daily life as life goes on . . .

They arrived on Sunday and are gone today.  A quick but enjoyable visit.  We played Skip Bo, made up a game with the kids called around the world, and ate well.  Thanks Alli, Scott, Christopher and Hannah!

A year ago Laura Kornelson gave me a book to read, Paul E. Miller’s, A praying life.  I imagine she thought this would be a short term lend.  She was off to Calgary and would venture back every once in a while.  So I began chapter by chapter.

Somewhere along the line other books and projects and events filled the year.  This last week I returned to the chapter where I had left off.  Two chapters have filled my mind over these past days.  Both of them have to do with one of the author’s children – in reality they hit me particularly with one of my own children.  Most parents can pinpoint one child who is gifted and yet a handful.

Our hopes for our children are enormous.  And too often we figure our hopes should be the reality.  If they were – then hope would no longer be hope.

But we plow on figuring we can change things so that reality matches what we have in mind.  And God sits close by hoping for us to change and let him do the changing in our children. 

So starts my Christmas morning!

Remember the old story – twas the night before Christmas.

Well, this is the night before the night before.  And I still don’t feel like Christmas is actually here. 

Much like one of our seniors today who said she didn’t feel old, but had to admit she didn’t want to travel anymore with her limited eyesight.

When do we really feel like we are as old as we are?  When do we feel like 25 hours is needed to fill up 24 hours? 

There are times when time runs out before we are ready.

And today is one of them!

My father’s letters continue to intrigue me.  Today I was looking over a December 23rd letter.  Dad’s job had not worked out, he was on the unemployment roll, and living in Stayner, Ontario.

A few days earlier, he and his brother were both in the same building – the library/museum.  Neither saw each other.  But later on they compared notes. 

“We thought it was a corker that we missed each other.”

I love that word “corker.” 

My father used it often.  Some days, when things happen, I’m waiting to hear my dad mention “that’s a corker.”  If we kids did something unusual, our would pop that word!  Perhaps that’s why I love creativity and innovation. 

Now, isn’t that a corker!