Chamber of Memories: A Memoir

By Pamela Blackburn

“God said to me: ‘Follow the bee to the honey.’ I followed and discovered who I am.”
Does God speak today? Her mother was a spiritualist, and her father an atheist. At five years of age, Pam discovered that she was clairvoyant. She devoted her teenage years to studying the occult and using what she’d learned to impress others. Fortune telling gave her a sense of control.
At the age of forty, Pam was confronted with the truth of God’s reality, which led her on a quest to discover if a personal relationship with Jesus was possible. In a dramatic encounter, Pam and Jesus collided face-to-face, and her life changed forever.
Seeking to serve God with her whole heart, Pam trained with Youth with a Mission (YWAM), eventually going to India, where she taught spiritual warfare, among other topics. Her adventures in Asia continued to reveal the depth of how Jesus can transform a life that is hungry for Him.
Pam has shared her story all over the world, including in India, Pakistan, Malaysia, and Singapore. Chamber of Memories is a beautiful testament to the work of God in all stages of our lives, and it will edify and encourage all who seek to serve Him whole-heartedly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Word Alive Press
• Release date: Apr 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781486619054

Book preview

What people are saying

The life that has courage to come face to face with who I am, while at the same time coming face to face with a transformational Saviour, is the life destined to bring life-giving transformation to others. Pam is just this mix of humility, courage, and transformational life.

—Rev. Garry James

Senior Pastor

Valleyview Alliance Church

Pam is a rare combination of person whose life represents excellence, truth, and compassion. Her Chamber of Memories is an opportunity to peek into such uniqueness with enjoyment.

—Don Mclaughlin

President

High Adventure Gospel Communication Ministries

This autobiography is a beautifully written testament of God’s ever-present redeeming grace. From England to Canada, then on to India and places in between, Pam weaves her story with her heavenly Father’s constant influence as she lives the joys, ventures, and trials of a very full life.

—Pauline Doughty

Ministry Leader

Singing Waters Ministries

Pam Blackburn has been a dear friend and mentor along my lifetime journey for twenty-five years. I have had the blessing of watching her natural gifts touch many people. The messages from her life story can only be inspirational and an encouragement to the reader.

—Ken McReynolds

Cert. Engineering, B. Arch. M. Arch.

Design Research Consultant

CHAMBER OF MEMORIES

Copyright © 2020 by Pamela Blackburn

All rights reserved. Neither this publication nor any part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Unless otherwise indicated, scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked (NASB) are taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Print ISBN: 978-1-4866-1904-7

eBook ISBN: 978-1-4866-1905-4

Word Alive Press

119 De Baets Street, Winnipeg, MB R2J 3R9

www.wordalivepress.ca

Cataloguing in Publication may be obtained through Library and Archives Canada

To Clyde, Robin, Liz, and Roxanne.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Part I

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Part II

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Conclusion

Acknowledgements

This book could not have been written without the help and encouragement of many. To Brad Young, who first caught a glimpse of what I intended to convey: thank you. To those who typed—Jackie Copithorn, Amanda James, and especially Joan Shorthouse for her time and computer skills—a big thank you. Thanks also to Don McLaughlin for his patience and help. Thank you to all who generously contributed and gave me a reason to continue writing. Your encouragement and prayers filled me with a determination to finish what I’d started. Thank you, Robin, for being there for me. Your quiet spirit and presence helped me enormously. Thank you also Marina Reis, project manager, and Kerry Wilson, editor, at Word Alive Press, who have been a huge help. Last of all, my gratitude and praise to my precious Lord, who told me to record what He has done and is doing in my life.

Introduction

Memories come in various ways and forms. Some are huge, others small. Some are frightening, while others are elusive, sliding in and out of conscious thought. Others come thundering down hollow halls, ready to burst into view like a roman candle. As my mind races up and down the corridors leading to the great chamber of remembering, the echoes of events filter in and out, beckoning me to venture into that place where past joys, laughter, tears, and sorrows wait for me. Should I accept the murmured invitation and enter this vast space? Yes, I will step inside. I will come face-to-face with what makes me who I am.

Looking into this enormous mirror of history brings long-forgotten emotions to the surface of my mind. Like in a boiling cauldron, each bubble bursts as it reaches the top, thrusting its mist into ill-formed images. Dare I look through the film to bring it all into focus? Was this not the purpose of this journey? As I start on this road that looks back, I must remember that I am not alone.

This place is amazing—the picture-gallery of life lived over many years. Look there … the little girl with long, thin braids, spindly legs, and big eyes. One moment she’s laughing, jumping up and down, and then … yes … there she goes, running and looking for a place to hide. Fear chases her, overwhelms her, conquers her. It’s all right, little girl, there is one to come who will rescue you and fill you with wonder and joy. There is hope. Don’t give up, little girl; don’t give up.

I am that little girl. My name is Pamela, and I must pluck up the courage to look at my life and gain a better perspective of who I am. What a strange combination of longings, fears, and expectations whirl around this little being of contradictions! My dreams entangle me, throwing me from one side to another, so it’s only later that I can catch a glimpse of who I am and where I am headed.

Part I

Chapter One

The Family

I belonged to a family. I was the second of three daughters born into a household of turmoil and strife. Elizabeth, the oldest by three years, and Barbara, eighteen months younger than I, always seemed to be looking for attention from our parents. We were loved and taken care of, but something was missing.

Father

My poor, disappointed father. He never quite forgave his girls. He really wanted a son to carry on the family name.

He was born in England in the late 1800s. As a young boy, he won a scholarship to Christ Hospital, part of Oxford University, where he stayed until his education was completed. Everything he did, he did well. He was a perfectionist and a scholar. He painted, carved, and enjoyed photography, and he directed dramas and musicals in his spare time.

While working for the British government, he came to Canada on a three-year tour of duty. He liked it here, so he extended his time over and over again. He only went back to England twice on holiday before his death at the age of eighty-three. He was a disciplined, no-nonsense type of man. In his younger days in England, he lifted weights. I can remember standing on his hand as he lifted me high over his head. Breathtaking, heady stuff for a little girl!

He staunchly believed in the teachings of Charles Darwin. Evolution was the only answer to man’s origin, and he would hear no other. If one were brave enough to offer another theory, as I quickly found out, you would see the nostrils flare, the mouth tighten, and the fists clench. You’d then be treated to a table-pounding, intense debate that left one extremely exhausted—at least that’s how it left me.

Father enjoyed gardening and spent much time outdoors in the summer—planting, weeding, and playing golf in the putting green he’d set up in the side garden of our house. We also had a lovely enclosed garden in which to play. A lilac hedge bearing fragrant violet blossoms in the spring surrounded the house. Apart from the many flowers, there were vegetables, currant bushes, raspberries, strawberries, and rhubarb, all for our enjoyment. Every spring Father would peek under a basket where the rhubarb was hiding to see if it was ready for the warm sun. At just the right time, he’d remove the basket so we girls could eat the sour, pucker-making stalks. We used a small tool shed as a playhouse, and in the winter, Father made a skating rink where the vegetables grew.

We lived in that house for a couple of years. It had two basements; a stream ran through the lower one, and there were cobwebs everywhere.

Several families on the outskirts of our small town owned stables, so seeing people on horseback wasn’t unusual. The parents of one of Liz’s friends owned a stable and several horses. Liz and her friend often went riding. There were double doors on the front of the house, and one day Liz and a friend rode through those doors and into the house on horses. That was not a wise thing to do, as Liz got into a lot of trouble.

Between Ottawa and Aylmer, Quebec, where we lived, there was a race track. One evening while our parents were away, Liz rented their bedroom to a couple from the U.S.A. who owned a horse and were in town for the races at the track. After getting over the shock of coming home and finding their bedroom rented out, our parents moved into one of the other bedrooms until the races were over, as the couple were already in bed in their room. The other large hall at the back of the house was upstairs and furnished like a den.

We did a lot of crazy things while we were growing up. For example, I would hunt for field mice, capture them, and bring them into the house so I could have my own pet. I would get a long string and tie it to the hind leg of the mouse and then tie the other end of the string around a chair leg in the upper hall. I could never figure out how the mouse got away. I didn’t realize they gnawed through the string. I thought Mother kept freeing them because she didn’t like me and didn’t want me to have a pet to pour