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There was a girl that I really liked, her name was Missy.ВP Funny name.ВP Anyway, I was in 7th grade, which would make me about 12yrs old.ВP I was always one of the youngest kids in the class as well, I never liked that.ВP I would ride my bike to visit her almost every day in the summer, we'd swim in their in-ground pool (maybe that's why I liked her ha!).ВP Their family was catholic (sort of), and for whatever reason would send their two kids to Wesley Acres in Bloomfield, a Methodist Christan Family Camp.ВP Funny how kids would come to this camp from all over the province, I had never heard of it and it was 10 minutes away from my house.ВP Missy's mom asked if I wanted to go, Missy thought that would be great too... go to camp with your boyfriend for a week!ВP Whoo hoo!

In the late 1980's, when I was about 12yrs old, some events took place in my life, and the life of my family at the time that truly revolutionized everything.ВP My parents were close to divorce, though at the time I didn't know it was as bad as it was.ВP It started to sink in when I heard the question, "who would you live with if we got a divorce?"... I never really believed that would happen, I don't think any kid does.ВP Divorce was still relatively uncommon then, compared at least to today.ВP As a kid, the odds were still in our favor.ВP While there wasn't any adultery or event that caused such a serious situation with my parents, they had allowed years of sin and selfishness remain in their individual lives and it couldn't help but bleed into their marriage and family.ВP My Mom had an awful temper, most of the communication in our house at that time was at a high pitch.ВP I can remember making my mom so mad I think she would have physically harmed (big ole spanking!) me if she had caught me, thankfully I was pretty fast.ВP My Dad had allowed his family to fall apart, starting with a wife who felt unloved and unappreciated.ВP He was controlled by partners at the farm and 'forced' to love the land more than his family.ВP I've learned a lot from my Dad, for which I'm thankful, unfortunately some of the most valuable things I learned were what 'not' to do.ВP He had a very hard time standing up for his family and for himself.ВP When push came to shove, my dad couldn't ever seem to stand up and be a man, he was all about making peace and compromising, even if it meant the family bearing the brunt. I'm not taking sides, they were both without Christ and living life for themselves and any marriage without the Lord is destined for times of drastic turmoil.ВP In our home, it came to head and my mom basically left my dad on a weekly basis (it seemed).ВP There were times I remember when Dad came home but was locked out of the house because my mom was so upset.ВP He would sit in the driveway for hours, and sometimes sleep out there.ВP I never saw my dad get really upset though, something that I did appreciate, my mom probably wished he did get upset, that would mean he really did care.ВP So, without going into more detail than necessary (my parents probably think I've already gone too far!), I wanted to paint that picture, because it's important to give Glory to God for what he did.ВP It wasn't as if we were going to church and praying for answers, we were all headed toward destruction from the marriage to us children (except for Lorrie, she was happily singing those songs every Sunday with Grandma).ВP We obviously had many loving memories, and times where everything on the outside seemed perfect, but the consistent routine of anger, fighting and eventual conclusion of divorce was there, increasing, and as a 10-12 yr old kid, those the most impacting and lasting memories whether the parents want to accept that or not.

My mother was raised Catholic and had pretty much determined to have nothing to do with that religion before she met my dad.ВP To her, it was fully of rituals and impersonal traditions that added little to her personally.ВP My dad was raised Pentecostal, or I should say One-ness Pentecostal, which gave him a wonderful taste of hyper legalism, and the results were the same as my Mom's.ВP They married and instituted little religion in our home, and happily for me, required even less of it from their children.ВP Grandma Crowe was the faithful church attendee in our family, she would pull up the drive-way every Sunday in her car or van, and pick up my sister for Sunday school. I should mention that I ended up having a sister, thankfully only one.ВP Lorrie was succeeded by a set of twin brothers a few years later, Trevor and Troy.ВP So by the timeВP I was 9yrs old, our house was full of crying sets of twins, a burned out mom with no sleep, a Dad who worked too much and a sister who was bent on getting her nose broken by her big brother.ВP Needless to say, my sister and I had a rough childhood, we didn't always get along, but looking back I believe it was due to the example we had set before us in the marriage of our parents.ВP I'll get to that later as it pertains to how Jesus interupts this little Canadian family and sets us on a new course.ВP Anyway, my grandmother would drive up, and I would hide somewhere or pretend I was still sleeping.ВP I can still hear her voice at the door, "does Bruce want to come to church today"... Ahhh!ВP I loathed church.ВP You had to sit still for about a month while they sang hideous songs filled with words that I still struggle to understand today... all from a 50yr old book that smelled like cotton balls.ВP After singing, you would get to go down to the basement have Sunday school, which for me didn't get any better.ВP Small cellar type rooms with kids you never saw during the week and dressed funny, wearing suit pants that came up too high and hair combed neatly across their head.ВP I'm pretty sure the times that I did go to church my pants and hair looked about the same.ВP I hated going to church, and avoided it at all costs except for the few times my Grandma affixed Chinese Food to the deal.

So you understand that I loved competition, but did you know really am an introvert by nature?ВP Beyond playing sports with other kids, I really preferred to stay home.ВP This served me well into high-school when my other friends began to experiment with 'cool' things like partying and drinking.ВP None of that interested me.ВP Partly because my dad was staunchly anti-drinking (from his pentecostal upbringing), but also because I had begun to pre-occupy myself with another dangerous past time, girls.ВP Perhaps I should back up, because to understand this stage of my life (age 12-16), you really need to get a picture of what our home life and idea of Christianity was like in the Crowe family.

As a Canadian, you are really only allowed to be passionate about one thing. That wasn't Jesus or religion. It's hockey. I had the competitive fires residing in my bones from an early age, all I needed was the perfect outlet. At age 6 or 7 my mom took me to the church, I mean arena and I learned how to skate. I can still feel the damp cool air that circulated in that old arena. It was like entering another planet, but I liked it. I remember the dressing rooms, and putting on my hockey equipment, or rather my Mom putting it on me, I wasn't strong enough to tie my skates. After getting fully dressed in my army gear, which made me feel 10x's larger than life, we would begin the long journey of walking on your skates to the door that swung wide to the ice itself. For Americans, this isn't something that you will grasp, but stepping onto the ice is like, dressed in your gear, with a team, in front of fans (even if it's just your parents!), is unlike any feeling I've had in my life since. When I think about playing hockey today, I go back to the age of 8yrs old, and the feeling of 'taking to' the ice. I was pretty good too, I was usually the best player on my team, or at least one of the top 3. My mom would buy my hockey stickers (to put in the collectors book) in exchange for goals that I would score. I didn't need the incentive, but I appreciated the reward. I usually filled my hockey collector books, and have some of them still today. A tribute to my love for hockey as a kid, and my Mom's love for her son.

I am happy to say my childhood was pretty normal. I grew up in a typical home (I think), dad worked long hours, which created the majority of friction in our home. Looking back my dad regrets not enjoying his children more, a lesson that I've held close to my own heart and experience as a new dad. My mom was happy to ship me off to Pinecrest Elementary School at age 5, for kindergarten. I remember learning how to tie my shoe there, a nice girl named Suzanne (she was taller than me) took some time and showed me, I remember the moment I did it myself. It was the last time a girl taught me anything (kidding kidding). I was just an average kid, I did well in school when I tried, but was naturally lazy and rarely put forth much effort. I enjoyed recess the most. Daily we would rush to the check out counter and sign a ball or bat out of the equipment room and rush off to pick teams. We would play soccer or something competitive every day, rain, snow or shine. I loved competition, and still do. From 3-8th grade, I think I logged more time in some sport/competition then anything academic. I didn't care if I lost or won really, the thrill of competing with my friends (or strangers) was all I wanted to do. When the bell rang, my heart would sink, and dirty, wet and tired I would make my way back to the halls of learning. I had favorite teachers, my absolute favorite was Mr. Bigg in the 3rd and 4th grade. I don't know why, but Mr. Bigg like me more than the other kids (it seemed). He let me grade papers, site next to his desk, and when it came time for the Easter Bunny drawing, I always got the 1st or 2nd largest bunny. I never said anything, but I knew it was rigged. I remember learning a valuable lesson one day from Mr. Bigg about being thankful. I had complained about always sitting next to Mr. Bigg (even though I really thought it was awesome), and the next thing you know, he requested that I move to the middle of the room, while he selected another child to take my place. For the next few weeks I would look over with envy, realizing what my big mouth had accomplished. I decided at that moment to pay more attention to my words. I continue to learn that lesson today, but Mr. Bigg helped me on my way!

I was born in Belleville, Ontario Canada, September 5, 1974 to Lloyd and Dorothy Crowe. It was an uneventful birth, however I'm told early on in the pregnancy the doctors encouraged my mother to have an abortion because I had some sort of defect. Thankfully, my mother didn't take the accusations seriously (she's one for denying all sorts of medical facts) and out I came ready for the world. I was the first born not only to my parents, but also the first grandchild on the Crowe side. My mothers family (Cournyea) was well populated, so I blended in quite naturally over there. In this part of Ontario Canada, families are fairly large and close knit. I had several aunts and uncles and soon a heard of cousins to play with either down the street or during the many regular holiday meals we shared. I grew up in the country, and my dad was a farmer. While we didn't have cows, sheep and other animals you typically think of when you think of a farm, we did have tractors. For a boy, there's nothing like a tractor. I would ride with my dad on the tractor or combine, then come home and play with my toy tractors and combines. I was destined to be a farmer, like it or not.

This has been written primarily for my children as a record of my testimony and growth as a man. If anything were to happen to me, I hope the history of God in my life will encourage you to persevere and live by faith in Jesus. If I live to be an old Grandpa, well, I will be blessed to tell the same stories with your kids on my lap.