Has the world ended yet?

Preachers continue to predict the world's end and it keeps not happening. Family Radio founder, Herald Camping, is one of the latest ministers to claim that the Bible has given him an exact date for Judgement day. He reasons that from the flood during the time of Noah to 2111 is exactly 7,000 years. Camping figures that Noah entered the ark on May 21st, so the wrath of God will be poured out on that date in 2111. In view of his failed September 6, 1994 prognostication, this one also is unbelievable.

Back in 1970, I fell victim to this end-times prediction addiction. Here's an excerpt of my next book, How I Was Razed, that shows how gullible I was regarding those prophets of doom. Its still in need of revision and editing so I apologize for any mistakes in the text.

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The entire nation was shocked on October fifth when the Front de liberation du Quebec (FLQ), a group dedicated to violently removing the province from confederation, kidnapped British trade commissioner, James Cross and Quebec Minister of Labour and Immigration, Pierre Laporte, five days later. These events troubled me deeply. Was this one of the end time signs? Would Christ come and take us to be with him before the nation broke up? "I'm worried, Stephen," I confessed that evening. "What are we going to do when Canada is no more?" "Don't be such a moron," he scorned. "Canada's not gonna break up. The government will deal with the FLQ and that will be the end of it. You're so naive," he added. Though I made no reply, I still felt that the country was in peril.

Prime Minister Trudeau seemed to have the same opinion. The War Measures Act was enacted on October sixteenth. It drastically curtailed personal freedoms and gave the police powers to enter homes without a warrant. Most Canadians applauded this action but some felt it was an unjustified intrusion into personal freedoms. Though some innocent people were arrested and a barn, used as an FLQ meeting place, was burned by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the Federal Government of Canada had valid reasons for concern. During the years 1963 to 1967, the FLQ planted 35 devices in a systematic programme of bombings of government and English Canadian business establishments. From 1968 to 1970, they planted over 50 bombs. Having armed soldiers patrolling the streets of Montreal upset Canadians accustomed to the blessings of a peaceful country. the body of Pierre Laporte was found in the trunk of a car on October seventeenth and James Cross was freed on the third of December. Some FLQ members were arrested, some fled the country, and the group was disbanded. I thanked God for his intervention in the crisis, though I wished that nobody had been killed.
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On the thirty-ninth anniversary of the FLQ's heinous crime spree, My fears of that day seem ridiculous. I now know that Christ said nobody knew the time of his coming except for his father in heaven. These phony end-time prophets have cried "wolf" so often throughout history that few folks believe them. When Christ does return, it will be as sudden and unexpected as a thief in the night. I, for one, won't waste a moment trying to guess when that will happen. I'll keep on giving to the poor and studying the Bible as God meant it to be read, not through the theological lenses of publicity-seeking preachers.

The day I snapped.

Charles Adler, a national talk show host, recently had a segment on his program regarding bullying in schools. He said that administrators aren't doing enough in confronting their parents about the harm their children's cruelty does to their victims. In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I had much the same problem with authorities not dealing decisively with my nemesis. Here's an excerpt that tells what happened when he finally pushed me past my breaking point.

Remembering our success with getting Mrs. Parker fired, I spoke to Mrs. Corrigan about the school bully. She listened patiently while I poured out my grievances with him to her.

The next morning, she came and called Charlie out of class. His face was brilliant fuchsia when he came back in. "Atchison, I'll get you for this," he threatened as he returned to his seat.

Terror seized me all through class. I had difficulty concentrating on the lesson. Never had I seen the school bully so angry. When recess came, I retreated to what used to be the swing set next to the junior boys' dorm. The adults had removed the swings and hung landing nets, the type marines use, in their place. Few students played on them since the novelty wore off rapidly.

Suddenly, I saw Charlie coming through the school doors. I quickly climbed to the top of the net to get away from him.

"You caused me a lot of trouble you know," he said. "Why did you have to tell Mrs. Corrigan all that stuff about me?"

I clung to the pole at the top of the former swing set, fearing the worst.

"I'm not such a bad guy," he assured me. "Come down and I promise I won't hurt you." I doubted that, having been tricked by him before. Fortunately for me, Charlie let me go without beating me up.

Charlie teased me as usual one evening at the Dining Hall. I tried to ignore him as the adults continually advised but to no avail. Anger and frustration built up in my mind as I ate. Before I had time to think, I lunged at Charlie and grabbed his throat. He pulled my hands away as he said, "whoa - wait a minute. I was only joking." Everyone at the table sat in stunned silence as I realized what I did. The school bully suddenly became apologetic and shocked. "You weren't really going to kill me were you?" he asked. Charlie was much kinder to me after that.

Though I believe revenge belongs to the Lord and I was wrong to literally take it into my own hands, he gave those in authority the responsibility of maintaining order and justice. Jericho's principal failed her God-given duty in that her lacklustre "talking to" only made Charlie angrier. This incident convinced me that bullies of all sorts, from school boys to terrorists, only respect superior strength. Appeasement is seen by them as a sign of weakness. Our politicians and school administrators would do well to heed the lesson I learned back in June of 1970.

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.

The shock of an exiled child.

Forty Five years ago on Labour Day, I believed I was merely going to a new school. Being only seven years old, I had no notion of how far Vancouver, British Columbia was from my home in Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta. Consequently, I assumed the airplain ride would be part of my daily routine. When a young woman supervisor collected us at the airport and drove us to a large brick and concrete art deco building, I thought it was a hotel. In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote of how the hard truth of my situation knocked all those naive notions out of my head. Here is an excerpt from the first chapter that tells how it happened.

I followed the rest of the boys back to the dorm after school. Doubtless, I thought, a grownup would soon be picking us up and taking us home. As it was a warm sunny afternoon, the wait was somewhat pleasant.

Becoming bored with hanging around the swings, next to the dorm, I asked one boy, "When will we be going home?” "Christmas," he said bluntly. I could not believe my ears. "You're joking!" I managed to blurt through the shock. "No, I'm not. We really have to stay here till December."

I felt utterly devastated. How could my parents betray and abandon me in such a far away place? Christmas seemed a million years away. What began as a wonderful adventure suddenly became a tragedy. I held back my tears, though I certainly felt like sobbing.

That was not the only shock I received that day. Miss Boyce sent everybody to bed at seven. I could not believe it. No one went to sleep at that hour of the evening. "This must be some sort of mistake," I thought, so I started to wander the hall.

"I told you to get back into bed!" Miss Boyce ordered.

"I want to play. The sun's still shining."

"Go back to bed and I mean it!" Miss Boyce barked.
I shuffled back into the bedroom feeling thoroughly defeated. With the sun blazing brightly outside, I closed my eyes and waited for sleep. To my surprise, I drifted off fairly quickly.

At my web page, you can read more about this memoir of my time at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind as well as my debut memoir, When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies). Please contact me via the web page for further details and watch this blog for more book excerpts. I also am on Facebook and Twitter. Additionally, I have a few videos on YouTube. See you there!

Back to School made me sick.

Remember your first back-to-school shopping trip? Was it a fun experience? You might be shocked to learn that Mom never took me to buy school supplies until I was in grade 8. In the following excerpt from my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I explain why.

At almost fourteen years of age, I had never been shopping for school supplies. Mom, my sisters, and I went to the city one afternoon to buy what we needed. I felt overwhelmed with the choices of pencils, notebooks, rulers, and other items which I would require now that the B.C. government no longer supplied them for me.

Then an incident happened which caused me grave concerns regarding my future. Mom led us around a wealthy neighbourhood to pass the time until our bus left for home. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky as we strolled along the sweltering sidewalk.

"Can we stop and rest?" I pleaded, "I feel so hot and tired.

"Just keep walking," Mom said. "Look at those lovely houses! Your friend Randy lives in one of these."

As we waited to board the Greyhound bus that evening, a wave of extreme vertigo swept over me. I staggered and tried to catch my balance. The depot began to grow dark. I saw what appeared to be ashes floating in the air. Then I tripped over a suitcase and ended up kneeling on the cement.

"What's the matter, huh! Huh!" Mom badgered as I desperately wished I could lie down. Passengers around me stared and some shouted suggestions. A security guard came over and helped me to my feet.

"We better take him into the office," he said.

"I feel sick," I said as I sat in a swivel chair. A guard fetched a garbage can. I promptly vomited into it. Then I leaned back, trying to make the remaining dizziness go away.

"I guess we'll have to take a cab home," Mom admitted as our bus pulled out of the lane. "May I borrow your phone?" The guard handed Mom the receiver and she dialled a taxi company.

I headed straight for my bed when we arrived home. As I lay listening to the radio, Mom marched into the room.

"Why the hell did you have to pull a stupid stunt like that for?" she blasted. "You cost me nine dollars, you know that?" As she ranted on, my heart sank. It was not my fault I became ill. In addition, I did warn Mom that I felt hot and tired.

Today's North American disabled children are commonly educated in local public schools, at home, or in nearby special schools. Half a century ago, kids such as I were shipped off to distant institutions for months at a stretch. Please visit my page to learn more about this unfortunate page in Canadian history. You're welcome to follow the progress of my next memoir, How I Was Razed (and How I found Authentic Christianity), on Twitter.

"You can't treat people like that, you know."

One of the common topics on The Albert Mohler Program is the reluctance of young adults to grow up and leave home. There are actually twenty-somethings who rely on their parents to do their laundry, feed them, and let them live at home without paying rent. Some do this because of economic reasons but others want to spend their disposable income on fun things like big screen TVs, MP3 players, and cars. As far as I'm aware, parents generally don't mind or they reluctantly put up with this state of affairs.

My adolescent experience was totally opposite to those stay-at-home adult children. After attending Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, I lived with a family that Mom paid to take care of me. This was because I needed to attend a special school in Edmonton that had counsellors to help me by recording reading assignments and with other sight-intensive tasks. As a result, I had to grow up quickly. In fact, my first landlady's expectations were, in my estimation, unfair. From my upcoming memoir, How I Was Razed (and How I found Authentic Christianity), here is an excerpt about how I was expected to make an adult decision while still being a child.

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Sometime during the summer, I complained to Mom about the long journey to school each weekday. "If I could live within walking distance, it would give me more time to do homework and relax," I suggested. When I enrolled for my grade nine classes, Mom had still not found a new boarding room close to the school. This uncertainty caused considerable stress between Mrs. Boyle and I. After three weeks of receiving no definite answer, she confronted me.

"Listen, Bruce, Will you be staying here another month or not?"

"I don't know. I've asked my mom but she hasn't told me anything yet."

"When will you know about what your mom will do?"

"I don't know. I'll ask her when I go home this weekend."

"I need to know now, not next week. You can't treat people like that, you know." As she began a tirade about considering others, I thought, "It isn't my fault that Mom hadn't found me a new place to live yet. I would never mislead anybody, especially Mrs. Boylle, about that." This situation seemed extremely unfair. I had no experience in finding new living quarters, my isolation at Jericho preventing me from learning most social and living skills. Fourteen-year-old children generally know little about adult responsibilities in any case.

"May I call my mom on the phone then?"

"Well alright but don't talk too long. It's long distance and you know how much that costs."

I dialLed Mom's number and briefly described the situation. "Tell her I'm still searching the newspaper for suitable boarding houses," she advised. Mrs. Boylle remained unsatisfied but she had to accept that answer for the time being.

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Though I understood my landlady's dilemma, in that she needed to find a new tenant or lose a month's rent, I still fail to comprehend why she didn't call Mom herself. In fact, adults who use children as go-betweens ought not to criticize them when they let them down. It wasn't my fault that Mom hadn't found me a new place. On the other hand, she could have shown me how to do laundry, cook for myself, and understand the process of finding new accommodations. Many of today's twenty-somethings still appear to lack this knowledge.

"the rest of the story."

In my previous blog post, I wrote about an event that changed the direction of my life and eternal destiny, namely surrendering control of both to Christ. As Paul Harvey used to say, here's "the rest of the story."

After leaving Mrs. Blacklock's Vacation Bible School, nobody contacted me or my family about attending church. I didn't even receive a Bible or New Testament to study after I put my faith in Christ. In fact, I had no idea of how important those disciplines were to the development of my faith. Back at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind that September, I attended the same Anglican church I had gone to since I was first exiled to that institution in Vancouver five years previously. The government allowed me to attend public school in Edmonton the next year but the family who I boarded with never went to church. As a result, I listened to Christian programs on the radio each weekday evening and became enamoured with the teaching of Garner Ted Armstrong. His authoritative style and the things he said seemed so much more intelligent than the usual preaching I heard.

The second family who I boarded with in 1971 introduced me to a most remarkable man. At his house church, This "anointed teacher of God" taught us about humanity's pre-birth existence as space aliens, how the Holy Spirit was actually a force of millions of departed saints, that every other church had only portions of the truth, and that a city of refuge in the Northwest Territories' Nahanni valley awaited vulnerable Christians escaping the soon-coming mark of the beast. Additionally, he allowed the spirits of deceased Christians to inhabit his body and teach advanced members of the congregation arcane secrets. He also prophesied Zaphnathpaaneah's (Joseph's) resurrection and subsequent conquest of Canada, Quebec's imminent secession from Confederation, and part of downtown Edmonton slipping into the river valley. As I had no discernment training, I believed it all.

Throughout the 15 years that I faithfully attended Thee Church, the elders continually condemned me. My passion for CB radio and rock music were despised as evil, my purchases of an open reel deck and stereo were considered wasteful, and the assistant minister often prevented me from "bothering" our minister with questions. Most devastating of all to me, my chronic failure to be healed of my poor sight was considered by the elders to be a sign of hidden sin, a lack of faith, and unconfessed ancestral sins. The non-stop criticisms and hypocrisy of the church leaders caused me to leave in 1987. I turned my back on God for 9 years before coming to my senses. Thanks to a blind friend in America who sent me good Christian radio shows on cassettes, I deprogrammed myself of all the lies I'd been taught and learned the truth about Christianity.

Condensing more than 40 years of my life into a single blog post is difficult. I've had to leave out many important events for the sake of brevity. Telling the full story is why I'm currently working on my next book, How I Was Razed (and How I found Authentic Christianity). Millions of people are lured from Bible-believing congregations by those who promise them secret knowledge and power while preaching things that are manifestly bogus. My hope and prayer is that my testimony can help those people, as well as the ones hurt by cults as I was, to learn the real character of the Heavenly Father. God willing, this book should be in print next year.