Author and Inspired Writer

Still here. Worst apocalypse ever!

(Seen on FaceBook)

They say the world might end tomorrow. It might, but I’m thinking the chances are slim. Still, this has got me to thinking that sooner or later my world IS going to end, and maybe I should take the opportunity today to give thanks for what has been an amazingly good life. I had parents who modeled strong ethical values and courage to me, and siblings who helped me negotiate the smooth and rocky paths of life, and are still there to support me when I need it. I met the love of my life when I was 700 miles from home, and thirteen years later almost to the day, we were married. He has made it his mission in life to make me laugh every day – and not some lady-like giggle, but a good, old, thigh-slapping, punch-him-in-the-shoulder-cuz-I-can’t-breathe belly-laugh. And he has met this goal just about every day. Even more importantly, he gave this wandering heart of mine a home, and was gracious enough to tell me I did the same for him. I have friends who would go to the wall for me, or with me, should it come to that. I have accomplished my life-long dream of becoming a writer and publishing a book. I have sung solos, given readings, addressed the town council, preached sermons, and once even taught a class in feminist theology, so help me! I’ve achieved a Master’s Degree in pastoral ministry. I’ve seen the Northern Lights, Touchdown Jesus, and a crop circle. I have disappeared into books so amazing I never wanted to come back out. I taught myself to play guitar, bake bread (without a bread machine) and navigate the internet (to a degree). I’ve met so many people who have made me want to be a better person myself.

And my dear FaceBook buddies, you have made my life so rich. Every day you lift me up and inspire me with your stories, your posts, your “Like’s”, “Comments,” and “Shares.” I am blessed to have found you, honoured to have been part of your community, and hopeful that I have given something back to you.

You are part of the reason why, if tomorrow never comes, I will step with unfettered delight into whatever it is that comes next.

And if we’re all still here tomorrow, well, that’ll be nice too.

A few days ago, I received an email from my dear friend and staunch supporter of my work, Joannie Jolin, who informed me she had sent a copy of my book, “holy cards: dead women talking” to the bishop of her diocese, the Right Reverend Robert Bennett (Anglican). This is just the kind of thing Joannie does, all heart, and of course I was delighted, especially since the idea of sending the book to male clergy of any denomination never entered my mind. But now that it HAS entered my mind…

I intensely dislike these final few days before winter solstice.  I was going to say I hate them, but someone told me I should be very careful about using that word because of the negative energy it carries.  So, OK, intensely dislike.  It feels like a gift that was given to me in the summer is being stolen back, bit by bit, as I lose more and more daylight.  I awaken disoriented, sure it must be 7 a.m., then discover it’s only 5, and for some reason going back to sleep is impossible.  And seriously, what’s there to do at five in the morning?

How the ancients must have feared this draining away of the light and wondered what sacrifice would appease the gods and persuade them to give it back.  How many blood sacrifices were made before they discovered, oops! just get past December 21st and you’ll be fine!  Bet there were a lot of red faces when that little tidbit was discovered.

But enough with the gloomies!  My life is so good!  This time of the year, what the church calls the Advent season, the time of waiting, brings with it its own glories and joys.  The tree is up and lit every evening, a beautiful shimmering sign that darkness is not final; light endures.  The cards are written, gifts purchased and mailed.  We’re putting the final touches on our Christmas Cantata, and this year we have more voices in the choir than we’ve ever had!  And somehow I’ve even found time to write a few more poems for the Magdalene series.  (I reckon it’s about half finished now.)

The light will come back.  The days will lengthen and warm.  Spring will return.  But in the meantime, it’s such a blessing to stand with friends in the candlelight, and recall once again how the darkness was vanquished by a child’s cry in the night.

Merry Advent, everyone!