The moments, days and years go by quickly. - All too quickly it often seems.
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See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone.Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come;
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No one, of course, knows the future: – what is ahead for our own selves, for our familes, for our nation, and for our world, in the coming days and months of this New Year.
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A friend tells me of an old farmer's thesis which may be merely local lore - or wisdom of the ages. Seems, she says, that if one figures out the prevailing wind (wet finger, to start . .
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An old tractor in my friend, Bill's barn. Like all of us, it has a few years and miles on it and now it waits for winter in the steel quonset barn. We get to wait in warmer, nicer surroundings.
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I know Winter's coming, but I'm in denial.
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Following a long flight from LA to Toronto in January 1996, I got a DVT - a Deep Vein Thrombosis in my right leg.
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I have Raynaud's. They don't know what causes it or how to cure it. And it sure hurts at times.
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There's nothing like a really cold day in Ontario, Canada. I love the Seasons - love to see them come and love to see them go.
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"All we can give back and all God wants from any of us," writes Richard Rohr in his book, Falling Upwards: A Spirituality for the Two Halfs of Life, "is to humbly and proudly return the pr
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So, when raking my leaves it feels like I've been learning the meaning of the word ‘eternity.
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Life's autumn falls, dark memories too,
We long to hold the life we knew;
The love, the face we treasured, gone
And death now silences the home.
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After having lived in many places, Burlington Ontario, London Ontario, Toronto, Wenham MA, Gloucester MA, Uxbridge ON, Calgary Alberta, Saskatoon Saskatchewan, and Toronto again - I return at times
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I suppose one of my most vivid pre-school memories was of summer afternoon naps on a prickly picnic-blanket, under a spreading elm in our backyard in Burlington, under the sometime watchful eye and
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There's something that happens, that deepens us, when we suffer.
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I love this picture by Arthur J. Eisley, 1860-1952 (as I love all paintings that tell a story, that suggest and probe); not sure why. Perhaps the early snowfall that year made me think of it.
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This clock belonged to my great aunt, Mary Willoughby Potter, who lived with her husband Jim at Freeman’s Corners (now part of Burlington, Ontario) early in the last century.
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I love the Autumn and hate to see it go.
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Just out driving around, this afternoon, and snapping a few spring pics . . .
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Things may be awful at the time, but it gets better. Later, we reflect and note again the feelings, the sense of loss, the anger, the disappointment.
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Every year a few scraggly tulips come up in our front garden. We never planted them. There was only one there our first spring, years ago now.
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Sometimes it’s true – ‘You can’t get there from here !’ – not yet anyway. But who says it’s necessarily the end, or not possible, ever? Let's get underway!
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I wrote this a few yhears ago, when my Dad died.
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A few years ago, I gathered with national Canadian Baptist leaders to think about missional leadership.
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One always wonders what’s just around the bend.
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Unlike the warmth and splendour enjoyed and even taken for granted in some parts of the world, at present, my garden and environs are encased in the cold white and grey of winter.
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Old things, wonderful things, used things - wonderfully used up things . . .
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Another blessing, ‘for Josie’ – in the beginning of John O’Donohue’s wonderful book on soulfriendship, entitled: Anam Cara. John gives the poem in person on the following YouTube video.
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