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Refiner’s Fire

  • Father of the Rain

    On Wednesday, November 14 th, 2007

    Part One : Colors of a Tear-Washed World Part Two: Loss brilliantly backlights blessings. Fragility heightens beauty. But can one choose whether tears wash away scales or if each drop instead galvanizes the world in layers of icy glaze? What makes tears icy and stinging cold, hardening a heart into resentment and bitterness? How does rain saturate and enrich the colors of life...

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  • Seeing: Colors of a Tear-washed World

    On Friday, November 09 th, 2007

    The vivid shade of the sky that day, prismatic and pure, the blaze of waving wheat fields , those hues mingled, bled together and percolated down into me, deep and permanent. Heaven’s sapphire leached down on a July afternoon into amber waves of wheat’s heads, ripe and bowed, and, yes, forever changed the tone of me. I wonder. No. Maybe, somewhere, I know. The ebony black ...

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  • Hope for Tilled, Cut Hearts

    On Saturday, October 13 th, 2007

    I learn so from your wisdom in my inbox. My humble gratitude… Gigi had these verse thoughts in response to the recent post Thankful for the Plow and Rain “Sow for yourselves righteousness, reap the fruit of unfailing love, and break up your unplowed ground; for it is time to seek the Lord, until he comes and showers righteousness on you.”~Hosea 10:12 ̶...

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  • Thankfulness for plow and rain

    On Monday, October 08 th, 2007

    It is the weekend of Canadian Thanksgiving. My mother has called earlier in the afternoon. Warm light pools around my feet as we talk of the poundage of turkey, dressing recipes, butternut squash dishes and the possibility of pumpkin cheesecake. The woods beyond the rolling fields blaze their ardent assent. Our kitchen fills with the aroma of grainy bread, baking for the feast...

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  • My name is…

    On Friday, October 05 th, 2007

    From our current Morning Gathering reading.. Read slowly… (We did.) “On the last morning she was walking near the tents and huts of the desert dwellers, when in a lonely corner behind a wall she came upon a little golden-yellow flower, growing all alone. An old pipe was one tiny hole through which came an occasional drop of water. Where the drops fell one by one, t...

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  • Dawning Dark

    On Wednesday, October 03 rd, 2007

    In my own way, I have known dark. For years, the freeze frame of my crushed younger sister seared my nights, this recurring nightmare of her body falling under the wheel, her lifeless little body laying motionless in a pool of blood in our laneway. That moment burned and smoldered at the fringe of my family’s days and branded our nights. My mother’s mental hospitalizations...

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  • Baptized

    On Thursday, September 13 th, 2007

    It is the way little country churches have a summer baptism A pond mirroring dappled light, leafy still hanging, hushed and waiting, a dock leading the way into the depths, pointing out to the other side. The Petersens with their six girls and two boys, and the Van Den Boogards with their seven boys and three girls, and Miriam Weber home on furlough from her translation work i...

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  • Repent. Rethink. Grow a Third Ear.

    On Monday, September 10 th, 2007

    This week’s prayerful focus on Repentance… “You are such a poor listener.”The barbed words catch, sting. I own them. And the wrenching stab. They’re rightly mine. For it’s true: I had had ears only for the plink, plank, plunk of berries in the bottom of my bucket, the fill of blue, the rustle of the bushes loosening its sapphires. The noise in my head went ...

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  • Windy Day Cling

    On Friday, August 31 st, 2007

    In the early morning light, I step out onto the old stones of the back step. The autumn air blows cool, fresh, from the northwest, tugging at the hem of my skirt, wanting me to come too. Not today. I have laundry to hang today, warm bread dough to tuck into loaf cradles, floors to scrub while bread babies rise under dishtowel blankets. Old wooden pins between my teeth, I st...

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  • Listening to Poems

    On Monday, August 20 th, 2007

    “The Bible tells us that we are God’s masterpieces (poiema in Greek);not only creatures, but his creations, his poems (Ephesians 2:10).We are living epistles (2 Corinthians 3:3).And so, our lives are meant to be listened to,because it is God who is speaking into and out of and through the symphony of the years,and the masterpiece of a lifetime.” ~Michael Card...

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  • Messy Love

    On Friday, July 20 th, 2007

    Last in this week’s series on love… Love and death are hard. Up close to death’s face this week, I’ve felt, all the way through, the anquish of the wrestle with the last enemy. Love, too, is about dying. And so the struggle… Hanging the streamers, heart cut-outs and doilies from the ceiling for our annual Valentine’s party, Joshua steals the tap...

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  • The Broken Beloved

    On Tuesday, July 17 th, 2007

    Part of this week’s series on love… It is morning and I grind flax. Kernels, brown and earthy, stream into whirling blades. I brace, anticipating the growling grind of the crushing. In a moment, hard outer shells are shattered against the metal. I pour the crushed seeds into a line of waiting bowls. In this fracturing, each flaxseed releases immensely healthful,...

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