Friday, October 8, 2010

Day 7: The Road to Penhold

One of the greatest privileges for me this year has been to shadow my Dad when he travels to little country churches as what they call "Pulpit Supply" - he fills in for the vacationing or sick or non-existent minister.

Water almost level with the road

We have travelled so often this year to Penhold, about 104 kms away from Three Hills, that I feel Dad's car could get there by herself. But these trips are filled with wonder for me: we have listened to the radio and heard many thought-proving sermons; we've thoroughly thrashed out the doctrine of election; we've sung along with the Man in Black and the bluegrass funeral CD that I found for Dad online some months ago.

And we've driven along in companionable silence, admiring the beauty of the roadside and the fields and the journey. These pictures are some glimpses of the road to Penhold, taken on a spectacularly golden autumn day.

Sometimes the best sermons are the ones that begin with, "Your Mum would have loved the colours of that ... It reminds me of the verse ..."

Picnic tables stowed at Pine Lake golf club

Even on grey, gloomy days the drives are never boring - neither Dad nor I ever get really bored anyway, as we each have so much to think about when there's not much else going on. But the privilege of getting to drive with him - to Penhold, to Hanna, to Kindersley, to Oyen - is one I don't take lightly.

There might be some room in the car if you want to join us!

Water at a nearby picnic area


  1. Be careful with the offers you make. I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday than riding in the back seat and listening to your father, and you of course. Perhaps one Sunday morning, after the Doctor says I can drive again, you'll hear me rapping on the TH side door, inviting myself along for the ride to Penhold, or Hanna or Oyen -- hoping that I haven't hit the one Sunday when your father is called to Trochu or somewhere just as close.


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