Whatever He Says

"In the end, everything must become love. Perfection's name is love." Dietrich Bonhoeffer,  The Collected Sermons  P. 165 After I published yesterday's post, I read it again, and thought briefly, "What was I thinking?"  That thought often occurs when I have been completely honest. The desire to "self edit" rears up, the urge to present my "self" in a better light: to seem more humble--or pleasing in another way--take your pick from the list of common virtues! :) But what I posted was pretty much what I had written in my journal, and was what I really thought about yesterday, and the funny idea of changing what I wrote has a connection with something I was pondering this past weekend.  It had to do with the basic imperfection that lies at the heart of us all and the way we struggle against its acceptance in ourselves and others. I started thinking about this, when at the end of my work week, someone that I think of as highly prof

During the past couple of days I found time, energy and inspiration--the key ingredients to write anything of worth. After my  Sweet September  post, Brave Raven left a lovely comment, quoting some of the lines I had written, and saying that she checks daily for just such a gift. Today in church I thanked her with a hug for the encouragement of her words. She, and a small but loyal band of readers make me want to write my heart out. I have a target reader, I realize; that unseen and mainly unknown friend for whom I tap out the words on the screen...it is someone who may or may not have faith in God personally, but they are open and "listening." They read here because what I write is down to earth, honest, and sometimes the adventure of my life is funny. I have a list in my head of those I know are reading and I never take them for granted; I treasure and appreciate them. This afternoon I wrote a writing prayer in my journal, and here it is, just so you know what I'

Honestly-summer this year was exhausting! July and August were busy at work, with significant change to adjust to, and then on the home front there were all of the emotions that went with the move of our beloved family downstairs into their new home, in August. So much was going on that there was no energy for some things that I love, especially writing, and I felt that was okay for the time being. But I noticed the world around me; the  fields that surrounded our house in August full of an army of soldiers standing row upon row with golden spears in hand. They stood erect and tall awaiting the battle cry, and I admired their fortitude; until one September day I looked out and saw an army of warriors gone to seed; standing now in remembrance of summer past.   I welcomed September with its sense of returning order and normalcy, even though a "new normal." Tonight rain drummed on our rooftop and skylights and I reflected on a day that felt like a turning point. Today

On Tuesday when I came home from work,  Paul said, "Belinda, did you drop off the movies at the video store? The video store says that we haven't brought back  The Iceman ." I'd started the week on Monday with Paul calling out as I left the house for work, "Could you take  a movie  back  to the video store on the way?" "Sure," I said, I had a few spare minutes. And I also grabbed the items waiting on the bottom shelf of the hall table, to be returned to the library.  I'd dropped everything off at their respective destinations. I remembered checking inside the DVD cases to check that the  Rizoli and Isles  episodes we'd enjoyed over the weekend, were there, before dropping them into the chute in the outside wall of the library. This wasn't my fault, I was pretty sure, I knew I'd dropped everything off. "Maybe they lost it, " I said to Paul.  Paul hunted high and low in the den, just in case it was still there,

I have a running list of things that hang like pegs on a washing line in my brain: Things to be done. Last week one of these was looming. Our pastor had been busy organizing a "ministry expo," to be held after church on Sunday. All the ministries in the church would have a booth set up to communicate their vision and purpose to church members and have sign up sheets, hopefully to recruit newly interested people who previously had no idea that such a wonderful opportunity existed. I needed to complete a description of the cell group that meets in our home each Thursday, and use picture frames to display the details. I'd been wracking my brains thinking how to describe "us," then I had the idea of asking the people who come, how they would describe our group. They brainstormed a number of adjectives and I wished that I had written them all down, they were so good. The basic picture that emerged was of a group that was welcoming, about "family," an

At 20 mi nutes to 7, a cheery voice called from the hallway below, "Hello!"  I looked down over the banister, and shouted a welcome in the direction of the woman with short auburn hair and vibrant blue eyes; my friend Carolyn . "You're probably thinking I'm early, but I'm not staying," she said, her voice husky with congestion, and coughs punctuating her words. "I'm sick and I don't want to spread it to everyone else, but I just had to drop off your copy of my book!" The book, Pine Warbler , is Carolyn's third, and one of the endorsements of her writing, at the beginning of the book, is mine. Exciting! I followed Carolyn out to her car to pick up another copy of the book from her trunk. A September heatwave has enveloped Ontario and late in the day, the  air  outside was still hot. Against her protests about not wanting to spread whatever she was fighting off, I hugged her goodbye, and went back inside as she drove off, ju

Tomorrow evening a flock of writing friends will descend on our house and share their individual perspectives on our assignment for September--"School Days." I'm looking forward to it. Some will be funny. Some will be deep. All will be good! I've thought hard, but haven't come up with anything exciting about my own school days.  I've written about the teachers etched in my memory before. They are forever frozen in time for me, just as they looked in the 1950's and 60's. But I think I'll leave them resting in peace and undisturbed for now. :) I love the little book by Robert Fulgham,  All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten,  but I'm still learning, all the time, and my best lessons don't involve holding hands or even milk and cookies.  I guess it's all in how you view "education."  I continue to learn from books, from other people and from my mistakes (I hate making them, beat myself up when I do, but take co

It was just over a week ago that I looked at the massive amount of emails piled up in my in-box at work and decided that I had to do something about them.  Over the next several days I spent time sorting; responding;  filing and deleting-- until finally--pristine, dazzling white space stared back at me from my computer screen. Ever since that splendid moment of triumph, I have waged a daily battle to hang on to it. Partly because it has been such a busy summer at work, I found that I had no energy to write. I was even beginning to wonder if my well of inspiration had dried up--was my season to write, over? It felt to me; not only about writing, but about a few other things too; as though God had pressed the "pause" button.  Just like my father, who in gentlemanly fashion always walked on the side closest to the traffic when we were out together, and when were about to cross the street, put his arm across my chest like the barrier at a railroad crossing, holding me bac