Whatever He Says

We went to a party last week. The home was beautiful, an estate property really. Decorated tastefully, no expense spared. The pond in the back nestled into the dip in the hill, trees overhanging. On the way there, as we drove through the hills and past green fields, Frank commented on how lovely it would be for us to live in the countryside again. Something awakened in me. Something I keep putting to sleep, but with very little nudging, it opened sleepy eyes, and began to yearn. Growing up on five country acres, in a log house with a century old barn and hilly pastures where horses grazed, I was spoiled for the ordinary. I long for more...for the silence only broken by the robin song and the rush of barn swallows wings as they warn me away from their home, nestled under the eaves. Yet now, by choice, Frank and I live in a small town, with a generous yard and lovely home. We are thankful. I believe that sometimes the hunger I feel is akin to envy or an unrest that stems from a perva...

Blood spurted from his head and Josiah was crying loudly. When Olivia yelled, "Mom, Jeremiah hit Josiah with a rock, come quick", I was at the door. "He's bleeding", she screached. I ran to the beach. His mass of curls were covered in blood and it was running down his face and onto the sand. Olivia was screaming now and so were Jeremiah and Josiah. For a split second, I wondered how clean my hands were and then it no longer mattered. I had to get the bleeding to stop. I covered the place with my hand, applying gentle pressure. There was no hope of seeing the laceration - too much hair, too much blood. I wrapped my free arm around Josiah's tummy and pressed his head to my chest, careful to maintain the gentle but steady pressure. The rock was large, probably weighing about a pound. He needed stitches, that much was clear. There was now blood all around me and the deck was covered. It was streaming down his face. I thanked God for his loud and frantic cries, ...

Titus 3:1-2 (New International Version) 1Remind the people to be subject to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready to do whatever is good, 2to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and to show true humility toward all men. "Whatever..." We hear the word these days as a dismissive expression, indicating a distinct lack of interest on the part of the speaker, in the subject at hand. This morning it caught my eye in Titus 3 but had the opposite effect. I had just read a note at the end of Titus saying that the letters of Paul to Titus and Timothy are his last writings and mark the end of his life and ministry. I am interested in what a great person has to say at the end of their life and so I was looking closely. Of course, this name and thrust of this blog is based on John 2:5, another "whatever " verse. "If I could leave behind only one piece of wisdom it would be to echo the words of Jesus’ mother, “Whatever He says to you, do it." ...

Molson and I popped in for a visit with Fanny so that she wouldn't be quite as lonesome with Susan and Ron away. Fanny loved Molson and he was patted and stroked all the way from the front door to Fanny's room by other residents of the manor, who miss having a dog in their life.

Above: Cam McRae in his basement workshop. The Restigouche River and the hills of Quebec beyond. Taken from Cam's backyard. I was standing at the side of the road trying to get a photo of the Restigouche River, which empties into Chaleur Bay, near Dalhousie New Brunsick. He came out of his house and walked hesitantly toward me, as though he might be just as shy of me as I was of him. By his age and the way he was dressed – clean white t-shirt and off-white cargo pants, with a well broken-in boat hat perched jauntily on his head – he looked like someone who must be retired, but when he shook my hand a few minutes later, I knew instantly by his tough skin that this was a man who was still well acquainted with hard work. “Do you live here?” I asked. I raised my voice to cover the thirty foot gap that was between us and closing as he walked toward me. I was afraid that he was about to tell me – a tourist and a complete stranger – to get lost. “Yup! I live here.” he called back. “Well...

The suspense is palpable as we turn each page. We sit, we three, on the couch, I in the middle, and on either side a girl, with long, silken, summer-sun-kissed hair. Their skin is the colour of the brown eggs in the grocery store; the kind you pay extra for; even though the insides are the same as the white eggs; but I digress. Both have eyes the colour of chestnuts and Victoria has a delicate sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of her nose that looks as if an angel flicked a paint brush laden with burnt sienna, as a finishing touch when God was making her. I pause in my reading of the book, as I often do, to ask a question. "What do you like best--movies or books?" Without hesitation, with eyes wide and bright, they shout out, "Books!" "Why books?" I ask. Tiffany-Amber said, "Because movies are so...predictable." And Victoria added, "Yes, and books allow you so see so many more pictures in your mind." Oh, I know. I know exactly what t...

“I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places.” Isaiah 45: 3. These words were originally spoken by God to King Cyrus, but they were a special word from Him to me some years ago. And over and over again, God has given me treasures out of many kinds of darkness, and many secret places. I have given talks about the treasures He gave me out of much trial and difficulty in our years in Uganda. I could write a book about what He has given me since. And the stories go on, the lessons continue. Others may understand the same truths, but express them in diffferent ways. One friend always says “In everything give thanks”, and “Grow in your valleys”, and then tells stories from her life of the blessings out of problems, the hidden things God did through great trials. We could bring many verses from scripture to express the answer to our continual question to God – “Lord, what are you doing with this? Do you love me, Lord? Why is this happening? “And often we have to ...