Do You? - Marnie Pohlmann

I rose from beside the fire, turning away from its warmth and light to adjust my eyes to the night.

“Father,” I heard the whisper of my son.

His call did not sound tired, as though he were eager to give the over-watch of our sheep to me so he could sleep beside the warmth in our camp for a few hours. Yet there was an urgency to his utterance. Not exactly fear, or even excitement, but… something different caused me to move quickly toward his voice. As I approached him, I looked about at our sheep. Each one was on its feet, looking in one direction. I reached Daveed’s side and saw he was not watching my approach but was also staring into the sky.

I looked upward, noticing the night sky was not as dark as normal. Was it already morning? No, the light was coming from a star that was brighter than the rest and seemed to be pointing, almost touching the land a few miles away.

“Do you see what I see?” my son asked, reaching to touch my arm. I placed my hand on his shoulder, assuring him I had arrived by his side. I could not move my eyes to look at him. I, too, was mesmerized by the star.

Out of the star’s center something seemed to be moving quickly toward us and soon took on the shape of a man. I drew my son closer to my side and behind while feeling for the sling tucked into my sash. I sensed the restlessness of the sheep and knew they were gathering, huddling together, and trusting I would protect them.

“Do not be afraid.” I heard a crackling in the air and was astonished to understand the words the sound formed. The crackle continued. “I bring good news. The Messiah has come. He was born to a virgin girl, just a little way from here. If you seek him, you will find him wrapped in a simple blanket and sleeping in the hay of a manger.”

Suddenly, the sky burst with colour. Green, blue, purple, and red flickered from amongst the stars, dancing about while the crackling sound became lyrical tones. “Hosanna!” I heard the most beautiful music surround us, inviting us into the celebration.

The music and dancing lights gently faded as morning’s soft light began to dawn along the distant horizon. Still, we stood looking into the sky.

“Father, did you hear what I heard?” my son still whispered but my attention was finally able to move to him.

“Yes. Yes, I did. Our Saviour is born!”

Daveed’s eyes were twinkling like the stars we had seen dance through the sky. “Can we go see him?”

“Yes. Yes, of course we must! Why else would the angel have told us?”

We left the sheep, who had calmed and were laying in the field at peace. We ran to our camp.

“Grandfather,” Daveed called. “Grandfather wake up! We are going into Bethlehem.”

My father groaned from stiff muscles as he rolled over to look at us with bleary eyes.

“Will you come with us, Grandfather? You won’t believe what we are going to see!”

“Humph. Crowded streets, Romans counting us to know our people’s strength, and probably to steal our sheep for taxes. Tomorrow is soon enough for me. But you go ahead. I’m staying right here.”

Daveed was about to protest, but my look told him to respect his grandfather’s wishes. Obviously, he had slept through the whole amazing announcement, and besides, someone should stay with the flock.

“May I choose a lamb to offer to the King?” Daveed suggested.

“Yes. Yes, a good idea. Hurry, though.” 

With the unblemished lamb across his shoulders, Daveed skipped to keep up with my quick walk, but I did not wish to slow down. Soon we saw other shepherds moving toward the town. The boys, cousins from the same family line as us, of Jesse and David’s heritage, ran to one another.

“Did you see what we saw?” “Did you hear what we heard?” The excitement of the youth bubbled about.

I joined the other men for the walk into Bethlehem. We tried to contain our exuberance, choosing instead to speak of the Scriptures we had been made to learn before being allowed into the field to join the family business.

“Didn’t Isaiah say the Messiah would be born of a virgin?”
“Immanuel, God with us.”
“Micah said our King would come from Bethlehem. Imagine, our little town of Bethlehem!”
“The coming of the Messiah will change the world.”
“Hallelujah!”

The adult chatter soon became as chaotic and joyful as our sons' loud voices. We carried on over the hill and down into the town of Bethlehem to look for the baby the angels praised. I never imagined the Saviour of our people would arrive as a baby!

*****

The popular Christmas song, “Do You Hear What I Hear” was written by Gloria Shayne Baker and her husband, Noel Regney, in 1962. Bing Crosby sang the song the next year, and many artists since, including Whitney Houston and Carrie Underwood, have performed this favourite since then. My favourite version is done by the accapella group, Home Free, recorded in 2014.

This song reminds me that my Saviour is coming so I need to be ready for his appearance, however that will look. I believe Scripture prophesies Jesus’ return as accurately as his birth. We need to learn the prophesies and watch for the signs, even though I am sure we will still be as surprised as the shepherds when He does come. Will you join me in the waiting and watching?

Do you see what I see?
Do you hear what I hear?

***** 

photos courtesy of CCO license, Pixabay.com

In northern BC, Marnie Pohlmann listens to an assortment of Christmas music including classic, country, African, Celtic, and even The Benedictine Monks, who Chant Noel.

Moments by Joylene M. Bailey

There are times when I am able to take long periods for refreshment and restoration, where lapping waves and turquoise waters help me breathe deeply. Most of the time though, my life is quite ordinary and I am replenished in moments of beauty and joy, like pearls on a string.  

~~~~~

Image by Pexels from Pixabay 

Music: The second movement (Adagio) of J.S. Bach’s Concerto for Oboe and Violin BWV 1060 has never once failed to set my spirit soaring. The dialogue between oboe and violin is so finely matched that sometimes it’s difficult to discern where the oboe ends and the violin begins. It is a gentle conversation between kindred spirits. The entire 14-minute concerto can be found here, and the Adagio begins at 4:51. When you get there, close your eyes and take it in.

~~~~~

Image by Mabel Amber, still incognito... from Pixabay 

Words:  Most often, it’s not the story that refreshes my spirit. It’s the words. Fresh, unique phrases that surprise and delight, and spark tingles along my spine from head to tailbone. I recently read Toni Morrison’s Beloved. It is a dark story about the horrors and aftermath of slavery, and I couldn’t read it for long periods of time, but the language kept drawing me back. Phrases like 

On nights when the sky was personal, weak with the weight of its own stars  

and 

Their quietness boomed about on the walls like birds in panic.

Words like these exhilarate and replenish me. They urge me on to work harder at my own writing.

~~~~~

Laughter: The last time I had an all-out-can’t-stop laughing fit I was in a Chicken Chef in Gimli, Manitoba. I couldn’t tell you what set me off, but people at other tables turned to stare. My husband and grandson looked at each other bewilderedly. 

And then took a photo. 

How refreshing to be able to laugh. Whether it’s full-blown, like that day in Chicken Chef, or a chuckle of delight at something else, to laugh is to be refreshed.  

One chuckle I got this week:

My two-year-old grandsons had never seen their Daddy without his beard. This week he shaved it off. The first time the twins saw him sans beard their reactions were notably funny:

A: Me no like this Daddy.

E: Where you other chin?

If I know I need to have a good laugh, I often turn to children’s books. Who can resist Jack Prelutsky’s silly rhymes?

I have a pet tomato,

it doesn’t have a stem.

My friends have pet asparagus –

why can’t I be like them?

~~~~~

Image by 育银 戚 from Pixabay

Sometimes I go looking for these moments. Sometimes they surprise me. Either way, when they happen I need to stop in my tracks and take them in. Add those pearls to my string. Moments of refreshment sprinkled throughout a day, a week. Strung together they form a strand of sparkle and shimmer that adorns this ordinary life. 

~~~~~

  

~~~~~

 scrapsofjoy.com 

Relief From Weariness - Carol Harrison

Weariness follows me like a lost puppy dog more often than I like to admit, causing discouragement to grab hold and scare away the words and the confidence of hearing God's voice correctly. Life overwhelms me when busyness pulls in too many directions at once or tough times try to obliterate joy, peace, and light. Sometimes the worn out feeling makes me long to pull the covers over my head so I do not have to face whatever the day might bring. At times like this I long to be refreshed over and over again, more than at other times in my life.

Looking at this month's prompt forced me to take a long, hard deep inside myself to find out what helps me be refreshed. It should be easy, shouldn't it, to know what refreshes me and helps me keep going? Yet, in the midst of being worn out and pulled in many directions, I forget to pause and take seriously God's command, which I have written on a card on my desk, "Be still and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10a.

The self-examination yielded a few key elements for refreshment and renewal.

Music, the old hymns especially, refresh me and always have from the time of my childhood until now. When I remember to be still, to pause, to have a time of refreshing, I allow the melody of songs to wash over me and the words to move me towards a focus on God. The combination of words and music speaks deep into my heart.

With my hearing aids blue-toothed to my phone, I can listen to music with no distractions. The last time I had to stay in the hospital and self-pity came to call, I took my phone, found a two-hour worship video on YouTube, popped in my hearing aids and listened without disturbing anyone else. I lay on my hospital bed with eyes closed, quietly worshiping God until self-pity slunk from the room.

Water also relaxes me and brings a time of refreshment into my life. I love being at a lake with the waves gently lapping against the shore and pine trees in the background. A bonus includes the call of the loon and the display of God's artistry in  spectacular sunrises or sunsets. Since I rarely have the opportunity to visit a lake and in winter ice covers the soothing water, I have several photos by my desk of these peaceful scenes to remind me of the beauty of God's creation.

Even waterfalls, especially trickling down the side of a mountain,  white water rapids, or rivers give me a sense of refreshing with the sound of the rushing water. These times near water remind me that Jesus is the Living Water - powerful, cleansing, and restorative.

 

Reading has been another means for refreshing my spirit. Sometimes when I have trouble concentrating and words don't flow onto the page, or life's tough moments threaten to overwhelm, I retreat into a book. I pick a fiction book, some light reading, and lose myself from the daily grind. I escape my own reality and live vicariously through someone else's adventures. The end result leaves me feeling like I have experienced a mini vacation.

As wonderfully refreshing as music, water, and reading are to me, I need time to be still in God's presence and look into His Word to totally soothe, refresh, and restore the broken bits of life that prohibit creative juices and strain relationships. I look at promises such as Isaiah 43:1-3a "But now this is what the Lord says- he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour;"

God knows all about me, including my name. He sees my weariness. He hears my cries. He knows my desire to listen to His still, small voice and follow where He leads. He refreshes my soul and restores peace in the middle of this crazy, busy life.









Carol Harrison lives, writes, and tells stories from her home in Saskatoon where she lives with her husband, Brian. She has two published books and a number of published short stories, poems and articles. She loves to encourage others so they can find glimmers of hope and glimpses of joy.

In His Image by Susan Barclay

I come from a somewhat artistic family. My mom is great with her hands, using them to sew, knit and crochet, and later in life picked up a paintbrush and demonstrated some skill as an artist. Her sister is actually an artist and has painted all her life, as well as teaching others in the form. I am not a seamstress, knitter or crocheter, and dropped art after grade eight. 

There are perhaps two pieces of art I produced that I am not ashamed of: a painting of a whale that I probably did in elementary school or junior high, and a watercolour of a sunflower in a vase that I did when my aunt taught a one-night workshop in my home.

From my father’s side it would appear that I acquired a decent singing voice. I do enjoy singing and have been in both small groups and in choirs over the course of my life. I took vocal music in high school and at one point thought I would like to be a solo artist. But I knew I wasn’t sufficiently competitive, the industry was/is pretty cut-throat, and I wasn’t likely suited to it.

So here I am. It’s the writer’s life for me. God gave me a gift for words and a love of reading which goes hand-in-hand. I often think what a blessing it is that God has given many, if not all of us some form of creativity. He is the Creator, the One with the biggest imagination, and He made us in His image. Thus our creative abilities which bring us such joy.

How cool is that?

Every good present and every perfect gift comes from above, from the Father who made the sun, moon, and stars. The Father doesn’t change like the shifting shadows produced by the sun and the moon. (James 1:17, GW)

________________
Visit my website, www.susanbarclay.wordpress.com
for more about me and my writing 

Activities that Feed my Spirit - Ruth L. Snyder

I have come to realize that some activities are almost as important to me as breathing. Music and taking pictures of nature - enjoying beauty, are two activities that feed my spirit. I also enjoy baking and crafts - sewing, knitting, crocheting, and cross stitch, but crafts have had to take a back-seat while I raise my children. My kids encourage me to bake often!

A selection of pies I made

 Steve Bell describes beauty this way:

"I think beauty is one of the touchstones that everyone can relate to. You see a great sunset and, believer or non-believer, at that point you're connecting to something you know deep in your soul, which is far beyond something you know in your head. And music has the ability to connect people...like a sunset can, or a great vista...it's a tool to bring people to a sense of transcendence. There is something beyond me happening here." (Why do we hunger for beauty?)

 My parents are both musical. My dad played an E-flat alto horn - similar to a french horn, but with a larger mouthpiece. He also whistled, and sang bass. I heard my mom play accordion and piano, and she also talked about playing a sousaphone in a marching band during her school years. We spent many hours singing as a family, during family devotions, at church, and while traveling. I learned how to sing both soprano and alto from listening to my mom.

As a young child, I remember longing for the opportunity to learn how to play the piano. My parents were missionaries and moved frequently, so we didn't have a piano for many years. However, when I was nine I attended school for a year in Rhodesia (now called Zimbabwe). Although my siblings and I were five hundred miles away from our parents, one benefit was that I was able to take piano lessons. In one year I learned enough that I was placed at the grade two level when we came back to North America. I'm thankful I was able to continue all the way through completing grade 10 piano and theory.

Today I share my love of music by playing at our church, leading our church choir, accompanying and singing in the Elk Point Community Choir, and teaching private piano lessons as well as Music for Young Children.

My dad was a printer, but one of his hobbies was taking pictures, developing, and printing them himself. (This was when you had to load film into your camera and pictures were developed using chemicals in a darkroom.) Since we lived in southern Africa at the time, we were able to go to game parks where animals like lions, giraffe, and crocodiles lived in their natural habitat. Although I didn't enjoy having to sit still for what seemed like hours, I did enjoy watching the images come to life in the dark room. My dad also took many pictures of the beautiful African sunsets - even in black and white they looked amazing.

Today I often take walks and snap pictures as I go. When we travel, I take my Sony a200 with me. I have also been asked to take pictures at events like anniversaries, motorcycle Sunday at our church, the Elk Point Dinner Theatre, and of course, our InScribe Fall Conference. Nature is still my favourite subject.

Pink-tipped roses

Winter beauty

Sunrise from my window

Elk at dusk in Jasper

I also shared a post on my personal blog today of some pictures I took on my iPhone during my morning walk. You can check it out at http://ruthlsnyder.com/a-little-slice-of-heaven/#.V2AiTmZ_w7w.

What feeds your spirit? How do you enjoy and share beauty?

Musical Inclinations by Karma Pratt

Music has always been a big part of who I am and how I express myself. Growing up, we would take road trips during summer holidays. Our departure was always trumpeted with a rousing chorus of “Holiday Road” led by my dad in the driver’s seat. My brother and I would sit in the back of our ’79 Thunderbird (or Thunderchicken as it came to be known), belting out harmonies and background vocals, while my mom would grin and bear it from the passenger seat. Not that she didn’t love music, but there is a limit to the volume of “harmony” any mom can reasonably take.

Twin Love

I understand this better now, being a mom myself. As I watch my kids grow, stepping into their own strengths, and taking on new challenges, I find myself cringing a little when the volume levels get too high. I have twin children: one with a vocabulary that rivals Webster, and one with significant speech delays who is just now beginning to express himself using words. At 3-1/2 years old, both love to sing and make music. Imagine a chorus of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” to the tune of “mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, ARGH, ARGH, ARGH!” (insert inner pirate voice here). That’s kind of how our songs can go.

I wouldn’t trade the loud voices and musical tendencies of my children for all the gold in Fort Knox. Through them I have relearned what it means to truly make a joyful noise. They sing because there’s a song rising up in their hearts, and they cannot conceive of quelling it. They enjoy music and dancing because these activities, these moments connect them to their joy.

Our storyteller

Sometimes the most powerful lessons come from the most innocent perspectives.
 
Last summer, I had a profound lesson in the nature of creativity. Our daughter, Kalliste, was singing a song she had made up on the spot. We were outdoors at a birthday party for a family friend. We'd been enjoying the birthday festivities, and it was obvious that both kids were in their element. Running around in the fresh air is their favourite thing to do!  

Kalliste, who had just finished one lilting, sing-song effort, paused, took a breath, glanced up at the trees, then looked right back at me and declared, "I feel another song coming. I'm going to sing it now." She proceeded to belt out a new tune, different in tone and structure than the previous one. 

This new song was all about the wind in the trees.

In her book, If You Want to Write, Brenda Ueland describes it this way: "And how do these creative thoughts come? They come in a slow way. It is the little bomb of revelation bursting inside you." (Ueland, p. 38)

Creative inspiration can take so many forms. The trick, I am learning, is to embrace these moments when they come. They are spontaneous, spirited and fun-filled. There is no angst, no waiting for the perfect moment, or the perfect word. They simply happen, creative sparks that translate into music. Simple and profound.

Meeting special guest, Elmo, at the
CDC mini talent show. The kids sang
with their classmates.

Music has always been a big part of my life, and I am encouraged and inspired by my children’s love of music. We have a house filled with joyful noise, love and creativity. We sing our praises loudly, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Karma Pratt is a faith-driven mom of twins, a communicator, a writer, and an encourager from way back. She offers professional writing and editing services at redraincoatcreations.com. 

Musical Inspiration - Bonnie Way

A few days ago, I attended a concert with my mother-in-law at her church.  A music camp was going on in the community and the faculty had gotten together to put on a recital.  There were three pianists, three violinists, and a cellist.  The evening began with some duets on the piano and then different combinations of strings and keys.

As the music filled the small church, I found myself amazed that someone could put the notes together to create such beautiful sound.  How did they know that each violin should play these notes while the piano played those notes?  It flabbergasted me.  Then I realized that maybe it's not so different than writing.  Just as I have novels playing out in my head—characters talking, plots happening, scenes growing—so a composer has notes, bars, entire pieces of music dancingn his head, asking to be released in the instruments.

As I listened, I wanted to write.  I felt the creativity both of the composer and of the musicians who now brough his music alive, and it inspired my own creativity.  I drank in the music, the beauty, the complexity.  I watched the musicians, the way their expressions changed as they played—it was clear that they too loved this music.

At one time, I took violin and piano lessons.  I stopped when I started university, as I was unsure how much time I would have to devote to my degree.  I tried piano lessons again briefly and picked up my violin a few times while we lived up north, but I've realized that playing music isn't my talent.  Perhaps someday I can teach Sunshine and Lilibet the beginnings of either instrument and, because of my lessons, I can better appreciate the effort put into a concert like this.  But my creative expression is through words.

So I listened and let the beauty, artistry, creativity of these musicians inspire my own muse.

~ Bonnie Way, http://thekoalabearwriter.blogspot.com/

A Song in the Morning - Janet Sketchley

As a little girl, I used to bounce out of bed early, chattering and ready to play. Somewhere all that changed. Most days in my adult life have started with resentful thoughts toward the alarm clock and an excruciating crawl out of sleep’s warm embrace into a cold and dreary morning. At least that’s how it feels, even in July with sunshine and birdsong.

I’ve dreaded waking up, dragging into another day’s responsibilities with insufficient energy and less joy. Somewhere on the planet are people who spring wide awake and alert, fully rested and eager to get going. If you’re one of them, congratulations but please don’t tell me.

Occasionally I wake knowing something exciting waits in the day: a trip, or any of the days I’m at Write! Canada. I’m still low-energy, but it’s easier to get moving because I look forward to what’s waiting.

Once, I woke feeling happy. Must have had a lovely dream. Dreams that encourage me spiritually or suggest intriguing stories let me wake with more cheer, as do the mornings when there’s a song in my head before the radio comes on.

I notice the music connection even more since CBC Radio 2 changed its format. Without the gentle classical music that used to comfort me in the waking, things have gotten harder.

Not long ago, I woke one morning with a worship song drifting through my mind and something finally clicked. I thanked God for the song, for how it made it easier to accept being awake. And that night I asked Him to please do it again.

He did.

Each night I ask, and each morning there’s part of a worship song to smooth my transition into the day. Focusing on the lyrics instead of just coasting on the tune brings me into God’s presence to start the day with Him.

I can’t say I look forward to mornings yet, but the dread is gone.

God is good.

© Janet Sketchley, 2008
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For devotionals, reviews and conversation, stop by Janet Sketchley's blog, God with Us: Finding Joy.