Whatever He Says

The Saga of the Stones Continues

2012-02-14T20:54:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

In my January 31 post, Close Quarters, where I started to tell the tale of the parking woes in Tanyard Close in Alvechurch and the strange response of the local housing trust to concerns raised; I said that there were 42 flats for the elderly and disabled in the close. That seemed like a lot to me, but it was what I read on the website about the community. I need to make a correction; there are only 29 flats--that seems much more like the cozy close--and the other 13 housing units are bungalows for seniors in a nearby street.

On Saturday, when I talked to Rob, of course I wanted to hear the latest news about the battle that began to unfold when I was there in January.

In my last post on this topic: The Gathering Protest; I mentioned that a petition was being organized. Well 24 out of the 29 residents of the close have signed it! One person didn't sign because his father is his power of attorney, and the other four may have been away, but basically there is naturally, unanimous agreement with the cause of maintaining the parking in the close for the residents and their visitors as the current signs state.

And in "The Gathering Protest," I had a photo of the stones that had been painted white for visibility when Rob had pointed out that they should be removed due to being a tripping hazard. Well, they were placed back on the grass at the edge of the road to prevent people parking there--and of course if you have heard the news about the recent weather in England you will know that they were invisible in the snow.

Already one truck that was reversing to turn around, reversed over one of them, which was then carried up under the vehicle's wheel well. The driver got out, dislodged the rock, and threw it.

The sub plot of who called the housing trust about the rocks being moved in the first place continues. First Rob thought it was the lady who lives downstairs below him, but then the man across the road (I'll call him Joe) said, "No, it wasn't her, it was Joan (not her real name either.)"

That was a surprise since Joan was such a friendly sort, but while I was there Joe came to the window with dire warnings about Joan. "Don't trust her," he said darkly, "Be very careful what you say to her."

Just before I left, Joan took delivery of a new car and excitedly told us it was coming. She didn't seem like a dastardly villain to me, but Joe persisted in his warnings.

I am happy to say that Rob said to Joan this week, "I've even heard it said that you were the one who called the housing trust."

And Joan said, "What? No! I promise you on my son's life it wasn't me." That was drastic but clear denial. Joan's son has disabilities and also lives in the close.

Today I had breakfast with my friend Irene, who pops up here now and again. I wrote about her in September in a post called, In the Soup, and how she sometimes reminds me of Judge Judy, and also the British television character, Cracker. I was sharing the whole story with her, and she folded her arms in thought.

"I bet I know who it was who reported it," she said.

"Who?" I asked.

"That police guy," she said, waving her hands in the air, "the one that came to the meeting with the woman from the housing trust."

"You know I never thought of that!" I said, "But I bet you're right."

And when I told her about the meeting with the woman who came accompanied by the "police guy" or community service officer, which I described in Close Quarters Part 2, and where she said that they had to take the signs down because they couldn't police them, Irene said, "Well, what exactly is his job? I would have asked him, 'Can you describe what exactly it is that you do? Because I would think that policing the signs is exactly what you should do.'"

Oh! I wish I had thought to do that! This is when you wish Judge Judy had been in attendance.

Catalyst

2012-02-12T22:42:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

Tonight saw a vision being fulfilled. Susan and I started talking about the idea last fall, after she attended the Canadian Willow Creek Leadership Summit and she bought the DVDs. We watched several of them one morning with our team of leaders at work and they were SO good; such valuable teaching.

Since we have no Sunday night service, we had the thought of using that time to share the 8 DVD's over 8 weeks, and then continue with other DVD sets.

So we put a proposal to our church board and it was accepted. Susan made some excellent posters advertising it and put an ad on our local Christian radio station. The weeks went by--and tonight we began, with Bill Hybels and a talk on Five Critical Questions.

There were just 12 of us tonight. A small start, but lots of discussion, and Susan and I are so excited.

Our son Pete suggested the name Catalyst for the evenings. We loved it and adopted it.

I have a vision for people who have no connection with church coming to hear the material on leadership development and finding a bridge to Christ. We have yet to promote it really well in the community, but we have only just begun.

If anyone in the area of Tottenham is reading this and would like to attend, we meet from 7.00 pm to 8.30 pm. Next week's session is by Dr. Henry Cloud, speaking on: The Evil, the Foolish and the Wise.

Speaking of leadership development, I have a note book at work that goes with me everywhere. I number the pages and at the back of the book I have an index, so that if I attend a meeting on a certain date, I can easily find the notes on that meeting in my note book. It's not just meetings that I take notes on, and if you were to look in the index, you would see and entry that says: "What I learned from a big mistake"....Page 71. I look in the index infrequently enough that every time I've seen that entry, I've forgotten what the bad mistake was, and have had to turn to page 71 to remind myself. So I have reinforced my learning several times, which is a very good thing!

The whole entry involves other people so I can't share it all here, but it unfolded after a meeting where I had been facilitating a discussion. Susan stayed afterwards to help me tidy up.

"I thought that meeting went well," I said to her, "what did you think?"

"Yes, it was a good meeting," Susan said, "but...." And she shared some things I had been oblivious to.

And so my self satisfied bubble popped. Susan and I sat down in the wing backed chairs and she filled in my blind spots so well that every minute I felt worse about how far off course I'd been in my appraisal of "how things had gone."

I made a phone call, apologized profusely in a voice mail message and then had coffee with someone I had inadvertently disrespected. The person also apologized for putting me on the spot at one point, and I apologized for EVERYTHING, because by now I fully appreciated how wrong I'd been.

There were many things I learned from the whole wretched experience, which mercifully was easily put right with a little humility (which I seem to get plenty of practice in.)

Among the things I learned were these three things on facilitating a discussion:
1) Stick to the process and allow it to unfold without jumping to decisions too quickly.
2) Don't make quick assumptions or draw quick conclusions.
3) Ask forgiveness quickly when you realize that something went wrong.

I think the source of my passion for leadership development is an awareness that I never stop learning, and a desire to lead and grow with others.

One of the definitions of a catalyst is: "Someone or something that helps bring about a change." No wonder we are excited.

Precious Memories

2012-02-10T22:52:00.002-05:00

By Belinda

It is hard to believe that two weeks have past already since our last night in Alvechurch, but one more precious memory lingers that I have to record.

I wrote in my post called The Gift of how Mum one night, suddenly answered my unspoken longing for her blessing in prayer by holding on to my hands and saying, "I must pray for you," and then how no words came, although she tried, but I knew that God knew her heart as well as she had known mine and how deeply moving that moment was because of her initiating it.

Mum had a stroke in 2003 that left her with aphasia. It has limited Mum's ability to speak, mainly because she has things to say but can't find the words. She can say simple routine things, but putting a more complex thought into words is impossible, even though the thought is there; we can see it. Mum takes it in stride and usually tries, then shrugs, shakes her head and smiles.

So you see, it was a big thing that she tried so hard to do something like pray out loud.

On two subsequent nights after we finished our prayers for friends and family, me sitting on the side of her bed, holding her soft hands in mine on the edge of her bed covers, she prayed for me again.

On the second night of the three, we said our "amen's" in unison at the end of my prayer, and then, still holding on to my hands, with an effort that took everything she had, small puffs of air escaped her lips, then, "Lord..large...love...my Belinda." I was stunned and humbled.

On the third night, as if I had not been blessed enough already, after we finished our prayer of gratitude, and blessings on others, Mum continued again; she was becoming fluent in prayer! She prayed: "And, for, my lovely little" (the next word would not come no matter how she tried, so I helped with "Belinda" and she repeated, "Belinda."

"Mum, thank you, your prayer means so much," I said, "I feel like a little baby again being rocked in your arms."

"Oh," she said, with eyes that beamed intense love, "You're much better than a little baby."

And again I was undone and carry with me still the blessing of those moments.

This song by one of Mum's favourite singers: Precious Memories by the late Jim Reeves.

Cynthia's Best Peanut Butter Pie

2012-02-08T23:18:00.000-05:00

(Country Living)

3/4 cup icing sugar
1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3 tbsp cornstarch
1 tbsp flour
1/8 tsp salt
3 large eggs
3 cups milk
1 tsp vanilla
1 deep 9 inch pie shell, baked
1/4 tsp cream of tartar

1) In a small bowl, with fingers or fork, combine icing sugar & peanut butter to make coarse crumbs. Set aside.

2) In a 2 quart saucepan, stir together 1/2 cup granulated sugar, the cornstarch, flour and salt.

3)Separate eggs, placing whites in medium sized bowl, and set aside to warm to room temperature. Add yolks to sugar mixture in saucepan, along with milk. With wire whisk, stir until very well combined.

4) Over medium heat, stirring constantly, heat milk mixture to boiling. Cook, stirring 2 minutes longer. Remove pudding from heat; stir in butter and vanilla.

5) Heat oven to 375 degrees F. Sprinkle 1/3 of the peanut butter mixture over bottom of pie shell. Spoon 1/2 of the pudding over crumbs. Sprinkle with another 1/3 of crumbs and top with remaining pudding.

6) Add cream of tartar to egg whites in medium sized bowl. With electric mixer at high speed, beat whites until soft peaks form. Gradually sprinkle remaining 1/4 cup granulated sugar over whites, beating until meringue forms stiff peaks when beater is lifted.

7) Spread meringue over pudding in pie shell, being sure to touch edge of shell to seal. With spatula or back of spoon, swirl top of meringue. Sprinkle remaining 1/3 of peanut butter crumbs around top edge of pie to make a border.

8) Bake Pie 8-10 minutes or until meringue is golden. Cool completely on wire rack before cutting. Store in refrigerator.

The Pie

2012-02-07T22:18:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

She brought it to a Christmas party, the pie, and she presented it as the luxury it turned out to be.

She held it out to me in both hands as though offering treasure, saying that it was her favourite pie. In a household shared with men, this peanut butter pie with home made vanilla pudding beneath and topped by the lightest meringue was a work of art too delicate for their taste; when she made it at home it was for herself, her own special treat.

But it struck me then that the pie was so much like her. She is a classic beauty in the Katherine Hepburn style; graceful and stunning, even her late --who knows--it is impossible to tell. Her long hair is white-gray now, dramatically drawn back from a widows peak that frames her face like a heart. Bold eyebrows arch over blue, observant, intelligent eyes. She holds her small frame like a dancer, straight and lithe.

She is quiet, but with a quick wit; yet orderly, sensible and wise.

I heard of her before I knew her years ago, from my friend Frances, whose best friend she is. Frances of the impeccable taste!

And through Frances all those years ago she came to cell group and her life became part of ours too. I will always remember her discovery of faith and her words, "I am so angry that no one told me this before. I would have made so many different choices..."

Today she brought copies of the recipe for the pie. Written, yes, in the most beautiful of penmanship. I can't believe I left it at work, but I will bring it home tomorrow, and share it here.

Yes, it made me think of how like her it is, Cynthia's Peanut Butter Pie.

The Gathering Protest

2012-02-05T21:18:00.003-05:00

By Belinda

"Belinda," Rob said, when we spoke by phone yesterday, "They must be putting in new carpeting in the community hall, and on Friday--you won't believe it--but workmen left a big roll of industrial carpeting outside the hall--about a thousand pounds worth, as well as two large tubs of adhesive and it's still just lying there outside."

England is in the grip of such deep cold and snow that Mum's carers didn't even make it out to her last night. The adhesive, which probably costs 50 pounds a tub, is likely frozen now and unusable, as well as the carpeting being left outside covered only by plastic sheeting.

Today I had reason to call Rob again and he continued with more news. Word has gone around the close about the parking issue and there is widespread concern about the planned change to the signs.

I respected Rob's decision that I had done all he wanted me to, and let it go, but he said today, "You've started the ball rolling with your emails and it's for us to take it up."

One of the women is putting together a petition and a letter of protest. Some people who have lived there longer than Rob and Mum, remember when the community of sheltered housing was owned by the local council. When the local housing trust took over from the council in 2000, a letter was sent to all of the residents explaining the changeover, with an assurance that nothing would change. One of Rob's neighbours still has her letter. Someone else has a letter referring to the fact that the parking is for the residents and their visitors.

Rob said that when the housing trust gets the letter and petition, a letter will be sent back to each resident of the close acknowledging it and a meeting will have to be arranged to hear their concerns.

"And of course, there are the white stones, now invisible and dangerous in the snow, and a thousand pounds worth of carpet left out for the weekend," he said.

A voice is rising in the close and together this group of older and disabled people are taking on a system that seems to have lost its senses.

Something heartening is afoot in Alvechurch! Come to think of it, some of these people, were, like me, young in the 1960's--the era of protest movements! Who knows what will happen next. :)

Afterglow

2012-02-05T10:26:00.002-05:00

By Belinda

We arrived home from England on Saturday at 6.00 p.m. just last week; funny how that seems so long ago already! I called Rob almost as soon as we got in, so that he would know that we were safely home, but I waited until Sunday morning to call Mum, because of course, she was already fast asleep when I called Rob.

I thanked her for the wonderful time that we had together and she said, "Thank you; it was the best time; better than all the other ones." This is a lot for Mum to express in words.

Rob came on the phone then to say that Mum had been really happy all day. While we were there, Sam, one of her wonderful young carers, told me, "Oh, your mum was ever so unhappy after you left last time." My heart dropped at knowing that, so Rob's words were a gift.

What made the difference I am not sure. Having Paul there was an added blessing to all of us, but I also think that this time, more than ever before, I held true to my main reason for being there; simply being with Mum, Rob, and a very few other close family members and friends.

I accompanied Rob on shopping trips to Tooltime and Screwfix and got out of the car to go inside with him, without reluctance or him having to ask. With all my heart I wanted to do what would make him happy. And I lavished Mum with as much love as was possible in two weeks.

There was not a single regret. In case it sounds as though I am tooting my own horn, I don't mean to, because the "old me" would have gone less happily and purposefully to buy tools, and would have been divided her attention to Mum, tempted away to spend precious time on other distractions.

God is changing me, bit by bit, and my heart to one that is undivided. The honour goes to him, but the blessings are all mine as he reveals his Son in me.

Philippians 3:13-14

The Message (MSG)

Focused on the Goal

^12-14I'm not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don't get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I've got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I'm off and running, and I'm not turning back.

Fill the garden of my soul with the wind of love, that the scents of the Christian life may be wafted to others;then come and gather fruits to thy glory.So shall I fulfill the great end of my being--to glorify thee and be a blessing to men

Valley of Vision p. 325

I Too am a Bunny Eater

2012-02-03T19:54:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

Susan left a cryptic comment on the last blog post, referring to being a "bunny eater," and Dave confessed to confusion (I don't know why! :)) This is to explain... Really, the rabbits of the world are quite safe around here, for the kind of bunny Susan referred to did not come with fur.

It was at cell group a few years ago, shortly after Easter, that my friend Frances; mother of three of our God-children, confessed to a dastardly deed. I had bought all three children a gold foil wrapped, Lindt chocolate bunny for Easter. Frances said that when Summer-Lily searched for hers and couldn't find it, she had to own up.

I let out a gasp with a disbelieving, "Oh...Frances--you didn't!"

She ate her child's Easter egg! "Bad, bad, Frances," must have come across loud and clear.

And the conversation went on to other things. But, as it did, I had another conversation going on in my head and heart, as you might imagine.

After about ten minutes, I could stand it no longer; out of the blue I blurted out, "I'm sorry, I have to say this; I, too, am a bunny eater!"

And of course I am. There have been countless such "transgressions!" :)

And once we had all finished laughing, we had a new phrase to use, which none of us there have ever forgotten; to be used when we are in danger of looking down with judgement on someone else's failings: "I too, am a bunny eater."

Thanks for asking Dave! :)

Come With Me for Your Good

2012-02-02T23:15:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

I've wanted to post this excerpt from a prayer from The Valley of Vision, since I read it in December, I loved it so much. But this seems the perfect time to share it.

As Paul and I prayed this morning at breakfast, I thought about how easy it can be to sink into a kind of meanness of spirit if you are not careful, even over something innocent. I am all too prone to that, and so the prayer inspired me. Here it is:

May I render my profession of the gospel not only impressive, but amiable and inviting.

May I hold forth the way of Jesus with my temper as well as my tongue,with my life as well as my lips

May I say to all I meet,

I am journeying towards God's given place,

Come with me for your good...

May I be in character and conduct like:

the dew of heaven

the salt of the earth

the light of the world,

the fullness of the fountain...

May I see all things in a divine light so that they may inform my judgement and sanctify my heart.

Quick Update

2012-02-02T06:45:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

In talking with Rob today, he decided to leave things as they are regarding the parking issue in the close.

The worker from the housing trust has written to renters of the hall to ask that they consider parking based on ability. We appreciate the letter being sent.

The rocks are going back, painted white.

The signs are misleading and will be removed, since they cannot be policed by the housing trust, and a new sign is going up.

This is Rob's issue to decide on as he lives there and I would support him in whatever he believed he should do. The majority of people in the close probably do not have cars and this would not be an issue for them.

We are focusing on gratitude for good housing in a wonderful community. Even though the answer was not what we had hoped, our concerns were heard and responded to.

End of this intrigue.

Close Quarters: Part 2

2012-02-01T22:36:00.000-05:00

By Belinda
Continued from yesterday:

When we arrived in Tanyard Close for our vacation, Rob mentioned something about rocks having been placed by workmen from the local housing trust, right in front of the bench where the residents of the close sit in warmer weather. I didn't really pay much attention to what he said about the rocks. They weren't there anymore when we arrived because Rob had moved them to the back of the flats where the lawns go down to the little brook. One of his neighbours said they could always make a rockery out of them.

Apparently they had been placed there to prevent people parking on the grass, but the rocks actually created a tripping hazard, especially in the dark, not to mention the fact that where they had been placed, right in front of the park bench, was at odds with people actually using the bench to sit on. But all of this we were oblivious to when we came back to the close onThursday evening after 7.00, when the Slimming World club was in session in the community hall, and found the parking space outside Mum's flat, as well as every other parking space, taken. So we did what Rob had told us to and parked on the grass at the side of the road temporarily. Paul didn't remember until he was in bed that he had to move the car, but when he did, he got up and went back out into the night and moved it.

A few days before we were to leave for home, Rob came downstairs to Mum's flat in a hurry. The workmen from the housing trust had come back, retrieved the rocks from beneath the trees behind the flats, and apologetically put them back where they had been when Rob moved them. It seemed that one of the neighbours had called the trust to put them back, probably because our car had left tire marks on the grass, which we did feel badly about. Rob was pretty sure he knew which neighbour had called.

Rob explained what had happened and then said, "Belinda, I've called the housing trust and they are sending someone to meet with me. Before they get here I want you to come with me and write down what the parking signs say."

I grabbed a pen and paper and took note of the wording on the two big signs. The intent was clear; the parking in the close was for residents and their visitors.

One sign is right outside the community hall, while at the entrance to the close is another sign, again very clear, ironically with the Slimming World sign right beneath it.

Rob asked me to sit in on the meeting. "I always lose my train of thought under pressure," he said.
I was happy to do anything he asked of me that would be a support.

In addition to both signs, there is a sign on the community hall that specifically directs that parking access to the hall must be kept clear for emergency services and also states that there is free parking just around the corner in a car park which is just behind the Red Lion Pub.

I was sure that if we pointed this out to the person coming to meet with Rob, they would see the underlying problem and that it had an easy solution.

A few minutes later the door bell rang and a short stocky woman with blond hair stood at the door, and she was accompanied by a Community Service Office, a sort of community policeman.

I welcomed them and invited them into the sitting room, where Mum and Rob were and after the woman and the man who looked like a body guard sat down on the sofa, she asked if Rob knew who had moved the stones.

"Yes," said Rob, "I moved them. They were a tripping hazard."

The woman said, "Thank you for admitting that; I respect your honesty."

I focused on the underlying issue, which didn't seem to me to be the rocks. I pointed out that the reason people had no choice but to park on the grass was the fact that the people using the hall were not respecting the parking signs. I said that an easy solution would be to make it clear at the outset when bookings were made, that there was no parking in the close, and to send a polite reminder if it still was a problem. I truly believed that most people, with a gentle reminder, would say, "Oh, of course, we're sorry!" And it seemed to me that the small amount of exercise, walking a few meters to a car park, would help the slimmers.

At this point things became surreal. The woman said, "Well, if that's what the signs say, then they say the wrong thing, and I'm going to have to take them down." The twilight zone could not have been more bizarre.

I explained that the parking spaces were needed by carers who come to support the residents of the close, such as Mum's Helping Hands ladies who run to many homes in succession. The woman said, "If they are able bodied they can walk to the car park." Not the slimmers--the carers for the people who live in the close!

I could not believe my ears. I was incredulous, but Rob was getting angry, so I tried to unobtrusively tap him on the knee to signal him to stay calm, but unfortunately Rob misread my signal and thought I meant he should ramp it up a notch!

I was a bit worried that all of this might be upsetting for Mum, but she sat through all of it with no more flicker of emotion than if she was watching a television show. We were probably more entertaining than The Price is Right.

The clincher came when the woman said, "Well, I will write a letter to the slimming club, but if you would like to go around your neighbours and take up a petition, I might be able to do a little bit more."

I thought, "Is it just me or is this getting stranger by the minute? Surely a petition should not be needed to uphold an existing rule."

Rob pointed out to her that he was aware of a law suit by someone from nearby similar housing who had tripped over a tree stump placed for a similar purpose.

But it felt like that the woman's mind was made up, so when she said that this was her opinion, but that her supervisor might say something different, I asked for her supervisor's name and said that I would be contacting her.

Meanwhile, a few moments after the woman and the Community Service Officer left, the poor workmen came back and took the rocks away again.

I went to the website of the housing trust, where there is an impressive list of service standards, including one that says, "Customer care means putting customers first and respecting their rights, needs and views."

Then I wrote an email outlining our concerns and said that it didn't feel like that principle had been in effect when we met that day but that I hoped that it had not been a true reflection of their customer service.

Meanwhile word of the visit spread around the close. I was doing the dishes at the kitchen sink that night when there was a rap at the window. It was Rob's neighbour John, from across the road, on his scooter. His sister is a town counsellor. She had been called by another neighbour and told of the issue. And she was already working on it. "Those rocks will not be coming back," she said.

Meanwhile John told Rob he was wrong about whom he thought had called the housing trust in the first place. In fact, according to John, it was one of the ladies Rob had been chatting with. He had told her he thought he knew who had called, and she didn't tell him that it was her. Of course this is according to John and if it is true, who can blame her for not admitting to it?! :)

In spite of the counsellor's word on the rocks, they did come back. The long suffering workmen brought them back the next morning, placed them on newspaper outside the community hall, and set about painting them white. This is so that they will show up and be less of a tripping hazard. Unless it snows; in which case they will be camouflaged.

There is a funny side to all of this, which I have tried to focus on, but today I received an email from the housing trust to say that unbelievably, the signs are to be changed. The email says, in part:

"In some places we have signs up that have been there many years and would act as a polite notice request only. In this case we believe the sign is misleading."

Really?? This feels as though the rules are being made up as we go. It's interesting to work in social services here in Canada and be on the other side, trying to work with a system in this case. It feels as though a wall went up and ranks have been closed, and the respect you would hope for is not there. Maybe I am fixated and have tunnel vision and there is something I am not seeing clearly; that has been known to happen! I would love to know what others think. I have tried to be as fair as possible in describing the situation.

I have replied to the email asking how to go about appealing the conclusion they have come to. It may not make any difference, but at least we will have done our best.

Close Quarters; Part One

2012-01-31T23:32:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

Tanyard Close, in Alvechurch, is where Mum and Rob both live in housing for older and disabled people.

42 one bedroom flats and bungalows; compactly built, are fitted into an area of land that is smaller than our backyard in Bond Head. The homes are tiny; utilitarian and efficiently designed.

A mix of single and married people live in the close and a sprinkling of people with disabilities, such as the young man whose house is across from Mum's kitchen window. He has Cerebral Palsy; uses a wheelchair and has round-the-clock carer support. Others like Mum, have Helping Hands support two or three times a day and some live without outside support.

At the back of the flats, trees border the lawns at the edge of a brook. The curbs are cut for accessibility, and graded with low edges for safety. The residents know and look out for one another and in the summer neighbours sit out on the benches on the front lawns and chat.

Rob moved into the close after living in dire circumstances for a year and how grateful he was to get one of the coveted flats. When Mum had a stroke, we applied for her to get a flat too, and she got one on the ground floor, and on a corner, right across from the community hall, where she used to love to attend the Sycamore club, a once a week drop-in for seniors. Her flat is number 2 and Rob's upstairs, is number 6. It was obvious to us that God gave her the very best. Flats are not easy to get there and are in high demand when they come free. We often marvel at how things worked out, so that she has such wonderful support from Rob and he still has his own space and life.

Because Paul came with me on this visit, we rented a car so that he could connect with other friends and family easily. I wondered about parking but Rob assured me that parking in the close is for visitors too, and Mum has no car so never uses a parking space.

We arrived and parked safely next to Rob's car and he mentioned that when the community hall is being used, as it is once a week by a slimming club, parking in the close is difficult to find because it is taken by those using the club. If that happened he told us to park on the grass and move the car after everyone went home...it did happen and we did park on the grass and innocently found ourselves in the midst of an intrigue.

To be continued!

2012-01-30T21:56:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

On our journey to England just over two weeks ago, we left Amsterdam in the early morning, just as the sun was rising.

We flew under rosy dawn skies, over the red tiled roofs of the city and briefly over flat, orderly, farm fields divided by canals and dotted with neat farmhouses--unmistakably Dutch. In minutes we reached the sea shore, the beaches of Holland--and we could see the surf dancing on the shoreline like the lace that borders Dutch net curtains. Then we were over the ocean--the North Sea, which I crossed many times as a child, to and from visits to our Dutch relatives.

The Cityhopper droned over the sea dotted with small boats chugging busily along. And then, in less than an hour, we came to the cliffs of England, distinctly different from; although so close in distance to; the country of the Dutch.

We flew over a patchwork of green. From the sky it seemed that the country was entirely farmland; ancient fields laid out as for centuries like a crazy quilt, separated not by canals but by hedgerows and trees. We saw cars moving along the country lanes; farms and villages and eventually taller buildings and bigger roads, and the city of Birmingham.

From the air all looked so peaceful and quiet, but drawing closer to landing, life teemed all around us in increasing intensity.

And so it was on our visit to Alvechurch. From a distance it may seem like a quiet country village, but draw closer and it is alive with the drama of intertwined relationships. And one such drama I found myself in the middle of...but more on that tomorrow (with apologies for being a tease; I would love to write all night but morning comes all too soon!)

Strangers for Only a Moment

2012-01-29T21:41:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

We worked our way down the aisle of the KLM Cityhopper that was about to take us from Birmingham to Amsterdam; where we would connect with our flight to Toronto.

We found our seats in row 16; and squeezed into the tiny middle and aisle seats. A man was already seated in the window seat, and as we waited for take off I closed my already heavy eyelids. I could hear snatches of conversation between him and Paul and wondered briefly how my reserved husband would manage with a chatty seatmate, but I had been up since 2.00 a.m. and the pull of sleep was irresistible.

I woke short minutes later with a jump, to the plane accelerating and rising from the runway, my foggy brain wondering where I was.

Now I found myself straining to follow the conversation over the drone of the plane engine. Paul and the man were sharing details, seeking common ground for conversation. They established where they were going: we to Canada and our seatmate to Africa. Next the man told Paul that he currently lives in Aston, on the outskirts of Birmingham.

"My dad used to have a church in Birmingham," said Paul.

"Oh, you grew up in a Christian home?" said the man, "Are you a Christian?"

"Yes," I heard Paul answer.

"Me too," replied our seatmate.

He turned out to be a pastor: Pastor Jacques Bishweka, from Rwanda. He proudly told us that he was the father of 6, even though he was only 40. I was leaning in now, no longer sleepy, interested in the story this man might have to tell, and there was a wonderful story.

I wanted to know his faith story and he told us that he grew up with parents who were "religious" but not Christian. His father was an alcoholic and his mother also drank and died when he was very young.

A crisis or turning point came when he was studying for his A level exams and was extremely stressed. He only had one chance to pass; everything in his future depended on this opportunity; without which he could not go on to higher education.

Jacques's 12 year old sister, who was a Christian, said, "I think you should come to church, there is a pastor speaking whom I think that you would find interesting."

He scoffed at her at first, but she was persistent, "No, really you should come," she said, so he did go. The pastor who was speaking had a prophetic ministry, and at the end of the service he prayed for Jacques and said, "I see you speaking before people. You will go to Europe and speak. God is going to use you to heal people."

The prophesy seemed incredible. Jacques couldn't see how that could possibly happen, but he went back a couple of days later when there was an all night prayer meeting. Again the pastor prayed for Jacques and this time Jacques began to speak in other tongues as can be read about in Acts 2 , and was filled with the Holy Spirit. His life was set on a different course than it had been just days before.

After leaving school, he began to prepare for the ministry and went to Bible school in Kenya, then a man came to him and said, "God has told me that I have to help you by supporting you to go to Bible college in England." This was beginning to sound like a chapter from the book of Acts!

Indeed, the man supported Jacques, who went to stay with a bishop in their church in England to continue his training. At the point we met Jacques he was working on his Ph.D.. and pastoring a church in Aston.

He lived through the Rwandan genocide in 1994 when 800,000 Rwandans were killed in 100 days, but lost 6 siblings and witnessed the brutal murder of his step mother.

He told us how hard it had been to minister to people who had lived through the massacres in his country and who asked, "How could God allow this? Why didn't he protect us? Where was God?"

Jacques's eyes, which had been animated and dancing until then, were serious, "It was hard to help people understand that God had nothing to do with what happened." I thought that this was perhaps how God had used him to heal people.

Due to government red tape only 3 of his 6 children in England. The other 3 are in boarding school in Rwanda, and he was on his way to visit them there when we met him. He goes there twice a year to give them support and meet with their teachers.

In spite of everything that could be considered hard, the overwhelming impression of Pastor Jacques Bishweka was joy. We were strangers for only a moment.

Our Day at Schiphol--in Photos

2012-01-28T22:04:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

We are safely back in Canada after a 19 hour journey home. The journey shouldn't have been that long but our flight was changed from the one that I had booked, just before we left, meaning that we would have to be at Birmingham airport at 4.30 a.m. and then would have a 5 hour wait between flights, at Schiphol Airport

It was gruelling for Paul--it did make for a very long day; but I loved being surrounded by the Dutch language; people watching; visiting the art exhibition entitled Holland in Winter; reading and taking photographs. I made the most of the time and secretly enjoyed it.

Here is some of what I saw at the beautiful airport.

I have more to tell, but just now I am going to bed.

"Good" Bye

2012-01-27T04:43:00.003-05:00

By Belinda

It was Saturday evening and Mum was tucked up cozily in bed. Our friends, Eileen, Chris and Nel-Rose had left a couple of hours earlier for their long drive north to Kendal, in the Lake District. Nel is studying nursing at Lancaster University and we are all so happy to see her following her dream.

I sat on the side of Mum's bed, as usual going over the lovely moments in the day that we had shared. I told Mum that Nel is hoping to do one of her placements in Canada.

"Wouldn't that be nice?" I said, "She might be able to stay with us."

Mum nodded, "She can stay in my room," she said, smiling.

"Do you still remember the loft room?" I asked; Mum's stroke in 2003 took some of her memories with it.

"Oh, yes," she said, "I remember all of your rooms. I don't remember the other house," she added, making a face, and I knew that she was referring to the last house she lived in with Dad, on Snake Lane; a place with no happy memories. That is a house whose rooms she has chosen to forget.

We reminisced about how she loved looking up at the stars and moon through the skylight over her bed in the loft room. There she was surrounded only by love and happy times with family. And also by all of our friends, who like everyone who ever met Mum, loved her at first sight.

Mum was up for anything and everything; coming with me everywhere I went: worship practices; writer group meetings; church, cell group; shopping--and endless coffees and teas with friends. She loved it all and partook to the full--never admitting to being tired.

It was so good to know that some of those memories remain with Mum as well as with me.

Goodbyes at the end of our happy times together back then, were hard in a different way to now. Then, she was leaving intense happiness for a hard life at home. And yet outwardly we spoke only of gratitude for what God had given us together, and "next time."

We held our sadness close inside and did not admit to it; that would have been too hard. As I watched her brave, smiling face vanish finally from sight, I would turn away, holding tightly to Paul's hand, head bowed to hide the brave smile on my own face that was now crumpling into tears in spite of my valiant effort to hold them back.

I am grateful that now it is different when we part. I leave Mum in the care of loving hands; those of Rob, and her carers, who are respectful and kind. She knows that I leave for a life that is happy, and I know that she is cherished.

We still focus on being grateful, as we should, for all that we have been given, and we still cling to "next time;" for always there is next time. We can count on that, whether here, or in heaven, where one of us will be waiting for the other at heaven's gate one day.

With grateful hearts always, we will say, "Until we meet again."

A Treat from Druckers

2012-01-26T10:22:00.002-05:00

By Belinda

Druckers, a Viennese patisserie in the Kingfisher Centre in Redditch, is a place Mum and I have had many delicious cups of coffee and treats. On this vacation we have had coffee there with several groups of friends, but getting there would be hard for Mum now and not something she would enjoy. However when I spotted her favourite Mille Feuille pastry when there with Rob today, it had to come home with us.

Her smile says it all! Mind you in actuality, the pastry came second to the double chocolate concoction we brought home a day or so ago! That was light and fluffy, but deeply delicious!

2012-01-25T15:45:00.000-05:00

Thank you to all who took the time to vote in round two of the Canadian Blog Awards!

Whatever He Says came in third in the Religion Philosophy category--yeay!

Hearty congratulations to Dave Hingsburger of Rolling Around in My Head who won a well deserved Best Personal Blog! Yahoo!!

The Gift

2012-01-24T17:08:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

Prayer: it is our nightly ritual; between the carers who come from Helping Hands to help Mum to bed, and Rob, who comes downstairs to put in eye drops and administer her inhaler; all of us ministering care in different ways.

I am sure that it was she who must have first taught me how--to pray, that is. And yet now, here I am beside her bed, and she ready for sleep first, each evening, at an hour that seems so early, but in sync with the rest of the elderly safely tucked in around the village every night.

We travel far and wide in our prayers; I saying the words, but she with me in every syllable, every name named. We pray showers of blessings on Rob for the blessing he is to Mum. He should be laden down by riches of love and warmth and health and strength if God answers even a fraction of our prayers.

We cover family here, one by one; and those in Canada, and special needs of which we are aware. And at the end each night, Mum, holding my hands, gives a squeeze and smiles with eyes and lips her sweet, "Amen."

One thing I missed each night...her prayers...for me. Selfish though it felt to even think of such a thing, yet in my deepest heart lived a wistful little girl who did.

But tonight at our "Amen," she squeezes my hand and says, "I must pray--for you."

I smile my overflowing gratitude; we close our eyes again, hands clasped; I wait; she tries; clear words won't come, but we both know, in the quiet God hears the heart. Again we squeeze and say, "Amen," with smiles.

And she says with eyes of blazing love that speak more eloquently than the loveliest of words: "Every night, after we pray, I pray for you...."

Trees

2012-01-24T16:23:00.003-05:00

By Belinda

On the gray day on which I took the photos posted yesterday, the real reason for the walk was that Rob wanted us to see some trees that you might not expect to find in Alvechurch--Californian Giant Redwoods. They are dotted around the village and nearby and were planted originally during the Victorian craze for these newly discovered trees in the 1850's.

Click the link: Village of the Giants for a story in
The Village Magazine that tells how they came to be here.

Luke 6:43

The Message (MSG)

Work the Words into Your Life

^43-45"You don't get wormy apples off a healthy tree, nor good apples off a diseased tree. The health of the apple tells the health of the tree. You must begin with your own life-giving lives. It's who you are, not what you say and do, that counts. Your true being brims over into true words and deeds.

John 15:1-2

The Message (MSG)

John 15

The Vine and the Branches

^1-3 "I am the Real Vine and my Father is the Farmer. He cuts off every branch of me that doesn't bear grapes. And every branch that is grape-bearing he prunes back so it will bear even more. You are already pruned back by the message I have spoken.

Around the Village

2012-01-23T15:53:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

Last night on the eve of our last five precious days here, I realized that I didn't want to waste any of those moments tapping away on my laptop. It's so easy to be "here" but not fully present to the people I am with.

So here are just a few photographs taken last week while walking the village on a blustery, showery day! I know that people who take time to read here ( and whom I appreciate so much) will understand and agree that this is how it should be.

Don't miss the pink blossom on the tree in one photo below. Even in the chilly weather it was heartening to see such early signs of spring here, along with some snowdrops in bloom and many crocuses shyly unfurling their buds.

An Afternoon with Friends

2012-01-21T16:28:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

Our friends, Chris, Eileen and Nel-Rose Ashton, drove down from Kendal in the Lake District--a 4 hour drive, to spend the afternoon with us today.

Eileen and I met as school girls when we were both 12, so that makes a friendship that has lasted almost 50 years.

The Ashtons long ago adopted Mum as their own "Omie," and make the journey down to see her several times a year, always bearing home made cakes and bags of other good things. It's a great comfort to know that they keep in touch and are such good friends to Rob and Mum.

They are also friends with many of our friends in Canada, such as Ron and Susan Stewart and Brian and Frances Furuya, having got to know them on their many visits over the years to us. In fact, this year we will be taking back Kendal Mint Cake for Ron Stewart from Chris. This special high energy food was taken to the top of Mount Everest in 1953 and Ron plans to take it on a skiing weekend.

Bruce is a favourite with the beautiful Nel-Rose, who is, however camera shy.

Chris is a garrulous, high energy Yorkshire-man!

I made a chicken casserole with rice, carrots and cauliflower for our lunch, which we followed with Sainsbury's apple and blackcurrant pie and apple crumble, with custard or cream.

We also had tea and coffee with digestive biscuits and chocolate bourbon creams--all in all a party!!

2012-01-21T15:35:00.000-05:00

Mum's passport photograph. We think she was about 18, which would mean it was taken in 1944.

The Roebuck

2012-01-20T11:22:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

After an afternoon spent with memories of the past yesterday, it was time to go out for a meal with Stephen. We first tried the The Moat House Inn, where I went last July with Stephen when we spent the day walking the woods in the area. But alas only the bar was open at the early hour of 5.00 p.m. The woman we spoke to there directed us to several other options in the area--depending on whether we wanted to travel further afield for "cheap and cheerful" or closer if we didn't mind something a bit more pricey.

The Roebuck was the closest inn and restaurant and I had noticed it on the way to Stephen's home in Alcester (pronounced "All-ster.")

We tried it and found it open. It was obviously newly renovated to transform the old pub into an ultra modern restaurant.

We arrived without reservations and found that many tables close to a blazing fire, were already set aside, and we were taken further back into a colder section of the restaurant, but the staff seated us close to a radiator! We left Canada, where the winter so far has been the mildest we can remember; for England, which has been frosty cold and rainy since we arrived and the damp seems to penetrate the bones. We are weak--we admit it--and not used to the wide open windows and bracing fresh air of England--coddled North Americans now, and used to double glazing, and climate controlled atmospheres in both summer and winter! :)

I went to the "ladies," artfully named "does" and found it a challenge to squeeze in and out of with a handbag and large camera bag. I am not sure if they had accessible washrooms or bedrooms. From the website I don't think so and this may be an important oversight in the renovations. I wish I had thought to ask--but there is an info-line if anyone to whom this is essential is interested in visiting.

The food. It was heavenly!!!

Paul had a sirloin steak with chips, grilled mushroom, tomatoes and fried onion rings. He is--well, let's say he is not easy to please in the food department--but he said it was the best meal he has ever had in a restaurant. The meat was cooked as he asked--well done.

Stephen went for steak and kidney pie--a traditional English dish. He said it was good.

I ordered vegetable lasagne, which came with a salad, coleslaw and bruschetta. The bruschetta was mouth-wateringly delicious and so were the fries that I co-opted from Paul's plate. He passed me his mushroom and tomatoes and they likewise were juicy and full of flavour.

For dessert Paul had sticky toffee pudding and ice cream, and judging by the way his eyes rolled up into his head, it was good! Stephen had sherry trifle with cream and I had a chocolate orange truffle with cream. The flavours were exquisite.

On Sunday Stephen is going to cook a meal for us. He said it has been so long since he has cooked a meal for anyone that he will enjoy doing it.

Memories and Mortality

2012-01-19T17:47:00.004-05:00

By Belinda

We spent a quiet afternoon with Stephen, Paul's cousin. Their fathers were brothers: Ronald and John. Uncle John passed away in the spring of last year and Stephen and his brother Sam have boxes of diaries and photos that they are slowly going through; piecing together the chronology of a family's life.

We looked through many envelopes with photos and negatives, all in a brown paper bag with the word "Photographs" written on the front.

As Paul and I drove home at the end of the evening, both of us had the same response to going back through generations of his family in photographs: his grandparents with their grandchildren; those babies now grandparents themselves.

We were struck by the brevity of life, seeing them all there in a paper bag, spanning 80 years and realized that we won't go on forever any more than they did, although we don't face or think about that fact usually.

It wasn't a maudlin thought, but a prompt to slow down more; to enjoy the moments we have--and not to be so obsessed by the busyness that possesses our normal lives. Life goes by much faster than we think. It does go by.

Stephen told Paul that he and Sam have yet to scatter their dad's ashes over the Malvern Hills,) which is also where Paul was born.)

Then he said to Paul that Uncle John's ashes were in the cupboard beside him and asked if he'd like to feel how heavy they were. He brought out a red bag containing an oblong box and we both felt the weight--much heavier than we thought!

If they can organize it on Sunday afternoon, Paul will go with them to the Malvern Hills and do this one last thing for Uncle John.

Uncle John lived his last few years in a newer home he bought in Worcester, but Stephen stayed on in the old home they had shared for decades.

More than Uncle John's ashes linger there--part of him is in that home.

Last Chance to Vote in the Canadian Blog Awards!

2012-01-19T16:50:00.000-05:00

Hi There!
Tomorrow--January 20, is the last chance to vote in the Canadian Blog Awards . And you don't have to be Canadian to vote. :)

Rolling Around in My Head, the blog written by dear friend, and lecturer and writer on disability issues; Dave Hingsburger; is up for “best overall” and “best personal blog.”

Half Soled Boots written by Dave's niece is up for “best blog post.” Shannon is a witty and incisive writer, but the blog post nominated is a deeply moving post Peace be With You: http://halfsoledboots.blogspot.com/2011/09/peace-be-with-you.html

Whatever He Says is in the running for "best religion/philosophy blog."

You can only vote once in each category. If you have already voted--THANK YOU!! If you haven't, please vote for us; we covet your votes--hey wait--coveting is wrong. Well, begging is allowed, I think.

We BEG for your votes if you haven't already voted. :)

It Pays to be from Alvechurch

2012-01-18T21:06:00.002-05:00

By Belinda

Early last week while we were still at home in Canada, the phone rang and it was Rob.

"Belinda, I don't have anything to tell me what flight you're on or what time you're arriving or anything," he said.

I usually send these details by mail to Rob, since he doesn't use the internet. But I had been busy with a wedding and Christmas and work. Also, because Paul was coming with me this time, I had booked a car for two weeks when booking our flight with Expedia, thinking that it would make the visit more enjoyable for him.

We were picking the car up at Birmingham airport, which meant that Rob didn't need to meet us off the plane. But I gave Rob the flight number and time of arrival over the phone.

It was Friday, and we were almost ready to leave, when Rob called again. He asked if there was anything we wanted him to get in for us.

"I've got crispbread, yogurt and nuts for you Belinda," he said.

Although he knows me well and these are indeed my staples, they sound deceptively virtuous. They would be liberally laced with fish and chip and various other treats that even out the healthiness of my diet to well on this side of sainthood.

But there was more behind Rob's call.

"Are you sure you don't want me to meet you at the airport?" he asked, "I'd like to be there when you arrive, and, I know you'd be all right, but it might be easier to follow me home."

I could hear the same anticipation in his voice that I was feeling about arriving there short hours from then, and Paul thanked him for the offer to meet us. Simple as the trip from Birmingham to Alvechurch is, having someone to follow while he was still getting oriented to driving on the other side of the road wouldn't hurt!

And in the bright sunshine of Saturday morning we would have missed Rob's big bear hug, which greeted us as we emerged with our luggage.

We all went together to the car rental counter and there, a young girl with a pretty, round, pale face, and blue eyes--all surrounded by deep pinkish maroon hair--asked us if we had insurance.

Insurance? I hadn't seen that question when I booked.

We realized that we didn't have it and we should have it but were shocked to find that the cost of accident and theft insurance for 14 days was going to cost as much as the rental itself--an expense we hadn't planned on.

By now her male colleague behind the counter was listening in and helping sort out our dilemma. Behind his glasses, his pale grayish blue eyes matched the gray of the sweater he wore over his shirt and a slightly crooked tie. He was in problem solving mode.

He asked a few questions with a look of concentration and then explained that had we insured it at the time we booked, it would have been cheaper. Then he said, "Hang on, I'm going to try something."

He got on the phone to Expedia and asked if there would be a penalty for canceling the rental. No. Then he explained to us what he could rent the car to us for with insurance--it was almost exactly what we had paid without it.

"Deal!" we said.

As we thanked him he looked at Rob and said with a smile, "Well, I saw that you're from Alvechurch."

A flurry of questions later and we found that he lives on Snake Lane, just around the corner from Mum and Rob realized that he recognized him. Alvechurch folks--they stick together--and we were grateful!

Paul was also grateful to have Rob to help figure out how to work the beautiful hybrid Toyota Auris that had no key, just a push button start. It made no sound although it was running--on electricity.

Quite a bit later than we had expected, we finally arrived safely in Alvechurch, where Mum was beginning to worry that some dreadful fate had befallen all of us. Kisses all around and a kettle was put on for tea!

Simple, Slow Time

2012-01-17T13:34:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

We are here, and "here" is a completely different zone from "back home" on all levels. We are slowed down to STOP!:)

We are just about recovered from our jet lag and the five of us: Mum; Rob; Paul,; a dog named Bruce, and me, are finding our routine for the next couple of weeks; settling in together in Mum's small one bedroom flat, with overflow to Rob's flat upstairs.

Each evening, once Mum is tucked in bed, Paul and I transform her sitting room into our bedroom, From two large garbage bags in a small store room come a duvet and pillows; the heavy, ornately carved wooden coffee table that once stood in my Oma's flat in Holland, is dragged across the room and the pull-out couch unfolded. The operation is repeated in reverse in the morning, before Mum's carers let themselves in at around 8.20 a.m.

Mum is blessedly well, mothering me in little ways that she can still manage. Paul and I go upstairs to Robert's to give her privacy while the carers get her ready for bed each evening in her warm living room, then I come down first to pray with Mum before Rob puts in her eye drops. Last night her hands were tucked warmly under her duvet but she wanted to hold my cold hands to pray, and then she wrapped her soft, warm hands around mine to warm them. Today when I was getting ready to take Bruce out for a walk, and wrapping up against the freezing cold weather that we found over here, I found her with her hands inside my gloves. She was pre-warming them for me.

Such moments are worth crossing an ocean for. Simple, slow time.
Our first frosty morning here, from Mum's living room window, looking up towards Bear Hill and St. Laurence church.

Reindeer Antlers and Liver Bites

2012-01-16T08:08:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

Dear Friends,
Although we arrived in England on Saturday, I was not able to connect to the internet until yesterday. I now have a "dongle" :) and in between cups of tea and kisses with Mum I will try to catch up on the goings on in Belindaland. :)

As Friday the 13th, the day of our flight (from Toronto to Birmingham, via Amsterdam,) drew near, the weather forecast in the Toronto area was foreboding. After an unusually mild winter so far, a snow storm was forecast.

Paul wanted to leave our home in plenty of time to make sure we had a margin for unplanned hold ups; this meant leaving at 2.30 p.m.. Leaving margin shouldn't be, but is, a foreign concept to me, but this is why God put us together, so I worked hard to be ready before my usual "last minute."

My work week had been beyond busy so I had laundry to do and all of my packing that morning, as well as a trip to Costco for Liver Bites for Rob's dog, Bruce. I had looked for them the previous week but there were none on the shelf. I went back hoping they would be back in stock, but no, on Friday there were still none to be found! I could not arrive in Alvechurch without Liver Bites, but Molson had an already opened but nearly full packet on top of our fridge. His favourites are Chicken Strips, so I decided to take the opened package of Liver Bites for Bruce.

One of the side benefits of traveling with Paul is that he travels light. He had already opened his suitcase neatly packed and locked case once for my "overflow," 4 packages of Maple Cream cookies for friends.

"Could I put three reindeer antlers in as well?" I asked.

Paul's mental picture was of a full set of antlers, not the naturally shed reindeer antlers from the pet store, which dogs love. Molson's was going to Bruce as he isn't really interested in chewing while Bruce is a chewing machine!

Paul opened his case again for the antlers--and then I prevailed upon him to add the package of Liver Bites.

Time was ticking by and it was getting close to the time we had to leave when Paul took them from my hands and bent down to put them into his case. It was one of those moments when something seems to unfold in slow motion that you wish you could stop--but you can't. The ziplock closure on the package wasn't sealed properly and before our eyes a cascade of Liver Bites poured into every nook and cranny of his case and clothing, accompanied by fine liver-ey smelling dust textured crumbs.

"Belinda! I can't believe you did that!" said Paul, as I apologized for this last minute diversion and we both swung into rescue mode.

As I picked out the Liver Bites and shook off the dust from Paul's clothes that had so recently been neatly packed and ready to go, I could only imagine how delicious he would smell to Bruce.

And just as I thought, Paul has been irresistible to The Brewster!

It was love at first sight with the reindeer antlers too.

This is Bruce in the afterglow. Stay tuned for more Alvechurch Chronicles. :)

2012-01-12T23:38:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

I wasn't planning to post anything tonight. I'm so crazy busy preparing for leaving for England tomorrow after a day today with more twists and turns of plot than a dozen episodes of Coronation Street! :)

But then I checked my email and my dear friend Dave recommended to a group of friends that we take 7 minutes to watch THIS video.

I stopped to watch, and I was so moved by the message that I am honoured to share it here with you.

Uploaded by McClinticFamily on Jan 4, 2012 This video is designed bring about awareness and teach others about the hopes and dreams of those with Down Syndrome as well as combat the use of old school words such as retarded. For more of Maddox's adventures, including her birth story, please check out www.mcclinticfamily.com

Central Station--Robin Mark

2012-01-11T12:47:00.000-05:00

By BelindaWorking from home this morning with a Robin Mark CD playing and this poignant song caught my ear. Stopping for lunch I looked it up on You Tube and found this video that goes along with it and is so perfect in expressing the words. It's a song about a lost opportunity and what Jesus would have done. But it also contains a prayer. Sometimes that is our second chance when we miss it--and prayer is never wasted.

N.B.

2012-01-10T22:04:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

While the initials N.B. don't denote new beginnings, they apply well to the topic New Beginnings. Nota Bene--"note well"--pay attention to! Okay, they could also stand for New Brunswick--but not here. :)

"Pay attention to" the importance of new beginnings, because this is the stuff the universe is made of.

New things carry a special magic. Who has not slept with a pair of brand new shoes beside her bed? They might have been perfect shiny black patent leather pointed toed high heels, or white leather strapped sandals (oh, I can smell that white polish that came in a tube with a sponge on the end which you dabbed all over the shoes;) or even the sensible leather school sandals always bought big enough to grow into that smelled just like the shoe shop, all leathery and new. I love the smell of shoe shops. Why did we keep our new shoes beside our bed, sometimes still carefully wrapped in white tissue paper in a shoe box? There was comfort in knowing that they were near us in the night, still waiting for us in the morning, their newness to be enjoyed a little longer.

The shoes I bought for Brenda's recent wedding--racy red, did not reside beside my bed--but they were in the bedroom closet, and I visited them frequently before the day they were worn, just to admire and enjoy them!

New school books, new journals--these things also have magic dust sprinkled on them. They hold the possibility of things we cannot put into words. I have a drawer in which I have a stash of unused journals given to me by friends on various occasions. Whenever I open the drawer I touch them, look at them and look forward to the time when their turn comes to be opened and written in. I derive pleasure from them just being there, waiting--as I do from new books unread on my bookshelf.

And nature is nothing if not a kaleidoscope of new life, all of it with its own special beauty. The new blade of grass, slender, tender green, waving in the breeze of its first day, is a thing of wonder. New buds; new leaves; baby lambs; adorable puppies; fluffy kittens; wobbly chicks; BABIES!!! All of these new to the world and the dew of heaven still on them, take my breath away.

But new "beginnings" are in their own category entirely; a privilege available to all of us every moment of every day as long as we are on this earth. As long as we can start over we have hope, and hope is an essential ingredient of a healthy mind and spirit.

It doesn't matter if we believe in New Years Resolutions or not, new beginnings have the same magic dust as all other things new. I'm into new beginnings as surely now as when I fell down again and again when learning to roller skate. It is in the getting up and trying again that we learn. We are down, but not out until we say so ourselves.

Each new beginning necessarily means an ending went before it, but a new beginning softens the sting and breathes new hope. It banishes the grave clothes and dazzles us with resurrection morning!

I thank God for new beginnings and second chances, for hope, forgiveness, rebirth, renewal--and one day, heaven. Nota bene!

The Joy of Books

2012-01-10T17:27:00.000-05:00

This wonderful You Tube video was shared by my friends Wendy Nelles & Patricia Paddey on Face Book. As an absolute book addict I loved it and share it with you dear readers! Enjoy.

Doing Life Together

2012-01-09T23:35:00.000-05:00

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10The Message (MSG)

It's better to have a partner than go it alone. Share the work, share the wealth. And if one falls down, the other helps, But if there's no one to help, tough!

By Belinda

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 seems a perfect text to describe the gift of true friendship in this world; the kind that fills in blind spots when needed as did my friend the other day, thus saving me from the double mistake of behaving like a numbskull and in addition not knowing it.

The photo of our son Peter rescuing one of our grandsons from the marshy ground he was rapidly sinking into on one of our adventures of last summer, seemed a fitting illustration of our need for one another.

The good news is that I got together with the other person involved in my blunder and had a chance to fully apologize. The better news is that we are closer in heart now than if I hadn't been so careless. That's how it is with God, who uses all material, even the bad stuff, redemptively. All is well in Belindaland--for the time being at least.

I wrote an email to my team at work today about something that had happened that I wanted to debrief with them at our next meeting and I said, "I could have done SO much better. But it is all good, I think, if even from experiences that aren't our finest, we can say, "This is what I learned from that!"

As this new year started I thought about the fact that I only get to lead them for another 31/2 years before I retire. Leading them is a privilege every day. I thought today of Jesus and how he had his team for 3 years and how much he grew to love them. I understand how he called them not servants but friends.

And I hope in the time we have left together; should God allow; that they get to learn more from me than how to apologize well for mistakes! :)

Golden Guardian Angels

2012-01-08T23:17:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

At Christmas, among the many special gifts from friends and family, were two very special calendars. Now who would think that calendars would rate so high, but these did; both for different reasons but both because the giver had been so thoughtful in choosing their gift so uniquely for me.

The calendar relevant to this post was from Susan, and was among the gifts from her that I opened when I finally calmed down at the end of my crazy-stressed Christmas Eve.

I unwrapped the flat rectangular package which was the C.O.P.E. Service Dogs Calendar! Some may remember that in August 2009 Molson sired a litter of ten puppies and how excited we were that November when we heard that 3 of them were being sponsored by McDonalds to be trained by C.O.P.E as service dogs. I was thrilled just to have a C.O.P.E. calendar, but as I leafed through it, there were Big Mac and Mc Flurry, now fully grown. Mac is the image of Molson. He has the same pink nose and could pass as his double. I treasure the calendar so much that it is already upstairs, ready to take it with me to England when we leave this Friday to spend two weeks with Mum and Rob.

I am sure that Mum's carers will all smile politely as I accost them, calendar in hand but I shall not be deterred! They all know about Molson and saw the video clip of his other son Archie (or Golden Arches,) which is on the C.O.P.E. website; when I was in England last July.

Today I arrived home from church with exercise on my agenda. The azure sky was cloudless but the unusually mild temperature meant that although the ground was covered with the remains of the last snowfall, the roadsides were lined with muddy puddles. I thought of the state that Molson would be in if I took him with me and for the briefest of moments thought about going for a walk without him. Brenda works so hard to keep her apartment ship shape and I knew she wouldn't be happy if he came home covered in mud and undid her weekend's work downstairs.

But I heard his gentle scratch at the door when he heard me come home; his mom and dad were out--and I could no more leave him behind than say no to a grandchild!

When we got home though, the long hair on his underbelly, and the beautiful feathered fur on his legs was wet and gritty. I couldn't let him in the house like that let alone downstairs to his home, so I told him to wait in the sun porch. I soon returned with a big bowl of warm water and some towels and set to work cleaning him up. Then he came inside and I dried his fur with the hairdryer, while he rolled to allow access to all body parts while expressing his pleasure with sounds that approximated a human voice groaning in ecstasy!

Three dried chicken strips and he was on his way downstairs. A moment later Brenda popped upstairs to ask, "You haven't by any chance given Molson food have you Mom? He's just brought up all over the carpet."

I admitted to the chicken strips, but we concluded that it was the sheer excitement of the walk and the hairdryer (two of his favourite things) that did it--oh, and the fact that he got into some chocolate the day before. And after all that I did to maintain the hard won pristine condition of Brenda's carpets!

The next thing I did was make a gigantic quantity of stew to put in the freezer for future meals. And while I peeled and chopped vast piles of carrots, leeks, onions and potatoes I finished listening to an audio book that I got from the library on Saturday: A Big Little Life, by Dean Koontz, about his dog, a golden retriever named Trixie a.k.a. "Short Stuff." Now I had never heard of Dean Koontz before and chose the audio book because it was about a golden, but I now realize I need to read his other books!

His memoir about Trixie was so moving that by the end I was crying into my stew! She was originally trained as a service dog but had an operation that meant that another dog had to be found for the young woman with disabilities she was trained to assist. Dean Koontz and his wife Gerda adopted Trixie and she transformed their lives and his writing.

I share Dean Koontz's belief that dogs have souls; that they are often "sent" to specific people (Rob is convinced of this in the case of Bruce coming to him,) that they long to, and try to, "talk," and that they understand much more than we might imagine. He believes that they have long term memory of people and events and that they have a perceptiveness that goes beyond that of humans.

In spite of the fact that I ended up sobbing in my stew, I loved the book and the time I spent with our own golden guardian angel today.

Friends Who Fill in the Blind Spots

2012-01-06T22:39:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

Tonight I'm so thankful for friends who fill in my blind spots. Who not only see what I don't see but find a way to break the news to me of my imperfect vision.

Today..."How could I have been such a dolt?" I think to myself when I realize how right she is. And in spite of totally knowing it's not productive, I beat myself up for at least two hours afterwards, mourning my carelessness with the feelings of another. I make a call, apologize in a rambling voice message. The person emails me back and says "Let's talk next week." We will be okay, I know. My heart was not to hurt.

And yet I did. And what if she hadn't told me what she saw? I would still be oblivious to another person hurt by my bluntness, because I really didn't SEE it.

I'm thankful for friends that tell me what I need to know, not what I want to hear. Friends who don't let me wander long with spinach between my teeth.

It's a rare gift and one I cherish-one I need.

Serious Parenting

2012-01-04T22:51:00.003-05:00

By Belinda

Here is something I wrote back 2007 that struck me as funny when I re-read it while spending far too much time looking for something else in the archives:

I lounged in a comfortable, wing back chair in our big sunny room at the back of the house, chatting with my brother on the phone. As usual, we laughed a lot.

“It’s good to look to a funny side of things if you can,” said Robert. Reflecting on the past, he said,“I always took myself too seriously.”

I’d been sharing a funny conversation that I’d had with some friends the week before. We were talking about how much has changed in one generation, when it comes to bringing up children.

We remembered the amount of freedom kids had a few years ago. We would leave the house in the morning and maybe drop back in for lunch; or maybe not. Nobody worried too much. Parents knew that you were with friends and would come home eventually.

Someone said that his mother used to lock him out of the house. As people compared notes, it seemed that this was not an uncommon practice! One person after another said, “Yes, my mother did that too.” Some mothers did it to clean the house; other mothers did it to keep it clean.

Kids would press their faces up against the windows and beg, “Mom, please can I come in?” all to no avail.

A friend told me that if she got sent home sick from school, her mother wouldn’t let her in. “You’re not sick, go back to school,” she would say.

Marc, who looked to be the youngest in the group, grew up on a farm. He said that if he or his siblings misbehaved, they had to do the laundry—on a washboard in the ash tub.

Robert and I remembered the torture we went through because laughter was not allowed at the dinner table. This rule of course, is almost guaranteed to produce uproarious and uncontrollable laughter.

Our parents (mainly my dad) would say strange things to us, like, “Don’t answer back.” I mean, aren’t we supposed to answer back?

“Don’t contradict,” was always a puzzle to me. How were we to tell our parents when they were wrong

And of course we frequently heard that, “Children should be seen and not heard.” It’s hard to imagine parents telling their children that today--thank goodness.

I said to Robert that there we were, a reasonably well adjusted group of people, in spite of everything.

Robert said, “Apart from a few twitches, and the fact that when someone raised their hand to scratch his head, everyone ducked,” and we laughed.

It is the grace of God that children, the most vulnerable and precious gift imaginable, entrusted to untrained and very inept grown ups, turn out as well as they do.

Psalm 127:3-5 (New International Version)
3 Sons are a heritage from the LORD,
children a reward from him.
4 Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
are sons born in one's youth.
5 Blessed is the man
whose quiver is full of them...

To be Asked or Not to be Asked

2012-01-03T21:19:00.002-05:00

By Belinda

It was my first day back in the office and I was in a frenzy of purging. I called our District Office in Huntsville to ask our Systems Manager, Gloria, if I could shred some of the old files that I'd found.

"Happy New Year Gloria!" I began.

"Happy New Year Belinda," she replied, "And you don't look a day over 50!"

It is always a sweet surprise to find that anyone out there actually reads anything you write. She made me laugh out loud at the incongruity of an odd opening greeting that made total sense to me.

As I enjoyed grumbling on about the sales clerk's secret hatchet job on my self esteem (see yesterday's post,) Gloria told me about a friend of hers, only in her forties, who was actually asked by the sales clerk at Shoppers Drug Mart if she qualified for the senior's discount. Wow--I gasped at that! I don't know what is worse--to be asked or not to be asked. Those poor clerks, they don't get paid enough for this weighty responsibility and no matter what they do they just can't win. How their fingers must tremble as they hover over the discount key and the beads of sweat break out on their foreheads as they wonder if they should ask....or not.

Now I think Gloria's friend should have answered, "I don't know, do I?" because I have been trying to find out online, without success, what the magic age is. Well, perhaps that's just as well. As long as I can believe it is 55 I will be happy!

And my list of the benefits of aging is now growing. Here is the modified list:
1. Seniors' discounts.

2. People worry about you, look after you and treat you as though you are more fragile than you feel.

3.. You don't feel compelled to do things for the wrong reasons--to please other people for instance, or because you feel guilty saying no.

4. There are a lot fewer mistakes left to make.

5. Grandchildren (Susan.)

6. You can get away with things (people indulge you because you are "old.") (Brave Raven)

7. If you are wearing incontinence products you can laugh until you wet your pants--and you won't. Everything does have its upside. :)
8. You can justifiably claim that you "can't remember a thing."

I just had to share this, from Dave in the comment section.

Belinda, my grandmother, who I loved dearly once said something that still makes me laugh. She was a devout Christian and when she turned 70 she said to me, on the phone, 'I looked in the mirror today, I've learned that though my heart has been travelling towards heaven, my face has gone to hell.'

I so relate! :)

A Last Bastion Falls

2012-01-02T21:04:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

"Time at home," what a gift that is! I have treasured every minute of it over the past several days and as a result of this best of all therapies, I am starting a brand new year more relaxed and refreshed than I have felt in a while.

I am afraid though, that while I was plugging away at a new lean and mean budget for 2012 yesterday evening, and sorting out all of my Christmas shopping receipts, I was stripped of one delusion. It was time I faced the truth but still it was hard seeing it there on the Shoppers Drug Mart receipt in black and white. I looked at it again to make sure I was seeing correctly, but yes indeed I was. Some sweet young thing had given me the seniors' discount. Automatically. And she didn't even have the tact to ask if I qualified!

There's no denying it I am over 60 and my body tells me that it's so. Now I just need to come to terms with the fact that I also look it! I just never imagined this happening to ME. :)

To cope I'm going to think of all the benefits of arriving at this stage of life and I'm going to celebrate and enjoy them to the full.

1. Seniors' discounts--I could grow to like them.
2. People worry about you. (I tripped and fell while waving and looking backwards and not where I was going when I was visiting somewhere just before Christmas. I was fine but the news spread embarrassingly fast and several people were concerned. That was nice.)
3.. You don't feel compelled to do things for the wrong reasons--to please other people for instance, or because you feel guilty saying no.
4. There are a lot fewer mistakes left to make.
5. Okay, I'm thinking really hard, but nothing else is coming. I need your help my friends. What else is good about being old(er?)

Additions:
6. Grandchildren--supplied by Susan (not the grandchildren--the idea! I can't believe I didn't think of that one. Grandchildren are a great gift that come with aging.)

Reflections on New Year's Eve

2011-12-31T22:41:00.002-05:00

By Belinda

Paul and I are at home, keeping New Year's Eve in customary quiet! Come midnight we will both probably be in bed.

But I can't let this evening pass without reflecting on a year almost done. Incidentally, I just noticed that as 2011 comes to an end, there are 2011 blog posts exactly on Whatever He Says (written since June 2006 by yours truly and friends.) I think that's a cool coincidence. Thank you to all who read here, and for sending encouraging and thought provoking comments or emails now and again--you have no idea how much that means.

I started this year spiritually by giving up the battle to live out my faith by trying harder. Inspired by the writings of Watchman Nee, Oswald Chambers and Andrew Murray, and conversations with our friend Jamie, I realized that the only effort I need to make is to choose surrender and submission to God's agenda daily. I relaxed into the awareness that Jesus did everything to atone for past sin and that his life in me is holiness in the present. I haven't lived out that revelation perfectly, but I believe it and rest in it. This is a scripture passage that I reflected on often throughout this past year--and it is one on which I will continue to meditate as a guide to life:

2 Peter 1:3-8

New International Version (NIV)

³ His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. ⁴ Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires.
⁵ For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; ⁶ and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; ⁷ and to godliness, mutual affection; and to mutual affection, love.⁸ For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

In February we visited the Holy Land, a deeply moving journey that brought alive Biblical history and the words I read when I open the Bible.

I will never forget approaching the city of Jerusalem for the first time, or actually being on the Sea of Galilee, or standing at the Western Wall of the temple in Jerusalem and pressing my heart up against the cool, ancient stones, my hands spread on either side up against the wall, while little boys sang a song of praise in Hebrew from the side where the men were praying.

I came home changed forever.

At work during the first three months of the year I underwent a humbling revelation and leadership transformation. God used the leadership example of Dick Winters who inspired the T.V. mini-series Band of Brothers and whose book, Beyond the Band of Brothers I read and was so inspired by. I learned this year to "lead from the front," when things get difficult. He cared for his troops by being with them in battle and caring for their physical needs and he despised the officers who retired to the comfort of their quarters of relative luxury while the enlisted men suffered hunger and cold in the trenches. I did a lot of repenting and apologizing for past mistakes as I realized them. I know that I became a better leader.

In June I went through a loss of confidence that anything I was writing mattered. I went to Write! Canada, an annual writers conference, feeling like an imposter being there! I asked my dear friend and fellow blogger Janet Sketchley who is the prayer team lead for The Word Guild, to pray, and she did, faithfully. God answered with affirmation that there is value in just simply writing about life and faith in honesty, simplicity and humour--and in the final moments of the conference I was the winner of free registration to next year's conference. Since then I also won a gift certificate for $50 from the Word Guild for being the name drawn after completing a post conference survey. It was as though God wrote, "You are a writer," with two exclamation points (and you know my weakness for those.)

We gained a new son-in-law, Kevin, just before Christmas. We are grateful for his presence in the lives of Brenda, Tippy and Tori, and we love him. I am thankful that God gives us second chances in life.

Towards the end of the year I struggled with a painful personal situation and battled against responding to hurt, with judgement. It's amazing how the enemy gets a double whammy all too often that way.

It was a struggle I didn't choose to talk about out of respect for others, but there was comfort in the words I found on a plaque:

Hang it On the Cross

If you have a secret sorrow,
a burden or a loss,
An aching need for healing...
Hang it on The Cross
For Christ has borne our brokenness
and dearly paid the cost
To turn our trials to triumph...
Hanging on The Cross

I did hang it all on the cross and God was faithful in answering prayer.

Dear readers and friends, what adventures and lessons this next year holds remains to be seen but I love sharing the journey with you!

My prayers go out for each of you that God blesses you and those near and dear to you in the year ahead!

Christmas Traditions

2011-12-29T22:48:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

By the afternoon of Christmas Eve this year I was coming apart at the seams.

In the weeks prior to Christmas I had traded away planned days off for pressing priorities at work, but did manage to hold onto one precious day during the week before Christmas. And on that day I went Christmas shopping from early in the morning to late afternoon. At the end of the day I thought I had managed to remember everyone on my list and I carried bags of gifts into our dining room which had been transformed into a one stop wrapping centre, and closed the door.

The next few days were so busy that it wasn't until the afternoon of Christmas Eve that I went back into the room and began to wrap presents. This is when my anxiety, which had been at a notch just below panic until then, really began to grow. We have 6 grandchildren and 3 God children and a few other young friends we buy small gifts for. I had chosen carefully when shopping, but now, under pressure to wrap before leaving for the Christmas Eve service at church, I couldn't for the life of me be sure which one I had bought for whom.

My dear friend Susan and I usually exchange gifts on Christmas Eve, but this year both of our lives at work were so crazy that I didn't expect we would manage it until after Christmas. But into the chaos of the wrapping frenzy came a phone call. It was Susan's brave voice on the other end saying, "We're leaving for Emily's any minute. I can be there in 20 minutes to drop off your gifts--I didn't even wrap them properly--just threw them in a bag, and I think I forgot one of them--but they are ready."

"Oh, really?" I said in horror, looking at the chaotic piles of gifts, paper, ribbon and labels that I was surrounded by, "I'm not--I didn't expect, I mean, I don't think I can get it together that fast, why don't we cut ourselves some slack and do it after Christmas this year?"

But even as she agreed to my Grinchiness, I could tell that I had poured cold eggnog on a precious tradition in our friendship.

"Wait--no," I said, "I can do it. Please come. I will do my best." It didn't take much persuading. And thereupon I notched up my frenzy intensity a few notches and began power wrapping. Deep down I was glad when Susan and Ron's car pulled into the driveway and we exchanged bags that contained gifts that expressed our love for one another but still I was more tense than the elastic on a catapult by the time we left for the Christmas Eve service at church.

I knew something was wrong with me when smiling greetings of "Merry Christmas," from our church friends, seemed extremely bright in their happiness in comparison to my residual tenseness. I should have worn a warning sign, "Approach with caution; no knowing what she may do."

But as Paul and I sat in the dimly lit church, surrounded by church family, and being hugged by the four of our six grandchildren who were there, and who had enough excitement spilling out of them to cheer up the most miserable celebrant, I began to unwind a little. The church seemed to hum with excited children in fact; children who couldn't sit still but bobbed and weaved in their rows of family.

Once the short service of carols and stories told by candlelight ended, we all hugged again and wished one another a very merry Christmas and Paul and I set out along lightly snow covered country roads, for Mansfield and another Christmas tradition: Christmas Eve with the Furuya's.

Our three God children, Summer-Lily, Eden and Jake, look forward to this time together each year, as do we, and Frances told me that day that Jake had been reminiscing about early memories of time spent with us, when Paul had found a way to track the progress of Santa Claus on the internet and set it up so that Jake could watch it. Summer used to be carried around on Paul's shoulder during a weekly cell group that Frances came to in our home back then, some 17 or so years ago--long before Eden's birth, which I attended and cut her umbilical chord. We are bound together with them, "family of the heart" as we are with some other precious friends.

High on the hill they now live on, I relaxed into Christmas beside a glowing, crackling fire.

We ate delicious home made dark ginger cake, sipped coffee, laughed and talked and exchanged gifts.

At midnight we arrived home and then I sat down with a cup of tea in a special cup and opened Susan's gifts, so glad that I had thought better of giving up our own special Christmas tradition.

And next year? I'm hoping that I manage to be in a saner state by Christmas! That would be a tradition worth beginning.

And Can it Be--Text

2011-12-28T16:27:00.001-05:00

Susan looked up the text as per her comment on the hymn below--and she typed it out for those not familiar with the hymn. All the theology anyone would ever need to know is in these words by Charles Wesley! Thank you Susan! :)

And can it be that I should gain

An interest in the Saviour’s blood?

Died he for me, who caused His pain –

For me, who Him to death pursued?

Amazing love! How can it be,

That Thou, my God shouldst die for me?

Amazing love! How can it be

That Thou, my God shouldst die for me?

‘Tis mystery all: th’Immortal dies:

Who can explore His strange design?

In vain the firstborn seraph tries

To sound the depths of love divine.

‘Tis mercy all! Let earth adore,

Let angel minds inquire no more.

‘Tis mercy all! Let earth adore,

Let angel minds inquire no more.

He left his Father’s throne above

So free, so infinite His grace –

Emptied Himself of all but love,

And bled for Adam’s helpless race:

‘Tis mercy all, immense and free,

For O my God, it found out me!

‘Tis mercy all, immense and free,

For O my God, it found out me!

Long my imprisoned spirit lay,

Fast bound in sin and nature’s night;

Thine eye diffused a quickening ray—

I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;

My chains fell off, my heart was free,

I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

My chains fell off, my heart was free,

I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

Still the small inward voice I hear,

That whispers all my sins forgiven;

Still the atoning blood is near,

That quenched the wrath of hostile Heaven.

I feel the life his wounds impart;

I feel the Saviour in my heart.

I feel the life his wounds impart;

I feel the Saviour in my heart.

No condemnation now I dread;

Jesus and all in Him, is mine;

Alive in Him, my living Head,

And clothed in righteousness divine,

Bold I approach th’eternal throne,

And claim the crown, through Christ my own.

Bold I approach th’eternal throne,

And claim the crown, through Christ my own.

And Can it Be

2011-12-28T11:21:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

Praying this morning, thanking God that I know him, my favourite hymn, And Can it Be, by Charles Wesley, came to mind. I love that hymn because it expresses the full good news of the gospel with all the passion that it is due. Whenever it is sung as it should be, with no verses cut out, with an organ and with feeling, I am moved to tears and can barely restrain myself from jumping for joy. I have often thought that I would like this song sung at my funeral, but then I wouldn't be able to join in! This version comes closest to the experience I feel when I sing this beautiful song.

2011-12-27T13:58:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

This is the best time--this time after Christmas--when all of the craziness that takes over; in spite of perpetual determination that it shall not; is over.

This is when the fridge is full of leftovers and laziness is allowed--mandated even.

Finally the pressing on in spite of exhaustion; the digging down to the bottom of the well, for every kind of resource you didn't know you could find, can cease.

This is the time of reflection, regrouping and renewal.

This is when I echo the cry of the angels:

Luke 2:14

21st Century King James Version (KJ21)

¹⁴"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!"

The Canadian Blog Awards Round 2

2011-12-26T22:50:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

Dear Friends and Readers,
Thank you so much for your support in round 1 of the Canadian Blog Awards. Whatever He Says came first in the Religion Philosophy Category for the first round with 39 votes.

You can vote for round 2 by clicking here and I encourage you to consider voting too, for Shannon’s blog in the Best Blog Post category, for her post, Peace be with You.

Also, friend and faithful reader here, Dave Hingsburger's blog,Rolling Around in My Head, is in the running in the Best Personal Blog and Best Overall.

Every vote counts! Thank you in advance for taking time to vote, if you think us worthy!

Christmas Still

2011-12-26T21:51:00.002-05:00

We celebrated Christmas with our family today so it's not over yet. That's why I'm posting this video clip sent by Susan. It is too cool not to:
The Christmas Story' (2010), as told by the children of St Paul's Church, Auckland, New Zealand. Anyone is welcome to show this film publicly, but not change it in any way, nor make money out of it. Except for Joe. You can buy his music here: http://les-enfants.bandcamp.com/ We also welcome you to view the prequel (2011) Good News of Great Joy

Because of Christmas...

2011-12-26T10:46:00.003-05:00

Irish Potato Casserole

2011-12-24T11:09:00.003-05:00

By Belinda

My dear friend and fellow writer and blogger, Brenda Wood; asked me for this recipe after I served it at our writers group Christmas dinner. On Brenda's blog, Heartfelt Devotionals, she has a section with some recipes you might want to try too!

Irish Potato Casserole

Recipe shared by: Carolyn Harman, Harrisonburg, Virginia;Parkview Mennonite Church

8-10 medium potatoes, peeled

8 oz package cream cheese

8 oz sour cream (I replace this with 8 oz Greek yogurt)

½ cup melted butter

¼ cup chopped chives or green onions

I clove garlic, minced

2 tsp salt

Paprika

1. Cookpotatoes and mash. (Do not add any liquid.)

2. Beatcream cheese with electric mixer until smooth. Add potatoes and all otheringredients except paprika. Beat until all ingredients have combined. Spooninto lightly greased 2 quart casserole dish. Sprinkle with paprika, cover andrefrigerate overnight.

3. Uncoverand bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until heated through.

Lost December

2011-12-23T23:28:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

I got Lost December by Richard Paul Evans, from the library to read over Christmas. It is such a good book I cannot put it down. I am passing on the title in case anyone out there is looking for that next book to read! I can promise you this--you will not be disappointed--and if you get it from the library, don't worry about paying late fees, because you will finish it in no time flat.

The Reason for the Season

2011-12-22T00:00:00.000-05:00

This was posted by a commenter, Ginny Saumert Jaques on my friend Janet Sketchley's blog, God With Us; Finding Joy . This is the reason for the season in a nutshell. Belinda

She Said I Would Love It

2011-12-21T23:12:00.001-05:00

Susan said I would love this and I did! It's just the ticket for a time when we all feel a little rushed and pressured. Kindness begets kindness. Belinda

The Belle of the Ball

2011-12-21T23:09:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

I don't even know her proper name. She's Kevin's grandmother, of proud Russian stock, whom I've really only come to know as Baba. I heard about her long before I met her. She sort of grew into a kind of legend as Brenda came home with tales of Baba and her growing affection for her.

She is formidable and feisty--and, like Brenda, I can't help but love her too.

Can't you just tell from the look in her eye that she is a force to be reckoned with? Since all of my friends fit that description I was predestined to be drawn to her zest and sheer "life!"

Would you guess that she is 87?!

When we were all planning our wedding attire, I asked Tina, Kevin's equally vivacious mom, if Baba had her dress.

She laughed in a way that said there was a story to be told. Sure enough, Baba's dress had hung in her closet for some time, about 50 years! It still had it's original pricey price tag. It had been bought by her own mom-- and never worn. Baba tried it on and it was perfect.

After the wedding dinner, when the dancing began, Baba took to the dance floor with her walker. And she danced up a storm!

You can tell from the photos that Tina has some of the Baba spirit.

When I grow up I want to have some Baba in me. :)

It Takes a Team

2011-12-20T21:50:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

Saturday, December 17 and the dawn sky was awash with pink. It has been unbelievably mild in Ontario this winter, but a light sprinkling of snow added fresh beauty to the day.

It was the perfect day for Brenda and Kevin's wedding.

I had an early appointment in Barrie for a manicure, hair wash and blow dry. In a plastic bag on the seat beside me in the car was one red shoe to be matched to my nail polish!

Susan had given me a Christmas CD a few days earlier: Peaceful Christmas I hadn't listened to it yet as I had been finishing an amazing Christmas audio story, A Redbird Christmas by Fannie Flagg, but as I drove up the highway, the sky now a cloudless blue; I popped the CD in. The car filled with the strains of the Carol of the Bells with steel drums, and I listened and peace filled the car.

Spring, who was doing my nails, arrived at the same moment I did and we went into a room at the back of the small salon. I took out my shoe and chose the closest match, a polish with the name Ruby Deer.

As Spring took charge of my sadly neglected nails and buffed, soaked and trimmed them into shape, we talked, as I imagine only women in salons talk. I'm sure that manicurists and hair stylists could put therapists out of business if they had a mind to.

Eventually Jamie, my hair stylist, came looking for me. Her appointments were backing up! She washed my hair, blow dried it and styled it. Jamie makes me look as good as is possible and I have followed her to more salons than I can count!

Finally I was done and ready to pay. As I rummaged in my bag, Spring said, "I should have cashed you out before I did your nails." But I had a feeling that there would be no "cashing out." I had switched bags that morning but also remembered getting my wallet out the night before. Wherever it was, it was not in my bag.

I felt terrible but Jamie said to go home and call in a credit card number. I thanked them but decided to just go back and get the cash. I had lots of time since I didn't have to leave with Brenda until 3.00 and it was so peaceful in my car with that Christmas music that I took it as a gift to spend an extra hour in the car going back and forth.

I knew that Paul would be ready and dressed in his suit and tie well ahead of time. For Paul "on time" is half an hour ahead of time. His nervous energy would have him pacing. I had probably driven him crazy too, with my pie and soup making of the night before. The peaceful bubble of my car was a haven! :)

I picked up my wallet and camera so that I could record my "beautiful beauty team" as part of the memory of that day. Here they are: Spring is on the left.

From the salon I went to Bradford to drop off the Fannie Flagg audio CD at the library as I knew someone else was waiting for it, then I went to Shopper's Drug Mart.

"What are you doing here?" cried out Kim in the make up department, a friend of Brenda's.
"I need eye drops to get rid of the red in my eyes!" I said, laughing. I bought a bottle of Visine Triple Action eye drops, figuring they should do the trick.

Finally it was time to head home and get changed. I had an hour to get ready. As I walked in, Paul was leaving with Tippy and Tori to pick up two young friends; twins who live on the Holland Marsh and who were going to the wedding with them. He was picking up the flowers too, from their mother, the florist.

An hour later I drove to Stouffville with Brenda, her dress carefully packed into the back of her car.

She pulled up into a narrow driveway, leading to a side door of the golf and country club. We got her and the dress into the room where her maid of honour, her best friend, Jenn, was waiting to help her change. I got into the car to park it. As I backed out into the parking lot, I craned my head looking back over my shoulder in one direction, and heard a sickening crunch of metal meeting brick wall from the other side. My stomach lurched. I sheepishly got out and checked the damage. An expensive lesson in paying attention to both sides when backing up, but no one was hurt and cars can be repaired.

Upstairs Reverend Bruce Roffey was already mingling and chatting with the gathering crowd of Brenda and Kevin's friends. I had once baked him his favourite pie, a concoction made with sour cream, raisins and egg custard. He was missing a family Christmas function to officiate at this wedding, but he would hear none of my thanks. "We love Brenda," he said.

I had already read the service on the way to the wedding and it was beautiful. The scriptures chosen were Psalm 121 and Ruth 1:16-17

Psalm 121
King James Version (KJV)

1I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. 2My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth. 3He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber. 4Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. 5The LORD is thy keeper: the LORD is thy shade upon thy right hand. 6The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. 7The LORD shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. 8The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.

Ruth 1:16-17English Standard Version (ESV)

16But Ruth said, "Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge.(A) Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. 17Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried.(B) May the LORD do so to me and more also if anything but death parts me from you."

Jane Archer (left in this photo) and Barb Hustler are two retired Salvation Army officers who attend our cell group. Jane is a chaplain with the Toronto Police. She prayed this beautiful "hand blessing over Kevin and Brenda's hands:

These are the hands of your best friend, young and strong and full of love for you, that are holding yours on your wedding day, as you promise to love each other today, tomorrow, and forever.

These are the hands that will work alongside yours, as together you build your future.

These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, and with the slightest touch, will comfort you like no other.

These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind.

These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes; tears of sorrow, and tears of joy.

These are the hands that will tenderly hold your children.

These are the hands that will help you to hold your family as one.

These are the hands that will give you strength when you need it.

And lastly, these are the hands that even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch.

It took a team! Mostly we were aware of the many friends who were praying for us and the hands of God that carried us.

Something that Made my Day

2011-12-20T09:24:00.002-05:00

By Belinda

Okay I should be hitting the road and doing Christmas shopping and I will be--really--soon--but first I just had to share this in case someone has the time tonight to actually go out and do something other than write out Christmas cards, wrap presents or shop!

I was listening to CBC radio as I got ready for the day--as usual--and heard an interview about Sistema-Toronto.

This is their mission:

"PLAYING TO POTENTIAL"
Mission - VisionOur Mission is to inspire children and youth to achieve their full potential, acquire values that favor their growth, and have a positive impact on both their lives and society.Our Vision is social development through an innovative and hope-instilling music education program that emphasizes the collective practice of music, through symphony orchestras, in order to achieve excellence.

And they have a concert tonight--you can find details on their website.

The interview included a clip of the children in practice, playing their cellos. They did well, and their teacher asked, "What made that better?"

A child's dear voice chirped up, "Because we all watched you, and we didn't rush, and we all played together."

He could have been speaking out a mantra for making this world better.

The radio show host interviewed a child about their musical hopes and in a voice that would melt the hardest hard, the little one said, "I hope I get to play with a bow; so far I have only plucked."

Plucking away in Bond Head. Over and out. Belinda :)

A Time to Dance

2011-12-18T22:26:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

My faculties seem to have ground to a halt and I don't think I can string two words together in a coherent sentence, so I thought I would let some photos tell the story for me. It was a time to dance... (more when I have recovered :))
Ecclesiastes 3:1-4Amplified Bible (AMP)Ecclesiastes 3

TO EVERYTHING there is a season, and a time for every matter or purpose under heaven: 2A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted,(A) 3A time to kill and a time to heal, a time to break down and a time to build up, 4A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,

Coping!

2011-12-16T23:53:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

The house is smells like a feast is underway but it's just me, coping with my Mother of the Bride jitters.When I'm tense I work. I had two big parties at our house this week--one involving a turkey and the other a ham--so this afternoon I began simmering a huge turkey roaster full of a ham bone; yellow split peas; carrots; onions and celery, while on the stove, a stock pot holding a turkey carcass; onion and celery, likewise bubbled away.

I made four apple pies once the simmering was underway and I could hear the vacuum running downstairs. Brenda copes with stress by vacuuming!

Later in the evening Susan and Ron dropped off a gorgeous gingerbread church with stained windows made from melted candies. Their daughter Christy makes these fabulous creations and this was a labour of love.

Kevin, Brenda and I took it with us to Sleepy Hollow Golf and Country Club with the other decorations for tomorrow.

Paul was out at a concert that he and the missions committee had organized at a seniors home in the next town; a fund raiser for the local food bank.

This is Sheena, the woman who coordinates the special event planning at Sleepy Hollow. A lovely woman, warm, capable and committed to making every occasion as wonderful as it can be!

So many people are praying for us as a family. We are grateful for every prayer.

And now to bed!

Cell Group Christmas/Birthday Party and Wedding Shower for Kevin and Brenda

2011-12-15T23:54:00.000-05:00

The samplers

Susan warming up for licking her elbow, a feat that Jane challenged us to!

Just two more sleeps to go! We wish you God's rich blessings Kevin and Brenda.

To Make You Laugh

2011-12-14T19:02:00.000-05:00

Note by Belinda

Wayne, who used to be a work colleague, sent me this email. Since I am living in Suspense at this time of the year, I thought this too funny to keep to myself. I have a few friends who probably think they live in Deepdoodoo.

I have been in many places, but I've never been in Cahoots. Apparently, you can't go alone. You have to be in Cahoots with someone.

I've also never been in Cognito. I hear no one recognizes you there.

I have, however, been in Sane. They don't have an airport; you have to be driven there.

I have made several trips there, thanks to my friends, family and work.

I would like to go to Conclusions, but you have to jump, and I'm not too much on physical activity anymore.

I have also been in Doubt. That is a sad place to go, and I try not to visit there too often.

I've been in Flexible, but only when it was very important to stand firm.

Sometimes I'm in Capable, and I go there more often as I'm getting older.

One of my favorite places to be is in Suspense! It really gets the adrenalin flowing and pumps up the old heart! At my age I need all the stimuli I can get!

And, sometimes I think I am in Vincible but life shows me I am not!

I have been in Deepdoodoo many times. The older I get, the easier it is to get there.

Inspiration

2011-12-12T21:29:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

I loved this quote when I read it tonight. It was just what I needed to inspire me throughout this busy week. May it do the same for you dear friends! With love!

	“Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.” St Francis of Assissi

Stay Strong

2011-12-12T00:21:00.001-05:00

Life is a Team Sport

2011-12-11T21:34:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

I am behind the rest of the world, because the phrase, "Life is a Team Sport," is apparently well used (I only know that because I just Googled it.) But I heard it for the first time this afternoon in an audio book I was listening to, In a Dog’s Heart, by Jennifer Arnold. What Jennifer Arnold actually said was, "Life really is a team sport with your dog," but I latched on to the first part and thought what a cool phrase it was.

Because it really is, isn't it? Life--a team sport.

(A brief digression. You may have noticed that the blog template has a wedding motif this week. That is in honour of Brenda and Kevin whose wedding is this Saturday. Marriage is also a great team sport!)

The phrase, "Life is a Team Sport," made me think of something that I loved when I recently read it in the book, First Things First by Stephen R. Covey. He was writing about the difference between time management that focuses on the concept of time as "Chronos" or chronological time (and what you get done in it)--and that which focuses on "Kairos" or the quality of life (and what you experience in it.) The key connection with today's blog title, was what Covey wrote about how this impacts how we see relationship with others--either through a lens influenced by a chronos view or Kairos view, of time.

He said that in a chronos influenced paradigm, relationships are transactional--more about people as resources through which you get things done, whereas in a paradigm driven by Kairos, relationships are transformational. This is a brief quote, which I highlighted in my copy of the book.

In the very nature of the interaction people are altered. Something new is created and neither person is controlling it. Neither could have anticipated it. It isn't a function of efficiency. It's a function of the exchange of understanding, insights, new learnings, and excitement around those new learnings...

Relationships such as these are rich indeed and I believe it is a glimpse of the way God intended us to be with one another in the world. I believe he meant us to love one another enough to open up our hearts to the potential violence of being trampled upon by a careless friend. Because only when we dare to risk that do we also welcome and share transformation as we expose our weaknesses to one another and hold one another's secrets in sacred and non judgmental trust.

"Life is a Team Sport," doesn't even come close to describing the depth of such relationships. I never was good at team sports. But friendships--with those God has gifted my life with are another matter--these are my team mates for life and forever.

Luke 12:29
The Message (MSG)

^29-32"What I'm trying to do here is get you to relax, not be so preoccupied with getting so you can respond to God's giving. People who don't know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep yourself in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. You'll find all your everyday human concerns will be met. Don't be afraid of missing out. You're my dearest friends! The Father wants to give you the very kingdom itself.

Skywatcher

2011-12-10T22:46:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

I miss things that others catch.

Paul gazes from the window and notices the crops that neighbouring farmers have planted.

I wonder, "How does he know what is in the field?" I wouldn't know winter wheat from barley, but he does, and he sees a hawk in flight instantly, while I am gazing in vain to spot it.

My friend Susan notices all sorts of things that I am oblivious to--her eyes are tuned to things out of order and she bustles around after cell group, straightening chairs, folding the table liner just so, sweeping the floor if I let her--a labour of love.

But ah, the sky--that I never miss.

"Maybe it's just too big to miss," you might laughingly say. Well that is so. The sky is big, a canvas God paints on and speaks to me through all the time!

Yesterday morning I drove to work feeling like a dart speeding through the air to the bulls eyes of tasks waiting.I had deadlines to meet; my priorities were in order. I reached for my CD player to listen to an almost finished audio book on the 20 minute journey when I looked up and changed my mind. Instead the sky captured me.

The sun was shining through a cloud window looking like a small pillar of pale gold in a cream satin sky. All the way down the highway I felt that the beauty was a gift to accompany me. I felt the peace of God with me.

At the end of the day I left an hour early because of an evening trip north for a Christmas dinner in Huntsville. The same gold pillar peeped through the clouds as though it had shown up especially for my return journey home.

At home I quickly combed my hair, put on lipstick, powdered my nose and gathered up some Christmas cards and my camera. Paul and I set out into an evening on which the curtain of night had now descended and began the journey north on highway 400.

A full moon hung above us and I watched it all the way. It played peek-a-boo in the clouds, sometimes hiding behind a lacy gray veil feigning playful shyness. As we drove further north, silhouetted conifers pointed heavenward.

Again, I felt peace and a sense of timelessness. The hustle and bustle of the season fell away. I imagined our blue planet spinning in space; the things that seemed so pressing and important that morning were nothing in the big scheme of God's universe. I had done my best and was content to leave the rest with God.

On the way home today from an afternoon of shopping the western sky outdid any painted by Turner. Beams of gold light shone in all directions from behind softest peach clouds in a sky of pale robins egg blue. It took my breath away and I thought that heaven could hardly be more beautiful.

Thou Maker and Sustainer of all things,

day and night are thine,
heaven and earth declare thy glory

2011-12-07T21:39:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

God has a way of tying so many things together. I love it!

On Friday I wrote a blog post about our agency gala, at which Justin Hines was the guest singer the night before. To share his music I posted two You Tube clips of his songs. One of them was called Courage, which showed people who had faced adversity and had not or were not, giving up. Almost at the end of the clip was a man who was not named, but whose daughter, the caption said, was abducted 12 years ago. It said she was still missing.

That very day, Friday December 2nd, the breaking news was about a man named Joe Chisholm, whose 18 year search for his missing daughter had just come to an end. I didn't it together until tonight, when I listened to the song again and was sure they were the same man. Indeed they are--the song was recorded six years ago, which explains the difference in years!

How wonderful to watch that video clip and see the man, who six years ago didn't know if he would ever see his daughter again, and know that his long search is over at last. What a Christmas gift.

On another note, I truly will be writing again soon. I miss it so much, but have accepted that the days are not going to get longer, so I have to do the sane thing and sacrifice this beloved activity when extra time is needed for many the parties, writing cards, wrapping presents and preparing for a very important wedding on December 17th!

I will write as much as I can and catch up when the dust settles!

Party, Party!

2011-12-02T22:46:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

December dawned this week with a wild stretch of parties ahead, starting with our agency's annual Christmas Gala last night.

I had been looking forward to it for months. Back in September I asked my friend Dave if he and Joe might be back in the country in time to be our guests, and to my joy, they said yes! They got back from a trip to England last weekend.

I began anticipating with excitement. Meals--two vegetarian, were ordered. Dress--Dave wondered would he feel out of place if not dressed up to the nines in a suit. Nope, I assured him, it is a dressy event, but people come as they feel comfortable.

Susan's husband Ron loves to dress up in a distinguished looking bow tie. She claims chagrin at this but Ron maintains his steadfast attachment to the bow tie. In honour of Dave dressing down last night however, he wore a plaid shirt to the gala--no bow tie in sight.

As the event was about to begin, Dave and Joe still hadn't arrived so I called them on their cell. They were on their way, but they were just about to get off highway 427 and onto the 401. It had taken them 2 hours to get that far in rush hour traffic. Dave said, "We never go out at night and this is why!"

We maintained cell phone contact and I met Dave and Joe at the door of the Delta Hotel. As Joe got out and went to the trunk to unload Dave's wheelchair, I noticed that beneath his chin he wore a quietly flamboyant; pale yellow; bow tie!

Dave matched me, we both wore black. As we headed towards the hall packed with 300 or more guests, I laughingly told Joe how Ron had abandoned his bow tie in solidarity with the idea of dressing down. Joe's eyes twinkled as he undid the knot on his own bow tie and shoved it in his pocket.

Laughter and lively conversation rippled around our table and an evening of celebration and friendship was underway. A most delicious meal arrived and there was a silent auction, to which Joe was dispatched at regular intervals in order to put in bids. Although he didn't get the item he was bidding on, the fun was all in the bidding!

And then...the singer and musician Justin Hines, from Newmarket, just 20 minutes down the highway from us--blew us away with his gift of music and grace as a human being. How amazing it was to hear him in person What a great start to December and what a way to celebrate today--International Day of Persons with Disabilities!

Here are two songs I love by Justin Hines.

The Good Cry

2011-11-29T23:21:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

I'm up to my eyeballs in sugar cookie dough, so I'm sharing "The Good Cry," a post from November 24, 2006. The cool thing in going that far back is that I forget so much of what I've written. I had completely forgotten this story. I hope you enjoy it:

Luke 7:38 (New International Version)
NewInternational Version (NIV)
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by InternationalBible Society
38and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet hisfeet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and pouredperfume on them.

Having family in England,I fly home frequently to visit. I always board the plane wondering who willshare that cramped space with me for the next seven hours. There are no rulesof etiquette to govern relationships with the people you elbow over meals orclimb over to get to the washroom. It always seems that we are thrust into asudden relationship that is somewhat like a blind date. It has the potentialfor a pleasant few hours spent together--or it could go badly wrong!

I've had some interesting conversations on plane journeys and made some friendswho continue to stay in touch. I was reminded of one such connection this week.

It was several hours into the flight before we spoke. I think he had returnedfrom stretching his legs and as he settled his large, long frame into theimpossibly tight confines of the seat next to me, he broke our comfortable,mutual silence by opening up in conversation.

I learned that he was a Jamaican ex police officer, from Birmingham,not far from my old home in England.We were traveling in the fall of 2002, and the topic of the terrorist attack onthe World Trade Centeron September 11th 2001 came up. He told me he had an uncle who worked in theWorld Trade Centre. He was one of the many people whose life was saved by thefact that he was late getting to work the morning of the attack. We marveled atthe seemingly insignificant moments in time that made the difference betweenlife and death.

As he continued to talk, I heard an old, old story, the story I love to hearmore than any other; the story of a soul coming to faith in Christ. He was newto faith--no more than one year old. It had been about a year ago that he hadcome to Canadato visit his sister, a Christian. He had high walls around his heart and souland had no interest in having anything to do with God, and he made that clearto her when she gently invited him to join them at church.

But at the airport, waiting to go home to England, something happened. Hesuddenly and inexplicably felt the Presence of God and he knew that he wascalling his name. He boarded the plane and this big man said he began to cry.He couldn't stop. He said he had to cover his face with his coat so no onecould see, and he cried all the way home.

I understood that cry. It's happened to me a couple of times. It's the cry thathappens when the Holy Spirit is washing a person's soul clean of junk. It's agood cry; a really good cry.

It was interesting that I would find an old letter yesterday, in which I wroteto my dad about this man--this week when the Holy Spirit has been on my mind.

2 Timothy 1:4

New International Version (NIV)

⁴ Recalling your tears, I long to see you, so that I may be filled with joy.

Gifts of the Season

2011-11-27T21:35:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

I pull into the plaza in the gray early morning drizzle and see no cars outside Cora's, but the green neon sign in the window says "OPEN." It is 10 to 8 on Sunday morning and inside the restaurant, the young cooks are busy chopping up fresh fruit and vegetables. I see that I am only the second customer to arrive.

The waitress leads me to a booth and I slide into a space that feels like a private bubble of utterly luxurious peace and quiet. I am here for my second of 12 VIP card breakfasts and I order Eggs Benedict with brie and mushrooms--on my friend Dave's recommendation.

A mom, dad, and two children are seated in the next booth. The mom negotiates a peace accord with the kids: "We have a long day ahead. If I sit with you now, I sit with Nicholas later--or I sit with Nicholas now and you later."

She places an order for "French toast with cereal on the side."

Feliz Navidad plays over the sound system and one of the kids sings along softly..."I want to wish you a merry Christmas."

My breakfast arrives and oh, it is just as delicious as Dave said it would be. Slices of creamy white brie snuggle with mushrooms under a blanket of Hollandaise sauce next to crisp home fries and fancy fresh fruit salad. A cup of steaming black coffee is replenished every few minutes. Almost heaven!

Another young family arrives, the man carrying a baby in one of those car seat baby carriers with one hand and holding a toddler's hand with the other and the all settle into the booth two down from mine.

The family on the other side of my booth discusses the Christmas party they are going to.

"It's going to be a different kind of party this time," says the mom, "There will be "stations" and Santa is one of the "stations." And instead of all the 7 year olds going up to Santa as a group, it will be families going up together."

This mom is not only a skilled negotiator but she is wisely setting up the day for success by telling the kids what to expect.

I sit, surrounded by the books I have chosen to share my precious time alone with and I quietly celebrate the gifts of the seasons.

While appreciating the gifts of seasons past, I am grateful for the freedom of "now."

9.00 a.m. and the restaurant is rapidly filling with families starting their day of pre-Christmas activity here. A lengthy line if forming at the entrance and santa hatted children are sprinkled about the tables.

I suddenly feel like an odd and solitary duck with my booth all to myself. Time to make way for the waiting hordes and go home to get ready for church!

The Church's Hope--Me?

2011-11-27T07:08:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

Oswald Chambers writes in yesterday's My Utmost for His Highest, of the feebleness of The Church of a century ago. So then, the condition of the Bride of Christ now, is not a new thing.

Lord, is this the way it will always be--this pale imitation of your intention?

The answer lies within "you" he whispers, for as your condition is, so is that of The Church.

It is not then so very mysterious, or impossible to change...

Worldly grief produces death.

When Ahithophel saw that his counsel was not followed, he saddled his donkey and went off home to his own city. He set his house in order and hanged himself, and he died.—A crushed spirit who can bear?

Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has the health of the daughter of my people not been restored?—The Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,… to comfort all who mourn; to grant to those who mourn in Zion—to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit.—“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Philip… told him the good news about Jesus.—He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.

(From yesterday's Daily Light)

The School, the Street and the Saviour

2011-11-26T23:04:00.001-05:00

By Belinda
Another post from the archives (2008). I've been too busy to write as much as usual, but I enjoy dipping into the past posts from time to time! Happy Advent everyone and a belated Happy Thanksgiving to our friends from the U.S.!

******************

In the spring of the year I turned 9, our family moved to Alvechurch, a small village in the heart of the Worcestershire countryside.

The village school was Church of England and connected with the church of St. Laurence, which stood on a hill, keeping watch over the surrounding countryside; a silent guardian; as it had done for at least eight centuries.

One day, into the flock of rosy cheeked English children, came a rare bird of exotic species; an American girl!

She was a flamingo in a flock of starlings. We all wore school uniform.The boys wore short gray trousers, knee socks, shirts, ties and black blazers and we girls, either red and white, or blue and white striped cotton dresses, with cardigans or blazers. She looked so sophisticated when she arrived in a neat pleated green skirt and white sweater. And she spoke with an accent that we had heard on television but never in person! She was pretty, blond, with blue eyes, and she had an air of assurance and worldly wisdom about her.

She was only at the school for a short time, and her name is lost somewhere between my brain and the tip of my tongue, but I do remember the shock when she calmly announced to us one day that she did not believe in God and that the story of Adam and Eve was just a myth!

Our family did not attend church but I had always had a strong awareness of God. I never doubted his existence. The school, where every day started with prayer and hymns, and we were taught religious knowledge, reinforced my faith and spirituality. It was disturbing, and even scandalous to me, to hear another child say that God did not exist.

We lived on Bear Hill. The lower part of the hill was a mix of half timbered Tudor, Georgian and Edwardian houses that teetered at odd angles. The upper part, where we lived, was part of a council estate--rental social housing, affordable for the general population. On our street lived ten families who grew up together, some over several generations.

We children played outside together on the street in the long summer evenings, drawing Hopscotch squares on the sidewalk with chalk, skipping, bike riding, tree climbing and exploring the surrounding fields, hedgerows and streams.

Two doors up from us lived the Hawks family. They looked like their name; sharp of eye and feature, with quick bird-like movements. They were lean, thin people. The father and sons wore drainpipe jeans, and their hair was greased and slicked back in the style of Teddy boys, a British subculture of the fifties. They walked hunched over and carried cigarettes over their ears or hanging from their lips. Occasionally they provided entertainment for the rest of us by having an all out screaming fight in the street, with harsh, guttural swear words.

Valerie Hawks was my age and we played together as we grew up side by side on the street. One day when we were about 11, she said that she and her mother and some friends had been to "meetings" at a "chapel," and got "saved. "Are you saved?" she wanted to know.

I was bewildered. This sounded like a foreign language to me, what did she mean? I knew that I believed in God, wasn't that enough?

I went on with my life, with God in it always, to various degrees. Sometimes he was only a recipient of my prayers for protection from the shadows that lurked in the dark, but he was there. It never occurred to me to do anything but move toward him if an invitation to do so was given.

Then one day, at 16, I went to work in an office where the office manager was also pastor of a church that met in a little ramshackle building behind some gas pumps in a nearby town. He invited me to a Billy Graham movie being shown at a local college and I invited a friend to go with me. When an invitation was given at the end of the movie, to go forward for "salvation," even though I didn't really understand what I was doing, except saying, "Yes," to God; to the song, Just as I Am, we both walked to the front.

My journey of faith has continued and deepened with every one of the 42 years since walking towards God with my friend at the college. I have learned that you can't put a faith journey in a neat box tied with a bow of particular phraseology. God calls and woos us in ways unique to who we are. I can't explain why some people sense his presence from the very start, some have a startling epiphany and others seem so blind and deaf to him, never finding him. But I thank him every day that he made himself known to me.

I wonder now if the American girl ever changed her mind. Who knows? Perhaps she will read this and let me know!

Being Real

2011-11-24T07:22:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

This morning I was searching my blog archives for a poem I wanted to share. I found this first--a post written in April 2007. I felt God's whisper, "Share this." Interestingly, yesterday I took part of a University of Waterloo leadership course that focused on recognizing our strengths and challenged us to not be content with our weaknesses but work on strengthening them. There is balance in it all. The secret, I think, is to give ourselves (our poor selves) to God and he will form in us Christ, to give to the world. Yes, we must try to strengthen our weaknesses, but not forget that our true gift is simply Jesus, in the unique package of ourselves.

2 Corinthians 3:2-3 (New Living Translation)
2 The only letter of recommendation we need is you yourselves. Your lives are a letter written in our hearts; everyone can read it and recognize our good work among you. 3 Clearly, you are a letter from Christ showing the result of our ministry among you. This “letter” is written not with pen and ink, but with the Spirit of the living God. It is carved not on tablets of stone, but on human hearts.

To be fully myself with others has been a lifelong journey. Growing up shy and an introvert by nature is part of it--and like much of the rest of the world, I've struggled with insecurities and lack of self worth (the enemy loves us to believe that we are worthless).

I can trace the process of breaking free of hiding through poems, reflections and revelations in my journals and now I think that my closest friends know me pretty fully.

I've come to realize that the only real gift I have to offer the world is myself and that to be fully me is the best thing I can be--not measuring myself by anyone else's yardstick. What peace and freedom there is in that.

2 Corinthians 3:2-3 describes our lives as letters--not written with pen and ink, but with the Spirit of God on human hearts. If that's true, then I want to be an accurate letter--showing the world who I am in Christ, as a mother, wife, friend and leader. If I hide the part of me that is Christ-focused from others (or any other part for that matter), thinking that they may be offended or turned off, or I may be percieved as pushing my faith on them, I am hiding the thing within me that is the most valuable to the rest of the world. "The only letter of recommendation we need is you yourselves," says Paul, writing to the Corinthians--"you yourselves."

This morning my friend Susan led our worship team at church. We aren't the most polished, we all had colds, but we are worshippers. The worship service was filled with a sense of God's Presence. This is what she wrote afterwards:

"I gave myself to God this morning and asked him to please flow through "me". Instead of trying to focus on "how" I "should" be doing it, I just focused on "Him" and making sure that "who I am" was as available as I can be for Him to flow through. And then I just loved Him and enjoyed His presence... "

Giving ourselves to God and others--our real selves--that's all God asks and it is a gift that in his hand can be put to amazing use.

Romans 12:1 (New Living Translation)
1 And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him.

Trust Him with the Pieces

2011-11-22T22:28:00.001-05:00

Note from Belinda: This is from the archives--by Susan in August 2010. When I think back to when it was written, I remember the fire through which she was walking. It means more because of that.

There are so many gems in the depths of this blog and they bless me when I read them again. I pray it blesses you today.

...by Susan (with a lot of help from Selah)

I had listened to this song a dozen times before the words hit me today. Funny how you can tune your ears to hear things in the valley of suffering that would go right over your head most any other time.

Believing that God is working everything together for good is an easy thing to believe and to proclaim when the road is smooth and there are no obstacles in sight. But when God allows the circumstances in our lives to heat up and boil over, it can suddenly become very difficult to accept that he knows exactly what he's doing and has it all under control. These words of Life, favourite scriptures of my Mom's too, once again brought comfort through some huge challenges this week:

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. (Romans 8:28 NASB)

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11)

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. (Isaiah 43:2)

It does not matter what circumstances we go through in this life, what we have done, what we have not done, what has been done to us, by us, for us, or against us. If we lay the shattered pieces of our lives at his feet, there is not a single thing which will go unredeemed. Just like this song (by Selah) says. I pray it ministers to your heart and strengthens your faith like it has mine that putting God in control of the circumstances of our lives is the only sane thing to do. He's good all the time! There's not a single thing, not a circumstance, a disappointment, an injustice, a wrong attitude, a lack of judgment, etc, etc, etc, which cannot be redeemed by a Saviour so great as ours if we will only trust him with the outcome and let go of trying to control it ourselves... Over to you, Lord...

The Bells of St. Laurence Church Alvechurch

2011-11-21T21:37:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

Susan emailed me yesterday afternoon with a photograph and mysterious message:

If you know what this attached picture is, you'll know what I've spent a very happy hour or so researching and reading about this afternoon. Not sure why I happened upon this course of study but I did... and I've enjoyed every minute of it.

I emailed her back, Wheels falling off wagons??? :)

It turned out to be:
The bells of Alvechurch

Susan whiled away a few hours on Sunday afternoon doing research on bell ringing!

She wrote again later:

I kept reading about "change ringing in the English pattern" and decided I needed to know more about what that is like. I found this video from the Washington Cathedral. I love the description: "Change Ringing is a team sport, a highly coordinated musical performance, an antique art, and a demanding exercise that involves a group of people ringing rhythmically a set of tuned bells through a series of changing sequences that are determined by mathematical principles and executed according to learned patterns."

And then, later, came this video clip, which she found on You Tube of the bells of St. Laurence. This is the sound that peals over the village of Alvechurch every Tuesday evening for several hours of bell ringing practice. And apparently they welcome visitors! :) It was fascinating to get a glimpse of what lies behind a sound that is integral to growing up in the village.Thanks to Susan's sleuthing skills and the internet, I was able to enjoy the bells of Alvechurch while at home in Bond Head.

I thought of Mum and Rob who would have heard these very peals one Tuesday evening in January of this year--and how cool to see young people carrying on this art. It looks like a great workout for the arms!

Less Can be More

2011-11-20T16:43:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

Paul and I watched the documentary, God Grew Tired of Us over the weekend. Click on the link and you can watch it online if interested. It chronicles the story of some of the "Lost Boys of Sudan."

in 1987 Sudan's Muslim government pronounced death to all males in the Christian south and a mass migration of boys began into neighbouring Ethiopia, and later, in 1991, to Kenya, by which time their numbers had dwindled through starvation and illness to 12,000.

The documentary follows several of the boys eventually accepted into the U.S. as refugees, and one of them, John Bul Dau, has been on my mind since, I watched it.

"I feel I survived because God wants to do something with my life," Dau shares. "I don't want to waste any of the time I have left. So many people are still in Sudan needing clinics, schools, and churches. I cannot forget them."

Several things stick with me as a result of watching the documentary. One is the immense innate dignity and depth of character of John Bul Dau. He is a man tall in stature and in principle.

Western society is built on individualism, whereas in Africa, the tribe supersedes the individual. Watching John Bul Dau transition to the west was to see the contrast in action. Far from being dazzled by opportunities for personal achievement, he never lost his focus on sharing whatever God gave him here, to help those left behind--thousands, still in a refugee camp and whom he thinks of, with a deep sense of duty, as his family.

We would think of life in the camp in Kenya as difficult and deprived of much that we think is "good," and yes, it is, but there are things that are enviable in that poor community. That was brought home to me when John observed preparations for Christmas in his new home of Syracuse, New York. He looked in dismay and amusing confusion at Santa Claus and Christmas trees and asked repeatedly, "But what does this have to do with Christmas?" And then he described how on Christmas Eve in the camp, there is a celebration with jubilant dancing, celebrating the coming to earth of Jesus Christ.

The dancing is shown in the documentary and I found my heart wistful. We are about to embark on the celebration of Christmas 2011. It can become crazy with excess and stress, but it doesn't have to be that way. I learned from John that less can be more. I want his kind of more--more of Jesus who came here poor and lived homeless--and who I follow and love dearly. I want to consider carefully how I celebrate him this year, because right now a plane to a camp in Kenya for Christmas Eve is on my wish list!

Faithful and True

2011-11-19T00:00:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

Pick up my dog eared and Scotch taped copy of the Daily Light and you will be able to trace my family's life in the margins.

Countless little notes bear testimony to significant events and as the years go by and our lives continue to unfold, they often grow more precious. What seemed like catastrophe "then" can be seen for the hidden blessing that lay in a turn of events as God continues to plot the course of our lives.

This week, two days in a row, there were notations and underlined scriptures.

On November 14, a note read, "Brenda, 2005. Lost job at Hollywood Montessori."

All of the scriptures for that morning were relevant and encouraging, but the one I underlined was:

Proverbs 14:26

New International Version (NIV)

²⁶ Whoever fears the LORD has a secure fortress,
and for their children it will be a refuge.

Brenda's spiritual and vocational journey wasn't easy as a result of the school she taught in going bankrupt and losing a job she loved, but she grew in grace, gratitude and spirit muscle as God provided for her needs and led her to where she is now, in a job she adores at St. Andrew’s College, with coworkers she talks about with affection all the time.

The next day, November 15, also has a notation:
"Peter, interview, 2006 O.S.C."

The initials stand for Ontario Securities Commission. Pete's journey with Government had started a few years earlier, with an opportunity that had God's fingerprints all over it, after a job in a toxic work environment ended with the bankruptcy of the company.

The verses I underlined that morning were these:

1 Corinthians 1:9

Amplified Bible (AMP)

⁹God is faithful (reliable, trustworthy, and therefore ever true to His promise, and He can be depended on); by Him you were called into companionship and participation with His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

and

Hebrews 10:23

Amplified Bible (AMP)

²³So let us seize and hold fast and retain without wavering the ^[a]hope we cherish and confess and our acknowledgement of it, for He Who promised is reliable (sure) and faithful to His word.

The interview that day back in 2006 went well and Pete got the job. Since then God has continued to unfold his plan for Pete's life in a way that makes me smile at His goodness.

How faithful God is, and how good it is to be reminded that trust placed in him is never misplaced.

Further, Fuller, Deeper In

2011-11-18T19:44:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

In one of the excellent sessions at last week's leadership conference, we learned that it is amazing what you learn from people by asking them to finish a few simple statements:

I love...
I hate...
I dream...
I get frustrated when...
I feel joy when...
I fear when...

So this morning when our team of leaders met I handed out pages with these questions on them and asked the team to answer three of their choice. Laughter rippled around the table at some of the answers. Two younger members of my team are "dreaming of" retirement--but I am way ahead of them!

My own quickly scribbled answer to that question was:

I dream...of being part of God's agenda--more fully than to this point. I often think that we skim the surface of his possibilities.

While I didn't word it so well on the spur of the moment, I was trying to express an increasing longing to let go of reason, logic, limitations and dependence on the human perspective on things and tap more fully into God's unlimited resources, strength, power and perspective. I think that's the first step--longing to do so. I don't even think it's very far from getting to it; grasping it fully, because he says:

Acts 17:27

The Message (MSG)

^24-29"The God who made the world and everything in it, this Master of sky and land, doesn't live in custom-made shrines or need the human race to run errands for him, as if he couldn't take care of himself. He makes the creatures; the creatures don't make him. Starting from scratch, he made the entire human race and made the earth hospitable, with plenty of time and space for living so we could seek after God, and not just grope around in the dark but actually find him. He doesn't play hide-and-seek with us. He's not remote; he's near. We live and move in him, can't get away from him!

All of this made me think of one of the verse in the book of Job, which was used for the title of a book of a collection of the writings of one of my heroes, Amy Carmichael: Edges of His Ways.

Job 26:14

Amplified Bible (AMP)

¹⁴Yet these are but [a small part of His doings] the outskirts of His ways or the mere fringes of His force, the faintest whisper of His voice! Who dares contemplate or who can understand the thunders of His full, magnificent power?

So I'm pressing in; believing with all of my heart that "with God all things" and anything "is possible!"

I don't want to leave this earth not having lived life fully alive to the fullness of his glory; available right here; right now. I'm hoping to hold off on that funeral celebration I was planning in my last blog post--for now. I'm hoping God isn't finished with me yet.

2011-11-16T21:28:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

Tonight at worship practice we learned this beautiful song. Susan and I both said we were putting it in our funeral files on our computers! Yes--we both have one and Susan even remembered an obscure song I once loved and said I wanted sung (what a faithful friend.)

My only regret is that I won't be there to enjoy it--but who knows, maybe God will let me hover in the rafters and sing along when the time comes. But I think that by then I will be singing with a choir so amazing that nothing would draw me back to earth--not even my favourite songs! :)

Under the Cover of Prayer: How to Pray Part 1

2011-11-16T08:00:00.001-05:00

Note by Belinda

Today I commend to Whatever He Says readers a refreshing and thought provoking post at my friend Jan Cox's blog:

Under The Cover of Prayer: How to Pray; Part 1

I will try not to miss a link to part 2 next month!

The Canadian Blog Awards

2011-11-15T23:37:00.001-05:00

Whatever He Says has been nominated again this year for the Canadian Blog Awards in the Religion Philosophy category!Last year this blog came second. I would love to do better this year but need your help!

Please vote if you enjoy reading here, by going to Canadian Blog Awards.

While there, our friend Dave's blog, Rolling Around in My Head is nominated for Best Personal Blog and Best Overall. And our other friend Shannon, has been nominated in the category of Best Blog Post for Half Soled Boots: Peace Be With You please consider voting for them too.

Take time to explore the blogs nominated. It is an excellent way to find some great Canadian blogs.

VotingTwo rounds of voting will take place with each round lasting 7 days. The first round of voting will include all nominees. The second round of voting will narrow down the list of nominees in each category. The second round shall consist of the top ranking blogs from round 1.Each person gets one vote for their favourite blog, in each category. In round 1, you can only vote once per blog. In the subsequent rounds you can vote once per day.

2011-11-14T21:54:00.001-05:00

I found this video clip made in 1985 of David du Plessis telling of his call, through a prophesy given by Smith Wigglesworth, to a ministry he had not planned--that of taking the baptism in the Holy Spirit to main line churches. I looked him up on Wikipedia and it was interesting to read how the prophesy was fulfilled in his life. The call he followed was not popular with other some believers and he struggled with it himself, but was faithful to follow God's direction. I loved the story he tells at the end of the clip, in which he talks of the text for which this blog is named--and calls it a recipe for miracles! Listening to this man I could sense his closeness to the Lord and I share it here because others, like me, may not have heard of him. Oh--I came upon the clip because the pastor son of the friend I wrote about yesterday, is being mentored by a 90 year old man who used to be Smith Wigglesworth's driver.

Holy Conversations and other News

2011-11-13T19:59:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

I'm still working on finding a conversation partner for our cell group study Holy Conversation. Paul and I have one person in mind to ask--and if he says yes, we will ask him if we can share him! He asked me with great interest if I've found my "person" yet, and when I said no, he said "Well, don't give up." Next time I see him I'm going to ask if he wants to be the "person" and whether Paul and I can share him. It sounds rather predatory doesn't it? :)

I know there were people who prayed for my brother, Rob, after I wrote about how downhearted he felt when I spoke to him just over a week ago. This past Saturday he was feeling much brighter in spirit--thank you for praying. My nephew John came over every night last week after work to walk Bruce--a big help. I have been checking flights for January and Paul has decided to go with me this time. Rob was so happy to know that we would be there soon. His pain and fatigue are still there but he has a doctor's appointment this week.

One of the things I was looking forward to at the leadership conference last week, was seeing some old friends; people particularly dear to my heart. One friend greeted me with a warm hug at the coffee machine on the first evening. I knew she'd been going through a stressful time and we both agreed that we would make a point of having a coffee or meal together sometime during the conference--I wanted to encourage her if I could.

It was lunchtime on the last day when I realized that we hadn't found time to spend any time together. I would have been disappointed to miss the opportunity to chat, so I scanned the rapidly filling tables looking for this friend. I spotted her at a table full of people from her part of the province--but right beside her was an empty space looking as though it was just waiting for me! I navigated the tight space between the tables, balancing a coffee cup and plate of food and laid claim to the space.

She was recently returned from a trip to England where she had visited her son who is a pastor. I asked where in England he was. "Tamworth" she said.

"Tamworth?" I said, "That's close to where I'm from in the Midlands!" and she began to tell me about her trip, eyes shining with memories as she told me about the church her son belongs to: Living Rock Church.

I leaned in with interest as she told me how the church was up to recently meeting in a pub in Tamworth. When the number of people making decisions to become followers of Jesus reached 55 they moved their meeting place to the local Holiday Inn.

At the pub they would meet every week to break bread. The pub would have a loaf of bread and the wine ready for them. She asked the people at the pub what they thought about them meeting there to break bread. They said, "All we know is that since we've allowed them to do this here our business has been blessed."

She told me about a soldier who was searching spiritually but was struggling with guilt over what he'd done during his time in Iraq. He had pulled into the local gas station and spoken to someone about his struggles and they pointed him to a soldier in the Bible who became a follower of Jesus. The person told him to come back if he had questions. He did go back to the gas station but when he asked for the person by, he was told that there was no one there by that name. The soldier ended up meeting the Christians at the pub in Tamworth and giving his heart and life to Christ.

I sat back and laughed to myself at the irony of my mission to "encourage" my friend, who had ended up encouraging me with her stories of a church living out the gospel by breaking out of the walls of the church. And the further irony that don't even yet have a "conversation partner" for our small group study. God's touch of humour.

The Choice

2011-11-12T23:51:00.000-05:00

Jeremiah 17:7-8 The Message (MSG) 7-8

But blessed is the man who trusts me, God, the woman who sticks with God. They're like trees replanted in Eden, putting down roots near the rivers— Never a worry through the hottest of summers, never dropping a leaf, Serene and calm through droughts, bearing fresh fruit every season.

By Belinda

We are back from a three day conference at Geneva Park, just north of Orillia. The time away involved early mornings and late nights and hours in between soaking in information that strengthened our leadership on all sorts of levels. I have so much to process and unpack in my working, spiritual, and personal life. But that's not what I meant to write about--that was just to bring you up to date on where I've been!

I led the devotions on Thursday morning and had been praying about what to share for some time. I recruited my colleague Marirose, with her guitar and beautiful voice, to join me at the end in leading a song and what I shared came out of something I wrote about here a couple of weeks ago, starting with the phone call from my friend Frances, a.k.a. "Poppy." Susan asked me for a copy of my notes, so I thought I would share them here:

The Choice

Thomas E. Reynolds, a professor at the Emmanuel College, and author of the book: Vulnerable Communion:a theology of disability and hospitality, spoke to us about the spirituality of attentiveness: focused on God and attentive to those we serve.

He asked the question, "Where do we get the resources we use?"

We who are leaders have a natural bias towards action; we are initiators. Our great temptation and natural bent is to rely on our own skills, knowledge and personal energy in our work and ministry.

The strategy of the enemy is disconnection from God through any means, especially the trap of busyness.

In the Bible we see that often God chose to use those who were not endowed with great natural gifts. In spiritual leadership there is a counter intuitiveness in which the pattern is a laying down of strengths; choosing to rely on God through time in prayer and the suspension of a personal agenda. In our work we often come to places in which the job is too big for us, the task or situation overwhelming. It is at those times that we are reminded that giving up our reliance on self and that choosing to trust God is the only real option. We should be grateful for circumstances that drive us to him because then we connect with possibilities beyond anything we could expect from our own strength.

It was a few weeks ago that I checked my voice mail at the office just before meeting with a colleague. There was a personal message from my friend, Poppy:

Hello Dear,I don’tnormally leave messages, but I will today, because I want to request of you asmy spiritual mother, sister and friend (especially mother;) that the next timeyou hear me complain of or confess to being prayer-less; that I want you to become asstern as you can; raise yourself up and reprimand me. Tell me that Iknow better!

I’mso aware now of how being prayer-less is such an awful feeling;forgivable—yes; especially in light of the busyness of life in general, and mylife in particular recently; however I realize the importance of praying beforeall else, as the Lord says and did, and not because we’ve got nothing better todo (Matthew 6:9).
Please,please, remember this for my sake, okay dear?

Thank you, bye bye.

I listened to the message, thoughtful. Shewas asking me to hold her true? How unworthy I was of that request.

My colleague arrived for our meeting, and confided that he had been struggling to find time to pray, Then he asked, "How about you?"

"Not good," I confessed and I told him about my first friend's phone message

He pulled a Bible from his pocket and began ruffling through its pages, looking for Romans 12. When he found it he read the first two verses. "That's what it's about," he said:

Romans 12:1-2

New International Version (NIV)

¹ Therefore, I urge you,brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a livingsacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. ² Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed bythe renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’swill is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

I said to him,"In order to do it I would need to get up at 5.00, how about you?"

"Six," myteam member said.

We talked about thearrogance of thinking we could live without the fuel Jesus depended on for eachday and every moment.

When I got home I set my alarm for 5.00.

Oswald Chambers ran a Bible College before he died in 1917, during the First World War. His wife, to whom he gave the nickname "Biddy," wrote down his lectures and published them after his death, some in the devotional book, My Utmost for His Highest. The reading for October 19, was from a talk given to the students at the college but the wisdom is relevant to our work today:

The Unheeded Secret—OswaldChambers

Oct 192011

Jesusanswered, "My kingdom is not of this world —John 18:36

The great enemy of theLord Jesus Christ today is the idea of practical work that has no basis in theNew Testament but comes from the systems of the world. This work insists uponendless energy and activities, but no private life with God. The emphasis isput on the wrong thing. Jesus said, “The kingdom of Goddoes not come with observation . . . . For indeed, the kingdom of Godis within you” (Luke 17:20-21).It is a hidden, obscure thing. An active Christian worker too often lives to beseen by others, while it is the innermost, personal area that reveals the powerof a person’s life.

We must get rid of theplague of the spirit of this religious age in which we live. In our Lord’s lifethere was none of the pressure and the rushing of tremendous activity that weregard so highly today, and a disciple is to be like His Master. The centralpoint of the kingdom of Jesus Christ is apersonal relationship with Him, not public usefulness to others.

It is not the practicalactivities that are the strength of this Bible Training College— its entirestrength lies in the fact that here you are immersed in the truths of God tosoak in them before Him. You have no idea of where or how God is going toengineer your future circumstances, and no knowledge of what stress and strainis going to be placed on you either at home or abroad. And if you waste yourtime in overactivity, instead of being immersed in the great fundamental truthsof God’s redemption, then you will snap when the stress and strain do come. Butif this time of soaking before God is being spent in getting rooted andgrounded in Him, which may appear to be impractical, then you will remain trueto Him whatever happens.

Finally, I share this reading from The Valley of Vision:

TheInfinite and the Finite

Thou Great I AM,

Fill my mind with elevation and grandeur at the thought of aBeing

With whom one day is as a thousand years,

And a thousand years as one day,

A mighty God, who, amidst the lapse of worlds,

And the revolutions of empires,

Feels no variableness,

But is glorious in immortality.

May I rejoice that, while men die, the Lord lives;

That, while all creatures are broken reeds,

Empty cisterns,

Fading flowers,

Withering grass,

He is the Rock of Ages, the Fountain

Of living waters.

Turn my heart from vanity,

From dissatisfactions,

From uncertainties of the present state,

to an eternal interest in Christ.

Let me remember that life is short and unforeseen,

and is only an opportunity for usefuless;

Give me a holy avarice to redeem the time,

to awake at every call to charity and piety,

so that I may feed the hungry,

clothe the naked,

instruct the ignorant,

reclaim the vicious,

forgive the offender,

diffuse the gospel,

show neighbourly love to all,

Let me live a life of self-distrust,

Dependence on thyself,

mortification,

crucifixion,

prayer.

The song Marirose chose to sing was Center, by Charlie Hall:

You’re the center of the universe
Everything was made in You Jesus
Breath of every living thing
Everyone was made for You

:Pre-Chorus:
You hold everything together
You hold everything together

:chorus:
Christ be the center of our lives
Be the place we fix our eyes
Be the center of our lives

We lift our eyes to heaven
We wrap our lives around your life
We lift our eyes to heaven, to You

Charlie Hall

We Will Remember

2011-11-11T13:26:00.000-05:00

By Belinda

This morning at Sir William Osler Public school honour was duly shown to the men and women who fought in the First World War and those since. I was there with Brenda because Tippy was a runner up in the Bond Head Lion's Club Peace Poster competition. But sharing this solemn remembrance with children was especially poignant.

The young lieutenant who addressed the children, reminded them that no one returns from war unchanged, and spoke of her work with returning veterans, helping them transition back to life in a country at peace after being in combat zones. The children,, after settling to quiet, listened; hushed and grave. Tippy, at 13, is just three years short of the age some boys were, when having lied about their age, they went to war.

She is the great granddaughter of one who went. I hope he knows that today, especially, we remembered him, and all who answered a call to fight oppression and evil.

Remembrance

2011-11-10T23:11:00.001-05:00

By Belinda

We are back from our leadership conference, brimming over with good stuff learned. But tired from three long days in a row, I went looking for previous Remembrance Day posts and found this one, posted in 2007.

I have edited and updated information but am sharing it again to keep a memory alive. In no way do I wish to detract from the true purpose of Remembrance Day. I am a soldier's daughter and understand the respect due to those who fought on the battlefields of the wars of the last 100 years, but there are those who have fought wars of their own in peacetime; in battlefields constructed of walls and locked doors--and survived against the odds. They are heroes of a different kind of war, but heroes nonetheless. This is a remembrance of one of them:

Not knowing its significance to me, she gave it almost as an aside during a meeting at my office.

"Miah asked me to give this to you," she said, placing it in my hands.

I gasped in recognition of something I considered a treasure.

It was just a leather pouch, but to me it was about whose the pouch it had been.

It was made ruggedly out of one piece of tan leather, folded and stitched together on both sides with flat, thin, strips of off-white leather. The flap was secured by a pair of domes sewn inside.

There are initials on the flap, "E.H.," painted in white. They are in the centre of an small oblong of stitches, securing a piece of leather inside onto which the domes are sewn. The initials are a puzzle, since the pouch belonged to Evelyn, whose last name started with "C." I'm not sure if she inherited it from someone else, or if someone got her initials wrong when they were put on. Two drops of white paint landed on the front of the pouch sometime in its history, and no one bothered to remove them.

It's hard to find the words to express what I felt, but it was as if the pouch had been guided to the next pair of hands that were to hold it in trust; and a heart that would keep a memory alive.

In the pouch there are the remnants of lives long gone—a letter written in 1941 on a lonely Christmas Eve, shortly after a bomb had dropped nearby the home in Belfast, shattering windows. There are old photographs, newspaper death notices and other things. They belonged to two people that came to Canada from Ireland in the early nineteen hundreds. These people married and the child they had was "our" Evelyn.

I look into the eyes on the photographs and see "Evelyn’s people;" Evelyn, gone seven years ago now to heaven: Evelyn who was known and loved for her character and feistiness--Evelyn whose 16 years with the agency I work for (after her discharge from an institution,) were the stuff of legends.

She had no people when she came to us, but God saw to it that she soon had some. He made some of us love her dearly.

Mention her name in a group of veteran staff even now, and the stories start. How she would love that. She always loved stories and I have many of them stored away in my heart. I wonder how many of us will leave behind us stories that others recount with such affection nearly a decade after our deaths.

She loved me to recount the story of the disastrous day we spent together when I left the lights on in the van in the parking lot at the Finch subway station. A smile would break across her face at the humour in it all as I asked her again if she remembered it. That was the day she took the gum I offered, and it stuck to her dentures. We crossed the parking lot to the van waiting with a dead battery, to the sound of Ev's wailing about the gum on her teeth. Earlier that day we had ridden the subway (an event in itself since it was quite scary for her) in order to catch a streetcar, just for the fun of riding one--something she had wanted to do. But all of the streetcars seemed to be on the opposite side of the road to the side we were waiting on. Ev and I both thought that was funny. We gave up, crossed the street and caught the streetcar on the other side. We were immediately surrounded by emergency vehicles with sirens wailing, on their way to an accident or fire. Evelyn wailed too--she was scared by the hullabaloo.

When she died, after eventually moving to a nursing home; Miah and I had visited the funeral home together to say our last goodbyes to the part of her left behind, but missing her indomitable spirit. Inexplicably, she lay there with her mouth open. I don't know which of us spotted it first, but when our eyes met, we broke into laughter through our tears--for we could not help but gaze into her open mouth and see her name inscribed on the inside of her upper dentures; the dentures that no doubt flew across the room so often at the nursing home that a staff wanted to make sure they were returned to the right person.

On a day of remembrance; I treasure her memory.

A Student's Stance

2011-11-09T22:27:00.003-05:00

By Belinda

(Another archived post from June 17, 2010 this time)

I have a paradox to share today. Thank you in advance for being so patient with my endless epiphanies.:)

As I continue to work on carrying out my choice to eschew negative thoughts and words, I find that silencing my mind and being still; not raising my heart or voice against another, creates mental and spiritual space to learn.

Negativity and criticism come from a place of pride; listening and learning from a place of humility.

It is in observing and listening that learning takes place and too many words and predetermined opinions are blockages to the education others have to offer.

The paradox is this: I thought that age was a place of sharing the great wisdom accumulated with many years. Instead I realize more than ever how much there is to learn.

We joke about young people's refuting of parental wisdom and how much parents apparently learn by the time their teenagers grow into their twenties. The young person recognizes that they didn't have all the answers and their parents knew a few things of worth, after all. Well, elders can be guilty of that arrogance too--secretly thinking that we are the fount of much wisdom. I don't want to spend the rest of my life like that.

I want to shed the pride that speaks before listening; to take a student's stance in every interaction.

It won't be easy; old habits die hard and any readers who are friends and who have real, face to face conversations with me, feel free to tell me how I am doing!

James 1:19 (Amplified Bible)
19Understand [this], my beloved brethren. Let every man be quick to hear [a ready listener], slow to speak, slow to take offense and to get angry.
Proverbs 8:6-11 (New International Version)
6 Listen, for I have worthy things to say;
I open my lips to speak what is right.

7 My mouth speaks what is true,
for my lips detest wickedness.

8 All the words of my mouth are just;
none of them is crooked or perverse.

9 To the discerning all of them are right;
they are faultless to those who have knowledge.

10 Choose my instruction instead of silver,
knowledge rather than choice gold,

11 for wisdom is more precious than rubies,
and nothing you desire can compare with her.

How to Be Happy

2011-11-08T23:19:00.004-05:00

Another post from the archives; this one by Susan, posted on July 30, 2010. It was a blessing to me, and I hope it will be to you!

By Susan

If you were to ask what God is teaching me of late in The School of Prayer, I would have to share with you the following individualized course of study.

School of Prayer

HOW TO BE HAPPY

Post Grad Cerficate Program

Course Outlines:

1. FORGIVENESS 101:

Set yourself free from the prison of unforgiveness. You are really no better than anyone else. Your sin nature is capable of every bit as much evil as anyone else's sin nature. We have all fallen short of God's glory. Short of his glory is short of his glory. A little short is of just as much consequence as a great deal short. Forgive because whatever has been done to you (just like everything you have done to others) has been fully paid for. God, the Father exacted the price of full justice for the sin perpetrated against you (and by you) on the back of his own Son. Isaiah 53 says, "He was pleased to crush him..." Pleased. To crush his own son. For what was doneto you, and for what was done by you... Forgive. It's not that hard when you take an honest look at yourself and acknowledge how much God and others have needed to forgive you.

2. GRATITUDE 101:

Be grateful. In Christ Jesus we are lacking in nothing. Remember this: "...The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want..." and tell your heart to get in line with that fact. Whatever your circumstances, you can choose to focus on what you have, and leave off thinking about what you think you don't have. No matter how bad things get, my mother used to say, there is always someone worse off than you. Gratitude is an attitude that frees your heart to sing - even in the rain. Especially in the rain. "Rejoice! I will say it again, rejoice!" Phil. 4:4

3. TRUST AND OBEY 101:

Trust the Lord to direct your paths - every minute of every hour; every hour of every day. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not to your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and he will direct your paths..." Prov 3:5,6. When there's more to do than is humanly possible, if the task is God-sized, then trust that he will guide your steps to accomplish and complete whatever is most important to him. You can't do it all, but you can do what is pleasing to the Father in this good day, this week, this year. Trust him to show you which stepping stones to land on to get you safely through the river of pressing needs. Trust him and just do it. He will direct your steps and get you where he wants you to be, accomplishing what he wants you to get done.

4. DELIVERANCE 101

Claim your deliverance. "Whom the son has set free is free indeed". John 8:36 It's done. It's accomplished. Don't wait for deliverance to come to you as though it is something that hasn't happened yet or as though it is something you have to 'feel' first in order to be able to act upon. You can choose the right thing, the righteous thing, right now, in this moment, in this situation, because Christ has set you free to be able to do so. Deliverance isn't something that happens so much instantaneously, as something that needs to be walked out choice by choice, decision by decision, moment by moment. Deliverance is something you choose to do. I'm choosing this because I am delivered. I'm not doing that because I am delivered. It's not something you do because you necessarily want to, or because you feel like it right now, but because Christ has set you free to do it.

5. DYING TO SELF 101:

Get over yourself. It's really not about "you". Drop worrying about what you are or are not getting out of any given situation and/or relationship. Instead pick up on what God has placed you here to give. Listen for the beating of his heart, and think on what He has brought you here to deliver to the person whose face you're looking into right now... And then give it with all your heart. Live for God's pleasure - for the affirmation and approval that comes only from him; and forget about trying to acquire it from others.

There's no happiness like that which comes from knowing your obedience has brought some tiny little measure of joy to your Father. Want to be happy in your heart? Live to please him; his joy will overtake you. And it's the very best kind - the only kind - of joy to have.

The Shelter

2011-11-07T22:00:00.000-05:00

By Belinda
This is a very busy week, with a three day work conference to attend, so I went back to the archives and found this post from November 4 last year when I was on my way home from a visit to England. I enjoyed re-reading it. I hope you don't mind being served some reruns! :) Oh, I just noticed that last year's comments came up too, as I republished! Just in case you wondered where they came from. :)

I was going home to Canada and my brother Rob drove me to Birmingham Airport to catch a coach to Manchester, the airport my plane was leaving from. Rob dropped me off half an hour before the coach was due to leave. The clocks had gone back an hour the night before and I was glad for the extra time that morning.

I had a large knapsack on my back and from behind me I heard a voice warning me that someone was entering the bus shelter and obviously wanted to avoid me swinging around and hitting him.

I turned to see a young man, pulling a small piece of luggage on wheels. He was slightly built, tanned, with medium length blond hair, parted on the side. He had blue eyes and a strong jawline. He wore a blue blazer and a striped shirt, open at the neck. I noticed the slight tremor and jerkiness of cerebral palsy in his movements.

We compared destinations—he was headed for Leeds, while I was headed for Manchester. My coach was due to leave at 8.35 and his 9.50. Since it was just past 8.00, I commented that he was very early for his coach. He said,“The hour changed, darling.”

I found out that he had just got off a plane from Tenerife, where he had worked in the time share business; not selling time shares, but selling the lifestyle.

“Do you enjoy doing that?” I asked.

His frank answer was a quick, “No. I make lots of money, but it’s all so fake.I’m a salesman, but that wasn’t my thing.”

“So you’re not going back?” I asked, and he said that no, he was on his way to Leeds where he owned a home with his ex partner. He was going there for a couple of days to stay with him and then heading for Bermuda. There he would join the crew of a wealthy gay businessman who entertains clients on his boat.

I said that Bermuda sounded wonderful.

He mentioned being thirty one and I asked him if he meant that was old or young, and said, “Because to me that’s very young.”

“No, I meant it’s old,” he said, “How old are you?”

I laughed and said, “Sixty.” That’s when he went into paroxysm of astonishment.

His blue eyes widened a string of expletives began to pour from his lips, punctuated by, “No, you can’t be!” repeated several times. He took several steps back, to view me from a distance, and then came back for a closer look (and I could smell alcohol on his breath.)

“But you’ve had work done?” he said, peering closely at my face now.

“No,” I was laughing at the hilarity of the moment.

“Botox?”

“No!”

“No way,” he swore again, “My mum is 74 and she doesn’t look anything like you."

And so we went on for the next several minutes. Him asking what I did to my face—I felt compelled to say something so I said that I avoid the sun, don’t smoke, moisturize, and am happy on the inside.

It was getting a bit embarrassing so I told him he was very sweet, hoping he would change the subject.

“No, not sweet!” he said, “I was about to chat you up!”

“Now that would just have been wrong!” I said, “I have children of 40 and 38 and six grandchildren.”

I told him my name and asked his, which, like my brother’s was Rob.

He facial expression became serious and he said that he was bad. I started to protest that, but he said that he smoked and drank too much. I hesitate to say this in case it is misunderstood, but I felt God’s overwhelming love for this man in that moment and I hugged him. My coach was pulling up and he grabbed my case and loaded it into the luggage compartment.

“You made my day, “I told him, “And give up the smoking and drinking—it’s not good for you.”

I touched his hand to say thank you and goodbye, and he kissed me on both cheeks. We were strangers but it felt like we exchanged a sign of peace. I sensed pain, rejection, loneliness and emptiness. With a heart full of unspoken prayers I said, “God bless you."

As my coach pulled out and we waved goodbye, my prayers continued.

Today I read Hebrews 13.2 Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers..., and I thought of this young man, Rob. Can a bus shelter be a place of hospitality? The conversation we had may seem funny or ridiculous, depending on your point of view, but there was another conversation going on, unspoken. That conversation spoke acceptance, care and love that came from somewhere other than me. I'm not so sure that I expressed it wisely or well, my actions were spontaneous, but I know the love came from God.

At work today in training, we watched Rob Bell's Nooma video, Bullhorn. The message comes through. The bullhorn doesn't work; but there's a world that needs to know His love and sometimes we only have minutes to express it.

What a Friend We Have in Jesus!

2011-11-06T21:12:00.003-05:00

By Belinda

I was just about to check email one morning last week when the familiar Skype signal started up, with a message that Lijda was calling; Tante Lijda, my dear aunt in Holland. She is just 15 years older than I am and 9 years younger than Mum, her last living sister. She is usually brave; stoic--always exhorting us to "Hou je taai!" Translated from Dutch, that would be, "Hang tough!" or "Never say die." But last week she wasn't hanging tough; the circumstances of her life were weighing heavy on her. She was always fun, a party girl! I remember her always out camping on the beach with her family, or skiing in Austria, but this is a different season for her. I tried to encourage her, and Paul and I have been praying since that call.

Then I spoke with Rob and Mum on Saturday, as I always do. Rob too, was feeling discouraged. He lives with chronic fatigue and chronic pain, which is getting worse. Everyone who reads this blog regularly knows how much his dog Bruce means to us all, but on Saturday he said, "I may have to give him up Belinda." Walking his tough little Staffordshire Bull Terrier is just getting to be too much. He told me that he can only manage half the distance he could when I was there in August. I left the conversation wishing I was close enough to help. I felt powerless and so sad for him, both for the pain he is in and for the fact that he has to consider giving up the dog that was a gift from God.

This morning I came to prayer with these cares on my heart, and some relational knots that needed untangling. I simply came to my Father as the friend he is, above all other friends, and I poured out my heart in a conversation as easy as if he were on the couch beside me. I told him about my worries and cares and then quietly listened.

Just placing my cares in his hands made me feel better. Those I love and ache for in their difficulties are safe and secure when placed in his care; I believe that with all of my heart.

My other conundrums received an answer. My soul sighed deeply in relief.

Joseph Scriven's beautiful poem, What a Friend We Have in Jesus, set to music by Charles C. Converse, expresses so well, the privilege we have in prayer.

What a Friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear!

What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!

O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear,

All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.

Have we trials and temptations? Is there trouble anywhere?

We should never be discouraged; take it to the Lord in prayer.

Can we find a friend so faithful who will all our sorrows share?

Jesus knows our every weakness; take it to the Lord in prayer.

Are we weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care?

Precious Savior, still our refuge, take it to the Lord in prayer.

Do your friends despise, forsake you? Take it to the Lord in prayer!

In His arms He'll take and shield you; you will find a solace there.

Blessed Savior, Thou hast promised Thou wilt all our burdens bear

May we ever, Lord, be bringing all to Thee in earnest prayer.

Soon in glory bright unclouded there will be no need for prayer

Rapture, praise and endless worship will be our sweet portion there.

“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” ( John 15:13)

Rolling Around In My Head: A Sermon from Ruby

2011-11-06T09:18:00.002-05:00

By Belinda

I'm linking to today's post on my dear friend Dave's blog. Five year old Ruby's thoughts gave me much to ponder. :)

Rolling Around In My Head: A Sermon from Ruby: For those of you who do not like posts with faith based content, this may not be a good one to read. It's a Ruby story that I really want to...