The Other World of Canadian Court Systems

This past week I have been rocked again with the situation in our court system. Again most people have few clues as to how the legal system deals with the crimes that are being judged in our country. For the most part “John Q. and his wife Jane Public” have no idea – nor will they ever know – how court is conducted.

Now when I use the word “court” most people will equate it to what happens inside the actual court room. They will now some things about “court” from favorite court TV Programs…ranging from Perry Mason re-runs to the more modern Judge Judy, Judge George or whoever. Or in recent years with the Media Circus type of court cases such as Conrad Black in Chicago. What his case has to do with anyone in Canada is so remote it is not funny. Other than the fact that all of us have bought one or more of his Newspapers, for years, to read of other court cases – it is not part of our lives.

If the words Conrad Black or O.J. Simpson are placed in the context of a discussion of court, the average person feels that they know what court is all about.

I want to shout this statement loud a clear… “Court is not entertainment!” Court is a whole lot more than that. Let me explain…

Let’s go to court...
Court begins the minute you get out of bed on the day of your court session. Whether you are the one being charged or the one that is a victim – you will begin early. Depending on your area of the country most courts have a start time when the doors will open for business – let say 9:30 AM – which was the case for the court sessions we had this week. ‘What will you wear?’ is a good start too.

In my focus case everyone got up early. One potential player in the court case I was attending had to get up at about 5:00 AM and then leave Toronto to travel to Peterborough – two hours away. His grandson was to make an appearance that day. His grandson is in jail now. Grandpa is 85 years old and drives the whole distance each way himself.

Outside the Court House – Parking for cars is at a premium and the “meter readers” regularly swarm the parking meters to give out fines. Who in the world is concentrating on how much money is in the meter when their son is going to be placed in jail for a long time? Fortunately for some of the moms with kids and strollers… they all came in the different Taxis that play on the miserable.

Grandpa’s grandson had to travel 45 minutes from the jail (Lindsay, Ont.) he is being held in to the court house in our city. That meant that he had to leave the jail by police escort by around 8:30 AM. But before that happened he had to be up and checked through the handlers at the “shipping and receiving” area of the jail – where he is stripped of his orange jump suit jail clothes – and given his “street clothes” no matter how dirty they are to wear into court. He had to be out of his cell by about 7:00 AM – likely without food… which because of the tension and anger he would not likely eat anyway. Being that he is not the only one that is being transported that day they would all have to get up at about 5:00 AM also to be cleared from the “shipping and receiving” area (not its real name).

The family members and those that are interested/concerned with justice being done would have to be there by 9:30 AM as well.

On Thursday many families were involved in many cases and the children were everywhere in the hallways… along with their moms and grandmoms and aunties and women that lived next door to where crimes were committed. The hallway is strained with many bodies and not as many chairs as are needed to wait it out. People sit knee to knee facing each other with about four feet across the hallway. Everyone waits here – accused(not jailed) and those that have been harmed by the accused. The families of the jailed accused mingle with the family and supporters of the abused/victims. They use the same washroom with its three stalls and two sinks – one for men and one for women.

Now 9:30 AM is the time the doors of the individual courts open – it is not the time that the case you are waiting for will come up. That could be 11:45 AM – or 2:45 PM – or was that 10:15 AM – or whenever the lawyer shows up with the goodies he has under his arms and in the large black brief case at his side. Lawyers buzz in and out of the court room through different doors – like worker bees in a bee hive. Random and without reason – but great purpose to make their next buck off the “flowers” that sit in the hallways and in the cells below. Some will pay for the parking tickets that they are getting outside on their BMWs and Dodge Vipers.

In the case that I waited and prayed for – it took 7 hours the first day and 5 hours the second day. On both days we saw the accused grandson stand before the judge in the “box” for five minutes. And it is not over. The next potential Bail Hearing will be on Tuesday of next week – where in all likelihood the grandson will not be granted bail at all with no one willing or able to post “the surety” that he needs. In order to be eligible they must put up about $10,000 that could be lost if the grandson does something stupid or fails to appear when required. The grandson also has to live with “the surety”.

The actual offense will not be dealt with until the middle of July if he stays in jail… and not until four to six months if he gets bail. In the meantime he has lost his job, his family and contact with his wife and child… they cannot even visit him no matter how much forgiveness they feel or want. This is the law and it will not be transgressed.

Add to that the Children’s Aid Society – CAS (which has now been involved in this case) and there are whole new set or rules. They are stating that “he” will not see his wife and child for more than a year.

Now Back to Court…
Every person in the hallway is involved in similar situations to the one described. There is tension in the hallway so thick you can cut it with a knife. Add to that hungry children and fussy children that had to get up to early and moms that are poorly dressed and grandmoms that haven’t slept well… you can easily say that it is chaos at a low level. Stir into this mixture with unformed police officers and court officials and court staff and lawyers of all shapes and sizes… and the chaos rises. Now have half the hallway audience not know when their turn is to go in next or what to do… it is frightening. Confusion is on a number of faces. Anguish is plastered on others. Contempt is written on others as they have been here many times and they know the ropes well. Court Officers greet some young people by first names as they have been here so often.

One young man grinned as the adult man greeted him. The young man was likely about 16 or 17 years old with a cool hat on at weird angle. He stood beside the baby stroller with the young mom wearing the revealing top. When the adult man, a court officer, asked how he was doing he smiled broadly with a toothless grin and said, “This is my new son…” and never mentioned the “Mrs”.

Sitting beside me was a broken woman. Her life had so many scars on it that it would be not possible to share all of them. She talked with me as we sat side by side.

I had noticed earlier that her two kids, an 8 year old boy and 7 year old daughter, were being guarded by a police officer that I know. They were being lead through this busy hallway by two ‘victim’s services’ ladies so that no contact was made by their daddy’s family or by their daddy. Each time the little kids came from the court room their eyes were red and swollen – and cheeks were wet. They had been telling the tragic story again to a court room full of supporters for their daddy, along with the judge and court people.

The mom’s husky voice described the scene behind the scene. When her 8 year old son had to go to the toilet, she had to check the men’s bathroom for anyone that might be inside. If daddy’s brothers were inside he couldn’t go inside as they might threaten him and mess up his small testimony. Remember there is only one men’s washroom.

There is no room for the kids to wait in either. Because dad was being hugged and cared for by his total family support – the children that he had fathered and hurt so terribly had to sit in the Crown Prosecutor’s office and color the pictures on his desk. They sat on their knees at the big people’s chairs to get their coloring done – climbing down once in a while to get the crayons they had dropped.

Mom’s husky voice broke as she talked about her pain for her kids.

Why…?
In almost every situation I see in the hallways at court there was one main problem. That problem is horrible – it is ANGER. Couples that hate each other’s guts and dealt with it in horrific ways the nights and months before… in some cases over a very long relationship – now face off with their hatred to get at each other. Then they became ‘Parents’ and messed up their kids life.

When I fast forward the lives of these small children 10 to 15 years from now – I ask the question of myself – ‘Will they be parents by then and struggling to fight out awkward legal battles with other ‘child parents’ too?’
The sadness that I feel as I witness what ANGER can do – is simply overwhelming. Mixing that anger into impossible court hallways is simply stupid!

Today and tomorrow – Saturday & Sunday – I need a great baptism of love. I need to have huge waves of love sweep over me to wash away the pain that I feel.

So if you think that I am too religious when I say I need God’s help… that’s too bad. I have learned that I cannot do it myself. I need him.

Finally…
Say …. If you are interested… I would love to have you come to court with me sometime. Of if you are not near where I live – I ask you to go and take a look for yourself.

And if perchance you are ever designing a new court house – call me – I have some really great ideas to make some huge differences.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Life - Death - Life - The Story of the Clematis Brothers

The area of our yard is not good. It is tucked in an awkward corner. The ground is more sandy than the rest of the yard with little top soil to make a good garden area. The soil is right up against the foundation of the house. When this part of our house was added years ago it was built and then the back fill was added – not the best fill for sure. Whoever did the job was interested in construction of a house and not gardening.

A few years back my wife bought two small plants – two Clematis actually. Together we watered and nurtured these struggling little guys. Each time I mowed the grass I had to be careful that the lawnmower didn’t whack off the small branches. We installed a plastic apparatus behind it to let the vine crawl up the wall which it did easily. The Clematis is a climbing vine. For two years the root base of the vine matured and last year it became very mature from what we could see – and it out did the cheap plastic thing and bent it to the ground.

Last fall, against my best judgment, Alida whacked the vine down entirely and it became nothing. This was not a pruning but rather murder! How could anything ever come out of this complete destruction of the two little brothers on the back wall of the house.

In faith, she had me build a new trellis for the two vines to climb on. It looked pretty funny actually. I built this trellis that is ten feet high and eight feet wide. The shoots from the ground that began in the springtime could hardly reach the lowest bar of the trellis.

“Oh yee of little faith…” is the best comment to describe me as a gardener…! Today the two Clematis Brothers are entwined and shooting sky ward at a rapid pace. From the photos you can see the strength – one side has now reached the top of ten feet. The other is close behind. They also are almost to the eight foot wide mark with some trellis still available for more vine – but not much.

And the colour is even more vibrant as the flowers have more room to spread out. Last years this had been a mish mash of flowers that pressed for the freedom to be seen. The vine was bent over and fell to the ground. Kind of like a movie stars on the red carpet.

So much like life…
In the world that I am struggling with I see tragedies of all sorts. Lives and marriages cut to the lowest points. In fact sometimes they are cut off completely. I often scratch my head and wonder how anything can come from the disaster that is unfolding in front of me. “Oh yee of little faith…” happens again. I cannot figure my way out of what is happening in front of me. How can anything good come from this horror?

Yesterday someone called to inform me that one of my former assistant pastors, that served with me, had died suddenly. He was in his late 40s. His marriage had split up and his wife was living far away. The death may not have been natural – they are doing the autopsy as I write to determine what did take place. My heart sank as I heard the news.

It was not that long ago that their marriage had broken to pieces and she had moved far away. He was left alone with no one. There was no ministry for people like this man – how does he ever counsel someone else when his own life is such a mess?

He died alone far away from anyone that loved him.

I spoke with his wife last night. She relayed how a miracle has taken place for both of their kids. They are completing college and are doing well. Both have a great future up ahead. Both are a lot like their dad with good abilities to do great things in helping people that hurt. It could be that both of her kids might complete their studies to become ministers like their dad was. As this pastor’s wife spoke she was happy that her kids were advancing the way that they were.

The family had been cut down and almost destroyed. Today – even in the face of great obstacles they are okay and blossoming again. A lot like the Clematis as it takes over the new space provided for it.

But it doesn’t stop. Today we are in court with another sad family that is in crisis. I have no idea what will come from this one. It seems that things could not get darker and more impossible.

Yet I remember the Clematis. It was cut down but the roots were still there. What was happening below the ground was far more important than what I could see above the ground.

Please think of two families that I am working with today. If you are a person that prays – please slip one of more in for these people. Something good is going to happen – I am sure of it…. It is just hard to see it right now…

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

When Someone Dies in Prison - What then?

Truly it is a world that I have not considered. I think that most Canadians have not considered this either – or even know about it. It is a world of deep sorrow that few people would know exists.

Okay what are you talking about Murray? The answer is death and dieing inside of prison and how it is dealt with.

Yes I know that we all think of death from time to time. Even if it is only for a small amount of time or in small ways – we think about dieing. We think about it when we buy Life Insurance. We consider it when we get home mortgages and what might happen to our investments if one of us were to die. We don’t want our spouse or families to lose the equity that we built up over the years. Then as soon as the mechanism of insurance is in place we move to a more pleasant thought of living forever and good health.

But most of us do not or have not thought about men inside of prison dieing – and then as an extension to that – what happens to their families on the outside. How and when do the families find out about their son inside – who has just lost his life? How does a wife on the outside find out about her husband that died in a jail cell early this morning? How do you tell the kids?

“Who cares?” is the response of some… “He deserved it – he was a criminal wasn’t he?” But did the family deserve it? What did they do so wrong?

Prison is about ‘penal stuff’ in many people’s mindsets. It is about punishment and keeping these monsters away from the rest of us. But it is also about families and the way that we deal with or don’t deal with the emotions of those that are left.

This week I sat in an extensive seminar that dealt with this very topic. I admit that I have not considered what the men and women that deal with prisoners go through. The Prison Chaplains in our Prison system face untold stories of tragedy and heartache as they have to tell the families of men in prison – that their loved one is dead.

Together in the seminar we listened to two Correctional Officers, Tim and Ben from Britain, talk about what they are now doing in their country to make some changes to their system. That was one of the eye openers for a starter – let alone the main eye opener of how our own Canadian Chaplains have to deal with this under the present guidelines and policies.

Presently and in an average situation…
When a man dies in prison the Chaplain is called. He or she then becomes responsible to contact the man’s next of kin to let them know what has happened. Usually this is accomplished by a telephone call to the family as soon as it can be done. If the body is found late at night the call is made. The ‘system’ has wanted this done as soon as it can be done.

One can only begin to imagine what might take place in the community outside of prison, in some small town, or some quite home when that tragic news arrives by telephone. The years of anguish of following their son, husband, dad, uncle, grandpa, or whoever it is through the justice system – is suddenly over with a cold telephone call. No matter how hard a Chaplain tries to put on a soft voice and compose a carefully worded announcement.

The questions that scream their way into the minds of the family are like these following. How did he die? Was it a natural death? Was it suicide? Was it murder? Was he alone? What happened? I don’t believe it – it can’t be! We just saw him last month and he was fine and so excited about his release day coming so soon… how can this happen inside of prison? How? Why? When? Where? What will we do now? We can’t afford a funeral and he had no insurance that we know of … what now? You mean we can’t see him? How do we get the body?

Now add to this developing scenario the fact that the one receiving the call may be an elderly person – or a couple with little means. What if the wife is living with her children on a government assistance program and they are depending on Food Bank services to just eat – because after dad went to prison their lives fell apart completely? Just about anything is possible on the other end of the telephone when that horrible call is made.

In one of sessions in the seminar I listened to story after story of anguish that Chaplains have gone through as they made the call. I admire the men and women that have to deal with this. I am unable to find words or the support that I need to give to these people on a front line – that we never even knew about. My heart goes out to them. There isn’t space here to tell all of the accounts that were shared. It was almost overwhelming.

So what can be done….?
Tim and Ben shared the reasons that a change was made in Britain’s HMPS – “Her Majesty’s Prison System”

Men and women in the Prison system are being trained as ‘FLOs’ – “Family Liaison Officers”. These men and women are actually active, serving Correctional Officers that are trained to take the responsibility to contact the family in person. When a death takes place they leave the prison and go directly to the home of the family connected to the inmate – and tell them in person. To share the entire program would take to long in this article – but summing it up I can say it is amazing.

It has happened in a short length of time and has been operating over the past two and half years. There are now 200 FLOs working in the HMPS. There are 80,000 men and women in the four different levels of prison in Britain. The system is very different than that of Canada – one system not the two that we have with Provincial and Federal levels of incarceration.

I suspect that the Correctional Services Canada, that look after the prisoners in Canada, are considering this as an alternative or addition to our system as well. When the question was asked and answer it was suggested that it may be considered at some levels now.

The Chaplains taking part in this day were encouraged with what they heard. So was I.

My compassion and humanity was touched deeply as I was involved with this group. My love goes out to the Chaplains as they do what they do so faithfully. My life has been rearranged to have to consider the difficulties and then look for answers to deal with dieing prisoners in a better way – and specially their families on the outside.

Have you ever thanked a Chaplain for what they do? Have you taken time to give your encouragement to them? Do we love our troops?

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Dealing with the Hole in Your Soul

“Bad news comes in threes” is an old folksy saying. Guess what it is true – at least on Monday, June 25, 2007! It couldn’t get worse. I was beginning to be afraid to answer the telephone. Each call had its own weight and confusion. It took hours unravel the stuff that came my way in one series of calls. The weight of humanity’s problems seemed to come my way all at once.

How do you cope with that Murray? I am not really sure – except walking carefully and steadily toward the end of the day was important. The end of the day would cover all the pain of that day. Just hanging on until it’s over was all that was important for the moment.

I know I am not the first to have this happen to me so there will be others to answer that question as well. I would love to hear how you deal with it for sure.

From what I witnessed the interaction of simple human beings that are “normal” hours and days before, is destroyed in a heart beat with anger and violence – with medication complication and with stubbornness. All of the issues were above my ability to understand let alone work through. It left me staggering from the circumstances.

It was at that moment that I found a place that I describe as the hole in my soul. It is a place that there is nothing left. It has opened and all of me drained out. I couldn’t find a plug to stop the draining either – it was a helpless feeling – totally helpless.

Now I know that most read this Blog and enjoy the comedy, reflection and the brightness that God blesses me with from day to day. I love the sense that I can share openly with so many and encourage a lot.

Why do I face the darkness and how do I get through this mess reasonably with out dieing in the middle of it all? How do I go on breathing when life seems to be sucked away?

That is likely the reason that I faced what I did… to help me help others.

Later in the evening, when it was dark and the air had grown cooler I exited my refuge of my garage. I stood in the driveway for a long time looking at the brilliant stars above me. As I drank in the scene there was a new peace that trickled into the hole that was so torn and empty. This peace closed the ragged corners when pain was so vibrant and sore. Then the gentle quietness came to flood the still open cavity and the hole closed slowly. God touched the hurt and the pain lifted. I slept like a baby after that.

If peace and quiet is possible – why in the world do we have to take these hard steps through the pain and agony? Couldn’t God make us a bit more ‘robotic’ – more machine like so that we could simply face these issues in a more mechanical way and process away the tragedy?

Nope – is the answer that I get. Nope – He wants me to remember what He has done and what He can do to help me. God is that way for me – personal and caring.

I am a professional pain reliever… as a pastor I am called to hurting situations to relieve the pain and brighten people’s way as they walk dark valleys. I am good at what I do – that is why people call. Yet when I hurt – why? I should be able to deal with these things better – yet don’t. I am ordinary too…not professional in any way when it comes to grief with life’s struggles.

This recent terrible day was a good reminder of how I can see the hole in my own soul filled with the right stuff. It is the best thing that I now know to take the next step into tomorrow – my today.

June 25, 2007 is only six months away from Christmas – again!?! Yet June 25, 2007 was a growing day for me. I grew through the pain and the sorrow. Wow – what a day.

Thanks for caring.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Conquering Armies Advance

The little army is advancing. You can’t quite hear it but it is coming. My eyes are drawn to the area often and my attention is on it as I walk by. There is a war on now…. Not in Iraq or Afghanistan – or another distant place in the world. It is on my street – quite close to my home.

The war is with a little yellow weed that is coming down our street – jumping from one piece of grass to the next. It is ravenous in that when it roots itself it fills an area of grass that may not have many blades of grass at all. It is pretty and seems to be full in the area that it grows. But it is deadly – everything beside it eventually dies.

It is fairly easy to pick from the area that it is growing in. However when you pick it there is a hole that doesn’t fill right away. Also I have noted that when you grab it to pick it there are many runners sent out from the mother plant. The runners in turn send down little shoots from their stems to root at the place they touch the ground.

In simple terms the weed is somewhat of a monster. In our case this monster is as close as my next door neighbor’s lawn – with one small section of grass between our main lawn and the weeds in his yard.

The other day my neighbor was sitting in the grass and pulling a handful at a time. Last night as we talked I leaned over and pulled more handfuls. The weed is retreating as we attack it. By the end of the summer it may well be slowed and never get to us. Working together to help him get rid of the weed has helped our yard as well.

Life application…
In everything that I see and hear around me there are life applications for me.

Weeds for me today are habits. They are like the annoying things that tend to pull us down. We don’t really want them but we have them. For some it may be smoking – for others it may be consuming too much food with little exercise. I only know the ones that I face personally – and at times they have overwhelmed my own life.

I have found that it is so easy to see the ‘weeds’ in other people’s lives… but harder by far getting a handle on our own life. It is easy to control the advance in other’s lives by criticism (advice) but just about impossible to stop doing what is destroying us. It is like a doctor that smokes telling a person that is suffering from severe lung problems, due to cigarette usage, that he or she should stop.

I know one person’s very worst habit, maybe the worst habit of anyone in our area, is that of criticizing other people’s habits. This individual is gifted at telling others what they should do. When she is not able to get them to listen – she becomes very angry. Anger is her second major habit that is out of control. Guess what no one visits her. Her children and grandchildren don’t like coming around either.

This dear lady was attending a funeral visitation recently. Another person that I know well was also there. This second individual was speaking with two other people. Their conversation was louder than normal. The dear lady walked up to the second person, tapped him on the shoulder and told him that he was being too loud for the setting. No it was not a joke – she was serious. She then went on to show her displeasure at this one with dirty looks. She is unable to control her habit of criticizing – for which I am very sorry for her.

Now I know that criticism and anger don’t seem like habits – compared to smoking and taking drugs. It doesn’t seem to be as bad as over eating. However many people I know that struggle with these three have suffered at the hands of the ones that have had the criticism and anger. It is easier to stay addicted to drugs, smoking and over eating as it helps to numb the constant criticism that is felt.

There are times as a pastor that the constant criticism that I get makes me want some of the old habits back again. I would like to cover the pain of what I feel when ‘dear folk’ lay into me again and again.

I actually know another minister that has started to drink heavily to cope with his ‘dear sisters’ on different committees in his church. His wife said that the ministry is killing him. I believe that they cope looking forward to certain people’s funerals. Sad but true. If people only knew how easily habits can destroy others around them.

Habits need to be stopped or else they will invade our whole lives and kill everything near and dear to us. They are like my weeds in my grass… filling a void and taking over…. But need to be extracted before the next generation is infected.

In my life I can stop the affect of criticism by not allowing the words to continue. When I have heard an individual using terrible words about someone else I have asked the criticizer to pray with me for the one that they are criticizing – and then I have asked them to lead the two of us in prayer – RIGHT THEN. Funny thing is that they shut right up.

Sorry for that early morning sermon…. I was picking weeds last night and also facing some more criticism last week. The two just kind of came together.

Proverbs 18:21 (New International Version of the Bible)
The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Can't you hear my heart beat...

A little to my right and four rows up, the heavy set man was sitting in one of the portable lawn chairs that we all have now. You know – it slides out of a bag and then pops up. His hunting camouflage cap head bobbed to the music. His wife beside him, with her bleached reddish hair, also bobbed in time with his. In fact everyone around these two bobbed to the rhythm that washed over the park.

It seemed that the entire population of Baby Boomers and their elders that still could bob – had arrived to listen to oldies. This is all happening in the Del Crary Park, Peterborough. In fact there may well have been 6000 – 7000 people splayed out over the lawn in their chairs to take part in the first Festival of Lights in Peterborough.

Last night was the first big concert featuring “Peter Noone” and the “Herman’s Hermits”. Almost another “Woodstock” happening for us old guys, except that it is 8:00 PM at night and it is much cooler. The average age sitting around us was about 60 – but many young people were there – teens actually. Teens brought by their grandparents to listen to “hot music” of their teenage years.

There was a kind of comedy for me… a strangeness to the whole thing really. All around me the entire crowd was singing with the performers on stage. Everyone around me knew the words – really old words that sifted up through tired memory banks to tickle aging hearts again.

Where we were sitting, near the center of the audience, people shuffled by on walkers a number of times. In one case a 60+ year old lady was leading her mom to the wash room – pulling along her walker. In other cases the 60+ year old were on their own walkers. In many cases the audience participants were a wee bit over weight and solidly fitting their fold up lawn chairs.

Some attendees last night turned heads as they sauntered by. Like the young guy that was about 18 – 20 years old – who likely has never heard of Herman’s Hermits. He had on a white T-shirt with words written across the front. His skimpy blonde beard that covered his chin didn’t yet have any strength to it. His page boy hair cut looked rather effeminate along with his dark eye shadow that completely circled each eye – the raccoon look for sure. His net, mauve gloves that went up his arms to his elbows didn’t really match the white T-shirt and jeans.

Along with the other oldies of the Baby Boom generation we were not sure if he was a she – or she was a he…. she-s don’t usually have beards though. Heads turned for sure wondering who his grandparents were.

The further comedy for me was the number of “church people” that I knew throughout the crowd. The next morning they would be singing praises to God dressed in their church finery – just twelve hours after the head bobbing ended.

So what is the rage last evening…?
Well the guy, Peter Noone, began his career singing these songs in 1964, as a 15 year old, as the lead singer of Herman’s Hermits – in fact as Herman. How he became “Herman” with a very full name of “Peter Blair Denis Bernard Noone” – I have yet to find out – except perhaps that it was a band already formed. (reference below…) And if you do the math – Peter is around 58 years old – our age – and you can hear the words to the songs.

As a minister, a man of the cloth in Peterborough, I looked around to find a few of my fellow ‘men and women of the cloth’, bobbing their heads with me. It was then that I realized that maybe this would be like heaven for us oldies. Heaven is real and may be some of us have tickets for in the next few years. We are closer to the end of part of the old childhood prayer of, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep… and if I died before I wake… I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

Funny reflections for me included the fact that this concert wouldn’t work down the road in Scarborough, Ontario or most parts of Toronto – it was a little too white from our middle class worlds of long ago.

A great reflection for me is that I love people and love being with people of all kinds. That part of heaven I will love. They won’t all be like me… but we will be with each other and the One that runs heaven. The heavy set man with the hunting camouflage cap and his reddish haired wife will be there – I think they are Baptists. The grey haired guy that was sitting to my left and one row forward is a Catholic. I think he is planning on being there as well.

Lots to think about today – my day of rest and the day that I work…

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Peter Noone - http://www.peternoone.com/about/index.html

Festival of Lights - http://www.festivaloflights.ca/

Herman’s Hermits favorites…sing along to yourself…

CAN'T YOU HEAR MY HEARTBEAT (Carter/Lewis)
Every time I see you lookin' my way
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?
In the car or walking down the highway
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?

When you move up closer to me
I get a feelin' that's ooo-wee
Can't you hear the poundin' of my heartbeat
'cause you're the one I love, you're the one I love

When I feel you put your arms around me
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?
Then I'm glad, I'm mighty glad I found you
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?

When you asked me to meet your Ma
I knew that baby, we'd be going far
Can't you hear the poundin' of my heartbeat?
'cause you're the one I love, you're the one I love
------ rhythm guitar ------

All my friends are cryin' out to meet you
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?
Now's the time to go and see the preacher
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?

Wedding bells are gonna chime
Baby, baby, you're gonna be mine
Can't you hear the poundin' of my heartbeat
'cause you're the one I love, you're the one I love

Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?

I'M HENRY THE VIII, I AM (Murray/Weston)
I'm Henry the eighth I am
Henry the eighth I am, I am
I got married to the widow next door
She's been married seven times before
And every one was an Henry (Henry)
She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)
I'm her eighth old man,
I'm Henry Henry the eighth I am

Second verse same as the first

I'm Henry the eighth I am
Henry the eighth I am, I am
I got married to the widow next door
She's been married seven times before
And every one was an Henry (Henry)
She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam
I'm her eighth old man,
I'm Henry Henry the eighth I am

------ lead guitar ------

I'm Henry the eighth I am
Henry the eighth I am, I am
I got married to the widow next door
She's been married seven times before
And every one was an Henry (Henry)
She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)
I'm her eighth old man,
I'm Henry Henry the eighth I am

H-E-N-R-Y Henry (Henry)
Henry (Henry)
Henry the eighth I am,
I am Henry the eighth I am

Yeah!

I am not my hair

Boys first….
As I watched the skateboarders fly through the air and over their cement wonder land with all its bright paint jobs – there was one thing that stood out. That one thing was style. The way you wore your jeans and your hat seemed to matter most. Then second it mattered greatly how you did the little hand actions and body motions – either of them having little to do with how the skateboard worked the course.

More than anything you had to act just so to be “cool” with the other guys. You had to hitch your over sized jeans(that were falling down after the last jump) just a certain way. You had to hold your hands to your side with fingers splayed a certain way as you rode the board. The actions resembled certain ‘black rappers’ that are popular on TV. I cannot describe it with words to give you the right image. You really need to see it.

The hat has to be a baseball cap with the brim(beak) wide and flat – no curve in it. Not like the baseball player’s cap that is worked until it is kind of a hollow shell over the eyes. Then the hat needed to be large enough to go over your ears – keeping them under the edge of the cap. The cap should also be turned slightly to the side so that it looks like beak(brim) sticks to the side between the eye and the ear.

Now you must remember that few of these guys ever looked at each other. No one stops to say – “Wow –like the hat!” or “Cool jeans…”

Switch genders….
In a completely different setting watch the young ladies that frequent the outside world. Their clothes must be worn just so and certain combinations must be placed together to be ‘right’.

My mom and I stopped in the Mall the other day for a coffee and donut. As we sat there I was people watching again.

Not far from our table stood a collection of women – 3 older and 1 younger. The group was likely 3 moms from school days together and one daughter from one of the moms. Their outfits matched and were ‘cool’ for this group.

The moms first….
Each mom had on a pair of slacks that ended at mid calf. We used to call them peddle pushers. Each had on a top that seemed ordinary – in that they were similar to each other. The colours were different but the style was almost the same. The difference was in the way that they fit. Two of the women were overweight and the other was on the slender side. The shirts hugged their bodies but were modest. Shirts that hug your body when you’re overweight are different than ones that are on slender people. But there is a certain sameness to the collection sported.

They all had on sandals and sported toe rings – two wore these on the second toe in…on one foot. The other had two toe rings on – one on each foot.

The daughter next….
The daughter was definitely slender – at least compared to her heavier set mom beside her. Her jeans were also cut about mid calf – with the top being low – low enough that some flesh was appearing from time to time above the jeans from the lower abdomen. She had on two shirts to cover her top – one longer and close to her body that resembled a under garment and came down over her jeans – just over her jeans… The second was over the first shirt and also tight. It came not quite to the same length of the first shirt – letting the contrasting colour of the first show. Both shirts ended just a little too short to cover the flesh that peeked out over the jeans.

I should point out here that the flesh also poured over the tight jean top as the shirts rode up from time to time.

Her hand actions were constant – as she shifted from side to side waiting for mom to be done talking with her friends her shirt rode up again and again. She reached down and carefully tugged at the longer shirt first with two fingers on each side – just enough to cover the exposed flesh and spill over. Then the fingers went higher to bring out the wrinkles from the top shirt and maintain its perfect distance from the bottom of the first shirt. But both shirts moved up naturally to let the flesh be seen.

As the small group stood talking, three younger girls walked by dressed the same as the daughter. They all had peek-a-boo shirts on as well. As they walked up to the donut shop counter – they tugged at their shirts demurely and straightened their shirts down. When they reached for their coffee and donuts – the shirts rode up again. Before sitting down to share their treats – they together pulled on their tops to cover the lower abdomen flesh… but within seconds they were pulling on the tops in the sitting position – specially the back.

I couldn’t help smile when the thought came to me. If these people were dressed in the garb of the Islamic people they would be completely covered and not constantly adjusting. The guys would not need to hitch their pants and the girls would be covered completely. But then fashion would range between black, grey or all white – depending what country they lived in.

We used to say “We are what we eat.” Today it is more likely “We are what we wear.” Style dictates what we are and what we wear. Being with the present ‘in crowd’ is vital to survival within that ‘in crowd’. To others outside of that ‘in crowd’ – it is just funny.

Oh by the way – it happens even more in church. Church people have been doing this on Sunday mornings for as long as I can remember. Long before my world ever appeared – people dressed for church.

It happens at funerals too. The guy that is being buried lays there looking extremely uncomfortable in his suit – that he only wore at weddings or other funerals.

We do this at weddings too. The funniest thing is to see the bride and groom at the wedding rehearsal the night before and then hardly recognize them the next day as they walk down the aisle toward me.

Style is powerful. Style is driving by someone else and demanded by us to be the same as others.

After using all these words – you may ask – “So what… what does it matter? We all do it…?”

A young lady by the name of “India.Arie”, that is quite popular now with some of the younger crowd, has a song that she wrote that is entitled “I am not my hair”. The chorus is powerful with its statement…(see below for the full lyrics to the song)
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am not your expectations no no
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am a soul that lives within

For me – that is what God sees. He sees the power of what we are within. He is not bothered by the insecurity on the outside and the great fear that we are not the same as others around us.

We have all come along ways since the days that Adam and Eve walked the earth, found leaves to cover themselves, and hid from God.

That was the very first fashion statement that I can find in the Bible. The one that may be older than that is Job sitting on an ash pile and dressed in sack cloth.

In Adam and Eve’s account – the important part is God came looking for them – just the way that he made them.

One of the weddings that I will conduct this summer I have been asked to specifically not wear a suit as I would be very out of place with all the guests that will be attending. It will be held in a backyard near a small stream. We may even need bug spray for the mosquitoes.

I need to think on this long and hard. What will I wear today in my garage and when I wash the van… that is before I put on my special marrying suit and perform the wedding this afternoon. Hmmm?

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

INDIA.ARIE LYRICS

I Am Not My Hair [Talking:]
Is that India.Arie?
What happened to her hair? Ha ha ha ha ha

Dat dad a dat da [4x] Dad a ooh

[Verse 1]
Little girl with the press and curl
Age eight I got a Jheri curl
Thirteen I got a relaxer
I was a source of so much laughter
At fifteen when it all broke off
Eighteen and went all natural
February two thousand and two
I went and did
What I had to do
Because it was time to change my life
To become the women that I am inside
Ninety-seven dreadlock all gone
I looked in the mirror
For the first time and saw that HEY....

[Chorus]
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am not your expectations no no
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am a soul that lives within

[Talking:]
What'd she do to her hair?
I don't know it look crazyI like it.
I might do that.Umm
I wouldn't go that far. I know .. ha ha ha ha

[Verse 2]
Good hair means curls and waves
Bad hair means you look like a slave
At the turn of the century
Its time for us to redefine who we be
You can shave it off
Like a South African beauty
Or get in on lock
Like Bob Marley
You can rock it straight
Like Oprah Winfrey
If its not what's on your head
Its what's underneath and say HEY....

[Chorus]

[Bridge]
(Whoa, whoa, whoa)
Does the way I wear my hair make me a better person?

(Whoa, whoa, whoa)
Does the way I wear my hair make me a better friend?

Oooh(Whoa, whoa, whoa)
Does the way I wear my hair determine my integrity?

(Whoa, whoa, whoa)
I am expressing my creativity..

(Whoa, whoa, whoa)

[Verse 3]
Breast Cancer and Chemotherapy
Took away her crown and glory
She promised God if she was to survive
She would enjoy everyday of her life ooh
On national television
Her diamond eyes are sparkling
Bald headed like a full moon shining
Singing out to the whole wide world like HEY...

[Chorus 2x]

[Ad lib]
If I wanna shave it close
Or if I wanna rock locks
That don't take a bit away
From the soul that I got

Dat da da dat da [4x]

If I wanna where it braided
All down my back
I don't see what wrong with that

Dat da da dat da [4x]

[Talking:]
Is that India.Arie?
Ooh look she cut her hair!
I like that, its kinda PHAT
I don't know if I could do it.
But it looks sharp, it looks nice on her
She got a nice shaped head
She got an apple headI know right?
It's perfect.

When Two Worlds Meet

“Hi, how are you doing?” said the young man with the deep tan. Perspiration was beaded on his forehead, his shirt was hanging out over his low riding jeans and he was headed for a vehicle to retrieve a smoke. His name was Danny – at least that is what his friends called him.

My reply to Danny was, “Not near as energetic as you guys are…” Danny grinned and snickered at my comment. There was understanding and a connection for us both. Two very unusual worlds met at that moment. Two worlds that likely do not understand each other very well.

It was around 7:45 PM last evening that I walked over to the Skateboard Park in Peterborough. It is situated just off the two large baseball fields and near the tennis courts. The city helped build this amazing structure of solid cement – with its dozens of apparatus and ramps to skateboard on. It is far enough from living beings that the cussing and laughter that comes from some to the “kids” isn’t an offense to neighbors. The constant din of rolling wheels on cement is always there as well. The city was smart.

I am sure that I may well have been taken for a cop for a few minutes as they looked me over. As I stood carefully to the side to take some shots and watched for a long time – they eyed me often and sometimes zoomed very close to where I stood.

Old guys with gray hair don’t usually skateboard… and this one is old enough to predate the invention of skate boards. The things that thus old guy used were roller skates with four steel wheels on each foot – like a miniature car. The skate was attached with a tightening key that screwed it all to your own shoe…. nothing like the wooden skateboard flying around this park.

After a while they seemed to not care with the old fellow looking on. I am supposing that they all have grandfather somewhere that they see from time to time. In fact as I pulled out the camera to shoot some photos the tricks became more lively. They loved the attention.

I noticed not long ago a young fellow doing tricks on our street and then stopping to see if some was looking at him. It is part of this subculture – a need to show your stuff. Not unlike my ‘old world’ with its muscle cars, paint jobs and roaring exhaust pipes of the early 1960s….

One young guy sported some large red bruises on his elbows. The scabs had formed and the redness was there from a recent fall. His tricks were few as he seemed to be hurting – but needed to be there with his buddies. Not much over 13 years old was my guess – a sharp young guy with rosy cheeks and a grin.

No there were no helmets or knee pads or elbow pads or wrist protection… they were not cool last night. There is no telephone to call an ambulance either – we are in the middle of a field and if you are hurt – crawling to the convenience store two blocks away is a possibility. But no one needs to think of that – there were a half dozen cell phones among this tribe of energetic youth.

I should mention here that it is late June – Exam time for most guys this age in Peterborough. Being home hitting the books was not a possibility from what I witnessed. They were book hitting age but without any interest. A clear night with all your buddies at the skateboard park was more than enough to slam the books shut and say “I am outta here!”

As I reflected on what I was witnessing on these rolling hills and ramps, rails and ledges I came to unsettling feeling – that – I can/could do that – a few years ago.

I remember sitting on a horse that my uncles prepared for me. It was saddled and ready and then they pulled the strap tight on its flank in front of its back legs… At that moment all world changed and the horse tried its hardest to dismount me. For about 10 seconds or so my world changed and my memory bank was permanently etched with the most unbelievable excitement that one man can ever have. There is nothing like riding a horse that wants nothing more than to get rid of that horrible feeling in front of its back legs. The rider need not take it personally when the ride became rough.

But that was a long time ago.

When I turned to go… there was a small ledge that I needed to step down from. I had been inspired and I hoped down. Immediately my stiff legs said loudly – “NOT GOOD!” But for a moment as I turned to look at the guys flying and spinning through the air – I was young again. My legs said thanks for the memories… and I headed home.

Thanks guys… I am praying for you today…

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Entwining

A group of friends sat together with me last evening discussing the business for our church. It was our official church board meeting of the month. As we each shared something of the situations we were facing individually it became so evident that we are vitally connected with the community around us. People count on each of us for strength and support. Sometimes the weight of the support that we need to give is greater than our ability – but we still offer it. The word “entwined” seems to make the most sense of what we do together. We count on each other for many things.

In the flower garden…
You really don’t have to look too far to find examples of entwining. As I walk to our back yard now the small and quickly growing Morning Glory plants have already begun grabbing the netting provided. Together they are struggling to see which one will reach the top first. At this stage they are about 12 inches from the ground. Not only are they attaching themselves to the netting they are grabbing one another. However when you place your hand on the Morning Glory plant it is rather limp and has little ability to hold itself up. Without the netting and the possibility to grabbing a hold on each other – it would never reach the top. From the past few years, as they have grown so well in this spot, they have covered the fence entirely – just because of the entwining that goes on.

Not far down the same walkway is another vine that is doing well. It has sprung to new life again after the winter. We wondered if it would make another year. A few months ago it looked dead. But here it is and it is very much alive with a full and massive head of leaves on it. In fact the other day I needed to trim it a little as it had begun to push itself below the siding on the house looking for a secure hold. It is famous for entwining too.

Pioneers…
This past week I spent time at Lang Pioneer Village east of our city. I have written of this in an earlier posting.

While listening to the young man speak of the Carpentry Shop that we were demonstrating in, the story fascinated me. He shared how the folk of the village counted on the Carpentry Shop to make and repair valuable tools for the village. Because the carpenter knew how to work with wood – they came to him for help. His work was vitally entwined with the community in which he lived.

This particular Carpentry Shop was situated in Lang Village from 1856 on. The Hastie family came from Scotland to make a new life for themselves in Canada. They opened the Hastie Carpentry Shop and stayed in business until 1938-1939. The same family owned and operated this vital business for the community.

Some of the buggies that are on display in the village were made by this shop. They even bear the name “Hastie”. I know that behind the General Motors (GM) in Oshawa is a similar story with the McLaughlin Family – making the Buick automobile.(see below)

The Hastie Shop made the beds for people and the cribs for their babies. They created the chairs and tables that every home needed. Then later they made the boxes that would bury their dead.

In some communities the Carpentry Shop then developed an outlet to become a furniture store. Some would grow to the next stage which would become a business helping with funerals – offering to make the caskets and also to help in the service to the grieving family. An example of entwining with the community… to become a full fledged Funeral Home (see below)

The Garden Hoe...
While I was carving and during the time I sat in the shop, a lady from a house across from the Hasty Carpentry Shop came to ask me a practical question. She was dressed in her period costume with bonnet and all. In her hand she held a garden hoe handle and the metal hoe end. It had broken off when they were using it in the garden. It had been a great tool to cultivate the small garden patch that they have beside the old log house.

In about twenty minutes I removed the old wood from inside the metal head. I then carved the end of the handle to fit into the metal opening and it was as good as new. The entwining took place again in the small village.

The dictionary states of entwining can also happen when we… knit, conjoin, join, loop, intertwine, enlace, wreathe, wind, fold, interlace, wattle, plash, pleach, and splice something together.

Oddly enough there are many that feel that community is distant from them. The folk that are near them are so wrapped into computer games or TV that they have little or nothing to do with each other. Last evening I found that to not be so. As the friends sat discussing the business of our church they each shared how they are connected to the community in so many ways. Entwined and joined to the community around themselves.

Question for you…
How are you entwined with your community today? How do people rely on you for what you offer or are able to do? How do you depend on them as well?

2007 is a long way from 1856 – 151 years actually. Yet today we need entwining as much as they did. Wow!

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Resource and Reference
Lang Pioneer Village

Examples of Funeral Homes from Furniture Stores…
Carson Funeral Homes
Brainard Funeral Home
Keener Funeral Home
Drugger Family Funeral Homes

Carriage Company becomes an Automobile
The McLaughlin Automobile - GM

The Brightness After the Storm

The spectacular storm moved quickly over us last evening. It was a ‘Wow’ moment. The danger that sat just moments over our heads seemed to whiz by. Lightning and thunder were almost together. Yet at the time it laid its furry all over our area. The tremendous heat of earlier in the day was broken and a new cool moved in to refresh us last night. Other than a few places that had their power go off we came clear of it and the sky opened to stars twinkling before bedtime.

I love the storms that come. It is so amazing. I love a storm… that is until it is the kind in life and family. They seem to last forever and never move out. At night the stars don’t seem to twinkle either on a stormy family night.

But even after a stormy family night there is sunshine.

Recently I met with an old friend that had contacted me. Her husband is not doing well and has been moved to the hospital. Then I spoke with her daughter who is now a more mature young adult in her 40s. This young lady thanked me for all the times that I spent looking for her when she was young. She had a tendency to create storms for the family and then run away. The family asked me back then to help find her – which Alida and I did with all the love that we could muster. No sooner did we help solve the problem than she would act out again.

Today she is radiant and bright as a mature adult. What a change has taken place.

This young lady has proven again my other theory – after every storm there is bright sunshine. In fact if you are able to mount the terribly black clouds that are sitting above you family’s head… you will always see sunshine.

This morning I am looking into the face of sunshine. It is brilliant and bright. It is clear and sparkling. It is today – different than yesterday. God made it that way just for me. All the old stuff has gone with the yesterdays… now we have a new start.

Have you noticed how clean every thing is after the storm? All of the bad stuff is washed away with the cleaning that God provides in his storms. Some of the people stuff and people storms seem the same. The bad things fade into fleeting memories and it becomes new.

As my friend sat waiting to hear something of her husband’s condition, she remarked what a blessing her daughter is to her today. She is always there for her – whenever she needs her. Quite the transformations from the old days when the daughter did anything to flee from her mom and dad… wouldn’t you say?

The weather man last night warned us that we may well have another series of storms coming in two days time. That means much more lightning and lots more thunder. Hang on tight.

I can guarantee that life will offer the same as well. The pleasant Sunday afternoon with the grandkids is replaced with anxious moments with family when nothing is right and all is dark. Hang on tight.

God never forgets where you are.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

PS - No I did not take the photos... :-)

Passionate People

The scene unfolding in front of me was fascinating. It was hard to believe that this could actually happen. If I could draw comparisons for you to understand – it would be like a man picking up 12 foot long kitchen counter top and carrying it the length of six city blocks. Then at the end of the journey, he tries to stick it into a hole in the ground.

There in front of me was a very small ant lifting a piece of bread that was four times the length of his body. He then proceeded to carry it the width of our driveway to his hidden home below the pavement. I watched for a long time as he manipulated the treasure to his goal.

There were many obstacles that he needed to avoid to get the bread to his home. There were stones and sticks that had littered the driveway. But nothing would stop this determined little fellow that worked so hard to get this home.

In a recent seminar that I attended, the presenters shared the value of “Passion” in one’s life. They said over and over again that without passion a person would not be able to get a head.

This past week I have witnessed all kinds of examples of passion at many different levels.

One evening we were at our granddaughter’s soccer game. Talk about passion! One young lady looked at the ball as she worked it down the field. Then she looked up at the goal ahead. The look on her face was amazing – she wanted a point for her team. Nothing and no one would stop her. She scored and then did a hop up and down as she declared her passion.

In the senior’s home that houses many older people there were two other kinds of passion. One little lady was up and walking with determination down the hallway. She smiled and said brightly, “Isn’t it lovely outside? I love summer!” This little lady still has a passion for life. The twinkle in her eye had not faced one bit with the years that had passed.

The other contrasting person was a man in a wheel chair that just sat staring at the TV. He answered the nurses’ questions when she came in – so I knew he could speak. He just couldn’t walk – thus the wheel chair. As I spoke to him he had no or little fire left in him. He had given up many years ago. He was angry at his kids for putting him in the nursing home. There was a little passion shown when he became angry expressing himself – but for the most part that faded out quickly. Then he returned to the TV program that played unending in the background.

What a contrast for one to consider. The passionate ant that would stop at nothing to the stiff old man that sat doing nothing and refused to participate in anything.

I chose passion for today. I will act on it again. Hot or not hot outside – I am out of here. I need to enjoy the scenery that is all around me. I need to see the any working hard. I need to watch a good soccer game.
By the way… I didn’t shoot the picture of the ant. It took me fifteen minutes to find one on the Internet… but I did and here they are.

Have a passionate day. Go for the Gold today and enjoy what you can see or hear.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Proverbs 6: 6 Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise!

Family - A Gift from God

There is hardly a family anywhere that had not witnessed the wedding of Diana and Charles. If they didn’t sit glued to the TV when it happened – they saw it in the re-runs later. It was a fairy tale wedding and story. The press and media kept it in front of us until we all had it firmly planted deep in our subconscious.

Recently in a garage sale that we stopped at the folks were offering a Diana and Charles Coffee Mug. There emblazoned on the side of the cup were the faces of this famous couple. This is 2007 – 10 years after Diana died in that horrific automobile crash in the tunnel on Paris with Dodi, her boyfriend. This was an old cup.

Yes it was 10 years ago this beautiful bride of Charles and mother of her boys, Harry and William, died in that crash. It was another catastrophic, world disaster. Another one that the press and media would work until it would fade to its new place in our collective mind space.

In an article in MacLean’s Magazine – June 18th – there is an extensive article entitled “The Undoing of Diana” by Rosalind Miles. (Reference to this article below). It is a huge expose of this tragic Royal family. I had not known about this background before reading all of this in the past week. The article refers to another book that is being released about Diana. It reveals the “whole story” – if there ever is such a thing. It seems the Princess Diana was not a saint and has fallen greatly in the eyes of her admirers. She had one affair after another mixed into all the charitable work and saint building that she did. Dodi was only one, the last one, of her lovers.

But then – so did Charles. He was a philandering dude that is known also for his ability to mess up other families. But because he is the potential King who will step up to the kingly plate when his mother steps down – or can’t get up to the plate anymore – he is revered in his own special way.

This is a tragic and sick family. Yet I watch and read the stories over and over again. And all the time my heart aches for them. How can you take anymore? How can William and Harry live this one out? There will never be relief I am afraid. There will always be media. The same kind will continue to sell their product on the backs of this tragedy.

Family is gift from God – not a media focus. Yet perhaps it should be a media focus when it is good and when it survives. When it survives the stress and problems of a horrible fate – it should be shouted about – EVERYWHERE! But it will never make a dent in the local press of anywhere.

George and Joan….
This past week a family that has grown closer to me over this past year came to visit. It is an unusual family. The four kids call grandpa and grandma, dad and mom. They live with their mother but traveled with their grandparents to Canada to see their dad – who they haven’t seen for almost 7 years. Their dad is a friend of mine that now lives in Canada and is at the time permanently separated from his kids who are American and live a four day’s drive from Peterborough. Their dad spent the last 6 years in a US Federal Prison and upon his release was expelled to Canada – his birth place.

Last evening I spent some time with this family and loved every minute of it. The sparkling minds of the three children were just plain fun. What a delight to get to know them. What a privilege to get to know grandpa and grandma better too. “George and Joan” is an amazing couple to say the least.

Today they leave for home and the four days of travel. Today their son, my friend, will begin a time of deprogramming and a wall of depression that comes with the new separation from his kids again. He enters a new kind of prison with me in Canada – one called ‘alone’. Think of and pray for Richard this week if you can.

Special blessings personally….
Without a doubt I am blessed. The immediate moments that I spend here on earth are so special. I will not take one of the moments for granted. Yet we don’t have a lot when you do the calculations on paper. We have a sign above our kitchen sink that states it best, “I started with nothing…. and I still have most of it left.” As a minister that could not be more true – church work never makes any one rich. It helps make you just a little bit fat these days but…. I am not complaining but rather pointing to the realities.

But there is a greater reality that I point today… my family. Father’s Day humbles you greatly as they come together to love on you. Yesterday was that kind of day. I was loved again and the kids did it all.

After the church service that we attended, that is my work place BTW, the kids came to our place lunch – a big spread of a picnic at our home. It was far too hot so we sat outside in the driveway under the shade of our big tree. There were14 chairs around three long tables. All the chairs were filled with laughter and delight. Cousins with cousins – kids with kids – and the older adults grinning as we shared the delight of the bouncing grandkids.

This year was special too in that Great Grandma Lincoln joined in as a closer part of the family around our table. At times the noise was a little much and the words may be too fast – but it was fun.

There was also computer games in the grandpa’s garage mixed with squeals of delight. The we completed the day with a baseball game in a local school yard.

This is ‘family devotion’ at its best.

I wonder if Prince Charles and his family would have had picnic in their driveway at Buckingham Palace – if it might have been different?

Memo:
Dear Charles…there are big advantages to not having much money…we all laugh together and love life to the fullest. Maybe you should ask “Mom” if you folks can use the palace’s driveway for family fun time. This is just a suggestion from a friend that loves his family.
Your friend,
Murray.

Family is a gift from God.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~













“The Undoing of Diana” by Rosalind Miles http://www.macleans.ca/article.jsp?content=20070618_106220_106220

Nurturing New Life

The little tree stands as a soldier guarding the small inlet of water. It is unusual in that it will potentially have a short life span without help. Not much will assure it of success except the old tree below it.

The little cedar tree has been rooted in a very old stump that stands in the bay – protruding from the water. The old stump is all that is left standing of a fair sized tree that likely was growing there long before the water changed course and filled this bay. The stump is a testimony to the fact that a very old tree once lived here. This all happened many years ago with the further upgrading of this water Trent Severn Water way just north of the Peterborough area.

The old stump is now what they call a nursery tree. It has long lost its own luster but is now helping to develop and nurture a new life. I looked at this a long time and have meditated on what has been happening.

How it fits…
This week we were talking about our grandparents and when they came to the original farms and towns across Canada to try and build a new life for their families. Different folk shared stories about the way that their grandpas and grandmas gave everything they had to build the life for their family that would come after them. They would never know the ones that followed but everyone would know them.

The little tree reminds me of this powerful human drive to give life to something coming behind us. Kind of a powerful thought I have entertained this Father’s Day.

The question is then – how do I live with this powerful thought in mind? Someone will benefit from my struggles as well. Though it is hard now there is a reward from what I do at this immediate time.

Personal...
Another one of my grandsons had a birthday yesterday. Happy Birthday Jonathan… you are now 11 years old – WOW! I hope someday you will know that Grandpa Lincoln loves you. Oh I know you know that now… but someday it will mean more than now. Someday you will be 51 years old and look back with some good memories of grandpa that came to see you play hockey and baseball. Someday….

That is true not only for you Jonathan, but all your brothers and your cousins as well… someday you will know how much. Someday….

In forty years from now I will be 103. (It is highly unlikely that I will live that long. I am truly expecting that I will receive my eternal reward long before that time.) At the 103 year mark I will likely be a memory.

I will be that very old man in the family that had made a decision to live in many places across Canada taking his young family with him. At one point this old man made a decision to begin work in Scarborough, Ontario. After five years it was there that he left his two daughters to begin their lives on their own. It was there that they would discover their own husbands and begin their families. They in turn would make decisions that would position them in communities where their families could be established. All because of a very old man that once arrived here….

Just remember the old stump – it was there for a purpose. Old stumps are important to new young trees.

How many old stumps can you identify in you life – along your life’s way?

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Blessed as a Father

“So what do you want for Father’s Day?” My wife grinned at me as she asked the question. Over all these years it has been a tradition in many families to get dad something on this one special day. Now here I am on the spot to answer a question that I have no idea has an answer. Is it under wear, or socks, or a wallet, or a new tool?

I have all of the aforementioned items. They are regularly supplied and always in the drawer and clean. The wallet is not needed and the tools – though dreams to have – I already have older editions.

My fast answer was simple – “To be all alone… in my garage… with my tools… and happy.” Both of us know that isn’t likely going to happen too soon… nor do I really want it. It was the other guy inside of me saying, “By myself, on a beach, on a far away island, near an ocean and happy.”

On that beach there are hawkers that keep coming by to sell me something. And I am no sooner in my garage than one of the “hawkers” will stop into see if I want to change my electrical supply service, buy some new siding for the house or new driveway sealant. But I shouldn’t be too hard on these dear folk – they are only trying to make a buck… and so am I.

The person down the street from us has a large ugly sign that states – “No solicitors, Canvassers or Sales People”. The sign is about one foot high and three feet long – directly above their front door – hand painted. They mean business. Their big, brown, old Labrador dog would likely love you to death if you set foot on their property – but the sign means business.

However, the TV rants on about how much dad needs this or that. Someone invisible states that you need to get your dad a card. Another leaves the audience with the feeling that you may not really love your dad unless you do this or that – then offers a perfect answer to buy what they are selling.

As a dad the most wonderful thing was to have a hug from my girls. As a dad it was great to walk behind the bouncing, blond haired little ones as they ran out to discover the world. Now as a granddad I love the same kind of hugs when I get them – all year long – not just Father’s Day. We celebrate all year long in our family.

Father’s Day is sitting beside a soccer field a watching my granddaughter run after the ball. Watching the top knot of her hair bounce in the sunlight of a fading evening and then having her turn and call, “Hi grandpa…”

Father’s Day is watching my grandson pick up his hard hat and slap it on, pick up his bat and walk to the home plate, eye the pitcher and then position himself to hit a mighty home run… Run or no run… the glow I feel inside as he goes through his pose is amazing.

Father’s Day, in my case, is being able to watch not one grandson – BUT FIVE – pose at the home plate and then swing at the fast moving ball.

Father’s Day for me is looking across the table at a beautiful mother and smiling deeply at each other through our wrinkles.

Father’s Day is deep satisfaction with what I have.

As I sit here this morning preparing for another Father’s Day, this coming Sunday, I realize that I am blessed so much to have what I have now. In a few years it may not be so. Little girls grow up and move away. Little boys become dads that are busy. Families change… but memories never do.

This Father’s Day I think I am cooking something on our BBQ. I think we are together for a short time over some good food. I love the times together. There is joking, some teasing and lots of laughter.

What do I want for Father’s Day? Not much – because I have it all now. Thank you so much.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~