He was there for them
And they knew it
And his smiles and songs
Would brighten up the tent.
And the energy needed
To get through it
Was a joyful package
Timely, Heaven sent.
He was just like them
Nothing really special
Save that Jesus had
Arrested all his heart.
And accordian and banjo
Played their favourite
Songs of Zion
Building faith
Salvation to impart.
They were hurting
In a town
Close to rock-bottom
And the government
Showed little of relief
But the preachers
Set the stage for
Life abundant
Triggered simply
By repentance
And belief.
“He is here!
The Master yearns to do
His business
And to liberate
Where Satan has deceived.
And you’ve heard
The words of Gospel
Who is ready to
Step forward and receive?”

Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON



Man of Merciful Action


Jesus still walks aisle-ways in churches, hallways in hospitals, back-streets in villages, lonely offices of decision. Are we still as likely to get excited about that prospect?

Painting by James Tissot

Sung Like a Well Trained Champion

It was the spring of 1984. Thirty years ago now. Cars of Canadians converged at the Fox Theatre, downtown Detroit, Michigan. Mixed crowd lined up out front. Absolute accord in the exciting anticipation of a night of worship and excellence. Larnelle Harris and Sandi Patti.
Never forgot it! And inside, singing and rejoicing as if from another world. (Doug)


There was a young student in ministry who took a walk with Smith Wigglesworth. Smith was sporting a dashing new hat. He was a rather fancy dresser. They stopped on a bridge, leaning on the rail to discuss some point of scripture. The wind got hold of Smith’s hat and pitched it into the rapid waters. He had no immediate outcry. He turned to his young friend with a wry smile and said, “We’d best be getting back to the house. With all that lies before me over the next few days, I dare not catch cold.”

Calm. Prepared. Wise. Full of Bible. Full of Spirit-harvested compassion and power. This man’s legacy defies the usual impression of “Pentecostal”. So many have images of manifestation gone wild, of excitement, of raucous worship. That is not Pentecost. That is wishful thinking and flesh.

The calm of Galilee; the smile of the kindly Teacher-Healer-Messiah: the wonder of the Comforter from above come to indwell and to guide; the power-to-witness endorsement of the gift of tongues. That is Pentecost.


Losers …Losers All…

good samaritan

Anthony and I started this collaborative effort last September. We had come to know each other a little bit with our writings on another site. We didn’t always agree and we weren’t always civil with each other. Nope.

The thing started to pick up momentum right about the time AG had heart complications and major surgery. Take a well-travelled trucker, put him on his back with illness and see what transpires?

Christmas season found AG pretty much alone, as his mate Jody was compelled to go out of state to visit her Mother after a considerable gap in their getting together. No problem, Anthony got busy on the Web and our exchanges became very frequent. This is evident at http://twelfthmonth.wordpress.com/

The relationship became much richer for us as we learned of the healthy fare available to men who will simply drop the charade and get honest and transparent and supportive.

Now I find myself alone for a period as my wife Hilary undergoes psychiatric care. I have every confidence that treatment arrangements will improve and that all parties might learn from some shortcomings of the past, professionals included. Hilary will be home, and not too long from now. This is the fourth major episode in the last 13 years. Here in Waterloo the few men in my circle find it difficult to approach my “thrashings”.

I can remember visiting her at the dreadful time of 9/11 and the Twin Tower bombings. She was pretty much isolated from world events in an environment of confused, misunderstood and lonely people. Some proved to be honest-to-goodness caring friends of the time. As I related the phenomenal television images to her, I wondered where the “crazies” really were? On the outside? On the inside? Could I really believe my own eyes and ears as people jumped to their deaths before their fellow New Yorkers? As passengers made bold moves, unsuccessfully, for their freedom in the skies over Pennsylvania?

And this time in my passing perplexity, Anthony has been there for me. Selecting hope and encouragement; speaking and writing words of brotherly kindness and God-honouring submission. That is the service of real men. That is winning in ways never to be lost. And we are given in our pains a place of intercession, resembling in small ways the power and the comfort of the Man of Sorrows and Friend of Sinners. And a hurting world waits for some soothing balm.

Love you Bro’.