Whatever He Says

The sun warmed my skin as I rounded a curve in the road on my Sunday morning walk, my eyes drawn up to gaze into the clear deep blue dome above me. When I looked down again, there, to my surprise was a tiny bird's nest. I picked it up, amazed. I'd never seen such a small nest before, and when I looked inside, there was a miniature coppery pine cone, not moving from the place where it seemed to be secured. I hid the nest safely in some undergrowth and continued my walk. When I returned, I picked it up and took it home. Later, hidden in a small brown paper carrier bag, it went with me to morning service at church. I'd been asked to pray for the children that morning before they went down to Sunday School. I came across a small bunch of them in the church foyer, looking for all the world like a modern version of the 1950s TV show, The Little Rascals. I interrupted whatever mischief was brewing and told them I was looking for a "show-er" and a "reader o...

A  bank of pale grey clouds bordered the eastern horizon, edged thinly with shimmering molten copper. And slowly, the tiniest, brightest, diamond peeked above the gleaming edge, growing in size and brilliance with every second.  The start of yesterday morning's drive to the city! Today, driving home,  the western sky was an exultant symphony of turquoise swirled with peachy, puffy, back lit clouds. Just so much beauty. And this afternoon a farewell party for our boss, who will before the weekend fly into that sky on silvered wings; bound for a far off land of brilliant colours, pungent scents, exotic spices, and the music of the sitar. He and his wife will meet the daughter of their hearts face to face at last.  For months he has been distracted, impatient, and frustrated by slow moving bureaucracy, every fibre of his being longing to bring her home. When the word came at las...

By Belinda I was on my way out of the church tonight, and passing by the handmade oak podium that holds the guestbook that stands just inside the sanctuary doors.  The red leather bound volume has lain there for years. I glanced at it out of curiosity, wondering who had come to visit lately.  It had been inscribed and decorated; by the company of pew revelers whose high jinks I wrote about last week I think!  Visitors to our church will be welcomed by the smiling faces of two cats. The "guests" left their names and addresses--no need to guess "who dunnit!" :) Facing off across from the cats are two dogs. Equal preference being shown to cats and dogs and therefore cat and dog people! :) I loved this--under church affiliation, one little one wrote, "Mommy is friend," and "I go here." A nd it seems that "someone" wishes to request a visit from the pastor. I wonder if he will go. If I were one of our ...

By Belinda Last week, in my post entitled, The Defining Characteristic  , I wrote about an article in The Mail on Sunday, by Lauren Booth, on her conversion to Islam. Another part of the article, which was entitled, "Why I love Islam (...and so do my daughters,)" intrigued and disturbed me, and that was where she described her two daughters' reaction to her conversion. I quote from the October 31 article in The Mail on Sunday: I sat in the kitchen and called them in. 'Girls I have some news for you,' I began, 'I am now a Muslim.' They went into a huddle, with the eldest, Alex, saying: 'We have some questions, we'll be right back.'  They made a list and returned. Alex cleared her thoat. 'Will you drink alcohol any more?'  Answer: No. The response--a rather worrying 'Yay!'  'Will you smoke cigarettes any more?' Smoking isn't haram (forbidden) but it is harmful, so I answered: 'No.'  Again, this was me...

By Belinda They sat on our deck in the hot summer evening, sun drenched skin and hair signs of school let out. Freedom! They chatted with their granddad out there for a long while, then came inside where I sat, tapping away on my laptop. "I've been reading a great book," I said, "Do you want to read it together?" "Sure!" they said and the laptop was set aside. One on either side we sat on the couch and I began to read from Jean Little's   Hey World, Here I Am! The book is one that I bought to give as a gift but have not been able to part with until I have read it all! Although it is a children's book, I am loving it. Torie and I, alternated reading the poems and prose out loud. We all laughed; related to and discussed the thoughts expressed. "Are you liking this or am I forcing you to sit on the couch?" I asked, suddenly worried that they might want to leave but be too polite to say. "No, this is fantastic," ...

By Belinda Her name was Ingrid and I was just nine years old when I met her, a girl a little younger than me, who lived at the end of the street of council houses we had just moved to. She had long, dirty-blond hair that was unkempt, and she smelled of stale urine. The other children call her "Pongo." I didn't know everything there was to know about God. My theology was formed by what I learned at school, in Religious Knowledge class. I learned a lot, too, from the hymns that we sang in morning assembly. I knew that Jesus had said that what we did to the person who was least in the eyes of the world, he considered it done to him. That made a deep impression on my nine year old heart, and I easily connected the dots when it came to how Ingrid should be treated, although I never knew her well. One day we heard that she had lain down in the road and tried to get run over. Wide eyed and dismayed, I wondered what would make someone want to do that. Her dad got sent away to pri...

1 Corinthians 13:12 (Amplified Bible) 12For now we are looking in a mirror that gives only a dim (blurred) reflection [of reality as [ a ]in a riddle or enigma], but then [when perfection comes] we shall see in reality and face to face! Now I know in part (imperfectly), but then I shall know and understand [ b ]fully and clearly, even in the same manner as I have been [ c ]fully and clearly known and understood [[ d ]by God]. It was late afternoon as he stood at the upstairs window looking out at our big backyard and the girls of 10 and 11 down below, granddaughters, playing in the snow. He had been drawn to the window by the sound of their laughter. He loved them so much, and he took every opportunity to tell them so. Suddenly he thought, "What am I doing up here watching through a window?" A few seconds later he was putting on his coat and gloves and making his way outside to join them. He played outside with them for an hour, this husband of mine, almost 62 years old. But ...

Proverbs 2:6 (New International Version) 6 For the LORD gives wisdom, and from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. Yesterday, on my post about teachers, there were some wonderful reflective comments and I loved them all. Two of them took the time to remember teachers too: Brave Raven with humour, and Susan with poignancy. I hope they don't mind, but I would like to share them for today's post. Brave Raven said... Aaah, teachers. I too have some unforgettable ones: Mrs. Foy and Mrs. Elliot who taught me to speak English; Mr. Blake who called me up after a poetry assignment and said, "You should do this for a living;" Mr. Finn, who told me no matter what I did, I'd be a success. Hmmmm. I hope I never run into these people. They would wonder what happened and probably blame themselves. HA HA. Then, there was a Grade Five. Horrific Grade Five. Her breasts were so pointy that we were convinced they were made of plastic. I'll never forget one boy E...

My memory has a special room just for teachers; and tonight they came out and paid me a visit. I wonder if they ever imagined such immortality? It is a very long time ago--43 years since high school--and yet they are frozen in time in my mind, as real as they were then. I can see them and feel them vividly, both in appearance and personality. Maybe it's that the mind, eyes and heart of a child are like sponges that absorb impressions and hold onto them more easily than they do in later years. Each teacher in my memory has a sense of "caricature" about them, but perhaps that is because they were a little larger than life to us and their personalities extremely distinct. Teachers all seemed much older than we were, even those who I now realize must have been quite young. But one who didn't seem old at all was a white haired supply teacher who filled the gap when I was in my last year of elementary school. I can see now that inside this teacher, who must have been ...

The soul is healed by being with children Fyodor Dostoyevsky It was Christmas Eve day and Paul was out in the driveway, clearing the latest deposit of snow. Everyone seemed to be out and about running last minute errands before Christmas and it appeared that someone was dropping in to see us. It was Hannah's dad, Jason, with an envelope that he asked Paul to deliver to me. On the front was a photo of Hannah, her mom and brother with some friends, and inside, a picture of a Christmas tree with a message underneath from Hannah to her Auntie Belinda. Paul and I love being with children and count it an honour to invest in them as much as we can. They need to know that they are special and loved. And being with children is such a blessing, because inside every grownup is a child just waiting to be awakened. Matthew 18:2-3 (The Message) 2-5For an answer Jesus called over a child, whom he stood in the middle of the room, and said, "I'm telling you, once and for all, that unless ...

The suspense is palpable as we turn each page. We sit, we three, on the couch, I in the middle, and on either side a girl, with long, silken, summer-sun-kissed hair. Their skin is the colour of the brown eggs in the grocery store; the kind you pay extra for; even though the insides are the same as the white eggs; but I digress. Both have eyes the colour of chestnuts and Victoria has a delicate sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of her nose that looks as if an angel flicked a paint brush laden with burnt sienna, as a finishing touch when God was making her. I pause in my reading of the book, as I often do, to ask a question. "What do you like best--movies or books?" Without hesitation, with eyes wide and bright, they shout out, "Books!" "Why books?" I ask. Tiffany-Amber said, "Because movies are so...predictable." And Victoria added, "Yes, and books allow you so see so many more pictures in your mind." Oh, I know. I know exactly what t...

Psalm 61:2-3 (New International Version) 2 From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. 3 For you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the foe. I had spotted them from the back window, drawn by the sound of their voices and laughter; two girls with skipping ropes that had been gifts at the birthday party they'd just been to. On the long spring green lawn they swung their ropes and skipped, hair streaming in the breeze; carefree as only children can be. Oh, how I love them, I thought. Moments later they came in from their Sunday afternoon play and asked if they could have a story from Parables on the Pond. They know with complete confidence that whatever I might be doing I would drop it to share a precious few moments with them, and they know that I love this children's book of devotional stories. And so they snuggled, one on each side of me on the couch, as we turned to the next story in the book, Jo...

On Saturday our house and yard was filled with family; as effervescent as a bubbling glass of champagne. The sound of children's voices and running feet animated the air. Outside, Paul raked the debris of winter from the perennial flower beds, aided by a bevy of granddaughters and Joshua. Inside, Peter sat at the long maple table in the back room, with his laptop open. Beside him, Stephen, elbows on table, with a school exercise book open, sat captive to a school project on reptiles. I was preparing my Sunday school lesson for the next day, but I had hit a snag. The lesson was on the fall of Jericho and the children were to make trumpets shaped like ram's horns; shofars , to represent those blown at the fall of Jericho; but I couldn't figure out from the instructions how to make them. I called on Peter for technical support, and, happy for a brief reprieve from the world of reptiles, he came over to have a look. Before long we were surrounded by a sea of orange constructio...

Ontario is emerging suddenly from what was beginning to feel like an endless winter. Life is bursting out and shooting up everywhere. It seems as if the whole earth is singing with joy at this spring. This week I was driving back to the office from Stouffville , along Bloomington Road, when I glanced to my left and gasped in wonder at the sight of six riderless horses; two dappled gray and four brown, galloping with abandon across a field. I glanced in my mirror, slowed down, and pulled off the road to stare at the breathtaking sight; freedom epitomized. Manes and tails streamed in the air and the mud kicked up behind their hooves. I could almost hear the thunder in the ground. And then just as suddenly, they stopped, and two of them pranced at each other, taking to the air in defiance of gravity, dancing and jumping for joy. I reluctantly left my roadside seat in the theatre of nature and drove on to the office where paper piles, a computer screen and endless emails awaited me. For ...

It was about three weeks ago that it began, with a suddenness that took me by surprise. I can trace my awareness of it to a Tuesday night cell group supper, although I'm sure it began before that. The girls' bangs were in desperate need of a good cut. Due to a number of factors their mom had been unable to get them to the hairdressers. That Tuesday night, their hair hung down over their eyes, but it didn't seem to bother the girls one bit. Their hairdresser, "Auntie Tanya," had warned their mom, "Do not attempt to cut their bangs yourself." I thought to myself how much things had changed in one generation. When our children were young, parents did cut bangs, but when I look at some of those school photos I think that I shouldn't have! Samantha, who comes to cell group and who is a hairdresser, agreed heartily. "Oh no, don't touch them," she said ominously, immediately conjuring up horrific images of butchered bangs. She advised Tiffany...

By Susan Stewart I am posting this from the Sheraton Fallsview Hotel in Niagara Falls, where Ron has business meetings for a few days. I have Matthew and Eliana, our two five-year-old grandchildren in tow. We do our thing while their Papa is in meetings and he joins us whenever he can. Although my energy is being taxed to the limit, I have been thoroughly enjoying looking at this beautiful part of the world through two pairs of five year old eyes. Yesterday, Eliana, Matthew and I stood behind the barrier right at the brink of the falls, watching tons and tons and tons of water tumble over the edge into the mist shrouded gorge below. Two little faces with shining eyes peered through spaces in the stone and wrought iron fence, not worried in the least about the spray that was turning to bits of ice in the frigid air before hitting their faces in a fine spray of tiny ice crystals. Eliana put her fingers in her ears against the thundering roar. I thought about how many times I had stood in...

I'm a Sunday School teacher, scheduled to teach every four weeks and the class of 16 or so grade 4-6-ers includes 4 of my grandchildren. Last week was my second time up to bat. I fell in love with the children the first week. Anyone who has spent an hour with 16 unique individuals; sponges for God but full of mischief, knows what it is to be well and truly hooked. Well, that's what happened to me at least. Last week the lesson was all about Adam and Eve's fateful decision. The children learned about decision making and how to greatly increase the odds of making a good one by praying about them first. I spent time on Saturday cutting out white oblongs, yellow diamonds and red octagons from poster board, for the children to make into road signs, on which they could write messages to help them remember how to make good decisions; messages such as "Stop," "Think," or "Pray." Most of the children took their signs upstairs with them to show their par...

"Miss Cheryl,” asked Stephen “is there snow in heaven?" Stephen’s question took his school bus driver by surprise. Her young passenger, whose short, dark hair was as hard to tame as his spirit, looked up expectantly. His brown eyes, normally dancing with mischief, were serious and shining with curiosity. Stephen; named for one of the saints of the Christmas season; knew that Miss Cheryl could be counted on as a source of reliable information. This warm, kind hearted woman, had the biggest of gentle, blue eyes that twinkled with good humour. She had forged a special relationship with the children on her bus. This question though, was out of her league. "I don't know, Stephen. You could ask your dad--he's a pastor after all." "He hasn't been to heaven," stated Stephen, with all the logic of a 6 year old. Miss Cheryl had to laugh and agree that he was right. Neither of them was aware of the rustle of angel wings around them, and of ears bending cl...

No wonder Jesus held up children as the example for us to follow; they have such tender, open hearts and they have so many wonderful qualities that we are prone to lose as we become adults, if we are not careful. The older I get, the more I love them. I find them endearing, funny and lovable. This week, in the household downstairs it was time for the annual back-to-school clothing shopping and so Brenda carefully went through both her girl's closets and assessed what they needed. Victoria inherited a lot of clothes from Tiffany-Amber and needed only a few new things. Victoria is OK with that--she doesn't care where the clothes come from--she is just happy to have them. One thing she did need though was a new pair of shoes and she found a pair she adored at Zellers. It was very disappointing that they didn't have her size. Today Brenda was in town alone and decided to try the Zellers at the other end of town. There she found the shoes--and in Victoria's size. She bought ...