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...

An interaction yesterday went horribly. I had needed help. The help was given with impatience and abrupt instructions that had the effect of freezing my brain into deeper incompetence. By the end I felt like a nuisance; too slow; and devalued. It affected me for more than a few hours afterwards. I needed time to process it and eventually managed to separate myself  from it personally,  enough  to know that it wasn't so much about me as the other person and I am pretty sure that they were oblivious to their effect.  This morning as I sat down with a cup of coffee in our sunny back room, and tried to shake off the last vestiges of the depressed mood that had descended afterwards, and the words, "He restores my soul," from  Psalm 23 , came to mind, like a soothing ointment on a wound. Just then Brenda poked her head into the room, a large red mug of coffee in her hand. She glanced at the book I was opening and said, "Oh, is this not a good time?"  "Yes...

Two friends, Magda Wills and Marilyn Yocum , shared their responses to yesterday's post:  All the Time in the World . Marilyn wrote in the comments and Magda in an email. I am sharing Marilyn's comment so that no one misses it and  Magda  gave me  permission to share her story.  Often the responses to something I've written reinforce or expand on a point, and I love to "carry the conversation" further. Marilyn wrote: I never wore a watch while visiting my mother the last few years of her life. I would try to arrange my visits with no hard stop, running all my errands beforehand.   At times when I was there I'd recall some little errand I meant to do and still had time for, if I hurried off. I'd be tempted, then decide it could wait.   There isn't much you can give a 90+-year-old except your time.   What a gift to visit someone and leave your watch at home. I loved the thought of a "visit with no hard stop."  Magda wrote:...

By Belinda I sat in Jamie's chair as she worked magic on my hair. I am so blessed to have found her as a hairdresser and have followed her through stints at several salons, to her current happily settled spot at  Gravity Salon  in Barrie. I not only love what Jamie does with my hair, but I love her. I love to connect and catch up on her life and she with mine. She is a sweetheart and a joy.  A young girl, about 14 years old and with pink hair had just left the chair of another stylist. As her dad stood at the cash register she told him about something she had noticed and asked him to come look at it, but he paid, and they left without him coming back to the thing she wanted to show him.  "That little girl is begging for attention," she said as she scooped up a swathe of hair with her big round brush and aimed the hairdryer at it.  "I observe people," she went on, "no wonder women grow up doing anything to get noticed. It makes me so mad!" T...

By Belinda One of the books I'm reading at the moment is, Mistakes Were Made (But Not by Me)  by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson. The book is recommended reading for a course I am taking on Conflict Mediation. The authors had me at the title (and the sub-title: "Why We Justify Foolish Beliefs, Bad Decisions, and Hurtful Acts.) So far into the book I am convinced--we all have blind spots and are adept only at spotting those of others. In fact, the chapter I am currently reading starts out by quoting Matthew 7:3 to illustrate this point: Matthew 7:3 New King James Version (NKJV) 3  And why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye? The trouble is that all too often I read the Bible as though it is a collection of stories, about "someone else," (those handily self righteous Pharisees,) rather than turning the searchlight onto my own heart; asking the hard questions of myself. In my course we learn...

  9 If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.     ( 1 John 1:9 , 21st Century King James Version ) By Belinda I sat, at the end of the day, thankful to rest at last, enjoying the cool, gentle, night breeze wafting in through the open screen door, carrying with it the call of coyotes from across the fields, wild and haunting. It had been a perfectly exhausting but perfectly wonderful day. Good Friday; good Good Friday. It had been 2.00 a.m. that Friday morning when I finally conceded that I had done as much as energy and common sense would allow, to prepare for our family dinner after the Good Friday communion service. Okay, scratch the "common sense" from that last sentence--sometimes common sense cannot prevail when there is work to be done. But the sweet potatoes and warm potato salad were ready and the potatoes for scalloped potatoes were ready to peel ...

My friend Frances has lately been longing to learn to "speak gently." In fact she begged me to buy her a gold ring with the initials SG, to remind her, if ever I saw such a thing. "Perhaps for your 50th birthday," I said (it is a long way off!) I found this little prayer on a scrap of note paper, in, where else, my loft room! A garland of yellow tinged pink roses and rose buds twines along the left border of the page. I have no idea when I copied it out and couldn't find out quickly who wrote it. I pray though that someone is encouraged, blessed and helped by it today, as I am whenever I read it. Set a watch, O Lord, upon our tongues, That we may never speak the cruel word which is untrue; or, being true, is not the whole truth; or, being wholly true, is merciless; for the love of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen Psalm 141:3 (New International Version) 3 Set a guard over my mouth, O LORD; keep watch over the door of my lips.

My old-faithful Honda conked out last week, right outside my office at the end of a long day when I was leaving late. I needed to leave in the morning for a meeting some distance away, so I arranged with the dealership to rent a car at a special rate for Honda customers. When I called the rental company, though, I had to jump through hoops to get the rate, including calling Honda again. When I called the car rental company again, I got a different person. I explained the what had happened and he surprised me by saying, "How does $30 a day sound?" Since that was $5 lower than the price I was expecting, I said I was happy. He said he just wanted to make up for the trouble I'd gone through. Later on, I thought of how little it took to turn the experience of customer service around. He could have just given me the right price, and the price he offered was only $5 less than that, but the gesture made all the difference. A few days later, on Friday evening, I dropped by our vil...

The sound of the front door opening and voices in the hallway heralded visitors. The voices were feminine and cheery and Paul's voice was welcoming as they drew closer to the room at the back of the house, where I was. To my surprise, there stood Jane and Barb, two friends from our cell group--but this was Tuesday, not Thursday and it looked as though they were on a mission. We chatted briefly and then Jane said, "We came with a purpose." "I thought so!" I said, greatly curious about what it might be. Jane was carrying a small zippered portfolio from which she was pulling something out. "I brought you a gift," she announced; her whole being radiating joy in giving. "It is one of a kind," and she handed me a letter sized laminated document and a smaller one the size of a recipe card. I looked at the emblems that were duplicated on the cards and Jane asked me what I thought. "I like the message," I said, feeling something, I didn'...

Mention her name and the stories begin; told in affectionate tones, with respect and laughter. Those who didn’t know her before she died five years ago, try to get a sense of who she was. For at such moments there are only two groups; those who knew Evelyn and those who didn’t. And everyone wishes they had. I wonder; will a mention of my name have this effect five years after I’m gone? It would be nice if it did but I doubt it. Twice this week her name has come up, and she has been on my mind as well. Perhaps because it’s Christmas, and at Christmas we think of old friends. So tonight I share an Evelyn story: It was Christmas Eve—Miah’s first Christmas working at her new job with the agency that supported Evelyn and her housemates with developmental disabilities. Miah loved her job, but on this particular night she was downhearted. At her last job she had worked over Christmas, which would have meant that she got this one off. But she had changed jobs and here she was again,...

I stowed my luggage in the overhead baggage compartment and sank into my window seat on the aircraft. The friendly man who sat next to me introduced himself, as did the woman beside him, but I was glad that they were soon in conversation with eachother. I had lots to think about on my way home from England. We were soon airborne and flying at a lower altitude than normal to avoid turbulence. I looked at the land far below; at rivers, lakes and a patchwork of fields and communities, as the aircraft slowly moved across them like a giant bird. How peaceful and quiet the world looked from that angle! The week I left for England I had been thinking about the ongoing work of God in our hearts; how he softens and shapes us, sometimes painfully, but always lovingly. My friend Susan gave me a book to read on my journey to England called, A Treasury of Great Moral Stories~ The Book of Virtues for Boys and Girls , edited with commentary by William J. Bennett. It might seem like an odd choice for ...

On summer evenings I love my village walks with Molson. The path I take leads past some older houses, with old fashioned porches, surrounded by old fashioned country gardens filled with such flowers as lilies and hollyhocks, black-eyed-susans and forget-me-nots. I admire the wooden porches; some weather worn, others freshly painted, but all inviting. On the porches are carefully arranged wooden rockers or perhaps wicker chairs and loveseats with bright cushions. "Come sit or rock awhile," they seem to whisper, "Come sit beneath the wind chimes with a good book, or a friend and a cup of tea." I love the play of light and shadow as the evening breeze sighs through the leaves of the trees. Hanging above the front door of one house, is a sign bearing a simple message that I have been pondering. "Be Nice," it reads. What a good message to take to heart, I think. I would add three more exhortations to make a mantra that, if heeded would make a better world: Be n...