My Writer’s Prayer

I wrote this back in 2006 and found it while sorting through old USBs. I could change it to My New Year Prayer for all all my followers and those I follow. However, I have decided to leave it with minor editing and hope you consider reading:

My Writer’s Prayer

Guide me, Lord, in the steps according to your will
Lead me to the place I need to be
Show me the road that can only lead to you
Guide me along this path that you have placed before me.

May I truly know your purpose for me.

Teach me, Jesus, that it is not about how fast I grow
Like the trees that grow beside a stream, make me sturdy and strong
Teach me patience to learn as I progress
Show me how to accept critiques and challenges as they come.

May my words flow as blessings in the lives of all who read.

Help me, God, to see the ability in other writers
May I encourage them in their gifts and strengths
Open my heart so I may not only read their words
but hear and feel them through to my very soul.

May I not criticise or frown upon other writers’ works.

Give all writers members world-over a heart for you
Direct them so they may continue to do your will
Give me boldness to see them also as gifts from you
Allow each style to be consecrated, Lord to you.

May I, above all, accept this gift to me.


Amen.


Chrissy Siggee – 2006

Archived in: 🦋 Christian Reads

My Prayerful Request

My aspiration to grow closer to my God is overwhelming.
Petitions to replenish my dwindling strength fill my heart.
I acknowledge my Lord’s perfection and my own sinful weakness.
Gifts and talents mean nought if He is not the centre of my life.
I am yet to discover the art of losing myself in His presence.

A consciousness of God’s love and presence invigorates my soul.
His majesty and glory penetrate my constantly craving heart.
My spirit rises to new heights of joyfulness and victory.
Even in the face of unanswered prayer, I am full of gratitude.
His divine enablement is sufficient.

I genuinely desire the realisation of my requests, earnestly
I find myself praising the Lord for His splendour and magnificence.
By prayer and supplication, I will make my requests known to God.
He is infinite in holiness and power; I am sinful and weak.
I will pray with assurance knowing the Father does all things well.

Chrissy Siggee © First published 2006

Archived now in 🦋 Christian Reads | Riverside Peace

Butterfly Cakes and Parenting Skills

‘NO, and that’s my final word.’

Sarah was irritable. Her twin daughters, Lucy and Annie, had been arguing with her for almost fifteen minutes. They had been invited to their best friend’s Amy teen-theme birthday party the following Saturday. The problem was she would be eight; the same age as the twins.

The girls stomped off to their bedroom just as the telephone rang. Sarah took a deep breath and released it slowly.

‘Hello.’ Rubbing her forehead, she leaned against the wall to ease the weariness that threatened to overtake her.

‘Well, you sound happy.’ It was Connie, Amy’s mother.

‘Hello Connie. I’m sorry, sometimes I find parenting a little stressful.’

‘You? Of all people Sarah. You’re a great parent. You always seem to have it all under control.’

‘Well not today. What can I do for you?’

‘I was just checking if the girls are coming on Saturday.’

‘Actually, it was the party we were discussing. I just don’t feel the theme is appropriate for eight-year-olds. Peter and I made the decision a long time ago that they are not to attend a party which goes against our values.’

Sarah cringed as she realized what she had said. Connie was a good friend who attended the same church.

Connie sighed on the other end of the phone. ‘Can I be frank with you?’

‘Sure, we’re friends.’

‘It was Amy’s suggestion. In fact, she demanded it. Honestly, I have been trying to keep the peace around here. We received a letter from her teacher last week concerning Amy’s rebellious behaviour.’

Sarah made herself busy at the stove.

Connie continued. ‘Yesterday, we went shopping to buy her an outfit for the party. I have never been so embarrassed. Her performance was appalling. She insisted on purchasing the skimpiest pair of shorts I have ever seen and the top barely covered her. There wasn’t enough material to cover her navel.’ Connie’s voice reached an intense pitch.

Sarah stirred the contents of the saucepan. ‘Lord, why is it so hard to do what is right as a parent?’

‘Sarah, why does parenting have to be so hard?’

‘I don’t think any parent finds it easy Connie. We aren’t born with the skills either. We all have to learn them—’

Connie resumed talking before Sarah could finish. ‘I was just telling my mother yesterday that I remember some of my own childhood birthday celebrations. We used to dress up in our Sunday best and eat those yummy cakes. You know those little ones? The ones you make so well. You scoop out the little piece from the top, and then add just the right size dollop of cream, before cutting that extra piece in half and sitting it in just the right spot on top, then sprinkling icing sugar over them to give it that perfect sweetness.’

‘Butterfly cakes?’ Sarah smiled at Connie’s description. ‘It almost sounds like parenting skills. You need just the right balance to get it right.’ She laughed at her own illustration.

‘Oh Sarah, I just had a marvelous idea. Why don’t I call all the parents and tell them I’ve changed the theme? It will be a good, old-fashion party for an eight-year-old girl. They can all dress in their Sunday best and you could make butterfly cakes. I think it’s about time I initiated some parenting skills. The first thing I’ll introduce is Christian values.’

Sarah laughed. ‘All right. I’ll talk to Peter tonight. He should be happy with the change, and yes, I think it’s a wonderful idea. Bye.’

‘Goodbye Sarah.’

Sarah was still smiling long after she hung up the phone. She turned to see the twins standing at the door, their arms folded stiffly.
‘What’s so wonderful?’ Annie asked sourly.

‘Well, first of all, go and get the flower-girl dresses you wore to Uncle Tony’s wedding and put them on the sewing table. Then, we need to start on some parenting skills.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Lucy was totally confused.
‘I’m going to bake some butterfly cakes, and you two can help. It’s never too early to learn.’

© Chrissy Siggee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Archived in: Christian Reads

A Melody Set Free 

“Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are…”

Darkness had become Emma’s life since the accident. The impact had left her permanently blind. The loss of her only child was the greatest burden to bear. Nothing would console her aching heart. No one could help relieve her pain. Not even James, who had sat by her bed through all the weeks of recovery, could comfort her.

True, it was not her fault. Emma had pulled to a stop at the intersection when the lights had changed from amber to red. She could still hear three year old Kate singing her favourite nursery rhyme from her child safety seat in the back of the family car. The truck had come through the red light opposite and swerved to miss a motorcycle. The truck had lost control and veered directly into Emma’s car, slamming it into the car behind. The collision had also crushed her car into a van parked beside her, near the kerb. 

There wasn’t much she could remember of the accident itself, except for the melody of her child’s song resounding in her ears. Emma hadn’t even been aware her sweet young daughter had been laid to rest until she awoke from her coma three weeks later. It had been the same distressing morning she had discovered she would never again, gaze into the eyes of her beloved husband. Her heart ached so much she thought she would die. 

It must have worried James to see her this way. Even after weeks of counselling and rehabilitation, she never smiled. One Sunday after the sermon, her mother led her to the kitchen area at the back of the church, where coffee was being served. James told Emma he needed to speak to their pastor and it was some time before he returned to take her home. 

The following morning James stayed home a little later then usual. 

‘I’m waiting for a delivery,’ he explained to Emma over breakfast.

Emma heard the door bell first and edged her way to the front door, using her cane along the walls to guide her. James came to her side, and with an arm around her waist, he directed her to the front door. 

‘It’s here. Where do you want us to put it?’

Emma didn’t recognize the cheerful voice. She assumed it was a just a delivery man. James led her to a chair in the lounge room so she would not be in harm’s way. James kissed her briefly, preventing her from asking any questions. ‘Wait here a moment, honey.’ 

‘This way!’ James called.

Emma could hear furniture being dragged across the carpeted floor. Muffled sounds came closer as James gave directions into the room. It was obviously no small package.

Excitement crept into Emma’s emotions. ‘What is it James? Please tell me.’

A few moments later, James thanked the delivery men and closed the front door.

‘James?’

Without answering, James led Emma across the room to a long, flat stool and gently pulled her down to sit beside him. He reached for her hands and placed them gently on the keyboard. Her hands drew back.

‘A piano?’ Emma was puzzled.

‘Play for me?’ he asked softly.

‘But how can I see what I’m playing?’

James helped her adjust the stool so she could comfortably reach the keys. Gently lifting one of her hands, he helped her strike the keys. They both laughed and together they played a melody using two fingers. The words came easily.

“Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are…” 

Emma began to cry and hugged her husband closely. She knew he had been conscious of her the pain. It would be the foundation of her healing, a healing of the heart.

Emma continues to play her piano. She is a songwriter and sings at their family church. A new melody echoes in her heart. A melody of God’s grace and love.

© Chrissy Siggee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

[Author of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star: Unknown… Public domain]

Archived in: 🦋 Christian Reads

Chilled

The tall young man shivered as he stood on the porch of his winter cabin that overlooked Lake Spokane, his coat unbuttoned and its hood pushed back. Tears trickled down his face. He wondered briefly if they would freeze before reaching his chin. But he didn’t care.

‘Stephen’, Keith spoke from the opened door. ‘You can’t stay out here much longer. You’re icing up.’

Stephen stood staring out over the white frosted landscape that gave little hint of where water and land met. Silent sobs racked his body.

‘Getting frost bite won’t bring her back’, Keith persisted.

‘No’, Stephen gulped. ‘But it’s where I want to be. I feel close to her here.’

‘Bethany wouldn’t be standing out here in this weather.’

‘Bethany should have BEEN here,’ Stephen replied coldly.

Standing now beside his grief stricken brother, Keith looked over the familiar scenery before them. Past winters with his father and Stephen played before him like icy shadows skipping over the whiteness. They loved winter, the snow, and their hunting vacations. After their father had died eight years earlier, Keith and Stephen continued their annual trips together for another three years…until they both married. The brothers vacations ceased, but Stephen and Bethany still came every winter. Keith’s wife, Angela, preferred to spend winter in warmer climate so Keith had given his inherited share of the cabin to Stephen and his adventurous wife as a wedding gift.

‘Of all the things we did together: skiing, mountain climbing, shooting trips, scuba diving…’ Stephen swallowed. ‘Who would have predicted a tree would fall on her car while she waited at a stop sign.’

‘Stephen, you’re freezing.’

‘It’s my heart that’s chilled.’

Keith reached for his brother’s arm, guided him out of the bitter wind toward his father’s old rocking chair and made him sit. ‘Snap out of it, Stephen. It’s a relief to see you mourn…heaven knows I thought you would never let yourself grieve, but this is ridiculous. You’re chilled to the bone. I want to take you home alive; not in a coffin after you die from pneumonia.’

‘I’m already dead inside.’

Keith sighed. ‘Well, from the look of those frozen eyebrows and blue lips, it won’t be long before the outside of you will catch up with your inside.’

Stephen continued to stare beyond the porch. ‘I can’t live without her.’ His voice faltered. ‘Why did she have to die?’ With his face contorted, a single sob broke loose.

‘I can’t answer that’.

Silence fell between them, disturbed only by the howl of the wind and Stephen’s sniffles.

Stephen didn’t budge. Melted snow dripped from his hair and mingled with his tears.

‘Do you recall the winter Dad had an encounter with a bear?’ Keith said suddenly.

Stephen turned his head slowly to look at Keith.

Keith laughed. ‘Remember? It was his turn to chop and he whined all the way out to the wood pile.’

‘He was chopping wood for almost fifteen minutes before he realized that a bear had been watching him from just ten feet away’, Stephen added, trying to focus on the memory.

Keith smiled. ‘Yeah, and we watched from the window and laughed when that big old bear chased him all the way back to the cabin’.

‘And none of us could understand why Dad wasn’t attacked’, Stephen finished.

‘We didn’t foresee Dad’s heart attack three years later either. He was fitter than me and you put together.’ Keith brushed ice from his younger brother’s coat. ‘We may never know why these things happen, but God does have everything in His hands.’

‘Are you preaching to me, Big Brother?’

‘Nope, just reminding you of what you already know.’ He paused. ‘Stephen, don’t let your heart stay chilled for long. The whole of you needs to find warmth in those who love you.’ Keith had finally gained Stephen’s attention. ‘Angela and I have been worried about you. Bethany’s parents are hurting too, and from what I understand, you haven’t spoken to them since the funeral. By the look of things, you haven’t done much talking with God either. We can’t bring Bethany back, and no one can help you while your heart is so cold.’

Stephen took a deep breath. ‘I’ll try. But how?’

‘You’re thawing. That’s a start.’

Melted snow began to seep through the front of Stephen’s flannel shirt. He shivered. ‘It is rather chilly out here. Isn’t it?’

Keith grinned. ‘You could also try and enjoy this winter…for Bethany.’

© Chrissy Siggee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Archived in: Christian Reads