My Heart Sings When. . . by Carol Harrison

My Heart Sings When. . .

I write a variety of pieces from novels to memoir, short true stories to poetry, devotionals to family stories. What thread ties these together and makes my heart sing as I work on them? As I considered this, several things came to mind. I reread my mission statement which says, “I am passionate about mentoring and encouraging people of all ages and abilities to find their voice and reach their fullest potential.”

Living out that statement starts with my family and involves my writing projects as well. I tried writing fiction because one of my grandsons, then aged sixteen, challenged me to try. He wouldn’t let me give up and gave me suggestions. My adult niece agreed with him and went one step further by asking for a story about a girl named Karla (her name), another girl named Amee, and a dog named Abby (her dog’s name). How could I say no?

Writing that first short Abby story and giving it to her made my heart sing. I had fulfilled a request of a much-loved family member and took up my grandson’s challenge. To see their excitement gave me joy and more writing to work on wh
en she requested a second story the next Christmas. She’s received five so far.

The fiction writing grew when I allowed myself permission to work on the challenge further. But a book needed a cover. One of my granddaughters, Arianna, pursued her fine art education and painted the cover of A Home for Susannah based on a

synopsis of the book. She has now done the covers of the second and third books in the series. Then her sister, Kelsi, digitizes them using her graphic design course. Kelsi creates the covers for the devotional books, often using her own photography. She has an
eye to capture a moment, a scene from a different perspective, and a passion for capturing an image. What a blessing to work with these two granddaughters and encourage them to use their God-given talents and gifts. To encourage them and watch them grow in their field makes my heart sing for more reasons than simply the writing project but also helps me engage with enthusiasm as I write.

Technologically illiterate or mostly so, I have another granddaughter, Kathryn, who formats the books for putting on KDP. She finds it so simple and thinks I could learn it. Yet it boggles my mind and makes me nervous. Formatting does not make me feel good at all but I enjoy working with her to take the beautiful cover design and edited words to a place where readers can find them.

Sometimes I write family stories to get printed and bound at Staples to give my children and grandchildren as gifts. It helps me remember experiences I’ve had, lessons learned, and family times from the good to the not as great. Every piece helped shape me and the tough stuff made me turn to God more than the good times. To be able to pass on these stories to the next generation also makes my heart sing.

Finding little gems in everyday moments and life events and then sharing those with others through writing devotionals or as illustrations when I speak encourages me. When others have ‘ah ha’ moments reading them, or something touches them deeply and they begin to get a glimmer of hope of a glimpse of joy, then I thank God for giving me the words to use. I just need to obey and share those words with others.

My heart sings when something I write encourages a reader. But I don’t always know the effect of my words on others so I must trust God to take the words He has given me and touch the lives of those who read them.

My heart sings when I work with the grandchildren to bring the books to completion. There have been lots of opportunities to interact with them, encourage them, be challenged by them, and work together to use our gifts and abilities to the glory of God. 

 

Carol Harrison loves to hang out with family and friends. She feels blessed to have so many people encourage her in her writing and speaking. Her books truly become a family affair.

 

He Touched Me - Gloria Guest

I believe in the power of human touch. I didn’t always. Due to my basic personality and childhood trauma, touch was not always comfortable for me, although over the years I’d grown so much in that area. But even now, after being deprived of hugs from acquaintances and friends alike and even family, I’m never going to be one who wants to go around hugging everyone. However, watching the light go out of my granddaughters’ eyes and be replaced with something that looked like a mixture of confusion and hurt, when I pulled away from their offered hugs the first time we saw them right after covid was labeled a ‘pandemic’, was an experience I’ll never forget. The relief I felt when their mom and dad told us to go ahead and give them a hug was palatable. So we did. And we have been ever since. I can sense the judgment. That’s okay. I’ve survived two years of judgments over this subject and was even called the ‘worst grandmother ever’. My grandchildren don’t share that opinion, so I can deal with that nasty remark too. Human beings ‘need’ touch. It’s a proven fact that we do better physically, emotionally, psychologically and yes, spiritually with touch. Jesus reached out to the lepers with touch and I’ve tried to imagine what that must have felt like for them. They had most likely gone years without the touch of another human being. And Jesus touched them! I believe that not only did it bring about their physical healing but that it must have brought a deep emotional and spiritual healing as well. Even while still in the midst of their disease, Jesus was saying that they were worthy to be touched. All through covid, I couldn’t help but imagine what Jesus response to all these ever changing measures, which were imposed on people, would be. I certainly couldn’t envision him in a mask nor could I see him refusing to touch someone, or encouraging his disciples to never touch another. If you can, that’s fine. But I sure can’t. And so, I suppose the silver lining throughout this whole ‘pandemic’ for me has been that I grew exponentially in understanding the power of ‘touch,’ an area of my life that had been damaged so much in the past. It’s just so ironic that it came in at a time when we were being told that all touch was dangerous and to be avoided. God’s healing came to me by continuing to hug my grandchildren and family, using common sense and caution, whilst shutting out the outside voices that thought they had the right to steal that from us. As a result, I held my precious, new born grandson. And I’ve never seen that look of hurt and confusion in my grandchildren’s eyes again. You cannot get time back. You cannot get back those times of bonding that little children need so much. Adults too. Their mom and dad were not allowed to bring the children in to see their great-grandmother as she lived in a nursing home in the community. In fact she was only allowed one family member. And so for the last year and a half of her life she waned away, unconvinced that it wasn’t because we’d all lost interest in her. She went deep into depression and died a year ago this month. That to me was sheer cruelty. As a grandmother myself, I know that I’d much rather put myself in some danger than to not be allowed to see my grandchildren for over a year or more. Death comes in many ways, and not always physically first. Death can come to the soul when one is deprived of the very basic need of touch; of human contact and connection. I have felt through this entire ‘pandemic’ that common sense (the baby) was thrown out with the bathwater and replaced with fear and division and governmental agendas. I for one am glad that our immediate family was able to come together on this subject; to agree on what was healthiest and best for the children in our family, to use caution and common sense as a measuring stick, and to listen to what we felt the heart of God was saying to us. And I am so thankful that God has used this time in my life to bring further healing to me regarding the healing power of touch. Thankful that He touched me.

Pre-Pandemic picture of my granddaughter napping with her great-grandmother. Blessings to you and yours. Gloria blogs and writes from her prairie home in Caron, Sk. Her genres include memoir, fiction, non-fiction, creative non-fiction and poetry. Currently she is working on an illustrated small book including a poem about the province of Saskatchewan that she has come to love, along with taking editing classes from Simon Fraser University.

Leaving a Legacy - Joylene M. Bailey

The words “Leaving a Legacy” bring up an instant image for me. 

I was about 8 or 9 years old on a visit to Grandpa and Grandma in Swift Current, Saskatchewan.  Getting up in what seemed like the middle of the night to use the bathroom wasn’t scary because everything about Grandma & Grandpa’s house felt cozy and safe. Leftover smells of veranika and farmer sausage, the carpeted hallway, Grandma's sewing room walls covered with pictures of cousins, aunts, uncles and other relatives in outdated clothing, the mantel clock on Grandpa’s desk that chimed the quarter hours like a guardian angel. All added to the embrace that was Grandpa & Grandma’s house.  So it didn’t frighten me to hear voices murmuring when the house should have been dark and quiet.

Grandpa & Grandma’s bedroom was across from mine, and that night as I padded to the bathroom there they were.  In their pajamas, kneeling by their bed, side-by-side, backs towards me, praying - in Low German with smatterings of English. 

In that brief moment I heard them pray for their children, their grandchildren, their great-grandchildren, and future generations to come.  In my 8-year-old head it was just Grandma & Grandpa praying, but that image was burned into my brain.

When I think about it now I see the significance of this seemingly simple vignette.  First of all, I know without a doubt that this wasn’t a one-time thing. It was something they did every night.  And, I am humbled and overjoyed to realize that those many many years ago they were praying for my grandson, whose first birthday is today.  Their prayers still cover my family. My prayers will join theirs as I pray for my children, grandchildren, and generations to come.   

Thank you Grandma & Grandpa. What a legacy!

The Children - Glynis Belec

Tonight I pray for the children.

I pray for my beautiful grandchildren whose little hands caress my hair and my face. As I tickle little tummies, I take blessed delight hearing their sweet laughter. A contented smile, a sloppy kiss, a tiny hand pressed in mine - I marvel at how blessed I am to be a grandmother. I thank God that He has granted me more days so that I may enjoy the bedtime moments; the warm bubble baths and rubber duckies; the gentle voice of a child tucked in, as he whispers, "I love you grandma..."

I pray,too, for the children who do not know the love of a grandparent - the bomb killed so many family members that afternoon they say.

I pray for the child whose screams of fear go unheard because of the gunfire. Only two children remain uninjured the newspaper reads.

I pray for the child whose parents choose the high of hallucinogenics over the high calling of parenting. Social services will step in and take the child away (again.)

I pray for children who live through daytime nightmares: child labour; forced prostitution; physical abuse; mental cruelty; neglect of mind, body, spirit.

I pray for the child who goes to bed hungry and wakes up crying, and for the child who does not have a favourite blanket, a best friend, a rock collection.

For the child who does not have a father, who does not have a home, who does not have a Bible, I pray.

I pray for the child whose picture is on a milk carton or on a pornographic website, but not in the wallet of a loved one or in a gilded frame in the living room.

As I lay me down to sleep this night, Father, may your Spirit be upon these children and may I be part of the solution. AMEN