Whatever He Says

Paul was on his way home at the end of a day working at church with our 5 hard-working summer students. He had almost cleared an intersection with a four-way stop when he felt the sudden jarring impact of metal on metal, shaking him so violently that his sunglasses broke. His trailer had been demolished, and the back of his car damaged enough to render it undrivable. A woman driving a truck filled with her family of children, and almost home, entered the familiar intersection too soon. She was utterly remorseful and took full responsibility, but Paul urged her to reassure her children and make sure that they were okay. Her husband came quickly and helped pull the wreckage of the trailer onto their property. It was our weekly small group meeting when he came home late for dinner. Beth, a young woman at the table, without hesitating offered one of her family's vehicles for his use. An insurance company will provide a rental car, but the real gift was her heart. She was "with u...

Words--they can be regretted; explained; justified; or apologized for, but never retrieved—and that’s the very thing we often long to do. Once careless, hurtful words are expressed, like homing missiles, they find their mark with terrifying precision and devastation.  And there is no tenderer landing place than a human heart or soul. A sure signal of the need for silence is anger. “Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you’ll ever regret,” wrote Ambrose Bierce, a 19 th century journalist, who ironically often stirred up a storm of hostile reaction through his writings. Perhaps he spoke from bitter experience. Unfortunately, anger is exactly when words tend to come--“fast and furious". Some of the words I regret the most were spoken to my father. They were true, and it’s not hard to justify them, but they caused him pain. Three months afterwards he died. I would give much to take them back. He was 81 and very deaf due to the effects of war and...

It happens every now and then; getting lost; and I need to find my bearings again, the true and sure things, including my best "me," which sometimes goes missing in action. I need to find home, that place of retreat and security, where I know and am known. Home safe. I pick up my pen and write. A heart can pour through pen to page and in doing so find such sweet relief. I quiet my restless soul and sit silent. I read. I read the words I need to soak me; to soften me; to move my heart back to kindness, gentleness and humility. I close my eyes to listen better--just in case God might have something to say. He sometimes speaks against the background tick of clock, whirring chimes and the hum of a house. I hear a welcome. Welcome home. And I am grateful; to be enfolded in the grace that only waits for an open heart.

By Belinda Memory fascinates me. Being a writer, one for whom the past is an endless source of material, I am often struck by the fact that an event can be remembered, or "seen" differently at different moments, by one person. And a person can be remembered at one moment for their flaws, along with the pain they caused. At another moment, their many redeeming qualities surface in memory: the person's humour, sensitive soul or work ethic.  It's as though light catches the sparkle or casts a shadow, depending on the angle it's shining from at a given moment. Ideally we would remember absolutely factually, and yet facts can be fluid in the mind; fraught with feelings and layers of complexities that are hard to understand and unravel. I have been deep in the shadows of  memory; facing hard truths with greater clarity and courage; sharper pain and deeper guilt. Of course, how can we ever truly understand or "know" the past? And yet, we try, whether it...

By Belinda ...  Last week was Pride week in Toronto and on Sunday, our friend Dave sent this email to a few of us who share his faith in Christ. I cried as I read it. What happened reminded me of a passage in Blue Like Jazz  by Donald Miller when he wrote about the action he took one weekend with some friends on the campus of  Reed College . If you have read the book, you'll get the connection. Here's what Dave wrote: I hope you all don't mind... but it seems important to me to tell you about what happened at today's Pride parade. As always, there is a real spirit of fun and frolic - we were there with sprOUT which is a group for lgbt people with intellectual disabilities that Vita partly sponsors.  It is always gratifying to see people with physical and intellectual disabilities so very 'out' in public. I was enjoying the parade mostly by watching those I was marching with. Ruby filled up a super soaker at least five times and had a great time shooting wat...

By Belinda I bundle myself up the way I once bundled up our children in their winter snowsuits, and go out into the cold, dark night. It is 3 degrees Celcius but it feels like -2 because of the gusty wind. I am determined to face this Canadian winter that has barely started. So far, so good. The wind roars around the treetops like a fierce army running at a foe, but all that flee before it are dry leaves making weak tinny sounds as they scuttle and scamper across the dark village streets. Molson trots along obediently by my side, but tonight we meet not one other soul, human or dog. We pass Molson's friend Sidney's house, but even he's not there on his lawn where he usually sits. I'm glad that he's warm inside tonight. I'm thinking of this morning when Paul and I sat in our warm kitchen and read from Ephesians 6. Ephesians 6:10-17 (New International Version, ©2010) The Armor of God 10 Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11 Put on ...

By Belinda: Note-- this is a repost from November 2008 but it is something I have been learning all over again. It seems the gravitational pull is always away from the simple truth that, as Jesus said, "It is finished." His yoke is easy and burden is light because he has done the work. When I wrote this two years ago I knew it in my head. Now I think I finally really have it in my soul!!! Jesus: please be, not just in my heart, but in my mind, my hands and my lips; even in the least obviously significant corners of my being. Baptise me; fill me, full of you Lord. I need Christ; not me and my ways, wisdom, or effort. I need his love to flow from the pores of my skin, and through my tongue and fingertips. The fruit of the Spirit is a natural result of him in me. I realize that I cannot afford to go one day without being before him and inviting him; begging him, to come and fill me up with his dear self. I am tempted to use the word "suddenly" and say that I su...

By Belinda Our conversation was personal and filled with laughter. I told a story that concerned me, and before the three of us parted, I said, laughing, "What was said in this car, stays in the car!" One of my friends asked directly, "Why? You aren't worried I might say something are you?" I said, "Yes!" a little nervously, thinking back to times when things had slipped out. We talked more about it later that day, laughing about our earlier conversation, and I said that I hoped she wasn't offended by my quick "Yes." She wasn't, she said. She  understood that I was just making sure... The next day I told my story to another friend, adding to it the exchange with my first two friends. We laughed as much as I had with my friends in the car. I didn't give a thought to sharing a story that was my own, after all. When I told one of my first friends of my second conversation, she said, "I hope you didn't share......

Dear readers: Turn back the calendar to December of 1967. It was England at the height of the Swinging Sixties, a heady and exciting time to be young and I was 17. The previous December Paul had asked me out and I had said no, because I was dating someone else at the time. By April I had ended that short lived romance and besides, I had fallen in love with Paul, but that didn't stop me going out with someone else when he didn't fill the void fast enough. I was as fickle as the English weather. My journals keep me humble because they shatter any idealized recollectiions! In comparison my own children seemed so much more mature in their youth. It is evident that my life was as busy then as it would continue to be. Trying to change that goes against my natural bent but I am glad that some other things did change. This is my journal entry for the day that Paul and I finally did get together once and for all: December 23rd, 1967. Oh, what a mixed day! Got up, had a bath and went to...

Dear Readers, Susan usually posts on Fridays, but is away in Orillia for a couple of days on training. So, I share these brief thoughts: 2 Corinthians 5:15 (New International Version) 15And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again. Lately it seems so clear that all that we are supposed to be, is an expression of God's love. It all seems suddenly so clear and simple. Even in Matthew 9, which tells about Jesus visiting the home of Matthew the Tax Collector for dinner, he makes that point. Matthew would have been despised in the Jewish community for his service to the Romans and exploitation of his brothers. Jesus didn't try to hide his relationship with Matthew and furthermore, at his home he was suddenly surrounded by a crowd of similarly shady, fringe folks. His disciples surely wondered about the road down which their leader was taking them. In response to their confused questions, he gave them...

I remember as if it were yesterday; the day I told Mum The Big Lie. It was outrageous and obvious--I am not a good liar, which probably saved me from going down that road very far. I was about 12 years old; a time when school was not my favourite place in the world to be and I went through a phase of playing truant, either alone or with a friend. On one occasion I read the journals of Queen Victoria, while safely hidden in the branches of a yew tree in our village church yard, with the clock in the bell tower chiming away the day in 15 minute increments. On the day of The Big Lie, I left for school as usual, walked down the hill into the village where I met the friend I usually rode the school bus with. We hid out in the church yard until my mum left for work, and then we let ourselves into the house. We had fun watching TV, closing the curtains in the living room to block out the sunlight. At some point during the day, I have no idea why, we decided to melt some baking chocolate in a...

I enjoy homeyness. Warm wood fires, the smell of coffee perking and being in the house with people I love. I savour family and food and times together. I delight in quiet times of reflection,  a good book, and stimulating conversation. Simple pleasures. As I write now, I smell roasting vegetables in the oven. There's carrot, potatoe, parsnip, zuchini, red and green pepper, red onion, and whole mushrooms, tossed with garlic, fresh rosemary and oregano and some olive oil. Soon we'll taste the melding flavours of roasted fall veggies along with some steak that is grilling on the barbecue. Hannah will likely suggest candles because she likes the romantic atmosphere like her mother. Probably Jason will groan and Josh will complain because they'd rather have light. The diversity of individuals within a family are expressed in so many ways. Now, classical piano favourites are playing on the computer, Chopin, Beethoven, Schumann, Tchaikovsky, and Lizst. In the background I hear the...

"Don't start off with an apology," my public speaking professor said years ago. "Don't give people a reason not to listen by telling them in advance how unqualified you are, how what you are about to say isn't all you hoped it would be and how it really ought to have been done better and by someone else." I am about to violate her advice. I made some comments on this blog and Belinda asked me to share them in a post. I want to say in advance that this is not a thorough exposition of the passage at hand, but more of a from-the-heart offering that springs from consideration of it. Okay, you've been forewarned. *** Also, just by way of introduction, I met Belinda at Write! Canada in 2002 and ran into her again at W!C a few years later. When she started the blog, I checked it out and bookmarked it. Blog-surfing was a hit-and-miss activity for me in those days, but every time I visited "Whatever He Says," I came away richer for it. In recent ...

Warm water pools on floor with suds. I scrub hard at this week's dirt and grime. Enjoying the solitude and quiet, I thank God for servant-hearted husband who takes high-spirited children to Grandma's and Grandpa's house for the afternoon. I think a while on the fun they'll have, collecting apples, picking raspberries, father and son shooting their arrows and drawing bows. Grandma's peaceful kitchen where tasty snacks and treats are served to wide-eyed grandchildren. In my mind's eye, I feast on sugar maples with garments of orange, red, and yellow. I think of still water at pond's edge and hope there'll still be a duck or two. I know they'll have fun and come back exuberant, with adventures to tell. Soon I will hear their laughter, animated voices, and the calling of my name, "Mommy....and the stories unfold. I look forward to their arrival. I take scraper to hardened dribble of pancake batter and smile as I remember the cook. Enthusiastic dau...

Isaiah 26:3 (New Century Version) 3 You, Lord, give true peace to those who depend on you, because they trust you. It was snowing as Frances drove to work and the car in front of her was doing 80 km per hour in an 80 km per hour zone. She seethed with impatience at what seemed like a deliberately slow pace, holding her up with no place to pass. What was he doing, admiring the view? At her first chance she would pass him ; there was a passing lane at the top of the hill ahead. But as he got to the base of the hill he sped up. He had deliberately held her up, she thought, and now that she had a chance to pass he was going to make it difficult. "He's just doing this to make me angry--thumbing his nose at me," she fumed. "My anger told me it was a communist plot," she said later, "I was in competition with every driver on the road; everyone slower than me was the enemy." As she sped up to pass, she looked in her mirror to see lights go on what was an unmar...

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...

By Joyful Fox I look at the mounds of snow pushed into the guardrail at the end of our street, driveways awash with waist-high banks of winter white, gleaming, glistening and calling children to conquer. Across the field, wheat-coloured grass and brown shrubbery rises above drifted swirls. Even the rooftops are covered in this blanket of eiderdown. The dark silouette of trees, marked by a cascade of whiteness, is serene and beautiful. I am thankful to be alive... a part of this day. I think of the storm earlier this week and the joy with which my children shoveled so much snow. I think of endurance. We have studied The Antarctic this week. I am thankful for the opportunity to learn along with my children. Antarctica is the coldest place on earth, winter temperatures reaching -120 degrees F or colder (not including wind chill whose average speed can reach 100 mph on any given day) - makes our temperatures in central Ontario seem balmy by comparison. So really, what's -20 degrees F? ...

The words silenced all thoughts. My heart leaped for joy. I wept. A knowing began to wash over my soul...a sunrise, after night...brightness after murky dark...the freedom of truth...again God's grace. I first read these powerful words from I Kings 19:11-12 on a friend's blog on Thursday afternoon...God's revelation to the prophet Elijah on Mount Horeb (Sinai): Then He (the Lord) said, "Go out, and stand on the mountain before the Lord." And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. I Kings 19:11-12 NKJV Interesting that God speaks...after the wind...the earthquake...the fire...in a still small voice. God chose to speak to Elijah in the proverbial, "calm after the ...

Like the beginning of a soft rain...I feel the gentle wet. God's truth touching my soul. To "be", simply "be"...an instrument of Him...is about understanding His grace...abundant grace lavished upon us, even us. Are we worthy? Am I worthy? Thankfully, it isn't about me or how much I can accomplish for Him. It is about Him...being available...willing...for Him to use me...when... as...He chooses. I have lived a lifetime of striving...wanting to be good enough...sports, academics, writing, marriage, parenting...even striving to be the best friend I can be...fearing rejection...fearing failure...trying to earn acceptance, love, value... Not surprisingly, I never measured up.My standard was illusive....just beyond my grasp...but I'd continue to try...strain...persevere. No one can be the best at everything. What does 'being the best', mean? In sports 'being the best' is clearly defined...medals...trophies...ribbons. I have boxes of those. I h...

Driving to work this morning was a delight. The day was lovely; a kindness bestowed upon the Back to Work World that made it much easier to venture out into the day and to the office. I passed fields that glistened with a coating of shiny ice that covered the powdery snow and reflected back the faintest delicate pink light, caught from the morning sky. In the evening I drove back from Newmarket, where I had gone after work, and the day hadn't waned in it's efforts to dazzle. The sunset sky was deepest turquoise fading to salmon pink on the horizon. On either side of the road, the silhouetted tree branches brushed the sky softly and I imagined that I was driving through the middle of a giant fur coat. Before work, I read more of Mark's gospel; chapter 2, which contains the account (verses 23-28) of Jesus scandalizing the Pharisees by picking heads of grain on the Sabbath. The final verses say this: Mark 2:27-28 (New International Version) 27 Then he said to them, "The...