I present for your inspection the 47th graduating class of Wee College...

It was very scarey when he first stepped into the room. Twenty other little people were already there, waiting with their Moms and Dads... waiting for the beginning of something that had never been done before. The nervous talk of the parents over shadowed his nervous shuffling feet. He noticed all of the other four and five year old kids of course but it did not make him feel any better. Motionless he stood, waiting. Not one of the other little people were talking or so much as moving as they hung onto hands, skirt hems and jacket sleeves waiting...waiting... 

"What are we doing here, mom...? I want to go home!" 
"Mom don't you leave me?"
"Should I cry?" 
" I need to pee..." 

All these and many other  thoughts were flooding into their hearts and minds.

Then suddenly, into the quietness of this little room in the second floor classroom she walked. Bright and smiling, "Hello everyone", she said, as she stepped into the room and shut the door. It was Mrs. Bright Smile... Her big bright smile on her face was there no doubt, but it was doing nothing to waylay his fears as all he could see was the door shutting and this person he had never met standing in front of the only exit.

"Hello everyone...", she repeated. No one moved, no one spoke, no one wanted to be there. His mother nudged him forward with the kind but clear direction that only his mother could create at a moments notice. "Say hello... you would not want to be rude would you?" his mom said, motioning for him to stand up and speak up, like he had always been taught to do...

"Hello..." the voice trailed off into silence as the energy behind that small greeting drained from his entire body and disappeared into a whisper and then onto the floor as his face dropped from view. It was clear now...Mom was going to leave him with her... Mom was going to leave him with this...with this...smiley person. Mrs. Bright Smile... too happy, he thought...way too happy. He would have none of it. Turning to face his mother and away from the smile... he wanted to run...he wanted to plead with his mother not do leave him there... to take him with her where ever she was going. And then through the emotion of that moment he heard two words that would forever change the course of his life.

Now don't let that statement wash over you with the assumption that the author is waxing on and exaggerating the magnitude of those two simple words, but listen closely as I say them again. Just as he was about to cry or hide in the folds of his mothers skirt, run or refuse to be left behind... two words were sounded that forever changed the direction of his life.

The words? Why... they seem silly to place such weight behind them. For all she said was..."LET'S SING"

Sing? Did she just say sing? Why he loved singing. "It was the best and most fun a person of four could have", he thought. He sang everyday. When he woke up he sang, and came into the kitchen to grab his breakfast, he sang. He sang as he played in the back yard or as he walked home from playschool he sang. Loudly and with his whole heart he sang... and now this smiling face was inviting all the little people to sing. The lure was too much, throwing caution away he quickly left his mothers side and he plunked himself down on the floor right at the feet of "Mrs. Bright Smile"  He looked up as she smiled down and nodded approvingly. 

"We're going to Wee College and we are gaining knowledge... learning from the precious word of God." 

"The B.I.B.L.E yes that's the book for me...I stand alone on the word of God... The B.I.B.L.E." 

The words came easily and the melodies even easier as he learned the new songs and then sung them back as clearly and brightly as he could. He was going to like this Mrs. Bright Smile after all he thought... 
after all... 
after all... 
after all...these years I find my eyes once again filling with tears as I remember the songs of Wee College. Written by Shirley Taitinger these songs still come back to my memory complete with hand actions. 

To others in that room that day. Becky Smith, Donna Foley, Rod Kroeker as well as many others, that very first Wee College ever taught was an experience that changed all their lives. For some it was through the memorization of scripture.  To others it was the fine lessons we watched and heard under the excellent teachers of that course. To yet others it was the fannel graphs, the latest colour ones illustrating the bible stories bringing many of the truths to light. Of course those lessons have stood the test of time and have provided each of them with the foundation upon which they built their lives. But it was the songs for me... the simple songs written by this amazing woman of God... It was those songs that I have sung down through the years imbedding them into my subconsciousness and into my story that points the way for me, even in the darkest times. 

It was many many years ago and three ladies from Central Pentecostal Tabernacle Church in Edmonton began a simple yet amazing program to teach little people the truths of the word of God. It was many many years ago when the first theme for Wee College was sounded. Shirley's themes have now echoed across the nation and around the world with clarity and passion. Echoed into the hearts of other little people, other musicians, other pastors and leaders, other men and women of God... in the making. But it was that day that my music, my knowledge and my spirit came to life. And that flame has not extinguished an ounce even to this day.

So with that said, allow me to say thank you to Shirley... When asked at the last general conference in Ottawa she said, "I really did not do much... I only wrote the songs." Not only Shirley... not only. 

Oh wow...look at the time... I can't believe all our minutes have moved so quickly by... it time for our good bye song... remember it everyone for it will help you each day this week until we meet to sing again...

"Wee College is almost over and we are going home....good bye... good bye...be always kind and good... good bye... good bye...be always kind and good."

I HAVE A QUESTION!

Does Gods process of making something beautiful that previously was broken
... always mean that the beautiful thing is no longer broken? 
... ever mean that the beautiful thing is no longer broken?

Or instead does the brokenness of our lives simply provide the backdrop onto which we paint the colours of our walk and journey through life?

Recently, I have been watching an individual deal with the loss of  family...  passions and relationships. BROKEN would be a kind way to describe the difficult pathway that is being walked. BROKEN to the point where no vision for hope or reconciliation is anywhere on the horizon. 

For the past 36 years I have been in the front row as I have watched my sister struggle through mental illness and depression, BROKEN. I was there as my mom and dad loaded us all up into the station wagon and we headed down the sawdust trail, ( an old reference to the camp meetings ) in the hope that a person of faith would impart into my sister the freedom and restoration that she clearly needed. Yet no healing was precept-ably given, no new sister emerged, no "healing or deliverance occurred... complete with restored memories and refreshed intellect... and yet...

For my entire life I have been carrying around the design flaw (?) that has threatened my life BROKEN. On at least four occasions the sword of Damocles has been hanging over my head, ready at a breath of air to fall and strike me down. Or to at least break me again.

It is against this stark dark backdrop that I ask my question...

As people of faith we understand that with God nothing is impossible and all broken people can be made new, all broken relationships and passions can be restored, and that all broken bodies and minds can be reborn. We sing about it, we preach it, we believe it. But does God always intend it? 

Before you start heating the tar and plucking chickens let me have a moment to explain. 

This world is broken and we are just as broken and in need of the life of Christ to breathe into our mortal bodies and hearts. But when God breathes he often leaves the scars from the wounds of our situation in tack. They are often there to remind us of the pain from which we have been rescued and the reality of His Gospel. 

God the father, resurrected Jesus from the dead, and restored to him the mortal body that was his since before the beginning of time. BUT IT WAS BROKEN! This time the supernatural body that Jesus had was complete with scars on his body. Not just the ones on his hands and feet but a hole big enough in his side that Thomas could have placed his hand into it. Christs God given glorified, eternal body was BROKEN and by no means perfect, pristine or flawless.

Do you carry the load that this existence has given you? Does your hand brush against the scar from a previous encounter with the absolute certainty of lifes brutality? May I pray for you.

May I pray that the grace of God rather than the grave of this world define you? May I pray that the intensity of Gods love, rather than the indifference of this worlds friendship restore you? May I pray that the wounds of the your treatment at the hands of a tyrant would through Gods love become the scars of your testimony in the hands of a saviour? Lastly, May I pray that the reality of Jesus pain bring you to understand that above all powers... above all things, Jesus gets you?

May I...? I hope so because I just did.

AND THE TRAX PLAYED ON...

IRON SHARPENING VS THE ILLUSION OF COMMUNITY - PART II

This morning I saw over 370 children on a single stage in a single church singing songs about a child in a manger.
...Hundreds of pictures taken... and the cd trax played on.
...grown men crawling around on a concrete floor to gain a better photo shot location... and the cd trax played on.
...mothers crying though out the church as they watched their little Johnny, Suzy or what ever the kids name was...and the cd trax played on.
...Grandparents who had never been in church this year, thrilled to the sight of little Billy Bob swing his arms back and forth like a washing machine somehow mimicking the actions of a cradle...and the cd trax played on.
... and he/she (the kid) stood there like a deer in headlights ...and the cd trax played on...

I stood there watching this organized confusion...this chaos...this riot of children somehow attempting to form what could weakly be described as a choir, but more accurately described as a mob and I had no choice to respond... as only one who had a clear understanding of the challenge of the generation next issues could respond...

I smiled.

This community was alive and well... and the emerging generation where were they? They were all down at the Starbucks building a different community...with those who were just like them... They were sitting in a mindless circle supposedly expanding their thinking by talking about issues that "really matter" while their younger brothers... nieces...nephews... and entire families enjoyed the ritual of the Christmas concert.
Their explanation, was as simplistic as their hearts. It's too contrived one said... too planned... said another. Indoctrination...said yet another. Look Dave even the trax were controlled...it wasn't real music.

And yet it was real... you see often times under the guise of authentic community we underestimate the place of rituals and traditions. These timeless events score card for us the innings of our lives... They mark the moments of passage from childhood thru young adult thinking to maturity. And it is these very same traditions that provide the foundation upon which real honest appraisal and thinking can occur. For it is from the solid foundation of people who know where they have come from, that the ground breaking visionaries of the future can rise. Not the momentary flash in the pan thinkers, momentary genius glimpse's but the steady culture changing men and women who know and run to the battle because the have the ground leveled under them through the lives of those who have come before. Those brave forefathers have built the structure upon which real change and community can be formed.

and the cd trax played on...

But instead these "relevant thinkers" sat and discussed how they were not a part of the music...did not want to sing...and would never be a part of the community of people who sang to the trax.

I thought as I listened and reflected about the music cd which blared the background trax for the kids to sing along, how similar the trax is to the music of our lives. We all have the same background music playing... you know the tune... We live, we grow, we love, we let go and we die... yeah that music. Community is found in the music... in singing along with the trax that has gone on for decades

... the music of God.

How much of this vane struggle for community and being apart of something is simply an attempt by those seeking to avoid the bigger issues in life. And just like authentic relationships that will stand the test of time and struggle so will the music of our lives. Together we live our lives to the very same changeless melody of pending death. And it is against this backdrop that I sat this morning...smiling...

Have a great Christmas season...I'm going to get a candy bag from Mr Kuhn...just like I did when I was eight.

"Be near me Lord Jesus I ask Thee to say...close by me forever and love me I pray...bless all the dear children in Thy tender care and take us to heaven to live with Thee there."

IRON SHARPENING VS THE ILLUSION OF COMMUNITY

With all the merging generation pontificating about the mascarade that the church is at presently demonstrating...and with their communication that is being foisted on the church as authentic and real...relational and vibrant. Few if any really have the courage to build relationships that challenge and stand... people committed to each other come what may.

Even those Velvet Elvis groupies who somehow can vax on at infinitum about the woes and problem within the church and speak community until your ears turn blue and fuzzy...and yet...bolt the moment that someone has the courage to call them out and challenge them on their life, their ethics, or their morals.

How shallow our entire culture has become...we live in a low commitment, low impact world. Where we talk about "making a difference" and "standing up for others" when we in fact live shallow lives. Lives that are based on some vain idea that we are to be in happy bliss with those in the church... continually growing through some quiet move of God on our spirits as we merge with the eternal goodness of God ...and therefore somehow blend our personalities seamlessly and effortlessly with the goodness that He is.

Rather than the iron sharpening battle ready church community who have the guts to talk openly and honestly about who each of us are and more importantly who each of us are not.

I understand why we, the church used to describe each other as brother and sister... because brothers and sisters should be able to stand toe to toe and fight out the issues in a family without the chance that the relationship would be destroyed.

You see I am beginning to understand this issue better because I had the privilege to work with my brother in law, and although I hated it when he did it, he was able and willing to come into my office and challenge me on what I had done, said and even who I was. Man is that difficult to swallow when he said that I have screwed up and I need to fix it. But there is nothing that he can say (within reason) that can break our brotherhood. He will still be sitting at the table on the 25 of December and I will still be loving him...

So to all those who somewhere in your heart are chasing the rainbow of community I have a challenge for you... Stop running and searching for authentic relationships in others and find it in your relationship with God beginning by being honest with yourself. Yeah that's it....stand up and be honest... and let the shallow relationships fall by the wayside. The ones that remain will be the ones that are honest enough to matter for more then right here and right now. They will matter for tomorrow and forever.

Trust me...would I lie to you?

April 30 2006

Today 13 years at ET Family Church comes to an end. I will be leaving Nanaimo on the 3:00 pm ferry today and I will be leaving behind many incredible things.
There have been many…
· years of memories that simply could never be counted.
· friends too close to our hearts to even be able to express what you’re meant to us.
· ministries that have touched heaven and, through the power of the Holy Spirit, touched lives…ours being the first.
· years of change that have brought God’s plan into focus in my family as well as our church.
· moments of deep sorrow at the passing good friends and family.
· moments of great joy as we have welcomed into this world new lives and little ones.
· songs sung.
· messages shared.
· testimonies spoken.
· tears cried.
· jokes told (many poor ones).

And now…through it all I’ve learned to trust in Jesus. I’ve learned to trust in God.

Good Bye... I love you all.

Dave

DEDICATED TO MISS LAURA JOHNSTONE... A FRIEND

“I have had many things in my hands and I have lost them all. But whatever I have placed in God’s hands, that I still possess.” (Martin Luther)

“Preach the Word, David! Preach the Word… and with that our 13 year conversation came to an end.

The conversation had begun some 12 years and 10 month previously. I had just left the platform of this assembly after preaching for the second time that busy January 17th evening. After apologizing for not properly having time to prepare for the second sermon I was forcibly spoken to and reminded, “Never underestimate the power of the Word of God for the Salvation of man. Further, never apologize for the Word for it is the power of God unto salvation.” The words were clear and the message heard. Preach the Word, David! Preach the Word…

Throughout our time together opportunities came and went and we, like war weary combatants through the years contended for the faith. (Proverbs 27:17 KJV “As Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.” And without a doubt she was my friend. Preach the Word, David! Preach the Word…


We discussed the effect of the new emerging post modern culture on the landscape of the church and the challenge of cross-generational communication without losing the cross in the communication. We argued about the error-filled messages that were being taught in the latest worship chorus and the error-filled messages communicated in some of the old ones. But faithfully we always came back to the way, the truth and the life. Preach the Word, David! Preach the Word…

Many hours of precious time were spent talking and correcting the views of this upstart, headstrong, maverick but always with love. There was always a sense of respect for who I was and I have never sensed a more complete acceptance than when I sat with the tea cup in my hand and the Word of God on our lips. Never have I ever sensed that someone had my back covered more than when I was being taken to task for the song sung or the words spoken. For somewhere in the midst of the quiet, thoughtful discussion the love for who I was came screaming through. Preach the Word, David! Preach the Word…

May my heart of reflection today encourage you to venture into the difficult terrain of the lives of those who… “simply… should know better…” For if you do, they will. If you speak they will listen. If you reach out they will reach back to you. Hebrews 12:1-2 “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Preach the Word, David! Preach the Word…yes…I will.

FRIENDS ARE FRIENDS FOREVER...
SORT OF.

Have you ever left somewhere? I have. You make the announcement...set your plans...schedule your life and then...you have to do the most difficult thing imaginable. You have to tell your friends you're leaving them.

Now at first their response is always...you know.... positive... encouraging even. They smile with that half smile and congratulate you on the move that is occuring. They cry for a moment...or at least tear up as they try and maintain their cool and then...

... the challenges start...

It begins with the look...actually it's more like the lack of looking. When you see them they turn away...just for a moment at first and then more and more... as the day approaches. Then they sit farther from you at gatherings then they used to...and gravitate towards others, when all you want to do is capture that last few weeks...moments even...together. But that is not about to happen.

Time moves forward and the disappointment grows more and more. They get even more frustrated with you...without you ever knowing what is wrong. (Actually... neither do they.) Words are few and grow stronger and more angry as the days shorten. And then it happens... Mt. St. Helens erupts and words are exchanged... or worse Mt St. Helens does not erupt and instead continues to boil...and grow. (It can for years)

It seems to me that these feelings of frustration come not from the shallow seemingly meaningless relationships with associates that fill our lives with activity but rather with the few deep friendships that come along rarely. It is in these seemingly safe places that the deepest anger and explosions can occur. Of course... not because you don't love, respect or appreciate each other... but rather because you do.

A wise man, once said to me...it is far easier to be angry with someone then to say good bye. (And he was right.) We replace our feelings of deep loss and deep disappointment with anger because if we are angry we really can't be hurt as easily. It's a defense mechanism...

Now you all may be well aware of this and I may be the only one on the outside, but for those of you who are not...please forgive me if over the past few years I have been angry as you have felt my life. And I will forgive you as we have struggled through the feelings of loss and sorrow. I know this stuff... I have for years...but there is a difference between knowing something and knowing something...if you get my meaning.

So to all of you who I will miss terribly forgive me if I rant...get angry...or lash out! It is clearly only an example of the love I have for you... I just hate saying goodbye...

ROUTE 66

"If you should plan to motor west. Travel my way take the highway that's the best...get your kicks on route 66."

We did. My father and I.

The year was 1993 and it was January, and we had the dubious task of making it across the continent from London Ontario to Nanaimo British Columbia in the heart of a Canadian Winter. As this climate can do... it stormed to the point that all roads heading west were closed. The Yellowhead, the Thompson, and the Trans Canada Highways were all completely closed, as were the northern routes in the US... leaving us with few if any options. Now we all know that the shortest distance between two points may be, as the mathematicians tell you, a straight line but it is often not the one that the Lord takes you on.

So when I asked my father what we should do he simply began to sing. Yup...sing. Route 66. Your kidding right dad? That would take us to Sacramento California? I said. "Yes, he said, "...and it will be a great trip...history in the making". So we set out. Six days and thousands of miles later we arrived on Vancouver Island via Ontario, Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Oregon, and Washington State. And we had the time of our lives.

Life's lines are often winding and seemingly not really pointed at the goal that you intended. As it was when we travelled... but I would love to go back to that car and take just one more trip with my hero. Just one more moment to laugh so hard that we almost lose control of the wheel. Just one more lunch at a greasy spoon truck stop...just one more...anything.

When I went to London from Edmonton we travelled together...when I went to Nanaimo from London we travelled together...but this time...on April 30th. I leave alone.

Someone once said that life is not about arriving but it is rather a journey. If that is true I would like to encourage each of you to take a trip... get behind the wheel of a car with someone you love...and talk, laugh, joke and enjoy each other. Now...before it's too late...or you will find yourself on the long road of life...alone.

"LOOK DAD THE SHORE"

The rain was falling in those relentless vertical sheets that can really only happen on the prairies. As I dug into the water and pushed my paddle deep to really get a bite, sweat poured from my forehead stinging my eyes and leaving that salty taste in my mouth. Up into the air the canoe rose leaving this eight year old hanging in mid air for what seemed like an eternity until, “bam” we would clear the wave and the front end would once again slam into the lake allowing my paddle to again dig into the water. Minutes turned into hours as we struggled to get off the lake and safely get back to the car and the safety of shore.

The day started out so differently. It as sunny and warm as we stuck camp and the 20 scouts readied themselves for the hour long trip across long lake in Alberta. Laughter was everywhere as they threw their tents, packs and numerous finds back into their canoes and pushed off from shore. The canoe camping trip had been a wonderful time of cold water fights and warm campfires, comfortable sleeping bags to take away the chill and great bear stories to bring it back. And through it all he was there, Dad. Not out front like some of the other dad’s were. Trying to be cool… trying to fit in. No he was just there. Quietly setting up the camp, making the meals and preparing for our next great adventure. And now with a prairie storm roaring down on us in seconds, we were in the one of the great adventures of our lives.

The crying was the most frustrating. Scouts that yesterday were the toughest in the pack were now…crying wishing to be anywhere else then in their canoe. Their dad’s equally loud as they asked for direction and loudly cursed the storm and quietly cursed my dad for getting them into this mess.

But there he sat, strongly and clearly giving direction to the other canoes how to follow in a tight pattern to minimize the effects of the waves. There he sat, wind and rain hitting his face with more and more velocity, with water running off the brim of his hat hitting his soaked jacket and disappearing. There he sat, a rock.

“Turn around and paddle David we need to set the pace…set an example.” So I turned and faced the storm. From where I was sitting I could see no other canoes, nor the shore, just the waves. From where I sat all the crying and shouting behind me somehow was covered over by the wind and the slap of the paddles. From where I sat all I could see was the waves and all I could hear was my Dad. “Stroke, stroke stroke….ok switch sides David…now again…stroke.”

Now thirty four years later I again hear the voice of my Dad. “Turn around a paddle David we need to set the pace…set an example.” His voice echoes from across the lake to my desk where I sit today, just a few days before my own Fathers Day and my children listening to this father as I face the storms of life and trust my heavenly father that he will get us home safely.

Dad turns eighty this year, his scouting days are over, “the ground is just too hard…” he says, but his influence remains. With his faith strong and his eyes fixed on the shore he pushes out once again into the last paddle of his life. Not knowing whether this one will be a long or short trip he has prepared for the trip that must come to all. His pack is ready, his heavenly father has made a way and his determination is set. Courage, strength and integrity are all safely stowed with him. Faith is his canoe and Love has provided him with all he needs. So, on this Fathers Day Dad, I promise to turn my face to the task at hand and paddle…no wavering, no crying, no hesitation, just faith, because somehow I know that’s what you would want.

Look Dad… the shore.

David Vincent Britten Wood went to be with his Lord on November 6th. 2005.
I have the paddle still.

THE LOST ART OF SAYING GOODBYE

I believe that there are few people, if any, well versed in this art. We have perfected the art of hello, today and excitement, but fail miserably in the art of goodbye, tomorrow and sorrow. It just seems that my Lord is at present teaching me this lost art.

My ignorance of my heart and health was the first to which I said goodbye. Sadly I watched as just over a week of my life removed more from me than I even realized.

Secondly I watched as I said goodbye to my father. A man of eighty in his body but 25 in his heart. A man who's personal integrity, passion for life and the mountains was the stuff of legends. (that he was pleased to relate to you if you were willing to listen. )

And now thirdly, I watched as the position of 13 years fades to black and the curtain lowers on the days in the sun. Lowers on the times of diapers and suckies...elementary schools and piano lessons... learning to walk and talk, but now raises on youth events and pizza parties...high school and band rehearsals... dating and marriage.

Yes... goodbyes are difficult.

I wonder how God perceived ours fretting about our goodbyes. Does he solely view them from his side and with his glasses placed at the end of his nose...shaking his head and saying..."my son don't worry about it... in time you will understand" or does he grieve with us as we simply cannot see through the veil into tomorrow and we fret and worry and grieve and cry. I wonder.

Goodbyes are simply not something that you get good at... It's an art that God himself is not good at. I'm sorry but I think that even God the father is bad at it. He's never had to do it for long and when separated from his son... he covered his creation and shook it in response to the feeling. No...even he is not good at goodbye...

This is an art form that is more like modern art and less like the classic masters. Throw the paint up on the canvas because it's going to hurt like anything so you might as well let it out, and throw it as hard as you can. In the end the goodbye will not look at all like you thought it would and it is God's responsibility to make it come together. So throw away...let Him deal with it.

So...Goodbye...all of you...I will miss you all tons...but especially you Dad....especially you.