tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370240562011-07-08T01:03:46.162-06:00Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.comBlogger1521100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-83011305197331074742010-01-12T15:28:00.001-07:002010-01-12T15:30:28.635-07:00

"D'you know what I'm going to do when I win the lottery...?"  If we had a winning ticket for every time we've heard that line, right? We think about that debt absolving, travel enabling, financially "freeing" smile-of-fate ourselves, dreaming up the countless ways we'd spend our easy millions. This time, the words are tripping from my friend's tongue hopefully, excitedly, purposefully. As we

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-74457595552705695452010-01-06T22:28:00.001-07:002010-01-06T23:07:54.709-07:00

Not long after our family moved into our newly-built home, our dishwasher broke. That was seven years ago and we never did get it fixed. That means dishes get done by hand around here and, since I'm the only one that really cares if the smells of rotting food and plugged drains are ousted from the place, I'm the one that scrubs them up. Day after day after hungry-kid day, I wash those dishes and

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-86885200048362419792009-12-09T16:01:00.000-07:002009-12-09T16:01:06.415-07:00

http://www.adventconspiracy.org/videos/ If you have a minute, check out this link. If you only watch one video, "Enter The Story" is a good one to start on. I'm too late to apply this wisdom to my Christmas season this year, but I can't wait to make a change next go 'round!

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-43512705851325948752009-12-01T08:26:00.000-07:002009-12-01T08:26:14.014-07:00

I pray that in the quiet you will hear Him; in the fierceness of the night you will find comfort in Him, and when you cannot, know that (someone) will on your behalf. ~ Tia ~

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-19694804600061506172009-11-30T22:12:00.000-07:002009-11-30T22:12:36.501-07:00

I'm not very brave. That's probably one of the reasons that faith in an invisible God comes effortlessly, naturally to me. Needing Him is like needing air or water or shelter. I know it. So I believe. Today has been a scary day. Until this moment, with the house bursting with energy, with newly-hung lights promising memory-making, merry-making, with the distraction of chores and need upon need,

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-41521008268171986302009-11-21T09:28:00.000-07:002009-11-21T09:28:02.382-07:00

Dyed-white, thick, straight hair obediently encases her heavily made-up face. She's hurriedly running a brush through it as I approach the sink between her and another woman in the restaurant loo. Fashion and appearance matter to her; everything about her look is deliberate. She's making a statement. The other gal is struggling with the tap. Is it motion sensitive? Are you supposed actually turn

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-3550529340776066752009-11-02T16:36:00.000-07:002009-11-02T16:36:11.118-07:00

I's comin' back for ya'. Don't you never give up on me. ~ Chicken George, ROOTS ~ Don't ever give up on me. Raw need, longing, hope, fear. What if we never gave up on each other? On our mate, our sibling, our friend? What if they never gave up on us? Faithfulness without flinching. Don't give up on the one who's hurting you; the one who's driving you nuts; the one who's wrong. Just don't.

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-20710229367602701922009-10-21T11:41:00.001-06:002009-10-21T11:42:38.143-06:00

May today there be peace within. May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be confident knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-57638117709192979942009-10-21T08:31:00.002-06:002009-10-21T08:32:02.259-06:00

Every part of me is praying...right down to my atoms I am praying.   ~ Valerie ~

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-87241418941986592552009-10-13T14:44:00.000-06:002009-10-13T14:44:10.361-06:00

I found Natalie in Geez magazine's (http://www.geezmagazine.org/) latest collection of thoughts on "holy mischief in an age of fast faith". Her gently provocative thoughts moved me to change, to grow, to take the face of a friend in my hands and say, "Look away." So impacted was I that I hunted her down and asked her permission to re-print her thoughts here: The Offer In my house live two cats

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-74496103252232821062009-10-05T17:27:00.001-06:002009-10-07T09:02:16.136-06:00

What gives you goose bumps? A thought-provoking question from Trina, right? You puzzled over this, describing goose bumps as "thoughts" and things that pop up when you're inspired, moved, frightened. Most of you struggled to answer in a definitive way, but some of the answers themselves will give you goose bumps, for sure! Here's what some of you had to share:  when someone tells you they're

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-25807971389146546282009-10-05T16:59:00.000-06:002009-10-05T16:59:38.006-06:00

Two men were walking along a crowded sidewalk in a downtown business area. Suddenly one exclaimed, "Listen to the lovely sound of that cricket!" But the other could not hear. He asked his companion how he could detect the sound of a cricket amidst the din of people and traffic. The first man...had trained himself to listen to the voices of nature, but he did not explain. He simply took a coin out

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-69205270077102034962009-09-20T23:41:00.001-06:002009-09-23T08:15:55.873-06:00

                                                           Refined Silver ...I will refine them like silver and test them like gold. They will call on my name and I will answer them; I will say, "They are my people," and they will say, "The Lord is our God." ~ The Bible ~ Sometimes it's not about getting rid of our pain. It's not always about medicating or comforting or squelching grief. If

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-46029566795570967432009-09-10T16:04:00.004-06:002009-09-10T16:08:00.929-06:00

I asked twenty women, “What makes you smile with contentment?” They replied,  When I see two old people in their 80's, married 60 plus years and can see they totally love each other.  A hot, clear, sunny day -- especially at the beach  A crumb-less kitchen floor, or counter, or table  Bills paid  Fresh sheets  Soft toilet paper  Reading  Good conversation  Psalm 119

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-40236887017054779962009-09-10T11:58:00.003-06:002009-09-10T16:19:52.822-06:00

I woke up to three three dead plants, a soggy loo, and a generally disasstisfied family. I couldn't see our kitchen counters: they're covered in school supplies and last night's supper muck. By ten o'clock (still morning) I had a rolicking headache and had threatened a complaining child (the one who, just last night, spent a solid ten minutes making a case for why he is no longer a "child")

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-45441425033822324832009-08-23T11:00:00.001-06:002009-08-23T11:00:38.389-06:00

The water in our backyard swimming pool is sickly green. Clumps of wind-blown dog hair and dead leaves slither their way across it's bottom, carried by the sludgy currents rippling down from the bug and algae laden surface.The twelve by three foot rubber and plastic oasis is so nasty looking that even the neighborhood boys won't stick their toes into it. And I'm standing on the edge of it,

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-75238677440029694462009-08-15T20:17:00.002-06:002009-08-15T21:10:54.158-06:00

In his book, "Hunger for God," John Piper suggests that the spiritual discipline of fasting allows us to acknowledge our true hunger for the Divine ~ for God. By setting aside the comforting anesthetic of food, by engaging in a degree of physical discomfort (that leads to emotional discomfort), we permit ourselves to address our deepest longing: The longing for restoration with God.When we deny

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-54350724099877009432009-08-04T14:48:00.003-06:002009-08-04T23:21:15.499-06:00

Summer storms are staggering in their beauty. They're powerful and destructive and wild. With winds whipping around at 100 km/hr, flinging crushing hail and biting rains, they are unstoppable. The ferocity of lightening and chilling temperatures combine to flatten, char, freeze, break, topple.Sometimes our own lives are hit by storms that look a lot like a summer squall (Can you be in a squall if

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-46155831032418825762009-07-08T08:46:00.004-06:002009-07-21T22:19:35.641-06:00

Michael Jackson died this week. His passing matters in different ways to different people, and in some way to most people. Responses to his tragic leaving are varied, too. Some of us feel shock, others vindication. Some sorrow, some pause, some nothing at all. Some feel angry. Bill has just passed the eighty-years-old mark in his own life. He continues to live alone, unaided, maintaining his own

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-84836794999646374222009-07-02T20:29:00.002-06:002009-07-02T22:56:12.226-06:00

Wearing stained khaki shorts and a wide-striped t-shirt, a stranger sits eating cafeteria sushi from a Styrofoam tray. A black and white keffiyeh is slung casually around his neck. X-ray technicians scoot purposefully between examination rooms, quietly intoning the names of first one patient, then the next. A beyond-old gentleman, parchment skin stretched too thin across dying bones, moans gently

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-48430580097304004862009-06-29T21:13:00.000-06:002009-06-29T21:20:00.395-06:00

http://www.metronews.ca/calgary/canada/article/253369--canadian-citizenship-like-winning-jackpot-rick-mercer

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-57611749370170315492009-06-29T09:16:00.003-06:002009-06-29T09:45:53.954-06:00

I'm learning that:making a choice to change your dream for the future is really scary, but it brings peace, too.raspberry plants can't stand up to digging dogs.nobody thirty or older is managing our long winters with any sort of good humor.everybody gets the schedule wrong sometimes. Some of us do so more than others.prayer is a simple and complex intimacy. Belief, likewise.the ice cream truck

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-31711511612206684472009-05-27T17:17:00.008-06:002009-05-28T14:34:05.724-06:00

Every morning, blurry eyed and just shy of surly, one or the other of my boys climbs up on Grandpa's old swivel bar stool for breakfast at the kitchen island. Various green and growing things sprout contentedly from an assortment of used-to-be-Grandma-and-Grandpa's metal bowls.A bejeweled in blue broach that Grandma used to wear is propped up against a plant pot on a corner shelf.On Monday I made

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-64766500857019388532009-05-26T08:40:00.001-06:002009-05-27T17:13:17.912-06:00

I don't need advice -- I need people to give a damn.~Jason ~I have no fear of drowningIt's the breathing that's taking all this work~ Jars of Clay ~

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-46155509970155456462009-05-20T20:53:00.004-06:002010-01-07T00:47:57.873-07:00

His opening statement is, "I'm not gonna' lie to ya'..." Right there you know there are some fish tales on the way. Kevin does not disappoint. Stories trip from thirsty lips, one chasing another, as he coolly appraises his mark. He thrusts a soiled and sticky hand toward me. I take it in my own. We exchange names. There is murder in his eyes (I'm not big on eyes being the "window to the soul." I

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-81364179014147030452009-04-29T19:50:00.003-06:002009-04-29T20:41:07.303-06:00

As the two women at the table next to mine readied themselves to leave the coffee shop, their unsatisfying conversation was coming to a stilted close. Certainly both had done a lot of talking ~ the weights and lengths of their children, their on-hold careers (or not), their frustration with their husbands, and their annoyance with "Megan" had all been duly aired. They'd all but tripped over one

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-22871606365544703632009-04-22T15:41:00.007-06:002009-05-22T22:43:43.421-06:00

"Everything is going to be okay. But when it's time to worry, I'll let you know." That sounds a lot like God."Rights" aren't all they're cracked up to be. People will tell us that life is all about getting what is rightfully ours, about defending our own rights, about being right. Consider a life of absolute surrender to God instead ~ consider laying down rights in exchange for relationship with

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-57196808022473660572009-04-20T08:50:00.004-06:002009-04-20T16:06:57.470-06:00

The two year anniversary of my seventy pound weight loss has just passed.The food madness that has plagued me since puberty continues to be my undoing. I drink staggering quantities of soda. I eat chocolate every day. And, whatever any health guru would have you believe, my control over the amount of food I ingest is as tenuous today as it ever was.But the pounds have stayed away. So I celebrated

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-50865129242637882262009-04-16T08:46:00.003-06:002009-05-24T21:46:45.345-06:00

Jesus says there's nothing more important than Love.Religion says there's nothing more important than being right.It's possible to be very religious without knowing God at all.

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-23743122523612706832009-03-28T12:41:00.003-06:002009-05-22T22:44:03.439-06:00

So what is the desert?The desert is a state of being -- a place where you find yourself alone, even in the midst of many. In this place, a place that has now begun to occupy your regular world, you encounter a disease (a dis-ease): a dryness, a barrenness, and an aloneness -- alone because no one can bloom the desert for you...No one can help you with the question the desert poses -- and no one

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-60588377401286654112009-03-25T16:59:00.002-06:002009-03-25T17:04:46.283-06:00

...summer passed, winter returned... In winter there is no heat, no light, no noon, evening touches morning, there is fog and mist, the window is frosted, and you can't see clearly. The sky is a dungeon window. The whole day is a cellar. The sun has the look of a beggar. Horrible season! Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.~ Victor Hugo, Les Miserables ~

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-55868910197368505352009-03-22T17:08:00.005-06:002009-03-22T17:49:12.964-06:00

Tonight, over a "dinner" of KD and hot dogs the conversation was inconsequential, silly, cabinfever-induced nothingness.Suddenly, without any clear provocation, our thirteen year old, with a grin on his face, leaped from his seat, lunged across the table, and pounded his big brother in the arm. *WHAM* None of the males in the house seemed to think there was anything amiss as they righted wobbling

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-77976267970991597922009-03-18T15:25:00.002-06:002009-03-19T16:54:16.655-06:00

Sarah and Doug live in B.C. where the winter has been long and personal circumstances have been harsh. The death of a family matriarch, significant health problems for both of them, and recent lay offs have shaken their young relationship, their world.Sarah is an intelligent, resourceful, nurturing woman. She works hard. She loves well. Despite the complexity of her day-to-day experience, she is

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-41833721895876024412009-03-09T23:52:00.003-06:002009-03-10T00:28:53.731-06:00

I think Mike is one of the only encounters we've had that has left me feeling off ~ misused, maybe? Unsafe? Our oldest kiddo, Ben, was impacted differently by him, too, because, he said, "I could feel that he was afraid. Not afraid of us, maybe, but afraid."Mike was afraid. And brain injured. And filthy and desperate and aggressive. He cheerfully and loudly shouted for our attention as the five

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-44250050913116312232009-02-24T07:48:00.002-07:002009-02-24T08:34:51.356-07:00

It's the morning of day four on our family road trip from Calgary (A "village," we understand from one of our new American acquaintances that "even has a restaurant." He knows this, he explained, because he once stayed "overnight there when he went to visit a friend's llama farm up North...in Montana.") to wherever-the-grass-is-green-and-the-air-is-warm (Southern Utah/Northern Nevada, we've

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-41306840650564103452009-02-15T09:15:00.003-07:002009-02-15T22:31:13.371-07:00

I've always had to accept even the idea of faith by faith.It's easier for me to believe in the One that I cannot see than it is to define what that believing is. Sometimes it seems as though faith is something I deliberately, determinedly choose.Sometimes faith lands in my lap like an unwarranted, sigh of relief gift.Our friend Chris says, "Faith is the currency of Heaven..."That is, God is moved

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-46438920614017828012009-02-13T13:13:00.001-07:002009-02-13T13:13:17.440-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vxDDcTc64c&feature=related

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-43733488625392328402009-02-09T09:01:00.001-07:002009-02-09T09:03:37.645-07:00

Have you already seen this one?http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zENySdFr7M4

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-81242221567100132872009-02-08T10:40:00.002-07:002009-02-08T10:49:02.976-07:00

Sometimes we need a little shake-up, a little smack upside the head. But the needing doesn't make the getting any more enjoyable. Hearing the truth about ourselves burns hot and sharp. If we let it, that truth will offer broader thinking, deeper understanding, greater compassion. ...do you say, "I'm not going to be offered up just yet, I do not want God to choose my work. I want to choose the

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-54830577318201793512009-01-30T15:38:00.005-07:002009-01-30T15:47:57.212-07:00

Yesterday, in a very cool floating encounter (It involved a shrill, irate, and fast-moving Co-op cashier, the so-stylin' driver of a PT Cruiser, and a displaced Vancouverite) a twenty-something year old young man told me he wished I was his mom. Seriously?I'm not even forty.And he wishes I was his mother? Not, possibly, his sister? Or a favorite cousin? Nuh uh.These floating encounters address

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-75066890922298854512009-01-24T20:22:00.003-07:002009-01-27T20:16:38.509-07:00

"Wrist Slap" has generated some heated off-blog discussion and I hope that my responses to the comments posted on-blog aren't too strident, too certain. I wonder if I tell you Betty's story it will help to clarify where I'm coming from? Betty showed up on our doorstep on a chilly winter Friday evening sometime last year. January, maybe? Or February? We had a house full of teenagers at the time (

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-19168311600314818172009-01-19T19:54:00.006-07:002009-01-24T20:06:18.582-07:00

On a crowded commute this January night, my husband made his way to the back of his bus, hoping for a seat. Long day. Crazy economy. Monday. Enough said.As he approached the rear of the cabin he noticed a guy. A big guy. A big guy who at just that moment happened to be picking on a group of four young (12 years old? 13?) boys, his other big-guy buddy looking on with amusement. See this pen, N____

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-75074604842928512002009-01-07T12:19:00.001-07:002009-01-07T12:19:21.737-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Us-TVg40ExM

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-69929931866878693832009-01-06T16:16:00.004-07:002009-01-06T16:46:52.784-07:00

Open rebuke. Blatant disdain. I was in trouble and floundering for words to defend myself, my faith, my reasoning.Word got out that we'd helped a recently laid-off senior with some grocery money. A very little grocery money. Too little? I'd wondered at the time. But the gentle God-nudge seemed clear: Give just so much. So we did. And, as always, we didn't give it another thought. A floating

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-88728373164079948072008-12-30T16:00:00.005-07:002008-12-30T18:41:05.188-07:00

Floating Encounters are experiences that Bob and I have been noting since we started attempting to live listening lives. Oswald Chambers (My Utmost For His Highest) suggests that our lives are like a river. We're always moving forward; a current-pulled body that leaves it's mark on whatever terrain it's meandering (or rushing or white-capping) through. Because we're swept along, floating with the

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-61436097936536847872008-12-28T09:51:00.001-07:002008-12-30T18:25:14.121-07:00

In the picture of Jesus that I carry around in my head, He’s always laughing. He has a sort of “Why are you guys taking everything so seriously?” smirk on His face, and His arms, His hands are always reaching – away from Himself, toward His listener. Toward me. Toward you.I love the way that Jesus served people when He was here. He was so raw and counter-culture and in-your-face about taking care

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-25709113725745139252008-12-18T12:12:00.002-07:002008-12-18T12:45:38.139-07:00

It happens to all of us. We get stuck. Stuck in the mud. Stuck in the snow. Stuck in old offenses and even older fears. Stuck in our laziness. Stuck in our loneliness.We're in a deep freeze right now (I'm sitting at the computer wearing sweater layers, knit slippers, and a winter scarf), with just enough snow covering just enough super slippery ice to keep everybody just a little on edge on the

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-71726601125330370202008-12-14T21:39:00.002-07:002008-12-14T22:12:22.481-07:00

Eleven sleeps until Christmas. We're so fortunate, as a family, that this is a generous and simple and exciting time for our tiny five person world. We've been doing the 12 days of Christmas instead of stockings this year: One stocking stuffer-like gift each day leading up to the 25th. We preamble the exchange with a quick conversation. We started with the simple, "What's one thing we're thankful

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-6941418804612247772008-12-07T13:17:00.003-07:002008-12-07T15:20:33.403-07:00

I'm on kilometer number four and heartily wishing that I'd taken fifteen seconds to change out of my jeans and into some sweats before hitting the treadmill. Two kilometers to go and I am grumpily uncomfortable in the confines of unyielding denim.A thought pops into mind -- a distant memory of a "diet tips and tricks" article that I'd read years ago. It was probably printed on one of many glossy

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-84713176871195845572008-12-05T14:58:00.004-07:002008-12-10T09:33:00.255-07:00

I still think about her all of the time (I think it was this time last year that I wrote a bit about her). It's a geographical sort of remembering. I drive past her old condo and the apartment where she died. I fill up with gas at her favorite gas station and walk on sidewalks where we walked together. She lived where I live. I think she shapes my thinking ~ invades my paradigm, maybe ~ more than

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-56499179508458847892008-12-03T10:00:00.002-07:002008-12-03T11:02:22.966-07:00

This morning, CBC radio had an extensive report on gang activity in Canada. 'Turns out, our land is rife with gangs and they are wildly out of control. The younger generation of "gangster" is not governed by the decorum of their forefathers: they are carrying their weapons as badges of honor and wielding them publicly and with no thought of anonymity. The killings that once took place in back

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-50434963348094101942008-11-21T19:16:00.002-07:002008-11-21T19:55:46.857-07:00

Where does your faith come alive? When does it behave like a living thing ~ a thoughtful, purposeful, active part of your life?Is it in the quiet of nature or in a charismatic religious meeting? Summer camp, maybe, by the camp fire? Do you feel more faithful when you're dutifully meeting prayer time or reading list requirements?Maybe Sunday morning church services are your connection point with

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-84988225902598981242008-10-30T21:44:00.004-06:002008-10-30T21:49:52.423-06:00

The following is from my friend's blog. It relates to some things that a couple of us have been talking about..."Lead us not into temptation" often means, among other things,"Deny me those gratifying invitations, those highly interesting contacts,that participation in the brilliant movements of our age, which I so often, at risk desire."from the reflections on the PsalmsI have been ruminating on

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-5785831485455141552008-10-28T21:13:00.007-06:002008-12-23T09:23:35.395-07:00

Warning: Uncharacteristically negative diatribe-like editorial dead ahead. Proceed with spit-guard and Valium."Oh. You're one of those people." I sigh inwardly, not without emotion. Outwardly I attempt to make eye contact. "One of 'those' people? By which you mean...?"He determinedly avoids my gaze. "Aww, you know. We have one working as a bag boy. He can work anytime. Even during the day. 'Does

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-53175756616507226412008-10-20T07:24:00.006-06:002008-10-22T11:22:20.555-06:00

Early Autumn sun filters past urban obstacles; stray rays brush past me as I pump dollar after dollar into our gas tank. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse a loitering man: clean, just a little taller than I, black cowboy hat comfortably lodged on his aging head.I pay him no mind (considering instead what I'll be paying at the till in just a minute), then I notice that he's moved closer and is

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-80543428183109359562008-10-05T23:55:00.002-06:002008-10-06T00:29:51.535-06:00

I hadn't thought about it for ages and ages, so I'm not sure why, at that particular intersection, on that particular day, in broad daylight, it came to mind, but there it was.My memory kicked in abruptly and took me back in time. I was coming off of a late night shift. I'd spent my evening caring for a wonderfully bright and challenging Down's Syndrome baby. The proximity of that shift to my

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-83520210989342801232008-10-01T11:30:00.004-06:002008-10-02T16:05:59.904-06:00

I noticed the beginnings of the offending smell during school hours on Monday. On Tuesday Ben mentioned something that "smells like our old hamster" in the pantry. By Thursday, Jamy was taking dramatic breath-holding measures whenever circumstances required that he rally toward the offending closet.But hours are quickly filled and schedules demanding and I did not have enough minutes in the day (

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-37129409676114642642008-09-16T00:14:00.002-06:002008-09-16T00:17:20.507-06:00

We're at the mall. Welcomed with a warm variety of food court aroma's and perfectly controlled temperatures, the boys and I go our separate ways. I take my place in line at the Telus store.The couple in front of me are patient and engaging. She, in her too-tight navy sweat pants and almost-matching tank top, scratches insistently at her sunburned skin; he in his cycling muscle shirt, thick silver

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-82973697837123886812008-07-26T14:29:00.008-06:002008-12-09T22:02:12.715-07:00

Disregarded. He is ignored, dismissed. The wordless message: Disappear. The murmured message, grumbled by those he should most trust: Shut. Your. Mouth. She hides her face behind a mask of licorice-black hair. Strong, afraid, searching. An impediment of speech ensures that telling her side will be complicated, slow. There's no one to tell anyway.His need for belonging and adoration eclipse

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-41951250897734213872008-07-21T15:17:00.004-06:002008-12-09T22:02:12.828-07:00

ComeWalk with me awhileThrough stands of treesAnd prairie grassAlong this gently wandered roadHear the shrill of hawk And hawkImagine yourself youngFreeDance with the damselflyReach for the WildStand in silenceStand In silenceBreathe deep the PromiseThat permanent BeautyUnsoiled landUnspoiled landWill soon be oursStep firmlyThis is the WayBeyond ruinBeyond wasteWhere blossoms coverBoundless

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-6552354650145077862008-06-22T09:04:00.005-06:002008-12-09T22:02:12.997-07:00

If you met her for yourself, Anna's feet would be the last thing to draw your attention.The thing you'd notice about her, if you bumped into her at the market or the coffee shop, is her spirit -- her I'm-laughing-at-you-in-the-nicest-way, mischievous, determination. She's uncommonly comfortable in her own lovely skin. Perfectly blond and naturally curly hair plays around her freckled cheeks. Her

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-63109245686215985212008-06-18T09:53:00.004-06:002008-06-18T10:26:55.886-06:00

A lunch bag, locks, and two kinds of milk. A lunch bag, locks, and two kinds of milk. A lunch bag...I'm chanting rhythmically to myself as I make my way to the grocery store. A lunch bag for Bob, locks for the backyard gates (because the neighbor kids are sneaking in to visit the dogs when we're not at home), and milk for breakfast. Easy, right? A short list. I'm not sure how your thirty, forty,

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-89553188472333398582008-06-10T12:47:00.011-06:002008-12-09T22:02:13.165-07:00

This little guy is a Brewer's Blackbird. He's intensely parental and darkly vigilant where his offspring are concerned. I know this because every time I hike past his house he chitters and flaps threateningly at me, hovering just a couple of feet above my head.Sometimes I take him by surprise and he doesn't begin his recriminations until I'm past, but once he's spotted me I'm in for it!He and his

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-61671945810758534112008-04-09T15:37:00.010-06:002008-12-09T22:02:13.885-07:00

I thought our apple tree was dying. It's a new addition to our barren backyard (Note to self: Write landscaping into any future mortgage!) and a significant financial investment, not to mention a labor of love on behalf of our Mormon friends (an interesting story to be told another day). Our soil is thick with clay and stones so I've been having a minor internal panic attack that we didn't

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-89841518067177044092008-03-18T23:52:00.005-06:002008-12-09T22:02:14.196-07:00

Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save,nor his ear too dull to hear.But your iniquities have separated you from your God;your sins have hidden his face from you,so that he will not hear......Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:to loose the chains of injusticeand untie the cords of the yoke,to set the oppressed freeand break every yoke?Is it not to share your food with the

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-8987970879279738762008-03-06T23:39:00.004-07:002008-12-09T22:02:14.410-07:00

I've been counting down the hours, and the time has finally arrived. 'Time for a cup of something with a friend. I hurry into the coffee shop, not wanting to waste a moment of these stolen hours away from children and responsibilities and care.My friend has arrived before me and I settle into the comfy armchair at her side. We are surrounded by buzzing conversations; the whir of coffee dispensers

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-733218708744601242008-02-27T15:54:00.004-07:002008-12-09T22:02:14.642-07:00

At Pentecost, they were not submerged in God, nor did God override them. God was God and they were they; but Person flowed into person,Will into will, Mind into mind, and they could scarcely tell where they ended and God began. He was closer than their blood in their veins and nearer than their heartbeats. If they should reach out to touch Him, they would reach too far.~ E. Stanley Jones, The Art

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-16143787117453082442008-02-24T14:26:00.003-07:002008-02-25T12:56:29.188-07:00

The garbage bag goo ~~ you know, that runny stuff that somehow seeps out of the bottom of the sack and onto the floor, or into the bottom of the bin ~~ has been washed out of my shoe. An innocent tug on the top of the overflowing Glad bag found my right foot swimming in days-old muck; my Croc (that hole-pocked fashion abomination) ably absorbing the thick, runny stuff through its' many

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-21835985146614766452008-02-05T10:16:00.000-07:002008-02-11T17:10:58.579-07:00

Seven-thirty a.m. and my feet are sticking to the floor. I put a hand out to steady myself and find it sticking uncomfortably to the chair. The morning's mental fog quickly clears as I remember why my entire kitchen seems to be coated in a sugary goo. It seems to be, because it is. It began, as these circumstances so often do, with a mother and her son preparing for target practice. I'm sure you

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-41100475649278880872008-01-23T18:21:00.001-07:002008-01-23T18:22:06.822-07:00

I no longer seek to be understood, but to understand.~ Clare (Brother Sun, Sister Moon) ~

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-71863334364143722442008-01-11T13:46:00.000-07:002008-01-15T00:10:40.516-07:00

I have conquered Costco in record time and I'm feeling good! I clumsily maneuver my over-stuffed cart into the nearest line-up and settle in for the wait. I eavesdrop on the conversation happening in the next line over. Wrecked knees, hockey injuries, and the pain-killer of choice. Hmm. Not very interesting. I scan other patrons for signs of life, interest, engagement.The woman in front of me is

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-11269581314485934082008-01-05T09:18:00.000-07:002008-12-09T22:02:15.236-07:00

The Alcon blue butterfly of Western Europe has a particular quirk: by coating it's larvae in a deceptive chemical coating, it can trick local ants into thinking that the babies belong to them. The ants, responsible and hardworking critters that they are, promptly carry them into their own nest and set about raising the young as their own, not realizing until the butterflies emerge, wings and all,

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-59970805520740823952007-12-26T16:36:00.000-07:002008-12-09T22:02:15.775-07:00

"North," my son insists, "is that way." He's pointing determinedly toward the corner of our yard in a direction that I feel, instinctively, is East. Or almost East, at least. The younger two boys, backed-up by my husband, join the argument. The argument wherein they assure me that they are all right, and I hold out that they are all wrong. Because I can feel that West is not in the direction they

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-50196950166395767492007-12-14T13:59:00.000-07:002008-12-09T22:02:16.151-07:00

The morning hours are teeny tiny and I'm too tired to think as I connect with a gal I know through a mentoring program. She is angry. Frustrated by an ongoing marital conflict, she has grown weary of the effort involved in keeping her relationship afloat."Why," she demands, "do women have to do all of the work in bettering a marriage? Why don't men do any of the work? Does God intend for us to be

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-76336193058888362552007-12-03T13:28:00.001-07:002008-12-09T22:02:16.307-07:00

Loving unselfishly does not mean making the least of ourselves but making the most of someone else. ~ Jo Ann Lemon ~

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-68511423634851350852007-11-20T00:43:00.001-07:002008-07-26T17:19:32.683-06:00

If you have faith as small as a mustard seed,you can say to this mountain,"Move from here to there," and it will move.If you have faith as small as mustard seed you can say to this tree,"Be uprooted and planted in the sea," and it will obey.Nothing will be impossible for you,if you have faith as small as a mustard seed.So says Jesus. Simply. Directly. No frills, no formula. Teensy tiny faith

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-14424609891456584442007-11-05T13:32:00.000-07:002007-11-05T14:14:50.034-07:00

We're late. I misjudged our travel time (Again. How can this city be growing so quickly, it's vehicles multiplying so rapidly?) and the city is not shrinking. We sit idling impatiently at a stoplight, caught in the humdrum monotony of Sunday afternoon traffic.Bob and I spot the man simultaneously, his red-tipped cane tapping determinedly out in front, dark glasses firmly straddling his nose, a

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-24963613343904016332007-10-18T14:33:00.000-06:002008-12-09T22:02:16.334-07:00

A few years ago, a major forest fire swept through Kootenay National Park in the Rocky Mountains. The fire consumed over twenty thousand acres of forest, leaving behind mile after mile of statue-straight charred, gray, dead tree trunks.The stillness there is consuming; the gray unending as the path of the fire scorched first one side of the highway and then fiercely, leaping over towering pines

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-2997368386249009772007-10-14T08:43:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:20:28.088-06:00

Today I placed two rocks At the top of the hoodoosOne for AnnWhose funeral was todayOne for DebWho left us a few years backIn my birthday weekOne for DebHarsh, cutting, even cruelShe died too, too youngShe died aloneOne for AnnTender, funny, wildly generousShe died too soonShe died adoredI'm not very good with heights. Bob and I were recently given tickets to a concert and our seats were high

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-8821287708290595972007-09-21T23:21:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:20:50.122-06:00

The chill of early autumn is settling in for the night, and a yappy, frightened, wee mite of a dog is huddled outside underneath our neighbor's car. I've tried to draw him out. My own dogs have attempted to woo him (only to be snapped at). Even my husband has been down on all fours, treat in hand, murmuring reassurances, only to have the little fuzz ball shriek his doggy disapproval.And he

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-89855717506797219172007-09-20T23:32:00.000-06:002007-09-21T23:21:19.059-06:00

Last night I stayed up until 2:30 in the morning because I needed to see how the old black and white movie I was watching would end. The movie was nothing remarkable, but it's opening line (which began its' enticing work somewhere around midnight) gripped me ("Last night I had a dream that I was once again at Manderley, but no one will ever go to Manderley again...") and there was just enough

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-49481298066412487912007-09-11T13:01:00.000-06:002008-12-09T22:02:16.599-07:00

John 7:38Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said,streams of living water will flow from within him.A river touches places of which its source knows nothing...God rarely allows a soul to see how great a blessing he is. (The river) is victoriously persistent, it overcomes all barriers. It makes pathways around obstacles. It may drop out of sight for miles and presently emerge again

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-30026740653377227892007-09-04T18:29:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:22:46.791-06:00

He is a man with stories to tell. One glance at the back of his unruly head says so. I have time to spare ~ the bank line-up is long and slow. I wait for him to turn enough to give me some excuse to strike up conversation.Standing six-foot-something, his black T-shirt and well-worn jeans are covered in a film of what looks like fresh dirt and grassy bits. A link of keys dangles from his left hip.

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-28702170397439524002007-09-01T16:55:00.000-06:002007-09-07T00:33:08.350-06:00

It would be much easier to hold to my hard-won, aggrieved, and jaded opinion that People-Just-Don't-Change if I wasn't married to a man that is reinventing himself daily. A man who, for the first thirty-five years of his life felt no responsibility for the well-being of the people around him whatsoever, but who, now, is engaged, aware, and ready for ~ even looking for ~ the chance to be

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-1808136787312392502007-09-01T16:24:00.000-06:002007-09-04T18:28:51.056-06:00

Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse him working his wheelchair across a muddy patch of thinned grass. He is purposeful in his progress toward me and my party. With some effort he guides his chair, feet scooching one in front of the other, to where we're sitting near the lodge's freshly cut front lawn.He catches my eye with his one good one and smirks, "I talk too much, but this story's gonna'

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-69057172077391993152007-08-29T20:18:00.000-06:002007-08-31T22:32:54.312-06:00

A Kate Braestrup Quote(From her book Here If You Need Me)My children asked: why did dad die? And I told them: It was an accident." There are small accidents, like knocking over milk at the dinner table . There are large accidents, like the one your dad was in. No one meant it to happen. It just happened, And his body was too badly damaged in the accident for his soul to stay in it anymore, and so

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-70580091086829976652007-08-27T17:41:00.001-06:002007-08-27T17:53:34.602-06:00

Today I flipped my Bible open and came across one of the most amazing prayers to be found between it's pages. So I named my list of "People to Pray For" and used God's own words in my conversation with Him about them.But there's a verse in the middle of Paul's prayer that got me ~ it's making me think differently about God's love ~ it's helping me see our own vulnerability and struggle

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-73680301101149023412007-08-21T14:50:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:24:32.548-06:00

It's one of those hard-to-come-by moments. I am shopping with a girlfriend. We have an agenda, but that doesn't stop us from enjoying quick diversions and moments of connection.We push through a narrow aisle and stumble upon small objects of beauty ~ things that make us turn to each other with an "Oh! Look!" Things that make us laugh out loud and say, "Remember the time...?"My friend is gifted in

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-73784160682144335512007-08-01T09:11:00.000-06:002007-08-01T09:12:48.435-06:00

Love may forgive all infirmities and love still in spite of them, but Love cannot cease to will their removal.~ C. S. Lewis ~

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-59374743719941210732007-07-30T13:24:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:25:15.346-06:00

The rear bumper just fell off of the ample backside of our van.Not a big deal. It's urgent fwip fwip fwip fwip alerted me to the fact that it was being dragged down the road behind us at 100km/hr. well in advance of me exposing anyone else to danger."Why?" you ask. "Why was your bumper dragging along behind you instead of riding securely on it's bumper-sturdy screws?" I am so glad you asked.

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-30421808385089953112007-07-25T09:53:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:25:55.737-06:00

I (believe) in love not because it (is) an alternative to hate.Love has no alternatives.Love is all there is.Love is the only truth of God that matters.Love is the occupation of God, His sole employment.There is no use asking if the human race matters.To choose to love is to take up the occupation of God.To love like God is to take prejudices and hatreds and hold them in your hands and confess

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-10983269102633647552007-07-08T15:24:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:26:22.940-06:00

encourage one another~ 1 Thessalonians, Hebrews ~I'm late. My son is in the bronze medal game and I'm missing it. I'm rushing toward the bleachers to watch the last half of the match when I hear his name. People are shouting, some screaming, "CORY! Get the ball to Cory!" The small stand of seats is filled with cheering parents and siblings. I move away from the crowd and lean up against the cool

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-9375494702462127982007-07-05T09:04:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:26:41.190-06:00

If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.~ Martin Luther King, Jr. ~Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-46704019027348985162007-06-26T12:51:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:27:04.775-06:00

The doorbell gongs. You hastily set aside whatever you're doing and shuffle to see who's there. What started out as a light afternoon rain shower has become a thundering storm of lightening and hail. You pick up your pace, not wanting to leave your visitor in the weather too long.And then you see them. Through the floor-to-ceiling window adjacent to your well-kept front door you see two clean-cut

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-46951082049919838892007-06-20T11:50:00.002-06:002008-07-26T17:27:24.554-06:00

July 2006 I have a garden. A small, square, city-bound plot. A bird feeder sits securely in one corner, inviting sparrows to dive in-and-amongst the dozens of sunflowers growing there. The flowers are strong and lean and generous. Some hollyhocks (or are they gladiola's? I can't remember which I planted and I'm not good about marking these things.) are sprouting in a patch beside an antique table

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-24565776785909582312007-06-19T09:07:00.002-06:002008-07-26T17:27:46.223-06:00

Late spring moisture hangs in the warming evening air; late-in-the-day sun evaporates evidence of a recent cloud burst. My pace is determined as I begin my trudge to the corner store. I am focused on shedding the days' frustrations, finding peace, hearing God.What I hear, instead, is a barking dog.My eyes turn toward the sound. Three young children capture my glance. Three wee, brown, wide-eyed

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-76107846470278532332007-06-10T17:12:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:28:24.115-06:00

Once upon a time there was a man named Bob. Bob was a happily successful suburb-dwelling business man with a happy (also spelled d-e-l-u-s-i-o-n-a-l) wife and happy children, happy dogs and a happy home.One day while Bob was busy doing mellow Bob things, God said, "Hey! You, Bob!" Bob responded immediately to the voice, grateful that the Creator of the World got his name right (Being referred to

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-60807466685830044742007-06-10T15:16:00.000-06:002007-06-10T17:12:02.919-06:00

A crowded train car. The smell of unwashed bodies, soiled babies, over-done teenagers, ethnic foods, and false-scented women assaults him as he eases into his chauffeured ride. Lowering himself onto a smooth, cool seat, he reaches into his backpack in search of his O'Brien novel. He pauses. Something tells him this is not a morning for reading.An hour earlier, my husband was out for his morning

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-55411163708578640152007-06-10T11:47:00.001-06:002008-07-26T17:29:36.799-06:00

Acts 3Peter said (to the begging crippled man), "Look at us!" So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them.Then Peter said, "Silver or gold I do not have, but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk." Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man's feet and ankles became strong. He jumped to his feet and began to

Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10867582673366531429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37024056.post-37006099026712521392007-06-02T22:18:00.002-06:002008-07-26T17:30:00.937-06:00

A piercing-hot June sun guards the field hockey pitch as morning ebbs to afternoon to early evening. Dozens of young bodies ease, jerk, careen, and soar across the worn turf ~~ child faces blotchy-red with exertion, lips dry from thirst and heat, expressions rising, falling, with goals or the lack of them.Side-lined parents shout encouragement from their collapsible thrones. "Did you drink? When

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