Our Times Are in His Hands

Vacations are special times, but have you noticed that some are more special than others? Sometimes we make a plan, but God doesn’t really seem to be in it. Then there are other times when the presence and blessing of God seem to cover it from beginning to end.

I notice that I’ve used the word or syllable times three times already in the first two sentences. Pay attention to how many times the word or the concept of time comes into this story. Realize that God created time, and that He says a time is coming when time will be no more. He also says, and it’s so reassuring, that our times are in His hands.

Greg made a plan shortly before Christmas that we would go away to Kootenay Lake for a holiday. We would stay at the Kaslo Hotel for five nights, rent a boat, and do some fishing. We would leave the day after Boxing Day. We let our kids know in case any of them could travel out and join us there. In the end, Lindsay and Christina made plans to come, along with their little baby girl.

Packing this time was, for some reason, easier for me than usual—although there was one hitch: I was pretty much all organized when Greg announced that we might stay a few days longer. I was rather discouraged for a few minutes, because I didn’t want to think through, all over again, everything I had packed. Especially my many supplements. I had painstakingly sorted and counted and then packed them in small individual plastic ziploc bags to save space. I just couldn’t face starting all over again. I told Greg so, and then I said I was just going to trust God that I would have enough of everything.

Greg had had another very long and busy season, without even a chance to get away with me for a summer weekend camping trip. This was a much needed unwind-time for him, and I was glad to be spending it with him. We were on the road in good time, and before we were more than a few miles south of Wetaskiwin, we prayed, thanking God for His protection, trusting Him to order our steps, and believing Him for divine encounters and happenstances along the way. The miles rolled out ahead of us, and we settled in for the long haul, intermittently talking, my hand tucked under his arm.

We weren’t much south of Red Deer when we realized we would have to make good time. A review of our possible routes indicated that the Crowsnest Pass would be the best way to go: there had been a lot of snow recently and the higher elevations would be worse. Going by the Crowsnest meant we would be catching the Kootenay Bay ferry, which sails approximately every hour and forty minutes. If we could catch the 7:00 p.m. ferry, then taking into account the time change, we would arrive in Kaslo about 8:15. If we missed that one, it would be close to 10 o’clock when we arrived at our destination—too late for supper and too late for a reasonable bedtime as well. We kept our stops very short, keeping the miles rolling past.

We arrived in Creston at 6:30 Alberta time. We were still almost an hour and a half from the ferry. Greg stopped at a service station to grab a jug of windshield wash. He came back to the truck with some bad news. The woman had told him that this side of the ferry was on Alberta time. It was leaving in half an hour. “You’ll never make it,” she’d said.

This was confusing. Where was the line then, where the time changed? We pulled back onto the highway. I thought we should stop and get some supper; Greg thought we should keep going. Meanwhile, we saw three young people on the sidewalk and pulled over to get another opinion. After all, God says everything is established in the mouth of two or three witnesses (2 Corinthians 13:1)! They said Creston was on Alberta time, as was Kootenay Bay where we would catch the ferry.

I grew up in the Kootenays. This didn’t sound right to me. The young people all checked their phones; Google confirmed their statements. I really would’ve liked to stop and eat, but God has been teaching me all over again some things about submitting to my husband. As we went on our way again, I went on Google myself. “What time zone is Kootenay Bay?“ I asked. The answer was Mountain Standard Time. And what about Kaslo? Pacific Standard Time. So the time must change somewhere in the middle of Kootenay Lake. How strange!

Believing now that we had more than two hours till the next ferry, Greg took his time. It was good not to be rushed: the night was as dark as dark could be, and the road was winding and icy. As he drove, Greg prayed aloud, “Lord, I ask that You would have that ferry wait for us.”

Now, I know that agreeing in prayer makes it much more powerful, but I couldn’t get on board with this one. This was just not going to happen. And in spite of the recent reminders from God about the power in submitting to my husband, I could not—or would not—muster even a weak “Yes, Lord.”

The next hour and a half wended slowly by, until we found ourselves coming down the gentle slope to the ferry terminal. Imagine our surprise when we saw the lights of the ferry just pulling in to the dock. I was completely stymied. And I was also sad and humbled. Lord, I missed the opportunity to agree with my husband in prayer and be part of seeing Your hand moves on our behalf. We both thanked the Lord aloud, and I apologized to God for my lack of faith.

We pulled onto the ferry with a dozen other vehicles. “Hey dear,” I said, “you need to go talk to one of those guys and find out why we caught this sailing.” Then I changed my mind: “Never mind: I need to find out for myself.”

I pulled on my big coat, zipped it up, flipped up the hood and jumped out into the chilly darkness. Steam from the exhaust of the vehicles and the ferry billowed about, highlighted by all the lights, wafting in the slight but biting wind. It was a surreal setting as I waited for a ferry attendant to be done securing chains and cables.

When he turned away from his work, I intercepted him. “We didn’t expect to catch this ferry,” I began. “Can you tell me why you’ve just arrived here?”

“We’re right on time,” he assured me. “You must have read the schedule wrong.”

“It says you sail at 7:00 and at 8:40,” I answered.

“Yes,” he said, pulling up his sleeve and showing me his watch, “and it’s just 7:05 right now.”

“But in Creston,” I told him, “we were told that the ferry on this side is on Alberta time.”

“No,” he said, “we are on Pacific Standard Time.”

“Hmm. Well, two different parties there told us that they’re on Mountain Standard Time.”

“Well,” he said, “Creston does what Creston does. They don’t bother with daylight saving time either.”

This was sounding a little mysterious. “I grew up in the Kootenays,” I said, “and I remember the time-change happening somewhere between Cranbrook and Creston. So exactly where is the line now, where the time changes?”

“Ah,” he said, “now that’s where it gets interesting. In the summer it changes right around Yahk—you know where that is? Between Cranbrook and Creston?”

“Right,” I said.

“And in the winter it changes as soon as you drive off this ferry,” and he pointed back at the landing ramp we had just left.

I’d never heard anything so bizarre. I thanked him for his time and went back to the truck to explain it all to Greg, though I certainly wasn’t very clear on it myself. The great thing was, however, we were going to arrive in Kaslo right around the time Lindsay and Christina were expecting us.

We had a welcome meal in the dining room of the grand and beautifully restored old hotel and had just walked into our two-bedroom suite when Lindsay and family arrived back from walking their dog.

The next day, because Greg had continued to talk about extending our stay, I took stock of my supplements. For over a year now, I have been slowly ridding my body of molds, which may have been there for decades and which have caused chronic health issues. I take various things that stir up and kill the molds, and then I take a large number of other things that powerfully neutralize the toxins being released. The latter group, which I call antidotes, curb all kinds of randomly flaring symptoms, like headaches, nausea, dripping nose, coughing, sneezing, indigestion, numbness and tingling in my extremities, itchy eyes and nose and ears, rashes, vertigo—really, you name it; it happens to me. The point is, if I don’t have everything I need, symptoms get pretty rough. But it becomes a pain, too, organizing it all, and that’s why I had thrown up my hands, so to speak, and told God it was His problem.

I muscle-test every time I feel like I need something. This kind of testing helps me determine exactly which things I need, when, and how many. Since leaving home, I had found myself going through an unusual number of two different products, both of them amino acids, and they happened to be things that might not be found in your average vitamin store. I scoured the small town. There were two stores that sold supplements, and neither one carried either product that I needed.

It looked like I was going to run out. I thought of driving into Nelson, but it would be an hour each way on bad roads, so it just didn’t seem like a peaceful choice. I didn’t even have the heart to phone and ask if they had what I needed. It felt at odds with trusting God. He tells us to cast our cares on Him because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7), and that’s what I was trying to do.

Strangely, beginning the next day, my body didn’t seem to want any more of those two products. Maybe, rather than increasing my supply, God was going to change my needs. Great! But then suddenly I was consuming a lot more of another product, something called NAC, or n-acetylcysteine, which is a fabulous help to the liver in heavy detox conditions. My dosage had increased substantially. I was going to run out of that now. But no worries; I had seen some in one of the local stores.

I went out and bought it—didn’t even think of muscle-testing it first because it was a familiar brand. But when I got back to the room, I realized this was not the brand I use but one I bought for Greg—which, ever since, had sat in the cupboard. Muscle-testing had never indicated that this particular formula would be helpful for me.

I was frustrated. I should take it right back. But the Lord was drawing my attention to not my needs but those of the shopkeeper. Kaslo is a poor little town, with businesses barely eking out a living. It would be a discouraging thing for that woman to refund my money. All right, I would keep it then.

And then I muscle-tested it and found it was rock-solid “strong” for me. Apparently the needs of my body had shifted to prefer a slightly different formula. To this day, the time of this writing, two and a half months later, my body has not wanted a single dose of that first product, whereas I’ve gone through several bottles of the other brand. Truly God was working everything together for my good (Romans 8:28). Normally I wouldn’t have even taken a second look at that product; I had bought it “by mistake,” yet it had turned out to be just the right thing.

Greg had rented a boat for four days. On the first and second days, he and Lindsay went out and fished all day. I had thought I would be busy on my computer, but I had a wonderful time visiting instead with Christina, not to mention cuddling with my newest grandchild. On Day Three, Christina decided to take little two-month-old Cali fishing with her daddy and her papa. It sounded like a nice, mellow outing.

They were gone all day. As the afternoon got late, I began to wonder. I went to the big windows across the front of our suite and looked out at the lake. The wind seemed to have come up a bit. It was hard to gauge, though, because the water in front of the hotel was somewhat sheltered. I thought uneasily of what could happen out there. I had spent many a cold day fishing here with my dad when I was a teen. I knew that Kootenay Lake was notorious for sudden storms. It’s a very deep lake, 400 feet, and the waters are frigid. The boats Greg had rented here in previous years had been between 37 and 57 feet: steel-hulled, heavy, solid, stable vessels. But the only boat he’d been able to get this time was a lightweight 18-footer, no good for weathering a storm.

I turned deliberately away from the window, and from the imaginations that were taking shape in my head. “No!” I said emphatically. “Nothing’s going to happen. Lord God, you have promised in Your Word that You are a shield to those that put their trust inYou.” (Proverbs 30:5, KJV)

Or as The Message puts it, “He protects everyone who runs to him for help.”

It was a while later that the phone rang. The front desk told me to call my husband, and she gave me an unfamiliar number. Shoot! They had probably been trying to reach me, and likely I had left my phone’s ringer off. I checked: sure enough, there was a missed call from Christina’s number and another from the number I had just been given.

They had been forced to beach the boat, Greg told me, and Lindsay and his wife and baby had taken shelter at a house on the property. The kindly couple there had told Greg there was a marina just around the point where he could moor the boat safely, so he jockeyed the craft alone the short distance. Then he walked the 400 metres back to the couple’s house, from where he phoned me. He needed me to come pick them up, about 15 kilometres north. But a search, first on my end and then on Greg’s, ultimately revealed that none of the keys for the two trucks were in our room or the vehicles but with the guys.

Providentially, the couple’s son-in-law popped by for a short visit on his way back to Kaslo, so he offered them a ride. It wasn’t long before they arrived back at the hotel.

Lindsay was terribly shaken. “Mom,” he said, “I was pinning the baby’s car seat down with my arm, and it still flew right off the seat every time we hit another wave. And then Dad told me to get out the life jackets. And I’m thinking, ‘No, that is not an option. We are not going to end up in the water.’ Mom, the baby wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in there!”

We had much to be grateful for as we all went to bed that night. Just before I powered off my phone, I decided to go on Bible Gateway for some peaceful debriefing in the Word. My attention was caught immediately by the Verse of the Day: “I am the Lord, who opened a way through the waters, making a dry path through the sea.” (Isaiah 43:16, NLT). Wow, God. Talk about the right word at the right time!

The next day, the plan was for Lindsay to drive Greg up to the boat. They just wanted to get the boat back to its owner. Nobody felt like fishing anymore. I thought it would be a lark to ride with Greg down the lake, as it wouldn’t be too long a trip. He didn’t think it was a good idea.

“I’ll pick you up at the Kaslo dock if it’s all going okay,” he said, “and then you can go the rest of the way south with me if you want.”

Again I felt the challenge as to whether I would follow my husband’s lead. What if there was a disaster in the making and God was trying to protect me from it through Greg? Oh well, I would go along for the truck ride anyway and visit with Lindsay on the way back.

It had snowed all night, great placid flakes falling silently straight down, and the winding road was a picture of winter wonderland as we slowly made our way along beside the lake. We came to Schroeder Creek, where the boat was moored, but Greg and Lindsay wanted to look at a piece of property several kilometres past, so we checked that out first and then turned back.

The snow was thicker now and had coated all the signs. Everything looked the same. We just kept driving and talking, and suddenly we found ourselves back in Kaslo. We laughed, turned around, and headed north again. This was turning into long trip!

Finally we pulled into Schroeder Creek, a small, sprawling collection of houses spread out under tall evergreens and a marina that was all closed up for the winter. The wind had picked up; the snow was no longer falling straight down but was whipping wildly about. The guys walked down towards the dock; I went to the beach, which, unlike the marina, was not sheltered. The water was looking pretty rough. And it was cold! The snow and fog was so thick that I couldn’t see a hundred metres; it was like staring myopically at a blurry, grey curtain.

I caught up with the guys. Greg thought it would be very unwise to head out in this weather. He phoned the owner of the boat and offered him some extra cash to retrieve the boat himself when conditions became more favourable.

“You know,” he said, after he had ended the call, “the first time we drove by here, the lake was still very calm. Just think: if we hadn’t gone up to see that property and then missed our turn and gone back to Kaslo, I would be out there in the middle of this.” We three went back to the hotel, relieved to be done with the boat.

The snow continued to fall as we got ready for the New Year’s Eve dinner downstairs, a gala with live blues and dancing. All the locals were out—colourful, down-to-earth folk, lots of aging hippies. It was a fun time.

We awoke in the morning to a great silence. The snow was standing a foot deep on the balcony railing, and the power was out. Greg had planned to stay here another day or so to get some quotes done, but his computer wouldn’t last long running on the battery and there would be no internet. The road reports were bad, and the forecast was for a lot more snow in the next 24 hours. We packed up quickly, all of us, and headed out.

I glanced at my phone as Greg and I got into the truck. A friend had texted, requesting a call, as she was in a difficult situation with one of her young adult children and wanted advice and prayer. I wondered when on earth I might get back to her, as we would be in the mountains all day, with little or no cell service.

There were dozens of trees down along the road, leaning across power lines, some of them uprooted and hanging into our lane. There was one eight-inch trunk standing on the centre line with its top leaned way up against the cliff beside us. We passed a four-foot boulder that had rolled down the mountainside and parked itself on the edge of the pavement. It was clear that anything else could let go at any moment, and it was good to be able to rest in the knowledge that our times really are in God’s hands (Psalm 31:15, KJV).

In our preoccupation with the road conditions, it hadn’t even occurred to us to check the ferry schedule or look at the clock. Suddenly we were at Balfour, approaching the terminal and wondering all at once if we would have to wait for an hour and a half. Imagine our amazement when we found the ferry taking on the last few cars. We leapt out for quick hugs with Lindsay and Christina, blessing them on their further journey south and west, then drove straight onto the ferry. One more vehicle pulled on behind us, and then the attendant hooked up the apron chains and cast off the mooring lines.

We would be sitting in our vehicle for the next 35 minutes. I thought again of my friend and glanced down at my phone. Amazingly, it showed full reception. I dialled and she answered. Yes, she said, this was a good time to talk. I was grateful that Greg was there too, with his solid and godly wisdom. At length, it seemed that all had been shared that was relevant at this point, so I said, “Why don’t we pray right now, before you hang up.” We had a powerful time of prayer, terminated the call, and found the ferry was just docking, the timing as smooth as butter.

We wound along beside the east arm of Kootenay Lake. There was less snow here than back in Kalso. The overcast thinned and a bit of sun shimmered through, just enough to gild the lake with silver. The landscape was alight with the glory of God.

Greg had decided that we should spend two days at Fairmont so he could get his quotes finished before heading the rest of the way home. They were already overdue, and the clients needed an opportunity to make their decisions before our supplier’s winter rates were adjusted upward again. He phoned the resort as we got brief cell service again passing through Creston, and he booked a room for two nights. Okay, two nights there will mean I get a full day to write, and then we’ll be on the road Friday morning, I thought. I was going to get some writing in after all; plus the resort boasted, among other things, an outdoor pool fed by natural hot springs. Even though I may resist my husband’s plans sometimes, he usually comes up looking like a hero.

Thursday morning he announced that the tiny corner where the desk sat in our room was too claustrophobic for him to work in for hours on end. Just a few steps from our doorway, the hallway opened into the big lobby. At one end was a very long table with many chairs placed around it. He established himself there with his computer and water bottle and went at it. I happily ensconced myself in the little desk nook in the room and enjoyed hours of intense, productive work. In the evening we availed ourselves of the spa facilities after a late dinner. A sauna is especially helpful when one is dealing with a lot of toxins, so I was extra grateful for that luxury.

That evening I mentioned leaving the next morning, and looking surprised, Greg said no: he needed a second day on his quotes. It was then he realized that he should have booked three nights, not two. I assumed he would look after it directly, as he usually covers that end of things.

Around noon on Friday, the maid came by. She was surprised to find me still there. I told her we were staying another night. Unbeknownst to me, she immediately called the front desk to check, because this was in conflict with the information on her sheet. As she told me later, the front desk said we weren’t booked for that night and we wouldn’t be able to because they were completely full. After all, this was Friday at a ski resort, and the Christmas holidays weren’t even over yet.

Oblivious to all this, I went out to the lobby a short while later to ask Greg if he had looked after extending our reservation. He had completely forgotten again, the moment after we‘d talked about it the night before, because his mind was so focussed on his work. Oh dear. I told him I would go look after it right away.

At the front desk, I told the clerk we’d like to stay one more night. She hesitated and then said, “Give me a minute here.” She consulted with her computer for a few moments and then explained, “We were completely booked, but someone has just checked out a day early.” She did some juggling and then announced that she’d also been able to work it out such that we could stay in the room we were already in.

I went back to the big lobby to tell Greg our good fortune. He was chatting with a young female staff member who had just finished doing a craft activity at the other end of the long table with the children of some of the guests. Greg introduced me. She was just gathering up her things, and I was going to wait till she was gone, but the Lord impressed on me that she should hear this as well.

“The most amazing thing just happened,” I began, and I glanced at her as I said it so she would know that she was welcome in this conversation. I detailed the fine timing of all this, the maid coming to the door, the guest checking out a few minutes later, and my coming to the desk right on the heels of that cancellation. I didn’t mention God, but I couldn’t refrain from saying, “Hallelujah!” as I finished my story.

Greg picked it up from there. “I call it getting into the river of God,” he told her. ”You get into the flow of what He’s doing, and everything works out even when it shouldn’t.”

She smiled shyly. “Everything happens for a reason,” she said. “My old car has just broken down, and it’s not worth the money it would take to fix it. But the brakes were really bad, and I really shouldn’t have been driving it like that.” She was able to express gratitude for what was surely a great inconvenience, because she knew it could have had a much worse outcome.

I returned to the room and my writing, still astounded. I realized that if I had gone to the front desk five minutes earlier we would now be packing up and clearing out, immediately. And if I’d gone any later, the vacancy would probably have been snapped up by someone else.

An hour later I went out to get a snack and found a line-up of guests ten or fifteen parties deep, reaching from the front desk on down the hallway beside the lobby. Another hour later there were still that many people checking in. It underscored to me how fortunate we were to have a room.

In the evening we again had a nice dinner and availed ourselves of the spa facilities.

On our last morning in Fairmont, I began the day as usual with my supplement regimen. The cornerstone of my current mold protocol is a potent (and controversial) solvent, which I had packed in a little essential oil drip-cap bottle. I muscle-test this stuff for dosage every time, as it is nothing to fool around with. Almost always, my body “asks” for 30 drops. I dripped it into a mug, ten drops at a time, stopping to test before adding more. I got to 30; all good so far. I put in one more drop and found it was the last drop in the bottle; and my response to the muscle-test now indicated that it was one drop too many. How phenomenal! God had seen to it that I had sufficient for the trip, with just 0.025 ml to spare.

Regarding the two amino acids that I have been so concerned about running out of six days earlier and in search of which I had almost driven a two-hour return trip to Nelson on icy roads, I had not needed any all week and still had three or four left of each.

God had also shown His provision and forethought in a humorous particular. One morning back in Kaslo, as my husband was dressing, two extra pairs of my underwear suddenly came flying over to my side of the bed. Apparently I had been lost somewhere deep in thought the last time I folded laundry, and I had mixed some of mine in with the random stack that Greg had grabbed out his drawer when he packed.

Now it was finally time to check out and head home. We loaded up and hit the road for the long, leisurely drive, grateful to God for looking after us in every way and for giving us a really great time.

About a week after we arrived home, I was making up the bed one morning, tidying the room, and minding my own business when suddenly God opened a conversation with me.

Would you like Me to explain that strange business about the time-zone line changing between summer and winter?

I was all ears.

The important clue was when the ferryman said, “Creston doesn’t go on Daylight Saving Time.” They are on Mountain Standard Time all year long. That means in the winter they are on the same time as Alberta and eastern B.C., and in the summer they are on the same time as western B.C.

Then He showed me, more with a mental picture than with words, the explanation to this earthly mystery about time. Further research helped me sketch the approximate boundaries.

The little snippet marked by a solid line on the one side and a broken line on the other represents the cluster of communities that choose not to observe Daylight Saving Time. In the winter, the broken line is, in effect, erased and their clocks match those of everyone else on Mountain Time. But in summertime, when most of Alberta and B.C. go on DST, the broken line becomes the boundary and the clocks in the small segment match those in western B.C. So for us, travelling in winter, the time zone changed as soon as we drove onto the Kootenay Bay ferry. If we had come through in summer, it would have changed at Yahk, the eastern-most part of the snippet.

So this is, as it says in Ephesians 3:3, KJV, “how that by revelation he made known unto me the mystery.”