Light From Underground
If Dad was a critter of habit he also leaned towards being a tad superstitious.
I suppose that at least partially explains his reaction.
If Dad was a critter of habit he also leaned towards being a tad superstitious.
I suppose that at least partially explains his reaction.
“Do either of you have any idea of how to get a cow out of the attic?” exclaimed Elsa in her delightful German accent.
“Say what?” I said.
Sick, tired and overwhelmed, I was crying out to God. That’s when Eagle lifted off of his roost on a majestic Douglas Fir across the lake.
I love to ponder mysteries. But the mysteries I ponder tend to be the ones right in my face, like the winter otter holes outside my picture window on Lac La Hache. I am not all that intrigued by the unseen mysteries.
I became a believer in Christ with what Craig Larson calls the “Rudolph-the-Red-Nosed-Reindeer syndrome.”
As we watched the serene scene of the otters on the dock, over on the island there was someone else watching. Baldy the Eagle left his perch, beating the air for elevation. If you didn’t know the game, you would never have guessed what Baldy was up to.
It was Friday’s tail that was his most disconcerting physical trait. Friday’s tail was docked in true spaniel fashion but in mind and body he was obviously built for a full-length tail. He had absolutely no idea how to wag a short-docked tail, so he didn’t. His tail wagged him.
Work seemed to be killing us. From now on we were going to be Sabbath keepers. More or less.
“What on earth is that guy doing?” Linda asked. “Whaaa!” I said as I awoke with a loud choke and a snort. It was midday […]
Choices can be scary sometimes. What if you make the wrong choice? What if someone you love does?
Small churches may not seem important to us. But I’m absolutely convinced they’re important to God.
Most of us who have aged beyond the immortal teenage years have figured out that we don’t get out of this life alive. What we don’t know is precisely when and how death will find us.
In the darkest places, even the tiniest flame can make a wondrous difference. And the same thing happens in our lives—whether we realize it or not.
As I look out on the wind devils sculpting the snowdrifts on Lac La Hache and try to come up with a reason not to go out into the icy moaning, somehow my mind is dragged back eons ago, to a seeming insignificant conversation late last summer.
We had been anticipating it for weeks, my 10 – year – old grandson, Jacob and I. We had talked about it, dreamed it and […]
[/caption] Lynne Hill – St Andrews, Bolsover, Ont. Linda looked out the window and smiled. “I guess I’ve kept ‘em waiting long enough. Addy and […]
“What on earth is all that racket?” I muttered. “In here or out there?” Linda asked. Addy, our Chesapeake/Lab cross, was growling and spitting, hackles […]
“You want to do what?” Linda asked. “I want to visit my dead relatives,” I said. “What on earth for?” “I don’t know, it just […]
Peter was a big boned guy, at least that’s what you called him if you didn’t want your face smacked. Actually he was built like […]
“Stupid wind,” I said, trying hard not to cuss out loud, which is real difficult when you are only 12 years old. “Aaarrrggg,” said Bruno, […]