Watching the Redeeming Heart of God

Today is a good day. Today I am moved with the binding of everything being gathered together toward something wholly good. Today I am feeling interwoven and changed together with a spiritual family, as only God can orchestrate. My prayers meet your prayers, and we are all changed, and we all share a story now. I have sight of my answered prayers and I will always record this wonder to remember the wholeness and freedom that comes as one just grasps the edge of God's goodness, His loving-kindness, sometimes even unexplainable.
Today is Sunday. People gather to be filled up, to meet together, to find community. Today I feel emptied-out, free and whole, hopeful and humbled. Maybe this is how it was intended to be. Maybe we aren't to look for something to hold onto, but rather come to lay things down. To be unwound, unburdened, freed-up, and undone. To forgive and heal. To be forgiven and healed. I saw a man with joy on his face, being healed onward today, and it sent a ripple across the church body. Or at least it moved me to be undone, for God's goodness is so so good and it meant exceedingly much to at least a few. I am still undone. That there was made a space, unselfishly, for this man to step up. It brings a sense of hope. A hope that doesn't disappoint.
And, today our lead pastor left the front to go downstairs and teach our kids, alongside his wife. Have you ever known a pastor to leave the pulpit for the week to teach to the kids? My heart is so much for people that know Jesus well to speak into my kid's lives. I intentionally send them out, hoping for this- for them to catch a glimpse of God's very heart in other people. This is not something that can be manufactured, it has to come from within. It can't be written into the lesson planner, but comes from prayer and actually caring for the kids.
If you know the heart of me, today is a good good day that the Lord has created and planned for. A day where I saw God's heart of redemption, and of His heart for generations. Some more of the things I have prayed for so fervently, and the things that I hope for.
Today I thought about our church and tried to put many thoughts into simple words as we drove homeward. It came to my mind that this growth feels like a Davidic-heart culture; very broken and real people moving towards the heart of God.
I am emptied out and filled up.

Joy in the Mourning

I am mourning my Grandma (Cecilia) in the weirdest way. I find myself overwhelmed with tears of joy and overwhelming love when memories of her come to mind. The culture of Grandma's house, and who she was, and who I was when I was with her. Like a reflection.
I mourned the day my Grandpa died and she had to be alone after all the years that he was her protector and provider. I wanted her to come live with us but our home was not set up to be of comfort to her. I was so relieved that my Uncle would move in to be in the home with her.
I mourned the day she had another stroke and had to be in the hospital, soon to be forced into a home for her protection. An institution traded for the function that once was met in a relationship.
I mourned that she was suffering from dementia then and that she may not be her full self anymore, or I would not be me to her either.
But, now I am not sad with pain. I am sad that I cannot see her, but when I see her in my mind it brings joy. I can imagine her in heaven having a hootenanny or something, sitting out back with the birds, gardening in flourishing greens, and herself young and beautiful again. I believe she is set free. Free from the confines of old age and arthritic bones, free from mind fog. She is clear, full, glowing, and under Jesus now. Set free. Not to rest forevermore, but to live forevermore.

An Ode to My Grandma

My Grandma died today. She was eighty-five. She passed in the most graceful way. She went to sleep and woke up in heaven.
My Grandma was my favorite person. She was full of grace, spark, beauty, and gentleness. She could ream out her sons but in the most playful and gentle way. She always had a joyful spirit. My Grandma was so naturally beautiful. She took care of herself and all those around her, and fiercely.
When I was young, I lived just two blocks from Grandma and I would ride the path to her house often. My Grandma was my friend. She brought me along to join her in housework, making beds. She listened. She praised my coloring skills and declared I was an artist. She encouraged me in my growing womanhood. She was full of life and excitement.
One of the last times I saw my Grandma, we had just moved closer and taken my three kids (at the time) to meet her, and she was so so happy to hug them all. She was laughing over and over, "Imagine that!" Full of wonder and thankfulness that she lived to see her grand-babies. She never had thought she would!
I remember so many lovey things about Grandma's house. I mourned the day it was gone- the end of an era. I remember the sweet smell of raw tobacco and instant coffee at her counter, where we sat and chatted. I remember her garden and meals with fresh salads of tomato and green onion that she had picked. I remember the canned peas and fruit cookies in the cupboard too. And, no one can forget her chimed doorbell.
Sigh, I am a little in shock I suppose but all I remember is sweetness about Grandma. The jewellery in her room, her voice, her short hair, her slippers, her eye wrinkles... More memories, on top of memories.
I loved my Grandma so much that I named my daughter after her; Cecilia.
I remember one time she had had a stroke and then no one could get a hold of her. When they did finally reach her, she had told them that she had a dream that she wasn't going to die so she went to the Fall Fair. Stubborn and beautiful. That was my Grandma.
I have heard the tone of her voice in my children's words since they were little. Maybe I look for it. I see her face in my own. I am sad I will not see her for a long while but her legacy will live on in the threads that are passed through our family.
I love you Grandma.

Of the Rocky Hill

I have not typed a single word on this blog in what seems like forever. It has been a season of figuring out our new life in the city. I have had many a thought to express, but life has gotten busy. I have had to make do with smaller, easier spaces to write for now. Like in this moment I have children badgering me with requests and questions, and as my kids get older and bedtimes shift, I have lost more of my nighttime quiet block. I however have not lost my creative mind. *Wink*
This is a weird season of rest. I feel like God has allowed me to have a much needed restorative separation. I honestly begged Him for it, and I know He lovingly said yes. I have a picture in my mind of what that looks like, that I am wanting/learning to paint. This healing rest is strange, and in part, painful. I am wrecked in a sense and it feels raw. It is like being carved out with a spoon as the potter reshapes who I am. And in this, some of the whole is kept, but the edges are being made more beautiful. Again my person is being sanctified and resettled, redeemed.
However, I feel like I am at the ugly middle of it all. I can't even see all the purpose in it all yet, or my fave; the inklings. I have faith that it will all be molded together, though. This is not my first rebuild. My God is a good God. The other side of that feeling of being wrecked, is seeing things differently, and revisiting places already experienced. I am finding thoughts that I had doubted and put aside, relit to belief again.  Every time I get to this place of growth and stretch, there is a longing in me to dive into the mission field. I want to leave mediocre life and abandon it all. This time around though, I am beginning to see people with the same vision around me. And it came surprisingly, in part of course because God is cool like that.
Just last night, I was journaling about the women who have spoken into my life powerfully and have been influential in growing some part of it. I want to explore those thoughts greater... What is the common thread? Who are they? What qualities did I admire? I am not done my list of women, but I feel like it is leading to a sort of personal mission statement. I am also seeing purposes and spiritual gifts growing in my person.
I am finding as I rest on this rocky hill, I am seeing myself in a more prophetic light regarding spiritual gifts. It is sort of blowing me away actually- I am still a little unsure of how it all looks. I am drawn into counselling as a purpose to work towards. I love the workings of the mind and how everything works together, and how we create change. I still am passionate about encouraging women, so so much. I long to be in study of the bible beyond a capacity that I can find, which gives me a desire to create that myself, and why not?! I have for years had books stored up in my mind, and this year I wrote an actual outline on paper. Life is so fun and ever new. Although, I tend to lean towards the initial thought that life is hard, so I will note that as refreshing.
So, this is my life on the hill. Being renewed amidst a place of being wrecked. It is lovely and frustrating. Angering and settling. Hopeful and cry-worthy. I am rebelling, yet being wooed back to places of my youth. Boomerang spirituality.

Stripped ideologies of a thirty-five year old mother.

I have written so much in my heart but have not put it to type lately. It is my least favorite time of the year. The struggle with not letting depression win as we are cooped up in these mountains, and always sick for the month of February. My life in this very moment is resembling the end of winter; hopeful sun and then back stepping winter. I wish I could just for a moment see the clear view of a part of what is ahead. It will be none of us, because we are at our end and have nothing left of control to make it all work. It will be all up to God. Our plans are failing. I guess that means that God's purposes will prevail now, right? I can't wait. I am so done with the waiting and am sure the ones in my close circle are tired of hearing about it. It truly is a struggle.
So, for now, I am trying to live in the now. Is there a place for looking ahead? It can't all be just living for what is here. Hopes and dreams are parts of working towards something, working forward. I will not stand still and have not been. As I have been struggling out of this all, I have been stripped of much- it is disorienting even. I feel sort of undone, like it is my second childhood and I am naive again, having to relearn all that I know.
Maybe that is the essence of being in my thirties. I am at the half way point and am ready to be put back together again. I am rebuilding my ideologies in light of all that I have been through up until this age, and with new thoughts and understanding. I wonder how many times this happens in one's life? Regardless, I am learning the balance of filling to pour out. It is a delicate balance for a mother. Grace is handed out moment to moment. Boundaries are loving all ways. Hope never disappoints. Scripture grounds me. It is the age of sifting through all that I know and reshaping what I want to pass down. This is really what it means to be clay. Anyways, cuddles are needed and bedtime is sacred. I hope to be in this creative and reflective space more often....

Comfort and Joy

I am being lovingly stretched beyond my comfort zones. As I drove yesterday, I thought of what a comfort zone actually entailed. It is fear, apathy, self-loathing, people pleasing, or whatever other painful wall we have built to protect ourselves? Or is it a border that we have been taught out of someone else's pain? If it is these stop-growth places, I want to smash them all. I want to be brave in my steps and pushing myself into newness. God is placing these opportunities in front of me and I do not want to waste them, ever.
This has been such a hard year but in the past few months the struggle has eased off and in everything there has been so much growth. I am learning boundaries but not in walls of pain- in healthy ones that heal. I am letting myself learn to be okay and not recoil or react. I am reminding myself to be truthful to the point and not catering to the pushers. It is both a wonderful and a hard place. It is a peculiar thing that happens when we try to protect others at all cost of our own selves. This distorted view of being loving, as we are abused into self-protection. Comfort zones.
I have recently found myself in a new season where some amazing women are lifting me up. It has been so long since I have been able to let go and not carry so much. It is undoing me, but I am loving the freedom in all these unsteady places. Stay tuned... there is a new year upon us....



The Best Adventure

The best adventures happen when you take a leap. This reluctant Mamma has decided to travel for church. Today I was free to worship out-rightly in the dimmed sanctuary, prayer walls surrounding. Today the Pastor spoke such an amazingly spirit-filled message- it brought tears to my eyes. Today I felt filled up and reminded that I was tagged for heaven, by Jesus himself.
Then Garry met us and we headed up a mountain to Paul Lake. It was so beautiful; I could live there. Well, if not for the windy road that will soon be covered in winter snow. We had a wonderful family day and played at the water's edge. Autumn's colors were a perfect backdrop.
Today was the best adventure. We are set to go. I am set for change. Letting go. Or rather, running into the unknown. We are also headed the same way for our homeschooling activities. Check back in six months to see how it all pans out. I loved today.

 

A Sad Letting Go.

I once had this friend that I loved. I began to journey one way and her another. It pained me to be close as she would not let me fly. I wanted her to come with me so badly, but there was no strength in her to do so and I could not lift her up. She began to turn away from me more and more. I had to let her go. I hate letting go. I want things to stay the same. I am loyal to the grooves of comfort that are there in deep conversation and families joined in play. Letting go was hard and so sad. I still have a place in my heart for her. A hope for her. I am no longer letting myself be pulled and pained. This is a true story.
There is a place in my life that is just like this. A place that I love in part. A place that I wish to help so badly, that I would put my life on the line. This place isn't ready for change. It is too hard. There is no strength to do so, and I myself am emptied by the amount of pain it brings with it. And so, I have to let go. I am not sure if it even is the right thing to do, but then I remember my friend. You cannot make anyone decide for themselves, but you can choose to not to continue to be dragged down.
We have lived here six years now. It was not what I expected and God has done enormous amounts of healing in my life. I am also not connected to who I thought I would have been. But, six years and I need to be wise. We may love each other, but God takes us through seasons. I want to stay the same forever, but I do not want to stay in the same place.
Decisions are made and I will be walking in them. If they are not for us, they will swerve. If they are for us, we will finally have some relief. I am tired. Maybe I am walking the wrong way and the wind is blowing in my face, not allowing me to breathe. I am going to turn around now. The journey will be easier with the wind at my back, stirring me on.

How the Pro-Choice Movement Has Made Me Less of a Mother.

Next Wednesday it marks ten years since little Mac's birth. Since his death. Since his stillbirth. I am one who likes to put a name to things and I am not even sure how to ever approach the way I talk about it all. Our culture has built up boundaries for the way we can, or do, view young life at this point.
I was twenty-four years old and sixteen weeks pregnant when I found out he was gone. I was sixteen weeks pregnant which is labelled as not counting, not a child, just a fetus.... So, at sixteen weeks pregnant, I was sent home with drugs to help bring forth this fetus. At home I laboured in my bathtub for four and a half hours, doped up on multiple Tylenol Fours, and with not even a follow-up doctor's appointment.
Two weeks later, without even being able to get dressed that morning, I found myself in another doctor's office crying for help. Post traumatic stress she said- is it devastating to lose a child, even a child not yet considered a child.
I will tell you, he was a child. When my body was done dispelling this lost life, I held him. I held a full baby, lost somewhere between eight and sixteen weeks. I saw his formed body, his eyes, his little arms and feet. A baby encased so perfectly in his embryonic sac. When it was all over I wrapped him in a towel, put him in a shoe box, and threw him away. I threw my child away. Since he was not considered a child, I had nowhere to mourn, nowhere to bury him. I knew he was already with God, and I let him go in the most painful and undignified way.
All the time I count my children up. I have four living breathing children now. I have two that have gone. I was a mother then, just as I am now. I felt that little soul inside myself. Each time I have carried a child, they have totalled my children for medical history, and each time I have to explain.... I have had two missed miscarriages (as is labelled the way I lost my children) and four children.
Why do my babies not count as babies? Just maybe, then we would have to ask some real and honest questions of our pro-choice culture. Having babies, wanted or unwanted, is hard. Losing conceived babies at any point in time is hard. They are all life, just as we began. I am a mother of six.