I am not really Ben Peterkins’ grandfather

My pastel portrait of Ben

We have spent so much time with Mark and Tracy Peterkins, they turn out to be like our adopted children. Hence, their three children, Stephen, Ben and Megan have wound up calling me “Grandpa Tony” and Jeanne, they call “Aunt Jeanne”. They love us both the same but have been taught to be rude to me by calling me an older title than my younger looking wife. It is a fond form of insult they learned from their father. We are neither. Officially, I am not their grandfather and Jeanne is not their aunt, but we are happy to be treated that way. For us, visiting the Peterkins’ would be like dropping in on any of our children and their families.

Two years ago I was here in Ottawa for the purpose of celebrating the older brother’s Christian  “bar mitzvah” (a small coming of age party).

Showing no preference, we timed our visit to coincide with this special event and set aside Monday, August twenty-second for this very purpose. The idea was quite similar to the earlier one. As he did for Stephen, Mark invited both Pastor Ken Roth and I to take part in and pray a blessing over young Ben. Additionally, we were joined by Ben’s real, flesh and blood grandfather, Ed Dooner.

It all started at four in the afternoon as I waited in my car along Riverside Drive. It was Mark’s idea to bring Ben out to the Dooner family cottage that has sat on the bank of the Rideau River for at least seventy years. This is all meant to be a surprise, so when Mark turned the corner and onto the side road where I sat waiting, young Ben seemed slightly mystified by this turn of events. He was especially puzzled when his dad instructed him to get out of the van and take a walk with me. Though he was a little apprehensive, I bought his courage by giving him a brand new, commemorative “Buck” knife (something he has always wanted) that I had bought for him a few days before. He suddenly liked the idea of walking down a bleak country road with an old man. I made certain we had the compulsory and rather serious advisory conversation on the way, and though I didn’t quote Rudyard Kipling’s poem “If” I shared some of the contents along with a complete exegete of  1st Corinthians 11:6 (actually 13:11), including a precise Greek translation of each word : ). Frankly, it was a pretty simple talk that could be summed up by the phrase, “Don’t be stupid.” This concept, he thoroughly understood. The rest of what I said will likely fade from his memory in a very short time.

The Dooner Cottage

Ken would be waiting with a ready canoe, where he would take Ben on a similar tour. Please note that Ken was given the more dangerous of the two chat events. I am well-known to have virtually no center of gravity and both Mark and Ken intended for Ben’s first day of manhood to not be his last as well.

Art Shot, Mark Peterkins

While I am happy to take part in this special occasion, I have a  compelling end in view when Mark makes some colossal meal to punctuate the festivities. I was not disappointed, as he offered up shrimp and sauce, hummus, rice crackers, baguette,  grilled filet mignon wrapped in bacon, fried mushrooms, sauce, potatoes, fresh green beans, corn on the cob and more stuff that becomes a blur.

Art Shot, Ken Roth


After all of the eating we celebrated by various presentations, including a sword with a blade big enough to kill Goliath if necessary. As a last act we all gathered around Ben, laid hands on him and prayed for him that he will become a man of spiritual valor.

Ken and Ed deep in conversation

 Some might see this as a rather silly way to spend a day, but I think not. Almost all religions other than evangelical Christianity have what they might call “Rites of Passage.” I believe that symbols of this nature, especially where fathers pass a spiritual blessing on to their children, make unforgettable impressions that last for a life time. It is my guess that we don’t do enough of this sort of community event and leave our youngsters to pick their way through the faith on their own. I believe this almost picture perfect day will stick with Ben as long as he lives. 

More Bad News for American Foodies

Most of you have never really tasted an “honest to goodness” bagel. 

Just out of the forno di legno.

Einsteins and Brueggers are not bagels! They are not bagels once you have tasted a real Montreal, Jewish, earlock, Lubavitch, hand rolled and tied then wood fired bagel. There is only one word to describe this: “incredible”.

Unlike Tim Horton's, not on every corner

While most vacationers to Canada would recognize this (Tim Horton’s) – one of the coast  to coast  institutions that, like hockey, give the country cohesion and identity – few might give this ugly little place at 2217 Carling Avenue (above) a second glance. The franchise is now owned by a family from India but no matter, they make the same toasty, but gummy, hand-turned, wood-fired delight. The terms New York and Montreal Bagel are not synonymous. Trust me, there is a difference between those bagels that are firstboiled in water with drops of honey, then toasted in a wood oven. Regular bagels are baked in an oven,  like a cake. Though half the size of those other imposters, these babies are toasty on the outside and chewy on the inside. In my view, no one is a bona fide “foodie” until they can tell and prefer the difference.  

Coffee with Bill and Lorna

Friday Morning, August 19, 2011

In about 1978 we met the Seabrookes when they first began attending our home Bible study and the Merrickville Church. Since then they have remained our friends.

Without meaning to offend anyone else, as everyone has their own good qualities, my personal take on these two is this… next to Jeanne, I have always thought Lorna to be my ideal of the Christian woman – or at least my ideal of what one should be.

Lorna herself had a good start on this since her own mother, Elizabeth Poole (I knew her too), was also an exemplary model. I thought it was about time I told Lorna what I thought of her, so as we sat around the table with tea, scones and muffins, I told her. It is better that I tell her now than saying these nice things at her funeral when she can’t blush at the comment as she most certainly would and did. Perhaps this might be a good policy for all of us –  to tell folks the nice things we think before it’s too late to do so.  

Then there’s Bill, who has some sort of neurological problem with a name I can’t pronounce but can see the effects of… I wanted to tell him what I thought of him too, so I did. I have lots of acquaintances, so many that I sometimes fail to remember people I should know. Yet, with all of my travels, Bill stands out to me as a guy I chose for a friend. Perhaps I haven’t spent much time with him – at least not enough to qualify as a friendship – still, he has been my idea of a good fit for me. Bill is not an anxious sort of guy. He doesn’t talk much (he allows me to talk all I want) and he doesn’t whine (he allows me to whine all I want) a lot. Bill isand always has been quiet and steady. Even with all of this bad news concerning a physical problem there is apparently no cure for, he just shrugs his shoulders and calmly says, “Well, what can I do?” without a trace of resentment.

Bill and Lorna have raised three children. Their two girls are now grown and married. Mark still lives at home. More than thirty years ago, while they were driving home from our house on a bright, sunny, Friday afternoon, they were broadsided by an egg truck in too big of a hurry. This left their only son with a brain injury. Though Mark almost died a number of times, he managed, with lots of prayer and terrific medical care at the CHEO, to pull through and though he may never be able to live an independent life, he is a remarkable, clever and enjoyable person.   

I tell this story, not to remind them again of this horrible event that changed their lives forever but to let others know what has contributed to who Lorna and Bill are. It is no surprise to believers that Christianity is built upon paradox and irony. We all know the topsy-turvy nature of authentic Kingdom living, but few manage to actually engage the promises and fruit of it as have the Seabrookes. They understand that you give to get, lose to win, die to live, suffer with Christ to reign with Him.

One of the reasons I admire the Seabrookes so much is because they made up their minds many years ago and simply did what Peter suggested in his First Epistle,  “Therefore, since Christ suffered for us in the flesh, arm yourselves also with the same mind” (1 Peter 4:1a). Bill and Lorna made up their minds where they would stand, no matter what, and this has made all of the difference in their world. This decision has made a difference in mine as well.

Part of my reason for writing these blogs is to record a history of my travels and some of the stories of those people who have kept me moving forward. Some may take exception to my occasional mention of those who have essentially “fallen away” from the faith (Here, I am not talking about those people who have taken up drinking a bottle of beer now and then or don’t attend church at least three times a week, but those who outright deny the Lord Jesus Christ and His redemptive work). But the truth is, for every one who falls away, there are ten who stand for Him, no matter what. After forty years, facing the headwinds of life, there are more with us than “a-gin” us. As an example, we will be having dessert with more old friends, Fred and Rosalee Williams tonight.

As a project (and a way of making lots of money in the process), Bill Gaither the song writer has gone about gathering up all of the old timers (southern quartets and gospel music legends) and has made video after video of these folks singing gospel hymns and blue grass classics that the church sings very little or no more at all. In so doing, he has captured a valuable history that might one day be lost without his efforts.

In some respect I attempt to do the same thing by recording the stories of many of these good friends who were part of something remarkable that took place some thirty-five or more years ago in a small town called Merrickville. Those on the outside that still remember this or have come upon this  four-year event refer to it as “The Miracleville Revival.” For those of us who lived it, it was a miracle when a little town was turned upside down by the transformed lives of guitar pickers, hippies, pot smokers, dope dealers along with the common village folk. For those of you who had “ears to hear and eyes to see,” you were there. It was undeniable and for those who witnessed it but now ignore it, you were never REALLY there.

Canadians on Highway 77 at Fort Mill take note… instant money to be had!

Snowbirds, Poutine  and Beavertails

The really good one's actually look pretty crappy by comparison

I often drive up and down Highway 77 in and out of Charlotte, North Carolina and on those days when “Snowbird” migration is at its peak (November and March) I often trail a host of RVs pulling automobiles, bicycles, motor scooters on their way to and from the sunny south. It occurs to me that I have a ready-made clientel should I want to open a “Chip Wagon” with “Poutine” and “Beavertails.” 

With all of their infatuation  for things fried in oil, Americans haven’t yet caught on to these gourmet treats like Canadians have. My wife is addicted to chips(known as French fries in the U.S.) and, should she have the time, she could do a full review of the hundreds of “FRESH Hand-Cut CHIPS” wagons dotted all over the Ottawa Valley. They aren’t hard to find and for certain, there are as many chip wagons in Ontario as there are Canadian Tire stores (since almost every Canadian Tire store parking lot has one).

I stood for twenty minutes at the Kanata Centrum chip wagon as they took in money “hand over fist” for a concoction called by its Quebec name “Poutine,” otherwise known as a “heart attack in a bag.” Poutine is fresh chips, first covered with cheese curds and then brown gravy (go figure?). This item must have originated in Montreal’s Point St. Charles or on Notre Dame Street in the lower end – the same place the Joe Louie and a Pepsi combination come from. My French Canadian friend Paul Laberge once told me that growing up he immediately could recognize who were the French and the English girls. The English girls all had braces and the Quebec girls all had false teeth. Not funny, but in those days of economic disparity, partly true. 

Anyhow, wherever these chip wagons are parked, there is generally a line-up from March to November. There are competitions and arguments about who has the best fries and some folks will drive as far as Arnprior to Wes’ Fries (twenty-five miles from Ottawa) just to buy a bag. Others argue that Glen’s Fries in Westboro are the best and will stand in line for half an hour just to prove this conviction.

Jeanne and I so far disagree on who has the best fries in Ottawa. I am a fan of the Canadian Tire location in Kanata and she opts for the one at Merivale and Hunt Club Road. She thinks the outside is crisper and the inside chewy.

Myths get started about who has the best and some hang the banner which proclaims them “Voted Best Fries in Ottawa 2010” and so forth. When this happens the lines get longer and longer. 

Parliament Hill's Peace Tower

I just spoke to a young couple on vacation here from Saskatoon and had no idea that this fry business was because it is essentially an eastern Ontario cultural icon. I informed them that they have not visited Ottawa unless they had sampled a bag of these little crisp, golden, calorie laden morsels. Next to a visit to the “Peace Tower” on Parliament Hill,  they are the next “MUST SEE – MUST DO ” major attraction in Canada’s capitol city. (Yes, American friends, Ottawa is Canada’s capitol city, not Toronto.) 

While driving south out of the city and through Manotick on River Road (Highway 13), I found this rather high brow version of a chip wagon (above). It is one that Jeanne has not yet tried and should whet her appetite for a drive. Actually, to be fair, I must report that she has seen the light (or rather her waist line) and has sworn off of them for a while.

Beavertails in the Byward Market

Let me introduce our American friends to one more food item unique (or so it seems) to Ottawa and the Byward Market / Rideau Canal area: “BEAVERTAILS.” These were actually invented by some American relative to the Christian gospel singer Dallas Holmes. Somehow he got to Ottawa, started deep fat frying these sweet breads and then slathering them with all sorts of  “Nutella”, cinnamon, and jelly combinations. For almost forty years knowing what these are have been an indicator of authentic Ottawatonian status.

Wings and Things

Kelsey, Lynne and Brody

On Thursday evening we visited with Lynne McDiarmid, Lynne’s daughter Kelsey and her husband Brody at their home not far from where we are staying. The last time I saw Kelsey, she was probably less than ten years of age. It is my guess that her parents Lyn and Lynne, along with two brothers, began attending Chapel Ridge in the late eighties. After several years with us, they moved to Wales, back to Canada (Calgary), then back to Wales. So I had completely lost track of the kids. It was a complete surprise to see a twenty-six-year-old and married Kelsey. Kelsey became a Christian while attending Chapel Ridge, so chances are I baptised her but I just can’t remember. Nevertheless, it is so nice to reconnect with folks who, even with the miles and years  in between, go right on with the Lord. Brody, her husband, once attended our sister church Kanata Wesleyan, now called The Bridge. Kelsey met him when she was but fifteen and after all of the years re-met and married him. The flame never died.

Lyn (Mr. Lyn not Mrs. Lynne) was at a church board meeting so we missed him. After lots of catching up we had their famous “hot” wings and a time of prayer before going home. We await the answer!

It’s a Family Thing

Jamie Robertson

On Wednesday (Tuesday I went fishing with Mark. See an earlier blog) we were mostly left to ourselves. So in the morning I arranged to meet my long time friend Jamie Robertson at a Tim Horton’s in Stittsville while Jeanne popped over to see Sylvia Vincent and her daughters, Heidi and Jacqueline, who were our neighbors for about five years when we lived on Flewellyn Road.

Jamie likes to refer to himself as a “God chaser” and I think he has described himself well.


Bud, Jerry, Tony, Debbie, Kerry and Jeanne

Later in the evening we went to dinner at Jerry and Kerry Narraway’s house. The Narraway clan turn out to be our oldest family connection in Canada. We have known the Narraways, their children, in-laws and out-laws since 1976. We were first introduced to Bud when he came to do an electrical service for my advertising office. He had already been warned about me by a real estate agent who told him to be leery of me because I was some sort of religious fanatic. Bud’s younger brother Bobby had already succumbed to the same disease while visiting Australia, and while he spent time sleeping on Bud’s couch he shared what he had experienced. Bud’s wife Debbie didn’t let on but she was interested and would always ask God ( in the best way she knew how) if what Bobby was saying had any truth to it. She expected some sort of bolt of light from the sky but didn’t ever get such a thing so wondered what to make of Bobby’s claims.

Around this same time Bud popped around to my office and met me. When he was finished wiring a couple of plugs, he just asked outright, “Are you some kind of religious guy?” I asked what he meant and he told me that he had been warned about me and just wanted to know for himself what I believed. Unknown to me, I pretty much told him the same story his brother had told him. This must have aroused his curiosity so we talked more – me explaining the gospel. In those days I was pretty aggressive and passionate in my presentation but it didn’t seem to set him aback at all. In fact, quite the contrary. From that point on we occasionally talked on the phone. After a couple of weeks, I invited him to what they called a “Full Gospel Businessman’s Fellowship Breakfast.” He may have accepted the invitation simply because he thought it would be good for business. As it turned out, he went and on that Saturday morning something happened to Bud. He caught the same thing that Bobby and I had caught. He became a Christian. When he got home that day, he was a different guy. Debbie, his wife, couldn’t make it out but now she felt surrounded and isolated. How could it be that Bobby and then Bud had this and she didn’t? They must be losing their minds and now what was next to happen? No doubt they must have been brainwashed.

When it comes to speaking her mind, Debbie was not then or is she  now intimidated or gagged. Right away she was on the phone calling me, telling me she was coming over and wanted to know what I had done to her husband. Thirty minutes later she was at our door and not in a pleasant mood. In she came and before she took a seat she was firing questions at me. It was all a front. She was ready and a straw could have pushed her over. I think I answered her questions fairly well but it didn’t matter. That wasn’t what she was really after. Within minutes Debbie had committed her life to Jesus and from that point on, for almost five years, our two families were almost inseparable. We spent almost every weekend together and their children, Leslie, Jed and Mel became first cousins to our kids, Sky, Rachel, Amy and Matt. Somehow, even with years of separation, we are still family. With Bud and Debbie we inherited their families. Bobby and Jerry became close friends of ours too, and so our family continued to grow with adopted uncles and aunts joining in.

So, on this evening we had supper with folks we have known for almost forty years. We have grown old together. Bud and Deb’s children are grown and married with children even as ours have. We have all been mutually blessed.

Jerry and Kerry hosted with a table full of great food. I asked myself how any of this makes any sense? Without the gospel, we’d not even have a reason to be in the same room. Our collective lives would have never intersected. I understand how Islam and Jehovah’s Witnesses or Roman Catholicism bring people into community. Us and them religion and dogma force people into community. But real Christianity brings people together in an organic, relational way. A living Christian faith ties unrelated people to one another in a familial way. The Bible makes this clear by telling us that people who love God wind up loving one another. “If we walk in the light as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another and the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin.”  When people stop walking in the light, three things are unavoidable. First, they lose fellowship with God. Next, the blood becomes ineffectual. Finally, they lose fellowship with other believers. It is the blood and obedience that brings us into a common light of shared life (community). Some that we once knew in the same way we know the Narraways are no longer in the family. They have sunk into apostasy and in so doing, they have lost not only a relationship with God but also this amazing worldwide brotherhood with it.

A Lesson in Staying Power

Linda, Liz, Jeanne and me

On Monday evening we sat at the table of Liz Renaud and Linda Hache in Bridlewood. We simply don’t have enough energy to tell you about the journey we have shared together. The details could fill a book or make for an amazing soap opera series. Most of it you wouldn’t believe anyway.

Liz was first to come our way. I can’t exactly remember the exact details and even if I thought I had them right Jeanne and the other two would straighten me out. I’d get it wrong.

If my memory serves me correctly, Liz was already a Christian when we met her. She had been attending another Free Methodist church in the area but heard about us and decided to give us a look. This is back in the days when we had no “permanent dwelling place not so much as even a place to put the sole of our feet.” We were wandering from skating rink to library to a double-wide community center in a trailer park, to a house on Leacock Drive and then finally to the present location, a church building on Flewellyn Road. We picked up her sister Linda when we finally settled in our church building four years after Liz came on board.

These ladies became a reason for the growth in the early days as they turned out to be inviters as well as authentic, reliable deaconesses. Whatever needed to be done they did it.

Liz and Linda are our friends. They are also nothing alike. Liz calls herself a “Realist” which actually means, “blunt.” No one needs to wonder what she is thinking. The truth is, Liz gets it. She has stuff figured out way ahead of time and calls a spade a spade. I have rarely disagreed with her observation and perspective. She reads situations like a hawk. This being said, she is gracious and forgiving. She gives a “sucker an even break” and knows what it is to have walked in his or her shoes. She would be first to tell you all of the ways she has screwed up, so while she calls things the way they are, she doesn’t judge and gives lots of room for others to learn their own lessons without her help.

There were many times when Liz didn’t have it easy but she never gave up. Today, she makes frequent trips to England where she helps her daughter and son-in-law in their ministry with OM’s outreach to Muslims.

Her sister, Linda, (Well, what can I say?) she’s quite different. Linda is rather dreamy and mystical (in the good way). She loves to worship, read books and meditate. Again, like Liz, Linda exudes love.

Linda has had no easy time of it. She raised four children on her own. Jason, her youngest, is now working as Registrar at Bethany College of Missions in Minneapolis.

Linda was as tenacious as Liz and when the two got hold of the gospel they meant business. They were “steadfast and unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord.” They did not faint in doing good but committed themselves first to the Lord and then to His people.

I could say much more, and I suspect they are slightly nervous as they read this hoping that I keep a lot of things to myself. If I told you all of what they have faced you might wonder how they continued to go on. Others have faced nothing by comparison and yet they are off in a corner whining. What is the difference? The difference is simple and everyone needs to get this for themselves. They simply made up their minds where they would stand, come hell or high water.

I wish there were a thousand of these believers in Ottawa who would, after all, continue to “STAND.”

“As they departed, Jesus began to say to the multitudes concerning John: ‘What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind?’”

Since 1512 people have lustily sung Martin Luther’s lyrics to “A Mighty Fortress” but perhaps only a remnant were sure of the truth of the words. Why don’t you read them again as a litmus test for yourself? Remember, the man who wrote them experienced betrayal on every hand.

  1.       A mighty fortress is our God,

            a bulwark never failing;

            our helper he amid the flood

            of mortal ills prevaling. 

            For still our ancient foe

            doth seek to work us woe;

            his craft and power are great,

            and armed with cruel hate,

            on earth is not his equal.

2.         Did we in our own strength confide,

            our striving would be losing,

            were not the right man on our side,

            the man of God’s own choosing.

            Dost ask who that may be? 

            Christ Jesus, it is he;

            Lord Sabaoth, his name,

            from age to age the same,

            and he must win the battle.

3.         And though this world, with devils filled,

            should threaten to undo us,

            we will not fear, for God hath willed

            his truth to triumph through us. 

            The Prince of Darkness grim,

            we tremble not for him;

            his rage we can endure,

            for lo, his doom is sure;

            one little word shall fell him.

4.         That word above all earthly powers,

            no thanks to them, abideth;

            the Spirit and the gifts are ours,

            thru him who with us sideth. 

            Let goods and kindred go,

            this mortal life also;

            the body they may kill;

            God’s truth abideth still;

            his kingdom is forever.

Up’da line: Carleton Place and Maberly

Linda and Jack Marner

After a leisurely morning we drove out to Carleton Place for a visit with long time friends Jack and Linda Marner. We were clear in letting them know that we would be going to the Hoggs’ afterward and pretty sure that they would lay on more than we could possibly eat, so, “go light.” We assured them that coffee or tea would be all we need. You will learn that Canadians are not able to restrain themselves and “tea” might mean exactly what we got, sandwiches, cole slaw, chocolate squares and in every way pretty much more than we could eat, but eat we did as we have as little restraint for eating as Canadians have for serving.

We spent almost two hours going over old times and then praying.

Jack is a really smart guy and I encouraged him to use his intellect, biblical/apologetic and technological skills as well as gifts in written expression to assist those who just don’t always know what to believe.

Fred, Darlene and Julie

At around three we parted company and drove out to Maberly some hour away to see Fred and Darlene Hogg. Fred and Darlene were members of our congregation in Kanata from almost the day we began. Fred initially brought Darlene and their first two children Katelyn and Sandra to Sunday School and then went home, but one Sunday he made the mistake of attending a church service and the rest is history.

Fred and Darlene became leaders in the church. They were with us as we moved from a double wide trailer house (alla community center), to a house (alla church) on Leacock Drive and the final location in a farmer’s field on Flewellyn Road. They helped us build a church building near Stittsville on eleven acres of land.  They eventually had two more children, Julie and Ron. They raised great children. Katelyn and Julie are nurses while Sandra is a graduate in public affairs and policy. Ron is working in sports broadcasting. I always wonder if those growing up in Christian homes attribute their success to the influence of the Gospel? Where would many of these young people be if not for the Christian faith?

The Hoggs are quick to acknowledge God’s grace in their lives and if I had time in this blog I’d tell you about their grandson Luca Ruggiero’s miraculous recovery (most Ottawa news carriers reported it). Hit by a car broadside, Jimmy and Katie’s little three-year-old boy took the brunt of the impact and in so doing wound up on life support at CHEO (Children’s Hospital of Eastern Ontario). As the news got out that Sunday night and Monday morning, the entire church of Ottawa went to prayer on his behalf. Not expected to survive, Luca made it and is now on his way to recovery. Though this will no doubt take a lot of time and care – perhaps he will never be what he might have been – he is a miracle and a blessing. See the story here:


Joel Williams

As we drove into the drive of their recent acquisition, an austrian styled home off Highway 7 south of Maberly, a young man hung around the edge of our conversation. I should have known him but out of context I was clueless. Once introduced to us, I was embarrassed because I did know the fellow. I have known him since he was in diapers. Joel Williams is now thirty-one. He is the son of old


Merrickville friends, Fred and Rosalee. Fred was simply one of the best musicians and songwriters I have ever known and now his son follows in his footsteps. A graduate from Humber College in guitar, Joel spent a few years playing country music in a touring band but now, settled in the faith, is a worship leader for Northgate Church (Calvary Chapel) in Perth, Ontario. As the evening progressed and Fred grilled steak skewers on the deck we sat around listening to Joel pick and sing. 

When Jeanne and I were at Chapel Ridge Church for the 25th Anniversary, I preached a message that wound up on the internet. The message was entitled “Like Jumping to Catalina Island.” When Joel heard it, he wrote a song by the same title and put it on his MySpace page. You can hear it with some other tunes at  http://www.myspace.com/joelliamsmusic  . I was honored. He and his dad are in the process of making a CD together and we can’t wait to get a copy.

Julie, Fred and Darlene’s daughter, arrived back from a soccer game and joined us for a good visit and dinner. Julie is now a nurse. Now in her twenties, we have known her since she was a baby.


I slipped out of the door before 6:30 and went on out to Bell’s Corners where I would sip coffee at “Second Cup” until 7:15 when I would drive out to meet up with a Men’s Breakfast Club group from Chapel Ridge Free Methodist Church. They’ve been meeting for a number of years and I have imposed on their generosity a number of times in the past. Randy Morris always (without fail) invites me.

It was fun eating eggs, bacon and toast with these five or so guys. Randy Morris, Randy Haw, Stephen Kidd, Mike, Rob Walker, Jeff Robertson and David.

Bev, Alison and Chuck

Later, in the afternoon we ventured over to visit with some of our oldest and closest friends the Frankishes. Chuck is a doctor and was still at work so we managed a long catch up visit with Bev and Alison. Their son, Ian, though only in his third year is accepted to medical school in Calgary and already hard at work so we missed him (regrettably).

Finally, after a trip to Starbuck’s and back to their house again, Chuck arrived and Bev busied herself in making a huge meal of grilled chicken, steamed carrots, broccoli, salad, rolls and lots more that I forget right now. We spent a long time at the table and then, after we had covered most things and moved toward small talk, I turned them on to the comedian Brian Regan. We watched and giggled our way through about ten YouTube videos. Chuck’s favorites had to do with emergency wards, visits to the doctor and so forth.

It was a great time of fellowship and we wish we had more time on this visit – time to drive the five hours to their gorgeous cottage on Georgian Bay. However, our agenda has been set by the Lord. We are here to see as many people as we are able and hope to encourage them in the Lord. This little trip to the cottage will have to wait for some other time. The Frankishes are like family and the invitation remains open.

An Uptown Evening with Marianne

Downtown Ottawa is beautiful. When you’ve been away, you forget how spectacular the Parliament buildings, the Rideau Canal, and the unique shops around Byward Market are. On Thursday morning (Aug. 11) we drove down to try to find a bagel restaurant we remembered from years ago, but alas… it was no longer in business. When we walked through the Byward Market we did find another place that featured Montreal style bagels (if you’ve never had a wood-fired, Jewish style bagel, you’ve missed something) and had breakfast there.

David beheading Goliath

After checking out some stores, we walked on down to the National Art Museum located just blocks away. We couldn’t believe our luck – the Caravaggio exhibition was in town! Tony had wanted to see this Italian painter’s paintings (from the 1400s) in a collection for years, but the lines for his shows are always very long in Italy (because of all the tourists). So here we were, in Ottawa, Canada, seeing his paintings with no waits. Sometimes the blessings of God come in unexpected, small ways. His love for us is so amazing!

The French Bakery... Yummm

After a couple of hours we were pretty tired and ready for a coffee break. So we walked back to the Byward Market and sat down in a French market that featured amazing desserts, Obama cookies, fresh salads, soups, and really good coffee. We were pretty full from breakfast so just had some fresh fruit and a small salad with our coffee. Everywhere you look in downtown Ottawa, you see a kaleidoscope of ethnic people. Some are tourists, but most are residents who have come from all parts of the world.

The vendors who man the stalls of fresh fruit, vegetables, and Canadian favorites like maple syrup are mostly from Quebec but some farmers from Ontario also come in each day to set up and sell their home grown produce.

Jeanne with Marianne

One of our good friends from our time spent pastoring Chapel Ridge church lives downtown. Mary Ann Dooner, sister of Tracy Peterkins, owns a really cute townhouse in the Glebe, within walking distance of Bank Street. She has worked for the government for years and now has the luxury of working at home.

Classic Irish Pub Fare at Patty's on Bank Street

We arranged to meet her for supper on Thursday evening. She knew of a good Irish pub just blocks from her house where we enjoyed fish and chips and other

Over cappucino and gelato at Luna Stella

great entrees. After catching up with each other’s lives, we wandered on down the street to try a new ice cream  shop that just opened. The owner is from Rome and makes his own gelato, so we were not disappointed with our dessert of hazelnut gelato. Sadly, Mary Ann just ordered a cappucino. Oh for her self control! Sitting around in her charming townhouse that evening, Tony and I were reminded once again of the faithfulness of God to keep good friends close even when separated by many miles and lots of time in between our meetings. As we prayed with Mary Ann about her future, I wept as I thought about God’s promises to us – that He would be with us in every stage of life, even to our senior years (what Scripture calls our “gray hairs”). Thank you, Lord, for good friends who have continued to trust you and for your faithful care over all our lives.