Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives. It's cheesy, I know. It is from a soap opera after all. I mean, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't know which soap opera that is from. I was a big fan of soaps for a time. There was a point where I was watching 3-4 different shows and even knew what was going on in many of the other shows because I read the soap magazines. In my early teens Days of our Lives and Another World were my faves. So much drama. Perfect for a teenage girl right? And I was so unhappy with my real life that living vicariously through the characters on the soaps was so much better. Oh the teen years, the angst, the sweat, the hormones, not fitting in, not understanding life, awkward relationships, failing at generally everything. And I didn't care because most the people close to me didn't seem to care much either. I wasn't aware of it at the time but, looking back at my high school years I should have been diagnosed with depression.
It wasn't until I got out from the trap of high school that I really started to learn who I was. Even now, I'm still learning about myself. My mom always said I was a late bloomer. she's not wrong about that. Just like dahlias don't bloom until the heat from the summer sun has waned, the pressure and confusion and loneliness of school was gone and I could breathe and move.
I was always amazed at the girls that "got it". They seemed to have it all figured out. A guy on one arm and "A's" or "B's" on their tests and papers in their other arm. Ready to shoot off to UBC or SFU or TWU and here I was, barely getting "P's" and as for boys?? forget it. They were nice to me but I certainly was not the girl boys were into.
And I hated my teachers. None of them, except one, seemed to really give a damn about my education and I went to a private school so it's not like they were burdened with high needs students. No FAS, no ADHD, no Autism or anything undiagnosed. So instead of trying to help me learn algebra I was shunted off to stupid math. And instead of helping me conjugate my french verbs I was told in French 10 "well, you don't have to take french in gr. 11". We had a head teacher who cared more about what the kids were wearing (fyi: we had school uniforms) than helping students to succeed. And a gym teacher who acted more like a high schooler than a teacher. Not the most positive experience a girl can have.
When I graduated, I came within inches of burning my uniform and yearbooks. High school left nothing but a bitter caustic taste in the back of my mouth. And I left it there for anytime the subject of high school came up. I was glad to voice my distaste. frustrated. challenged. abandoned.
So how is it that 20 years later I am excited to go to my reunion? To see some of the teachers, to walk through the doors that held such a bad experience for me?
You know, I still haven't figured out why I was so excited. I have had the opportunity to connect with a few classmates over facebook and that has been rewarding and so I was glad to be seeing those people. But to revisit the place and the memories.... I was a little paralyzed in the car in the school parking lot. Anxiety overtook me. I made it in though and was the better for it.
God is good
It was as though it had never happened, yet it did. Those horrible five years were washed clean. I was finally able to fold them up and put them away. The bitterness in my mouth was gone, the caustic spirit fled. I mean.... 20 years is a frickin long time. How do you carry that torture with you? I've got better things to do with my time.
A friend recently told me how much she appreciates how real I am. I said "are you kidding me? I don't have time for phony bull shit". Give me real. Don't insult me with an act.
When the reunion evening was over and we were all leaving I felt free. Free from the burden of hate, the burden of regret. God had given me his spirit of forgiveness. His spirit of peace. It is beautiful and it is helping me to look upon other times in my life where I carry regret and work towards letting them go too.
If there is any advice I could pass on from my life to this point is this:
Let go of your burdens. They are like slow poison leaching your joy. You don't have time for that crap. Set it aside and stomp it into the dirt where it belongs. Let God replace it with His spirit of joy, fruitfulness, peace, light, love, forgiveness, compassion.
Keep on asking and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find it. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Matt 7:7-8
Over the summer I was begging God to give me his joy. I did not think that this would be the avenue it would come but, I'll take it. To be in joy with the Lord rather than burdened with dismay... what is better?
Wednesday 22 October 2014
Friday 26 September 2014
it's a dog eat dog...
The other day I was in my kitchen, it was morning, I was still in my robe. I looked out the window and saw one of the many neighbourhood dogs, that are never kept behind fences, in our backyard getting ready to dump a load. I ran out onto our deck and screamed at it to "Get lost! and GO SHIT IN YOUR OWN YARD!!" sigh... All I was missing was my hair in curlers and a rolling pin in my hand.
So, our church's vision statement is "...seeks to be a Christ centered family, who reaches people for Jesus, encourages growth and shows His love through action"
So, our church's vision statement is "...seeks to be a Christ centered family, who reaches people for Jesus, encourages growth and shows His love through action"
So in connection with that, Brad has prepared a missional community study/action plan for the church so it can "reach people for Jesus"
Guess what? There are people afraid to do it. They would rather just keep to themselves or just love on the people that are already involved in the church. How can this be? Haven't we been taught, since the beginning of our individual eternities that Christ hath commissioned us? We are to go out into all the world making disciples.
I'll be honest, meeting people is one of my big stresses. I am an introvert and shy and have been hurt in past relationships. I mean, come on, can it get much harder? The idea of walking up to someone and introducing myself has at times given me little anxiety attacks. And especially now as I am far from the land I called home for 37 years. I have had a hard time acclimating to the tendencies of the North. The attitudes here are different from what I grew up with and have grown accustomed to in the last 10 years as the lower mainland has exploded in population.
But all I have ever heard from people who have visited or lived "up north" is that it is so friendly and welcoming. However, I am finding that no place is immune to distractions and the "me" attitude. To be fair, I have succumbed to this attitude for a good chunk of my life. It's hard not to. We certainly are not bombarded with servant attitude tv, or music, or news, or books. What is king is looking out for ourselves. The other guy is only out for themselves so we have to look out for ourselves.
How did we get here? Or has it always, since the dawn of time, been this way?
How did the church become so monumentally self centered that we, as the earthly representation of the body of Christ, can't get off our asses and love and serve our neighbours? How is it that we have become hypnotized by what is slick and "effortless" where is the reward in letting your pastor/lay leader do it all? Where is the personal growth? Do we just sit and wait for God to grow us? I don't remember being taught that in Sunday school, or bible classes.
I have gone times in my life where I have felt like my relationship with God was stagnant water, only good for producing mosquitoes, and at times I didn't care, but the other times it left me feeling lost and empty so I would ask God to bring me closer to him, and then not long after that I would actually regret praying that because getting closer to God means sacrifice. It means obedience, it means self denial. And who wants to do that?
Well, if you profess to believe that Christ is the Son of God and died to save you and rose from the dead defeating death and sin then what the hell are you doing with your life?
I get it, it's hard. Believe me, I get it. We set up our lives and who has the 10 minutes (minimum time it would take) to read a scripture and pray. To put God forefront.
If you don't want to actually do what God is calling you to do.. what Christ died for you to do then maybe you should just drop the act. Stop pretending that you believe in Him, or that you take His words seriously.
"But don't just listen to God's word. You must do what it says. Otherwise, you are only fooling yourselves. For if you listen to the word and don't obey, it is like glancing at your face in a mirror. You see yourself, walk away, and forget what you look like..." James 1:22-25
I'm really glad the bible, as far as I know, doesn't say anything about what to do when your neighbours dogs are crapping on your lawn. I'm setting myself up for challenges in my neighbourhood. How does the "crazy lady that screams at dogs" minister and serve her community? God help me.. no, please God, seriously, help me. I can't do this by myself. I want people to know the same lunatic faith I know. I don't want to be the only person falling on her face.
I'll be honest, meeting people is one of my big stresses. I am an introvert and shy and have been hurt in past relationships. I mean, come on, can it get much harder? The idea of walking up to someone and introducing myself has at times given me little anxiety attacks. And especially now as I am far from the land I called home for 37 years. I have had a hard time acclimating to the tendencies of the North. The attitudes here are different from what I grew up with and have grown accustomed to in the last 10 years as the lower mainland has exploded in population.
But all I have ever heard from people who have visited or lived "up north" is that it is so friendly and welcoming. However, I am finding that no place is immune to distractions and the "me" attitude. To be fair, I have succumbed to this attitude for a good chunk of my life. It's hard not to. We certainly are not bombarded with servant attitude tv, or music, or news, or books. What is king is looking out for ourselves. The other guy is only out for themselves so we have to look out for ourselves.
How did we get here? Or has it always, since the dawn of time, been this way?
How did the church become so monumentally self centered that we, as the earthly representation of the body of Christ, can't get off our asses and love and serve our neighbours? How is it that we have become hypnotized by what is slick and "effortless" where is the reward in letting your pastor/lay leader do it all? Where is the personal growth? Do we just sit and wait for God to grow us? I don't remember being taught that in Sunday school, or bible classes.
I have gone times in my life where I have felt like my relationship with God was stagnant water, only good for producing mosquitoes, and at times I didn't care, but the other times it left me feeling lost and empty so I would ask God to bring me closer to him, and then not long after that I would actually regret praying that because getting closer to God means sacrifice. It means obedience, it means self denial. And who wants to do that?
Well, if you profess to believe that Christ is the Son of God and died to save you and rose from the dead defeating death and sin then what the hell are you doing with your life?
I get it, it's hard. Believe me, I get it. We set up our lives and who has the 10 minutes (minimum time it would take) to read a scripture and pray. To put God forefront.
If you don't want to actually do what God is calling you to do.. what Christ died for you to do then maybe you should just drop the act. Stop pretending that you believe in Him, or that you take His words seriously.
"But don't just listen to God's word. You must do what it says. Otherwise, you are only fooling yourselves. For if you listen to the word and don't obey, it is like glancing at your face in a mirror. You see yourself, walk away, and forget what you look like..." James 1:22-25
I'm really glad the bible, as far as I know, doesn't say anything about what to do when your neighbours dogs are crapping on your lawn. I'm setting myself up for challenges in my neighbourhood. How does the "crazy lady that screams at dogs" minister and serve her community? God help me.. no, please God, seriously, help me. I can't do this by myself. I want people to know the same lunatic faith I know. I don't want to be the only person falling on her face.
Friday 8 August 2014
Wake up and say Thank You God
So, moving here has been hard. I've made no secret about that. I have been upfront mostly because I have a really hard time faking it but also, so that when I respond poorly to a situation people might give me a little more grace instead of a lot more judgement. I have talked and thought and prayed and cried and raged and stewed about the move here...about our last two years in total. The culmination of days has not been easy. Part of it is just having a brood of little boys, the other part is wired into my DNA upbringing. I do not like change or contradiction and my parents grew up poor so there was never any financial relaxing. One parent was afraid to spend money, the other was afraid to have money. It is amazing how much worth, and entitlement can be tied to something so fragile. I would overhear my parents discuss how money was tight so I would be afraid to tell them that I had outgrown my underwear. One parent would scold me for not finishing my school lunch and leaving it to rot in my bag, and the other parent would treat me to an ice cream cone... for no reason.
And I hated change.. still do. Every time I switched schools I cried for days. One time my dad was talking seriously about selling our house and I just about lost it. Even when I got married I was thrilled right down to my socks to be married to the man of my dreams but the change of living with someone was hard and I cried about a lot of those changes for the first few months of our marriage.
I have discovered that fear breeds discontentment. Even at my happiest in my life I can think back to moments of complaint.
In a conversation with Brad not too long ago we were discussing the last few months and how I am coping (or not) and what came out of that conversation was contentment. And that I am not. And as I dig deeper, maybe I have never been. Ever. So, as I have stewed on this idea the last little while I have noticed that dis)contentment has been the general theme in the conversations I am having with just about everyone in my life. There is a lot of discontentment in the world. Why is that? I mean from lifer Christians even. People that are supposed to exude the 'joy, joy, joy, joy down in their hearts' there is an unrest, a distrust, a wary faith, an emptiness, a not enough, a wanting more, a been let down, a never gonna forget the hurt they caused, a general "their grass is greener" kind of haunting.
There seems to be an unbalance as well in the dis)contentment idea. While I have friends that hold on to their hurts as if they are afraid to be happy, I also have friends that refuse to admit to any hurt at all. they never deal with the trauma they have experienced and so bury it because "I will not be defeated" is their battle cry, yet discontentment finds a way because inevitably it rears it's ugly head out another corridor.
How hard is it to say "I am ok in where I am at right at this moment." I have met Christians that are at peace when a loved one dies but can't handle day to day life. Aren't we supposed to be content? Isn't that part of our burden? That's a big contradiction for me. Contentment...our burden...
I can remember as a child singing in church "When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot though hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul"
I didn't get it as a child, I sort of got it as a teenager but when that song really hit home was when our firstborn dream was unfulfilled. I tell you, "sorrows like sea billows" is woeful understatement. I stood in a shower till the water ran cold and I didn't notice, I almost collapsed into a heap on the floor when Brad was talking to the hospital about what to do with "the body". There was no "it is well" in those times for me. I am always in awe of someone who can experience that kind of loss and say "it's ok, it wasn't meant to be" and truly believe it and be at peace with it. Do they not understand that this is not how God intended for things to be? Death is not part of his original design. He submitted his own child to the ills of satan's destruction of God's original plan.
So when I started this post yesterday I was going about my day like every other day. Had some laughs with the boys, had some battles with the boys, refereed some battles between the boys. Noah crashed on the couch just before supper and I sat and had sleepy snuggles with him and soaked it in because those things you HAVE to soak in. Listen to them sleepy breathe, look at and hold their little pudgy hand and fingers in yours. Kiss their head, breathe it all in because it doesn't last. I tried to finish this post last night after the three were in bed but got distracted by the tv. So today, while I'm helping Brad get packed up for camping with Carlon and Noah, I am thinking about how to finish up this post. Questions like "So where does contentment fit in?" "How do I balance contentment and burden?" "Can we take God out of the equation?"
Then I saw it, I read about it, I wept about it....
Children being beheaded in Iraq for loving Jesus, or for their parents loving Jesus. And the children who manage to escape... these children who were probably told by their parents to run....their parents who were being raped and murdered.... were dying in the hills for starvation, dehydration, exhaustion. It is the most breath stealing, gut stomping, enraging act I have ever heard of. Babies... heads being chopped off and put on stakes.... women...mommies being raped and made into slaves.... men.. daddies being forced to renounce their faith and being killed anyways. Where is the contentment now. I have such unrest. My deep seeded mommy soul wants to run to Iraq and save all those wee ones, gather them up and protect them. I have wept in prayer today that God has them safe in his hands. That they felt no fear in their death, that they are reunited with their parents and Christ. I don't even know where to go from here.. I am losing words, my heart is crumbling.
So, where does contentment fit in?
I am not content with the ills of this world, and yet I let the ills seep in and unravel me. The little ills and the big ones. There is no discerning them except when ones so big make me lose my heart, the little ills don't have any hold.
Am I making sense? I am so lost.
I prayed today that God would do something "old testament" worthy in Iraq. That he would show the world his wonders. Because it seems like that is the only thing that will get people to listen anymore. Nobody is listening for the whisper. We need him to give a sonic boom.
I think I have it now. The balance between contentment and burden...
Be thankful for the good He has given you.
Maybe your house needs repairs... at least you have a house.
Maybe your spouse drives you bonkers with how he does the laundry...Thank God you weren't married to a armed forces officer that was killed in action in Afghanistan.
Maybe your children fight more than you can handle.... millions of families around the world can't have children and even more children have no siblings or families to fight with or be hugged by.
You don't like the music that your church leads worship with.... millions of our brothers and sisters in Christ around the world literally risk their lives to sing any song that praises Christ.
Be content with your cushy safe life
Carry a burden for those that are dying for Christ. Truly. Dying. For. HIM
For me to live is Christ, to die is gain...
we have no idea...
none
And I hated change.. still do. Every time I switched schools I cried for days. One time my dad was talking seriously about selling our house and I just about lost it. Even when I got married I was thrilled right down to my socks to be married to the man of my dreams but the change of living with someone was hard and I cried about a lot of those changes for the first few months of our marriage.
I have discovered that fear breeds discontentment. Even at my happiest in my life I can think back to moments of complaint.
In a conversation with Brad not too long ago we were discussing the last few months and how I am coping (or not) and what came out of that conversation was contentment. And that I am not. And as I dig deeper, maybe I have never been. Ever. So, as I have stewed on this idea the last little while I have noticed that dis)contentment has been the general theme in the conversations I am having with just about everyone in my life. There is a lot of discontentment in the world. Why is that? I mean from lifer Christians even. People that are supposed to exude the 'joy, joy, joy, joy down in their hearts' there is an unrest, a distrust, a wary faith, an emptiness, a not enough, a wanting more, a been let down, a never gonna forget the hurt they caused, a general "their grass is greener" kind of haunting.
There seems to be an unbalance as well in the dis)contentment idea. While I have friends that hold on to their hurts as if they are afraid to be happy, I also have friends that refuse to admit to any hurt at all. they never deal with the trauma they have experienced and so bury it because "I will not be defeated" is their battle cry, yet discontentment finds a way because inevitably it rears it's ugly head out another corridor.
How hard is it to say "I am ok in where I am at right at this moment." I have met Christians that are at peace when a loved one dies but can't handle day to day life. Aren't we supposed to be content? Isn't that part of our burden? That's a big contradiction for me. Contentment...our burden...
I can remember as a child singing in church "When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot though hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul"
I didn't get it as a child, I sort of got it as a teenager but when that song really hit home was when our firstborn dream was unfulfilled. I tell you, "sorrows like sea billows" is woeful understatement. I stood in a shower till the water ran cold and I didn't notice, I almost collapsed into a heap on the floor when Brad was talking to the hospital about what to do with "the body". There was no "it is well" in those times for me. I am always in awe of someone who can experience that kind of loss and say "it's ok, it wasn't meant to be" and truly believe it and be at peace with it. Do they not understand that this is not how God intended for things to be? Death is not part of his original design. He submitted his own child to the ills of satan's destruction of God's original plan.
So when I started this post yesterday I was going about my day like every other day. Had some laughs with the boys, had some battles with the boys, refereed some battles between the boys. Noah crashed on the couch just before supper and I sat and had sleepy snuggles with him and soaked it in because those things you HAVE to soak in. Listen to them sleepy breathe, look at and hold their little pudgy hand and fingers in yours. Kiss their head, breathe it all in because it doesn't last. I tried to finish this post last night after the three were in bed but got distracted by the tv. So today, while I'm helping Brad get packed up for camping with Carlon and Noah, I am thinking about how to finish up this post. Questions like "So where does contentment fit in?" "How do I balance contentment and burden?" "Can we take God out of the equation?"
Then I saw it, I read about it, I wept about it....
Children being beheaded in Iraq for loving Jesus, or for their parents loving Jesus. And the children who manage to escape... these children who were probably told by their parents to run....their parents who were being raped and murdered.... were dying in the hills for starvation, dehydration, exhaustion. It is the most breath stealing, gut stomping, enraging act I have ever heard of. Babies... heads being chopped off and put on stakes.... women...mommies being raped and made into slaves.... men.. daddies being forced to renounce their faith and being killed anyways. Where is the contentment now. I have such unrest. My deep seeded mommy soul wants to run to Iraq and save all those wee ones, gather them up and protect them. I have wept in prayer today that God has them safe in his hands. That they felt no fear in their death, that they are reunited with their parents and Christ. I don't even know where to go from here.. I am losing words, my heart is crumbling.
So, where does contentment fit in?
I am not content with the ills of this world, and yet I let the ills seep in and unravel me. The little ills and the big ones. There is no discerning them except when ones so big make me lose my heart, the little ills don't have any hold.
Am I making sense? I am so lost.
I prayed today that God would do something "old testament" worthy in Iraq. That he would show the world his wonders. Because it seems like that is the only thing that will get people to listen anymore. Nobody is listening for the whisper. We need him to give a sonic boom.
I think I have it now. The balance between contentment and burden...
Be thankful for the good He has given you.
Maybe your house needs repairs... at least you have a house.
Maybe your spouse drives you bonkers with how he does the laundry...Thank God you weren't married to a armed forces officer that was killed in action in Afghanistan.
Maybe your children fight more than you can handle.... millions of families around the world can't have children and even more children have no siblings or families to fight with or be hugged by.
You don't like the music that your church leads worship with.... millions of our brothers and sisters in Christ around the world literally risk their lives to sing any song that praises Christ.
Be content with your cushy safe life
Carry a burden for those that are dying for Christ. Truly. Dying. For. HIM
For me to live is Christ, to die is gain...
we have no idea...
none
Saturday 28 June 2014
losing at it all
You can't tell me you've never experienced loss. I wouldn't believe it. The removal of something? It happens to everyone. The degree of loss is different for the circumstance and even a positive experience that leads to change also leaves loss.
We lose our innocence, our toys, our feeling of security, our phone (gasp), our identity, our virginity, our home, our thoughts, our first love, our pride, the list goes on and on. Just insert your life altering loss here _____. Then, the things you lose that are mundane here _____.
My dad is forever losing his keys and my mom loses her patience.
June 13 was Carlon's last day of school. Two weeks too soon thanks to the strike/lock out. I went to his school that day to pick him up. He came outside and I wasn't there. This has happened before and it hasn't caused a problem but, this day, for whatever reason, he got scared and decided to walk home... BY HIMSELF!!
My sweet little 5 year old dream of a boy decided he could walk home the near 1 km to our house, crossing a busy street, taking the short cut we take, which leads beside a forested area. He said he was scared and sang 'Jesus loves me' to himself. I, meanwhile, am running around the school near crapping my pants because he is nowhere to be found and he never does this.
I was in a state of loss. My son was lost. My panic was in overload. 'Someone has taken him! He is lost, gone forever' THE most devastating feeling. Meanwhile he's walking home scared, feeling abandoned, alone, he has lost his security and trust that mommy would always be there.
When it finally came to light that the crossing guard saw him walk home I was livid. The principle, his teacher and the crossing guard asked if he had ever walked home alone before and I responded with great frustration, "NO! Because he is 5!!". My frustration was very evident and I was in tears at the panic that he still wasn't safe. It's a 15 minute walk between our house and the school.
When Hawk called that he was home safe I wept. He was safe, he was home. All I wanted was to hug him. He was no longer lost, but what had been lost?
My relationship with his teacher and the school. When he started at the school we were given an info sheet that informed us that kindergarten students were not allowed to leave the school without their guardian, and if no one came to get them they were to wait at the office.
So, how did this happen?!
I've lost a little in my relationship with Carlon. This experience is something he will never forget, and I will always, to the day I die, blame myself that it happened because I wasn't there when he came out. I've lost my trust in my ability as a mom. This trust was tenuous at best but now... it has been obliterated.
So what next? I have to talk to the school. I have been too angry to approach it but, for the safety of other children I have to. How do I forgive myself and move on? I mean this just piles on to all my feelings of doubt that we made the right decision to move here. My gut still wrenches when Carlon leaves the house to bike down our quiet, safe street to his friends house.
How do we accommodate loss? How do we overcome it? I have experienced a mountain of losses. i am climbing it and I want to see beyond it and yet another loss will happen and it either adds to the height of the mountain or causes a rock in my path and makes me stumble or it forces a rock slide and pushes me down the mountain.
Why can't I leap the mountain? Why does a loss knock me down so? I ask God to help me but I can't seem to get my footing strong. I am overwhelmed and out of breath.
Give me wings Lord, carry me over...
We lose our innocence, our toys, our feeling of security, our phone (gasp), our identity, our virginity, our home, our thoughts, our first love, our pride, the list goes on and on. Just insert your life altering loss here _____. Then, the things you lose that are mundane here _____.
My dad is forever losing his keys and my mom loses her patience.
June 13 was Carlon's last day of school. Two weeks too soon thanks to the strike/lock out. I went to his school that day to pick him up. He came outside and I wasn't there. This has happened before and it hasn't caused a problem but, this day, for whatever reason, he got scared and decided to walk home... BY HIMSELF!!
My sweet little 5 year old dream of a boy decided he could walk home the near 1 km to our house, crossing a busy street, taking the short cut we take, which leads beside a forested area. He said he was scared and sang 'Jesus loves me' to himself. I, meanwhile, am running around the school near crapping my pants because he is nowhere to be found and he never does this.
I was in a state of loss. My son was lost. My panic was in overload. 'Someone has taken him! He is lost, gone forever' THE most devastating feeling. Meanwhile he's walking home scared, feeling abandoned, alone, he has lost his security and trust that mommy would always be there.
When it finally came to light that the crossing guard saw him walk home I was livid. The principle, his teacher and the crossing guard asked if he had ever walked home alone before and I responded with great frustration, "NO! Because he is 5!!". My frustration was very evident and I was in tears at the panic that he still wasn't safe. It's a 15 minute walk between our house and the school.
When Hawk called that he was home safe I wept. He was safe, he was home. All I wanted was to hug him. He was no longer lost, but what had been lost?
My relationship with his teacher and the school. When he started at the school we were given an info sheet that informed us that kindergarten students were not allowed to leave the school without their guardian, and if no one came to get them they were to wait at the office.
So, how did this happen?!
I've lost a little in my relationship with Carlon. This experience is something he will never forget, and I will always, to the day I die, blame myself that it happened because I wasn't there when he came out. I've lost my trust in my ability as a mom. This trust was tenuous at best but now... it has been obliterated.
So what next? I have to talk to the school. I have been too angry to approach it but, for the safety of other children I have to. How do I forgive myself and move on? I mean this just piles on to all my feelings of doubt that we made the right decision to move here. My gut still wrenches when Carlon leaves the house to bike down our quiet, safe street to his friends house.
How do we accommodate loss? How do we overcome it? I have experienced a mountain of losses. i am climbing it and I want to see beyond it and yet another loss will happen and it either adds to the height of the mountain or causes a rock in my path and makes me stumble or it forces a rock slide and pushes me down the mountain.
Why can't I leap the mountain? Why does a loss knock me down so? I ask God to help me but I can't seem to get my footing strong. I am overwhelmed and out of breath.
Give me wings Lord, carry me over...
Tuesday 10 June 2014
sunshine, lollipops and rainbows....
Have you ever come to a point in your walk stumble walk stumble alongside the Lord where you realized that you had absorbed lies about a relationship with Him? Is that too much to comprehend or answer? Do you know what I'm asking?
Here it is on a different plate...
You've been with your spouse for how ever many years and you always listened and believed someone else, who also knew your spouse, give you all the attributes they believed to be true about them but, after being with your spouse for say 20 years you realize "they have never picked their wet towel off the floor. Why did I believe that person who told me they were tidy? And I told everyone else they were tidy! Why did it take a vacation away and coming home to mold on the carpet for me to see this. How could I have been so mislead?" Ok, so maybe not the best analogy but do you get what I'm driving at now?
This is how I have been anvil dropped by my faith recently.
Growing up in church and watching baptisms and hearing testimonies on a regular basis, I can remember one in particular where the "faithful" talked about going through a challenging time then God opened all the doors and life was blessed. (paraphrasing)
I can remember thinking, how cool that was and how God was pretty awesome. I heard this idea of "opening doors" a few other times in my growing up years and it was always combined with obedience to God and the outcome was smooth sailing. So, in summary, the solution to life is:
Obedience to God -> open doors -> overabundant blessings
crap crap crap
I allowed this idea to sink into my theology, to colour my doctrine and when I encountered someone who felt God operated differently I tried to encourage them with Sunday school vignettes and hollow diatribes. Although, I didn't believe them to be those at the time, I have since come to experience that is not the case and to all I spoke to that way I am truly sorry.
We moved up North feeling God was calling us here and instead of entering into a Jonah-esque experience we decided to be obedient to God's call. So I subconsciously expected that everything would be easy. Selling our place, finding a place here. I kept telling people "if it's God's plan and we're being obedient then God will make it all fall into place" Well we finally sold and found a place but it was fraught with angst. It was torturous. I tried to stay positive but it all got harder and harder as if it felt like God had cracked the doors and we were pushing and pushing to open them.
You're probably going to say "well you shouldn't have been pushing, just wait and God will open them". I'm telling you, I am now finding that line of thinking to be bullshit. I don't think God sits there waiting for us with his bucket o' blessin' and when we're obedient he pours it over us from up in great glory. I believe he lets us make our choices, obedient or dis and he meets us where we are after that choice. And I've come to believe that obedience doesn't lead to blessings because then we are dangerously close to a "works" based faith and I am hooped if that's the case because in no way can I win that competition.
But let me take a step back, because what do we imagine, what do I imagine to be in the great big bucket o' blessin'?
What I have absorbed from years of "blessing gospel" is that bucket is whatever your little corrupted heart desires:
A safe house? SOLD
No worries about bills? Full bank accounts
Lots of friends? Too many to count
No stress or tension with your spouse? Happy times all the time
But no, it doesn't work that way and how could it? God could give us all we want but it wouldn't be good enough because "we" are messed up, "we" are not perfect, "we" are self-destructive and "we" are in it for ourselves.
Let's stop the lie of warm fuzzy blessings that will make our lives easier. If anything, obedience to God's call makes our lives more challenging, more frustrating, more inadequate.
Stop expecting rainbows and butterflies when you are obedient to God. Stop going in with the attitude of giving to get. I'm talking to myself here but, let's face it. Have we not all "given to get" at some point in our lives? Let's be obedient to God for the sake of obedience without expecting anything in return because a give and get relationship is not a healthy one. Don't we then start to keep score?
I've decided that sometimes God is a big stinky poo poo head because he pushes my buttons and makes me frustrated and challenges me when I just want peace and easy. So I say 'really God? We're doing this now? I've barely caught my breath from the last thing and now this? Well, you suck!' and then... 'But I love you' and with gritting teeth 'and I know this will make me stronger in my faith'
So do yourselves a favour and a favour to all those you disciple, stop painting God as a warm pillow that cushions your head at night. Be honest about your relationship with Him. It is hard. It is tearing. It is everything a relationship is when two parties don't see eye to eye all the time. And when the other "eye" you don't meet with is the omnipotent God then it is even more exhausting. Be honest and give yourself the freedom to have a real relationship. THAT is the blessing.
Maybe that's what He's waiting for. That moment when you say "God, you suck!" and He says "GOOD! Now you and I can finally do something"
Here it is on a different plate...
You've been with your spouse for how ever many years and you always listened and believed someone else, who also knew your spouse, give you all the attributes they believed to be true about them but, after being with your spouse for say 20 years you realize "they have never picked their wet towel off the floor. Why did I believe that person who told me they were tidy? And I told everyone else they were tidy! Why did it take a vacation away and coming home to mold on the carpet for me to see this. How could I have been so mislead?" Ok, so maybe not the best analogy but do you get what I'm driving at now?
This is how I have been anvil dropped by my faith recently.
Growing up in church and watching baptisms and hearing testimonies on a regular basis, I can remember one in particular where the "faithful" talked about going through a challenging time then God opened all the doors and life was blessed. (paraphrasing)
I can remember thinking, how cool that was and how God was pretty awesome. I heard this idea of "opening doors" a few other times in my growing up years and it was always combined with obedience to God and the outcome was smooth sailing. So, in summary, the solution to life is:
Obedience to God -> open doors -> overabundant blessings
crap crap crap
I allowed this idea to sink into my theology, to colour my doctrine and when I encountered someone who felt God operated differently I tried to encourage them with Sunday school vignettes and hollow diatribes. Although, I didn't believe them to be those at the time, I have since come to experience that is not the case and to all I spoke to that way I am truly sorry.
We moved up North feeling God was calling us here and instead of entering into a Jonah-esque experience we decided to be obedient to God's call. So I subconsciously expected that everything would be easy. Selling our place, finding a place here. I kept telling people "if it's God's plan and we're being obedient then God will make it all fall into place" Well we finally sold and found a place but it was fraught with angst. It was torturous. I tried to stay positive but it all got harder and harder as if it felt like God had cracked the doors and we were pushing and pushing to open them.
You're probably going to say "well you shouldn't have been pushing, just wait and God will open them". I'm telling you, I am now finding that line of thinking to be bullshit. I don't think God sits there waiting for us with his bucket o' blessin' and when we're obedient he pours it over us from up in great glory. I believe he lets us make our choices, obedient or dis and he meets us where we are after that choice. And I've come to believe that obedience doesn't lead to blessings because then we are dangerously close to a "works" based faith and I am hooped if that's the case because in no way can I win that competition.
But let me take a step back, because what do we imagine, what do I imagine to be in the great big bucket o' blessin'?
What I have absorbed from years of "blessing gospel" is that bucket is whatever your little corrupted heart desires:
A safe house? SOLD
No worries about bills? Full bank accounts
Lots of friends? Too many to count
No stress or tension with your spouse? Happy times all the time
But no, it doesn't work that way and how could it? God could give us all we want but it wouldn't be good enough because "we" are messed up, "we" are not perfect, "we" are self-destructive and "we" are in it for ourselves.
Let's stop the lie of warm fuzzy blessings that will make our lives easier. If anything, obedience to God's call makes our lives more challenging, more frustrating, more inadequate.
Stop expecting rainbows and butterflies when you are obedient to God. Stop going in with the attitude of giving to get. I'm talking to myself here but, let's face it. Have we not all "given to get" at some point in our lives? Let's be obedient to God for the sake of obedience without expecting anything in return because a give and get relationship is not a healthy one. Don't we then start to keep score?
I've decided that sometimes God is a big stinky poo poo head because he pushes my buttons and makes me frustrated and challenges me when I just want peace and easy. So I say 'really God? We're doing this now? I've barely caught my breath from the last thing and now this? Well, you suck!' and then... 'But I love you' and with gritting teeth 'and I know this will make me stronger in my faith'
So do yourselves a favour and a favour to all those you disciple, stop painting God as a warm pillow that cushions your head at night. Be honest about your relationship with Him. It is hard. It is tearing. It is everything a relationship is when two parties don't see eye to eye all the time. And when the other "eye" you don't meet with is the omnipotent God then it is even more exhausting. Be honest and give yourself the freedom to have a real relationship. THAT is the blessing.
Maybe that's what He's waiting for. That moment when you say "God, you suck!" and He says "GOOD! Now you and I can finally do something"
Sunday 11 May 2014
I forgot to remember or, Why I hate Mother's Day
So, did you do it? Did you call or text or mail a card to or take out to brunch or spend time with or write a special poem to or make a special craft for your mommy?
Did you demand your children call you or pay you some measure of expected respect today?
Maybe you sat alone, wondering why your mom gave you up for adoption?
Or maybe your womb cried out to you as you second guessed the abortion you had.
Did you stare at the phone cringing at the thought of speaking to your mom because the conversations are always difficult, hurtful or full of awkward silences.
Or... maybe you tried desperately to not think about how much you are not a mom even though you've spent hundreds of thousands of dollars trying to be.
Culturally commercial expectation. It sucks right? I mean, why is there a determined day to "honour" mothers, or fathers for that matter?
Did you know the original intent behind Mother's Day was not to perpetuate the commercial sector? It was a call to arms. A battle cry if you will for moms, for Women to stand up against the destruction of the world, of their children.
Julia Ward Howe. The woman behind "Battle Hymn of the Republic" wrote "Appeal to womanhood throughout the world" in 1870 later to be known as "Mother's Day Proclamation". She had had enough of war, the American Civil War and then the Franco-Prussian War and was pleading an appeal to woman all over the world to take hold of their responsibility to change and shape their respective societies at the political level.
THIS IS BIG STUFF
This is a passive call because it's words on paper not violence with arms, but it is big none the less. She was calling the women of the world to active peace. A passive call to active peace. What does that look like? Does it look like Hallmark cards and 1-800-flowers?
Julia worked tirelessly to forward her message of active peace with speaking tours and rallies all over the world and from this sprouted gatherings that were rooted in faith, protest and feminism. Nine years later however, after it had been turned into a celebration and a holiday by then American president Woodrow Wilson, Julia cried in frustration and demanded boycotts saying, "this is not what I intended. I wanted it to be a day of sentiment, not profit"
I am so completely opposed to hallmark holidays I can't even begin to tell you. Things that have a raw, deep, cutting history are turned into fluff and cause our humanity to think only of ourselves and what we aren't getting.
My oldest son gave me a marigold in a pot with a little card that he made at school on Friday and I loved it because he made it. Not because it was mother's day and I damn well better get something. Today my two oldest, in their Sunday school classes gave me flowers made from paper cut outs of their hands and I love them because it is from their own person, those flowers are their hand shape and size. I don't, however, love them because it's mother's day and somebody better give me flowers or else.
I don't expect my husband to wait for this day to thank me for being the mother of his children and if my boys need a special day to tell my that they love me then somewhere along the way I really screwed the pooch as a mom and what do I do now? That means I am sure to have no relationship with them at all, whether it's mother's day or not.
I have a son, my oldest oldest, to be precise, that I haven't heard from since May 7, 2007. This year, had he reached his due date would have been 7. And this year for the second year in a row I forgot to remember him on the anniversary of his first and last day of his timeless life. Does that make me feel like less of a mom? You betcha it does. Does it make me feel like I've been a mom for 7 years even though my current oldest is only 5 1/2? You betcha it does.
This anniversary will always fall close to mother's day. My first "mother's day" was May 12, 2007 and I hated it. But, it gave me the opportunity to look rationally at mother's day. The purpose for it. How we as a society have failed it. How we can redeem it. I have been stewing over this for years until finally today I stumbled across the history of it.
I have grown tired of the kitchy posts or memes I see on the internet "share this if you love your mom" or inspirational posts about how great mom's are and "battle cries for all the work moms do and we deserve breakfast in bed on mother's day" or at the very least to pee in peace! Recently there was a post that went around about how much a mom should be paid if you classified all the duties she does and scaled her pay based on those jobs in the workforce. To me that actually demeans what a mom does because if she was in it for the money then, whoa, we have a problem.
Moms are so much more than that. Moms have a power and strength and resource to shape this world. IF we can stop fighting each other over homeschooling and breastfeeding and pinteresting and discipline, and potty training, and meal planning and stay at home vs. work place. Can we do it? Can we? Our children require us to do more than wipe their bums and clean their ears. We are more than yelling about homework, or fighting at the hockey rink. Aren't we more than "pick up your wet towels" and "don't hit your brother's penis" I want to be more than "you can't go outside till you eat all your supper"
Our (collectively here) OUR CHILDREN are being called into action for their community and we are their armery. I don't want this to sound like they are off to war, I mean that is exactly what Julia Ward Howe was trying to stop, but if our biggest concern in what kind of adults our children will become is more about getting a card on mother's day than our children leaving their mark for good on this world....
Did you demand your children call you or pay you some measure of expected respect today?
Maybe you sat alone, wondering why your mom gave you up for adoption?
Or maybe your womb cried out to you as you second guessed the abortion you had.
Did you stare at the phone cringing at the thought of speaking to your mom because the conversations are always difficult, hurtful or full of awkward silences.
Or... maybe you tried desperately to not think about how much you are not a mom even though you've spent hundreds of thousands of dollars trying to be.
Culturally commercial expectation. It sucks right? I mean, why is there a determined day to "honour" mothers, or fathers for that matter?
Did you know the original intent behind Mother's Day was not to perpetuate the commercial sector? It was a call to arms. A battle cry if you will for moms, for Women to stand up against the destruction of the world, of their children.
Julia Ward Howe. The woman behind "Battle Hymn of the Republic" wrote "Appeal to womanhood throughout the world" in 1870 later to be known as "Mother's Day Proclamation". She had had enough of war, the American Civil War and then the Franco-Prussian War and was pleading an appeal to woman all over the world to take hold of their responsibility to change and shape their respective societies at the political level.
THIS IS BIG STUFF
This is a passive call because it's words on paper not violence with arms, but it is big none the less. She was calling the women of the world to active peace. A passive call to active peace. What does that look like? Does it look like Hallmark cards and 1-800-flowers?
Julia worked tirelessly to forward her message of active peace with speaking tours and rallies all over the world and from this sprouted gatherings that were rooted in faith, protest and feminism. Nine years later however, after it had been turned into a celebration and a holiday by then American president Woodrow Wilson, Julia cried in frustration and demanded boycotts saying, "this is not what I intended. I wanted it to be a day of sentiment, not profit"
I am so completely opposed to hallmark holidays I can't even begin to tell you. Things that have a raw, deep, cutting history are turned into fluff and cause our humanity to think only of ourselves and what we aren't getting.
My oldest son gave me a marigold in a pot with a little card that he made at school on Friday and I loved it because he made it. Not because it was mother's day and I damn well better get something. Today my two oldest, in their Sunday school classes gave me flowers made from paper cut outs of their hands and I love them because it is from their own person, those flowers are their hand shape and size. I don't, however, love them because it's mother's day and somebody better give me flowers or else.
I don't expect my husband to wait for this day to thank me for being the mother of his children and if my boys need a special day to tell my that they love me then somewhere along the way I really screwed the pooch as a mom and what do I do now? That means I am sure to have no relationship with them at all, whether it's mother's day or not.
I have a son, my oldest oldest, to be precise, that I haven't heard from since May 7, 2007. This year, had he reached his due date would have been 7. And this year for the second year in a row I forgot to remember him on the anniversary of his first and last day of his timeless life. Does that make me feel like less of a mom? You betcha it does. Does it make me feel like I've been a mom for 7 years even though my current oldest is only 5 1/2? You betcha it does.
This anniversary will always fall close to mother's day. My first "mother's day" was May 12, 2007 and I hated it. But, it gave me the opportunity to look rationally at mother's day. The purpose for it. How we as a society have failed it. How we can redeem it. I have been stewing over this for years until finally today I stumbled across the history of it.
I have grown tired of the kitchy posts or memes I see on the internet "share this if you love your mom" or inspirational posts about how great mom's are and "battle cries for all the work moms do and we deserve breakfast in bed on mother's day" or at the very least to pee in peace! Recently there was a post that went around about how much a mom should be paid if you classified all the duties she does and scaled her pay based on those jobs in the workforce. To me that actually demeans what a mom does because if she was in it for the money then, whoa, we have a problem.
Moms are so much more than that. Moms have a power and strength and resource to shape this world. IF we can stop fighting each other over homeschooling and breastfeeding and pinteresting and discipline, and potty training, and meal planning and stay at home vs. work place. Can we do it? Can we? Our children require us to do more than wipe their bums and clean their ears. We are more than yelling about homework, or fighting at the hockey rink. Aren't we more than "pick up your wet towels" and "don't hit your brother's penis" I want to be more than "you can't go outside till you eat all your supper"
Our (collectively here) OUR CHILDREN are being called into action for their community and we are their armery. I don't want this to sound like they are off to war, I mean that is exactly what Julia Ward Howe was trying to stop, but if our biggest concern in what kind of adults our children will become is more about getting a card on mother's day than our children leaving their mark for good on this world....
Thursday 8 May 2014
Oh the sweet irony
We left our honey in Port Moody.
So what? You say.
Our beautiful, liquid gold, wildflower, from a local orchard honey.
Ya, so?
I have been consuming this honey since my teen years. My parents first purchased it in 2 litre ice cream buckets. Then started getting it in gallon pails once we realized we were addicted to it. One year my dad came home with a 5 gallon pail! There is no other honey that I have tried that tastes like it. Not unlike wines, honey is affected by the environment it is produced in. I have had orange blossom honey from Atlanta, Georgia. Apple blossom honey from Abbotsford, BC. I have had clover honey and buckwheat honey and honey from a restaurant packet and honey from a tub in a common grocery store and let me tell you they all taste extremely different. But none are like my wildflower honey from Stuber's farm in Abbotsford. In the haste of the pack up and go for Brad and Carlon on their road trip adventure up north the honey bucket got left behind at my sister's.
Don't worry, the irony is not lost on me
The sweetness and unique-in-it's-make-up quality of honey can be so easily equated to our families can it not?
I love my family. Yes sometimes they drive me nuts but I still love them and currently am having a hard time releasing myself from the viscosity of the adhesiveness of my family. In other words I'm homesick. I've left my family..... my honey behind.
Hawk has found at least one honey producer up here and we'll give it a try. And I know there are lots of opportunities for more "families" for our little family. But it will be different. It's all so different.
My biscuits will taste different, my tea, my granola, my bread. All the things I use my honey for. And so my comfort level is affected, the ease, the warm blanket of familiarity and protection that comes with a family. With my family. Walking into my sister's house, kicking off our shoes, the boys running around chasing the dog, or running outside to jump on the trampoline. Hearing my niece (just barely) in her room playing her guitar, watching my other niece jumping with her cousins. Sitting in comfortable quietness with my big brother (in law) watching the hockey game, or whatever. Calling my other sister and chatting so quickly from the deepness of our hearts and knowing that even though we were separated by a 40 minute drive it would be nothing to make it happen. Jumping in the car to go to my parents to raid their garden and they want me to do it. My last drive through my old neighbourhood produced bittersweet tears. I broke my leg there, I rode my bike there, I sled down that hill, I got bit by a dog there, and all these houses for halloween.
It all went down so smooth and tasted so sweet.
So, now what. I have to leave that honey behind. I have to "set them aside" (words directly from my big sis's mouth as I squeezed her good-bye at the airport).
Ok, so I will taste the honey here. It won't be the same and it shouldn't be. It should be different, but it will still be sweet.
So what? You say.
Our beautiful, liquid gold, wildflower, from a local orchard honey.
Ya, so?
I have been consuming this honey since my teen years. My parents first purchased it in 2 litre ice cream buckets. Then started getting it in gallon pails once we realized we were addicted to it. One year my dad came home with a 5 gallon pail! There is no other honey that I have tried that tastes like it. Not unlike wines, honey is affected by the environment it is produced in. I have had orange blossom honey from Atlanta, Georgia. Apple blossom honey from Abbotsford, BC. I have had clover honey and buckwheat honey and honey from a restaurant packet and honey from a tub in a common grocery store and let me tell you they all taste extremely different. But none are like my wildflower honey from Stuber's farm in Abbotsford. In the haste of the pack up and go for Brad and Carlon on their road trip adventure up north the honey bucket got left behind at my sister's.
Don't worry, the irony is not lost on me
The sweetness and unique-in-it's-make-up quality of honey can be so easily equated to our families can it not?
I love my family. Yes sometimes they drive me nuts but I still love them and currently am having a hard time releasing myself from the viscosity of the adhesiveness of my family. In other words I'm homesick. I've left my family..... my honey behind.
Hawk has found at least one honey producer up here and we'll give it a try. And I know there are lots of opportunities for more "families" for our little family. But it will be different. It's all so different.
My biscuits will taste different, my tea, my granola, my bread. All the things I use my honey for. And so my comfort level is affected, the ease, the warm blanket of familiarity and protection that comes with a family. With my family. Walking into my sister's house, kicking off our shoes, the boys running around chasing the dog, or running outside to jump on the trampoline. Hearing my niece (just barely) in her room playing her guitar, watching my other niece jumping with her cousins. Sitting in comfortable quietness with my big brother (in law) watching the hockey game, or whatever. Calling my other sister and chatting so quickly from the deepness of our hearts and knowing that even though we were separated by a 40 minute drive it would be nothing to make it happen. Jumping in the car to go to my parents to raid their garden and they want me to do it. My last drive through my old neighbourhood produced bittersweet tears. I broke my leg there, I rode my bike there, I sled down that hill, I got bit by a dog there, and all these houses for halloween.
It all went down so smooth and tasted so sweet.
So, now what. I have to leave that honey behind. I have to "set them aside" (words directly from my big sis's mouth as I squeezed her good-bye at the airport).
Ok, so I will taste the honey here. It won't be the same and it shouldn't be. It should be different, but it will still be sweet.
Thursday 10 April 2014
slay the dragon
last week....
I am breathing. For a moment. It was/has not been a good day and I lay the blame squarely on the shoulders of PMS. Not too long ago a report came out saying that pms was basically bupkiss. Not real. A falsehood. Made up. All in our pretty little heads. Well, I'd like to show the writer of that report that my pretty little head is incapable of coping with anything once a month.
It all went downhill the moment I woke up (not very promising as days go) and picked up speed. By the time breakfast was over I was like a loaded down rig with no brakes going down a hill. I wasn't even looking for a brake run out like they have on highways.
Losing my grip is not my favourite pastime. I mean, I live by my feelings (just ask the ol' man) but I'm mostly low key. Just, don't wake the dragon 'k?
Well, Brad woke the dragon. But, let's face it, if he hadn't then it would have been one of the other super heroes I live with. Hell, it could have even been the coffee machine. I was primed to blaze. So the day went on. Brad took Carlon to school which left me to breathe fire on Noah and Iain.
not so great.
we went to a park.
didn't go so well.
we came home and all had naps.
Fire diffused, and Brad wisely went with my suggestion to get myself a coffee, park at Carlon's school and work on this crazy blog while waiting for his day to end.
And so I breathe... and confess my failures as a mom to all of you. Bleah
Sadly, confessing this inadequacy doesn't improve my outlook on my situation. It just magnifies the stupidity in which I handled myself.
And again I breathe...
and get perspective, drink coffee, work out the details of the blog, try to forgive myself, love myself, or, just be ok with myself.
Now I'm thinking about Carlon, and what he will be facing this month. Leaving school, leaving the only home he remembers, leaving cousins, aunties, uncles, grandparents, friends for a completely different turn on things and I want to bawl my eyes out. I lived in the same house my whole childhood. Birth to 27 *ahem...
My parents still live in that house. I have entered into a life where is is quite likely we will live in more than three houses by the time Iain is off to post secondary. I really try not to think about it because I can still barely wrap my brain around this upcoming move. So we will all be at a new address in less than 30 days from today! And I can't afford to let the dragon wake at all between now and ever again. Dragon needs to die for good.
Now all I can think about is Voyage of the Dawn Treader where Aslan scratches the sand to get Eustace back to himself.
But, it's more than that I think... isn't it?
I am breathing. For a moment. It was/has not been a good day and I lay the blame squarely on the shoulders of PMS. Not too long ago a report came out saying that pms was basically bupkiss. Not real. A falsehood. Made up. All in our pretty little heads. Well, I'd like to show the writer of that report that my pretty little head is incapable of coping with anything once a month.
It all went downhill the moment I woke up (not very promising as days go) and picked up speed. By the time breakfast was over I was like a loaded down rig with no brakes going down a hill. I wasn't even looking for a brake run out like they have on highways.
Losing my grip is not my favourite pastime. I mean, I live by my feelings (just ask the ol' man) but I'm mostly low key. Just, don't wake the dragon 'k?
Well, Brad woke the dragon. But, let's face it, if he hadn't then it would have been one of the other super heroes I live with. Hell, it could have even been the coffee machine. I was primed to blaze. So the day went on. Brad took Carlon to school which left me to breathe fire on Noah and Iain.
not so great.
we went to a park.
didn't go so well.
we came home and all had naps.
Fire diffused, and Brad wisely went with my suggestion to get myself a coffee, park at Carlon's school and work on this crazy blog while waiting for his day to end.
And so I breathe... and confess my failures as a mom to all of you. Bleah
Sadly, confessing this inadequacy doesn't improve my outlook on my situation. It just magnifies the stupidity in which I handled myself.
And again I breathe...
and get perspective, drink coffee, work out the details of the blog, try to forgive myself, love myself, or, just be ok with myself.
Now I'm thinking about Carlon, and what he will be facing this month. Leaving school, leaving the only home he remembers, leaving cousins, aunties, uncles, grandparents, friends for a completely different turn on things and I want to bawl my eyes out. I lived in the same house my whole childhood. Birth to 27 *ahem...
My parents still live in that house. I have entered into a life where is is quite likely we will live in more than three houses by the time Iain is off to post secondary. I really try not to think about it because I can still barely wrap my brain around this upcoming move. So we will all be at a new address in less than 30 days from today! And I can't afford to let the dragon wake at all between now and ever again. Dragon needs to die for good.
Now all I can think about is Voyage of the Dawn Treader where Aslan scratches the sand to get Eustace back to himself.
But, it's more than that I think... isn't it?
Tuesday 8 April 2014
Done.
Do you ever have those moments where you just can't? You've hit overload and have shut down emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually? You just feel numb. Not even that because then you'd be feeling. You just aren't responding to anything because you just can't.
I have been... assaulted ...it's the best word I can think of... with undesirables. Conflict, anger, independence assertion, tears, confusion, regret, hate, illness.
I am surrounded by littles that demand so much of me that I can't even go to the bathroom in peace. They act like I've disappeared into some black hole or swirling vortex. I can't go downstairs to get something from the garage without someone upset that I won't let them come with me. And if I hear one more person tell me "it's a season" and "I'll miss it when it's gone" I'm gonna kick 'em right in the berries.
This "season" of my life has been hard. So hard for me in fact that I have actually vocalized the desire to go back to the two weeks of hospital bed rest I experienced with our second pregnancy. Those two weeks were the most painful time of my life. Physically and emotionally. I basically was in labour for two weeks and seriously doubted my ability as a mom in a purely visceral sense.
So, why would I want to go back to that?
Because it had an end. You can be pregnant for only so long. 42 weeks. 43 if your doctor is sadistic. Even those two weeks, as exhausting as they were, came to an end.
This particular season I am currently in started two years ago. Two years! There has been little evidence of hope or peace for me. Friends have tried to help me see a bright side but I can't do it. I won't bore you with the list of "oh poor me" cause I know there are literally millions that have it worse and their season is a lifetime.
I am sure that there is an end in sight, I just can't see it right now and this is a problem. We have had a significant event occur in the last two weeks and it should make me excited or feel like things are coming to an end, but all I can see is an extension of the season. Kind of like what most of Canada has been dealing with this winter. Second and third winters to be precise. I am now entering into my third winter. I am hoping it is the last, that it is short, that the sun, when it shines will shine out all the clearer.
If you can't tell, I am tired. Tired of waiting, tired of hoping, tired of...everything. I'm even tired of being tired.
So now there is nothing. I can't even process and if I try it comes out with anger and tears. I am so incapable of expressing myself properly in the moment that I had to write my husband a letter after we'd had an argument.
So where does this leave me? I am..... I don't know. ...grasping at my faith like a cat that misjudged a jump.
I believe Lord.... help me in my unbelief
I have been... assaulted ...it's the best word I can think of... with undesirables. Conflict, anger, independence assertion, tears, confusion, regret, hate, illness.
I am surrounded by littles that demand so much of me that I can't even go to the bathroom in peace. They act like I've disappeared into some black hole or swirling vortex. I can't go downstairs to get something from the garage without someone upset that I won't let them come with me. And if I hear one more person tell me "it's a season" and "I'll miss it when it's gone" I'm gonna kick 'em right in the berries.
This "season" of my life has been hard. So hard for me in fact that I have actually vocalized the desire to go back to the two weeks of hospital bed rest I experienced with our second pregnancy. Those two weeks were the most painful time of my life. Physically and emotionally. I basically was in labour for two weeks and seriously doubted my ability as a mom in a purely visceral sense.
So, why would I want to go back to that?
Because it had an end. You can be pregnant for only so long. 42 weeks. 43 if your doctor is sadistic. Even those two weeks, as exhausting as they were, came to an end.
This particular season I am currently in started two years ago. Two years! There has been little evidence of hope or peace for me. Friends have tried to help me see a bright side but I can't do it. I won't bore you with the list of "oh poor me" cause I know there are literally millions that have it worse and their season is a lifetime.
I am sure that there is an end in sight, I just can't see it right now and this is a problem. We have had a significant event occur in the last two weeks and it should make me excited or feel like things are coming to an end, but all I can see is an extension of the season. Kind of like what most of Canada has been dealing with this winter. Second and third winters to be precise. I am now entering into my third winter. I am hoping it is the last, that it is short, that the sun, when it shines will shine out all the clearer.
If you can't tell, I am tired. Tired of waiting, tired of hoping, tired of...everything. I'm even tired of being tired.
So now there is nothing. I can't even process and if I try it comes out with anger and tears. I am so incapable of expressing myself properly in the moment that I had to write my husband a letter after we'd had an argument.
So where does this leave me? I am..... I don't know. ...grasping at my faith like a cat that misjudged a jump.
I believe Lord.... help me in my unbelief
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