
Many years ago, my husband and I signed up for ballroom dancing classes. As we headed to our first lesson, my mind conjured up visions of Brian and I gliding gracefully across the floor.
The reality was far different. In fact, we were so awkward the instructor said she felt sorry for us! It turned out that the problem was me. I unconsciously tried to take the lead. Only one can lead and it wasn’t my job.
I was told to close my eyes and trust my partner. When I did that, our movement became smooth. Once confident I could follow Brian’s lead, I’d open my eyes again. Whenever we were out of step, it was because I was fighting for control. I spent a large part of our lessons with my eyes closed!
I’ve discovered this also applies in my relationship with God. I have a tendency to want to go my own way (or lead) and expect God to follow. The habit of thinking I know what’s best is a hard one to break. What is needed of me is to close my eyes and trust.
This is required even more when I’m in a season of uncertainty. I may not know what direction to take but as long as I follow His lead and stay in step with the one who knows the dance of my life, I need not be concerned. God knows where He is taking me and His ways are better than anything I could imagine.
“I know the plans that I have for you, declared the Lord. They are plans for peace and not disaster; plans to give you a future filled with hope.” Jeremiah 29:11











When I first sat down to write this, a hurricane was crossing the Caribbean Sea and heading for Mexico. It was expected to hit the Yucatan state in a few days. There was a chance it would miss the area our friends lived in, but as we know, sometimes storms change direction.
From the kitchen window of my second story apartment, I enjoy a view of grass, trees and small wildlife. I also see the patio on the ground floor of a neighbouring building.
Several years ago, I wrote about Quarry Lake in Canmore Alberta. Last week I visited it again and was inspired anew.
was once the site of an open-pit coal mine. It has been reclaimed and is now a beautiful spot for many to enjoy.
It has become my tradition to share this poem with you as one year ends and we embark upon another. Every year I read it and appreciate what it has to say. My mother gave it to me many years ago and unfortunately, I don’t know who the author is.
Crisp, golden leaves rustled in the breeze and scattered on the path as I headed towards the park. Up ahead a man was walking his black lab.
Snippets of overheard conversation can sometimes have a profound impact on my life. Such was the case when a young boy and his dad cycled past me.
In my youth, I earned spending money in the summer by picking strawberries and raspberries. How much I earned depended on the weight of berries I picked.
“Your garden is beautiful,” I told her. “People tell me that,” she replied. “But I think they’re just being nice. When I look at it, I see areas that need more mulch and it’s definitely overdue for a weeding.”