Sandy Gingras evokes how good things can be when you and your environment are in happy agreement." --Stephen Dunn, Pulitzer Prize-winning poet An illustrated keepsake for your BFF that encompasses the ups, downs, and in-betweens of true friendship. Celebrating the fun and fulfilling, as well as the "flaws, fizzles, and foibles" of friendship, Sandy Gingras fuses her relaxed watercolor illustrations with an original narrative to craft the ultimate ode to friendship. With a special textured cover and heartfelt thoughts, Gingras reminds us that friends help friends forget and remember the bigger picture, they keep us in line, cheer us up through the gloomy times, respect our desire to be alone, and enable us to become a better version of ourselves. Without being overly saccharine, Gingras writes, "True friendship is bigger than anger . . . and we'll be friends until the end of always . . . because liking is a thing that grows and grows (even through the hard parts)."
Veteran historian Robert Tracy McKenzie offers a concise, clear, and beautifully written introduction to the study of history. Laying out necessary skills, methods, and attitudes for historians in training, this resource is loaded with concrete examples and insightful principles that show how the study of history—when faithfully pursued—can shape your heart as well as your mind.
Passes childhood, and I look down the nearer years. There rise before me remembrances of Christmas Days on storm-tossed seas, where waves beat upon the ice-bound ship. I recall again the bitter touch of water-warping winter, of drifts of snow, of wind-swept plains. In the gamut of my remembrance I am once more in the poor, mean, lonely little sanctuary out on the prairie, with a handful of Christians, mostly women, gathered together in the freezing, draughty building. In later years I worship in the great cathedral church, ablaze with lights, verdant and fragrant with the evergreen pines, echoing with joyful carols and celestial harmonies. My recollections are of contrasts like those of life—joy and sadness, poverty and ease. And the pictures are full of faces, many of which may be seen no more by earthly vision. I miss the clasp of vanished hands, I crave the sound of voices stilled. As we old and older grow, there is a note of sadness in our glee. Whether we will or not we must twine the cypress with the holly. The recollection of each passing year brings deeper regret. How many have gone from those circles that we recall when we were children? How many little feet that pattered upon the stair on Christmas morning now tread softer paths and walk in broader ways; sisters and brothers who used to come back from the far countries to the old home—alas, they cannot come from the farther country in which they now are, and perhaps, saddest thought of all, we would not wish them to come again. How many, with whom we joined hands around the Christmas tree, have gone? Circles are broken, families are separated, loved ones are lost, but the old world sweeps on. Others come to take our places. As we stood at the knee of some unforgotten mother, so other children stand. As we listened to the story of the Christ Child from the lips of some grey old father, so other children listen and we ourselves perchance are fathers or mothers too. Other groups come to us for the deathless story. Little heads which recall vanished halcyon days of youth bend around another younger mother. Smaller hands than ours write letters to Santa Claus and hear the story, the sweetest story ever told, of the Baby who came to Mary and through her to all the daughters and sons of women on that winter night on the Bethlehem hills.