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?

let us church

Dear Church,

     We need to talk. I love you but I’m finding it really hard to like you these days. You have been such an integral part of my life - my whole life - but lately… our relationship seems, dry. I used to weep from redemption or weep for joy when I would spend time with you. I am no morning person, but Sunday mornings I would bound out of bed to be in the midst of you and I would get happy on the drive to spend just a mere hour with you on a chilly Wednesday night and afterwards my drive home was bliss. Every part of service with you was fulfilling. And it didn’t matter where it happened either. Church anywhere, I loved. I suppose that is what you would call the honeymoon period. I lived in the honeymoon period for a long time…30 years long time. And now… I am married to the pastor, my children love you, I love my husband’s preaching, it should be roses and starlight but something is missing. Most days I feel like I could get along just fine without you, and yet, I can’t quit you.

     Don’t worry, my husband has not married a heretic. As I said, I love his preaching, and there are a lot of things about you I still love deeply. But I’m experiencing static. And it is forcing me to look some things right in the eye.

     There has been a good chunk of time recently where I wish I was invisible, and then there have been some times when I want to stand up in front of you so I can tell you exactly how I feel. But lately, most days, I'd rather just stay home. Maybe some of it has to do with feeling like an outlier - something I never felt until I married a pastor (I’m not blaming him). One day I was just a member, happy to come and serve. Then the next day I wasn’t. I was an outsider. Somehow I became “one of them” and the connections I once shared were gone. I suppose it didn’t help that at that time the area of the body that I was a part of was eating itself alive. Some of the church I loved were hating others of the church I loved and tearing them apart. 

Church, I had grown up knowing you to be loving and caring, prayerful and encouraging, supportive and accountable. Was it never really that way? Have I always been wearing rose coloured glasses? I should have pegged in sooner I guess. Spending an hour arguing the finer minutia of theology seemed like a waste of time when we could be spending an hour praying, or serving, or anything else. Looking back, that’s when it started to go downhill for you and me. All I ever saw was the same old thing.  

     Sadly church, this isn’t unique to the body I was a part of. Anyone could go to any part of you in North America and encounter the same thing. Time wasted on minutia. Why do we do this? Why does church spend so much energy on making sure things stay the same? Making sure that they are right while “they” are wrong.  I am so tired of the in-fighting. Why is it so hard for us to be in-loving, in-serving, in-sacrifing, in-doing?

     Church, we need help, you and me. I want to fix this. I want to bound out of bed on a Sunday again, I want to have joy at the thought of spending time with you again. I want to leave your presence feeling bliss again. Where do we go from here?

     I feel like we need more diversity. We are not all the same. Different personalities, different gifts, different community cultures. Every building that houses weekly worship gatherings should look vastly different from the next, shouldn't it? But, we sing a few songs, we hear announcement, we sing a few more songs, we take offering, kids - if they've been in the service this whole time - are dismissed to Sunday school or children's church or whatever the new name is these days. Maybe we sing another song then the pastor preaches. We listen, or we let our phone distract us, or we fall asleep. Then we sing another song, get benedicted and we try to fellowship, usually with a  coffee in one hand and a cookie in the other (makes it easier to not pray with or hug anyone, am I right?) then we go home, and forget what was taught. And these are just some of the minutia we fight for. We preach community but it mostly only happens within the walls of the building. and when we are pushed to commune outside the walls we balk at the notion. We talk about the love of Christ but it seems to be only for us - those who have already said yes to him. And then we are perceived as thinking we are perfect when we all know we are, in fact, not.

     I know I am not alone in this. In the last few weeks, I have been in conversation with people that are just done with church. They love Jesus to their core but church is killing them. That feeling used to tear me up and make me so angry. It's only because I didn't understand.

We need to get away from defining church as only the place. Or even dare I say, we need to get away from defining church just as the people. What if we started defining church as a verb, an action, a doing. Because the people of church seem to be having a hard tome with the doing of church.

     Now, I know I'm not perfect. Seriously, I know it. But how do we change this? How do we make people want to go to church? Because remember, it's not just about walking through some doors. It's about walking into people's lives and letting them walk into yours. And the building isn't where it's all supposed to happen. 

     Have we forgotten how to be friends, how to make friends? There are so few hours in the day but are there really so few that we can't say hi to our neighbour? Unless you are a hermit living in a yurt on the side of a mountain completely off the grid and self sustainable, not even ever needing supplies for anything, then you have community in your life and community is the potential for friendship. And friendship is the start of doing church.

     Jesus would be a pretty hard sell for church these days. If he was here now walking among us, I think we would have a hard time convincing him of the purpose of church. I want to see more than singing on Sunday morning. Worship is more than that. I was once told that worship means "to kiss the cheek of". The greek translation for worship as verb is the same word for adore and bless. The Hebrew translation has four different words, some mean adore, admire, prostrate. But the one that catches me is the word that means work, labour, worship, toil, serve. Church, I think we have become too afraid of working out our salvation because it is too close to working for our salvation. Do not be afraid of working our salvation. Maybe we should think of it as exercising our salvation. Do not let it grow stagnant and atrophy. Let us not be afraid of the beauty of the doctrine of works. You can labour for the Lord without saying that you are abandoning His grace. There is worship in doing work for the Lord. Doing what he has called us to do. And when you respond to his call on your life with a "Yes Lord" you are kissing his cheek.

     So then let us do more. Let us do more as a people, let us rely heavily on his grace, let us not leave it to “the pros” we are all worthy to share his grace and love. Let us toil and get dirty, hands and feet dirty so we leave our mark on what we touch. Let us not make blanket judgement but let us cover with blankets of grace. Let us put down our first world desires lest we ignore the basic needs of the least of these. Let us feed, clothe, heal, love, serve, sacrifice.. as our saviour did for us…

Let us live the church in the world. Let us turn church into a verb instead of a noun. Let us church. 

Let us church.