Two months ago this week, I received a phone call that no one ever wants to get. My brother called me to say that our mother had been killed that afternoon in a terrible car accident two blocks from her home in Vineland, Ontario. She and her two friends died when their car was hit by another on a country road.

I flew back to Ontario the next day. It was an awful and wonderful week all at once. Family and friends gathered to celebrate my mother's life, and to commit her into the hands of a God who loves us more than we know, for eternity. There was truly joy in the midst of sorrow.

I do not mourn my mother's death. How could I begrudge anyone the delight of heaven, even if it removes them from me? I am, however, profoundly sad and do, selfishly, mourn my loss.

So what is the greatest gift? Forgiveness. I have learned that forgiveness is not only a gift God has given us through Jesus, but is a gift we give to others, freely. My brother and I met with the young man who drove the car and offered our forgiveness and support. When I looked into his eyes, and saw there boundless shame, misery, fear, self-loathing — I knew the only possible response was compassion, forgiveness and love. How could we, who have been forgiven so much, withhold our forgiveness from him?

I have also learned that God's promises hold. It's easy to have faith when things are going well; I have discovered to my great delight that it's also easy when things are bad. In fact, it is essential! God cares so much for his children, those that he has called home to be with him, and those who remain to mourn, that it is impossible not to feel comfort and peace when we trust His plan, even if we don't understand it. My mother was fond of saying, "All things work together for good." (Romans 8:28 KJV)

I do believe that God will take this horrible event and create good — good I may never even know about. There is a peace which passes our understanding, and it is God's. We receive peace when we share it with others through His forgiveness, compassion and love.

Life is fragile. Love is not, hope is not, joy is not. Alleluia!

Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank you for the ways in which You uphold Your promises and affirm our faith. Help us to trust Your plan even when we don't understand. Thank you for the glory of eternity, where Your children rest in peace. Thank you that nothing can ever separate us from your love, nor from the love of those who have touched our lives with theirs. Comfort us who grieve, and grant us the peace of forgiveness. Amen.

I long to have a baby. For now, I am unable to conceive. I have a friend who longs for a congregation. For now, she is unable to preach full time. I say "for now" because I know God has a plan. But I confess I don't always trust it to unfold. I get frustrated with God because God is not working to my timetable. I shout my puny disapproval to the Creator of the Universe. (My neighbour's 10-year-old would respond, "As if!")

As human beings, we long. We suffer an unbearable yearning for something that seems unattainable. We experience feelings of sadness, inadequacy, despair, and discouragement, in connection with our inability to satisfy our longings, or to understand the mystery of why we are unable to have our heart's desire.

I don't mean to diminish the feelings. They're real. Sometimes, despite our trust in God, we ache. We weep. We rage. We call out to a God who doesn't seem to hear us. We don't want to wait for the "fullness of His time." What's that? Who made that up, anyway? The erstwhile "Man/Woman Who Has Everything?"

Or maybe we don't hear Him. Who said listening was one-sided? We think God doesn't hear us? When do we listen to Him?

Read today's verses from Psalm 46. They're a noisy, crashing, busy story of nations in uproar, kingdoms toppling, mountains falling into the heart of the sea, waters roaring and foaming, and mountains quaking with their surging. There is destruction and desolation, fire that burns, weapons that are shattered.

And yet — yet, we are not to fear because in verse 10, the Psalmist writes, "Be still, and know that I am God." Not, "Hey, you down there, look at all this devastation. Yo! Listen to me! Just what do I have to do to get your attention?"

Sometimes, in our desperate grasping for something that is not ours — at least, not now — we lose sight of what we are good at, lose sight of how we have influenced others in positive ways. We don't remember the times God has used us to further His plan. We lose our ability to listen to messages of comfort and joy that abound even in our anguish. I try to leave it to God: He has a reason for everything and if I don't understand it, that doesn't mean it's not right. It seems to me that to keep flailing for something about which God has, in His infinite wisdom, said, "Not right now", is to question the Almighty's ability to care for us and to give us what we need, when we need it, how we need it. It seems like a huge waste of energy.

That doesn't diminish the struggle, however, and the struggle does have value. Sometimes we pray so hard for something that we forget to "be still" — to listen — "and know that I am God." God speaks to us in the quietness of our minds, not with a great trumpet fanfare announcing His arrival with news for us. We get so busy crashing around in the external world that we forget to be quiet and listen for the sound of Jesus' sandals when He visits our internal world.

"Shhh. Be still. Be still, and know that I am God. Listen. I'm speaking to you. Hear me in the quiet of your heart, and know that you are my child, and I love you. Do not fear. I will take care of you, do what is best for you, and cuddle you in my arms while you struggle. Your pain hurts me, too. Please trust me to do what is best. Shhh, shhh, it's OK; I'm here. I will heal this, too. Shhh."

Prayer: Wonderful God, hold me safely in your arms, comfort me, quiet my struggles. Let me be still enough to hear you when you whisper in my heart. Help me trust you to do what is best for me, even when I don't understand why you withhold things. Help me to be still. Amen.

It's been snowing a lot more than usual in Port Alberni, British Columbia. We're a west coast Vancouver Island town, and usually we're able to be fairly smug about our balmy weather and crocuses at this time of the year. For whatever reason, the snow continues to fall.

As I walked my dog yesterday morning, and watched her reaction to the snow, it occurred to me she's got the right idea. She approaches snow as an unexpected delight. She sniffs the air, nose up, tail wagging furiously. There's one still moment while she holds herself in expectation, then she hurls herself headlong into a cloud of white, plunging into the deepest part of it as though it were there just for her amusement. She rolls, revels, glories, delights in it. She sticks her head into a snow bank just to see what's there, and comes out looking like a reverse of her black self. She's been known to tunnel through drifts too large to manoeuvre any other way. She eats it, gobbling it down with doggy enthusiasm, like some great sweet manna from heaven. She throws herself around in it with wild abandon, and comes up snorting, wagging, and laughing.

Never once does it occur to her that she has to earn the right to play in the snow. It's just there. It's a gift.

It occurs to me that we should approach God's grace with the same delight, joy and enthusiasm. We should hurl ourselves into it, roll in it, cover ourselves with it, snarf it up with great gusto and let it melt in our mouths, trickling down to the very core of us. We should delight in it, revelling and dancing with abundant joy, hooting with laughter.

Would God want us to enjoy His gift to us any other way?

Prayer: Heavenly Father, help me delight in your gift of grace instead of feeling burdened by what sometimes feels like an obligation to respond. Give me the ability to dance with enthusiasm; help me to plunge into the deepest part of this sweet manna; help me accept what you give so freely. Father, encourage me to roll in an enormous drift of your love, grinning from ear to ear with wild, abundant joy. Amen.

Some years ago I lived in Toronto, Ontario, and taught an early morning aqua fitness class. I used to get up in the black of morning at 5:45 a.m. and drive to the great downtown Toronto area, where I taught professional women at an exclusive women's club, from 6:30 – 7:15 a.m.

One morning, I got up as usual, donned my sweats, jacket, gloves, thick socks, running shoes, got in the car and drove myself downtown. I was running a bit late, so was hurrying to park and get out of the car, when I noticed an older woman walking along the sidewalk. Not so unusual; what struck me was that on this cold, cold December morning, she had no coat, not hat, no gloves. She was wearing a skirt, blouse and blazer, and seemed to be holding herself, and muttering quietly. I got out of the car to go into the club, and turned to look at her. With a shock I realized she was barefoot. I stood for a moment, torn between running after this woman, and meeting my commitment to my class. Fortunately for me, I was spared making the choice. Two ladies who were regulars to the class came down the stairs, and said, "Did you see that woman? We're going after her." Immediately I stepped out of my shoes, and said, "Take these to her."

I thought about this woman all through the class, and it wasn't until afterwards, when we'd all showered and were getting ready for our day's work, that the two women returned to the club. They took me aside, and told me that they had taken this lady to shelter. They told me when she put my shoes on, she said, "Oh, these feel just like walking on air!" and she cried.

So did I. I still weep. That moment affected me so powerfully, and continues to do so, especially at this time of the year, when so many have so little. It doesn't take much to give to someone else. I live in a community hit hard by economic events, and what I love the most about this community is its ability to pull together when times are tough. Even those who have little, give to those who have less.

I, who have much, gave so little. I gave a lonely, frightened stranger with tired, frozen feet my old, broken-down shoes, and in that instant it was I who was changed.

I never knew I could feel so proud of my shoes. I never knew it would break my heart.

Prayer: Loving God, thank you for the gifts you have given us. Help us to see you in situations where we don't normally look for you. Give us the ability to love others as you have loved us. Help us to treat others with compassion, tenderness, respect and love. Allow our hearts to be broken for someone else. Give us the strength to make a difference, and the openness to be changed through our interactions with others. Thank you for helping us share the joy, the love, and the deep, abiding hope of Christ this Christmas season. Amen.