Whatever He Says

I blurted it out, shocking myself more, I think, than the person I said it to.   I n all their unadorned honesty the words were out, like marbles  rolling   across the floor--I had asked my friend why she couldn't, "Just be grateful."  The evening was wrapping itself around us like a cloak as we drove back to my home, where her car was parked. She  has had a lot to deal with over a prolonged period of time but  I knew that her sense of  hopelessness was compounded by seeing things at the moment through a lens darkened by weariness. The words had popped out--starkly. I tried to explain what I really meant.  "What you focus on, grows," I said, "gratitude is a powerful focus." I thought of a book that I thought would be helpful, its focus on thankfulness in spite of circumstances-- One Thousand Gifts , by  Ann Voskamp . Before she drove off into the dark night, I promised to get a copy to her. But still I felt dismayed at what I'd said an...

In the morning we begin our journey home from Florida--from the land of voices that fall like sugar on the ear with their soft, "Honey's" and "Y'all's." The people here have been just out and out happily polite and pleasant where ever we went--the epitome of "nice." This time away has been wonderful way to start the New Year--a gift--from the journey down through the states, away from the frigid cold of a recent ice storm in Canada--to the simplest of things enjoyed together as a family. I have tucked away some precious memories. One memory is the excitement of crossing the border with Tippy and Tori, who have never been out of Ontario, and the laughter inside the car because I wasn't sure at which exact moment we had definitely crossed the border and could start cheering. The sheer beauty of West Virginia as we drove by the Appalachian Mountains was stunning. Just hanging out with two of my granddaughters for so many days strun...

I left the house early, coffee mug in hand, braving the driving rain on the way to my car and an appointment with Jamie, my lovely hairdresser. The grayness of the day outside only made the cosy salon more welcoming when I arrived. "It's the perfect day to be at the hairdresser," I said to Ivo, the salon owner. Jamie arrived just after me, and ushered me to her small room upstairs, where the walls, matched the greenish gray of Lake Simcoe across the road.   It was good to see my friend again and have the completely self indulgent experience of putting my hair in her hands while we catch up on the past couple of months in our lives. As I settled into the chair, Jamie said, "I have a story for you," and then slid the decoratively frosted glass door to her room, closed for privacy. "This is like a little doll's house, so many stories are shared here: heart-rending; silly--and mostly a whole lot of laughter," she said. ...

 Each night I point my car west to go home from work, and on Friday evening the sun was a giant, vivid red globe, slowly being put to bed beneath the covers of approaching night. It was a ravishingly beautiful beginning to the weekend.   Today, Saturday, has been gray and drizzly, but on the hills that surround our house, the red, yellow and orange of autumn glowed through the gray like bright embers amongst the ashes in a grate; unquenchable glory!   I had time in the day to reflect a little on life in my corner of the world, and made a decision. I decided to accept things as they are in a couple of areas.     It is less important what the acceptance is about than the fact that it helped to change perspective. Changing how you think about something is almost as powerful, if not more so, than actually changing the circumstance.   The decision moved me from discontent to gratitude and I would ...

In March 2011, inspired by  Ann Voskamp's  book,  One Thousand Gifts , I started a gratitude journal.  I continue the journal to this day, jotting down little and big gifts that I am grateful for. It is a sign that I do not do it often enough that it is only number 398 that awaits my pen's next recording. But it is a habit that I love, even though imperfectly practiced, and every now and then, I look back through the entries in the little book bound in green satin and embroidered with a merry riot of red, orange and lilac flowers.  And when I do, I am reminded again of past occasions for gratitude. I smile and am grateful still for these things and so glad I recorded them. In a way, they are more than a mere recounting of things to be thankful for; they trace a life blessed by a Giver of good gifts. Here are a few entries and their numbers: 44) Sky pink reflected on snow at day's end. 46) Two grandchildren who play with bowls of dish soap bubbles for m...

  By Belinda We had some great news on Friday. Tippy ( (of chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream fame)  was accepted into the  Secondary Arts Program  at Huron Heights Secondary School this fall. The website describes it as:  A four-year intensive arts program for artistically talented students in York Region.    Tippy had to put together a portfolio and audition for a space. There were 48 applicants for about 20 spaces. Brenda was intensely stressed!!! Tippy had a quiet calm. When I talked to her after she heard the news and asked her about the audition, she said with a smile, "I was pleased with my work." We are so happy for her! And it called for a family celebration with ice cream cake.  Chocolate peanut butter ice cream cake of course!

By Belinda They followed me home from church, their silver van tracking my beat up, faithful Honda over the rural road, up hills, past farms and fields. At least once a month we have a big family dinner and this was the day. We missed last month's due to vacations, so it felt like a long time since our house was filled full with grandchildren. They piled out of the van and Andrew said, "We followed you all the way from church." I said, "I didn't realize. If I knew you were following I would have driven so much better!" This was true. :) 7 year old William asked, "Do you know if we are having Yorkshire's?" "Hmm," I said, thoughtfully, "Let me see." "Well, obviously you do know," he said, seeing that he'd asked the wrong question. I laughed and was happy to confirm for William that yes, indeed there would Yorkshire's! I made 48 Yorkshire puddings in fact, to go with the roast beef, and all of ...

By Belinda "What's cooking?" It's the question people ask as they come through the front door on Thursday  evenings. The casserole that I took out of the freezer for cell group this week was not what expected it to be. When I took the foil off the container thawing on my stove top it was the shepherd's pie that I had created out of the left over pot roast and gravy from a couple of weeks ago, seasoned with Worcestershire sauce until it tasted good to me and topped with mashed potato and grated cheese. I had intended it for some humbler occasion than cell group dinner. My plan had been lasagne, although when recently making multiple pans of it I had mistakenly thawed out chilli sauce instead of tomato sauce and I had to explain the unexpected kidney beans in the first lasagne I served. I figured that the shepherds pie would be large enough, but later, as it was baking, just for good measure I peered into the fridge, full of many odds and ends of leftove...

Colossians 3:15 (New International Version, ©2011)   15  Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. By Belinda On our trip to Israel I took Ann Voskamp’s  book, One Thousand Gifts. As you will know from our itinerary, time for reading was scarce, but the plane journey each way was 11 hours! I  began the discipline of writing down my list of one thousand gifts as soon as I got home. Last night Tippy and Tori had supper with us as Brenda was late coming home. I couldn't wait to tell them about my little journal. Their eyes sparkled with interest as I shared what it was and told them how Ann came to start her own list of One Thousand Gifts. I read them my list, that began: 1)  Coming "home." 2) A "welcome home" email. 3) Children who return for "one more hug," again and again."... And I asked them, "Would you like to your own gratitude journals?" Two heads...

By Belinda Now...is fragrant with the scent of baking apple crisp; is gaudy in its colour palette of impossibly overdone mustard yellow; and red and green apple skins against creamy white, crisp flesh. God seems to be in creative overdrive right now. Our corner of the world looks as though a manic artist daubed splodges of ochre here and there, while saying, "Take that, and that, and how do you like THAT?!" And the riotous frenzy of fall colours has yet to get started. Our apple trees outdid themselves this year and are heavy with fruit, as were our pear and plum trees last month. And I am possessed of a sense of solemn duty to use what God gives and to waste as little as possible. And so, I left my briefcase self behind at the office this afternoon at 5.00 pm and became another person entirely this evening, up to my elbows in apple peel, flour and cinnamon, while I cooked to the classics. The recipe above is the best recipe ever for apple cr...

By Belinda It was a Friday evening when Frank got a call that meant he'd have to drive down to the city instead of going home as he'd planned. It was bitterly cold and a blizzard had engulfed our area, but he set off down the highway, with the wind whipping the car and the snow coming down hypnotically, heavily, and relentlessly. He was already tense, and straining to see the road ahead, when one of the lenses suddenly popped out of his glasses, causing his vision to be out of focus. Heart in his mouth, he pulled over to the side of the highway and stopped. He tried to feel for the lens, hoping to pop it back into the frame temporarily. It had to be there, he thought, but he couldn't find it. Thinking that it might be on the floor, he pushed open the door against the wind that was pushing back, and got out, so that he could look under the seat. His coat was in the back of the car, but now he was out without it, in the numbing, bitter, freezing cold wind, and the car was sha...

Sometimes surrender can be as simple as eating a boiled egg, With family chatter over comics and concerns about cats, Banter about tasks to do, sun shining on the snow outside the window Gratitude for home, safety, family and friends Who phone to say they’d love to see you but need their space, Recommend the silence they are craving themselves: The knowing between you that it is God who heals through silence The sifting of memory of a night’s turmoil in the light of day, Remembrance of laying down anger and hurt, embracing forgiveness, Love and loyalty, gratitude and hope, Putting skin on them in this morning coziness, Dipping my dead mother’s bone egg spoon into The soft inside of my egg, reflecting on the softness inside of me Inside my crusty shell, broken now so I can taste the goodness, As I am broken in my willingness to let go, to move on To find fresh and simple joys in this new day. Meg Wardroper February 2010 “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” P...

By Belinda I close the bedroom door softly and step out into the early morning cosiness of a house warming up after cool night. My long, soft, black robe hangs loose as I pad down the stairs into a world that looks like a black and white photograph in the gray early light, the lack of colour reinforcing a lingering shudder in my soul. I just finished listening to an audio book that I borrowed from the library, by Carmen Bin Ladin: Inside the Kingdom: My Life in Saudi Arabia . The book left me filled with sadness for the author and her three daughters and also horror at the darkeness of a religion practiced with fanatic piety and brutal punishment of disobedience. Carmen's face on the cover captivated me with its exotic beauty. I was drawn too, by curiousity--what was life like "inside the kingdom,"--in a world as hidden as its women, in their black abayas and thick veils? From the first word I was spellbound and held in fascinated dread and a tension that built with each ...

By Belinda I wrote last Tuesday about my experience of peace in the midst of a storm back in 1984, when I knew instantly that someone was praying and felt flooded with peace. I just had another such experience. I shouldn't have had the peace I felt all week, but it was there in every moment, every conversation, even beneath deep grieving over something very hard. On Thursday evening I stopped at the post office to pick up our mail on the way home from work. I didn't have time to look at it when I got home because it was cell group evening so I put the pile of envelopes on top of the fridge to look at later. I got busy making coffee, setting the table and preparing supper and then the house filled with people. I forgot about the mail until the next evening, when I noticed the edges of the envelopes sticking out over the top of the fridge. Among the routine mail--bills and flyers--was a rare thing, a hand addressed envelope. My curiosity was stirred by the sender's address l...

By Belinda There is such celebration for lost things found. Nearly four years ago, at the end of a work day, I found that the silver necklace I was wearing that day had somehow come undone and the pendant had slipped from the chain. The small amethyst coloured stone, in a setting of silver, had vanished. The stone was unusual in that it changed colour depending on factors in the environment--sometimes it was lavender, other times pale ice blue; but it wasn't the stone or setting itself that was of value--the pendant was originally Mum's and had been a gift from her mother some 65 years before. On the day I lost it I had been at a hotel, a restaurant and two offices, in three different towns. Finding the pendant seemed hopeless, but I tried. I made phone calls and people went and looked for it and checked to see if it had been handed in, but it wasn't found. I went to the gravel parking lot opposite my office, where I had parked my car. I looked in the approximate location ...

By Belinda The supper dishes are cleared away and the dishwasher softly swishes them clean in the nearby kitchen. The cranberry coloured tablecloth lies in a heap on a side table, ready for the crumbs to be shaken outside into the night at the end of the evening. The table pad is neatly folded, ready for the next meal around the long, oval pine table. A group of friends settles into either easy chairs or the ochre leather couch. Anticipation hangs in the air along with the scent of an apple cinnamon candle. Jane, a woman in her mid fifties, with short gray hair and dancing eyes, looks around the room with a smile as she prepares to start our cell group study. She leads the group with a deliberate, animated style. The lights in the two adjoining rooms are off, and outside the night is dark. Our circle of friends seems to sit in a pool of light. I suddenly have a moment of intense joy. Barb, Jane's friend, asks, "Belinda, were you about to say something?" And I try to expla...

Saturday mornings are deliciously lazy around our house and a time for family and friends. After the necessary focus and drive of the weekdays, the anticipation of the weekend begins to build as Friday evening draws near. I love my work, but I am thankful for the different pace of the weekend. This Saturday found me after breakfast, sitting in the morning sunshine, feet up in a recliner, still in my robe, and chatting to Rob and Mum, 3,000 miles away in England. The week before last, a dog joined their family: Bruce, the Staffordshire bull terrier; 3 1/2 years old. He belongs to my nephew John, who adopted him from friends who couldn't keep him, but on Saturday John was at work and Rob was looking after him. I could hear soft but persistent, whining in the background. Rob said that he had bought Bruce a ball that was supposed to be indestructable but that almost immediately Bruce ripped a piece off and then another, and another. Rob had taken the ball away and put it in the cupboar...

I give thanks today for that amazing gift: the gift of "praying through to peace." You can go to God with a heart full of discouragement; disappointment; expectations unmet, or a bad case of "grass is greener on the other side of the fence" syndrome; and through the simple act of being still in his presence he performs the miracle of displacement and replacement. I don't know how, but I am so thankful that he: Smoothes out wrinkled brows Reminds us of what is true Thwarts the maneuvers of the enemy Reorients our focus away from self Replaces selfishness with love And cleans out the gunk that clogs up the wheels of hearts! Isaiah 9:6 (New International Reader's Version) 6 A child will be born to us. A son will be given to us. He will rule over us. And he will be called Wonderful Adviser and Mighty God. He will also be called Father Who Lives Forever and Prince Who Brings Peace.

A daily ritual unfolds...a candle lit; the lid of a hassock lifted--a treasure trove lies within--Bible and book bag of softest needlecord, ochre and aqua...and my precious Daily Light. I wonder if the Bagster family could have imagined that the book they compiled, Daily Light on the Daily Path would be loved so much after more than two centuries. They who prayed over each page until they were satisfied that they had heard God's voice for each day's selection of scripture, simply followed his leading. It was through my dear Aunt Agnes, over thirty years ago, that I first became aware of the existence of this book. She read it daily and since her copy was falling apart, on one of her December 27th birthdays I bought her a new one. When she died, hers was given to me. That one had scripture from the King James version of the Bible, but now it is readily available in several modern English versions. Mine is falling apart, just like Aunt Agnes's was, but every now and then I...

Dear Readers, My weekly memoir post will be on Tuesday from now on, in order to celebrate Multitude Monday on the right day of the week. Today, with Angcat's permission, I am posting her Christmas update. It is a perfect fit for today and I thought that readers who didn't already get her letter, would want to hear some of what has happened in their family in the past year. CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS 2009 I watched him search the crowd, seeking a familiar someone. Then he caught my eye, and a confident grin spread across his little face, blue eyes glowing with excitement. “Hi Mom”, his voice rang out and small hand waved. “Hi buddy”, I called back, loving him across the auditorium, loving him being up there with his kindergarten class. “Come on and ring those bells, light the Christmas tree, Jesus is alive, born for you and me. Come on and ring those bells, everybody sing, Jesus we remember it’s your birthday". Sweet voices filled the air with song, a cacophony of good intent...