AN ALARMING WAKE-UP CALL.

Most children in North America awoke on Easter Sunday of 1965 in their own beds at home. I'm sure that many of them eagerly threw the covers aside and began hunting all over their houses for hidden goodies left by the Easter Bunny.

Things were far different for my dorm mates and I at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, British Columbia. No voices of loving parents and siblings greeted us that morning. Neither did we scurry around our utilitarian bedrooms while searching for those elusive treats. As I wrote in my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir. that morning was anything but joyful.

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The fire bell woke us up early on Easter Sunday. "Everyone wait here in the hall and don't talk," Mrs. Sandyford ordered. "Wait here until the firemen say it's safe." We stood, impatiently fidgeting, while the bell kept ringing.

The fire truck eventually arrived. Our supervisor went out to speak with the crew while we waited. The whole incident appeared ridiculous to me. Nothing was burning. Many adult rules and customs seemed absurd. The men left after approximately an hour and, since it was nearly seven, we dressed and went for breakfast. I heard later that a small earthquake happened but I felt no shaking.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

THE DISAPPOINTING EASTER EGG.

Have you ever bitten into something that you thought was one thing and it turned into quite another? I've had that happen many times. Either the food wasn't all it was cracked up to be or I expected the flavour to be different.

One of the many vignettes which I left out of Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), due to space constraints, was the time our grade two teacher brought a basket of Easter eggs to class.

As Mrs. Rose passed out one seasonal treat to each child, my mouth watered. Like any child, I had a sweet tooth. Any offer of candy, chocolate, or other sugary confection, I eagerly accepted.

When Mrs Rose handed me the multi-coloured delicacy, my mouth watered even more. I took a big bite and then stopped in surprise. It wasn't candy as I had anticipated but a boiled chicken egg. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. As I had never eaten that sort of Easter egg, I hadn't known that I needed to peal it first.

To my profound relief, none of the others in the room noticed my faux pas. They were all too busy pealing their eggs. I copied the rest of the children as they shelled their treats and ate them. Though I felt let down, I enjoyed the taste of the boiled egg. It was nicer than those over-cooked monstrosities served in the dining hall.

I wrote about the dreadful food at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Deliverance from Jericho. Please check out the link on the left side of this page for more information about this matter-of-fact memoir. Please contact me directly if the comment form doesn't work for you.

WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT RABBITS?

Parents don't mean to be mean. Many of them haven't considered that they're buying a creature with feelings and instincts. The long-eared little fur ball that charmed them at the pet store or feed shop during Easter may be cute and sweet in the beginning, but he or she grows up to be an adult in a matter of months.

Many parents have some notion of rabbits eating carrots and being docile. Much to their surprise, that little bunny they bought at easter becomes destructive and driven by hormones. Like human teenagers, they get into places they're not supposed to be in and become opinionated. This, and the waning interest of their children toward their pet, become the excuses used to surrender these creatures to animal shelters or cruelly dumped in parks.

Though I wrote about my adventures and misadventures while living with bunnies in my house, When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) contains valuable information about these misunderstood pets. Here's an excerpt regarding the dietary needs of bunnies.3

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Rabbits normally live in grasslands and need to eat plenty of
vegetation. As I found out with Gideon's illness in March, sugar
is potentially deadly for rabbits. It causes bad bacteria in the
bunny's intestine to grow explosively, releasing toxins which
could eventually kill the animal. I didn't know that carrots were high in sugar until I was told that by my friends on the lists.

Because rabbits have a sweet tooth and eat things they shouldn't, I needed to be careful not to let Gideon find anything containing loads of sugar or carbohydrates.

Many human foods can become deadly to them too. Even
Iceberg lettuce is bad for rabbits because of its lack of
nourishment. Green leafy vegetables, such as Romaine and
Endive, are more suitable greens.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit is filled with many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These vignettes range from the tragic to the hilarious. Please click on the link to my books for details about both of my paperbacks. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

SICK OF VISITING THE SICK.

Have you ever done something that you felt ill-prepared to do, yet you knew it was your duty? As part of a church outreach, a few members and I sang Christian songs to patients at a hospital. It seemed like a good idea at first but, as you can read from this excerpt from my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, the novelty wore off quickly.

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Apprehension nagged me as we trooped into the hospital the next Saturday afternoon. Institutions seem to exude an atmosphere of perpetual hopelessness. I experienced more than enough of that at Jericho.

Sister Eileen led the way as we walked down the hall to the nurse's station. Having received her permission, we stepped into the first room.

"Excuse us," Sister Eileen ANNOUNCED, "We're Christians and we'd like to sing a few songs for you. Is that all right?"

One patient said "Yes," but the rest of the patients ignored us.

We sang several hymns and then walked to the next room, doing the same there.

As the weeks passed, I became disenchanted with our hospital visits. All I did was stand with the others and sing. Though nobody complained about our presence, I had the impression that the patients tolerated, rather than appreciated, our efforts.

As we sat around the card table before one Bible study in March, Sister Eileen announced, "We're going to have to discontinue our hospital visits."

"How come?" I wondered.

"We've got too many things to do on Saturdays and nobody seems interested anymore."

I considered her answer for several seconds, then replied, "I suppose that's all right. I don't really want to go anymore either."

"It's settled then, Sister Roberta concluded, "There won't be any more visits."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

THE WILD AND WOOLY DAYS OF RADIO

Remember the days of top forty radio? Talking a mile a minute, disk jockeys with crazy nicknames played requests and dedications for their loyal fans. Their shows were fast-paced and fun to hear.

One radio station that kept my mind off of my homesickness was CKLG. When my parents sent me five hundred miles from home to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, this Vancouver radio station's DJs helped make life a bit more bareable for me.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I recounted a fair number of incidents when tuning into CKLG kept me entertained. In this particular excerpt, the stunts the DJs pulled were wild by today's standards.

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The DJs I listened to were extremely creative back then. One man threatened to blow up the station one afternoon. I listened intently as he counted down to zero and pressed the button. Of course, it was all done with sound effects. After the imaginary smoke cleared, I heard him say, "Oops! I hit another building. Ah well, I might as well play more boss music." The other boys and I enjoyed the joke immensely.

One announcer claimed that somebody set up a pirate radio station. At the appointed time, I waited outside the dorm with the radio tuned to the frequency which the announcer gave. I only heard static. After a half hour of hearing no broadcast, I switched off the set, deciding the pirate would never make his debut. I felt let down since I had never heard a brand new station come on the air.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

BLESSED ASSURANCE IN A TIME OF SORROW.

Have you ever met somebody who continually treated you as a problem person, liable to mess up everything? I had the misfortune of meeting just such a character. This woman, who I refer to as Sister Roberta, was a thorn in my side for more than fifteen years.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here's an excerpt about how I comforted a grieving grandmother in spite of Sister Roberta's profound misgivings.

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One Wednesday evening, Sister Eileen and her mother seemed preoccupied. As we sat in the sanctuary, awaiting Brother Herald, I asked, "Is something going on?"

Both women looked away from me as if they felt embarrassed. Then Sister Roberta broke the silence. "Little Closius died a few days ago. Linda was bathing him and when she left the bathroom to get a bar of soap, he slipped beneath the water."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I mumbled.

"We're having the funeral here on Saturday afternoon. You can come if you wish but don't ask any foolish questions, all right? I don't want Linda to start crying because of your impertinent questions. The last thing grieving people need is for somebody to ask about how it happened."

Around a dozen people attended the funeral for Jay's year-old son.

"If only I had brought the soap in first," Linda kept repeating to herself. "Why did God have to allow this?"

Words failed me as I shuffled my feet and gazed at the floor. Every answer that came to mind sounded trite.

After Sister Roberta served communion and gave a brief eulogy, she allowed the congregants, two or three at a time, to view Closius' body in Brother Herald's room. This inner sanctum interested me more than paying my last respects as Sister Roberta had always forbidden me to see it. A double-sized bed had been placed in the far corner. Next to it stood a varnished wooden chair and writing desk with a lamp on it. I noticed with some surprise that the small room had no windows in its pale blue walls.

Doing my duty, I glanced at the small, brown casket on the centre of the bed before I walked out of the room.

Linda's mother wept as she followed me out from Brother Herald's room. "Poor baby. I'll never see him again," she sobbed.

"You'll be able to see him again in the resurrection when Christ returns," I blurted.

Instead of upsetting her, as I feared, she exclaimed, "Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that. Thanks for reminding me."

I smiled, realizing that I comforted her with the eternal aspect of our lives.

While the congregation disbursed and Sister Roberta Gave several people driving directions to the cemetery, I asked her, "Can I come too?"

"No," she ordered, "You will stay here with us. Only the family members can attend the burial. You'll just get in the way anyhow."

In spite of this snub, I remained loyal to Thee Church and the supposed truth I learned there.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

THE KITE THAT SOARED.

A while ago, I blogged about my father's ridiculous attempt to show us how to fly a kite. The fiasco prejudiced me against that activity for several years.

In 1970, a teacher at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind showed us sight-impaired students how wonderful holding the string of a kite in flight felt.

From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here is how one of the few amiable adults in that institution provided us with an unforgettable experience.

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Kites never interested me much. After the disappointing incident with Dad a few years previously, I had a low opinion of those playthings.

"I'm going to build a large kite," Mr. Cardinall announced one day. "We'll take turns flying it." As he taught us regarding the parts of a kite and how the wind would lift it, I thought this might work after all.

The whole class was excited when, on a windy sunlit March afternoon, the kite was ready for launching. I felt sceptical about this odd-shaped contraption, made from sticks and brown paper. This kite, standing almost as tall as our teacher, was like none that I had seen in our textbooks. We struggled to get the kite to the brow of the hill above the school. The steady wind nearly wrested it from us several times. Once Mr. Cardinall securely attached the tail of blackboard brushes and tightly tied the string, he gave the order for us to let it go.

To our delight, the kite rose majestically above the forest next to the school. Each one of us had a turn holding the string and feeling its animated tugs. Then disaster struck. The wind died down and the kite crashed in the trees. Since it fell across the chain link fence, we were unable to retrieve it easily.

"It's no good. We'll have to leave it there," Mr. Cardinall admitted. "We'll never get it out of that forest."

I felt sad at the delicate device's destruction but the exhilarating thrill of having flown a real kite inspired me. I tried making kites of my own. None flew properly since they lacked the proper weight to surface area ratio. Still, I enjoyed trying to build them from scratch.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

ZEAL WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE.

My Random House Webster's Large Print Dictionary states that a gimmick is a device or trick. Thirty-nine years ago, I didn't realize that I used devices to trick people into hearing or reading the gospel. Instead of piquing my fellow student's curiosity, I upset them. I meant well but I lacked the wisdom to build personal relationships with my schoolmates before talking to them about the gospel.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here are two examples of how my enthusiasm for the Lord lacked that much-needed personal touch.

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But not everybody approved of my zeal for Christ. I recently purchased a tiny white plastic spinning top with the words of John 3:16 printed in blue ink on its underside. While waiting for class to begin one morning, I idly spun the top on my desk.

"Hey, let me see that thing," a classmate said. Without a word, I handed it to him. "Oh man! What a ripoff!" he groaned when he read the message. "It's just some religious crap."

I offended the cleaning staff too. Since few students wanted my tracts, and I often received taunts from my peers, I assumed that pasting the messages onto the door of my locker would be a more effective way to let people know about Christ.

When I arrived at school the next morning, somebody had removed all the tracts. I replaced them but those vanished too.

"What do you think you're doing?" the cleaning woman demanded as I pasted more tracts on my locker's door the third day. "Don't you know that's not allowed?"

"Isn't it? I didn't know that."

"You're not allowed to paste anything on your locker. It doesn't matter what it is. That's the rule."

"I thought it was just some mean kids who were taking them off."

"No. We have to remove them. It's a lot of work too. Imagine how ugly the place would look if we let you kids paste whatever you felt like on your lockers."

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't realize."

While I shuffled toward my next class, I hung my head. My well-meant evangelical zeal resulted in wasted tracts and extra work for the cleaning staff.

The rule extended to lamp posts by the school as well. I pasted a tract on one but someone had removed it the next day.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

CONNECTING TO THE OUTSIDE WORLD.

Have you ever felt cut off from the rest of society? Most of us have some sort of contact with the events happening around us. Radios, TVs, newspapers, computers, and smart phones help to keep us in touch with the news as well as with our friends.

The situation for me and my dorm mates was much different in 1968. We blind and sight-impaired students in Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind were largely cut off from our families and the music scene. The institution provided us with two black-and-white TVs but radios were a luxury that only a few privileged boys had.

From my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here's an excerpt that depicts how desperately I craved having my own radio, as well as the kindness of a teacher.

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Being without a radio, however, weighed heavily upon my soul. One day after classes ended, I confided my problem to Mr. Lao. "I sure miss having a radio," I began. "Arnold broke mine and it couldn't be repaired. Now my mom and dad won't buy me a new one because they say it costs too much."

Mr. Lao considered the problem. "I have a transistor portable. Would you like to borrow it?"

My heart leapt for joy as I said, "You bet."

"Please be careful with it. I would like you to return it before Easter," he cautioned.

I carried the precious receiver to the dorm the next afternoon, feeling overjoyed that I could listen to my beloved rock music whenever I wanted to. This radio was black, came with a brown leather holder, and was fairly large for a portable. The receiver's sound quality was rich and it pulled in distant stations well. I spent hours standing outside of the dorm during the evenings to hear the weak signals even better.

My lessons in economizing came in handy with respect to the batteries. Mr. Lao's radio was powered by four penlight cells instead of the nine volt type. I discovered that the holder could be removed and a nine volt battery connected. One of those cost less than buying the four penlight cells.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.