Everything is holy now

"GOD IS ALWAYS AT WORK AROUND US... THE QUESTION EACH OF US MUST ASK IS, WILL I JOIN HIM OR WILL I ASK HIM TO JOIN ME?  ONE WAY WORKS, THE OTHER DOES NOT.  I FOUND OUT LONG AGO THAT GOD DOES NOT NEED MY LOFTY PLANS.  HIS WERE MUCH BETTER."    

 ~from Two Crosses by Elizabeth Musser

Every once in a while I get feeling impotent.  I want to be more of a world-shaker than a middle-aged mom on the prairies.  More honestly, I don't really want to be a world-shaker, but I FEEL like I SHOULD be more of a world-shaker. 

I'm really happy where God has placed me, but quite often lately I get drenched in "WHY".  Why am I so blessed?  What makes me different from the starving woman longing to feed her children on another continent?  Why did God bless me with more family and friends than I know what to do with?  Why did he gift me with my amazing sons and daughter that love the Lord and care about other people, and have bright minds and strong bodies?  Why did I have parents that stayed together and focused on raising us to know our heavenly Father? Why do I have a husband that treats me better than I deserve? 

And there is no answer to those questions - besides a grateful heart.  But the overflow of a grateful heart is always a return of blessing, a giving back of reward, an offering of praise.  And I struggle with how to truly express that, so my mind conjures up images of me picketing an abortion clinic, or writing a thousand letters to my MP, or committing my foreseeable future to serving in an orphanage somewhere.

This quote is from an older novel - one I didn't even finish because I didn't find it interesting.  But these words arrested me.  "God does not need my lofty plans."  What a relief! But the scary part is the earlier question she asked, "Will I join Him?"  In the mundane?  In the repetitive?  In the daily grind?  In the possible adventure?  In the stretching and the unknown?

And my favorite part of this quote is the very first line: "God is always at work around us."  How exciting!  That gives such meaning to every part of our day.
  He is at work! 
For the past few months I've been trying to practice an "awakening".  A conscious, purposeful awareness of God's presence in everything.  In the morning I ask Him to nudge me, poke me, and remind me, "I am in this." 
And He has! 
All of us around the dinner table.  nudge
My daughter laughing uncontrollably.  poke
Tears and a clogged throat at a friend's son's funeral.  nudge
A text from my husband that says I sure do love you.  nudge nudge
Beautiful sunny weather every morning for swimming lessons.  poke
A hilarious profile status from a good friend.  nudge
Struggling for a response when someone misjudges my words. poke
Clear skies and an evening fire.  poke poke
Knowing I'm forgiven, seeing a shrub has grown back after I over-pruned it, the echoes of a hammer as my son puts together his first club house, the smell of rain, my heart's longing for a child I've never even met,  a perfect moon, an extra-capacity washing machine, a full freezer, figuring out how to pay an unexpected bill, joy at work...

"And so, the challenging thing becomes,

not to look for miracles, but finding where there isn't one.

Everything is holy now."     ~Peter Mayer

~Everything is Holy Now ~ Peter Mayer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaGnQc5Vmhs
(I'd argue the word "everything".  More accurately it's God's Presence IN everything that is the holy part...)

BOYS!

I am the mother of sons. 

I imagined motherhood differently. 
I pictured neatly organized play things and doing crafts together. 
I purchased new carseats with the intention of keeping them clean. 
I still believe that short-sleeved shirts, long-sleeved shirts and pants should each have their own drawer and go in neat piles - but unless I want to do everything myself, that's not the usual result.
I most certainly never thought my kids would leave the house in mis-matched clothes or with bedhead!
And it never even crossed my mind that anyone of my offspring would consider using anyplace but the bathroom for "bodily functions".
I used to always vacuum my way out of the house each time we left for more than a day, so that everything was tiptop when we came home. 

But my reality is this:
Sometimes I sniff out dirty clothes stuffed into a little Hotwheels suitcase and stowed in the closet (is that any less work than putting them in the laundry room?)
Sometimes I find a toothbrush on the floor next to the toilet in the boys' bathroom, and NO ONE knows how it got there.
I recently found a frog in my dishes rinse-water bowl as we were camping - his name is Freddy and apparently I frightened him with my screams.
One of my children chose to forego the modern plumbing and poop behind our camper - "just because".
I have a plethora of tiny scars on my feet from stepping on Lego pieces. 
Instead of using all 3 dresser drawers to sort clean laundry, one of my children chose to shove so much into only ONE drawer that the bottom eventually popped out. 
I have a son who likes to unscrew all the drawer handles from furniture, and then forgets where he puts the handles.
Saying the word "bum" in our home will result in uncontained laughter and I might as well forget any serious converation for at least an hour.
One of my sons has a serious aversion to clothing.  He is now 6 and we can be sure he will have pants on when we leave the house - but socks, shoes and underwear are still optional.  When caught without underwear (again), he usually says, "I don't need any today.  These pants stay up without them!"
After I have approved what everyone is wearing before church, my boys have ran back down and put on something else entirely - which I won't notice till we're all in the pew.  It's possible that once or twice the changed shirt had a skull and crossbones on it. 
One of my sons poured out his blue raspberry slurpy on the floor of the van just because he was done and "didn't know where to put it."

This is only the tippity-top of my iceberg. 
I have had a few people suggest a good beating or some solitary confinement on a regular basis.  But I had a grandma who raised 8 sons, and gave me the best advice even when I only had 1 son.  "He's a boy!  This is normal!" 
The things that really get me worked up are selfishness, lying, being unkind, disrespect and other character issues - but not so much the every day details.

I look back almost 12 years ago to who I was and what got me bent out of shape before I had my first son, and I look at who I am now with 3 sons (in addition to our daughter) and I see a huge difference in myself. 
Yes there's a lot of high-pitched shrieking that happens here - and loud instructions like, "Get off of him, he can't breathe!" or "That's really gross, go wash your hands!"  But overall - I appreciate the new flexibility and tolerance that Father has developed in me. 

Yesterday Dean and I crouched down in front of our boys and demanded to know who had relieved themselves beside the truck at our campsite.  "It's okay to go to the bathroom outside if you can't make it to the bathroom, but it's not okay to lie about it."  I guess that sums up my attitude towards parenting boys. 
And I have a new favorite Scripture verse: If any of you who lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally.  James 1:5   I REALLY like the "liberally" part, because in mothering boys I don't feel that just a little bit of wisdom will do me.

There was absolutely no one that warned me one of my boys would pee down their bedroom register to see where it would go. 
No one reminded me to watch the air conditioner in summer because my 5 year old would unscrew every single bolt and lift the protective screen off, reach inside, pull out his toy - all while the air conditioner was running and the blades had just shut off for a few moments.
Nothing in my prenatal classes, or early childhood education classes, or my education degree courses prepared me for a little personality that would take off at the Calgary zoo when he was 2 years old - and be returned smug as could be because he got to hold the hand of a park ranger.
When my friend rolled her van with my 2 youngest sons inside, I pulled up to the scene ready to comfort and console my frightened boys.  But I found them completely ecstatic to have all the emergency vehicles and officers around.  The lights and sirens had made this "the best day ever!"

My boys LOVE fire - and making campfires.  This morning - warm as it was - found my oldest boy stuffing the firepit with chopped lumber.  I stepped out of the camper and he called out, "Mom, is this a bonfire yet?" 

Don't get me wrong - I still have my standards, and am digging my heels in, completely determined to raise godly gentlemen. But I refuse to destroy my sons' individuality, or my relationship with them in order to have my organized and "just so" house and family.  I still have to remind myself of this regularly. 

The amazing this is, that all this "boyishness" has become precious to me.  I value my dignity and composure less, and my time with my sons more. 

All things LM Montgomery

For our entire week on PEI (just Madison and I celebrating her entering the teenage years) we stayed in Cavendish at Shining Waters Inn.  It was an old farmhouse that belonged to a cousin of LMM, Rachel MacNeill (who is generally acknowledged as the inspiration for Rachel Lynde).  It has since been developed into an inn with many cottages surrounding it.  The building itself is over 150 years old.

We first visited "Silver Bush", the home of LMM's Aunt Annie and Uncle John Campbell.  LMM stayed here numerous times, was married here in 1911, and referred to this home as the wonder castle of her childhood.  She wrote several books with this home as the setting (including Pat of Silver Bush and Story Girl).

In this home were numerous pieces of memorabelia from the life of LMM.  2 of my favorite pieces were the Enchanted Bookcase, and the Blue Chest

"In our sitting room there had always stood a book-case used as a china cabinet... When I was very small each of my reflections in the glass doors were real folk to my imagination.  The one in the elft-hand door was Katie Maurice, the one in the right, Lucy Gray... I would stand before that door and prattle to Katie for hours... I never passed through the room without a wave of my hand to Katie..." ~The Alpine Path (from the journals of LMM) - the obvious inspiration for Anne's bookcase friend Katie Maurice!

A true romance from the Campbell home in 1847 is the inspiration for an episode in The Story Girl called "The Blue Chest of Rachel Ward".  It's a story about Eliza Montgomery (distant cousin of LMM) who was to be married at Silver Bush.  On her wedding day the groom didn't show.  Eliza buried her cake and locked all her wedding clothes and gifts in this chest for almost 40 years.  She never married.  LMM obtained permission from her cousin to open the chest, and some of its contents were displayed.

We took "Matthew's Carriage Ride" along the red dirt roads surrounding Silver Bush, and along The Lake of Shining Waters.

Madison and I posed against a little gazebo in the mist, alongside the Lake of Shining Waters.  We included a little pink octopus in many of our pictures - Inky.

 I never got tired of the vivid colors of the island.  LMM was quoted: "I love this island of sapphire, emerald and ruby."  Truly the red dirt, the greenery, and the blue sea created this trio of color.  Something I hadn't expected were the thousands and thousands of lupins in bloom.  They were all along the ditches - everywhere we drove.

We stopped by the birth place of LMM, and wandered through that farmhouse - it was kind of sad b/c she only lived here with her parents for maybe the first 18 months of her life. 

She and her mother went to live with her grandparents until her mother, Clara, died when little Lucy was only 21 months old.  LMM's father remarried and moved to Saskatchewan.  Grandparents MacNeill raised Lucy in Cavendish.

LMM stayed with her grandparents.  When she was 31 the Reverend Ewan MacDonald asked her to marry him, but she chose to stay with her grandmother b/c by this time Grandmother MacNeill was all alone.
5 years later when her grandmother died, Lucy happily said yes when Ewan came calling.  He was now living in Toronto, and they moved there together, and had a family. 
Ewan and Lucy are both buried back in the Cavendish cemetery up the road from our inn.

We visited the tourist Village of Avonlea and were treated to characters interacting all over the streets and on backyard garden stages.  We loved listening to Songs from the Shanty, and the one man tried to teach Madison to play the spoons.

"Oh Marilla! I thought red hair was bad -

but green is ten times worse!"

Josie Pye and Dianna Barry joined our music group for some east coast step-dancing.  The music was FANTASTIC!!

Madison and I stopped for raspberry cordial at the General Store.

 Charlie Sloane grumbled because Gilbert Blythe got to stand beside the pretty Madison.

Another beautiful place was Green Gables - the home of LMM's grandfather's cousin.  They spent a lot of time at this home, and we were able to wander through the Haunted Woods, and down Lovers' Lane.
It truly is an inspiring place of beauty.

We explored the red and white sand beaches, the dunelands, and the cliffs.  None of these figure too much into the Anne series by LMM, but oh how breathtaking everything was! 

 

Our first lobster ever - we also had fresh haddock, halibut, and poached salmon.  I tried my first oyster and it went down fairly well.

We took a horse and wagon tour through old town Charlottetown - and loved every minute of the old buildings and beautiful architecture!

We took in 2 amazing theater performances - Anne of Green Gables in Charlottetown, and Anne & Gilbert in Summerside. 

We finished our week with a Canada Day boat parade out North Rustico Harbor.  We loved the seaspray and friendly people. 

Madison and I are now racing to see who gets to re-read the Anne books all over again - and I'm thinking of getting the LMM journals.  She was an amazing writer, a unique and creative individual; she was quirky and imaginative - and seems quite unapologetic about it all.  I would have liked to have known her.  We surely would have been kindred spirits!

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.