A Snowy Chilly Day
A snowy day — the first in a few years—and oh so chilly, today is!
The virus is reluctant to depart but Doug and I are grateful its presence does seem to be waning.
And I am grateful there has been time to read and paint.
At night I am wending my way through Jeremiah and 2 Thessalonians. ( Daily Prayer App ) Jeremiah in chapter 17, reminded me that trusting in men and women for deliverance from hard times is not smart.
Throughout a Chilly Week
An opinion piece in the Washington Post by Ann Lamont—Age Makes the Miracles Easier to See has been a calming balm — This too, I hope you will click and read, dear reader. Lamont has a knack for putting into understanding words the “worries” aging generate.
One of the blessings of age is that most of us get along with ourselves better than when we were young. It is stunning to accept yourself: I am always going to have a womanly butt and now I appreciate it: It’s a nice seat cushion.
I did paint more this week than I have in a while — using bright colors
What I am Reading
Being Elisabeth Elliot by Ellen Vaughn is an equaling calming antidote for the times and a hearty tonic; I am grateful for the three dimensional portrait Vaughn thus far paints. It is no white-washed account. Like Tim Alberta’s book, it keeps me reading —as Ellen Vaughn weaves Elisabeth’s biography from all the treasure trove of writings Valerie Elliot Shepard shared.
Elisabeth Elliot was an influencer in my life, mainly though her radio programs — I once saw her at the end of her life, attending worship at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. Dementia had not completely robbed her of her mobility and grace.
Vaughn is careful to anchor Elisabeth’s journey to the times —what she describes are people, places and things I remember.
The Nineteen-Sixties rocked Elisabeth, too — shaking her up, changing her — making me understand more clearly why, perhaps, all of her “talks” began with,
“You are loved with an everlasting love, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”
The simplest, hardest, best anchor to which I hope we both cling —and one our kids and grandkids remember above all the good advice we ever shared.
I wish I looked as good as Mary Engelbriet’s Mom —Hey, I wish I could still get out of one those chairs!