I have fond memories of reading The Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder. It was the first series of books I read entirely on my own. I loved the stories of pioneer life and the simple pencil drawings.  I still have my original boxed set with all nine books in pristine condition.…

“It was Leslie who had taken him from the cow pasture into Terabithia and turned him into a king. He had thought that was it. Wasn’t king the best you could be?  Now it occurred to him that perhaps Terabithia was like a castle where you came to be knighted.  After you stayed for a…

I’m an avid thrift store shopper but on a recent trip to Hamilton I ventured to a ginormous mall in search of a Totoro (best movie ever!) t-shirt for my eldest daughter.  Once said t-shirt was aquired, my girlfriend and I checked out a couple of kids stores, hunting the clearance racks for deals.  The…

So I’m a bit of a jerk.  A surprise to some.  Not so much to others.  In May, New Leaf hosted In the Company of Women, a conference for men and women who long to see the mission of God advanced in Canada through shared leadership.  Last year, when my almost friend Jared Siebert mentioned…

The world of church continues to be a blissfully confusing place for me.  There is a thing that church folk do (calling each other folk is a whole other thing they do) that is thoughtful, kind and often times delicious.  They make for food for people.  And not just when someone dies.  Church people make…

Patience you are a slippery devil.  At times I have a firm grasp on you.  But sometimes when you starts to wiggle and squirm, I lose my grip and you slip right through my fingers. This holiday season has been strange.  I worked myself into a lather about a routine mammogram which triggered my anxiety.…

I’ve written about struggling with depression and embracing menopause so it only makes sense that I now rant about my breasts.  I was going to say boobs instead of breasts but I didn’t want to offend so I’m sticking with breasts.   I am angry with my breasts.  Or maybe my age.  Or maybe my…

I was going to read this diary entry at a local event but sadly that event was cancelled so I’m going to share it here because THE DRAMA!  Names and dates have been changed cause it’s my blog and I can do what I want.  Oh, except the name of my car. March 19/99 Fred…

Near the end of last night’s Yatzee free-for-all, my ten-year-old started to cry when she realized she was going down in blaze of glory.  As she dried her tears, my eight-year-old gave her big sister a sideways glance and quietly picked up her dice.  She then proceed to throw the game (allowing the eldest to…