Whatever He Says

 Yesterday was a day of sleepy exhaustion, and I reluctantly dragged my feet to start our first Life Group meeting of the year in the evening. Trying to prepare by reading the chapter for discussion felt so difficult. I repeatedly tried over two days to get through it, but I was so tired that I fell asleep every few minutes, and as a result, it took so much longer than it should have. The topic, “The Art of Spiritual Dialogue,” was a good one and connected to Brenda Ueland’s essay, “Tell Me More: On the Fine Art of Listening,” which I had read the day before, the topic of which was the importance of really listening to others. I do that poorly, I realize, and maybe everyone does in general. Sometimes it’s because it is an art, and I need to work at it deliberately, as we must do to acquire any skill. Still, underlying anxiety often causes me to fill conversational space too quickly instead of drawing out the other or others around me. I can see this so easily when someone else does...

Yesterday I read an essay on listening by Brenda Ueland, a writer whose book, If You Want to Write, inspired and instructed Edna Staebler, lately one of my writing heroes. I loved and learned from Brenda’s beautifully written essay on listening. Still, I will reread it today, and perhaps many times in the future, to absorb it well enough that I can practice what she describes so brilliantly; to listen intentionally and well. I remember from my first quick reading that she learned to really listen in a way that draws something of the speaker out. But, of course, this doesn’t happen automatically, only in the presence of a skilled listener. It saddens me that we miss this—that I have missed this—when each person we encounter has a bright soul and spirit locked up inside unless drawn out into the light to be revealed and honoured. Brenda Ueland writes of how she used to prepare for social occasions by thinking she had to be “on,” She meant by that to be bright and animated—artificiall...

"Mom," said Brenda a couple of months ago, "I want to place an order for 50 strawberry tarts."  I have a small pie business, and the tarts were for a special lunch at the school where she works. "No, problem," I said--she didn't need the tarts for several weeks. Brenda is well-organised and always plans ahead. I am not entirely as organised as she. However, as the delivery date (a.k.a. the "nick of time") approached, I found the perfect recipe. The process involved was a little more complicated than I'd anticipated, and I was surprised at the weight of strawberries needed for the recipe, which was for only 6 tarts and would have to be multiplied many times. And I would need to buy tartlet tins. Getting tartlet tins on short notice proved to be impossible. I checked first on Amazon. Although I found the perfect tins there, they would not arrive in time. A local store that promised to carry the tins had them-- but only two! I was gr...

Mid-April, snowbound, churches closed, flights cancelled--spring in Canada! Weather alerts said this would be a historic storm and warned against unnecessary travel--f reezing rain already had wreaked havoc with hydro wires and highways. It had been an unusually busy week and a Sunday at home felt like a gift. I poured a steaming cup of black coffee, found my favourite chair, and by the  flickering   light of a candle, embraced the time to reflect. Prompted by recent conversations with a few friends, I found myself thinking about balance, i.e. the fine line that so many of us struggle with--between being "useful" and "used up"-- between success and being a victim of one's success. Paul and I are retired so you would think that this struggle is behind us--but not so much! It was Aristotle who said, "Nature abhors a vacuum," and this does indeed seem true if we leave the filling of available time to chance. By default, our time will be take...

I would dearly love to do-over a recent conversation . A friend needed to share some tough news and  her feelings; but I could not still my brain, which jumped to action , searching for something that might help and I'm afraid my words followed not long after it. My lack of inner peacefulness filled the air with unease; a faint heaviness like cheap perfume.  There are many bad habits in listening and I'm thankful that I was only aware of one biggie at work in that conversation--feeling compelled to help by searching for a solution.  Awareness is the starting point for correction.   Fortunately there are lots of tips available on being a better listener. Huff Post Healthy Living, for instance has a good article on the topic:  9 Things Good Listeners Do Differently   Of the 9 things discussed in the article, the one I want to work on is posing significant questions to draw out more information.  I want to replace thinking about solutions with askin...

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...

Matthew 19:19 (Amplified Bible) 19 Honor your father and your mother, and, You shall love your neighbor as [you do] yourself By Belinda Paul and I are deep into a documentary set: BBC- History of World War 11  which is really a compilation of many documentaries put together over the years and related only by the overarching topic of the war. The most compelling parts on many levels are the interviews with people, who relate their personal experiences, reliving the traumatic events as though they happened just yesterday. I am captured and deeply moved by these eye witness accounts; grateful that someone did the amazing  work of  recording this living history before it was lost. The interviews with veteran soldiers of all ranks and of all armies: Japanese; German and British are fascinating when you strip away the uniform and see only men who fought, often proud soldiers and skilled in battle, no matter which side they fought on, and having a mutual respect for fe...

Once upon a time there was a young-ish woman who thought that she had the answers to most situations. In fact, the answers were readily available at the tip of her fingers, if not her tongue. Whenever people shared their worries and burdens with her, she could hardly wait for them to finish talking so that she could give them the answer that was obvious to her. In fact, once she thought of the answer, her eyes stopped focusing on theirs and she was only half aware of what they were saying until they were finished. She noticed that sometimes the people to whom she gave the answers seemed resistant to receiving them. As she grew older, a strange thing began to happen. She discovered that there were layers of complexity in people's lives and in her own responses to them. Answers seemed less readily available as she encountered this messiness. Sometimes she was in need of answers too and the answers she once found easy to access for others seemed trite. Fortunately, the woman, answer-l...

From the Archives (First published Wednesday, October 24, 2007, by Susan) Sometimes when I look at myself, I see someone who tries too often to make a splash."Look at me! Look at me!" my behaviour sometimes cries. Just like the average three year old. Pathetic, eh? Well, there's someone I'm getting to know who doesn't do that at all. Sometimes I think I'd really like to be more like him.We had tea with this new friend, and with a few other people not many weeks ago. Some of us in this group of five were old friends, but others were just getting to know each other. I sent out some tiny tendrils of potential relationship, fragile, tender, trying not to be too vulnerable, deciding to what level of friendship I could begin to trust, taking small risks, yet all the while knowing I was pretty safe. It was myself I was afraid to trust. We talked about a lot of different things that September afternoon. I told a story about my dad and how he was being treated while in...

The past two weeks have been busier than usual, with long hours. Even though it was only a four day week because of the holiday last weekend I was so looking forward to Friday. When I finally left the office in which I spent Friday afternoon, I urged the other stragglers to leave as I bid them farewell with a sense of joyful anticipation. Today I did a bit of this and a bit of that--talking on the phone to family, folding laundry, digging in the dirt and pulling weeds--a spot of shopping too. Then finally as the twilight gathered, I stepped out with my golden boy for a walk. The air outside the house was cooling down, but the moisture in the air still clung to us. I considered how Christmassy Molson looked, with his mismatched red collar and green leash--like a reindeer that had showed up for the wrong seasonal celebration. But he was happily oblivious. He cared only for sniffing the trail, and he did it, nose to the ground, with the concentration of a forensic detective. My senses wer...

The natural world amazes me. My senses are saturated with beauty daily--I pay attention because that's the way God made me--I can't help it. Yesterday, in anticipation of a hot day ahead, I had pulled down the blinds and the windows were open to catch the cool breeze before the heat came. Outside, the wind blowing through the trees sounded like waves washing up on a beach. Wooosh--wooosh went the wind "waves"--while the blinds tap-tapped at the window frames. This morning though, was motionless. I sat in my green room and watched the stillness outside. Not a leaf moved. The sky was ominous grey and the air hung moist and heavy. I could hear only the occasional distant chirping or calling of birds and the tick-tick-ticking of our golden oak wall clock--a minimalist concert. The clock's rhythmic keeping of time contrasted with the random, free form sounds of nature. The ticking reminded me that time can be a taskmaster--but the world runs according to time--it seems...

By Claire Alexander In a writers’ group online, one author told how her pastor’s mention of an Old Testament passage triggered the idea, “the right word for the right occasion.” She decided to add this phrase to her biographical details as her “tag line,” but didn’t know its source. Someone suggested Proverbs 25:11 NIV: "A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver." Another verse given was Eph. 4:29 NIV: "Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen." My mind went back to childhood years in West Vancouver, following WWII. A very precise and disciplined British surgeon, who founded a ministry in Aden and countries around the Red Sea, sometimes stayed in our home for a week. This tall statesman had to sleep on my brother’s bed, the width of a cot. On each furlough trip to Canada, this pioneering doctor tried to raise u...

The day dawned misty and the route I drove to work took on an unfamiliar look, as houses and trees, wrapped in a cotton ball fog, combined with mud splashed snow to create a creamy mocha, soft focus, sepia photograph day. I was driving "relaxed," as per Frances's police officer's instructions (for those who aren't regular readers, see Three Fast Friends on March 8th). Taking the ramp off the highway, I waited for the red light to change to green and admired a stand of trees across the road, serene and beautiful in their utter stillness; bare, soft taupe branches graceful, against the soft backdrop of the day. And I thought to myself, "I wish I could be like a tree; standing so still," and I thought of the man in Psalm 1 who is like a tree planted by streams of water; with roots going down deep so that its leaf doesn't wither. A tree is a beautiful picture of rest, drawing nourishment and bearing fruit. And the trees sang to my soul a song it needed ...

The best writer is one that goes with us through the world of ideas like a friendly guide who walks beside us through the forest pointing out to us a hundred natural wonders we had not noticed before. So we learn from him to see for ourselves and soon we have no need for our guide. A.W. Tozer On Sundays I usually head in the opposite direction to church to pick up three friends--two of them a married couple who have disabilities and the other a friend who has no car. The energy is always buzzing. Everyone wants to share news from their week and air time is at a premium as we jog along. Sometimes I just smile at the intense joie de vivre within my plum coloured Honda Civic. Last Sunday we were headed back towards the small town where our church is. Michelle had been away for two weeks and was brimming over with news to share. Suddenly the young woman with a disability said, "Oh, look at that field, it's beautiful." And it was, I had to agree. I noticed that she ...

3 John 1:14 (New International Version) 14 I hope to see you soon, and we will talk face to face. The capacity for speech is complex and amazing, but, when it comes to communicating--it sometimes feels as if God sat us down in an airport control tower and told us to bring in the planes--with no training. The older I get, the longer the stretch seems from the moment we utter our first attempts at words to when we understand how to use them. I sometimes wonder about God. He put us in charge of his creation in the first place--I really wonder about that. And then when it came to the task of carrying the message of his love for mankind to the rest of the world--he left us with that too--didn't he know how dangerous that was? And, as one of my favourite singers, Rich Mullins once said, "He didn't have a plan B." The power of words is staggering. They can slay or salve, hurt or heal. They are quick to leave our lips--but so hard to undo. This morning I read a little from ea...

The natural world amazes me. My senses are saturated with beauty daily--I pay attention because that's the way God made me--I can't help it. Yesterday, in anticipation of a hot day ahead, I had pulled down the blinds and the windows were open to catch the cool breeze before the heat came. Outside, the wind blowing through the trees sounded like waves washing up on a beach. Wooosh--wooosh went the wind "waves"--while the blinds tap-tapped at the window frames. This morning though, was motionless. I sat in my green room and watched the stillness outside. Not a leaf moved. The sky was ominous grey and the air hung moist and heavy. I could hear only the occasional distant chirping or calling of birds and the tick-tick-ticking of our golden oak wall clock--a minimalist concert. The clock's rhythmic keeping of time contrasted with the random, free form sounds of nature. The ticking reminded me that time can be a taskmaster--but the world runs according to time--it seems...