DNC and DNP - Do You Have One?

Do you have a DNC? Or maybe you have a DNP instead of a DNC? Or again you may have both a DNC and a DNP with a DNC in it?

Now we all know that the abbreviations and anachronism are vital to this day and age’s way of living. These two are new for most of you and are a vital part of who you are and who you should be.

DNC? DNP? Okay here is the hint.

DNC is comfortable and easy on your body. It fits just right. It is convenient and easy. It is yours also…no one else will take control of it – unless they don’t know what is good for them. DNP is a similar but perhaps not so possessed by just one person. Others are using it as well and it may be shared far more than a DNC.

DNC – is simply a “Do Nothing Chair” where you sit and do absolutely nothing. It is comfortable and easy to sit in. It fits your shape perfectly and is positioned in a place where you will be comfortable.

DNP – is simply a “Do Nothing Place” where it is easy enough to figure out what that is all about. You Do Nothing in the Place… just nothing.

It is odd in Ontario each weekend our roads are plugged with hundreds of thousands of cars rushing to somewhere or wherever people go to do nothing. This big rush away takes time, energy, preparation and lots of money to get to that special place. In some cases it is a cottage or trailer that is crowded up against a wee little lake where you can just barely see the water. In many cases the little bit of Lake Front is noisy and crowded beyond imagination.

The oddest part for me, as I have traveled by these get-a-ways, – is the poor owner is having to cut grass and paint and prepare and pile wood for cooler weather ahead. The poor, poor guy is worked to death making it all look pretty for the squirrels and raccoons that will be the only one to see it before he gets back two weeks from now. I have yet to see anyone enjoying the DNC or DNP in these hectic runs to the cottage.

This long weekend coming will be another exodus from the city of Toronto. People will slowly squeeze into the two lanes that are receiving the four lanes of end on end autos rolling to the cottage in three major directions. It will likely take at least 30 miles of slow moving traffic to just get out to a faster road. It is called cottage bottle neck.

In my back yard there is peace. There are DNCs ready for anyone that needs them. The DNC is surrounded on all sides with flowers and bushes that stand still. The huge tree is a quiet giant that guards our DNP.

My garage is another DNP if you want it to be. I sat for a longtime last evening and did nothing. We are babysitting a Bunny called, ‘Briar’ and he was in his gage beside me doing nothing at all. The perfect peace was so wonderful.
I have a made a big decision. Some day I will begin to market ‘nothing’. My ‘nothing’ will have only one chair and some simply stuff to meet other’s needs. It should be a big hit for many that are run off their feet each week trying to work towards having time to do nothing.

Two nights ago I asked my wife Alida what she was going to do. Her answer was the best one yet. She said, “I am going to sit down and do nothing.” And she did. She did it for more than four hours. I tried it as well and it worked wonders for me too.

Each week we now try to plan ‘nothing nights’ that feel so good.

An account is given of the Quaker folk that practiced stillness. They would pause in whatever place they were and sit still. One story was told of one woman that had about 8 children and her home was always a buzz of activities. At about one hour before she would begin the fast pace of food preparation for the evening meal she would sit down and pull her apron over her face. All the kids knew that with mom sitting as she did with her apron over her face it was the Do Nothing Time. Mom was in her DNC and the kitchen became her DNP. It was a Do Not Disturb time as well.

The man that told me that story of his mother shared how she was such a beautiful woman of peace. In her quiet and nothing places she gathered a rich harvest of peace and stillness. One hour later her life became anything but peace and she usually fed over 12 people at the meal time… hired men and kids as well as family.

I would love to hear from some of you. Do you have a DNC or a DNP where you can be quiet. It is so important that you do have one. Let me know what your’s looks like.

I have to go now and sit down for a while my DNC is waiting for me.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Tucking Under The Covers

The day had been very full. We were able to get it all done and there had been a lot to do. My wife and I both hurt from top to bottom. The ordinary little aches and pains were now not ordinary any longer. We hurt big time – but she was suffering worse than I was. Tough and full days do that to us ‘oldies’. We both are realizing that ‘old happens’ when you least expect it.

It was at that point last evening that it happened again. It was well after midnight and everyone was in bed. Outside the sky was so clear and the full moon was as bright and big as it ever has been. The mazes of back yards that can be seen from our deck were still except for the steady call of a summer cricket. He offered an amazing rhythm of sound so late at night. Quietness had come again. Stillness had settled in to calm all fears.

I stood for a long time savoring the wonder that spread before me. I could paint the night. I could sketch the darkness at that moment. I could take my artist’s brush and dip it deeply into complete calm and capture the wonder of the break from daytime turmoil. Then I did it. The scene of complete peace gently seeped into my mind and the master piece was done. It was mine to keep forever.

As I slipped into my bed the sleep was instantaneous. The last thing that I remember was pulling up the cover and snuggling under the cool sheets. It was like sampling a great dessert. Mmmmm…!

The deep impression is that I have today is that through all the anger, the violence and the struggles of each day comes the wonderful gift that God gives me each night. He carefully pulls the big blanket of night over me and it is done.

Many years ago I hated the night because it interrupted my daytime fun. I used to think that it was such a pain to stop the wild flurry that was taking place all around me. It was nonsense to stop a perfectly good day with the dumb dark. That was when I was younger.

Older is different. It is a new time when the night has grown as deeply desired peace. It is a time of quiet healing. The turmoil is gone and the struggle for that day is over. Wow – does that big cover of darkness ever feel good?

When my eyes opened this morning the pain was a little less and the birds were giving the steady wake up call. As I watched the same back yard it was a blaze with golden sunshine. My winged friends were dashing from branch to branch. I grinned as I stood looking out the door and said aloud, “Slow down guys, I am not quite ready for that much action…”

I am so thankful today for a gift that God gave this day. Actually it has been given each day this past week and I have sometimes failed to appreciate it. It is a happy heart and a peaceful spirit. In a small way I feel that I am cheating someone else in that I have so much peace.

Pause…
Oops I just checked my email and another problem has laid itself out for me to consider. The telephone rang for an early morning request. The day has started. But with each new request there has been a new peace for that day.

A long time ago Jesus said some powerful words. I have yet to find another person that has stated it better. When his followers had expressed some fear and exasperation with the events around them he said…
"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?
Matt 6:25-30 (New International Version of the Bible)

Today will be a good day stuffed with a few problems that will come my way I am sure. But after today – tonight is on its way. It is so good – so very good. Thanks God… thanks so much.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Dealing with "Aah! Aah! Owiee!”

As I entered the Emergency department of our hospital the rest of the ‘guests’ looked at me intently. Many had been waiting for a long time to get their problems looked at. One man told me that he had been there three hours already waiting for someone to see his wife.

The Emergency Department of any hospital is always busy from what I have seen. People are in distress when they come and the number of them added to the amount of genuine need adds to the high feelings that you have in this place.

Generally there is pain everywhere. The parents that are holding the little boy across their laps are stroking his forehead as he cries. His little face is flushed. The older lady is leaning against her husband and trying to sleep. The middle aged lady is holding her left forearm with an ice pack on it. Each person sitting in front of the endless TV program stares endlessly. The most entertainment is looking at the others and trying to guess what is wrong without asking outright.

I have found that there are a few well meaning community members that practice medicine regularly without a license. I met one as I walked into the department for my own help. He looked at me and at my hand that I was holding. “So whaja do?” was his flat and direct question. The blood dripping from my left hand must have been a dead give-a-way. The bloody paper towel was bright and acted like a flag to draw all attention my way. With his question came all the other people’s stares. I was a star now and had everyone’s attention.

My answer was as straight forward as his question, “I am a woodcarver, and I decided to carve it accidentally.”

“What kinda tool?” was the next quick question.

“Foredom… a miniature table saw kind of tool.” I replied. “The blade was about a half inch across with dozens of little teeth for taking lots of wood out at the same time.”

“Hey, I got one like that too. Dangerous stuff for sure.” Then he looked down at my throbbing hand with the bloody paper towel squeezed around the wound. “Hurts doesn’t it?”

I looked up to see that one lady was slowly looking away from my hand to the TV. She had enough of the amateur diagnosis. Her quick assessment was settled, “this guy will get in before me…”

They call is “Fast Tracking” in emerge. Bloody paper towels help. Below the paper towel may well be a finger hanging by a thread and the need is there to reattach the throbbing member. I was sitting in the triage nurse’s presence in a heart beat – the paper towel helped I am sure. It helped that miraculously there was no one else standing at the red line on the floor where it states rather friendly like – “Do Not Cross This Line”

The kindly nurse asked, “So what happened? What did you do?” I offered the same explanation as I did to the curious guy out front. But she didn’t know what kind of power tool I was referring to. As she undid my paper towel compress I offered some further help – my wisdom and intuition for the night – “My daughter is going to kill me. She works for Dr. Van Brink, the guy that fixes a lot of us up, and he is away on holidays. So is she. And I am teaching her my grandson how to carve… I doubt she will let him grandpa teaching him anymore.”

Her quiet response was simple and straightforward, “I can see why.” I did some quick mind reading at this point and it seemed simple, her thought was, ‘Crazy old geezers and power tools don’t mix after dinner.’ I stared at my tattered finger and held my arm tightly as more blood seeped out.

I offered weakly, “I usually put crazy glue on the cuts and it works fine. But this one is a little too big. I think it needs stitches.” She nodded slightly and said, “They will look after you.” Another mind read took place as she let the thought pass quickly, “Crazy old geezer with crazy glue on his cuts, wait till coffee break… that is a good one!” – then she suppressed her giggle.

No kidding –within less than five minutes I was headed further into the ‘Fast Track’ with some other moaners. We sat in a small waiting room that only the bleeding and throbbing sit in. A little girl with a purplish hand looked up from her mother’s side. The little boy looked up from under his bandaged forehead. Everyone looked at the new puffy bandage on my left forefinger.

Now I don’t want to sound like I am complaining or anything – but some people are a real pain.

One lady was in the curtained cubby hole across from me. I could hear everything the doctor was asking her. I was now killing time until my turn to be seen by the doctor came along. The game is called, “Guess again what the pain is.”

I first tuned in as the doctor was apparently moving her right forearm. “Aah! Aah! Owiee!” was her reply to his question, “How about this movement?” Then “Aah! Aah! Owiee!” again… “Did you fall?” was his next question. “No…” was her weak reply… then “Aah! Aah! Owiee!”

The doctor’s next question was kind of funny, “The chart says you have ringing in your ears, dizzy, and faint at times. Tell me what that is about?” Then came, “That’s cold…“Aah! Aah! Owiee!” After an apparent lengthy examination of her ears his pronouncement came, “The wax is impacted over your ear drum and I cannot take it out. I won’t risk it here.” The conversation that followed was amusing and helped me pass the time as I waited for my turn. The “Aah! Aah! Owiee!” lady was almost done… and the doctor prescribed the solution… she needed to buy some oil and a small dropper to apply this to her ears each day and wait. He could do no more.

Imagine she was ‘Fast Tracked’ – good actress!

The little boy with the patch over his eye waited with his mommy in the next cubby hole. The little girl with the purplish arm was also sitting with her mom in the cubby hole on the other side.

My understanding for the medical staff that work the Fast Track area has grown to a higher level. These guys and gals are great. The took care of an “Aah! Aah! Owiee!” lady in no time. They helped a little guy with is forehead problem and wrapped up a purplish arm of the girl. And they even helped an old geezer that needed three stitches.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Facing a Facebook

Facebook? What in the world will they think of next? The intro Web Page states that – “Facebook is a social utility that connects you with the people around you.”

Wikipedia states the following…quote…
Facebook is a social networking website which was launched on February 4, 2004.
In the beginning, the membership was restricted to students of Harvard University. It was subsequently expanded to other Boston area schools (Boston College, Boston University, MIT) and all Ivy League schools within two months. Many individual universities were added in rapid succession over the next year. Eventually anyone with a US college or university (.edu) email address was eligible to join. There was a separate network initiated for US high schools. Since 11 September 2006, it has been made available to any email address user who inputs a certain age range. Users can select to join one or more participating networks, such as a high school, place of employment, or geographic region.

As of July 2007, the website had the largest number of registered users among college-focused sites with over 30 million members worldwide (also from non-collegiate networks). In June 2007 it was ranked between top 10–20 web sites, and was the number one site for photos in the United States, ahead of public sites such as Flickr, with over 8.5 million photos uploaded daily. It is also the seventh most visited site in the United States.

The name of the site refers to the paper facebooks depicting members of the campus community that colleges and preparatory schools give to incoming students, faculty, and staff.
End quote from Wikipedia…

It is connecting people to each other in amazing ways.

Those of us that use computers all the time are blown away by what we read and see happening in front of us. If you see the dates in the description above – these are very recent. This new monster is only 3 years old… making the other things like Blogger look ancient – started in 1999…. The Internet itself dates back to the 1960s – my days in High School and all that stuff. That was just yesterday – wasn’t it?

I volunteer with the Lang Pioneer Village – a pioneer village that is just east of Peterborough, Ontario. I spend time in the Hastie Carpenter Shop that dates back to 1856. In the middle of the shop is the original Internet of 1856. It is big, heavy and black in colour. It still works to this very day. Its power is amazing and its ability to draw people around it and into its presence is amazing.

Okay – Okay – there are no wires and electronics involved in this Internet – but it works fine just the same. It is the old antique stove that graces the shop. On a cold day people come close to fire and talk. They warm their hands, face and back parts as they talk.

In 1856 the men would gather in this shop to share their ideas of politics and all the other matters that were important to them. More often than not they would share what they were doing on their farms and the way that they solved problems of working in the Ontario back woods areas.

The Facebook of 1856 was likely a family picnic or a church community picnic bringing everyone together to have fun. The barn dance and the community functions that brought people from their remote areas to meet each other brought about ‘Facebook’.

In our worlds that are increasingly isolated from each other with each home being a self contained, sealed unit we are all separated from others. A large percentage of people reading this Blog will not be able to tell me their neighbour’s name or what they are like. Most will stop at the ability to tell you how many people live in the house – and even that we are not sure of either.

The extreme…
Yesterday I was checking my mother’s bank account in Regina, Saskatchewan. I do this on-line with the bank with my computer. It is very easy and it all happens in a heart beat. As I checked in to read the balances and made ready a statement for her, I was drawn away to other tasks that had to be done… and then I returned to my computer to do more on the account.

As I was doing this computer work and the other tasks that needed to be done – my mom had gone to the Mall to shop for some things that she needed. There on my computer screen appeared the with-drawls that she had just made in Loblaws, Sears and another store. They however did not come all at once…there was a gap between the purchases that she made with her card… she had to walk from store to store with her walker. There on my own computer screen, 5 miles from where she was, and 1700 miles from Regina’s bank, were the foot prints of my 86 year old mother.

As we sat around the table eating dinner last night we laughed about this “looking in” on her shopping trip. Mom and I had said “Good Morning” to each other as I was leaving in the morning but there was no conversation after that. At night Mom has her own TV and I have mine. We definitely watch different programs. We could go through an entire week not seeing each other at all and not talking to one another…yet we still live in the same house.

How much my mother and me are like the world we live in – we are together and can watch each other – but have no need to connect or even speak to one another. We can track each other by bank cards and shopping sprees but never talk. They have developed Facebook that is now a rage – but never visit anyone personally.

Facing a Facebook is too weird. I am not resisting the idea of Facebook – just wondering, if I get involved, what will I lose with those around me? I will gain hundreds of new friends but lose all those around me to the computer screen that sits in front of me. The last time that I checked this one out… my laptop screen is about ½ and inch thick. My desk top, that I use from time to time, has more depth with a much bigger monitor – but in reality the glass front is only a fraction of an inch think.

The other evening we met some friends for dinner at their home. WOW- what a night together we had. We all laughed until the sun went down. I sat there with the other six people and savoured the moments. We played a crazy game and taunted one another. It was delightful fun to be together.

One thought that jumped out at me is that Facebook cannot offer what we had together at their home. With our laughter we touched each other’s souls.

The neat part about my Christianity is that it was started by a guy that walked around meeting people – one to one. He shucked the ways of the religiously perfect people that had separated themselves from everyone else. He got down and got dirty spending time with the worst of society and talking with people that others shunned.

I guess that is why I do what I do and where I do it. I must have the real Facebook before I get on to the new Facebook.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Getting used to Freedom

His raspy voice told us all that speaking was difficult. Then he picked up his guitar and began to sing. The song was good and clearly described the heart feelings he was dealing with. As his finger ran over the guitar strings the music came easily. It was easy to see that he has talent – but not the strength that was needed now to continue. His voice faltered again and then he humbly said, “I can’t sing any more”. The cancer in his lungs is moving rapidly and singing, that he so enjoys, is soon to be no more.

His name is Mike. Two weeks ago today Mike walked out of a Federal Prison as a free man. The Parole Board saw fit to grant him full parole – not just the compassionate parole that he had requested. After eight years inside of prison for his crimes he had paid in full the debt that he owed society.

Mt. Cashel Orphanage, St. John’s Newfoundland had been one of his many homes while in his custodial sentences. It was one of many times he would be held against his will and in payment for societal debts. In fact Mike has lived inside of custodial places for 34 of his 47 years. He went into the Orphanage at 13 and then continued going to jail after he was forced out of Mt. Cashel. The priests that ran this place couldn’t handle Mike any longer – neither could society on the outside. This very angry young man would be lashed out at and would also lash out at others. Eventually his worst sentence would take place at 39 years of age as he graduated to the Federal Prison System – Correctional Services Canada.

With his raspy voice Mike described in a short outline his life of pain. Then he arrived at the present as he described the feelings and struggles with freedom. He shared how he has not yet got a hold on the idea that he is really free. The freedom from five “counts” per day is apart of being able to be free.

For eight years he had to make sure that he was back in his cell to be counted five times per day. That is almost 14,600 times he had to be countable. From wherever he was inside of the prison ground he had to be ready to be counted. After all the greatest fear inside of prison is that he, and all the others, might escape. There is also fear that he might hurt himself and/or commit suicide. No one would allow that to happen on their watch – it wouldn’t look good if a bad guy dies and someone might hold you responsible as a guard.

14,600 times to be in fear that you might not make it to your cell is a lot of fear – and mental conditioning. If he didn’t arrive at his place to be counted he would suffer further by being locked up in an isolated way – 23 hours alone with no privileges at all.

The other day I met another man that has lived in prison for 27 years – he has done this ‘count-ability’ thing for 49,275 times and continues to do so five more times each day.

Now walk out of prison – FREE and have no more counts to attend to… how would you feel? Have no one looking in to see if you have hurt yourself now – and then no one cares outside it would seem. But having no one care or check on you as part of freedom is frightening. What if something happens to me? Being alone is now a threat. Having cancer and being alone is bad enough but add to that the weight of not being able to ‘enjoy your freedom’ is not understood by everyone else around you.
As we listened to Mike tell some of his story he said something that will ring in my ears long after he is gone from this life. Mike’s words were, “It is as if I have a hole in my heart.”

I know from my work in the wood shop that I can drill holes in wood. The bit will go clean through. I can take a sharp chisel, and with a mallet, cut a hole through even the hardest wood. I purpose to make a hole.

It has taken purpose of the harshness of life to make a hole in Mike’s heart. The hole was not made with any planned accuracy from what I can see but rather torn through the living soul of an unaware human being. The huge tragedy is that the first horrific ripping of the soul took place long before he was 13 years old – it was just that at 13 they could no longer handle him and there was no place else to put a bad boy. So he was thrust into a crippling system run by ‘Christian Brothers’ and called Mt. Cashel Orphanage – one of Canada’s worst nightmares of child abuse by men in positions of trust (read all about it with the links below).

An attentive group of volunteers with the Peterborough Community Chaplaincy(PCC) sat listening to Mike share for the first time. Some shook their heads slowly as they listened to Mike’s raspy voice and his story. Many of these folk will be there to help fill that ugly hole in his heart with a little love as the cancer closes down his life. They are foolish enough to believe that love can make a difference – imagine that!

Added weight…
The one part of Mike’s story that sticks in my own heart is a recent tragic turn. Inside of prison Mike found out that his brother had died of cancer. He had heard the account of his brother’s sickness and the steps that his body had gone through as the cancer worsened. Within a short few weeks Mike began showing signs of something being wrong inside. Mike complained of his weakness and put in reports to request to see some medical personnel about his physical distress. Counselors that talked with him suggested quickly that his feelings he was having inside were due to his brother’s death. He would get over it with time. Death of an inmate’s family member while he is inside of prison is terrible to cope with – everyone knows that. “Mike, you will get over it.”

Mike couldn’t sing at chapel anymore – the discomfort was growing and it just hurt too bad. For almost four months he grew worse. Further requests brought a visit from a Psychologist that was there to help him move past his ‘grief’.

Then one day in the workshop where he worked he collapsed. A guard standing nearby saw it happen. I believe a nurse came to offer assistance and in a few moments it was decided that Mike was worse than they all thought. Within a very short time he was diagnosed with an advanced cancer that was taking his life. The advancing cancer had its way and galloped through his body with no arrest – just because the fact that “official-dumb” wouldn’t listen. To them he was just another complaining offender that would do anything to avoid his duties of serving his time like everyone else.

Guess what – law suits are possible against Correctional Services Canada. Whether Mike lives long enough to be able to get some satisfaction with what has happened…is not something anyone can predict now. CSC may be safe from any litigation. Just one more soon to be dead ex-offender… One less person to count... Let’s move on now.

That part of the story leaves a hole in my heart. It is ripped open by the stupid actions of ‘official-dumb’.

“Hey Mike… you got a friend in me… and I don’t care what anyone thinks about it. Hang in there little buddy.”

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

NOTE:
Do a “Google” search using Mt Cashel Orphanage and it will yield about 10,900 possible web sites to read – here are some of the top ones to look at.

http://www.mountcashelorphanage.com/

http://archives.cbc.ca/IDC-1-70-1951-12676-11/on_this_day/disasters_tragedies/twt

http://www.cbc.ca/canada/story/2003/04/11/orphan_newfoundland030411.html

ALSO look at
Peterborough Community Chaplaincy

Summer Storms

For weeks now our grass has progressively turned brown. Even watering it every other day has not made much of a difference. The heat mixed with the long dry days with sunshine beating on the grass has left it as crispy Saskatchewan prairie grass. But then a change began happening… the series of storms started through our area.

Summer storms have been rolling through with regularity in the last few days and the grass has been transformed. Everything has come to life again. What an amazing sight to see the green reappear after the weeks of brown. Everything is bouncing back again to its spring lushness. As the lightning and thunder moved over us in waves, the rain rushed from the clouds to cover everything. How can anyone tell the story of the sound of thunder and the crash of nearby lightning striking? It is simply amazing.

Last evening around dinner time there was a stillness and beauty all around us. The sun was beginning its decent in the west. Everything was so clean. It had rained during the day off and on. Then it began again. The sky darkened quickly and the large clouds came from the northwest again. Suddenly the wind rose with a violence not yet felt in days before. A new storm cell was moving through and buckets of rain began to fall.

Just moments before the radical change, an older lady was walking down our street. I wonder if she made it under shelter. It is a very long block and she wasn’t from our street. This storm cell had the speed of a passing automobile.

Within 30 minutes it was gone as it sped down to Lake Ontario 35 miles south of us. The sky brightened again and the old sun peeked through again. Now everything sparkled. It was fresh and new again. We headed off to sit for two hours in a baseball park.

Life is like that isn’t it?
Days and months go by where life is hot and dry. Disaster has come and even great losses have taken place. It is unpleasant with the intense heat. If only things would change… if only. Then the intense storms come – sometimes with one after another. There is thunder of threats just over the horizon – rumbling low and far away. Then you see the flash of lightning warning of more difficulties to come. The high winds of problems tear at our soul’s very fibre. At times in the middle of the storm it appears that we will never make it to the next hour let alone the next day.

Then there is peace. The clouds roll by and the problems are gone. The unpleasant dryness of our souls is gone. A new lushness is there to fill the old deadness that we had grown accustomed to.

I have come to realize that I need rain clouds along with the thunder and lightning in my life. The problems are good and will transform the dryness of the soul.

God has an amazing way to wash it all away with his direct approach. His timing is good.

Today as I looked outside the breeze is blowing lightly. It is cool and clean. There is a promise of good day ahead of us. It just began raining lightly again. AND everything is green and lush. Today I am “Singing in the Rain”.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

An interesting bit of history…

• In 1929 a new song was written that would transform some people’s attitudes and problems “Singing in the Rain”– (possibly written and performed in 1927)


• In 1929 the “Wall Street Crash of 29” took place – On Black Tuesday, October 29, 1929 the stock market crashed and many lost everything.


• On November 23, 1929 – “The Hollywood Revue 1929” opened and included the song “Singing in the Rain”


• For the next 10 years The Great Depression 1929 – 1939 would ravage Canada’s economic standing and many people would lose everything. My family was deeply affected by this but pulled through and survived.


• By the 1950s things were better than ever. The war was over and everything was new again.

Reference
1929
The Wall Street Crash of 1929
The Great Depression - Canada
The song “Singing in the Rain” - 1929
The Hollywood Revue of 1929 – released November 23, 1929
1952 Musical – “Singing in the Rain”

"Singing In The Rain" – Jamie Cullum’s Lyrics
I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feeling
I'm happy again
I'm laughing at clouds
So dark up above
The sun's in my heart
And I'm ready for love
For love
Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I'll walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Singing, singing in the rain
In the rain.

La...

I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feeling
I'm happy againI walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
I'm singing, singing in the rain
In the rainIn the rain

Stupid Rules

My daughter has a rule in her home that says “We don’t use the word ‘stupid’.” Her four sons know the rule well and are not allowed to use the word at all. It is like a swear word for my world growing up. You knew what the words meant but you didn’t use them. They were not proper and didn’t belong in one’s vocabulary.

One time as I was driving her sons to the next point of the afternoon another driver swerved in front of our vehicle and cut us off. My quick reaction avoided any conflict but my feelings were ‘high’ at that moment… and I uttered, “What’s the matter with you Stupid Driver?!?” There was silence from the four boys with me… then there was a giggle... and one said in a low voice, “Grandpa said a bad word.” The next one chided in to help me understand that, “Mommy said we should never use that word.” As I was processing my new offence and the judgment that I had received, I grinned. My response was, “Sorry guys… but that driver was ‘Stupid’ no matter what Mommy says…” That brought four giggles and then outright laughter.

I knew I would hear about it later when the story went home.

I want to shout this from the roof tops at this point – bad word or not – “Stupid Rules...watch out it could try to rule your life too!”

The Story to consider…
A few weeks ago a young couple that we have been working with got into trouble and had a horrible fight. This ended up with him being in custody and they are separated with court orders to have no contact with each other. He is facing another 30 days in jail now. I wrote about this yesterday.

A number of weeks prior to this domestic dispute they were involved in what could be considered a close to death automobile accident. While creeping along the very busy #401 Highway in the heart of Toronto they came to a full stop. There was a car’s length distance between their vehicle and the one ahead. A lady moving at a high speed came up behind them and crashed into the rear of their vehicle going right under their car. That shoved their vehicle into the one ahead of them and that car into the car in front of it. The crash site was a mess and three cars were totaled. A miracle had happened and no one was hurt at all.

Now with the young man in jail she has no income. She is struggling to make a go of it but doing okay one day at a time. The money from the Insurance company is to arrive any day. She knows this and waits.

Well this week as the court made it judgment so did the Insurance company. They sent a letter with the check included in the young man’s name – she can’t cash it or draw on a deposit because the bank account is not a joint account. Yes I already know your reaction is the same as mine. Yikes!

It gets better with the Insurance company… each month they are continuing to bill them for the insurance on the car that was totaled. The Insurance company has issued a check that cannot be cashed and sends a bill that is for a car that they already have in their possession. Okay – have you got that one? “Stupid Rules.”

As the young lady looked at my wife and me with frustration written all over her face, we understand. There is nothing that we can do to help her. No contact means – no contact. If there is he can be charged and given more time. She then said the words that sum it all up, “Why do I have to use our baby bonus to pay the insurance on a vehicle that is now dead, and I have been doing this for three months..?”

“Stupid Rules.”

The resolve will come I am sure. Maybe the big Insurance company will pay back the money that she has paid out of what she doesn’t have. Maybe… but I say it again and “Stupid Rules.”

As we listened to her share with us the current events I am impressed. She states that she is not giving up. She is enrolled in college beginning this falls season. She intends to head for her social work degree. “I want to help others that are going through what I am going through now. I have to do something.”

The one thing that I know is that “Stupid Rules” doesn’t apply to her life any longer. ‘Stupid’ is replaced with ‘Smart’ and ‘Stronger’.

Hang in there little lady – we are proud of you!

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

The older man sitting beside us shook from head to toe as tears rolled down his face. He was holding a cane with his two hands as he sat looking at the front of the room. Up to this point he had been sitting quietly, waiting, like the rest of us. His tears came when his grandson was ushered in through the side right hand door by the court security guard. The young boy was hand cuffed. His grandson has just turned 15 years old and has been in a youth custody facility in Scarborough, Ontario for the last 2 ½ months for the crime that he has committed. He was 14 when he committed the crime from what I understood.

There is no equivalent facility to keep his grandson in our area so they have been traveling back and forth to Scarborough to see him. The strain on the older man had been great as he has a heart condition as well. The older man is a man that I have known well over these past years – and have prayed for him particularly.

Now it is the deciding moment for the family. The boy cannot go home because the ‘home’ situation is not healthy. The consideration by the judge was to release him to the care of his grandparents with a 9:00 PM curfew. After a lengthy talk to the boy, the judge did decide to let the boy live with his grandparents. He will be attending a school this fall in our city – but only after some time in a structured facility – I believe he will go to a youth group home which is nearby.

Grandparents cry. They weep deeply for the grandkids they have had such high hopes for. This is especially true in court. They remember the first announcement when the little one joined the family. Even though the little one is part of the larger group of grandkids – they are loved for who they are.

Yesterday as we sat in court waiting our turn for our support to be needed for another young man, we watched three sets of grandparents cry. We saw the pain and the anguish written on each face as tears rolled down. All the grandkids were young – very young. All had problems at home over many years of struggling to just be a kid. In every case the parents had not been parents but rather less than lovely human beings more interested in their own lives and loves.

The second grandkid to appear was only 19. He was very pale, tall and skinny. He had a hard time to concentrate on the issues at hand. Even while the judge was speaking to him about the gravity of the situation he was looking at the door each time anyone opened and closed it. His eyes immediately followed the actions of the court staff jumping erratically from one person to the next. The judge asked him twice if he was listening.

The 19 year old has a 2 year old son that he is trying to raise with the help of his girlfriend. CAS is involved setting the limits. He has worked hard already to get his girlfriend off drugs being her support with the odd jobs that he has maintained.

Yesterday he completed 174 days of waiting for this few minutes in court to finally be released to his grandmother’s care. He will now begin his journey to and from a small village about an hour north of here. Each day he will try to get work and try to visit his son. He will add to that schedule a new probation officer and more routine. His girlfriend wants to have a family with him I am sure. She looks to be about 15 – maybe sixteen.

Will the pattern never stop? Anger has been an issue for every grandkid in each issue before the court. With each person there was no control. Beatings, stabbings and horrific threats had been some of the reasons for their arrest, their time in custody and their appearance in court. Now grandparents are going to attempt to undo the bad and rework/find the good in each young person.

Our turn came…
Towards the middle of the afternoon, waiting from 9:00AM until 2:00 PM our turn came to listen to the particulars of why we were there. We were sitting with the young mom, the beautiful bride that had stood at the altar with me about two years ago. The fairy tale wedding had taken place, a new family life had begun and everything was nice. We were witnessing another miracle take place over these past two years. This couple was doing well.

On June 25th the whole thing about the relationship came unglued. The 30 year old man yielded to crack cocaine. Crack had done the final job as he had slipped away to act out again. What a mess it has become. In anger and anguish he had acted out one more time. He couldn’t make it through that final day and simply blew it. A horrible fight was described for all in court to hear. He had been arrested and taken away that horrible night. I have a lump in my throat as I write these words. It is horrible. He is like my grandson but isn’t.

Along time ago…
When this 30 year old young man was only 4 years old his mother left his father. There were good reasons at the time in her mind. She just couldn’t take it any more. She took the boy and ran. Within months she was in the arms of another man. When the little boy was 6 years old the new boyfriend sexually molested him. Later this man left and another man arrived to move into the home that his mother provided. This new man then fathered new brothers and sisters for the little boy. As well the new father was very strict in his approach to rearing children.

A broken life of crime mixed with drugs followed him through his year of growing. Two grandparents were there for him many times and cried so much that there are no more tears today. One of these grandparents is gone and the other is very tired.

Yesterday the judge offered some relief. After a stern warning that the young man would be looking a much longer time in prison if it happens again – he sentenced him to one more month in jail. About 30 days and he will be out.

This will make about two months in the correctional facility. During this time his son has started to walk. His beautiful and bright little boy grins from ear to ear when I see him. Two more grandparents are dieing inside with all that has happened to their grandson’s dad. My heart and prayers go out to them particularly.

When grandparents cry – God hears the tears that fall. He hears their deepest sob and cares for their grandkids too.

Is there any hope at all?
You betcha there is… you can bet your bottom dollar there is!

It will happen if someone will just grow up and say, “This has to stop. I will take responsibility and make a real change.” – it will stop. If that happened the next generation will not be in court with their grandparents crying. If only there is a change… if only.

14 and 19 years from now is not a lot of time.

My prayer…
God… it is Murray coming back to you again. I have a great big ache inside of me today. I am hurting for the grandparents of yesterday’s court room. I am dieing inside as well for these grandkids that made some very foolish decisions. God I want this to all go away – but it won’t. I am asking that today that you might be there to bring about some loving changes in the lives that are hurting. I would go in there and make it happen all by myself, but you and I both know that won’t work. You do a better job than I do. I trust you and we all need your help today.

I’ll check back in tomorrow to see how you are doing with it all. Thank you so much for caring.

Catch you later,
Murray.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

What Does Freedom Look Like?

I really haven’t thought much of the treasure that I have tucked around me. I have lived oblivious all my life of this treasure. There are people in our world that would give anything to have a small part of what I have taken for granted for so many years. Yesterday I met one person that is exactly that way. But now he has a gained the treasure for himself.

“What is the treasure?” is the question I hope you will be asking as you read this.

The treasure is my freedom. Free to do whatever I wish to do today. Free to make decisions on my own without threats or fear of threats. Free to move where I want to and when I want to. With the condition of being free; I have the power to act or speak or think without externally imposed restraints.

So does Mike. Mike gained his freedom last Friday after a gruelling almost 3 hour parole hearing in the Kingston area. Today Mike lives in Peterborough and is free. Yes he still has a record but he is free of the restraints of prison. He can move about on his own and do as he wishes. He was deemed as having paid for his crime and it was decided that it would be best for all that he live on the outside of prison walls.

Mike has been inside for 8 years. For 8 years he has needed to follow a strict regime of discipline and order. He would get out of bed when someone else decided he should. He ate meals when someone else decided he should. He went to bed when they decided he should. Most of the Canadian public has no idea of what that kind of regime does to a person – they are just glad that it does something to ‘those kind of people’.

Now try to put yourself in Mike’s shoes over this past weekend. You now are free. What would you do with your new time? What activity would you be involved in to kill time – now that you have so much of it?

As I pulled into the parking lot of the New Beginnings House I caught my first sight of freedom. There was Mike sitting at the back of the parking lot. He was perched on a log that lays at the edge of the parking lot pavement. The log is under a large tree. His hand was extended and he was feeding a chipmunk. He was quiet and the setting was peaceful…Mike, some peanuts and a new friend completed the picture of freedom.

As Mike and I talked he pointed to the new home he now lives in… and said, “This is so beautiful.” The new home is an old RCMP Building that once provided living quarters and offices for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police when they were stationed in our community at one time. Now is home for former offenders who are beginning their life anew and fresh.

Now Mike has his freedom in a relative way. Mike has a terminal cancer that is eating away inside of him. He knows the diagnosis and has been told the prognosis. He knows he will die in these next few months. It is another kind of sentence that he has to live with. But he is willing to do so in his new home.

After Mike and I talked for a while we shook hands and promised each other that we would get together this next week. Then Mike turned and walked back towards the log at the edge of the parking lot. He headed back to his peaceful spot and his new friend.

As I drove away Mike extended his hand and waited. He grinned at me and I waved at him. Mike has found freedom. I have found what freedom looks like.

Back track…
On Friday… one of the parole hearing folk asked Mike an important question. “Mike, if you are healed after you get out prison, what would you do?” His reply was simple, “Go home to see my family.”

Mike is an easterner all the way from Newfoundland. With his sickness he may never see ‘the Rock’ again. But that is no matter to him… today he is free and when his death comes he will do that in his new freedom.

God bless you Mike… we are pulling for and with you. We are going to enjoy this freedom with you as well.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

PS... If you have been reading this blog consecutively – you will know that I ‘quit’, ‘resigned’ as chairman of the Peterborough Community Chaplaincy… I really did… I just can’t stop helping… shish!

Check out... Peterborough Community Chaplaincy

Volunteer Withdrawal Pain

Last night I quit. I resigned. I didn’t let my name stand for reelection to a Board that I have served on since its inception. I gave a brave speech/talk to explain my withdrawal from the role that I had planned. Oddly enough I felt relief at the time of making the decision but today the waves and memories have come to splash against my deck. I feel the effect of withdrawal.

I didn’t want to do it but I had to. In my case there was a potential awareness of a conflict of interest with other groups that I am connected with. In fairness to both groups one had to be let go. The one that I let go of however is the most active and productive. That alone makes the decision more difficult.

My wife has joked that I cannot say “No” to anything. So she holds her breath when I do say “No” – because she fears that another “Yes” is too easy for me. She knows that when you take an ‘addicted volunteer’ out of something that he or she has been a part of you likely will not see them sit for long. They have to do something. I guess that I am no different than any others.

As I have watched friends of mine approach their retirement and then take the plunge over to the awesome land of “no work and all play” – there has been envy in me. I have watched a few of my neighbours jump from the one day of schedule and routine to the no routine and wondering what a schedule is all about – other than what their wife lines up on her long awaited “Honey Do” list. I have told my self that I would like that…less pressure and more ‘do what I have always wanted to do’ time.

Resigning and letting go of one of my treasured and valuable volunteer positions has been harder than I thought. A piece of my heart suddenly stopped functioning. Ouch – I felt that.

To explain to folk that are not connected to the Peterborough scene, I have been assisting Peterborough Community Chaplaincy by serving as a Board Member – and in particular as their President(Chair Person) since its inception. I walked with my friend Dan Haley as his ministry continued to grow. I stayed with the Board through some tough times and rough times of opposition. We have had some royal struggles as this ministry has grown. Together we took initial steps to form the steering committee that would eventually become the Board of Directors. There were hours and weeks of preparation of constitutions – lots of reading and thinking – ‘is this right?’ or ‘what can we change?’

Now today I am wondering how they are doing. Dan is off for special meeting in a parole hearing to see if a man will be released on a compassionate parole. This man is 47 years old and has cancer. He will begin ‘his dieing within’ our community if all goes well at the hearing. He will be surrounded by excellent volunteers that will demonstrate their love. As President and Chair I would hear about the next steps – as an outsider now I wonder.

I am suffering from ‘volunteer withdrawal pain’. I have not yet found this term to be one that other people use – i.e. it is not found on Goggle. But it is real.
I have recently witnessed others that have been involved serving on other Boards. When their time was up they disappeared from sight. They were no more to seen or heard from. Some had issues with the way their Board had operated – others loved their work and moved on – only to find that it just hurt too much to stick around and watch others lead in different directions.

Today I guess I understand better. What I do with the feelings will make or break me. That sense is so powerful.

A Bible Example…
In the Bible’s New Testament there is an account of volunteerism that changes directions.

The man we call the Apostle Paul, a great teacher and organizer of the early church, traveled a lot. With him came volunteers. Luke was one of these volunteers that traveled with him. Some Bible people call him St. Luke – a writer as well. Luke writes about some of Paul’s journeys in the Book of Acts – a Bible account of the early church developing.

On one of his journeys Paul went with Barnabas. Barnabas brought along John Mark. Right in the middle of their journey John Mark left them. This young volunteer makes it clear that he has had enough and he leaves the ‘Board’. From what we read Paul wasn’t impressed.

Fast forward…
Years go by and many things change. John Mark, the one time volunteer, is found back in the head office of the church, Jerusalem. Not much is seen of him until later. It appears that John Mark is a good listener and also a good writer.

When the church leaders finally assembled the text for what we know as the Bible, the New Testament begins with Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – the four gospels. Then comes the Book of Acts (written by Luke), followed by a variety of smaller letters that Paul wrote to the churches.

Paul, the leader, is not at the forefront. His books are later on. The ‘Mark’ within the four firsts, some say St. Mark, is the same John Mark that was once a volunteer with Paul’s band of followers. He is the same guy that didn’t impress Paul with his leaving the ‘Board’. Yet he goes on to write an amazing the Gospel of Mark…one of the ‘Big Four’.

For me the story points to the fact that even after volunteers have to quit, there is still hope. In my world – “God isn’t finished with me yet..”

‘Volunteer withdrawal pain’ is replaced by ‘new opportunity’. A new possibility will rise shortly I am sure. Yes, Alida my wife, is right… yikes…!

~Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

We Were Happy

The words leaped from the old yellow page…

“We were there for four days, then we decided it was time to go to our own future home, two miles west of Truax (Saskatchewan). We loaded our little bit of furniture into a farm wagon and drove to our home. We had just a few pieces of second hand furniture. But I was so proud of my shiny, new cook stove. It had a big ten gallon reservoir. And we began our life on our own farm. I was so happy in my little three room shack.”

These words were my grandma’s. Emma Caroline Kirkpatrick, around 1985, described for her family the life she had lived through. She was 94 when she committed these words to paper. She was born in 1891 and passed away in 1989.

The next page over in the document makes the most powerful statement… “The farm did pretty good, we had good crops, everything went well and we were happy.” The year that she wrote of was 1916. They had been married in April and now the summer had yielded a good crop on their new farm.

Babies came and the little shack became more full. Now there were 3 babies along with mom and dad in the three rooms. During these years that they lived through, the tragedies that hit the entire world would come close but never actually hit the small family. The Great War of 1914 – 1918 raged on in Europe as they were married and began their new life. The Pandemic of Influenza in 1918 – 1919 raged across the world as their first baby arrived. Many people died in Saskatchewan, north of where my grandparents lived. But for some reason their region was not hit in the same way.

Grandma’s words stand out… “…everything went well and we were happy.” These words are ringing in me – over and over again. “We were happy….”

Her first baby, that she was so looking forward to, was born on October 26. In her words, “On Oct 26 Robert was born. He was a beautiful 10 pound boy. But birth was very difficult and it was a long time before it was over. So my baby got brain damage, he had cerebral palsy and was helpless. It was sad to have to face but we loved him so much.”

“We were happy….” It was 1917 in rural and remote Saskatchewan – far from anywhere…but close to each other and loved ones. Even though it was maybe the most difficult things a young mom could face “We were happy….” stands out from the paper’s face.

In downtown Peterborough there are hundreds of houses that are huge and ornate. They are some of the most elegant homes that one can imagine. Many were built during the exact same period that my grandparents moved to the three room shack on the southern Canadian prairies. The people that built these marvelous mansions lived very well. They had their families and built wonderful futures for their family to come.

But none of them have given a heritage to their children like my grandparents did for us. “We were happy….” stands out like a blazing family crest. We had it all and were happy.

Today – outside our front room window the sun is peeking over the trees across the street. The sky is brilliantly blue and clear. This will be a cooler summer’s day in my world. I am happy – so very happy. Tomorrow our oldest daughter will be 39 and we will celebrate together. “We were happy….” not rich… but happy…. A few aches and pains but we are happy…

Happiness comes as my heritage for which I am so thankful.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Reference:
The Great War of 1914-1918
The Pandemic of Influenza in 1918-1919

When Pitching is Impossible

The dust flew as the boy ran from home plate to first base and jumped on the bag in victory. He turned to see if he should go to second base…. He saw the other team drop the ball again and he was off. His own team members cheered him on as he ran as fast as he could. They were trouncing our team and our team knew it. What a feeling of helplessness. You can’t do a thing but watch.

It is Tuesday night Baseball and our team is struggling.

Our problem at this point is the fellow in the middle – the pitcher. There on the pitcher’s mound stood a young boy with the entire team counting on him. I will call him ‘Jerry’. The last two batters had just hit and run. The first batter didn’t even need to hit – because Jerry, the pitcher, hit him with the ball and he was allowed to go to first base with out even swinging. The bases are loaded and we all knew that the next hitter was a big fellow that could blast this out of park! Discouragement among our team members was running high to say the least. What should be done?

One of our coaches held his hand up to indicate a ‘time out’ and then walked to the pitcher’s mound. All the players approached the pitcher with their coach. Jerry’s shoulders slumped telling the whole story. His eyes filled with tears and he said to his coach, “I suck as a pitcher. I am no good.” Then he passed the ball to his coach and began to walk off.

The coach’s intentions were, along with the team mates, to encourage the pitcher. The pitcher’s intention was to leave the game.

As the coach walked off the field with the boy in front of him, Jerry adjusted his cap to cover his face entirely so no one could see the tears that were falling.

In this age group insecurity is real. You are not yet big enough to play well. Some of your team mates can hit or run or catch or pitch. As a player you can too…but if you mess up – ‘You suck’ and you simply want to die.

In this league, normally a parent or grandparent steps up at this point to give a little shoulder rubbing… or a hug. That will sometimes cure the bottomless feeling that the 12 year old is having. A little pep talk seems to be just enough when the ‘whole world sucks’.

This didn’t happen for the 12 year old pitcher, Jerry. As he walked to the sideline he was done. No parent stepped up and no one moved. We all felt his pain but could do nothing about it. We all paused and waited. The coach talked to Jerry by himself. Everyone watched. Then the turning point came. With the coach’s arm on his shoulder he headed for the first base position to fill that spot and everyone applauded their new hero. This is a team that is coming together.

At about 8:00 PM the game was over. Our guys were beaten and we knew it. The other team was good. This is Tuesday night baseball and next week there will be another game.

The rest of the story….
The coach watched at the end of the game as the young boy Jerry stood waiting. Everyone was leaving as families rounded up possessions left on the ground.

There was no parent for Jerry. The coach watched a car pull up. A younger man got out. The coach approached the young man to try to tell him how the night went, Jerry stood alone and waited. The younger man is Jerry’s counselor.

Jerry is a foster kid that is staying somewhere else other than his own home. His own home may not even exist anymore. There is no way to find out. The counselor shared a tiny bit with the coach to help him understand. The counselor was Jerry’s transportation for the night.

The words “I suck as a pitcher. I am no good.” rang in the ears of the coach all week. Last night they rang in my ears too. As he told me the story my heart went out to Jerry. He didn’t show at the game.

It is just easier to stay home than to face any dumb pitcher’s mound again. To have to face other ‘families’ and demonstrated ‘family life’ – i.e. other guys getting their dads to hug them is too hard for a 12 year old.

Reflection…
Baseball is a parody of life for me. Team work should be there – but often isn’t. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. Sometimes people let you down and other times ‘you suck’. And when ‘you suck’ a little shoulder rubbing sure helps. And at 12 years old you need a parent or someone to just say, “It will be okay.”

More often than not I know what Jerry feels. I guess that is why I have a lump in my throat for him when he didn’t show up for the game last night.

My prayer…today…
God, I hurt like crazy as I hear of Jerry’s story. As I witnessed his shoulders slumped and his hat over his face I knew what he felt like. God, I know that I likely can’t be there for Jerry personally, but I pray that some one will care for him as he approaches the next steps through to manhood. And God… if another Jerry comes my way, please let me see and understand so that I can be there to rub his shoulders and say it will be okay. Thanks God…. Murray

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Gaining or Losing Words

Glocalization, Apogee, and Binary are three newer words for me. The spell check on this computer has told me that the first word listed is not in its data bank. The other two are alright. I have been working on understanding the words as they popped into my world after reading articles that have included them to describe a new world to me. The words tickled my brain I think.

Glocalization – the creation of products or services intended for the global market, but customized to suit the local culture.

Apogee – the point in the Moon's orbit that is farthest from the Earth.

Binary – consisting of or indicating two parts.

The content of the articles I was reading described places and ideas that I had not yet considered in my small world. It was fun reading and then understanding. It was a sense of accomplishment to take in some new and with some ease to be able to understand. It was neat to challenge myself to take the lead into a new area that I had never been before. Reading does that for me. Memory is there supporting all that I take into my small world.

I write today because they are two other words that are taken for granted by a majority of us. ‘Reading’ and ‘Memory’ are two great friends that I have right now. Some of my other friends moved on or deserted me for different reasons – but these two are old and faithful in our relationship.

Two men came into focus in my world recently. One cannot read and the other cannot remember.

The one that cannot read knows the words and uses them in his language to some extent. However, because he cannot read he can only use the words that he has memorized. His world is then limited by what he has experienced and heard from other people. He will come to a quick halt in many categories that have not been a part of his life. When he speaks with me the discussion is simple and sometimes a struggle for him. He will fight to stay focused when we begin pushing the edge of his limits of vocabulary.

The other cannot remember. His short term memory is now sporadic. It has great holes in its ability to form strings of words. As we were speaking he began a sentence to describe something that had taken place for him. He had tried to describe how much fun a certain activity was for him and how much he had enjoyed doing this activity each week. The conversation was good between the two of us until the words were gone. The sentence hung there in mid air as the words could not be retrieved and inserted where they should be.

Both men are brilliant. Through out their lives they have done good things and accomplished much in their own worlds. The first one is a great mechanic. He can take a car apart and put back together with ease. In fact he can take apart anything that has been made and find the problem without knowing the correct words of the broken or worn parts on the machine. The second one was involved through out his life using words to teach others. He had many times helped men like his illiterate friend learn how to read. He had been king of memory issues. Scrabble was his greatest game ever…few people could hold a candle to him.

I don’t know about you, but I love my words. This medium of words on a Blog is restrictive to a huge part of the world around me. The men and women that cannot read will miss this entirely. The other group of people with memory issues will not be able to handle the computer and even turn it on. For them the TV remote is a mountain to climb let alone Windows 98, Windows XP or Windows Vista.

Someone asked me of the things I do with Blogging. They questioned why. After I gave my answer about touching an unseen world…they looked puzzled and declared that it certainly wouldn’t be their cup of tea. They could not comprehend the ‘typing part’ of all those words. Oddly their question was a technical one… “How fast can you type?” When my answer was “Not very fast – in fact it is painfully slow…very slow.. only using two or three sometimes up to four fingers at the most…” they were even more confused.

I Blog because I can and I love the use of words. The words are inside me and simply bubbling to get out. They are surrounding ideas that are tumbling over one another to describe deep feelings that plunge headlong to the front of my mind – fighting for a way to get loose. Some of them cannot be released for fear of causing damage. Others are free to do their thing. Then still others stumble out and hurt people when they are freed.

I write because some day I won’t be able to do so. There may well come a time when it will not be possible to direct the thoughts and find the words.

My prayer is…
“Please God, give me just one more time to be able to use the words, the wonderful words. Let these words be words that will challenge and inspire. Let them be words that will help and not hinder… and if they have let there be more words that will take the place of the first to heal the broken places. Thanks God for words… Your friend, Murray”

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

2007 Jail Experience

“A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!”

No this posting is not about Little Richard (see yesterday…). This one is about going to an Ontario Provincial jail to visit someone. The expression “A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!” best describes what can happen. Frustration will be written from this point on as “A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!” I am not totally sure what was going on in the institution – but there are problems – especially for us.

On July 5, 2007 I booked the afternoon off from other pastoral duties to travel to Lindsay and visit two inmates. My wife, as my assistant pastor, went with me. As we both work with these two men we both needed to see them.

I had checked by the telephone switch board at the Institution as to the possibilities of visiting the two clients that I had been working with in the community prior to their incarceration. I also called to enquire of the possibilities of a professional/pastoral visit for both men. It was agreed on and this was arranged.

We arrived at 12:55 PM and signed in with the reception. The first visit was to be with a man in 6C. We waited in the hallway until the guards operating the Xray/security apparatus finished talking to each other. Then we were cleared at this point and told to wait in the seated area outside the elevator. The elevator takes you to the second floor. Next we were allowed to get on the elevator and progress to the desk at the next level two, to speak with the guard at that point. He acts sort of like a traffic cop and also gives directions to people like us that don’t know where to go. He in turn called 6C to enquire and was told that it was approved. We then turned left, walked to the end of the hallway – turned left – pushed the button and were allowed in. We sat and waited for about 5 minutes. No one came.

Next – the same guard that had called from the desk in the hallway and gave us instruction to proceed... showed up to the visiting area that we were waiting in. He told us that there was now a lock down and we would not be able to see the individual we were waiting for. 6C was now not available where he was only 7 minutes before.

“A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!”

I must pause here to tell you that on this past weekend I tore a muscle in the calf of my left leg and walking was slow - and painful. I had a definite limp. It was a long walk to 6C. So now we headed back slowly to the man at the desk and enquired as to the possibility of seeing our next individual in 1C. He telephoned ahead to 1C and it was possible. So we went to the opposite end of the long hallway to see 1C.

After that visit was complete we headed down the hallway to the central desk again and found out that it was now okay to visit 6C. The same guard that has helped us called to tell them that we were now available. At that moment he informed us by relaying the message, from the person on the phone in 6C, that visiting hour was over for the man in 6C. It was 2:02 PM. This desk guard offered apologies. So then we headed back down the main hallway to the elevator and prepared to leave.

“A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!”

We exited the Xray/security area with the three guards. We lined up at reception to give our “professional yellow visitor tags” to the staff and get our licenses back. One staff member saw us and motioned that we were to come to talk to him. 6C had just called and let the front desk know that we could come to 6C for our visit.

We returned to the Xray/security area to be told that we had to wait. Six people were lined up at this point. For fear of being left out waiting again - I pushed to the front of the line with my wife and they let us in. We explained that we had been told to proceed to 6C.

Up the elevator and down the long hallway again. We came to the desk and the guard called to let 6C know that we were coming. We arrived at the door to enter and pushed the button. Our 6C friend was waiting for us inside the glassed in area. He waved and smiled. We waited and then a voice told us that there would be no visit today for this man. I explained that we could see the individual through the door.

It was at this point that the voice informed us that his visit was cancelled because they had been told that more people were coming for their visits and we had to leave. There was no explanation.

DOUBLE the “A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!”

By the time I arrived at the front gate to leave I cannot express the feelings that I had for what had happened.

As we drove home I thought over the images I had stored in my head. The images of line ups of people to see loved ones. There were moms and dads, girl friends and wives, people that care about people inside. Most had traveled some distance from Toronto and other parts of Ontario to visit. They are not guilty of anything but they are because their loved one is inside of jail.

The reasons that these men were in jail were cause enough for the family to experience great duress. Now they face walls of officialdom that professional guards display. Now they face the possibility that the trip to this Institution may be for naught if something inside goes wrong.

The Islamic lady that stood looking at us as we did our second re-entry to the Xray/security was confused. She needed someone to talk to – but there was no one. There were about six others standing and waiting away from the line up that had been given their little red visitor badges to wear. My guess is that all have been told that their area(the one that their loved one is in…) was not available now. So sorry that you traveled so far – but something changed inside and you are out of luck.

“A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!”

Recently I attended a seminar that described the changes that are taking place in Britain. At that seminar there were other volunteers that described the way that officials are changing the system to allow a more humane way of treating men and women inside. They told of the ways that groups are helping families as they bring the children to see daddy. Imagine they actually provide a toy and play room for the kids that come to see daddy.

That is our Federal System of incarceration in Canada. The Provincial System is very different. Families at this stage of jail work are not terribly high on the list. What matters more is the officialdom and the way that they are treated. In Ontario we have achieved a high standard of punishment for anyone that enters a Provincial Institution. We are able to punish these guys and along with their families, as well as friends in whatever way is desired – by mistreatment.

“A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!”

Now did anyone tell anyone else in officialdom – that both of the guys that we visited have not yet been found guilty of what they are alleged to have done? But because they are in this place – both they and their visitors are guilty.

“A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!”

Yes I have written to someone that cares and is able to relay the frustration to those that might make a difference. I likely have placed my visits at risk within this institution for making the information available that I have. I just hope that officialdom doesn’t take it out on the guys that we visited.

Outside in the big bad world…
I was shocked one day when I was told by a chaplain that guys were asking judges to let them have more time in jail – over the Provincial System’s amount of 2 years less a day. They would rather have three or four years inside a Federal Prison than go to the Provincial System. Now it is making more sense.

I have friends inside this Provincial System that work there. They care. But they are caught having to deal with some of the attitudes of officialdom. They need prayer for sure as they do their work.

There are potentially 1100 men and women in this particular jail in Ontario. That is at least 1100 families that are facing the rigors of what happens next. Multiply the number of people in each family that are affected by one incarcerated person – guilty or not – and you will be staggered by the potential for further social problems in our community. It is alike the ripple affect of a stone thrown in a quiet lake – it goes on for a long time.

“A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!”

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

PS – Sorry there are not photos here… it is illegal to take them of a jail.

"A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!"

I just happened to catch the last part of “Capitol Fourth” on TV last evening. WOW! Happy Birthday U.S.A. It was the "Fourth of July" and the Americans were celebrating their country’s birthday with a variety of performers on stage in front of Capitol Hill, Washington.

On the TV screen sat a little man, dressed in a snappy blue suit, and working the keyboard of his piano. On his head was something that looked like a wig. From time to time he would delicately push the curls of the hair on his head to the side – as it tended to fall over his eyes. The mop of hair fell over his collar and part way down his back. It looked odd hovering over his old black face. The pencil thin mustache that ran close and parallel to his upper lip was another trade mark. Both the hair do and the mustache are not something that my black friends sport now-a-days. Black hair is usually tight and small curls. If it is big and there is lots of it – it will stand up high in a mop that was common in the polyester days of the 1970s. This guy is different – really different.

Uniquely this little man changed people and their way of thinking for the last 60 years. Here again he was doing the same over and over again. As he sat at the piano and worked his magic the crowd went crazy. He encouraged the people close enough to his stage to get up and dance – and the kids did. It was fun. Adults joined in and wiggled for all their worth.

Do you know who this fellow is yet? If I give you a hint and say, "A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!" – would that help you? You definitely have to be a Baby Boomer to get that one.

Well "A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!" – meet Little Richard an old and very favorite Rock and Roll artist that was born in 1938. He began his career singing in the 1940s and made the first recording in 1951. His stats are amazing and the life story is entertaining (link below). From Rock and Roll idol to a Preacher is a long jump, Little Richard has done it all. It was said that he actually was being credited as “having put the funk into rock and roll beat”. Another said that, “he helped lay the foundation of rock and roll music.”

There on the stage was a “really old guy” – almost 70 doing amazing stuff on a keyboard. His nimble fingers flew across the keyboard. His shrieks at times were amazing. This old fellow could still belt out the old favorites that we loved as teenagers… “Good Golly Miss Molly” – “Long Tall Sally” and “Tutti Frutti” were a few that I remembered well.

As I watched it made me want to wiggle too. But I couldn’t wiggle as I had hurt my left leg big time over the weekend and it is too sore to move much. So being a good and old Baby Boomer I tapped my right foot.

The thing that brought a big smile to my face happened at the very end of the show. As Little Richard finished his very lively ‘on stage presence’ he turned slowly looking over his right shoulder. Then he motioned slightly and some one brought out his crutches to make his way off the stage. At the end he was standing with his crutches waving good bye to everyone. Hey this is my kind of man! He is old and honest. He hurts a little and has some slow down disability like the rest of us Baby Boomers. “Little Richard – you da man! You da man!”

Come on… Pastor… are you nuts?
This is the Northview Pentecostal Church Blog – a church Blog no less… What does an ancient Rock and Roll star have to do with what you normally write? Where are you going with this?

I gave you the hint already. If you haven’t already skipped to the link at the bottom of this posting about his life….Little Richard is a fellow Pentecostal Minister and has been since 1977. Since that time he has traveled and preached to hundreds of thousands people and then recorded gospel music.

Admittedly he does look a little odd with the wig and the mustache thingie… but this guy is still doing something. He has still got it. He may look like a dinosaur but he is still cool.

Last night on the Capitol Hill front lawn Little Richard stirred the hearts of every Baby Boomer that was watching. He tickled the ears and eyes of those that could still focus. He was one of us. Something to note here – it was broadcast on PBS in the USA – kind of like the CBC in Canada – a ‘thinking’ radio station – something that ‘oldies’ listen to more often than ‘youngies’ do.

Application…
"A-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-whop-bam-boom!" get your walker out and go… Pick up your cane and find the old bounce in your step. You are not dead – yet! Act like your dead and they will bury you. Your opportunity is now – move it, move it, move it…!

But my left leg hurts. So does other parts of me. I am just a little behind Little Richard in age… oh Boy. Anybody want to go for a walk slowly and then sit for a long coffee together?

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Little Richard

Rockabilly Photos

Lyrics for…
Good Golly Miss Molly (Robert Blackwell, John Marascalco)

Good golly miss Molly, sure like to ball,

Good golly miss Molly, sure like to ball,

When you're rockin' and a rollin', can't hear your mama call.

From the early early mornin' to the early early night,

When I caught miss Molly rockin' at the house of blue light,

Good golly miss Molly, sure like to ball,

When you're rockin' and a rollin', can't hear your mama call.

Mama, papa told me 'Son, you better watch yourself',

If they knew about miss Molly, have to watch my pa myself,

Good golly miss Molly, sure like to ball,

When you're rockin' and a rollin', can't hear your mama call.

Goin' to the corner gonna buy a diamond ring,

When she hugged me and kissed me, made me ting-a-ling-a-ling,

Good golly miss Molly, sure like to ball,

When you're rockin' and a rollin', can't hear your mama call.

(Too funny…. we paid dollars for that record long ago… )

The Danger Lurking Close By

Mid July may be the most dangerous time to year for certain residents of Peterborough. There is a danger lurking close by. This is specially true later at night and early in the morning. No it is not street gangs or burglars. It is not some nasty person that will sneak into your garage or storage shed to steal something. The danger lurks however – very close to the homes that we live in. It is extremely frustrating for some.

It is the time of the local bunny population to move with stealth from yard to yard – from garden to garden. Each is checking out the succulent gardens and flower gardens in their backyards. Remember that the bunny was here first. I am sure that they appreciate so much the hard work we all go to as we get these beautiful gardens ready for their late night appetite satisfaction.

A friend of ours gave my wife about six cornflower plants. My wife did see one flower appear on one of the plants – but so did Mr. Bunny. It was gone the next morning. In fact now – most of the cornflower plants are reduced to a few leaves. The tops disappear when they reach about six inches. (This is a borrowed picture -not our flowers at all)

Now you must know that my wife loves animals – especially rabbits. She will call my attention to the smallest bunny that she sees along the way. Yesterday it was different – as we drove down the street… her comment was, “There he is, Mr. Bunny! You rascal – go to someone else’s yard.” Something has changed for Alida… she is not so nearly appreciative of these rascals now. In fact she is checking her flower garden often as the potential is there for more damage each night.

Friends of ours have more problems than we do. They have a full garden that is situated on one of the green belts of the city. Most of our Mr. Bunny’s relatives live close by. It is a wonder that the lettuce is of any size at all. Special little creatures are coming at all times to check out the “bargains offered” in these neatly planted rows. Harvest will be soon I am sure – just before the gardeners want to sample their hard work.

Walt Disney built a character out of this kind of garden invader. Walt and his story creators knew this was a common problem for many people – and they knew that people loved rabbits. Thus the unusual, fun loving and fearless character of Bugs Bunny appeared. All of us remember the violence and the threats of violence offered by Porky Pig. I think it was Elmer Fudd that chased, pursued and attempted to murder the “waskal wabbit” in his carrot patch. It was likely our first display of guns and violence on TV. Bugs would always punctuate the scene with his patented, “Eh…What’s up do?”

Dilemma...
Cute to say the least, and a good caricature of the monster that lives in our yard. But what do you do? They are not afraid of much. A scarecrow doesn’t work on bunnies. They are fast as lightning and scurry away at the least sound of danger.

Being Canadian – I can’t carry a gun. I need to make application and prove my worthiness to have a fire arm. I must be registered with the police and the government to have a rifle and not even think of having hand gun without filling out many forms – red tape galore. So I can’t shoot the little creature.

One time when I was much younger, on a farm in rural Saskatchewan, I did an execution for my grandmother. She had a rabbit that was pesky and was eating her garden produce. Arming myself with a gun I waited for the rascal to show up – and then, “Blam” I let him have it. It wasn’t a pretty site. The shot was good but the death was slow and the rabbit looked at me all the time it died… whimpering as it did.

I am marked for life and seared in my conscience for what I did that fateful day. I was 12 years old and a murderer.

Life Applications…
We see it differently – Mr. Bunny and Me. He sees it as survival – I see it as a nuisance. He sees it as his yard – I see it as my yard. A pesky little creature to say the least. We see it differently.

With Mr. Bunny the solution seems to be simple. Don’t plant cornflowers where you have bunnies. They don’t take a second look at the other flowers that we successfully planted. Plant smart – and don’t lose sleep over the rabbits. Side by side survival is important for both of us.

My thoughts drifted this morning to the streets of Peterborough. As I walked downtown not long ago I met some street people. These folks ranged from their mid teens to late twenties. They were dressed differently from me. All were trying to make a few loonies as they panhandled their way along life. Pesky little creatures but side by side survival is so important to our community.

I see the street kids differently now. They are someone’s kids. They are someone else’s grandkids. They belong to us all. They are not a danger lurking close by – they are us and belong just like Mr. Bunny does in my yard.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Bugs Bunny