Thanksgiving Day for most Canadians is a day to get off work and be with family. Many folks also travel on the long weekend. From what I’ve heard when interviewers ask people what they’re thankful for, most folks are grateful for physical possessions.
I myself have a lot to be thankful for. Though I’m almost blind, I live comfortably on a government disability pension. My house is paid for and I live in a quiet hamlet. The autumn colours look lovely as I walk to the post office and back. Alberta has had a good summer and many farmers had bumper crops this year. I’ve also saved money last winter on my electric bill because of the warmer-than-usual weather.
Am I responsible for my good fortune? I now realize that I’m not. Any number of calamities could have happened to me. I could have done all the right things but I still might have lost everything in some natural disaster. The many ailments common to humanity could have likewise harmed me permanently or taken my life.
I believe it was the providence of God that allowed me to live the way I do. Thanks to being mainstreamed into the public school system, I learned how to interact with sighted folks. Thanks to a clerical job I had with the federal government, I received a large equalization payment. It helped me buy a small house in a tiny hamlet. After paying a low mortgage for five years, this place is now mine.
I also realize that the time spent in a cultic house church helped me pre pair for learning proper scriptural exegesis, the technique of extracting what Bible texts mean. Scholars such as R. C. Sproul, John MacArthur, and Ravi Zacharias helped deprogram my head of all the blasphemous lies I once believed. No price can be put on that sort of freedom.
Thanks to verses such as John 9:3, I know that my poor sight isn’t because of my own sin or that of my parents but that the works of God should be manifest in me. The house church elders insisted I go for healing whenever it was offered and to build up my faith. No matter how hard I tried, I was never healed. Worse yet, the elders chided me whenever I supposedly lost my faith and my healing. This continual accusation of my faith drove me to the brink of suicide. Now I know that the heavenly Father uses disabilities for his good pleasure and our personal development.
Now that I know this wondrous freedom, I want others to learn about it. That’s why I wrote How I Was Razed: a Journey from Cultism to Christianity. Millions of people are trapped on spiritual treadmills, whipped into greater exertions by heartless taskmasters. My hope is that my testimony will inspire them to step off and rejoice in God’s rest from self-righteous works.
I hope to have How I Was Razed in print and e-book form soon. Meanwhile, check out my previous books at the Bruce Atchison’s books link on my Blogspot page.