Quietly, in the early hours, with the Book on my lap, and the steam rising from my coffee cup, I watch them flit in and out, this parade of life in feathered form.

sons and mothers

He said to me this morning, our little Marten, "When I am big I will have a huge property and a guest house, and when you are old you can live in it, and I will take care of you".

Today, I am alive and well, and have a list of chores and activities that need attending, while my own mom lies quiet in a hospice bed. Today, Uncle Marten returns to his own family and his own life. No Diggory's apple was given or would have been taken. Only precious time and selfless love and a wanting to take care of one's mother. Somehow it just seems impossible and so sons and daughters do what they can but it never feels like it is enough. And mom lies quiet in her bed and loves her children back.

canada day

end of june

The weather has been odd, one day stormy, the next sunny and warm. Even within a day, or within an hour, rain can pour down and then unexpectedly brilliant blue breaks through.

Such it is with our hearts, one day overcome with sadness, the next day cheerful. Even within a day, or an hour, awash with grief and then illuminated with Light.

Out in the rain last evening the little girl stopped to gaze at the light pouring out from a gap in the storm clouds. Enthralled with a glimpse of heaven, she had tears in her eyes.

May we always see the light beyond the darkness.

june 24th

We give thanks for birthday of the man who put the love of creation and of God in our hearts.

june 24th

peonies

I love these fragrant heralds of summer. Bold, pink masses.

I wish my mom could come and sit on our porch and enjoy them. Last month I wondered if she would be here to enjoy the apple blossoms, and they have come and gone. Then I wondered if she would see the lilacs and I brought her some. Next I wondered about the yellow lilies and I brought them to the hospital room. Likewise the peonies, I picked some for her and some for myself. I brought them to the hospital room and I put them on our table at home.

We make pancakes, the little guy and I, and I wonder about mom. I fold laundry and wonder about mom. I teach the little ones and I think of mom. I wake up at night and wonder how she feels in her new hospice bed. I sit and the computer and cry for her, and for dad, and for us. I search my mind, search the internet: is their nothing else that we can do?

And He, who makes all things new says "Come". He, with the scarred hands and feet calls "Come". And she, the priestess with the scarred hands and feet stands at the Jordan. Hesitant, timid, waiting for the courage to step forward and part the waters. And we, wait for prophetic words to still our aching hearts. Again.

Across the waters He calls, "Come", and stands with crown in hand.

He promised that He will return one day, but until then he calls to his beloved, one at a time.

The peonies drop their petals in the rain, and make way for the next blossoms.