still alive..

21 Jesus got into the boat again and went back to the other side of the lake, where a large crowd gathered around him on the shore. 22 Then a leader of the local synagogue, whose name was Jairus, arrived. When he saw Jesus, he fell at his feet, 23 pleading fervently with him. “My little daughter is dying,” he said. “Please come and lay your hands on her; heal her so she can live.”

24 Jesus went with him, and all the people followed, crowding around him. 25 A woman in the crowd had suffered for twelve years with constant bleeding. 26 She had suffered a great deal from many doctors, and over the years she had spent everything she had to pay them, but she had gotten no better. In fact, she had gotten worse. 27 She had heard about Jesus, so she came up behind him through the crowd and touched his robe. 28 For she thought to herself, “If I can just touch his robe, I will be healed.” 29 Immediately the bleeding stopped, and she could feel in her body that she had been healed of her terrible condition.

30 Jesus realized at once that healing power had gone out from him, so he turned around in the crowd and asked, “Who touched my robe?”

31 His disciples said to him, “Look at this crowd pressing around you. How can you ask, ‘Who touched me?’”

32 But he kept on looking around to see who had done it. 33 Then the frightened woman, trembling at the realization of what had happened to her, came and fell to her knees in front of him and told him what she had done. 34 And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Your suffering is over.”

35 While he was still speaking to her, messengers arrived from the home of Jairus, the leader of the synagogue. They told him, “Your daughter is dead. There’s no use troubling the Teacher now.”

36 But Jesus overheard them and said to Jairus, “Don’t be afraid. Just have faith.”

37 Then Jesus stopped the crowd and wouldn’t let anyone go with him except Peter, James, and John (the brother of James). 38 When they came to the home of the synagogue leader, Jesus saw much commotion and weeping and wailing. 39 He went inside and asked, “Why all this commotion and weeping? The child isn’t dead; she’s only asleep.”

40 The crowd laughed at him. But he made them all leave, and he took the girl’s father and mother and his three disciples into the room where the girl was lying. 41 Holding her hand, he said to her, “Talitha koum,” which means “Little girl, get up!” 42 And the girl, who was twelve years old, immediately stood up and walked around! They were overwhelmed and totally amazed. 43 Jesus gave them strict orders not to tell anyone what had happened, and then he told them to give her something to eat.

Mark 5:21-44 Jesus heals in response to faith

The woman with the issue of blood

The little girl who was “just asleep”

The woman with the issue of blood is like the wounded of the church. They have been bleeding for so long they couldn’t even tell you exactly when or how it started. They are bleeding out their faith, sometimes quietly, sometimes loud but, nobody wants to hear about it or know its happening. Like the woman was treated, 

“Let’s just pretend she’s not there, we’ll ignore her and her issue and maybe she and it will go away” 

and this makes the wounding all the worse.

And the divide deepens but they long to come back and so they cling to the faith they have. 

“I believe LORD, help me in my unbelief”

The woman reaches out tired of bleeding out for so many years, tired of the stench, the cultural invisibility.

“Just to touch his robe” she thinks. Grasping at straws, what will happen if I pull on this thread? Will it be my life line? or will it reveal it all to be for naught.

Have you ever been there? Events have left you so in doubt of your faith that you just don’t know any more? And you try to talk to people about it but instead of encouragement and support they look at you like you’re terminally ill, or worse, a stranger? So you withdraw and hide your struggle, or you become like the little girl who was “just asleep”

I had a friend who believed that God will put people, churches “on the shelf”. That if someone was not honouring Him, he would just put them there almost a “time out” so to speak. In my spiritual youth that sort of made sense to me. I understood rebellion and privileges being taken away. 

“Clean your room or no tv”

“Stop hitting or I will take away your toys”

“Keep your grades up or we take away the car”

I don’t think that is really the case but, I think she believed that so she could explain the seasons of wilderness. She would never admit to being in her own wilderness because she had, unintentionally, cultivated for herself an image of a strong godly woman. Everyone saw her that way. She worked hard at her relationship with God, at the discipline of that relationship. She made a point of saying,

“Devotions should be done in the morning as soon as you wake up” and, 

“Everything in life can be counted against scripture”

Several years ago I ran into her and she was struggling with loneliness and connection. She confessed to the cold feeling of being alone in the evening and would grab a shot of something adult and strong to warm her on the inside before bed. This was not the woman I had known. That woman, in her loneliness, would have cried out praise of the Lord. She would have recited scripture and prayed till the tears dried up the pools of sorrow. As I watched her laugh to herself about her new pattern my heart cried for her in her wilderness. But she wouldn’t admit that God had shelved her, that is for other people. But, I imagined in her mind, that is what she was feeling. And in that my heart breaks for her, she is limiting her God.

I’m often afraid to quantify God in any sense as it so often puts a period at the end and then keeps us in that statement. We have not words enough to explain or praise enough to reveal the complexities of our Lord and yet we try, just so we can have a glimpse of comprehension. I have wandered a few wildernesses in my life to date, the most recent being these last three years. But never once had I felt God had put me on a shelf.

Nine years ago my faith entered into a shaky journey. I had gone through a personal loss then, a year later, as my husband and I welcomed the birth of our son, our church was crumbling around us and it was crumbling because people I had known my whole life were tearing it apart almost with their bare hands. People I had grown up calling auntie and uncle, people that had been instrumental in my spiritual growth were doing things I didn’t think were possible. The hurt that was caused felt insurmountable. People that had been there for an age were leaving, so finally done with the fighting and the hurts. The chaos reigned for a year and the carnage was devastating. The only reason I kept going was because my husband was a pastor there and we were unequivocally called to serve there. Neither of us wanted to stay. In fact, I wanted to run. The place I had considered home for ten years was no more. I was angry and questioned God about everything. But we could not deny his call on us at that time and so we stayed and we barely kept our head above water. We witness healing and growth, but I lost my capacity for trust. Church never looked the same after that. God didn’t look, feel, sound, touch the same after that. 

Fast track five years to this same church we were leaving and I had never resolved my trust and because things didn’t end the way I wanted, and God called us to a place I didn’t want to go I felt lost and I was angry and spiritually tired and I turned my back on him. 

Hah! How does one even do that to an omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent  God? 

Well? 

You hurt, you bleed, you weep, you seek help in all the wrong places and it all gets worse. You try to fix the bleeding on your own and you just make it messier. Then you find yourself on your knees, trying to stay invisible so no one sees you hurting but trying to reach out to him who you don’t even feel worthy of thinking of because of all the time you spent being angry with him. 

I had turned my back on him, and I sunk into my anger. I fell into depression and finding joy was next to impossible. Was that God removing his blessing from me? No, I don’t think he’s into that kind of exchange in our relationship. It is our own fault if we live in the void when we choose to separate ourselves from him. We live in our grief, our hurt. We pick at our wounds in fascination and pride of them. How can we possibly feel his comfort when we choose to be angry, when we withdraw, when we are hurt and are doubtful?

I have a two year old. A very strong willed two year old and he hates getting upset. He gets angry when he cries and he would rather sit and be angry about his lot than let mommy or daddy comfort him. It is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen from a toddler. But it shines a light on our own behaviour. I am constantly reaching out to my son in his hurt. Even though he is pushing me away, I continue to pursue him.

Jesus is always ALWAYS reaching out to us. We are the ones turning away and yet he still pursues us.

I have lived in the anger, doubt, pain, loss, fear. I am still on the fringe of that season. I am the woman with the issue of blood. I am tired of the loneliness, the separation from God, I can carry the anger no longer. I am in the process of going to him, to reaching just for the hem of his robe. I even feel as though if I could just touch the dirt he just stepped on, his footprint, I would be healed. But there is a crowd in my way. I can’t get through all the people that have hurt me, disregarded me, misunderstood me, abandoned me. The same people that walk beside him, my brothers and sisters in him. They love him, I know, but why are they blocking my reach to him? Haven’t we all experienced doubt in some area of our lives? Don’t we all know that ground crumbling feeling? So, shouldn’t we all be there help clear a path to Jesus?  Or throw out a rope to catch? 

You may not be ready to climb it my friend but you can hang on to your end and I promise I won’t let go of mine. And I will help you be like the little girl. She was not dead, only asleep. I will clear the path for you help you reach Him. And when Jesus wakes you and shows everyone that you are alive… even while you were sleeping, you were alive.

the winds of change..

     So.

     Here we are.

     At the start of another school year. I'm not ready for it. The boys have had their moments over the summer but, for the most part, they have had a great summer. But, here we are none the less. Summer break is over and it's back to schedules and Carlon is in grade 2 and we are sending Noah to preschool, which goes against all that is in me - and yet we are doing it because we all need for mommy to not have a breakdown.

     I am on the cusp of an empty daytime house and with all the parts of me that get driven crazy by the stage that we are at, the thought of going all or nothing almost overnight is too much to bear. Yes it is a full year before Noah goes off to kindergarten and yes, it is a full two years before it's Iain's turn but, it is there, looming like this big boulder from Raiders of the Lost Ark and I feel like I'm at that moment that is almost paused in the movie; Indy hears something coming and he sees the boulder rolling towards him and there is this gasp.

     *gasp*

I am in the gasp. And while I am not running through a booby trapped cave I have come to realize I have no route to run. In an odd way, that boulder represents the freedom I have been longing for since Carlon forced me onto bedrest at 27 weeks. You come to recognize some things as you step into the thresh-hold of motherhood; you lose, you labour, you give until you are fully spent and then you lose, labour and give some more.
   
     Blessed are the mothers for they can not just up and go and do whatever they want whenever they want.

     I live with four other people and the majority of my daily life for the last 7 years has gone into their needs, leaving little left for me but then I check myself and remember that motherhood was never about "what's in it for me". However, here I am on the verge of gaining back hours to my days and, know what to do with it, I do not! I am entertaining all kinds of options as I try to make a plan, figure out my route, but none of them give me a certainty of what I should do.

     In the midst of my calling as mommy I have lost my calling as Colleen, child of Christ. I am in the cloud of looking for my specific call. I see images but it's all blurred by a haze.

     Any suggestions? Any insights?

the grab bag...

So yesterday we talked about ordering a couple cord of wood... summer is coming to a close. Well, technically it is summer for another four weeks but, here up north it feels like summer vacated these premises five weeks ago. It came early (May) and left the middle of July. We were graced with warm weather for the church camp out weekend but...

Rain. I'm talking about rain.

It has felt like fall to me the last few weeks, so much so that I have spent a good chunk of August in jeans and long sleeves, 'oh whoa is me'. Because when the rain won't go away your bag of tricks empties in a hurry. And while I don't subscribe to the helicopter/pinterest type of parenting, there are things you plan to do over summer break that require good weather. So now here I sit, begging for school to start and a schedule to begin. Something to break up the monotony.

Having said that, when I look back on our summer we did have some good times.

So, If I count summer all the way back to June then we visited my family in Vancouver, we visited Brad's family in Edmonton, we picked berries, we visited with friends, we played lego - that underscored the whole summer actually...the boys dream in lego - and in reality, our summer isn't really done yet. My beautiful niece is coming for a visit (shhh-don't tell the boys) in just two sleeps. And my folks are coming up shortly after that so there is still summer fun to be had. But, if I'm going to be honest, I'm in fall mode... I'm thinking and getting excited about about sweaters and scarves, boots and warm jammies, eggnog lattes and can it be?...christmas trees.

steely... rusty determination

     I have made a promise to myself to not let months go by in between posts. Even in the pit and stress and turmoil.  And so through this blog, a promise to me is, by extension, a promise to anyone who reads it. I am an introvert, and I process things through my hearts mind and eventually they need to be spoken and more often than not they are spoken through written word.

                   God bless the written word.

     I believe I have things to say. Important things. Well, they are important to me. Half of my heart started this blog because I was encouraged to do so, the other half thought "well, every other pastor's wife has a blog so I might as well too" then the thoughts of popularity rose up and squelched my focus. I began to think about how honest to be and how my words would affect my husband. But, I still have things to say. This is a strange bedfellow in the online world. I saw a meme recently that expressed that we used to have diaries for our private thoughts... now we have the internet. And oh, how true. I still keep a journal. I have kept one off and on since I was 12. I have tossed the ones from high school, but the ones from my twenties still speak a truth to me and they are sacred. I work out my faith, my self, my path in my journals. And, they are private. But there is something to be said for sharing. For laying bare our pains, our joys, our failures, our successes. There is vulnerability, community, family.

     Earlier this year I was drowning. I had shared this feeling with a few people and didn't receive the desired response. So deeper down I went. Then something happened between me and my husband and instead of coming to him with it, I listened to the demons that were telling me I wasn't worth it and I kept it, then I buried it, and then it began to eat me. Have you experienced that? It is painful, and it doesn't only eat you... it eats those around you except, they don't know they are being eaten. And by the time they do they don't have any power to do anything about it. They are fighting back in a futile attempt at the invisible dragon. I did this to my family. I pushed God away and allowed self doubt to rule me. I decided my husband didn't care about me, that my family and friends had forgotten me and I was alone. So I acted alone. I turned "survivalist" I didn't ask for help and I pushed everyone away.

     No one suffered more in this than my little monkey. My youngest. This is my deepest shame now and I am pleading with the Lord to help me forgive myself. Shortly after my descent began, my beautiful two year old began a descent into his own pit. I wrote it off as just being a two year old... tantrums, fights, screaming, crying... seems pretty usual right? But this was beyond. He was angry, and he was angry with me. It took months, I didn't count, but the months went on and I was reduced to tears most days. It wasn't until he and I were having a battle in his room and I looked at him and cried... and said I was sorry, and told him I loved him. He melted. Instantaneously melted into me.

     He and I have had a tumultuous relationship from the start. An unexpected pregnancy, and a stressful year combined with post-partum depression all worked against us.  He was born at the unfortunate timing of unemployment and a big life change. It has all gone towards my own sanctification and I have learned that you never stop labouring for your child. You think that once you have delivered them your labour stops but, whoa to the mom who denies the labour that continues through their lives.

     All these words and these last few months to learn again that our lives impact the lives of those around us. We are not separate in this world. And there is no secret sin. I thought I was ok to keep my feelings buried, but it only served to bubble and boil my anger. Passively my anger spilled out through the house to my children, my husband. I'm surprised everything I touched didn't sizzle under contact.  So the secrecy of a journal? I suppose just for the more scathing details. But the impact of sin is far reaching and why not put it out there since it will reach there anyways.

     I will write more. Because I want to but, also because, for my own heart and faith, I need to.

peeking out from under the covers

Whoa!....
has it really been that long? More than a month since my last post. If there's anyone out there actually reading this, I'm sorry that this page has been silent. I really wasn't aware that that much time had passed. We have had an intense couple months here. In the quiet north of BC this home has been in an intense storm of emotion and sorrow. Three deaths in 3 months.... let that sink in for a moment. Two grandmas and an "auntie" from our church. It's all too much right? It is for me. And since the first grandmas passing in February I have been spiraling down into a pit. Deep, dark, ugly pit. (hint: when the blog is quiet.... I'm probably drowning) that sounds self serving and dark but it's true. When I am at my mental and emotional worst I am buried so deep in words and thoughts and feelings I don't understand that I can't possibly wade my way through to make any sense of it to write it out. Aside from the deaths, we reached our one year anniversary of living here. Looking back, the year flew by. And that actually scares me a little. Did I miss out on anything? Have I cocooned myself wishing this time away?....

There have been many tears, and quiet suffering, and emotional turmoil, and battling demons that would cut my world with the blades of depression. It has happened before and I have been so ever determined to never let it happen again. But, living here has taken me too far away from my people. I am not known here. I am an alien. There is no comfort of familiarity. I am getting to know people but it is not the same. There is such warmth in silent ease. There is no place here for me to go to and just be. I always feel "on" and for an introvert that is exhausting. like... almost debilitatingly so.

So many people told me it would be easier with the kids being little. Quicker to adapt... the youngest won't remember...
I daresay it is not easier. This sort of life change is only easy if you have no connections to anybody or anything. And at the risk of sounding bitchy, I'm going to file this life experience under the same folder as miscarriage. If you haven't experienced it yourself, don't try to offer any diatribes, or pithy advice.

We just came back from a long weekend ant my sister's. My hometown. Vancouver. Oh I miss it so. And the boys do too. We had such an amazing time, nobody wanted to leave. Tears flowed almost the whole 40 minute drive to the airport. The next day at home was HORRID. The two littles were soooo grumpy. They did not want to be here. I can't blame them. Who wants to be in a place where there is no family?

Cap is almost finished school and we will be heading to Alberta for our long scheduled family vacation. We are all looking forward to it. Another place that has familiarity. We need it. All of us. But, still, it is not the same.

I get that we are supposed to live our lives as Christians as though we are aliens. In the world but not of it. Beyond that, I am still trying to understand why God has sent us here. What is he trying to tell us?

This has just become a ramble... I'm sorry. It was all on my tongue and I needed to spit it out. To be honest this is only the tip of the iceberg. But, what hangs on underneath is not fit for publication. Not yet anyways. Maybe in time.

If you pray... if you feel like praying for us, please do so. We are challenged as a family right now. There are named and unnamed stresses pulling and pushing at us and we need the prayers of God's people.

for lent's sake

       So, six weeks ago lent began and I felt I should participate, I should flex my faith muscles, as it were, and let go of something for six weeks. But my faith, like every other area of my life, is woefully out of shape and jumping into a lenten sacrifice was the equivalent of running a marathon when I haven't been running for six months. You fall almost before you start.

       I have tried lent in the past and have failed. Every time. One year it was coffee, one year carbs. This year? Facebook.... Thank God my salvation isn't conditional to my ability to practice lent.

       What a sticky web facebook is. I didn't realize until I tried to drop it and couldn't. I could blame it on the fact that there are a number of people that I am only able to access through facebook, so it was a challenge to send a message and not look at the goings on in facebook land. It's a kin to someone trying to give up coffee and has to pick up their friend working at starbucks. But, in reality, I am weak.

       So while I checked the happenings on facebook when I was supposed to be off it I eased my conscience by not commenting on anyone's posts. And I must say, doing that gave me a great perspective on what people do comment, or post, or what I used to comment or post.

       Do you know what I did these last six weeks while I was "off" facbook?

       I lived my life! Just Like I used to 10 years ago before I was on facebook. And do you know what? I don't miss it. I don't miss the excess postings or off the cuff comments, or selfie posts or, this is what my kid is not doing...

       So, I am back on facebook, but only sort of. I won't be posting all the time, I won't commenting on every thread that passes my way, and I will keep my opinions on issues to myself. Because, while I appreciate what facebook has to offer, it for me, comes with caveats. And I need to me mindful of that. I guess my attempt at a lenten observation wasn't a total write off. Thank God for his grace.

How do you die?

       We have been swimming it it... death. It has overwhelmed our church, my husband. Even my six year old is talking about it. That part is ok, we need to talk about death, it is a part of our life after all. I was just a few weeks shy of six years old when my maternal grandfather died, and I couldn't grasp it. I remember sitting on the couch with my sisters and my parents standing in front of us telling us that grampa had died. And I asked, "Is he coming back?" I remember it as clear as if it happened yesterday. I couldn't process a life ending. Of course as we get older we understand that life ends...everything on this earth has an ending. We can thank our greatest grandparents for that. Physical death is an experience no one can escape. So there it is, in front of us but we don't want to dwell on it. It must be the uncertainty of it, the alone-ness, the unknowing of what's behind the veil. Even for Christians, trusting God does not mean peace with death. It is hard to think of saying good-bye... cutting ties to this rock.

       My son asked me why we have to go to heaven when we die.....
       He doesn't want to die...
       For him, heaven is scary, it is not home, we are not there with him...

Big thoughts for a little boy.

       It provides me a window into his heart though, and if I'm going to be transparent here, I had the same fears when I was six... and 16... and 26... geez... even at 38 I still tense up at the thought of "what if?" and my man and babies are left with out me. I weep when I read or hear of a mommy with littles and shes's losing her battle, or has been abruptly taken without warning. It rips me.

Small thoughts coming from someone who believes in a big God.

       And yet, still it is there. Like that piece of lint, or hair, or bug or 'what on earth is that?' stuck in the corner of the floor half under the baseboard and your vacuum just can't quite get it. You don't even really see it until you are forced to confront it because you're having company over and god forbid they see the real you...  messy... vulnerable... broken.

       Like I said, our church has been overwhelmed with death. Something like seven funerals happened in a span of six months.. exhausting. Not even people that were active members, but they were connected to the families in our in our little community. Then last month my gramma passed away. After two years of giving up on her life her body finally gave in. And then we have a lady from our church that is on the precipice of her death. She is standing on the edge of an endless canyon. (but really, aren't we all?) Only, she knows it is just a step and she knows it is coming for her in a matter of months. Multiple myloma will do that. It is actively stealing her life away but it isn't stealing her light. If anything, the absconding of her life has only intensified her light. She is a beautiful woman, a mother, grandmother, sister, auntie, friend. She is loved by so many and she has been blessed with a deep care for all. It pains her to not be able to physically be present with her church community. She feels she is letting us down.

       She has become deeply contemplative in these days, death will do that I guess. She is lamenting her failures as a mom, as a child of Christ. you can see the strong fragility in her turmoil. Like a birch tree being pushed around by the wind. It sways and bends but then almost seems to push back at the gust.

 "I trust that my God is bigger than my regrets!" it seems to shout at the wind

       She weeps for her mistakes but she knows God has it all. That we all have our own personal torture chambers. Some of us visit them more frequently than others, some of us never leave them. And some of us have learned to use the key God has given us to lock it up and set it to never be opened again. Blessed are those who do not linger in the trap of regret.

       We know that it is our lives, our sins, our hurts, our joys, our triumphs and failures that have shaped us to who we are, and if we are in Christ then those things are shaping us to be even more like Him.

I visited my gramma two years ago and I saw despair, hopelessness, depression

I visited our friend last week and was bathed in grace, hope, tears, laughter



how do we die?