Whatever He Says

He goes before us--"he" being God, and the "going before," meaning that I've been so aware lately that he does, all the time, and I should really relax more into that! I could give many examples, but I am trying to focus on the main thing, that being our current adventure, and not stray off onto bunny trails. I, and 14 other team members, are in the process of leaving, over the next three days, for Mishkeegogamang First Nation, which is 2000 north of here, near to Pickle Lake, in north-western Ontario. Our "lead goose" and trip coordinator, Susan, left this morning by road, with a small convoy following her. Jamie and Kevin leave in the early hours of tomorrow morning, and Paul and I and the rest of the team are flying to Thunder Bay on Saturday morning and will reconnect with the "roadies", then drive together the rest of the way to Mish, arriving late on Saturday. We have been preparing for weeks, and truth be told, by the t...

The news lately is full of reports of racial violence, terrorist attacks and political turmoil all over the world. As footage of snipers shooting police officers played, with furrowed brow, our granddaughter Tippy asked us, "Do you think that now they'll look at changing the gun laws?" A rhetorical question. I explained what I believe--that there is more going on than laws that need to be changed. Something is seriously broken in humanity, and there are spiritual forces at work all over our world. An apostle named Paul wrote about it in a letter to the people in a church in Ephesus, 2000 years ago ( Ephesians 6:12.) These forces can't be battled with guns or argument, but with prayers behind which is God's power to demolish strongholds. ( 2 Corinthians 10.4) Coincidentally, yesterday, Tippy, another young friend, and I, watched, The Twin Towers --the second in a movie series based on the trilogy, Lord of the Rings , by J.R.R. Tolkien. When the wise wizard...

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...

So grateful for the intimacy of relationship with God--his Spirit speaking to mine on a level that is softer than a whisper, but as sure as a shout...sweet communion. As I quiet myself--embracing silence, God speaks. As I still myself--creating space, God enters with his presence. Acts 17:27b   says that God is not far from any one of us. Revelation 3:20  speaks of God standing at the door and knocking, with a promise that where he is welcomed as a guest, he will come in. Daily I face a battleground populated by forces opposing quiet and stillness. My own undisciplined impulses and natural bents populate the field. My waking thought is to reach for the electronic device under my pillow to check the time. My next reflexive action is to check in with the world of social media. Before I know it, I can have frittered away my first waking half hour or more. Time gone forever from a finite day. .  Late already, I battle procrastination--"I will sta...

I met her at a writers' conference--a woman whose age I found hard to guess, but whose slowed and stiffened gait told me she was at least a few years older than me.  Her voice carried the warm musical cadence of the Caribbean, slow and deep. She was quick to break into peals of laughter that shook her body. I was drawn to this woman, who arrived alone--but seemed at ease with her own company. I caught sight of her over the three days of the conference, en-route to the next workshop or pausing to take a rest, large red purse resting on her lap, while her hands held onto her bag of conference leaflets. It turned out that she is a self described conference addict--a Senior who believes in life-long learning--and this was her fifth conference so far this year. We sat together at one point and my natural curiosity prompted questions, which she answered slowly and thoughtfully, I learned that she had endured three major tragedies in her life. No-one would blame her for being crushe...

Our second baby wasn't due until the middle of June, but in the first week of that month in 1972  I was seized by the a strong compulsion to clean the house--no matter that it was hot  and humid and we had no air conditioning--everything had to be clean. For some time I had wanted my body back. I kept misjudging the proximity of doorways and bumping into furniture. I navigated space feeling like a huge, ungainly, ocean-going-liner.  Paul was working in a facility for people with developmental disabilities, and the upcoming weekend would be a long one off for him. When he told me that he was bringing home a guest for four days--one of the people who lived there--I thought ungracious thoughts. With a toddler who had just turned two at the end of May, and our second baby due in just over a week,  the thought of an extra person staying for four days was exhausting.   But when our guest Philip came home with Paul after his shift on Thursday, seeing how excited...

The night before last I had a scary dream. It had the feel of a  Ray Bradbury  story, the ones I loved and devoured as quickly as I could, as a teenager.  The dream had the same creepy menace and foreboding that I found so deliciously scary then, but it didn't feel so delicious showing up in my dream now. In the dream I was in bed, in a room whose walls held windows that were open to the dark outside, like a sun porch, only the windows were all around and a breeze rustled through them, an invader from outside. I wasn't alone in the room. To my right there was another bed, a little further forward than mine. A young girl, with dark, bobbed hair, sat up in it, with her back to me. Because it was further ahead than mine I couldn't see her face. I did what anyone would do--I called out, "Mum!" And I heard her sweet, unmistakable voice say, "I'm here darling," and she put up her hand from the mattress on the floor where she was sleeping be...