Eric E. Wright's Blog, page 15

How Much Nostalgia Is Too Much? – A Man’s Journey Out of Grief Continued, #21

A couple of weeks ago, I finally began feeling better after a bout of the flu or something. Time to get out, ramble through the country. I drove from Port Hope east toward our previous home on Little Lake Road in Colborne. As I drove slowly past, memories flooded my mind. We had enjoyed our time there. Mary Helen loved the flowers we planted, the trilliums that bloomed in the spring, the woods and stream at the back, the fort and zip line John helped me build and especially the family gatherings. Thanksgiving. Christmas, Birthdays.

Tears blurred my vision so I speeded up and drove on to Brighton hoping there would be some migrating ducks that I could photograph. No migrating ducks were apparent so I visited the various spots we knew. Where we had walked. Where we had shopped. The restaurant we enjoyed. Then I headed home for supper.

All the way home I could hardly still the tears. Why? I don’t know, unless it was just missing her. Or the powerful sense that I was facing a lonely future. Nothing could change that. The passenger seat was empty. At least, being alone in the car I could give vent to my anguish.  Which is why I love the condo and my solitary drives. No one should have to witness my grief. I don’t think anyone can understand this need for solitude to grieve.

As I drove, I began to ponder the place of nostalgia—of memories—of looking back instead of into the future. For I have a future, although it is unknown to me. Perhaps visiting the haunts of the past is unhealthy. Perhaps, too much writing about our past life is pulling me back into grief. I don’t think so. I am a writer. And writing is what gives me purpose. But…

During the last seven months I’ve gone on several road trips. One along the shores of Lake Erie and Lake Huron. Another following Ontario’s Grand River from its source south to Kitchener. And just this week I took a trip to the Ottawa Valley. I’d always been curious about these areas. The leisurely rambles were enjoyable. And ever since I returned home, images from those trips flash into my mind from time to time. I think that is healthy and healing. I need to continue to plan excursions, generate new experiences. I need to be part of a book club and join the men in the Bible study time. I need people in my life.

Especially important, I need to focus on my family. They all have exciting lives ahead. I need to pray for them. I need to be as interested as possible about their lives without being nosey. And I need to continue to pray for the churches where we served and for Pakistan in its time of immense need.

There are things to do. What I need is a balance. Too much nostalgia may slow my climb out of this valley of grief.  But the right balance may bring healing and perspective. After all, I have a wonderful past–with Mary Helen–I can’t deny that. It is an essential part of who I have become and who I will continue to be. Finding the balance is the challenge. I’m searching.

What About Missionary Kids and Going To A Boarding School? – Our story continued, #29

Part of the yearly rhythm of our missionary service was sending our three kids off to Murree Christian School, a boarding school in the Northern mountains. Without this option, they would not get adequate schooling and we could not serve as missionaries in Pakistan—at least during that time frame.

As we’ve mentioned, their year was broken into a three-month vacation with us in the winter, a three-month boarding term from March to May, a three-month summer term, again with us in Murree, and a three month fall boarding term from September to November.

Boarding the school bus during the summer home term

Were these periodic separations harmful to them? Did they develop resentments toward their parents as a result of what might be perceived as neglect? Were they bitter towards the mission? One September we asked them to be candid about their schooling so our prayer partners could pray for them more intelligently. We realized that being candid would be difficult, as they wouldn’t want to discourage us as their parents or hinder our ministries. No doubt they felt lonely at times. There must have been problems. But these were their answers.

We asked, “Why not go to school where your parents work?” Johnny replied that most of his friends didn’t have an English school to go to. “Besides being a Christian school, MCS is a neat school.”

When asked what they liked best about MCS, Deborah replied, “the activities plus all the outings. Like swimming trips, campouts, three-mile hikes to Murree for yummy tikas.” Stephen listed basketball, soccer, flag football, track, and so on. Johnny said, “I like it because it’s in the cool mountains. Lahore is hot!”

How does MCS compare with other schools you know? Stephen commented that it had better standards, the work was harder, and there was more homework. Maybe in his mind this was negative.

When asked what they liked most about being brought up in Pakistan, Deborah replied; “Being able to see more of the world, learn another language, and go to a good school. Stephen said, “We go to a school where kids don’t swear all the time. I’ve been here ten years and think of it as home.” Johnny, who was born in Pakistan, said he liked the food. Stephen and Deborah exclaimed, “So do we!” Johnny went on to talk about guavas, curry, rice, Pakistani fudge, and special chapattis. “I also like the picnics we have on the sand dunes,” he said.

A kabob shop

When asked what they missed about North America, Stephen said, “the food—ham, bacon, hot dogs. Deborah said, “McDonalds. Buying ready made clothes. Johnny replied, “food and being able to ride our bikes in the neighbourhood.”

What about missing your parents while in boarding school? Stephen said, “Not really. It is so much fun. Besides, we are with our parents six months of the year; three of those in the summer in Murree and three in the winter when it’s too cold in Murree for school. Johnny said, “Sometimes it is hard, but you get used to it.” Deborah said, “Sometimes, but when you know everyone at school, it is not so bad.”

Family cooking trout during a visit to the Kaghan mountain valley.

Such were their answers in 1979. Our last year in Pakistan found the kids very involved in life at MCS. While in grade 12, Stephen delighted in his privilege as a monitor, member of student council, writer for the school newspaper, photographer for the yearbook, and captain of the basketball team—to name a few of his activities. Debbie, in grade 11, was also on the staff of the school newspaper and yearbook, a member of the student council, and on the teams for field hockey, basketball, and soccer. Meanwhile, Johnny, having just become a teenager, was involved in soccer, basketball, and football.

Stephen, Deborah, and John with Eric and Mary Helen

Jhika Gali, the kids nearest place to get some yummy food.

Both Stephen and Debbie were on teams that competed in sports tournaments and cultural exchanges with international schools in places like Lahore and Karachi, Pakistan; Delhi, India; and Kabul, Afghanistan. During one memorable train trip Stephen and Debbie took to Delhi, 28 passports, not including Stephen’s, were stolen.

Mention of Kabul reminds me of Stephen’s visit there in June of 1978. He went with a group from MCS to attend the convention of South Asian Schools for a long week-end of drama and competitions. While he was away, a headline in the newspaper grabbed my attention, BLOODY FIGHTING IN KABUL. Evidently Marxist elements of the Afghan army staged a coup which was later in the year backed up by Russian troops. (My memory of the exact sequence of events is quite shaky here.)

“No!”, we thought, “just when Stephen and the other students were there. Were they safe?”

There was nothing to do but pray. Days passed with the border closed and no flights. Finally, news arrived from Americans in Lahore that they were being escorted out on Embassy buses.

Re-united, Stephen passed it off as a cool adventure. He and some friends had a great vantage point on their American host’s roof to watch tanks rumble by and see jets scream overhead. Another adventure to add to his portfolio of Pakistan experiences.

If our kids had been in one of the huge schools in Canada, they would never have had the range of opportunities—and adventures—they enjoyed in Pakistan. In later years it become clear that their experiences matured them into strong, self-reliant individuals. About that time a new term began to be used for MK’s, Third Culture Kids, TCK. They belonged to their passport country, their adopted country, and yet they had something neither of these countries had—a breadth of outlook and experience that was unique.

If we had been in Canada, they would not have been part of such an international and supportive family. Neither would they have had such a committed, loving and carefully selected school staff. Our kids looked upon other missionaries, even of other missions, as uncles and aunts. Missionary kids from other families called us, Uncle Eric and Aunt Mary Helen. There is a tremendous bond that still exists between those of us who served in Pakistan, scattered though we may be, throughout the world. This can even be seen today on Facebook and in a Pakistan Reunion that takes place periodically. And of course, whenever we get together, we often eat samosas, kabobs, and curries while we reminisce.

You can’t buy that kind of experience!

Learning to Juggle on a Cultural Trampoline – Our Story continued, #28

USE CARE AND DISCRETION IN PASSING ON THIS EPISODE

To this day our whole family loves Pakistan. When we gather, we invariably have Pakistani food and banter in Urdu, which creates a challenge for spouses and grandkids. The nation and its people occupy a central place in our hearts. But I must admit that, like others, we carried on ministry there in the face of many oppressive challenges.  Various political and religious tensions increased even as economic problems beset the nation. Twice during our time in Pakistan, the rupee had to be devalued. And yet, God did great things!

One concern was lawlessness. Our Conservative Baptist neighbours in Murree had their car stolen. Ours, parked right beside theirs, was spared except for the pilfering of a number of parts. Then back in Lahore, our home was broken into one Sunday while we were in church. We must have disturbed the thief by coming back early, for many of our possessions were laid out on our bed to be taken. We did lose some money, a clock, jewelry, and a nearly new radio-cassette. We later found the radio-cassette for sale in the Anarkali Bazaar! I was incensed and wanted to go in and demand they restore it, but with her usual good sense, Mary Helen kept me from a foolish altercation. One of our neighbours who had become familiar with our lifestyle was probably the thief.

Religious tension was usually kept in check, but occasionally burst forth in overt ways. Throughout the Islamic world Muslims are mainly divided between Sunni and Shia, divisions that go back to Islam’s origin. Iran, for example is Shia which Saudi Arabia is Sunni. Pakistan has a majority of Sunnis but Shias form a large segment.

Muharram is one of the most holy months of the Muslim’s lunar calendar. On a day called, Ashura, Shia Muslims mourn the death of Husayn ibn ‘Ali and his family by honoring the martyrs with prayer, abstinence, and rather gruesome processions. The Shia’s blame the Sunnis for Husayn’s martyrdom. As a result, Muharram heightens the tensions between these two Islamic sects.

Representative Shia men beating themselves in memory of Husayn’s martyom.

In Pakistan at least, Ashura is marked by grim processions of Shias who cut and beat themselves in identification with Husayn. Representative Shia men chant as they fling knives on chains over their backs. We witnessed this event multiple times. The chanting and the blood flowing on the bare backs of young Shias, kept us mindful of the need for the Gospel light.  Unfortunately, it often stirred up violence between the two groups.

Shia’s commemorating Mahurrum

No matter the challenges that battered Pakistan, God was at work preparing the Christian community to shine the light of Christ. Many ministries from multiple groups contributed both sharing the Gospel and demonstrating compassion through offering practical help to the country. TEE expanded in Lahore from one centre to two. We began to get more requests for help to establish centres than we could fulfill. Fortunately, the PACTEE committee also became better organized. I traveled a lot for speaking engagements and to mentor TEE classes. This included an encouraging family conference for tribal Marwaris where we studied the Christian armour passage in Ephesians.

Zafar Ismail joined our PACTEE team. Zafar was a gifted Pakistani with fluent English and Urdu. Although from a Muslim background, he became agnostic before being moved by the Spirit to become a follower of Christ. He had both the literary and intellectual abilities needed for the job of teaching and editing TEE courses. And with his background in Islam, he was an able apologist for the Christian faith.

With the help of Zafar overseeing course translation, Russ Irwin as chairman, and Grace Dixon doing secretarial work, PACTEE began to make encouraging progress. A workshop on writing TEE materials was attended by 14 missionaries interested in expanding into this ministry. Our two TEE classes in Lahore motored on with ten new students. A new class began in Multan with 20 students. The class continued in Sahiwal.

Mary Helen kept very busy offering hospitality. We wanted our lovely home to be a place where tired and discouraged missionaries might find solace. Two couples involved in the challenging Marwari and Muslim ministries in Rahim Yar Khan spent their winter break with us. We also had visitors from Australia, Canada, and the US as well as teachers from the kids’ school.

As we continued to develop the TEE curriculum, we began to introduce a mix of easier and more complex courses. We conceived of a ladder-like curriculum slowly helping students climb toward biblical competence and application. We understood this as a necessary process of disciple making. We introduced more immediately practical courses such as, a course from Africa called, Talking with God, and another about, How To Be A Shepherd. Students really appreciated these simpler courses. The colleagues of a nurse who took the prayer course in Multan told of the transformation it had made on her life. She rose in the morning singing to the Lord instead of grumbling and became a person eager to help out where she could. Testimonies such as these energized us to press on.

Unfortunately, with Bill Milton leaving the field, the TEE centres in Rahim Yar Khan had to close again. I began to visit the RYK area every two weeks to demonstrate solidarity with our missionary team and to restart extension classes. We re-organized TEE students into two classes instead of three. The deeper we could get students into the Word of God the more they would themselves become agents of transformation in the church.

During the summer the kids joined us in rented flat in Murree from where they commuted to school on the school bus. Life in the missionary community in Murree was busy but uplifting Mary Helen taught a SS class and joined other mothers in planning summer activities.

Stephen did very well in sports, one year coming second in the whole Junior High, Deborah came first academically in her seventh grade class. John Mark was voted the best citizen of his class. Pakistan was where all three of them learned to love soccer. MCS fielded a soccer team which competed against American schools in Lahore, Delhi, and Kabul. About that time Stephen scored the only goal in a game against one of the other schools. We were quite proud of our kids.

The Murree Christian School bus

I commuted back and forth from Lahore a week or two at a time. Venturing onto the highway required a plunge into chaos. On one such transit of the 150 miles from Lahore to Rawalpindi, at the base of the mountains, I counted four or five fatal accidents due to the collision of buses, trucks, and cars. Every vehicle drove as fast as possible and took up as much of the grandly named, but undivided Grand Truck Road, as they wanted. During that year three different drivers hit our car, but fortunately the damage was minor. During every trip we prayed for safety and at our destination gave thanks to God for His protection.

A highway wreck

At the end of each summer term before the kids went into boarding, we tried to do something special. One summer we spent a wonderful week in the beautiful Kaghan Valley. We camped in tents and fished for trout in the river. We hiked up to the astonishingly blue Saif-al-Mailuk Lake, a glacial lake at an elevation of 10,578 feet. We climbed a glacier with Skippy, our Labrador dog.

Cooking trout in Kaghan Valley Saif-al-maluk Lake

Missionary work requires the ability to juggle. In my case it was juggling extension teaching and mission duties. Most years I was elected field leader of our 15 to 20 missionaries. While humbled by the privilege, I trembled at the challenge as I naturally shunned administration. But in missions you do what needs to be done. Looking back, I can see that God was drawing out latent gifts. It is a hard lesson to learn. That gifts are given by God not according to preference.  

Life speeded up. Memory of this period is lost in a blur of activity and travel. I do remember it involved a visit to our field in Bangladesh, where 27 innovative and dedicated ICF missionaries were reaching out to Bengalis. I was much impressed by the fruit they had begun to see and by their cultural adaptiveness and Bengali patriotism.

Below the surface another oppressive influence pervades society. The occult worship of saints and charms. India has its gurus and holy men. Pakistan has its phirs, saints, men who are worshipped as having a mystical connection with occult power. Power to heal. Power to ensure the birth of a child. Power to ensure financial success or the finding a marriage partner.

Phir, note bells around ankles A Phir’s grave A child with a charm about the nexk

Throughout the country, there are shrines to these phirs—many of them dead but revered for miracles or holiness during their lives. These graves or shines are viewed as places of power where people may go to pray and to make offerings.

Besides these evidences of underlying faith in the mystic power of saints, there is great reverence for the Quran. Because of this reverence, verses are often sewn into charms to put around the neck or arm of children or those who are sick. Even professing Christians may do this to her children, out of fear for their health. Infant mortality is very high, thus the fear.

All these influences and many others create an underlying atmosphere of superstitious dread that can only be countered by the liberating power of the Gospel. Hence, the missionary task of extending the kingdom of God into the hearts of men and women to deliver them who all their lives are subject to bondage. TEE was but one arm to be used by Christ to prepare disciples who can walk as children of light.

TEE course preparation.

Thoughts While Waiting For Coffee

I was waiting in the drive-through line at Tim Hortons coffee shop. I waited and waited and waited. Five minutes must have gone by without moving; it seemed like fifteen. I began to have those thoughts pop into my mind. You know the ones. “Did they have to pick the beans?” “Did someone order a chicken sandwich, but they had to go out and catch the chicken?”

Then I got to thinking, why am I in such a hurry? I seem to be conditioned to hurry. In fact, everything in society seems to be bent on rushing me from one thing to another. I get antsy when my computer takes too many seconds to load, or when someone doesn’t answer my email or text immediately.

I finally got my coffee and headed toward my destination only to be held up at a crossing by an endless freight train! Let me explain, this is the country. I’m not on a superhighway that speeds me to my destination without stoplights or RR crossings. Wait. Aren’t they the same highways choked with traffic that slow us to a crawl?

I wonder what God thinks of all this. From what he has recorded in Scripture, I think he must be disappointed in our inability to be patient. Consider. He called Abraham as the founder of a nation in roughly 2000 BC but the nation wasn’t given codified laws and a centre of worship until roughly 1500 BC under Moses. It took another generation until they got the land. The promised Messiah didn’t come until 1500 years later. And here we are 2000 years after that. No wonder God reminds us; “Do not forget this one thing, dear friends. With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8).

Clearly God has time. He is not in a hurry. Confession time; sometimes I wish he were. I wish He would sanctify me NOW. I wish He would send revival NOW. I wish He would stop the war in Ukraine, NOW. I wish He would change selected people, NOW.

On a more personal note, He called my helpmate and best friend home to heaven over seven months ago, but I still grieve. The grieving is okay; I treasure the memories of our life together. But why can’t I hurry up and begin a new kind of normal life without so many tears? Even making such a request seems disloyal for grief is the price of love.

I think learning patience is also the price of love. And I have to admit that going through that learning process during our life together cemented our love for each other. “As God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with one another and forgive one another…as the Lord forgave you” (Col. 3:12,13).

I think I need to review God’s teaching about patience. “For you have need of patience that after having done the will of God, you might receive the promise” (Heb. 10:36, KJV). “Let us not be weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Gal. 6:9). “Love is patient” (1Cor 13:4). While we wait, we can do good, we can do the will of God, and we can love.

Ah, patience, such a slow growing fruit of the Spirit! “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him” (Psalm 37:7). Wait for the Lord. “It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord” (Lam. 3:26). And as we quiet our hearts and wait, we have the blessed opportunity to meditate on the glories of our Triune God.

So, Lord while I wait for my coffee or a train to pass or an email response, help me to ponder patience, another priceless pearl of character, and send up a prayer for the Spirit to continue His patient work in me.

Lahore: Culture, Kites and Chaos – Our Story continued, #27

With two more mountainous answers to prayer behind us, we flew into the Lahore airport. The mission had transferred us from the provincial town of Rahim Yar Khan, to one of Pakistan’s main cities so we could promote TEE on a national level.

Re-immersion into the Pakistani culture quickly erased our memories of Toronto’s towers and orderly traffic. We dodged suicide trucks as we drove to Murree where we had secured an apartment for July and August. The kids were as delighted to be back with their school friends as we were to rejoin our missionary colleagues.

A surviving letter comments about shocking inflation, an incredibly heavy monsoon, anxiety over a rabid dog, and the tough time I had with stomach trouble as I tried to concentrate on course writing. In August I drove to Lahore to search for housing.

After a fruitless search, I returned to Murree to help Mary Helen prepare the kids for their three-month boarding term. This was quite a task; filling a large tin trunk for each with multiples of each item of clothing, sewing name tags on each item, including socks, and adding a “feasting tin.” The kids viewed this latter item as the most valuable, containing as it did snack items. Their dorm parents allowed them access once or twice a day from a locked cabinet.

With their trunks ready, we drove them to the school, and with some sadness hugged them goodbye for their three-month boarding term.

After a restful and refreshing three-day holiday in a tourist hotel, paid for by friends in Canada, we set off for Lahore. Unfortunately, we had four flat tires on the way necessitating an overnight stay at a petrol station. The next morning the roof rack broke. But we finally made it to Lahore and took up residence in the Salvation Army hostel, while I searched again for a house to rent.

The Badshahi Mosque, Lahore

We finally found a house in Model Town but it was beyond our budget. However, the owner offered us a deal. He was probably enamoured by the thought of having a foreign tenant who wouldn’t keep livestock, We reveled in its newness, large rooms, and indoor plumbing! It also had a gas stove, a desert cooler to use in the hot season, a courtyard at back, and a garden in the front. The hallway between the rooms was even wide enough to install a ping pong table.

We quickly grew to love Lahore. At one time, the old city was surrounded by a wall and moat, remnants of which remain in the north. Many of the monuments that we loved to visit and show visitors were constructed by the Muslim Mughal conquerors of India. Babur, descendant of the infamous Timur and Genghis Khan conquered Northern India in 1526. Lahore became an important centre in India during his reign which continued until 1857. Gradually the Mughal’s hold on India waned, as first, Sikh warriors and then the British extended their control.  

Shalimar Gardens, Lahore

The Moguls left behind many examples of their architectural genius. Inside the old city, Wazir Khan built a notable mosque in 1634. Around 1660, Akbar began building the Lahore Fort, a walled complex of 36 acres. The next three emperors completed the work. Aurangzeb built the Badshahi Mosque which is still one of the largest mosques in the world. Shah Jahan created the Shalimar Gardens in 1642 as a refuge for the royal family. Its 80 acres has some 450 fountains.

On the main mall of the city stands Kim’s canon, Zam Zammah, representing the British period. (Read Kipling’s stories of Kim.) From the mall extends the fascinating Anarkali Bazaar where one can buy anything. Any venture into Lahore traffic, however, is a plunge into chaos.

The city also bears the stamp of a century and a half of Christian missionary effort. The prestigious Forman Christian College has educated many of Pakistan’s leaders. The United Christian Hospital, UCH, is known for the skill and compassion of its staff. The Lahore Cathedral, built in the typical English cathedral style, dominates its address on the Mall.

With my office set up, life quickly sped up. Mary Helen became immersed in offering hospitality to visiting missionaries and other guests. That fall became one of the busiest we could remember. Consider October as an example. On October 3rd, I began teaching a weekly TEE seminar to a group of Brethren. The course, Theology, Part One, led to stimulating discussions about the inspiration of Scripture and the attributes of God. In the weeks that followed I gave opportunity for students to lead in brief opening devotions. Nazar testified that he had been running away from God’s call to ministry by refusing to go to seminary. “Now”, he said, “It is clear that God has not changed His call but continues to pursue me. Since I refused to go to the residential school, He has brought the seminary to me in extension form!”

On October 7th we gathered together interested missionaries from around the country at a PACTEE organizational meeting. Russ Irwin, a gifted teacher and speaker was confirmed as chairman and I as course developer.

On October 15th, Mary Helen and I travelled down-country to Rahim Yar Khan to join our colleagues for the yearly field conference. Conference was always a great time of prayer and fellowship, discussion about strategy, and planning for the year ahead. Fortunately, three new missionaries had joined the team. Their arrival, however, would scarcely alleviate the shortage of workers due to others going on furlough at the same time. The perennial shortage of workers continues to be a challenge wherever missionaries labour.

On October 23rd I traveled 130 miles south from Lahore to open a centre among ARP students in Sahiwal. The Associate Reformed Presbyterians, a southern US denomination, had a hospital and a thriving work in the town and surrounding villages. Due to the distance, we had to adopt a new format. The 25 enthusiastic pastors and key laymen met three times each term. At each visit I stayed for a two-day retreat, spacing the teaching and interaction over two days. The course, Theology, Part Two, brought up very challenging questions about the sovereignty of God and human freedom. Many expressed appreciation that the course dealt with such a puzzling Scriptural subject. The Lord gave us all an increased sense of the glory of His attributes and the wonder of His eternal plan. 

With new TEE centres in various parts of the country, having a more extensive curriculum became crucial. In the next few years, we borrowed and translated courses from Guatemala Africa and India. With English medium becoming an option in various places, I needed to revise my theology courses and finish courses on Old Testament Survey. It was a busy time of editing, checking translations, proof-reading, arranging Urdu calligraphy, overseeing the printing of various courses and teaching. We desperately needed a gifted Pakistani co-worker!  

In November tragedy struck the missionary community. A Dutch missionary in Gujranwala, a town about 30 miles west of Lahore was murdered when he surprised intruders who responded by stabbing and shooting him. This occurred in a house right next to that of Eleanor Danielson, one of our missionaries. The whole missionary community was shocked.

That tragedy only added to the oppression we felt from the pervasive grip of Islam. Ongoing health and car problems led to periods of discouragement, even depression. Ever since arriving in Pakistan, I had been suffering through bouts of malaria and dysentery. Fortunately, Mary Helen had better physical health, but she later confided that the oppressive Muslim culture with its subjugation of women led to her ongoing battle with depression. Periodic dissension among Pakistani Christians added to our sense of discouragement.

A mosque in Model Town, Lahore; special prayers

Looking back, our extreme busyness with little time set aside for quietness and prayer probably contributed greatly to our struggles to live a life of joyful service. Added to these challenges, being away for ministry most Sundays made finding a church family in Lahore difficult. Eventually, we did settle on going to the College Urdu congregation when we were in town. We also enjoyed a Sunday evening time of prayer and fellowship with other Lahore missionaries.

On the positive side, our lives were enriched by the friendships we made with a US Aid couple, Isobel and Lloyd Friend, and a godly Presbyterian couple, the Tebbes, who taught at Forman Christian College. Not only that, but wherever we went we discovered unusual interest being expressed by the Muslims we encountered on trains and station platforms and even in parks and a grocery store. Instead of trying to embroil us in controversy, they seemed genuinely interested in our faith.

Fortunately, Grace Dixon began to come regularly to help in typing up manuscripts. Russ Irwin also became a regular visitor. His enthusiasm for mapping out TEE strategy and course development was a great encouragement. We both enjoyed his cheerful countenance, although I always lost to his ping pong prowess.

In early December we welcomed the kids back from boarding. Their presence helped immensely in lifting our spirits. They not only loved the house, but reveled in the greater freedom found in the big city. In Lahore, the kids had other missionary kids to chum around with. Guntar Becht came almost daily to play with Johnny. Recently we learned what would have shocked us at the time, that Stephen loved cycling all over the city. We took them on outings to the Shalimar Gardens and the Lahore Fort. At the Badshahi Mosque we climbed a minaret for a marvelous view of the city. We occasionally shopped downtown in the Anarkali bazaar or stopped at one of the larger shops for pastries. Curry puffs. Delicious.

But what the boys really enjoyed was the flat roof, ideal for flying kites. Young people in Lahore were obsessed with kite flying. From our roof, the kids could not only launch their colourful kites but could also view kites flying all over the city. Kite flying in the sub-continent was an art. Aficionados treated kite strings with powdered glass so they could be maneuvered into a position to cut the strings of other kites. A shout of Ibow would herald a victory. Then kids would dash up and down the streets with long branches that they used to catch the trailing strings of free-flowing kites. Once caught, that kite became a trophy of the young person who caught it. All of this kite-flying action led up to the Basant Festival in January or February. Because of injuries from children running through traffic to catch kites, from time to time the government banned kite flying with little success.   (For a wonderful description see, The Kite Runner by Khalid Husseini.)

Flying kites in Lahore

While life in Pakistan was, in many respects unique, the mix of the good and the bad is common everywhere. Disappointments and discouragements face us wherever we live. But what makes the Christian life rich and meaningful is the loving presence of the Good Shepherd, the comfort of the Scriptures, and the encouragement and support of Christian friends.  

Teardrops along the Way to a New Normal – A Man’s Journey Through Grief continued, #20

Over seven months have gone by since the condo began to echo with emptiness. Mary Helen has gone home. But I am here, trying to press on towards a new normal.

Some days go by without my fountain of tears gushing forth. Perhaps, I’m learning to live again. Strong. Self-reliant—okay, not really. Washing clothes. Tidying up. Making meals. Grocery shopping. Going to the men’s Bible study…even to church. Paying bills. Forcing myself to take a walk. Being friendly with neighbours even when they ask how I am. Surely, I’m going to be able to do this.

Then in a book I’m reading, I come to a description of the hero caring for his wife during her last days. He is gazing at her picture. And I lose it. That’s me! I’m lost in memories of the last two years. I turn my head and gaze at her picture on the wall beside my recliner. How can I carve a new normal out of this loss?

A couple of days go by. I’m writing part of our story and I come to a description of Mary Helen getting the kids ready for boarding school. I find a picture. There she is—was. Such a loving, caring mother. So good with people whether they be Pakistani or USAid workers. And here I am trying to muddle through without her. It feels so wrong. Oh, I know she is in heaven. I know God took her there in His perfect time. Lord, it’s just that I can’t seem to get my head around her being gone. Without her I’m only half a person.

I go in for cataract surgery and begin the long process of healing with its regimen of eye drops. A couple of days later I catch the flu or some mysterious bug that isolates me in my condo. Days go by. I’m preoccupied with my eye and my cough and my congestion. I haven’t thought too much about Mary Helen. Maybe that’s what I needed. Something to take my attention. But it sure would be nice to have her here to commiserate and make me a cup of lemon spitzer.

A week goes by. I’m feeling a little better, so I decide to tackle one of the tasks I’ve been putting off. Time to throw out the pile of sympathy cards I’ve collected. But I begin to read a few of their comments about Mary Helen and lose it. Yes, that was who she was!

Another day. Another night. Another morning. Here I am Lord. An unknown future lies ahead. At this age, it’s not as if I have some job to go to every day. True, I can stare at this computer screen and try to craft something uplifting, or at least honest, for your people. But my motivation is weak. My sense of direction is fuzzy. My body is tired from trying to be normal. I need your help, Lord. A fragment of verse comes to mind. I look it up…

“When my heart was grieved…I was senseless…Yet I am always with you, you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever” (Psalm 73:21-26).

Ah, Lord, there it is—comfort, perspective, hope, and daily help!

Two Shocks During Our Home Assignment – Our Story continued, #26

A rather pleasant and uneventful year faced us when we returned to Canada for home assignment. Or was it uneventful? Surely, there’d be time to work on TEE courses and have lots of fun with the family.

We rented a house in Rexdale, in Toronto’s west end, settled the kids in school, and began our deputation ministry. We collated slides, planned presentations, and began to fill up the calendar with dates to visit our supporting churches; three in the US and five in Canada. Although deputation ministry may be viewed as a real drain on missionary energy—and it is—we were blessed in many ways. In each of these churches we were befriended by those who prayed for us and wrote us. Many have continued as our friends to this day. Some other individuals who contributed individually to our support needed a visit also. 

Having a more normal family life was important. During the fall, we stayed in the Toronto area so we could be home every evening for a family meal. Fortunately, the kids seemed to settle in well. The only challenge for Stephen was not being familiar with Canadian sports. But they did have opportunity to ski with my brother David and snowmobile with a friend from church.

Stephen and Deborah skiing with my brother David and his wife Jean Family snowmobiling

Eric’s brother Bruce would often visit with some homeless person he had befriended. Bruce had lost his marriage, his businesses, and was addicted to alcohol. One evening when we had him and an Algonquin friend for dinner, he showed signs of interest in Christ. My other brothers were also more congenial than antagonistic. They didn’t seem to bear any ill-will over mother leaving me the family home.

Two of my brothers, David and Norm

During a visit to Mary Helen’s parents in S.C. over Christmas, we found them reticent to talk about the Lord. Fortunately, Mary Helen’s sister Annie Pearl, who lived near them maintained a strong and consistent witness.

Mary Helen’s family, except sister Annie Pearl, with a couple of imps present

Being on home assignment meant lots of meetings. At International Council meetings in Bangalore India, the council revised the mission’s administrative and financial structure. Dull stuff, huh? Fortunately, they discovered a financial anomaly that needed to be corrected.

My main memory of that February is the biting cold of western Canada. Our Canadian director, Art McHarg, who was to accompany me in a tour of western Bible institutes, had had a heart attack. Concern over the dearth of workers in the Muslim world, led the mission to plan this tour in order to challenge young men and women to volunteer for work in South Asia. While Art recovered, I visited Briercrest Bible Institute and Miller Memorial Bible Institute in Saskatchewan, Prairie Bible Institute in Alberta, Okanogan Bible Institute in BC, and Winnipeg Bible College in Manitoba.

Driving through the prairies in February

In March and April, we visited churches in New Jersey, Michigan, and Illinois. In an attempt to visit all our supporters during this furlough, we put 27,000 miles on the car. Needless to say, the preparation and revision of TEE courses had to be postponed—again. I did manage to attend a two-week workshop.

Frost and shadows of icicles on Bible College window in Pambrun, Saskatchewan

Then we received rather shocking news.

After the International Council Meetings, the mission treasurer had been working overtime to come up with a new support figure. As a mission we believed in a pool system of shared finance. Missionaries, no matter their home country, would endeavour to raise an amount that averaged the cost of living in all the fields. In this way we were all equal. It was complicated. The treasurer had to collate data from our fields in Iran, Pakistan, India, and Bangladesh as well as North America, the UK, Australia, and New Zealand to find an average. He discovered that the mission had been seriously underestimating income and expense, making up the difference from general mission funds and legacies.

In April, he communicated the result. All missionaries had to increase their support figure by 50% with immediate effect.

Suddenly, with our deputation ministry behind us, we needed to pray for our supporters to increase their giving by a large amount. Without the increase we could not return.

Added to this concern was the matter of Mary Helen’s visa. As a US citizen, she needed a re-entry permit and visa to reside in Pakistan. At that time, Commonwealth citizens such as myself were exempt from this requirement. We had submitted Mary Helen’s paperwork to the Pakistan embassy in Ottawa six months previously but had heard nothing. We could not return without it.

We sent out an appeal to our supporters for concerted prayer. With the date, June 30th, set for us to vacate our rented house, and a departure date in July fixed to fly to Pakistan in time for the kids’ admission to Murree Christian School on August 3rd, the time was short. There was packing to do, dentists to visit, physicals to arrange, and injections to update. We faced a host of uncertainties unparalleled since we had left for Pakistan twelve years earlier.

What would God do? First of all, He encouraged us through devotions in the Psalms. “Thou wilt make me to know the path of life.” “The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer…I cried to the LORD for help…my God turns my darkness into light” (Psalm 18, various).

On June 16th, after several phone calls to Ottawa, we received the stunning news that all the records at the Pakistan embassy had been burnt. Mary Helen would need to re-apply. We groaned as we thought of the usual three month or more delay.

Meanwhile our support pledges began to trickle in. Then on June 26th, after only ten days, Mary Helen received her visa—the best possible kind! It was a four-year multiple entry visa. Hallelujahs echoed through the house.

With the help of wonderful friends, we moved out of the house on June 30th, drove our sea-freight to Montreal for shipping, and set out for South Carolina for a final visit with Mary Helen’s family.

Once again, God proved Himself no person’s debtor. In short, we arrived back in Pakistan with our pledged support again full and just a few days late for the kids to enrol in school. “None of those who wait for Thee shall be ashamed.”

He leadeth me,

O blessed thought,

O words with heavenly comfort wrought.

The Many Splendored Thing Called Love – A Man’s Journey Through Grief continued, #19

The other day, as I continue to ride the roller coaster of grief, I came to a pinnacle of praise. I’ve read and been told that grief is the price of love. I suddenly came to the realization of how true this is—this phrase, which could be but a cliché.  

To fill up my time, especially after getting cataract surgery, I’ve tuned in to one of those sappy soaps. After that day’s episode, I burst into tears. Why? Not in sympathy for the romantic frustrations of the characters in the show. No, it was the realization that my marriage to Mary Helen had been such a gift from God, such a wonderful love affair. More that sixty-two years of love!

I suddenly realized powerfully that a Christian marriage developed over the years with God’s help and teaching is the best thing on earth. Of course, salvation through the grace of God is even better. But there is no human relationship as wonderful as a good marriage. I don’t claim that our marriage was unique. There are millions of good marriages on earth.

But be clear, a good marriage is better than the adrenaline rush of climbing Mount Everest. It is better than being a sports star. Better than being a celebrity movie star or musician. Better than winning the Nobel Prize or the ultimate triathlon. It is much better than building a Fortune 500 company. Better than finding a buried treasure of gold and precious stones. It is better than being elected prime minister or president. It is so much better than fairy stories. So much better than experimenting with multiple partners in the hope that, somehow, you’ll find the ideal sexual partner.

A good marriage is not perfect. It is two people who are committed to each other through thick and thin; dealing with their differences, their problems, their anger, their mistakes yet growing in love with God’s help.  

The traditional marriage covenant is very wise. It is a promise between a man and a woman “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law, in the presence of God.”

A good marriage creates heart palpitations. It is being obsessed with a longing to come home to the arms of one’s sweetheart after being away on a trip. It is the wonder of being together again. It is living with one’s best friend. It is enjoying lifelong companionship. It is raising a family together. It is having someone who understands one’s moods, one’s silences, one’s unspoken thoughts. It is feeling comfortable together. It is forgiving and being forgiven. It is having arguments followed by the unbelievable feeling of making up. It is kisses that mean something. And it is having the most wonderful romantic intimacy. God designed marriage for committed couples to enjoy ecstasy in each other’s arms.

I have been incredibly fortunate. God has been unbelievably good to us. I don’t want to minimize the pain others have suffered or increase their pain by our story. Many have suffered through marriages that brought much pain. That makes me so sad. Problematic marriages are not always the fault of the couple. Culture and upbringing may contribute. I don’t want to minimize any of that. There is much unhappiness in our fallen world.

But, should any young persons read this, may they know that if God is in their marriage they have ahead of them a lifetime of adjustments that can lead to unbelievable love. The song is true. “Love is a many splendored thing.”

I just want to thank God for our imperfect marriage because I’m beginning to understand why my grief is so deep. My tears are a watery celebration because grief is the price of love.

(Let me know your thoughts on this subject. If you appreciate this blog, please pass it on. Further articles, books, and stories at:  Facebook: Eric E Wright Twitter: @EricEWright1 LinkedIn: Eric Wright ; check out his web site: www.countrywindow.ca –– Eric’s books are available at: https://www.amazon.com/Eric-E.-Wright/e/B00355HPKK%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share)

How God Provided in 1960 for us in 2021 and Beyond – Our Story Continued, #25

As I write this over six months have gone by since God called Mary Helen home. She is in heaven where I look forward to seeing her again. Some days my grief seems too much to bear. So why write about our past? Because in memories I find comfort. And because of what God did in the past—not only at calvary but how He used my mother to care for us both and ensure I would have a roof over my head today. But more on that later.

After the terrible flood of 1973 receded, the Gordons and the Bastians took over relief efforts. I found an isolated place upcountry where I could concentrate on writing Theology, Part Two which needed to be ready by January. But the more the committee considered the curriculum, the more we realized that like our progress through school from primary to secondary to university, our students needed entry level courses before tackling those at a university level.

The only reason I could concentrate on TEE (theological education by extension) was because of the mission family. Far from home among other believers committed to the same goals, we became a family. Our kids called the other missionaries auntie and uncle. Still to this day, the Gordons’ kids who all live in North America called us Auntie Mary Helen and Uncle Eric. Thus, while I typed lessons in a sort of ivory tower existence, the “family” took care of supporting the pastors, visiting villages, encouraging the book room workers, helping to settle disputes, teaching, preaching, and of course carrying on flood relief as well as working in Murree Christian School. The international team had grown considerably since our arrival in the early ‘60’s including members from the US, Canada, UK and Australia.  What a great team, uh, family!

Part of the 1974 mission family

Without neglecting work on Theology II, I began to focus more on a simpler course based on the Christian armour passage in Ephesians 6:10-20. I simplified the number of lessons from five a week to three.

By October of 1973, most of the refugees had gone back to their villages to rebuild their lives. And so, in November, we began a new semester of TEST (the extension school of theology) with 25 students in three centres. Bill Milton taught a borrowed course on Jeremiah while I introduced my new course on putting on the whole armour of God.

I felt energized as I taught about the resources God provides so Christians might defeat the enemy of their souls. The course stressed the importance of a genuine relationship with Christ, and the power to live a godly life through the Holy Spirit. It unmasked the strategy of Satan. Then it led students to learn how to counter Satan’s subtle devices through putting on the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shoes of the preparation of the gospel, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, the sword of the spirit, and vigilance in prayer. With the late start, the term carried on into 1974.

Teaching the Christian Armour course

During the Christmas holiday break, I attended the first All-Asia Consultation on Theological Education by Extension held in Hong Kong. As a delegate from PACTEE, I joined scores of representatives of TEE movements as diverse as those in Taiwan, Indonesia, India, and Australia. This consultation opened the lines of communication and sharing across Asia. I returned to Pakistan pumped to press on.

We concluded our delayed term of studies in February of ‘74. Comments by the students made it clear how much they enjoyed the Christian Armour course. They appealed for more courses like it. Six students went on to use the course, or at least parts of it, to teach others. Sharifa, a Christian school teacher in Rahim, taught the course to a group of Christian nurses at the local hospital. We were delighted to see more lay involvement in discipling. We even had fun using the course in our family devotions.

Meanwhile, Mary Helen enjoyed liberty teaching a series of studies to almost illiterate girls at a two-week short-term Bible School held in Rahim. With that complete, she prepared the boarding trunks so we could send the kids back to Murree for the start of their new term in March. 

Not all was rosy. The Sadiqabad church had begun complaining again. This time it was about the mission’s policy of giving aid to whoever needed it; Muslim, Marvari, or Christian. They felt the mission had a solitary duty to help Christians. They were not alone in this view. A number of the nominal Christians in the area had been attracted by the Roman Catholic Church’s policy of giving more monetary aid to Christian flood victims.

We pressed on. In late February 25 students joined us in three centres for a new term of TEST. Welcoming three tribal believers from among the Marwaris elated us. The development of tribal outreach among the Marwaris and Mengwals, a joint venture by our mission and the Conservative Baptists south of us was a great encouragement.

I delighted in finally teaching my much delayed second course on theology. I knew that this course, on the sovereignty of God in all His relationships with the universe, would not be easy for the students to comprehend. I had personally wrestled long and hard with the concepts and how to make the content as simple and clear as possible. For those living in the fatalistic environment produced by Islam’s inshallah[1], it was crucial that they be able to distinguish the biblically revealed LORD of glory from Allah. The lessons demonstrated that all philosophies, including atheism, believed in some kind of predestination or determinism but without the comfort offered and the human responsibility affirmed by the Scriptures.

Logistically, it was not an easy term. I had to ensure the lessons were printed and taught, but both the calligrapher and printer proved unreliable. We were also getting requests for both Theology courses to be mimeographed in English. That meant I had to first revise Theology, Part One. Some days were simply chaotic. Plus, we were under pressure for everything to be in good shape when we left for furlough in Canada in a few short months. Fortunately, there was Grace—that is Grace Dixon—who had joined us from India. She proved herself an amazing help in typing the stencils and running them off. (As I write this I just heard of her home-going at 101 years of age. What a persevering trooper!)

God gave the help we needed. We approached the time for our furlough with a sense that much had been accomplished. Our hearts were full of praise to God for His direction and provision. Four years earlier, we had no idea that such a discipleship method existed. God had surprised us again with a new and very exciting redirection of our lives—into theological education by extension.

In July, with the kids back from Murree Christian School, we entrusted TEST to Bill Milton and boarded the plane for Canada.

Behind the scenes in this, as in any missionary narrative, looms the matter of finance. As I’ve already noted, our mission went through times of considerable shortage. Funds were tight. Nevertheless, as God promised, genuine needs were always met. Sometimes God lavished upon us above and beyond what we could possibly expect. A special lamb curry from a friendly Muslim neighbour. A dinner out paid for by a friend working with US Aid. An opportunity to buy a car at a reasonable rate far below market price.  

Trips home on furlough and back to Pakistan were occasions when special things happened. Sympathetic travel agents ensured that we had paid stop-overs in key places. During those days, we were able to stay in four-star accommodations with meals included at no extra cost, something unheard of today. Le Meridien in Paris. A luxury hotel in Amsterdam. Tehran. Rome. Athens. And the inheritance mentioned earlier from a friend of my father during the first world war had helped us visit Bangkok, Singapore, Tokyo, and Hawaii.

One of the most astounding things to happen, however, concerned God moving my mother with an act of unbelievable foresight. Unbeknown to us, my dad had put our family home into her name, probably to save on taxes. He was a builder who owned other properties. Knowing that we would never be able to own a home for our retirement, sometime around 1960, my mother left the family home in her will solely to me with the proviso that dad would use it until his death.

An view of our inherited home from the late 30’s

This surprise, in the form of a letter from a Trust company, burst on us a month or so after my father’s death in August of 1973. We were flabbergasted. How were we to manage the property? Since this news had come to us with a year left on our time in Pakistan and with no experience in being a landlord, we left it in the hands of the Trust company. They agreed to administer the property and send periodic statements. Although the rent was low and overhead owed to the Trust company substantial, it did give us a small source of income.

When we returned to Toronto, rather than evict the current tenant and seek a new tenant—not an easy job—we agreed that he continue on through our furlough and beyond. Our naivete at that point was great. We didn’t foresee the problems that lay ahead with this particular tenant. But the fact that we now had real estate equity in Toronto would become a huge blessing in the years ahead. The fact that now, in 2022 as I write this, I have a roof over my head and a small cushion in the bank is testament to God moving my mother to make this provision years earlier. How marvelous is our God whose omniscience infinitely exceeds our important but puny attempts to plan. No wonder He calls us to trust Him. God is no man’s debtor.

[1] “Allah willing,” spoken throughout the day by Muslims in all kinds of situations indicates the fatalistic belief that whatever happens is the will of Allah concerning which humans have no input.

(Let me know your thoughts on this subject. If you appreciate this blog, please pass it on. Further articles, books, and stories at:  Facebook: Eric E Wright Twitter: @EricEWright1 LinkedIn: Eric Wright ; check out his web site: www.countrywindow.ca –– Eric’s books are available at: https://www.amazon.com/Eric-E.-Wright/e/B00355HPKK%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share)

Grief Comes Unexpected like a Sudden Cloudburst – A Man’s Journey Through Grief, continued, #18

I was reading a book the other day, when the author’s description of a character’s love hit me…hard. Yes, I thought, that’s how I felt for Mary Helen during those heady days of courtship. I choked up as I paused my reading to just sit and remember and think of the years during which our love grew stronger.

The days go by. Some fairly normal.

One day I was getting groceries and the thought came as I was buying a treat for myself. She will love these cinnamon rolls. I mean,…she would love these if she were waiting for me at home.

Day follows night. I wake early, make coffee, settle in my recliner and pick up my hymn book, but before I can absorb the words, I glance at her picture on the wall and lose it—for 5 minutes, 15, 35. I didn’t expect that. I thought I could ease into another day as if things were almost normal. 

Putting clothes in the washer, I thought, Mary Helen would say that load is too big. Sigh. OK, honey.

I keep as busy as I can. I attend two really uplifting Bible studies with some great guys. And the days pass. God is good. I get a tooth out that has bothered me for years, in one visit to the oral surgeon. Without having to worry for two weeks about pain and infection. Done within an hour. God is good! Another gift from him…not the missing tooth, but compressing two visits into one!

I’m driving on one of my rural rambles and turn to the seat beside me to point out a special sight…but its empty. No one there. I’m alone.

I dress in the morning and hear in my mind, “You need to get a new shirt. That one is worn out;” as I put on a favourite shirt. OK, maybe I should look for a new one.

Some days in the quietness I hear a sound, a whisper, “Eric.” But it’s just a creak or some random sound.

So here I am imagining things, talking to myself. Behaviour that for others I might counsel professional help.

It’s been a hot, dry summer. The flower boxes are bedraggled. Time to clean them out and get some fall mums…but I just don’t have the heart to. There’s no one here but me to enjoy them.

Will things ever become half-way normal again? The Lord knows. And He hasn’t changed. He is faithful. I need to learn to lean heavy into His arms.   

(Let me know your thoughts on this subject. If you appreciate this blog, please pass it on. Further articles, books, and stories at:  Facebook: Eric E Wright Twitter: @EricEWright1 LinkedIn: Eric Wright ; check out his web site: www.countrywindow.ca –– Eric’s books are available at: https://www.amazon.com/Eric-E.-Wright/e/B00355HPKK%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share)