The Preacher’s eagles—many dozens, collected over years—have flown. Eagles have always inspired Christians. The Bible makes many references to the majestic lord of the skies, none better known than Isaiah’s reminder to the downtrodden Israelites: “But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up …
We’re getting to know our new city, the Preacher and I. Every community has its own uniqueness, as individual and identifiable as a human thumbprint. Pleasant summer days find us exploring, sometimes together, sometimes on our own. I walk or bike, while Rick rides his tall scooter. The dog follows …
He’s ninety-six now, living in a residential care facility in B.C. I can’t call him on the phone anymore. He hears very little and struggles with dementia. My sister tells me that until she mentions me, he doesn’t speak of me. Then our father remembers the daughter two provinces away. …
A few more months, the Preacher and I hope, and we’ll have completed our move. Meanwhile, it feels strange, living in two houses. No matter which house I’m in, I feel at home. The two places feel connected, albeit with a long, paved hall. Sometimes, when I’m standing in one …
My spring drive kicked in as sure as any creature’s migration instinct. I felt a fierce compulsion to turn over ground. To dig up winterkill, prune raspberries, plant seedlings, divide perennials and prepare for new life. Foiled by cold weather, I put that energy to use in our bedroom. In …
