This message rang clear to me today. Thank you God for that gentle reminder...

Dear Friend, No matter how many difficulties we are facing, we should have a quiet confidence that God is still in control and all things will be well.  The believer is not like other people because we have a hope in One who has never failed and never seen defeat.  The Lord of Hosts is His name and just as He has delivered us in the past, the Lord will do it again.  We simply must remain in faith trusting the Lord and knowing that all will be well despite how bleak our situation may seem right now.  Do not focus with your physical eyes, but rather see with your eyes of faith the things that are not as though they already are. (Psalm 84:11-12) (Romans 4:17) Faith and expectancy are vital parts of the believer’s arsenal.  Just as we know the sun will rise in the morning, we should have that same faith that God will deliver us and meet our every need.  Be encouraged to have a refreshed outlook on the Lord's sustenance.  Remember that God loves you and wishes for your best interest.  No matter the heartache of today, lift up your faith to the Lord and let God know that you are trusting Him despite what you see and know that All Will Be Well. (Hebrews 11:1-10) I hope this message reminds you of days gone by that encouraged and inspired you to know that despite the difficulties, your answer will come and make all things well. GRACE AND STYLE It was noon on a Sunday as I recall, the day a Mustang P-51 was to take to the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some US airport, the pilot had been tired. I marveled at the size of the plane dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her, it was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by. The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver then stepped into the flight lounge. He was an older man, his wavy hair was grey and tossed...looked like it might have been combed...say, around the turn of the century. His bomber jacket was checked, creased, and worn, it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the tarmac. After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the pilot returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while he “flashed the old bird up...just to be safe.” Though only 12 at the time, I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its use -- “If you see a fire point then pull this lever!” I later became a firefighter, but that's another story. The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another barked -- I stepped back with the others. In moments the Packard-built Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar, blue flames knifed from her manifolds. I looked at the others' faces, there was no concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge, we did. Several minutes later, we could hear the pilot doing his pre flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds, we raced from the lounge to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the runway, we could not. There we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before, like a furious hell spawn set loose---something mighty this way was coming. “Listen to that thing!” Said the controller. In seconds the Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already off and it was moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on 19. Two thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellish fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze. We stood for a few moments in stunned silence trying to digest what we'd just seen. The radio controller rushed by me to the radio. “Kingston radio calling Mustang?” He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment. The radio crackled, “Kingston radio, go ahead.” “Roger Mustang. Kingston radio would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass.” I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air show! The controller looked at us. “What?” He asked. “I can't let that guy go without asking . . . I couldn't forgive myself!” The radio crackled once again, “Kingston radio, do I have permission for a low level pass, east to west, across the field?” “Roger Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass.” “Roger, Kingston radio, we're coming out of 3000 feet, stand by.” We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later the P-51 burst through the haze . . . her airframe straining against positive Gs and gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the air. At about 400 Mph and 150 yards from where we stood she passed with an old American pilot saluting . . . imagine . . . a salute. I felt like laughing, I felt like crying. She glistened, she screamed, the building shook, my heart pounded . . . then the old pilot pulled her up . . . and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly into my memory. I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as their big brother, a steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd just flown into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant, humble, not a braggart, old and honest projecting an aura of America at its best. That America will return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I'll just send off a story; call it a reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who wove a memory for a young Canadian that's stayed a lifetime. By Lea MacDonald

It's already the halfway point in 2016 and so much has happened since the last time I wrote. Kids have grown, I'm going on my 9th year working, and still feeling good about life and love. 
My youngest is going to be 14 this year and he's almost 5'6" if not already. My how time flies!!!


I still have goals to reach and bucket lists to check off:
- be able to supplement my income with Purium as my vehicle - consistently, not just "on-call". 
- TRAVEL. I was promised a trip to Japan and I have less than 8 years to go - that's what my passport tells me! Next year is our family reunion - December 2017 - and I'd like to go. There's still the Vegas soccer tournament too. The following year is FRANCE and the women's USA soccer team will be there.
- buy a HOUSE! Doesn't everyone???

Challenges this past year - and well… even in the last month. 

WORK - My boss of 8 years retired after 38 years with the company. So happy for her, but sad for us! Still looking for someone to take her place. Even our Clinic Manager retired as well after 25 years. 

I was asked to apply to another position so I'm awaiting results as well. 

HOME - although financially challenged, we still continue to move forward. Feels like snail or sloth paced… must work on making goals happen!

Sounds like I'm complaining? I don't mean to. I think just writing things down from my brain helps to alleviate all the chatter in my head before I go to sleep. Hope for answers and a good night's sleep too.