In January of 2007 some good friends invited us to go to Ireland and England with them. Air fare to Dublin was cheap, and even though “spontaneous” is not a word anyone would ever use to describe me, we jumped at the chance and booked our flights. As we read guide books and looked online for information to help us decide where to visit and how to drive with the steering wheel on the wrong side of the vehicle, we also consulted people who had been abroad before. Michael has been to Vietnam (although, ahem, not as a tourist) and I lived in Germany for just under two years, but we knew almost nothing about how to choose from the myriad delights the UK and Ireland have to offer.

As we chatted with our son-in-law Chris, it became clear to us that we would need to see Scotland as well. Chris has been to more countries than I can count, but his words, “Scotland is one of the most beautiful places in the world…” surprised and intrigued me. So we rearranged our plans and decided to spend the bulk of our trip in Scotland.

Little did we know what effect the Highlands would have on us. I still remember driving (white-knuckled at first, on the wrong side of the road, sitting on the wrong side of the car) all the way from Prestwick airport near Glasgow to Inverness in the northern Highlands of Scotland. The highway was almost deserted, and the farther north we traveled, the quieter we became. I turned off the BBC radio. When I wasn’t trying to adapt to shifting with my left hand, Michael took my hand and I knew he was feeling similar things. My mother’s maiden name was derived from MacIntyre, and Michael’s last name is of Scottish origin too. We’ve never searched our genealogies or spent a lot of time talking about our ancestry, but an inner bell (or inner bagpipe?) sounded inside both of us as we drove on. Sappy as this sounds, when we later spoke of it we both agreed that visiting Scotland had been like finally going home.

Next year we will celebrate thirty years of marriage. Shall we all observe a moment of silence to honor God’s work in such a miracle? It still boggles my mind. Thirty years of being with the same person day after day, and my heart still swells with love and gratitude for him. And there were times when I thought for sure I was done. How thankful I am that God never let me walk, and that I know the grace and wonder of a happy union. Our marriage isn’t even close to perfect. We would not be a model for anyone. I just consider myself very blessed that I had nowhere to go when years ago I wanted to leave, that somehow God helped me stay until love returned (which it always did), that my husband loved me through my selfishness and pride, and that the man I am growing old with is D. Michael. He has been faithful and true. But I digress.

As we motored northward, the wild barrenness of the land, the sheep dotting the hills, the snow on the mountain peaks, the lakes and rivers, the hospitality of the people we met in passing….all felt so familiar to us. Sort of like we’d been wanderers all our lives who had finally settled in. We loved what little we saw in Ireland and England too, but Scotland stole our hearts.

So, Lord-willing, we will be celebrating our anniversary next year in Scotland. We are in the tentative stages of planning a two week trip. If all goes as we hope, we will stay in this beautiful little cottage near Loch Ness. We will be able to spend time with the dear friends we met last time we visited, when we stayed at their magnificent Ivybank Guest House in Inverness. Tom and Catherine are kindred spirits and we have prayed for each other and enjoyed long-distance fellowship ever since our meeting in 2007.

It hasn’t helped things that Michael and I have been watching a BBC series called “Monarch of the Glen” recently.  The show was set in the Highlands in this great house, and we’ve been foolishly further smitten with Scotland week after week. Even Sara has caught the Scottish bug from watching the Laird of Glenbogle as he tries to protect the 35,000 majestic acres his family has owned for 400 years, while moving its operation into the 21st century. Sara has developed unexplained yearnings to don a plaid kilt and learn to do this.

I’ve never had any feasible explanation why I have to stifle sobs when I hear bagpipes being played, or why I’ve always been drawn to plaid and have three upholstered plaid chairs in my house. I haven’t fully understood why we’re compelled to buy shortbread and feel quite peaceful and content when we nibble it while sipping brisk tea on wintry afternoons. I was never sure why I felt like jumping up and down when Sharon decided to walk down the aisle at her wedding to the song Highland Cathedral.

There are so many places in this beautiful world we would like to see. Michael wants to go to China and Israel. I want to visit Austria, Switzerland and St. Leonards-on-Sea in England. But there’s some kind of magnet in both of us that is being irresistibly drawn to the Highlands of Scotland. Why?

Could it be that like countless others before me, deep inside I know my true home can’t be found on this earth and I’m just always looking for the real thing? Even though I love the part of the world I live in, it all feels so temporary.

For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come. Hebrews 13:14

Scotland isn’t my lasting home either. But for some strange reason, it feels just a little more like home than the one I’m in right now.

This is my country,
The land that begat me,
These windy spaces
Are surely my own.
and those who toil here
In the sweat of their faces
Are flesh of my flesh
And bone of my bone.

Sir Alexander Gray

*        *        *        *        *        *        *

When I was three years old my maternal grandparents sold their cattle farm in Kansas and moved to Southern California to be closer to our family. We used to visit Grandpa and Grandma McInteer’s house in Covina almost every Sunday.

I remember riding my tricycle in their circular driveway. I remember the cookies by Nabisco called Ideals that Grandma used to have on hand. I wish Nabisco still made Ideal cookies. They were peanut buttery and dipped in chocolate. And they tasted best with a cold glass of milk within reach. On second thought, it’s probably good that Nabisco doesn’t make Ideals anymore. My grandparents also had a sprightly yellow canary on their back porch named Mr. Clean, called so because he bathed in his water more than he drank it. We always watched “The Wonderful World of Disney” on those Sunday nights. I remember that, while I knew they cared about me, neither Grandpa or Grandma talked to me very much.

And behind the couch in their small living room, this large painting hung. It’s called “The Fairy Tale” by Sir Walter Firle. I stared at that painting a lot as I was growing up, and I wondered what those three little girls were so entranced by.

Even though I didn’t know the name of this painting or the artist back then, I wonder now if it influenced me toward books. The memory of gazing at this painting is very strong.

My first recollection of being excited about books is from second grade, when Mrs. Lokken used to read the Mrs. Piggle Wiggle books to our class after we came in from lunch recess. It was usually hot out, and we would come in and put our sweaty heads down on our desks, she would dim the lights in the bright, many windowed room, and all would grow quiet as Mrs. Lokken read “The Radish Cure” and the “Fighter-Quarrelers Cure” and the “Never Want To Go To Bedders Cure” to us. New worlds opened up in that school room.

If you’re a reader, what influenced you to begin reading for pleasure? Was it an elementary school teacher? A high school English teacher? A certain book? A book club you were invited to? A friend’s interest in books? A parent?

Do you remember one of the first books you read that captivated you in the way these little girls have been drawn to the pages in their book?

I look forward to reading whatever you share….

Don’t doubt in the darkness what God told you in the light.

Unknown

*        *        *        *        *        *        *

No matter how vigilantly we guard our lives, clutter, busyness, noise and exhaustion always nip at our heels. I have been trying to set aside time occasionally to go someplace where my heels are protected and I can find simplicity, solitude, quiet and rest. It’s not practical for me to do this often, but if I can make it to Pacem in Terris once a year, I’m grateful.

Recently I made my second visit there, and hope to go again next fall. Pacem is a Catholic silent retreat center almost three hours south of where we live, with sixteen beautiful little prayer cabins, or hermitages, in the woods. I’m not Catholic but I have learned that many of the hermits who visit Pacem for prayer and quiet are either Protestant, or spiritual seekers.  I love it there.

The different hermitages are named after saints, and mine was called St. Francis of Assisi, and was the farthest into the woods of the sixteen cabins, and because I went in the middle of the week, one night I was the only person on retreat. I never saw another soul as I walked through the woods.

This view below is taken from the front door looking inside – there’s a rocking chair, a foot stool, a table, an altar, and windows all around to enjoy the view of the trees and Tamarack Lake in the distance. There is no electricity, but there is a gas wall heater which kept my little cabin toasty at night when the temperatures dropped.

Each hermitage has a wonderfully comfortable single bed. No radio, no television, no computer, no phones….when it got dark it was time to sleep. When the sun rose, it was time to get up and sit quietly in the rocking chair, watching and contemplating the beauty of God’s creation.

There’s a side door that leads out to a nice screened in porch. I kept the water the kind people at Pacem provided for me, outside on the porch to keep it cold.

Most of the maples and birches had dropped their leaves and it was starting to look Novemberish. But the woods there are primarily oak, so many of the huge trees still had full crowns of leaves at their tops. All during my stay, there was a constant, drifting, gentle rain of leaves falling all around me.

There are peaceful paths for hiking, and as I walked I could hear blue jays call and downy woodpeckers drumming, and squirrels chattering, making their presence known.

This is a photo of another hermitage in the woods:

Below, this little chipmunk scolded me loudly and gave me the evil eye from a fallen log as I walked too closely for his liking.

A cross, a silent reminder of one true thing on which we can depend.

At one end of the Pacem property is a beautiful prairie, and I sat here counting my blessings and thanking God for His goodness and faithfulness, no matter what circumstances around me look like.

I happened upon this wooden walk, and wondered where it led.

Aaahh….the lake, which was full of cat tails and paddling duck families.

The end of this dock was floating, and I had to balance carefully as I sat on this chair and put up my feet.

I meandered back to my hermitage and chose this perfect acorn as a reminder of my stay.

Deer tracks right outside my cabin:

It took me almost the whole first day to settle in, to grow accustomed to the quiet and the lack of a lengthy to-do list, meals to cook, a house to clean, people to care for. I have heard that some people come to Pacem in Terris and can’t stand the deafening silence, and leave within hours.

I took my Bible and a notebook, and I sat and rocked and read, tuning my spiritual ears in to see if I would be able to “be still and know that He is God…” Ps. 46:10.

I thought about the converse of this – “don’t be still and so don’t know that He is God.” And I was sobered.

The staff at Pacem drives you out to your hermitage when you arrive, and they provide a basket of food to each visiting hermit. Two small round loaves of whole wheat bread, some organic cheese, a home-baked bran muffin with dates and walnuts, and fruit. A feast!

There’s a cabinet in each cabin with tea and coffee bags, a flashlight, extra blankets, a first aid kit, and everything one could possibly need while on retreat. There’s a gas cooking ring and a tea kettle in the room, and making myself a hot cup of something to sip, took on new delights as other distractions were stripped away.

Here are some notes about Pacem from a previous hermit named Bill:

“Living Pacem time…I rolled over and went back to sleep for an hour.

I didn’t eat breakfast at 7:00, lunch at 11:30 nor supper at 6:00.

I prayed outside.

I had an all-day meeting that I thoroughly enjoyed.

I didn’t shave and no one noticed.

I looked at no screens and did no digital communicating.

I got a glimpse of myself — without a mirror.

There was nothing to be on time for.

I watched the wind help the trees give praise.

I heard Him say, “I love you.”

When the sun went down, so did I.

I wet my pillow with a tear of joy, knowing I had spent the day in His perfect will.”

Sometimes you have to look hard or listen intently to find the one true thing.

Jesus is my One True Thing. He’s always there and promises to never leave me or forsake me. I go to Pacem to be still, to be alone, and to be reminded once again that He is God over all of my life.

I regret to inform you that this is Michael and me.

The year was 1986 (o, thou illustrious decade!), and I assure you when we were driving to the photography studio we did not know we looked so, uh, distinctive.

It may seem hard to believe, but for glasses, people really did wear small windshields on their faces that reached almost to the bottom of their noses. You may also doubt this, but it was not considered particularly strange for men to have puffier hair than their wives. And for approximately seventeen days in the mid-eighties, it was thought to be very stylish to wear our shirt collars standing straight up.

We were chic.

We were exceedingly dynamic.

We were young.

Now we are none of the above.

Twenty-four years later, Michael’s hair no longer bears the slightest resemblance to his locks in this photo, and neither does mine. So much has changed since this shot was taken.

But one thing has not changed, one thing is still true about us after all these years.

We’re still smiling.

*        *        *        *        *

…He puts a smile on my face…He’s my God.

Psalm 42:11b – The Message

Several years ago I heard a presentation done at a Christian gathering that I have never forgotten. As I listened to the following piece being slowly read I got goosebumps and my eyes filled with tears. Everyone in the room appeared riveted as they listened to the title of every book in the Bible being reverently read out loud, along with how Jesus Christ is woven through all sixty-six of those books.

What are our needs today? Do we need a friend who will stick closer than a brother? Do we need to be avenged? Do we need refuge? Do we need something broken to be made new? Do we need someone to bear our burdens? Do we need hope?

I need all those things.

Take time to read the following slowly and prayerfully, and realize who Jesus is….

In Genesis Jesus is the Ram at Abraham’s altar

In Exodus He’s the Passover Lamb

In Leviticus He’s the High Priest

In Numbers He’s the Cloud by day and Pillar of Fire by night

And in Deuteronomy He’s the City of our refuge

In Joshua He’s the Scarlet Thread out Rahab’s window

In Judges He is our Judge

In Ruth He is our Kinsman Redeemer

And in 1^st and 2^nd Samuel He’s our Trusted Prophet

In Kings and Chronicles He’s our Reigning King

In Ezra He is our Faithful Scribe

In Nehemiah He’s the Rebuilder of everything that is broken

And in Esther He is like the Mordecai sitting faithful at the gate

In Job He is our Redeemer that ever liveth

In Psalms He is my Shepherd and because of Him I shall not want

In Proverbs and Ecclesiastes He is our Wisdom

In the Song of Solomon He is the Beautiful Bridegroom

In Isaiah He is the Suffering Servant

In Jeremiah and Lamentations it is Jesus that is the Weeping Prophet

In Ezekiel He is the Wonderful Four-Faced Man

And in Daniel He is the Fourth Man in the midst of a fiery furnace

In Hosea He is my Love that is forever faithful

In Joel He baptizes us with the Holy Spirit

In Amos He is our Burden Bearer

And in Obadiah He is our Savior

In Jonah He is the Great Foreign Missionary that takes the Word of God into all the world

In Micah He is the Messenger with beautiful feet

In Nahum He is the Avenger

In Habakkuk He is the Watchman that is ever praying for revival

In Zephaniah He is the Lord mighty to save

In Haggai He is the Restorer of our lost heritage

In Zechariah He is our Fountain

And in Malachi He is the Son of Righteousness with healing in His wings

In Matthew “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the Living God”

In Mark He is the Miracle Worker

In Luke He is the Son of Man

And in John He is the Door by which every one of us must enter

In Acts He is the Shining Light that appears to Saul on the road to Damascus

In Romans He is our Justifier

In 1^st Corinthians He is our Resurrection

And in 2^nd Corinthians He is our Sin Bearer

In Galatians He redeems us from the law

In Ephesians He is our Unsearchable Riches

In Philippians He supplies our every need

In Colossians He is the Fullness of the Godhead Bodily

And in 1^st and 2^nd Thessalonians He is our Soon Coming King

In 1^st and 2^nd Timothy He is the Mediator between God and man

In Titus He is our Blessed Hope

In Philemon He is a Friend that sticks closer than a brother

And in Hebrews He’s the Blood of the Everlasting Covenant

In James He is the Lord that heals the sick

In 1^st and 2^nd Peter He is the Chief Shepherd

In 1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd John it is Jesus who has the tenderness of love

In Jude He is the Lord coming with 10,000 saints

And in Revelation, lift up your eyes, Church, for your redemption draweth nigh;

He is our King of kings and Lord of lords!

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Today I am so grateful for the amazing grace that means that He is mine, and I am His.

Do you need His love, His power, His amazing grace?

We have lived in this big house for two and a half years now, and unless we are directed otherwise, we are still planning on putting it up for sale in 2011, and downsizing. After an amazing amount of remodeling and redecorating, not much is left to do. But even though the kitchen was completely renovated before we moved in, I never put up any valances until recently.

I wanted something 1) blue and white, 2) something with a large print because the kitchen is good-sized, 3) a little different but not outlandish and 4) very easy to make.

These are simple rectangular panels sewn from Waverly fabric (sun resistant) I found very inexpensive online. I bought the off-white curtain rods and the rings with clips online at Penney’s. When Sara first saw them last week she said, “Mom, they don’t hang, they dance!”

So that’s what I think when I see them now. Dancing valances. (You can click to enlarge the photos if you like.)

I think every room needs a bit of whimsy and I like the result. Here’s where I would like your input. One person who saw them said I need to put up more rings to clip to the curtains. Another person thought they had just enough. I’m undecided, and I do have extra off-white rings I could add.

When you look at these photos, do you think I should add a few more rings, or keep the valances as they are? Please leave your comments, and I thank you for your opinions!

UPDATE added on Oct. 22: I took the advice of the majority and added four rings to the kitchen valances. Here’s a new photo:

Thank you for your input!  I like them better….

Have a blessed week!

Audrey Elizabeth will be three years old in December. I like to call her The Auds. Last week she came over to our house and when she ran in the back door she smiled that brilliant smile of hers, threw her arms around my knees in an enthusiastic hug and then squealed, “Hi Grandma! It’s me! Audrey!” I then had to tell a few dozen people that Audrey did that, because it was the sweetest thing I’d heard in a long time.

I try to have a grandchild or two spend the night on a regular basis. There’s nothing like one-on-one time to read books, to lay in bed and play I Spy, to make peanut butter chocolate balls together, to build with Magformers, to talk, to snuggle. We have a guest room that our grans could sleep in if they wanted to, but they always choose a pallet made of blankets on the floor of our bedroom. I make a big deal out of covering them up and tucking them in, singing with them and praying for them before they doze off. Then I climb into my own bed a few feet away and look at the innocence on their faces and I try not to cry. I’m getting soft in my old age, in more ways than one.

Anyway, Audrey spent the night at Grandpa and Grandma’s a while back and here’s a photo of her enjoying her peanut butter toast at breakfast time.

The Auds is not blasé about anything. If the words she speaks could be seen written out in the air above her, the end of each phrase would have ten exclamation points after it. And she says things that are so endearing, like “Can I wear my swimswoop?” and “Gwamma, can I have a squishy byvin?” (vitamin), and she calls her siblings “Cwehwa, Hyja and Weevy” instead of Clara, Elijah and Vivie.

What are the auds that when Audrey is thirty she’ll still be saying swimswoop and byvin and Weevy? I know the auds are not good because she’ll probably be on a world speaking tour by then, but I’m keeping my hopes up nonetheless.

Michael and I recently drove north to spend some time in Grand Marais, sitting, reading, pondering, resting and refreshing ourselves. We returned to the Croftville Road Cottages, one of our favorite spots on the north shore. Three little wonderfully renovated cottages sit right on the edge of massive Lake Superior, and they’re much more spacious than they appear from the road, are reasonably priced and always clean, and the proprietors, Teresa and Mike, are so friendly and helpful.

Grand Marais is famous in our neck of the woods for its abundant moose population, and I was personally looking forward to seeing a moose on this trip. There are moose crossing signs on the highway, several businesses with moose themes (The Mangy Moose Motel!), and a well-known hiking trail that leads into the woods of moose country, where people can supposedly catch views of these creatures that weigh up to 1500 pounds and measure seven feet tall.

It rained for most of our drive up, but we knew there were two cozy fire stoves in our cottage waiting for us. The leaves were just past their color peak, so many trees were almost bare, but there were still some gorgeous reds and golds to be seen.

This is the first photo I took after we arrived, looking toward the lake right outside the back of our cottage. Most of the birch and poplar trees had lost their yellow leaves, but the bushes were still ablaze.

Here’s one of the two comfortable bedrooms in Cottage 2:

There’s a framed print on the wall that reminds guests that Lake Superior is the graveyard to over 350 shipwrecks, many over 100 years old. According to legend, “Lake Superior seldom gives up her dead.” This is because of the unusually low temperature of the water, estimated at under 36° F (2° C) on average. Normally, bacteria feeding on a sunken decaying body will generate gas inside the body, causing it to float to the surface after a few days. The water in Lake Superior is cold enough year-round to inhibit bacterial growth, and bodies tend to sink and never surface.

This is alluded to in Gordon Lightfoot’s haunting ballad, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” The Edmund Fitzgerald’s 29 crew members all perished when “the gales of November came early” in 1975 and “The Mighty Fitz” took on water in a fierce storm with thirty foot waves, broke in two and sunk within minutes.

Here’s a satellite photo of Lake Superior…1333 feet deep, and the largest freshwater lake in the world:

The little town of Grand Marais is touristy in the summer and very quiet in the winter. Most eating establishments close in late October. We’ve had The Crooked Spoon Cafe recommended to us before and had never been there during its operational months, until this last trip. We decided to eat dinner there on Friday night. Here’s Michael outside — we had to wait 40 minutes to be seated.

It was fairly plain decor inside the cafe, but the food was unique and delectable.

Michael chose French onion soup en croute with melted gruyere cheese, and “fresh Lake Superior whitefish, sauteed with a light cornmeal crust and served with lemon basil aioli, oven-steamed Minnesota wild rice and sauteed broccolini.”

I had the special of the night, the “pan-roasted beef tenderloin with port wine demi-glace, buttermilk smashed baby red potatoes and grilled balsamic asparagus.”

But first came the delicious salad with homemade blue cheese dressing:

After dinner we strolled around downtown and bought some gifts, and then went home to our cottage, happy to go to bed early and sleep as late as possible the next morning, which is a rarity for us. The cheery fire in the stove was the perfect ending to a relaxing evening.

When one is accustomed to getting up at 5:30 a.m. seven days a week, however, one’s internal clock isn’t easily reset, so I was up at the crack of dawn and took these photos of the sunrise on the lake. These were taken from the living window at the back of the cottage.

We ate breakfast at home and enjoyed the freedom to lounge and read and revel in the peace. We walked down to the cliff by the lake and sat on the swing, as we have each time we’ve visited this place.

The clouds had passed and the morning was delightfully crisp and sunny.

I decided to wear my moose-hunting scarf.

We opted to drive far up The Gunflint Trail, go looking for moose, and have a north woods lunch at The Gunflint Lodge.

About a third of the way up the Trail, there’s a sign pointing to a parking area which leads to a hiking path that goes deep into the woods. These particular woods are known to be frequented by moose, and there’s even a “moose-viewing platform” near an overlook on a small lake. We had no place we had to be, no phone calls to make, no schedule to adhere to, so we decided to search for some moose. Here’s Michael at the beginning of the path:

Not far from the moose meeting place was this plaque, telling us how to spot signs of moose:

Then we happened to see an eerie sight off into the woods. It would have been easy to miss, and I gasped when I saw it. It was an old, ruined, semi-buried car, filled with what looked like decades of forest debris, and its doors were strangely open. (Update: A reader informed me that the car is a 1955 DeSoto Fireflite Coronado.) When we got home I showed the picture to Carolyn and she raised her eyebrows thoughtfully and said, “Hmmm, I wonder what is inside that car?” *Shiver*  A DeSoto in DeWoods. Yikes.

Below is a partial view of the swampy lake where apparently large numbers of moose congregate. We were standing on the wooden platform and could hear the wind in the leaves of the huge trees all around, the chattering of red squirrels and the calls of jays.

But we never saw a moose, much less a moose congregation.

So, we enjoyed our walk through the woods, back to the car and drove further up the Gunflint Trail, oohing and aahing over the brilliant fall colors. I never get tired of them and I’ve lived here almost thirty years.

Gunflint Lodge is a long-established cabin resort on Gunflint Lake, and we stopped there for a hearty lunch. It was so hearty we didn’t want dinner on Saturday night. Here’s a distant view of part of the large lake. If you enlarge the photo you can see the napping ducks on the shore:

The Red Paddle Bistro at Gunflint Lodge is quintessential north woods. There were animal skins and a moose head on the walls, canoes hanging from the ceiling, and all the paraphernalia to make it seem like a true Voyageur’s camp from long ago.

Michael loves to catch and eat walleye in almost any form, so he had the battered walleye sandwich with bacon, fries and a side salad.

I had a wonderful salad composed of field greens topped with spiced pecans, fresh Minnesota blueberries, crumbled blue cheese, served with a maple vinaigrette dressing.

Back outside we fed a female mallard duck some cracked corn. I took this picture because I liked how the tips of her wing feathers matched the flowers nearby.

As we drove slowly down the dirt road away from the lodge and back to the Gunflint Trail, we saw something in a small crab-apple tree.

We parked the car and got out, hoping to get a little closer.

Sure enough, it was a medium-sized black bear, chomping away on the tiny crab-apples. We were shocked that he had climbed such a young, slender tree and it was actually supporting him without any branches breaking.

Closer yet. You can enlarge all these pictures by clicking on them — look at how dexterous he is with his paws and how much he seems to be relishing his autumn snack. Soon a half dozen other people had gathered and although we were all quiet and still, the bear finally noticed us, grunted a bit as he effortlessly backed down the tree, and sort of galloped off into the woods.

Well, at least if I haven’t seen any moose, it was fantastic to see this bear, I thought. Back on the road, less than one minute later, a large timber wolf ran across our path into the woods. I tried hard to stop in time to get a photo and I did, but only the most observant and patient will see him. Enlarge the picture below, then zoom it with your computer if you can, and if you look to the left of the tall pine in the center of the shot, you might be able to see the tail and the back leg of the wolf, dashing toward the left of the scene. It takes concentration to see it, but it’s visible.

Delighted that we had seen a wolf and a bear all within a couple of minutes, we turned onto the Gunflint Trail and headed back down toward Grand Marais. In less than a mile I spotted something trotting along the side of the road ahead, and as we approached we couldn’t believe it. It was another timber wolf, a young one, and she seemed to have a destination in mind. Her ribs were showing and I wondered if it had been awhile since she had succeeded in a fresh kill. I slowed down, determined to get a picture this time, and right as I was about to aim I saw there was a line of cars behind me and I was holding them up. I sped up and held the camera with my left hand, hoping something of the wolf would end up in the shot. I was tickled that most of her did.

Back at our little cottage we got into our jammies (well, I did anyway — Michael doesn’t wear or even own “jammies”) and we read, played a game, listened to soft music, and turned in early. We were feeling a little wistful that we would have to be leaving for home before noon on Sunday.

As we were leaving the cottage I stopped on Croftville Road to take this picture of Lake Superior and its typical shoreline that always seems to combine tall pines, colorful birch and hardwoods, and rocks. The water in this lake is the best tasting I’ve ever had.

We’re looking forward to our next time up the shore, which might be many months from now. As we drove home we continued to watch for moose on the sides of the road but we never saw one.

I thought that sometimes life can be like that. You want in the worst way to see a grand and elusive moose, and you even ask the moose’s Creator to arrange it so you can spy one. You do your part. You drive to the local moose capital and start scanning. You drive deep into moose country and hike to a moose-viewing platform in the heart of known moose territory. And then you ask God to do the rest — the part you’re unable to do. You ask Him to prompt a moose to go to the vicinity of where you are waiting expectantly.

And instead of a moose, you end up seeing a bear at close range gobbling crab apples. You see a female duck with iridescent purple wingtips and she’ll eat corn from your hand. Instead of a moose you see not one timber wolf, but two, one of which jogs right alongside your car for as long as you’re able to stay with her.

How many times have I asked God for one thing I really wanted badly, only to receive something I didn’t want nearly as much, but later saw the blessing of? Too many times to count.

So God hid His moose and showed us His bear and His duck and His wolves instead.

We’ll go looking for moose again someday, but right this minute as I type this, I’m thankful and thrilled with what we saw.

Have you ever asked God for a moose and gotten a duck or a bear instead?

My friend Ember left a wise comment last week for Edition 46 of Wednesday’s Word, and I asked her if I could quote her.

In response to Samuel Johnson’s words, “Kindness is in our power, even when fondness is not,” Ember wrote:

“I find I tend to get fond of the people I am kind to, and grow to dislike the people I am mean to.”

Penelope Wilcock

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *

Hopefully,