HOW TO TELL IF A PROPHET IS A PHONY.

Many TV preachers claim to know what will happen in the future. How can a person tell if those prognosticators are right or wrong? The Bible states that if what they predict doesn't come to pass, those prophets have spoken presumptuously and we need not fear them. In fact, one passage even calls for false prophets to be stoned to death.

Though I didn't know it at the time, I whole-heartedly believed the predictions of a false prophet. In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I wrote about this man's many prognostications. None of them came to pass as he predicted they would. Here is one outrageous example of his phony prophecies.

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In addition to receiving revelations, prophesying, and teaching, Brother Herald claimed he received divine messages in dreams. "A great earthquake will cause Vancouver Island to sink on the thirtieth of June," he declared one Wednesday. "I dreamt that I was sitting at my kitchen table with The Edmonton Journal in my hand. Across the front page were the words, 'VANCOUVER ISLAND SUNK!' in large type. It was dated June the thirtieth. I tried to read the year but it was smudged. God didn't permit me to read it because he doesn't want me to reveal the entire date. People would use the information to place bets and enrich themselves if they knew it."

Though I understood God's need to withhold the year from us, I still frowned. "It would be fun to tell the sceptics what was going to happen and then to say, 'I told you so,' when it did," I mused as he taught.

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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.

ONE LAST NIGHT WITH A FRIEND.

Did you ever stay over with a friend and know it would be the last time you two would be together? I had that experience with a friend who attended Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind. He and I shared the same interest in long distance shortwave and AM radio reception. Friends such as Tommy were rare at the school. Rarer still were the weekends when I could visit the homes of my friends instead of being cooped up in the dorm.

From Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School, here is the poignant account of my final hours with a good friend.

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On my last night at Tommy's house, we stayed up late talking and listening to his multi-band receiver. Reception was fantastic that evening. I envied Tommy for having such a high- end radio. It was one of those professional general coverage receivers which amateur radio operators used.

"Promise you'll write me when you get home," Tommy said as the eastern horizon began to lighten. I promised and drifted off. My braille skills were sketchy at best but I believed I could reply to his letters.

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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 CURSE OF ISOLATION.

Did you know how to cross a busy street when you were thirteen years old? Did you know how to take a bus or dial a phone number to find out the correct time? Did you know how to push a shopping cart into a row of shopping carts? Believe it or not, being isolated in Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind left me in that pitiful state of ignorance. The school staff did everything for us and supervisors planned out each day's activities.

In my Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School memoir, I related just how frightened I was of crossing a busy street. Below is an account of that humiliating afternoon when fully-sighted folks misunderstood my reluctance to run an errand.

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I spent one of the last weekends during June with a day student named Tommy. I had befriended him a few years previously. Regrettably, my stay was not entirely pleasant. I sat in the backyard with Tommy, enjoying the hazy afternoon sunlight, when his older sister walked up to us. "Can you go to the store for me and pick up some thread? I'm all out of this colour."

I found myself on the horns of a dilemma. Because Jericho's staff escorted us everywhere in groups, I never learned how to navigate through city streets. Fort Saskatchewan was a small town with no busy intersections. Consequently, my mobility skills were far behind those of a sighted thirteen-year- old.

As I was afraid to admit my fear of crossing the congested street near her house, I asked, "Why can't you get it yourself?" "Cause I'm busy, that's why," she snapped.

Then she changed tactics. "You've got some sight, don't you?" When I agreed she said, "Since Tommy is blind and Mom is out, you'll have to go for me."

"You've got better sight. I don't understand why you can't go yourself."

"Alright, I'll go but you'll be in trouble when Mom comes home. I'll make sure she never invites you here again," Tommy's sister threatened as she stormed into the house. A minute later, she slammed the front door and strode to the store.

After Tommy's mother arrived home, his sister told her what happened. "You did a selfish thing today you know," she accused. "A true gentleman would have done that errand."

Silence seemed the most prudent course for me to take. I felt too proud to admit my fear of the traffic and too angry to think properly. I also failed to figure out why her daughter, who was blessed with perfect sight, expected me to run her errand.

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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.

UNDERSTANDING RABBITS.

After all the publicity in the media about bunnies being a poor choice for children, why do parents still purchase them for their offspring? Any thinking person would realize that these animals are different from cats and dogs. Therefore, they have different needs and exhibit different behaviours.

My mother was one of many unthinking parents who bought a rabbit on a whim. Though it was 1968 and few people even knew that bunnies could be kept as house pets, she should have known that we wouldn't be interested in caring for the poor animal once the novelty wore off.

From my When a Man Loves a Rabbitmemoir, here's how my lack of knowledge about bunnies caused me to misunderstand our long-eared pet.

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As I was attending Jericho Hill School for the Blind in Vancouver, I was only able to be with Samantha over the Easter holidays. Sent home at the end of June, I discovered that she was kept in a large wooden hutch in the backyard. When I asked Mom why, she said that the mess the rabbit made had become too much for her to bear.

I visited Samantha the first evening of my summer vacation and when I knelt and looked in on her, she hopped from the main part of her cage to her private quarters. I opened the door on the side and she glared at me with large brown eyes?as if I were intruding.

I felt rejected by her.

Besides, it was boring watching a bunny through the wire.

I soon lost interest and the poor animal ended up alone most of the time as we went about our daily activities.

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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. Please also visit the House Rabbit Society site for comprehensive rabbit care information.

RABBITS HAVE CHARACTER.

For most folks, the fact that rabbits have well-defined characters is an amazing revelation. The customary notion of bunnies is that they are dim-witted and boring pets, fit only for children.

Otto and Pandora, two rabbits I looked after in 1999, amply proved the public's stereotypical view of rabbits wrong. From my When a Man Loves a Rabbit: Learning and Living With Bunnies memoir, here is an excerpt demonstrating this fact.

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My new responsibilities were totally different in character as well as looks. Otto was a timid Dutch rabbit with a thin blaze on his forehead. The poor bunny had been badly abused at his previous home and had never quite gotten over it. He was frightened by any sudden moves.

Pandora was a mixed breed and considerably larger than Otto. She had lovely white and caramel fur, and her left ear drooped, making her look comical. Pandora was adventurous and full of mischief, living up to her name.

Later that evening, I let Gideon out for his exercise, but I kept the other bunnies caged for their protection. I had heard that rabbits could fight so violently that combatants sometimes killed each other.

Initially, Gideon was extremely inquisitive. He hopped from one cage to the other, first sniffing Pandora and then Otto. True to her nature, Pandora became very interested in Gideon. In fact, it seemed like she was brazenly flirting with The Earl of Hurl. Otto just loafed in his cage for the most part, only sniffing a few times at my bunny boy's inquiring face. Meanwhile, I taped the bunnies and their cute reactions to each other.

Once the introductions were over, Gideon wasn't happy at all that his house had been invaded by two strange rabbits. He thumped almost continuously when his access to the foreigners from Calgary was denied.

I couldn't help laughing. It was as if he were a bar patron challenging new rivals to "step outside?.

When I locked Gideon up for the night, he kept rattling the cage door at me and stomping angrily. I brushed my teeth and headed for bed, but I could still hear him thumping his defiance. The poor guy yearned to mix it up with the two new strangers. I suspect he was eager to establish his dominance over them. And Gideon might have been pleased to find some of his own species in the house. It must have seemed like being an exile in a foreign land and suddenly finding a crowd of people who spoke his language.

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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. Please visit The House Rabbit Society for all your questions regarding bunny care.

BUNNYSITTING WASN'T THAT HARD EITHER.

Did you know that taking care of a rabbit requires more work than caring for a cat or dog? Along with feeding and cleaning litter boxes, rabbits need exercise outside of their pens or cages. They also get into mischief, particularly when you aren't watching them.

In my When a Man Loves a Rabbit: Learning and Living With Bunnies memoir, I wrote about the joys and tribulations of my first bunnysitting job. It was quite the adventure.

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One June morning in 1999, I was listening to my e-mail when a post caught my ear. A woman in Calgary, Alberta, was looking for a bunnysitter. Heather owned two rabbits, Otto and Pandora. She was leaving for Europe for two months, so she could travel and see the total eclipse of the sun.

I volunteered to bunnysit, partly to be of help, but also to have two more bunnies to love.

Heather arrived in Edmonton with her boyfriend Jason. She had brought two cages, pellets and other supplies along with her bunnies.

"Let's put them in the kitchen," I suggested. "I haven't properly rabbit-proofed the living room yet."

Heather agreed and we put Pandora's condo, a Neat Idea Cube or NIC, between the fridge and Gideon's cage. Otto was placed in a white cage with doors on the top. It was not the best kind of housing for a bunny, but it had to do.

"You can keep that cage if you want," Heather offered.

I thanked her, even though the PetBunny folks said such a cage wasn't the best for rabbits.

After Heather gave me the feeding instructions, she kissed her bunnies goodbye and then the three of us humans went for supper at Capital Pizza. Not only was the food good, but I enjoyed chatting with folks who actually thought of rabbits like companions instead of livestock.

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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. Please also visit the House Rabbit Society site for comprehensive rabbit care information.

Housesitting WASN'T THAT HARD.

Have you ever looked after somebody's house and dog before? How well did you do? When a friend offered the job to me, I thought it would be difficult and that I would be a failure at it. Fortunately for that family whose house and dog I took care of, I did a good job. Even better, the money they paid me was an answer to prayer.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here's the story of my one-and-only experience in housesitting.

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God answered my desperate pleas sooner than I expected. Mrs. Boyle, whose family I boarded with during grade eight, phoned me one evening. "We're going to visit New Foundland for a month in June and we need to hire somebody to look after the house. Would you like to do that for us? We'll pay you two-hundred dollars."

I wrestled with indecision. Looking after a house seemed a huge responsibility. On the other hand, I desperately needed money.

When I agreed, she added, "Why don't you come over to our place? I'll fill you in on what you'll be doing."

As Mrs. Boyle's teenage children, Stephen and Mary Jane, joined us in the living room of their elegant older home near the Alberta Legislature, she listed my duties. "I also need you to do Mary Jane's flower and newspaper delivery routes at the hospital," she finished after ten minutes. "You'll have to walk and feed Lady every day too. Can you do all that?"

I pondered her question, then replied, "Yeah, I guess I could learn to do all those things."

Then she noticed the sole of my right shoe. "You certainly do need the money. Look at the size of that hole."

Contrary to my over-exaggerated fears, I quickly learned Mary Jane's flower and newspaper routes. By the end of the week, I made my rounds confidently each afternoon. Likewise, caring for the house and dog grew easier each 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.

RECALLING ASSASSINATIONS AND TURMOIL IN THE SIXTIES.

Do you remember any frightening news reports from when you were a child? How did they impact you? The spring of 1968 was a particularly terrifying time for me. As I related in my Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School memoir, the news reports seemed to portend imminent world-wide disaster. We survived those days but for some of us, the memories remain.

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Meanwhile, I became increasingly aware and worried about the events in America at the exact time when we began studying that nation in school. Neddie had informed me about how black people were discriminated against there. I also heard on the radio how civil rights leader Martin Luther King Junior was shot in April. The fighting escalated in the Vietnam War, increasing the number of casualties. I was vaguely aware of the riots in America's cities which happened in the previous year but suddenly the unrest appeared more relevant, as did the anti-war protests. Though I lived in Canada, it appeared that the United States and the world were spiralling out of control.

Early one morning, I could not sleep so I listened to Mom's radio with the earphone. That's when I learned that Senator Robert Kennedy was shot. I tuned around the dial and noticed practically every station carried live news coverage. I dreaded hearing what would happen next as well as in the days to come.

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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.

WAS IT SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION OR DEMONS?

Have you ever witnessed something weird which had no obvious explanation? In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I recounted the following strange tale.

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Most Sunday services were uneventful, but I'll never forget the bizarre events of the third of June. Sister Roberta opened all the doors and windows beforehand that evening to let the warm breeze waft through the house. Cynthia, Brother Bhagan's daughter who lived in Edmonton, arrived with a friend named Sunil. Though he was a Hindu, she wanted to show him how we worshipped.

As Brother Herald delivered the sermon, a thud shook the house. It sounded as if an overweight person jumped off a chair above us.

John raced upstairs to investigate. "Attention everybody," he called from the top of the stairs in his police officer tone of voice. "There's a fire in the kitchen. You'll all have to leave in an orderly fashion out of the side exit."

We stood in the yard as John and Sister Roberta extinguished the flames. Then we filed back into the sanctuary to resume the service. Though all of us felt somewhat rattled, we stayed to hear the end of Brother Herald's sermon.

John called the fire inspector the next morning. Having scrutinized every aspect of the scene of the blaze, the municipal official found no cause of the explosion. It originated amid a small collection of paper bags next to Sister Roberta's stove. The man ruled out spontaneous combustion because the appliance was off.

Furthermore, the inside doors stood wide open and a steady breeze flowed through the house. Spontaneous combustion, according to him, never happens in well-ventilated areas.

In addition, the range had no brown residue on its enamel leading from the pilot lights to the point of the fire. That ruled out ignition from them.

The inspector returned and questioned Sister Roberta later that week. "We didn't find any matches, cigarette butts, or traces of accellerants in the ashes," he concluded. "Are you sure there aren't any disgruntled church members who may have set the fire?"

She pondered his question, then admitted, "I can't think of any."

As the inspector turned to leave, he paused by the back door. "Let me know if you come up with any names or if you remember any
The inspector closed his investigation some months later without reaching a conclusion.
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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.