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Celebrate
Click here for this month’s Called to Wonder.
Click here for this month’s Called to Wonder.
I had loved a man deeply for 54 years and lost him to cancer. My family, church family and friends were close by and were a blessing to me. I was ready to step back.
I work 20 hours a week. So the theory and the job description go. But Christmas doesn’t work that way. Churches are busy places, and there are so many things to do. Which is fantastic and amazing and now I am tired.
I’m new to the world of Christingles. And a bit boggled by symbolic oranges.
Maybe this tradition hasn’t yet scaled the walls of Canadian Presbyterianism. Or maybe I’ve been sheltered.
“No lady, I can’t leave you here, it’s not safe”, the taxi driver advised.
The key slid like butter into the lock and my eyes widened as the door swung open.
I expected to open the typical virgin birth kettle of worms, but no one mention it. So I pushed a little bit, wondering aloud if maybe the non-parallel nativity accounts were at all feather-ruffling. But the group was nonchalant. No specific Yuletide troubles to be reported.
After weeks of shopping in heated malls, dressed in heavy boots and jacket, with perspiration clinging to me, I had finally accumulated the contents on my gift list.
There’s a new image on the streets in the UK this Christmas. It looks like an ultrasound. No, it is an ultrasound of a regular, healthy-looking infant. With a halo.
Click here for this month’s Called to Wonder.
I’ve been living in the future for a while. It’s working for the church that does it, but it happens to most writers, too. You end up planning life months in advance, putting thoughts and words around the upcoming seasons. At least I don’t have it as bad as the writers in the glossy foodies mags, posing for photos with their festive turkeys in the middle of a sweltering July. For me, it was September before I was into the thick of Christmas.
With an agility almost forgotten, I step onto the old school slide … woosh!
I spent last weekend away from my family. I left the Spouse and the kids at home and headed north in my hiking boots. When I told people at church that I was going, the response was twofold: “Without the kids?” and “Good for you!” And often both responses delivered one after the other.
For the first time I sat at the Communion table and helped.
There’s a French boy in my daughter’s class. It is a very multicultural school–26 languages spoken in total–but it is the French kid whose cultural difference gets most discussion time at our dinner table. Probably because he tends to be bit naughty.
I wrote of girl-friends, “saddle shoes,” And “sock-hops.”
As a pre-teen in B.C., I remember filling bags with sand, loading them on a wagon and pulling this heavy load to…I’ve forgotten where but it was very important at the time.
So I left you with veal and the promise of fish. I thought this week I would focus more on New Testament story. And it started with dessert.
“I’d like to take out a library card, please.” I timidly whispered.
I’ve decided to put together a bit of an eaters’ guide to the Bible. From Old Testament roast lamb and fresh bread to Jesus’ own fish barbeque on the beach and the promise of banquets to come, there’s a lot of foodie talk happening between those mighty pages.