Jesus and the Old Goat

“Know what? We need a scapegoat,” I told the Preacher. “Someone to take the blame for everything that goes wrong around here.” He chuckled. It all started the day the car stereo died. We’d had music on the way to our friends’ home, but driving back, the radio wouldn’t turn …

God’s Unexpected Gifts

The Preacher and I spoke at one of our former churches a while back. The platform seemed lower and wider, but the church had changed little in two decades.  It took a long time to get to my seat—too many friends lined the aisles. And I would have missed Lisa …

What’s Better than Chocolate?

Could have been his grey hair. Most likely his walker, a long-term result of his West Nile neurological Disease. But a few weekends back, someone much younger guessed the Preacher’s age at 75—almost two decades up the road. It stuck in his craw, I think. At precisely 8:45 last evening, …

Ever Bought the Moon?

While riding in our daughter’s family van, I asked our four-year-old grandson about the auction he and his dad had attended earlier. “Could you understand the auctioneer, Benjamin?” I said. He chuckled. “He talks very fast!” “Do you know your Daddy can talk like that too?” Our son-in-law learned the …

God’s Hope Shines in Haiti

 On January 12th, Haiti quaked. Its foundations rattled, cracked and crumbled. So did its people. What followed the horrific physical devastation was even worse: a tsunami of loss and grief that roared into the lives and homes of Haitians and compassionate people worldwide. Did it crash through your walls too? …

Don’t rush for the jackhammer

The friends who sold us our house warned us about its unfinished basement. “It’s bone dry down there—no water for ages. But the floor has white powder. The stuff just keeps coming up.” Indeed. The first time I visited the basement, I almost scampered back up its painted grey stairs. …

Look for the beauty, not the holes

I almost always wear green—spring green. Ask anyone who knows me. But I decided to wear something different to church one day. Black pants, a short-sleeved black shirt, and a hand-crocheted gold tunic—lacy, and lightly sequined.  I’d bought the top for my daughter at our favourite thrift store.  “Hey, Amanda, …