Sunday, September 30, 2012

Sudden Showers

By Belinda
Paul's mum with one of her great-grandchildren

I haven't finished my "Summer Past" series of posts. I have a feeling that there will be several more installments and I don't want to rush them. This is just a brief moment of diversion.

It was the end of the morning service and I made my way to the back of the church to say hello to Paul's mum. After several health issues she has lost a lot of weight since the photo above. She was always petite in height; about 5 ft.(maybe not quite) to my 5 ft. 8 in.; but at 86, she stands tall on the inside, even when gripping the handlebars of her walker.

I asked her how she was, and told her that I heard she'd been digging her garden. She laughed and said, yes, she'd planted some bulbs. I told her how she amazes me with what she accomplishes. "I'm determined," she said, with a smile, raised eyebrows and a look in her blue eyes that left no doubt. Paul comes by his focus and drive honestly.

I was overcome by my love for this woman, and leaned in to give her a hug, saying, "I love you."

I didn't expect tears, but they came, like a sudden shower on a sunny April day, and they would not be stemmed.

I couldn't explain but she didn't need me to. "I know, I know," she said, "I know," patting me comfortingly. And I knew that she did, completely and fully.

"It won't be long," she went on, "It won't be long."

"I know," I said, dabbing my eyes, and laughing now at the fact that my mascara was probably pooling in my tears, somewhere where it didn't belong.

"I do it too," she said, "Only in my room."

I told her how I missed Mum, and how often I think of her sitting at the front of the church when I'm singing on the worship team, and how she used to look up at me, with those eyes so full of love, enjoying the worship singing so much. And as we talked I thought of how amazing the connection, one heart to another, which doesn't really need words at all.

My mum with her lifelong friend, Auntie May
Susan's husband Ron, joined us just then, coming to greet her. Quick as a whip, she let him know that she had been here last week, but hadn't seen him in church. 

He said that a flu that left him weak and caring for a sick grandchild had kept him home. I laughed. 

"She is letting you know that your absence was noted!" I said, smiling at the fact that this tall, distinguished looking man almost as old as me, was making explanations to my mother-in-law for missing church.

And I tried again, this time without tears, "I love you," I said as I hugged her.

"And I love you," she said.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Summer Past, Part 3

By Belinda

I had settled into a spot next to Shan in a pew near the front of the church. Dave and other friends were behind us, in the wheelchair accessible seating. 

Next to me, as I sat down, I noticed a lavender umbrella, and on the floor a matching purse. A few minutes later, their owner, a slightly built, older woman, with short white hair, arrived, carrying cushions to soften the unyielding wood of the well polished pews.

Seeing the crowd of us that had arrived with Dave and Joe, she began to gather her belongings, "To make more space for the people," she said.

I insisted that she stay, pointing out, "You are one of the people!" And she yielded, sitting down beside me after all, and turning out to be a lively and entertaining pew mate, who provided a running commentary throughout the service.

The church was celebrating its 39th anniversary that week, and giving out medals too, to members who were celebrating 10, 20, 25 or 30 years of attendance (of which there were quite a few!)

About those she knew, she quietly confided details. "His husband was my best friend," she whispered about one man. And she told me that she herself had attended the church for over 30 years.

I bowed my head automatically as Reverend Hawkes announced the death by suicide of a full time staff member at a local outreach to transgender-ed people, and my chatty companion whispered, "Volunteer, not staff member," while simultaneously handing me a Kleenex.

At the start of the service she had told me her name, but as I usually have to hear a name several times before it sinks in, I promptly forgot it. I wish I had remembered it, but lacking a name in my aging brain, she will remain forever in my memory, the Lady with Lavender Accessories.

To be continued...

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Summer Past, Part 2

By Belinda

To continue with the story of our visit to MCC...

Brenda was home alone that Sunday in mid July, so I invited her to come too, with Susan and I, to the ceremony during which our friends Dave and Joe would be honoured. 

We all set out early for the 11 o'clock service on Simpson Avenue in downtown Toronto; prepared for traffic and leaving time to find a parking space. It turned out that the traffic was surprisingly light, and we drove without a pause, to the church. 

I saw Dave and Joe making their way to the church, and Joe waving us to drive around the streets to find a parking spot, since there is none at the church. But almost immediately we found a spot, right outside the church. Susan got out to check for "no parking signs," and finding none, we considered the spot ours!

The old tree lined street was full of people making their way to the church on foot and I noticed how many of them were men. 

Dave was surrounded by an entourage that included a striking, dark haired young woman. It took me a few minutes to realize that this was Shan, of the blog Half Soled Boots, and Dave and Joe's niece; in the flesh! We hugged and laughed for joy at finally meeting after knowing one another electronically for so long. 

Little Ruby and Sadie hovered around Dave like pretty butterflies, drawn by kindness, love and wisdom instead of flowers.

We were early, and we filled the long, old, pews of dark polished wood around Dave and Joe, with a hustle and bustle, arranging ourselves as best fitted. And then I began to observe and absorb.

The heat was intense and the humidity oppressive--at least 33 degrees, and no air conditioning in the old and stately building, but Reverend Brent Hawkes exhorted the congregation to use the vertical fans that had been provided to each of us--"It's called the program," he said, to a ripple of laughter.

I noticed a group of men and women gathering near the front in a huddle, all wearing t shirts in various shades of aqua, blue and turquoise and leaned over to comment to Shan on how coordinated everyone looked, when I realized that they were the choir, about to have a final practice before the service!

Gradually the empty pews filled up around us and the murmur of voices grew quieter as people settled and prepared for the service to start.

Rev. Hawkes mentioned the fact that the service would, as usual, be filmed, but that those who wished not to be on camera, could use the balconies.

I leaned over to Shan and commented that I felt goosebumps as I looked around me. When she asked why, I said, knowing as I said it that it was af generalization, that as I looked around, I sensed that everyone there had a story to tell of pain and rejection such as we could not imagine. The fact that people gathered to worship with others of the same sexual orientation, could have meant that there are other places where they are not welcome but I sensed and saw, community and caring being demonstrated all around me. 

 To be continued...

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Summer Past

By Belinda

September is almost over but I have thoughts of summer sitting on the shelf of memory like jars of brightly coloured jam; and before more time goes by I want to share.

It was back in July when my dear friends Dave and Joe invited Susan and I to join them with other friends, for the presentation of an award they were to receive. The award was for service to the community in the area of abuse prevention. It was being presented by the Metropolitan Community Church of Toronto. 

I would not have missed this opportunity to witness the honouring of friends, but I was also curious and interested to visit the church, which defines itself as "A house of prayer for all people," and particularly welcomes people of all sexual orientations.

But for this special event, I probably would never have had an opportunity or reason to attend the church, and I felt as though I was embarking on an adventure; a visit to a "new country."

I was also looking forward to seeing Dave and Joe's little friends, Ruby and Sadie, and meeting their niece Shan, whom I knew through cyber-space as a fellow blogger, and who had flown in from Vancouver Island for the event. It felt exciting and a little scary at the same time.

Before leaving that Sunday morning, July 15, I opened my Daily Light. I always read the whole day in the morning--morning and evening readings, and the evening readings contained these verses, which were both a prompt to be discerning and a caution not to judge by appearances, at least that's how I read them:

Job 34:3

New International Version (NIV)
For the ear tests words
    as the tongue tastes food.(A)

1 John 4:1

New International Version (NIV)
Dear friends,(A) do not believe every spirit,(B) but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world.(C)

John 7:24

New International Version (NIV)
24 Stop judging by mere appearances, but instead judge correctly.”(A

1 Thessalonians 5:21

New International Version (NIV)
21 but test them all;(A) hold on to what is good,(B)

John 10:3-5

New International Version (NIV)
The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice.(A) He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.(B) When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice.(C) But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger’s voice.”

So I left that morning prepared to "see" and "hear" all that I could, on as many levels as I could; ready to celebrate friends, but also to observe.

I'll write more over the next few days, as I have time, about what I saw. Stay tuned!

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Three Gifts

By Belinda

I have been beset by busyness lately, with no apparent let up in the very near future! This is part of the reason that I have been very quiet here.

Tonight as I prepared to leave the office for a stretch of four days, I packed up my luggage to take home. Well, really it is only two briefcases, but it feels like luggage, because of the quantity of stuff I "lug" in it.:) 

I also had a list of supplies to bring home for our work fall barbecue on Saturday, so I made a pile in the hallway outside my office door, of a big storage box full of plastic cutlery, topped by paper plates, cups and napkins. I began mentally preparing for the transporting of said pile and "luggage" to my vehicle in the parking lot across the road.

At 6.00 I was almost ready to leave when my eye spied a hand written note that had been slipped under my door earlier that day. It told me that one of the people we support would like me to please call because he had something to tell me.

I picked up the phone and called. One of his housemates, who answered the phone, too good a mimic, called for him in an affected  and much posher British accent than mine, "Belinda would like to talk to you." He sounded like the butler making the announcement.

Never mind, my friend soon hurried to the phone and breathlessly shared the news that he had just become a grand uncle! The baby is a little girl, but he did not yet know her name. What joy! 

He also shared that he was just back from a short holiday on a houseboat in Peterborough and was looking forward already to his vacation next year, when he is planning on going to Hollywood, California. I tried to restrain my envy as I said goodbye.

I spotted a half filled cup of cold black coffee on my desk and decided to take it upstairs rather than leave it lingering on, cold and lonely for four days. I heard a female voice raised a little sharply as I knocked lightly on the door and walked into the kitchen. At my entrance the speaker clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide as though she had been caught in the act of a crime! 

"I'm sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have used those words." 

"Those words" had been directed at her husband, jokingly but pointedly, and were rather funny, if not her usual polite tone of conversation.

I said, "I am the intruder! This is your home. You can use whatever words you choose and don't have to apologize."

At that she laughed, eyes sparkling, and I laughed back as I said goodbye. 

I then began to transport my caravan of "stuff" across the road, in two trips. 

As I was returning for the second load, a short, skinny man with grey hair, wearing thin and slightly scruffy clothing and pulling one of those metal carts used to deliver newspapers, asked, "Do you need any help?"

I smiled and said, "No thanks, I just have a few more things, but it's really nice of you to ask."

He said, "If you see me, just ask me."

I thanked him and thought how a busy day had ended with three interactions that brought joy, laughter and kindness bestowed.

What a good day it was.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Sigh of relief

Intro by Belinda

I'm smiling at the unexpected blessings God is sending my way since I decided to "wait;" like this guest post from author and speaker, Brenda J. Wood, of Heartfelt Devotionals, in the green in this photo. She is a member of our writers group, the Writers Nest, which met yesterday evening at my place, and this was Brenda's contribution to our topic, "The Empty Nest." Her quirky humour always makes me laugh out loud! Photos by yours truly, with those snapped of me being captured by Vena's fascinating story; taken by Susan Stewart! :)

By Brenda J. Wood

“Finally,” I moaned to myself with a slight speck of delight, “It’s over. They’ve left. I’m free.

I poured every bit of energy I had into tonight’s family reunion. I am as empty as the house now, but I can finally put my feet up and relax, at least until next time.

That’s not to say I don’t enjoy their company, because I do, but it is so much work. I’ve spent hours over the years trying to train them in both word and deed. I’ve pointed them to proper foods and delicate manners. I’ve tutored them in the fine details of the alphabet and the gentle art of conversation while we sparred over the dinner table. Thankfully, one or two sometimes cooked something. That did cut down on the stress. Unfortunately, no one ever seemed able to run the vacuum or do the laundry but me.

Once in a while they flutter out on their own, but they eventually return to the comfort and safety of the home nest for the monthly family reunions. I encourage them, they encourage me and we generally pray for one another. That’s something else I insist on because the family that prays together stays together.

Again tonight I discharged them with a clear heart because as always, I sincerely gave them everything I had in me. We conferred, I offered friendly advice. Others chipped in their two cents worth. We really do pride ourselves on telling each other the truth.

Sadly, some members couldn’t be here this evening but it is a privilege to watch them spread their wings. Tonight’s reunion found one in Africa, another in the USA and who knows where the other three are. 

Several in our family turned out to be pretty good writers. I think they got it from me. Our little family sports everything from bloggers, and book authors, to artists and devotional and newspaper columnists. Will they ever support themselves with their scribbles? God only knows.

Still, I’ve done all I can for this month and now it’s time to put my feet up and eat the rest of the trifle.  Eating leftovers is one of the perks of holding The Writers Nest in my home. Sigh!!!

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

The Journey

Intro by Belinda:
I wrote about "waiting" a couple of days ago. Little did I know that God would send something beautiful to Whatever He Says, but not through my keyboard! I love how he delights in sending surprises. And by the way, when you read the story below, in case there is any doubt, I loved every single moment of this particular "journey." I hesitated for the briefest moment to share what Ang wrote, because it involved me and my camera, but her writing is just to good, and the story too. Enjoy.

By Angela Catrambone

She didn’t just take some pictures that day…point a lens and click away amidst the giggles and distractions.

No, she wove a tale and walked me through a journey.

Zia had been visiting from Rome and was hoping for photos of the family. We had a portrait from years ago and some from school, but wanted fresh ones to give, so he asked Belinda, her of the large lens and heart to match.

She said sure and we made a date, drove over that evening in the fading light and I was rushing the process the whole way… “We’re late, the sun’s going down…”. We got there, slightly deflated and she came out of the house, welcome hugs, camera in hand and we went to the backyard, chatting, looking for a good spot for a family, a pretty place to pose those who were feeling hurried.

She smiled and we found spaces, patio stones lined up so we could pose a la Von Trapp family peeking out from behind one another. The chuckles started. The boys climbed a tree, hung off branches, big smiles, and the sun hung on.

All together framed against the grey board and baton shed, tall yellow flowers splattering the dim with light.

Her shutter clicking constantly she caught the inbetweens, the spaces between jostling and perfect that were the positioning, where the shoving and joking and admonishing took place. And then she got the great shots too; the ones that we want to give to Zia and other people, so it can be said “What a beautiful family.”

Isn’t that what we want? It’s what I’ve wanted. That others wouldn’t see the struggles and the word collisions, that we don’t always behave well and that sometimes everything feels rigid inside.

There’s shame in showing the ugly, the imperfect, brokenness that we clothe in smiles and “I’m fine”. 

I thought I’d grown beyond this. This need to mask the real. I who loves to love the broken and welcome them, imperfect and struggling, yet my own who are still forming thought systems and beliefs I badger so they won’t embarrass me.  Really?

The pressure is huge to obey and cooperate; yet along the way we lose a heart here and close a spirit there.

I looked at that sequence of photos when Belinda sent them. Out there in the cornfield, the light was nearly gone, but her camera could adjust so it didn’t matter. She wanted a shot with the children so I told them to get in a group for her, called them from far-flung places in the field. “Come on guys, the lights almost gone and we’re going to do one more.” It doesn’t sound bad, but the tension in me, trying to keep control of the distraction and energy pumping out of the four of them didn’t feel nice.

Did I want them to line up like pleasant little soldiers? No…but instant cooperation and “Yes Mom” would have been nice.

A day later the pictures arrived in our inbox and I saw four beautiful children in various stages of silliness, gradually moving from chaos to cooperation; from being scattered to gathered, from posturing to posing. And EACH STAGE WAS BEAUTIFUL. 

I saw my handsome big boy, arms gathering the smaller ones in, trying his best to corral that energy. My daughter a bit fed up, smiling big for the camera, lightening up as she wrapped her arms around her brother and tried to contain his wiggles, and the two smaller brothers taking turns with faces and sillies.  The final photo was taken with them all in place, a bit tired of the process, but doing it for Zia anyway.

I’ve tried to subvert the process for most of my life. I’ve wanted character before I’d earned it. Didn’t understand that “Love is patient…” means that He is patient with me as I learn too.
I've wanted my children to honor their parents, when I have been disrespectful to them.

The story is in the pictures. Rejoicing along the way, slowing down to hear what a heart is saying, being able to ‘still, and know that He is God’ in every moment.

Love is patient, patient enough to give us Zia, who wanted photos and a lovely friend to take them in such a way that the beauty of the journey showed through.

Thank you.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Hearts Across the Water

By Belinda

My friend Dave asked me on Saturday, "So how is your brother?"

"Well, we haven't talked for a while," I said.

It sounded and felt strange to say that. Our weekly Saturday morning phone calls have been sacrosanct for some nine years after all. 

But I wrote here in early August about how the the loss of someone sometimes means other losses,  or at least the need to redefine other relationships. And that is what we have been doing, my brother and I; finding a new way to be with, and to, one another.

I called him a few weeks ago and panicked when I couldn't reach him. So silly! I sent a frantic message through Face Book, to my nephew and his girlfriend, seeking reassurance that he was okay. He surfaced safely, a little bemused at my worry, having been with an old neighbour, keeping her company, out on a bench in "the close!"

We decided that we didn't have to stick to 10 o'clock on Saturdays anymore, that had been "Mum's routine." The next time we spoke we struggled a little for things to say, and then I became crazy busy for a few weeks, but it was okay. I knew that he wouldn't be waiting at 10 on Saturdays...

Dave's question prodded my heart though, and I made up my mind to call him on Sunday in spite of the fact that there would be a house full of family around the table for lunch after church.

I got up late having been up until the wee hours preparing the meal for Sunday, and left early for worship practice. When I came home though, Paul, who had left after me for church, said, "Did I tell you? Rob called after you left this morning."

Later that day, after the last of the 11dearly loved  family members and the two young friends who had tagged along, left, I picked up the phone and called.

As he answered, there was a bark in the background from my favourite dog in all of England, Bruce. They were just in from their evening walk. 

Apparantly Bruce the fierce is going through one of his fearful phases. He does that for several days after being frightened by a loud noise and Rob said that he was trembling still and seeking the safety of his little bed in the closet where he sleeps. Poor Bruce. He came from a farm and we don't know all that befell him before God sent him to Rob. I made Rob promise to give him a kiss from me.

I heard sad news about Shirley's little dog. Shirley and Derek are friends of Rob's in the close, and their ten year old border collie adored Rob. They always laughed at the fact that she threw herself at him! :) But they noticed that she seemed a little off colour and tests at the vet revealed a large and inoperable growth. They made the painful decision to have her life end before she began to suffer.

They have already adopted a rescue dog from the Dogs Trust, another border collie, but very shy and fearful, obviously an abused dog, which is beyond my ability to understand! He is warming to 
Rob though, and I am so hoping that they will keep him.

We caught up on all sorts of things concerning our kids, our diets, and our friends, and without even saying so...we were building our path forward.

Sunday, September 09, 2012

By Way of Explanation

By Belinda

Dear blog friends, I thought I should explain why I haven't written much over the past week, but I'm not sure that I can--explain it, that is! 

It has been busy in my corner of the universe, but it's more than that. I love to write, but I want to write at God's prompting, and usually that's just how it goes.  

Recently I've felt quietened; stilled. Not in a bad way, but sort of in a "waiting way." It's like I really am waiting for what he wants me to say, and when he wants me to say it. Whether it's a funny story about one of the many quirky things that happen in my life, or a reflective post, he prompts them all and I would never want it any other way.

I'm not going away; just waiting.  I hope you'll wait with me! 

Tuesday, September 04, 2012

On the Brink

By Belinda

It is the weekend of new beginnings, whether a new grade, a new school, or university. Susan spent part of the past two weeks kitting out and setting up an apartment in New Brunswick for her son Joel who will be there for the next four years studying surveying. On Sunday his dad took him to the airport. We are all going to miss him, but none so much as Susan and Ron.

On Sunday we stood at the back of the church after service, chatting; Jake, Summer, Heather and I; about their plans going into the fall. Jake has a full time job and plans to work and save so that he can pursue his dream of working in film production; Summer just graduated grade 12 but is going back to upgrade a few courses and Heather is just starting grade 12. All of them so full of promise I get a buzz just from listening to their dreams; catching the excitement; praying while I listen, blessing their lives.

Kiki, Rebecca and Tippy went north with Paul in August to a First Nation 2000 kilometers and a world away. All of them went with purpose. They went to learn; they went to witness; they went to invest and encourage. They came back full of memories of beauty and peace, and determined to learn more and make a difference.

This morning, Rebecca, who left scattered belongings behind in the van when they got back; called to see if she could come and pick them up. There was a hoodie; a gift for her brother; a bottle of sand from a northern beach to share with a friend, and wild blueberries. Unfortunately we all still forgot about the two little wild blueberry plants, sitting in our laundry room sink!

On the phone her voice sounded soft and quiet, a little shy; but as she sat at our kitchen table for a few moments before starting for home, she shared her tentative future plans as she goes into her third year of university. There was something in her eyes, and in the set of her jaw, as she talked of the possibility of studying law later so that she can effect changes to policy. It told me she has a steely resolve and determination that should not be underestimated.

Tomorrow morning two of our granddaughters: Tippy and Elizabeth, start high school. They will need courage to face a new position in the pecking order of school--that of "minor niner"--as well as the onslaught of a whole new set of pressures--along with exciting new experiences.

I pray courage for all of these young people; courage to stay true to their values and dreams; to say no to the right things and yes to those things that matter. I pray blessing on each of them and the wisdom to use their gifts well and for the benefit of others.

My cousin Deb, who lives in Spain, just watched the movie Veronica Guerin about the Irish journalist who was killed by drug lords. She used her gift of investigative journalism to publish stories that turned up the heat on corruption. Deb wanted me to hear the song from the movie, "One More Day," by Sinead O'Connor, because she thought I would like it. I loved it; but as a result, had to find out who Veronica Guerin was. Her story fit so well with the thoughts already percolating in my brain. Her life made a difference.

Within a week of her murder, the Irish parliament enacted the Proceeds of Crime Act 1996 and the Criminal Assets Bureau Act 1996, so that assets purchased with money obtained through crime could be seized by the government. 

Courage sometimes has a high price. May all of us, not just the young, be brave enough to stand firm for what we believe and what is right.

Sunday, September 02, 2012

Moving Day

By Belinda

Their home had a stork on the lawn, announcing the birth of their first daughter, when they moved in, 14 years ago. Two brothers and a sister came along since then, to fill the little house with love, laughter and memories.

In those14 years the house has been spruced up, painted many times, re-roofed, had energy efficiency upgraded and a deck built, but without expanding the walls, it was just too small, and yesterday, the time came to move.

Paul and I were part of the moving crew, and of course, my camera came along for the ride. 

Pete closed the door on 9 Purdue Court for the last time. Both he and Sue had walked the empty rooms one last time and said their goodbyes.

The house had been scrubbed clean, and now all we had to wait for was a call from the lawyer, to say that the key to the new house could be picked up, but it was 33 degrees and we had all worked up a sweat. The only place to wait was the deliciously cool Dairy Queen!

We didn't have long to wait. The last vestiges of my Peanut Buster Parfait were just gone, when Sue's cell phone rang with the news we were waiting for and with cooler bodies and restored energy, we all piled back into our baking hot vehicles, and left Tottenham for Alliston, in a convoy.

My back seat passengers were William, our 8 year old grandson and  the young son of one of the friends helping Pete and Sue move. They had the back windows open and their hands out, to feel the air rushing by, but I could hear that they were talking about house leavings.

"Are you going to miss your old house?" asked the friend.

"Yes," came the definite reply.

"I was so sad to leave my old house, I felt like hugging the bricks," said the friend, "And I loved the pear tree that was at our old house."

I thought to myself that he had the sensitive soul of a poet, which was confirmed when we pulled up to the new house, 20 minutes later. 

There is a ravine at the side of the house, with little shaded paths leading into the trees in several places, and down a steep slope to a small creek. A breeze sighed through the trees and the leaves shimmered in the bright afternoon sunlight and wind.

"The trees are waving hello to you," said William's friend.

I smiled at my kindred spirit in the back seat.

Later, while the adults unloaded boxes and cleaned and organized cupboards, the children, ignoring entreaties to stay out of the ravine, could not resist, and first the three boys, and then five year old Clare, emerged with prickly burrs in their hair and covering their socks and tee shirts, which had to come off and the burrs be picked off on the deck.

The people who had moved out earlier that day, left a note of welcome with the keys.

The home has obviously been lovingly cared for and happily lived in.

After hours of work, the first gathering of friends and family around the table. 

And at the end of the day, as the sun went down, the children still had not run out of energy. From a front porch filled with emptied and folded cardboard boxes, the sound of hockey stick on pavement could be heard, as the boys did what Canadian boys do; put up a net and had a game of street hockey.

Psalm 121:7-8

New International Version (NIV)
The Lord will keep you from all harm(A)    he will watch over your life;the Lord will watch over your coming and going    both now and forevermore.(B)