Whatever He Says

Job 14:1-2 (New Living Translation) 1 “How frail is humanity! How short is life, how full of trouble! 2 We blossom like a flower and then wither. Like a passing shadow, we quickly disappear. I thought it was a discarded piece of waste paper, and stooped to pick it up. I found that it wasn't paper, but a flower that had fallen from the lovely white orchid that is in full bloom in a pot on top of one of our bookcases. The flower had dried where it fell, but it was still beautiful, a fragile work of art. I examined it carefully, admiring the handiwork of God. I gently opened it to see the colours within; the purple and gold at the centre. It rustled in my fingers as I touched it and I held it to my ear to listen to the sound of the empty shell-flower. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away, so I put it on my kitchen window sill. Later that week three of us sat together after cell group, having a final cup of coffee of the evening. We had watched the Alpha DVD entitled, Does God ...

I have been shameless, desirous of beauty, but lacking the means to provide it. My garden is little, but I want it to be fat, overflowing with lush plantings, rich in color, bursting with life. Yes, I've been pouring over gardening magazines and books, yearning for that perfect outdoor refuge in my own backyard...mature trees, embraced where ground meets trunk by bluest flowers of periwinkle laid on beds of green. Flagstone paths leading from our stone patio, to the old gabled shed. Follow the grass to a small gathering of shrubs and our spruce tree, then the canna lilies reaching for sky beside. Gathered in front of the lilies are patches of rhubarb and tall stands of shasta daisies, with other ground covers creeping in between. The pool is somewhere in the middle of the yard, a silent promise of relief on scorching days (Thank you Ev!). Over to the right the swings sway in the breeze awaiting little bodies, feet thrusting out and screeches of laughter as they pump high tow...

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...

This picture is shared by Night Owl in response to Joyful Fox's post, "I am not my Mother's Daughter." Thank you Night Owl.

I walked from the truck holding the hands of tousled 2 year old boys. He was on the tractor and shouted a greeting, "This is the first time you've come all year." "Hi Dad", I called back. He gave a chuckle as he watched the boys scramble to stomp in puddles and I realized Dad was right. I've been only twice since last summer, or just this once in 2008. He didn't know I would've rather not come today only "duty" and "should" won out over my aversion to being here. It wasn't him, it was mom. The criticism, the constant push and pull and the strain of our relationship made it easier for me to simply stay away. They come regularly to our home- all holidays, birthdays, celebrations, and the children's music recitals and events. It was easy for me to ignore my absence. This fact obviously wasn't lost on Dad. I love my mom. I appreciate all she's sacrificed and given in raising me. I have much to be thankful for. She is ...

Lamentations 3:22-24 (New International Version) 22 Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. 23 They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 24 I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him." I awoke this morning to the sound of the chipper and loud voices of male and female morning show hosts on the radio on Paul's side of the bed. Where do these people come from who are so bright, so early? It was 6.15. It was Saturday. I wondered why Paul wasn't turning off the radio. My sleepy mind adjusted to the rude awakening and I decided to get up. I realized later that Paul had slipped downstairs to the couch in the middle of the night. I was breathing loudly, he told me. Not snoring; breathing loudly. It was a bonus to be up a little earlier. Actually getting out of bed is the hardest part, but once out, I am always grateful for the quiet of the morning and the gift of time. It wasn't ...

It has a very well-broken-in look to it. Not just well-used, but obviously well loved. The red leather cover is worn and faded, with small cracks beginning to show. The pages have obviously been handled and turned over many, many times, with only a hint of shine left to the gold which had gilded their edges when it was still new. The margins and fly-leafs, are covered with hand-written notes. Page after page is marked here and there; whole passages are underlined with blue and black ink. Particular words are circled, and there is no shortage of arrows pointing to the cross references and drawing attention to notes in the margins. The book is almost 35 years old, presented as an award for ten years of service by the insurance company she worked for at the time. I imagine there would have been other gifts to choose from. A watch perhaps. Or a some other piece of jewellry. I'm glad she made this choice, though. What a treasure. My sister Brenda, who lives in Kingston, sent it back to ...