listen

The wind chill plunges our winter to -32'C this morning on the way to church. It's cold and frozen outside.  All passing vehicles have the ice ridges on their windshields - marking the battle between blasting interior heaters and the frigid outdoor winter cold.

We arrive late (as always) and shuffle to our seats near the front of the sanctuary. My favourite pastor stands in the front row, swaying gently to the songs played by the band. I tuck bulky winter jackets under the seats, while my two kids settle into their spots. Husband hands me the hot tea he brought for me.

Today's message focuses on wisdom. The pastor talks of New Year resolutions and I recount my conversation with my husband a few days earlier. We spoke of our goals and intentions for the upcoming year. I tell him about the two words have been on my heart. 

The first stems from my need for security. I crave certainty. 2014 was a year of deep changes for our family which included a new school for our son well outside of our routines, new travel arrangements, a new job for my husband and significant changes in my own work. These changes caused a wake of change that I am still trying to settle into.

The other word is listen. I've never been a very good listener. Or more accurately, I lack the discipline to recount words and details. Most often, I can reflect on the mood of a conversation or the overall feeling of it, but the details are never anchored long in my memory. Perhaps, more importantly, I often feel the need to action a response or even worse, multi-task, while "listening". I am clearing counters, sweeping floors or putting dishes away while my husband shares what is on his mind or heart. My feeble insertions into the conversation fall flat compared to how he listens with attention to me when I speak. 

The pastor continues his sermon by drawing attention to God's visit to King Solomon in a dream: 

(1 Kings 3: 5-15) "...the Lord appeared to Solomon during the night in a dream, and God said, “Ask for whatever you want me to give you.” ...Solomon answered, “Now, Lord my God, you have made your servant king in place of my father David. But I am only a little child and do not know how to carry out my duties. Your servant is here among the people you have chosen, a great people, too numerous to count or number. So give your servant a discerning heart to govern your people and to distinguish between right and wrong.”

But what is a discerning heart? The pastor supposes that a discerning heart is a listening heart. In effect, wisdom is an understanding heart - a gift from God. Our individual character reflects His gift - in each of us is a unique heart of understanding. 

He continues to describe a world that craves wisdom: we live in a society that boasts about the length and breadth of life, while many remain undernourished in spiritual depth. He speaks of a surplus of super sized materials available in any shape or colour, while many remain impoverished in matters of the heart.

My heart listens intently to these words, recognizing them as God's whisper to me. I scramble for a pen and jot notes while the pastor preaches. I fumble trying to find a hard surface to write on, while  shushing my daughter when she leans in close to tell me something. I whisper not now, that I am trying to listen to the message. When the band starts to play I lean close to ask my seven-year old  what she wanted. She presents me with a hard cover book she was holding and offers it as a hard surface for me to write on. I blush fast. Listen. God is forever teaching me.

While I am joining the multitudes of other well-intentioned people who plan to eat better and exercise more this year, my main focus is on my words of 2015. This year,  I can be certain that God will present me with many opportunities to listen with a discerning heart. I just pray that God continues to approach me with a patient heart.

love came down

We all huddled together, holding black and white song sheets while little fingers curled around tiny jingle bells. The door bell is rung and we all scream out "the best way to spread Christmas Cheer is to sing loud for all to hear". Over the Santa hats we see the door open with eyes wide while our mouths open loud. 

We sing of Santa coming to town, reindeer, jingling bells and a silent night. Little ones dance on the front door step while adults wipe tears. 

My heart overflows with emotion. Feelings of gratitude, love, concern, hope -  all spilling over into a single word: grace. God's grace envelops us all, trickling into the tiniest corners of dark walls and radiating its light inward: nourishing our tender and tired souls.

For a moment, love is simple and pure. 

There are no agendas, no judgements - only presence.

Dogs bark next door as we finish our carols. The door remains open as we line up to place each other's hearts together in a tight embrace. Tonight love's language whispers quiet and calm. Hands hold and arms envelope. Love manifests.

We are here. 

We are together. 

God is with us. Emmanuel.

servant

This weekend my daughter let me do her hair.

Unlike countless other times, on this day there were no tears, no bargains made - she sat on the couch eating her goldfish crackers as I clumsily twisted strands of her hair into tiny elastics on top of her six-year old head. Hairspray and gel helped sleek the hair where my ability could not, and after what seemed like too long - she was ready to go to her dance competition where she smiled and chassed her way further into my heart.

Today I watched her offer her praises to God as she sang through her newly nestled big-girl front teeth, while swinging her hands up and down to the music. She sneaks moments between songs in her routine to put her two hands just under her chin and motions to me like a kitten playing with yarn. Meow Meow she mouths, and I motion the same back to her. Together we are lost in a moment with our Maker who delights in play.

One of my love languages is acts of service, and I get to serve two children. They challenge me, oh do they challenge me, but how can I expect to grow - and help them grow - if we don't trudge through adversity before making it to the other side? My service is rarely pretty and most times it is choked with tears and laced with frustration, but somehow grace pulls our little family through the veil of uncertainty and we arrive on the side of understanding.

This Mother's Day, I wanted to recognize my mama and my grandma by hosting a brunch at my place. Through my love language, I wanted to show them how much they mean to me. A menu filled with cooked ham, baked cheesy potato casserole, heaping fruit salad, and lemon glazed sticky buns all served on my best china greeted them as we sat down for nourishment. We were served by others and three generations of mamas sat at one table to celebrate our shared calling of motherhood.

Around my neck I wore a necklace that used to belong to my Great-Grandmother. Mothering is what I am called to do - and for this I am grateful. Someday, with God's blessings, my daughter may also share in this sacred calling. I know that God will guide her just as He guides the generations of mamas before her. And she will grow, just as I continue to grow.

Thank you, God for granting me the honour to be called mama and for helping me every moment of every day. I serve to honour your belief in me.

 

spirit mending

Last night I fell exhausted next to my husband on our crumbled sheets - my body curled small, knees pulled high, the restlessness of my body forming a knot in my right hip. My weighted sighs sink deep into the mattress carrying the burdens of my mind. My emotions are strung tight - too tight - as my fingers find the edges of my pillow and I squeeze. Hard.

My confidant over the past 18 years leans over and touches my shoulder, inviting me to release. My mouth opens awkward and the pause is overcome by an assault of emotions that have been tangled in my heart and mind over the last while. They shove and tumble out mismatched, uncontrolled, disorderly, slurred into each other - immune to time or logic.  The fault lines of my spirit are exposed, fragile under the looming tectonic shifts. My boundaries are being pushed, redrawn, red-circled, scribbled over - leaving a crumpled, directionless map.

What I once thought was so clear and simple has been muddied - leaving me lost and untethered.  

But with adversity comes strength.

Today at our church service, I felt God resuscitating my spirit. His voice was as strong as the black letters that carved out the white spaces to carry His message to me: "You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit." (Psalm 51: 16-17, NIV)

When I feel my spirit breaking, where can I go to be healed?

The pastor asked us 'what is the deepest desire of your heart'? My answer was clear: 'to know myself as God designed me to be'. Is there really anything more? God promised this to me through Isaiah: "I am your Creator. You were in my care before you were born." (Isaiah 44:2 CEV) 

It is the weight of parenthood that has been suffocating my spirit as of late. My husband and I take the stewardship of our two God-given children to heart. And our hearts are fragile. We feel like we've suffered many heart attacks while raising our children. Attacks from others and even ourselves. While our intentions are honourable, many times we don't know the way. What is best for one child is not for the other. What works for one family doesn't work for us. 

Rather than encourage commonness with other children, we choose to seek to unlock the door to our children's uncommonness. 

To show everyone, especially each of our children, the script that God has written for them.

I think Max Lucado says it best in his book Cure for the Common Life, "Don't see your child as a blank slate awaiting your pen, but as a written book awaiting your study." (p.124)

Our recent study sessions have been difficult.

As parents, my husband and I are learning to discern opinion from fact.

But most of all, we are learning to lean in close to God as He teaches us about His children and what He has planned for them.

life in the fast lane

It's sweltering near 30'C as we drive with open windows and hearts along the five laned I5, on our way to western coast adventures. Our kids are riding in style with Lady Wanda and Duke in their bright red convertible. I watch the hands poking through the sunroof with a wave as we travel close behind. 

I see my daughter's newly cut hair flying behind her as she shares endless stories with her her captive audience. A plastic blue bird can be seen flying between the generations as Lady Wanda plays pretend with her grand daughter's newest McDonalds treasure. My husband is enjoying an uninterrupted segment on his podcast while I have a rare quiet chance to reflect and write. 

This trip has been planned for seven months and we are now realizing our intentions. This morning we awoke to a panoramic view of lush mountain valley in chilliwack and tonight we will fall asleep to the fresh ocean scent in Astoria.  We are blessed to share this family chapter with fellow adventure seekers who exemplify the role of grandparents. 

A piece of my family is on this trip too.  As I type I am listening to my childhood camping song list of Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. We are following the same blue lines on a map as my parents did with the truck and camper when I was eight years old.  I recall a feeling of safety and excitement from decades ago. Memories of chicken by the ocean and my dad hiding my sandals on the coastal beach are withdrawn from my memory bank. I smile because it is now my turn to gift this experience to my children. 

These are days to remember. 

beauty

Dear daughter,

Today I saw a video that made me cry. This video, which is part of an advertising campaign for Dove, was posted just three days ago, and it already has over 4.7 million views.

The concept is simple: women were asked to describe the way they look. The results were powerful...and sadly, not surprising.



You see, my innocent one, sometime...and it will be much too soon...someone will tell you that you are not beautiful enough. This someone will be a friend, a stranger or, much more likely, a nameless girl you see in a magazine. You will begin to notice that you don't have the shiny hair that she has, or the cute perfect nose, or the bouncy breasts that all the boys are talking about. You'll feel too tall, too thin, too round, too blotchy, too limp, too awkward, too plain, too marked. This breaks my heart.

Today I conducted my own experiment. I sat down with you and asked you to describe yourself. Your adorable five year old language and giggles warmed my heart as I drew your picture. I asked you what you thought about your eyes. You told me that they are blue. I asked what you liked about your eyes. You told me that they can "see good". I asked about your hair. You told me it was long, blondish and brownish and that you can do ponytails, braids and wear a toy seahorse in it. You said your bangs are "sort of awesome, but seriously they get long all the time". You said your nose is awesome and it's for smelling, and that you like your ears because they help you hear. I asked you what your favourite part of your face was and you answered your eyes because you like seeing, your nose because you like smelling, your ears because you like hearing and your mouth because you like saying ridiculous.

You were laughing the whole time and enjoying the conversation. You laughed at my drawing and drew your nose bigger so it showed your nostrils. You loved talking about your body and you focused on purpose of being rather than perversion of view.

You are where I am working so hard to be. You see no fault, no judgement - only purpose. I want to hold you, keep you at this understanding forever. Because, you my dear daughter, are reflecting radiating your true self. And nothing can be more beautiful.

I love you and all that you are.

Mommy.

thankful

Today I got to visit my best friend.

She is only in town for a few days and it meant the world to me to see her now. I find life's timing so intuitive...the ebbs of bad days offset by a trickle of good. And my dear friend is so good for me.

We met 16 years ago, our friendship formed through conversations in noisy college hallways and over build-your-own sandwiches in the cafeteria. Our adventures included tiaras, boy bands, Maylong weekend camping and chugs of straight rye before heading out on the town. She stood by me on my wedding day and stood by me when my world was crumbling down.

Our friendship now spans a nine hour time difference from my side of the world to hers. But today - today, I got to see her smile, touch her hand and throw my head back and laugh with her. I love that our friendship is real and it doesn't matter when or where we meet - even if it's waiting in line for medical appointments. She is my lifeline and her very self infuses me with grace, love and acceptance.

We don't waste time with idle matters such as the weather or what we are wearing. We dive fast, deep and intentional into the heart matters. The stuff we are told not to talk about when someone asks how you are doing. Truth is a constant in this friendship, it is what tethers us together, no matter the time or distance.

I am thankful for my soul sister and for the gift that she is.