Watching the Race

Watching the Race human race that is‌ Copyright Doug Blair, Waterloo ON, 2020

A Smack of a Kiss on A ​ ugust 08, 2010

It was Saturday and I was on duty at the grocery store. From around the corner of the aisle I could hear a loud smack and then a giggle. Curious, I went over to find a Middle Eastern man leaning over his grocery cart to give his two year old daughter another kiss. She was a beautiful child with arresting eyes and long mid-brown hair.

For the moment she was delighting in Daddy's attention, unaware of others around, unaware I think of her own beauty. Another man stood to the side. Probably the uncle. His expression to me said, 'Oh yes, I must wait this through. He gets this way often with the child.' The spontaneity of gushing love was a treat to see.

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A little later having searched the aisles with a customer looking for a product, I returned to the dairy section to find a tall man standing alone and evidently impatient.

"May I help you find something, sir?"

"No, thanks, I'm just waiting, waiting for HER."

I turned to see a woman in her upper thirties in a motorized wheelchair. I looked again at the man and his expression to me suggested, 'What a treat, eh? Dragging HER around like this.' The wife said a few words about a product offer. Her speech was a little slow. With four words he dismissed her suggestion and walked on ahead again.

The woman hit the joystick control on her chair to follow the husband. Probably with no small difficulty through the crowds in the check-out lines, through the busy, pre-occupied traffic in the parking lot and into their specially adapted vehicle. The look on her departing face was still a loving one for that good-looking big fellow up ahead.

I thought to myself, what a contrast between these two men with their girls. But how could I judge. This life deals out some hard hands.

PATHOS

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Cuban Friends on A ​ ugust 21, 2009Â

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I have a friend at my factory who is the son and son-in-law of Pentecostal pastors well known in the Cuban house church movement. He is an assistant pastor at a Kitchener Latin fellowship and he serves our company as a versatile metal worker.

The accent is distinctively "Desi Arnaz" and in a resonant low voice. The face is handsome and the eyes straight and clear. In his story he would relate that he gained permission to leave the island alone on a speaking tour through various American churches. He never went back home, but continued up to Canada, having friends and sponsors in the Latin community in Kitchener. His claim was one of refugee with a long story

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of the persecution which his family had experienced under the Castro regime for holding Christian services.

The house church under his father-in-law had gotten so productive, with several gatherings daily and all over the "house property", that the police resolved to shut him down for unauthorized assembly. He showed the visiting officers throughout a typical Sunday and advised that the meetings meant spiritual life to his flock. He could not terminate, but told the officer that it would have to be his call. Looking around at the large gathering the constable backed down.

Within the next day or so the pastor was arrested, placed in custody and brought to trial without legitimate counsel. Completely bogus. News spread like wildfire through the church community and within hours a large demonstration/church service was being held on the court-house lawn. It was a milestone event but to no avail. The pastor was convicted and sentenced to two years, which he served. There has been a rise and fall for years in the government's toleration of "small" gatherings for worship. It is hard to know which way the wind is blowing from month to month.

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This spurred my friend to arrange for a departure. To my knowledge he waited over three years for clearance for his lovely wife and three children to follow to Kitchener. There are many similar stories in the local Latin community. Affluent travelers in our region who applaud the idyllic environment and program of controlled resorts in Cuba need to know the true goods on the Castro regime.

Another Cuban friend at work, this one rotund and humorous with a strikingly arresting countenance and alertness, tells a different story. He was arrested for engaging in "unlawful currency exchanges" and sentenced to a year in the imposing prison city in Havana. Everyone was in there - hardened criminals, professionals, intellectuals, artists, common decent men. He had chosen to be involved in the barter of shrimp, a common activity, for a little extra spending potential in an economy otherwise operating on lean food stamps and vouchers. No room for independent initiative. He has a spellbinding account of conditions inside and of the manipulation by inmate and guard alike.

Certainly this man is no criminal. With a biting wit, he now jokes about anything Communist or socialist or "at all pink". He tells us of television

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broadcasting interrupted by Fidel for "cultural" presentations/speeches which would run on for hours.

It was during one of the world cup soccer championships and people in our region were flying their respective home-country flags on cars and at homes. My friend made the comment that there was only one flag for him hereafter - "the maple leaf, our emblem dear".

Both of these men are a pleasure to work with and I am richer for knowing them.

Note:​ This posting got me thinking how multi-cultural our little metal-fab shop has been over the years. So many nations represented well here. Poland. Trinidad, Korea, Vietnam, Nicaragua, Honduras, Cuba, Yugoslavia, Egypt, Israel, India, Iraq, Somalia, Portugal, Italy. And in this fashion the world has also come to Waterloo Region.

FRIENDS​ K ​ EPT BY GOD​ R ​ EPROACH

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Tank You Sir on J​ une 10, 2012

"Grocery personnel. Till Six. Customer carry-out."

That call was for me. Drop the juice cartons. Get up front.

There an east Indian man with a black plastic carry tote full of groceries waited for help.

Left eye squinting. Posture hunched. Voice devastated to a gravel-like tone. Left arm curled up in atrophy.

"Tank you Sir for this help. Just can't get the left arm to work anymore."

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Off we went to the parked pick-up truck outside. He proceeded to tell me about his decades of service for a Kitchener man who ran a busy foods warehouse. "I worked for him like a dog, but no matter. Hundreds of bags of rice here...hundreds of cartons of corned beef there. He was like a God to me. Helped me with all my immigration concerns years ago. And now here I am, pretty much busted up."

I just let the man talk. He was delighted with the attention and small show of respect. We shared a couple of laughs, and then "Tank you Sir. God bless you Sir."

Back into the store. A nice part of the job.

HANDICAP​ H ​ EARING​ ​POWERFULLY THANKFUL​ ​SERVING PUBLIC

Billy Be-Jiggered on J​ anuary 15, 2020

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It’s a holiday time And I scrambled for sand In a place where Atlantic she rolls And I tripped down the street To a place where times meet One of those seamen’s watering holes.

It was all dark inside Where the spent went to hide And to think of the fishing afore.

To the Banks they would sail And would risk fearsome gale Just to haul in the codfish once more.

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I got used to the dark And took seat next his mark Buying him yet another “for health”.

And his sticky eyes glazed At the treasured salt days When he sported in freer man’s wealth.

There were ports of glad call And the shipmates were all For adventure and let’s shake this Town.

And some slept in the clink And the cause was just drink Thought to make the hard pills go down.

He had missed the Wife’s death And the kids both had left Knowing Dad had no Land-farer’s boots.

Seeking grand city lights Hectic days, liquid nights Just like orphans without any roots.

It was four o’clock now And I couldn’t see how

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My queer questioning lessened his pain.

But the talk just took wings Hear him Billy he sings And the wreckage seemed straightened again.

FRIENDS​ G ​ RIEF ASSUAGED​ ​LIFE SKILLS​ ​OLDER ONES​ ​SAD OR WHAT?

We Have It Too Good on A ​ ugust 28, 2010

The elderly woman approached me in the dairy section with a look of recognition. She was a fellow-member of the seniors' Bible study at the church and she did not have me in the context of part-time dairy man. The

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broad smile appeared, and we went through simple re-introductions. She commented that she had not seen me recently in church with my wife.

I was obscure with my explanation.

Quickly she responded, "I tell you, we all have it too good. We will have to see some bad times before we are ready to see the Lord move again in our midst."

Looking quite alert in her eighty-third year she began to tell me of revival which she witnessed in Eastern Europe and Russia in the five years following World War Two. She was Romanian born and came under Nazi and then Russian occupation. Thousands of youths had been rounded up by the Russians and were headed to repopulate and redevelop the land ravaged by the onslaught of the Fuhrer. Her command of the Russian language was excellent and she intercepted many of the thoughts and plans of her overseers which had been intended as confidential.

The relocated people were deprived of food and medicine and many were falling seriously gaunt and ill. She came down with jaundice and other complications and heard her captors predicting that she was not likely to live. A seventeen year old girl facing such odds! In her darkest moments she reached out beyond Sunday School experiences to a loving Jesus whom she

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beseeched for salvation and healing. That night she felt new vigour and hope and a new beginning.

"I tell you sir I saw revival in the streets in these terrible circumstances.

People stopping from their work to cry out to God for forgiveness and help.

It did not take a church. The Holy Spirit was at work marvelously. All this going on under the noses of the Communists who were committed to silencing the message of Jesus. And here I am now, alive in my eighties, in Canada. It must be that the Lord still has some work for me to do. Still some souls within my sphere who are yet to come in."

How I was inspired, standing by the half-priced chocolate milk, talking to this remarkable woman of faith. Hearing this living testimony.

Now none of this had ever come out in our year or more together at the Bible study. Sad.

"Foot-washing" of saints and by saints can happen in the most unlikely of places. It MUST be given place to operate.

CANADIAN GREATS​ D ​ EATH LOSES​ T ​ HANKSGIVING​ ​WITNESSING

Pickins

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she was ambling up-street face toughened by elements checking bins for sustenance garbage coffee cup one third full and treating her

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until next garbage. nobody watched at all not the guy sitting on the sidewalk with sign. imploring. not the lawyer officious. not the two HR girls headed for lunch‌laughing.

Kingston mid-day prisons, military, marina, Old stone churches specialty shops and tourist stops. but she had won or so she thought through cognitive maze. wondering for a second What might come tomorrow?

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The Carters on M ​ ay 01, 2015

Where are you headed Friend?

Pushing that thing Holding your precious strange cache Night proved a damp one The kind you must hate Hiding yourself and your stash.

You see it all each day Good haps and bad Wisdom obtained on the race Sunshine and blasting They wear you right down Shows in the marks on your face.

Women are at this too Sad 'tis to say Muttering their simplest of song Eyes cast to sidewalk In dreams of the past Constables urge "Move along"

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Reason is fleeting But "Carters" deny Anything wrong in the head This their profession To just make it through Many a Friend ends up dead.

Should be a job Or a service to give Sidewalk no place for a soul Daily their task Just to live and let live Folk stare and judge, hale and whole.

DROPPED ONE​ ​HANDICAP​ ​MISUNDERSTOOD​ ​SAD OR WHAT? SICKNESS

Ready to Give the Reason on O ​ ctober 19, 2010

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Allan needed this break. Time to stretch. Check the tires. Load security.

Last time here was about six weeks ago. Good food. Always full of drivers. Probably would recognize some. First name basis. Easy discussion about loads. Different fleets and working conditions. Police from jurisdiction to jurisdiction.

This part of Pennsylvania was beautiful...particularly in autumn. Rolling hills. Small well-kept farms. But treacherous with the lowering of the sun. Lengthening shadows. Sudden steep down-slopes or curves. He felt his eyes strained and his frame tense.

Thankfully no bothersome "lot lizards" getting in his way as he did his walk-around (pathetic young prostitutes cruising the service stops in vans).

Once inside he immediately appreciated the warm lighting, cozy temperature and delightful smells. Waitress with the poofy hair and knowing smile gave him a grin and pointed to a few empty tables in the far corner by the mural with all those beautiful painted Kenworths.

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What would it be this time? Breakfast? Hearty dinner? On the road daily regimen was cast aside when it came to eating or sleeping. Sleeping.

Yeah, that had been the topic of conversation last time here, with a couple of drivers from Quebec. They had heard of a casual acquaintance who had fallen asleep at the wheel on these hills and missed a hazardous turn. Dead. Perhaps the trucker's greatest enemy. That and the usual squeeze faced by broker drivers in their company arrangements. Mileage allowances. Weight and hazard adjustments. Inter-state licencing. Fines.

Fuel prices. Maintenance and repairs. The little guy's tab seemed endless.

Waitress with a badge stating "Marge" arrived offering menus. "Good evening Stretch. Haven't seen you for a while. Where you from again?"..."Kingston. Got a big load of steel coils coming back from the mill. Been hittin' the stop-and-go pretty heavily on these hills of yours."...

"Yeah, but they're beautiful, aren't they?"

"I guess I'll have your hot roast beef sandwich with mashed, mixed vegetables, side salad with French and a pot of tea."

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"Right away Stretch, uh Allan. I'll bring that tea and a paper."

Allan rubbed his eyes. He knew that he wouldn't be straining at the newsprint. Most of the drivers had teamed up in twos or threes at the tables. Craving company. Conversations were up and running on the Penguins, local election issues, activities of sons and daughters, gadgets and equipment to help with the job.

From behind and above he heard a familiar voice: "Allan. Remember me? Jerry?"

Allan did remember. Two visits ago they had sat and talked. "Hey Jerry.

Sit down I've just ordered." Marge was quick on the uptake. Jerry opted for breakfast and coffee.

Their previous encounter was sifting through Allan's memory. Jerry was driving a loaner. His rig was in the shop. Serious accident in a light snowfall. Problems with insurance adjustment. Loan payments.

Imposing fuel bills lingering on. Company threatening to replace him.

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Not enough time at home. Tension developing with his wife Stacy. One boy starting high school and getting grades well below his potential.

Yep, Jerry had really wanted to unload. And he had chosen Allan.

Good choice. For years Allan had been a member of Transport for Christ.

Monthly meetings. Phone network. Frequent literature. Women's groups for the wives left at home. Allan had even considered chaplaincy work full-time, but eventually opted to stay in the field "speaking words in season to those who were weary".

Again Allan could remember his part of the conversation. "Jerry, I've seen a lot of it. Booze. Pills to keep awake. Crazy scheduling. Picky highway officials. Tricky loads. Expenses juggled frantically. A mess once with another woman. Near divorce...I finally had to concede that I did not have all the answers. At a certain point I had to let go. I needed a steady helper. I needed Jesus. I was never going to be perfect. Jesus didn't expect that, or wait for it. He just wanted a partner. I have become that partner, and prayer and study of the Bible have taken on a completely new place in my life. Jesus is close. I know it. These battles I continue to encounter are the Lord's battles."

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Jerry had been quiet, respectful and appearing somewhat puzzled. They had talked back and forth for a good ninety minutes.

And now, here was Marge arriving with the food. From the look on Jerry's face and the tone of his voice, Allan expected that he was about to hear something good...

(1 Peter 3: 15But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear:) FAITH FABLE​ S ​ PIRITUAL CURRENCY​ ​TENT-MAKERS​ ​WITNESSING

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