Bees in My Bonnet

 Recently our Church held its annual Arts Festival and invited poets and artists to contribute. The theme was centred on our calling, vocation - in short: work.  I spent some time pondering what my work actually is. Because I am an on-the-go, sometimes-at-home, Mom, Spiritual Director, Piano Teacher, occasional Doula, and all-round Presence In The House For Anyone Who Shows Up, it took me some time to consider what it is I actually DO.  Here is the poem that emerged from these ponderings: My Work My work is to be - to taste, to see Every good gift tumbling Flowing into these outstretched hands To be Open, waiting. My work is to worship: To savor Sweet bread, broken, given; To lift up my fainting heart To yield all I am for One Who yielded to death for me. My work is to welcome. If every good gift is from above, Then so is the stranger at my door. In no time he won't be a stranger, But a fellow pilgrim seeking Good gifts from a good God. Welcoming is Opening: I open my hea...

 We visited again with Shannon this morning. The weather is cool and perfect and drinking tea seems to fit the mood.  We said goodbye and made our way to Donaghadee to poke around this small town on the coast and visit the local graveyard. I was looking for relatives from long ago - last names of Walker, Allen, Hamilton, and even McDowell. I'm not sure those I found are related... I'll need to do some more digging. I haven't done much homework on the tracing-your-lineage thing. Someone did most of this for the Crutchfield side a while ago. I don't have much mapped out from my mom's side - the Walker, Allen side.  I started to wonder about those in the distant past of my family when reading the book 'Translating Your Past ' by Michelle Van Loon. I highly recommend this book! It made me think - who were these people? What were their values? What is my heritage?  Wandering around the harbour and town and talking to locals, I get a sense of tradition, value, his...

 Jet lag.  Awake at midnight. So I started digging around on 'find a grave site' website to see if I can locate Grandpa Walker's cousin, Nina somewhere in Belfast. No luck, even if I am part Irish. Mom's cousin, Aunt Barbara, helped quite a bit with pics of documents etc. Finally got tired around 5 a.m. Slept 'til 10. Didn't want to sleep the day away, and it was sunny. Sam took me to Scrabo tower. Sun was bright and happy, like us. Maybe a rarity for me. Ireland suits my personality. I feel at home here. I wish I could grow a garden here. Rain most days feels needed. Like window washing for the soul. Verdant life abounds everywhere.  The tight roads and winding curves fry my nerves...I learn to trust. The locals drive here every day and they don't crash! Amazing! After the tower we came home and had leftover Indian food for lunch. We had gone out for that last night. Then we headed out to see Shannon, Sam's cousin's daughter. She was home with her t...

 Since the whirlwind that is our life has been fairly non-stop for the past 25 years, Sam decided it would be fun to go somewhere, just the two of us. He gave me a few options and I don't remember what the others were because I instantly, without a pause, said, "Ireland".  And after months of planning and getting a new passport, two days ago, we boarded the plane and landed in Dublin yesterday, drove two hours north to Belfast, walked to a local fish 'n chips place, and went to church this morning. I'll put a few pictures here and hand-write some notes to type up when at a computer next week.  It's quite the adventure already 😊

 19 years ago tomorrow I went to CDH to deliver our 3rd child. I didn't know then that we would go on to have 2 more babies. I was 29 years old and crossing that bridge where parents are outnumbered by children. I can't say I knew what we were getting into. It was a tumultuous time in our lives (I'm guessing that is more of a normal thing for the Logan family than for most!). Sam was still in grad school - having completed his first year, and was working odd jobs over the summer to support us. Throughout that hot and humid August, I was great with child, and fairly exhausted keeping up with a 5 year old Caleb and 3 year old Priscilla. They were ready and eager to greet their little brother, waiting with all the wonder and excitement a 5 and 3 year-old can muster.   At his high school graduation a year ago, I stood up to deliver this speech, which was in the form of a letter to my son: Dear Timothy Sheldon Logan, 18 years ago I was just beginning the 3rd and final trimester ...

 "Oh teach us to pray!" the disciples yearned: As children try on language, stumbling, awkward, We long to speak with words our God, our Maker, will hear. In settled calm, He teaches us, "Pray:     "Your will be done. Here in me, on this earth,     Do as You will, as it goes in Your homeland." First He teaches; then, He shows, "This is how:     I come to a Garden. Remain with me, Pray for me.     Pray with  me. My prayer is still, 'Your will be done.'" To stay with Jesus, here, now, in darkness, uncertainty,     Can I  pray, "Your will be done." ? "You found me sleeping," I confess. "Your spirit is willing; your flesh is weak."     My struggle is held with grace. He taught us once to pray, "Give us this day our daily bread." Then later, He breaks the bread: "This is my body: I am the manna."  I need this daily bread! The bread given.  In it, I am for given. How God is for  giving!! He gives His...