Archive for July, 2016

Do you ever lose the wonder?

Sunday, July 17th, 2016

What I do well, I love to do.  I am a singer and a song leader.  I am a writer.  These professions I do well.  Some would say I excel.  Others are excellent painters, or drywallers, or administrators, or thinkers, or caregivers, or . . .

I find joy in working for others.  When a festival of song is completed, I sit back with joy – glad to see others have found inspiration in the time together.  When a posting or a short story expresses another’s feelings, I am satisfied.

Gifted professionals – those who find joy, satisfaction and a sense of service to those around them – sometimes lose the wonder of what they are able to accomplish.  The great gift they have been given becomes just another part of their toolbag.

I did not shape my mouth or create my lungs.  I did not fashion my brain or create the pathways of thought.  I have nurtured that which I have been given.  I have sought the counsel of others.  I have used my gift for the benefit of others.

But I did not create my gift.  None of us did.  I hold that this gift is a creation, not of random molecules, but of a wise and loving creator.

And I stand in awe! 

Preaching to cows

Monday, July 4th, 2016

This past weekend was spent at a cabin on Lake Diefenbaker. 

The morning’s were ideal for taking a walk.  Just down the pavement a mile or so, and back.

On the way, a herd of cows abides.  With plenty of fenced grassland.  And no worries that I can see.

So, being the retired preacher that I am, I decided to preach to the cows both days of my walks.  By preach, I mean, raise my voice enough they can hear me, comment on their current situation, and observe their reactions.

The first day, most were seated on the ground.  As I began to speak a few turned their faces to me.  Then, in a mass agreement, most arose and turned towards me.  Of course, there were those who did not deign to notice my presence.  There was no loud speech from them – I guess I don’t speak “cow” well enough.

The second day, the crowd was a little removed – standing in the pasture.  As I began to speak, they began to migrate to the fence.  The first to arrive was later pushed aside so that others could see me.  The row of faces was nonplussed by my rhetoric, and as I returned on my way back to the cabin, they had all disappeared into the fog on the other side of the pasture.

So, I guess I need to learn “cow”, join them in their daily life and find out what interests them.  Then I can truly preach to the cows.