Whatever He Says

We slipped in quietly and I saw her eyes search the small crowd for her piano instructor. My oldest daughter is much like a young filly, tall and lean and a bit skittish when she has to perform. A few young musicians clutched their books or music sheets, the younger ones with their parents and the older ones sat alone or stood waiting further instruction. The host wore a black tuxedo. As the host welcomed guests to The Gibson Centre, he explained that this recital was put on by the New Tecumseth Arts Council for the purpose of showcasing the grand piano. Ten music students were invited to perform, and piano instructors of the county as well as various guests from the community gathered to hear the deep tones, delicate melodies, and the beauty that can only be garnered from a grand piano. The host went on to explain that most students learn and practise on upright pianos or keyboards and only experience playing a grand at festivals, exams, and occasional recitals. Playing a ...

It was cell group night and the big back room hummed with conversation and laughter as we shared a meal. Around the big, oval table, there were three generations of our family, and friends who had gathered to do a study after supper. Brenda was still dressed in a suit jacket and skirt as she hadn’t changed since coming home from work. She was animatedly telling a funny story from her day, when we heard the distant chime of the doorbell from the front of the house. I opened the door to find a canvasser from one of the main political parties, holding a clipboard. A young girl that looked like she might be his daughter was with him. He wanted to verify the people he had on his list as residing in our home and also asked if we planned to vote in the upcoming election. I quickly confirmed the names, and said that Paul and I would be voting. “What about Brenda?” he asked. “She doesn’t vote,” I said, sure that I remembered that from a recent conversation. “Oh,” he said, with an understanding ...

My friend Poppy requested; after reading the post, The School, the Street and the Saviour , this addendum, a poem I wrote in 1982, about my spiritual journey. Thank you for asking Poppy, and thank you Lord, for the journey. Not for me the blinding light Of a Damascus road, But then, I was no Saul, no persecutor of Christians hater of Christ I walked in two worlds, finding both exciting, beckoning, as I stood on the threshold of my life For me, the Spirit’s gentle wooing, How wise, how wonderful, God’s many ways, of reaching us, His wayward ones More and more, I became His, until I saw the world, through strangely different eyes. Things that once beckoned, now had lost their charm, As He so gently guided me away from harm

God amazes me. It's not so much the breathtaking grandeur and infinite variety of just the smallest bit of his creation, this planet among billions, earth, (though I am blown away by wonder everywhere I look and each and every day) but I am even more blown away when I ponder his nature, his character, the infinite depths of faithfulness, the workings of "grace" - that he loves me! It comes so unnaturally to us created ones. I will struggle every day of my life to accept the meaning of grace in my life. Unmerited favour. There is nothing I can do to make him love me more; nothing I can do to make him love me less. He is always ready to draw me back towards home, always willing to take me through that "eye of the needle" (humility) and into his safe and solid arms again. This week I experienced more than my usual amount of "slippage". That's what I call a backward slide down the slippery slope of self-centeredness, away from grace, and relying ...

In the spring of the year I turned 9, our family moved to Alvechurch, a small village in the heart of the Worcestershire countryside. The village school was Church of England and connected with the church of St. Laurence, which stood on a hill, keeping watch over the surrounding countryside; a silent guardian; as it had done for at least eight centuries. One day, into the flock of rosy cheeked English children, came a rare bird of exotic species; an American girl! She was a flamingo in a flock of starlings. We all wore school uniform.The boys wore short gray trousers, knee socks, shirts, ties and black blazers and we girls, either red and white, or blue and white striped cotton dresses, with cardigans or blazers. She looked so sophisticated when she arrived in a neat pleated green skirt and white sweater. And she spoke with an accent that we had heard on television but never in person! She was pretty, blond, with blue eyes, and she had an air of assurance and worldly wisdom about her. ...

"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 ...

"Where are we?" my daughter wailed, panicking as she drove us home from our Irish Dancing class last night. The highway was unfamiliar to her in the dark, and it seemed to be taking longer than she expected to get to our turnoff. I was able to reassure her that we were fine and hadn't gone past the exit sign. We agreed the darkness had created a whole different experience for her. I thought of my reflections over the past while about our need for landmarks in our lives, and how my times of floundering in the past have been because I didn't know the landmarks or didn't have the supportive people in my life to help me find the right ones. Particularly when I was weaker in my faith this caused me great struggle, confusion and often, a sort of despair. I love being able to help my daughters find landmarks. It thrills me that my experiences can help to give them the comfort and direction they need. I especially enjoy it because I am not seeking to do that for them, but...