is NOT Jesus’ way! Hate and bitterness can eat us up alive. Sometimes it can make us more sick than an actually physical disease or ailment. But it is extremely hard to hate someone when you are praying for them. It helps you to see things from their point of view.
And more than changing the other person, love and forgiveness changes YOU. And it comes down to, you can’t find happiness, if you can’t find it inside yourself. And the quickest way to get it inside yourself, is to spread it around.
“It’s nice to be nice”
January 10, 2013
Alberta Healthcare advises, “Don’t get the Flu”
I know the Canadian province of Alberta has a lot of problems as it pertains to Healthcare, but this is another “straw that broke the camel’s back”. (That poor camel has had it’s back broken so many times).
Because my mother is in the last years of a lifetime of the disease, Lupus, she is often on her way to a hospital Emergency Room. She is often severely ill with advanced pneumonia and can’t breath on her own. She needs immediate oxygen and I have to call 911.
The Fire Department arrives and the Ambulance a few minutes later. Once she’s in the back of the Ambulance with an attendant and I’m sitting in the front seat, the real problems begin.
I remember one specific time when the hospitals with Emergency Rooms were in a “red light” situation. This means they are NOT accepting any new Emergency patients. I said to the Ambulance Driver, “What are we suppose to do now? Head for Tim Hortons’ and buy donuts?”
He responded, “No. We drive around and circle in an area approximately equal distances between the hospitals, so as soon as one of the ER’s opens up, we can bring your Mom to it.”
I thought he was kidding. He wasn’t.
Thankfully we only had to drive around for about 40 minutes before one of the ER’s started accepting patients again. Once in the hospital, Mom was parked in an ER hallway and the Ambulance Drivers popped open little portable camping chairs and one took out a computer and the other a book, to help them pass the time. Apparently, because Mom was on the Ambulance gurney, the Ambulance attendants couldn’t leave until they got their gurney back and that wouldn’t happen until Mom got a bed in the Emergency Room.
10 hours later Mom moved from the Ambulance gurney in the hallway to a bed in the ER and the Ambulance Drivers were out of there 60 seconds later. They told me that this was the usual occurrence and that they rarely got to “service” more than one person per shift.
Now that was just the beginning of our ordeal for that particular trip to the Emergency Room and I could tell you even more horror stories about Emergency Rooms, but I’ll save that for a later time.
What motivates me today is that on news this morning , Alberta Health Services (in charge of healthcare in our province) has just announced that the Emergency Rooms are full and members of the public should avoid going to the hospital, unless we are sure death is imminent. All this because of the FLU!
This is not a new thing. This happens every winter in the Province of Alberta. Several people get the flu and many people go to the hospital. But if it happens EVERY year, why are they NOT prepared for it?
Mom and I have often wondered about the capabilities of Emergency Rooms and hospitals in general. If they can’t handle cases of Influenza, which happens every year at the same time, what would they do if there was a REAL emergency, like a fire or earthquake?
Telling people to “don’t get sick” and “don’t come to the hospital if you’re sick” is like telling people, “No more going to the bathroom.” As if we have any choice in the matter.
Our Government is trying to find several millions of dollars to create a new arena. It’s crazy to build a sports area worth all that money, when people will die if they get the flu because they can’t get into a hospital.
Mom brought up something that I found interesting. She said it reminded her of the fall of the Roman Empire. When the Roman civilization was in chaos and decaying internally and the Emperor decided to give everyone “Bread and Games”. It’s why they built the Coliseum in Rome. To get everyone preoccupied with gladiators and executing Christians so they wouldn’t focus on all the other failures of the governing bodies. But now-a-days we’ll get our new Coliseum, but it doesn’t seem we’re even going to get the “bread”. What a rip off.
Another reason our healthcare system never improves is because the people in government who hold the purse strings always get to jump the queue because they are famous and apparently more important than us regular “Joes”.
For many years Alberta was operating without any debt at all because we have so much oil in our Province. Instead of handing out this money to people in the Province or into programs that are lacking, members of the Alberta Government put it into what became known as “The Heritage Fund”. They kept telling the people of Alberta that the money in the Heritage Fund was for us, but that they were saving it for “a rainy day”. I just kept thinking, it’s raining all the time, the only difference is who you are, where you’re standing and whether or not you have an umbrella. Again, the people who held the purse strings to the “Heritage Fund” had jobs (in Government), money, fame and could jump to the front of any line.
BTW. If you’re wondering what happened to the Heritage Fund, that’s a good question. Now the Province is operating with a large deficit and the Heritage Fund is gone, even though we keep pumping out the oil.
P.S. Let’s hope that camel with the several breaks in his back doesn’t go to a hospital to get some attention. The ERs aren’t accepting patients right now.
STORY ABOUT INFLUENZA STRAIN ON ALBERTA HOSPITALS
Alberta Health Services (AHS) says hospitals in the two cities are experiencing capacity pressures, partially because more people than usual are requesting treatment for influenza-like and gastro-intestinal-type illnesses. The average number of influenza cases is 150, right now there are 700, pushing occupancy above 100 per cent at major hospitals and medicine units in Edmonton and Calgary, which has caused five surgeries to be canceled in Edmonton.
Albertans are being asked to help by ensuring they have received their influenza immunization (1 in 9 Albertans have received the vaccine) and understand there are more care options than emergency departments. AHS is recommending those who are suffering from flu-like symptoms go to a medicentre or see their local doctor. Only those people who are having respiratory issues connected with the flu or can't hold down fluids should be going to an emergency room.
Read it on Global News: Global Edmonton | Outbreak of influenza cases putting pressure on heath care centres
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)