cut

Something I have been thinking a lot about lately is how we don’t do enough pruning in our lives. I guess I shouldn’t speak for you. I don’t do enough pruning in my life. I have spent a considerable amount of my life carrying around things, baggage, hurt, misconceptions, dead branches that have no place in my life and are dragging me down. But I just can’t seem to let go. These days though, I am ready for the big prune. I need the Lord to do his work on my heart. The biggest branch that needs to be cut for me right now is all the doctrine and wrong theology I have held on to. It is all weighing me down. Much of this has come from some books I have read over the last few years and my time on the internet. It has held a mirror, in some cases, up to me. In other instances it has opened my eyes to the lives and experiences of others. And the things that are getting in the way of my understanding and love and service to Christ must go. And I am trusting on Him to know which branch needs to be cut and I’m trusting myself to let go of that branch knowing that I am still remaining in Him.

date

I can’t with this writing 31 days. It is sooo much harder than I thought it would be and it’s because I can’t get 5 minutes every day to write something. And it actually takes longer than 5 minutes to do this because you have to take some time to ponder the word and it’s implications. I’m sitting here on Sunday morning slogging out what should have been yesterday’s post because yesterday was filled with real life. And now I’m looking at the date on the calendar and I can't believe we are at the end of October. Wasn't it just March? Weren’t we just bouncing into spring and out of the depress of a long winter? Most of my days blend into each other. I sometimes am not even aware of the date of the day I’m on. But this month I have been very aware. Two birthdays in our house plus thanksgiving and now halloween. And with all the busyness of the month I am ready for November. I like getting closer to Christmas. I like sitting still and contemplating the peace of Christ. The birth of him, the first days of his life on earth. The date we celebrate his birthday is wrong. No body knows for sure when he was born. And I believe that was on purpose. Well, this was all over the place wasn’t it. A little like the noise in my head right now. 

eat

What do you fill your soul with?

What do you feast on?

What does your spirit eat?

“Taste and see that the Lord is good”*

He is everything. 

He is alpha and omega.

Beginning and end.

In him all things were made, there is nothing that has been made that was not made through him.

He is the word, and became flesh, and dwelled among us.

And we broke bread and ate, and we poured wine and drank.

And his body broke and his blood shed,

And we feast on the lamb without considering the cost.

Where do you find nourishment?

How do you stay your hunger?

Does your thirst ever quench?

His grace is like the manna that fell and couldn’t be stored.

Every day new mercies.

He is the living water.

What are you hungry for?

What are you thirsty for?

Are you ever filled?

bouquet

My wedding bouquet is long dead. In fact, it was dead the day I married. Cut flowers are dead flowers and we hold them for their last bit of glory. I love a good bouquet, but I have always found it a little odd too. That we have to destroy something to enjoy it seems all a little too macabre. Yet there is a story of redemption in death. We are to die to self and then we are made new. Humans have a fascination with death don't we? It is the one realm we can not see. We know it exists yet we have no idea what lies beyond the grey veil. As followers of The Way, we hopefully look to death as the threshold to seeing our saviour face to face - and falling on our faces in praise. Yet we don't know for certain what it will all look like. We can’t even tell you where heaven is. 

Because that is not our concern, or it shouldn't be, We are but a wisp of time here on earth. From the moment we are conceived we are on the slow walk to death. Our bouquet does not last forever. We can choose what it will look like, we can choose what fragrance we wish to emit. But inevitably time will come to become compost. 

confront

Potty training is no joke. I know this because I’m on my third go ‘round and I have found nothing, nothing to laugh about. There is no hilarity in mid-night bed wets, nor in mid-day crap pants. It is a dire situation when you publicly express that you entertained the idea of outsourcing one of your parental responsibilities only to be met with laughter online. Every time they don’t do what you have talked about them endlessly to do you are confronted with failure. And it isn’t them that has failed, it is you. When they are adults and you’ve done all you can within your realm of legal responsibility in accordance with their age and they STILL make stupid decisions then you can wash your hands. But a 2, 3, 4 year old is really still incapable of having fully developed thought, reasoning, decision making. And every time they poop on the floor or pee on the Lego that reality is thrown in your face. I historically don’t like confrontation. I habitually run from it, the notion of confronting challenges gives me emotional hives. But here I stand, daily, daily confronted with the reality that the outcome of parenting is pretty much out of our control. I mean, we can do our best and lay down the rules and enforce them, but we are still people of free will and if my kid decides that farting at the dinner table is a good idea no matter how many times I’ve told him otherwise then I have to accept the reality that I do not have the ability to magically make their poop come out when I want it to. And that is something I never thought I’d be confronted with.

sign

“Lord, send me a sign”

I used to pray this, that was back when I was young and stupid and immature. It was as if I thought that I could command God to perform magic tricks. Flash me this, do that, confirm for me this. It is a request for safety, that’s all. It is a telling sign from us that we don't really truly trust Him. We wan’t control, we want the decision of wether or not to turn at the sign. Go forward, go back, turn left, turn right. There was a time when those directional decisions were cut and dried for me. Easy answers to all life’s problems. The reality is that people make life hard, because the reality is we are all seeking restoration. And we want it quickly and we want it neat and tidy, wrapped up in pretty paper and a fancy bow like some glittering package under the Christmas tree. The reality is that restoration is messy, it is dirty, it is after birth in the straw, it is over turned tables, it is torn skin and shed blood. There is nothing neat and tidy about our faith and our Saviour. He is bold, and challenging, and loving, and admonishing. He baptizes you in fire to purify you. He asks you to take part in his body, his blood. He loves the prostitute and criticizes the religious. He warned us that the world would hate us because of him, but commanded us to love the world anyways. We try to wrap him in a bow, but he was spread out on a bloody cross. That is the only sign we need look to. And when he says something to you, your only response should be “Yes, my Lord”

global

It’s a small world, a global village.

Who’s your neighbour?

We can no longer think local when we think of our fellow man/woman. Social media has made that impossible. We see our fellow humans under attack in Aleppo, we see our fellow humans fighting for their rights over their skin colour. We see our fellow humans being killed for their faith. We see our fellow humans dying form incurable diseases.

Social media can be such a depressing black hole.

But if we look closer, we can see our neighbours rescuing little boys form the rubble, we can see the privileged checking theirs to stand in solidarity with their fellow humans. If we look deeper we can see the flames of Holy Spirit fire coming from our brothers and sisters of faith as they look to Christ with a gun to their back. Come with me and look closer and we see the labs and the doctors and nurses and families that surround the sick and dying - it is holy work. And looking at it all and calling it grace is hard, it feels impossible but if we can’t find God and his grace in any part of it then he is in none of it and we must walk away. The earth is small and it and all that live on it are sick as well. No one here is safe from death. And yet we act as though the person beside is worth less than us, as if our life is somehow more important than theirs.

Matthew 25:31-46

blowout

The leaves, the leaves are everywhere and they are a metaphor for my brain these days. There are so many and they get crunched on and caught up in the wind and swirled about and scratch the surface of things and clog drains and get burned in piles in someone’s back yard. Boys and dogs jump and play in the piles of them and worms and bugs do their work to start the decay of them. Cat’s stalk them at the hopes of a mouse to catch and homeowners lament at the work of them. 

Thus, my brain. I have had far too many things thrown at me, not to mention the things I was already stewing about. I need a leaf blower to blow it all out of my head. It is causing a myriad of problems. And I am leaking water out my eyes and sleep is alluding me and my heart is weary and the Lord has been silent. I have not been able to write for days and days and it is all pilling up. 

Lord, hear my prayer. 

Sort the leaves please, burn the ones I do not need and help me to let them burn. I ask for your strength to rake and tidy the ones that need to go to waste, and be ok with the ones that get left behind. There are too many Lord and the ones that are too confusing or hurtful or hard to deal with, I give them to you, I look to you and I am leaving them for you to sort through. 

Help me tend my garden Lord. I am abiding in you. 

off

I need to shut everything off. I need a reset, a reboot. September was great. I was riding high form my trip down south to Vancouver. Nearly three weeks with family and friends and celebrating my birthday. I came home feeling renewed, recharged, ready for anything that might come my way.

All that changed once October hit the board. Too many things have come to take me down. Too many distractions, too many surprises that weren’t good. I’d almost chalk them up to attacks except, I don't want to give him that much credit. 

Homesickness has crept it’s way in and unfortunately that colours everything. It sets me up for disaster as it affects how I am able to respond, or not respond to challenges. Some days I want to tear it all down and build again, other days I want to hide under the covers. 

I’m not sure where to go from here. I can’t take another extended trip south, I can’t even take a short trip. How do I fix this? Where is my reset button? This is more than just turning it off and on again. My heart is battling it out with my brain, my spirit with my body, and the wrong sides are winning. 

Lord, hear my prayer. Bring me back to your presence, where I felt your peace like never before. Show me your mercy, wrap me in your love. 

park

Do you remember that time? One of the first times we were parked in a car. One of our first real dates. We went to Capilano. I made a fool of myself. Then you brought me home and we were parked and for a moment I didn't know what to do with myself so I said, “see you later”

I hope you weren’t planning to make a move. Probably not. It was too soon. 

Then there was that night. I know you remember THAT night right? I was to meet you at your place and you weren't there. And I had no way to get in touch with you . And it was a pouring November night in Vancouver, and I got rear ended on my way to get gas. And still I waited for you. For 90 minutes I waited. In the rain, in my leaky car listening to the radio and all the accident reports worried for your safety and I wasn't even totally sure how I felt about you. But I knew I didn't want you dead.

Then you showed up. You whipped around the corner into your driveway and I jumped out of my parked car and leaped into your arms and hugged you.. for the first time.

I knew then. There was no hiding it or denying it. It was you. You were it. 

We had dinner, we watched Star Wars. We cuddled, you kissed. I melted. 

Remember that other time? Going for pizza? Ya. You remember. 

Parked cars have all sorts of stories.

weekend

The weekend doesn’t mean what it used to for me. Having kids will do that to you. I know one day they will be grown and gone but still then, I won’t have my weekends like I used to. Unless Brad changes careers. Being a pastor means you don’t get your weekends. And being married to a pastor means you also, do not get your weekends. I miss having that freedom to choose if I want to go away. Brad and I were never able to experience that. I’m hoping one day we will. I hope one day we could look at each other and say “what do you want to do this weekend?” and we will both say “sleep” because after a lifetime of ministry and kids we will just want to sleep. And then maybe we will go somewhere. Right now our weekends are early mornings and late nights and long Sundays and short Saturdays and soccer in the summer and fights in the fall. Sometimes we get a long weekend but we don't really notice it. Every day blends into the next without much difference. 

notice

Do you see her? She is standing before you. Her hurt is laid bare, impossible to hide, yet no one seems to notice. She was born with perfection in her grasp, coming from the gaze of the King, her angels have seen His face - but, it doesn’t last. Because maybe, she is born into broken-ness. Maybe she has no one to help her find her way. Maybe the people who’s care she was trusted into should have a mill stone around their neck. And what can you do with that despair? What kind of life can you reap from what is sown in darkness? Things broken in the dark are done so in silence, and her voice has been removed. She spends her life accepting her silence or fighting to find her voice. She knows there should be a light somewhere but she can’t find the switch. Do you see her now? Do you know she might be your wife? Your sister? Your cousin? Your friend? Do you notice her sneaking into the back of your church. Trying to be invisible because invisibility keeps her safe. Yet, her missing voice would scream to be seen, to be loved, to be restored. Can you help her? When you see her will you help her find her voice? Will you fight with her to find the light? Or will you tell yourself she is not loveable because you see the track marks or cutting on her arms.  You don’t know how to talk to her because she sees the world differently from you. Are you the hands of feet of Jesus? Or are you searching for the light too?

1 in 9 girls experience sexual violence under the age of 18.

https://www.rainn.org/statistics/children-and-teens

neighbour

Do unto others..

It is the “golden rule”

And we try to live it in our house. Of course, we are not always successful. From the top down. It is something we all struggle with. Love your neighbour. When I was a kid I thought that just meant the people that live in the house beside me. As I’ve grown I’ve long since realized it means everybody that is not you. Your neighbour is just the person beside you. The person in front of you in the grocery line up that can’t seem to find quite enough money for their groceries. The driver that cut you off and gives you the finger. The spouse that never listens to you, the child that disobeys you. The ministry leader that doesn’t quite know how to lead, the “invisible” homeless person you walk past every day and try not to see. How about the person you hurt years ago and can’t seem to find the courage to say “I’m sorry” or the road work flag person that is just trying to make a living and not purposely trying to ruin your drive home.

Our boys struggle with this concept most days. Who am I kidding, every day they struggle with it. And so do I, quite frankly. And it goes hand in hand with our relationship to God, our obedience to God. Because Jesus didn't just say, “love your neighbour” He said, “love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind, AND love your neighbour as yourself.” I think we forget about how important that first part is in relation to the second part. 

Yes, yes, there are people that don't know God that do very well at loving their neighbour, but I think even they would admit to struggling with being perfect at it. 

Love Him, and He will help you love the rest, because in the rest, you will see Him.

study

“Where we think, they feel” - Anthony Quinn, A Walk in the Clouds

He is describing how men think their way through life and women feel their way. Yes it is a generalized and sweeping statement but, not entirely off the mark. I think. A lot. About a plethora of topics, but those thoughts create feelings. Very strong feelings. This is not untrue for men either. I don't even think it is necessarily a gender issue. It is more of a personality issue. I study people, how they talk, what they say, body language, how other people respond to them. I so often would spend an evening in the youth room with Brad and afterwards, I would tell him all that was going on relationally with the youth just from watching them. I didn’t even have to talk to them. He often would not believe me, then a few months later it would all come out and I’d have to bite my tongue to stop from saying “ I told you so” 

I have been studying people for the last 20 years or so. In my youth I was too concerned with myself that I was blind to other people and how they interacted. School was all about studying books and I was not into that at the time either. As I grew up I realized that I noticed people and tried to figure them out. I think it was because of life experience that this changed for me. Have enough people break trust with you and you start to watch them first. People will show you themselves long before you talk to them. It is so interesting how hurts, experiences can shape us, can actually benefit us.

little

I don’t know when it happened, but God has planted a seed in me. I can’t even tell you what kind of seed, but it’s there. It started quite little. So little in fact that I wasn’t even aware it was there until last week. It is amazing how he does these things. Some people might just consider it a coincidence. An, “isn’t it funny how that happened” kind of idea. I see it so differently, especially when you are actively seeking God’s presence in your life. 

Last week I came across a conference happening in the lower mainland and when I read about it, I started weeping. Actually, the weeping was caught up in my throat. Like, I couldn’t believe this was happening and I was trying to suppress it. Once my tears calmed, the rest of me got so excited. I asked God if this was for real. Where are these feelings coming from? Are they from you Lord? All of a sudden I am aware of this seed. And I want to help it grow but I don’t know how. You see, the conference - even though it is but for a weekend and is in the lower mainland, is surprisingly expensive. And when you add airfare and possible extra accommodation and a car rental, the whole event becomes prohibitive. And it quite possibly conflicts with a retreat Brad goes to every year. And now I am weeping for a totally different reason. Now, every time I see something come on my feed for the conference I tear up again because it is like my seed sees the sun but it is sitting in the shade. God awoke something in me and I am getting restless with the wondering what to do next. 

Have you ever experienced this? Have you ever been made aware of something with no outlet to plug into? What did you do? Looking back, how did God work in you through that time?

move

in him we live, and move, and have our being

in him we live, and move, and have our being

make a joyful noise

sing unto the lord

tell him of of your love

dance before him

make a joyful noise

sing unto the lord

tell him of your love

hallelujah

in him we live and move and have our being

in him we live and move and have our being*

I sang this song in high school. A standard for a pentecostal denomination. This song is taken form Acts 17:28. Paul is talking about the resurrection and our inheritance in Christ. It is a beautiful redeeming verse. When I read it in it’s context it is full of passion and freedom. But once I close my bible, I often become like the person James warns about who forgets what he looks like as soon as he steps away from the mirror. Why is it so difficult to live in these truths? Why do we willingly put on bindings and tangle out hands and feet to keep ourselves form living in this freedom. 

There is restoration, redemption and freedom for all who chose to live and move and have their being in Christ. 

mail

I have learned how to hide behind the written word. It may seem like I am pouring out my heart sometimes but in reality, I choose this form of communication because speaking words with my mouth as opposed to my fingers terrifies me. More than once I have written a letter to someone I love over an issue I should have spoken directly to them about. The problem is that because I am a slow processor I have great difficulty having hard conversations because the person will respond and I am too taken aback and get stuck. I then can’t formulate an appropriate response and get stuck. Then I begin to feel my slow processors shouting at me and I feel dumb. Why can’t I respond to this. Why am I so overwhelmed with my feelings about this that I can’t formulate a response to further growth and foster connection? It is incredibly frustrating. 

I recently wrote a note to someone I love because I couldn’t handle talking directly to them. In essence I hide behind the paper. I cop out of the responsibility of true, right, honest relationship. I am very blessed (and I know it) to have people in my life that understand this shortcoming and love me anyways. It is something I intend to work on. 

aware

I’m not sure that there is anything in my life that has taught me more about myself than having children. I used to think I was so self aware when I met Brad. I had come to a place of peace about who I was, or who I thought I knew I was, and felt confident in my abilities to adult. But since having kids I have become painfully aware of my lack of knowledge about myself and my ability to adult; how I would rather run and hide from grown-up responsibility, how selfish I am, how easily my emotions control me.

I had never previously known that I hate to feel like a failure. I hate it when I screw up. I suppose this feeling has always been there but in high school I never cared enough to try, never stretched myself beyond my perceived abilities. Well, there is no escaping that with children. You are stretched and pushed and pulled like taffy candy every single day. And heaven help your ego if you make one miss-step. 

Potty training is my kryptonite, my achilles heel, my one ring if you will. That may all sound extreme, but nothing else in my life has caused more temper flares and made me more aware of my “lack of” and my “need for” than anything else. Every time he does not have success with the toilet I have a failure. And it is becoming my undoing. 

sky

The day was as crisp and clear and as juicy as a fresh apple. The sunlight was practically liquid as it seemed to splash off the leaves and grass. It made the air sparkle. The fragrance was everything that is fall; the earth never smells more alive than when its flora is dying.  She laid on her back on the ground, the scattered leaves underneath her crunched from the weight of her. A deep sigh released and she looked up to the sky. A transparent blue gem of a sky it was. And it caught her breath once she noticed it. 

She played there, looking up to the sky, looking into the sky, looking through the sky. Wondering what was beyond it. She has seen the pictures from space but this wonderment goes deeper than space.

 “Where is He?” she thought to herself. “He ascended. Where exactly is it?” 

These thoughts that so many children have had since growing up in Sunday school, but she is no longer a child. She has lived a life so far, and has felt little deaths as she has put herself down to pick up something greater. Yet still. The question remains as she gazes into the heavens. 

“Where exactly are they?”

thank you

Dear Jesus,

Thank you for loving me, for dying for me, for forgiving me. 

Thank you for how you healed the sick and deaf and lame.

Thank you that you heal me from being deaf to your voice.

Thank you for healing the sickness in my heart.

Thank you for healing my lame spirit.

Thank you for showing us love.

I am sorry when I do not love as you have commanded.

I am sorry that sometimes I put myself first.

Thank you for loving me even though you know I will do those things wrong.

Sweet Jesus, thank you for fixing us. 

Thank you for restoring us.

Thank you for redeeming us.

When I see your face I will fall on mine.

Thank you for challenging me, for bringing me along on the journey.

You are the greatest adventure. I am so sorry when I don’t trust your compass.

Thank you for your words of hope and grace. 

Thank you for leaving your spirit here on earth until your work is done.

Thank you for seeing past my filth.

Thank you for seeing me.

I am known and loved.

I hope to know you and love you the same.

unknown

I am living in the unknown right now. I have deep abiding feelings about trust. I have been betrayed by a few people in my life so trust in God, even though he is “The Man” has been a consistent battle in my life. And sometimes, I just wanna know. You know?

I have talked about this before. I am living in a zone of mystery. Which, to be honest is God’s schtick right. I mean, come on. He is all up in the mystery, unanswered questions, take it all on faith kind of living. And for a mom of three boys, living on a pastor’s salary in a different town it puts you on the tip of the iceberg of trust requirements. But I wave them around like a banner of pride. Like “LOOK AT ME! I’M A MOM OF BOYS AND THEY DRIVE ME CRAZY AND WE ARE A MINISTRY FAMILY AND IT’S HARD AND YOU NEED TO PRAY FOR MY SANITY BECAUSE GOD IS ALL UP IN MY BUSINESS!!”

Really though. 

God has been twisting me into all sorts of pretzels and sometimes there is a sweet release, like he’s the great chiropractor and sometimes it hurts. It hurts hard. 

Right now I am neither here nor there. I am in a waiting, wanting, longing period. I have these very specific promises before me but I’m trying to not let them tangle my heart. They are not God. They have come from God and he is in the business of changing lives. And he is changing mine. He is awakening in me somethings that I didn’t even know where there. Do I sound cryptic? Good. So then, when I say I am living in the unknown, you now get an idea of how all at once terrifying and exciting it is. 

post-it

Do you know the hardest thing about writing? It isn’t the challenge of what to write about or when to write or even how I want to say it all (although, that can be pretty challenging) No. It is posting it. Putting it out there in the internet ether. Then asking you all to read it and care.

I maked this. Do you like it? Does it speak to you? Do you think it’s weird? Do you hate it? - please don’t tell me. Am I crazy for putting my thoughts and feelings out there? 

I have written millions of words and most of them stay locked away in my journal. Some I have laboured over for days and still they sit. Some I have sat and volcanoed out the words like the pressure was so bad I would explode were it not for the writing. But then comes the posting.

Posting it on the blog or on Facebook is most nerve wracking. This sort of thing is no big deal. This is a humours musing. But when I dig deep and click on that publish button, my heart skips a beat or ten. It is painful and releasing and glorious and heart wrenching all at the same time.   Partly because people I personally know read this. But also, because I am a private person - hello, irony - and so the idea of a complete stranger knowing my thoughts is, unsettling. But here I come still because I am compelled. I need to write, I need to say these things and ultimately it matters not if you read what I post. I just need to say it. 

muddle

I could write this great post about how we just muddle our way through life. And in fact I thought about doing it. I was positing the different ideas back and forth in my brain and trying to come up with a good starter. How we muddle and what muddling actually means. And then I got to thinking about the last time I was in Vancouver visiting family. So, just 6 weeks ago. And I was staying with my sister in Langley for a couple days and one of those days, I think the was feeling particularly “muddley” (haha) so she decided she wanted a drink and made herself a mojito. If you are not familiar with that drink you should be. Vodka, lime, sugar, mint - Excellent! She made one for herself then made me one. It was yummy. We were making dinner and I drank it quickly and before it kicked in I made myself another one and as I was muddling the mint I had a quickly passing thought, “should I make this?”. It was a double shot glass she was using for the vodka. I shrugged it off and decided that because we were having supper soon it would be ok. 

I suppose if you mean by “ok” that you have a buzz while you’re in the pool with your children and you’re supposed to be an alert adult. Then I was “ok”

Sometimes this is how we muddle through life. 

test

“This is a test of the emergency broadcast system this is only a test. 

                       BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

This has been a test of the emergency broadcast system. Had this been real emergency, the sound you just heard would have been followed by important information regarding your specific emergency. This has been a test of the emergency broadcast system”

You remember that don’t you? I remember those growing up. Especially over summer holiday when my sisters and I watched The Price is Right. We’d be pretending we were Janice or Diane and model random objects around the living room for Bob to talk about. Then a commercial break would come and if we weren’t fast enough we would be assaulted with the alarm beep. 

That test always made me afraid, not because I don’t like tests, but because it brought the fear of “what if?” What kind of emergency would constitute the use of the emergency broadcast system? And if it was a real emergency, are people really watching their televisions? I guess 30 years ago they were. As I grew older I just shrugged my shoulders whenever those came on. Well, we’ve never been in a situation to need to use it so what’s the point? I became numb to the test.

This is all I’ve been able to think about these last 24 hours. “This is a test” It feels like we are being tested at this moment, and failing horribly. Donald Trump has continually shown his true colours and a sizeable chunk of the United States population continues to turn a blind eye. The virus that has infiltrated the minds of our southern neighbours is incredibly contagious. Yes, I am a Canadian living in Canada but we are but a breath away from infection. Yesterday a video recording came forth of him showing his degradation towards woman, his “I take what I want” attitude, his overinflated sense of entitlement. It is sad at best, evil at it’s worst and somewhere in the middle I want to vomit. This isn’t an “all of a sudden” kind of arrangement here folks. This behaviour should surprise no body. Trump embodies everything that is bad and titillating about the internet. He is the internet incarnate and this is why he can’t be ignored even though he should. He speaks unbridled, and people have called that refreshing, he continually lies and instead of calling him out on it his supporters just turn the tables. And yes, his opponent is no better. Seriously, NO BETTER if you are interested in any sort of moral integrity. But since when did we vote on candidates based on moral integrity? 

The reality is that we already failed the test. We have been tested for years and years. On the basis of Trump=internet, we failed years ago. When we continue to ignore the warnings and go for the titillation. When we turn a deaf ear to objectifying and degrading words. When we laugh at a meme that makes light of a woman’s worth with words like “bitches” and “hoes”. This recent “revelation” of Trump’s behaviour and the lewd words read no differently than any random rap/hip hop lyrics. Trump should sell his words to Vince Staples and he’ll turn it into a hit overnight. You can’t laugh at a mom in tears horrified by the lyrics of a rap song then turn around and be horrified at Trumps words and attitude. 

I look at my boys and am so glad they aren’t old enough to hear any of this on the news, but the reality is that Trump is not the only man on this planet that thinks and behaves this way. As we have learned about so much this last year, rape culture is a real thing and it’s roots are power and entitlement. I am so focused on making sure my boys respect not just the opposite sex but all forms of life. We do not take just because we want. That may seem like typical behaviour for a toddler but not for a seven year old, or a 34 year old and certainly not for a 60 year old man running for president.

Shock and awe people, it is not just a Dessert Storm attack stance. It is how we receive our information. We get riled up and angry or hurt or insulted and rant from our keyboards that we are going to do something about it. And in fairness, I know some people that have. They have been so compelled by what they have seen that they have taken up the mantel of injustice fighter and it is thrilling to witness. This is the kind of shock and awe I want to be surrounded by. 

Stop waiting for the emergency broadcast system to tell you what to do. We are in a state of emergency. This is dire. Being Canadian does not make you immune to the ramifications of this outcome of this election. We have been in a global village for decades and for good and bad we can not escape it.

you

you are fat, 

you are ugly, 

you are a sinner, 

you are the Messiah, 

you are a child of God, 

you are having a boy, 

you are dirty, 

you need a bath, 

you must fight, 

you have no idea how much I love you, 

you cannot scream like that, 

you are beautiful, 

you are strong, 

you are stupid, 

you are lazy, 

you are missed, 

you have to apply yourself, 

you can’t give up, 

you are treasured, 

you are a failure, 

you are loved, 

you are full of shit, 

you are such a blessing, 

you make a good cup of coffee, 

you have an amazing voice, 

you are so talented, 

you are such a good preacher, 

you are the best sister in the world, 

you lied to me, 

you hurt me, 

you are the man of my dreams, 

you are going to lose this baby, 

you are a great mom, 

you don’t understand, 

you weren’t there, 

you have to treat people the way you want to be treated, 

you are forgiven, 

you can do this, 

you are worthy, 

you deserve to be healthy, 

you are the light of the world, 

you are my Saviour, 

you are my King.

silence

I can’t believe I’m three days behind on this writing thing well, I guess I can believe it. You’ve never been very good finisher Colleen good starter yes, not good at finishing. It has been harder than I anticipated but I’m not going to give up on it. Today is Iain’s birthday, how is he 4 how does that happen? Just yesterday I was holding him brand new. Where does it all go? I wish I could get some of that time back, I’m always saying to Brad I wish I could go back to at least one day for each of my boys when they were babies so I could snuggle them, kiss them, nurse them again instead of the other night when they pushed me to my limits and I lost it on them. yay mom. Now all I have in my head is noise noise noise. Why do I have such hard time forgiving my parenting mistakes. I’m convinced that they will be ruined forever because of my slip-ups. Ugh, I’m so homesick. I had such a great visit back home in august and I’ve been doing great with everything here but now I am so so homesick and that is more noise in my head. We’ve been here a solid 2 years and I still long for my hometown I wonder if that will ever change. Noah keeps having meltdowns I think he’s overwhelmed with kindergarten but he won’t really admit it. Last night he yelled at his pancakes. Carlon is getting picked on by another kid in his class over the stupidest stuff. First this kid was calling him Barlon and now he is just being bossy to Carlon and it’s really upsetting him. Iain still won’t poop in the toilet. I sometimes wonder if I could ship him off to potty training boarding school but then I know for sure I would never be able to forgive myself for that. noise noise noise.

brew

These words - these prompt words for this write 31 days are killing me. They are not the kind of words I would have expected. It has been hard to come up with something to write that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous. But, the word for this one. It got me thinking. Most people brew coffee or tea, I brew thoughts. Ideas, I hold my dreams close and tight. Few see what is brewing in my head. Not until it’s ready does it come out. I suppose that is another reason why doing this has been challenging. I am spazzing out on the keyboard trying to type out thoughts I’ve gathered for a few minutes before I actually start writing. And, I am not a fast typist. 

What is really brewing inside me these days is anticipation of the Lord. I am waiting on him for something. And I don’t even know what it is. He is brewing something in me, a holy longing, and fervent excitement. Not even sure how to qualify it. But it is overwhelming some days. Maybe it’s just catching up on the time I wasted not talking to Him. I don’t know for sure. What I do know is I don’t get this feeling every day, what I mean is, I have only felt this specific feeling a few other times in my life. He is doing something mighty in me. Pray with me please? If you think of me. Pray for me.

wardrobe

I want a magical wardrobe. When I was a kid I learned the story of the lion the witch and the wardrobe. I loved the idea that you could step through a closet to get to a magical land. I would play in my closet and pretend to be Lucy meeting Mr. Tumnus. It was great, albeit a little cramped. Now I want my closet to be magical again. I wish I could walk into it and enter a place of quiet. I suppose that comes with being a mom to three boys. It gets so loud here. Quiet has become my elusive friend, like Mr. Beaver; you see him for a moment then he takes off, but then pops up and asks you to follow him, then he disappears again. 

In my quiet world there lives the coziest couch filled with pillows and soft blankets, and a little table with tea or coffee and a lovely cookie. My favourite books or even just some sweet soft music to lull me to rest. It is so quiet that my thoughts can be heard. A place where the breeze blows soft and there is a sweet smell of flora. Right now it is fall so the leaves and the wet and the crisp air fill me full. I can smell the snow from the mountains and I bundle up and stoke the fire that has appeared beside me. It is glorious and magical. I look around and see other people in their quiet space and I acknowledge them by not talking to them. It is peaceful. It is a dream.

paint

Six and a half years ago we stepped into the housing market. We were renters of a basement suite as newlyweds often do, but our family was growing and we were running out of space. We purchased a town house. We knew it wouldn’t contain us for long but we needed bigger and our family was happy to help us get our foot in the home equity door. We moved in in the middle of summer and in the middle of not knowing I was pregnant with our second. It was exhausting times. But in the end, Carlon finally had his own room. And he was thrilled and so were we. After 20 months of sharing our bedroom with our son, we had our space back. And he had his. Only his was bland - the whole house was. The walls were a bland painters beige. You know, almost like they just painted primer. We talked about painting and adding our own touches. I got paint samples and searched pinterest and hgtv. But in the end, the only room that got painted was Carlons. A pale green. He was thrilled. I added fun curtains and all was well. 

Now we are in our house. An actual house and it needs paint. Inside and out. But will we ever get to it. I have the same sense here as we did in the town house that we are not here permanently. Not because of out growing it. But because of God’s calling. Is this our metaphor for life? Do we put off the work that needs to be done in anticipation of something better, or different. Or refusing to change?

walk..

The sky was bright, the air was light and clear. The sun was warm and the breeze had the most delicious chill. 

“I must get out there” she thought. The day was beckoning to her. It was as if the day was made just for her. She was born for days like this. “A walk. It is perfect for a walk” she thought. 

Out she bounded and began to ran. She did not want to be running but her body forced it. It ran all the time, it had forgotten how to walk.

“NO!” her feet shouted

“No!” her legs groaned. “We have run too much. We need rest. We need not run all the time!”

She battled, feeling guilty, I should run, I need to run. But you need rest. You need to stop and remember the day. Breathe and take in the glory. The brightness of the sun. It doesn’t happen every day. No, there is always something that needs to be done.

-Bless your race my child, but sometimes you need to rest. Come into my rest.- 

She heard the voice push heavy on her heart and she could not go on. She could barely breathe. The weight of those words stopped her in her tracks.

-Come into my rest. Give me your yoke-

She stopped and looked into the sky. She looked beyond the sky, into the deep vastness that is beyond. And finally a breath flew into her lungs. Not so much breathed in as it was blown in. And  then out. And a tear pushed out and down her cheek.

Sometimes we just need to walk with him.