Seventy-One Christmases

This is number 71 for me.

The celebration of Christmas has changed since I was a small boy in Windsor, Ontario. I celebrated Christmases numbers one through ten in that small brick house I wrote about in Windsor’s Child. In those ten Christmases I saw Christmas as a time of colored lights which frequently did not work, of a tree my dad set up in the living room and decorated, and of colorfully wrapped gifts for my sisters and me under that tree. I knew the story about Santa Claus, and I also knew the other story, about the baby born in a manger. But those stories had a hard time competing with all the goodies that were revealed when we ripped away all that colorful paper on Christmas morning.

My next eighteen Christmases were spent in Lincoln Park, Michigan, a Detroit suburb to which my family moved in the summer of 1951.. I was ten years old for the first of those Lincoln Park Christmases, and 27 on the last one. Quite a lot changed in me and in my life during those eighteen Christmases. Two very significant changes took place, the first in the year of the seventh Lincoln Park Christmas, and the second three days after the final Christmas in that city.

Two Christmases in Grand Rapids, MI, and four in Flint, MI, followed in rapid succession, even though I usually was not in either of those cities on December 25 itself. Sometimes I was back in Lincoln Park. Sometimes I was in Indianapolis, IN.

A long stretch of Christmases, twenty-one of them, to be exact, took place in the small north central Illinois town of Oglesby. Here, too, some of those Christmases were spent in Lincoln Park, and some in Indianapolis, but many of them were spent there in Oglesby.

Then came sixteen Christmases in Columbus, OH. And, Lord willing, in a few days I will celebrate my seventeenth Christmas in Columbus. If you add them all up, that is 71 Christmases I have celebrated in my seventy years on this planet.

So what? Who cares? No one, really. But here is an observation from one who has been around the Christmas block more than a few times.

It was shortly before my seventeenth Christmas, in 1957. I was 17 years old, a senior at Lincoln Park High School. I came to know Jesus Christ as my personal Savior. That was the first Christmas in which I understand why it was important for me to celebrate Christmas. It helped me to focus on why Jesus saved me. He wanted me to use Christmas and every other opportunity I could to share with others why He came to this sin-pocked world and died on a cross to provide forgiveness and salvation to all who would believe. Certainly, the ultimate Christmas gift.

My second important life-changing event came three days after my twenty-eighth Christmas. On

December 28, 1968, I received one of the best Christmas presents I have ever received, when my beautiful bride, Linda, and I were married in suburban Indianapolis, IN. Now I was the one who was on the giving side of Christmas celebration. I had a wife, and soon we had three beautiful daughters to provide Christmas for. And more importantly, we had three beautiful daughters with whom to share the saving love of Jesus Christ.

Number 71 will be here in a few days. We will be with our three daughters, their husbands and the eleven grandchildren the three couples have provided us. And Jesus will very much be a part of our celebration. All three daughters know Jesus as Savior. All three sons-in-law know Jesus. And the older grandchildren know Jesus. The younger ones have not yet reached the age they can understand how to trust Jesus as Savior.

If the Lord blesses me with several more Christmases, I look forward to the time when all 19 of us, from the oldest (me) to the youngest (Juliet) have all trusted Jesus for eternal life. I know now that Christmas is not about colored lights and colorfully-wrapped Christmas gifts. It is not about where it is celebrated. It is not about gift exchanges.

It is about Jesus. It is about Jesus only.

Pictured: The home in which my family lived in the 1940s in Windsor, Ontario, Canada.

Mourning and Joy

At the beginning of this year, I set as one of my goals the completion of the editing process on the book a friend of mine had written. I am glad to say that goal was met this summer, in July, to be exact, when my friend, Barbara J. Forsyth, published her book “Joy Comes in the Mourning.” That book is now available on my website, The Master’s Place, and from Amazon and from Barbara.

The book is based on Barbara’s continuing ministry to women who have or who are experiencing grief over a loss. In most cases, that loss involves the death of a loved one. But it may also involve a divorce, a loss of a job, an estrangement with a child or parent, or any other of a number of real life losses people experience. Barbara’s theme is that God wants to take our mourning and turn it into His joy. This is certainly a theme consistent with Biblical truth, and I appreciate the fact that Barbara is writing from her own experience when she says God can help us find joy even in the midst of mourning and suffering.

There is what I think is an interesting back story to my involvement in the editing of the book. Barbara was my friend 45 plus years ago, when we were both young people at the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park, Michigan. However, we each went our separate ways, she to Taylor University in Upland, Indiana and me to Grand Rapids Baptist Seminary in Michigan. We lost contact with each other. She found her husband at Taylor; I found my wife at Grand Rapids.

I had no further contact with Barbara. Indeed, I did not know where she was, what her married name was, or even if she was alive. In fact, in the good life the Lord gave me with my wife and children, I didn’t even think about her for four decades.

So, how did I come to edit her book? That is the interesting story I would like to encourage you to read. You can read it by going to my website: http://www.blogger.com/goog_217296303

And while you are there, check out Barb’s book, and the other Christian books we feature in our Bookstore. And praise the Lord with me that one of my goals for 2011 has been accomplished, bringing me great joy.

Leaving God Out of His Own Story

In the book of Esther, it has been often noted, the name of God does not appear in any verse. None. Yet, as it has also been pointed out, God is everywhere in that book.

As I have reread portions of This Little Life of Mine an autobiographical series of articles published on my website, I have noted that sometimes I have a tendency to leave God out of the narrative, even though I have proclaimed from the beginning that I want this to be a record of the things God has done in my life. I have stated that I do not want this to be about me, but I want it to be, as it should be, about God. Each chapter should be about what God did, not about what I did.

Chalk it up to human nature, the sinful human nature that I possess. That is why I tend to focus on me and not on God. But in this article, I want to focus on God especially. Even though I have sometimes neglected Him in this narrative, the truth is, He has been everywhere in this narrative.

There really is nothing in this narrative that I decided all by myself without the influence of God through His Word or through His Spirit or both. Nothing. Most if not all of the major decisions recorded here were beyond my ability to decide.

Take, for instance, my birth in Canada in 1941. I had no say in when or where I would be born. I had no choice as to who my parents might be. These necessary decisions were not made by me, certainly. Then, who made them? My parents? Not really. Yes, they lived in Canada when I was born, but they did not know prior to my birth that it was me they were bringing into the world. They did not choose me to be their son. They did what was necessary to bring a child into the world, but they did not choose who that child might be. Who did make this choice? The only one who could make that choice is God. And I believe it was His will that I be born in Windsor, Ontario, Canada to Whelan and Edna Parsons on June 5, 1941.

The circumstances of my childhood were also not circumstances over which I had much control. The house we lived in, the food we ate, the relative safety of my Windsor home as compared to the homes of others in, say, Germany, or England, or Japan during those war years, were all circumstances neither I nor my parents could ultimately control. Who did control these various elements? God did. I believe the things I experienced as a child in Windsor during World War II were all things it was God's will that I experience. Even the unpleasant things.

Words were fascinating to me, as I revealed in my book, Windsor's Child. Why? Other children were exposed to the same lessons I had in school, read the same books I read, and learned the same words I did. Why did I develop such a love for words? No doubt my parents, especially my mother who also loved words, and some of my teachers influenced me in this, but ultimately it is God who put me in the place I needed to be to learn what I did, and who put within me the response I had to words. I believe it was God's will that I learn to love words and what could be done with them.

In 1951, my parents decided to move from Windsor to Lincoln Park, a suburb of Detroit, Michigan. The move did not involve much distance. We crossed the Ambassador Bridge and drove about six or seven miles to our new home. Yet, in spite of that short distance, I had moved to a different country. Was that just my parents' choice? No, not entirely, because there were factors beyond their control that led them to make that decision. My brother's death at the age of 21 in Windsor, my dad's birth in Detroit as well as his work there, changes in economic factors that reduced the value of his American paycheck in Canadian stores; all of these influenced their decision. But who influenced all these circumstances? God did. I believe it was God's will for me to move to the United States at the age of ten.

You are not going to read in this item that I believe God brought me to this country because it was a land of greater opportunity, or because it was a free country and I was escaping tyranny. This is Canada we are talking about, a land every bit as freedom loving as the USA, and a country that provides more than ample opportunities for its citizens to succeed at whatever they choose to do. God did not bring me here to escape anything or to have a greater opportunity to do anything. The fact is, I do not really know all of why God brought me here at the age of ten. But I am firmly convinced it was His will to do so.

The Christian influences in my life - my mother, a little Baptist church at the end of our street in Windsor, some friends in high school, a girl I had a crush on in high school, things I read, including the Bible - all of these gradually worked on me to get me to the place where, in October of 1958, I established a faith relationship with Jesus Christ that changed my life more than any other decision I have ever made. Although each of the influences listed here played a part, there is no way any group of sinners could have worked together to orchestrate my coming to faith in Christ. If it were to happen, and it did, then God had to do it. I believe it was God's will that I come to faith in Christ at the age of 17 while a student at Lincoln Park High School.

It was my dad's choice that took me to a mainstream protestant church in Lincoln Park. I joined it with him before I came to Christ. After I established my faith relationship with Jesus, I found the church I attended did not preach the gospel or teach the Bible correctly. God led me to First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park where for five years I sat under the teaching of one of the godliest men I have ever known, Dr. Charles R. MacDonald. It was Dr. Mac who taught me the Word of God during those five years and it was Dr. Mac who encouraged me to consider the ministry for my life's work. But it was God who led Dr. Mac to Lincoln Park at that time, and it was God who led me to that church at that time. I believe it was God's will that I sit under Dr. Mac's ministry for those five years.

There were some very dear friends I made while at FBC. Some of them are still friends (via Internet) today. God used them to help shape me into the person He wanted me to be. I believe it was God's will for me to form those friendships with Gary, Jim, Dan, Dave, Anne, Dorothy, Helen, Barb and others whom God used greatly in my life then.

As a young man, I had a series of crushes on a series of young ladies. I really wanted to meet the girl I would spend my life with. God did not put that girl in Lincoln Park. But the girls I did date and enjoyed being with all were used of God to help me grow as a believer. I believe it was God's will that I experience those temporary relationships to help me be prepared for the real relationship when it finally came. I also am convinced it was God who kept me pure for the girl He did give me.

God took me to Grand Rapids, Michigan. God took Linda Hubble to Grand Rapids, Michigan. There He arranged for us to meet and to fall in love. There He helped us arrange our wedding. I believe it was God's will that Linda and I stand before Pastor Norm Hoag on December 28, 1968 in the First Baptist Church of Beech Grove, Indiana and establish a Christian home for His glory.

It was there in Grand Rapids that we met Pastor Jack Bowen and his wife who invited me to go to Flint to serve as his assistant prior to his retirement. I know it was Pastor Bowen's will that I succeed him as pastor there (he told me that was his desire). But I know it was not God's will. However, I believe God took Linda and me to Flint to learn, to grow, to serve and to enjoy his people there.

And, although I don't know all the reasons, I even believe it was God's will that Linda and I have a cat named Nikki and a dog named Laddie instead of children as we did in 1972. Children came later, according to His timing.

So, as you continue to read, if I get caught up in the narration of things that happened, and I forget to mention that God was the only one in full control of everything, please understand this one truth about my life and this narration, the same truth that I mentioned at the beginning, about the book of Esther.

In this narration, God is everywhere, even when He is not given His full and rightful place at the center of my life. The failure is never His, but always mine.