Thank God for travelling mercies

Drinking. Texting. Sleeping. When my car suddenly veered right—and right off the road—this morning on the way to work, anyone observing likely ticked one of those off in their mind. I plead innocent on all three counts. I’ve lately used my twenty-minute commute to and from the office to listen …

For better, for worse, forever

Marriage: the extreme race; a relentless exercise of repeated acts contrary to human nature—not getting one’s own way and putting another’s needs above one’s own. Many enter. Some race for life. Before my parents’ wedding, they stole off to have lunch at a café in a nearby town. They enjoyed …

By God, ring those bells

The Preacher and I sometimes fill a long-vacant pulpit in a nearby city church that just celebrated its 100th year. The steeple over the red brick structure still punctures the sky, though the bell tower is empty and inside, the antique pews more than half so. Yet like the oil …

Twisted weather

“Isn’t it nice we’re having weather?” one of our friends regularly quips, in an unexpected twist of phrase. We’ve had a bit of twisty weather in my part of Saskatchewan lately. At work recently, I kept one ear to the Weather Network as forecasters issued warnings of severe fronts approaching. …

The Preacher hits the road

“Goin’ for a ride on my scooter,” the Preacher said. “Here’s the cell in case your sister texts back,” I muttered an absent-minded response and resumed writing. Ninety minutes later, I noticed the phone beside my computer, recalled his comment, and worried he’d been gone so long. At that exact …

When no one answers the door

No answer. Not at the front door, not at the back door. And the place looked a little lifeless. The Preacher frowned. “That’s funny. You told them the right day, didn’t you?” “Of course!” I said. “And I just talked with them earlier today.” We’d hadn’t visited Aunt Alma and …

Back Deck Battle

Out on the deck there rose such a clatter, I leapt from my chair to check out the matter. A wounding, surely; perhaps with blood. Our four grandbeans, ages 2 to 8, had just left our dinner table and migrated to the back deck to play until dessert. Their parents …

The power secret we’re missing

Secunderabad, India. A breeze teased a response from the thin fabric panels of a red and orange Maharajah tent where a small congregation sat cross-legged on the ground, their arms raised in a song of praise. Watchers stood outside, some curious, a few frowning, their arms folded, listening carefully. A …

Shadow talk

We all have one, uniquely our own. They move, but don’t live. They respond instantly, but can’t see, hear, or communicate. They touch us but we feel nothing. The tiniest can’t be picked up and the largest take up no space. Strange things, shadows. Since they were tiny, my grandbeans …