|Posted on November 13, 2014 at 3:00 PM||comments (1)|
There is sameness about towns and villages in Ontario, but a warm familiar sameness. Recently I went to the town of Almonte 46 kilometers southwest of Ottawa. A once thriving wool mill town it now relies on tourism. A friend had recommended a place there for lunch. I was taking my daughter out for her birthday. What a delight as we entered 14 Mill Street. The Creperie, a French restaurant that specializes in well - crepes - was situated immediately to our right, and stretching before us on either side boutiques, an art gallery and other enticing shops.
We sat at a table for two by the window. Across the street, we peered out and saw the magnificent stone building of the ‘Old Mill House.’ In addition, back to its right we watched shafts of sunlight dancing in the waterfalls that cascaded over stone steps.
Viewing the menu I recall reading, pine-nuts, roasted walnuts, goat cheese, duck, chicken, salmon, scallop, leeks, apples and parsnips and so on, plus fresh salads. Confessions, I cannot remember what went into each crepe, but I know the one I ordered was stuffed with duck among other goodies and a spoonful of blueberries sat atop.
After lunch we browsed the stores and peeked into the old mill house, which houses another restaurant, and as my daughter said, next time!
There are other towns like Almonte. I remember visiting Elora Gorge and the mill restaurant there, and charming St Mary’s in southern Ontario. I take my hat off to the residents who have made their towns into attractive and interesting places for tourists.
|Posted on July 28, 2014 at 3:35 PM||comments (0)|
Excitement is generated when a dream starts to become a reality and the dream is pursued with vigour. My initial venture into the world of writing, and for which I’d always hoped to pursue, began fourteen years ago. Well in truth long before that. I remember a small notepad I had as a child, in it I had written books I will write when I’m grown up, and there followed titles such as, the Smugglers of Anstey’s Cove and the Girls in Dorm Three Four Five, and many more with a similar theme. Life took over and my dream to write sat on the back burner for many years.
The dream surfaced again much later in my life and I determined to follow it this time. Searching online for writers groups I found one. I wrote a couple of introductory enquiring questions in a timid sort of fashion. Did I dare connect? Would they even respond to lowly me? After all they were chatting about their latest publications and achievements. And all I had were short stories and poems tucked in a file. But the urge to write— “to get on with it” was gathering momentum, so I took a deep breath, clicked “send,” and away went my questions.
Amazing; that elite group responded with words of encouragement. Come to our next conference they said. You’ll love it. Of course you’re a writer. If you’re writing stories you’re a writer. The publication will come later. One gal even offered for me to stay at her home. She lived a short distance from the conference site. I took up the offer and two months later with my new friend I traversed the world of writers. I'm so thankful to those who encouraged me all those years ago. Lord bless them!
|Posted on July 9, 2014 at 2:00 PM||comments (1)|
In God’s Hands
How do we pray I wondered. My husband and I had received the devastating news that he had terminal cancer. Chemo and radiation were not an option— neither would halt the inevitable.
My husband received the news calmly. He sat in the clinic room and told the doctor about his faith in the living God and how God could choose to heal him or take him to heaven. He said, “I’m in God’s hands.”
Once home we discussed the news and I cried. My husband cried too, telling me he was concerned for me being alone. Friends and family were informed and the prayer warriors went to the Lord on our behalf.
There were days when my husband seemed so alert, I wondered if he had received a healing. Then other times I observed his tall frame bent and his muscle mass lessen. We came to realize we must take one day at a time. We no longer begged and pleaded for healing. We were just too tired. As it says in 1st Peter 5:7, “Casting all your cares upon him; for he careth for you.” So each day we talked to the Lord, telling Him we knew that He knew. We lifted the heavy burden and placed it at His throne. We said, “ Your will be done.” My husband always ended his prayers by repeating several times, Praise you Jesus.
In this time of trouble we had the privilege of sharing the good news of the gospel. Assured too that for all of us who know Jesus heaven is our final home. My husband is there now.
|Posted on July 7, 2014 at 11:50 AM||comments (2)|
What caused the lump in my throat, as I sat reading Carolyn Weber’s, Surprised by Oxford. In chapter ten I read the description of the high table in Oxford, where intellectuals discussed the God factor over a sumptuous dinner served by attentive waiters. Did God exist, was the thrust of the conversation, and if He did why all the suffering in our world? Candlelight flickered around the table where Carolyn sat. She had been invited by her provost to join him in honour of her Commonwealth scholarship. How beautifully this chapter unfolds, as she draws closer to the Creator.
I know now when the lump occurred. The Great doors in the dining area opened and guests wended their way out into the hall. It was Christmas time and the voices of the college choir could be heard singing, “O Holy Night.” I read the words on the printed page and that’s when the lump occurred.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth,
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh hear the angel voices!
O night divine when Christ was born…
Truly He taught us to love one another.
His law is love and His gospel peace.
Chains He shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in His name all oppression shall cease.
Can you imagine all the hatred and misunderstandins gone, because all human kind truly followed our Jesus? Food for thought don't you think?
|Posted on January 22, 2013 at 9:25 PM||comments (6)|
The train rattled on from London, Ontario to Ottawa. I noted how the snow became more evident as we got closer to our destination. We arrived, and my son-in-law and two little grandsons met me at the station. All smiles and chit-chat, we drove to their home. The snow pristine, with not a foot print in sight was piled high in their back yard.
The next day my daughter dressed the boys in suitable attire while my son-in-law prepared a snow slide from the deck to the bottom of the yard. Grandma—that’s me--watched as they, oblivious to the cold squealed with delight as they rode the track on their toboggan and I filmed the action through the window!
I thought how secure and happy those little boys were, and I thanked God for their loving parents. Although their love and attentiveness to their children is nothing compared to the love God has for us.
We are assured over and over again of God’s love for us in the holy scriptures. A scripture that is a favourite one for me is “The Lord hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.” (Jeremiah 31:2-4 KJV). And how I can testify of that everlasting love. God loves even those who don’t serve Him. Let’s pray that they too will experience and know His everlasting love.