The morning matched my disposition. I was feeling “off”. There was no sunshine and weather conditions were a little stormy. Still, I felt drawn to go for a walk on the beach.
Amid the footprints in the sand, two sets stood out. They were in the same area which meant the same firmness of sand, but the impressions left were totally different.
One set was steady and left soft imprints of the sole of the footwear. The other was uneven and left a strange, deep design. It was as if the ball of the foot dug much deeper and then curled back, forcing the sand backwards into aa slight ridge. The heel was merely an outline.
I wondered why one set looked uniform and easy and the other seemed to indicate struggle. The conclusion I came to was that they had different levels of support for their feet. Perhaps one had firm soles on their footwear and the other soft ones.
I thought of my life recently. When going through tough challenges I tend to try to handle everything on my own. I will eventually get to where I need to be but the journey is more difficult than necessary. It’s not that support hasn’t been offered. I just think I should be able to do what is needed without inconveniencing others, so don’t reach out or accept the help offered.
These footprints in the sand served as a powerful reminder of how proper support can impact my journey in a positive way.
I look over at my son, walking beside me. He has taken the time to join me as I navigate this formerly familiar but now unknown stretch I’m currently walking. As he helps me through this rough patch, my steps are slowly becoming firmer. Gratitude wells up in my heart and leaks through my eyes.
The proper support makes all the difference. With that in place, I’m going to be fine.
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My Little Boat
Three weeks can either feel like the blink of an eye or a lifetime. Sometimes both at the same time.
That was how long it had been since my beloved departed the confines of a failing physical body to be restored in heaven. I was happy for him but didn’t know how to deal with the huge hole in my life.
Now, here I sat at an art therapy session for those suffering grief. Was it too soon to be doing something like this? It appeared I was about to find out.
The long tables were set up in a horseshoe formation, with the facilitator and her assistant at the open end. Twelve of us sat around the perimeter. In front of each of the participants was a blank sheet of paper. Behind that was a larger sheet of wax paper. Interesting.
After the introduction, coloured markers were passed out. We were to choose whatever colours we wanted and write words or draw pictures that reminded us of who we were grieving. This proved easy as the words love, fun, family, humour, and many others quickly filled my paper.
These papers were then put to the side and a block of modeling clay was placed on our wax paper. The clay was hard and needed to be softened by the warmth of our hands. As we worked the clay by kneading, pushing and pulling, we were told to put our feelings and grief into it. Some were angry with their circumstances and punched the clay or threw in onto the table. I had only sadness so was gentler in working with mine.
Once the clay was malleable, we were asked to create something to hold our grief. What? How was I supposed to do that? Others around me started creating shapes. I mindlessly worked with mine, hoping to find some inspiration.
I was surprised to see a small rowboat start to take shape. Maybe I could work with that. It needed more definition so I concentrated on the form. To make sure it didn’t look like a strangely shaped bowl, I asked for a little more clay and made a bench seat inside. Then I took two more small pieces and fashioned them into oars, which were crossed and placed on the seat.
Looking at my boat, I knew the shape hadn’t been an accident. I was navigating a sea of grief and needed a vessel to hold me when a rogue wave threatened to pull me under. In times of calm I could relax and float peacefully in my little boat. Turmoil caused choppy waters and the oars were needed as I paddled hard to stay afloat. God had worked through my unknowing hands to create a perfect metaphor for my grief journey.
As the class neared the end, scissors were placed before me. I cut out words 
from my paper and placed them in my vessel. Perfect! Grief only exists because it was preceded by great love. Precious memories placed in my grief vessel are reminders of the love that will always live on in my heart.
Yes, it seems that I was meant to be in the session that evening.
Three weeks has now turned to three months. My little boat, rough as it is, sits proudly in my home as a testament to a life well lived and the legacy Brian left behind.
New Year Prayer
I start each new year with this prayer that my mother passed on to me many years ago.
2024 was a difficult and challenging one but it also had moments of great joy.
Through it all, God was by my side, guiding, strengthening and shielding as I walked the path before me. I have faith He will do the same in 2025.
Be blessed, my friends.
NEW YEAR PRAYER
May God make your year a happy one,
Not by shielding you from sorrow and pain,
But by strengthening you to bear it, if it comes.
Not by making your path easy,
But by making you sturdy enough to travel any path.
Not by taking hardships from you,
But by taking all cowardice and fear from your heart.
Not by granting you unbroken sunshine,
But by keeping your face bright, even in the shadows.
Not by making your life always pleasant,
But by showing you where man and his cause need you most,
And by making you anxious to be there, and to help.
Author unknown
A New Day
I stood at my window and watched in awe as the dark sky became infused with colours.
First the deep pink and purple were seen along the horizon. As the sun continued to rise, orange appeared with bright yellow just below it. The other colours lightened to cotton candy pink and mauve. Soon I was looking at a pale blue sky streaked with pastel clouds. There was no more darkness – a new day had begun.
The sky is at its most beautiful at the rising and setting of the sun. As I thought about this, I realized that while I often see the sun rise this time of year, I rarely see it set. My eastern view has something to do with this, but was there more? Some reason why I was not available to witness the transformation of day into night?
As is my habit when seeking answers or guidance, I asked the Lord. His response surprised me, although it made perfect sense. The soothing answer I was given spoke directly to my heart.
I heard, “I want you to focus on how the promise of a new day is manifested each morning when I turn the darkness into light. During this season of intense grief, it is My light that will guide you. I have prepared each new day with a beauty of its own. Even on those days when your battered heart feels shrouded under dreary skies, I will send a glimmer of light to give you hope. Seek and you shall find it.
There will come a day when you will look at the night sky and see the twinkling stars. For now, the darkness overwhelms, but joy comes in the morning.
I have plans for you, my beloved child. My light will guide you to fulfill the purpose I have placed in your heart.”
I thanked the Lord for his healing words and remembered His promise found in Psalms 30:56 “Weeping may last for the night but rejoicing comes in the morning.”
Crumbs on the Counter
After several overcast days, this morning the sun was shining brightly through my window. I walked into the kitchen and was surprised to see small crumbs scattered across my kitchen counter.
“Where did you come from?” I said aloud. The immediate answer was obvious. Since I live alone, they had to have come from me.
Apparently, I had not paid enough attention to keeping this area clean. It was easy to ignore until the sun illuminated this problem spot.
Truthfully, this is only one area of my home that has been neglected during a tumultuous year. But I digress.
Back to the crumbs on my counter. As I was wiping them up, I found a few more that had been hiding. It didn’t take long to draw an analogy to my life.
The crumbs represent negative thoughts, grumbling, making excuses, etc. These thoughts don’t cause an impact on my personal well being until they start to add up. I look the other way and either pretend they don’t exist or they aren’t important. Sooner or later though, something illuminates my bad attitude and I wonder where the negativity came from.
To keep from getting to this point, a daily practice of gratitude is necessary. Being thankful clears away the crumbs of negativity. Instead of grumbling because I have to drive on winter roads, I am grateful to have a safe, reliable vehicle. This is but one of the many examples I can think of.
When I concentrate on all the blessings in my life, the crumbs are dealt with and my attitude improves.
How do you keep the crumbs from accumulating on the counter of your life?
An Unplanned Project
Have you ever had an idea or inspiration that seemed to take on a life of its own and flourished beyond your wildest expectations?
That is exactly what happened to me several months ago. A friend and fellow writer sent me a message about something I posted on social media. She gave me not only some beautiful encouragement but also a challenge.
The idea intrigued me and I started thinking of how I could make it my own. I mentioned it to a few others and although the response was positive, I pushed the idea to the back of my mind.
You see, we were only a few months into my husband’s brain tumour journey. Life was often overwhelming and I didn’t feel capable of taking on a major challenge.
This is where the project took on a life of its own. The initial people I’d run the idea past, submitted stories. Apparently, in a moment of weakness I’d given a timeline for submissions! Now I had to either apologize and return the writings they had done specifically for me or make a plan and move forward. I chose the latter.
After setting a firm timeline, I started contacting other writers. One night, when I was praying about who else to contact, I felt led to reach out to some friends and family members who were not part of my writing circle. Some said yes immediately and others needed more encouragement.
My book was taking shape. I forgot to mention to you that during this process I felt God tell me this project was to be used as a fundraiser. It made sense that the total profit would be donated to the Brain Tumour Foundation of Canada. After I reached out to them and received permission to use their name in promotion for the book, everything came together quickly.
Flowers of Remembrance is a collection containing the memories evoked by certain flowers. The writers range from 15 to 85 and their stories (and mine) will encourage you to stop and reflect on memories surrounding special flowers in your life.
I can think of no better place to hold an event for this book than a flower shop. Flower Whispers in Airdrie, Alberta will be the site for this on Saturday, December 7th. I’d love to see any who are able to drop by for a visit and refreshments from 1-3 pm. You can do your Christmas shopping and support an organization that hold a special place in my heart. More details are on my website www.timewithtandy.com under the Book tab.
Out of Step
Many years ago, my husband and I signed up for ballroom dancing classes. As we headed to our first lesson, my mind conjured up visions of Brian and I gliding gracefully across the floor.
The reality was far different. In fact, we were so awkward the instructor said she felt sorry for us! It turned out that the problem was me. I unconsciously tried to take the lead. Only one can lead and it wasn’t my job.
I was told to close my eyes and trust my partner. When I did that, our movement became smooth. Once confident I could follow Brian’s lead, I’d open my eyes again. Whenever we were out of step, it was because I was fighting for control. I spent a large part of our lessons with my eyes closed!
I’ve discovered this also applies in my relationship with God. I have a tendency to want to go my own way (or lead) and expect God to follow. The habit of thinking I know what’s best is a hard one to break. What is needed of me is to close my eyes and trust.
This is required even more when I’m in a season of uncertainty. I may not know what direction to take but as long as I follow His lead and stay in step with the one who knows the dance of my life, I need not be concerned. God knows where He is taking me and His ways are better than anything I could imagine.
“I know the plans that I have for you, declared the Lord. They are plans for peace and not disaster; plans to give you a future filled with hope.” Jeremiah 29:11
Tormenta
When I first sat down to write this, a hurricane was crossing the Caribbean Sea and heading for Mexico. It was expected to hit the Yucatan state in a few days. There was a chance it would miss the area our friends lived in, but as we know, sometimes storms change direction.
The same is true in life. Everything was going well for us when, seemingly out of nowhere, a massive life storm hit. A hurricane strength wind picked us up, spun us around and destroyed our carefully planned life.
We survived the initial onslaught, a little battered but still standing. Then we entered the eye of the storm where the calm lulled us into a false sense of security.
Too soon, we were back in the fight, buffeted by gusts that threatened to defeat us.
The Spanish word for storm is tormenta. To my mind, this is apt, as life storms certainly torment us. Their effects can be long lasting.
Sooner or later the storm will move past. The question remains as to the damage it has done and if we have survived it.
In my personal case, only one of us survived the storm of a terrible disease. We remained strong for as long as possible and held to each other and our faith.
Now, I, as the remaining one, am forced to start the rebuilding process. It is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. It is also necessary in order to honour the wishes of my loved one and fully live and appreciate the days I’ve been given.
To help me I turn to 2 Corinthians 4:8,9. “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down but not destroyed.”
Caged
From the kitchen window of my second story apartment, I enjoy a view of grass, trees and small wildlife. I also see the patio on the ground floor of a neighbouring building.
Last spring, a long, high, wooden table was set up on their patio and housed a variety of plants. This year, instead of plants, a large wire cage was placed on top of this stand. My curiosity was aroused.
Later in the day, I saw the reason for this cage. An orange tabby cat lay peacefully inside. Not only could it enjoy the fresh air, but from this vantage point, see what was going on nearby. Someone told me later this was called a catio. I thought it was an ingenious idea!
A few days later, I watched a black squirrel scamper down from a tree and across the lawn. As it approached the neighbouring patio, the caged cat crouched down with its rear end slightly raised. It was getting ready to pounce when the squirrel got close enough. After creeping forward, the tabby must have remembered his confinement and lay back down. I could almost feel the cat’s disappointment.
As I thought about this scene, I wondered why it resonated with me. Perhaps, like the tabby, I have also felt caged at times. This is not always a bad thing.
My conscience can act as a cage to keep me safe. Temporary disappointment at being held back from something I wanted to do or say, later turns to gratefulness for a mistake not made. I experience both freedom and restraint. This keeps me safe from harm and regret. More importantly, it helps to protect others from my careless actions.
My personal cage sounds like a positive thing. Instead of a catio, I have a Tandio!
Reclaimed
Several years ago, I wrote about Quarry Lake in Canmore Alberta. Last week I visited it again and was inspired anew.
As some of you know, life has taken an unexpected turn for my husband and I. Due to these challenges, the only writing I have done recently is in my nightly Gratitude Journal. Gratitude because, despite circumstances, we have so much to be grateful for.
Six months ago, I booked a four-night writing retreat in Canmore, to take place last week. I wasn’t sure if I should still go. My husband encouraged me to take the opportunity to get away and write. With mixed emotions, I escaped to the mountains, hoping to find that elusive creative spark.
That brings me back to Quarry Lake. You see, Quarry Lake
was once the site of an open-pit coal mine. It has been reclaimed and is now a beautiful spot for many to enjoy.
I’ve just spent a few days writing and refining thoughts for a new book that has been on my heart. I’m feeling energized and ready to move forward with new purpose.
Like Quarry Lake, my writing has been reclaimed. My prayer is that I can turn the words into something beautiful for others to enjoy.