Antiquarian Anabaptist

Apologetics from an Anabaptist perspective

Tag Archives: friendship

Collateral damage – or the real target?

I have been musing about the Islamist terrorist attacks in Europe and North America; who are these attacks really targeting? Is it the terrorists goal to make Western nations more favourable to the aspirations of Muslim people and nations around the world?  I think we can give them credit for being smart enough to know that isn’t going to work.

Our governments have shown admirable restraint in the comments they make about the supposed religious motivation of these attacks. The same cannot be said about all the citizens. There is a portion of the populace who have voiced suspicions about all the Muslims now present in our nations. Often it goes beyond mere suspicion to statements that no one if the Muslim faith can be trusted. Some of these statements are coming from people who self-identify as Christian.

Is this perhaps the real goal of the terrorists? To make Muslims in our countries feel marginalized, to fear that they will never be accepted and trusted? That makes fertile ground for Islamist propaganda among Muslim young people.

How are Muslims going to know that love permeates the foundation of the Christian faith,if supposedly Christian people are actively promoting distrust of Muslims?

Earlier this year, after a shooting at a mosque in Québec City, Philippe Couillard, Prime Minister of Québec told people that words matter and that we should endeavour to get our facts straight before we speak and write. He also spoke of the need to talk to each other and suggested: “The next time you walk past someone of the Muslim community, why don’t you stop and say hello?” That’s good advice.

Nabeel Qureshi, author of Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus and Answering Jihad gives the same kind of advice. He advises Christians to reach out to the Muslims around us and develop friendships, but not to expect overnight conversions. It will probably take years for a Muslim to make the step of trusting Jesus rather that Allah. But many have done that, including Qureshi himself. First we have to convince them that Christians are not their enemies, even if we do not worship Allah.

Do you really want to know how I’m feeling today?

Yesterday I stopped at the pharmacy counter in Walmart to pick up a prescription. There were several pharmacists in the back busily preparing prescriptions for others. I waved at the head pharmacist and said, “How are you Marc?”

There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before he answered “Fine'” The clerk who was serving me smiled and said “He didn’t sound so sure, did he?”

When I had finished paying for my prescription, Marc came out to the front and motioned me to come aside where we could talk. He told me that the question of how to answer the question “How are you?” had recently come up at Bible study. If you are having a rough day and you answer “Fine,”  are you being honest?

On the face of things, it may seem that the person who always says “Fine” is not really being honest. But perhaps there is another way of looking at this. I told Marc about our two elderly cousins. One is related to me and one to my wife, I won’t say which is which, it doesn’t really matter to the story.

One of these old ladies has been married twice, couldn’t get along with either man and divorced them. She has six children and they don’t treat her right, according to her. Lord knows they try, but it’s never enough. People are mean to her and try to cheat her everywhere she goes. I don’t know if she has any real friends, but she is still on speaking terms with a few people. Sometimes she gets upset and won’t speak to one of them for months, but eventually she needs their help for something and picks up the phone to call them again.

One day she was feeling so miserable that she told one of those contacts that she felt like ending her life. This contact lives 600 km away and couldn’t just pop over to visit. So she suggested this lady needed to get out of her apartment, go to a mall, have a coffee, find someone to talk to. She called back in the evening overjoyed at the wonderful day she’s had. Turns out she never did visit with anyone, but she found all kinds of things on sale at the mall. We heard later she had spent $700 on jewellery and clothing, things she really couldn’t afford and might never wear, but spending gave her a one-day high.

If you ask this lady how her day is going, she will probably fill your ear with a long tale of woe.

The other lady is 91 and lives in a senior’s residence. Her husband of 65 years died a few years ago and she misses him. But she talks of all the good memories she has of their life together. Their only son lives close by, comes to see her every day, does all he can to help her. She is always singing his praises.

Almost a year ago she suffered a stroke and spent some time in the hospital. The nurses were all very good to her. She had to use a walker after she came home, but she didn’t complain. Now she is fully recovered and goes for a half-mile walk every morning. She knows every resident in the senior’s residence and loves to visit. Her hands are crippled with arthritis, yet she is typing out her life’s story to share with her family. She keeps in touch by phone with all her many relatives.

If you ask this lady how things are going, she may mention some health problem, or she may not. Mostly she will tell you how good everyone is to her and how the Lord has blessed her life.

There is the difference, one of these ladies knows the Lord. The other does not, will not even consider that such a thing is possible.

So, how is your day going? It’s a matter of perspective, isn’t it?

Sitting around the fire

We were in a small mission congregation in a major Canadian city. A middle-aged single lady, I’ll call her Anne, had been attending for a year or more. One day she said to me, “It seems like there is a warm fire burning here and you are all gathered around to warm yourselves by that fire, but you won’t let me get close.” “No,” I answered, “we want you to join us around the fire, the problem is that you are afraid of the fire.”

We all struggle with that fear from time to time, some more than others, and some never seem to overcome that fear. To enter into the presence of God, to warm ourselves in His love and the love of fellow believers, requires that we let go of some things. Things like pride, lust, materialism, envy, anger and so on.

The problem is that we don’t want to call them by their proper names. We create a mask for ourselves, depicting the person that we want to be, the kind of person that we think will be admired and respected by those around us. We want to believe that this is our true identity. Yet as soon as we approach that warm bonfire of God’s love that mask starts to melt and we hasten back to the cool shadows.

This is futility, and deep down we know it. Still, we are afraid to take off the mask and let others see what we are really like. The plain truth is that God cannot do anything for the person we are pretending to be. It’s only when we drop the mask and all pretense that we can become the person God wants us to be. And that will be far better than the person we were pretending to be.

We can’t develop warm and lasting friendships with others either if we don’t allow them to see who we really are. When we stop trying to protect ourselves from the warmth of God’s love, there is nothing left to inhibit the warmth of our fellowship as we gather around the fire.

Anne died a few years ago. Those who visited with her in her last days say that near the end she seemed to grasp the reality that we must come to God on His terms, holding nothing back. There is hope that she finally did enter into the warmth of His love. God is gracious and full of mercy, but why would any of us want to wait until the last minute to discover that?

I dreamed there was no God

[From an out of print book, When I Was Thirteen by Christina Young. I first posted this in March of 2013, and thought it worth posting again as it seems to me that far too many people today are living in just such a nightmare and do not know that it would be possible to awaken from that dream and experience the love of God who really is there.]

June 1, 1897
This is Sunday morning, and also the first day of June.  Everyone else is sleeping still, as the sun is just coming up over the trees at the ditch.  I got up early like this, because I had a bad dream, and couldn’t sleep any more, and I thought maybe if I would go out into the beautiful morning, I could crawl back up out of the slough of despond that had swallowed me up in my dream.

I will write down my dream pretty soon, but first I want to get happy again, and feeling that God is close by, as it was a most desolate feeling, to feel shut away from Him.

So I am sitting out here on the stoop watching the sun rising up, and smelling the sweet morning smells that the night sprinkles over the earth to make it sweet for the people when they get up in the morning.  It is a great pity the children in town can never have country mornings.

The little lost lambs have all found their own mother now.  I can see them frisking around along the sides of the road.  You would never think that they were such sorrowful lambs last night, and the happy old mother sheep seem to have clean forgotten their worry for fear they had lost their lambs.

Out in the orchards the birds are holding a service of song, and are nearly bursting their throats trying to make the world understand how happy they feel for this lovely June morning.  And back there in the pasture, the horses and cows are just getting up for another good day in the grass.  Old Nell looks quite a fine lady.

Somewhere in the Bible there is a verse which says “They shall not hurt or destroy in all My holy mountains, for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.”  And that is the way the world looks this morning.  No one with a soul locked up in their body, and looking out of their eyes, could see the earth on a morning like this, and not be sure that God made it and loved the people upon it.

But I dreamed last night that there was no God.  And, though it was only a dream and I am awake again now and sure that He is closer to me than the morning air I am breathing, I am sad to think that there must be millions of people and sorrowful little children, away in the heathen lands, who have all the time the unhappy feeling I had while I was dreaming my dream.  For they don’t know about God.

In my dream, the children would not obey their parents, but did as they wanted to do themselves, and nobody wanted to bother themselves with children anyway, and they had to look out for themselves.  The parents found fault with each other, and with the ones higher up, and they wouldn’t stick to each other, and kept stirring up ugly feelings, and the ones higher up did just as they pleased and didn’t care who suffered for it, but were always living in fear of someone conquering them.  Everyone was afraid of everyone else and there was no faith in the world.

I was even afraid of Ma, as the thing that held us together, seemed not to be there anymore, and where love and tenderness once had been, fear and distrust were now.

Each one walked alone, and had no friend.

I was sleeping out on the road, trying to keep myself hid, and had huddled up in the dark beside one of the sheep, as that was the kindest thing I could find, and I wasn’t afraid of it.  I thought that Ma didn’t care for me anymore, but had told me to shift for myself, and there was no use praying to God for there wasn’t any God there.

I was wishing with all my heart that I had never been born, and hoping I would soon die.  I was planning, as soon as the daylight came, to try to sneak down to the creek and be drowned.  I would have to keep out of sight of a man, as they were all cruel to children.  I thought it would be all right to drown myself because if there was no God, neither would there be any Heaven, and if there wasn’t a Heaven, not likely there’d be any Hell, and being so miserable as I was, I would rather be nothing at all.

Just then a sheep bleated a little, and I woke up.  Of all the bad dreams I have ever had, that was the very worst.  There wasn’t any thrill in it, but just a heavy despair, as there was no chance to escape, and nowhere to turn for help.

I was never so glad to wake up before, and find it was just a bad dream.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Hell should turn out just to be shut out forever from under the care of God.

I know there are some in the world who say they do not believe in Him, although they are living in safety and peace, because others’ believe and act that way, but I think they must have a feeling that there is a God taking care of us, although maybe they don’t know that they have it.  Because if they really didn’t believe, and felt as I felt in my dream, I think they’d all kill themselves and so end up the misery.

I think, when God gives life to a child, He plants in its soul the feeling that there is a God.  They say even the worst of the heathens have the instinct that there is some such Presence, and are always searching to find it and seeking to know its will, though so doubtfully and so darkly that they never know any real peace, being so full of the terrors that live in their minds.  I expect the children all feel as I felt last night in my dream.

Pa is up now, and was surprised to see me sitting out here on the stoop.  It was good to see his face, with only kindness on it, and to know that he is a good man and walks in the way of God, and it is good to know that Ma is still Ma, and we can be sure of her love for us and can all be together still, and sure of the love of God, and that He is right here watching out for us all, and none of us need be afraid.  I guess I had better start setting the table for breakfast now.  Pa has the fire going.

Friendship

When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit, and was troubled, And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see. Jesus wept. Then said the Jews, Behold how he loved him! (John 11:33-36).

I have at times wondered about the accounts of the close friendship Jesus had with Lazarus, Mary and Martha. The gospel accounts make it clear that there was a special connection here and He loved to visit their home. What do we think about the preference that He seemed to show for the company of Lazarus and his sisters?coffee-367887_640

Then again, what would we think of Jesus if He had no close friends? What if He had gone about treating everyone with the same kindness and respect, yet never allowing Himself to get too closely attached to anyone? What if He had never been moved to tears by the sorrow of close friends?

In everything Jesus is our example. If we belong to a congregation of believers, they should all be our friends. Yet it is completely normal, and highly desirable, that we should form closer bonds with a few. These close friendships should not be limited to our own kinfolk either. There will be those whose nature and interests naturally draw us together. These close bonds of friendship should not ever be the source of divisions in the body, they should rather bind us more closely to the whole body. Our closest friends may also feel close to someone with whom we might other wise not have been able to develop much rapport, but our mutual ties will draw us together.

It would also be entirely normal to have friends outside the bounds of our Christian fellowship. They may be unsaved family members, work associates, people with common interests. We should be just as much Christians when with them as when with our Christian friends. Not that we should browbeat them with the gospel or constantly remind them of shortcomings in their lives. Those could be quite effective means of ending the friendship. But if they never have questions about our faith, perhaps we are trying to hard to be like them.

A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly  (Proverbs 18:24). When we show a genuine interest in other people’s lives, they are more apt to be interested in what makes us tick. That is the basis for forming true friendships and also the basis upon which those friendships can become a setting for heart to heart sharing of spiritual concerns, trials and victories.

The cause of divisions

At one point in Jesus’ earthly ministry, those who doubted suggested that He performed miracles through the power of Beelzebub, or Satan. “But he, knowing their thoughts, said unto them, Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and a house divided against a house falleth. If Satan also be divided against himself, how shall his kingdom stand?” (Luke 11:17-18)

Division is characteristic of our world today, in every area. There are conflicting ideas about nutrition and health, about child training, education, about the environment, about mental health, about the best way to help the poor and the homeless. There are conflicting truth claims about religion, conflicting doctrines among Christians. Does this mean that God is divided?

Solomon, in Ecclesiastes 7:29, says: “Lo, this only have I found, that God hath made man upright; but they have sought out many inventions.” That is, God wishes to lead mankind in a way that is upright and simple to understand, but we have invented innumerable alternatives to His way.

We didn’t invent those alternatives all by ourselves; we had help. The serpent in the Garden of Eden suggested to Eve that there was perhaps an alternative to God’s instruction about the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Since that time, Satan has made it his business to suggest to each one of us that we are being treated unfairly by others, even by God Himself. Although those suggestions come from outside ourselves, we become guilty when we accept them and act on them.

Satan is not divided against himself. Division is his stock in trade. He sows division between children and parents, husband and wife, between close friends and even between Christians. His goal is to cause division and mistrust until everyone stands alone, trusting no one but himself or herself. We see this between nations, in relations between employers and employees, between citizens and governments, between members of a congregation and their pastors.

This is not to say that there are not injustices. Those there are aplenty. But every time Satan suggests a way to alleviate an injustice he makes the situation worse. We should not think this to be an accident and that the remedy would work if only better people were put in charge. If we are listening to the suggestions of Satan, he will see to it that no permanent remedy can be achieved.

God offers a way to find peace in the midst of this chaos and to mend broken relationships. But we first have to become reconciled to the fact that we live in a broken and unjust world. We cannot expect that others will always treat us fairly; injustice is part of our lot in life. Our role is not to correct the injustices done by others, but to correct the injustices that we have done, to learn to treat others with respect and love so that we do not repeat our acts of injustice.

Jesus left us this promise in John 16:33: “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” One day He will return to judge all those who have been unjust in their dealings with others. May we not be found in that number.

What is wrong with this picture?

We send missionaries all over the world from our North American congregations. We rejoice when reports come back of the faith taking root in countries where the prevailing belief is animism, Hinduism, Buddhism or Islam.

Then we go into Tim Horton’s and the person behind the counter is a recent immigrant from one of those countries and we complain about her accent. What is wrong with this picture?

I’ll venture a guess or two. First, in our minds we have separated mission work from normal Christian life. People from (almost) every country in the world are showing up virtually on our doorstep and it doesn’t click that here is a mission field right in front of us. You have to leave home and cross an ocean to do mission work, don’t you?

Secondly, we too easily assume that people around us aren’t interested in the gospel. If they were they would come to church wouldn’t they? Let’s be really honest here: who is it that isn’t interested? Is it them or us?

Thirdly, we like living in our little bubble where nothing much happens to disturb our accustomed cycle of work, leisure and church activities. It’s hard for us to conceive of how it would be if some of these people entered into our circle. They’re not like us, everything would change if too many of them became part of our congreagation.

Here we are then. Christianity has fallen into disrepute in our land; only ten to fifteen percent of the population attend a church, and many of those churches are more based on tradition or intellectualism than on the Bible. And we are helpless to do anything about it.

Or are we? If we are born-again believers, readers of the Bible, led of the Holy Spirit, don’t we have the tools to reach out to people around us? Perhaps we are just too unaccustomed to using those tools.

Let’s take an interest in other people, get to know them, ask questions about their lives, their aspirations, what is important to them. Then tell them in a simple way about the things that are most important to us. And I don’t mean our material possessions or the accomplishments of our children. Share the things that are of eternal value. Many people will never have heard such things before.

 

The Lonely Ache of Popularity

Bill was tall, fair, handsome, sensitive. He was also the Eighth Grade football hero ‒ the one who scored the goals and carried the home team to victory. Girls in the top two grades were openly–or secretly–nuts about him.

Like Grace, the girl who lived down the street from him. She was a nobody, shy and plain, but she dreamed big. If only Bill would like her! She saw him taking her to the school dance and the looks on the other girls’ faces as she walked in the door on Bill’s arm. Their jaws would drop and their eyes would turn green with envy. Standing next to Bill she’d really shine; everyone would know that she must be something special if Bill liked her.

Alas for Grace. Debbie moved in and worked her way up the pecking order; by Grade Eight she was the head of our football team’s cheerleader group. Pretty, popular, pushy — she claimed Bill and grabbed every chance to be near him. Grace was left alone with her dreams and longings. Last I heard she was still single, but she went on to get her pilot’s license and live a life of adventure a lot of us never expected.

So how did Bill himself feel about all of this adoration? Do guys know when girls want them for an ornament, a trophy won in the cat fights? Do they sense that if they didn’t have the looks and status, the car and the cash, the popular girls wouldn’t give them a second thought? And does that tick them off, or are they just happy to be used for awhile–and to use? After all, don’t they see themselves looking good, too, with the prettiest girl on their arm?

The teachers wanted Bill as football star, the girls wanted him as a status symbol, likely his parents were proud of what their son had accomplished. But our thoughts were so ME-centred. Did any of us really CARE about HIM? A few years later Bill committed suicide.

The vicious rivalry in teen circles tears a lot of young people to shreds. Lesser lights want to stand beside the brighter ones, girl or boy, so the glow reflects well on them. But there’s only so much room in that glow, others are pushed aside. They often go off in a corner and seethe, knowing they’ll never be in the limelight.

I feel sympathy for girls who live with this torture. Then, to add to the mix, if there are abuse issues in your past, you grow up under that cloud – stamped as an UNDESIRABLE. Been there; done that.

I Just Don’t Fit In

Getting married and having a family don’t change the peer pressure, just redefine it. THEIR husbands have bigger salaries; THEY probably have cushy jobs, too; THEY have THEIR homes decked out by Martha Stewart; THEIR toddlers by Osh-Kosh; THEIR teens by Alfred Sung. THEIR kids are into everything culture &/or sports, rapidly being molded into the snobs and jocks of future high schools.

As long as you have one eye on THEM – the unidentifiable and ever-unmatchable THEM – you’ll always feel outclassed. THEY always have their act together; THEY are so far ahead in the game of Life because THEY know all the unspoken rules. YOU are the odd duck, the square peg in a round hole. The one with horrible secrets no one should ever find out.

But ask yourself, What if I really were popular? Would I really like being there as a prop in others’ productions? Would I be able to live with myself if I crushed others to get to the top? And what would I have to do to stay there? Some of the most talented people have admitted in later life how they lived with the dread someone would discover they were just a fake.

I believe every person on the planet at times thinks, “I just don’t fit in,” even on a level playing field. Then try changing cultures. For those like myself who have come from a “trailer trash” non-Christian upbringing and are now trying to fit into a conservative Christian circle, thoughts like “I’ll never be fit in” can overwhelm us and sink our ship. We need a solid rock to stand on.

Bonked By Another Diamond From Heaven

One time I was brooding over the way I was brought up and how my own family has such a different culture than my Christian brothers and sisters. I wanted so much to be like “everybody else” but I felt so different in the way I said and did things, the values I was taught, etc. The prospect of “fitting in” looked pretty bleak right at that moment ‒ and the devil was probably gloating as he tossed more jabs of “you’ll never make it here.”

Then the Lord spoke to me in this complete sentence: “The more you try to be like everybody else, the more you will realize how different you are. The more you try to be yourself, the more you will realize how much like everybody else you are.”

Can it really be that simple? I can just be myself? Like a shaft of Heaven’s purest light, this thought banished my dark musings, gave me direction and courage again. I was able to accept myself for what I was and trust that I could still fit in anywhere the Lord wanted me to be.

God is so good; He delights in setting us free from chains that drag us down. He showed me that there is MUCH more to life than becoming like — and liked by — Everyone. Actually the issue isn’t “fitting in”; it’s all about being an obedient and useful child of God. It’s putting OTHERS before our own ego.

Think of all the people in history who, single-handedly, have accomplished a lot of good in our world. Look around and you will see things you can do to ease someone else’s pain. There are people teetering on the brink of despair that could still be pulled back by a sincere friend – before they become another suicide statistic. You CAN make a difference. But not if you’re focussed on how “everyone else” looks at ME.

-Christine Goodnough

(This is a slightly revised version of an article Chris posted on “Christine’s Collection” about two years ago.)

 

A man of simple tastes

Carl McNeil, the oldest man in Fullarton, was of Scottish descent as his name implied.  Carl was well-educated and well informed, a pleasant man to visit with, but not worldly wise; his values came from a different era.  He never married, never had a driver’s license, never smoked, never tasted tea, coffee or strong drink.

He farmed most of his life, but by the time we arrived in Fullarton he had rented out his land and was living in an old two storey brick house.  He only used one bedroom and the kitchen and dining room.  The house had no running water and no central heat.

Carl was a thin man, his back bent from years of hard work, making him look shorter than he really was.  This part of Ontario is too wet to produce a good grain crop if the land isn’t tile drained.  Carl tiled his land by himself, digging long trenches by hand and laying sections of heavy round clay drainage tile.  When he retired to Fullarton he dug up his entire yard by hand each spring and planted white beans.  These beans are a major crop in the area, the kind of beans that are used to make baked beans.  Carl would pull the bean plants In late fall and spend the winter shelling them by hand and sorting the beans.  The result was a number of bags of top quality beans that he would sell to the owners of the big grain elevator in Mitchell.

When he was 85, Carl needed to have the battery changed in his pacemaker.  A friend drove him to one of the hospitals in London and the procedure was performed.  The next morning he signed himself out of the hospital, walked to the bus depot and bought a ticket to come home.  He got off the bus at Russeldale, the nearest village along the highway.  He walked the three miles to Fullarton, found the door of his home locked and didn’t have the key with him.  He put a ladder up to the second storey bedroom window, climbed up, pushed the window open and he was home.

He continued to dig up his yard by hand until he was 95, then his neighbour offered to do it with his rototiller.  Carl kept on growing beans until he was 99 and then went into a nursing home.

He died at the age of 100, outliving all his close relatives.  His will gave bequests to some of the neighbours who had been his closest friends over the years, plus one special bequest that got Carl’s name in newspapers across Canada.  Being a frugal man, Carl did not want to leave this world with any debts against his name.  Therefore he gave a bequest to the government of Canada to pay off his portion of the national debt.

 

 

 

The cat who came in from the cold

I glanced out the window one evening in late fall and was startled to see a white kitten sitting on our doorstep.  I walked around to the door and opened it, half expecting this kitten to dash off in fear when he saw me.  I was amazed when he calmly got up, walked into the house, followed me to the kitchen, saw the cat food dishes and began to eat like he had not had a meal for days.

He was just a bit wary, but he allowed me to pet him and rewarded me with a loud purr.  I felt his ribs and concluded that he really had not had much to eat for some time.  He appeared to be maybe three or four months old.  He was not really white but pale cream in colour, with the beginnings of the markings of a flame point siamese.

Surely this little chap is someone’s pet, we thought.  The next day my wife put a notice about him on Kijiji.  I took him to the vet to see if he had a microchip that would identify him and his owners.  There was none.  I left him there to be treated for ear mites, worms and other parasites.  When none of the contacts from Kijiji turned out to be looking for this particular cat, I told the vet to go ahead and neuter the little guy.

We took him home after he had spent ten days at the vet’s.  The vet has never come up with a bill.  I hounded her for the bill, but she always had an excuse, no time to sit down and calculate the bill, she couldn’t remember what all they had done, and other equally dumb excuses.  I finally caught on that there was not ever going to be a bill.

Where did he come from?  We live on an acreage next to a farmer.  A couple of times during the summer months my wife had seen a larger siamese with similar colouring in the woods between our house and our neighbours.  The neighbours themselves reported that they had seen a cat like that, but no one had been able to get close to it.  Could that cat have been the mother of this kitten?

We had two cats already, both all black.  The older one is a Maine Coon cat, large, fluffy and quite calm in her temperament.  We call her Panda.  The younger one is siamese in conformation, temperament and voice, but solid black in colour.  We call him Angus.

Angus loves to be outdoors and spends a lot of time in the woods between our two houses.  We think now that he and this newcomer must have at least seen each other in the woods from time to time.  The little guy must have watched from a safe distance as Angus came to the door and asked to be let in and later asked to be let out again.  He seems to have realized that Angus was not a prisoner in the house, that there were good things in the house, and that it might be a warm place to sleep in the cool nights.

Whatever the case, he is now the third cat in our house.  We call him Pookie.  It started out as Spookie, because this pale shape would silently glide about the house in the dim light at night.  We decided that was not a good name and dropped the S.  Pookie’s colouring has fully developed by now: reddish brown ears, a slight ring pattern on the tail, a tan muzzle and tan vertical lines on his forehead that give him a perpetually puzzled look.  He still doesn’t like to be picked up, but if one of us leans back in a recliner he will jump up on our lap and nap contentedly.

Pookie and Angus got along well from the start.  Panda was not willing to accept a newcomer in her house and her nose was out of joint for the longest time.  By now she accepts Pookie without complaint, but never goes out of her way to be friendly.

This has got me to wondering.  Are there people waiting outside our churches, hoping for all the world that someone will notice and invite them in from the cold?  Am I like Angus, ready to welcome a newcomer?  Or am I like Panda, fearing that this newcomer is going to supplant me from my privileged position in this home?

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