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Psalm 118:5
If we had heard a weather forecast, we might have stayed home. It was only about 35 below when we headed to town, but by the time we came out of a meeting, close to midnight, it had dropped to minus 65. Our truck would not start. Neither would the other vehicles parked outside. As I watched from the warmth of the doorway, my husband and a few friends donned some unusual head gear and hovered over the one truck they thought might rise to the occasion.
Their head gear, hats woven of warm Alpaca wool, had tall peaks with tassles on the ends and long tapered ear flaps that bobbed with each step. They made the guys look a lot like Santa’s elves. None of them realized how comical they looked, as they scurried around the truck, trying to get it to start. Someone produced a propane torch to heat the oil pan. Someone else produced a tarp to cover the hood. Then we all huddled in the doorway, hoping for success. We cheered when the motor roared to life before catching on fire! As we crammed into the cab for the trip home, the guys left their hats on, still oblivious to how they looked.
We had only gone a few miles when we saw a faint light. It burned for a few moments, then died. We leaned forward as it appeared again, directly ahead. Our driver slowed down as we got closer. The dim light flashed one more time and we realized it was a truck in the middle of the road. All of us piled out as we pulled to the side to investigate. The truck door opened, and a young woman peered out. Her lips were blue, her bare hands, wrapped around a small kitten, were white with frostbite. She tried to swing her legs out but needed help. When she stood up, her feet, clad only in running shoes, wouldn’t move. As the men lifted her into our warm vehicle, I noticed she looked at them with an odd expression. It wasn’t until later we discovered she thought she was hallucinating. She didn’t expect to be rescued by a band of Santa’s elves!
Psalm 118:5 says – “In my distress I prayed to the Lord and the Lord answered me and rescued me.” Rescue. In the nick of time. If we hadn’t been on the road that night, that young woman would have died. I don’t know if she prayed, but, in desperate situations, most people do. Unfortunately, most of us don’t recognize we are in a desperate place when we are without God. We depend on things like trucks with heaters, refusing to believe they might break down in the worst places at the worst times. We think we are safe when in reality we are on the brink of disaster.
God is in the rescue business, and we all need to be rescued.
****
This story is one that will be included in my upcoming book Flecks of Gold, Yukon Stories
I’m very excited to let you all know that the Crowdfundr campaign for the book is now live. This book is a compilation of stories about my personal experiences in the Yukon, with a bit of poetry and fiction thrown in for flavour. The campaign will launch on my birthday, May 4th.
To be notified when it goes live just click the SUBSCRIBE button at the top of the crowdfundr page.
I’m excited about all the perks being offered, including some unique Yukon items.
Thank you in advance for your support!
https://crowdfundr.com/flecksofgold?ref=sh_6CmT8c_ab_4dBWbYqxyKK4dBWbYqxyKK
I just went live on Facebook to outline the Devotionals of Distinction Course. We begin April 25th. So looking forward to it! https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1QDJ2ECBao/
Those who mourned most deeply had loved most deeply.
Not all the disciples attended the crucifixion. John was there, the one called “the most beloved,” and Mary Magdalene, the one freed from the torment of demons,
We can frown at the others, call them cowards, shame them for giving in to their fear. But would we do anything different? I fear I would not. I would not want to attend the execution of a man I had followed and honoured for three years, a man I believed was the one who would remove the oppressive yoke of the Romans from my neck and that of my family and friends. I don’t think I could bear it. My sorrow would have been, as I’m sure it was for those disciples, tangled up in fear and disappointment to such an extent that I would withdraw and hide, as they did.
So I have compassion for them. They didn’t understand. Perhaps there were things in their past that prevented them from being there to support Jesus in the midst of his tortuous death. Perhaps they had seen other friends crucified and just couldn’t face watching it again. We don’t know, so judging them puts us in the category of those who show no compassion, no empathy. And since it was Jesus Himself who modelled those behaviours, it would be good to take note and do the same.
Our church has recently started a program called grief share. We gather each week, watch a video about some aspect of grief and then talk about our own experiences. The group is varied, young, old, recently grieved and a couple whose loss was years ago.
It has been good for me to be there, though I have not recently been in that place of loss. Listening to those who have has infused compassion and empathy into me in a way I did not expect, in a way that has changed me. And I am grateful.
Jesus commands us to love in ways that are not always easy. Love your neighbours, even when they’re cranky, love your enemies even when they do despicable things like lie and slander those who are innocent.
There is only one way to obey such commands – rely on Him for the strength and wisdom to do so. Proverbs 3:5 tells us – Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.
He will enable us when we open our hearts, minds and souls to His leading.
I wish you all a blessed Easter!
The day was bright and sunny with just a touch of crispness to it. It was the kind of morning that should have lifted my spirits but as I gazed out the window, my thoughts were far away and all gloomy. I sighed and tried to prepare for the day ahead. I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy one. I glanced at the calendar. The words, “Good Friday” made me sigh again. There would be a church service in a couple of hours, then the funeral for a friend immediately afterward. As I got ready I prayed that the Lord would help me get through it all.
I heard the birds as I was eating breakfast. At first I didn’t pay much attention. There is a large tract of bush on the other side of our street, so we hear the birds every morning. By the time I was ready to head out our front door, I was wondering why the birdsong was so loud. As I stepped out into the fresh spring air, I was astonished at the reason. The entire bush across from me was full of robins. They flitted from branch to branch and tree to tree, singing. I stood and watched and listened and suddenly my spirit was lifted. A verse of scripture that can sometimes seem so impossible came to mind. “My grace is sufficient for you.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) I was witnessing an act of grace, a gift given in reply to a plea for help. The gift worked wonders.
I don’t know if robins usually move about in large flocks. Perhaps it’s part of their migration pattern, but I have never seen a flock like that before. I’ve always looked for that single robin that heralds the coming of spring. I would never have dreamed of looking for over a hundred of them. Perhaps God knew that’s what I needed that day – something unusual and delightful, something that would take my breath away. As I drove to the Good Friday service I realized that it’s just like Him to do something like that. He has said that He does not only want to give us life, but He wants to give us abundant life, a life full of delightful things like birdsong, to banish the gloom, a life in which the darkness of death is overcome by the blazing light of life.
“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.” (Ephesians 3:20)
I met with two friends for lunch yesterday, in between reading my children’s book, Merrigold’s Very Best Home to a bevy of beautiful little 3-5 year olds. We met to discuss an idea that seems to be catching fire right in front of me: a new book of Yukon stories, to be launched on my 75th birthday, which is coming soon. We were in the middle of the discussion when one of my daughters sent me this text: “Happy Yukon Heritage Day, Mom!” Yes, a God wink, methinks. Here’s the proposed cover. What do you think?
Merry Christmas everyone!
Some of you may have read this short story before. If you have, I hope you will enjoy it once again. 🙂 Just click this link to read An Unexpected Glory
And for your listening pleasure, a short excerpt from Handel’s Messiah – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jS2osOLEe0U
If you would like to see some pix and read our annual Christmas letter click this one. It says 2022 only because I couldn’t figure out how to change it! 😉
And here’s one featuring a most amazing base voice singing Christmas Bells
Wishing you all the joys of the Messiah’s season and blessings in 2026!
I’m happy to report that you can get copies of One Smooth Stone in ebook format directly from my publisher, Castle Quay Books at a great discount – only 3.99! Just click this link – E-books – Page 5 – CastleQuayBooks and use the discount code – 399deal
Also, eight of my books listed with Smashwords are now half price for a limited time – December 8 to January 1 . Here’s the link – https://smashwords.com/profile/view/MarciaLeeLaycock
Enjoy the reading!
Marcia
My father would tell me only one war story. He spent the first years of World War II in Canada, a clerk in a RCAF office. There’s a picture of him in uniform, brandishing a rifle, the Halifax harbour behind him. Then he was moved to England where he again worked at a desk. There’s a picture of him on a golf course in Ireland. Then the war was over, and my father was sent to Germany with the occupation forces. He found himself with the liberation army at the gates of Bergen-Belsen. It was at that point, after the allies had won and World War II was over, that my father’s war began.
He would never say what it was, specifically, that caused it to happen. Perhaps he looked too long into eyes glazed with hunger and shadowed with pain, eyes belonging to men who looked a hundred years old, ‘though they were in their twenties. Perhaps he could not stop staring at the piles of dead bodies, the bones and skulls, or perhaps he was required to record the numbers, the unfathomable numbers. Perhaps he could not bear the smiles of survivors who welcomed their deliverers in silence. He would never say what it was, but something that day, in that place, made my father’s mind stop. It stopped and could not go beyond the horror and the fear.
The fear put him in a psychiatric hospital. He was afraid to leave it, afraid even to go for a walk beyond the grounds. One day a nurse came with some clothes and told him to get dressed. Thinking they were taking him for a walk in the hospital gardens, he complied. The nurse returned and escorted him out the front gate. She locked it behind him and, without a word, left him there.
The familiar panic attack was immediate, but this time something else rang in my father’s mind. In the midst of his fear he became overwhelmed with the need to find a church. So he started walking. He found one of the huge gothic cathedrals so common in Europe. He stepped inside and sat down. Above the altar, high stained-glass windows glowed with light. As he stared, they began to move. My dad said he did not know how long he sat there watching, but the entire life of Christ flowed by before him, as though on a movie screen. When it was over, my father was no longer afraid. He returned to the hospital and told them it was time for him to go home.
My father’s war story is about a miracle, an event that healed his mind and his soul. In the midst of horror and fear, God was there. Isaiah said it well – “Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation” (Isaiah 12:2).
marcialeelaycock.com 