Reading to my little pilgrim

Noah and I just finished reading Little Pilgrim's Progress. It's a simplified version of John Bunyan's classic, which was re-written for children. I loved reading it aloud to Noah. And he enjoyed being read to, something we don't do enough of lately, since he's become such an avid reader himself. Each night lately, we've looked forward to that time when, his bath over and jammies on, we'd curl up together and read, often while Noah had his bedtime snack. We were both completely swept up in the story, and couldn't wait to see how it turned out. The trouble is, when I'd read the last chapter, Noah turned over the last page to see what came next. It wasn't an unhappy ending, but he wasn't satisfied that everything had been resolved to his liking. He told me we should write the next chapter, and he said perhaps that's why the blank pages at the end were there. So I was instructed to write "Chapter 94" - in medium-sized letters, just like the ones for every chapter before. Then Noah came up with a chapter title, and I had to write, in big letters, just like every other chapter title in the book: "CHRISTIAN FINDS HIS FATHER." Noah dictated a few lines to start off his new chapter, and I'm afraid that's where we left it. It was bedtime, and we were both getting tired. If he thinks of it again, as I'm almost certain he will, we'll continue to write the ending the way HE thought it should have been. We all have endings to write. And if we're not happy with the way things have turned out so far, we can turn over a blank page and start writing the next chapter. In a way, that's the message of Little Pilgrim's Progress. It's never too late to start your journey. And the King wants all the little pilgrims to come home.

Hold it high

The Olympic torch relay is passing through our province over the next week. Successive runners will take their turns, lifting high that torch, running with it, and then passing it on. The torch symbolizes all that is good about the Olympics, celebrating friendship and peace. How fitting that the torch is here in Newfoundland and Labrador around Remembrance Day, when we celebrate and remember those who died for peace. I recall the words of Colonel John McCrae, who wrote: "To you from failing hands we throw the torch; be yours to hold it high." The torch of fighting for peace has passed to a younger generation now, just as McCrae had hoped.

This past Sunday, my church marked Remembrance Day. As we observed two minutes of silence, we were given a visible reminder of how many lives have been lost in the war in Afghanistan, as the names of Canada's 133 fallen soldiers scrolled on a screen in front of us. Oh my, how long the list seemed to be. Since I've become a mother, my thoughts always go to all those mothers who won't see their sons or daughters again. I'm not in favor of or opposed to this war our soldiers are fighting. I don't think I've earned a right to that opinion. But I know the young men and women who are overseas right now deserve our support. Our cheers for them ought to spring forth as freely as they will for those Olympic torchbearers this week.

The sermon in our church this week wasn't about Olympic torches or Canada's current war, but I found an interesting parallel. It was based on Exodus 17, which gives an account of a battle the Israelites were engaged in against the Amalekites. Joshua led the battle on the frontlines, but the Biblical account of the battle indicates that Moses and two other men played an equally important role. Moses held his staff high with both arms in the air. That sounds like a cheering posture to me. As long as Moses held his arms up, the Israelites experienced victory in the battle. But when his strength failed, and he lowered his arms, the enemy would gain the upper hand. Two other men, Aaron and Hur, were instrumental in ensuring that the Israelites continued to be victorious. Did they rush out and challenge the enemy directly? Did they sign up for combat training? No, they simply held up Moses' arms. And the Israelites won the battle against the Amalekites.

The officer who gave last week's sermon said Moses' actions were symbolic of his role as an intercessor, doing something as simple as praying for someone else. I believe we also have a role to play in supporting those around us in winning their daily battles. They may be soldiers in a far-off war. They may be co-workers struggling with issues of their own. They may be family members suffering from loneliness. Even though I'm not an Olympic torchbearer, I can accept this torch and help hold up those around me. If they falter and stumble and I don't do my part to help, in prayer or otherwise, I can't blame it on someone else. I was there, I knew the need, and I did nothing. So I'll raise up my arms (sometimes literally) and cheer for those whose own private war may be just getting through the day. You go! And I'm behind you all the way.

The Regal Constellation

My husband and I were in Toronto this summer and booked into a fairly new hotel near the airport, because we were flying out early the next morning. From our vantage point on the 7th floor, we could look out and see runway lights and airport hangers. But the one building I couldn't take my eyes off was an imposing white structure just across the street from our hotel. It was obviously an abandoned building, with glass-less windows, and a plywood barricade all around its perimeter. Some heavy equipment parked off to one side seemed to foretell that this building was slated for demolition. But right at the very top of this neighboring structure were huge red letters that were once lit to be seen for miles: Regal Constellation, they read. This was an old hotel and, by old, I don't mean turn-of-the-20th-century, Victorian-era, like the Chateau Laurier or Chateau Frontenac. The Regal Constellation hotel was 1960s vintage, a place that no doubt was celebrated as offering the latest amenities for the traveller of that time. Now, it stood empty, abandoned, a relic, preparing to be destroyed. I imagined all the excited tourists who had once strolled through its lobby, and weary business travellers just anxious to rest their heads. I imagined romantic dinners in its restaurant, and couples dancing to the music of The Beach Boys on its dance floor. Why, I asked my husband, why would it have to be torn down? Why couldn't they fix it up? "Building codes change," my electrician husband shrugged, "sometimes it costs more to fix up than it does to build new." Well, although I didn't even know the Regal Constellation, I'm sad to see it go. Sad, just like I am when I see dilapidated fishing stages and stores, wharves falling into the sea, and boarded-up houses in small-town Newfoundland. Derelict hotel, or emblems of a faded fishery. They both have stories to tell. And they both leave behind people saddened by their passing from history.

The Regal Constellation, before it went supernova: