Pencil in His Hand: A Mother's Journal of Stories, Thoughts, and Poems.

  Photo: Aaron Burden. Unsplash Help me to remember Lord, set my thinking free Help me to remember Lord, I need to follow Thee Help me to become O Lord, all that I should be Help me to remember Lord, to help them follow Thee *** So many want Heaven: they want to be saved But they don't want a cross or the path You have paved *** Easy to say "I'm a Christian" you know Easy to put on a  fancy big show but not to fool God Who sees all you do So repent, turn from sin, be washed and made new *** Copyright: pencil in His Hand 

  Free fiction. Coffee break read Anna's Anchor On a sun-infused week day morning, Anna poured a cup of scented tea into her favourite cup. She lived alone now. Gone were the days when the  house was filled with loud voices, arguments, door slamming. And of course, the noisy, happy sounds were fewer too. Anna smiled. There had been plenty of those amongst the less than joyful ones. The Lord was her witness that she'd done everything she could to make the family home a peaceful and happy one. She'd even shared the Gospel with her volatile husband, but he'd reacted typically. "Don't preach at me Anna!" Barry had shouted on that decisive day. "Find someone else to Bible bash or I'll leave." Anna remembered how she'd stood frozen to her spot in the kitchen, hands clenched and tears coursing down her cheeks. And she remembered her desperate pleas to God and how she'd been comforted by His embrace. And then, His gentle reminder: "There...

Breathe Dying to self   Blue Berg river Slower Slow, slower, slower to a place where  thoughts can meet Slow, slower, slower 'til I'm sitting at Your feet *** Awhile back, I wrote a post about poetry writing which I never posted. I thought it would be good to re-visit that topic. When you write your own poems, you quickly become aware that poetry is not the favourite reading material of most people. Neither is it what most people write. I guess that's because there remain many misconceptions about poetry. Some people believe that poetry is too hard to read or understand, let alone write. I sympathize. Much poetry is pretty high-brow; the subject of university English lectures and dreaded by many students. Poetry however, cannot be put into a box. Yes, it can be written in a vague, mysterious, or unfathomable way. But it can also be simple, honest, and even plain and easy to relate to. Poetry can follow a certain form, style, or rhyme scheme. It can have perfect rhythm and c...

   Inspirational fiction Up and Away I sighed. Yet another problem. Another burden to add to the already growing pile. With God's help, I was still standing somehow; yes, even walking. That was the miracle. If I didn't have Jesus living in me, I most definitely wouldn't be. But, I was human, and it wasn't easy.  The first, and one of the largest burdens was my marriage to Jim: a marriage marred by alcohol abuse, and all of the woes that accompany addiction. The beginning years had been less strained, and  the addition of three children had not been burdensome at first. And of course, by God's grace alone, I was rescued from the rubbish dump of my sinful existance by Jesus back then. The shining pinacle of my life.  Jesus brought life and light, and yes, even joy into our struggling family. Even when my husband rejected the Good News I shared with him, I carried on loving him and serving him . But only because of Jesus. With Jesus at my side, I taught my daughter...

  Photo: charlesdeluvio. Unsplash Rosie's Story. Episode Ten Tears blurred the laptop screen as Rosie thought about her growing up years. It wasn't easy to look back; to remember just how dumb she'd been. But she kept writing, kept remembering. Maybe someone could be helped; would find Jesus through her testimony. Even just one person would make it all worth it. Now in her twenties, with a graveyard of failed relationships behind her, Rosie's eyes had finally opened, and her heart had found hope and healing. She was forgiven, clean, and whole because of Jesus. Jake had only been the first in a string of bad choices. Rosie remembered clearly how it had ended. They'd gone on a date to a local carnival. It was in the afternoon, and she'd been completely sober. They'd walked around for a while, taking in the sights and snacking on donuts. Then,  Jake had made a bee-line for the beer tent, pulling her along as though he were dying of thirst. "You're more...

  Photo: Laura Chouette. Unsplash Rosie's Story. Episode Nine "I'll see you on Sunday. I'm sleeping over at Pam's place." Rosie announced brightly. "We'll probably go to the mall; watch a couple of movies." She shrugged. "The usual." At sixteen, Rosie had bloomed into a pretty young woman. Petite, with long, thick hair, the boys had begun to notice her. Her mother stopped mixing her cake batter and turned to look at her daughter. "Take care then, Rosie. Have you done all of your chores?" She accepted her daughter's quick embrace. It had taken some time, but she was now more used to going to church on her own. She often longed though, for the simpler days when her daughters were young and skipped along by her side to the services. "All done." Announced Rosie. "See you soon." *** "Stop fluttering your eyes." Laughed Pamela. She was applying mascara to Rosie's eyelashes. Rosie had been transf...

  Photo: Kyo Azuma. Unsplash Rosie's Story. Episode Eight Rosie attended a solidly academic Catholic girls' school through all of her school years. She studied hard and brought home consistantly good reports. She often achieved A's and B's in all of her favourite subjects. Maths was not one of them, and she dropped it along with science at the soonest opportunity.  "Our Rosie will either be a writer or a translator one day. She won't be needing math in her career." Rosie's mom assured her husband. "She's always been a bookworm." Rosie's dad agreed. He was proud of both of his daughters. Cherry was musical and excelled at biology. Her goal was to study nursing. Unfortunately, both he and Rosie's mother were seemingly unaware of the dangerous undercurrents in their teenagers' lives. The school may have been Catholic, but it failed to produce young people with a yearning to know and serve God. Instead, it taught dry ritual and di...