WW Pious Awe

{WW} Pious Awe

Unfortunately, I can’t seem to get past the bad rap the word ‘pious’ has in my vocabulary and understanding. I have enjoyed what the rest of you have written and looked up the word myself. In the true sense of the word, yes, life and death and most certainly the new birth would qualify for an article on pious awe. But childhood memories bring back taunting terms of ‘Oh, you Pious Jeremious!’ and ‘Oh, all pious now, eh?’

I can’t seem to move past this connotation of the word pious. I’ve never heard of the term ‘pious awe’ (which is fun! And what the WW is all about!) and my only life experience, in the negative meaning of it, is rather pitiful to recollect.

I was just a child, a child of a father who was delightfully himself. He cared not what others thought of him. He did as he pleased. He took us sledding on Saturdays and skating on cold winter evenings. He led our family in devotions and got a funny smile on his face when my mother made interesting remarks. He was proud of us and proud of her. But sometimes he embarrassed us.

One time he took us on a lengthy trip to another province and we visited a ‘high-up’ couple. My dad didn’t mind asking if we could come for a meal or night or whatever it was. The most disturbing part was the reaction of the lady of the house. Oh, she was all sweetness. But her expressions and words did not match. Her actions belied her feelings. It was awful. I cried and cried and cried, in my bedroom, as a child.

This term made me think of that painful memory: a lady oh so sweet, oh so righteous and oh so not nice to the people who disturbed her perfect life, a lady to be regarded with pious awe. e

WW Fetching

Mrs. Brown and the Bat Encounter

It was a lovely August day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the green leaves swayed on the trees. Mrs. Brown was spending a Sunday, a true day of rest, at home with Mr. Brown and the Littles. Mrs. Brown was doing laundry, not her general idea of a restful Sunday activity, but considering their lovely camping trip they had just returned from late the night before it was nevertheless essential.

Mrs. Brown stepped out her back door onto the little porch where there stood a clothesline pole, tall and statuesque, and hung a clothesline, slim and dainty, obliterated against the eastern blue spruce surrounding the Brown farm. Mrs. Brown gazed off into the trees, her thoughts on distant things as well, as she proceeded to reach into the dilapidated clothespin bag for pins.

Her attention was swiftly brought to reality when she heard an aerosol can spraying close to her. Ch-Ch-Ch. Suddenly Mrs. Brown realized her wrist was wet and instantaneously all her faculties were focused fervently in the general direction of where the noise was coming from. She jumped perceptibly as she stared at a tiny black bat staring back at her from behind the clothespin bag. The bat hissed and spit, showing wicked vampire teeth. Mrs. Brown flung the towels in the basket and went running inside, yelping, “There’s a bat!! And he spit on me!! HELP!!”

Mr. Brown came running. Mr. Brown did not generally run in an emergency. But then, Mrs. Brown did not generally yell things about bats either. Tall Boy Brown and Middle Boy Brown came running as well. Mrs. Brown hid behind the door while her men cajoled and frightened the little bat at intervals. It hissed and spit and bared its teeth. Mrs. Brown thought perhaps she had never seen something so evil in her life, as she watched from safety inside.

After a while the frightened little bat flew away, swooping dangerously into the corner by the garage, then to safety in the trees. Mrs. Brown breathed a sigh of relief and tears pooled in her eyes. Mr. Brown and Tall Boy Brown and Middle Boy Brown went back to reading their books.

Mrs. Brown stared down at her basket of wet laundry, then scooped it up and hurried inside.

Now Mrs. Brown is very cautious about fetching clothes from the wash-line. She carefully peers around and in the clothespin bag every time and shudders. 

Inspiration From Streams In The Desert

Be all at rest, my soul, oh blessed secret,
Of the true life that glorifies thy Lord:
Not always doth the busiest soul best serve Him
But he that resteth on His faithful Word.
Be all at rest, let not your heart be rippled
For tiny wavelets mar the image fair,
Which the still pool reflects of heavens glory -
And thus the image He would have thee bear.

Be all at rest, my soul, for rest is service,
To the still heart God doth His secrets tell;
Thus shalt thou learn to wait, and watch, and labour
Strengthened to bear, since Christ in thee doth dwell.
For what is service but the life of Jesus
Lived through a vessel of earth's fragile clay,
Loving and giving and poured forth for others,
A living sacrifice from day to day.

Be all at rest, so shalt thou be an answer
To those who question, "Who is God and where?"
For God is rest, and where He dwells is stillness
And they who dwell in Him, His rest shalt share.
And what shall meet the deep unrest around thee,
But the calm peace of God that filled His breast?
For still a living Voice calls to the weary,
From Him who said, "Come unto Me and rest."

Freda Hanbury Allen

Sept 2016 WW Introductions

Hi! I'm Jolene (call me Jo if you want) Esau  from Swanson, SK. I'm married to Patrick (Pat) Esau for 16 years and I'm 37, he's 39. We have 3 boys:


Colby Blaine - 14, loves hunting, fishing, camping, snowboarding, hockey but not schoolwork or singing (very unfortunately but we're working on him). He's quiet and good-natured and has his father's sense of humor.


Zachary Brett - 12, loves dirtbikes (tho he's not allowed to get one), hockey, snowboarding, biking, uni-cycling or actually anything to move quickly on wheels. He's almost legally blind (his docs say because he was preemie) but he wears contacts and most people don't know how bad his eyesight actually is - barely 20/50 with contacts, 20/60 with glasses.

Wyatt Benjamin - 3, talks a lot and comes up with a lot of winners. Feels like he should be able to do everything his brothers do, for example he has a large scrape on his arm from trying to cat-walk his bike. He's extremely agile, has been scaling the fridge and tall dressers for 2 years but we're working on that too. He loves to sing, songs like Tender Is The Love Of Jesus and Christian Hymnal songs. We feel pretty lucky to have him.

My better half owns and operates a welding shop and I do books, payroll, etc for him. Our boys have spent the summer working for him, for their Uncle Arlen (punching and bending in a welding shop), for Uncle Rennie (farming), for Carlin and Warren (both have chicken farms) and Uncle Jeff (log building and mowing yard).


I love to sew, quilt, organize, read, garden and shop! I've come to the conclusion that i must like to be busy or I would surely be able to not have so much going all the time. I love chai tea and coffee and chocolate and bright colours and home decor and shoes and purses and sweaters and many other frivolous things. I like to write. I sort of have a love-hate relationship with writing. I took the summer off from writing (completely, except my happy journal) and it was delightful.


I just wrote a list of fall things to do. And then I wrote a List of fall things to do. This is the second:

• Roast marshmallows over the fire.
• Take a walk.
• Wear a favourite sweater and warm socks and sip hot tea outside.
• Build a bonfire.
• Read a book.
• Sleep out in the tent and make breakfast over the fire.
• Visit the zoo.
• Go to Kinsmen Park with a picnic lunch and enjoy the rides.
• Cuddle with favourite blankets.
• Sew a quilt.
• Drink hot chocolate.
• Eat supper in the field with the harvesters.
• Ride on a combine, swather, grain-truck.
• Stay up late and watch the stars.
• Light the candles.