The Crimson Stain

The Crimson Stain

I grew up in a connected community, a large village type setting, where everyone knew everyone  else and all the children played actively on the local streets together. Our neighbourhood was surrounded completely by miles of Australian bushland, creating an even tighter community spirit. I was the youngest of four children. The year I turned four moved slowly by, as with eager anticipation I looked forward to the following year when I would finally join my siblings and neighbouring children at the local primary school just up the road. Each afternoon I would wander up the road, in a time when it was safe for four year olds to do so, waiting for the children to come home from school. Sometimes I had the privilege of walking with my next door neighbour right up to the school, to collect her daughter from Kindergarten. When I was there I noticed a new building being built. It was the new kindergarten building and I would stand on tip toes and gaze longingly inside knowing this was going to be my classroom in the new year. I was excited and eager to start school. 

I started Kindergarten with enthusiasm , and continued my schooling with high hopes as I could see the activities that each class ahead of me participated in and I would always look forward to each new school year with delight. The year I started third grade was such a year. I was moving from the infants rooms of kindergarten through to grade 2 and into the primary school block. Here was a long wooden building with a covered verandah right along the front of it. It housed the Principal’s office, three classrooms, followed by several steps up the veranda to the staff room and the library. I had advanced. I was in grade three. 

My teacher and my year 3 class mates

I knew this was the year I would do leatherwork and sure enough we did. Our parents purchased a variety of items made from raw leather hide, from key rings to belts to coin holders. My mother bought me a key ring and I determined to make this very special and just for her. With long metal stamps and a wooden mallet I imprinted an array of different patterns around the edge of the key ring and then I created another beautiful pattern on the inside. Finally it was complete and I chose a green dye to colour it, glued the edges together enclosing the round metal key holder, rubbed the edges with a wooden tool and the key ring for my mother was finished. I was seven turning eight and very proud of my accomplishment and I gifted it lovingly to my mother. 

Not the key ring I made but the same style

Leatherwork classes continued and I chose  a raw leather bookmark to work on next. I was busy in my grade three classroom. I did the imprinting at my old wooden desk in which initials of previous students had been mischievously engraved on and a round hole spoke of a past generation who had sat there with jars of ink, carefully writing with nibs and ink. I stamped my pattern with much thought and care, dreaming of whom I would gift this next item to. Then it was ready. It was ready for the dye. I chose a pink colour. We stained our leatherwork outside, on the verandah, in front of the library. Students sat on the dusty wooden steps or balanced on the edge of the long wooden bench that ran along the library window. I took my small, brown, glass bottle of dye and perched precariously on the wooden slats that made up the bench . I unscrewed the lid and placed the bottle out of my way beside the wall and continued to set up to dye my beautiful book mark. Alas, with one swift move of my arm I accidentally knocked the jar over. A bright crimson stream poured out and ran down the back of the bench against the cream painted building and dripped onto the floor beneath. I grabbed the bottle in an attempt to save any other contents. I looked at the spilled dye in dismay. Then my teacher noticed the event. With words that etched into my mind he slashed at me for my foolish stupidity. Biting, hurting, angry words. I kept in the tears. My joy was gone and I felt embarrassed and ashamed. It was seen by everyone. 

That crimson dye stained the wall of the building. Until I finished grade six it was there as a perpetual reminder of what felt like my shame. Sometimes as i would play, I would stop to gaze at it, feeling that every eye in the school was also peering at it and seeing me for who I really was. It stood out in stark contrast to the softened buff coloured wall on which it had seeped. When I reached my teen years, upon returning to the school to visit, it was with much relief that I found the school newly painted and the crimson stain was gone. No one could see it now. No one would know about me anymore.

A book parade going past the building with the freshly  painted over stain

Have you ever felt like there were things in your life you needed to hide? They seem like crimson stains that you wished were not so visible to others?  The feeling of shame, of past regrets, of failings, of sins confessed over and over but the feeling of never being cleansed continues to pervade. Yet God tells us that we can be cleansed. Our crimson stain can be removed. We can joy in the Lord and move forward from a past of regret. Will I accept His cleansing power? Will I move into a new future? Do I believe Him? Do you? 

Isa 1:18 "Come now, and let us reason together," Says the LORD, "Though your sins are as scarlet, They will be as white as snow; Though they are red like crimson, They will be like wool.

Ps 51:7 Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.

Isa 43: 25 "I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.

Walk and Run!

Walk and Run!

With loving, eager expectation I watched and enjoyed every milestone passed by my precious baby, Elisabeth. I diligently recorded each one, I savoured the moments, I treasured the memories they created and I took photos. From 10:47pm, on the day she was born, when into my arms was placed the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, my first born, I cherished the special times. With a heart full of a love I had never known before, I adored each stage of her development. From her birthweight and her length, to her growth each week and month, to her first sweet smile, her first cute laugh, the eating of solids, her first tooth, her first lisping words, crawling and walking; I kept written in her pretty baby book.

Lying on her tummy, kicking her legs and trying to push forward, at 7 months of age, we soon anticipated Elisabeth’s ability to crawl. Over the next few weeks, my husband and I encouraged her development, placing some toys just outside her reach. She would gaze longingly at them, kick her feet rhythmically and then reach for a closer toy. Excitement mounted, our baby was very close now, she had just turned eight months and Elisabeth reached for her white handled rattle, which was just beyond her grasp and suddenly she was off. With a propelling motion, she took her first crawling slither but alas, she started to cry. This was not at all as she had desired. Instead of moving forward to joyfully grasp her rattle, she had taken her first crawl, backwards, and away from the wanted object. Her frustration increased over the week and she tried again and again and always with the same lack of success and in reverse she would go. Then one day she moved forward, with one crawling motion, then another and another and with new found freedom she was off to explore her world. 

At ten months of age Elisabeth pulled herself up by the lounge and stood. Now she could reach the  cat sleeping soundly, any books placed out of her reach, and if she stepped sideways she could make her way along the lounge to piles of folded clothing. Around furniture she walked, as she clung on tightly, by cupboards and drawers and around my legs. However, standing and holding on to walk was one thing, letting go and taking that first step was something else, so down she would drop again, onto her roughened knees, and continue her fast paced crawl. Ten months passed, eleven months passed and now she was twelve months old with a systematic crawl that could transport her to anywhere she desired and at a speed she desired. 

It was summer in Australia and holiday time. Our family planned a camping trip to explore the southern inland country regions of our state. We arrived at the sleepy town of Yass and set up our family tent under an Australian pine tree. It was a hot and dusty camp site and the tree provided a cool shady spot. Elisabeth had been alternating between sleeping and cheerfully sitting in her car seat on the long drive. Now the tent was up and a small, plastic blue tarpaulin was placed in front of it and she was awake and could enjoy some play time on the tarpaulin. This was wonderful to her, a whole new environment just waiting to be explored. Toys were discarded in favour of crawling across the heavy sheet of plastic and reaching her hand speedily to the dried, brown pine needles that blanketed the ground. She sat and picked them up, gazing at them and  allowing the needles to drop between her fingers back to the ground below. Her eyes searched the area and she discovered there were more, over there. She set off to crawl across the crackling, dry pine needles, but they prickled her bare knees. She stopped. She tried again, but they continue to spike at her. That’s when Elisabeth took her first unaided steps forward. She stood, unassisted and walked one step, two step and down she went. Up again, one step, two step, three steps and down. My husband and I cheered her on, encouraged her, laughed and smiled and told her how clever she was. At twelve months of age she had finally walked and  she continued to do so throughout our entire holiday. There seemed to be no stopping her, until we arrived back home once more. There was her familiar house, there was her soft brown carpet and the majority of her colourful toys. Instead of walking, she dropped to her knees and took off at a rapid crawl. No prickles, spikes or discomfort. Crawling was fun, but was it? She stopped and sat and thought about it. Then up she stood once more, and purposely, she walked. She was never to crawl again. Our beautiful baby was walking. 

This morning, when in my time with God I thought about a few wrongs a person had inflicted upon me. Then God gave great conviction to me, as He brought to my mind a wrong I had done to her.  It seemed so huge to me. I was repentant  as I spent time with God in prayer and with a new perspective of humbleness, I started my day. I contacted my best friend and shared my experience from God that morning, only to discover she too had had the exact same experience.” I don’t like this feeling of discomfort, that God is bringing my way, “ I bemoaned. She agreed whole heartily but we knew it was of the Lord, who was taking us on a journey forward into a deeper place with Him. It made me think of my daughter learning to walk. How often we desire a deeper experience with Him, yet instead of going forward towards Him, we feel like we are going backwards and in helplessness we cry out to Him. Bit by bit we learn how to grow in Him and now we are crawling forward, learning more of Him each day. Then there are moments of unpleasantness as the prickled needles of the Holy Spirit’s work of cleansing our soul goes deep within us. Will I get up from discomfort and walk in Him? Will I let go of anything I am holding onto? Will I run? Will I dance and twirl and live a joyous, victorious Christian life in Him? 

Col 2:6 “Therefore as you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him.”

Eph 4:1,2 “Therefore I, the prisoner of the Lord, implore you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love.”

Heb 12:1 “…. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us”

Truth or Lies

Truth or Lies

His dark eyes squinted in the hot, tropical sun. He was steely, poised and purposeful. It was December, 1944  and Hiroo Onoda had landed on Lubang Island, in the Philippines. Onoda was a loyal Intelligence officer in the Imperial Japanese Army, trained specifically in methods of gathering information from behind the enemy lines and to conduct guerrilla warfare. He quickly hid himself secretly in the thick, mountain jungle; linking up with other small groups of Japanese soldiers to win the war. Two months later, the Allied forces overran the island, conquering as they went and ending the lives of many Japanese soldiers  who valiantly fought on. Onoda moved deeper into the jungle, survival taking over. Fending for themselves, his small cell of three other soldiers, Akatsu, Shimada and Kozuka, strictly rationed their ammunition supplies and rice. Raiding local farms found on the ragged edges of the jungle, they supplemented their diet with coconuts and bananas. 

In October 1945, another cell discovered a leaflet in a local Filipino village, while out hunting for food. The leaflet read, “The war ended August 15th.  Come down from the mountains!”. Onoda and his fellow soldiers discussed the leaflet extensively and came to the conclusion it was Allied propaganda. They refused to believe it and resolutely continued to shoot at, raid and glean information on the islanders. They were still at war. Several months later, other leaflets were found with orders to surrender, printed on them from General Yamashita. They examined them closely for authenticity but decided they were once more a ploy of the enemy, after all, Japan could not have lost the war. More lies they concluded. Deeply loyal to his orders and highly suspicious of any brochure, Onoda rallied the guerrilla soldiers to continue on. More leaflets and newspapers came fluttering into the mountain jungle as planes flew overhead, seeking to reach the intelligence officers holed up in seclusion. Delegates from Japan using megaphones echoed the call to surrender through the lush, tangled undergrowth and from village to village. Onoda’s sharp mind and careful training enabled him to outwit all the deceptions that came his way. 

Ensconced deep in the heavy growth on the Island of Lubang, Onoda and his men continued to evade captivity and surrender. Five years later Akatsu slipped quietly away from Onoda and the others, deciding to give himself up. Now Onoda was more cautious, going deeper into hiding and taking fewer risks. Ten years on, Shimada was killed on a beach in a small skirmish with local villagers. Only Onoda and Kozuka remained to battle the enemy, stealthily and by themselves. Twenty seven years in total had now passed when a filipino  patrol shot and killed Kozuka. Onoda continued his mission in solitude for another two years as search parties, dispatched from Japan sought unsuccessfully to locate him. His evasive tactics and keenly sharpened senses kept him concealed from all.

The Cave where Onoda lived for 29 years

In 1974, Suzuki, a young, adventurous Japanese college student set out on a journey to discover the whereabouts of Onoda. With amazement, he happened upon the hideout and tried to unsuccessfully persuade Onoda to return with him. Again Onoda refused to believe. How could he surrender when his commanding officer had not issued such orders? It was lies, all lies. In 1975 Major Taniguchi was brought to Lubang to inform him that Japan had lost the war and to hand over his weapons and surrender to the Filipinos.  He wasted twenty nine years of his life believing that truth were lies and lies were truth. He raged with a seething storm inside of him. Although treated like a hero, he felt like a fool. He had unnecessarily lived a life of adversity and hardship. 

Am I like Onoda? Do I believe truth as lies and lies as truth? Do I live my life based on not believing the truth?  Stop and listen? Who do I say I am? Who do you say you are? What is my value, my worth, my purpose? Do I believe I am insignificant, of little value? Do I feel I am unloveable? God tells us we are of extreme value to Him, worth the blood and life of His son and that He created each one of us with a purpose that He planned before the foundation of the world. God loves each one of us with a love not based on our worthiness, or our ability to deserve it but simply because He is love and His love is poured out onto each one of us. Will I choose to believe God, who tells me the truth? Will I choose to live my life based on that truth? Or will I stay with the lies?

Eph 1:4,5 He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will

Jer 31:3 The LORD appeared to him from afar, saying, "I have loved you with an everlasting love; Therefore I have drawn you with lovingkindness.

Jer 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Decisive or Not?

Decisive or Not?

He was tiny, adorable, very loveable and I just had to buy him. I was working at the time near a busy pet shop that perpetually drew my avid attention. I was a newly wed and my very patient husband was starting to find a growing menagerie in our home. I added to our collection, a very cute and very sweet and very black puppy, whom we named Jeremiah. He fast became my husband’s dog, going every where with Michael. When Jeremiah was about two years old we moved onto a large sheep and cattle property in a rural Australia. Here Jeremiah’s loyalty and devotion to Michael grew stronger, as each day he went to work with my husband; sitting enthusiastically in an old milk crate attached to the back of a motor bike. My husband was a landscape gardener caring for  25 acres of picturesque gardens and rolling green lawns around the main homestead on the farm. Jeremiah enjoyed the great outdoors, faithfully following Michael around the gardens, chasing the birds with a quick dash, and a sharp bark, and killing snakes. Yes, Jeremiah was a snake dog.

Australia is known for it’s dangerous snakes. We have snakes here equipped with venom more toxic than snakes anywhere else in the world. On that sheep property we had our fair share of poisonous snakes that we regularly saw. I grew up in the bush and I had a healthy fear of them. Michael grew up in New Zealand, islands that blissfully contain not a single slithering creature, and they made Michael nervous. Jeremiah took on the role of protector, but it was a game. A snake dog, however, is known to be a dog that will one day get bitten. It’s a serious game of life and death, a Russian roulette between dog and snake. Jeremiah had his many battles, leaping aggressively forward at just the right moment, teeth clenched firmly behind the back of the scaly snake’s head and with the serpent writhing in desperation, Jeremiah would violently shake the snake until the game was won. Week after week, game after game, the play went on. 

One afternoon Michael and Jeremiah came roaring up the dirt road on the motor bike, dust swirling high, they were home for the evening. Michael placed a bowl of  dry dog food before Jeremiah, patted him lovingly on the head and came inside to wash up. However, Jeremiah wasn’t feeling so well. The food didn’t interest him, he lay quiet and still, huddled in a small ball by his kennel. We suddenly realised something was dreadfully wrong with Jeremiah. We went outside to anxiously attend to him, only to discover he was stiff and labouring in his breathing. He sadly passed away not long after that. He was a snake dog. He had given his final shake and lost.

That year the drought was bad, the dams on the property were drying up, the sheep were being sold off as the paddocks turned to dust, and the snakes were thirsty. They headed for water, and the greatest water source was the lake in front of our house. The snake population increased. We kept the family well protected through prayer and keeping the area around our house snake free. Thankfully, most of the snakes were not too aggressive and would wriggle away from the sight and sound of humans. Michael and I were walking on our dusty drive when my snake instincts kicked in and I leaped automatically away from where I had been walking. That one leap disturbed the venomous snake and it quickly slid through a small crack in a low stone wall and hid inside an unknown cavity within. That stone wall was within metres of our house and definitely not a suitable place for a deadly snake. Michael grabbed a shovel and I grabbed the hose. Pushing the hose into  another small dark hole nearby; with the water pump on, we forced lake water into that secret place. Michael stood courageously on the low stone wall, shovel poised in mid air and waited and waited and waited. Eventually an inky black head poked out, a forked tongue flickered in and out tasting the dirt, picking up a scent for safety and Michael struck with an immediate and resounding deadly strike. The snake was no more.

My girls sitting on that low stone wall with their pet chooks.

I wonder at times, do we play with the devil like Jeremiah did with the snake, just giving him a shake and not really being decisive, dancing around the fringes of the boundaries? Jesus crushed the serpent’s head at his death. It was decisive, conclusive and sure. Do we claim that promise and in earnestness allow Jesus to have the victory in our own lives? The great controversy is a biblical theme not just in the realm of the cosmos but in each of our own lives, personally and daily. What is God calling to me to say no to in my life today that I have been playing around with? Will I choose to say no?

1 Cor 15:57 ..but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Gen 3:15 And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.

Rom 16:20 The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet. The grace of our Lord Jesus be with you.