Category Archives: Business Woman

Sunday School in Maple Grove

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Jackie’s Word on Faith and Flourishing

Date: Sunday, April 13, 2025
Location: Maple Grove Community Chapel

The chapel bell rang promptly at 9:45 a.m., its chime mingling with the scent of fresh coffee and warm pastries that lined the welcome table in the fellowship hall. Maple Grove was waking up to a sun-drenched Sunday, and though the breeze still carried the chill of spring, there was warmth in the air—a warmth that came not just from the weather, but from the people gathering with open hearts and expectant spirits.

At 10:00 a.m., the Sunday School meeting began in the main room, which was filled with long tables, hand-labeled name tags, Bibles, and friendly chatter. Jackie, a woman in her early 50s with a no-nonsense tone and a heart as wide as the prairie sky, stood up and called the class to attention.

“Good morning, church family,” she began, smiling as she adjusted her glasses. “I’ve been praying all week for this session. I believe God is doing something special here in Maple Grove—and not just in our spiritual lives, but even in how this town is growing and thriving.”

She gestured to a flip chart behind her that read: Faith, Flourishing, and the Favor of God in a Growing City.

Jackie continued, “Now, let me start by telling you something I read this week. Maple Grove’s population is booming—faster than anyone expected. And with that, local businesses are springing up like wildflowers in spring. I’m talking about entrepreneurs, families, dreamers—people with faith in their hearts and ideas in their hands.”

A murmur of agreement rolled through the class. Many in the room had felt the effects of this local boom firsthand. Dave and Cheryl, who opened a small home-baking business last year, nodded knowingly. “We had no idea it would take off the way it did,” Cheryl whispered.

Jackie opened her Bible. “Let’s start today with Deuteronomy 8:18: ‘But remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth.’”

She paused. “This verse reminds us that the ability to thrive—even in business—is a gift from God. It’s not just about luck or hustle; it’s about divine opportunity.”

The class leaned in.

“You see,” Jackie said, “our local government isn’t just sitting back. They’re actually helping people get started. They’re giving grants, tax breaks, even speeding up permits. And that’s not by accident. I believe that kind of favor flows from a higher source. God is paving a way for the people in this town to rise up and bless their neighbors through good, honest work.”

She walked to the window and looked out briefly.

“I passed by OMNI Brewing Co. the other day—y’all know that place is packed every weekend. And it’s not just about beer,” Jackie chuckled, “it’s about people coming together. It’s a meeting place. It’s innovation. It’s community.”

Then she looked back at the group. “We need to understand something. When a community grows, it’s not just buildings going up—it’s people finding purpose. It’s dreams waking up. And friends, I believe the Spirit of God is in this.”

She turned the page on the flip chart. It now read: “Opportunities to Bless Others Through Business.”

“The Maple Grove Business Association,” she said, “is helping people connect. There are networking events, mentorships, resources—things that didn’t exist a few years ago. If any of you have a dream to start something, don’t be afraid. This is a city of open doors.”

Eli, a younger man sitting in the back, raised his hand. “Jackie, do you think starting a business can be a kind of ministry?”

Jackie’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said. “And I’m glad you asked. Look at Paul—he was a tentmaker! God didn’t call everyone to preach from a pulpit. Some are called to preach through action. A kind word at a cash register. A fair wage paid to an employee. A bakery that gives its leftovers to the shelter. A tutoring center that charges less for low-income families. These are businesses—but they are also beacons of grace.”

She opened to Matthew 5:14: “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.”

“Friends,” Jackie said, now pacing with fervor, “Maple Grove is becoming that city on a hill. Not just because we have nice parks and new apartments. But because we have people who are choosing to shine in the everyday. In their homes. At their jobs. And yes—in their businesses.”

There was a silence. Not the empty kind, but the holy kind—where everyone feels the gravity of what’s just been spoken.

Then Jackie smiled again, softer this time.

“I know some of you are afraid to step out. Maybe you’ve had a dream tucked away for years. But let me tell you—faith isn’t faith until it walks out the door. And if God is stirring something in you, don’t bury it. The ground is fertile. This city is ready.”

She closed her Bible and sat down for a moment. The room stayed still.

Finally, she stood up one more time. “Let’s end in prayer. And I want to pray especially over anyone here today who’s carrying a dream. A business. A ministry. A vision. Let’s ask God to bless the soil under our feet and the work of our hands.”

Heads bowed. Voices hushed. Jackie’s voice, calm but bold, filled the room as she prayed:

“Lord, we thank You for Maple Grove—for its growth, its people, its potential. Thank You for the favor You are pouring out on this city. Bless the entrepreneurs, the dreamers, the risk-takers. May their ventures bring You glory. Give wisdom, strength, and divine connections to those walking into new territory. May this be a city that not only grows, but grows in grace. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

As the group lingered afterward, coffee cups were refilled, phone numbers exchanged, and side conversations sparked dreams anew.

Some spoke of starting that online shop. Others shared about writing their business plans at last. All left with one common thought: something is happening in Maple Grove, and by God’s grace, we get to be part of it.

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Renewable Energy: Burnie’s Path to Revival

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Burnie, a coastal town in Tasmania, began as a small settlement in the mid-19th century. It was known for its rich natural resources and timber. Early settlers saw potential in the land, especially with its port and access to the sea. Over the years, the town grew. By the early 20th century, it had developed into a thriving industrial hub. Factories and mills were built. The most significant was a pulp and paper mill, which became the heart of Burnie’s economy. It provided jobs for hundreds, if not thousands.

For decades, the mill shaped life in Burnie. It defined the rhythm of the town. Families depended on the work. The smell of the mill filled the air, a constant reminder of its presence. Through the 1960s and 70s, Burnie grew, and its port bustled with activity. Ships carried goods to and from the mainland. Industry was booming, and people were hopeful.

However, with prosperity came problems. The factories produced pollution, which began to affect the environment and people’s health. By the late 1970s, residents were voicing concerns. “The air doesn’t feel right,” one would say to another. But the economy depended on the mills. It wasn’t an easy situation.

In the 1980s, Burnie faced its first real crisis. The global economy changed, and demand for paper products declined. The town’s once-thriving industry began to falter. Factories started closing. Unemployment rose. By the 1990s, the iconic pulp and paper mill, which had been the lifeblood of the town, was shut down. Families moved away. Houses sat empty. Burnie seemed on the verge of collapse.

But the town wasn’t finished yet. In the early 2000s, there was talk of something new: renewable energy. Investors saw potential in the windy hills and sunny fields around Burnie. A project was proposed: the North West Renewable Energy Zone (REZ). It was an ambitious plan. Solar farms and wind turbines would be built. The Marinus Link, a power cable, would connect Tasmania’s energy supply to mainland Australia. It promised jobs, growth, and a chance for Burnie to reinvent itself.

Amid this, there was a local woman named Alison. Born and raised in Burnie, she was tough and practical. Everyone knew her. She worked at the mill for years before it closed. When the factory shut down, she didn’t leave like many others. She stayed, finding odd jobs, and helping where she could. She loved the town too much to abandon it.

One day, Alison had an idea. While others talked about big projects and investors, she thought about the people. “We need to get the youth involved,” she said to her friend, Margie. “They’re the future of this town.”

Margie smiled. “You always have big ideas, Alison.”

But Alison wasn’t joking. She wanted to start a training center, to teach the next generation about renewable energy. “They need skills,” she said. “We can’t rely on the old industries anymore.”

Her idea spread quickly. The town loved it at first. Local officials invited her to meetings. She spoke passionately about the need to prepare for a new era. She said, “Burnie’s not dead. It’s changing. We need to change with it.” People applauded. They admired her drive. She was becoming a local hero.

However, as with any new idea, resistance soon followed. Not everyone was on board. Some residents were afraid of change. They didn’t trust the new technologies, and they missed the old ways. Slowly, the whispers started. “She’s pushing too fast,” they said. “Why can’t she just leave things alone?”

Alison felt the shift. Friends stopped calling. People who once praised her now turned away in the streets. At the grocery store, she overheard someone say, “She thinks she can save the town, but she’s just causing trouble.” It hurt, but Alison pressed on. She kept working on her training program, even as her support dwindled. A few young people joined her, eager to learn. Quietly, they studied solar panels, wind turbines, and new technologies.

As time passed, Alison became more isolated. The town meetings continued without her, and she wasn’t invited anymore. “I don’t get it,” she said to her sister one night. “I just want to help.”

“Change scares people,” her sister replied.

Then, during a town festival celebrating Burnie’s history, something unexpected happened. The mayor took the stage to speak. He talked about the town’s past, its challenges, and its future. Then he paused and said, “There’s someone we need to thank today.” The crowd looked around, confused.

He continued, “Alison has been working behind the scenes, training our youth for a brighter future. Without her, Burnie wouldn’t be where it is today.” The crowd started clapping. Then it turned into cheers. Alison, standing at the back, was stunned.

“Alison, come up here!” the mayor called.

She hesitated but slowly made her way to the stage. As she stood there, looking at the crowd, she saw familiar faces smiling at her again. People who had turned away were now clapping. Tears filled her eyes.

The mayor smiled. “You believed in this town when others didn’t. Thank you.”

The crowd erupted into applause, louder than before. Alison looked out at her community, no longer an outcast. For the first time in years, she felt accepted again. And she knew Burnie was ready for its future.

The Mystery of USS Pelican: Exmouth’s Hidden Story

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The town of Exmouth, as it stands today, hides a layered history beneath its tranquil shores and the steady hum of tourists. Established during the Second World War, it was initially conceived as a critical naval base, a lifeline for Allied submarines struggling against the Japanese. Officially known as “Potshot,” this spartan outpost provided the means for refueling submarines after the retreat from Java in 1942. Its remote location made it ideal—far enough from air raids that plagued cities like Darwin and Broome.

The base was no glamour post. It was bare-bones, centered around a 500-ton unmotorized refueling barge, anchored at the mouth of Exmouth Gulf. Here, sailors found a strange reprieve from the war—sun, sand, and the bitter sense of isolation that came with knowing they were part of something secret and dangerous. Admiral James F. Calvert would later write about the base in his memoir, describing its harsh conditions and the daring men who rested there only to return to the dark waters below.

Potshot was also a launching pad for covert operations, such as Z Special Unit’s raid on Japanese shipping in Singapore Harbour in 1943. It was an audacious mission, known as Operation Jaywick, that disrupted enemy supply lines, a thorn in the side of the Japanese navy.

In the years that followed the war, Exmouth grew slowly, as few could imagine life beyond the military. But one local woman, Isla Greene, saw something others did not.

Isla was a guide, part of a small group of locals who had taken to showing tourists the remains of the military base. “There’s a story behind every stone,” she would say, her voice strong but her face lined with the quiet patience of someone who had seen more than most.

One day, Isla stood on a windswept ridge overlooking the Gulf. A small group of tourists, cameras at the ready, huddled close as she told the tale of Potshot. “This place was once alive with the buzz of fighters,” she said. “Men who came here knowing they might not go home. And then,” she paused, “there was the mystery of the submarine.”

A man from the group raised his hand. “What mystery?”

Isla smiled. “Back in ’42, a submarine never came back. The USS Pelican was meant to refuel here. Never made it. No wreckage, no radio signal. Just vanished.”

The tourists exchanged puzzled looks. “What do you think happened?” one asked.

“Two theories,” Isla replied. “One says it was caught by a Japanese sub. Ambushed at night. Never stood a chance. The other—more local—is that it’s still out there. They say it’s stuck in the reef, hidden deep where no one has found it.”

“Has anyone looked?”

“Of course. Many have. But the ocean is a vast thing. It doesn’t give up its secrets so easily.”

Over time, Isla became the unofficial keeper of the town’s history. She knew every rusting remnant of Potshot, every story passed down by old sailors. But there was more to Isla than her tours.

In 2009, something happened that few in Exmouth had ever experienced—a modern brush with disaster. A Qantas flight, QF72, bound for Perth, had to make an emergency landing at the nearby Learmonth Airport. The cause was a failure in the plane’s ADIRU, which confused the angle of attack with altitude, making the aircraft believe it was in a steep pitch. In a panic, the plane forced a sharp nosedive, causing passengers to float weightlessly in the air. No lives were lost, but several were injured.

Isla had been among the passengers. That day changed something in her. She began spending more time alone, walking along the coastline, staring at the sea as though it held answers. When asked, she would only say, “You look at life differently when the earth falls away from under you.”

One evening, a year later, Isla sat at her usual spot near the shore. A young fisherman approached her. “Isla,” he said, “I think I’ve found something.”

She looked up. His face was pale, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and fear. “Found what?” she asked.

“A wreck. Not far from the reef. It’s big. Could be a sub.”

Isla’s breath caught in her throat. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Thought you should know first.”

Isla stood slowly. “Take me there.”

The boat ride out to the reef was silent, the air thick with anticipation. As they neared the spot, Isla could see something dark beneath the water. The shape of a submarine—corroded and broken, but unmistakable.

“That’s it,” the fisherman whispered. “The Pelican.”

Isla gazed down at the wreck. Memories of her old tales, her conversations with tourists, flooded her mind. “So it was the reef,” she muttered. “All this time.”

The fisherman frowned. “Or it could’ve been something else. Maybe it wasn’t the reef. Maybe it was attacked, and the ocean just brought it here.”

Isla’s eyes narrowed. “Or maybe the sea just kept it hidden until now.”

The mystery seemed solved, but not entirely. Some would say it was a simple wreck. Others would claim something more sinister—a final ambush, perhaps, hidden under the guise of nature. But for Isla, standing there in the twilight, it was enough to know that one story had come full circle.

“Let’s leave it be,” she said softly. “It’s had its rest.”

As the boat turned back to shore, Isla watched the wreck disappear beneath the waves, where it had always belonged.