The Love Note

This morning our summer Sunday program, Power Kids, started.  I had brought in a real double-edged sword, and a beautiful love letter that smelled wonderful.  I shared with the kids about the Bible being God's love letter to us, and that it is living and active - sharper than any sword.  

I told thiestory of when Dean and I used to write love letters to each other all the time.  We lived 4 hours apart while we were dating, so we wrote an awful lot.  Dean would spray his cologne on his letters and I'd add a dab of perfume to mine.  You could close your eyes and pretend the other person was in the room with you for a few moments as you smelled the love letter.

Then I shared how we met at Circle Square Ranch, and Dean would let me wear his jacket around the campfire.  Sometimes he would tuck little love notes in the different pockets for me to find... and that's kind of like when God sends a friend to listen, or a "coincidence" to brighten your day, or someone does something special for you.  That's Father showing his love letter to you, because He says "every good and perfect gift comes from the Father above."  These little unexpected highlights are God's "love notes" tucked into the pockets of your life. 

Well, as we were waiting in Winnipeg airport this afternoon to fly east, the only seat for Madison and I was beside a man that looked like cross between a regular dad and a safari adventurer (turns out he ACTUALLY was on safari once!).  This man told me about his many, many flights to many different continents around the world.  He shared about a pilot in the Caribbean climbing onto the wing of the plane with a metal toolbox and tinkering for a bit before they could take off.  He told me about being in a 6-seater plane in an electrical storm over the ocean.  He told me God always took care of him as he did work for World Vision and travelled 6 months of the year. 
Then he got up to get on the plane.
Madison and I waited till everyone else had boarded, and went to find our seats.  And surprise!  Here was my new friend waiting in our row!

When the turbulance picked up, I panicked and involuntarily reached across Madison's seat and grabbed his sleeve.  He had his earbuds in, and quickly pulled them out to look at me.  "Are we okay?"  "Is this normal?"  I must have sounded desperate.  No matter how many times I fly, I just HATE the feeling of turbulance.  It feels wrong no matter how many flights I sit through. 

I wish I knew this man's name.  He was so kind and reassuring, "This plane can withstand at least 25 times what we are in now.  This is very normal for Ontario airspace.  Let me tell you about the time...."  And off he went on an interesting tale that took my mind off the discomfort of the flight.

As we began our descent into Toronto, he shared about his work with his own businesses, his work with World Vision, and that his wife (although sick with 4th stage cancer) still ran a successful ballet costume design business and a Pregnancy Crisis Center in Montreal - the only Christian Centre around there.

He finally said, "It's not about numbers.  It's not about success.  Life is about obedience."  He helped a few other people get their carry-on luggage down before he left to catch his connection, and we left to catch ours.

And I thought - That was someone Father sent as a love note tucked into my day. 
And then I thought - But His WORD is His love note, so what part of His Word was this about?
And immediately Father said, "I will never leave you.  I am with you always." 

I know I was never in any real danger.  I know my panic and adrenaline is rather uncalled for.  I know I still would have landed safely in Toronto, and then in Charlottetown without this man in my life.  But I'm so glad Father chooses to walk with me in a tangible way even in this simple thing.

People change

People change.
We like to remember a certain circumstance or event and label someone based on their behavior or words at that time.
But I don't think that's fair...
People change (hopefully).


Dean told me the funniest story this evening. 
We had some good friends over, and we got talking about hockey - then the Jets - then the cost of tickets - which led to the good ol' days - then to back when Dean was living California and his family had season tix to the King's games.


"I got to go to the games whenever I wanted,"  he boasted.  Then amended that with, "Well, at least whenever my dad or uncle was working or didn't want the seats - then I could go whenever I wanted to."


Dean told us about a time when he caught the puck - these were the days before plexiglass and protective nets.
He was at the King's game in LA. He heard the slapshot, and in reflex ducked as the puck shot just past his head - but he forgot in that instant that a blind lady always sat right behind his seat.  He heard a thwack  and a wailing and people came rushing to help the woman behind him.


But this trauma happening behind Dean was all part of his peripheral memory - what was DEAN doing while all this was going on?  He was buried head first up to his shoulders behind his seat digging for the puck where he'd heard it roll after rebounding off of the blind lady's shins.


Only when he had jumped up victoriously and was waving the  puck and yelling "I got it!" (no doubt hoping to get a glimpse of himself on the jumbo-tron), did he become conscious of the damage done to the sight-impaired ticket holder one row back.


He sheepishly sat down - but did he offer the puck to the wounded fan who still didn't know what had hit her?
Well - he never exactly said, but I happen to know he has a King's game puck stashed in a box in the basement.  I'm just sayin'... 


But as I sat their laughing - really people, you should hear my husband tell a story (well, rather you should just watch his face while he tells a story) - you'd laugh too...
But as I was laughing I thought, "That's so NOT Dean." 


If I watched some 17 year old guy  completely tune out the painful cries of someone (blind, no less!) so that he could get a free hockey puck, I'd  think he was self-centered and unfeeling.  Who does that? 
Apparently my husband.


But I know him as kind, caring and protective.  He goes out of his way to help people whenever he can, and notices other's pain or difficulty.  He's not self-centered or unfeeling - quite the opposite.


People can change.
Sometimes we just need to give them time to grow up, but I think most of the time we underestimate the AMAZING work of Holy Spirit - when He's given a few years with a teachable spirit.

New shoes

It's been such a busy week.

Field trips, track & field and a couple teacher meetings for the kids.

A grant photo op., 2 lunch appointments, and a tour of the facility.

A safety on one vehicle, a repair on another, and a trade-in for a different car.

Those are the little extras that we added to the regular activities of school, Dean's work, my 2 jobs and a final week of piano teaching. 

Oh... and the most wonderful part of all - it's been sunny!  So I've been turning up all my flower beds and barbecuing. 

There's Carson's birthday to celebrate this weekend, and of course we want to make time to go down to the lake for the holiday Monday.

However, beneath it all has been an underlying longing.

I'm waiting, and it's such a familiar waiting to me.  I've been pregnant 4 times, and while of course I always wanted the perfect timing because I wanted a healthy baby, there were definitely times of great impatience.   My arms already imagined the weight of a little bundle.  I wanted to see what the new little person looked like, and find out what that personality would all hold.

So my waiting is familiar, but a little less confident.  There's no maximum 9-month time guarantee on this addition to our family. 

Sometimes it seems like a far-off dream.  We've been deliberating and in process for so many months...

Sometimes in my early months of pregnancy, I would go shopping and buy odds and ends - whether I needed them or not, just so I could have some solid evidence of the child we were waiting for.  I'd pick up extra plug-in covers, a mini pair of socks, or a silly toy.  When I brought that home, I felt one step closer to having my baby.

This week Dean's parents arrived from California for the summer, and brought up all the things we'd received for Christmas, or purchased while we were down south, and  and couldn't fly home with earlier this year.

One of our must-visit stores in SoCal is the Skechers Outlet - and on impulse back in March I had picked out our little daughter's first Skechers.

As I began to plow through the suitcases and bags, I found these little shoes... and I suddenly realized that I had been doing it all over again - picking up something to help me feel the reality of an idea too big to simply accept.

I hope she likes them...

Just for the kids

I've often played around with stories that I think up just for my kids. I've almost never written any of the silly ideas down - it's usually only snippets of a character or situation.  Just over a year ago I finally began to throw one of the stories down on paper so I could read an entire thing to my little people.   

Here's the opening to a piece called "A Summer of Changes" from Stories from Bredon.

A sigh escaped young Maddie Whitson’s lower lip, puffing blond wisps off her forehead for a moment. Her shoulders bounced against the back of the carriage seat as she tried to cradle the twins on either side. At 5 years of age, Jace and James were her darlings, but even they were trying her patience. A small, hard shoe kicked her shin on the left, and a bony elbow dug into her right hip as the boys struggled against the stuffy, cramped space.



Life was a series of adventures and events to Maddie’s cheerful disposition, so when Papa told the family two weeks ago that they would be leaving Penrith by the end of June, the only home they had all ever known, she took it in stride. Ten-year-old Joel had fussed about the loss of his friends and favorite fishing hole, and the twins had fretted Mother with questions about the bustle of trunks and satchels being bandied about the small parsonage. But Maddie’s imagination had taken flight with the possibilities of the unknown. In her mind she had already made a wonderful friend, and the two girls explored the river and hills under a cheerful sun in the new place called Bredon. Of course this new friend had only brothers in her family, or perhaps she was an only child – it mattered not. The important thing was that both girls longed for a sister, and had found a kindred spirit in each other. Often during the two frantic weeks of packing and repacking, Anne Whitson found her daughter with an absent-minded smile on her face, or quietly speaking to herself as she boxed up her girlish treasures.


As the family tumbled into the carriage to depart for Papa’s new parish, Maddie engaged Joel in a game of “what if”. “What if there’s a large tree near the Bredon parsonage – and we could build a fort?”


“What if there’s nothing but sticks and rocks for miles,” Joel pouted as a shock of sandy hair fell over his gloomy brow.


“What if there’s a boy your age who would like to race across the village green?” Now she was baiting her brother, for she knew his penchant for a good piece of competition.


Joel’s chin came up, and interest flickered in his brown eyes. “He better be good at other things, because I’ll beat him every time.”


The game led to further ideas about their new home, and eventually to the boys begging their sister for a story. Only two years older than Joel, Maddie had always been able to lure him, as well as the twins, along on her trips of fantasy. This talent came in particularly handy for passing time when visiting older folks’ homes with Mother and Papa after Sunday services.


“Have I ever told you about the Cave of Wonders?” whispered Maddie.


Eyes widening the boys settled in to the rocking carriage seats, and so began the account of four inquisitive children, who stumbled upon an opening in a hillside. As the rented carriage rattled and crunched along the miles, the imaginary characters explored a world where flowers tasted like lemon drops, and it rained sweet tea. Girls were free to roll down grassy knolls, or ride astride fast horses in noble battles. And boys fought triumphantly to keep the land free from the evil influence of the weak, but wicked Lord Cyril. The use of invisibility dust, shrinking powder, flying chants, and other sundry potions tantalized the boys’ minds and fed their desire for heroism and nobility.


Maddie had spun her make-belief tale, the boys listened intently, and thus the children had whiled away the hours in the close space. But now Joel’s incessant whistling and knee-jostling, combined with the twins’ constant shifting, brought Maddie to stifle a groan. To complain would bring about Mother’s corrective eye.


“Look out the window, my sweet.” Papa winked.


“Is it finally Bredon?”


“That’s our new home.” Papa’s eyes twinkled, and she looked out where thatched huts dotted the countryside. Up ahead the River Cardel wrapped itself around a sprawling collection of stone cottages, timbered two-story shops, and cobblestone streets. Mother grasped Papa’s hand as the church spire rose over the village, and some unspoken message passed between the two. A sense of security settled over Maddie’s scattered thoughts. The relationship between Mother and Papa had often been filled with fireworks, laughter, arguments, and intense discussions. But never once had Maddie ever questioned Mother’s loyalty to Papa and his vocation. The two were like icecream and sunshine, only Maddie could never decide who was which.


“Our new home?” echoed James, pushing his face toward the small window.


Home. A grin pushed its way across Maddie’s face. A new adventure.

Motherhood

I have looked down at the soft round faces of my babies and marvelled that some day they will have angular cheek bones and a five o'clock shadow (the boys, that is!). 


When people told me the days would be long, but the years would be short - I didn't understand.  I do now.


I remember the evening, sitting in a rocking chair, that I realized my baby girl's legs were too long for her to be held comfortably as she fell asleep. It seemed that just the night before she was still short enough to snuggle easily in my arms.  She was wearing a pink fleece sleeper with a zipper.  Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing even as she lay with her head on my shoulder and I wondered how many days of this I had left before she was too big altogether for such holding.  She's 13 now.


The depth of God's creativity and goodness awe me as I have watched my kids develop their own personalities, and relationships with Father.


I have discovered that I physically ache while helping my child struggle through loneliness, frustration or disappointment.


I am learning how deeply Father's heart must be wrapped up in His children.  His fierce protectiveness and pure joy regarding His children are reflected in mothers everywhere.


I can make 4 different sandwiches at 10 o'clock at nite that will perfectly meet the tastes of my children on our Sunday picnic the following day.  I know without hesitation who will want mayo, who likes extra cheese, the one child who will eat mustard, and who needs their sandwich cut into little squares to make it more enjoyable.


The deepest moments of regret that I have are when I've handled life badly and hurt one of my children with my words or actions.


There's a single moment with each child that I remember with precision clarity - the moment they were first handed to me still warm and squishy.  The first time I looked into their squinting eyes - trying to get adjusted to the first minutes of daylight.


Sheer terror is another emotion that accompanies motherhood - like when my 3 year old ran from the park ahead of me (very pregnant) into our yard and hid.  I searched everywhere - but since it was humid, hot and pitch dark in the shed I didn't look there.  Then I saw the sightest waver of the closed door, and I pulled my grinning imp out feeling schizophrenic as I wondered whether to hug him or shake him.


Who knew watching your child sleep would bring such a deep sense of fulfillment...


The intense desire to throttle someone was rather new to me until we invited some new people over after church one day years ago. Their 4-year old shoved my 18-month old down the stairs head over heels. He landed on his face and had the shape of his soother imprinted in bruises around his mouth. The "new people" chuckled and said that "if anything was broken children were apt to come up and tell you - there was no reason to run down to see about the fuss." I needed the Lord to forgive me for my thought life that day.

I would desperately want my baby to sleep - and then check to be sure they were breathing, and undoubtedly I'd wake them up.


Trusting the Lord takes on new dimensions as children get older.  Field trips here and there, riding their bikes to school alone (I know for a fact that one of my children doesn't always "STAY TO THE SIDE OF THE ROAD!" like I've gently reminded him) and going to camp for a week at a time.  These are a few of the times I have to completely believe that Father will protect and return my children to me.


Is it normal that I want the "trump to sound" announcing the 2nd coming before my children have to get their driver's licenses?


I'm so glad God made me a mother:)

Reflections on Prayer

Earlier this week I took a Spiritual Formation track at a conference.  As we delved into the old idea of prayer and spent time in meditation and reflection, I came away with a page full of questions.  I'm not expecting answers from Father. 

Instead I feel like I'm looking at an image, waiting for this blurry idea to gradually come more into focus as I become more intimate with it...

PRAYER IS THE DISCOVERY OF JESUS WITHIN THE FABRIC OF OUR LIVES.

~ K.M. Dyckman & P. Carroll

IF PRAYER IS COMMUNICATION...
When God speaks thru others - is that prayer?
When God shows us something in our circumstances, is that prayer?
When I feel His presence, His smile, His power, His Holiness - is that prayer?

"ALL PRAYER IS RESPONSE."  ~Basil Pennington

When I feel a desire, a passion, an empathy, a joy - is that prayer?  Is this a response to God's stimuli - to His finger on my heart or His whisper to my soul?

THERE IS NO "THERE" TO GET TO.  IT IS TO KNOW GOD IN THE HERE AND NOW.  ~Cherie Tetz

When I act out of submission to walk in obedience is that prayer?  Am I not communicating to Father?

PRAYER IS OUR ENTRY INTO WHAT GOD IS ALREADY DOING THAT IS MUCH GREATER THAN OURSELVES.  ~Eugene Peterson

When Father blesses, intervenes, answers - is that prayer?  Can I hear what He is saying?  Do I undestand the import of His message?

PRAYER IS DANGEROUS! IT CARRIES WITH IT ONE GREAT ELEMENT OF RISK: CHANGE.  IN PRAYER WE OPEN OURSELVES TO THE CHANCE THAT GOD WILL DO SOMETHING WITH US THAT WE HAD NOT INTENDED.  WE YIELD TO POSSIBILITIES...  ~S.J.I.

When I notice great beauty, design, creativity, is that prayer?  Does not
my appreciation communicate something to Him?

PRAYER IS THE SUM OF OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH GOD.  WE ARE WHAT WE PRAY.  ~ Carlo Carretto

BE OPEN TO SURPRISE.   ~ Cherie Tetz

Is being more aware of the meaning of a message deeper prayer?  If I am more impacted by a message of God's love, are we connecting on a deeper level?

GOD SHOWS UP DISGUISED AS OUR ORDINARY LIVES.  ~Cherie Tetz

Don't my service, my "doing", my acts of obedience communicate?  Is that prayer?

IS my VERY LIFE prayer?  Is my life a communciation between God and myself? 

PRAYER FLOWS OUT OF MY LIFE AS IT IS, NOT AS I THINK IT SHOULD BE.  I SPILL OUT MY DEEPEST DESIRES, BLACKEST FEARS, STRONGEST HOPES... I DO NOT PRETEND TO BE OTHER THAN I AM.  ~ K.M. Dyckman & P. Carroll

Can there be a relationship with God without prayer? 

Breezy Point

 Breezy Point has been a wonderful family break from the every day...

The balcony off our bedroom drew the boys on the very first morning.  We were staying at the Eagle's Nest condos in Breezy Point. 

The nice thing about travelling thru RCI is that they often have things planned that we can take part in wherever we go.  There were crafts, rootbeer floats, bingo, and a tour of the original log house with a tunnel leading under the lake a mile out to an island where the owner could boat in booze during prohibition and have it carted under the lake into his basement.  There were 11 bedrooms and 9 bathrooms in the old cabin - built in the 20's with the latest electricity and plumbing...

 

We picked up a GPS at Cabella's in Grand Forks and tried our hand at geo-caching.  What a fun thing to do with the family - even better than just going for a hike, since we are on a treasure hunt.  As we hunted, we came across a tree pecked full of holes by a woodpecker, and a small nest built low to the ground.

Within the massive resort there are 2 indoor pools and a couple playgrounds.  There are also fantastic golf courses - or so we're told.  We don't golf, but since the season doesn't open for a couple more days, and our condo backed onto one of the courses, the boys found playing out on the empty greens a lot of fun.  Each afternoon they became ninjas of some sort and claimed portions of land for their personal victories.



The legend of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Big Blue Ox is alive and well here.  We found his fishing bobber atop the water tower in Pequot Lakes nearby.  There's a Paul Bunyan paved trail for bikers and the like through the lake area.  We also found his foot prints, and the old fire tower that he left behind.  Dean and the boys thought it would be fun to climb it - I couldn't even watch. 

On our last day we spent a bit more time in the pool, and drove out to Pine River to do some riding.  I was so proud of our kids - Kaden and Carson had never been on a trail ride.  Kaden rode his horse by himself for the whole hour.  He mumbled about the horse's pokey pace, and clapped his boots against the horses sides repeatedly, but old Appache just plodded along -almost took Kaden out by cutting too close to a tree. Kaden just yelled, "Hey!  What do you think you're doing?  Get over where you belong!"  I so enjoyed his confidence on the big beast.

Kaden's confidence on the horse may have been helped along by a "coincidence".  On the ranch yard there were several really large dogs.  A black rottweiler had Kaden quite afraid.  As he slowly approached Appache to mount up, the rottie ran over to see Kaden.  "Get me up there!"  Kaden yelled at me and I boosted him up onto the horse.  He felt quite safe on top.

Carson's pony had a lead attached to the front horse, and he just bounced along quite happily.  When we all broke out into a trot he told the lead lady quite firmly that that shouldn't happen again.  Of course Madison and Adrian had major giggles from behind as they watched poor Carson bop all over the back of poor Lecter.

Adrian rode Tritan, and Madison had Shy.  They felt confident to exercise some of their training.  They really did do well - until I was told I could lead them at a faster pace.  My Domingo was very obedient, but the other two and Dean's horse took off at a run.  The kids bravado took a backseat after that.

Tomorrow it's back to schedules and responsibilities.  We've eaten 14 meals in a row together this week - as well as everything else.  There's been a lot of laughter - and that's as it should be, since that's the glue that holds us together.

And if the drive home is anything like the drive down, I sure hope it isn't raining again - our Carson has a real need to pee on the side of the road every couple hours.  Since I'm on the "safe" passenger  / ditch side of the vehicle, that little duty always falls to me.