“Why do we hunger for beauty?” asks Steve Bell in his song of the same name.

In our mechanistic, narcissistic society, we have come to see beauty as subjective and optional – an unnecessary perk to our existence. At the very least, this understanding is shortsighted. At the worst, it is actually damaging to a life of faith if we fail to see the value of beauty. 

If I’m honest, I probably didn’t expect what I saw.

It had been quite a 24 hours. Joel developed severe appendicitis while at men’s retreat last weekend on Saturday. A doctor attending the retreat examined him and said, “you’re going to hospital now.” At 2:00 on Sunday morning, he was in surgery and his appendix was removed. By 1:30 that afternoon, I was loading him into his vehicle and driving him back to Calgary.

“For although they knew God, they neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks to him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened.” (Romans 1:21) 

Our annual Thanksgiving holiday weekend is over. When we talk about it, we’ll talk of travel (perhaps) of food (most certainly) and gatherings with friends and family. I wonder if we’ll talk about the actual act of giving thanks, or if we even took time amidst the festivities to actually think about what we have to be thankful for?

As part of his 4th birthday celebration, my grandson, Davis, received a little gun that shot gumballs. He was delighted and was explaining to me how it was to be used. “Do I shoot the gumball into your mouth,” I queried? “No, I shoot them into my own mouth,” he replied after looking at me as if I was the dumbest person on earth. “Or,” he added, “I can shoot them in the air and then get them when they land on the floor.” “But they’ll be dirty if they land on the floor,” I protested. “That’s okay. I like floor food,” he affirmed. It was very hard for me to keep a straight face after that.

Can you find the connection between some sea shells, a TicTac box full of jelly beans, delicious baked goods two broken limbs and loving God?

The literalists among you might have guessed that they all relate to my life in some way. You’d be mostly right but that’s not where I’m going today.

What do you think about thinking?

Most people I know would say that they are in favour of it. You might even be one of them. So, tell me, how much time do you spend in mindless behaviours — watching or listening to “the news”; doom scrolling; diving down Youtube rabbit holes; playing games on your devices? How many conversations did you have in the last week that involved a deep, thought-provoking topic? When is the last time you did any (and I mean “any”) research about something you did not understand (no, “googling” an idea doesn’t count — unless you start checking and reading references)?

The forecast was very poor — definitely not a great day for an outdoor adventure — but the fishing trip was booked and I didn’t want to disappoint the client. Now why is it that forecasters, whose prognostications are notoriously inaccurate, tend instead to be very accurate when it comes to my fishing trips? It was a miserable day.

It was a quiet Saturday morning. Sharon went out to pick some rhubarb in order to make one of her delicious desserts. The next thing I know, she’s gloved up, wearing a face mask and asking me if it’s okay to put infected plants in the compost bin. She’d discovered aphids infesting the rhubarb and all hope for dessert was lost. Rhubarb torte with a side of aphids doesn’t really get the taste buds excited, does it?

“What could possibly go wrong?”

That sounds like the introduction to a horror story or a YouTube short about somebody’s foolishness leading to disaster, doesn’t it? As it turns out, it’s a question with much deeper implications and one that is answered very differently by different generations.

His legacy was literally set in stone —stone steps and pathways to be exact — hundreds of them in various places in the Kananaskis, Banff National Park and Yoho National Park. Forty-six years after his death, I benefited from some of those steps just last week. I knew his name by association with a place of natural beauty but, until last week, I didn’t actually even know it was the name of a person. And what a person he was!

For some unknown reason, my granddaughter, Elly, has suddenly become highly interested in fishing. Last week, she burst through our door, “Grandpa, Mom and I found this fishing rod at Walmart at half-price but we wanted to check with you before we bought it to make sure that it was worth it.” After a bit of research, I gave the thumbs up and Elly bounded out. A few hours later, she burst back in, beside herself with excitement as she showed off her new fishing rod and all the stuff that came with it.

The siren caught me completely by surprise. It was a momentary blast, but unnerving.

Let me back up. I was in the midst of a tricky merge to the right so that I could exit Calgary’s busiest roadway. Complicating the process was two lanes, full of cars, merging from the right onto the road which I was leaving. Traffic had slowed and was almost bumper to bumper, most people using the zipper merge to alternate entry and exit. Suddenly, from my left, a large black SUV swerved over to cut in front of me. He was signalling and figured that gave him the right to force me to hit my brakes and allow him entry. I continued forward, not wanting to brake and be rear-ended by the person immediately behind me.

He didn’t choose me; I chose him, and that surprised him. Yet, he consented and the result was a relationship that shaped my life for many years (and still does, through my memories of him). He didn’t pretend to be perfect and I didn’t expect him to be so. We didn’t agree on some things and, honestly, I can’t remember what those things were — but I can tell you that they didn’t matter. Even when he moved to another country, he kept in touch. If he was going to be in town, he let me know and we almost always got together.

I knew when I woke up that it was going to be a long day for me. First, I was preaching at another church to help out a friend. Then, at Living Room Church, I was tasked with leading the communion meditation. Following that, a family celebration had been scheduled for one of my nephews, whose birthday was this past Saturday. I was looking forward to it all, prepared for it all — but I had no idea of the surprise in store for me (and you know how hard I am to surprise!).

“It seems to me a man comes into this world with a little ready raw material — himself. His folks can only give him a sort of push, and a mite of teaching, but in the long run what a man becomes is his own problem. There’ve always been hard times, there’ve always been wars and troubles — famine, disease, and such-like — and some folks are born with money, some with none. In the end it is up to the man what he becomes, and none of those other things matter. In horses, dogs, and men it is character that counts.” (Chancy; Louis L’Amour)

“The length of our days is seventy years — or eighty, if we have the strength.” (Ps. 90:10)

I read that verse as a young person and passed quickly over it. What young person even thinks about being 70 years old, let alone worries about it? But, last Friday, I turned 70. I can attest to the fact of the second part of that verse: “or eighty, if we have strength.”

It was an “Aha!” moment for me. It happened one afternoon in the midst of 30 or 40 of you at what we call “Living Room Church.” Just weeks earlier, I had finished a 6-week teaching assignment at a local college. It was enjoyable but somewhat frustrating. Now, here I was, sharing some thoughts related to some aspect of the Christian life and then feeling challenged to convince those present that it mattered to them and that they should do something about it. The difference between those two assignments became crystal clear to me.

Did you hear the news? People are flocking (pardon the bad pun) to Inglewood Bird Sanctuary to view a very rare visitor to Calgary. I was going to make this the focus of my letter this week but then I saw a line in an article that changed my mind. Jody Allair with Birds Canada, said, “I would encourage people to go down to Inglewood and see it," He added, ”It won't be difficult. You just go where all the people are standing with their giant cameras. 

When is a problem no longer a problem? 

It’s not a trick question but the answer may not be as obvious to us as it seems to be. Many people only deal with a problem to the degree it actually comes to their attention or affects them and, thus, they consider the problem dealt with when it no longer appears to them in any way.

No adult I know takes delight in things like my youngest sister, Colleen. When it comes to delight, she is a piece of work! Shortly after her sixty-fifth birthday, Sharon and I stopped at her home in Medicine Hat on our way to an event in Saskatchewan. Because I know she loves it, we took her a cooler full of Chinese takeout. When she saw it, she literally yipped and then started doing a happy dance in view of the neighbourhood!