Prov 17:22

A merry heart doeth good like a medicine... - Proverbs 17:22

Friday, March 15, 2024

Canadian Heroines, Part 2 of 3: Chief Elsie Knott

Have you heard of the “Change the Bill” Campaign? An initiative of the Native Women’s Association of Canada (NWAC), the campaign calls for an Indigenous woman to replace Queen Elizabeth II on the $20 bill. Begun before the Queen’s passing, the campaign seeks to foster reconciliation by commissioning Indigenous artists to reimagine the banknote with notable Indigenous women.

Although our current $20 note will continue to circulate for years, the Bank of Canada has already begun the design process for a new bill featuring King Charles III (whose effigy is already circulating on loonies). It will likely be years before it’s issued. Where does this leave the “Change the Bill” campaign? I’m not sure, but I would certainly vote for it, given the chance. Canada has been printing money for over 150 years. In that time, an Indigenous woman has never been featured on a Canadian bank note. Why not make our twenty something truly and uniquely Canadian?

Among the twelve notable women put forth as candidates is Chief Elsie Knott.

Born to George and Esther Taylor on September 20, 1922, Elsie Taylor grew up in a family of seven on Mud Lake Reserve northwest of Peterborough, Ontario. She spoke only Ojibway when she began Grade One at the school run by the Department of Indian Affairs. Here, students caught “talking Indian” had their names placed on the chalkboard beside a giant X. Naturally, the situation laid the ground for a deep-seated fear of public speaking.

Elsie completed Grade Eight at age 14. At 15, her parents had arranged for her to marry a man from the reserve, 27-year-old Cecil Knott. “Nobody ever talked to me about a career,” she said. “Women just got married.”

By age 20, Elsie had three children and a husband too ill from TB to work. Welfare provided $15 a month. Desperate and industrious, Elsie did all she could to improve living conditions for her children—including berry-picking, cooking, laundry, sewing, cleaning, selling bait, and driving school bus.

The latter enterprise led to a deep concern for the community at large, particularly for getting kids to school. When a 1951 amendment to the Indian Act allowed women to become officially involved in band politics, Elsie ran for chief at age 31. Her landslide win made her the first female Indigenous chief in Canada, leading the way for other First Nations women to become more politically active. First, she’d need to overcome her biggest fear.

Success in that area would come gradually as Elsie served as Chief of the 500 Mississaugas of Mud Lake Indian Band (now known as Curve Lake First Nation), first from 1952 to 1962 and then again from 1970 to 1976. For eight years, she didn’t receive a salary because band funds were so small. Yet during her terms in office, the band built 45 homes, upgraded roads, dug new wells, constructed a daycare, and provided more social services. Elsie and her council revived the powwow by opening it to outsiders and using the profits for Christmas hampers. The little girl who hadn’t been allowed to speak her own language now taught Ojibway classes and translated 14 Christmas carols into Ojibway. She organized Girl Guides, Boy Scouts, baseball teams and more. She brought back traditional drumming and singing.

Chief Elsie Knott in 1973
When five of the students on her reserve wanted to attend high school, Elsie drove them in her Ford. When their numbers grew, she purchased a used hearse. She painted it blue and put benches inside. Eventually, she drove a school bus for 34 years and ended up with two large buses and 130 students. One of those students became Judge Tim Whetung, who publicly thanked Elsie not only for driving him to school but for inspiring many young people to follow their dreams.

In 1975, Elsie was named one of 25 outstanding women in Ontario. A committed believer in Jesus, her most treasured work was fundraising for a new church. Elsie Knott died on December 3, 1995, at the age of 73.

Friday, March 8, 2024

Canadian Heroines, Part 1 of 3: Harriet Rhue Hatchett

March 8 is International Women’s Day. In 2022, I began writing a series of posts on Canadian Heroines and they’ve been some of my most popular. This year, I’ve chosen three more Canadian women to inspire you.

In the middle of the American Civil War, a baby girl was born to two fugitive slaves who had escaped to Canada via the Underground Railroad. William Isaac Rhue had fled the Miles plantation in Virginia and had met Jane Serena Lewis of Kentucky in their travels. Together, they settled at Buxton, Ontario where their daughter, Harriet (Hattie) was born in 1863 and where they would raise another fifteen children as well. Their faith-filled home was abundant in music and musical instruments.

Hattie attended a one-room school near the Rhue farm and took piano lessons at the Elgin Settlement School. At 17, she graduated from Chatham Collegiate Institute.

By 1881, the need for teachers for former slaves in the southern United States was great. Encouraged by her pastor and her mother, 18-year-old Hattie traveled to Kentucky where she taught children and adults to read and write. Among her students was a man named Millard Hatchett, whom she married in 1892. Hattie continued teaching as three daughters and one son were born to them. In 1904, the family returned to North Buxton.

Tragically, all three of their daughters became ill and died. Grief-stricken, Hattie turned to her music and her faith for consolation. Although she’d obtained a music-teaching certificate, she could not find work, due to racism and sexism. Teaching jobs were closed to married women. Despite not being hired as an organist in a white church, Hattie organized a choir for white churches. She also gave free music lessons out of her home and became much sought after in helping students prepare for recitals and music competitions.

Harriet Rhue Hatchett

Over the years, Hattie composed many original songs and became a popular performer for church, conferences, and community events. Her eclectic repertoire included classical, popular, spirituals, hymns, and children’s songs. Sadly, most of her compositions were lost in various fires over the years.

She did copyright three songs: two hymns called “Jesus, Tender Shepherd Lead Us” and “That Land Beyond the Sky,” and one song that would become increasingly popular as it was written specifically for Canadian soldiers during World War I. “That Sacred Spot” from 1915 was chosen by Canon Frederick G. Scott, senior chaplain of the 1st Canadian Division and a poet himself, as the official marching song of the troops. It made the soldiers think of home. Its title refers to the spot where a soldier might die as being sacred to God. The song was born out of the pain of Hattie’s own grief for her deceased children. For a number of years, it was sung by school children on Remembrance Day.

In foreign fields apart or in a row

There lies a soldier’s lonely grave so low.

Tremendous cost wherever it may be

Keep that Sacred Spot in living memory.

Though many soldiers knew the song well, its origins remained unknown to most. That such an important piece of music was composed by a Black woman is a significant piece of Canadian history worth remembering.

Hattie Rhue Hatchett outlived her children and her husband, dying at the age of 94 in 1958.

Friday, March 1, 2024

The Crock Pot Queen

Is it acceptable to own four crock pots? I sure hope so.

I’ve never been one to jump on the bandwagon of kitchen appliance fads. Never owned a bread maker, rice cooker, or Instapot. I’ve survived without a hand mixer, electric can opener, and waffle iron. Of the four crock pots on my kitchen’s Lazy Susan corner cupboard, not one has a digital display or timer. None are programmable. But all are used regularly and considered indispensable.

I guess it began with a wedding gift in 1977. I wish I could recall who gave us the Rival brand avocado green appliance (I found this photo of one exactly like ours on the website of the National Museum of American History. Can’t tell you how hip that made me feel.) With only three settings—OFF, LOW, HIGH—our first crock pot came with its own cookbook which still sits on our shelf, its cover long gone and its pages yellowed. That pot lasted for decades. 

When newer ones came out featuring a removable pot for easy cleaning, I began to wish mine would kick the bucket so I could justify replacing it. Eventually, it worked on only the high setting, providing all the reason I needed. I splurged on a new model in the late nineties or early aughts. That one still works great and is light years more advanced than my original. Besides the aforementioned settings, it has one called AUTOSHIFT, which starts on high and turns itself down to low after two hours. Fancy shmancy.

Then my mother downsized and offered me her larger, oval-shaped crock pot. This one also lifts out for cleaning. Since it holds a whole chicken for roasting, I said yes. I love it for soups, too. This one, in addition to HIGH and LOW, has a SERVE setting, great for simply keeping things hot.

After we became empty nesters, both crock pots frequently proved too large. Naturally, when I saw a smaller one at our local MCC thrift store, I grabbed it. Maxing out at around six cups, this one is perfect for holding four pieces of chicken or a small casserole.

Each of these beauties cooks at its own rate, requiring me to learn through trial and error which one I can count on to do the job in the time allotted. Christmas gatherings with our children have seen all three in use at once—one filled with meatballs, one with ham, and one with simmering apple cider.

So why would I need a fourth? Again, browsing in MCC one day, I spied the cutest little baby. Holding all of one cup, it’s designed for hot dips. I couldn’t resist. It’s not been used a lot but I love knowing it’s got my back should I ever feel the need for a hot dip.

One Sunday morning, I threw together my standard pineapple barbecue bean dish for our church’s monthly potluck. As a joke, I turned to Facebook to pose a question. “Preparing my dish for church potluck. Do I put the food in my smaller crock pot and risk spilling some on the drive, or do I put it in my larger crock pot and risk looking like a cheapskate because it’s only two-thirds full?”

My query sparked lots of interesting and funny comments. I took the advice of the majority. The joke was on me when I arrived at church, carrying my larger crock pot, and was greeted by a friend who’d seen my Facebook query.

“I see you decided to go with the small one,” she said.

Oh boy. Maybe I really am a cheapskate. Maybe next time, I’ll walk in carrying my little baby dip-sized one.

May my crock pots last forever so I never need to figure out how to program a newfangled one.

Friday, February 23, 2024

Older Than I've Ever Been

I’m turning 65 this week, which of course provides no end of reasons to reflect. Speaking of reflections, did you know the easiest way to look younger is to remove your glasses before looking in the mirror?

At 65, I must acknowledge that I’m no longer middle-aged. How can I be when I’m halfway to 130 and have no intention of living that long?

Lately, fatigue has forced me to say no to several things that I’d dearly love to do, proving that the world is no longer my oyster. Oh well. Never did care for oysters. Lots of positive things can be said about turning 65.

Here are seven.

1.  Old Age Security is the biggest one, of course. I’m looking forward to my first direct deposit, although an actual cheque that I could hold in my wrinkling hands might somehow provide more cause for celebration. I’ll probably splurge on something extravagant like groceries or electricity.

2.  We’re no longer getting calls from life insurance salespeople.

3.  Now we can officially enjoy the senior discounts at restaurants, theaters, and stores without wondering what age they consider “senior.” No question about it. We qualify.

4.  It’s now acceptable to pretend my hearing is going and ignore absolutely everybody. 

5.  I can start new hobbies, like decorating my yard with plastic flowers. Or saving bits of aluminum foil and dryer lint in case my kids want that someday.

6.  I can console myself knowing there are still a few things older than me. The pyramids come to mind.

7.  We can now go to antique shops and visit our old furniture.

Seriously, I’m grateful to have more days behind me than before me here on this planet. Maybe that’s because I agree with C.S. Lewis when he said, “There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”

Last month I attended the funeral of our friend, Asta, age 93. Family members shared stories about how, with loved ones gathered around her bed expecting her to slip from a coma into eternity any minute, Asta began to pray aloud. For ten full minutes, she prayed for the people in the room. She prayed for healing for others. In her moment of greatest personal need, her heart and mind were focused on others. It occurred to me that such things don’t simply happen on our deathbed unless we have already made them a lifelong habit.

If I’m honest, my lifetime habits will have my deathbed prayers sounding more like, “Help me, help me, help me.”

I know only two things for sure. First, whether I have one day or thirty years left here, my deepest desire is to hear Jesus say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Second, this moment is really all I have. Yesterday’s over. I could be gone by tomorrow.

Those two realities lead to the only logical next question. What does “good and faithful” look like right now, right here, in this moment? It’s not always what we might think at first blush.

A great question to ask at any age.

“For through wisdom your days will be many, and years will be added to your life.” (Proverbs 9:11)

Me at 10 or 11 with one of my kitties.

Friday, February 16, 2024

Even If

Are you the type of person who chooses a theme word or phrase for the year? Something you can use to anchor yourself, to aim for, to help find meaning in life’s ups and downs? I’ve tried this a few times but by spring, I’ve usually forgotten it. This year, when I wasn’t particularly looking for one, a phrase chose me. It grabbed at my heartstrings when a certain song came on CHVN radio one day.

For this to make sense to you, I need to back up a bit.

I’m currently writing a two-book fiction series called the “Even If” series (although each book would stand alone).

Book One, Even If We Cry, will release this November from Mountain Brook Ink. It’s about the British children who evacuated to Canada during World War II and some of the things they, their parents in England, and their host families here went through. I’m currently working on edits.

Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14805503
Book Two, Even If I Perish, releases in the fall of 2025. I’m about one-third through the first draft and up to my eyeballs in research. It’s based on the true story of a little-known heroine, Mary Cornish. Mary was one of the few survivors of the ship, The City of Benares, sunk by a German torpedo while carrying 90 children on one of these evacuation voyages. Mary survived eight days as the only female in a lifeboat meant for 24 people but packed with 46. Six of those people were young boys whom Mary was determined to keep alive at any cost.

My publishing contract includes the possibility of two more books in the series. You can see why the words, “even if,” have been jumping out every time I hear or see them.

Like you, I’ve known my share of faith-shaking hard times. Maybe I’m simply forgetful, but it truly seems as though 90 percent of those faith shakers have occurred in the last five years. You too? Some family stuff, some career stuff, some world-at-large stuff.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when, driving down the street one day, the words of this song from Rend Collective caught my attention:

“I’ll find a way to praise You from the bottom of my broken heart
’Cause I think I’d rather strike a match than curse the dark…”

Can you relate? The singer goes on to say he’d rather take a chance on hope than fall apart. Is falling apart the only alternative? Surrendering to the dark? He decides no. That’s when the resounding chorus breaks in, with the repeating phrase which so perfectly applies to drifters in a lifeboat on a cold and raging sea in the middle of the night … and which nailed it for me:
“Even if my daylight never dawns
Even if my breakthrough never comes
Even if I’ll fight to bring You praise
Even if my dreams fall to the ground
Even if I’m lost, I know I’m found
… my heart will somehow say, ‘Hallelujah’ anyway.”

Faith does frequently feel like a big gamble, doesn’t it? Some people wonder why, if it’s really true, do we believers need to constantly convince and remind each other and ourselves, even if current evidence isn’t supporting our beliefs.

It’s a valid question. The only answer I can offer is the Bible’s definition of faith: the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen. (See Hebrews 11.)

Many thanks to songwriters Chris Llewellyn, Matt Maher, and Gareth Gilkeson for giving us this wonderfully personal song, and giving me my phrase for the year. You can hear the whole song HERE.

Friday, February 9, 2024

A Valentine to My Eight-Year-Old Self


I was in love by Grade Two. Having decided which of my classmates I would marry, I prepared a marriage license for us which my big brother discovered in my room and found useful for endless harassment and blackmail. I dreaded the day my intended groom learned of its existence, but I don’t recall having to endure that humiliation. Maybe my brother was more merciful than I thought.

Valentines Day would not expose my secret since Mom insisted I give a valentine to every person in my class, regardless of my feelings. The only thing under my control was deciding who received which one. I’d agonize over who got my invitation to “Be Mine” and who received the skunk picture declaring, “I’m scent-imental over you!”

I loved those press-out valentines. I loved a little less the envelopes that had to be folded and then glued together with flour and water paste—a method you’ll remember if your parents survived the Great Depression.

In the lead-up to the big day, we decorated our classroom with pink and red streamers and paper hearts. Our teacher brought in a large box and cut a slot in the top. We covered The Box with crepe paper and more hearts and cupids. On the morning of February 14, we diligently hid our valentines until our turn came to insert them into The Box. Little was learned during our morning lessons as we stared at The Box, envisioning all the valentines inside.

When we returned after lunch, cookies and cupcakes in hand, it was party time. Games were played, treats were shared. Finally, the big culmination: the opening of The Box and the distribution of the valentines within.

At home, I’d review them over and over, hunting for clues to a secret love the sender may have hidden between the lines, hope and heartache racing side by side through my little core.

Fifty-six Valentines Days later, I decided to write a valentine to the little girl I was then. Since I don’t have a time machine so I can drop it through a slot in The Box, I’ll share it here.

Sweetheart,

I know you’re dying to know whom you’ll one day marry. I’m not going to tell you, except to say it’s neither of the boys you take turns having a crush on these days, so maybe hold off on writing marriage licenses. You will marry a good man, but he won’t be perfect. Neither will you. Together you’ll have some wonderful, imperfect children. They’ll bring you joy, laughter, and love. This may come as a shock, but they’ll also hurt your feelings sometimes. You’ll disappoint them, and yourself. There will be days you’ll feel unloved and forgotten, betrayed and alone.

Here’s another shocker: your parents don’t have everything figured out. They’re doing their best to love and care for you, given the tools they’ve been given. They’ll fall short sometimes, too. Even when you’re grown, they’ll second-guess the choices they made for you. If you can understand that, it’ll be easier both to forgive their mistakes and to forgive yourself when your own kids are adults.

What I need you to know more than anything is that you are loved, perfectly and just the way you are, by the One who created you. The more you practice running to Him with your hurts and allowing His love to comfort you, the greater will be your ability to love the people He brings into your life—even when they don’t return your affection. You have a long life ahead, with countless people who will move in and out of it. Only One will be constant. You won’t regret pouring every effort into getting to know Him—Jesus, the Lover of your soul.

Yours truly,

Your 64-year-old self.

Friday, February 2, 2024

Do You Remember "Front Page Challenge?"

I remember my parents devotedly tuning in to CBC television on Monday nights to see who that week’s mystery challengers might be on Front Page Challenge and whether the panel would guess before their timer went off. Would Betty Kennedy be the successful panelist with the correct answer, as she often was? Would moderator Fred Davis need to intercept or intervene? Would Pierre Berton deviate from his bow tie? Would Gordon Sinclair say something crude and offensive like he almost always did? (My dad couldn’t stand the guy and, judging by the mail received by the show’s producers, Dad wasn’t alone. Sinclair’s insensitive antics were all part of the charm that kept viewers tuning in.)

Front Page Challenge premiered in 1957 and ran for 38 years, despite many predictions to the contrary. It began as a six-week summer fill-in show, created by John Aylesworth. The game’s premise was brilliant. Producers chose national or international stories that had appeared on the front page of a major newspaper. A panel of Canadian journalists (three regulars and one guest) would have a limited time to identify the story by asking yes-or-no questions of a mystery guest. When they succeeded, or when the timer buzzed, they had an additional amount of time to interview the guest, asking questions they hoped viewers would want to ask. Each show covered at least two stories unless the guest was famous enough to be deemed deserving of a whole show.

In its early days, when CBC still enjoyed an impressive budget, famous challengers were flown in from all over the world, including Eleanor Roosevelt, Indira Gandhi, Harold Wilson, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Martin Luther King Jr., and Menachem Begin. Canadian headliners who came on as challengers included all the living prime ministers during those years, sports stars like Gordie Howe, and entertainment icons like Anne Murray and Gordon Lightfoot. In those early black-and-white videos, the panelists and guests are often seen with a cigarette in hand or smoke rising from the ashtrays on their desk. How sophisticated.

Why on earth am I researching this obsolete program? Well, the novel I’m currently writing, Even If I Perish, is about the sinking of the SS City of Benares—one of the ships that transported British children to Canada during World War II. In addition to its paying passengers and crew, the City of Benares carried 90 children, along with their escorts. On September 17, 1940, the ship was struck by a  German torpedo. Only 13 children survived. I’m certain the story made the front pages.

I’m creating a fictional story involving one or more of the survivors. I’ve found no evidence that Front Page Challenge covered this story (even though they did sometimes choose headlines going further into the past), but it certainly would have been a good one—particularly if they brought one of the survivors onto the show as their challenger. If I decide to make this happen in my novel, the challenger will be Mary Cornish, the woman who survived eight days as the only female in Lifeboat Number 12, caring for six boys in a boat packed with more than twice the people it was built for. I can already imagine ol’ Gordon Sinclair asking Mary how much she got paid for escorting the children. In real life, Mary never made it to Canada. She did, however, receive the Medal of the Order of the British Empire and she appeared on a British television program in 1956. So it’s not that big of a stretch to think she might have been recruited for our Canadian show. If only they’d thought of it.

You can watch clips from Front Page Challenge on YouTube, including the time Stompin’ Tom Connors stumped the panel, and one from 1984 featuring Mary Simon, decades before she became Canada’s Governor General.

Do you recall a favorite Front Page Challenge story?

Pierre Burton, Fred Davis, Betty Kennedy, Gordon Sinclair (photo from Facebook)