Category: Disaster blogs

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Step into the Wild – story Six – Paddling is Paddling-Right?

 

Chapter One

Following that one adventure out to the Lighthouse on Lake Superior, we felt pretty confident that we could tackle a trip on our own. We had purchased two single fourteen-foot kayaks and had practiced with them on the Spanish River, beside our house. Camping had been part of our adventures for years so we had all the necessary equipment to plan a short expedition. This year we were decided to go on a trip out to Wilson Island to check out the amazing Sea Arches, that our guide had mentioned the year before. We headed north, directly to Rossport, where we had booked an overnight stay at the Rossport Inn. This Inn provided cute little individual cabins, barely big enough for two, that overlooked the coastline of Rossport. They were located fairly close to the railway, which was still in active use, so we expected and received a cabin shaking experience of the train flying by, whistles blowing. But one absolutely wonderful discovery was the best food ever, offered at the quaint little Inn. We arrived on time for the evening meal and sadly ate so much of the fabulous food, that we left no room for the biggest, thickest blueberry pie we had ever seen. Bob asked them to save him a slice for breakfast, claiming that with that fuel he’d be able to out paddle me all day!

 

Chapter Two

The next morning, streams of sunshine, burst through the little cabin’s window. Packing our gear, we headed down to the water to begin the laborious job of packing the kayaks. Tedious would be a good description of the process of packing a kayak—so different from a canoe. On a canoe trip, you had big packs and possibly a food barrel that you would stuff all your gear and food into, then would simply toss the packs into the canoe, tie them down and in less than thirty minutes you’d be on the water. Not so with kayaks. All the gear and food had to be put in small dry sacks, including your clothes, tent, and sleeping bags, then all these little sacks had to be stuffed into the hatches of each kayak. It was an exercise of scientific planning to fit everything in.

We divided the sacks between the two kayaks, but found to our dismay that our hatches were simply not big enough to hold all of our gear. Our tent was too long, our sleeping bags too thick, the pots too fat and the cookstove too unbendable to squish into the small hatches. We tried several ways to make it work, but always had leftover gear, when the holds were full. An hour later we sat back on the sand, to take a breather.

“Okay, it doesn’t look like it’s all going to fit,” I said, tossing the tent to the ground.

“Nope, it doesn’t—clearly our canoe trip equipment isn’t suitable for these boats,” said Bob, still holding the pot he’d been trying to squeeze in.

All of our gear was spread on the ground around the kayaks. I got up and sorted the gear into a pile of ‘I can’t live without this, gear’ and ‘I might be able to live without that, gear.’ To my frustration, I noted that the stuff we absolutely needed, were by far the longest, fattest gear—the ones that just wouldn’t fit. I raised my hands to the air, “What are we going to do?” An answer I was not expecting, arrived in a flash.

 

Chapter Three

I watched in amazement, as the blue sky and sunshine that greeted us that morning, was suddenly replaced by a zagged flash of lightening. In a blink the entire horizon had turned a dark, purple colour, with streaks of bright white light dashing across it. We could literally see the storm rushing our way. That got us moving. Quickly we flipped the kayaks over, grabbed all our scattered gear and dashed for the Inn. Just arriving, as the first splash of rain hit the awning. I stood on the veranda watching in awe, when one of the owners joined me.

“Amazing how fast a storm develops around here,” he said, pushing his hat back.

“Yeh, it was sunny an hour and a half ago. Now, look at it. You can hardly see the lake.” I lifted my eyes in wonder, whispering, “You knew this was coming.”

“Well, when you’ve lived around here as long as I have, you get to know when storms are brewing,” he replied as he shuffled inside, door clapping shut behind him.

Bob, pushed out through the door, to stand beside me. Wonder filled my face. “What’s got you so lit up?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

“Oh, I just stand amazed at how well we are protected.”

He turned quizzical eyes towards me.

“If we’d had our way, we would have been halfway across that bay, in open, unprotected water, when this storm hit. Just look at those waves—they must be five-feet high.” I shook my head.

Bob nodded. “Yep, we were frustrated that things didn’t fit, but God was busy protecting us from the storm. Amazing grace.”

Linking arms with Bob, we headed back to our little cabin to play some cribbage while we waited for the flash storm to abate. “Perhaps, we can try a day paddle tomorrow?”

We smiled at each other. We’d go back home tomorrow and return in a year, better prepared.

 

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Step into the Wild – Story Five New Lake – New Boat

 

 

New Lake—New Boat

Chapter One

In the winter of 2006, our son Bill decided to go to Lakehead University in Thunder Bay. He’s an outdoor enthusiast like us and wanted to attend a university that gave him access to the great outdoors. We did a little happy dance, because for years we had been wanting to paddle on Lake Superior— the largest freshwater lake in the world by surface area and this would be our opportunity as we took Bill to and from school. Lake Superior is a natural wonder filled with a fascinating history of shipwrecks, plus absolutely the most unique, sometimes terrifying, wind and water conditions.  It stretches across the U.S. and Canada with famously cold, clear waters and stunning coastal landscapes, making it one of the most intriguing lakes in the world. But this lake had to be approached very carefully. Lake Superior’s weather conditions are famously unpredictable, contributing significantly to its hazardous nature. The lake’s vast surface area allows for sudden and severe weather changes, posing a constant threat to those navigating its waters.

I shivered at I researched the lake. Apparently during severe storms waves have reached a height of up to 20 feet or more. But it’s not only the waves that make it dangerous, it also has longshore currents that move parallel to the shore, driven by waves hitting the shore at an angle and rip currents, which are strong, narrow currents, that drive the unwary out to the deep. All in all, it sounded like a pretty challenging prospect. We couldn’t wait to test our paddling skills in this exciting lake. But our investigation did bring one thing to mind— this adventure would require a different type of boat—something able to withstand sudden, gigantic waves at moments notice.

 

Chapter Two

It was time to switch to kayaks. Kayaks are long, low-profile boats, that can slice through any water conditions, and are close enough to the water to minimize wind affects. In addition, the cockpits can be covered with a skirt, that prevents water from filling the boat. They were the perfect solution for Lake Superior. The only problem was that we didn’t own kayaks and didn’t know how to paddle them—but how hard could it be? Afterall, paddling is paddling—or so I thought. To our delight, that winter the Espanola complex was offering beginner’s kayaking classes. The perfect solution—we signed up right away.

So, there I stood, after work one evening, on the pool deck, paddle in hand, looking at four kayaks bobbing in the pool. The instruction began with teaching us how to get in. I scoffed. “Surely, they can bypass this part—we’re all paddlers,” I mumbled to Bob.

He lifted his eyebrows, shrugging. “Shush, it must be important.”

Crossing my eyes, I turned to watch as the instructor smoothly put her hands on the combing, on each side of the kayak and neatly slid into her seat. Easy Peasy—right? Wrong!

I mimicked her technique, exactly—I thought, but somehow ended up in the water. My kayak remained upright. “Hmmm, how did that happen?” I mumbled, as a red flush surged up my face.

Bob was sitting in his kayak, grinning. “It’s really easy, Lynn.” He whistled a little tune.

I pulled myself out of the water and tried again. A similar result, except this time, I overturned the kayak. Swimming with the kayak to the shallow end, the instructor and I turned it over to mostly empty it. Perhaps paddling isn’t paddling? I never had trouble getting into a canoe.

“Perhaps you can work on your entry, later?” whispered the instructor, as she helped me to get in.

“Ya, I’ll practice.” The snickering stopped, as she moved on with her lesson. “Sure, hope this isn’t a sign, that kayaking is not for me?” I whispered.

 

Chapter Three

Once I was in the kayak, it wasn’t hard to paddle. With every paddle stroke, I gained confidence. The paddle was two sided, but the strokes were very similar. Before long we were all zooming around the pool, sometimes playing bumper-cars while trying to navigate the small area. I took to it pretty well, I thought, but as time ticked by, I seemed to get slower, and was unable to make the turns that I thought that I had mastered, earlier. I stopped at the edge of the pool for a breather, but pushed off when I saw the instructor coming my way. More attention, I didn’t need. Valiantly, I tried to pick up the speed, but slowly realized a strange phenomenon—I was sinking. Well, okay, I wasn’t exactly sinking, but my kayak and I were definitely lower in the water. In addition, I noticed that there was a distinct sloshing sound when I’d lean into a turn. I took a glance behind me and gasped. “Did you give me a kayak or a submarine?” My stern was totally submerged. It was suspended about six inches below the surface of the pool.

The snickers began, again. “Having trouble?” said Bob, with a sassy grin.

I tried to splash him, but fell out, instead. The sinking stern filled with water, made the kayak very tippy.

“Everyone, gather around,” said the instructor. “This is a good lesson.” She got into the pool with me, to help pull the really, really heavy kayak onto the deck, then reached down and pulled open my stern hatch. “Look, everyone, the hatch is full of water—which is why you sank. This hatch has no inner seal, so when you tipped over earlier it must have started to fill with water, gradually filling up as you paddled.” She grinned at me. “Always check your hatches, before you paddle.”

“Sure, hope this isn’t an omen—I don’t want to be the next Edmund Fitzgerald, on Lake Superior.” Everyone laughed, including me.

 

Chapter Four

Training was over and we were ready to tackle our first trip on Lake Superior. We had purchased kayaks of our own, but we opted to start with a guided trip. We signed up for a one-day paddle, with an adventure company from Rossport, a small town, nestled into a cove about two hours east of Thunder Bay. After dropping our son off at school, we headed back to Rossport. Our guide lived and worked in the area and was an expert on the quirks of this Great Lake. The plan was to kayak out to the lighthouse on Battle Island, a 9.3 km paddle from the Rossport Marina. This lighthouse was built in 1871, to guide boats through the dangerous rocks and currents of the area. It stood alone, unprotected against the full power of Lake Superior, with it’s unpredictable and relentless storms.

Early in the morning, we arrived at the Marina, where we were fitted with kayaks. Long, sleek seventeen-foot sea kayaks. “Hmm, these are longer than the kayaks that we bought,” I murmured. “I wonder why?” I shrugged, as my eyes roved over the sparkling water, little wavelets dancing on its surface. The lake looked like it went on forever, outlined by a jagged, rocky coastline, a few islands sprinkled randomly, here and there. It was a relatively calm morning, when we headed out, although, I was told that even on a tranquil day, you could feel the constant underswell. As we shoved off from shore, I experienced that deep, underlying swell—it left me with the uneasy feeling that things could change in the blink of an eye.

 

Chapter Five

We pushed off from shore and quickly fell into a steady paddling rhythm alongside our guide, who pointed out places of interest as we paddled. The kayaks ate up the kilometers as we smoothly glided into the dock at our destination, on time for lunch. We gathered our packs and started out along the winding path that led to the lighthouse. The path was like no other—moss covered the ground and the trees. Every branch had long beards of moss, dangling from it. It felt like we were walking through some fairy tale—so surreal. Along the way we passed an old truck, hidden beneath the undergrowth, like it was being reclaimed by nature. We trekked along this trail until we reached the gigantic rock outcrop, where the lighthouse towered over us.

You had to look way up to see the great light, that was blinking, despite the daylight. We were told by our guide that the night that the Edmund Fitzgerald sunk, the waves were high enough to smash the light in the lighthouse. I looked up in awe—it was fifty feet from water level to the top. Then my eyes scanned the calm water. I shivered—what if?

We sat by the shore for a while, enjoying a view that could take your breath away, but calm waters on Lake Superior are not to be wasted, so our guide directed us back to the kayaks. It was late afternoon—I was surprised that the lake was much more active than before. Small waves had started to form and the underswell had grown noticeably. Time to head back to Rossport, before wind and waves made it impossible. We headed back. Chased by ever growing waves, we made it back to shore, safely. Our first trip—a success. We left there the next day, wondering what adventures lay ahead.

 

 

 

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Step into the Wild- Story Four – Not all who wander – South Carolina

 

 

Not all who wander—in South Carolina

 

Chapter One

In the last adventure that I shared, I quoted J.R.R. Tolkiens who said, “Not all who wander are lost.” Despite the difficulties of finding my way on my own farm, I still held fast to this mantra. I do, however have to admit, that occasionally my wandering ways get me into some uncomfortable situations, one of which, I’m going to share with you, now. (Sadly—there have been many lost adventures to choose from).

It has long been my habit to arise early in the morning, generally before first light and venture out for a hike, snow shoe or walk, depending on the time of the year. This is my thinking / praying time and I rarely miss it, no matter where I am.

On this occasion Bob and I were down in South Carolina visiting some friends. It was Sunday morning and we planned to get up early and go to one of the local churches for a time of southern fellowship. As usual, I awoke early and not wanting to disturb anyone, I decided to sneak out for a little walk. So, I quickly got dressed in some old grubby clothes, tossed on my tennis shoes and tip toed out the door. I was only going around the block so I didn’t prepare as I might have done for a proper outing. I didn’t wash my face and comb my curly mop into respectable order or brush my teeth. I didn’t take my phone, I didn’t leave a note, I didn’t dress for company, I didn’t wear a watch, I didn’t take along any ID or money and lastly, I didn’t really check the address of the house we were staying at. But what did it matter—this was just a short, casual prayer walk—no big adventure. Gosh, the sun was barely up—I wasn’t going to meet any people?

 

Chapter Two

Off I went. I am very aware of my propensity for getting lost, so I was determined that it would not happen on this trek. As I stepped out of the door, I looked very closely at the house to the right and noted that there was no house—just a field on the left. Across the street was a plain two-story house, with brown shutters. Peering down the road, it seemed that the best way to go was right, so I headed that way. This cul-de-sac had fairly upscale houses, on decent sized lots with cultivated flower beds and paved driveways. Before very long, I reached a dead-end and had to turn around. Within fifteen minutes I was back at my starting place.

“Harumph,” that walk was much too short—I usually walked for an hour. Looking to the left, I decided that it would be equally safe to go that way, so I headed off. This time, the view was different. Gone were the prissy houses on nice lots—instead there were fields, barns, trailers and flags, everywhere. Every fallen down porch had a flag and at least one goat on it.

“What a strange place this is,” I thought. “On one side of the side road, you had mansions and riches and on the other, homesteads and goats—plus flags.”

It wasn’t long before this road also dead-ended, so I turned around, again. The sun still hadn’t shown its shining face—lots of time left. There was another side road up ahead and I figured that I would head down this country road, then take the first cutoff to the right, then venture along that road to the first cutoff to the right, and lastly venture along that road to the first cutoff to the right and I would be back where I started because that was a square! The theory was very sound, but unfortunately the execution was a bit flawed.

 

Chapter Three

I walked for a long time. I knew this, despite not having a watch with me, because the sun was up now and shining brightly, announcing a bold new day. I lifted my eyebrows. My square theory just wasn’t coming to an end, as I expected. Weariness alerted me that I’d travelled farther than planned. I carried on, since I just knew that the house would be in sight just around the next bend. I had an uneasy feeling that I was running out of time, so I decided to run for awhile.  I have no idea of how long I ran, but I was coated in sweat and there was still no house in sight when I finally gave up—exhausted. Concern flickered across my mind—was I lost? I took inventory of my present situation—hmmm, grubby, unkempt, sweaty appearance, no ID, no money, no idea of where I was, and no real idea of the address or phone number of my friends. Did that spell trouble—was I LOST?

 

Chapter Four

What were my options? Pray—well I’d been doing that for the last hour, but clearly this was one of those times in my life, when the Lord was teaching me something, since He didn’t teleport me back to bed—presuming this was just a bad dream.

“Okay, you’re an adult. Don’t panic—think,” I mumbled. Clearly, I needed to pop into a corner store and ask directions or ask to use the phone. Simple, except, there were no stores in sight, and looking down, I remembered my dishevelled appearance. Grubby sweat pants and my hair was a frizzy mess, like a Phyllis Diller hairdo. Certainly not fit for company. I further observed that the houses within sight were either large mansions with closed gates or old tar paper, shanty houses flying Confederate flags with goats on their porches. I was too grubby to go to the nice houses and too afraid to go to the other, so I kept walking, keeping my eyes open for a health club or golf course or some sort of community building, where I could ask for directions without too much of an explanation or loss of life!

After quite a while I spotted what I thought was a health club straight up ahead. I jogged up the long, winding driveway. When I arrived at the front entrance the sign told me that I had been mistaken, that this place was in fact a home for the elderly. I shrugged—beggars can’t be choosers and I was prepared to beg. Feeling somewhat confident since it was an institution, I creaked open the door.

 

Chapter Five

I went inside and casually walked down the hall, smiling and nodding greetings to the residents, who were all lined up along the walls like a reception line at a wedding. When I arrived at the front desk the receptionist scanned my appearance, in silence.

“Harrumph,” I cleared my throat, then pasted a sunny smile on my face. “Would you kindly give me directions to Wildwood Point Road?” A glassy stare greeted my request. “It’s in Seneca—it can’t be that far—I just got a bit off course on my walk, this morning.” This time, she glowered, ducking her head to continue work. I was stunned. Didn’t she speak English? I stood at the desk, nervously shifting from foot to foot. After a minute, I tapped politely on the desk. “Pardon me, I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, but I need help.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It ain’t around here—never heard of it.” Again, she went back to her work. Admittedly, I did look a mess, but surely, I didn’t deserve the treatment, I was receiving? All the residents were staring at me, too. With my grey hair standing in a frizzy mess, I wondered if they thought that I belonged amongst the group along the wall? Good grief, did I look that bad? With a grim look and firm voice, I asked, “May I at least borrow a phone, so I may call my friends?”

She rose and grimly assessed me, then turned and walked away. As she left, she said, “I’ll have to get a nurse.”

“Oh my, the phone must be a forbidden request,” I thought. Would she be returning with orderlies to restrain a lost Canadian? Perhaps I should leave? I half turned to go, when a large, imposing matron arrived.

 

Chapter Six

The nurse finally arrived and to the same question she replied “No, never heard of it.”

“Really? But it must be close, I walked from there this morning.”

“What county is it in,” she asked.

Good grief—did I walk right out of the county they lived in? I knew I felt tired. “The address is in Seneca—is that in this county? I’m visiting friends, but am from Canada, so I can’t give you any more details.” Shrugging, I pleaded with my eyes for a little understanding.

She assessed me for a moment, then said, “I’m not from around here, either. Sorry, I don’t know where that is.” Turning, she started to walk away.

I leaned forward, calling out, “Perhaps, I could borrow a telephone book, so I can look them up?”

Slowly, she turned back to me, hand fingering her chin. “Oh, bother, I’ll get the supervisor—you wait right here.” Her steely eyes glared at me, before she left the room.

Why did this require a supervisor?  I didn’t ask for a meal, or money and I hadn’t even asked to use the phone yet. I pasted my smile back in place and waited while this new person was fetched. When she arrived, she sternly told me that they don’t give out phone books! “I’m sorry, you must have misunderstood me, I just wanted to borrow the phone book to look up telephone number to call my friends.”

“Oh, we can’t do that,” she replied.

Surprised, I told my circumstances again. Surely this explanation would get me some help? Finally, after what seemed like a long time, she made the tough decision to make the phone call for me. I gave her the name of my friends. She scanned the phone book for their number and dialed. She wouldn’t let me have the phone—afraid, I guess that a desperate character like myself would run off with it, cord and all.

 

Chapter Seven

I could hear the phone ringing and a wave of relief fluttered over me.

After a moment she said, “it’s busy,” then hung up the phone and walked away.

“Can you try just one more time, please?” I called after her.

With a dramatic sigh, she agreed to try one last time. It rang this time—hurray. A smile lit my face as I anticipated the conversation.

The phone kept on ringing. Shrugging, she said, “Not home,” and began to hang up.

“Please leave a message—say, your friend Lynn is here and give your address?”

Raising her eyebrows, she spoke the words. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Thanking her, I walked quickly out of the facility—afraid that they really were going to keep me there. As I pushed open the door, I shuddered, then flopped into a rocking chair on the verandah. “Good grief, what an ordeal that was.” I slowly rocked, back and forth, trying to calm down—hoping that my friend Beth, got the message. Half an hour later, as I was just nodding off, my husband, Bob and our friend, John arrived. They exited the SUV and both stood, hands on hips, staring at me. I got up with a quizzical look on my face and walked over.

“We’ve been searching for you over an hour,” said Bob.

“But we never thought that you were out looking for a new residence,” quipped John, with a grin.

My face started to flush. “It was the only place I could find a phone.” I shuffled my feet.

“Why did you come so far away?” added Bob, nudging John.

“Okay, what’s the big deal. I simply went for a walk, it can’t really be that far from your home, John?”

“Well, I suppose if you were a gazelle—this place is ten miles from my house. In the next county.” replied John, eyebrows raised.

Bob nudged John and they grinned. “Also, we couldn’t help by notice how well you fit in—here at this home for the elderly. That rocking chair fits you, perfectly.”

“And if you stay in it, then you can’t get lost,” added John. Belly laughs filled the air.

With a crimson face, I got into the vehicle. Glad to be saved—if not quite so happy about the teasing. I knew, I was going to be mocked forever for my wandering ways. I shook my head—never again. Then grinned—well, maybe.

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Step into the Wild – Story Three- Not all who wander – at home

Not All who wander – At Home

Chapter One

J.R.R. Tolkiens once said, “Not all who wander are lost.”  Over the years, this saying has become my mantra. When I say this my husband always grins and says, “yes, but in your case, you’re always lost,” which earns him a pillow to the head. But truly, I never intend to get lost. I always start out with a firm plan for where I’m going and how I’ll get there. Through many years of wandering I have also discovered that the saying, “the best laid plans of mice and men (and me), oft time go astray,” (Robert Burns), describes the usual results of my wandering. Indeed, I’ve discovered that life’s journey is not a neatly laid-out map, but is filled with unpredictable twists, turns and detours, that God alone knows. Yet, despite this, I still step out my door to the adventure that awaits. Which brings me the next tale.

Over the years, my husband and I have lived in many different areas. Mississauga, Manitoulin, Sudbury and Cochrane and Massey. Most of the places we’ve lived since leaving Mississauga have been farms. What a delight it’s been for us to be surrounded by God’s creation—to wake up in the morning to the sound of birds singing, instead of highway traffic rumbling!

Because of choosing this country life we have also chosen some country hobbies, like cross country skiing, snow shoeing, horseback riding, farming and trail blazing! By trail blazing I mean—pioneer woman (that’s me) cutting new trails through the forests on our farms to use for outdoor fun. This admittedly is an odd pastime for a woman but it’s been one of my favourite activities, over the years. Once the kids were on the bus, I was out the door, looking for a new trail. Do you see a problem?

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” J.R.R. Tolkien

So true!

Chapter Two

One fateful morning, I headed out the door with my handy dandy brush axe to carve out a brand-new trail through the forest on our farm. Usually, when I head off on this sort of adventure, I have a rough direction in mind. And today was the day that I was going to connect two of my existing trails together, with a simple, little linking path. This tiny trail, would give me some extra options when I was out walking or skiing. In my mind, I pictured the perfect place for it—I knew exactly where it would go, so I headed out with energy and determination. But first—an equipment check. Good sturdy hiking boots—check, water for hydration—check, work gloves—check and my brush axe—check. Good, I’ve got it all.

Crossing the large, pasture to get to our hiking trails, was the worst part of the hike. The grass was always long, wet and full of bugs. Oh well, it has to be done. Shrugging, I began the long trek to the beginning of our trails. Arriving at last I gave a satisfied sigh, while wiping the warm glow of sweat from my brow and swatting the first mosquito of the day. Looking around, I noticed the clear blue skies above and a light mist drifting across the fields—this day was heating up, fast, Man, I’d better get started, before it gets too hot and buggy. I took a quick gulp of water, while casually patting my pockets. Hmmm, where is that thing? I checked all my pockets once again, much more thoroughly. Rats, I’ve forgotten my compass. Worry, briefly creased my brow. Unfortunately, I am directionally challenged so this might present a problem. I groaned, as I looked towards home. It was quite a hike back to the house and I was limited in time, since I had to be back to meet the school bus. I chewed my lip. Hmmm, what should I do? “You should go back, you know how easily you get turned around in thick brush?” my cautious self muttered. “Oh, come on,” said my impatient self, “don’t be such a worry-wart, it’s just a little path, Easy Peasy. Why fuss?”

 

Chapter Three

I went about halfway along the starting trail and turned to face the direction that I knew the other trail was located and began to cut. This particular section of bush was filled with tag alders—a rather nasty thick shrub with lots of small branches to cut. The cutting was arduous because of this and it wasn’t easy to keep a straight line. Stopping, I put the brush axe down and wiped my brow.” Man is it ever thick brush in here,” I muttered, turning a big circle. “Can’t see a thing.” Glancing at my watch, I exclaimed, “Wow, I’ve been cutting for two hours, no wonder I’m tired. I’m surprised that I haven’t reached the other trail, yet.” I looked up, and corrected my direction according to the sun. “Let me see, it’s morning still, so the sun is in the east and I want to go west—ah that’s my problem. I’ve veered too far to the east, so I should turn here,” I muttered. I turned in what I thought was a westerly direction and looked ahead. I planned a path to a tree about twenty metres ahead and began to cut. Glancing at the sun, I continued in what I hoped was west, fully expecting to spot the trail at any moment. Cutting from tree to tree, I bee-lined through the bush for another hour. “Phew,” I grumbled, throwing down my axe. “How was I to know how thick the forest underbrush would be?” Peering all around, suddenly I spotted something ahead through the woods. Bending down, I tried to get a better view. I could just barely see what looked like a roof—perhaps of a barn, though I couldn’t be sure. Standing up, I scratched my head. “That’s odd,” I thought.

Chapter four

“I don’t know of any barns that you can see from the other trail. How could I have missed such a landmark?” I shook my head. “Well, there was no point in stopping now, and it’s so nice to see something other than brush.” I blazed ahead. “Yippee,” I yelled. Jumping up and down in joy, I pointed ahead. “Who are you pointing for? Dah, fluff for brains.” I laughed at myself as I chopped the last branch and stepped onto the trail in front of me. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I casually looked to my left, then to my right. I scratched my head. A puzzled look shone from my face. “Hmm, this doesn’t look like the trail I was aiming for?” I turned a full circle. “Where am I? And look, someone has been cutting on my trails. There’s a brand-new trail over to my right.” Puzzled, I looked ahead. There was the barn roof that I had spied earlier and it belonged to a very familiar family—mine! I plopped down on a boulder beside the trail, head in hands. This was impossible. I jumped to my feet and looked to the right, then the left, then back down the trail that I’d just cut. It slowly dawned on me that I had arrived right back at the same trail where I began—a mere metre from the original starting point.

“Good grief. I’ve cut a complete circle in the bush—totally missing the trail I was aiming at.” I shook my head in amazement.

I thought I knew where I was going. I thought I had a plan, but, clearly without the proper equipment, an important component of good preparation, my plan fell apart. Looking up, I said, “Okay, Lord, I’ve learned this lesson.” I grinned and headed for home. I giggled, as I considered my husband’s reaction, to my latest adventure.

Not all who wander are lost…but sometimes we are. I’d have to find another mantra.

Shrugging, I headed for home.

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Step into the Wild – Story Two – Mama’s Lost

Mamas Lost?

Chapter One

Have you ever been lost?  I mean totally, completely, have no idea where you are—lost! Well, I have—in fact I seem to have a propensity for getting lost. Not a tendency that I’m particularly proud of, but one that I have, just the same. I just don’t seem to have that directional gene that my husband has—I have the lost gene. Rats! Now, you would think that someone with this characteristic would just know better than to step into the wild on her own, but unfortunately that has not always been the case. I have tramped and paddled my way into all sorts of trouble over the years. In many ways it’s surprising that I have lived to tell this tale, but here I am—so here’s the first tale. In this first adventure, I was not alone, but dragged a friend along, as well. So, jump into your kayaks and follow along as I share the tale of Mamas Lost?

It was a sunny, summer day and we two grandmas (also known as the Mamas), started out for what should have been a lovely afternoon kayak to Aird Island, in Lake Huron.

At that time, my husband and I lived on a farm in Massey on the shores of the sparkling Spanish River. Two of our grandchildren lived in Gravenhurst. This great adventure began with plans to scoop up our grandchildren for a weekend camping trip.

Wanda was the other Mama and she wanted to join our adventure, which really helped the logistics of this adventure. She lived in Niagara Falls, and was able to pick the grandkids up in Gravenhurst on her way north. This vacation was going to be such fun and would be good for everyone. The parents would have a kid-free weekend and the grandparents would have a chance to get to know their grandkids, without parental interference. Little did we know what “fun” it would turn out to be.

Chapter Two

When this grand adventure was planned, it was decided that since the children were little—Gavin was four-years-old and Julianna was 8-years-old, that having them kayak out to the camping spot would be too difficult, so we nominated Papa to take all of the equipment and children out to the camping spot via motor boat. He would then have some quality time with them while they got the campsite ready. Looking back, I think he thought of this as terror not quality time, since he was solely responsible for the grandkids. But his part was absolutely necessary because we needed to reserve this amazing campsite. It was located on the pristine, white sand beach of Aird Island, and was a very popular spot to camp. In the meantime, Wanda and I planned to kayak out to there in a 23-foot tandem kayak starting at the Spanish marina, a distance of about 4 km. This was a first for us, actually many firsts—first time for Wanda to kayak, first time for me to steer and the first time to ever kayak out to Aird Island. I must say that I didn’t exactly know where Aird island was, other than in Lake Huron—somewhere close to the Spanish Marina.  I just knew that finding it would be a breeze, once Bob gave me directions.

Bob, knowing my directionally challenged nature, gave me careful instructions. “Just head straight out from the marina, go through the first narrows to the right, then look straight across the channel and the sand beach that you see is our camping spot.” He raised his eyebrows.

“No problem,” I said. I gave him a playful nudge. “Quit worrying, we’ll be fine, won’t we Wanda?” With a laugh and a wave, we headed off, without a map or compass. Who needed them, after-all it was just across the bay and only four kilometers away. Simple!

Chapter Three

“We chatted and laughed as we started out. It only took a few minutes for us to get into rhythm with each other. “This is easy. It’s exciting to do this on our own,” said Wanda.

“Yah, this has to be the first time I’ve kayaked without Bob in the stern directing us. It’s pretty thrilling, even if It’s only four kilometers. Bob is likely more scared of being alone with the grandkids than we are of paddling without him.” We giggled, picturing him trying to put up tents with kid help.

As we headed out into more open water it began to get a bit choppy, but we weren’t too concerned, as the tandem kayak was pretty stable. The wind continued to build and soon we were plunging through one metre waves. I looked ahead and pointed, “look Wanda, the narrows. That will shelter us from the wind and waves. It’s a bit closer than Bob described, but it’s definitely the first narrows.” We eagerly paddled into the opening and glided to a stop.

“Good,” said Wanda—my arms feel like they’re going to fall off. I could do with a break!” We quietly floated for a few minutes to regain our strength.

“Hmm, this is a pretty shallow narrows. I wonder how Bob got the motor boat through here?”

“Yes, and it’s full of weeds. He must have had to lift the motor,” said Wanda.We began paddling again and soon saw the end of the channel approaching.“There’s the sandy shore across the bay, just like Bob had described,” said Wanda, pointing. “The lake looks a bit choppy? Do you think we can manage?” said Wanda.

“We’ve got to. I don’t see any phones around to call for help, nor the coast guard to sweep down and rescue us.” I pretended to dial my imaginary phone. Giggles erupted from us. “Well, we asked for a chance to prove ourselves. So, let’s show some Mama power.”

Laughing we headed out to meet the waves. It took a big effort to traverse that opening, but we did it. After thirty minutes we arrived at the other side of the bay and viewed with dismay the sandy coloured rocks that lined the shore. Where was the beautiful, pristine sand beach of Aird island

Chapter Four

We looked at each other in horror. Where were we? “Okay, clearly this is not Aird island, so where did we go wrong?”

“Not sure. We went through the first narrows, but it was really shallow, so it was probably not the narrows that Bob was talking about,” said Wanda. She lay across her paddle, head in hands.

I scanned the horizon and spotted another narrows off to the right. I wonder whether Bob had meant this narrows, not the one that we went through initially. We didn’t seem to have too many options other then to turn around and retrace our path—but that option looked way too daunting with the rising surf. “Let’s try the narrows up ahead, Wanda. Perhaps that’s the right narrows?”

“Okay, anything is better than going across that bay, again.

”When we exited the narrows, we again scanned the horizon for an island with a beach off to the left and saw nothing but lovely green islands and even bigger waves than before. “What do we do, now?” I asked.

Wanda glanced at her watch. “We’ve been paddling for two hours and we are no closer to reaching Aird island.” She groaned.

In fact, we had begun to realize that we might be lost or at least temporarily misplaced! What loomed uppermost in our minds was that since we believed that it was so easy to find our camping spot that we didn’t bring along a map, a compass or any sort of communication devise. Clearly, we were in a pickle. We decided that this was serious and that it was time to pray. We prayed for Bob and the children (he would be very tired of “quality” time by now), the stormy weather and that we would somehow find our way. The time was quickly passing—soon it would be dark.

Chapter Five

Meanwhile back at the camp…Bob was beginning to get concerned that we had not arrived and were nowhere in sight. He dumped the kids back in the boat and headed out to find us. He headed back to the marina, then retraced the path that he thought that we would take. He spotted a narrows way off to the right that he had never noticed before and he groaned.  “Good grief”, do you think they went that way?”

He tried to go through this narrows, but the boat got stuck, so he backed out and headed for the campsite, praying as he went, because he, too noticed the building waves. What could he do now?

Wanda and I finished praying. God hadn’t provided a map or teleported us instantly to Aird, but we oddly felt at peace. Glancing around I spotted a boat off in the distance, close to shore. “Do you think they have a map, Wanda?” I pointed to the boat.

“Maybe,” she said. “It won’t do any harm to ask, let’s go.” As we approached the mid sized fishing boat we waved. They stopped fishing and watched us curiously as we floated down to them. We exchanged pleasantries and discovered that they were from Michigan and were up North on a fishing vacation.  I cleared my throat. “I wonder if you happen to have a map of the area with you?” I asked, a red flush crept up my neck. “We’re paddling to Aird island for a campout and think we’ve gotten off course.” Now my whole face was crimson. Shaking his head, the skipper, pulled out his chart. He scratched his head as he pondered the map. “I thought so,” he exclaimed. “Aird is quite a distance from here, looks to be about ten miles away. That way,” he said pointing across the churning bay.

Wanda and I exchanged glances as we turned to look at the roughest and most unprotected part of the channel! We would have to travel broadside to the two metre waves to get to Aird from where we were. We’d already battled wind and waves for three hours and we were exhausted. Our heads sunk down. How were we going to manage that—what were Bob and the grandkids doing?

Chapter Six 

Noticing our distress, they said, “Hey, girls, we could give you a lift. It’s not that far by motor boat?” They smiled. Was this the answer to our prayer? We shrugged, then smiled. “That would be great.”

Tying the kayak to their boat and we climbed aboard. We all had a laugh—it really tickled their sense of humor to think, that Americans had to rescue lost Canadians in Canada. Oh, the shame of it.

“I wonder if you would drop us off at the nearest sheltered bay close to Aird?” I asked.

“Oh, we don’t mind taking you all the way, it’s really no trouble at all.”

“Actually, I don’t want my husband to see us being towed. He’ll tease me forever,” I said, turning crimson, again.

“Ha-ha, I get it,” he said, slapping his thigh.

We crossed the open water and were within sight of Aird, looking for a place to re-embark, when we noticed a man standing on the beach, hands on hips. The gig was up.

Sighing, I said. “You might as well drop us right at the island, thanks.” I grimaced as we drew close to shore. I was never, ever going to live this down.

As we paddled to shore, Bob grinned. “What happened to you—lost again?” I splashed him.

We jumped out of the kayak as a large vessel cruised by. “Odd, that boat was a Coast Guard vessel. You rarely see them close to shore,” I said. Bob cleared his throat and his face turned red. “Just what’s going on?”

“Well, I knew when you didn’t show up, how easily you get lost, and I knew it was getting late and I knew the waves were building soooo.” He cleared his throat, “I called 911 and they called Search and Rescue, who called the Coast Guard.” He shuffled foot to foot.

“You did what?” hollered Wanda and I, together.

Good grief—we didn’t need that much help! That news would be broadcast on the marine emergency station alerting all boats to be on the lookout for our lost kayak. Many of my friends were boaters—I soon discovered! For weeks following our infamous kayak adventure, I had to explain, over and over again, how I managed to get misplaced this time. Another moment in life designed to keep me humble!

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Step into the Wild – Story One – The Spanish River is Sooooo Easy

Step into the Wild

Let the Adventure Begin

     Life is an adventure. Around every bend is a new discovery—we just have to open our eyes to see it. Throughout our lives, Bob and I have loved to investigate new spaces, beginning with moving from Mississauga to Northern Ontario back in 1979. The desire to live in a land relatively free from traffic, with open fields, wild forests, lakes and rivers drew us here and we haven’t been disappointed. We’ve enjoyed country living—definitely discovering new sights and smells on our farms and marvelling at the welcoming, friendly neighbours. What a blessing it’s been to live here.

But it wasn’t just the day-to-day living, that called us here, it was the ‘wild’. That precious gift of rivers, streams, mountains and forests to explore all around us—and that’s what we did, and that’s what I’m going to share with you over the next little while. So, Step into the Wild with us and experience the joy of adventure. Real life escapades that test one’s skills, one’s patience, one’s durability and one’s faith. Were they worthwhile? Well, you decide—as you travel with along with us. And perhaps when we’re done, you’ll set out on your own journey of discovery.

Story Number One  – The Spanish River is soooo easy—ha!

Chapter One

The next bend, held no big surprises, just a few swifts with a few rocks to dodge. For the rest of the morning the river flowed at an easy pace.

When we decided to do a white-water canoe trip, it was decided to put safety first, even if it took much longer to do the trip. So, we made it a practice to pull up to the shore before any rapids that were identified on the map. This gave us a chance to walk beside the river scouting the best path to take through the rapids. It also gave us an opportunity to identify obstacles of concern—like overhanging trees, that would need to be avoided. Our first set of marked rapids came about noon on this first day of paddling.

“Pull up at the yellow portage sign, ahead, Lynn,” shouted Bob from the stern. He had to shout because the noise of the river was deafening.

     “Are you sure we can even run these rapids, Bob?” Listening to the crash of water against rocks gave me goosebumps.

“We’ll see—just head for shore.”

I willingly did this since going down whatever lay ahead seemed way too scary for me. The canoe ground against the shore and we jumped out and headed down the portage trail. It was soon apparent that the cause of all the noise was a small chute between several guard rocks at the beginning of the rapids.

“Oh, that doesn’t look very hard—there’s a clear path straight down that chute and no rocks at the end.” I said, pointing.

“Ya and if you look farther ahead, the rest of this set is just a boulder field that we’ll have to pick our way through. We’ve done lots of those this morning.” He swept his hat off and wiped the sweat from his eyes. “I think we can run these.” Eyebrows raised as he looked at me.

“I agree—piece of cake.” Grinning, we walked back to the canoe.

Chapter Two

We got back into our canoe, then paddled up river a bit so we could line up to run the chute. I kneeled bracing my knees against the hull, as we drifted towards the chute. Dipping my paddle to correct our position, we plunged down the chute. It was an exciting, wild ride, but there was not time to consider that we had made it, untouched by rocks, when the boulder field loomed ahead. Leaning forward, I picked a path between the rocks, zigging this way and that. We bumped off a few rocks, but nothing really jogged us off course. Within minutes we glided into calm waters.

“Whoo-hoo, that was a blast,” I shouted. Jubilation shone from my face. I turned to look at Bob. We smiled at each other. Our first obstacle was conquered.

Glancing at the map, Bob said, “The next several kilometers should be fairly simple, just like the ones this morning. There are no other marked rapids until tomorrow.”

We paddled on, full of confidence and elation for successfully shooting the rapids. The sun was just dipping below the horizon when we arrived at our first campsite. A sandy outcrop on the side of a point was the perfect spot to camp—out of the flow, overlooking the river. The quiet place looked inviting. It proved to be an easy place to land and unload the canoe. We set up camp and soon dinner was bubbling on the cookstove and a fire crackled, sending it’s sparks skyward to join the stars. We huddled together with a sleeping bag over our shoulders—nights in May were chilly. Bob hauled out the map, to plan the next day.

“Look here, Lynn,” he said, shining his flashlight on the map. “This is where we are and this is where we have to get to tomorrow.”

“That’s only 10 kilometers, Bob. Surely, we can go farther than that in a day?”

“Normally, yes, but you see all these lines?” He pointed out two sets of double lines and several single lines. “The double lines are major rapids and the single lines normal rapids, like the one we shot today. We’ll likely have to portage around the major ones.”

“Oh, I get it. The portaging will take a lot of time, so we won’t be able to make the distance? Hey, look this double set is called, “Graveyard” rapids.” I shivered.

Chapter Three

The sun had risen, along with the mist on the river. It was going to be a beautiful day, but a long one. We gobbled down a quick breakfast and broke camp, then set out, once more along the river. As expected, this section of the river flowed fast and hard, cascading over zillions of rocks. Every bend has a swifts or small unmarked rapids. Around 9am we came to our first marked set for the day.

“Okay, Lynn, rapids ahead—aim for shore.”

As if I couldn’t tell that there were rapids ahead, we had been hearing them for half a kilometer. They sounded wicked, dangerous. “Are these a marked double or single set, Bob?”

“Double.” We landed at the portage and ran to the river for a quick look. Sure enough, it was a deep, fast flowing torrent with lots of twist and turns and a mean looking drop. “I don’t think we can run these?”

“Me, neither.” I sighed. Thankful, I didn’t have to admit that I was too scared to try them.

Over the next hour we unpacked, portaged and repacked our canoe, then once more glided down the river. It was calmer in this section and we successfully shot several small sets of rapids and one marked set. We were feeling pretty good about our skills.

Bob shouted, “Graveyard rapids ahead, pull over.”

I did, really quickly—not wanting anything to do with rapids that had Graveyard in the name! As usual we got out to take a look and what we found was a fairly easy looking set of rapids with a few twists and turns—nothing we hadn’t done before. We looked at each other.

“There must be more than this?” said Bob. But the portage ended at calm water and there was no other marked portage to be seen, only a rough path across the rocks by the river. “Looks safe enough to shoot?”

“I agree, but I’m sure puzzled about the name. Perhaps there is a graveyard up on shore?”

“Maybe, well let’s get going, we’re burning daylight.”

“Arrrrh.” I hated it, when he said that. I got into the canoe.

Chapter Four

I braced myself. Even though the rapids looked fairly each, I had a niggling feeling that we were missing something—but what was it? “Oh well, we’re committed now,” I mumbled.

We dashed down the first chute, then there was no time for thinking, just for reacting. We zigged and zagged, down the river, narrowly missing rocks on a number of occasions. At last, we glided into calm waters.

“Yippee, best set yet!” I threw my hands in the air and turned to discuss the run with Bob.

“Ya, that went surprisingly well.” He bent his head to look at the map, while we lazily drifted downstream.

I watched him for awhile, then suddenly noticed that it was much noisier than before and the current had picked up. Looking ahead, I saw waves, flashing in the sunlight. That meant—rocks & rapids—possibly something…bigger! I couldn’t see over the edge, past the first rocks.

“Oh no, it’s a falls, Bob,” I shouted.

He dropped the map and looked up, then looked to the right and to the left. We were mid-channel in a fast-moving torrent, that was swiftly taking us to the drop-off. “I’ll brace the canoe, Lynn. You stand up and see if you can pick a path.” He gulped, then braced.

I shakily stood to my feet and the only flow that wasn’t blocked by rocks was the centre. Quickly, I sat back down. “Centre,” I yelled and braced myself.

Paddling was not necessary, but we did it anyway. We were swept over the falls and dropped to the bottom. The drop seemed like a hundred metres to me (but I’m a writer, so I tend to exaggerate). I think fifteen to twenty metres is a better estimate. I’m thankful that it was springtime because the heavy spring run off, propelled us through the undertow at the bottom of the falls. Canoe full of water, we drifted to shore. Shakily, we got out, emptied the canoe and sat looking back at the falls.

“Guess the Spanish River isn’t so easy?” I said to Bob. He gave a weak grin.

“Nope. Not the best beginning to our canoeing hobby, but we’ll live to paddle another day—lessons learned.”

The good Lord spared us to paddle on.

Discover how the adventures began

Step into the Wild

The Book

 

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The Wednesday Word – 5 Never alone

Taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him. Psalm 34:8

A psalm of David when he was fleeing from Saul.

Hi Everyone;

Have you ever gone over a falls? I have. It was not a joyful event, although I suppose that you could call it- memorable! Bob and I were on our very first canoe trip, together. We had decided to paddle the Spanish River. The river has numerous challenging rapids and a small set of falls called the Graveyard Rapids. We went over those…not on purpose, not because of good judgement or planning…just because we didn’t evaluate the situation very well. When I think back, I shiver, because that one event could have changed our lives…in a blink one or both of us could have died or been seriously injured.

Life is littered with moments like that…moments that change your lives, that challenge your courage, that leave you hovering in the depth of despair. Well, todays Word is a reminder that you are never alone. The Lord, our Maker is always there for you and He asks us to trust Him. He, alone knows the future and He provides the refuge, when moments seem too tough to handle. He doesn’t always remove the issue, but He never leaves you to handle them by yourself.

Until the next time

Lynn

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The Wednesday Word – 4 Strength in Weakness

The power of wind and wave – Victoria 2025

Hi Everyone;

Here I am today on the road to becoming an author. Yikes! This is scary-very unfamiliar territory and the enemy is assailing me with doubt. Afterall, who am I to consider myself an author…someone like Max Lucado? By education, licensing and experience I am a Pharmacist. I’ve been that for nearly forty-eight years…piece of cake! No doubts at all.

But this is relatively new ground and suddenly fears and doubt surround me. I ponder- why? Ah…I wonder if that’s because my reason for writing books and blogs is to glorify my Lord. To announce to the world that God (and Jesus) are alive and active in my life and yours? I do this through all my storytelling, so Satan is on the attack.

Hallelujah! That must mean that I’m actually on the right track. So Satan, I am an author…so there! Get out of my way…flee, because the Lord is my strength.

Philippians 13:4 – I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.

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Wednesday Word-3 Rise up on wings like eagles

 

Hi Everyone

In today’s Wednesday word, my mind was directed to my main source of strength when times get tough…God.

Isaiah 40: 31 says;

“but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

The Lord is my ever present help in trouble. Is He yours? Unlike human friends, He is everywhere, in every place, at every time. So He is the perfect help in trouble, because calling 911 is not always an answer. He made me, so He understands me. He loves me, no matter what I do and forgives me is I ask. What better friend could I ask for?

But some might say…”God is just a thought, a figment of your imagination.” But I say, “not true.” For I have seen the work of the Lord in my life. I have seen Him literally cause my canoe come off of the rocks – three times in different times and places. I have seen this with my own eyes and bear witness to the fact that God is alive and active in present day lives.

So, when trouble finds me…I look up, to my source of help in all situations. Do it and it will change your perspective on life.

See you next time

Lynn

 

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The Wednesday Word – #2

 

 

Scruffy Finds His Way by

Life is about changes

Hi Everyone;

Last week I shared the story of how I became an author…how God nudged me- hard, so that I couldn’t resist His request. If you recall, it took a major illness for me to pay attention and dedicate the time to do the task assigned to me. God can seem tough sometimes.

So…how about you? What is God asking you to do? Are you listening for and being obedient to that persistent urging in your heart and head? Are you listening to “Little Voice”, as I call the Spirit in my book: Disaster! Around the Bend.

When I think back on my life, I realize that there were many moments when a Little Voice would enter my head about doing something. Sometimes something so simple as calling a friend, or saying sorry for a mistake or for me to forgive my husband for not picking up his socks. And sometimes it was something life changing…like making a move. A move to a new place, a move to a new job, a move to a new church, a move to a new school…A move. I don’t think that many of us like change. Familiar is comfortable. Familiar seems safe, while change is scary…it often means action, uncomfortable action that can upset you and your family and possibly countless other people. But it appears that God is okay with change – even likes it, because it’s always an opportunity to learn something new…to grow. And it has been my experience that when God wants me to make a change, He persistently shows me through the events happening in my life and the lives of those around me. He subtly plants an idea in my head, then sometimes not-so-subtly allows events into my life that support that idea.

Here’s a story that shows this process.

Years ago, my family lived on a farm in Manitowaning. A lovely farm, with a large century barn, cute little house, forest and fields…just perfect! As the years went by and the family grew, it seemed to take more money to keep this farm going then my husband and I were able to make.  I am a pharmacist and at that time in history, there were only part time jobs available on Manitoulin. Each week I would work a day in Little Current, a day in Gore Bay and often a day in Espanola, but nothing regular or fulltime.  God planted the thought that I would have to look for off-island work. Yuk! I had a young family with 3 children under 12 and an active farm to run. How could I find the time to travel for work? My husband nudged. Reluctantly and grumpily I looked for work in Espanola which was only an hour away- there was none. What were we to do? We were broke. Suddenly a job was posted in Elliot Lake. It was a perfect job for the family – Monday to Friday, no nights, nor weekends. But it was a long, long, long way from Manitowaning. I said, “No.” God said, “Yes”. My husband encouraged me to go for an interview. I sighed and headed out. In Little Current I stopped to fill up the tank, but my debit card said, “insufficient funds”. Now what? I had $20 in my wallet- not enough. So, I swallowed my pride and went over to the store that I worked in and asked for an advance on my next pay cheque.  I shuffled my feet, face beet red…he gave me the cheque. I ran off to the banking machine and put the cheque in and asked for a modest $40. Smiling I put out my hand to get the money…the machine blew me a raspberry and said, “insufficient funds.”

“What!” I kicked it. “I just fed you over $300 and you can’t spare me $40?” I hung my head and cried. “Why God?” That Little Voice whispered in my ear that He had this situation. I was assured that $20 would get me to Elliot Lake and back home again. I knew for sure, now, why I had to get this new job. I meekly went to the interview. I got the job and life changed.

I have learned over the years to listen for the voice of God…Little Voice. I don’t always obey…but I’m getting better as I age. Listen to Little Voice this week and see what God has in mind for you.

See you next week.

Lynn

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