Category Archives: life

Recommended Christmas Story

Posted in books, Ireland, life, words by

It’s been a frantic week of shop keeping and baking and carol singing. It’s been good, but frantic, and during yesterday’s duties I felt particularly as if I was moving in a slow, creaking gear. “Little smiles and little tears are all we’ve brought” was the line that repeated itself in my brain. It was my line, the only thing I could offer to anyone.

It’s the line from the poem “How Far is it to Bethlehem?” by Frances Chesterton. The line is the one Elizabeth Yates uses in her lovely Christmas story “On That Night.”

This morning I was part of the city market crew, to sell cakes, bread, and scones. I learned again that I am solar powered, and can sell things well. If the sun shines, anything is possible and everything is wonderful. And I can talk people into buying things because I’m enthused and happy.

Town was wonderful. I fell in love again with life and with Waterford City. The air was crisp and cold, and did I mention, bright? People met my eyes and smiled and/or waved and drivers were polite to each other. I rode the bus back to the bakery, to bake apple tarts and lemon tarts, thoroughly revived and ready to work for another week. This time as I worked, the little smiles and little tears were gone, and instead I sang and laughed and joked. Yup, I’m solar powered. The Romans used to call this country Hibernian. After 13 winters here, I understand why they did.

This evening six of us young ladies sang several songs as part of the carol service in St. Andrew’s Church in Dunmore East. It was a lovely evening of Nine Lessons and Carols, with a huge crowd of friends and neighbors packing the (drafty) pews. As we meandered out into the cold crisp night, I thought again of Yates’ “On That Night” and the magical, gentle night when the characters in the story left their prayer time, went out in the snow, and found what they’d lost. I hope we get snow now too.

Next week, hopefully things won’t be quite so frantic. I hope there’ll be an evening when we sisters can sit by my fire and take turns reading “On That Night” to each other. I love the wistful, gentle, worshipful story written by a gifted lady.

As far as Christmas stories go, I can’t choose my favourite between that one and “The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Twomey.” Both deal with love and loss, grief and miracles, and have parts where I choke up and parts where I smile every time I read them. Do yourself a favor and read at least one of them this week.

From the Emerald Isle

Posted in life, My Book by

If you wandered over here via Dorcas’ blog, welcome!

About my blog: there’s little rhyme or reason as to when and what I post. Most of it is ramblings and musings about life, wonder, and God. Subscribe to email posts using the button on the right, or use your feed reader of choice. (Being a bit of a blog junkie, I LOVE Google Reader!) Nose around my recommended book list and pieces of advice to wannabe writers, and leave a comment if you agree or even if you don’t.

About my book: Unfortunately, due to some mistakes, it is out of print but not forever. Stay tuned here for news of the next printing. I wrote the book with a target audience of single women ages 20-30 because that was the scope of my experience and I didn’t think I could speak into anyone else’s experience outside of that. It has been most surprising and delightful to hear from many people outside that narrow scope. I love how God dreams bigger than I do.

I dream of a living a life filled with words and people, where no one needs money, and windows never get dirty. But I live in the real world (albeit a wonderful world on this clear bright moon lit night), and so now I’m off to wash dishes.

Giving Thanks

Posted in Ireland, life by

“Is everyone unhappy?” the child Lovejoy was to ask Vincent in despair.

Vincent said, “Everyone,” but after a moment, when he had thought, he added, “That doesn’t prevent them from being happy.”

—An Episode of Sparrows, Rummer Godden

For the last week I’ve been reading about people in the US who are gearing up for Thanksgiving. I feel far away and detached, an interested on-looker, fascinated by the movements and ruminations of people doing something I’m not.

When our family moved to Ireland in April of ’96, I was homesick now and then but the worst moment was on the first Thanksgiving Day. It had been my favourite holiday, because it was simple and happy, and now no one even gave a nod to it. I was devastated and felt sure that this was a heartless, cruel, God-less place to live.

Now, 13 years later, it’s ok. Thanksgiving as a holiday seems like a foreign entity, like part of another lifetime (which it is), like something I can be an observer in without being a participator. And, because I don’t have to be at work til this evening, it’s sort of like a holiday anyhow, only without turkey and cranberries, and I’m ok with that.

Part of the change of heart has come about because of the passing of time. Other people and priorities precede the importance I once placed on my favourite holiday. Now, Thanksgiving is something I try to observe daily.

Every night, before I let myself turn off the light, I harness my memory to eek out and write down at least one thing that I’m thankful for, one thing that happened that day in which I heard God say “I love you” to me. It is the best, most helpful spiritual discipline in my life. It is the one thing I urge everyone to do, and is required of my students in Godly Womanhood class. My Thanks Journal is a tangible record of many intangible things. It turns my mind to God instead of letting me dwell on all that makes me unhappy. It reminds me of God’s faithfulness and my dependency on Him. Sometimes I think a long time before deciding what to write but that’s not God’s fault.

Today I am thankful for:
-the toasty warm evening and sibling camaraderie last night at my brother’s house
-a pleasant job environment
-books and pens and my laptop
-sparkling good health after a year’s illness
-girlfriends who I can call whenever I need a sounding board and wise words
-Godly men who believe in my book project and support my calling to teach
-my parents who have ‘marinated’ me with life-priorities of love and service
-dreams and ambitions and plans
-grandfathers whose worlds are big, and who forged a path that led beyond their ‘back forty’
-God, who in all times and in all ways, showers peace and joy in dews of blessing

Today’s Slice: The Storyteller

Posted in life, My Book, words by

This evening I wept to read “The Storyteller” on today’s Slice of Infinity. It moved me deeply because I believe in the power of story–am overwhelmed with it really, because all my life I will be plumbing its depths–remember how other storytellers have influenced me, and tremble to think I can tell stories that influence others.

I loooove hearing from readers of my book. It happened yesterday again, (and I cried again. )I hear that there are some who don’t like my book, but that is second-hand information; no one has said it to my face. It is cowardly not to confront the author if you don’t like the author’s message–but I digress.

Back to sharing stories: it is in sharing my story that others honor me by sharing theirs. Then this interesting synergy takes place: we are both richer for having shared. Aren’t we richer for knowing and hearing the greatest Storyteller in the universe? I am going to spend my life and eternity sitting at His feet, listening to His stories.

Recomendation

Posted in life by

Nearly two years ago, I took a 12-week on-line distance course from Christian Counseling and Education Foundation called “Dynamics of Biblical Change.” It was the start of a new way of looking at/dealing with life and its inevitable heat and thorns. I was impressed with how Biblical and sound the teaching is, and how it meets people in the real world. (CCEF is part of Westminster Theological Seminary, whose bookstore I have posted as a link in the right sidebar.)

The Dynamics course is the prerequisite for 2 other courses: ‘Helping Relationships’ and ‘Counseling in the Local Church.’ I’m a month into ‘Helping Relationships’ now, and am so very grateful for the opportunity. Dr. Paul Tripp is the lecturer, and his book, Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands is our main textbook. Dr. Tripp is dynamic and so excitable that he frequently gets his words fumbled up in his hurry and enthusiasm to get them out. Often he’ll say “Now fasten your seatbelts for this one.” Or today it was “Now take that and smoke it in your theology pipe!”

I am learning that the Bible is not an encyclopedia for resources or topics. If it were, it would have come topically indexed in Greek and Hebrew. It is the epic story of God’s glory, and we needy, fallible humans get to witness, experience, and spread that glory as His ambassadors. I want to learn methods to help myself and others to change more into God’s likeness and glory, and this course is a good way of helping that happen.

If you love people, and feel called to any kind of Christian ministry, and have about one spare day per week for 3 months, I highly recommend these courses. Every week there is a down-loaded lecture to listen to, chapters and articles to read, response paper to write, reading quiz to study for and community forum to respond to–all due every Thurs. midnight. Dr. Tripp emphasizes that change happens in community, and the only way to do that long-distance as a class is to have a community board. At first it felt clunky and stiff, but the group spirit is coming slowly, and I have been amazingly ministered to already. I feel incredibly blest to have the time/energy/money to take in this privilege.

Comfort and Joy

Posted in life by

I can’t say she’s my oldest friend, because she’s younger than I. But we go back further than pretty much all my friends, so in that way she my oldest friend. I was a basket case today, and particles of my soul were oozing out of the basket. God arranged the day so that I had an unexpected hour to be at home, and on the spur of the moment, I called my oldest friend.

She listened and commented and asked questions and for several rare seconds, there was even silence, just because it was comfortable and there wasn’t anything to say. She gave me perspective because she knows me well enough and can see my life in its wider spectrum than I can when I’m in the middle of things. She can connect the dots for me because she’s seen so many of my dots, and she lets me feel that I’m not a toad.

It was the swiftest 50 min. of the day. I cried, and laughed/howled and advised her in turn. The serendipity phone call was the best thing I did the whole busy day. The basket holes aren’t leaking so badly now.

The rest of the day, I sang to myself my current favourite hymn. For weeks now, it has fed me day in and day out. I sing to myself, plus keep the words close so that I can see them often:

O Jesus, grant me hope and comfort,
O let me ne’er in sorrow pine,
My heart and soul, yea, all my being,
O Jesus, trust alone in Thee.
Thou Prince of Peace,
Thou Pearl from heaven,
True God, true Man,
My Morning Star!
O come, Thou precious Sun most radiant,
Thy beams illumine my heart and soul.

O Jesus, with Thy advent quiet
My restless soul and anxious mind.
In true humility I welcome Thee,
Jesus Christ, my Joy divine.
My thoughts, desires, and all my longings
I dedicate, O Christ to Thee.
O come, Thou precious Sun most radiant,
Thy beams illumine my heart and soul.
–Johann Franck

Slothfulness vs. Fervent in Spirit

Posted in life, Sunday School by

I follow “Boundless,” Focus on the Family’s blog for singles, and this post was particularly thought-provoking. I have a lot of respect for Josh Harris, and his honesty here has potential to be life-changing.

It gave me something to go on when teaching the ladies’ SS class last Sunday. I mentioned, like Josh Harris did, that we probably don’t think about laziness in terms of wanting to sleep all day–at least I don’t. But the ladies started laughing self-consciously, and said it’s an issue for them. Then it emerged that one is prone to bad migranes, another is pregnant, another is recovering from serious ear/sinus infection, and so wanting to sleep is, for them, necessary, and not necessarily a sign of laziness.

It can be hard–if not impossible–to quantify laziness or lack of self-control in the physical realm. I’m not sure that working hard from dawn to dusk so as to keep up with the latest and preserve my reputation with the neighbors is the best kind of diligence. I tend to think that God is more interested in what is unseen, and whether my heart is intentional about seeking His face and His kingdom. That means being decisive about where my soul’s energies go. About doing the thing that needs to be done with a view of the future, and not only the convenience/pleasure of the present moment. It was the man without understanding and forsight whose house was covered in weeds and thorns. I think God is pleased when we live life with thought and intent. It is how He made us to operate, and it helps keep out the weeds from our souls.

Tribute to Billy

Posted in Ireland, life by

When we first met Billy over 13 years ago, we said to each other: “He’s Captain Jim!” (from Anne’s House of Dreams) Billy really was like a story book character, and looked the part with his grizzled beard, knee-length britches, and long stockings. He grew up in Waterford, but spent most of his life in England, and developed a most impressive, distinguished English accent. He married Sarah from there, a most patient, smiley, competent lady. She must have heard the stories of his escapades a million times, but as we’d listen, she’d always sit there smiling and nodding knowingly at him and us. I would so like to know what kind of person he was in his days with the RAF and in the class room as a teacher.

His turn of phrase and insight and story telling was unlike anyone I know. He was a perfect gentleman, tipping his hat when he saw me, asking how I was. When we asked him, he’d favour us with a song or poem. His scratchy, gravelly voice would recite “The Sea is a Dog” and make it come alive. Billy is infamous for having checked himself out of the hospital and walking 10 miles home. He did things his way. When the doctor told him he’d lose his legs if he didn’t stop smoking, Billy stopped smoking. To do it right, he walked all around Ireland as a fundraiser for the Life Boats.

Billy lived by the sea and in his boat. When he was diagnosed with cancer some years back, he kept his boat as long as he possibly could manage it. This spring, he and his wife came to church for a service, and I sat beside him. Instead of staying for tea afterwards, he politely told me he’s not feeling well, and left immediately. Billy died in July, and it was a huge honour that he had asked us to sing a particular plain chant rendition of Psalm 23 at his funeral.

My sisters and I sang it from the balcony of the little country church. We had learned the song from a recording Billy had made of himself singing it. The antiphon: “His goodness shall follow me always, to the end of my days.”

Billy and Sarah had a lively, lovely family, and Ben, the youngest, shared this story at the funeral. I share it here as I remember the account as a tribute to a rare soul who I was privileged to have for a neighbour.

When I was 11 or so, my siblings, along with our neighbour’s children, would meet the school bus at the end of our lane, and it would take us to the village to school. One morning I had the great idea that when we heard the bus coming, we would jump behind the hedge, and wait out of sight until it gave up waiting for us and go on without us.

It was a great plan and it worked. The bus came, waited, and waited, and waited…and drove off. And we were free from school for the day! But the eagle eye of the neighbour lady saw us and reported us to our mother, who was VERY cross with us. My mother told me that my father would have some words for me when he came home.

When my father came home, I was terrified, and as he walked toward me, I wondered which limb he would tear first from me. But all he said was, “Get in the car, son.” He drove to Dower’s grocery on the corner, and bought two cans of Coke and a packet of crisps. Now, a packet of crisps in those days was like winning the lottery!

We sat outside the shop at a table, and we ate our crisps and drank our Coke, and my father said, “So tell me what you did today.” I told him, and he said nothing. We finished our treat, got back into the car and went home. He never said anything more about the escapade, but I can tell you that I never again tried to skip school. That was the genius of my father. I never knew a man who could think outside the box like he did, and have a solution when no one else had one.

Ladies’ Night

Posted in life by

It turned out that 15 ladies came, and fit nicely into the sitting room which my co-planner said was the nicest, coziest sitting room in Ireland. =) I felt sorry for the few who sat on hard surfaces, but it could hardly be helped.

I’d been asked to give ‘The Gift of Story’ talk that I gave at the Oasis Ladies’ Retreat at SMBI in Aug. I discovered that it’s much scarier to talk to women who know me than to speak to strangers. I teach the ladies’ Sunday school class; I don’t know why this talk was different and more intimidating than that is every Sunday, but it was.

However, talking to women who know me is more productive than talking to strangers, because my friends constructively point out the broad, sweeping generalities I’m prone to make, and they challenge my various ideas, and get me to hone this or that point. Very, very good. Strangers just smile and say thanks, and make you feel like you said something profound and encouraging. But they don’t point out what you should have clarified, or question what you said.

And afterwards, after most had left, some of us stood around the food table, nibbling the leftovers, in fun, girlish camaraderie.
It was a fun night. And next time, I get to critique what’s said!!!!

My Happy, Sociable Evening

Posted in life by

This post is supposed to make my readers think that I live a charmed life. Because I do! I don’t write fiction–not yet. This story is true.

Last night I made a Spanish omelet after I came home from work. The phone rang as I was eating dinner on the back steps in the setting sunlight. “Are you having a bridge of silence?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m sitting on the step, eating and chatting with my house mate and listening to choral music.”

Then we talked to catch up with each others’ news, and then I had to hang up because another friend was walking through the door. She and I drank several cups of tea and talked and laughed, and then, because she’s a far better wordsmith than I, she helped me draft a letter that I was needing help with and had asked for her assistance.

Minutes after she took herself away, the phone rang again, and it was another friend whom I haven’t seen for far too long, so we chatted awhile, and arranged to meet for dinner one night next week.

It was after 10 when we hung up, and when I looked at the clock, I felt this excited, relaxed thrill that comes after having had a most sociable, chatty, interactive evening. It refreshed and energized me as little else does. My housemate is moving to Dublin on Monday and while I am not excited about living alone, this evening helped me fear it less.

In 30 min. another friend is coming to finalize plans for our church women’s fellowship evening that I’m helping to host and share at, this coming Saturday night. I hope she can help me move some furniture so that we can put 19 ladies in the sitting room. I suspect one is as lonely as one lets herself be, and as long as I have a phone and friends and family nearby, I will never become a hermitess. For this I am grateful and relieved.