February 10. A Makeover      

Isaiah 40:1: Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. Isaiah 64: 8: "Yet, O Lord, you are our Parent. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand".

"Turn around slowly, dear." Alice awoke from her daydream to hear her grandmother speak gently to her. She turned obediently while grandmother pinned the hem of this new frock. "Right, now you can climb down," she suggested, "and take off your frock so that I can finish the adjustments." Alice looked at the dress with joy; soon she would be wearing it to her first formal party. She tenderly touched the flowing material as she dreamed of how she would look. It was such a vision of craftsmanship that it really did not matter that it had been purchased from a "pre-loved" shop and made over to fit her youthful figure.

Into the room cluttered with documents and lined by bookcases, he walked. His hair was peppered with white, his clothes were neatly pressed, but the style and the cut were far from new. He seemed to be enveloped by a cloud of exhaustion and defeat as he was ushered into this almost rarefied domain of the law. His shoulders were stooped, his face lined by years of toil, and his eyes were devoid of any spark of life. It was as if this summons could only bring more trouble into his already crowded life. The solicitor, inviting him to sit on the lone chair across the massive desk, pushed a document toward him. "Here, you will see, is a deed of gift. It appears that many years ago you transformed an unkempt wilderness into a terraced garden with sweeping lawns and fountains for my client. Though at the time you received your wages, and I believe they were quite generous, it appears my client has believed all this time that such a transformation would not have been possible without your love of the property. Therefore, together with a considerable sum set aside for its upkeep, this property has been made over - transferred - to your name. If you will sign these papers, I'm sure we can finalize this transfer today."

Lights hung in the trees, and music filled the air, drowned out at times by shrieks of laughter. The smell of cooking drifted from laden tables as people made their way to celebrate the evening together. It was really such a small thing, yet because of the effort this community had shared, it was right that they celebrate together. There it stood, rising like a phoenix from the ashes, a completely remodelled home. It was hard to believe only four months earlier this house had been set alight by vandals while its elderly owner was in hospital. For weeks it had stood, blackened and scarred, a witness to a senseless act and an aching testimony of loss. Yet its starkness had touched the heartstrings of some passers-by, and a concerned murmur was born that took substance and became action. Strangers stopped to talk, shopkeepers offered products to assist, trucks delivered timber, vans brought fittings and slowly the transformation began. This motley new community began the task of constructing a house. Some dropped off lunches as their contribution, builders dropped by to advise; electricians and plumbers gave their weekends and their love to the project. Slowly and carefully the changes were wrought, until now it was done, and the house had become a home again.

Just as the blackened ruins of a house were transformed almost as if by a miracle, so our lives are transformed by the gentle and loving hand of God. It is God who loves us beyond all our understanding of love, who takes our shabby, damaged lives and begins the task of restoring them to full beauty. All God needs from us is our permission, our awareness that we do need change in our lives and our willingness to allow God to transform us. We have always been loved and valued by God, even in those times when we had no sense of our own worth. Even now, God awaits the opportunity to transform us into vibrant, healed and forgiven creations.

Prayer: Master Potter, take our lives and reshape them today into vessels of grace for your use, so that we may serve you as perfect creations of your hands. Amen.

February 11. The Animal Shelter      

John 15:16: You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit. 1Corinthians 1: 27: "But God choose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong."

He walked slowly down the row of cat cages, allowing the full impact to speak its message to his companion. Some cats stretched against the mesh, as if the wire could stroke their fur, while others extended their paws into the passageway almost imploring him to notice them. Some had coats that glistened with health; others had fur that was matted and dull, matching the lifelessness of their eyes. Some reinvestigated their plates on the off chance that somehow a morsel had been overlooked while others washed themselves assiduously. There were cats disdainfully aloof, others pathetically eager to be noticed; while some mothers were busily grooming their kittens who sucked hungrily at distended teats.

As they came to the end of the last row, they turned toward the passage marked Dogs' Kennels in silence. Down the rows of dogs they moved, looking at dogs who had been surrendered simply because they had outgrown their cuteness, or because another breed had become more fashionable this year. There were dogs that had been released from the veterinary ward, those who had needed surgery or other treatment as a priority. There were cages containing puppies recently weaned from their mothers. These pups were now waiting to be wormed and vaccinated before they would be available for inspection and adoption. There were old dogs, some of them with failing sight, whose owners had moved into units that would not allow pets. And some who had simply outlived the folk who had loved them.

Next they walked to an area that was never accessible to the public. Here crouched in fear, with trembling limbs and eyes flashing white, were animals that had been severely abused. Some were so gaunt every bone in their rib cage and pelvis pushed hard against taut skin. Some were covered in sores, others carried scars of old wounds. Some had been so entangled in wire that toes had been amputated to prevent the spread of gangrene. Many huddled far back in their cages, having learned nothing but pain from their contacts with humanity. Here were also kept the larger animals, horses, cattle and donkeys that had been taken forcibly from owners whose neglect had become a criminal offence.

Lastly they walked between rows of cages marked with differently coloured tags - each bearing a different day of the week. Death row housed animals spending their last week at the shelter, animals that would be destroyed on the appointed day. Some of them seemed to sense their impending doom; they reached out frantically to gain attention. They wanted to be allowed to live, to romp or doze in the sunlight with a person who loved them. While still in the public area they were left behind by people who chose other animals, never realising that those not chosen would be killed. The two men stopped outside the door for a moment. "Still think you can handle working here," one asked, "in spite of all the distress you will witness day by day?" "Only if I remember the joy that comes when one is chosen," replied the other.

Each of us needs to know we are loved, and to be able to love in return, in order to be whole. Yet often we live with memories of past events clouding our eyes and cluttering up our minds. We are as damaged as the animals to be found every day at animal shelters across the world. Like animals recovering from abuse, many of us have closed off from interaction with the world, no longer concerned with events outside our own lives and needs. Such people have yet to discover that God has indeed chosen them to live their lives fully, and to celebrate the joy that love brings in its wake. They have not yet heard the words "Fear not, for I have chosen you, I have called you by your name", nor understood just how much God loves them.

Prayer: Loving God, often when we are as distressed as injured animals we withdraw from others. Remind us that we are indeed chosen, and that you will never forsake us. Amen.

February 12. In Your Eyes      

Isaiah 43: 1: I have called you by your name; you are mine.
Jeremiah 1: 5: Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.

Take a peek through the windows of the maternity ward. Few babies look absolutely beautiful when they are born, yet to their delighted parents they are perfect, the most beautiful and most wonderful babies ever created. In fact all through our lives - to quote Oblio, hero of the story The Point -" we hear what we want to hear and we see what we want to see". Show a small child a cardboard box, and with the slight application of imagination it is transformed into a plane, a train or a car. Just a couple of nails hammered into a chunk of wood and you have a steamer or an aircraft carrier. A bedraggled doll in a tattered gown becomes a princess, a transformed kitchen maid who has been granted her heart's desire by a fairy godmother. A shoebox becomes a bed, while meals are created from a wishful mind that perceives coloured stones, off-cuts of wood, and pictures torn from a magazine as an endless variety of dishes.

There are also adventures to be tackled for those with enough imagination - perhaps a journey through the desert under a scorching sun searching for a lost oasis. There we discover our intrepid explorers swaying on camels that totally disregard the discomfort they cause. Then there are those times young people may imagine themselves to be paddling down a river, surrounded by dense rainforest. Who can guess what perils may be awaiting just around the next bend in the river? Life would be a very dull place if imagination were somehow fettered and none of us had the chance to see further than the totally logical place we call the earth.

The musical, Cabaret, which is set in Germany just prior to the commencement of World War 2, features a song, "If you could see her." Knowing what history has revealed of the holocaust and the systematic destruction of Jewish people, the final line of this song brings a poignant and intuitive note with the words, "If you could see her through my eyes, she doesn't look Jewish at all." It is true that lovers find in each other qualities that it appears no-one else has discovered, and faults that are obvious to others are somehow not recognised by the eyes of love. And yet, doesn't it do our heart good when the one we love seems intuitively to find us irresistible? In fact it is the confidence we gain from the love and respect others demonstrate towards us that provides the courage and determination to tackle those things we previously thought impossible. Untidy young people are suddenly transformed into houseproud adults, those that were once considered spendthrifts are now aware that they must be responsible.

Somehow through the challenges of life we begin to believe we are the negative, and often unjustified, names other have termed us. Words like "useless", "untidy", "unfit", and even more demeaning terms like "a child of satan", "despicable" and "loathed by God" begin to have an effect on our lives as they impact on our self-respect. Once we begin to carry this burden of self-loathing words, all we do and say is affected. Sometimes, though we keep on making mistakes, it is enough that just one person believes in us. When we become aware we are perceived as worthwhile, loveable and valued people we are able to start shedding the rubbish we have carried. God who has always loved us with an everlasting love perceives us as perfect souls, capable of living full, interesting lives that reflect this same love. We have unlimited opportunities while ever we know and believe that in God's eyes we are simply wonderful - full of wonder.

Prayer: I do not understand how you can love me so much, God, and yet I know you do. Help me to be all you ever planned for me. May I grow like a perfect tree in your garden of love. Amen.

February 13. Sifting Through The Embers of the Boxing Day Fires      

John 14:18: I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you.
Hebrews 13: 5: God has said: "I will in no way fail you, nor will I in any way forsake you."

Fire fighters with red-rimmed eyes and smoke smudged faces, though tired beyond human endurance, lined the roadside as residents returned to what had been a street lined with houses, set along a bushland ridge. They had spent the previous night in the old School of Arts, with the Red Cross and local churches providing clothing, bedding and warm food. There was nothing more the bush brigade could do here. It appeared that the fire, which only yesterday had threatened to join the major inferno across the ridge, had been defeated. Today they witnessed the grief and heartache as families gazed in disbelief at the ruin that had once been their homes.

The air was hung with wisps of escaping smoke as feet moved through the ashes, while here and there the acrid stench of electrical fires still lingered. Skeletons formed by half-collapsed chimneys and the remains of a brick "windbreak" framed the street. Trees, once forest giants, stood starkly against the horizon, blackened and still emitting the occasional wisp of smoke. Of the possums and koalas, once the inhabitants of the hollow logs that now lay scattered across the ground, there was no trace. Perhaps they had fled to safety, but more likely they had been blinded and asphyxiated by the smoke, and had perished in the heat of the blaze.

Like sleepwalkers they came, men, women and children searching through the piles of ashes that now marked their homes. Black mounds that had once been pillows lay sodden near metal frames that had once held comfortable beds for these families, while rivers of black-soiled debris meandered through the once spotless kitchens. What was left that could be salvaged? At the place where the last house had stood, a woman reached down and pulled from the debris a twisted piece of metal, all that remained of her wedding photo. The fire had moved so fast she was able only to snatch up the packed suitcase that stood by the front door, her small dog in its cage and her car keys as she fled. Just a suitcase of mementos and legal documents, all that remained of the years of scrimping and dreaming to buy their home.

Closer to the fire fighters one man searched under a heap of debris, but of his tank of tropical fish there was no evidence. Yet as he dropped to his knees, there under the charred boards he found a basin that somehow had managed to catch some of the water as the fish tank exploded, and swimming forlornly was one rainbow hued prize. To his left, searching among the ruins of their home were three children with their parents. In their desire to pack their favourite possessions, most of their Christmas presents had been left behind in favour of those items that had provided love for many years. Yet, search as they would, only charred pages of books and the charred metal of the new train set were all they could identify. Hopefully they hunted, until they uncovered, a little the worse for wear, their mother's prized cutlery set, a gift from their grandparents.

Sitting quietly among the ruins, as she overlooked the valley below, one woman wept silently. How could she rebuild? Everything she and her partner had loved had been lost in the fire. All their dreams, all her memories, were lost among the fallen beams, bricks and ash. Now alone, how could she begin life again, with nothing to touch that they both had loved? How could fate be so cruel as to have taken every thing she loved in just three months? Where would she go, could she live in any other area that this, the place they had chosen together? In her arms nestled their Persian cat, carried so carefully to her car as she evacuated. Perhaps this warm creature would be enough to allow her to dream again.

Prayer: God of miracles, even in the worst disasters in our lives, when we think we have lost everything and there is no one to care, you are there. We thank you that, as the source of all life, you remain the source of all our dreams, and provide the courage for us to go on. Amen.

February 14. Come Share A Meal With Me      

Summer holidays were times of trips to the mountains, winding our way up Bell's Line of Road, or visits to the seashore accompanied, of course, by a picnic lunch, a thermos of tea, and our swimmers and towels. "Watch out for the sharks" was the constant catch cry no matter which beach we visited, or how well patrolled it was by red and yellow clad lifesavers. Those, like all days of childhood, were a mixture of desperation as we wished to be older and freed of parental restraint, and gratitude that our parents were special people.

Just once in a while, when we'd make the longish train journey to a rich agricultural property worked by family members, we'd be welcomed by aunts inviting us to morning tea. In those days morning tea had been born from years of tradition - hot scones with cream and strawberry jam, cups of milky tea for children, while the adults favoured a more conventional cuppa. Only once or twice in our younger days did we sense the stirrings of otherness - was it perhaps anarchy? - we were treated to pikelets with the traditional jam and cream, and once we were even served fruit cake, though that might have actually been our portion of the family Christmas cake. And morning tea seemed to have an almost sacred atmosphere about it, for it proceeded with the elegance of a long gone era, and lasted, it seemed, for hours.

Almost as though from a different world was the ritual morning break for the family droving cattle down the overland track from the Territory south to the sale yards outside Adelaide. One of the adults watched for a place the cattle would be content to graze for a brief spell, and once located, a shrill whistle would alert everyone else. From saddlebags came a canteen of water, a billy blacked by previous fires, a spill of tea and another of sugar, and soon the billy would be singing over a fire made of eucalyptus twigs. As the water came to the boil, tea was thrown into the billy that was then deftly removed from the fire, and stirred with a clean twig. A knife was produced and pieces of damper, cooked the previous night in the warm ashes of the dinner fire, were sliced off - one for each member of the working team. Sometimes there was a tin of golden syrup passed around with the knife, to provide for the youngsters still succumbing to their need for sweet foods. Each person would stretch out by the fire for about fifteen minutes, after that it was time to mount, having put out the fire and disposed of the tea leaves. Not much talking went on, droving made one satisfied with one's own thoughts. Dinner was the time to discuss the drove, the location of the next water holes, and the condition of the cattle and horses - yet it was a time of contentment, a time of satisfaction.

There at the youth camp, lunch was served. In the tradition of all camps held at that site, each person stood waiting for an invitation to be seated. Each table held a waterglass filled with fruit juice, and glasses glistened in front of every seat. The cook, plump, rosy cheeked and bedecked in her large apron, walked from table to table holding a platter containing freshly baked bread. As she returned to the kitchen all present took their places and sat. The loaves she had brought were handed from one resident to another, inviting each person in turn to tear off enough for the meal. As these loaves were handed from one person to the next the words, "This is my body, share it as often as you think of me" were spoken. The water jugs were then passed around each table, and as they passed from person to person, one could hear distinctly "This is my blood, shed for you. Drink it in memory of me." And in this space, with each person aware of the holiness of this place and the meal, lunch became a sacrament.

Wherever we are, a shared meal is usually viewed with delight. Too often our concept of worship is bound by the fetters of tradition and we see the eucharistic meal solely within a worship service, or at times of crisis. Yet it was an ordinary meal Jesus shared with his friends when he instituted his new covenant. Our meals and all we do may equally become holy while ever we are conscious that we are in the presence of the living God.

Prayer: God of opportunities and pleasures, remind us of all the times you have shared a meal with us. May we be aware of you in all we do and say so that our lives are truly holy. Amen.

February 15. The Ride Of A Lifetime      

Song of Songs 2: 10: Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me.
Matthew 6: 25: Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear.

Across the meadow bedecked with wildflowers came a child, a very thoughtful quiet child. Her eyes lit up as she heard the music begin. She recognized the melody her grandmother used to sing to her, "Under the Shade of the Old Apple Tree." Though she scarcely altered her gait, her eyes began to shine with loving memories. Nearer she came until her eyes caught sight of the beautiful carousel with its horses all prancing around the perimeter. From a myriad of directions came other children; such a mixture of faces, of races and of ages, but all drawn by the sound of the calliope. They clambered aboard, some assisted to their horses by the young man with a face like an angel. Then they began to sing and talk, at first shyly and then words began to tumble over one another like the sound of a hurrying watercourse. Slowly the carousel gathered speed, but never too fast to cause alarm to the younger riders.

Down by the pier older folk walked slowly, "taking the air" they termed their perambulation, right by the pier where the white caps danced on the waves, and the smell of fresh, salty breezes refreshed both minds and spirits. Some needed sticks to maintain their balance; one or two were supported on the arm of a partner or old friend. They were all drawn by memories of this place when the pier sparkled and resounded with the noise of the Whitsun holiday carnival. It was here many of them had courted with shy glances and nervous words. Drawn by memories they converged on the pier disbelieving the evidence of their ears and eyes. Here, once again, was the same carousel they had known generations ago, with the steam snorting from the calliope as it sang for them "Sweet Rosie O'Grady". Old limbs trembled with excitement as they were infused with enthusiasm, determined once again to take this magical ride. There he stood, his face weathered by sun and wind, the old Romney gypsy whom they had known in their younger days. Gallantly he helped each of them to their places, until with all seats filled and no-one left behind, the carousel started its waltz with "After The Ball".

There in the park in the centre of the city, one used by those exercising their dogs, by children playing tag or ball, and by students reading or just lazing in the sun, appeared a reminder of long-gone times when the circus appeared annually. It was a carousel, whose horses glistened in the sunlight. From within its depths a sound struck up, and "Stars And Stripes" resounded like a clarion call. It was a sound that caught the attention of young people drawn toward the park. And what an assortment of young people they were, some wearing leather jackets, one girl dressed as if for her wedding, some in surfing shorts, others dressed in school uniforms. They seemed to span all they years of youth and early adulthood, yet each was intent on making straight for the carousel. Arriving at their destination they climbed aboard and were seated in a casual and friendly manner. The carousel started to turn, and as it did the sound of the "Skater's Waltz" dressed the whole atmosphere with contentment.

Each of the carousels stopped in turn and the riders moved away from their seats, a little bewildered. This was not the place they had boarded their ride; instead somehow they had been brought to the very doors of paradise. Eternity had begun for each of them. They discovered that death was not an enemy to be feared but was the loving touch of an angel, an angel who radiated God's love. For was not death, as God's special messenger to bring each of us home, the most beautiful angel of them all, appearing in a multitude of disguises.

Prayer: God of love, you have prepared such a wonderful place for all who love you, yet at times we fear to let go of this world. Help us to realise that your realm will bring us more joy than anything we have known on this earth, even our memories of rides on a carousel. Amen.

For more about carousels see http://homeatt.net/~ccrmar

February 16. Sixth Sunday After Epiphany - A Love Such As This      

Song of Songs 8: 7: Many waters cannot quench love, rivers cannot wash it away.
1Corinthians 13:13: And now these three remain, faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Lazily the ginger cat stretched himself in the sun and listened intently for any sound from the bassinet above him. It was his self-appointed task to watch over this wee scrap of humanity, a task he fulfilled with purring pride. As the baby stirred, prior to waking, Donald strode purposefully to the back door, emitting loud cries to catch the attention of the adult inside, busy with housework. There was no mistaking that tone of his voice, and almost immediately the door opened and a woman emerged to follow the cat's majestic progress to the bassinet. This was picked up carefully, and with encouraging words to the watch-cat the woman re-entered the house, preparing to bathe the small girl who had just awakened.

Black eyes peered from beneath white eyebrows, eyes full of concern and love. The small white dog looked anxiously at her owner, making sure the full dinner bowl really was hers. Satisfied she daintily picked up her meat, one piece at a time and gently chewed it thoroughly. Then, moving close to where her owner stood, she crouched down as a prelude to her evening dance. "The dancing Dog" was the term used by those children who came to visit, and they would encourage her to dance for them as well. There were times when she would be lifted, and to the strains of a waltz, she would dance held close in the arms of her owner.

For her the joy of the love they shared was balanced by the responsibility she felt for her owner, fiercely barking whenever a stranger approached, or when she knew somehow that trouble loomed. On the day her owner sickened and was confined to bed, she took her place at the foot of the bed and refused to move. She would simply not budge, no matter how thirsty or hungry she became. Not until her owner rallied would even consider drinking. Together they practised walking very slowly, with little Muffkin taking care to stay away from the now clumsy feet of her owner. Little by little the walking became steadier until the day when she heard the strains of the music and was again lifted to join in the joy of a waltz.

High overhead screeched a white cockatoo. He circled the tree and landed, looking down at the people below. A moment later "Hello" was heard as he cocked his head to one side to judge the human reaction. Laughter greeted him, and his name was bounced from one person to another, as they recognised him. Carefully testing the small branch on which he stood, he began performing - turning somersaults, one after the other - while they watched. Then with a last shriek, he soared skyward, once again circling the lawn and its inhabitants, before rejoining the rest of the flock nosily making their way north. Not a wild bird, nor even a tame one, for he had once lived with these humans but had escaped years previously, and though now part of a flock, returned regularly as though to remind everyone of his existence.

Animal companions test the limits of our concepts of loving. Often we lavish love on those who love us in return, and we can just as easily withhold love when we are angry or unhappy with the actions of that other. Yet a companion animal, one who has seemingly chosen us to love and protect, continues to love whatever the change in circumstances. Animals bond so closely with those they love that they can be beaten or even starved, without turning fiercely on their owner. Their love and faithfulness can be unmatched in our human society where domination rules. Many tales has been recounted of animals performing amazing feats to bring help for those they love or of animals who have died protecting their owners. To find a love such as this, one often needs to look beyond humanity to discover the love God has for each of us; that God should die for us, so that we could return home forgiven and whole.

Prayer: Amazing God, you have given us other members of your creation to love. Teach us to love as unconditionally and unselfishly as you love and as they care for us. Amen.

February 17. The Mail-Order Catalogue      

Across the cattle-grid and down the track it moved, the woman and children watching till it passed out of sight. At last they released their hold on the cattle dogs that had been so intent on protecting the property. There on the verandah stood the packages, six months' supplies of tinned foodstuffs, bags of flour and sugar, packages from various retailers containing long awaited goods, and last of all was the mail sack. Their own letters, parcels and cards were even now beginning the long trek to the city, via all the outback stations at which the supply truck would call.

Onto the pantry shelves were loaded all the tins and bags of food, until it became a virtual Aladdin's cave of wondrous treasures. Parcels were unpacked, and with shrieks of delight the children claimed birthday presents sent by family members across this wide land. Six months between mail deliveries, six months of supplies to be ordered at a time - it was all part of the challenge of isolation presented to those who chose to work far beyond city boundaries. Finally, with the new sheets put into the linen closet, while the material for new clothes and to replace faded curtains had been removed to the sewing room, it was time to open the mail. Having made a pot of tea, she sat, reading news - which though old was new to her - until the pile of letters had all been opened. The bills she put to one side; tomorrow would be the day to examine bank s and check the prices from the auctioneers and abattoirs, and to determine the family's exact financial state.

Finally she opened what to her was the greatest source of excitement each mail day - the mail-order catalogue sent to outback families by leading city retailers. It was carefully divided into sections: haberdashery, linen, separate sections for children's and adults' clothing; there was even a section for shoes and work boots. Cooking ware and silverware also took their place as did furniture - though it seemed ridiculous to imagine furniture that looked flimsy being shipped across dry riverbeds to some of the homesteads. The summer catalogue featured hampers of all sizes, some destined for overseas, others large enough to supply all the delicacies any family could anticipate. The winter catalogue featured a range of blankets and rugs, warm sweaters, and woollen fabrics to be sewn by intrepid women. And oh - the selection of hats - hats that were practical and some that were ridiculous, hats for children, some for older folk, some for weddings and picnic races, in fact every hat that could be imagined. There was even the sturdy cattleman's hat, a hat that served a multitude of uses.

The catalogue was not an item to be hurried over; in fact its pages would be turned so often during the next few months they became dog-eared and tired. Yet within its covers lay all the delights that had become familiar to people living in larger cities. It became the isolated housewife's window on that other world, a world she would read of, and a world for which she sometimes longed. Not to live there of course, but just to visit, and return home to tell of the wonders she had discovered. In the meantime the catalogue whispered to her of all its wares and invited her to include many of them in her next order. In due time she did compile that order, very carefully and thoughtfully, for she knew that whatever she chose would need to sustain her and her family for the months ahead. Determinedly she selected what was needed, and having rechecked her order more than once, she rang it through to the store.

Not many city households ever see such a mail-order catalogue. Not many city folk experience the isolation known by families in the bush, where the mail and supplies arrive but twice a year. In most households, often gathering dust on a shelf somewhere, is a book much like that mail-order catalogue. It tells of things beyond our knowledge and bids us consider accepting gifts specially selected for us. It contains the life experiences of many who have walked with God, and invites us to enjoy forgiveness and joy as we are reconciled with God.

Prayer: God of life, we are offered a wide range of choices in life, yet we delay choosing the forgiveness and new life you have promised in the Bible. Help us to choose aright. Amen.

February 18. From Within The Depths      

1Peter 2:6: The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.
Mark 8:18: Do you have eyes but fail to see, and ears but fail to hear?

Over the beach he walked carefully, his eyes intent on whatever the storms at sea had washed onto the sand. From time to time he stopped and picked up an item, washed it in the waves lapping his bare toes, and either placed it in the sack slung across his chest or replaced it on the beach. A small child who had been watching his progress with interest approached him shyly. "What have you got in your bag, Mister?" she asked. He walked with her up to the dry sand and once there opened the sack before her ever-widening eyes. Spilling onto the sand the treasures appeared, shells reflecting the colours of the rainbow from their interiors, others recently inhabited by crabs, and some so large they could be used as plates. But shells were not the only objects that tumbled from the bag. Some lumps of greyish white stone pockmarked all over with holes appeared. "This is pumice", the beachcomber explained, "it has been thrown into the air by an exploding volcano and the waves have brought it here to our seashore. We use it for scouring and for polishing - making things bright and shiny."

Across the headland moved explorers of a different type, all armed with geological picks, small brushes and boxes. As their feet traversed the fallen shale from the cliff overshadowing them they looked at it intently. At last they stopped, hearing the voice of their leader. They carefully gathered around as reminders were given about the care with which their work must be undertaken. They clambered a short distance up the cliff-face and began dislodging pieces of shale, examining each as it was loosened. After hours of searching, the rhythm of their work being broken only as they took gulps from their water bottles, from the group working on the right came a shout. Taking care not to slip on the precariously moving slate, the others joined this group to discover what had been unearthed. To everyone's astonishment, there in the slate was the fossil of a small prehistoric form of a lizard. The lecturer carefully marked its location on a detailed map he had of the area, before he remarked that they had uncovered a curious puzzle, for this lizard-type creature had not been known to have lived in this area.

From the air-conditioned tourist bus they came, stretching their limbs and blinking in the sunlight. The tour leader directed them to their underground motel, and reminded them that tomorrow they would be moving northward, toward Alice Springs. Having dropped off their bags most of the travellers ventured again to the surface, its blazing heat baking their skin moment by moment. Scattered all around were heaps of dirt and rock - mullock heaps they were called, the rubbish thrown to one side by the professional miners who lived and worked there. One couple looked at each other with a knowing smile, this was an adventure they had often discussed, being able to search the mullock heaps, just in case a stone had been over-looked. They squatted down and began to work, turning every stone over carefully, almost prayerfully. Hours drifted by, so intent were they on their search, before they became aware of stiffening hands and aching backs. They were tired, thirsty and dusty, yet they persisted, just one more rock, then another. At last their hands held a rock, their eyes disbelieving the multitude of colours flashing from its depths. They had found their own treasure, an opal.

So often we overlook the most beautiful things in life simply because they are not readily visible, at surface level as it were. The grey pumice stone, a piece of the ocean's flotsam, has a special role in our lives, yet it is easily overlooked. Similarly, if one is to trace prehistory, one must be prepared to look beneath the surface, and examine carefully every uncovered piece of stone. For those who desire the fire contained within the heart of this land, it is always encased in mud and dirt. It is only God who always sees beneath the surface, knowing what perfect and special souls we really are, and just how loveable we can become.

Prayer: Loving God, we often miss the most precious things in life because we do not explore beneath the surface. Teach us to find the image of Christ within all we meet. Amen.

February 19. The Knock At The Door      

Matthew 24: 40: Whatever you did for the least of these my family, you did for me.
Hebrews 13: 2: By so doing some people have entertained angels unaware.

Across the footpath they spilled: oranges, tins of cat food, vegetables, biscuits and a carton of milk. The old lady for an instant looked askance at the broken handle of her shopping bag, before she bent and with her crippled, arthritic fingers began to scoop up the spilled goods. She was clearly distressed, as if this was almost more than she could bear. A young passer-by quickly sized up the situation, motioned to a couple of teenagers to assist, and between them all her purchases were soon safely repacked in a couple of plastic bags. He helped her to her feet, restored her cane to one hand, and firmly taking her elbow, escorted her to her bus stop, before disappearing amongst the throngs of shoppers.

Later that night, during the course of his rounds, he heard the sound of sobbing, and there in a side street sat a small girl alongside a woman who appeared to be quite ill. Driving closer, he reassessed the situation - the woman had drunk too much and had been violently sick, and even now her movements were clumsy and her words slurred. He reached for his mobile phone and rang the crisis welfare line, explaining the situation to the worker on duty. Then, without much thought for the consequences of his actions, should his employer be informed, he assisted both mother and daughter into the patrol car and drove them to the refuge. There at least they would be warm and safe until this mother was able to care for her child.

Finally home after a long ten hour stint, he ran a bath while he made himself a late breakfast. Just as he turned off the water he heard someone pounding at the front door, and calling for help. There stood a motorist, dusty from tramping the gravel road where he'd left his car. In his hand was an empty plastic drink bottle. "Can you give me some water, my radiator has boiled and I'm stuck until it cools down?' he asked. As soon as the bottle was filled, the young man poured them both coffee, and motioned for the stranger to join him. Instead the motorist asked, almost apologetically, if it would be possible to ring the emergency roadside service assistance and have a mechanic inspect his car, and also to let his hosts know of his delay. That done, he sank gratefully into the chair and lifting the cup carefully, he drained the contents in one long draft. This done, he related the curious turn of events that had led him to take this "short cut", a route which, it appeared, had caused further problems with his car. The young man made another round of coffee, and they continued their discussion as they waited for the emergency service mechanic to arrive. Finally the sound of an approaching vehicle made them both rise. It was the service mechanic waiting to locate the stranded car.

At last able to relax in the now tepid water, the security officer reviewed the events of the day. He thought of the people he had met, and of those he had watched carefully as he drove his rounds. At last, having turned off his phone, he fell into bed and immediately dropped into a deep sleep. And in the midst of his dream it seemed he heard a voice call his name. "Son", the voice continued, "I am very pleased with you. Today you met me on three occasions, and each time you cared for me the way I care for you. I was the old woman who dropped her groceries on the street, I was the drunken woman unable to care for her small child, and I was the motorist with car problems. You have met with God unawares, and you have served me with compassion and generosity." The young man woke immediately; no one was in the room, yet he knew that he had been in God's presence.

It matters not whom we meet, or in what circumstances we come across people. All people are loved by God, and as we generously share our time and extend our compassion to those whose needs we recognise, often without counting the cost, we are in fact serving our Creator.

Prayer: God of opportunities, you give each of us a chalice of love to share with others. Help us to share that love no matter where we are or what we perceive others' needs to be. Amen.

February 20. Birthed From Within Winter's Womb      

Joel 2: 22: The trees are bearing their fruit; the fig tree and the vine yield their riches.
Joel 2: 28: And afterwards, I will pour out my Spirit on all people.

Though the sun shone palely and the snow had begun melting there was nothing to be seen of the lush fields and abundant vines that had marked the region for its fertility the previous summer. Ponds were still covered with ice, though it was beginning to thaw. Everywhere birds were busily gathering what food they could acquire to eke out the days until spring finally arrived. Though travellers, wrapped warmly with scarves and overcoats, still spoke with frost-enshrouded words, somehow throughout the land a strange hush was felt. It was as though the whole land were waiting expectantly. Older folk would nod their heads and grimly announce that until Spring arrived there'd be no real peace in the land.

Steadily and slowly the thaw continued, until first trees and then bushes were uncovered. Migratory birds started appearing and commenced their courtship rituals. Melted snow and ice found their way down the hills and in the valleys formed first rivulets and then streams that fed into wider, deeper rivers. Though occasionally a light sprinkling of snow would return, it would soon be lost to the effects of the sun's strengthening rays. Leaves and grass began to appear. Trees seemed to stretch themselves in preparation for their growing season, and one by one started putting forth buds. Plum and apple trees showered the earth with petals, on berries and vines fruit was displayed, flowers shook their heads and purposely opened to display a myriad of colours. Figs sprouted along the limbs of weathered and gnarled trees, and farmers busily furrowed and planted all varieties of grain. Birds began the task of fossicking for materials with which to build their nests, while across the land lambs, calves and kids made their appearance.

The retirement village housed an assortment of people who had chosen to exchange the joys and responsibilities of individual properties for a more communal lifestyle. It was not that they were forced by failing health to abandon the homes they had built and loved, but rather that they sought more leisure time with people of similar interests and expectations. It could perhaps be termed the "winter years of their lives", for the urgency that spring represented had long disappeared, and they had completed the maturity that summer produced. In this "winter of their lives" there was no sense of regret that their youth had been spent, rather it was as if each of their lives had been allowed to mature, by the natural processes of time. Though ageing brought with it a slowing of their steps, and changes to their physical appearance, these people retained all those qualities experience and time had forged in their lives. They had absorbed so much knowledge and wisdom that it was a delight to hear their opinions and even their stories on those odd occasions they chose to share their lives. They could present history, not as a dry book subject, but as a continually living event. That sometimes over-after dinner drinks their eyes took on an expression of otherworldliness was perhaps a mark of their lessening attachment to this world.

Like all of God's living creation they had arrived at that time when they would burst forth, free of current restraints and conditions, and take their places in a new time and dimension, in a new form. For all who have grown to know and love God, there is a time when their lives will bloom and bear fruit as do the olive, the fig and the vine in the care of a wise farmer. That one day we will shed these mortal bodies and appear, as do new buds, bursting forth with promise of life to come, in God's own realms is naught but the transition from death to life. To those who walk closely with their Creator, God is parent and friend, a source of consolation at times, and the author of love and joy in their lives. To them God's Spirit has been poured out and they await their eternal reunion with the God they intimately know.

Prayer: Constant and steadfast God, as we watch the changing seasons each year, we recall that our lives too are changing. Grant that we may be those who bear fruit for you. Amen.

February 21. Pies And Pinafores      

Job 34: 19: Are they all not the work of his hands?
Isaiah 29: 16: Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, "You did not make me"?

They stood eagerly watching the dough being made. First the flour was measured, and then the water added - but not too much - next, a pinch of salt and finally the colourings. There before them lay a row of rainbow hued dough. Quickly they came forward, one at a time, to have their pinafores fitted over their play clothes, before they moved eagerly to oilcloth covered kindergarten tables. There on each table lay an assortment of coloured dough, small wooden rolling pins made by one grateful parent, and miniature pie dishes. This was one of their favourite occupations, kept as a special treat for rainy days. Here they could fashion pies and stuff them with whatever mouth-watering ingredients their imaginations could conjure up. There was no limit to the times any piece of dough could be rolled out, pushed back into a ball and then rolled out again. It was a chance for each of them to be creative.

To be employed at The Ritz Hotel in London was the dream of many an apprentice chef, an almost unattainable goal, yet here he stood, Jeremy Snedden clad in a full apron over his spotless white shirt and trousers, mastering the craft of a pastry chef. He had completed his apprenticeship at a regional hotel in one of the popular seaside resort towns, and had been amazed to find his cooking had been sampled by one of the touring gourmet authorities who rated various hotels and compiled guides for connoisseurs. As a result of the praise lavished on the meal he had prepared he was invited to an interview with the personnel manager at The Ritz, asked to prepare various dishes under the scrutiny of staff within the kitchens, and finally was offered a place within this time-hallowed institution. Today he busied himself with the intricacies of various pastries, ensuring they were all ready for the exotic fillings that would win the minds and pockets of those who dined that evening.

Christmas Eve was marked by the smell of mince tarts being prepared in many kitchens across the region. Tonight was the annual Christmas dinner for all the destitute families and the lonely, lost and fragmented people who would otherwise not be celebrating Christmas with a traditional dinner. Couples in kitchens across the city had cooked a number of Christmas cakes, together with the turkeys and ducks that would be served cold. And now women wrapped in lage, encasing aprons were putting the final touches to the mince tarts. With absolute joy and love they rolled out the dough, and took from jars where it had been carefully stored the homemade fruit mince that smelled of spices and brandy. Each tart was carefully filled, the pastry top sprinkled with sugar, and placed on trays into ovens until every tart achieved the golden glow of home cooking.

Children, wrapped in their pinafores in pre-school days, are able to express their creativity as they tirelessly roll and re-roll pastry into a variety of shapes. Perhaps a young trainee chef would not have the same liberty, but should he excel at his work there will come a time when his pastry creations could be discussed in hushed whispers by discerning diners. But for all who took hold of the dream to provide a family Christmas meal for all who felt marginalised and unwanted, here was an opportunity, as they donned their aprons to create works of love. As we look around us we see the wonders that a loving God has created for our enjoyment. But God's creation did not stop when the universe was complete. In some ways we are like the dough rolled again and again by small children, for if we are willing God will shape us to fit the tasks ahead, so that we may become perfect vessels. It is God who holds us close through every disappointment, and God alone who can cause new and exciting opportunities to arise from such incidents. We are indeed the work of God's hand, shaped as we walk daily with our Creator.

Prayer: Creator God, we are made to your design and we rejoice that you are able to use us in the work of healing your realm. As we wake each new day, fill our minds with joy. Amen.

February 22. Waiting For Love's Return      

Jeremiah 31: 3: I have loved you with an ever-lasting love.
Romans 8: 25: But if we hope for what we do not have, we wait for it patiently.

In every culture across the world there are have been stories told of the beginning or naming of all things - for landforms, for the stars overhead, for birds and animals and for fish. One of the most poignant from among Australia's stories is that of the waratah, the state flower of New South Wales. Long ago in the Dreamtime lived a beautiful young woman, a lubra, who loved a strong, tall warrior. Before they could be married, however there was a quarrel with members of another tribe to be settled, and so armed with a spear, a nulla-nullah and his womerah or spear-thrower, he set forth carrying only one small durrie - a cake made by his lubra from grass-seed. She watched him leave with a heavy heart and climbed to the highest point around to watch his progress. There she stayed day and night, her red cloak blowing in the breezes that sprang up each evening. Nothing could persuade her to leave her post. Day by day the tribe watched her keep her vigil, now propped against a large rock as she grew weaker. Nothing could persuade her to leave her post, nor would she eat or drink until he returned. Each night the last rays of the sun silhouetted her against the skyline, red against the approaching blackness. Finally, the tribal elders began to sing - and once again this combination of magic and religion reached Baiame, the Great Spirit, and there in her place now grew a beautiful shrub bearing a large flower, the exact colour of her cloak.

Standing high on a wind and rain swept cliff in Cornwell stood another woman. All night long the wind had battered her house as the waves had pounded the foot of this cliff. It was the fiercest storm of the season and somewhere out there among a sea turned slate grey, where waves had become fearfully large, was the fishing fleet. Most of the able bodied men of the village had bid their families goodbye the previous morning, for those who read the weather well predicted there would be time to bring in a good catch before the storms struck. Yet what had happened? In the height of the storm some women had carried lanterns to this cliff face, to provide a light by which their men could find their way home safely. Now they had returned exhausted to their cottages, while she alone kept vigil watch. Her hand pressed to her forehead she strained her eyes as she scanned the sea. What was that far to her left, something darker being tossed between mountainous waves? Her eyes were aching with the intensity of her search yet they remained riveted on that object in the sea. Finally she moved faster than she knew she could, and with tears running down her cheeks rang the bell to announce the arrival of at least one of the fleet.

The house was quiet, almost as if everyone and everything were asleep, yet there were preparations afoot for dinner, so there would be time enough to talk and listen when the family returned. Quietly by the door lay a large dog. He was growing old, and his black coat was now sprinkled with white. Sometimes his eyes took on a far away look as if he were aware of things his humans could not discern. From a distance came a sound, growing louder and louder, and the mother glanced at her clock and smiled. The old dog sprang to attention and with one loud bark raced out the door, arriving at the front gate at the same moment the youngster dismounted from the school bus. Not more than a toddler, this was his first year at school, and the old dog still needed to assure himself that the boy had returned home safely.

Love is always marked by a willingness to wait for the beloved other, and it matters little whether it be love between an animal and its chosen friend, between lovers, or between God and each precious person. For God has loved each of us from before our birth, and through all the years we wandered apart from our Creator, God has always waited for our return. It is such a love that welcomes us home, forgives our shortcomings, and calls us beloved.

Prayer: God who waits for us, today we come to you, knowing we have strayed at times. Take our hands today and walk with us through all the events the future holds for us. Amen.

February 23. Seventh Sunday After Epiphany - A Time For Tears      

Ecclesiastes 3: 1,3: There is a time for everything … a time to weep and a time to laugh.
Psalm 30: 11: You have turned my mourning into dancing for me.

In the Talmud may be found a story of a man who had a little girl. She was his only child, and when she became sick and died her father's grief was inconsolable. Though his friends tried to comfort him, he would not be comforted. Then one night he had a dream. He dreamed he was in heaven where there were many little girls, all acting out parts of a pageant. Each little girl carried a lighted candle, except for one whose candle was unlit. Looking more closely at her he discovered that this was his own daughter. Taking her in his arms he caressed her before asking her why her candle alone was not lit. "Oh, it does light", she replied, "but your tears keep making it go out."

The checkout cashier shuddered as the screams built up in a crescendo. From within the numerous aisles of the grocery store came the sound of tins being toppled, while a child raged out of control. The supervisor moved to discuss with the youngster's parents ways to stop the destructions being wrought and at the same time curtail the noise. Apologetically the father picked up his squirming offspring, and tucking the offender under his arm, strode purposefully from the store. The mother started reassembling the pyramid of tins that had been scattered, but was stopped by a sales assistant who proceeded to complete the task. As she attempted to complete her shopping without the distraction caused by her unruly child, the mother was approached by another shopper, and older man who sighed sympathetically, "Life's often like that isn't it? When we can't get what we want we would love to storm and rage and burst into tears, just like that. Never mind, I'm sure your little one will grow out of the habit before too long." To a woman tired from the ongoing battles their parental efforts at discipline produced, with the child's resulting accompanying tears and tantrums, his words were like a healing balm, and a promise for the future for all members of the family.

She sat among the shards of broken pottery. How could anyone be so violent and destructive, she wondered? How could anyone smash what had taken her months to design and then create in clay? Tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks. Who could tell if they were for the beautiful piece that now lay shattered over the floor, or for the man who in a rage had done this thing? She wondered even about their relationship. Was this to become a frequent event, an explosion that culminated in destruction every time he was disappointed or overtired? What had happened to those times when he would sit with her and watch with wonder as she created her special pieces? She wept for those times, not as if tears could return them to days gone by or restore her peace any more than it could restore her shattered masterpiece. Slowly she rose, and bending, picked up the larger pieces. A vigorous application with her broom removed the smaller fragments from the studio floor, and as she swept slowly she found the centre of her being again. She would never attempt to recreate this work, yet she would remember the lessons she had learned during its making and use them in other works.

There are times enough in our lives when we are reduced to tears by the events around us, by unkind words or unloving actions. The tears we shed as those we love move from this finite world into eternity are real enough, as is the pain of our loss. Yet there are tears we experience that have far more depth than these tears - tears we shed when we realise we have caused someone pain or anxiety; tears that flow unchecked as our sobbing fragments the veneer we present to the world; tears that rise from our spirits as we realise just how much God loves us. God loves us so much that God came to share our humanity with us and in doing so knew not only our disappointments and pain, but also ultimate betrayal and death. That is not the end, for God replaces our garments of sadness with those of gladness and joy.

Prayer: Compassionate and ever-loving God, you have wiped the tears from our eyes and brought us back within your family. May we stay with you in this time of rejoicing. Amen.

February 24. Wash Day Blues      

Colossians 3: 13: Forgive as the Lord forgave you.
Philippians 3: 13: Forgetting what is behind and straining towards what is ahead, I press on.

Traditionally Monday has been the day appointed for the family's washing to be tackled. Not so long ago it was a feat of endurance as women struggled over coppers heated by sticks, boiling first the whites and then other garments according to the degree of dirt they had accumulated. Rinsing was an art, the second or third rinse always needed the use of a bluebag to give the whites an even whiter appearance. With the invention of washing machines the task became more manageable, and one would have expected women to seize some leisure periods. However this is not always the case, for on any Monday morning, right across the nation, bent over tubs and basins, one may find a multitude of women attacking the red stains on cricket creams. Bowlers have this amazing capacity to take a ball, which has been used for a whole session, and upon rubbing it on their groins to give it that extra shine, an extra capacity for spin perhaps, leave ingrained red marks on their trousers. So week-by-week, mothers, girlfriends and wives take to a variety of methods to restore the pristine condition of the garments in preparation for the next match.

There lay the pencil sketches, the product of months spent in an alien climate working from first light until dusk. It was a fine collection just as it stood, yet the artist was determined to bring out more of the atmosphere he had experienced by translating these sketches into watercolour pictures. Not that watercolours were the current fad for those with money to invest in art, but, he reasoned, a work that speaks from one's soul would always find a response in some onlooker's emotions. And so on the table in front of him now lay a selection of canvasses chosen for the appropriateness of their size, all awaiting his touch. He ran his eye over the myriad of colours before him, and selecting one, diluted it with enough water to obtain a wash of the exact tint his background required. As he worked his eyes lost their focus as he pictured the finished work and mentally allocated the various hues for each individual portion of the picture to be painted. He could catch a glimpse of the finished work, glowing with the exotic colours the sunlight had painted the landscape he had sketched. It was going to be magnificent.

Among the holiday crowd spending the day at the seashore there were many youngsters busily occupied with buckets and spades, intent on making sand castles. This was a past-time enjoyed by generation after generation, and whether children worked on their masterpieces by themselves or were assisted by older siblings or parents, it mattered not. The important ingredients were the sand and the ocean. The hours moved from morning and enthusiasm to noon and lunchtime with its ensuing lethargy. It was time to pack up the hampers, fold away the beach towels and usher sleepy children to the cars, after brushing the loose sand from their bodies. As for the sand castles, so diligently created, well the changing tide would take care of them, for as it slowly crept into the shore, any trace would be washed away as the beach was scoured clean by the waves. Tomorrow morning the sand would be smooth again, and there would be no trace of anything that had occurred previously.

It is the tides, caused by the moon's passage, part of God's thoughtful creation, that remove all traces of yesterday's events from all the beaches of the world. Just as the hand of God manages this miracle each day, so God is prepared to forgive all of our shortcomings or transgressions and also wash them away completely. Unlike many of us, when God forgives God also forgets. As we look at the shoreline each new day and see how God has completely removed the evidence of previous days, we are reminded that we need to forget as well as forgive - not just for the sake of others, but for our own spiritual and emotional wholeness.

Prayer: God of the tides, you are able to wash away all our imperfections and forget them. Teach us as each day commences that we must be able to let go, to forgive, as you do. Amen.

February 25. Totally Unaware      

Philippians 4: 8: Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is lovely - think about such things
1 Peter 3: 4: Your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and a quiet spirit.

Bent over her sewing table the woman was unaware of the passage of time until darkness fell around her like a warm cloak. Christmas was drawing near and she planned to make new clothing, not just for her own youngsters, but also for those she knew lived in a shabby, almost derelict house on the edge of town. There was a family of children attempting to care for one another. Both their parents had been killed last year in separate accidents, and the eldest daughter had assumed the role of mother to the noisy group. While ever there were folk around prepared to share the produce of their gardens, and to offer light jobs to the boys and to be aware of any problems they might be experiencing, it had been deemed better not to inform the State welfare authorities. It seemed that from the most unexpected places in the community people had sprung forth to offer what skills they had to assist this family - not to take control of the decision making or discipline, for that would always be a family affair - but in practical ways. The local football coach suddenly seemed to find time to train these boys, even though they were younger than the teams he coached, and by some curious means he was able to obtain football boots and a ball for them, at no cost whatsoever. Fresh curtains replaced those that were becoming shabby, and the school authorities discovered a previously unknown clothing pool with enough uniforms, including warm blazers, for all of the children. The whole town became more like a family than ever before, people stopping to talk to one another, and to enjoy each other's company. A miracle wrought by love, perhaps?

He paused by the florist, admiring the irises now in flower. The old man cocked his head to one side and looked shrewdly at him. "Looks like this could be a special occasion, son," he commented. The young man, shy at the best of times, almost blushed. "Tonight after dinner, I want to ask my girl a very important question," he responded. "Then I'll keep these flowers for you, and tomorrow, if all goes well tonight, they'll be here for you take as a token of your love and happiness," the florist suggested. And the very next afternoon, as soon as work was done, there stood two young people at the florist's door. "We are here for the flowers you promised to keep," ventured the man. And so they were wrapped, first in white and then in mauve tissue paper. The florist's eyes twinkled, "I guess I'll be seeing you two from time to time," he remarked, "lovers seem to discover there is no end to the opportunities they use to demonstrate the extent of that love. It's almost as if they were unaware of the cost of loving."

Sitting amongst her toys she pulled a favourite doll towards her. "It's not as though I don't love you, but I know that you will make someone else as happy as you have made me," she remarked. Smoothing the ruffles on the beautiful dress, the girl placed her doll into a box that had lain empty on the floor. Then, one by one, she took up her toys and chose from among them those that she would give to the appeal for children's toys. It was not as though she were rich, but she had seen some of the small children, half hidden in doorways, as they had driven to church that morning. It seemed she were the lucky one, spending Christmas with her family, and being a part of the laughter and fun that infused every such occasion. Last night she had watched a short commentary on children being treated for cancer, who would be spending Christmas in hospital and her forehead furrowed as she thought again of these children. She ran to her father and clung to him tightly, so grateful to be a part of this family. No matter what else happened, she knew that she was loved very much; yet her parents had room enough in their hearts to sponsor a child in another country and share that love with him too. To be loved as part of a family is a gift offered to each of us by God. Our response will be our willingness to answer love's command, no matter what the cost the answer demands.

Prayer: Creator God, you ask that we cultivate truth, humility, generosity and love in our lives. Help us to offer all we have to you, for your work, without counting the cost. Amen.

February 26. Had It Not Been So      

Isaiah 44: 21: Have you not understood since the earth was founded?
Isaiah 55: 8: For as my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.

There in the dappled light, where leaves swayed in the slight breeze, she lay. The book she had been reading lay on the picnic rug, but her thoughts were elsewhere. A story such as the one that had absorbed her attention had been based on inter-galactic flight, and the ability to colonize planets outside our own solar system. Picturing herself as one of these new space pioneers, her thoughts had taken her on a journey far beyond the current possibilities of space travel. There on a remote planet, the product of her imagination, she walked, looking all around her. The physical landscape was spectacular with hills of vivid purple and lakes of emerald green, and the multitude of shops that lined the streets of this town were filled with jewellery and clothing the like of which she had never seen. But as she watched these people, almost but not quite human-like, she became aware that there were neither children nor older people. Puzzled, she looked around more carefully, wondering what else she had omitted from her dream world.

To her astonishment she realised there was no sign of any form of transport. In the streets she had created there were no trams, buses or trains, and as her vision widened she saw there were no airport or planes of any description or even a space station. With a sense of panic her daydream came to an abrupt end, and she found herself safe in her own garden. She thought carefully about her fantasy and wondered how it would be to live in a world in which transport, as she knew it, had never been invented. What would it be like to live in a world such as that known by her family generations ago, when horse-drawn vehicles or river transport were the only means of transporting goods. How would modern retailers cope if supplies could be delayed by inclement weather that flooded roads or brought a stop to river traffic? What must it have been like for the early dreamers who believed that someday humanity would be able to fly! She remembered stories about the experiments of the Wright Brothers, and of how many times they failed until their persistence paid off, and they became the first people to fly.

In fact, if there had been no-one willing to try something different, to reach beyond the ordinary and into the unlimited world of imagination, then there would be no communication as we experience it today. If Thomas Edison had not believed that he could produce light that would burn even more brightly than the gas lamps in use in his day, she would not have known the common household electric light. Without Edison there would have been no cinemas and no wireless valves. Indeed, there would have been no computers and electronic mail, for without those foundations on which to build, we would have still needed to rely on relays of horses to carry the mail. Without Joseph Lister the English surgeon who introduced antiseptics to operating procedures, not even the simplest surgery would be free of risks. In truth without his discovery the way would not have been open for more complex measures like organ transplants, microsurgery, and skin grafts for burn victims.

Her attention shifted from those who had created what seemed miracles of science. She pondered about some of scripture's outstanding events, events that had changed the course of history and the face of the world. She thought about the events of that first Easter morning when the women coming to anoint Christ's body had found the stone that had sealed the tomb had moved, and the tomb was empty. The effect Christ's resurrection had on his friends and, as the news spread, on people across the world was well recorded. But what if the tomb had not been empty, if Jesus had remained in the grave? What if he had not been prepared to die to conquer sin? How then would we have known the extent of God's love for each of us?

Prayer: Risen Lord, you have shown that in your love for us there is no room for doubt, for the "ifs" that plague us. We rejoice that we are certain of your love and our salvation. Amen.

February 27. Like A River      

Psalm 36: 8,9: You will give them drink from your river of delights. For with you is the fountain of life.
Isaiah 33: 21: It will be like a place of broad rivers and streams.

In the Suez Canal the waters are caught and trapped into a series of locks, so that large ships may travel the Suez Canal. To generations of Arabs has been awarded the responsibility of filling up the locks with water to raise the ships, and sending those liners on, to be raised again and again at subsequent locks until at last the vessels are able to move out and continue their journeys. And in the time of floods, as the Nile has always been wont to do, that same water spreads across the banks and irrigates crops that have been awaiting such an inundation. This is the history of Egypt, a land made wealthy by the seasonal appearance of flood tides. Egypt is the land of mystery, where in the time of the Pharaohs the work of slaves maintained the irrigation channels through which water was diverted.

Travel through Europe and you will discover the rivers that recognize no boundaries marked by national borders. Starting as tiny springs in the mountains they tumble over rocks and laughingly call to other springs to join them on their journey to the distant sea. The surface of the water picks up the sun's reflection and sends rainbows high into the sky as tiny particles rise like fine mist. Jumping from rock to rock the small rivulets join to become a young stream, one that could form the bathing pools of nymphs, only of course if nymphs existed. On and on the water moves until it becomes a river, slightly more sedate in its measure, but still managing to dance between the banks. Above its incessant movement, at regular intervals, rise bridges. Some are wooden, made especially for foot traffic, and it is on one of these that two children play. Dropping sticks from one side of the bridge into the water, they hasten to the other side to watch their boats emerge - a series of ongoing races limited only by time and imagination.

Relax on a barge travelling the Rhine and look at the castles built centuries ago as strongholds to protect the wealth of families whose influence created immense land-holdings for them. Spend a day, vessel tied up at a wharf and watch the river glide by effortlessly. Though you can see it moving, yet it is always there, for each instant the water is replenished by more water travelling the same route. Mile after mile the level of the water remains the same. For those who ply the barges carrying produce for markets along its routes, there is a safety because of the predictability of this constant level. Like the water travelling through the river, their barges are ever moving, ever-changing.

Grace is also like water that travels through rivers and streams, for though it is ever the same it is also ever changing. Just as irrigators rely on water to nourish their trees and crops, so we rely on God's grace to nourish our souls. As the river moves on it is replenished by the constant flow of water, replacing it at every point along the river's banks. Sourced from laden streams the movement of water is constant, just as grace for every occasion is sourced from God's infinite love. Like the water in any stream God's grace is available to us without any fee. There is nothing we can do to earn it, nor can we deserve it, any more than we deserve the water that carries ferries across our harbours. When Jesus spoke of grace, he never limited it to any particular race, or any group within a race; rather he described it as freely available to all, much like the rain that falls on all people alike. Grace is demonstrated in the parable Jesus told of the prodigal son. It was love, without a beginning or an end, that kept that father's eyes fixed to the horizon, awaiting the return of his wandering child, and grace that welcomed him home as if there had been no distance between them. It is grace that draws us to the embrace of God, and grace that sustains us in this life.

Prayer: Loving God, your grace flows like a river, covering our shortcomings and washing us of all rubbish we have accumulated. Teach us to speak of your grace to all we meet. Amen.

February 28. A Life-giving Oasis      

Psalm 119: 103: How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!
Isaiah 33: 16: Their bread will be supplied, and water will not fail them.
Isaiah 40: 31: They that wait upon God will renew their strength.

Have you seen inside a plant nursery lately? Let me take you on tour today. First, note the doors designed to keep out wandering animals or birds. Next, lets take a look at the roof, and the particular plants being raised will define what density of shade-cloth covers the roof. Shade-cloth allows young plants to grow without being affected adversely by high temperature variations. In cool climates, there will also be a hothouse, or a glasshouse, to encourage plant growth during the months marked by snow and sleet. You will also notice that there is some form of watering device present - in commercial nurseries this is controlled by a timer-switch preset by the nursery owner. There will be sections in which new pots are kept, and another area where potting mixes are available, for different plants need different types of nourishment; for example, orchid growers used three main varieties of potting mix. Peat moss may find a place there, as may sphagnum moss. There will be a place for various fertilisers and perhaps some charcoal. There will also be a variety of sprays to protect the young plants and an assortment of plant labels. Finally there will be tools required for particular nurseries - if one is growing some varieties of cactus, one needs a grafting knife. If however one is growing trees that will need to be grafted, one would have a selection of small planes to ensure clean cuts and better success with the grafts, together with rolls of grafting tape. Netting strung on very high poles, so that trees may grow without danger from birds or hail storms, usually protects nurseries that specialise in developing new varieties of fruit.

Healthy plants need constant attention to encourage their growth. They need the nourishment potting mixes and fertilisers provide and they need to be watered regularly. Trees grown in orchards also need regular attention, for they delve deep into the ground to obtain the nutriment dissolved in the sub-surface water. They need to be pruned regularly, not only to remove damaged branches, but also to open up the centre of many fruit trees so that the interior may receive direct sunlight and the tree remain healthy. Sometimes young trees need to be staked, so that they are not damaged or blown over, and in some cases broken, by wind gusts. As they mature and become productive they will need the area in which they are planted to be kept free of weeds. Sometimes they may need spraying to eliminate the swarms of sap-sucking insects that regularly invade healthy orchards.

We too need constant nourishment if we are to enjoy healthy minds and bodies. We need to choose healthy foodstuffs that will satisfy our hunger. Our bodies require regular sleep and exercise, and also they need time for relaxation. We need the company of friends and social interaction of one type or another outside our own homes. By far and away the greatest hunger we have can only be satisfied by our interaction with God. When we were created we were left unfinished, and we only find our wholeness as we reconnect with the source of our being, God. It is during those private times we have with God, which we term prayer, that we discover an amazing intimacy with the Creator of the universe.

Though we are part of the finite human race we are also part of an eternal creation, for we are truly eternal souls, and that part of our being longs to be reconnected with the place we know as our spiritual home. Just as trees need to be pruned so they will produce good fruit, so do we also need to be pruned, to have cut from our lives all those destructive and damaging habits and attitudes. We too need to be staked, to be held fast, against those times when we could be damaged by pressures around us. We need to ask the Supreme Gardener to keep our lives free of those things that would, like weeds, choke our physical and spiritual growth.

Prayer: Bread of heaven, today we would feed on your word and drink from the living water you offer. May we find in you an oasis as we travel the dusty roads of this world. Amen.

March 1. Chosen And Loved      

Romans 9: 26: Where it was said to them, "You are not my people," they will be called heirs of the living God.
Titus 2: 14: A people that are God's very own, eager to do what is good.

From out of their isolation they came, some stumbling in the glare of the sun, those who had been deemed unclean, therefore unable to live within ordinary society. Those in authority had condemned each of them to death, the slow death of physical and spiritual separation. In some regions, they had achieved some measure of community, but for others isolation was all they knew. Some were too ill to walk, and these were carried by other outcasts. Some had a price on their heads, for they had been accused without any evidence and had been found guilty by a fearful world needing to name scapegoats. There were many so hungry their bodies were emaciated; some carried children whose swollen bellies and shrunken limbs spoke of malnourishment. A small army of children appeared, ragged and dirty, many with limbs destroyed by landmines planted by armies claiming the right to protect their country. People came with crutches and canes, others in wheelchairs. Some were marked by speech that was disjointed and rambling. They were a mixture of colours and races, ranging from newly born infants to those with tired and ageing bodies. The stream of ragged humanity continued moving across the globe, not following the star of old, but answering a voice that had spoken to each of them. "Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest," it had declared, and they had responded, one by one, and dozens at a time.

Across the globe the media reported this phenomen, this unheard of movement of people of all nationalities. From all corners of the world representatives of the press sprang into action, and newspaper journalists and television crews weighed down with cameras boarded planes and helicopters, all scurrying to be the first to capture this strange event on film. Governments were recalled for emergency sessions, troops were put on a wartime alert, police forces were given unusual powers and church leaders decreed that God would put a stop to this madness. Yet the steady march continued crossing almost impossible terrain, until at last they stopped, and waited, millions of them it was estimated. And at that moment a light, far brighter than the sun, shone on the whole face of the earth. Those who had been asleep were suddenly awakened, while the evangelical prophets declared Armageddon was about to commence.

Aircraft circled overhead as military commanders from every nation prepared to land. Then, as the blaze of cameras spanned the immense crowd, seeking out the ringleaders of this revolution, they captured an unusual sight. People were moving forward one by one to a cleared area. The cameras could detect nothing in that area, yet people continued to converge there, quietly and slowly. Finally a voice that could be heard in every home, in every country across the world, spoke to every person in his or her own language. "These are my beloved, the people I have chosen from every nation and who have served me by loving others, no matter how desperate their own circumstances. Today I heal their bodies for I know their hearts and spirits to be whole. Here are the hungry from every nation, whom you have chosen not to feed. Here also are those who suffer from AIDS whom you have refused not only medication, but also the right to live as respected members of your communities. See among this number those who have lost touch with reality for stress has changed their balance. I asked little of you, people of the world, but you have continued refusing to love one another."

This scene has not yet taken place, and yet if it were to tomorrow, I wonder where would each of us be. Would we be among that rainbow motley who continue to love, no matter how desperate our own circumstances, or would we be among those Jesus condemned because we had chosen overlook our responsibility to love all God's people as we care for ourselves?

Prayer: Epiphany God, you who open our eyes to new understanding, open our hearts to the cries of your people across the globe. Teach us to love as unreservedly as you do. Amen.

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March 2. Transfiguration Sunday      

Luke 9: 28-29: Jesus took Peter, James and John and went off with them to the hillside to pray. And then, while he was praying, the whole appearance of his face changed and his clothes became white and dazzling.

On the twig, rocked by an evening breeze, was fastened a cocoon. Birds flew overhead searching for insects, but a spray of leaves cunningly hid the cocoon. Weeks before we had watched the grub, which had built this shelter, munch its way through various leaves in the vegetable garden. There was something almost hypnotic about the way it moved, none of us could reach out and destroy it. Instead we had agreed to monitor its progress. Now, as early afternoon's shadows started to form, there was movement inside the casing. Little by little the cocoon split, and a wet creature slowly emerged from its tomb. We watched as wings, stretching on the twig and slowly drying, began to take their shape. Gently, as if totally exhausted, the small creature tested those wings, stretching them to their full size. In place of the dark mass, came a myriad of colours, orange, blues and even gold, all painted on the wings by the Master Artist of creation. The insignificant grub had become one of nature's most beautiful specimens.

But life is composed of more than the fragility and beauty of butterfly wings. Life is also cold and harsh, as brittle as a jagged piece of glass smashed from a bottle during a fight. And angry men, shouting as they move toward one other armed with a shard of glass, each believe that this is the only solution to an argument. Violence stalks our streets, our homes and our relationships. Nature, at times, appears to become violent during torrential storms or tornadoes, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. Yet these things are cyclic, and would be predictable if only we had terms of reference that spanned centuries. Humanity, by contrast, has not learned how to deal with disappointments, loss, resentment or anger and often spills pent-up emotions into violent interactions.

In the aftermath of street fights children often draw from the gutters and footpaths slithers or chunks of that same glass which was being wielded as a weapon and, holding them to the light, discover a myriad of rainbows flashing from the depths of the glass. In the eyes and minds of children glass has taken on a new definition, the dimension of refracted light displayed as rainbows. It has been transformed from an object of pain and retribution into an object of delight.

Those who have watched the work of an artist have seen a canvas transformed from a blank sheet into a scene of beauty or a detailed portrait. The canvas remains the same in its dimensions and composition, but the artist's skill has given it expression and vibrancy and it seems to have come alive. The same God who designed the colours we view in sunsets and sunrises, flowers and rocks is able to transform the lives of ordinary people so that they too suddenly seem to come alive. God hears the prayers that are formed in the depths of our being and takes away the pain, transforms our loneliness into a time of alone-ness instead, and replaces anxiety with peace. Circumstances that in themselves are devastating become, as does the broken shard of glass in the hands of a child, things that capture and convert darkness into the brilliance of light and new dimensions. Like the butterfly we emerge free from all that held us encased, and are revealed as truly beautiful creations of God.

Prayer: God of rainbows and God of our dreams, we thank you for all those days when you transformed our grief and despair into peace and hope. Thank you for the sunlight as it struggles to bring its glow into days, which are grey and mist-laden, and for the love friends have shown, love that has warmed our lives with its glow. Amen.

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March 3. Lighting the candles      

Matthew 5: 14a, 16b: You are the light of the world. Let your light shine before others, so they may see your good deeds and praise your Parent in heaven.

Across the land, candles flicked against a window in each cottage. It was time to prepare for the returning Christ child, or a wayfarer who might be lost and needing safety and security that night. To the stranger this was but a quaint, outmoded custom, but it had a basis that was still relevant in today's commercial, and seemingly heartless, world. The old song gave half of the clue with the words, "place a candle in the window for me, my love", telling a tale of trysting lovers. Another meaning is revealed in the poem telling the tale of a highwayman, for his lover was to place a light in the window when those pursuing him were far away, and he was safe to visit. In times of uncertainty and warfare, as well as on Easter eve, older folk whose lives are measured by the passing of seasons in the land that has become part of them still place a light in their windows.

Around the table laid with cakes, sandwiches, fruit and drinks a hush occurred. The noisy hubbub of but a moment ago was stilled as the birthday cake, its candles all ablaze made a triumphant entry. And within that hush arose the expectancy of candles blown out, and wishes made then which would be granted later. Many years later, with the edition of a younger generation, most of those once youthful faces met again around a birthday table, to celebrate the birthday of the first of the grandchildren. The same chorus of oohs and aahs was heard, the same birthday song and wishes, a continuity of family, security and belonging.

In front of witnesses and well-wishers the couple each light a separate candle, then move purposely together to light a single candle from those they held. Such an action speaks of taking the light, the life-force and energy of their lives and joining it together so that it becomes one single brighter light that radiates light and warmth into the whole world. In their commitment ceremony they thus demonstrate the unity of their physical and spiritual lives.

With December the candles of the Menorah are lit, a new one added each of the eight nights, as the Festival of Lights, Hanukkah, is celebrated and the miracle of the cruise of oil is remembered. For it was that when the Temple was rededicated by Judas Maccabaeus in 165 BC after being reclaimed from the heathen, that but one cruise of oil was found with its seal intact, oil enough to last just one day, yet the flame produced by that oil lasted eight days.

Across the world lights are reflected on the water as lit candles are floated on the Ganges. Here again the miracle of light and life are interwoven, as prayers accompany the candlelights moving across the river.

From every nation we discover rituals that involve light. Indigenous people in both the American continents celebrate the ritual of welcoming the sun at daybreak. Light signifies not only life, but also warmth, a protection used against predators by our primitive ancestors. Jesus is known as the "Light of the World" for he has brought understanding, forgiveness and love to the peoples of this planet. As the Daystar he reminds us that as the nights in our lives are dispelled by daylight flooding the heavens, he is there to welcome our days and farewell our nights. He is the Light that floods our pathways, thus exposing the sharp rocks or crumbling surfaces which could have caused us to stumble and fall. It is the light of the Holy Spirit moving through every area of our memories that reveals the residues of past memories and hurts, and anoints them with a healing balm. It is this same Spirit who burns away all the lees from our lives and fills us with heaven's pure wine so all may drink and be refreshed.

Prayer: God of light, whose radiance is more than that of a myriad candles, at Epiphany you seek to meet with us face to face. Illuminate our lives so that we may reflect your glory to the world. May we be the true lights you set on a hill to welcome others home. Amen.

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March 4. Shrove Tuesday - In A Pawn Shop Window      

Isaiah 43:1: Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine. Isaiah 51: 11: The redeemed of the Lord will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads.

Like Aladdin's cave it stands waiting, while the security lights produce sparkles of colour from treasures within its depths. Daylight illuminates this repository of things precious and trinkets of little value. A place in our society for those who are pressed for cash, the pawnshop offers goods contained in no other building. Look to the right, there rests an open violin case, the bow against the lid, the price ticket spelling out "Special - $100. Who will come and buy the violin, will it be a player such as the poem "The Master's Touch" reveals?

Sound systems are there aplenty, almost as if the need for amplified sound has suddenly diminished. Judging by the vast array of musical instruments it appears that between engagements many musicians are forced to obtain cash against the security of their musical instruments in order to survive. Electric tools abound on the shelves. Does no one need a grinder today or a tile-cutter? Perhaps with a building now constructed the owner has no further need of these tools. Electric drills and routers stand bravely together, waiting for another pair of hands to discover the magic they can produce.

Closer to the window are trays of rings, signet rings, engagement rings, wedding and eternity rings. How did they come to be here? Are they the unwanted or unclaimed items from a deceased estate, or in desperate poverty have their owners needed to pledge them to meet unexpected medical costs, or simply because there was not enough money to pay the rent and buy food for a family? All the dreams that went into the purchase of such rings, will they ever return to be fulfilled? What price will the pawnbroker offer for my dreams, my hopes?

Amid the clutter of goods stacked beneath the shelves rests a golf bag, brown leather and fully equipped with clubs. Has the owner grown too weary to carry the clubs across the course for just one more game, or does the journey to the nineteenth hole no longer offer any pleasure? A glimpse of tennis rackets, lawn bowls, skies and poles, and even a hockey stick can be caught further into the shop. Among the clutter of sporting goods one thing seems absent; there's no trace of fencing foils. Do retiring fencers offer their foils and masks to others?

Exercise machines are there aplenty, so many different methods to lose weight, and build up (or tone up) bodies that have been neglected for so long. One can choose to exercise standing up, or lying down, using a cradle-like device. Did their previous owners achieve their desired fitness or did they simply give up when no results were apparent after a few months? Perhaps they have moved on to a new slimming method.

Over the counter a sign declares, "Goods pawned and redeemed." Sometimes to that counter will return a customer, clutching cash to reclaim their possessions. Not many ever do redeem their possessions. Some leave town, some change their interests, some simply cannot afford the price redemption involves. Redemption - to pay a price, to reclaim that which was and always will be ours, it's a word to provoke much thought. God knows all about redemption, for Jesus came to reclaim what was always God's own - you and me. God, who at our birth knew our potential, and watched as we compromised our dreams and hopes by act and words that reflected self-indulgence or insecurity, reached out and restored us as beloved sons and daughters. Living Love, in the person of Jesus, paid the debt we had incurred, redeemed and forgave us, and filled us with new dreams and hopes, God's dreams and hopes.

Prayer: Loving God, we have no words to express our gratitude, for you have paid our debts in full, and we walk free as redeemed people. May we move forward in joy, ever mindful that Christ the burden-bearer walks by our side each step of life's journey. Amen.

In parting … As Shrove Tuesday closes with the dawn of Ash Wednesday the season of Epiphany gives way to the season of Lent. Lent provides a time for our intimate relationship with God through Jesus the Christ to take on more substance. The miracles of Epiphany are not relegated to a treasure chest to be opened in later years; rather, they accompany us every day, for as we walk life's pathway, we find the face of God revealed in every event of our lives. Our every breath and heartbeat are miracles we rarely acknowledge. The seasons of the church provide an awareness of the seasons of our lives, of youth, maturity and of wisdom, and in each season we are drawn more closely into the embrace of God, our Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier.

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Rev Vera I Bourne is a multi-award winning short story author. Her spiritual journey is documented in The Fall Upward, published by Little Gem Publications 1996, ISBN: 0 646 28275 1. Living in outback Australia in the 1950s she realized many people did not have access either to churches or spiritual advisors. Licensed in 1984 by Christ's Community Church, Australia's first gay affirming church, and subsequently ordained in 1996, she serves in a world-encompassing ministry to all people, particularly those unable to attend congregational worship. She enjoys a rich family life with her life partner, her three children and their children. She is also a staff writer for the on-line magazine Whosoever - www. whosoever.org She may be contacted at Gods_gnome@yahoo.com