austin_on_a_mission (Your Missionary in Montreal)

God's Story Is My Story Is Your Story - Ch. 3

2005-06-21T22:38:00.000-07:00

Chapter 3

I knew even as a child, that there was something more out there. Something was still missing. I was hearing this still small voice calling me by name. I couldn't of told you then that God was whispering to me - but I know now. It's like He pressed his thumb into me - leaving an impression that only He could fill. He knew us and formed us in our Mother's womb. He whispers to us His plans and His purpose for our lives. And when the time is right - He calls us out. And from the moment we are born, I believe we are all searching and seeking for our Maker. Some of us just take a little longer to meet up with him than others.

I was searching and seeking, even as an 8 year old. I would check out the various church services in our town. I would take a Bible and starting with the earliest service I would make my way across town. I still recall one message at the little log Anglican church. "We are to be salt and light on this earth." I also remember ringing the steeple bell at the back of the church when no one was looking. Then it was on to the next church - always seeking - always searching.

The problem with growing up - is we grow further and further away from that voice whispering to us. And we forget that God has a purpose and a plan. We doubt ourselves and our existence and our heart's grow hard. They say that most people will turn to Jesus Christ before the age of 19. Why? I believe it's because they've yet to be bombarded with all the other voices this world has to offer - and they can still recall their master's voice.

I was about 8 when my Mom met Daniel Austin - who would be the father I never had. And soon, when I was 10, my little brother, Blaine was born. Dad did a lot of everything for work. He would take us girls out the woods where he would be running a bull dozer to clear areas after logging. He would let us ride with him in the heavy equipment. In the winters he'd let us dress him up with our little winter scarves around his neck. For lunch, he would blow-torch some hotdogs.

We thought they were the best in the world! And we must be the luckiest girls!

Chapter 4 (Coming Soon)

God's Story Is My Story Is Your Story - Ch. 2

2005-06-21T09:26:00.000-07:00

Chapter 2

Poverty still exists and is so rampant in Canada. Why are we so blind to the single mom walking out of the store with just one bag of groceries that's supposed to last the week? Who didn't notice my mom with two little girls - struggling to make ends meet? Where was the church with Christ's mandate to take care of the widow and the orphan? My mom could have used a friend like Jesus - we all could have. But we wouldn't be introduced to him for a while yet.

In the meantime Christmas was fast approaching, and there was not enough money for even a simple turkey dinner, or presents for under the tree. But we had porridge, and we had each other. But God had not forgotten us...although we didn't know him well or at all...His plan was still in action. And one day shortly before Christmas, the doorbell rang. Mom ran to see who it was but there was no one there. She looked down, and there was a box. She brought it in and set it on the table. As she opened it up - the expression on her face changed. Through her tears she rejoiced. The most amazing things came out of the box. A chicken, all sorts of Christmas goodies, and at the bottom, were two little dolls for my sister and I. We had not been forgotten!

We were on the move again soon enough - up to northern BC - to Hudson's Hope, where Mom's family lived. I would spend my formative years growing up in this magical corner of Canada. I went to a little school on the edge of a canyon looking down into the Peace River. The wildlife was incredibly abundant. It was normal to see moose and deer wandering through town. For a short time, we had a little moose follow us to school. Although I'm sure he would eat all my lunch - I would only give him my apples. I didn't like them.

A Friday night treat for us was to grab a soft ice-cream and head up to the town dump to watch the bears. First, you would have to get there before they did, and you could do a little shopping. It wasn't the kind of dump they have now...this was a place for people to bring all sorts of goodies they didn't want anymore. There would be a wood pile with miscellaneous pieces. A toy pile - with toys just needing a little tlc. I remember someone had left a huge pile of paper. We took it home and had endless hours of fun. It smelled a bit like smoke from the burning, but we didn't mind. As kids, we would go out of our way to find the smoking carcasses of some local farmer's donation. We would try to trick mom into coming over to see some great find - and then scare her with it. It never really worked.

And then the bears would come out. It was a great show! Slowly at first...usally one bear scouting us out from the top of a tree. We would stay outside of the vehicles for as long as we could, then we would scramble in. There were black bears and brown. And even a few grizzlies. Once in a while you would see the white bear - that would usually keep us talking. Sometimes there would be up to 30! Better than any zoo, I say. The funny part was when they would find the paint cans and get their snouts stuck in them. They loved licking them clean.

In this town, there was always something magical going on - if you kept your eyes open. Saskatoon berries growing outside your door - plump and juicy for your breakfast cereal. The mysterious pioneer cemetary up the dune hill and a little way into the woods. The little forest paths where if you sit long enough and stare - you swear you almost saw a little gnome or fairy run by. The great swirling river and the little creeks tumbling into them. Catching minnows in the shallow pools and eating them if you dared. The dinosaur footprints embedded in the rock, so far apart I would have to jump to make each one. The numerous fossils pushing their way up through the soft earth of our back yard. The little log museum and church just down the street filled with God, memories, mysteries, and the smell of wood and leather. There were hazel nut bushes that beckoned every year. I would be so impatient to eat them, I would start nibbling when they first formed. They really don't have much of a taste then - they just tasted like the color green. Then there were Papa's horses. They were magical too - no one knew. I would sit on top of the fence, or in the trees, or right in their way, and talk to them about everything. Sometimes they preferred songs - so I would oblige them. They would let me sit on their backs as long as I didn't tell them where to go. I in turn, would keep shooing the flies away from their ears and eyes. My Papa taught me to always say hello first by blowing in their nose. I don't know though, everytime I tried they would just sneeze back. Kind of gross.

Chapter 3 (Coming Soon)

God's Story Is My Story Is Your Story - Ch. 1

2005-06-21T00:33:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't know me well, I have a story to tell. But don't we all. Pour yourself another cup of coffee and settle in. This is actually God's story - about His knowledge of me even before I was born - about His mercy as I grew up - about His amazing grace. It's actually your story as well, because if God could do all this in my life and in my family - He most certainly can do the same if not so much more for you!

Chapter 1

I recognize it now - but I couldn't have said it then - God has a purpose for my life. I can look back and see the times He has had mercy on us and provided for my family. He looked after my mom when she was abandoned by my biological father - leaving her with 2 babies, my sister Anita and I. We lived for a while with his side of the family in Ontario. I have fond memories of my memere and pepere, as we called them - our grandparents. They were French, short, sturdy, and comical. It would fascinate me for years to come, that the animals on the farm spoke French. Perhaps they just chose to ignore the little girl uttering english.

We moved from Ontario to Port Coquitlam, British Columbia. Although I was only 4 I can still see the hallways leading up to our apartment door. The distinctive smell, was it dogs? I was never sure. I remember the walk to school and the park with the merry-go-round. Mom would pack us these amazing picnics of little sandwiches and veggies. She was, and still is, the most amazing mom! She did her best to provide for us. And when the money ran out, she would often do without herself, just so we had what we needed. Porridge became a common meal. And all the more special when Mom would sprinkle the saved up raisins on top. I remember the three of us going grocery shopping and watching these huge carts go by overflowing with food. I wanted a cart like that. Instead we would walk out with our little bag of food and milk and watch the tears drop off Mom's chin as we walked home.

Even now, when I grocery shop, it's hard to see those carts go by.

Chapter 2 (Coming Soon)