The day I knew God got it.

Throughout most of my life, various Sunday school teachers and radio preachers gave me the impression that we had to lobby God relentlessly with our prayers before he would give us our daily bread, let alone do anything nice for us. Dickens' Mr. Scrooge seemed positively generous compared to the tight-fisted creator they portrayed. Worse yet, certain legalistic church elders taught me that I didn't receive the sight I prayed so earnestly for because I had hidden sin, a lack of faith, or ancestral sin blocking the way. That all changed on June 18, 2000 when God lovingly answered one of my most heartfelt prayers, disproving the blasphemous assumptions of my former teachers. The following is adapted from my upcoming memoir, How I Was Razed, a story of my years in a cult church and my eventual discovery of the real God..
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I sighed with pleasure as the long day of moving into the new house finally ended. As I lay in bed, I marvelled at hearing a chorus of frogs instead of the maddening rumble of Edmonton's traffic. "Thanks so much Heavenly Father for your awesome kindness to me," I prayed. I drifted off to the amphibian serenade and for the first time in four years, I slept without ear plugs. Waking up the next morning, I felt as jubilant as a child on the first day of summer vacation. "Thanks for today and this wonderful house, Heavenly Father," I rejoiced as I leapt out of bed. After racing to the bathroom and checking on my bunny, Gideon, to see if the move still upset him, I opened all the windows to let in the June breezes and then ate breakfast. The serenity of my new neighbourhood astonished me afresh as I munched my cereal. Everything I prayed for, God provided. I had asked for a place outside of a town, with no nearby neighbours, and with amenities. Now I lived in a three bedroom home in Radway, the sort of place that I had yearned so long and hard for. "Thanks Heavenly Father that you get it," I exclaimed as I walked to the kitchen window and admired the sunlit trees in the neighbouring field. "You actually get it about me. This place is a miracle. I used to think that you didn't care about my feelings but here's the proof," I said as I slapped my right hand on the counter. My eyes filled with tears of joy and relief as I realized how completely the Lord understood my need for quietude.
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God still hasn't given me 20/20 vision but I see much better spiritually than all those physically sighted blind guides of the blind who once judged and condemned me. I hope to have How I Was Razed in print next year. In the meantime, please check out Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) and When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) at the Inscribe Writers Group site. The page has descriptions of my books, pictures of their front covers, and PayPal buttons for your ordering convenience.

One step closer to publishing my next book.

I'm pleased to present the cover art for my next book, How I Was Razed. This is a memoir of my fifteen years in a cult church, my rejecting god for nine years because he didn't heal my sight as they claimed he would, and my eventual discovery of authentic Christianity. If all goes well, it should be in print next year.

As I edit the manuscript, I'm continually astonished at the absolute nonsense I once believed. In the house church, their self-appointed and anointed teacher of God taught that we were once aliens, that even God was physically damaged from the radiation caused by the nuclear war in heaven, that the earth was created so we could be born into bodies not genetically damaged by radioactivity, and that we would colonize the stars once God made a new heaven and a new earth. He also taught that aliens were watching this planet to witness the manifestation of the sons of God and that we would someday evangelize the mutants throughout space. This false teacher further claimed in 1972 that Quebec would soon separate and lose a war with Canada, that the southwest United States would be uninhabitable, that ultraviolet tatoos would be put on us as identification which we could use to access our bank accounts, and that those refusing this mark of the beast would flee to a city of refuge in the Northwest Territories' Nahanni Valley. This pseudo-minister even claimed to have the stigmata and that cloths soaked with his blood would protect whoever bore them.

Being a naive convert, fresh out of Vacation Bible School in 1969, I had no idea just how blasphemous and crazy the notions this man taught as gospel truth actually were. Thanks to a series of personal mistakes and the influence of genuine Christians, I now know what the Bible really teaches and how to read it for all its worth. I hope that How I Was Razed will comfort those who had similar experiences and warn them not to throw the metaphorical baby out with the bath water. Writing this memoir has helped me too. Confronting the agonizing betrayals of my trust and taking them to God in prayer has helped ease the pain caused by those memories. As with writing the Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) book, dealing with past hurts instead of hiding from them has actually eased my terrible feelings and nightmares. For more info on this and other wise biblical counselling, check the Hope For The Heart site. If you would like similar artwork for your project, check out the Hamtramck Idea Men site.

Something far better than cookies and Kool-Aid

Monday, August 3, will mark a milestone in my life. Forty years ago, I made a decision that profoundly changed me. From my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here is the story of how I started on a spiritual journey that continues to this day. My hope is that you'll follow the same path that I did back then.

"Sharon's mom is having a Vacation Bible School in her basement. She wants me to invite everybody I know. Would you like to come?" Diane invited.

At first I felt ambivalent, remembering what happened the previous summer. "I suppose so," I said after thinking it over, "I can always go home if I don't like it."

Diane and I attended all five days of this home-based Vacation Bible School. I came expecting to enjoy Kool-Aid, cookies, and stories. To my amazement, I received a much more valuable truth in the curriculum.

Once we were settled down, Mrs. Blacklock began her lesson. "Did you know that you can have a personal relationship with Jesus?" she asked. As I had never heard that doctrine before, I listened all the more intently.

"The Bible says that we are all sinners and that nobody is good enough to go to heaven," she continued. "Going to church is nice but it won't save you on Judgment Day. Only believing in Jesus Christ will save you from going to hell."

I felt shocked. Could this honestly be true? No one told me about that before. I thought only wicked people went to hell.

"If you give your life to Jesus, he will come into you and live in your heart." This sounded impossible too. Jesus was up in heaven and God appeared uninvolved with his creation.

As she outlined how Christ died to pay for our sins and that we could be forgiven because he took our punishment, my heart stirred within me. Could this actually be true?

Then Mrs. Blacklock told the story of Nicodemus and how he was an outstanding religious teacher in Israel. Even with all his education and status, he had no understanding of what it meant to be born again. Suddenly, I realized the meaning of what Jesus said.

A few years previously, a Christian clown visited Jericho and performed magic tricks in the boys' Playroom. Along with the usual vanishing objects and interlocking hoops, this man told us how Nicodemus met Christ late one night. It was merely one of many Bible stories to me then. Now I realized that it applied to me as well.

I pondered what Mrs. Blacklock taught us all during the week. As at previous Vacation Bible Schools, I coloured, memorized Bible verses, and listened to Bible stories. Mrs. Blacklock handed out Gos-pills for correct answers. They were actually jelly beans but I savoured the play on words. Mrs. Blacklock also pretended they were vitamins as she handed them out and urged us to, "Vite 'em in to Sunday School." She then told us about her church and the fun we would have while attending it.

On Friday, Mrs. Blacklock asked us a life-changing question. "Would you like to invite Christ into your heart and accept him as your saviour?" Though I could think of no serious sins of which I was guilty, except for stealing the glass lumps, I decided I had nothing to lose. I raised my hand and said yes. Our teacher led us in the sinner's prayer and then she welcomed us to the family of Christ. Though I felt nothing dramatic happen, joy and a sense that God was pleased with me filled my heart.

I ran all the way home, a distance of a few blocks, after the school ended. "I've been born again!" I exclaimed to the family as I rushed through the front door. They all stared at me, saying nothing. Doubtless, Mom and my sisters thought I had lost my mind. I felt let down because I thought they would understand this important life-transforming decision I had made. Either nobody told me or I failed to understand that not everybody would comprehend my spiritual transformation.