Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Let temporal things be in the use, eternal things in the desire. Thou canst not be satisfied with any temporal good, for thou wast not created for the enjoyment of these.

Thomas Kempis

I’m contemplating what to write about this morning and grab a quote from my nighttime reading to ruminate on. I consider the trials and harshness of this world and how I struggle through the muck some days. I consider, too, those things of beauty and joy that delight me so much, and I know they are pale comparison to the glory of eternity.

I sit with this for a while and imagine that day.

Words don’t come so I pop over to read a few favourite sites I visit each morning. There I find the news that Rev. Billy Graham has died and the first words that come to mind are those of Jesus in one of the parables: “Well done, good and faithful servant . . . Enter into the joy of your lord.” (Matthew 25:21 NKJV)


Someday you will read or hear that Billy Graham is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it. I shall be more alive than I am now. I will just have changed my address. I will have gone into the presence of God.

Rev. Billy Graham

And it is well.



I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. Around the supper table at church last night, one of my friends commented about the inscription on Billy and Ruth’s shared tombstone: “Construction completed. Thank you for your patience.”

    I haven’t checked the veracity of this statement, but if it’s true even servants of God such as these revered pilgrims understand the tiresome tread through “the muck some days.”

    1. Indeed, Marian. We are all under construction, stumbling along and making mistakes, as we learn to become more Christ-like, aren’t we? I take comfort in the truth that even those we look up to like the Grahams were fallible and struggled. We are, all of us, more alike than we sometimes think.

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