Whatever He Says

December 31st...a day to look back before looking ahead; at where I didn't do as well as hoped, and where I have changed for the better (in my experience, with God's help.)  I opened the small pink patterned note book in which I chronicled this year's challenges and victories, its pages secured by a knot, promising confidences kept. I found on the fly-leaf, a conversation I recorded because it encouraged me, and I share it here because it is perfect for this day above all: It was September, and our granddaughter Tippy was living out her dream--an art student at  Sheridan College . She and her class-mates were instructed to draw a picture that represented themselves. Then, anonymously, the drawings were made into a slideshow for the class to view and analyse.  When Tippy's drawing came up, some of the students commented on the strokes, saying that they indicated that the artist was confident and strong. As Tippy recounted this to our daughter Brenda later, sh

About two weeks before Christmas, a call for help came from Daisy, a friend and respected member of the community  of  Mishkeegogamang , a reserve 2000 kilometers north west of Toronto. She told us that m any of the 200 children who attend  Missabay School  in the growing community,  needed mittens. Since the temperature up there that day was -27 F, the need was obvious. As soon as the need was made known, initially via Facebook, the response was swift. People's hearts were touched by the need and bags of mittens and other donations began to be dropped off for the children.  The next thing was getting the items to the faraway community. Our friends Holly McCleary and Susan Stewart decided that they would drive the precious cargo themselves  between Christmas and New Years.  They set out early the Thursday morning after Christmas and made the distance in an unbelievably short length of time, driving in shifts through the night--2,000 kilometers north, arriving on Friday! Bags an

I read the story over lunch a few days before Christmas, and laughed out loud alone in my kitchen, as it brought to colourful life in my imagination, the hilarious scenario played out on the page in black on white. A day or so later, I was talking to my son, and I said, "Pete, I have a gift I'd love from you this Christmas." "Oh?" he said, surprised, I suppose, at my unusual boldness in asking. "What is it?" "It's a story," I said, "And the gift would be that you would read it for me and the rest of the family, when we all get together for Christmas."  He agreed. asking only if he might get the story ahead of time to practice. In the end, with all of the busyness before Christmas, he never did pick up the story to ahead of time, but on Boxing Day, when we all assembled to celebrate what was for some family members, "Christmas Version # 3," the bright-yellow-covered book with its coffee-stained pages was near