Jacobsgate

2012-02-07T11:08:00.001-05:00

The ram raises his head, nostrils flaring, upper lip curling… as invisible hormones waft through the air to his corner of the barn. He climbs up on the gate to see where this aphrodisiac is coming from. It engulphs him, hitting him over the head. From the depths of the barn - heat, lanolin, wool, hormones, waste, moisture, all combine; rise and attach to walls, clothing, hair; filling nostrils. The pails of water are kept from freezing…the ones that sit within the depths of the barn.

But the north and east doors to the barn, remain open, bringing the chill of winter winds, freezing the pails of water at the edge of the barn, as they pass over them. Without these winter winds, the sheep would get sick. They clean as they work their way through the barn, pushing and purging.

When I brought home my first goats, I insulated the north and west walls of the barn with Styrofoam to help keep the prevailing winds out, attempting to save the girls from the harshness of winter. I had read that Angora goats were sensitive to draughts. But since then, my farmer wisdom has grown and the insulation is long gone except for a few pieces, behind which the barn sparrows have stuffed straw for nests. My neighbour and friend, Bill, stood and scratched his head when I did this…and laughed. I warn the resident sparrows that they are next to go along with the remaining pieces of Styrofoam… along with the mess they make.

In early winter at dusk one evening, I emptied out a bucket, to find a young sparrow that must have just tumbled into the water. Picking him up, I held him in my hands, warming his body, trembling and gasping for air. In the house, I dried him off, put him in a box, turned out the lights and said good night. Come morning, I set him free to fly back to the barn to climb back into his nest, behind the insulation.

I regret that the siege of winter might not come this year as it is early February and we have not used our snow plough once. Could it be- we will not have to come out to do battle with winter, hiding in snow drifts and layers of clothing, our cheeks pink, toes tingling, breath warm and moist against our scarves. During such a siege, the barn becomes a fortress, its frame hidden away behind a wall of snow, quiet and alert; where everything within is heightened, colours deep and full, sounds which echo and emotions that hang in the air.

After engaging winter with snow ploughs and shovels, we retreat to the house with icy gloves, feeling pleased that we have done well. We wait, coming together over hot drinks as the siege continues, all the time listening to winter raging. We draw even closer together… over our combined efforts.

With morning, we emerge thrilled, staring at the spoils of war: a study of contrasts…spreading monochromes of whites and tiny perfect crystals that cling, flat hard patches of ice and sculptured snow drifts which lean and we all separate and dig our way out to cars, back to the world.

The bedroom window is open to a cool breeze. It carries the sound of a pair of Red tail hawks as they hunt the perimeter of the property. Life is easier for them this winter. They hunt the exposed mice that scurry over the mud.

The wool hats, scarves and mittens remain lying on the seat by the front door and I think…not today.

2012-01-25T02:34:00.000-05:00

A winter’s day as I slip on my wool coat, heading out to church, as I have always done...

A winter's day where the blanket of snow tells a story for those who take time to read it....

A winter’s day in which the cats confine their hunting trips to skirting the perimeter of the house, not liking the feeling of snow on their feet....

A winter’s day in which the sheep pick their way over the icy snow packed ground to slide their warm bellies onto the cold snow and they wait for the sun....

A winter’s day in which Hank and I slip and slide over the ice in the driveway as we walk out to the barn....

The barn has long been prepared for such a winter's day. The loft was filled with straw and hay. The bins were filled with grain and salt. The barn floor was cleaned and replaced with fresh bedding which will build up over the winter, adding warmth to the barn. The pipes were carefully wrapped to keep the water from freezing. The ram was brought in and secured within a separate area with the breeding ewes. The mice move in and scurry along their paths, cleaning up after spilled grain. Every day as I enter the barn, I meet the same mouse as he hurries out of my way and out of sight. The barn changes, adapts, filling through the winter.

And at the end of winter, the new lambs will come, filling the barn again with wonder.

We all have our way of fitting into winter’s landscape and without even thinking, we adapt, make changes, growing into the season.

I love the stillness of a Sunday winter’s afternoon where little moves and nothing much appears to be done. We make our favourite winter food that are allowed to simmer and bake long, filling the house with warmth and smells as we knead, stir and watch...and we are filled with contentment.

As the snow falls, I sit knitting. I linger. I touch, absorbing the softness of the wool. I touch the pages of the Book of Scriptures, studying the paintings.

Winter is a gift that moves us to fill our days with unexpected richness. We grow out of the confinement of winter, the cold, the messiness and the drab landscape. We are other than just busy. We paint not just to paint, we knit not just to knit, we read not just to read, but to give back what was given...

There is an old Romanian saying: A gift from a gift, makes heaven.

And as we give, we are once again filled…from the winter we love.

2012-01-19T00:15:00.003-05:00

The front door pushes open with a dramatic swoosh. We all stop what we are doing and look up; even those in a distant room, will lift their heads, pause and listen....the house smiles.

Enter Hank. Enter the cold winter air which rushes ahead of him, and follows in behind him….sticking to his black winter coat along with happiness. I run my fingers along his crisp cold back, feeling winter and happiness ...such happiness that starts at the head and moves down the spine to the tail which swings back and forth.

Hank knows how to open every door in the house. He can push a lever handle as well as roll a door knob with his paw. He can go out and in. He bounds through doors, wondering if he has missed anything, begging to be real. Not one look of reproach at his muddy feet, will dampen his characteristically authentic zeal, coming from within, and we fall under his spell.

There comes a distinct moment when a person begins to live as a Christian...

At this moment, the identifying marks of the Christian life appear in the person. The Christian life is marked by zeal. It is a life of constant communion with God, a life of actively doing God’s holy will…At first, this communion is hidden from others and also ourselves. The visible and tangible witness that we are living the Christian life is our zeal to please God alone. In our ardour, we sacrifice ourselves and hate everything that opposes God’s will.

And so when our ardent zeal begins, we know that our Christian life has begun; and when zeal is constantly at work in our lives, we know that we are living the Christian life.

St. Theophane the Recluse

It is a strain sometimes to live the life of an ardent zealous Christian, living two lives; our inner life  filling our minds while hidden from view, like treasure stored away. It is our hidden specialness, our hidden mark of who we really are. We almost forget how to tell the story, forgetting the words, worrying if they will like them, and feeling guilty for all this. Oh if it were as simple as bursting through the door that they might really know us. We become stuck in this hiddeness and it threatens to destroy us, because we are meant to give ourselves away...

“In speaking of this far-off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you—the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence; the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves; the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name…”
                                                             The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis

So we fall back, organize our days around Him. We wear the private habit of prayer and study, feasting, and fasting along with community, trying to smooth out the days -eventually falling into rhythm with reading the ancient words that suggest and spark our imaginations and despite our verbal awkwardness, new words fill our mouths. The ancient words breathe...and we talk. We talk of an inner knowing and understanding in the midst of our hearts. We cannot translate what we do not yet understand.(Lewis)

    words from David...

...then I said, Behold I come
I willed to do Your will, O my God,
And Your law in the midst of my heart.
                                                                Psalm 39:9

Hank's bubbled up joy, spilling out over the mud, into the entrances, over the cats, people and out into the corners of the house, has worn us out. I tell him, it is time for bed and point. He hangs his head and gives me one last questioning look before heading up the stairs. We listen for the clicking of his feet across the bedroom floor and then all is quiet as he falls into bed.

2012-01-03T09:29:00.000-05:00

In the corner of the barn, I set the pail of water down before him, my injured sheep. I watch as he searches over the surface of the water. For several months, I have fed him water from a syringe. Today he does not want my help. It is as if he has thought it all through, and has come to a new understanding.

Nafshi, as the psalmist cries.

              I .... my whole being

                         ...have come today to drink.

He begins by skimming his mouth over the surface of the water, as I have seen him do many times before. For whatever reason, it is as if he has forgotten how to drink. Then very cautiously, he touches his mouth to the water.

Kneeling down beside him on the barn floor, I take off my hat to listen. Then gently and slowly, he begins to swallow. His head remains lowered, his neck bent towards the water and the water in the bucket begins to go down.

It is a pivotal moment in his life...almost Holy...almost missed...on my knees, my heart swelling with deep gratitude. He came to this moment, drinking deeply out of a great thirst and it will save his life.

The rains have come again. The earth is full and seeping. It seeps over the banks of the creek. It seeps along the backyard fence, inching its way almost to the house. As I walk along by the creek, I search for where to place my feet because all is wet in this season.

Are you a person of whom it can be said that your heart and your mind are filled with
a peace that surpasses all comprehension? Oh, that we could be such people
again, intrinsically filled to the brim---not only with the knowledge, but with the personal,
prayed- in and wrestled-in reality and abundance of our Lord God.

                                                                                                               Alfred Delp

Writing this from within a concentration camp during the second world war, Alfred Delp understood personal, prayed-in and wrestled-in reality.

I search my mind for the realities of my life: wasted time, unfinished goals, poor choices, the absence of prayer, consuming fear, cold embraces, the mistakes of a mother which are seen in the children's struggles and I wrestle with my failures. I will wrestle with them tomorrow and the next day and the next...and when I can, I will bring them to Him and wait in hope to drink of His mercy and goodness. Although I wish otherwise, I have not entered the new year prepared and ready...with a light heart. I enter into it, timidly and with utter dependence on Him, wishing I had more to bring. But He says that His grace is sufficient. Walk with Him. He promises that He will not leave me. He will show me where to place my feet.

I still watch over my sheep, stopping by his stall and leaning over the railing, to pull out pieces of hay that have slipped sideways in his mouth, getting stuck. I still listen the quiet sound of him drinking and probably always will as long as he is with me.

As time moves on and on, there is the calling - God in our midst. Our hearts must remain honest, awake. Advent is in the new year. Advent is now.

Oh Holy Morning

2011-12-11T09:00:00.001-05:00

Waiting....listening in the dark. That dark that comes just before dawn, between dreams and a new day, when all pauses. I wrap myself up in stillness, reluctant to move...into the day. The cats seem equally reluctant to move as they remain tightly curled up at the end of the bend. But Hank gets up from one bed and moves to another, as the beds lie empty now. The children are gone away, my house being now all stilled.

There are no little ones to prepare breakfast for; no lesson plans; no interruptions of little feet.

As I wait for the light to creep in, I am really waiting for God, turning aside selfish thoughts, consuming thoughts, silly thoughts. My mind lies empty. Waiting...

There will be more poignant and thoughtful moments throughout the day but as the hours hurry on, things will become a blur and I will stop to wonder, "Are you still there God?"

In the stillness, the Psalmist speaks:

Harken to my speech O Lord,
              attend to my utterance.
Listen well to my voice crying out my King and my God,
              for to you my prayer.
Lord in the morning you hear my voice
              in the morning I lay it before you and wait...

Let all who shelter in you rejoice.
Let them sing gladly forever-protect them.

The house gently stirs as the light moves and mingles with darkness outside my window and joy slowly creeps in.

But...

outside awakens to a bleak dull sky and we feel the greys and the browns of winter. In the dimly lit barn loft, I run my hand over the bales of hay, feeling and searching for the course prickly stems of hay to feed the sheep their breakfast. I am saving the soft bales of hay that lie hidden, for the older sheep with their aging teeth and Tristan who struggles to eat and gets the stems caught in his mouth. In the dark, I make my selection and throw the bale down the stairs.

Walking back from the barn, the cold frozen ground and the stillness of this early winter morning, remind me that I need Him. And He is here...hidden, quiet. He hides beneath our selfish thoughts, passions, appetites and obsessions... busyness. But my faith is born from this great sense of need and it is stronger than all the clutter of Christmas...all the clutter of our lives.

And in the morning....He hears my voice. I lay it before Him and wait. It is my gift.

Pressing Days of Autumn

2011-11-05T11:58:00.000-04:00

The last days of autumn are filled with pressing chores to do and not enough time. But this one day with just enough sun to make me feel hopeful, I go for a walk by the stream. Sitting down, I watch kitty run up a tree until she can run no further with no way to return. I am tempted to help her but instead, I just sit and watch her as she decides what to do.

Hank ventures out into the stream...deeper and deeper. I am tempted to call him back but if I do, he will miss the leaf that is floating quickly by and will soon be out of reach. When he has touched it, he turns and swims back to shore. And I sit and wait and watch for it all to happen.

Several times a day, I go to the barn to feed my sheep, Tristan, who hurt his mouth mysteriously. After visiting the university animal clinic, he only eats and drinks very poorly . Each day, I continue to place hay and water in his mouth. As I do so, I stand and watch all the sheep eat with their mouths. It is a mystery to me how they so adeptly fill their mouths with hay, and with barely any time to move the hay to the back of their mouths, they begin again grabbing another mouthful; while the hay in Tristan's mouth moves slowly and he chews and chews and chews. He gives his head a shake as if to try to move the hay further back.

As the sheep move out of the barn, Tristan and I are still standing together; him-waiting for me to patiently and skilfully place more hay into his mouth.

Lengthy visits to the barn...I am not sure how long I can do this...but God says...time to watch and listen. And that is the way with God. When there is something he wants you to know...He just does.

Tristan on a happier and sunnier day in his life....

Don't You Know

2011-07-22T10:47:00.000-04:00

It was a slightly overcast but hopeful spring morning as my daughter stepped off the back veranda like she had done hundreds of times in the past, to make her way to the little alter at the edge of the woods, but today it would not be an amble stroll but her little feet moved with confidence and determination.

As she stood at the alter, exchanging vows with her young man, I realized in a new way, how beautiful she was. How could I have have missed that ? And for the remainder of that day I was just simply captivated by her beauty and spell bound by how happy she was.

I also realized that her young man completed her in a new way; a new joy was given to her that radiated from deep within, on that day. From now on, she will sit with him, stand with him, and walk with him. Marriage- an inspired gift from God, teaches us ever so gently how to break our own selfish will for something bigger, something outside of ourselves, something sacred..a calling.

Sitting and watching, I could hear a farm vehicle lumbering down the road in the distance. Life goes on according to the established order of God and His cord runs through the centre of it all, sometimes hidden from view.

The story of our lives, is the story of salvation, in and through us, ahead of us, behind us. It is who we are, because we are complete in Him. The journey is to His Kingdom.

                                                  You will show me the path of life;
                                                  In Your presence is fullness of joy;
                                        At Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

                                                                                    Psalm 16

2011-07-12T23:34:00.000-04:00

It was a late moonlit dinner in the barn tonight. Dinner time in the barn is never a simple affair. There is much more to it than you would think.

After placing the hay out, I waited for a while, watching to make sure the shy and younger sheep got their share. It takes some effort to make sure that these gentle ones get their share of the hay. A nervous or smaller sheep will sometimes fall behind in weight which leads to other problems. And the dominant sheep keep getting bigger; the ones that always seem to step on my toes.
As usual, on cue, some jumped up on the feeding trough- standing on someone else's dinner; some nibbled away politely; some ran from feeder to feeder; the dominant ram pushed everyone else away to eat first; some ate the hay off another sheep's back; some put their front feet on the table.
But the important thing is that they all got fed.

However we do it, we all need to be fed.

"All scriptures were written for this purpose: that human beings

might grasp how much God loves them and grasp it so as to

become inflamed with love for him."

The Mystery of God's Word. pg.72

Summer worries

2011-07-11T14:55:00.000-04:00

We live in the triangular area between two lakes and a river which means than when the summer rain storms move through, they often turn back on themselves and come through again. When you think you are finished with the storm; it returns. The rain today began softly and I thought perhaps I would sit under the umbrella and read, enjoying the delicious sound of a soft gentle summer rain. But the wind came and the thunder came and gradually the rain pressed down hard. My umbrella was threatening to turn itself inside out as I ran to the barn. The sheep were worried, the horses worried, the farmer down the road hurrying to get his summer wheat off the field was worried. I was too busy closing doors to look up to see and worry about the strange green cast to the sky.
All inside after a change into dry clothes, we keep listening as the thunder is still moving about, threatening to return. But gradually the thunder moves off into the distance and the birds as if holding their breath, begin to open their mouths and speak quietly at first. The sheep, although they never really stopped eating their hay, relax their muscles and their eyes soften. Soon they will return to the field after an afternoon nap. The horses can now be taken out and saddled up. But the farmer down the road, stands and looks at the wet hay, worrying about when he will get it off the field.

(To listen to video, pause audio at the end of blog page...Thanks.)

Be Thou the best thought of, by day or by night...Waking or sleeping, Thy presence, my light.

2011-07-10T11:24:00.016-04:00

You wake up to a beautiful and still Sunday morning but you do not feel ready for the new day. Infact, you are feeling rather lost...can't quite remember your way to grace...feeling spiritually poor.

You are daunted and overwhelmed by the rather long list of 'important' things to do. You are daunted with how you will find God today and please Him and love Him. You have a great need to make this day beautiful in many ways but where to start?

So you start with something simple....the smell of coffee brewing; speaking kindly to those waking up, planning the next step in finishing the strawberries preserves and sending somone out to get eggs for the cherry clafouti.

Keep moving out towards the flower garden.

Let your hunger for God be honest and raw. He is waiting.

There is a nose somewhere in the house that keep trying unsuccessfully to open the toilet lid as it bangs on and on. Ignore Bertie, the cat, as he whines, noisy Hank as he bangs his food dish and barks for his toy because it is all music. Keep moving out towards the flower garden.

In the life of the spirit....

2011-07-08T11:43:00.000-04:00

He often deplores our blindness, and is always complaining that we are to be pitied for being satisfied with so little. God, He says, has boundless treasures to give us, and a moment's sense of devotion is enough for us. We are blind who so bind the hands of God, and we stem the abundance of his grace. When he finds a soul imbued with living faith, into it he pours grace on grace, a flowing stream, as it were which checked in its proper course, and finding a new outlet spreads wide with force, abundantly.

...However, we must go on working, for in the life of the spirit not to go on is to lose ground. Those who have the mind of the holy Spirit, sail on, even when they are asleep. If the small ship of our soul is still beaten by the winds and the storm, let us awaken the Lord who sleeps in it, and he will soon calm the sea.

Brother Lawrence

Don't Let A House Drop On Your Head!!!

2011-07-06T17:27:00.000-04:00

When Issac had grown old, and his eyes were dim so that he could not see, he called Esau, his eldest son, to him. He asked him to take his quiver and bow;go out to the field and hunt game for him; and prepare a savoury dish that he loved; that he might bless him before he died.

Now Rebekah was listening and when Esau went out to the field, she said to Jacob, "Now therefore, my son, obey my word as I command you. Go to the flock, and fetch me two good kids, that I may prepare from them savoury food for your father, such as he loves; and you shall bring it to your father to eat, so that he may bless you before he dies.'

But Jacob said to Rebekah his mother, "Behold, my brother Esau is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man. Perhaps my father will feel me, and I shall seem to be mocking him, and bring a curse upon myself and not a blessing.' His mother said to him, "upon me be your curse, my son; only obey my word, and go, fetch them to me.'

Then Rebekah took the best garments of Esau her older son which were with her in the house, and put them on Jacob her younger son; and the skins of the kids she put upon his hands and upon the smooth part of his neck; and she gave the savoury food and the bread, which she had prepared, into the hands of her son Jacob.

So he went in to his father, and said, 'My father, here I am.' 'Here I am, who are you my son? How is it that you have returned to soon?' He answered,; 'Because the Lord your God granted my success.' Then Isaac said to Jacob, 'Come near, that I may feel you, my son, to know whether you are really my son Esau or not.' So Jacob went near to Issac his father, who felt him and said, 'The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau.' And he did not recognize him, because his hands were hairy like his brother Esau's hands; so he blessed him. He said, "Are you really my son Esau?' He answered, 'I am.' Then he said, 'Bring it to me, that I may eat of my son's game and bless you.' So he brought it to him, and he ate; and he brought him wine, and he drank.

Then his father Isaac said to him, "Come near and kiss me my son.' So he came near and kissed him; and he smelled the smell of his garments, and he blessed him, and said,

'See the smell of my son

is as the smell of a field which the Lord has blessed!

May God give you of the dew of heaven,

and of the fatness of the earth,and plenty of grain and wine,

Let peoples serve you,

and nations bow down to you.

Be lord over your brothers,

and may your mother's sons bow down to you.

Cursed be every one who curses you,

and blessed be every one who blesses you!'

As soon as Isaac had finished blessing Jacob, when Jacob had scarcely gone out from the presence of Isaac, Esau his son came in...and there was no blessing left for him.

Kisses of deception...betrayal...self seeking...hands tied with secrets...self seeking...lies with far reaching effects.... so many things amiss

intimacy...self seeking...touching...smelling...listening...self seeking...

We have no way of knowing how it might have been if Issac and Rebekah had obeyed God's plan. Though truth and blessings may stare us right in our faces, we go the way of self seeking. It will take years for Jacob to restore what should have been. Rebekah will never see her beloved son again. Poor Isaac...to feel the cruel deception of his son's kiss; and poor Esau, was appointed to farm on the edge of the desert. The seeds of their problems lay in their characters. Their destinies did not operate as blind fate but were bound up with their personal choices and interests. What we hunger for most, may not lie within the will of God.

It is a hard lesson to learn. I have spent much of my life going my way and not the Lord's.

If you should ask me what are the ways of God, I would tell you that the first is humility, the second is humility, and the third is still humility. Not that there are no other precepts to give, but if humility does not precede all that we do, our efforts are fruitless.

St. Augustine.

Now, getting back to dear Dorothy...
Glinda, the Good Witch of the North; You have no power here! Begone, before somebody drops a house on you, too!

Remembering Dorothy

2011-07-04T01:25:00.000-04:00

As thunder rumbled in the distance and the dark clouds moved closer bringing one of the early storms of summer, Hank and I ran to the barn, waiting until the very last moment to close up the doors. As I stood there looking out at the swirling clouds, I thought of Dorothy.

The house began to pitch....

Dorothy: It really was no miracle. What happened was just this.

The wind began to switch-

The house , to pitch-

And suddenly the hinges started to unhitch-

Just then the Witch-

To satisfy an itch-

Went flying on her broomstick,

thumbing for a hitch!

Muchkin: And, oh, what happened then was rich!

Muchkins: The house began to pitch-

The kitchen took a slich-

It landed on the Wicked Witch -

in the middle of a ditch-

Which was not a happy situation for the Wicked Witch!

We returned to the house and went up stairs. Everyone seemed to have claimed their window space to sit and watch the storm beat against the barn with swells of rain. Hank hid under the desk. The cats who I scooped up running back to the house, followed me from room to room. My husband welcomed the storm by opening the balcony door and met it face to face until it forced him inside. And I, feeling unsettled as I watched the storm, returned to my work.

A Higher Calling

2011-06-23T16:38:00.000-04:00

MY CHILD, I must be your supreme and last end, if you truly desire to be blessed. With this intention your affections, which are too often perversely inclined to self and to creatures, will be purified. For if you seek yourself in anything, you immediately fail interiorly and become dry of heart.

Refer all things principally to Me, therefore, for it is I Who have given them all. Consider each thing as flowing from the highest good, and therefore to Me, as to their highest source, must all things be brought back.

From Me the small and the great, the poor and the rich draw the water of life as from a living fountain, and they who serve Me willingly and freely shall receive grace upon grace. He who wishes to glory in things apart from Me, however, or to delight in some good as his own, shall not be grounded in true joy or gladdened in his heart, but shall be burdened and distressed in many ways. Hence you ought not to attribute any good to yourself or ascribe virtue to any man, but give all to God without Whom man has nothing.

I have given all things. I will that all be returned to Me again, and I exact most strictly a return of thanks. This is the truth by which vainglory is put to flight.

Where heavenly grace and true charity enter in, there neither envy nor narrowness of heart nor self-love will have place. Divine love conquers all and enlarges the powers of the soul.

If you are truly wise, you will rejoice only in Me, because no one is good except God alone, Who is to be praised above all things and above all to be blessed.

Imitation of Christ - Thomas À Kempis - Book 3 Chapter 9

Breathe

2011-03-20T16:01:00.001-04:00

“No body can go back and start a new beginning but anyone can start today and make a new ending.” Maria Robinson

Hank and I returned to obedience school this Spring, hoping to be inspired. Our mentor and friend, Lynn Fox, had promised to remove all the balls from the room before we arrived. Hank arrives and comes crashing in through the door heading for the toy box but no toys! After a moment or two of shock, he recovers and begins to search high and low and finds one last ball sitting on a shelf. Too late! We decide to let him have a play; back and forth and around and around he pushes the ball until he becomes breathless and frenzied. Maggie walks in who is wise and experienced with border collies with issues. “That will never do,” she quietly says. “Take the ball away ; he must calm down” The ball is set on the shelf and we make Hank lie down, stroking him gently, telling him, “good settle.” “Breathe Hank Breathe,” we say although out of the corner of his eye, he is watching the ball. We talk in soothing tones to him and hear our own breathes slow down, feeling calmer ourselves. Finally his breathing becomes synchronous with ours and slowly we all get up. I walk over to get the ball…one or two moments of play and then it’s taken away. “Look Hank.” He takes his eyes off the ball for a fraction of a second and lifts them to me , then like a magnet, they land back on the ball. That will do for a start. And we repeat the cycle….play, settle, look, play until I am worn out.

Hank is an addict and without his balls or sheep, he becomes restless and anxious. That is what drives him and makes him brilliant at times, yet far away. He cannot hear his master. “Breathe Hank, Breathe.”

St. Patrick’s Day

2011-03-17T10:11:00.001-04:00

from "The Breastplate of St. Patrick"

"Christ shield me this day: Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every person who thinks of me, Christ in the eye that sees me, Christ in the ear that hears me."

-St. Patrick

For Reflection:
Considering this prayer of St. Patrick and in light of Ephesians 6: 11-17, what "armor" do I wear daily? How convinced am I that I need to wear the armor of God?

(taken from Women of Grace-Gracelines)

I learned to love old movies from my mother on Sunday afternoons watching Bill Kennedy out of Detroit.

2011-03-07T02:40:00.000-05:00

kkk

Memories Of My Education

2011-03-07T02:25:00.000-05:00

I remember on Friday evenings, my mother, father, sister and I would travel to town for our once a week shopping trip. Sometimes for a treat, we would stop for pizza, and finish up with a stop at the laundromat. While waiting for my parents to finish the laundry, my sister and I would walk down the street past a small Pentecostal Church. On hot summer evenings, they would open the doors allowing us to peak in...two little Presbyterian girls just staring in awe at the dancing, shouting and singing with tambourines. It was truly an education. Once home, we would be allowed to stay up late and be educated some more, as we watched Johnny Carson and our favourite movies stars. Miss those days when the world seemed safe and less confusing.
Here is one segment with Joan Fontaine and Johnny who I had a crush on.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuMy7pZswSE

On Reading the Holy Scriptures

2011-03-03T01:35:00.001-05:00

In the holy Scriptures, truth is to be looked for rather than fair phrases. All sacred scriptures should be read in the spirit in which they were written. In them, therefore we should seek food for our souls rather than subtleties of speech, and we should as readily read simple and devout books as those that are lofty and profound. Do not be influenced by the importance of the writer, and whether his learning be great or small, but let the love of pure truth draw you to read. Do no inquire, “Who said this?” but pay attention to what is said.

Men pass away, but the word of the Lord endures for ever.

God speaks to us in different ways, and is no respecter of persons. But curiosity often hinders us in the reading of the Scriptures, for we try to examine and dispute over matters that we should pass over and accept in simplicity, If you desire to profit, read with humility, simplicity, and faith, and have no concern to appear learned. Ask questions freely, and listen in silence to the words of the Saints; hear with patience the parables of the fathers, for they are not told without good cause.

The Imitation of Christ, Thomas A Kempis.

Caring Deeply Is Important.

2010-11-27T02:29:00.002-05:00

Plácido Domingo and Sissel - The Twelve Days of Christmas

2010-11-27T01:02:00.000-05:00

An Inviting Light

2010-10-02T21:30:00.001-04:00

On a gloomy day, I love the light that a simple lamp casts upon a certain space. It is a gentle light that invites you in and you settle into this place.

It is where you are content without company. It is a happy place, an honest place; one that as a child, you visited but forgot about as the years sped by.

Into your private place, you take your favourite books, things you like to put your hands to. It is here that you sink into your deepest conversations with God. Thing that you love comes into that room under its light.

I have such a room. My daughter helped me organize it, if indeed it is organized as I bring things there to lie on my table; only to discover they are not special enough to stay and are put into piles to be sent elsewhere. Everything is touched often and moved around. Some brightly coloured knitting yarns sit in baskets only because they look nice. I don’t allow things to stay that cause me to feel guilty or overwhelmed. My husband will sometimes come in and share some private thoughts with me but it is only for a few moments and then he withdraws. My cats sometimes sneak in, hoping to be allowed to stay but they too retreat, unnoticed as they are. My dog Hank sits quietly beside me.

I guess it is not a surprise that there is a similarity between the soft bidding light of my secret room and my barn where the colours, textures, shadows are all deep and comforting.

A Rainy Fall Day

2010-09-28T11:27:00.001-04:00

My attention has turned to the weather. If only we had not planted in mid August, the seeds would not have died and the rain falling now would be nourishing the new pasture coming up…if only. The sheep are hiding in the barn. No one is moving in the paddocks. Kitty is saturated, meowing at the window. Hank has taken over my place in the bed and I am cosy in my fluffy housecoat. I love gentle rainy days in the fall of the year.

But I have known how it is to live with weather that visits you with harsh winds and rain often. It plays with you as it comes and goes, moving in and out to sea. And you wait.

The women of Shetland write: “We are having heavy rain and gales just now. Dark and miserable, but I suppose since it is winter, we can’t complain. I have been knitting two jumpers.”

“I have been so busy. We have just finished the harvest, with a good crop of vegetables. I was glad to get out of the fields before a persistent gale came from the southeast with lashing of rain. Now the ground is sodden, but it’s certainly not cold.”

“You will have heard about the calamity of the oil tanker aground at Sumburgh. It’s surely a dreadful mess.”

“We are well here. It is very wintery today, gales, and cold rain. I have a peat fire on and it is warm, sitting writing. I am knitting one or two small presents for Christmas as it is getting so near, and I have baked my Christmas cake.”

“November so far has been quite wonderful, most days no wind and lots of sunshine. Unfortunately, on the two occasions when the wind gusted gale force, two klondyker vessels went aground. One we can see from our windows, at Bressay lighthouse, the other is on a rock north of Lerwick. There were sixty and seventy-five crew all rescued by helicopter and lifeboat in the darkness of the night. It was a very dangerous mission.”(Feitelson:The Art of Fair Isle Knitting)

I remember in February of 1982 when the Ocean Ranger, the off shore oil rig, went down to the bottom of the sea along with its 84 crew members on a stormy night off the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. We were devastated and waited throughout the night for any news of hope. Newfoundland, an island, has always had a strong sense of identity and disasters at sea was felt strongly by all. I lost a friend and fellow worker who was on duty that night as a nurse. They send the rescue helicopters and boats out but they all came back empty.

Excessive and Extreme

2010-09-27T00:28:00.001-04:00

One morning recently, I walked downstairs to find a note on the kitchen counter by my husband. I think the cat had scratched him that morning and he was not in good humour. It read something like the following:

“ You have 30 sheep, two chinchillas, three cats, two dogs- one of which is blind and deaf and has diabetes, a bird (none of which earn us any money) and don’t you think that is a little excessive and extreme.”

I had to think. Was I excessive? All the cats were strays and wandered into my life. He is right about the sheep. They are eating machines and I haven’t yet learned how to earn much money from them. The chinchillas are really my daughter’s and one cat belongs to my other daughter who deposited her with us. I do all the work for the animals but they have chewed the furniture and spoiled the wood floor and cost us a bundle at the vets….Am I excessive?

Yes, perhaps I am. It is my weakness and yet it is who I am. I am also excessive and extreme about my faith. I have learned to treasure it as most of what I once had is slowly slipping through my hands. My faith is what remains.

Without a doubt I believe that the blood of the Lamb, Jesus Christ, covers us so completely all over that we are saved. By His spirit, we are nurtured, made beautiful, saved from ourselves and the things of this world, saved for Him. It will come to a choice between the things of this world or the world to come... between life and death. How more extreme can it be? His voice echoes through time, “What is it you want?” He waits to hear your answer.

Oh…just one more!

2010-09-22T11:45:00.001-04:00

Shaun The Sheep

2010-09-21T20:57:00.001-04:00

Take a few moments and have a chuckle with Shaun the Sheep. Enjoy.

Grandma Day

2010-09-19T08:07:00.001-04:00

This is the “art” that appeared on the wall in the study of the house belonging to Jesse and Katelyn…

This is the girl who created the “art” which appeared on the wall,

in the study of the house belonging to Jesse and Katelyn.

This is the smile of the girl who created the “art” which appeared on the wall in the study of the house belonging to Jesse and Katelyn.

…who isn’t allowed to play with crayons any more.

This is the girl with the smile who isn’t allowed to play with crayons, who created the “art” which appeared on the wall in the study of the house belonging to Jesse and Katelyn

….and knows that God still loves her!

Time for nap …

Grandma is so tired!

In the Eye of the Storm

2010-09-14T10:56:00.001-04:00

Our two vehicles sped fast along the southern shore of Quebec, myself in one and one daughter in the other. We were racing to reach Riviere du Loup where we would take the road south into New Brunswick before Hurricane Earl reached the gulf area. I had stayed up late the night before reading internet reports on the Hurricane and 35 to 45 mm. of rain was expected to fall over a short time in Riviere du Loup. Heading south into western New Brunswick, the rain followed us which was heavier than expected. But we were managing well to stay out of the storm’s path and not enter Halifax, our destination, before the power was restored. Driving along, I listened to the reports from people throughout the province as they talked of ocean swells, rattling doors, cooking over propane stoves. As the storm made its way up the centre of Nova Scotia, there were those who for a brief time sat under the eye of the storm. The winds abated, the sun came out and all was calm. They waited…then slowly the winds began to change direction and the fury of the storm was once again upon them.

What does one do in the eye of the storm knowing what is to come. You do what needs to be done, what life has taught you, what your spirit tells you. You reach deep to where you don’t usually go. And you wait and listen…

“Thou hast hedged me about that I cannot get out.”

As one elderly fisherman, living where the hurricane was suppose to land said, ‘we’ve been through bad weather before…we know what we have to do.’

The storm will come and you will be ready because He is with you.

Long and Far Away –Part Two

2010-08-17T21:55:00.001-04:00

Beyond Four Walls

The minister came week after week, leaving me each time with something to ponder. As my strength was renewed he brought me books on all manner of things and opened my eyes on a new world.

One day he asked me what I had been doing since he saw me last.

“Oh a lot of the time just lying looking at the sky.”

“Well, you would see all kind of cloud formations-stratus cumulus, nimbus, high cirrus. I’ll bring you the pictures and diagrams used in the lighthouse here and you can become a weather prophet.”

“I like the night sky,” I said. “and the moon and all these millions of stars.”

The minister nodded. “And yet,” he remarked, “each one is individual. To quote 1st. Corinthians For one star differeth from another in glory.”

On one occasion, I was out on the balcony scattering crumbs for the birds. He looked up at the gulls circling overhead.

“You know,” he said, “I have always been fascinated by the phenomenon of migration. In the book of Jeremiah you can read of the flight of the white storks which came from northern Europe in huge numbers to cross Israel and the Nile valley. And a wheatear is smaller than a sparrow yet it can fly from Greenland to Spain across two thousand miles of sea. There you have a small miracle, a built-in instinct of greater omplexity than the most elaborate scientific instrument.”

What a wonderful psychologist this country minister was” All the time he diverted my attention from myself extending my imagination beyond the four walls of my room and making me feel part of the world outside.

On a day of howling wind, I told him I was ill at ease. “I think it is the wind which unsettles me.” I said.

“Maybe,” he replied, but what is wind but a current of air moving in many shapes, blowing where it listeth. Can you imagine it encircling the globe? In Greece the warm Etesian winds, in Canada the Chinook of the Rockies, and in the Argentine the raging Pampero blowing out to sea. Here I find the wind often exhilarating; and what a spectacular effect it has on the waves! You appreciate that surely?”

When the time came for me to return home, restored in body and spirit, my friend and mentor bade me farewell urging me to read my Bible daily.

As I sadly watched him ride off on his bicycle I was vividly aware of the privilege it had been to know, even for a short spell, the warmth and compassion of this man of God.

Long Ago and Far Away

2010-08-16T12:19:00.001-04:00

I like to think of things that were once long ago and far away. This past Spring I planned to take my children to Scotland, our family home. I had carefully planned out all the details of our trip. I had arranged that we would visit Iona (in the Inner Hebredies) where the gospel was brought to Scotland by St. Columba in 563.

After the arrival of St, Columba and 12 other Irish monks, Iona became a renowned centre of learning where many Christian and historical documents were scribed. The Book of Kells was begun if not completed there. In 1208 a convent of Benedictine nuns was established there. It was the ancient burial ground for many great Scottish, Irish and Norwegian kings. Was there something about this Holy place that bred greatness where God could take a“heart as stony as flint,” and striking fire, transform it (H. Vaughan) as a people were converted to Christianity. The thought of it moves me deeply. Amidst the darkness, the silence, the drought of mid summer…

I imagined after arriving there, we would wake to the morning stillness over the abbey ruins. I had hoped that in this stillness, we sense the overwhelming isolation of what God sometimes calls us to…when all else fades and the battle consumes us. Deep down, do we not wish God would touch us and call us to greatness in His kingdom rather than being left with the feeling of being between two worlds. There would be no doubts. We would belong to his kingdom and He would call us to enter the battle alongside Him with our swords in hand.

However even before I bordered the plane to Scotland, I was not feeling well and when we arrived in Oban, I went to the hospital, forcing us to cancel our ferry trip to Iona. As I lay in my bed, listening to the ferries full of people coming and going to the islands, I was reminded of a true story by Kay Grierson, I had read when I visited St. Giles Cathedral in Edinborough in 1973. I had stuffed the page into my purse and have kept it these almost forty years.

On a holiday a few years ago, I was urgently admitted to hospital and there, for several months I remained. Relatives and friends were far away. Life was pared down to essentials, to the simple question of survival.

The hospital was small, a converted country house set among trees, with an open lawn reaching down to the cliff edge. At my request the nurse never pulled the curtains of my room, and each night I used to lie and watch the sky darken, the stars appear, and the moon send a glistening path across the sea. For the first time in my life I was keenly aware of the significance of the psalmist’s cry, When I consider Thy heavens, the work of They fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man that Thou are mindful of him?

One day I saw, away in the distance, a tiny figure cycling round the headland in the teeth of the gale. As he reached the hospital I saw he was dressed in heavy oilskins and sea boots, and I took him for a fisherman. He propped his bicycle against the wall, untied a basket from the handlebars, and pushed open the swing doors.

Minutes later Matron showed him into my room and introduced him as the minister of the local church. He looked at me thoughtfully. “Aye,” said he, “and it is Job’s sad sighing which is in your mind?-Thou hast hedged me about that I cannot get out.”

I nodded.

He smiled gently. “But you are only laid aside for a little while, and you will learn a lot from the experience. Look, I have brought you a Bible.”

Before leaving, he bowed his head, and his benediction brought a little quietness to my troubled spirit.

Next day being the Sabbath, I lay watching the country folk coming along the cliff path to the Kirk. I could just hear the bell pealing. I took up the Bible and read about Job bemoaning his lot. Poor Job, I thought trying to identify myself a little with his misery.

Then suddenly I realised that I was not miserable. I was happy lying in that tiny room, cut off from friends and family, and unable to get out of bed. I was happy, because on that still and peaceful Sunday morning I was appreciating a little of that peace which passeth all understanding. I was something which even in my happiest days I had never before known.

To be continued….

Blessings.

Follow prompt to take you to You tube. Thanks.

The Delicacy Of Hope

2010-04-07T01:30:00.001-04:00

Walking along the edge of the pasture today, I found a stopping place for the deer. Secretly the deer hide here, behind a small stand of pine trees and through the branches, they watch the path which follows along the pasture, entering the woods. It is a sanctuary.

Like all sanctuaries which we are attracted to, the time comes when we begin to direct our gaze beyond our dwelling place – like the curving path where the daintiest and most charming blooms lie just beyond; or the almost ethereal clearing in the woods where the filtered light from above beckons us; or through the thick underbrush where the secretive Brown Thrush manages to walk on through the thicket always just beyond our gaze.

Whether in the garden or on life’s road, our awareness of movement through space and time is a gift we should not ignore despite how charming these spaces and the secrets they hold from time to time may be. From room to room we are beckoned. Beginning with gentle anticipation or hope, we begin to feel a hunger that sharpens over time. Gazing beyond the things of this world, one’s anticipation heightens slowly along with our imagination; and we begin to consider new thoughts of hope that are strange to us.”Supernatural hope is the virtue that strips us of all things in order to give us possession of all things. To have true hope, we must abandon ourselves to Him and His love. Hope is a confidence that He deposits in our souls and it knows no limit. It is the gateway to comtemplation as we dwell in Him…moving on…moving on.

Finally over time, we will say as the psalmist did:

As the deer yearns for streams of water,

so I yearn for You, O God.

My whole being thirsts for God,

for the living God.

When shall I come and see

the presence of God?

My tears became my bread day and night

as they said to me all day long, “Where is your God?”

These do I recall and pour out my heart

when I would step in the procession,

when I would march to the house of God

with the sound of glad song of celebrant throng.

How bent, my being, how you moan for me!

Hope in God, for yet will I acclaim Him

for His rescuing presence. Ps. 42

Good friends, it is rare if we have not experienced great darkness in our lives . For those of you who are walking through trials, may you share the hopeful vision of this psalm.

Hidden within this Psalm is the word “arag” meaning “Yearns.” This word appears only twice in the bible. Although the meaning is uncertain, some think it may refer to the sound a thirsty deer makes as it drinks, and others to the animal’s bending its neck toward water. So subtle…gentle…suggestive of little consequence… yet in time, it will lead to steps of joyous commitment.

For the times when our lives are enfolded in persecution, hopelessness, poverty, isolation, sickness…abandon yourselves and and present circumstances; looking beyond…for His rescuing presence as you trust in His mercy and obey Him.

“Behold He stands behind our wall;

He is looking through the window,

Gazing through the lattice.” Song of Solomon 2:9

Love’s Extravagance

2010-04-03T03:17:00.001-04:00

Then Mary took a pound of very costly oil of spikenard, anointed the feet of Jesus,

and wiped His feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil.

Mary, who casts aside all regard for those around her, those who might misunderstand and criticize; Mary with her long hair let down, in extravagance, - so much in love. It is as if no one else was there, only Jesus and Mary. We are shocked by her boldness.

And yet… do we not all long to be like Mary…to fill the air with our extravagant love? He longs for you to draw near to Him as Mary did and feel how He loves you. You cannot help but respond and that is what made Mary special; she was compelled by His love. “A bruised reed, He shall not break and a smouldering wick, He shall not quench.” The Lord will inflame you with His love and you will become extravagant.

What will you give in response to His love? Paul said, “I have been grasped by Christ and now I am grasping Him.”

William Barclay writes: “…the whole Church was filled with the sweet memory of Mary’s action. A lovely deed becomes the possession of the whole world and adds to the beauty of life in general, something which time cannot ever take away.”

What will you give in response to His passion…or will you say, “I never knew.”

Miss. Della Anderson

2010-03-21T04:04:00.003-04:00

Growing up, there was a certain monotony in the weekly services at our quiet little Presbyterian church. We Presbyterians were led to to mistrust beautiful ornamentation and religious symbols, any more than a touch of colour, and mysterious language. But being children, we longed for drama to help us understand the one story about a king who came to earth long ago and who we still worship today… an epic story; the story that brought us together every week; a nonending story. Again as children, it would have been exciting to find some of that drama in mysterious prayer beads, rising whispers of incense, protecting holy water, touches of precious stones but instead we found the richness and drama in the plain but solid oak cross hung in the chancel, the impressive oak beams which framed the vestibule, the mysterious symbols carved into the oak lectern and communion table. Our services were orderly and quiet but thought to be pure. Beauty came in the repetitive hymns sung over the years. It also came in the pious and faithful souls that sat in the pews faithfully throughout those years.

We all knew which pews we sat in each week. In the pew ahead of us and to the right sat two unmarried women: Miss. Rachel Jarvis and Miss. Della Anderson who lived together. While Miss. Jarvis was tall and slender; perfectly dressed with short neat curly hair- Miss. Anderson was short; heavy with stooped shoulders which caused her dresses to sag; and her silky grey hair often slipped out of her bun. She had some facial hair and rarely looked at you directly. Miss. Jarvis was the town’s librarian, articulate and efficient. Miss Della Anderson was quiet and assisted Miss. Jarvis at the library. Miss Anderson seldom spoke to us children but Miss Jarvis was often asking us questions as she helped us choose our books in the library. Like our plain Calvinistic church… so Miss Della Anderson was plain.

Years later, Miss Della Anderson spent her last days in hospital. Often Rev. Cruikshank would visit her in hospital and during each visit, Miss. Anderson would recite the “Lord’s Prayer.” Slowly over time, the prayer began to slip from her memory except for the first sentence “Our Father, who art in heaven;” until the day came when she could only say, “Our Father.”

Today, I took my grand daughter to the park and as she was swinging, I began to teach her to pray the “Lord’s Prayer.” The entire prayer and even the first sentence was of course too much for her. But she knew to fold her hands and with a sense of excitement and respect said, “Our Father”. It will take many years for her to understand the depth of the disciple's prayer. She will learn that no matter where she might search for love in life, above all else, the Father, is waiting to love her , He will impart His richness, love, beauty inside her and over time she will grow more beautiful to Him. In Hebrew, a name represented everything about that person…his character and his heart. “Della” means noble.

“To him that overcometh, I will give a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it. What can be more a man’s own than this new name which even in eternity remains a secret between God and him? And what shall we take this secrecy to mean? Surely that each of the redeemed shall know and praise some one aspect of the divine beauty better than any other creature can. Why else were individuals created but that God, loving all infinitely, should love each differently. C.S. Lewis. The Problem of Pain

A Good Dose of Hope

2010-02-09T19:07:00.006-05:00

While the snow was falling tonight, I was busy feeding and watering the sheep as Hank was goofing off outside with his ball. When I came out, I couldn't find him. Finally I saw a round bump in the snow and recognized Hank's soccer ball. Ha! Hank is never far from his ball. Sure enough he was the other lump in the snow, a little further off. It reminded me of a snowstorm many years ago when we lived in Newfoundland. It snowed heavy and harsh Atlantic winds blew all day and evening, during which time, about 10 dogs of similar shapes and sizes were camped out in our neighbour's yard. We called them "crackies". There was one at every house along the street and they all looked the same. Apparently word had gotten out on the street that the princess who lived there was in heat. And so they persevered throughout the day and evening. Come dark, we turned away from the window and thought they would do the same. With the coming of morning the storm had moved out to sea leaving a deep blanket of snow on everything. As I looked out the window towards our neighbours, not a dog was in sight. Sensible I thought...no wait! What was that lump in the snow drift. Very slowly, the lump emerged into a tail wagging faithful suitor.I marvelled at his stamina and decided he deserved the prize because he never lost hope.What happened to the other nine?

We would all do well with a good dose of that hope because really... sometimes that's all there is.

Golda's Vigil

2010-02-05T22:27:00.015-05:00

Christmas has come and gone, my daughters have returned to school and the house is left quiet except for my new spinning wheel which seems determined to complain no matter how many times I adjust it. I think I shall have to take each bobbin and sand them until smooth so the string glides effortlessly over them. So while my wheel groans and adjusts, I work each evening spinning and plying my sheep's wool as the animals watch.

Golda, my cat, also has a new purpose. With the coming of winter, there are always a few mice that wander into the house from the fields, through some tiny hole...many tiny holes. Each night Golda refuses to go to bed but remains in the kitchen- sitting, alert, alone, waiting in the dark. I am happy to say, I have not seen her actually catch her prey but woe to the little mouse that sets foot in our kitchen as Golda sits and waits.

Before the printing of books in early and medieval times, monks in monasteries scattered throughout Britain, would sit for hours each day, transcribing religious texts and detailed records of life in early Anglo-Saxon Britain. It was King Alfred that believed "words as well as fortresses would hold the newly created English nation together." Scripture texts and prayer books with richly coloured illustrations, with borders of flowing foliage and gilded pages were slowly crafted over months and years by the hands of monks. It was their life's work. When the monasteries were raided and ransacked by the Vikings and Danes, followed by the supporters of Henry the VIII and finally Cromwell's troops, these sacred texts were spirited away by the terrified monks as they were treasures of history and the church.

One such Irish Celtic monk, perhaps one cold lonely winter's night, scribbled the following poem into the margins of a manuscript.

I and Pangur Ban my cat,
"Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men
"Tis to sit with book in pen;
Pangur bears me no ill-will,
He too plies his simple skill.

Tis a merry task to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

Often times a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur's way;
Often times my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

When a mouse darts from its den,
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!

So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.

Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.

Anonymous, translated from Irish by Robin Flower

We who fret about the flow of time and missing life's experiences, should ponder that it was a noble life, compelled to sit alone, day after day, scribing religious texts, seeking and preserving wisdom. So you too Golda, leaving your kitty days behind, are noble as you find your place, alone and in the dark... compelled by some inner voice.

The Book of Kells, St. John's Gospel

The Grackle

2010-01-16T10:12:00.025-05:00

I should have known... when in grade one as the alphabet cards were taken down off the wall and I was no longer able to spell, that writing was not going to be easy for me. This development was communicated to my parents who brought it to my attention.(like I needed that). "Your teacher tells us you are having problems spelling." I don't remember anyone assisting me with remedical reading, so I must have just figured it out on my own. There were setbacks... such as in grade seven when my teacher announced to the class that I had spelled spelling- 'selling' at the top of our spelling exam. That was an embarrassing moment as everyone laughed at me. On to university where I learned that if I could picture thoughts, I could eventually write them and that is how I write today...from pictures in my head. Words seem to escape me until I have made them mine by whispering them to myself or playing with them.

At times, there is a voice that rises deep from within. It speaks of heartache, turmoil, belonging, wonder, growth, joy, hunger.... It is not the voice of passing moods nor those spoken in haste or to please, but it comes from where we find the very "life of our personality." It lies so deep that it is unknown even to us at times. But what we can't comprehend or see, our bodies speak for us as we write, paint, scult, sing... It is a tedious and a complicated process for some. As we wait, our reflections turn to contemplation. It cannot be hurried or forced as we remain attentive.

In the bleak winter landscape, I stand by the barn, watching a lone Grackle fly across the field, stopping on a nearby tree. Gathering all he is, he opens his mouth and I wait for for him to find his voice. Had he been joined by the sweet songbirds of spring, I would not have noticed him as his song is unimpressive normally but today on this winter's day, it goes out into the air and I wait for him to finish. Looking almost embarrassed with his effort, he hurries on across the field into the woods. Winter seems not to be the time for singing.

Within me is a deep longing for God and I hear it in my voice as I write. Like my friend the Grackle, I am tempted to be embarrassed with what I am and what I have and hurry on. But in gathering ourselves, every sentiment, struggle, promise and offering them up to God, we enter into a deeper and wider experience where there are no boundaries and anything is possible. What begins with an openness to share, leads us into prayer. It is how we will meet and know Him better and learn to sing, even in the winter time of our lives.

A Winter's Night Vigil

2010-01-01T10:12:00.003-05:00

Hank and I make our way back from the barn on this winter's night. By the moon's light, I watch Hank as he playfully hops across the yard, following rabbit tracks in the snow, taking time to inhale deeply in the snow as he goes. I am happy to be here as this is a wonderful interlude from the world of inside...of heated rooms and bright lights where one night is like another and the winter nights pass unnoticed. Out here, our senses are no longer dull. Hank stops his playfulness to listen to another dog barking far off in the distance. I can hear the sheep quietly and thoughtfully chewing their hay. "Listen," says St. Benedict, "with the ear of your heart."

I envy the sheep as they keep their night vigil, senses keen, watching the night unfold. The sounds of the night will not pass unheard. It is the sheep that will watch the silent wanderers that pass through the farm at night. They will watch the cats out cunningly hunting for rabbits and mice in the moonlight...not like Hank. They will hear the owl calling from the woods long after I have closed the door.They will watch the stars and moon work their way across the sky. They will lift their heads as the mice venture out of the shadows to drink from the water pail. They grow comfortable with the night's shadows. They will not extract what they prefer from the winter's night, unlike us, but will know all of it. And when their heads bow in sleep after watching all, they are never far away.

As Hank and I return to the house, I turn and take one last look...straining to listen for far off and near sounds that I am meant to hear...and then step into the house. People sometimes ask me why I choose to raise sheep. I suppose that sharing in the winter's night vigil is one of several good reasons.

I pray for you all that the journey of 2010 opens doors, brings you challenges and excitement yet moments of intimacy, lets you know that you know that you know... you are home indeed and loved!

The World Of The Skin Horse

2009-12-24T02:25:00.001-05:00

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came into tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt:” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up.” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges or people who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams

To my friends and family who still believe in nursery magic…Christmas Blessing.

The World of Peter Rabbit

2009-12-23T22:22:00.001-05:00

Once again, I have entered into the insanity of buying too many Christmas presents. When the children were young, it was an exciting moment as the UPS man arrived at our door, a few days before Christmas with several boxes of toys, carefully chosen from catalogues. They would be stuffed away in closets until the children had gone to bed where upon I would unpack and examine and touch every toy with such delight and then carefully rewrap them in the theme paper of that year. Some were beautiful and perfect and some were enjoyed briefly but never fully appreciated. Some remain tucked away in boxes…. waiting.

This year for Christmas, I had decided I would give my granddaughter- a Peter Rabbit tea set, similar to the set my daughters played with when they were young -only Wedgewood no longer makes such a set. So I hunted on ebay and was thrilled when I found not only one set but a huge assortment of serving dishes to go with the tea set. It could not have been more perfect… so I made my bid and with a cup of tea and kitty on my lap, I sat and waited. Someone countered and so did I. All was fine until the last sixty seconds when a bid appeared and with kitty and a cup of tea in hand, I scrambled to send out one final last bid but it never reached there in time. I felt violated. Someone stole my Peter Rabbit tea set that Kennedy and I were going to play with. So I settled for an plastic farm set with singing chickens.

Perhaps today, the modern educated mother looks for toys for her children that will stimulate and educate them. I always chose toys for my children that I hoped would become a part of their world and they would enter into the toy’s world, in a magical way that only children can do. And in doing so, they felt what it was like… to belong.

It was my delight and surprise when as an adult, I discovered that there remains a magical but very real place where we can go to and belong… that lifts us out of our sometimes disappointing times. It may take a long time to get there but once there, one cannot imagine life any other way.

What is your only comfort in life and in death?

That I am not my own but belong…

body and soul…

in life and in death…

to my faithful saviour Jesus Christ.

Heidelberg Catechism

There Is A New Visitor In The Woods

2009-12-19T08:54:00.001-05:00

Transitions come slowly…day by day…month by month…year by year. The seasons merge as do the years, one into another.

The woods are quiet now and throughout the woods, vacant nests sit lonely on barren branches. The newly arrived winter visitors take up residence in some of these abandoned nests.

Several weeks ago at dusk, I was pleased to meet a new visitor to the woods, as he swooped down silently through the trees. The Great Horned Owl arrives in our woods shortly after the migrating hawks leave and takes up residence in the empty nest of the Red Tail Hawk. Little refurbishment is done other than an accidently placed feather or two, and it is touch and go as to whether the dilapidated house will survive the winter winds. It certainly will not be acceptable to the returning Red Tail come April, without major spring renovations.

Promises and times of preparation come early in life but fade with the coming years. One finds that which we loved in our youth, is forgotten. What we believed to be the only way…we are not so sure about anymore. We wish our lost passions could stir us up again. What surprises come along, are most welcome; they are like treasures and we savour them. Our beliefs become simpler but deeper…filling.

A young, greatly gifted and passionate Joni Mitchell sings:

Rows and flows of angel hair

And ice cream castles in the air

And feathered canyons everywhere.

I’ve looked at clouds that way.

But now they only block the sun

And they rain and they snow on everyone.

So many things I would have done

But clouds got in my way.

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now

From up and down, still somehow

It’s cloud illusions I recall

I really don’t know clouds at all…

Thirty years later she sings the same song after so much living, with ups and downs,

give and take, win and lose…with so much deepness that only comes with time.

Be Thou My Vision

2009-12-14T11:56:00.001-05:00

The Nightingale Sings

2009-12-06T09:40:00.001-05:00

At the end of November, seeing trucks of silver, black, blue, and red sitting empty and waiting along the country lanes, I am reminded that this is the final week of deer season for the hunters in our area. It is during this week, my husband always warns me to stay out of the woods in the mornings and evenings and I usually heed this warning. Hank, my dog, is also quite aware that something goes on in the woods during this week as each day he would look to the woods, sniffing the air. But on this final day with a frosty chill in the air, he knew he could not be content just to smell...he bounded like a deer across the field, over the stream and through the woods. Despite the fact it was early morning and I was in my pink housecoat and shoes, I followed, yelling at the top of my lungs-“That’ll do Hank!!!” As I headed down to the stream, I caught a glimpse of him turning left in the direction of the road. I circled the woods in my pink housecoat, knowing full well, there were several hunters sitting in their tree stands shaking their heads at me. Stopping to listen, I could hear no sound of a bounding dog. I was strangely calm (unlike me) as I thought- I have done everything I could do for that dog and still come up short. Yes… he is my constant companion and often travels with me. We are good friends but I have yet to capture his heart. He hears a different voice from within sometimes that stops us from doing great things. I finally gave up and went home with soggy feet.

Peter Kreeft in his book, Heaven, the Heart’s Deepest Longing, writes of the voice of the little Nightingale that calls from deep within us. We must listen well to hear that still small voice as there are other voices too. Our bounding from place to place will keep us from hearing. We appear to be happy, busy, our days filled with important things to do. Who has time to listen? The little Nightingale is most unwelcome. It is why we are never truly happy with ourselves, and what others have to offer us but we pretend to be. I think the voice is lost in the expectations of our youth and as we journey on, and as our paths wander through lonely times, we begin to hear that voice again. I have heard it for many years. It is not our conscience. It is not our kinder self. It is not beauty. It is not wisdom. It is not in the drama. It is what takes us beyond those.

    “I have always...had a kind of longing for death.”
    “Ah, Psyche.” I said, “have I made you so little happy as that?”
     “No, no, no.” she said. “ you don’t understand. Not that kind of longing. It was when I was happiest that I longed most. It was on happy days when we were up there on the hills, the three of us, with the wind and the sunshine...And because it was so beautiful, it set me longing, always longing...Everything seemed to be saying, Psyche come! But I couldn’t (not yet) come and I didn’t know where I was to come to. It almost hurt me. I felt like a bird in a cage when the other birds of its kind are flying. C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces.

I have not heard the European Nightingale but I have heard the Hermit Thrush, often called the American Nightingale. Dressed in colours of drab browns and rust, he inhabits the lonely forests of North America. He is considered the sweetest singer of the thrush family. Although most of the time he remains silent, he begins and finishes each day with a haunting melody that sounds simple to us but is complex enough that we fail to hear each note than is sung. Our ears are not able to discern its full song as he calls out. Yet the complexity of his song allows him to call his mate so that he is recognized and welcomed.

Hank finally did come home and I, like a silly old gal, once again shed a few tears of gratitude and welcome.

His Scent Will Be All Over You

2009-11-21T13:12:00.001-05:00

Recently we climbed into our truck and drove four hours to Toronto to pick up three new Jacob lambs, who had travelled 10 hours to meet us. A quick cup of coffee, a short conversation and then we were on the road again. Arriving at the barn, everyone crowded around to have a look...a sniff at these strangers. Curiosity satisfied, most went back to munching hay. The two girls, Rhonda and Inga were most unsocial, stomping their dainty feet to warn everyone to keep away. Sunny our new handsome little ram looked timid and shy as he was settled into the luxury suite by himself. In time, he will grow to command the respect of the other males in the barn. Like most breeders, I will cautiously introduce him to the rest of the male sheep as young rams have been known to be injured or killed when meeting new sheep.

So one evening, I will place Sunny in a small stall with several other males along with some hay, leaving them to spend an intensely uncomfortable night. In the darkness, they will heave, rub and push on each other until their smell gets in each other’s nostrils and come morning if they continue to fight, I will separate them and they will meet again another night. Our new ram must go through such a night if he is to find his place in the flock and to avoid being seriously hurt. And each time Sunny is separated from his fellow rams, he will return in the same way.

Many years ago, under a starry sky, Jacob without the distractions of his family and possessions, lives through an intensely uncomfortable night with the arrival of a stranger. Throughout the night, they struggle. It is with the coming of dawn that Jacob finally relents and receives but not before he becomes permanently lame-showing the inward scars of his life. It took twenty years to bring Jacob to this place on the edge and eve of his entrance into the promised land. You see- relinquishing did not come easy to Jacob, the Jacob who cheated, deceived and lied. He was a man who at a crucial and appointed moment in time reconciled with his past mistakes. So Jacob goes his way- changed but he will live to struggle again another day. He might be tempted to remember this night as the night he became a cripple but he will also know it as the night that he had seen the face of God.

Like Jacob, we too cannot force God to bless us. It is God who searches for us. We furrow our brows and fight and fuss but in the end, know that God will have His way with us and as we go in the morning, His scent will be all over us.

Anne and the Chestnut Tree

2009-11-11T09:54:00.001-05:00

In this segment, Anne Frank’s father returns to the Annex at the conclusion of the war. He reads Anne’s diary for the first time. The rest of the movie can be viewed on you tube, Anne Frank: The Whole Story.

Throughout her time spent living in the Annex, Anne finds hope and peace from studying the sky, the birds and the chestnut tree standing in the garden. At the end of her life…so close to liberation, knowing that her sister Margo has gone and thinking that the rest of her family has gone, the forces of evil become too much for her as her hope gives way and she dies. If only…..

February 23, 1944

The two of us looked out at the blue sky, the bare chestnut tree glistening with dew, the seagulls and other birds glinting with silver as they swooped through the air, and we were so moved and entranced that we couldn’t speak.

April 18 1944

April is glorious, not too hot and not too cold, with occasional light showers. Our chestnut tree is in leaf, and here and there you can already see a few small blossoms.

May13, 1944

Our chestnut tree is in full blossom. It is covered with leaves and is even more beautiful than last year.

How could I have suspected that it meant so much to Anne to see a patch of blue sky, to observe the gulls during their flight and how important the chestnut tree was to her, as I recall that she never took an interest in nature. But she longed for it during that time when she felt like a caged bird. She only found consolation in thinking about nature. But she had kept such feeling completely to herself. Otto Frank

Like Anne, we must know what to hang onto …what to hope for if we are to survive. May we never forget what we are capable of, nor what we can endure through suffering.

Listening

2009-10-02T08:27:00.001-04:00

In the darkness, I hear Golda, my cat, as she pushes the bedroom door open just enough to slip in. Softly she finds her way to the bed and her purring is soon filling my ears. Hank who lies at the foot of the bed, quietly growls. He thinks that it is his bed. I think about how Golda has changed over the past year. She once was such a saucy girl, taunting and teasing the boys but this past spring she was very ill with infected bites on her neck and face. We suspect an issue with one of the other cats. She no longer exits the house every morning as she once did-with confidence and enthusiasm. She cautiously looks from side to side and thinks long before she places a foot outside the door. I too have had health issues, wife issues, mother issues and I no longer begin my days with confidence. I also stop and think.

Settled once again, we lie here listening to the sounds of the night...the sounds of our hearts that speak to us..sounds that we hear but cannot see. A screech owl sends forth his mournful wail. There are two of them as they answer back and forth. It conjures up all sorts of images. This creature has been regarded over history as an emblem of wisdom at times and other times-an evil omen. It has flown with witches and carried dying souls to the beyond. It has brought death to some and to others- a renewal of life; an amazing creature who can live sometimes seventy long years. At dusk with confidence, it leaves its cavity in a tree and begins to glide over the meadow and treetops. It welcomes the darkness. It is so suited to it with its eyes that need only a pale moon and a few stars to find its way and ears that can hear the tiniest rustle of grass and an ever so tiny whimper of a mouse as it passes over. Its softly contoured feathers, fringed at the edge, allow it to glide silently so that there is no warning of its coming, only the silence. No sound in his ear will distract him.

I think back to the hot summer evenings of my youth when with bare feet we would chase each other in and out of shadows until bedtime. Before we surrendered to our mothers, we would have one last run to the edge of the woods where the darkness had settled deep and foreboding. Arriving there, grasping at the dark, we would turn and run home-exhilarated. We felt brave.
As our games were simple, so too were our days. We understood the magic of each day; morning by morning receiving our portions with little pride or arrogance. We simply waited and trusted in God’s goodness each day. For a while we simply believed.

But now that we are grown, there are issues and we can’t seem to find our way or grasp at the dark with brave hearts. Our failures and mistakes lie heavy upon us, covering everything we do. How simple it would be if we could once again, let God be God in our lives. His vision far surpasses ours as He sees into our hearts and what He would have us be. He speaks to the world in nature, in grace, in history and experience, in the story of Jesus, in the tempest. But in hearing Him in that still small voice, all else around you dissolves and in that moment, it is just you and Him. Everything that follows will be viewed in the light of that moment. There are times in our lives when it is not enough to know of Him, to understand the rhetoric, to respect the wealth of biblical knowledge but we need to feel the warmth and comfort of His closeness. So we must bend and bend and incline our ears and submit our hearts as we look to the unseen.

“Everyone that thirsts come...incline your ear and come unto me: hear, and your soul shall live; and I will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of David.”

Isaiah 55

Just an Ordinary Miracle Today

2009-09-29T10:04:00.001-04:00

Life is difficult, often not what we expected but as Elizabeth Elliot said,” just keep on keeping on.”

Moments of Inspiration

2009-09-29T00:38:00.001-04:00

Pepper, my dog, has been traumatized as he listened to the rain falling throughout the night. It seemed to go on and on and it promises to stay with us over the next few days. The garbage men wore their raincoats today as they came along the country roads to each driveway. The rain has stopped the tractors from going to the fields today. The rain has interrupted the colours. We are all waiting. It has forced us to stop and consider what each day brings… moments to experience God…fresh insights. “I will incline mine ear.” I will incline my heart. Touch each moment as they pass deeply into you, changing you.

She shall lean her ear

In many a secret place,

Where rivulets dance their wayward round

And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face.

Wordsworth

Let us not be indifferent to the things we see and hear around us. Who knows what wisdom is to be learned in these quiet moments of inspiration as we incline our ears. These moments remind me how deeply I care.

The Meadow

2009-09-10T11:27:00.001-04:00

Unlike walking through the woods, making one’s way through a meadow, requires discernment. I walk with head down and carefully placed steps as entire villages pass by my feet- unnoticed. The meadow is place where paths meet and diverge for insects, birds, animals and people. It is a place that explodes with colour, sound, movement. And over all, the Red Tail Hawk guided by a sense of need, keeps up his unrelenting surveillance as he soars back forth, his cry swelling and fading until it becomes tiring…almost disturbing listening to him.

On late summer mornings, when the dew in the meadow is gone, I walk out to gather flowers for dyeing wool. I am on my best behaviour as I share the Black-Eyed Susan patches with the bees, working side by side. I take only the mature flower heads, leaving some for my friends.

The lone insect that pauses in the busyness of his day, to sit motionless on a flower petal or blade of grass, is an intriguing sight. So uncharacteristic and unexplained- he waits. Last week while visiting the flower patches, I saw my first and perhaps only pink Katydid, sitting motionless on a blade of grass as if caught in mid step-a picture of frozen motion.

I did not grasp how unique a moment it was, for the pink Katydid is a rare find- one in a 100,000 to 500,000 depending on the source you read. “It is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” comments Jim McCormac, Ohio Division of Wildlife, as this truly rare creature lacks the protective colouring that protects her from predation. She is a mystery. One might spend inestimable hours in the field studying these insects and never come across one. And there she was…timid, vulnerable, unique and gentle…and I almost missed her.

Why is it that some of the most special moments in our lives almost go unnoticed? If we are to see these special moments, we must turn from all else- our introspective view of life. These moments give us a new vantage point as we become so much more aware of what is happening around us…outside of us.

It is in the meadow, we find a new place in life. Alone, we are not creatures of strength, joy, power. We discover there is more to life. We take time to sit…time to wait. This is our place of total dependence on God.

“Waiting on God is the highest salvation.” (Andrew Murray)

I have wished to be a stronger, braver, wife, mother, friend and servant of Christ but I have lived a gentle and timid life. But in this brief intimate encounter with my pink Katydid, the facts remain in my mind. She was rare, unique and unsuited for her world yet come evening until she dies with the coming of frost, her ancient song will fill the night as she plays on her wings.

Let you hear what God has for you to hear. Let you see what God has for you to see… and I pray that God’s words will fill your mouth.

“Waiting on God must be as continuous and unbroken as breathing.” Andrew Murray

Technorati Tags: pink katydid,waiting for God,meadows

Every Season

2009-07-25T03:05:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, I wandered across the creek into the small stand of woods behind our home, a remnant of the woods that once covered all of this part of the country. The late spring rains has kept me from visiting here this spring. But carefully stepping my way through the creek, I was skipping up the bank once more, caring only to avoid the patches of poison ivy growing along the bank and into the woods.

Last spring I came often to these woods, searching for treasures. In summer, I brought my chair and visited every day with God… sometimes getting on my knees in this sanctuary of hickory nut trees. I made promises on the hot humid days. I kept returning throughout the autumn because coming here and meeting with my God were no longer just pleasant intervals in my days but a necessity. We shared our thoughts and each day I left full and looked forward to my next visit. With winter, there were only occasional visits as it was often difficult trudging through the snow. I finally brought my chair home. The busyness of the woods was replaced with quietness but He was still there waiting for me as often as I could go.

I will go again today and hopefully tomorrow and settle into the fullness of the woods…the fullness of the season …the fullness of Him who waits for me.

Can this be redemption…returning to the fullness of God?

Prone To Leave The God I Love

2009-07-21T06:49:00.002-04:00

PRONE TO LEAVE THE GOD I LOVE

On a certain given day, hastily spoken words, a reproachful look, a meeting with indifference ; our confidence begins to ebb away. We forget who we are. We forget so much…

Think back to when we first met Jesus; it was a time of great anticipation. We felt uncertainty, excitement and mystery. We didn’t always know what we were doing or how to walk as committed Christians. As I once heard Mahesh Chavada say, “ we were bungling along in the anointing,” trying to get it right in this new relationship.

When I first became a Christian, I was what people referred to as “a sweet sinner,” which took me to many alter calls in many services. I went through much effort to assure myself that I was indeed a true and genuine Christian, worthy and faithful. I kept waiting for that assurance that I knew that I knew that I knew. What I was painfully aware of, was that I was unfaithful and weak in character. My cry might have been : “Let Thy goodness like a fetter bind my wandering heart to Thee…for I knew I was prone to leave the God I loved. Here is my heart. Take it, seal it…seal it for Thy courts above.” I don’t know if there ever was one particular time when I learned to set my doubts aside and trust in the faithfulness of God. But in time I did learn the great secret of my life…that I can never be far away from Him, the lover of my life.

Growing up, we were most definitely a sweater family. My English and Scottish aunties supplied us throughout our growing years with sweaters to match our kilts which we wore to school and church. My sister and I were the sweater girls. As we grew older, my mother would sometimes give us cashmere sweaters brought back from recent trips to Scotland. We were raised to recognize a genuine cashmere sweater of admirable quality.

This past winter my daughter and I stopped after church at Starbucks for a coffee. I was wearing a new cashmere sweater given to me by my mother only a few weeks earlier. No one at church knew or even cared that it was cashmere except my mom and I. As we walked through the door of Starbucks, we read their new sign advertising their hot chocolate. It said: ‘STARBUCK HOT CHOCOLATE…AS SPECIAL AS YOUR CASHMERE SWEATER.” I don’t think so!

Cashmere goats are often raised on land where there is a lot deprivation. Combed cashmere sells for $1.40 per ounce and a cashmere goat can produce up to 6 ounces in a single year, but in a land where food is scare, the goat may only produce half of that. And of course the shepherd only sees a percentage of that. “Traditionally his life is dependent on his stock and they are of incredible high worth to him. It is hard to imagine the value he places on them. They lie at the centre of his livelihood, his culture and his self respect.”

Like my cashmere sweaters, I am a genuine believer, called by God, forgiven by His blood and sealed from above. And I know that the one true place in all creation for me is in the presence of God. Let me not wander…

When you believe in Christ, God identifies you as His own by giving you the seal of His Holy Spirit whom He promised long ago. The Spirit is God’s guarantee of His promises and that he has purchased you to be his own . You are genuine…authentic. Your life rests in Him…

It Might Look Like We Are Playing…

2009-06-17T22:34:00.001-04:00

I am trying to let spring slip away. It has been a season of hopeful busyness as we hurried to get everything done before we retreat from the hot summer sun. We have prepared the soil, planted and now we wait.

We see subtle changes in the patterns around us. The Oriole who returned in spring- boldly showing off his bright orange plumage, quietly slips away into the thick and shady underbrush. Cracks in the clay which are always there, grow wider and longer, causing the sheep to stumble as they drag their feet out to the pasture. The fields lie quiet as the last lonely tractor heads back to the barn and we watch and wait for the corn, beans and wheat to grow…wait for the rain. We measure the colour changes in the wheat field- knowing that when all is a golden brown, summer will be half gone.

It will soon be time to bring out our favourite stories and poems to reread; wash fleeces,- placing them out to dry in the sun; mark patches of wild plants that will make good dye baths for our wool; enjoy the tastes of summer as we experiment with new recipes. Pleasures are many but there is also a restlessness of summer that sends one’s thoughts deeper.

Our minds do not remain idyll but we become seekers…seekers who find ourselves going on pilgrimages to holy relics, picnics down strange and unfamiliar roads or coming out of our homes to sit under a starry sky as we ponder about life. But let not your restlessness cause you too much unhappiness. Summer is a time of wonder and fullness. We may look like we are playing but it is all meaningful.

It seems like only yesterday when homeschooling lessons were done for the day, my daughter and I would drag our spinning wheels out to the pasture and sit and spin before an audience of curious sheep. My husband on returning home from work would say, “what’s with the spinning wheels?” He didn’t get it! Imagine…he thought we were playing.

Into the Shadows

2009-06-15T23:12:00.001-04:00

With the coming of spring this year, I set my heart on the simple presence of God in my life and to fall in love again.

If we want God in our lives, we must look for and abide in the things of God. Paul says that believers are to set their minds on what is pure, lovely, excellent and praiseworthy and God will be with you. (Phil. 4:8-9)

The more we experience God, the more our thoughts will turn to Him and our actions will honour Him. So “go to where you can practice the presence of God.” For me, it is in the quiet of my soul, the faint repetitive sounds that we almost miss, the unexpected but orchestrated…often deep within my own garden. Sometimes, I have run there…sometimes I have walked there reluctantly. For you- it may be different.

Go to the deepest part of your soul where you will be at peace, away from all diversions.

Go often to your garden…into the shadows and respond to its mystery.

Follow your yearnings. Hope to see that which isn’t obvious. The nature of God is to reveal Himself, even in the smallest …

Empty yourselves…adore Him…praise

Him

…and He will come to you.

Sometimes His presence is over whelming and it is difficult to abide in it.

Many years ago when my girls were young, I was sitting in their room while they were having their evening bath. As I waited, thinking of God, I saw in my mind an image of a butterfly emerging out of a pupa. As I watched, this new creature paused for some time on top of its once home as if thinking… daring to imagine what it was about to do. Then slowly…it began to fly. A most amazing transformation took place in my mind as I became the butterfly. I could feel myself rise and fall with the wind as it blew gently on my face. After a brief time, I gently pulled myself away from this vision, needing the familiarity of being alone once again, sitting in my daughters’ room. Comforted by the familiar, I attempted to return to the vision but it was gone. A brief moment…yet long enough to know and believe. “God wants a soul that is searching for Him to be comforted anywhere” and He will come to you.

As Jesus lived every moment in the presence of God and every thought, word and action of Jesus came from the Father…return to the deepest part of your soul and learn to simply live in His presence…that which is real and true. His presence will become more real than life itself.

In the second movement of Dvorak’s New World Symphony, we no longer hear the strains of the old world that begin the 13th Symphony but something new and simple in contrast, and we find ourselves entering into this new world.

In going…turn once more and that which you have looked upon before… many times, will now be incredibly beautiful by the simple act of faith.

Learning to live as part of the group

2009-05-30T09:54:00.001-04:00

Was this a collective decision ...or which one started it? What could they be thinking?
I have just separated the 'Six Patricks' from the rest of the sheep this morning and they have gone into a separate pen. Changes are rarely welcomed in the sheep pen. They will have to relearn how to live as six again. They are not happy as six. It was more fun with 22.

The Six Patricks

2009-05-28T10:21:00.001-04:00

As I step into the barn at feeding time, the sheep come running and leading the flock are six noticeably larger sheep. These are the “knee knockers,” purchased last summer, that I used to teach my dog to herd sheep. When you are introducing a new dog to sheep, it is best to use sheep that are already “dog broke” and are familiar with the “round pen” or as some sheep refer to it, “the torture chamber.”

As the dog hopefully begins to instinctively move towards the sheep into a balanced position with the sheep and the handler, the wise and experienced sheep hang out at the handler’s knees, following her around. (Hence the name knee knockers.) They also move together as a cohesive unit, almost inseparable, so much so, my daughter christened them, the six Patricks- all for one and one for all.”

That is sort of how it works unless the dog decides to charge at the sheep, getting a mouthful of wool, scattering the sheep in all direction, sending some over the fence.

My knee knockers are part Romanov, Shetland, and Barbados. The Romanov and Barbados combine to make a substantially heavier, taller and more aggressive sheep in comparison to my smaller and shy Shetlands and Jacobs. No surprise that the six Patricks lead the charge into the barn at feeding time. I had intended to keep them separate from my flock as their bad manners at feeding time, often rob the smaller sheep of their rations of hay and grain but during the winter they ended up hopping the fence and joining in with the others.

Each day before I can get the flakes of hay distributed around the barn, the six Patricks, in a frenzy, skip along beside me as they try to eat from the flakes of hay in my arms, sometimes pushing the flakes out of my arms, spilling the sweeter and more delicate parts of the hay on the barn floor and over their fleece coats. Tossing a flake down, the excitement rises and I stumble to keep from getting my feet stepped on as the mob dashes to this flake. As I turn to toss another flake, the frenzy moves to the new flake until we have repeated this process a number of times, dancing around the barn. Some of the sheep will quietly stand and eat in their places while others will continue to move from pile to pile to pile until they finally settle on one pile before it disappears. It has been my observation that the little ones that continue to hop from pile to pile and can not commit themselves to one pile, often miss their breakfast.

These small piles of hay might well be likened to the parts of our lives, past and present, that define us, at times consuming us. They represent our families, friends, careers, our spiritual selves, and misplaced passions. They are our struggles. The success and failure of one part of our lives, spills over to the next as these piles of hay do. There can be many piles as we are stretched and separated not knowing who we are at times. Becoming obsessed and consumed by the many piles can get our toes stepped on. We need to take a step back, lift our gaze and stop dwelling on our struggles. So very much of what we worry about through our lives, doesn’t really matter.

Instead, know that the only true and consuming passion in our lives should be to live for Jesus Christ. That is first and foundational to everything else. So set your thoughts on God because what we think about, defines us. (Prov. 23:7)

I am not suggesting that our lives lack passion as it is the passion that colours our lives, moves us on at times when we seem to get stuck or just mechanically move through our days. We welcome these compelling emotions. The very plan of God was played out in the Passion of Christ but the source of this passion began with the Father’s love and led Him along this narrow road.

Turning back once again, we may see that which consumed us is gone.

Later in the day, I will see one or two of my sheep turn back to the barn to sift through the remains of their breakfast, hoping to find a few missed pieces of tasty hay left….but all is gone.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.” Deuteronomy 6:5

…and walk that narrow road.

Jacobs Gate Farm

David Foster and Friends - Save the Last Dance - Michael Buble

2009-05-23T09:00:00.001-04:00

Oh....what can I say? It's another Saturday and I've got so many weeds to pull, manure to shovel. With coffee in hand, I'm heading outside. Just needed a little spring in my step. Okay, I confess.....I am a you- tube addict. I just may sing to my sheep.
Enjoy the fast disappearing days of spring.
Pam

“Knowing This”….Rom. 6:3

2009-05-22T03:30:00.001-04:00

In the spring of the year, the

time when kings go forth to

battle.” Samuel 11:1

Josephus tells us that at one time, when the first blades of grass emerged in the spring, men prepared for war. Adad levied and led forth his army against the Hebrews; Antiochus prepared to invade Judea; and Vespasioan marched to Antipatris, all with the coming of spring and the new grass.

“The Kings and armies of the East do not march but when there is grass, and when they can encamp, which is April. Chardin

These were the rules. From the first blade of grass, things were set in motion.

So it is on our little farm in the spring. Sheep rise against sheep in a game of testing and posturing for leadership of the barn. Back and forth, they enter and cross unseen boundaries. Horns clash, heads slam with dull thuds as echoes from the past. Yet before the first stomping of the foot; before the first lifting of the head; before the first focus of the eyes, there is a knowing inside all- who will win….it rises from within.

I remember the spring of 1973. I was graduating from school and preparing to leave for Newfoundland for my first job-a new adventure. We had all sat in front of our televisions that late spring watching “Watergate” unfold, eyes wide open, disbelieving. The Vietnam war continued and we wondered what it was all about. It was the beginning of a hot summer.

I also remember that everyone was talking about an amazing horse from Virginia who had gone forth and won the Kentucky Derby, next the Preakness Stakes, both in record time and everyone was waiting for his appearance at the Belmont Stakes, longing for him to emerge as the first triple crown winner in 25 years, longing for greatness. We were not to be disappointed. It was just a horse and one race but for 1 1/2 miles, we witnessed the same greatness that kings of old sought each spring. It was a display of such utter knowing …that this horse knew he was in the race of his life. It was his time to run.

Secretariat’s Triple Crown Part 2 The Belmont Stakes

As Christians, how do we measure greatness? Perhaps, it is when we know that we know that we know who we are and where we come from. It is God’s revelation to us. We do nothing to receive it. It is not an intellectual knowledge at all. We may not understand it but we know it in our hearts and see it in our spirits…and our hearts speak to us.

People around us and circumstances test us but we learn ‘being small’ is our greatest asset. We learn not to be anxious about the markers of time in our lives, as our lives will go on after today…this year… next year…into eternity. We learn, amid confusion , we can see clearer. We learn the vastness of one moment in time. We learn to breathe deeper. We learn to praise God for what we are and what we have. We have become new creatures. The old has passed away. We are those who abide in Christ.

Yet we struggle as we forget we are in Christ. Watchman Nee speaks of this struggle as the bewilderment of trying to get into a room in which you already are. “Think of the absurdity of asking to be put in!” Know that you have been made new. Know that you have unlimited potential. Know that you are His.

“Knowing this,” says Paul, “that our old man was crucified with him, that the body of sin might be done away so that we should no longer be in bondage to sin.” Rom. 6:3

Knowing this…our greatness will rise from within.

Secretariat –Running From Within (at Claiborne Farm, Virginia)…enjoy!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=O57qMR45Y1o

The Immortal Secretariat (right click your mouse for hyperlink)….enjoy

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vl-IVl-UGE4

I promise…this is the last of my horse movies for a while.

Seeking Momentum

2009-05-14T00:09:00.001-04:00

Coming through Kentucky on our journey home recently, we stopped at the Kentucky Horse Park, something I’ve wanted to do for many years. We visited the Hall of Champions and met several racing champions. Upon asking one of the handlers if she had a favourite; she replied no. She loved them all but none of them as much as she had loved John Henry who was a resident of the Horse Park until his death in October 2007 at the age of 32. “ John Henry,” she said, “ has touched all of us who worked with him. He was a very intelligent horse. There was just something different in his eyes when you looked at him. He knew he was different. He knew he was a champion.”

John Henry was a Kentucky horse of dubious breeding lines. His sire was “Old Bob Bowers,” a moderate racing horse who was known more for his bad disposition than his racing ability and sold for $900 as a stallion. His dam, “Once Double,” was also a moderate runner and had problems carrying her foals to term. As a foal, John Henry was remembered as small, ugly and foul tempered. He had a conformation defect called “calf Kneed” which is a serious fault as it places such stress on the back legs that most horses cannot withstand training let alone racing. Nobody expected anything from him and he was sold at the mixed sale at Keeneland which usually draws the bottom of the barrel for $1,100. During the sale, John had a temper tantrum cutting his head. He was cleaned up as much as possible but went in the ring looking like a drowned rat with blood running down his face. As he grew, his knees worsened along with his disposition as he would tear buckets and tubs off the walls of his stall, stomping on them, and pitching them out the stall door at people walked by. This habit earned him his name, “John Henry” after the steel driving man of the folk song. John’s first owner never did break John to saddle and in less than a year, John was back at the Keeneland mixed sales as a 2 year old selling for $2,200. John’s new owner managed to break John to saddle but it wasn’t easy. Again John was sold but he kicked his stall walls so hard, the walls had to be kept in place using 55 gallon drums of molasses.

Despite his off track antics, his on track professionalism and a few early track wins led a few people to scratch their heads and wonder if within John might be the makings of a champion . But John never made it easy for them and after being sold eight times, he finally found a friend and wise trainer in Ron McAnally who had a reputation of working with horses that nobody else wanted. For the next four years, John established his reputation as a winner with many wins in important races on both dirt and turf. When most horses his age were retiring, John was coming into his own stride. He finished his racing career in 1984 at age 9 with 4 straight stake race wins. Injury forced him into retirement. In eight years of racing, he won 30 stakes, earned $6,497,947 in earnings, won seven Eclipse awards and Horse of the Year twice, the last coming at the unprecedented age of nine. At the time of his retirement, he was the highest money earning thoroughbred of all time.

“John Henry was a truly gifted thoroughbred who kept horse racing alive during a difficult decade. John Henry’s true legacy was written in the people’s heart far more indelibly than his superlative racing career could ever reflect,” said John Nicholson, executive director of the Kentucky Horse Park. “John Henry was a testament to the fact that a horse’s value is far greater than the sum of his pedigree, conformation, sales price and race record.

Winston Churchill said that the outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man, but I would add that horses like John Henry prove that the inside of a horse is even better for the inside of Man.”

John possessed the courage to overcome obstacles; courage that all people strive to find. John found his stride in the bare fact that he would not give up. If you ran head to head with John, he would beat you every time as he was such a fierce competitor. The only way to beat him was to come from behind so he couldn’t see you and get to him at the wire. John was so determined to get to the winner’s circle in 1983 when he just lost by a neck at the Arlington Million, he dragged his groom to the Winner’s Circle. It took quite a few people to drag him kicking and biting away.

Behind the legend of John Henry that continued to grow in his retirement…what really made him a champion were a few people who believed in him and patiently worked with him. Had it not been for these people in his life, he probably would have been euthanized at a much earlier age and been known as a horse who “also ran.” It always comes down to that …whether a parent-child, teacher-student, trainer-horse….mutual respect.

It was that way between Ron McAnally, under whose training, John flourished and John –John as he affectionately called him. It was McAnally who saw how special John was and patiently worked with him. When John was celebrating his 28th birthday at the Horse Park, Sam Rubin, his owner, remarked “The only one he’d really recognize is McAnally. McAnally would holler “John-John” and he would jump up. If I called him, he wouldn’t move, unless I had an apple in my hand.” McAnally continued to visit him, always bringing apples, carrots and sugar. He would holler John’s name coming through the stable as John would nicker back.

John was a horse that you might never want to turn your back on, especially if you did something to him that he didn’t like. Despite his ornery side, he also kept his youthful playfulness throughout his senior years. Occasionally, when walking with his trainer, John Henry would put his left leg out in front of him and try to trip him. He did that with those he loved. Somewhere He learned to play the broken leg game. He would stand infront of his stall and nicker until you came over. He waited for you to ask him if he had a broken leg. He nodded his head, nickered, raised his front leg off the ground and held it up as he waited for a treat to be placed in his feed trough.

John Henry was not the best race horse…not the fastest or the busiest. He wasn’t the greatest weight carrier and certainly not the handsomest or the the most personable but he had a big heart and did not know how to quit. Many of us have dreams but we let them slip away. We let the mundane things of life, people, circumstances slow us down. We grow weary, losing our momentum. We forget we are still in the race as we slow to a leisurely pace. We forget we have been gifted with special talents to use. We forget that we do not travel alone.

Coming Home

2009-05-09T13:51:00.002-04:00

First, there were the taxes, then shearing the sheep…and finally I have just returned from bringing my daughter home from school in Oklahoma. While inching our way through nine states, through sun, rain, forests, over hills, in our little four cylinder, the thought or essence of home was never far from my mind. As a child, I remember my mother had a way of saying, when far from home, “I’m dying to get home for a cup of tea,” with such conviction that I knew the value she placed on her home and a good cup of tea in her life. What stirred my spirits as I hurried on towards home this past week, was nothing so simple and honest as a cup of tea but my thoughts were of reorganizing my life,…new projects, new priorities, a new simplicity, a new peace, a new beginning…in a way that one must leave in order to rediscover.

I also thought of the changes in my life this past winter and how I had lost my dear friend and neighbour, Bill. Despite being 84 years of age, Bill was always ready to work alongside me, mending fences, gates, sinking posts, planting our garden and as we worked, he sang or told tales, tales that after a life time needed to be told. How deeply I will miss his songs, his stories, his strength this spring. Bill was blessed with an inner driving force that kept him moving forward, always ready to embrace each new day, the best and the worst of it, leaving yesterday to the past. And such was the vitality within him that to work along side him was to move ahead with him. I who tend to languish in the moment have always needed to borrow from other people’s momentum.

He considered himself a rich man indeed. He once remarked to me during his illness,” I have a good family, good neighbours and a good home…I would like to have lived longer but what are you going to do?” What could one say but nod, feeling the depth of his regret. Family, friends, home and a great respect for life and all beings were at the heart of his stories.

It comes as no surprise to me that he loved horses. He loved to tell me how in England after the war, leaving his home in Ukraine, he worked for a farmer, named Mr. Westman, repairing his farm equipment. Mr. Westman had a horse on the farm that was getting old and he decided to sell it. All the arrangements were made and the horse was to leave for his new home shortly after Bill left work for the day. His new home was to be about fifty miles away. The next morning as Bill arrived at the gate to his amazement, there was the old horse standing waiting patiently at the gate . Up the driveway, the two walked through fog and mist as he had through the night. “Hey Mr. Westman, I thought you got rid of this horse.” Mr. Westman starred in disbelief at this horse who had never been more than five miles from the farm in his life. Tears filled his eyes and he resolved that the horse would stay on the farm for the rest of his life.

I think back to my first blog post this past autumn where I spoke of the essence of home and how one’s life journey is all about returning home. Jacob understood that well, under his starry sky. My friend, Bill, understood that also.

Some song and sentimentality….

www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoSdsfJudGE

…a few more thoughts to follow.

Her Children Arise And Call Her Blessed.

2009-03-21T02:11:00.001-04:00

I have been busy the past few weeks working on some sewing projects with my friend and neighbour, Brenda. Once ploughing season begins, I will not see Brenda much so sitting in front of our sewing machines, side by side has been a special time for me. As a matter of fact, I do not really like sewing; I far prefer spinning and weaving but Brenda loves to sew and patiently encourages me.

Brenda is a devoted wife, mother and grandmother. After long days of cooking meals for hungry farm workers, tending to household chores, book keeping for the farm, driving farm vehicles, tending animals… she always...always has time for her grandchildren and I often see her riding her bike down the country roads with them in the cool of the evenings. She attends a number of community groups such as the local fair board, Women’s Institute, 4 -H organization, to mention just a few. And did I mention…her baking skills are to be drooled over!

Each spring, Brenda likes to set up the incubator to hatch an assortment of chicks and ducklings for her grandchildren. One evening last spring, I was heading back home from town. It was late and most of the houses along the road lay quiet and darkened. As I passed Brenda’s house, it too lay quiet and dark and I assumed all were asleep in bed. To my delight, as the rest of the family were sleeping, I saw in the dimly lit window, my friend, standing over the incubator having one last look to see if any new little creatures needed a helping hand to come into this world before heading to bed. I had to smile as that was Brenda. No wonder her family and friends love her so much. To me, she is very much “the wife of noble character” in Proverbs.

“She is clothed with strength and dignity;

she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom,

and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household

and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed;”

Proverbs 31:25-28.

How thankful am I that she is my friend and neighbour.

Counting...

2009-03-07T15:31:00.007-05:00

I am counting heddles for my loom: 608 heddles, 76 on each of the 8 shafts, each separated into two sections of 38. Each heddle must face the same direction. With the help of the sun's reflection, I make sure the heddles are all facing forward.

I am also counting the days till spring...12 days to go. Everyone and everything is whispering wait. Gone are the flocks of Snow Buntings who only four months ago, announced the coming of winter as they skimmed and swooped beside our cars as we traveled down the country roads. Yet despite their efforts to impress us with their skill and commitment, we barely noticed them as their mainly white plumage disappeared into the wintery landscape across the fields and along the ditches, feeding on all the seeds of weeds that lay above the snow. As if by magic, they reappeared further along as the soft winter sunlight was reflected from the black feathers in their wings. Isn't that just like us...to miss the most obvious, what is right in front, waiting for us. Anyway, thank you snow buntings. I saw you and you thrilled me once again, another winter.

The sun comes earlier each morning, staying with us later each evening and with this, I seem to breathe easier. The sheep are standing at the door to the barn, staring out at all the mud and mire, as the water continues to drain off the fields. They are waiting for permission to return to the pasture. The cats are preferring to take their afternoon naps outside in sunny sheltered corners, rather than on my comfy couch. Soon I will return to the woods looking for the first spring flower to arrive from the cold earth. It may be the Spring Beauty, a simple delicate flower, that is like a treasure who chooses to stay hidden among the decaying wood and carpet of last autumn's leaves. It will come with the Song Sparrow, followed by an unending and perfectly timed tapestry of forest treasures.

Where the fire had smoked and smouldered
Saw the earliest flower of Spring time,
Saw the beauty of the Spring time,
Saw the Miskodeed* in blossom.
Hiawatha

*Miskodeed-Indian name for Spring Beauty

Heddles counted and safely returned to the loom, I reward myself by studying pictures in my gardening books. There will be more tedious cloudy days of rain ahead and then one day, there will be an explosion of activity in town and up and down the country roads. Moving tractors, washing windows, garage sales, scampering kittens, exploring lambs and once again when it is time, we will get down on our knees and sink our hands into the soil.

It is a part of the cycle of life, to wait. It is God's timetable. We wait for Him to reveal Himself in what we barely dare to hope for. Let this time of waiting for Spring encourage us to cultivate a spirit of dependence upon Him and His never ending supply of goodness and mercy. Let us not miss what He has for us because we failed to believe...to look for the "Spring Beauty."

"Therefore will I look to the Lord; I will wait for the God of my salvation; my God will hear me." Mic. 7:7

Beneath the Beauty

2009-02-25T22:41:00.005-05:00

We have a rule in our home, made by my husband that says the animals are not allowed on the furniture.

OOPS!

SORRY!

IF YOU DON'T SAY ANYTHING, I WON'T!

In Psalm 11 we read, "The Lord probes the righteous and the wicked, and the lover of havoc, He utterly hates." Utterly hates? By His essential being, He hates the lover of havoc? I do not consider myself a lover of havoc but sadly, often feel like I am a prisoner to it...or so I think. There are times when I come close to ordering my life, but somehow it always seems to be beyond my reach. I manage to sabotage my plans by swerving off course, ever so slightly; by stopping to rest when it is not time; by becoming distracted by the many things that fascinate me along the way, rather than staying my course. You can talk all you want, walk many places, understand it all so well; yet if you do not go far enough, it will bring you to naught...and that is havoc.

Looking around us and within, there is no doubt that we have a God "whose interest in beauty and detail must be unquestioned." I love Franky Schaeffer's words:

"We could live in a flat uninteresting world, one that had the bare minimum of gray ingredients to support life, one whose diversity was only enough to provide minimum existence. Instead, we live in a riotous explosion of diversity and beauty. We live in a world full of "useless" beauty, we live in a world of millions of species, we live in a world peopled by individuals of infinite variety, talents, abilities, and this is only on our own planet. When one looks heavenward and sees the complexity of the reaches of space above, the mind boggles at the creativity of our God." (Addicted to Mediocrity)

What can we possess so that we might stay our course and not be distraced in these "riotous explosions of diversity and beauty."

Look deeper. Behind the beauty we see a world of perfect order. Who knows but the weaver herself of the patterns of textures and colours, woven into her cloth, patterns woven with much labour and knowing...knowing of each individual fibre selected. Each fibre must be carefully selected and spun with the appropriate method to be of value in the weaving process or one can easily obliterate its inherent characteristics. A lofty wool waiting to be fluffed out does not want to be beaten into submission into a functional rug on the loom.

I grew up in a most ordered home. Our meals were punctual at precisely the same time each day. Sunday breakfast was fried eggs and bacon; Sunday lunch was always homemade soup; Sunday supper was always roast beef and yorkshire pudding; Monday supper was roast beef warmed up with gravy; Tuesday was cold roast beef. And so the meals presented themselves throughout the week with great predictability. There were few family outings except our weekly trip to town on a Friday evening to grocery shop and visit the laundry mat. Without question, Sundays always found us sitting in the same seats, in the same pew in church and we all knew not to forget where we sat. Nothing could disturb my little child's heart more than for someone to accidentally or unknowingly sit in our seats. In our home, books were never left out to tempt or tease; unfinished laundry piles...well there never were unfinished laundry piles; dust was never left to gather in the corners or on the ledges. It was a life of dreariness (or so I thought) where adults were obsessed with the mundane things of life and I was determined to seek out a different path to wander.

Fondly I remember how every Saturday evening without fail, my father would gather up every shoe and boot in the house to polish them. And each Sunday morning, our boots and shoes would be lined up at the top of the stairs, so neatly and perfectly polished, for us to wear to church. What one might be tempted to think was a boring unimportant task, remains a beautiful image in my mind some forty years later...an image of a simple act of duty carried out with joy and faithfulness, and an image that I cannot claim for my life, no matter how hard I try.

Oh...I practice at daily and weekly routines. I have my favourite cups that I sip tea out of and my favourite seats to read and knit and write. I have my favourite bible books and commentaries which I read in no certain order but grab up as I feel inspired or led to. I generally claim the morning with its brightness to enjoy my favourite tasks and what you all do so well, overwhelms me because I lack order in my life.

Am I to be continually "off to the hills like a bird," escaping the dreariness of life, off on some adventure. I do love adventures, but no....I will keep trying to stay my course as best I can, remembering the tasks that God has whispered to me to do because just maybe in time, I may touch someone's life for Him. There is nothing mere chance or accidental about the beautiful things of this world. They were created on the foundations of time, the passing of days, months and years- walking with God. You might at times feel things are not right or that you are in need of a vision but know that behind it all runs a thread which takes us to our final destination. Our failures and disappointments are woven into the fabric of our lives and make it beautiful. The weaving will take its form from the presence of Christ in our lives. We have nothing to lose by trying. We are all His tapestries. Let us keep our hearts tender and let Him order our steps.

We Call It Creativity

2009-02-08T22:26:00.010-05:00

On Sunday, February 9, 1868, the poet, Emily Dickinson made the following entry in her diary.

Winter will not relinquish its crown. Snow hides the earth and-in the bitter air- the trees stand stiff. A pale sun appeared this afternoon but soon ceded its position. Yet inside jessamine and crocus- fearless- smile, while purple blossoms make a bold display. Life blooms undeterred though it glimpse Death through the window. I find peace in this indoor garden. My flowers- Nature's emissaries- nod approvingly as my pen moves- and knowing that- it moves more quickly!

Emily's diary was discovered in the conservatory on the east side of the homestead, one of her favourite spots. Her niece, Martha Bianchi, described it as a "fairyland" at all seasons, a tiny glass room with white shelves on one wall, on which grew ferns, heliotrope, jasmine, and other varieties of exotic plants. We know from reading the local paper that the reported temperature was fourteen to twenty degrees below zero that week as Emily gazed out the window while writing in her diary.

Life is a balance of sweetness and bitterness, of that which inspires, exhilarates us and that which limits us, demands so much of us. We find ourselves rushing back to the places in our lives, in our homes, where the canvases of God and His colours are seen. It is at these alters that we learn of the things of God through human expression. We are inspired to express Him through ourselves. Sometimes the expression is subtle and other times, it is profound. Through this human expression, the mysteries of God, things that we do not know, are revealed...in thought, word, song and poetry of life. And as we continue to express who we are, God continues to create. But it doesn't end there as our expressions inspire others, each in turn, revealing God as they are true to themselves.

We call this creativity.

"I Am A Rainbow"

2009-02-06T22:27:00.005-05:00

A person can only giggle so long...

There are days when I feel unsure of myself as a mother, wife, shepherd, fibre person and even as a child of God. A struggle with just one of these will cast a shadow on all. For the past week, I have struggled with all. So yesterday, feeling the sun's encouragement, I headed off into town to visit with Tonya, my Ukrainian friend. Tonya moved to Canada from the Ukraine, hoping for a new and better life. She lives in a very small apartment where she cooks and sells traditional Ukrainian food. Arriving there, she offers, "You want pierogies and coffee." I did not want pierogies but settled for a bowl of Ukrainian cabbage soup, some pampushry (Ukrainian donuts) and a cup of strong coffee. In broken English, Tonya talks about her home in the Ukraine as I sip my soup. Although I don't always understand her, I smile enthusiastically to encourage her and share in our conversation. I learn of strength, resilience, and courage as I watch and listen to her.

After our coffee, we admire the golds, reds, oranges, blues, purples, greens in her embroidery work. On the wall, hangs a picture of a field of bright golden sunflowers which reminds her of the fields of sunflowers back in the Ukraine, fields that stretch for miles. Tonya says that it is a miracle how the rows upon rows of sunflowers turn their heads in unison to follow the sun's rise in the sky. During the fifteen years she has lived in Canada, she has held onto that colourful image in her mind. We are to hold onto the colours; they are like jewels in our days. We so desperately need them. They bring encouragement and cheer. They engage us by telling stories. In doing so, they mark the passage of time. And in our hands, we are compelled to do the same as weavers, knitters, embroiderers, painters, gardeners...

Tonya

As I gather my things to return home, I feel challenged by my friend's life. It is so important to God that we see the colours in our days, the richness in our lives. There is a depth to our lives that God is waiting to show us. We become involved in the process as we wait for Him to reveal more, like an idea that runs into a flow of ideas. The master creator teaches us. And we learn to express this very personal and intimate experience in colours. It is really God's love that we are expressing in colours. God says, " I am a rainbow...colour me."

"Giggle"

2009-01-31T22:14:00.004-05:00

Just received an email this week that said, "It's almost spring in Canada!"

WINTER IS ALMOST OVER.
WE CAN NOW SEE THE DEER WANDERING AROUND.

Snow is an amazing and complex entity! It comes falling silently, millions upon millions, each flake perfect and distinct. Consider its many faces. It may lie deep and drifting, crunch under the weight of our boots on cold winter nights, or deceive us as we try to make our way over its hardened, glass like surface until it is gathered up into the clouds. The first winter we had sheep, one wintery morning I was startled to see one of my spring lambs stumbling to walk. I was even more startled that a second lamb began to stumble a few minutes later. "Now this was curious!" As I pondered this strange sight, wise shepherd that I am, s..l..o..w..l..y the problem became evident. Over night the snow had hardened into a crust that allowed the sheep to walk on top of it for a few steps until a hoof would sink beneath the crusty surface. The whole picture was rather amusing to see many sheep stumbling over the surface of the snow. Snow is very clever too.

After yesterday's snowfall followed by a night of cold winter winds, our driveway was drifted over by morning. My husband left in the morning with our truck, leaving us with a broken snow plough. We were snowed in.

My daughter who is one of the most determined young ladies I know (You might call it stubbornness.), decided that she was going to drive through the drifts, regardless. With all the resolve in the world, she was not going to go through those drifts that lay taller than the bottom of her car, given the laws of force and motion. We cannot achieve the supernatural (things of God) by the natural ways of this world no matter how determined we are. It just doesn't work that way. So, about a third of the way down a very long driveway, she embedded her car into one giant drift.

Without a tractor, it was time to get out the hockey sticks, fence posts, shovels and anything I could find to poke through the snow lodged under the car which was also sitting between two drifts. She had pushed so much snow under the car that the wheels were not going anywhere. After poking, digging and smiling for thirty minutes, I gave up and called the big guns in. My wonderful kind neighbours came with their heavy duty snow plough and their strong muscles and my little determined daughter rolled on finally after learning yet another life lesson, I hope.

A Pretty Vessel

2009-01-29T15:58:00.007-05:00

Each day, several times a day, I empty the ice out of the water buckets in the barn and refill them. I use the old fashion method of taking the buckets and slamming them against the frozen ground. From these efforts, over the winter, I have built up a sheet of ice for the sheep to slip and slide on in the paddock, unfortunately for them.

Layer upon layer, the ice has built up, like the memories of the years in our lives, some pleasant but some filled with disappointments, unfinished dreams, and always some hurt, cleverly hidden. These memories command our attention. We are those who sigh...shake our heads...think, "I wish!"

My mother gave me this piece of pottery many years ago. I enjoyed using it to carry warm water to the rabbits in the barn as it was such a pretty vessel. However last week, I forgot to return it to the house and it cracked from within. Now it has lost its purpose, left to sit, a reminder.

Isn't life like that sometimes? Over the years, the disappointments, lost dreams, hurts build up until we forget who we once were. When did we change? What was it that we wanted so much to do? Our passions subside; we grow cold. There are very few of us who age gracefully. During the past several months as I have been visiting my neighbour and friend in the chronic care ward at our local hospital, I have met two gentlemen who felt burdened to tell me, a total stranger, how they were saddened that they had not been better people. They had grown cold.

I don't want to grow cold. I want to remain feeling warm and secure. I don't want to do just what needs to be done. I want to be a beautiful precious vessel, doing just the right thing for love. How might this happen? ....by surrendering our disappointments and hurts to our Lord. Having done that, as if by magic, we become beautiful and filled with purpose. These are not just pretty words. Stop.....feel the warmth of His gaze upon you. There will be a new song on your lips...warmed from within.

I brought my pottery inside and sadly discovered that when it was warmed up, it was only the ice that held it together.

A Song In the Night

2009-01-24T02:08:00.007-05:00

I have long been familiar with the call of coyotes at night. After being awakened from my dreams by their howling, it takes me less than three minutes to plant my feet on the floor, wrap myself up in a house coat, jump into my rubber boots and head out to the barn. I never rest in the fact that the sheep are enclosed in an electric fence. Come certain times, the coyotes follow the deer which follow the creek that runs through our property, very close to my barn. I am sure, my sheep are well known for their distinctive odour in and throughout the surrounding woods, especially on hot summer nights.

It is not the howling of the coyotes that sets my sheep to bellowing loudly, but the appearance of me in the dead of night in my nightie and rubber boots for I bring excitement. I bring food! Before they work themselves up into a fevered pitch, I try to quiet them down by throwing a few flakes of hay at them. It is futile to get them all into the barn where I can lock them safely inside. There are always one or two that hang annoyingly in the dark shadows outside the barn. Finally out of frustration, I yell loudly at the invisible coyotes who by this time have begun to move on, anything to get away from this wild woman in her nightie and rubber boots. It is a familiar happening but it is not the noises of the night outside that disturb me now but the noises within.

For two weeks now, I have had to listen to Danny, my barn cat, howl at the windows at night. He is only now beginning to accept his predicament. It is now the angora rabbit I brought inside, out of the cold, that awakens me each night as he smashes his water and feed dishes around. He has always done this but it has never bothered the sheep very much. Having dashed down the stairs to refill his water dish last night, I had just settled under my lovely woollen blanket, when I heard something ripping paper in the kitchen. Ah yes- that would be Golda, the cat, ripping open the new cat food bag I had unfortunately left on the kitchen table. I chose to remain under my warm blanket knowing that in the morning, there would be a large gaping hole in the food bag. Ellie, my daughter's chinchilla, comes to life each night, running up and down, over and over, rattling her large apartment sized cage as she goes. Hank by this time has decided that this is all too much for him as he gets up, flipping his water dish over to let me know that he is thirsty. Then two seconds later, Pepper, my Schnauzer, decides that it is time to start his day and go outside.

There is no escape! I lie in the midst of one interruption after another, catching some sleep in between each interruption. My mother would say, it is because we have too many animals. Do most people sleep throughout the night uninterrupted? When things are working right, it a wonderful plan of God, to have us go softly into the night to find our rest. But like the plea of Dylan Thomas, I have raged against the dying light and did not go gentle into the good night. The analogy is not perfect but the words work. I know this place well. There have been times that I did not find rest in Him. It is really about waiting. It is all about waiting...waiting to be nourished by the presence of God. We must not let ourselves be troubled as we become focused on ourselves and "disturb the nourishment of the life of God" within in us.

It is light now and I have moved on but in the distance, I can still hear Buttons, my rabbit, continuing to clang his dishes around. I will take a deep breath and quiet myself and as I wait, He will be revealed in me.

As you wait...He will be revealed in you.

"By day the Lord ordains His kindness
and by night His song is with me-
prayer to the God of my life." Psalm 42

This beautiful thought of the psalmist speaks of hearing God's song in the nights or being mindful of God's kindness, he responds in the night with a song.

How lovely!

Four Stories: Four Cats

2009-01-18T18:52:00.014-05:00

Despite the extreme wintery weather, my sheep are taking some time to leap and frolic in the paddock. The return of the sun after several cloudy overcast days, seems to have energized them. A similar behaviour is occurring in the woods behind our house. Some of the deer have been dashing through the woods, chasing each other, while others take turns cautiously creeping up to the feed pile behind our house, nibbling at the corn. They stand alert, ears straining to listen for any disturbing sounds, muscles tensed, ready to run in an instant. I continue to watch as a majestic 12 point buck emerges out of the woods. As he moves quietly to the feed corn, a crippled doe along with her fawn, moves out of his way, respectfully.
Hank,my border collie and I will visit the feed pile this afternoon and examine the tracks left in the snow, perhaps putting some more corn out. And we too will perform the ancient custom of leaping and frolicing in the snow. I have lost one of my beautiful Angora rabbits this week because of the extreme cold temperatures. So, I have brought my last remaining rabbit, Buttons, into the house to be pampered and spoiled for the remaining winter where he will thrive. I have even brought the barn cat in as his nose is bright red with the cold. I thought it might be a good time to introduce you to our cats.

Fluffy (also known as Igor)was rescued from another farm that had too many cats. When I found him, he had very frost bitten ears along with a tormenting case of ear mites. To prevent more frost bite, our vet removed what was left of his external ears. Without any ears and his deeply set yellow eyes, most people who see him, remark how ugly he is and for that reason, he is a lonely cat that receives little love and attention. Shortly after he arrived, we had to remove most of his teeth due to dental disease. It was a most fortunate day for my toothless friend when I brought home to our farm.

Golda, our next cat, is a bold and sassy girl which causes trouble between her and the other cats. She emerges out of the house each morning as if she owns the yard and everything in it. One would hardly suspect that she was a cast off at the side of the road. She is frequently guilty of publishing my posts prematurely as she walks on my keyboard.

Danny, you have already met in a previous post. After messing with a rabbit, he arrived at my door a few days later with a badly lacerated and infected eye. A rabbit's foot in the wrong direction, can leave a nasty reminder. We had to sew a button on Danny's forehead, which we attached to his third eyelid so he would have a ready made eye patch. To prevent him from scratching off his button, he wears a "buster collar" which is most upsetting to him as he cannot bathe himself and what is a cat if he can't bathe himself. Pirate Danny spends the nights prowling the house, upset that he cannot be outside hunting.

Finally, we come to Muffin. Although Muffin spends most of her time sitting at the window looking out, she can never quite summon the courage to go out. Muffin came with our house. We found her under our back porch although she had been neutered and declawed. It took quite some time before we could convince her to come into the house and once she did, we didn't see her for several days. As Muffin came with no tail, we suspect she was traumatized as a kitten. She is not a cat that one can just pick up and cuddle; you must wait for her to come to you. Sitting on my couch with a blanket folded around me, I watch Muffin attempt to walk over to me but she is looking anxiously at the folds in the blanket. She begins to place one dainty little paw down on a fold but decides it is too risky and dashes away. That is how Muffin lives in her world. She carefully considers how uncomfortable she will feel in order to seek out a brief moment of affection. We understand this and ask no more of her than she can handle.

We did not choose any of our cats. They came to us one by one, each with a unique, different story. And each new day, they tell their stories to me...always different but always the same. Since the world began, we have told stories to each other and especially to our children. A young child quickly learns of the magic of "the story" as they enter into it. It reveals to them the truth in others and in themselves, leaving a lasting presence of something wonderful, something deep. From these early days as children, we learn to listen to each other's stories and if we have learned well, we will touch the hearts of others. No matter whether you are ignored like Fluffy, bold like Danny, saucy like Golda, or deeply wounded like Muffin, you each have a story that is valuable to bring to the world, to share with others. Through the writers of the gospels, we know the attraction and power of "the story." We know that every story they told of what Jesus did in Palestine, He does today. He didn't just change lives then; He is changing lives today. His life and power remains in "the story."

Muffin...safe in the arms of love.

So You Want To Be My Friend?

2009-01-10T22:08:00.009-05:00

The snow continues to fall. It lies on the backs of the sheep. Danny, our barn cat, is in trouble again. He has been confined to the house because of an injury which I will tell you of, in my next post. He is not happy as he goes from door to door to window to door, sniffing the drafts and scratching and meowing, continually plotting an escape each time the door opens. Because he thinks he is ready to go out, he is planning a hunting trip that he hopes will take him out into the winter landscape. It is cold, windy, and the snow is deep; Danny will stay inside today.

We read in John 15:11-17:

"I have spoken these things to you that my joy might be in you, and that your joy might be complete. This is my commandment, that you love one another, as I have loved you. I no longer call you slaves, because the slave does not know what his master is doing. I have called you friends because I have made known to you, everything that I heard from my Father. You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and I have appointed you to go out and bear fruit, of such a kind that it will remain. I have done so that the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. These are my orders to you, that you love one another."

What did Jesus say? He calls me His friend? There have been many times in my life when my heart has ached for someone to call me friend. Loneliness is a part of every human life. "It is part of our common humanity. It draws us together." It draws us to God. But the world shuns such neediness, so we hide it under the illusion of "this beautiful world." We find ourselves excluding and ignoring the angry, hurt, wounded, weak, handicapped, and those who have failed, because of our own poverty of spirit. We are consumed by our own lives, our own plans.

Today many young and old people are waiting for someone to lead them out of despair into hope If they only knew the hope that is in Jesus Christ and by His spirit, He is already at work in them. His spirit will move in people and places we could not hope to imagine. And so it is today as it was in Bethsaida, Jesus attracts people to Him and as He does, the plan of God is unfolding and unfolding. It flows from the Father to the Son, into the hearts and minds of those whom Jesus has called. Although it was John who guided these first two disciples to Him, it is the Father who draws the hearts of these young thirsty men. Later Jesus will say, "I have revealed your name to those whom you took from this world to give to me. These were yours and you gave them to me." (John 17:6) When you already belong to someone, things will move according to their plan. As these two disciples began to follow Jesus, He turned to ask, "What are you looking for?" These were the first words of Jesus in the gospel of John. "What are you looking for?"

With those words, little by little, they will enter into a relationship with Him. It will proceed according to a plan. "Rabbi, teacher, where do you live?" Jesus responded, "Come and see." And they stayed with Him. Then Andrew goes to find Simon, his brother; then Philip comes; then Nathanael. And by the end of the fourth day, Jesus will have gathered around him six disciples who in time will take His message to the four corners of the earth. He did not call them to give them the plan of salvation, a set of rules, an ideology; He called them to be His friends, his partners. He shared His vision. He opened His heart to them. His friendship was the heart of His message to them. There is a vitality and a driving force to these first few days in the ministry of Jesus that is thrilling to read. As it was for the disciples, it remains a new journey, that once we know Jesus, "will take us not away from the world but into it." The heart of His message is about friendship, community, humility, washing each others feet.
The experience of discovering love in order to love is learned slowly over a life time. For me it has been a long journey. For those of us who have little to share... for a while, we will share our weaknesses. And when we have absolutely nothing, we will share our trust.

You might ask as Nicodemis did, "How can this happen?" Jesus is not simply an example to follow which leaves us frustrated and defeated as with many New Year's resolutions. No, He is more than that. He is a Saviour. It is God in us that does things. He wants to live life through us as He is the vine and we are the branches. We will walk together with the same vision. He will abide in us.

Years ago, I had the opportunity to work in a small cottage hospital in Burgeo, on the south coast of Newfoundland. One evening as I was tending to our small group of patients, I felt a small tug on my dress. I looked up to see a painfully thin woman who had come into the hospital from an island down the coast. Her life of toil and hardship was etched onto her face in many lines and creases. From her mouth sang the words, "Will ye bide with I tonight." One of the nurses who came from this area, called over her shoulder as she was passing out of the door, "She wants to know if you will sleep with her tonight, to keep her warm?" Now...over twenty years later, I still see her beautiful face in my mind as I see others from over the years that have cried out in their own way, "Will ye bide with I tonight?" It grieves me greatly that I did not always see their beauty, their needs.

We are simply humans "enfolded in weakness and in hope, called to change our world, a heart at a time."(Jean Vanier) This is the mysterious tranformation that results in joy each day, to know and fulfill the Father's will in us, our calling...to keep each other warm... close to our hearts. This is our rising sun.

May His shalom be with you and go forth from you. Pam

Long Ago, Even Before He Made The World....

2009-01-03T18:16:00.008-05:00

In Ann Nolan Clark's simple but thought provoking children's story, Secret of the Andes, we read of young Cusi, son of the nobility of the ancient Incas's, as he helps Chuto, keeper of the royal llamas, guard and protect the flock. Searching his heart and the secrets of his life, he comes to accepting his destiny, his calling. Cusi vows with words that that cut themselves into his heart until life's end, to keep the royal llama flock intact, breeding them with wisdom, tending them with knowledge, giving them out with judgment and then someday, guiding, training and protecting a new shepherd to take over when he himself will rest in the place of the ancients. His religion becomes his life and his life becomes his religion.

Listen as Cusi for the first time, goes to greet the sun god, as a child of the sun.

Cusi wakened to the sound of llama-humming. Such a beautiful sound, he thought, even more beautiful than the music the minstrel blew on his Pipes of Pan....The llamas stopped humming. Chuto was coming among them. He was greeting them in the Indian way. He was telling them that the new day was with them, that they must be up to graze the ychu grass. He came to where Cusi lay snug and warm with his black head cradled in Misti's long black hair.

"This is a new day for you, too, Cusi," Chuto said to the boy. "Today you will come with me to greet the sun." Cusi leaped to his feet, startling Misti with his quick jump. He had wanted many times to go with Chuto into the gray dawn to greet the sunrise. Chuto always before had refused him. He had said, "Not this day. The time has not come." But today it had come. Cusi lost no time in following the old Indian through the flock of resting llamas, across the meadow of ychu grass to the far end of the valley.

The morning was cold with the coldness of before dawn. It was gray with the grayness of before dawn. It felt unfriendly because the world had not yet wakened to make it happy with living things.

Chuto was a dark shadow moving in the gray shadows. Cusi followed him swiftly lest he become lost in the earth clouds that billowed around them.

When they reached the far side of the meadow Chuto turned abruptly into a path between two stunted, twisted trees. Cusi had not been here before because he had not thought that the twisted trees were sentinels to a secret trail. At once the path led downward, steeply downward. It turned and curved and circled among the giant boulders of a canyon wall. Cusi was panting now, partly from excitement and a little from fear of the dark shadows and misted forms and the unsure footing of the unfamiliar secret trail. Suddenly his feet felt firm rock beneath them. He knew he was standing on cold rock steps and then that slowly, carefully, gropingly he was climbing down, climbing down, climbing down.

Suddenly he had reached the bottom. The trail now led through a narrow, deep-walled canyon. A few more steps and they came to the end of the trail. It was brighter now. Cusi looked around, stunned with delight. He and Chuto were standing on a flat tablelike rock of pure white marble. Around them was a circle of tiny trees, gnarled and old and growing huddled together, guarding their secret. Beneath the marble rock lay, quiet and still and dark and deep, a pool of night black water. There was no sound. There was no movement. No wind blew through the twisted, tangled branches of a tree. No bird chirped its morning prayer. No twig broke beneath the fleet foot of a running fox. No wavelet rippled in the somber pool. Chuto turned to face the eastern sky that arched above the dwarfed tree tops. He waited. Cusi waited. The whole world waited.

Slowly the gray sky turned silvery blue, then golden yellow, then flaming red. The sun, a giant ball of fire, rose in majesty. Chuto raised his arms and chanted his sunrise call as Indian men have chanted since the world was made and the Inca was born. His words rose skyward, word upon word upon word. The world stayed still to listen.

Chuto chanted:
"O Sun! Great Father of the Inca
who have gone before us.
Great Father of the children of the Inca
who remain in this world.
Forget us not though we are few in number.
Forget us not though our ancient greatness
is now but a shadow
in the memory of man
Forget us not though our ancient pride
is as the dust of the earth
blown before the willful wind."

"O Sun! Great Father of the Inca!
Shine in thy glory upon us in safety.
Shine in thy glory upon us in peace.
Shine in they glory upon us in wisdom.
Keep our minds clear in thy light.
Keep our hearts young in thy warmth.
Keep our feet straight in thy path,
for we are thy children,
O Sun! O Sun!
Great Father of the Inca."

Chuto finished his chanting. The sun had risen...."Come, Cusi, We go back the way we came. There is but one trail here."

Such anticipation!! The coming of each new day for these ancient people, pointed to their God and gave them each and every day, an opportunity to declare who they followed! The coming of the sun brought warmth, beauty, familiarity and purpose to their lives. Such thoughtful people like Cusi and Chuto will always seek and find truth for themselves but there will be some things always beyond their obtaining.

We worship an ancient God who "long ago even before He made the world, loved and chose us in Christ, to be holy and without fault in His eyes." (Eph. 1:4) In the small village of Bethsaida, many years later, Jesus said to his disciples, "Ye have not chosen me but I have chosen you. (John 15:16) Paul in his letter to the Ephesians emphasizes, "for He chose us from the beginning, and all things happen just as He decided long ago." (Eph. 1:11) What was significant about Him choosing us? What difference did that make in the unfolding of His plan? Please join me in my next post as we consider how having been chosen, should revolutionize our lives, our world...and point to who we are in Christ...each...new...day.

Let us anticipate our God and be ready to follow.

Gloucester Cathedral Choir - In the Bleak Midwinter

2008-12-27T11:12:00.002-05:00

A SEASON OF CONTRAST

It is a cold evening as I make my way to the barn. The ground is covered with snow. Long gone are the magnificent colours of autumn days; winter is upon us. The water in the rabbit's cages begins to freeze before I have even left the barn and already three frozen ice buckets have cracked. I can just barely see the outlines of the sheep in the outside pen. Choosing to lie down on the icy cold frozen ground, their heads turn as they silently watch me enter into the barn. Maybe they are hoping they won't have to get up.

Once inside the barn, the sheep get up and stumble in as they realize that it may just be worth the effort. I offer up some icy cold water from the well but their eyes tell me this isn't what they had hoped for. Feeling guilty, I throw them a few flakes of hay to munch on.

Snack finished, the sheep move back outside and once again prepare to lie down on the frozen ground. It is more than just a skilful process but a moment to enjoy, watching as they drop to their knees, sliding each slender leg under their expansive bellies. Snuggling under their long fleece coats, they settle. "Sorry to have disturbed you."

Winter is a season of sharp contrasts. We hate it; yet it comes as an old friend with wonderful memories. Nothing escapes its impact. Despite its harshness, each new snowfall softens everything it touches, hiding the greys and browns of this time of year. On and around the farm, in the woods, the animals are warmed by their timely thickened coats. Its bleakness imposes times of warmth and comfort as family and friends gather around fires with hot chocolates, steaming cups of coffee, gentle conversations, gift giving...much like walking through cold uncomfortable times in our lives forces us to become intimate with the saviour. There is not a cold bleak place we can go where He has not been and felt also the paradox of winter. He came as a baby in a manger but reigns as a king. His words were simple but His message magnificent. He gave us a priceless gift in exchange for our simple hearts.

Like the surprises that lie hidden in the barren landscape of winter, God brings light into the darkness of our world, into our lives for those who patiently wait. His gentle loving presence will warm our hearts in the mid bleak winter of our lives. Through this bleakness, we see what is of true value. We will set aside that which we once loved. What we thought was of no value, becomes priceless- His presence, His comfort, His promises. He comes into our midst to bring us peace. Thank you Lord.

Is This A Distraction?

2008-12-19T23:36:00.004-05:00

Yesterday morning as I stepped outside, my animals bounded out the door, once again eager to investigate the new day.
They seemed energized by the new snowfall as dogs chased cats, cats chased rabbits. All was well until I spotted my barn cat Danny, crouched motionless beside a bush and on the other side of the bush, a rabbit quietly sat. I anticipated at any moment Danny would pounce and the struggle would begin. Danny is our favourite barn cat although we choose to ignore his passion for killing. Hoping to prevent this all being played out before my eyes, I yelled his name, sending Hank, my border collie, bounding out to investigate. I was able to get to the rabbit and realized he had already been victimized. On his cheek, the flesh was torn with blood spilling out onto the snow. As Danny had obviously missed in the first struggle, I believe his strategy was now to wait until the rabbit had weakened before proceeding. I swept up bunny to bring him inside, once again thinking how unfortunate...'another distraction in an already busy day.' I could see that I was going to have to rearrange my day. But was it really a distraction? Sometimes what we think are distractions, are purposeful events in our day, chosen for us to learn from and what we think is the inevitable: our obligations, schedules, things that consume us, are merely distractions.

I like what Cheryl from Transparent Shepherding says: Day to day thoughts and happenings often fall by the way-side untouched to reasoning behind it all. The book of Ecclesiastes says "...there is a time and purpose for everything under Heaven." To me this means nothing, NOTHING goes unnoticed by our Heavenly Father, no matter how large or small we may think it is. With this in mind, how much more should we consider (and reconsider) our every thought, action, reaction etc.

It does not matter as much whether all the thoughts and events of our day are God ordained but how we choose to deal with them. How do we decide what are the distractions in our day? I wish I could tell you but I do know that just that morning, the Lord had been impressing upon me to order my steps wisely. According to C.S. Lewis, when we choose to become a Christian, some of the things we want to do, turn out to be what we call wrong and we must give them up. Some of the things our self does not want to do, turns out to be right and we need to do them. So when all the demands have been met of this new life, we are hoping that the poor 'natural self' will still have some choices and time to get on with our life. It will always be a dilemma which causes us concern, uneasiness and guilt each day when we approach it this way. (Mere Christianity) However, Christ says to hand over that 'natural self' and He will give you a new self. Dare we give Him our whole self with all our wishes and desires?

That is why the real problem of the Christian life comes where people do not usually look for it. It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply to shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day. Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings; coming in out of the wind." Mere Christianity

When things, people, ideas unexpectedly come our way as we happen upon our journey, and we see these as great interruptions to our lives; we have probably taken the new day we have placed in God's hands away from Him. He is no longer in charge and we are apt to get distracted.

There are times when the distractions in life are more than just annoying but place themselves squarely in our path as we attempt to go God's way. Feeling the call of God to the Lisu people of China, Isobel Kuhn pours her heart out to J.O. Fraser because her parents will not let her enter the mission field. He began by telling her how lonely the life of a missionary can be.

After he finished, she told him about her mother's determination to keep her at home, and he heard her out in silence. When it seemed that he wasn't going to say anything more, she ventured to ask if he would underline a verse in her bible to take along when she went to bible school-if the Lord opened the way. He turned to 1 Peter, chapter 5. Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you. Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour. Whom resist- He underlined the last words twice, then stared out across the ocean.

Finally he said, "Miss Miller, I have sensed that Satan is opposing you and working through your mother and your brother. We are taught "whom resist" when it comes to obstacles produced by the Devil. I think that this should be your stand. I have a prayer that I often use when I run into problems; If this obstacle be from Thee, Lord, I accept it; but if it be from Satan, I refuse him and all his works in the name of Calvary."
(Nothing Daunted. The Story of Isobel Kuhn)
Isobel was to remember this advise and it served her well at crucial times on the mission field to the Lisu people.

Well, my day was reordered, bunny was cared for, and Danny was...sigh...Danny disappeared into the woods to hunt yet again. I will feed him an extra large supper in hopes that he won't want rabbit for breakfast tomorrow. I had planned for three more blogs before Christmas but this one sneaked out- hoping that it was not a distraction.

The One Who Is Thirsty

2008-12-14T21:36:00.004-05:00

A dear friend of mine shared with me recently how her father's favourite hymn was "How Great Thou Art" by Carl Gustaff Boberg. She had purchased a DVD of Sandi Patty singing this great hymn with Lisa Smith beautifully signing along with her. One day, her unsaved husband stood watching this performance along with my friend and remarked how beautiful it was. I would like to say that he was convicted in his heart through the words of this hymn but that part of the story is not written yet.

Mr. Boberg was a Swedish pastor, editor and a member of the Swedish Parliament. One day while he was enjoying a walk, a sudden thunderstorm appeared out of nowhere. When the storm subsided, he looked out at the clear sky over the bay. Hearing a church bell in the distance, the words began to form in his heart:

O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder,
Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made;
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

Through the peace following this fierce storm, God spoke into his heart, the words of this hymn which continues to speak to us today.

Several days after this story, I was travelling to church as I prayed for my friend and her unbelieving husband. The words of a hymn that I sang in my childhood came to me. It was a hymn I hadn't sung for many years and I had some difficulty remembering all the words. Finally after piecing them together, I remembered it to be, "My Faith Looks Up To Thee" by Ray Palmer (1808-1887)

My faith looks up to Thee,
Thou lamb of Calvary, Saviour divine!
Now hear me while I pray, take all my guilt away,
O let me from this day, be wholly Thine!

May Thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart, my zeal inspire!
As Thou hast died for me, O may my love to Thee,
Pure warm, and changeless be, a living fire!

When life's dark maze I tread,
And griefs around me spread, be Thou my guide;
Bid darkness turn to day, wipe sorrow's tears away,
Nor let me ever stray from Thee aside.

When ends life's transient dream,
When death's cold sullen stream over me roll;
Blest Saviour, then in love, fear and distrust remove;
O bear me safe above, a ransomed soul!

Almost immediately, yet another memory came to me. When I was a child, in my home, on the top shelf in my front hall closet, was a beautifully patterned old cloth bag and inside this bag was a dozen worn and tattered blue hymnals. I was always drawn to this bag and when my mother wasn't home, I would climb to the top shelf and open it, examining these little blue hymnals with the tiny print. At intervals, the Women's Missionary Society would meet at our house. To prepare for this meeting, the house was scrubbed and polished until spotless; a white cloth perfectly ironed, was brought out; and the dining room table was set with the best teapot and an assortment of brightly patterned teacups, all carefully arranged. My mother's best baking was brought out at the last minute. Just before the ladies of the Missionary Society began to arrive, my father, sister and I were banished to the basement for the duration of the meeting. My sister and I monitored the progress of the meeting by the muted sounds coming down through the heat ducts. But our best moment came when the women opened those blue hymnals and began to sing loudly the hymns my sister and I knew well. That was our cue to giggle uncontrollably throughout each hymn selection. When the last of the singers left, my job was to pick up the hymnals and return them to the bag which I placed on the top shelf of the closet.

Shortly after, through a series of events, a letter came into my possession, written by Mr. Palmer, dated November 26th, 1870 and written from 49 Biblehouse, New York. In this letter, Mr. Palmer writes, " I had no thought of writing a hymn for others. It was born of my own soul-an experience of my profound feelings and finished I remember with tears at the time and I do not remember that any person ever saw it till two years later....I will only add that more than one instance has it come to my knowledge in which while reading this hymn, a soul has first received its redeemer and a very great number in which it has been the dying song of holy souls. For which all glory be to the dying Lamb himself who is the substance and charm of the piece."

A story, within a story, within a story and what is the common thread throughout? Today, God continues to speak through these words born out of solitude. Out of a thirsty heart longing, flows something powerful...feelings of love, words of love, deeds of love. The story has always been about one moment of honesty, one thirsty heart, one saviour, and one drop of blood. We see such a moment as Jesus spoke to the thief on the cross: "Today you will be with me in paradise." (Luke23:43) Longing was met with longing: one was of faith and the other of love.

My mother didn't share with me in words how she thirsted after God. Instead, as a child I remember how perfectly she prepared for these missionary meetings. I remember how she faithfully took us to church every week. I remember our family's commitment to God. I may have begun my search for God through my mother's faith but only alone could I have met him and then truly said:

My faith looks up to Thee,
O Lamb of Calvary, Saviour Divine!
Now hear me while I pray, Take all my guilt away,
O let me from this day be wholly thine!

For those loved ones that have yet to meet the Saviour... alone, in one honest moment, I pour my heart out in prayer that they would thirst after Him, that they would come to Him, that they would know His love. Amen.

A Winter's Perspective

2008-12-09T09:46:00.000-05:00

Waking up in the mornings, my thoughts are usually jumbled, a multitude of fractured thoughts of what my life should be about...people, places and things to do. This morning I awoke early to a dull, bleak December day, void of colours, a grey stillness with the constant but gentle drizzle of rain. The bleakness of the grey landscape allowed my mind for a few minutes to focus on the simplicity of life. It is so simple, yet we lose our gaze when there is much to see. After I had awakened and begun to study the landscape, my husband awoke. Glancing outside, he was moved to say,"What a miserable day!" Strange....I was profoundly moved by its entrance, a few moments earlier. I felt secure, almost in awe of how simple it was all meant to be.

I would soon trudge out to the barn through the mud to feed my sheep. I sometimes wonder why I love my life in the country with my animals. There is something satisfying for me about pulling on my smelly barn clothes and going out to the barn on what might look like a cold miserable December day...it isn't that at all. It is a secret...it is my secret. The sheep look up at me, waiting...waiting for me. They know me and I know them well. I study their stunning coats made of various colours and textures. I make sure to run my fingers through some of their coats as they pass by me. I stay to listen to hear the rustling as they pull apart their flakes of hay. I watch how after testing the water with their noses several times, they drink deeply and the water level in the bucket goes down surprisingly fast. I am deeply thankful to observe these what you might think, small and insignificant events in my day. It is all very simple stuff, isn't it?

Our Christian walk can seem anything but simple at times...so many bible verses and which one do I use for this time. Is God really listening and what does he want me to do? Yet, it is simple. The ancient editors of the "Book of Psalms," chose a rather simple Psalm to begin.

Happy is the man who has not walked in the wicked's counsel,
nor in the way of offenders has stood,
nor in the session of scoffers has sat.
But the Lord's teaching is his desire,
and His teaching he murmurs day and night.
And he shall be like a tree planted by streams of water,
that bears its fruit in its season,
and its leaf does not wither-
and in all that he does he prospers.
Not so the wicked,
but like chaff that the wind drives away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand up in judgment,
nor offenders in the band of the righteous.
For the Lord embraces the way of the righteous,
and the way of the wicked is lost.

The imagery is simple but touching. The man, he walks...he stands...he sits, always choosing to simply follow God's teachings. It is a thoughtful life...a simple life despite its distractions. He murmurs as he goes "which is what one does in a culture where there is no silent reading." We meditate. Again, such a simple thing. How will we prosper? Will it be with wealthy possessions? It will be the rich knowledge that we awake to at dawn's first light, that we know who we are and place our new day in His hands, receiving all He has to give us. He "embraces" us. The Hebrew translation is to "know." He knows you. He really and truly knows you and that is getting close to, if not, the meaning of life...the meaning of this new day. HE KNOWS YOU. Simple!

MY kitty, Golda, runs to the door every morning to go out. It is her thrill, her duty. This morning as usual, she went out into this bleak December day. Shortly after, I glanced at her and gave her the option of returning into her(MY) warm, cozy living room by the fire. But no, she continues to sit on the front porch step, watching..... She just might miss something on this bleak December day. She is happy. "Happy the man" as he walks...stands...sits.

Blessings to you on this bleak December day. Pam

Nichole Nordeman - What If (tradução)

2008-12-07T16:44:00.001-05:00

What Can I Make of Christ?
The things He says are very different from what any other teacher has said. Others say, "This is the truth about the universe. This is the way you ought to go," but He says, "I am the truth, and the Way, and the Life." He says, "No man can reach absolute reality, except through Me. Try to retain your own life and you will be inevitably ruined. Give yourself away and you will be saved." He says, "If you are ashamed of Me, if, when you hear this call, you turn the other way, I also will look the other way when I come again as God without disguise. If anything whatever is keeping you from God and from Me, whatever it is, throw it away. If it is your eye, pull it out. If it is your hand, cut it off. If you put yourself first you will be last. Come to Me everyone who is carrying a heavy load, I will set that right. Your sins, all of them, are wiped out. I can do that. I am Rebirth, I am Life. Eat Me, drink Me, I am your Food. And finally, do not be afraid, I have overcome the whole universe." C.S. Lewis, The Grand Miracle.

Jesus Chose You.mpg

2008-12-07T01:58:00.001-05:00

In The Stillness of the Night-final thoughts continued

2008-12-07T00:38:00.000-05:00

Was It All A Dream?

WAS IT ALL A DREAM? WONDERED Shasta. But it couldn't have been a dream for there in the grass before him he saw the deep. large print of the Lion's front right paw. It took one's breath away to think of the weight that could make a footprint like that. But there was something more remarkable than the size about it. As he looked at it, water had already filled the bottom of it. Soon it was full to the brim, and then overflowing, and a little stream was running downhill past him, over the grass.

Shasta stopped and drank-a very long drink-and then dipped his face in and splashed his head. It was extremely cold, and clear as glass, and refreshed him very much. After that he stood up, shaking the water out of this ears and flinging the wet hair back from his forehead, and began to take stock of his surroundings.

The Horse and His Boy, C.S. Lewis

Jehovah Jireh

Only some will hear His call and answer. There is no doubt that sometimes it takes one special person, in one special place with just the perfect word. Whatever word or group of words that catches our attention, there has to be that seed of love already in our hearts. As we choose, the seed will grow and it will totally change us as it totally changed the lives of the disciples. People love either the light or the darkness and this love controls their actions.(John 3:16-19) Those who love the light become sons of light. We are invited to stand in the light, breathe in His life, eat of His bread, drink of His water. It is a new rest, a new vine, a new life. Drink deeply, dip your face in and refresh yourself as Shasta did for the Voice provided. From the fullness of His grace, we have received one blessing after another.(John 1:16) Like Abraham, other men of faith such as George Muller and Hudson Taylor cried out to Jehovah Jireh and He met their needs. They placed everything they had on the promise of God, the Lord will provide. As Paul said, "He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, will he not also give us all things with him."(Rom. 8:32) His blessings, one after another remind us, He is real...not a dream. He will be more real than life itself.

Take Time

But again, some of those who choose the light will fall away in time, returning to the things of this world. The temporary things of this world, sometimes seem to be all we need. However in time, colours fade, paths diverge, things lose their lustre and we are left alone. Understand that we don't immediately "forsake all and follow Him." It takes time to learn to be His disciples. Slowly we will learn to trust Him as we feel His power in our lives. The way of faith,as it was for Abraham, continues to be no easy option but a conscious bending of our will.

Let Your Actions speak

When my little friend came down the corridor to go home, very few words were said. Her thoughts were implicit in her actions. She simply acted. She knew a mother and father were waiting for her. As we go our way, it is not just about what we believe but what we do. We believe to act and in acting, our belief grows. Jesus did not enter into our lives to have us just believe in Him. Instead He speaks: "Come and see"(John 1:39); "Come and drink!"(John 7:37); "Come and dine!"(John 21:12) Come and enter in. Come and walk with me. Spend time in my word and in my teachings. You must enter in with everything you are. Hold nothing back.

C.S. Lewis writes,"What are we to make of Christ? There is no question of what we can make of Him. It is entirely a question of what He intends to make of us. You must accept or reject the story." He has invited you to become like Him-What will you do?

Father's Song Matt Redman

2008-12-06T18:36:00.001-05:00

Abraham said, "I and the lad will go...we will worship...we will come back." With each painful step up that mountain, Abraham, man of faith, faced a time of decision, testing and maturing. He waited for his God, Jehovah jireh as he and Isaac walked together. When God provided the sacrificial ram, there is no record of what Abraham said but he must have felt the Father's love in his heart.

In The Stillness of the Night-final thoughts

2008-12-06T13:58:00.001-05:00

The Father's Song

Where is God?

I am sure that most people would agree that we humans strive to know God. Throughout history, man has repeatedly asked, "Where is God?" Answering to a call of god to sacrifice his beloved son, Abraham and his son slowly climbed the mountain. As they went, the only thing that sustained him was a promise deposited into his heart: "through Isaac your descendants will be named."(Gen.21:2) The stone alter was built, the wood arranged, the sacrifice bound and yet there was only this pressing inner conviction that God would provide. The words echoed out from Isaac's mouth, into their empty and lonely place, as it has through time, "WHERE IS THE LAMB?" Yet despite this, He remains an enigma, a mystery....and I ask myself why, as many continue to search. We are a worshiping people. It is our nature. And when we don't know who that god is, we turn our gaze inward.

The Struggle

From the moment we are born, a struggle begins within us as thoughts of self dominate our lives: thoughts of pride in our achievements and possessions; our earthly passions; our goals and plans. We become lost in ourselves, worshiping ourselves. The dilemma is that we were created to worship Him, the one true god, our creator. This is our sin and with it, we can never know the Father as we were meant to...knowing His love.

He calls

The essence of God is revealed to us throughout nature, in His colours, textures, odours and sounds but we cannot inhale, see, touch and hear enough of His beauty around us to be satisfied.(Rom.1:20) His goodness is played out for us in history but it is only in the presence of Jesus Christ that the image of the invisible God is unfolded for us to see...to follow.(Col.1:15) He gave us His perfect and holy son to walk among us, teaching us how to love. We learn of the Father through Him as He is in the Father and the Father is in Him. "He that hath seen Me, hath seen the Father."(John 14:9) If we can grasp that we are His children and reach out for His forgiveness by believing in His son, we will establish a new identity for ourselves. In Him we learn of ourselves. As we lean on Him in our weakness, He makes us strong. He knows our sins but can also see deep inside to our heart's desire. He calls us beautiful. He is our loving father. This rich identity deposited into us, grows as we continue to walk with Him. His goodness is daily. As His spirit speaks to us through His word, in our hearts. He continues to call to us.

A Tender Heart Hears

I think back to when I worked on the northern coast of Newfoundland and Labrador for the Grenfell Association. Our hospital was situated in St. Anthony, a small harbour town at the tip of the northern peninsula. Life was simple there. The fog was a common occurrence as it flowed inland into narrows along the coast and back out again. Our lives were ordered by its coming and going. It affected the day to day running of the hospital as the small sea planes carried patients back and forth between their outport homes and the hospital. Sometimes patients were forced to remain in hospital for days until the fog moved out to sea.

Working night shifts in the children's ward at the hospital, I spent many mornings watching the sun rise over this quiet little harbour town. Just before dawn, the fishermen would start there outboard motors, making ready to head out to check their nets at sea. We would watch out the window as long as we could until the harbour and the surrounding houses became visible before beginning our morning duties.

One early morning, the hospital lay quiet as the sun had just begun to rise. We had several little children who had been waiting for the fog to clear so they could return to their homes. Just as I was about to begin my work, I heard a "SWISH...SWISH...SWISH" and coming down the corridor was a little girl, no more than five years old that was scheduled to leave on the plane that morning to return to her home. At dawn's first light, she had gotten up and taken her outerwear; dressed herself in her jacket, pants, hat, boots; and to her mind, began her journey home to her mother and her father. In tears she was taken to her room to be washed, redressed and fed. That night she again lay her outer clothing by her bed as the fog had stubbornly refused to leave. Many tears were shed and we tried our best to console her. I wish I could return to that morning and looking into that little girl's eyes and with a much gentler heart received from life's journey, I would tell her that she would go home. Her tender heart's desire was to return to the call of love in her heart.

One thing do I ask of the Lord,
it is this that I seek-
that I dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to behold the Lord's sweetness
and to gaze on His palace.

Psalm 27:4

To be continued...

Matt Redman - Facedown

2008-12-01T03:35:00.001-05:00

Sorry...I have tried over and over to place this video with In the Stillness of the Night...Part four but finally gave up. So here it is now...enjoy.

In The Stillness Of The Night...Part Four continued

2008-11-26T22:42:00.000-05:00

The Glory of Loving Kindness

"And he said, I beseech Thee, show me Thy glory. And he said, I will make all my goodness pass before thee, and I will proclaim the name of the Lord before thee. Exodus 33:18

Moses' request was not idle curiosity but true adoration. But instead of coming in majesty and splendour in the way we might expect, He came in goodness and kindness. "And He said, I will make all My goodness pass before thee and will proclaim the name of the Lord before thee....And the Lord passed by before him and proclaimed, The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abundant in goodness and truth."(34:6) This was not just one brief glimpse of who God was but a continuing thread throughout His walk with His people until He became flesh and lived among us. Some could not even recognize Him because they waited for a King clothed in splendour but He came in meekness: born in a shepherd's stable among the livestock; from a humble family; walked among common men-people of greed, adulterers, hypocrites, liars....to die on a cross. His might was seen in His walk as he performed miracles, not in power and majesty but done in love and service for us. Today He can be found in the weak, the poor, the lonely and the insignificant. In speaking of the Jesus who laid His hands on the children brought to Him, William Barclay writes:

" There is a loveliness on Jesus Christ that anyone can see. It is easy to think of these mothers in Palestine feeling that the touch of a man like that on their children's heads would bring a blessing, even if they did not understand why....Further, to Jesus no one was unimportant. Someone would say, "It's only a child; don't let him bother you." Jesus would never say that. No one was ever a nuisance to Jesus. He was never too tired, never too busy to give all of Himself to anyone who needed it."

A number of years ago, I asked the Lord why, when I was younger, I never heard His voice. I was very angry with Him for not helping me to follow a life consecrated in service to Him. Instead, I had wandered a great deal and wasted so much time. In my confusion, I came to Him late. He brought to my mind a memory I had long forgotten.

I grew up in a home where life was simple. We ate plainly, our weekly schedule seldom varied and our home was quiet with few visitors. One day my mother was minding the little boy who lived next door, David. That morning David and I played together. Across the street at the edge of town in a small group of houses where people often came and went, lived a little boy, Brian. Brian was to my mind, a gentle little person who rarely said much and let the more vocal children tell him what to do but he grinned a lot and I liked him. I didn't see him often but that day, he came to play with us. Near noon, my mother called us in for lunch. It was to be quite an event for me as we were to have hotdogs and chocolate milk which normally was reserved only for parties. Before I turned to go in, I looked at Brian and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "I am sorry too." In my little heart, I wanted so much to invite him but I was an anxious child and hesitated to ask my mother if Brian could come to lunch. When I arrived home, I managed to tell my mother that Brian had been playing with us too. She responded with,"Well why didn't you invite him?" I was thrilled and skipped out of the house to find him but he had gone. I remember walking down the driveway and stood staring at his house, hoping he would appear. Maybe I wasn't allowed to cross the road; I can't remember but as I turned to walk back, I remember feeling such disappointment that I had missed him. In the little heart of a five year old, I loved Brian and felt sorry for him.

As I thought about that memory, I grieved with tears over failing to invite that little boy to share our lunch. I know it must seem ridiculous and insignificant,and I too wondered why this memory should cause me such saddness and I asked the Lord to explain this to me. I felt God telling me, "I was there, in your heart as you longed for Brian to join you. I gave you your tender heart as mine is tender....and what you feel, I feel even more deeply. I was there then and I was there many more times as you walked your path."

"I was the lion," And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you." The Horse and His Boy, C.S. Lewis

God gives all of us many opportunities to be persuaded by His goodness. Search your minds for the times in your stories, His glory has been revealed in the tiniest details in your lives. We may sense God's presence, hear His voice, see Him in a symbolic object and in His beauty around us, but we cannot see Him face to face; except in the goodness of Christ. His glory comes to us each day. His mercies and goodness remain hourly each day.

His goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.