Monday, December 27, 2010


He has the glow of something new from heaven. His eyes are deep and I wonder what he has seen before he reached our arms. Does he dream of those sights? Are they a fading memory?
My grandson sent on his way from heaven with a kiss I am sure, from his great grandpa to his first grandchild who stole his heart.

Nine little words from a daughter,"There's someone here who would like to meet you." brought tears of joy and amazement at His goodnes and the mystery of life.

He is beautiful. He is a part of the past, present and future. He is a gift.He is innocence. He is love. He is joy. He is ours to hold and nurture.

This world is scary. It's the oposite of where he came from. He renews my hope. He rekindles my want of a better world for him. He stirs the longing to protect him from hurt. He awakens the childlike wonder and excitement of sharing with him beauty.

He is hope. He is love.
May he grow strong this wee lad. May he grow to know God. May he know peace and love and share it with a world that desperatly needs it.

A lullaby for my grandson-I love you my dear.


Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Little Pillow

I've noticed lately that the simple things bring me much delight and pleasure. Even something as simple as laying my head down on a soft pillow when I'm worn out feels so good.

Pillows bring comfort, relief for weary heads, serve as an aid to prop up. They are wonderful little things.

I heard someone say recently that little pillows in the form of a kind word or action help to soften the blows of life. How true.

Life can treat us rough sometimes and those little pillows are so sweet.

I think I'm going to go look for someone who needs a pillow. Nothing elaborate. Nothing big. It just needs to be soft.

Ruth V

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Lovingly Maintained

Four years ago our eldest daughter-who had only been married three weeks was in a terrible car accident. She took the full force of a car that went through a red light.
The driver didn't remember seeing any light.

It's a call you hope never to receive. I remember crying, but more than that I remember the sound that came from my body. It was a sound that I had never heard before or since. A mother moaning for her child.

We had no idea at that moment what the future held for her. I wasn't there to stop the car. I wasn't there to stop the pain, the blood. I couldn't maintain. I couldn't maintain what happened.

While I was still oblivious to the accident, God sent angels alongside her. Firemen and paramedics who cut the metal to free her. Doctors and nurses whose hands knew exactly what to do. A chorus of prayers.

God was there.

Now, in just a few weeks, that same daughter-who God has so lovingly held and blessed-will, along with her husband, welcome their first child. Our first grandchild. A miracle.

As I sat in church the other week and listened to the prayer of St. Patrick,I was reassured and affirmed once again of Gods love and mercy upholding and surrounding us. I thought of my children, husband, loved ones now in heaven who had finished the race and of people I don't even know, who suffer in the darkness.

It was also the Sunday when families gather to give thanks for the gift of new life in their family. One father began to pray thanking God for the precious gift they had been entrusted with. He then said "Lord, because you are the creator of this child, you know best how to maintain." Amen brother.

Ruth V

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

I`m So Glad God Is Love

Come, let us bow down in worship, let us kneel
before the Lord our Maker.
Psalm 95:6

Ruth V

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

The Italian Grocery Lady

Awhile back, a cashier at the grocery store commented on the bread I was buying, and told me how much she enjoyed it with a cup of coffee. I agreed . Soon my visits to the grocery store were made special if she happened to be working that day. I started to always go to her line, even if other ones were moving faster.

Together we have had great conversations about delightful foods to have with a good cup of coffee, art, children and interesting little places to visit.

One day as we were speaking of our children, she looked at me and said, "I've always believed raising children is ones greatest masterpiece."

Priceless items at the checkout.

Ruth V.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

It's O.K. To Be Happy

Sometimes I think there is a general feeling of guilt about being happy.

I understand and ache for all the brokenness and sadness in our world. From my vantage point I know I don’t truly understand the pain, but I wish I could heal it.

I also understand many people are hurting with deep personal wounds. In our small corners we are called to comfort.

With the bombardment of bad news and so many causes seeking our attention, we can forget that goodness ultimately wins.

Part of my Irish soul has a tendency to wait for the other shoe to drop. Unchecked, it can steal the joy of the moment. I also know we Irish can look at life and sometimes be crying and laughing almost at the same time. Irish wakes are a great tribute to this fact, for in the middle of all the loss there is also great joy and love for life.

We need to smile more. We need to laugh more. We need to be thankful more.
Brighten your corner.

In the words of the traditional Irish ode of farewell The Parting Glass, “Goodnight and joy be with you all.”

Ruth V

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

The Journey

This past week has turned my heart towards Heaven. Sometimes it's hard to believe there is such an address, and yet other times it seems as close as my own heartbeat.

There is much treasure stored in Heaven for each of us. People we love, who we often miss on a warm summer night. Little ones that we didn't even get to say a proper hello to, and a Saviour who holds us in the palm of his hand.

A journey of saying goodbyes at the bend in the road, of saying hello at the next corner. Life is a continual flow of celebration and sorrow almost in the same mystic wisp of breath.

I came across a poem awhile ago which I thought beautifully expressed how close we are to that great mystery.

Death Is Nothing At All

Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, we still are.

Call me by an old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way you always did.
Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we enjoyed together
Play, smile, pray for me.

Let my name be forever the household word
Let it be spoken with effect
Life means all that it ever meant
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.

Why should I be out of mind because i'm out of sight?
I am but waiting for you
For an interval, somewhere very near
Just around the corner all is well
Nothing is hurt, nothing is lost
One brief moment and all will be as it was before
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
-Henry Scott Holland 1847-1918

Ruth V.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

My Wee Irish Ma

Yesterday was my mother's birthday. This wee Irish lady who made me feel safe, who taught me much about life through a John Lennon song and more about God and prayer with her eyes open rather than closed.

I remember-she doesn't. Alzheimers has stolen her memory, but not her Irish soul that still twinkles through like angel rays.

I remember fresh baked soda bread with warm butter running down my arms. I remember impromptu Irish jigs in the kitchen and her lessons on juggling. I remember love.

Now, I could walk down the hall of the nursing home and she would pass right by me not knowing I am hers-but I know. Thanks Ma.


Thursday, August 5, 2010

A Full Heart

I believe I was put on this earth to be a mother. There. I said it. I didn’t whisper it. To me saying such a thing is like saying I believe I was put on this earth to be queen-presumptuous. However deep in my heart I do believe it.

Years ago when a certain young man asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I didn’t whisper the answer then either. I thought either he runs or stays. Fortunately for me he stayed, and God has blessed us with an incredible family.

I have had the joy and pleasure of being a mother to six incredible human beings. The goal has always been that they would grow up to be people with good hearts-and they have.

A good heart is important. With a good heart you can accomplish so much. A good heart has pure motives, seeks to do what’s right and cares. Someone once said that you can’t pull yourself up by your own bootstraps without a good heart. A good heart is resilient.

So this is my little ode to my children and husband who allow me to live out a dream, and the beautiful adventure we have together. You are incredible.


Thursday, July 29, 2010


For Imperfect Prose Thurdays

She said, "an artist friend of mine is willing to come and do a watercolour workshop. Would you be interested?", in reply I said that "stick people is about how far it goes for me in ability, but I'll think about it." But my heart said, "oh wouldn't that be lovely?"

I've always taken great pleasure in looking at paintings. It's incredible when one strikes your soul and all you can do is stare.

However when it comes to my own artistic skill, I see a picture in my head, but somewhere between head and fingertips the image becomes distorted. What appears on canvas isn't exactly what I had in mind.

With all this distortion in mind I went to this Monet watercolour workshop. I saw new and familiar faces. Saw beautiful roses in an old vase. Saw books of great artists paintings.

My friend in her whimsical way said "oh this will be fun!" I gulped and saw blank canvas.I remembered when I was in grade two, and I drew a picture of my teacher, but when she saw it she thought I was being cheeky and making fun of her-oh dear that truly was distorted!

However, I decided to throw caution to the wind and started painting. Suddenly the canvas was awash with fields of fiery red flowers and tall grass. I smiled inside. I thought of that teacher. I wasn't being cheeky, I was just offering up a piece of myself.

I carried my little painting home. No, it wasn't a masterpiece, but I felt good.

I gave the painting to my husband a few days later on our wedding anniversary. Offered it with a big smile. Offered up a piece of myself and he said: beautiful.


Thursday, July 22, 2010

So today I start to blog, in response to Emily's creation of imperfect prose on thursdays. This is a completely new adventure for me, and I appreciate being invited to take part.

I thought this poem that always touches me, would be an appropriate start to imperfect prose thursdays.

When Earth's Last Picture is Painted, 1892
(L'Envoi to 'The Seven Seas') - Kipling

When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it-lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All God Workmen shall put us to work anew.

And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair.
They shall find real saints to draw from-Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!

And only The Master shall praise us, and only The Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!

Ruth V