M is for Mac ~ Guest Post by Andrea Kidd

Why do I write? Mac is one reason. I met Mac one morning when he was out for his walk. He stepped away from his buddies, let them go past, waddled over and gazed kindly into my eyes. He contemplated me as though he were enquiring, “Would you, could you, be my friend?” I was honoured by his gift of interest. 

Mac looked across the boundary of green chains that dangled between us. It would have been easy for either of us to cross that gentle barrier. But, a greater gulf separated us and prevented our close union.

Mac is a king penguin living at the Calgary Zoo and I am a human living in Longview. We live close enough for a friendship to be possible, but a friendship with a fellow creature on this planet has its limitations, especially when we are not of the same species.

Still, my brief relationship with Mac was satisfying and pleasurable. It gave me hope for future relationships with God’s creatures and His people. Mac’s fearless, friendly, engaging and curious gaze reminded me how good it is to interact with others.

Mac continued to give me attention as he cocked his head first to one side and then the other. Finally, he took one last, long look and joined the other king penguins as they toddled down to the bottom of the hill.

Later, I visited the penguin habitat where Mac lives. King penguins, Humbolts, Gentoos and Rockhoppers all go about their daily lives there, diving, shaking water off their backs, feeding babies, scrambling over rocks or calling for a mate. We laughed at the crazy, long yellow ear tufts of the Rockhoppers, but the king penguins in their smart black and white suits accepted them as normal penguins, which, of course, they were.

Suddenly, a certain king penguin leapt up onto the barricade that separated us and stared down at me. Mac was back for another look! “Would you, could you be my friend? Could we be good companions for life, you and me?” he seemed to say. I thought he was going to jump down to me. Kindly penguin keepers came to provide a gentle buffer between us. Mac could do as he pleased, come down or plunge back into the cool water of his home; however it was clear that no encounter harmful to either of us would ensue. The penguin keepers provided a boundary between Mac and me that gave us a safe space for good interaction. We could explore our relationship without fear.

Mac turned, dove into the water, propelled himself out onto the rocks and mingled with the other king penguins, calling with a loud raucous voice that he was single and looking for a mate.

Good choice, Mac! Some relationships are only meant to go so far. 

As I was writing this article I discovered an amazing truth:-  God has removed all barriers between Himself and us, even though we are not of the same species.

God is God and I am not. I am human and God is not, although, for a while, He did take on human flesh. We are so different and yet God invites us to be His friend. He has dissolved the barriers of guilt and shame between us and Himself through Jesus. He says, “Do not fear!” 

At first I wrote about Mac because it was delightful to experience the encounter again. Then God revealed to me nuggets of wisdom about my relationships. There are barriers that need removing with people I know, and some to maintain for healthy relationships. And, a person’s relationship with God need have no barriers; it is the deepest and most satisfying of all. As writers we encourage others to taste this goodness as well. 

My encounter with Mac confirmed my belief that I must share this wisdom.

Thank you, Mac!

 

Andrea Kidd writes to open readers (including herself) to recognize Jesus walking by their side in the ordinary and extraordinary events of daily life. She contributes regularly to the High Country News published and distributed in the Foothills of Alberta.

Set the Writing FREE ~ Guest Post by Brenda Leyland

"In every block of marble

I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me,

shaped and perfect in attitude and action.

I have only to hew away the rough walls

that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it

to the other eyes as mine see it."

*

"I saw the angel in the marble

and carved until I set him free."

MICHELANGELO

Quotes found on AZ Quotes

I have been a long-time admirer of Michelangelo’s works of art and often have been inspired by his quotations, including the two above. I see more than a faint parallel between his craft of sculpting and our craft of writing. When I began this post a few weeks ago, I looked forward to exploring why these quotes speak to me so. I imagined asking Michelangelo how he came to decide what to sculpt from a block of marble. He must have been asked that a lot - we still have his answer all these centuries later: ‘I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me… I have only to hew away… and carve until I set him free’.

So, how do we as writers set our writing free? Pondering over Michelangelo's words, I came to see three points as crucial:

✦ We need a FIRST draft. 

There are times when I feel carving a marble statue might be easier than writing a novel, memoir, essay, or even a simple blog post. At least the sculptor has a chunk of marble in front of him, unlike the writer who faces a blank screen while her mind scurries to find ideas that are fresh and alive with truth and beauty. There can be no hewing of words until there’s a block of them in front of her. In the writing world, we know it as the garbage first draft.

For me, it’s usually a dumped-out collection of thoughts and impressions of what I want to write about. It might be a quote that sparks an idea. At this embryonic stage, it's barely coherent. We might have a beginning, but we can’t see how it ends. Or we might know where we want to end up but have no idea how to get there from here. And there’s no getting anywhere until we fill the blank screen, or page, with that first block of words. Then, and only then, can we begin hewing away what doesn’t belong. Chipping paragraphs that don't convey what we mean, chiseling off ill-fitting words, shaping sentences to describe the indescribable.

✦ We need FRESH vision.

Michelangelo was able to envision what he wanted to sculpt. He saw his figures as plain as if they stood in front of him. He deftly used his imagination. Like him, we must have eyes to see what is not yet there physically. We need a vision of what we want to accomplish with our words. We use the imagination God gave us to see the novel, memoir, song that’s imprisoned within our faltering first draft(s). American author Amy Tan once said that when she sees a visual image in her mind, she tries to capture it in words, making constant revisions to capture it more and more clearly. In the words of another, we write the vision and make it plain. 

✦ We need FAITHFUL perseverance.

In the early days of my writing life, I believed that writing a first draft should come out almost like the polished magazine articles and books I'd read. Sure, I knew that it couldn’t be perfectly perfect the first-time round, but something in me thought it should not be so hard. If it was that hard, I wasn’t really a writer. Not understanding that all writers start with their awful first drafts, even New York Times bestselling authors. I had no trouble believing that sculpting a statue from marble would take weeks, months, even years of intense, hard work. When I finally came to understand that creating a polished manuscript takes no less effort, time, or creative patience, I was able to relax and just do the work. And quit worrying about whether I was a ‘real’ writer. On those impossible days, I put my head down and by the grace of God stay with it.... sculpting, sculpting my word pile into something lovely and true.

*

The other day, I came across an article by author/editor Nils Parker. Here was another writer who not only saw a parallel between sculptors and writers, but he learned Michelangelo himself made such a connection in a letter dated 1547. Parks wrote, "Michelangelo not only summed up the critical distinction between sculpture and painting, but he pinpointed the essence of the editing process in the context of the written word. Sculpture, like editing, is about chiseling away at the unnecessary, at the external, in pursuit of the truth and beauty within. Painting, like writing, is the process of adding layer upon layer to a flat surface until there is something where before there was nothing." [emphasis added]

I look at Michelangelo's beautiful angel and long to touch the smooth marble surface. What a gift God gave that man. That he could envision such beauty inside a hunk of earthen marble and be so skilled, so committed, to sculpt, chisel, and shape until the ‘apparition’ was set free.

That's our job as writers: to envision what we want to say; to acquire the skills needed to make something lovely from that block of text in our draft; to learn the art of faithful stick-to-itiveness, persevering until our writing, too, is set FREE for this world to see and enjoy.

------------------

(Top) Photo credit: Angel (1494) by Michelangelo on the Shrine of Saint Dominic, Basilica of Saint Dominic, Bologna, Italy. By James Steakley - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, httpscommons.wikimedia.orgwindex.phpcurid=5442648

* Nils Parker, "The Angel in the Marble, Modern Life Lessons from History's Greatest Sculptor". Link to article HERE.

Inspired by the beauty of God's world around her, Brenda Leyland writes from her home in northerly Alberta, Canada. She writes on her blog It's A Beautiful Life and occasionally posts on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Her writing has appeared in FellowScript as a former columnist and contributor as well as in InScribe's Christmas anthology. Passionate about books, Brenda's favourite sport is reading and is always up for sprints, 100-metre dashes, and marathon reads. When she doesn't have her nose in a book, Brenda also enjoys her flowers, walking, being in nature, and having afternoon tea in the garden.

Cultivate the Art of Leaving Comments by Brenda Leyland

"Like cold water to a thirsty (writer's) soul,

So is good news from a (fellow reader)."

Proverbs 25:25, my paraphrase

To a writer, there is nothing more revitalizing than receiving a great comment from a supportive reader. It's the rejuvenating cup of cold water on a hot day. It makes me think of Mark Twain who apparently once said he can live for two months on a good compliment. I can relate, as my own inner self thrives on words of affirmation, although I admit needing them more often than every couple of months.

Crafting a short, meaningful comment on a blog post, or any piece of writing, is sometimes harder than it ought to be. Writers aren't usually lost for words but even so, no matter how short the note, it takes time and effort to create something sincere and expressive. And sometimes it's just easier to click away. Or leave a remark so vague as to be disappointing: 'Great read', 'Nice blog', 'Interesting topic'. No one wants to read that! A single sentence in that case—'Didn't have time right now to share more but please know your words spoke volumes to me'—will certainly do in a pinch. When I want to leave a note but need time to think about what I want to say, I'll go back when I'm not pressed for time.

It's certainly not about leaving a comment on every single thing we read. That's impossible, but when it's a piece that has touched us, that's when we should use our few available minutes to let the author know. When I'm about to click away, I often remind myself to be generous with both my time and my praise, especially when I know the writer could use some positive feedback. 

 

As an avid blogger and a follower of many blogs, it's mainly in this context that I have cultivated the art of composing the tiny gifts of simple, meaningful comments.

As I see it, leaving comments is part of my work as a blogger/writer. Not only do these tiny notes leave encouraging 'footprints' on a blogger's heart, they also leave traces all over the Internet of who I am as a writer. So, I edit, spellcheck, and put my best foot forward, as the old saying goes. I never say, 'it's only a comment'. 

I offer a few tips that have helped me over the years - perhaps you'll find them useful as well:

1. Make a few notes while reading the post or article. It saves time not having to reread the whole thing to find the section you want to reply to.

2. Be specific. Avoid general, sweeping statements that don't say anything helpful. Zero in on one or two details to let the writer know what connects you to the piece: the line that grabs your heart, the turn of phrase you find startling, the book title or a quote mentioned that piques your curiosity. 

3. Look for common or uncommon ground. Do you share similar traditions, experiences, feelings that you can respond to? Perhaps you have a completely opposite point of view. I remember the time when I wrote a tribute to my mom one Mother's Day, and a woman left a comment to say that Mother's Day was not special to her, for she had always had a horrid relationship with her then-elderly mom. I was taken aback by her comment; up until that point I hadn't met anyone who couldn't celebrate Mother's Day with any kind of affection. It deepened my understanding of the world around me... and the people in it. I was grateful for that woman's comment.

4. What if someone else has already said it? Say it again. I get around reusing identical phrases by searching for descriptive synonyms to convey it in my own way. Or you can say, I agree with So-and-So when she says... . Maybe the author needs to know that the same spot in the piece resonates with several people. 

5. Want to leave a critique? If you want to address something you feel needs clarification or you don't agree with, don't be afraid to leave a critique. I like what one writer suggests, "If you are anxious about leaving critiques, create a compliment sandwich. Start your comment with a compliment on an aspect of the work, identify your critique, and finish off the comment with another compliment." —courtesy of Christina Garvis, How to Write Good Comments on Writing, Jan 10, 2023, article on owlcation.com

Cultivating the art of leaving comments has great value. Not only do they support our fellow writers, but more importantly, they create a singular link between the writer and his or her reader. It's returning the favour—and who knows when our comment will lift a discouraged writer when it's needed most. Pour out a compliment on a writer today. And hopefully she'll return refreshed and ready to write more of what we long to read.

  

(Top) Photo credit: Image by Fabi from Pixabay   

Inspired by the beauty of God's world around her, Brenda Leyland writes from her home in northerly Alberta, Canada. She loves writing on her blog It's A Beautiful Life and also posts on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Her writing has appeared in FellowScript as a former columnist and in InScribe's Christmas anthology. She delights in books and reading, flowers and gardens, afternoon tea, and walks in nature.

A Little Pencil, Guest Post by Brenda Leyland

"I'm a little pencil in the hand of a writing God

who is sending a love letter to the world."

attributed to Mother Teresa

Long before social media and email, long before I wrote my first article, essay, newsletter, or blog post, I wrote letters. The old-fashioned kind of handwritten notes with stamped envelopes addressed to family, friends, nieces and nephews, colleagues, and pen pals. I derived great pleasure in the particulars of letter writing, from choosing the stationery to gathering clippings to composing interesting sentences to fill the pages. The even greater delight for me came in imagining envelopes dropping into people's mailboxes, giving recipients a cheery surprise amongst a pile of bills and junk mail.

An interesting turn of events, then, when I found myself writing letters professionally in the correspondence unit of my esteemed boss, the Premier of Alberta. My letter writing had suddenly become more than a pastime. I sought the Holy Spirit's grace and wisdom and sharpened my writing skills. During this season, as a young woman longing to hear the Spirit's instruction and comfort for my own life, I began to yearn to use my love of writing letters to touch the hearts of others. For I certainly knew how buoyed I felt when unexpected mail arrived, reminding me on difficult days that somebody had me on their mind. 

In my eagerness to write more, I asked the Holy Spirit for help. I'd go through my address book and pay attention to whose name stood out. I soon realized how willing He was to come alongside and help me. What joy in being a collaborator with the great Comforter to lift up others. No wonder I loved Mother Teresa’s evocative picture of being a pencil in God's hands.

Sometimes I knew what I wanted to say. Sometimes I had to wait for what He wanted to say. I came to see there was a partnership, and a timing, to it all. There were times I knew who I was supposed to write to but had no idea what the individual was going through or needed. I'd wait. I'd listen. Then one morning I'd know it was the day. Words would be swirling in my mind. And when the last sentence was written, there'd come a sense of release, accomplishment, peace. Of course, I’d eagerly wait to hear back—had I truly heard aright? You can imagine my elation when return mail brought me the news, ‘Your letter arrived on a day when I especially needed that encouraging word’. Oh thank you, Lord.

It was such a beautiful, sacred season of my life. A lifetime ago. Although I never lost my love for writing letters, the world changed, my own life changed, and handwritten letters became less frequent. Until . . . Spring of 2020 when the world saw so many folks isolated from their loved ones. During lockdown, I increased my blog presence, and along with writing texts, emails, and Facebook messages, I wrote more handwritten notes to stay connected. What joy to once again create those tactile 'hold in your hand' reminders that someone had been thought about, had been wished love, comfort, warmth—something we all needed during a brittle, trying time.

My intention in 2022 is to carry on in that vein . . . a little pencil in the hand of a writing God sending love letters to the world.

Top photo by Brenda Leyland

Inspired by the beauty of God's world around her, Brenda Leyland writes from her home in northerly Alberta, Canada. You will find Brenda on her blog It's A Beautiful Life and on Facebook.

Easter and the Coming of the Spirit ~ Guest Post by Ramona Furst

 

We had only been married for a short time when my husband's engineering company relocated us from Toronto to St. John’s Newfoundland. During the last leg of our road trip to what would be our new home, we experienced snow, rain and fog that often swallowed up all signs of life outside the car windows. We were told later it was a normal occurrence in Newfoundland. 

  

One of the perks of the new job was that my husband could pursue his love of sailing at the local yacht club crewing for members who had larger boats than our sixteen-foot dinghy. I was invited to come along and looked forward to the opportunity to see some of the outposts I had only read about in books. 

 

During the first leg of our excursion, we enjoyed sun, brisk winds keeping all hands on deck and trimming sails. Until that is, I first felt and blinked away tiny beads of moisture turning within seconds to a dense curtain of fog. As it thickened, the wind all but disappeared leaving us only the occasional muffled sound of the mainsail and jib flapping against the mast. 

  

Soaking wet I was about to locate the stairs down to a small galley to get warm when we all heard a loud thud. Near my feet, still, with its head bent at a crooked angle was a small bird. A disembodied voice said, “It must have been lost and tired and thought we’d be its safe haven, poor thing.” 

  

Before I could reply I heard what sounded to me like someone taking a deep breath. Then I felt the air all around us vibrate and a whoosh was released by a whale near where I stood. The watery spout and wake of the whale’s thrust up out of the water before disappearing away from our sailboat were so profound no one spoke for a few minutes. 

  

The Newfoundland fog and my close encounter with the whale make me think about the first chapter of Genesis. “The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.” (Genesis 1:2 ESV). 

 

The Hebrew word behind spirit is “Ruach” meaning “air in motion” and the same word for breath. When I come across a scripture passage in the Old or New Testament about the spirit, air or breath, I often think of a whale. What I find so intriguing is this word in Hebrew can also mean life. It is through one's breath that our words take form. No wonder the opening lines of the book of John are so powerful. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God.”  

 

I can relate to Jonah's encounter with his whale in the Old Testament. I have spent periods of my life believing I could run away from a God who I know full well inhabits all of me and all of creation because, “In Him we live and move and have our being.” Jonah survived the ordeal because God had prepared a place in the storm for Jonah to survive. This is the key take-away for me during this time leading up to Easter. Like the story of Jonah, the Holy Spirit breathes and propels me to a place of safety in every storm motivated by a sacrificial love. 

 

Christ is risen, He is risen indeed. Halleluiah! 

  

Ramona Furst lives in North Bay, Ontario with her husband and two black Labrador Retrievers. When she is not writing or painting she is in the bush hiking or on Georgian Bay kayaking.  

 

 

Gifted with My Own Words, Guest Post by Brenda Leyland

Image by Erwin Nowak from Pixabay

"My heart had been

touched beyond words."

It all started on a summer day in 1988. The morning was alive with sunshine and birdsong, and the air buzzed with a sense of adventure. My girlfriends and I were off to Miette Hot Springs to celebrate Canada Day in the mountains. The vehicle was packed to the roof with picnic hampers, swimming suits and towels, and a motley host of sunscreen, blankets, hats, cameras, books, and binoculars. We all looked forward to sharing the day together—eating lunch in the mountain air, keeping our eyes peeled for flowers and wildlife, dipping in the pool, and hiking alongside cold mountain streams.

That summer day was decked out in its best glory. While my friends were busy scoping out postcard perfect photo scenes—they were the photographers—I selected a sunny spot near the cascading stream where I could let my thoughts flow. To bask in the wild beauty around me and take inspiration from it to write en plein air. A blue writing folder in my lap, I would have thought of L.M. Montgomery—she was my heart's writing mentor. Her books and poetry often referred to nature's beauty; dared I emulate her in celebration of a perfect day? A poet I was not, yet when my eyes met a pale pink wild rose blooming on a bush nearby, I felt compelled to try.

I examined its fragile petals and breathed in its heady scent, careful not to sniff a bee up my nose. Thoughts flitted and buzzed through my mind as I tried out first this word and then that one. Funny thing, taking photographs wasn't my thing in those days—the fiddling with different lenses trying to get the right focus, it was too persnickety for me. Yet I felt no such impatience when it came to fussing with words, swirling them on my tongue, listening to the cadence, choosing what best expressed an overflowing heart. That evening on our way home in the twilight hours, bodies tired and souls sated, I held my wild rose poem near to my heart.

Months later, one evening around Christmastime, my girlfriends and I met to celebrate the season. We exchanged gifts, and I was handed an elegantly wrapped package; it certainly didn't look like a book or Crabtree & Evelyn bath oil. With the last of the wrapping paper removed, I sat astonished. For there—lettered on a water-coloured background nestled alongside paper tole roses—was my wild rose poem. 

Framed and ready to hang on the wall, I held in my hands the gift of my own words.

Never shall I forget that moment. Or my dear friend's extravagance and generosity. My heart was touched beyond words. What a lovely handmade keepsake of a gorgeous summer day. But more than that, it was a gift that affirmed and acknowledged my aspirations to be a writer. No gift could have been more perfect.

The Wildrose

written July 1, 1988

The rose blooms in the wilderness

   Its only gardener the Creator

The petals send forth their fragrance

   Till the air is filled with their sweetness

The rose blooms in the wildness

   Its beauty fringed with rainbow light

Each blossom exuberantly praises the Designer 

   As it sways on the evening breeze

One rose bloomed in the wilderness

   Its beauty was crushed underfoot

But though the rose was cast aside and forgotten—

   Its fragrant blossoms permeated—forever

   changing the world in which it bloomed.

* * *

Inspired by the beauty of God's world around her, Brenda Leyland writes from her home in northerly Alberta, Canada. She also writes on her blog It's A Beautiful Life and Facebook page.

In Everything Teach & Ignite - guest post by Sheri Hathaway

 

  

For everything there is a season,

A time for every activity under heaven.

A time to be born and a time to die,

A time to plant and a time to harvest.

A time to kill and a time to heal.

A time to tear down and a time to build up. 

A time to cry and a time to laugh.

A time to grieve and a time to dance.

A time to scatter stones and a times to gather stones. 

A time to embrace and a time to run away.

A time to search and a time to quit searching.

A time to keep and a time to throw away.

A time to tear and a time to mend. 

A time to be quiet and a time to speak.

A time to love and a time to hate.

A time for war and a time for peace. 

Ecclesiastes 3: 1 – 8, NLT version

This poem appears in the middle of a great piece of observance and reflection on life written by someone who calls himself the Preacher. We think it’s probably King Solomon because of his references to his life as a king. Nearing the end of his life, the Preacher is taking stock, looking back and reflecting on how it all played out. He records his thoughts as he moves through his memories, most of which bring him despair. He certainly had his reasons, having built a wealthy and powerful kingdom and then see it decline. In the end of his thoughts, he arrives at a conclusion of monumental importance to him and to us: the purpose of our lives is simply to enjoy it! Yes, enjoy what God has given us and praise him. 

The Preacher felt compelled to record his thoughts as they unfolded in his mind. Perhaps writing them down gave him a way to process them, but for us, his words hold lessons and inspiration, leading us to look at our own lives and pinpoint the priorities. 

Isn’t that also the purpose of a Christian writer today? Friends, the year is almost over. The past twelve months or more have had times for ‘every activity under heaven’. I challenge you, pick up your pen or open your Word document, and reflect on this year. Write your God-inspired thoughts with the intention to both teach and ignite praises to God. 

Join with Sheri Hathaway on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter (@sherismusing) as she divides her time between writing and watercolour painting, enjoying life on both the Canadian prairies and the West Coast. 

A Prayer for Rest by Jocelyn Faire

  Thou has made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.

Augustine of Hippo

                         

When I signed up for this rest-focused blog, I had something else in mind. This prayer came out of a very busy summer month, catching a nasty cold and preparing for a step-son's wedding.

Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him ...

Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.    

(From Psalm 62 NIV)

A Prayer for Rest:

Dear God,

I'm feeling kind of weary ...

I don't mean to complain, but I need to pour out my heart somewhere ...

I'm tired, weary and heavy laden,

weary of running after things, headlines, new passwords for technology.

Tired of learning new operating systems—can't anything stay the same?

I'm tired of the pressure to perform, the need to be productive,

I'm tired of being tired and feeling past my best before date.

Let me find my rest in thee.

I see exhaustion in so many eyes, drooped shoulders from stress and lack of sleep  

and the struggle to keep on top of things ... do these things really matter that much?

I'm tired of witnessing missionary zeal burn itself out with good deeds

while the darkness closes in.

I'm tired of criticism, cynicism, racism, apathy and the evening news.

I'm tired of Covid, the heat, the smoke, and the forest fires burning,

Is there a soul or tree left unscorched?

Let me find my rest in thee.

I'm tired of overfed bodies, starved souls; because we misread our need.

I'm tired of striving, when I know I should and long to be still.

Weary that there is always more to do, than time for it.

Dear God, I'm tired of grieving, I'm tired of good-byes,

tired of questions and doubts, of wondering if you know what's going on down here.

I'm tired of unanswered prayers and the need to cover for you.

Tired of being told I should be grateful—I know I should be, and I am grateful!

Let me find my rest in thee.

Sometimes I wonder if you know what's going on down here.

Can we sit down and have a good chat?

I'm tired of feeling that I'm in a one-sided conversation in my head.

I don't think I'm alone God ... Did you mean it when you said

we should come to you when we're heavy laden and in need of rest?

If so, why are we struggling to find you and the rest?

The world and your people are in need of a serious sabbatical.

Let us find our rest in thee.

I often think of my daughter and her family, working overseas, seeing her exhaustion; the bone-tired weariness built over years that is helped but not resolved by a vacation. I know there are seasons of weariness, they too shall pass as we are refreshed in spirit.

A response verse to the prayer:

Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. Psalm 42:11 NIV

Enough is Enough by Eunice Cooper-Matchett

Sometimes, enough is simply enough, and last week, I learned the importance of those words. 

A camp-out wedding approached. Being the person who offers before thinking, I’d volunteered to make a chili, a cheesecake, and a pistachio salad. Sounds simple. Shouldn’t take long at all. Except, I voiced my good intentions before I considered the wedding was on a Saturday. And that’s the day I’ve cleaned my house for over sixty years, and I’m so routine orientated that if I can’t do it Saturday, I must do it Friday, or the rest of my week goes topsy-turvy. 

The folly of my quick, unthought-out response hit me like a March wind. But I’m tough, and there is always a way. I’d just get up earlier, clean the house, then make the promised food. After that, I’d do the revisions on the next chapter of my WIP, which needed doing because if I missed a writing day, the clouds would fall. 

By ten a.m. Friday, my house, minus the kitchen, was clean, and only one load of laundry remained. I mentally patted my back as I removed all the meat the chili required from the fridge. Ground beef, steak, bacon, Italian sausage. All huge portions, because a hundred guests needed feeding. All needed precooking. 

Because of my small kitchen, and my apprehension of cooking two meats at once without burning one, I did them one by one. Time ticked by. So did my strength. But, by mid-afternoon, all ingredients were simmering happily in the portable oven. An hour later, the salad and cheesecake were setting in the fridge.

I had completed what seemed impossible the day before, but my strength deserted me on golden wings, leaving me feeling like a thin, holey dishrag that needed discarding. I slumped profusely-perspiring, heart-pounding, gasping for breath, into my recliner, wondering at what age my marbles deserted me. 

Then, my spirit fluttered, and I recognized that flutter. God was teaching me a lesson. One He had to sit me down long enough to get my attention. I’d made a wrong and thoughtless decision. Being so eager to please, I’d failed to count the costs. But God hadn’t. I heard His gentle correction loud and clear, reminding me enough was enough, and I’d overstepped my limitations once again, abusing the body He gave me to care for. 

His Word encourages us to come apart and rest. It even informs us God rested. So if God rested, how much more should we do the same? Exhausting myself is not honouring Him. Nor is allowing goals to control my life or considering lollygagging a waste of time. 

It took an exhausting day for me to learn to listen to God and my body. It emphasized the need for me to choose my commitments wisely, and it’s okay. God doesn’t want me running around trying to achieve the impossible. He needs me rested and ready to do the tasks He appoints me to accomplish. 

Finding Hope - guest post by Martina Keast

In this little red cabin,  you could easily spend time with God in prayerful, silent solitude to experience His rest. 

In 2002, I made drastic lifestyle changes. I travelled in a motor home to Ontario to visit with friends. The idea was to stay in Ontario for eight months. I hoped to meet God, really meet God during this time away from business and family. I felt Him drawing me to come and spend time with Him. 

At first, I camped for several weeks with my parents, and later with my sister Sabine who lived in Manitoba. I was extremely comfortable staying in the campground close to her restaurant. I helped out as much as I could, even though I was slow. Trained as an exceptional short-order cook in my youth, I was fast and often promoted to supervisor. Trauma, PTSD, panic and anxiety, divorce, bankruptcy, and the closure of my cleaning businesses left me spiritually, mentally, and emotionally broken. My mind could not cope. I could not follow through on a simple order. 

Physically, a freak car accident changed my life as I knew it. I am thankful a police officer and another person saw the entire event. The person who ran the red light was charged and held responsible. 

I put off travelling further because fear tortured me. The thoughts and images that lived in my mind prevented me from moving toward my God rendezvous. It felt safer to stay and be comfortable. I thank my sister Sabine for giving me the push to "Go." She wanted God's best for me and gave me good advice. I listened to my inner sense, "knowing" her direction was correct. 

That same night, I packed up my motor home and readied it for travel. I left early the following day. Once I decided to listen to her and continue, the darkness left my mind. On my journey, I sang with the tapes playing on the tape player. I talked with God – a lot. My heart felt free, except for the hidden yet unaddressed idols, sins, and unbelief. I also did not believe in God's unfailing love for me. There was no room in my heart for that yet. 

 I parked at Rushing River, Manitoba, and stayed overnight. I felt the presence of God very strongly while I stood on the park's bridge, looking into the river. The tears came and would not stop. I missed my girls. More than missing them, I missed myself. I did not know who I was and what had become of me. In all the years of crazy living, I did not rest. In the end, I worked 22-hour days, only sleeping in my vehicle or on couches while employees did the work. It wasn't easy to get reliable help during those days. 

Then it was on to Ontario. The closer I got to my destination, the more I felt the power and torment fear had over me leave. I was thrilled to overcome the voices which hindered me from following God. I was alone – a lot. My mind rested in His peace. 

Looking back now, I believe this seclusion was the beginning stage of building a more profound relationship with God. He called me to a unique dwelling place, this little red cabin. He wanted then and continues to enjoy a relationship with me. This relationship invites me to rest from people-pleasing, unrealistic expectations, and unattainable perfectionism. 

My Journal Entries September 2002

This must be a dream; me, sitting here in my full-length nylon camping chair on the deck of my rental cabin. The sun is partially peeking through the spruce tree at the end of the deck. The lake is peaceful. The odd bug hits the water and leaves a streak of moving water as it swims on. Two dogs, Buddy and Susie, are racing along the beach around the cabin into the water and then stopping at my chair on the deck. 

Buddy gives himself a good shake. “Go away,” I laugh. And off both dogs go.

A dream! Heaven must be peaceful and restful like this. There is only the noise of the dogs running, then splashing in the water, then coughing and running again. The occasional fly buzzes by and then peace.

In the distance, I hear a squirrel and a magpie—the water ripples toward the middle of the lake.  Buddy once again runs into the water, laps up a few drops, and off he goes. After blowing a bug off my arm and taking a sip of spring water, I again ask myself the question of how I ended up here in this paradise.

It is the most fantastic feeling to be stress-free, breathing in and out, actually feeling alive. A dragonfly whizzes past my ear, as I remember. Another day less than seven months ago, a time of profound sadness, where I was willing to give up my life to find peace and tranquillity.  I remember it well. The pain and the absolute hopelessness. 

Surrounded by both dogs circling the chair, teasing each other, ready to run again, I take another sip of water. I cannot help but notice the warmth of the sun on my left leg. The sun has moved a little past the tree trunk now. It is still covered a bit by branches.

The chirping of birds takes my attention for a few seconds before taking a deep breath to continue reminiscing. Oh, there is a squirrel.

Buddy lines up but decides it is more fun to find Susie and chase her around. Meanwhile, the squirrel runs across the roof behind me and continues in the trees. 

A couple of loons have landed on the lake, close to the other shore. Bobbing for their supper, they occasionally disappear. Oops, there is one back while the other disappears. 

Twisting the pen in my hand, I sit here quietly, listening to the flies, birds, dragonflies, and one dog.  He circles my chair and lies down. Susie must have gone home.

________________________

  These excerpts are taken from The Dwelling Place: Reflection on my Journey toward Spiritual Wholeness (unpublished) and Ties That Bind: A Collection of letters, poems and stories: tributes to family, especially mothers. Edmonton: PageMaster Publishing. 2016. Available with accompanying CD: Refuge in Praise, by A New Name. Prophetic Art by Lori Anne Youngman.  Martina Keast. Rivers of Grace. 2015 

A Summer Breeze and a Good Book by Brenda Leyland

"Today I'd like to sit and read.

Forget I have a job I need.

Ignore the things I have to do.

And just enjoy a book or two."

UNKNOWN

Warm summer afternoons bring out an especial longing in me to drift away on a cool breeze and disappear into a good book. While bees hum in the roses and leaves lay listless in treetops, and it's really too hot for intense effort, I reach guilt-free for my stash of summertime reading. I like books that are sunshine infused and lavender scented, where passages remind me of happy childhood and summer holidays. Where the beauty of God's summer-laced world drifts through the pages, and adventure, mystery, and romance surprise at every turn.

No matter the season, including summer, I enjoy a mix of fiction and non-fiction, beloved favourites alongside titles yet unread. I like the well-weathered friends of old classics and vintage books, but I also run with my current favourite bestsellers. I slip easily from one genre to another: whodunits, historical fiction, literary classics, memoir, garden, art, poetry, and spiritual inspiration. Sometimes I dip into stories I loved as a girl, such as Rose in Bloom and the Anne books, or I'll catch up on titles I missed growing up. I've done the same with adult books. A couple of summers ago, I sought out well known works I'd ignored in the past and was pleasantly surprised to find this 'filling in the blanks' a most gratifying experience.

A storyline beautifully written is a must, but I also want characters I grow to care about as they grapple their issues and search out truths that set them free. I admire authors who can tell a hard tale, skillfully weaving difficult themes without utterly swamping my mind with a horrifying bleakness. There must always be a thread of goodness and beauty throughout. A good book, especially one read during the summertime, must have reasonably happy endings, and if not happy, well then, at least hopeful. I want to know the characters I've come to love will have a chance for better days ahead. In God’s world hope is ever present—it should be in books too.

Books fuel my writing. Reading about people who dedicate their lives to making the world a better place inspire me to keep dreaming of how I, too, can make my world a more beautiful place with my writing. These world changers invite me not to lose hope about making a difference, and I grab hold of the divine creative impulse with renewed joy. Often, I turn to my poetry books, devotionals, and nature diaries, meandering through the pages as if in a garden, breathing in a thoughtful line here, holding a poignant phrase there. Nourished and refreshed, my heart beats with a readiness to dust off my keyboard and share this beautiful life with others.

 

"What we need is the healed capacity to imagine and

believe the profound goodness of the future, to stand in

the light of a happy ending whose power reaches into

our present and draws us forward in hope."

Sarah Clarkson
 

To wind up, there are two books I want to recommend for your summer reading. Both happen to be written by the same author, Sarah Clarkson. At present, I am slow reading her newly released This Beautiful Truth, and I consider her other work Book Girl a must-have for any booklover's shelf.

✔ This Beautiful Truth, How God's Goodness Breaks into Our Darkness. Sarah shares her dark struggles with mental illness and depression. Beautifully written, this intimate and honest book speaks hope to anyone who has ever grappled with their own dark pain.

✔ Book Girl, A Journey through the Treasures & Transforming Power of a Reading Life. Part book list, part memoir, Sarah invites readers into her personal journey with her favourite books. A great reference tool for fellow book lovers. My review has more HERE.

Wherever you are this summer, I hope there's a pleasant breeze and a beguiling pile of books to keep you company. Happy Reading!

 

Inspired by the beauty of God's world around her, Brenda writes from her home in Alberta, Canada. You can find more on her blog It's A Beautiful Life and Facebook page.

Top Image by Kerstin Riemer from Pixabay

Other photos by Brenda Leyland

The Joys of Summer Reading Guest post by Allison Lynn

Is it just me or is there something magical about summer reading?

Don’t get me wrong: reading is amazing in every season! Fall invites us to curl up with a fast-paced adventure of misguided hikers lost in a wilderness of fall colours. Winter reading involves cozy blankets and stories of ice hockey, first snowfalls, and festive adventures. Spring leads to romantic tales of first loves, or rebirth after a tumultuous relationship, best set on a remote Mediterranean island.

But summer, well, that’s a whole other season of reading.

First, you need to choose your location. Warm days invite cozy chairs on the veranda, or gentle hammocks under the shade of old trees. Need a gentle breeze? Grab a bench by the river or the perfect sitting-rock by the lake. On those sweltering days, escape to the air-conditioned sweetness of your favourite library or that hidden back room of your local used bookstore. (How is it that every used bookstore has that precious corner?)

Almost as important as location is … snacks! Yes, you must snack while reading, and summer gives a plethora of delicious choices. Cool down with iced lattes and fresh herbal teas. Scoop up a bowl of mint Oreo ice cream with extra chocolate sauce. Grab a bowl of locally grown strawberries with freshly chopped mint. And don’t forget your brightly coloured serviette - after all, you’re about to hold a treasure in your hands.

Whether dog-eared second-hand, borrowed from a friend, fresh from the store, or loaded onto your Kindle, the final, most important question of all: 

What shall we read in summer? 

For me, it’s all about the setting. I can read fiction, non-fiction or poetry. Any of it is good! But I want to stay in the literary wonder of those lazy, hazy, crazy summer days.

The last few summers have taken me on some especially lovely adventures.

Mary Oliver’s poems place me in the forest, surrounded by birdsong and babbling brooks. Devotions, her collected works, will make you feel like you’ve spent time in the prayerful space made green by the great Creator. 

Anne of Green Gables (read and re-read!) takes me to Lover’s Lane and the Lake of Shining Waters. I can practically see the sun blazing off bright red roads, while Anne wanders through the fields reciting poetry and forgetting her chores. 

The Garden of Small Beginnings (Abbi Waxman) invites us to discover parallels in the surprisingly coherent themes of grief, romance and gardening.

Set The Stars Alight (Amanda Dykes) brings us on a historical seaside adventure complete with shipwrecks, romance, hidden mysteries, and just the right amount of magical whimsy.

If non-fiction is tugging at your heart, then head straight to the horticulture section of your favourite bookstore. Dig into classics (pun intended!) by such horticultural poets as Gertrude Jekyll, Rosemery Verey, and Celia Thaxter. Environmentalists and artists, these women will fill your imagination with visions of roses, clematis, and sweetly scented lavender.

As I write this, I have my own stack of summer reading on my bedside table. I’ve just finished The Peace Project (Kay Wills Wyma), which encourages us to a daily practice of thankfulness, kindness and mercy. I’m already in love with A Tapestry of Light (Kimberly Duffy), a historical fiction set in 1885 Calcutta, where I’m learning about beetle-wing embroidery. I’m transporting myself to the mountains with Lisa Flickinger’s romantic Rocky Mountain Revival series (Lisa is also an Inscribe writer). And I’m continuing to work my way through My Utmost For His Highest (Oswald Chambers), which provides its own solitary form of evensong.  

I love how these books sink me deeper into the warmth, growth, and bliss that is summer. 

Enjoy this special season of reading! May it inspire you to slow down, dream deeper, and perhaps even put your own pen to paper …

Allison Lynn has the heart of a storyteller. Whether in her early work as an actor, or in her current role as singer, songwriter, worship leader, blogger, and band manager, Allison is drawn to the power of story to grow hearts and communities. Allison and her husband, Gerald Flemming, form the award-winning duo, Infinitely More.

This prolific duo is currently recording their 9th studio album. Infinitely More has been nominated for 15 national awards, including winning two Covenant Awards from GMA Canada. Their nationally touring ministry travels over 40,000 KM annually, serving churches of all denominations. Allison’s true story - “Aunt Pauline and The Little Easter” - was published in Inscribe’s 2021 anthology Easter: Stories & More.  www.InfinitelyMore.ca 

To Thine Own Self Be True - Guest post by Brenda Wood

 If I Write Just to Please You…What Does That say About Me

I scratched my way through a myriad of information about how to get readers and I used some of that advice, but in the process, I may have sold out a bit of my soul. 

I may have slanted my opinions to the popular view. Or lengthened or shortened my pieces to get in line with the current day’s advice feed.

Some days I swarm my readers with words. Occasionally I starve them to death. And I ask myself, what did any of that do in the cause of righting my writing?

Perhaps it made some readers happy; but perhaps others were not struck dumb by my magnificent words.

I must ask my own deep self what did any of that do in the cause of righting my writing?

I answer truthfully. For me, not always very much, because I am the type of person who can write or speak on any given topic on any given day and not run out of words. In my family it is called the Cook gift of gab and I gratefully inherited it. I won lots of debates over the years because I could switch sides in a heartbeat.

But are my words always true to myself or instead, true to the current writing advice? So here I linger, folks, determined to speak only in the clear and true words of my own inner self. 

To my own self I shall be true…You can count on it.

Brenda Wood - Author, speaker and Hopestreamradio.com contributor, Brenda J Wood has been an author and motivational speaker for more years than she cares to admit. She is known for her common sense wisdom, sense of humour and quirky comments. She calls herself the ‘ABC girl’ because she’s survived and written about the ‘ABC’s of abuse, bulimia, cancer, death, entertainment, food, gluttony and humour. Since she’s written books on each of these topics, she hopes the ‘E’ word of her next book stands for something like Energy or Entertainment, but definitely not Exams or Epsom salts!

A few of her favourite things include grandchildren, guest speaking, writing, sewing, a warm fire, a good book, and pounding the pavement on early morning walks. Brenda has authored many books but is very excited about the upcoming - My Affair with Cancer, a fundraiser for the Georgian Bay Cancer Centre in Penetanguishene. Her other books include:

The Food Lover’s Devotional, food for both body and soul

Gentle Humour with Jesus, devotions for the light-hearted

The Pregnant Pause of Grief, the first trimester of widowhood

Meeting Myself, snippets from a binging and bulging mind.

Heartfelt Devotionals, 366 devotions for common sense living.

God, Gluttony & You

Brenda’s Children’s books include:

The Big Red Chair –a book for grieving children

Mother Peebles Problem Pebbles

The Plate Family Dishes Up

Brenda J Wood, author and motivational speaker
http://heartfeltdevotionals.com
http://www.twitter.com/size10hopefil
https://www.facebook.com/brendawoodspeaker

The Power of Our Words Guest Post by Ruth Ann Adams

My nine-month-old grandson delights us with his vocalizations. He is listening, experimenting, enjoying the sounds he makes. As he grows, his early babbles will lead to a world of language and communication that is yet beyond his understanding.

Madeleine L'Engle tells us:

"When the words mean even more than the writer knew they meant, then the writer has been listening. And sometimes when we listen, we are led into places we do not expect, into adventures we do not always understand."

As writers, we know that words have a power beyond themselves. The Gospel of John states: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (1:1, NIV). Jesus is identified as the Word, the ultimate source of truth. God chose to bring the universe into existence through words. The spoken and written words of God possess creative power. Since we are God's children, made in His image, our words also contain creative ability.

When we sit down to write, we begin a journey. Whether we make careful preparations or follow an unknown route, there is a leap of faith involved. What will we create? Where will our journey take us? What obstacles or surprises will there be along the way?

Writers understand what it means to have an uninvited character show up and insist on staying. Or perhaps the main character, or even a minor one, turns rogue and decides that he or she will dictate the story. A non-fiction writer may be plagued with an annoying idea that was not part of the outlined plan.

Of course, the decision is with the writer. Characters can be eliminated or ignored. An idea can be tossed aside. But sometimes we may need to listen.

Madeline L'Engle reminds us that our words mean more than we know. Many times, God has spoken to me through an image, detail, perceptions of a character or glimpse of a thought. This might be a detail such as a character's choice of a butterfly-patterned bedspread, reminding me of the potent image of new life from difficult circumstances. What we say and what we write possess the power to encourage, instruct, inspire and protect. We will not always, perhaps not often, be aware of how our writing impacts others.

Allowing ourselves to listen may lead to unexpected adventures. Some years ago, my husband and one of our daughters planned a surprise trip to England, Scotland and Wales. Touring England, especially the city of London, was the dream of a lifetime. England was all I had hoped for, but I was completely taken off guard by my reaction to Scotland. I fell passionately in love with the rolling green hills, Scottish traditions, music and romance this land had to offer.

Sometimes as writers, we wonder whether the road not taken, the story not told, might have been the best of all. If we listen well, we will take some of these roads. We will be amazed that the side trip is beyond what we imagined. We will listen to creative nudges, to God's heart, and with our words satisfy the hunger in the hearts of others, even if we don't foresee the impact.

Over the next months, my grandson will continue to experiment with sounds. His babbles will turn into words, sentences and conversations. This progression will be a largely unconscious, biological process. Acquiring language skills will thrust him into adventures that he has no concept of now. His vocalizations are more than he knows, and our words as writers are more than we understand.

Ruth Ann Adams is a high school English teacher, pastor’s wife, mother of five and grandma of one.  She has been published in anthologies and magazines. Ruth Ann has a passion to bring God's love and  encouragement to others. Her blog, 5 X Mama, can be found at ruthannadams.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trip of a Lifetime - guest post by Sheri Hathaway

Madeleine L’Engle wrote: 

When the words mean even more than the writer knew they meant,

then the writer has been listening.

And sometimes when we listen, we are led into places we do not expect,

into adventures we do not always understand.

Madeleine L’Engle had a deep faith, a member of an Episcopalian church in the United States. Although she doesn’t give God’s name specifically, I think in this quote she’s thinking of the rewards of listening to God’s voice as she writes. She has certainly gone to places she didn’t expect when she wrote the book she is best remembered for, A Wrinkle in Time, where her characters journey into outer space. Her imagined planets and strange beings that populate them are the product of her imagination, gifted of course, from God. 

I think she was using the gifts God gave her, to craft a story, but left them in God’s hands to use as He desired after publication. Her characters who quoted scripture remind the reader of Christianity without being preachy, and that’s what we are told to do as writers today. But her work of science fiction where she mixed science and Christianity was unorthodox for her day and not always appreciated. Today that theme is more widely accepted and her book is still celebrated. 

Mother Teresa wrote, 

“I'm a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.” 

I think when little Teresa was growing up in Macedonia she never imagined she’d spend her adult life in Calcutta, India but what an achievement she accomplished by listening and allowing God to use her life. God began by planting a seed and when she listened, He used her for much good, telling people of God’s love. 

As for me, well, I don’t see a work of science fiction or a trip to Calcutta in my future, but who knows what God will do with my writing, such as it is. I have a prayer group that I send out an email to every week. I update them on my current work and a shortlist of prayer requests. I haven’t felt led to produce explicitly Christian writing but I want God in everything I do. So, I ask for prayer that He will lead my writing. I want to do my best for Him. I have a keen interest in history – the victories and failures of past lives. A few people have sent me a message about my published writing, thanking me and telling me what my article has meant to them, but perhaps there are more that have enjoyed my writing and even been changed in some way, and not told me. I know I have read lots of good stories by wonderful writers and not contacted the author to tell them how much I enjoyed it. Like releasing children into the world when they’re grown, a writer sends their words out to find their own way, guided by God. Writing history is the interest God has given me, and I leave the future of the words in His hands. I hope my writing has gone places and done good in someone’s life that I do not know of, perhaps not around the world or into outer space, but perhaps into someone’s heart. Now there’s the trip of a lifetime! 

“He is at work on your behalf, not to make you a best-seller, but to make you the best tool for His work. As much as we’d like to think this whole gig is about selling books, it’s not. It’s about obedience. About writing, because that’s the task He’s given us. It’s about seeking to serve Him and others through the gifts He’s given us.” ~Karen Ball.

Sheri Hathaway is a freelance writer and watercolour artist living in Saskatoon. She writes historical pieces focusing on farm and family. Her writing has been published in the Western Producer, Neighbourhood Express, Freelance magazine and others. Her online home is sherihathaway.com and on Facebook at Author Sheri Hathaway. 

Guest post by Christine Smith - Truth, Fire and the Road to Emmaus

Truth, Fire, and the Road to Emmaus 

This March teaching has held a higher level of anxiety and reflection than any other year. It has been 12 months since COVID-19 changed each of our lives. A year later, I find myself having adjusted somewhat to the new normal of masks, handwashing, and social distancing. It is time to teach the same topics as I did last March, including focusing on the same Bible stories as Easter approaches. 

One of the stories that greatly resonated with me last year was the Road to Emmaus. My teaching partner suggested we teach it so we could talk about trusting God “in these uncertain times.” To my delight I was able to find ways to make this story relevant to seven-year-olds on an electronic platform during our new online e-learning time. 

 Each Lent I take time to read in detail the accounts of Holy Week. This year, however, I started with the Road to Emmaus, as this story had brought me hope and direction last year. This account is a great roadmap in learning how to trust Jesus more in every season of life. Just as the disciples needed to grow in this area, so do we, whether at the beginning, middle, or end of a pandemic and really, in all of our troubles of this world. 

As the story reveals in Luke 24:13-35, trust is not something the disciples had that Sunday so many years ago. The Scripture said that their faces were “downcast” and that they “had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel.” Had hoped. Their hope was gone, dashed. 

 Jesus, not having indicated who He was yet, goes on to point out their lack of faith. “How foolish you are and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken!” Then “beginning with Moses and all the Prophets he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.” I cannot help but wonder if they had heard some of these things before but had merely forgotten. Perhaps some of these truths never actually took root in their hearts at all. They did not believe what the Scriptures said and as a result, their joy too was missing. 

Once Jesus revealed himself to the disciples they said, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?” Not only was their hope restored, so was their energy and passion, such that they ran over two hours back to Jerusalem. As many of us have learned and relearned, spending time with Jesus is the best way to restore joy to our souls. 

During different seasons of my life, I have found it extremely valuable to write out and frequently read what is true. My soul is strengthened when I read truths to myself that I find challenging to believe. A year ago, in response to this story, I had my students rate how easy or difficult it is for them to believe certain statements that are indeed true for all of God’s people, such as “God forgives all my sins.” or “God is with me all the time.” Reading their responses brought me joy and I accepted the opportunity to pray for their belief in God’s truth to grow in their hearts. 

 What truths do you need to remind yourself of today? How will you take time to be with Jesus and let His words build a fire in your soul? Just like the disciples, may your heart burn with a fire of joy, energy, passion, and renewed purpose to glorify Him this Easter season.

Christine Smith loves words: having stimulating conversations with people, reading a variety of books, and most recently, the words she writes.  She is a teacher who is just beginning to write for audiences other than herself in her journal or her students’ parents.  Christine lives in Langley, B.C. and enjoys coffee, being outside, and making memories with her husband and four kids.