I have good days and I have bad days. On the good days, I enjoy everything with a new intensity. On the bad days, I curl up and lose myself in soft worship music. I also remember....
*****
When I was young, we prayed as a family one night per week, usually kneeling at our chairs. Every morning, my father read from a devotional book at our breakfast table. We took our spiritual life seriously.
We attended church regularly. I loved our church….I even loved the way we travelled to church.
During the summer months we went by family-sized buggy pulled by one of our horses. In winter we went with our larger “bunk” a sleigh completely closed in, covered with canvas which had a small wood stove in the front for warmth.
The sled had four skis. The two in the back were fixed white the two in the front could turn. Inside there were benches on each side. When it was really cold, we’d all scrunch together on one of them, wrapping the buffalo robe over us. My father had also warmed larger stones which we could put under the rug on the floor to keep our feet warm. Meanwhile the little stove inside was also going, reflecting firelight shadows on the walls, warming up the bunk.
The bunk had a sliding window in front from which my father would drive the team of horses controlling them with reins that came into the bunk through a slit under the window front.
From outside we were quite a sight, steam from the horses and smoke from the wood stove smoke stack trailing behind as we travelled the two miles to our church.
At the church, there was a long narrow barn shelter painted red, with a roof and individual doors for each horse or team. Inside stall walls were half height so the heat of the horses combined kept them all warm.
Once there, the yard was a huge social experience. The winter air filled with voices and laughter! Women pausing to talk as children ran about, the men unhitching their teams of horses and finding a stall for them. Then, everyone moving quickly towards the warmed-up church for the service.
Our church was painted white with a bold false front. There were two front doors; the right for the men, left for the women. The doors opened into a foyer with coat racks that led into the sanctuary filled with rows of wooden pews; the right for the men, left for the women. It had a balcony in the back and a basic platform in the front. The left front ide was reserved for the choir, the right side for the piano and in the middle stood a large podium for the speaker. There were no pictures on the white walls, not even a simple cross. It was a very plain building.
We would hold our Sunday School classes in the basement in little rooms curtained off from each other. I had this amazing Sunday school teacher, not sure he even noticed me but he was everything I admired. He was a community star athlete, baseball and hockey, plus he would just teach us the stories from the Bible with personal application that inspired us.
I enjoyed the sermons as well. There were several unpaid lay pastors who took turns preaching. Each was unique, had their own style and method of teaching. The lessons were from the Bible and illustrated with life examples.
But my personal experience of God wasn't confined to my family or the church.
I remember one profound moment. It was harvest time. We were combining and I was on the field as grain hauler waiting for my father's signal that the hopper was full.
Meanwhile, sitting in the truck, with the door open, relaxing while watching the northern lights, I began realizing they were coming alive , spreading from horizon to horizon, a boiling cauldron of color.
I slipped out of the truck and watched the colors whirl around the sky - mesmerized. They got lower and lower. I could hear the sizzle! They enveloped me from horizon to horizon all around me!
I became afraid - backed into the truck - overwhelmed with fear, and I began to pray to God to protect me! Was something threatening happening in the skies?
Then I felt surrounded by a moving light, coming in closer and closer! I realized it was God! There was no need to be afraid… I was in the presence of love. I felt the shivers run through my body like never before. Transfixed.
The combine's lights flashed, my father was signaling me and I had to return to earth. I had just encountered the power and beauty of God - I would never be the same.
It was around this time that a group of us boys, all the same age, were invited to join the church. I felt spiritually ready. Baptism was an unofficial Mennonite way of recognizing the “rite of passage” or a “coming of age” in which the young people in the church would attend classes that prepared them to be baptized as adults and become members of the church.
I’ll never forget the evening when we all gave our testimonies, our stories of salvation to the church. It was the practice of the church to vote whether to accept us or not. All of my companions received a resounding “yes” from the congregation. I received the only “no” without an explanation.
The assumption was that I was too young and they told me to try again next year. I didn't believe them. I was approximately the same age as the others. It was a vote against me - I was somehow still tainted.
It was a very long- quiet ride home.
I was so hurt... it took me a while to recover. Then I resolved to spend the probation year becoming the best Christian ever - removing the taint from my life forever - whatever it took.
*****
When I was young, we prayed as a family one night per week, usually kneeling at our chairs. Every morning, my father read from a devotional book at our breakfast table. We took our spiritual life seriously.
We attended church regularly. I loved our church….I even loved the way we travelled to church.
During the summer months we went by family-sized buggy pulled by one of our horses. In winter we went with our larger “bunk” a sleigh completely closed in, covered with canvas which had a small wood stove in the front for warmth.
The sled had four skis. The two in the back were fixed white the two in the front could turn. Inside there were benches on each side. When it was really cold, we’d all scrunch together on one of them, wrapping the buffalo robe over us. My father had also warmed larger stones which we could put under the rug on the floor to keep our feet warm. Meanwhile the little stove inside was also going, reflecting firelight shadows on the walls, warming up the bunk.
The bunk had a sliding window in front from which my father would drive the team of horses controlling them with reins that came into the bunk through a slit under the window front.
From outside we were quite a sight, steam from the horses and smoke from the wood stove smoke stack trailing behind as we travelled the two miles to our church.
At the church, there was a long narrow barn shelter painted red, with a roof and individual doors for each horse or team. Inside stall walls were half height so the heat of the horses combined kept them all warm.
Once there, the yard was a huge social experience. The winter air filled with voices and laughter! Women pausing to talk as children ran about, the men unhitching their teams of horses and finding a stall for them. Then, everyone moving quickly towards the warmed-up church for the service.
Our church was painted white with a bold false front. There were two front doors; the right for the men, left for the women. The doors opened into a foyer with coat racks that led into the sanctuary filled with rows of wooden pews; the right for the men, left for the women. It had a balcony in the back and a basic platform in the front. The left front ide was reserved for the choir, the right side for the piano and in the middle stood a large podium for the speaker. There were no pictures on the white walls, not even a simple cross. It was a very plain building.
We would hold our Sunday School classes in the basement in little rooms curtained off from each other. I had this amazing Sunday school teacher, not sure he even noticed me but he was everything I admired. He was a community star athlete, baseball and hockey, plus he would just teach us the stories from the Bible with personal application that inspired us.
I enjoyed the sermons as well. There were several unpaid lay pastors who took turns preaching. Each was unique, had their own style and method of teaching. The lessons were from the Bible and illustrated with life examples.
But my personal experience of God wasn't confined to my family or the church.
I remember one profound moment. It was harvest time. We were combining and I was on the field as grain hauler waiting for my father's signal that the hopper was full.
Meanwhile, sitting in the truck, with the door open, relaxing while watching the northern lights, I began realizing they were coming alive , spreading from horizon to horizon, a boiling cauldron of color.
I slipped out of the truck and watched the colors whirl around the sky - mesmerized. They got lower and lower. I could hear the sizzle! They enveloped me from horizon to horizon all around me!
I became afraid - backed into the truck - overwhelmed with fear, and I began to pray to God to protect me! Was something threatening happening in the skies?
Then I felt surrounded by a moving light, coming in closer and closer! I realized it was God! There was no need to be afraid… I was in the presence of love. I felt the shivers run through my body like never before. Transfixed.
The combine's lights flashed, my father was signaling me and I had to return to earth. I had just encountered the power and beauty of God - I would never be the same.
It was around this time that a group of us boys, all the same age, were invited to join the church. I felt spiritually ready. Baptism was an unofficial Mennonite way of recognizing the “rite of passage” or a “coming of age” in which the young people in the church would attend classes that prepared them to be baptized as adults and become members of the church.
I’ll never forget the evening when we all gave our testimonies, our stories of salvation to the church. It was the practice of the church to vote whether to accept us or not. All of my companions received a resounding “yes” from the congregation. I received the only “no” without an explanation.
The assumption was that I was too young and they told me to try again next year. I didn't believe them. I was approximately the same age as the others. It was a vote against me - I was somehow still tainted.
It was a very long- quiet ride home.
I was so hurt... it took me a while to recover. Then I resolved to spend the probation year becoming the best Christian ever - removing the taint from my life forever - whatever it took.
“When things do not go your way,
remember that every challenge — every adversity
— contains within it the seeds of opportunity and growth.”
― Roy T. Bennett
remember that every challenge — every adversity
— contains within it the seeds of opportunity and growth.”
― Roy T. Bennett
RSS Feed