As day eats into day, and work becomes an endless biting of the spirit, there’s a world I wish I could escape to – the beloved Prince Edward Island of Anne of Green Gables. Not just for the beauty of this Eden-on-earth, but also for the living that kept souls leaning against God’s heart. For the communing of neighbours. For a return to the time when work was a labour of love built on charity, generosity and simplicity of heart.


          The fictitious Anne lived the life I yearn for more and more each day. When I come home from work, scratched and worn from a job that seems increasingly removed from God and heaven, when I am too tired and crabby to surrender in love to the calls of family life, when a wretched yellow air stains the little bit of green we own, I think of this bejeweled land and the life it allowed, thousands of miles away, and of the simple folk who once lived it.

          And I long and long and long for it to be mine too.


          Will my children ever be as safe as it was then, when children knew no fear of shadows and moonless nights and darkened hearts? Will they ever know the little joys of diligence nurtured in honesty and integrity? Will they ever be free to dream and play in innocent abandon?


          Will living ever be generous enough to allow us time to wander down quiet roads to tryst with nature? More than anything, will time ever slow down, and find its rhythm in gentle passage unbeholden to man’s tainted aspirations to rush and crush?


          No answers lie in repose in the creases of my spirit. In this humid stillness of fret, that beautiful island and its olden life are further away than ever. Tonight, gratitude and thanksgiving is a bough beyond my reach because I’ve set my heart on a life in a world beyond me.

          But what is hope if not to anchor my vigil by the door of steadfast faith, that someday, that old life of ethereal grace will be mine.



As we trace our lifelines upon this earth, often do we look up, seeking Light of Guidance. And they come – in many a form, every one, little and big, speaking in a rhythm unique to each traveler’s heart.

A little nudge, a gentle word, a picture that makes us pause and think agony-in-garden_1408599_inl[1]

A friend’s love, a father’s hug, letter in the post;


Pink hush of sunrise, tangerine goodbye of sunset,


Gray rain rivulets, call of the wild sea, still pond among shadows;


A warm kitchen and cake fattening in the oven,


A home where welcome is for all and always.


Birdsong clear and awakening, zinnias’ secret blooms,


Ribbons of wind in the trees, giddy perfume of flowers wild,



Purr of the grass dance, sweet feline repose,


Angels in gentle wait, the quiet rest of souls;


All these,

Each and more,

Whispers and stillness,

Lamp to our feet,

Light to our souls.

Eden Rose

Eden Rose

In memory of Love, 24 November 2004 ~ 18 July 2007