Visions 1

This morning, while singing in worship I had two visions.  The first was of rather an old fashioned looking faucet with two taps, hot and cold water above it, as you would find in a farmhouse or utility sink.  They were solid gold.  A small trickle of very pure water was flowing from the faucet.  The interpretation of this vision is:  because you are weak and frail with limitations of age, like this faucet the flow of my Spirit is going to appear weak and small, but it is not.  There is great strength in the small, and this work must be carefully and patiently measured because anything more intense would harm  you.  Yes, you are old, but you are also made of gold and are highly precious to me and in My Kingdom.  Accept thle blessing of your limitations and allow me to bless you and others through your limitations. Second vision: I saw several tiny coloured gemstones being transformed into yards of highly coloured fabric, as though each ream of cloth was being pulled from the gemstone of the corresponding colour: red for ruby, green for emerald, blue from sapphire, golden yellow for topaz, etc.  The interpretation: each act of kindness, every kind and loving word to others is like a gemstone from which you will gain the robe of righteousness, the garment  of praise.  I am also the Lord of Small Things.

1969

Thaddai, slowly and gently, almost diplomatically extricated himself from his mother, Thera's, arms.  She was still weeping, still wild with joy, and the three years of anguish thinking her child was dead, and then he gestured to me:  Adrian here, brought me back to be with you again.  He kept me safe on the journey...Then, following the script he had suggested to me during the journey, I opened my mouth and said, Madame, your son has been in my custody more than two years.  I bought him from merchants of human flesh and he served me and my father in our home in Nicomedia.  It is through the agency and faithful prayers of your boy that I have but recently converted to the life and service of our Saviour Jesus Christ.  I have released him from my bondage, with great repentance, and now your son is restored to you.  I dared not say any more, and could see that Thera was already struggling with what I had told her.  We had already agreed, Thaddai and I, that the last thing she would need to hear was of how I had carnally misused the child of her womb in order to satisfy my adolescent lust.  He insisted that she must never ever learn of this, and I could only honour his petition.  Almost struggling against her maternal instincts, she forced her hand towards me in a gesture of friendship and Christian pardon, and invited me to lodge with them in her home....

it's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is!) 4

I started learning Spanish in the fall of 1999, age 43.  This was my delayed response of obedience to a call I received from God in 1994, just following my first visit to Costa Rica.  I knew I would be returning, but did not know when.  My fortunes were decreasing, money was getting tight.  In 1997, when things were already desperate I asked God again if He was calling me to learn Spanish and return to Costa Rica.  Three days later,  Wednesday afternoon in early February, I felt called to attend the daily evensong service at St James, the high Anglican church I was then attending in Vancouver.  On my way out of the church a small spry elderly man started gesturing madly at me that he wanted to give me something.  So, I received from this complete stranger a small Spanish-English dictionary.  I knew then that God was speaking to me. It took me two years to get my ducks in a row, but when I became serious I bought a bigger and more complete Spanish-English dictionary, since the one the old man gave me was missing some pages, and a Spanish exercise book.  Then the doors started to open.  Within days, while out walking on Main street, I needed to use the washroom quite badly.  I was going to stop in at a café where I was a regular, but somehow felt awkward about going in there just to pee, so I detoured to the Kingsgate  Mall nearby where I went to the washroom at the library which at the time was located there.  Just as I was leaving I ran into an old friend, and as we were chatting we learned that we were both trying to learn Spanish.  She had a number of Latino friends and promptly began introducing us, plus she was very knowledgeable about helpful resources, including: various local radio programs in Spanish; free Spanish language newspapers; cheap Spanish classes at one of the neighbourhood houses for one dollar a pop plus five dollar annual membership; and a free Spanish-English language exchange program at another neighbourhood house. That was more than enough to get me started. So, over the next three years or so I got to work at classes, listening to Spanish radio, reading Spanish newspapers, studying grammar and vocabulary, and practicing with native speakers.  Fortunately, I had a lot of time for this, since I was on social assistance while also painting and shilling my art and cleaning homes.  Though I was broke, almost everything that came my way was free.  I  also had no idea about when or if I would be returning to Costa Rica, but God had already spoken and who was I to doubt His promise. Eventually I found stable affordable housing, trainng, and employment.  I continued to work at my Spanish.  Although nowhere near fluent, native speakers were already praising my accent.  I had a bank balance.  Got a passport, and in 2008, with my intermediate Spanish, I spent four weeks in Costa Rica, living as much as possible in Spanish.  Thus I began to really grow in the language.  In 2009, I spent a month in Mexico City.  Ditto.  And back in Vancouver, I continued to work at it.  I was also finding and buying books in Spanish, novels mostly, in second hand stores in Vancouver and of course in Mexico and Costa Rica.   I became involved in a language exchange program and, thanks to Skype, I connected with native Spanish speakers throughout Latin America and Spain.  Made some lasting friends.  Returned to Costa Rica for six weeks in 2010, made friends with my hotel hosts, and continued living in Spanish.  I returned to Mexico City and Chiapas for another six weeks in 2012.  in San Cristóbal de las Casas, in my hotel dining room I passed out from food poisoning.  As I came to, I had to communicate to my many helpers (such lovely, kind people) in Spanish because no one spoke English.  That was when I became fluent. I returned to Mexico City one month each, 2013 and 2014, living completely in Spanish, then Bogotá Colombia one month each, 2015 and 2016, exclusively in Spanish.  Every year, till now, I have returned to Latin America, sometimes for up to two or three months, so that when I returned home I was speaking English with a Spanish accent.  And I have come into some lovely strong and stable friendships. Now I enjoy full fluency, and an authentic Latin American accent.  Very unusual.  But I think I have done this well for one particular reason:  I was never in this just for myself.  It was with the desire to serve well and connect well with people who live in Latin America  this is why God called me to learn the language. Early in my learning stage I often suffered great frustration at not being able to understand a lot of people speaking Spanish.  It was as if there was this strict and nasty little gatekeeper in my soul,intentionally trying to protect my precious mother English from the Spanish contagion.  Rather like an immune system working too well. and I really had to fight that resistance.   I had to become vulnerable, like a little child, because as little children is how we learn our mother tongue, and only by becoming little children again in our receptivity and vulnerability are we really able to effectively learn a new language. Had I only been in it for myself, for career opportunities or simply to get easily laid, or pick  any one, I would not have done well.  In fact, I have become highly critical of people who want to learn English only to enhance their professional and income opportunities.  This is very selfish and very me-first.  For the same reason I have also criticised Latin Americans for wanting to immigrate to Canada only for their own economic advantage. I have counselled them that if they really have no desire to help and offer their time and hearts for supporting and helping others here, then they had best stay at home in El Salvador or Colombia or Perú and see what they can do in order to learn how to become  the change they desire to see.  None of those people are still speaking to me. Because I became childlike in order to learn Spanish, my heart has grown by many sizes.  I used to think that the reason I am so happy and joyful when speaking Spanish was only because of the character and good energy of the language itself.  Now I realize that it is because Spanish is the language that cracked me open, gave me a tender and beating heart of flesh, and taught me to see others with renewed and loving eyes. "Except ye be converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven"  --Jesus of Nazareth.

1968

"We later saw Larus again in Damascus.  The road was clear of difficulties and curiously, we didn't see any Roman soldiers.  Not a single one.  We went straight to the market where Thaddai's mother worked as a seller of wheat and barley as well as milled flour and baked loaves of bread.  She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw her beautiful son appear in the tent where she sat behind a table beneath an awning.  I could tell right away that his beautiful looks favoured her, and even in middle age she was a woman who would merit at least a second look. With a wild, jubilant cry tearing from her throat she sprang up and hurled herself at her child, engulfing him in a prolonged ecstatic and weeping embrace.  I thought she would never let him go again...

"It's All About Me (sure it is, dear, sure it is!) 3

Yesterday I was chatting with a friend over coffee and cookies at my place and the subject was wildfires, and the latest tragedy to strike the remnant town of Lytton which was totally destroyed by fire five years ago during the deadly heat dome.  I asked my friend what might have caused the fires.  She answered, "Was it lightning?"  No.  "Was it a cigarette?"  No.  "Was it a campfire?"  No, you're not even close.  "Then what was it?"  It's something you put in your car every week.  "Gas?"  You're close.  Oil.  The global output and reliance on fossil fuels has not abated and this is destroying our planet, is basically what I said to her. The petroleum industry alone has a lot to answer for, because with other fossil fuels, they are responsible for up to 80 percent of the  emissions that cause global warming and climate change, and around 20  percent of that oil goes into people's gas tanks.  I told my friend that at age 16 I decided that I would never own a car or learn how to drive.  At 70, that is one decision I have never regretted.  I sensed that God was telling me, back then when I was a teenage Jesus freak, that I was not to participate in this mad dance of death towards lasting environmental degradation.  My friend is in her late seventies.  She drives a car.  She also walks with a  cane, And the nearest bus stop is quite a walk from where she lives.  I told her that I don't expect her to hobble to the bus stop. Still, her answer about the cause of forest and brush fires is a little bit concerning, and it illustrates just how much people with cars live in a kind of personal fantasy world, or a state of selfish denial.  They are and have long been way near the apex for being responsible for global warming.  Very few people really need to drive a car, at least in Greater Vancouver where we are blessed with good accessible (but still needs lots of improvement)  public transit.  Nobody has followed my lead about not having a vehicle, and to this day I remain a voice crying in the wilderness.  A loud, strong and annoying voice perhaps, but it is really like trying to speak to the chronically deaf.  The resistance is very strong with extremely complex roots.  Our cities in North America are built and designed for cars.  Almost every tween and young teen is just champing at the bit to learn to drive, get their license and their own car.  Independence.  Status.  Power.  and there is so much myth around car ownership.  It is considered one of the first rites of passage into adulthood.  Many people will not consider you an adult, or  person of any worth or value if you go through your life riding public transit.  Remember the loser cruiser?  Why, a lot of women won't even date a guy who is twenty'five years old and still riding the bus. (Has anyone ever done a survey about how many teenagers lost their virginity in the back seat of a car?) So, this is what everyone has bought into.  Basically, the climate, the planet, the wellbeing of others, the wellbeing of God's beautiful and awesome creation, can all go to hell, if it means that I have to give up my privilege, my entitlement, my illusion of adult independence.  EV's are too expensive, plus they are also uniquely problematic to the environment. As our summers are becoming unbearably hot with lethal heat waves (70,000, mostly vulnerable, people perished last summer in Europe due to the heat), and killer storms become more frequent, I cannot envision very many people parking their cars to walk or take the bus or their bikes.  Too lazy, too selfish, too entitled.   it doesn't look good. In the words of the late screen legend Bette Davis in the film "All About Eve":  "fasten your seatbelts everyone. It's going to be a bumpy flight."

1967

In Tyre we were warmly received by the bishop and in his home I was deeply troubled to see Gaius. a young man who had been my friend in the garrison in Nicomedia. Like me he wore civilian garb, but remained clean shaven.  At nineteen my young beard was already gaining momentum and I hadn't shaved since our departure.  It would have challenged him to identify me at first.  But the bishop joyfully introduced him as his son who was finally restored to him.  And Gaius had disappeared some months before.  As soon as I identified myself, he knew me and a shadow of fear darkened his face.  And then we both had to labour rather hard to persuade the other that we were no threat but brothers in Jesus.  We stayed two nights with the Bishop.  Larus had arranged to be there longer, so we left him behind...

1966

It was springtime and the weather, while not rough, did provide us with some strong winds, but fortunately it did not rain during most of the time except for a few showers on the last day, and very fortunately it never rained at night for we had to sleep on the open deck under the stars and underneath whatever else God would happen to send us. Thaddai befriended another youth. I suspected a runaway slave, but he was finely dressed and mannered. And very convivial. And another disciple of the Nazarene. They had a peculiar way of identifying themselves to each other. On a wooden post with his knife, Thaddai discreetly carved with his small dagger an upward curved line. The other youth produced his knife, which put me on the ready, since I had no way of knowing what he was going to use it for, then, marked a corresponding downward curve, directly underneath, running it from the point to just past the other end, forming the outline of a fish. By this sign they knew each other as disciples of Christ. He was dark haired, slender and very handsome, quite in contrast to Thaddai, who was also a very beautiful boy, but like some Syrians with light skin, fair hair and green eyes, so there was no wonder his type would be highly coveted by men of sinister carnality. In hushed tones, we would huddle together speaking of our faith and exchanging questions about the Way. Larus was also going to Damascus, and would be stopping with us in Tyre. The Bishop of Ephesus had furnished him a letter with his seal to the bishop of Tyre who would give him lodgings. When we showed Larus our two letters from the bishop of Nicomedia with his seal, as well as being comforted to know that we were genuine, invited us to join him for the advantage of hospitality in Tyre.