I lifted the heavy, black binder from the box and set it on the table nearby. I hadn’t looked in it for years. It holds love letters…no not from my husband, they are in another place. These are love letters from my granddaughter.
‘Of the making of many books, there is no end’, so states Ecclesiastes 12:2. And I am so glad there is no end, for as long as there are people there will always be stories and as long as there are stories there always will be books.
It is winter. My only feathered friend in view is my area magpie. I look for him each day.
When I look back at my life at what had been overcome with God’s grace, I realize that although there were sometimes positives missing, there was always “hope.”
When asked to take on the job, I could hardly stop from saying “Yes, please.” My husband was without work and our savings account was pretty low. Little did I realize that the job would take over my whole life.
At church this week, our minister’s after-Christmas message, spoke of the young couple (Mary and Joseph) with their baby, fleeing the country and heading to Egypt. I had never given much thought to the courage this must have taken and the fear that invaded their world.
It was hard to give it up, but this year the Christmas tree sits in its box. Sometimes things happen and life is changed forever.
Horror of horrors a letter from the Tax department! Next to “There is water in the basement”, nothing can throw you into a state of panic like a letter from the Tax department.
I think most widows have things in their lives that are like triggers. Triggers that set in motion those memories that nearly take you to […]
My friend Paula is an expert on “end times” information. I am not an “end times” expert…and have not delved deeply into all the scriptural information on the subject as she has, so I listen but don’t let it worry me too much.
I have lost a good friend. Actually I have been losing her for years. When I finally questioned her she admitted I had said something many years ago that had upset her. Somehow, like yeast in dough, it had grown larger until it consumed what we had once had…a deep caring for each other. Then finally she said to me, “you’ve changed.”
We lived in Germany from 1955 to 1958. Those were years I will never forget. It was a horrendous trip over with me constantly throwing up and the fog horn blowing continuously. Worse was the fact that I knew the trip was going to have to be repeated three years later on our return to Canada.
Recently, I ran across the above statement made by war correspondent Matthew Halton in 1945, regarding the Second World War. It somehow spoke to me about how we look at life and death now-a-days.
My friend Paula and I have been discussing prayer. She is a great believer in prayer and prays often.
Little annoys me as much has having a great story idea in the middle of the night and being unable to recall it in the morning. Of course I could get up and write a few snatches of it at the time but the bed is warm and the room is cold.
I looked with awe at the small wine coloured prayer book I held in my hands…it seemed so familiar. I had not held that book since I was a child.
I recently put together a book of all my stories for the last few years. I called it “Reflections” as that is what my stories are…reflections of my life experiences.
The other day my neighbour invited me over to meet her new kitten, Cricket. I was as excited as I had been as a child, when a new kitten was placed in my arms.
I had not sung except in church for nearly six years and yet once my life had been full of song.
Edible, but not saleable! That is what I said as I tasted the banana muffins I had just pulled out of the oven. A little over done too, I decided.