Word..

I’m here. Are you here too? We are at the end of another year. 2015. It is nighttime here and everyone is in bed except me as I try to sort through the pages of this year. I’m opening the folds and creases, finding the parts that have been torn in a fury and I’m tending to the rough edges, trying to match them up and tape them together so I can see the bigger picture. I’ve looked back at my journals and looked over the blog posts I’ve written this year and I’ve come to the conclusion that it has been quite the year. Not the year I was expecting but..

Last year I was challenged to pick a word for 2015. 

“A word?”, you say.

Yes, a word.

I was just as baffled by it as I have never picked a word for the upcoming year. Look at it this way. If I were to ask you to look back on your 2015 and sum it up into one word, what would that word be? 

Now take that question and flip it so you are putting a word ahead of your year. It can be something you want to see, something you hope to see, something you think God is calling you to. When I answered the question of giving a word to the year that had passed I chose two. Hard Grace. Because it was my first time doing the word thing I decided I could lump a few years together. But then, when I was launched towards choosing a word for 2015.. well, It was smacking me in the face. 

Hope.

My word for 2015 has been hope.

Looking towards 2015 I decided I wanted to focus into a better year and so I chose hope. And it was a better year, not because I chose a magical word to make it so, but I believe if you are mindful of something, it can change how you perceive. 

Throughout the year I was reminded of my word, and so with hope on the agenda, it twisted my gaze, put a different coloured lens in the glasses I see the world with. Any little bit helps I think.. especially for a homesick girl prone to anxiety, negativity and self deprecation. I mean, too many times this year I looked at my boys and thought, “They’re gonna need therapy” and “God, be gracious ‘cause momma’s goin’ crazy”

People often lose things when they move, usually little things, sometimes big things. Sometimes things are damaged beyond repair. Then where do you go from there? When it’s something special, something precious..

I lost my security and my trust was damaged in this move. I tried so hard to trust God and believe the move here was better for all of us but it has been hard, so damn hard. I am still holding onto belief that better will come, but since I can’t see it yet I am still picking up the fragments of my shattered trust. I cling to the bigger picture, the hope, the now and the not yet, the kingdom come. But, in the smaller picture? the pixels..

A pastor from a time ago in my life preached a sermon once that has stuck to me like glue. He talked about our walk with God is like working on a needle point, and we are underneath, poking the needle and thread through the canvas not totally sure what we are doing, hopefully hearing when God says “put it here” and on the other side God is turning it into a masterpiece and beautiful work. But, all we see from our spot is a myriad of threads stretched here there and everywhere. We won’t see the completed work until we are with him on the other side. Frustrating, to say the least, but this is the essence of trust is it not? And it is clearly something I still need to work through.

I love the Lord and I know he loves me and I truly desire to come through this challenge the better for it. And it is my desire to look back on our time here in Terrace (whenever that may happen) and be glad it happened. That I would be thankful for picking up shattered trust, glad that I had to find new security and that maybe, just hopefully my relation to God is more realistic and less idealistic. I can rejoice in that too.

It won’t happen overnight. It will take work, persistence, grace, forgiveness, love and desire.

I will build a monument to the Lord. 2016 will be a monument to his promises. I will dig them out of the riverbed and I will build a monument to him.

rebuild,

I will rebuild.

Son of God, love's pure light..

Hail! Thou ever blessed morn.

Hail! Redemption’s happy dawn.

Sing through all Jerusalem, Christ is born in Bethlehem!

   O come let us adore Him..

Veiled in flesh the Godhead see

Hail the incarnate Deity!

Mild he lays his Glory by, born that man no more may die.

No more let sins and sorrows grow,

nor thorns infest the ground

He comes to make his blessings flow, far as the curse is found.

Born to raise the sons of earth.

Born to give them second birth.

    Gloria!

And all the angels in heaven, and all the souls on earth shall sing.

What can I give him?

poor as I am, 

    what can I give him?

I played my drum for him.

I played my best for him.

Myrrh is mine, it’s bitter perfume breathes a life of gathering doom.

Born thy people to deliver,

born a child and yet a King.

Nails, spear shall pierce him through,

the cross be borne for me, for you.

Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying.

Hail, hail the word made flesh, 

the babe the son of Mary, 

sealed in a stone cold tomb.

     O come let us adore Him!

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night and death’s dark shadows put to flight.

Light and life to all he brings,

risen with healing in his wings.

Then rang the bells more loud and deep, “God is not dead nor does he sleep!”

Sages leave your contemplations,

brighter visions beam afar.

Born to reign in us forever.

     Go tell it, everywhere!

Seek the great desire of nations,

Ye have seen his natal star.

No ear may hear his coming,

but in this world of sin fall on your knees.

Our weakness is no stranger.

Where meek souls will receive him still, 

the dear Christ enters in.

Behold your king, his power and glory forever more proclaim!

     O come let us adore him!

Now, to the Lord sing praises all you within this place.

Therefore, Christian men be sure,

wealth or rank possessing,

and with true love and brotherhood each other now embrace.

Ye who now will bless the poor,

shall yourselves find blessing.

This holy tide of Christmas all others doth deface.

     O come,

     

     Rejoice!

               

     With peace on earth.

             

     I’ll give him my heart..

she is..

I had the most wonderful weekend. I got to have a mommy vacation. Five days of not cooking for anyone, not cleaning for anyone, not refereeing any fights, not wrestling with snowsuits. No, mid-night wake-ups, no bathroom interruptions and no laundry. 

ahhh

I got to visit, and sleep in and drive myself in peace and quiet. I only had myself to get from one place to another and it was bliss. Like a warm bath after a long hard day. 

At the end of my time off, I was invited to participate in a most Holy gathering. It was an amazing way to end my weekend. It was an honour to be a part of it and I will carry it with me and remember it specifically every christmas as I hang my memento on my tree. 

It was a gathering of women. Women that have been a part of my life for many years, women that I have only known for a few years. But all of them are women that have spoken into my life and are a part of who I am. In some ways because of how they have touched me, or my boys, or my husband. These are women I have cried in front of and for, I have prayed with these women, cheered them on and been cheered on. With these women I have served the church and have cared for them and been cared for by them. Some of my deepest wounds and highest joys have been laid before these women, and I carry them all with me because we are all part of the family of God. They are my “sisters”

I was catching up with one of them and she shared how she felt that she has no friends. “well, I have X and I have Y” she reminded herself. But it spoke to me of a deeper woe. A clinging fear. A gross lie we tell ourselves. I heard these words and I looked around the room at all these beautiful strong women leaders and was surprised to hear one of them feels they have no friends. A room full of sister friends and they feel they have none. How does this happen? When did we start listening to the myth of scarcity? I started to wonder how many of us share this feeling. I know I have felt that way more than once. And as the day progressed I found myself asking God how this can be fixed. And it is sticking with me. I haven’t been able to shake it. Is this a false god we create to avoid vulnerability? Or, is this us listening to the gremlins that tell us we don’t have because what we do have isn’t like what others have. Or maybe it is because we are just so busy with our living lives that we haven’t the time to invest into our relationships. And when there is no investment, there is no return. 

But, I have found there is always a reserve.

And it is a reserve that has been provided for you.

God created us for community. To commune. Not just with him but with his creation. We are all a part of him. We are created in his image we are imago dei - image bearers. I believe we get caught up in the hologram of of what is marketed to us. What we are inundated with on tv, Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and all the other social media apps designed to bring us closer but are in most cases pulling us farther apart from genuine relationship. We think we need the daily coffee dates, or girls nights with a glass of wine in one hand and Amy Schumer’s latest joke in the other. We have been caught up in thinking if we don’t have that all the time we are on the losing end. That what we have isn’t good enough. Can we help each other trash the idea of “not enough”? Because when you tell yourself you don’t have enough, you are also telling yourself you are not enough and you are telling God that He is not enough and you are telling the others in your life that they are not enough. And let me tell you..

You are enough.

By the grace of God, you are enough.

You are strong

you are holy

you are smart

you are brave

you are valuable

you are funny

you are an overcomer

you are victorious

you are talented

you have a deep well of love surrounding you

you are not a fail

you bear HIS image

you are sanctified

you are more than the outside

you have an impact

you are a gift.

Maybe this is the answer. We need to start preaching truth to ourselves. Earlier last week something happened to me that made me feel like a fail, like I had betrayed myself. I threw my heart out into a crowd and it was dropped and ignored. And I couldn’t tell anyone about it because I felt no one would understand. I spent the days feeling the opposite of all those things. And then I was among these women, and I was blessed and I realized, we are so much more, because we have so much more, because HE is so much more.

My sisters,

live loved - because you are

live strong - because you are

live victorious - because you are

live in his image - because you are

live in truth - because all this is true

music is to my soul as..

I have a confession to make..

I’m kind of a church music geek. I love the “oldies”. And by old, I mean stuff that would have been popular for my parents. I get goosebumps at the sound of a tight 4 part men’s harmony, I thrill to the sight of a choir. SATB, men’s, children’s anything. I love it. A youth choir form Trinity Baptist in Kelowna came to our church once and I almost cried. Most of my fellow contemporaries would be sighing or looking at their shoes (this is before smart phones people) or cringing or whining, “why can’t it be current music?” or, “choirs are so boring” 

Isn’t it amazing how different we can all be? 

I love this music because I grew up with it. But I know people that don’t love this music because they grew up with it. Such a strange parallel universe we live in. My mom loves to sing, although her lack of hearing has made it near impossible for her to carry a tune anymore, but in her day.. this is a comfort I go to in my mind often. She talks about how she would sing with her mom while they were doing dishes. Gramma would sing soprano and mom would sing the alto part (God bless the altos). They always would be old hymns that gramma had grown up singing and my mom grew a heart for those tunes. But when my mom hit her late 20’s, North American evangelicalism was changing and the music was changing and from the south came some wonderful gospel music that is still sung in many churches today. But at my mom’s time, they were not sung in Sunday morning service. Likely because they required drums and guitars and that just did not happen. So, my mom and her friend Betty, sang some of these new songs together. 

And. It. Was. Beautiful. 

I was a child at the time and my mom was perfect and I loved my auntie Betty and sometimes my sister would accompany them on piano or Betty’s brother-in-law Bob, would fill in. Bob was an amazing man, he was exceedingly gifted in music and he tuned pianos. He would go to someones house to tune their piano and when it was done he would play a hymn to “show” the customer that the piano was properly tuned. He didn’t share the gospel with his mouth, he used his hands… let that sink in.

I have memory on top of memory of going with my mom to her voice lessons with auntie Betty, or practices at auntie Betty and uncle Ken’s house. There became a family around music. And to me the music was always beautiful and redemptive. My mom and Auntie Betty would sing at different churches around Vancouver. Often at Collingwood Baptist (that is where most of my memories lay) but other churches as well and my sister says they were even on the radio a few times. See my point? Music was in our house. Always. I think my mom needed it to be that way and I am finding the same. As a child I loved to sing Sunday mornings. I would put on a record and just sit at the stereo and listen, hearing the different notes and instruments. It was like food for my soul.

Choirs in school were my jam and I tried to get my friends on board because, come on, singing is awesome and singing in a group it the shiznit! High school choir was just as wonderful as elementary but eventually my bed won out to early morning practices. Then the church I was attending had a choir and I didn’t join right away but when I finally did, I cried in the middle of my first practice. But like, dignified tears, you know, the “something’s in my eye” crying. It was like my soul had been emaciated for years, starved of it’s first language of nourishment. It was beautiful and uplifting and glorious and gracious.

and then it wasn’t.

You know you can tell a lot about the health of a church by it’s choir. 

I was able to enjoy a few years with the choir before I noticed the cracks, and then the more I noticed them the harder it became to be a part of it. I had to leave the choir and it was a surprisingly difficult decision. I had originally left because I had a new baby and it was too challenging to manage that and choir responsibilities so I just expected to take a few months away and be back for the start of the new season. But once I had stepped away I realized how toxic it had been  for me and it wasn’t long after that and the church began to crumble. Music ceased to be redemptive and instead became a lightening rod for all problems. No one cared about content, they only cared about how it was packaged. And once again my soul was starved. 

This was when I learned that for me, it was never about the music. It was always about the community, about the unity, about the family, about the different parts putting aside their wants and working together to produce something beautiful to the glory of God.  I believe that when people argue about the music they are really telling you they don’t want to put themselves aside for the body and work together. Then the church starts to look sadder than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest. (yes, that’s irreverent, deal with it) The entire body is then being forced to work for that leg. All it’s efforts go into that ass being kicked.  And how productive is it to kick your own ass? That ends up in destruction. Is it not better to just walk, properly, in His grace, to do something that benefits all involved? Aren’t our arms and hands and brain and eyes and ears and mouth able to do other things that help the whole body when they don’t have to focus on just one part? My church looked like someone whose limbs were trying to destroy each other. And then that destruction caused leprosy and many of those limbs fell off.

 I haven’t been able to join a choir since then. To be honest I haven’t had a choir to join since then but even if I did I’m not sure I could do it. I haven’t even been able to sing on a worship team, and I’ve been asked.. but for some reason I can’t place, I just can’t do it. But, I feel I need it. You know when you get so hungry you get to the point where you’re not hungry anymore and food makes you nauseous. I am there. I have been without the unity in community so long that my soul doesn't even recognize that it needs it. Or maybe it does. Maybe that’s why I’m here now. I came across the phrase “mind of Christ” the other day and it got me thinking of a song we sang with my previous choir and I searched youtube and found it and wept. It was beautiful. Not just because the choir was tight, or because they had a spot on orchestra or because the sound was clear and you could hear the words. But because the words were hard and fast and true. Just as true today as they were near 2000 years ago when Paul wrote them, just as true when my former choir sang them and just as true today when the church is dealing with issues that is tearing it apart form the inside out. Just as true for little Colleen listening to her mommy and auntie Betty singing “O Glorious Love” or “God Hath Not Promised”. Just as true for the Queen of England, the widow in Calcutta, the refugee, the comfortable, the uncomfortable. Just as true for the midwife in Haiti, the teacher in Nigeria, the Doctor in Beirut, the nurse in Russia, the missionary in Cameroon, the priest in Chile, the coal miner in China, the farmer in Australia. You name it, it’s is true for them. Because if the gospel isn’t true for the single mom in Jamaica working three jobs to feed her two children then it isn’t true for any of us.

People, we are the body and we are to work together. We are the body for Christ. You know, the Messiah, the Saviour? We do this because of Him. In Him we live and move and have our being. 

That is the most beautiful song we could ever sing. 

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death- even death on a cross! 

Phil 2:5-8

weeping and seeking..

The world is a mess, torn, in tears, on it’s face.. broken.

But it has always been. Since that day in the Garden. Since the serpent, the woman, the man, the shame, the hiding. 

“Where are you?” the Lord calls out

… He knows exactly where we are, but he waits. For, He gave us choice… He waits for us to come to Him.

we breathe.. but on our own it seems impossible…. ….  ….

YHWH

Life in our lungs, breathe on me oh breath of God

yhwh….    yhwh….    yhwh….

We come out of hiding, we look for Him, He is not hiding. He is there before us. Reaching out with His pierced hands. Standing on His pierced feet.

He was there in the beginning, it all was made through Him. The Word. He is The Word. The word was with us and in us and through us. We are created through the Word. Imago Dei. The image of God. All of us. A part of Him, a part of each other. 

But the Garden, the serpent, the deceiving, the hiding

He closed the Garden, but He never left us. We are just too blinded by our shame to see Him. Why can’t we see Him. For certain He is hiding. 

No

He is in every face we see, the one in the mirror, the ones on the street, the faces at work, at church, in a mosque, in a synagogue, in a temple. The Imago Dei is everywhere.

in the void

an olive branch

wrestling in the dessert

burning bush

water from the rock

Forty years wandering 

manna from heaven

cleft of a rock

dried up Jordan

trumpets blasting

protection from a prostitute

Kinsman redeemer

taking another man’s wife

death of a child

Jesse’s tree

parched grounds

a chariot

three days in a fish

cursed plants

coals to the lips

Four hundred years of silence

struck mute

census

feed trough

locusts, honey and camel hair

fishermen

a prostitute

a tax collector

bag of silver

a Roman

blinded on the road

an Ethiopian

stones

prison

tongues

Three thousand and more and more and more and more

But still, we don’t see Him

Is he only there if we can see Him?

Is He there even when we are blind?

We are weeping, He has left us..

No, we are not seeking Him.

We can’t come away from our shame

Are we looking for Him, are we seeking Him?

Maybe we cannot find Him because we have forgotten who He is..

yhwh….     yhwh….    yhwh….

if you ain't where you are..

I was texting with some moms this last week, checking in on each other and as we shared about our days and our feelings, our kids and our dreams, it struck me how we just can’t seem to be OK. How is this possible? We have book upon book instructing us how to embrace and rebuild, how to be grateful and joyful, and how to love and accept our lives where ever they may be at. Yet here, in my corner of the world (and with social media, my corner is pretty big) we just can’t seem to wrap our noggins around the concept of acceptance. We live in this dichotomy of expectation and reality and can’t seem to marry or reconcile the two. 

I’ve been wracking by brain trying to think of an instance in the bible where someone, preferably a woman-specifically a mom, was struggling with this.. this unruly bowl of noodles. And I can’t. There is no specific time where mom A and mom B come up to Jesus and say, “Lord, I want to do this and my kids demand this, while my husband is expecting this.” And mom B says, “Lord, I don’t even know what I want, I’m disappearing into my family, can you give me a calling and make it something I already like to do or at least awaken a new desire?” And Jesus says something profoundly impossible to understand because they don’t see for sure that he is the Christ and they go on their way just as conflicted as when they came to him. For the record, I sometimes come away from the bible feeling that way. I think part of it is because I go to the bible with expectations. Like it’s the key to ALL my answers. I know it isn’t, but it is so easy to fall into the pattern of “God, what do I do here?” “What are you calling me to do in this specific instance?” “Lord help me to organize my day” “Lord, please help me to not let the kids watch tv all day again today” “Lord, keep me from feeling like a Pinterest fail” When, instead I should be saying “Thank you Jesus, I love you.”

The closest I could think of to this situation is Mary and Martha. If you aren’t familiar with the story, Jesus and his disciples are at Mary and Martha’s house and Mary is sitting at Jesus feet because I mean come on, wouldn’t you? The Messiah is at your house, don’t you want to sit at his feet? But Martha is angry, she is slaving away in the kitchen preparing the feast. I mean, come on, wouldn’t you? The Messiah is at your house, along with 12 OTHER MEN. This is not the time to order out for pizza. Wouldn’t you want to make your very best meal for the Lord? But in this case Martha had expectations of Mary. And Jesus says “Oh Martha, Martha, Martha” -paraphrasing.

Sometimes I feel like he is saying that to me. Oh Colleen, Colleen, Colleen. Because I’m Mary and Martha in the same body. I place conflicting expectations on myself. And then throw in there the burden of my own brood in my house, (did I just say burden? I mean love, love of my own brood) the concerns of my family elsewhere, and everybody I meet because that’s how I role. But that creates an unrealistic reality, or an alternate universe, or the desire for cloning - me, not everyone else. It is where ideas of should be’s and want to’s and why can’t’s and self-spectations take over the what is. 

I am finding that it is the expectations of ourselves that is diminishing us.

well..

What is my reality? 

My boys wake up too early and I like to sleep in

My want? 

I would rather they sleep in and I wake up early. 

My self-spectation.

That I would just get my ass out of bed and start my day with a prayer and a smile, instead of a grump and a coffee.

My reality?

Three boys under 8 and they fight.

My why can’t?

Just get along and everyBODY STOP YELLING AT EACH OTHER!!

My self-spectation?

I get on my knees and play with them more.

My reality?

I am a stay at home mom

My want to?

Stay a stay at home mom but make everyone else go out (haha..hah)

My self-spectation?

Does June Cleaver ring a bell?

My reality?

My husband is a pastor and for all intents and purposes is “on-call” for ministry 24-7 and it would really help him if I stepped up my game in the running of the house

My should be?

I want pastoring to be different. 

My self-spectation?

That my superpower be perfect pastor-wifing (however that looks to you)

How is any of this helpful? Why do I put these expectations on myself. Some of them I think are doable I just have too much pride, others are just ridiculous. Yet these self-spectations are what I place as the benchmark. And in talking with others I’m not the only one that does this. I have no problems with setting goals and having expectations but when those things get in the way of doing the here and now, get in the way of being present, block the way to the holiness of such a time as this, then we have a problem. 

Jesus wants to redeem our lives, our waking lives, our wiping bums and pick-up from school lives, our music lesson and PTA lives, our delighting in our children lives, our treating our spouse as an ally not an enemy lives. He wants to be here in the now. Not the should be, or want to be. If we can’t be present in our now and love and accept it for what it is then we are drifting, we might as well be an astronaut floating through space and time. My self expectations are getting in the way of being fully present for my boys, for my husband. Even for my family and friends. 

“If you ain’t where you are, you’re no place” -Colonel Potter

So how do we do this? how does this look practical? We show up. We look at what is going on around us and in our home and with our friends and our community and we show up, we jump on the wagon, we get involved. We lay down our expectation of how we think it should be or how we want it to be and we pick up how He has made it to be. Because when you are doing, there is no time to be wishing. And when you are doing, you are in and when you are in you see Holy. I think that is what He has called us all to do. Be present, look for the Holy and jump on it.

what I think..

I thought I was done with "red cupgate" but I had another thought about it today as I was doing dishes and folding laundry and wiping bums and making pb&j's. Theology isn't just for scholars you know.
This is bigger than a cup. We don't like that it is but, there it is. This isn't really about a red cup. And it isn't really about how current culture has taken Christ out of Christmas either (google greek symbol for Christ). Christians have done some pretty dumb things in the name of Christ but it goes so much deeper than that.

This is about us as a church, as the body of Christ, as the kingdom on earth and we are failing because:
This is about not working together, this is about division and inner turmoil. This is about fear and not having trust. It is about not believing "for reals" that He. Is. LORD. Over. All and stepping down and letting him BE.
This is about Christians thinking the world owes us anything, as if we should want anything the world has to offer. It is about telling people we are the answers instead of telling people the answer is Jesus. This is about "Let us say Merry Christmas instead of Happy Holidays" memes as if that is real persecution even though Holiday means Holy-day. This is about being unwilling to admit that we don't have it all figured out and we HAVE to live by grace.

I think sometimes the random cupgate is a good thing for the church. It is a wake up call. Brothers and Sisters, we are asleep. We have forgotten, or maybe we have never really learned what it means to follow him - to take up our cross, to die to self, to consider everything loss to gain Christ.
We need to wake up. We need to stretch our limbs, throw off the covers and wash our hands and feet to prepare to love our Lord by serving others as Christ came to serve.

And how did he serve?

You know the answer.

So why is the occasional cupgate good for us? It reminds us that we, the Church, are not perfect, it reminds us what we believe, who Christ really is. We remember how God is actually about love and redemption and resurrection.

God didn't come incarnate as a cup.

forget the proverbial box, let's put Jesus in a red cup..

Starbucks put out a plain (read: ombre) red christmas cup this year and somebody got upset about it saying they were removing Christ from christmas because snowflakes represent the hope of Jesus. I've been thinking about this since I first saw it last night and boy is it really irritating me, which.. REALLY irritates me. Our culture is so (curses and swears) that we will get upset about the removal of snowflakes - because Jesus equates snowflakes - and then I googled "what can you do with $5 a day" And I got even more irritated. And since it is 2015 and I am a woman living in a gender neutral, supposedly egalitarian, post-christendom culture and have internet access I have the ability to speak my mind and so I will. If you don’t like it, don’t read it.

Dear Snowflake Jesus Christians,

Did you know that Jesus was not born on December 25th? Did you know that even if he was born on that day there likely wasn’t snow, or snowmen, or eggnog lattes, or trees in peoples houses, or lights on their eves, or gifts wrapped in paper, or excessive feasting, or wreaths. There were no pop singers butchering O Holy Night, no christmas letters, no ugly christmas sweaters, no candy canes, no flying reindeer, no fat man in a red suit breaking into peoples homes to leave things. 

It has long been acknowledged by scholars that Jesus was probably born in the spring, due to the Apostle Luke’s account of the shepherds tending their flocks in the fields. And it has long been documented that Jesus was probably born 2-4 years B.C. do you know B.C. means before Christ? So, even our historical chronology is off which is rightly why many historians choose to use B.C.E (before common era) as a pinpoint in history to avoid religious affiliation and confusion. (Also many of the months of our year are named after Roman gods and goddesses) I’m getting a little off track here, but not too far.

Back to Jesus’ actual birthday and christmas. 

Christmas is an attempt by the church to redeem a pagan holiday. Have you heard of Saturnalia?

Saturnalia was first introduced by the Romans as an attempt to rescue the sun god. It was believed that the sun was defeated in battle every year and required human sacrifices (of all kinds) to bring it back to life. And since it appeared to work every year they continued this “celebration” every year between December 17-25th. And, let us not dumb down or sunday school this pagan holiday. It was a week where “anything goes”. Every year local authorities in every community would chose a “lord of misrule” one person that would be forced into these horrific’s and at the end of the week would be sacrificed as the Romans believed this would defeat the forces of darkness.

Ancient Greek poet and historian Lucian had observed Saturnalia and documented these things: widespread drunkeness, going naked house to house while singing, rape and other sexual immorality and the consumption of human shaped biscuits. 

It’s no wonder the church wanted to redeem it… except they couldn’t get the pagans on board unless they allowed them to continue with their debauchery. Stephen Nissenbaum, professor history at the University of Massachussetts, Amherst, writes, “In return for ensuring massive observance of the anniversary of the Savior’s birth by assigning it to this resonant date, the Church for its part tacitly agreed to allow the holiday to be celebrated more or less the way it had always been.”  The earliest Christmas holidays were celebrated by drinking, sexual indulgence, singing naked in the streets (a precursor of modern caroling), etc.

sigh..

They had to find a way to make Saturnalia Christian so they told people that it was Christ’s birthday and closed out the festivities (if you could even call them that) with Jesus’ birthday. 

Happy Birthday Jesus.

Now, Jesus was never too good for a party but this is excessive. And while he ate with tax collectors and prostitutes and spoke to them about the love of God, he did not participate in their vocations. 

Now we know that Saturnalia is no longer observed in this fashion so it certainly wasn't the worst thing the church has ever done in Jesus name but it still causes divisions amongst christians and in fact in the 1600's Christmas was banned by many Puritans because they were aware of it’s pagan origin. But, over the years we have worked to redeem it and although, redemption is not our job, we have successfully turned some pagan symbols into meaningful expressions and pointed people to Christ. 

but as for the red cup..

How much do you spend on your red cup? If you are getting a grande latte you are in the $6 range. But, maybe you just like a regular brewed or even an americano so we are in the 2-3$ range so let’s average out to $5. How many days a week do you enjoy your red cup? I have been known to consume 5 in a week, some people have to have their red cup every day, others, once a week if that. So, I’m being generous to say three red cups a week? that’s about $15 a week, and red cups have started as of November 1. And they run all the way to the end of the year. So we have 9 weeks of red cups. Let’s do the math. 9x15=135. $135 on coffee. What else can you do with $135? I googled “what can you do with $5 a day” and I was woefully unprepared for the list of money grabbing ideas. I was hoping for some charitable contributions but no. Things like “what to buy for $5 a day, how to become a millionaire for $5 a day” Not exactly the “christmas Jesus is a snowflake hope” kind of thing I was looking for… 

or maybe it was.

Dear snowflake Jesus christians

if you want to see a symbol of hope in Jesus 

Be it yourself. 

don’t let a red cup, that clogs our land fills and contributes to the carbon footprint and destruction of our planet that God entrusted to us determine the Holiness of Christ.

please don’t.

Here are some suggestions for what to do with your $5 or $135

https://www.compassion.ca/

http://helponenow.org/

http://www.samaritanspurse.ca/operation-christmas-child.aspx

http://www.operationsmile.org/

https://www.habitatgv.ca/default.aspx

https://www.ugm.ca/

These are just a few off the top of my head. There are millions of charities out there that are doing amazing things for the least of these, you know the ones Jesus talked about, and they desperately need your help. And if you have an aversion to giving, then why do you associate yourself with the biggest giver of all? Maybe because you only like to get?

Well, the sun is shining here, thankfully I won’t have to sacrifice my children, and it’s supposed to snow later this week, that means that on Thursday and Friday only I’ll be able to have the hope of Jesus.

to me..

why do we run and go our own way
why don't we see he is our hope and stay?

we stumble down our paths thinking we see..  we are blind
what are we looking for..  there is nothing on earth to find

Jesus Messiah! He is here! There is hope!
you don't need to be falling, He is throwing a rope

"Let the children come unto me"
but it is the adults, it is me, who needs to taste and see

He died on the cross, He crushed the snake
this is more than a story, our lives are at stake

He is our solid rock, Mighty Fortress, Strong Tower
Thine be the kingdom and the glory and the power

on eagles wings, on clefts of rock,
in valley shadows and mountain tops

quiets us with still waters, trumpet marches and a torn veil
can we not put ourselves last? can we not live in the stable?

callous our knees Lord, bring us to you
You call the stars by name, you stitched us in the womb

I don't want to fear becoming more like you
I don't want to fear becoming more like you


I don't want to fear becoming more like you

because He loved me first..

      Once upon a time I was a good little girl. I know this because my mom has told me so, many times. I am the baby of the family and if you ask my sisters they will tell you I was treated as such. I have been agreeable and obedient for most of my life. If I rebel it’s passively - grade 9 saw me fail because I didn’t care - and so passively I rebelled by not trying.

     I grew up in private schools. You could say I lived in a bubble, except none of my extended family are Christians and… well… we have some heavy stuff in our family. So I was never shielded from the real world, but private school did make it feel like I was attending church six days a week, and that can provide an unrealistic view of how life, how faith, how God works.

     My home was baptist, my elementary school reform, and my high school pentecostal. I mean, can we get any more divergent and confusing? Of all the differences between them though, the one doctrine that seemed to connect them was obedience. But, it had a catch.

          Obedience in fear - don’t ask questions

          Obedience in respect - we are right… all the time

          Obedience in blessing - we want to get as much as we can

     As a child, this made sense. Cause and effect is one of the first principles a child learns. But, when that child asks questions and the answers are dismissals..

I used to be a baby..

  “How do we know God is real?”

         “Because he is”

  “How do we know we have the right theology?”

         “Because we do, and we have some of the best theologians”

  “I feel like I’m drowning, I’m failing and no one is helping me”

          “Fear not, for I am with you

           Fear not, for I am with you

           Fear not, for I am with you Says the Lord”

           “By the way, your jacket is against uniform codes”

                                                                                                                              

What about obedience for no other reason than, we love Him?

                                                                                                       

     I have heard so many testimonies from brothers and sisters that talked about getting their life turned around in obedience to God and he opened all the doors and some windows too. They made it sound like life with God was smooth sailing. Do what God tells you to do and he will shower you with his blessings.. all the time. Sounds like an easy life. Give to get. Got it! I grew up believing that to be true, allowing it to tint 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 diatribes at the time. I have since come to experience that is not the case and to all I dismissed that way I am truly sorry. But at the time, I believed obedience to God was an exchange, a give to get. So I got my obedient on. I devoted, and prayed, and bible studied, and served, and sang loud, and bible studied some more, and started to sound pretentious, and haughty, and out of touch.

     He told me to marry this guy and he is a pastor (gulp, ok God). So I did, I married a pastor! Gold stars for me! Fist bumps, high fives! Drinks all around! Oh, except we’re baptists. Coffee and tea for everyone! Every thing was great. I had been obedient to God's call on my life and I was blissfully happy.

     

Then, I lost. I lost big.

     Two years married and we had a miscarriage. We named him Liam. Liam Bradley Reid. Our Strong Warrior. Not quite a full pound, just barely twenty weeks. He was perfectly formed and looked like his daddy. My womb could not bear the weight of him.

     I don’t share this frivolously because I still blame myself for losing him. My body failed him, the one thing my body is built to do as a woman and it failed. Shame has deep claws. I found myself asking God what I had done wrong, had I not been obedient enough?

     I learned not long after, that I have what is called an insufficient cervix. I am not complete, and since God stitched me together in my mother’s womb, He knew about this. I had used humour as part of my journey to recovery at the time and introverts are often self deprecating so I used to make the joke that God dropped a stitch when he made me because I need a stitch to carry a pregnancy to term.

ba dum tssh

                                                       *     *     *     *     *     *

     So I have tried to be most obedient my whole life and yet still here is this thing that causes great loss. It was always there, or not there, and my obedience can not fix it.

     Recently we moved a great distance, feeling God calling us here and we didn’t want to enter into a Jonah-esque experience so we were obedient and I expected everything to fall into place, nice and easy, all the doors opened. Because so many years of believing a thing are hard to erase with one traumatic event, and in my case I need to be hammered with it. Obeying God’s call and moving where we are now has been one of the hardest and humblest and most challenging-in-all-the-ways things I’ve ever done. Nothing has been easy about this move.

     I realize this can make me look like a glass-is-half-empty kind of person. And to be honest, sometimes I am, but usually I try to look at the positive. No doubt, God has blessed me innumerably. This is more of a heart matter isn’t it? So often our experience with our knowledge of how we think God works is just that, our experience. We sift our theology through our life lenses instead of through His life lens, seeing Him how HE really is. 

Therefore, my heart has been changed, and I have found that obedience to God’s call makes me feel more inadequate and more in need of His grace.

So where is the give to get? 

Is it any surprise I don’t believe that anymore?

Obedience is give… to give

Obedience because we love

Obedience because He died

Obedience because He saves

Obedience because grace

                  because peace

                  because joy

                                faith

                                trust

                                hope

      

         obedience in the now…. and the not yet.

socially invisible..

     “Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ‘Change for anything he choose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.

     Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a doornail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a doornail.” -Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

My phone.. MY PHONE!!!!

It’s dead. As in, dead as a doornail, as in Marley’s case - and haunts me with it’s black screen and random proclamation in Siri’s voice that it is “unable to connect, please try again in a moment”

Not unsettling at all..

It’s death is no surprise to me. It fell in a toilet last December 31st “A used toilet?” asked my niece with incredulity. Yes! A used pee toilet, ( a fine way to end the year) it was wiped down with a clorox disinfectant wipe and then spent 48 hours in a bag of uncooked rice. Most people would have just given up and got a new phone. I mean, pee and all. But we are not a family of disposable iPhone income, I needed to get it to work, our plan isn’t up for renewal until the spring of 2016. It turned back on and the screen dimmed day by day over the following month. Mostly it looked like a slow creep of wet taking over the inside of the screen. You know how when you spill something and you throw a paper towel over it and watch as the paper towel slowly absorbs the wet? Just like that. But my screen was still entirely usable. The phone itself was slowly coming apart. As if, something inside was trying to push it open. Then, on Saturday, the clock went wonky. And my phone seemed to think I was in Calgary. I reset the clock then, at bedtime I noticed it was off again. Then in the morning my phone said it was 1am when it was in fact 6am. I tried to turn on the phone and open apps and none of them would open and then… then… (sniff) it was gone. No sparks, no flames, no being shot down in a blaze of glory. It was as if it was just done.

 “I’m tired, you uploaded the new iOS and I just can’t cope anymore. Thanks for the year and a half, and all the times you dropped me. Maybe you’ll treat my replacement better” 

Thanks, thanks for that last one iPhone (sheesh, guilt)

So, I knew it was coming, what I wasn’t prepared for was the feelings I had when it happened. Isolation, guilt, sadness, anxiety (wait, what?) that’s like, addiction stuff. I’ve read articles about people and their phones and the panic when they don’t have it. Hah! wackos! That wouldn’t happen to me (insert sheepish emoji)

But seriously, I have phone numbers on my phone of important people in my life and I don’t have them memorized, who does? I had to send out an email to my best friend to get her number. My best friend!

I felt like someone had thrown me in solitary confinement. Yes yes, that is a bit overdramatic. But it really just compounded the fact that Terrace is a very isolated town. For the people that have grown up here it is exactly how they like it. For a newbie like me, well, it’s a little like being in the middle of the ocean and you know your family is out there but it is so much effort to get to them you just stay in one spot treading water. My phone and it’s texting capabilities was my lifeline. Honestly, I text my sisters and or my best friend every day. Every day. No, I’m not above a phone call. I’m not like some storied millennial that can’t be bothered to speak on a phone. But often my text conversations take place throughout the day because three little boys make the opposite impossible. 

So now, here I am, with no phone, feeling sheepish, guilty for my abuse of my phone, socially invisible. How did we live our lives before cell phones? How did I let it become such a huge part of my life? I thought I had set healthy boundaries. If I’m going to be honest (and really, what’s the point of an introspective blog if you’re just going to BS your way through it?) I was already feeling like it was too much in my life. I was trying to come up with a plan to put it away, use it less, ignore it. I hadn’t followed through with any of my plans. So now, My hand has been forced. It was getting in between me and my God. I have no excuses now. I suppose it’s no coincidence that I stumbled onto this song a few days ago.

Love you more 

by Nichole Nordeman

“You said go and sin no more though my eyes could not meet yours

I started running the third time the rooster crowed

You threw a party just for me though I squandered everything

I was blinded in the middle of the road

Climbed up in a tree to see you

Swallowed by the sea to flee you

Sold you for a little silver and a kiss

Killed a man to love his woman 

Burned a bridge back to your garden

Hung beside you while you took your final breath

You’ve been loving me since time began

You’re behind my every second chance

I love you

I’m trying to

Love you more

I’m ready

Please help me

Love you more

I keep thinking there’s a limit, I’m sure I must be getting near it

when I’ve used up every pardon and regret

And you’ve promised there is freedom,

gathered up the broken pieces

scattered them as far as east is from the west

And you've been loving me since time began

You’re behind my every second chance

I love you I’m trying to

Love you more

I’m ready

Please help me

Love you more

All the sands that fill the hourglass

every breath between my first and last

I love you

I’m trying to

love you more

please help me

I’m ready

please help me

love you more”

I guess I need the social invisibility so I can see God better..

last pic I took before it died..

little champion

Tomorrow you are seven years old, but tonight, as I write this, I am taken back to seven years ago this night. I was being lavished upon by people that love your daddy and me and they were loving on you too, even though they had not met you yet. It was overwhelming. Love has a way of doing that. But it was so much more than that. You don’t know this yet, we have never told you, that you have a big brother that paved the way for you to be. And when I discovered you existed I was all at once excited and terrified. Excited for your life but terrified at what lay before me. I was worried you would suffer the same path as your brother. Terrified my body would fail again, terrified at the pain that bore my path.

But the love that carried me, that carried you, that carried us from that point to your early arrival has bore witness in your life so far. It is as if you know... that you already knew that your life came at sacrifice. It is a deep knowing that you are not aware of, but you have always seemed an old soul with vibrant joy. Your exuberance for everything has always been infectious. Your laugh, your voice, your hugs, giggles, silliness put a smile to everyone you have touched. Even now, people at church tell me your hug makes their day. What a gift you are! 

You are so full of so many beautiful things. Your sense of humour is right up there with a seven year old boy, but your compassion is unmatchable. Anyone’s sorrow tears your heart, and other’s happiness rubs off on you. Your desire to help is beautiful. This can not be created, you were born with this propulsion. I can barely stop you which is why I often don’t, even though it drives your brothers crazy when they want to do it but you have to help them. God bless the world with you sweet Carlon. Hold on to your passion for helping. The world is full of need and you are a gift. 

You have an insatiable desire to play and be friends. And sadly, most children your age just don’t get it. To hear at the beginning of this school year that you had been sat next to a special needs student who couldn’t talk worried me because you can be easily distracted in your passions. Then to hear how you had been trying to communicate with him, that you spent time with him on the playground, pushing him on the swing…. my heart swelled and burst through my eyes. 

Your love for your family is tireless. Almost daily you ask how everyone is doing. Can we talk to aunties and uncles? Is this cousin still playing drums? How is that cousin doing in hockey? Is that cousin still dancing? How is baby cousin? How are grandmas, grandpas doing? Can we go visit? I miss them all, when can we see them again? I am sorry we had to move far away from all your extended family. We have talked about it so much over these last 18 months and your grasp of God’s call on our lives has humbled me. You have taught me about faith and trust and hope. You have been a gift beyond measure and I feel I could never be sufficient in thanking God for you. 

I fought hard for you, the fears I held at the beginning were not unfounded. Too early on my body was working against us and we spent some time together in the hospital. That was sobering. It was too early for you to come and everyone was doing everything they could to keep you safe and warm inside me. Mommy had to become lazy fast and you helped by staying calm. So when I got home this night 7 years ago from a pre celebration of your arrival and surveyed the abundance of love before me I was overwhelmed. I went to bed and didn’t sleep. But you apparently were as overwhelmed as me and needed to meet the people behind the love. You decided enough was enough and you were ready to get things started. 

And my life has never been the same since… and every day since then too… you change me everyday. God blasts his grace through you. You are Carlon Timothy and you are my little champion and I love you.

the theology of trees..

I’m no tree hugger, but I love trees.

Picking up Carlon form school is a relatively short walk, ten to fifteen minutes. Yesterday I had my two little monkeys with me and I was pushing the stroller as they walked/ran (I bring the stroller because they can never seem to make it both ways by foot). We were partly bundled, ear muffs for the boys, gloves for me and I was glad because the wind was picking up and the air was wet - it is October in northwestern BC after all. Down our street to the end and turn left to the short trail and then right through the “shortcut” says Iain, although it’s not, then left to cross the street to the school. When the weather cooperates it really is a lovely walk; quiet neighbourhood, trees abundant. And of course in October, the trees have their moment don’t they?

    “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers” says Anne Shirley. And she wasn’t talking about pumpkin spice lattes.

October, thankfully, is so much more than that. She was speaking of the season itself, nature, what God had handmade.

October, for most of the Northern Hemisphere, is a magical month. The air turns crisp, this is where the wet air comes in, the cold brings an ice to the air that is palpable. Storms rush through; rain and wind cleaning the air. The trees change colour, the deciduous trees start to turn to glory and for the first time I’ve noticed that even the evergreen trees seem to get darker. But, oh my, the maples and birches and alders and fruit trees, and these are just the ones in my neighbourhood.

I walked past a particular maple on my way to the school. The leaves were yellow and the sun was streaking through and I was trying to drink it in and keep and eye on my boys. I was wishing I’d brought a camera but not everything can or should be captured. But, I took a breath and tried to take a mind picture. The breeze had kicked in and the leaves were flitting on the branches, slowly being worked loose, the tree, forced to shed it’s beauty. I took a breath and just loved it. As much as the maple has many varieties and colours though, my favourite is the birch. All year long.

In the winter, when they stand stark and naked with only their black stripes hoping to be noticed and at the same time trying not to be seen. Then in the spring I look to them again, waiting for their silvery green leaves to appear - the hopeful new beginnings, new mercies, new starts, new grace. In the middle of summer the wind blows and the leaves move and sparkle like glitter in a snow globe. I know when the sun shines warm on me I feel glittery, like nothing can get me down, even the air feels happy. And in the fall, oh boy. The pale golden yellow they turn, and a zephyr picks up and shimmers the leaves and it makes me think of jazz hands. (yes, that’s how I think) I feel it too, the winter is coming around the corner. It’s touching our skin and we are a snap away from feeling it in our bones. So we hold on to our joy in brace for the bleak.

Up here we collect trees to give us warmth in the winter. They are such a versatile part of creation. They house us, warm us, feed us, shade us and provide mediums for our creativity. They are here to serve us and we go through our lives not totally appreciating how alike we are. Or at least, should be like the trees.

God created us with as much variety and as much purpose.

House. Feed. Warm. Shade. Provide. Lay bare. Dazzle. Glory.

In His name, go forth and be like a tree.

if only...

Dear Lord,

Why can't I get this right? Why is it so hard to find myself in you? My whole, my acceptance, my grace. Why do I still, after all these years, feel like the little girl who thought she had friends only to watch those "friends" run away from her, make up their clubs, not include her, never let her in on the joke, because so often she was the joke. Why do I always feel like I'm watching from the outside. Nose pressed up against the window, watching the joy and revelry from beyond, dreaming about how wonderful it must be to be a part of that group. Why is it so hard to put down the measuring stick and pick up your cup?

I have been lovingly informed, on many occasion, that I am a late bloomer.

*sigh*

I say "lovingly" because being a late bloomer usually means slow and I think my mom was trying to soften the blow. And you can take slow on any level, physically, emotionally, spiritually. For me it means mentally.

No it doesn't mean I'm stupid, although, I have berated myself with that word on more than one occasion. It means being slow to figure things out, being late to the party, as it were. That has been me... for as long as I can remember. I have been late to the party. And the delayed impact on my life is really starting to show it's weight. I only now, at the age of 39, believe that I can write. I have learned things about myself over the last ten years that support this and so I am writing. And I am following other writers and this is where all the things converge.

I see these other bloggers and writers and how they have this network and they all started at the same time and all have their own success and they're all best friends and they all knew early on that they could write and they are all so cool (lame, I know) and I am watching from the outside again... nose pressed against the window. Feeling like I'm missing out.

If only I had figured my life out sooner.

If only I had learned in high school that I loved to write.

If only I had developed the confidence then

If only I had known about blogs, and all that stuff back in my twenties

If only, if only, if only...

If only I could just rest in what I have.

I was talking with Brad about this blog. I was feeling particularly inadequate that day and questioned whether I should bother.
"Am I even any good? What's the point?"
"You are very good at it. But yes. What is the point?"

He was asking me to figure out why I am writing.. or more importantly, why do I want people to know my blog?

I didn't want to answer. I still don't. But what's the point of even writing this post if I don't answer that question?

I feel alone here.

wow. That dropped like a tonne of bricks.

Would I feel this need to be on the inside if I was physically with my people?
Which I am not, being that we moved far enough away that you don't just drive here in a day. It was almost a whole year and a half before any of my family came to visit.

I am still trying to answer the question of whether or not I actually want people to know my blog, or if I just want to have my writing affirmed by these people I respect and then be on the inside.
These people don't even know who I am. I am just another name on their email subscription list. So it's not like they are leaving me out. And yet, I still feel like, because I was once again late to the party, the doors are closed and locked and I'm left to just watch on the sidelines.

See how all the things converge?

So God, why can't I get this right? Why is it so hard to find myself in you? Why can't I just put down the measuring stick, step away from the window and just drink from your cup?