Gerry heads in one direction, exploring a potential hiking path to see if it's still too muddy for a group. Meanwhile, I stand in a silent space with a tiny Yorkie in my arms and breathe deep. Here, there are no distractions. No sound to break the sweet silence. No pressure to do anything but
I read a post this morning on Christy Woolum’s blog, Gathering Around the Table, called Ten Things Savimg My Life Right Now, where she shared 10 things helping her through the bleak mid-winter. Her post was in response to Anne Vogel’s post on her blog, Modern Mrs. Darcy, and invitation to others to do make
I wonder how it will end? Will we wake one day to the news announcing it’s over? Or will the word “pandemic” have to be pried from the cold clutching hands of the news media? Maybe it will quietly fade from the headlines, replaced by the word “endemic” and, one fine day, other things will
It's Wednesday and it's raining. Yes, raining. The deep freeze of a couple of weeks ago has passed and we're facing a string of rainy days. The good news is that it's mild outside. The not-so-good news is that it's also a slushy mess. Nonetheless, it's a relief after the cold. One of our eaves
After a busy morning out and about that included a trip to Costco because I wanted to get some pretty fall mums (of course, we came away with more than two pots of flowers), we settle in at home. Gerry heads downstairs to check his hiking schedule and make plans, Makiya reaches for my MacBook
Suddenly, I am alone. The girls are behind searching for rocks along the river, and Gerry is resting with his eyes closed at the car. I am struck by the silence and the peace of this place and stop to breathe prayer. For a moment, all that is, is here and now. I hold a stone
Barbara Brown Taylor (author of many books, including one of my favourites, Leaving Church), in a conversation on the Encountering Silence podcast, refers to silence as “God’s love language”. I sit with that thought for a time. I can’t claim to understand exactly what she meant, but believe silence is, to some extent, everyone’s love
I move my morning basket from beside the wing chair in the living room where I have watched the sky in all her splendour declare the glory every morning, to the den. Now, and through the dark months ahead, I’ll greet the day there, on the leather sofa under a Sherpa blanket. Cozy. In solitude
A news source puts out a summary in the morning: What you need to know. Below the headline it lists bullet points and links to more detail about each of the “must know” stories. I glance at the headlines with a critical eye. Nope. Don’t need to know any of those things. I need to
It’s wet. And gray. But there’s something about the formation of the clouds. And the shade of the green grass. Barefoot, I step out on the deck with my phone to capture the moment. This particular gray and green is for this time alone. This morning silence is manna for this moment only. A photo
Some things hit me like a punch in the gut and the terrible seems far bigger and louder than the beautiful. Other times, I lean in, look closely at something small and quiet and easily missed and there I find wonder that washes me in peace. I don’t subscribe to the theory that if I