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.

Overcoming

We need new songs. David sang new songs. We need songs of worship. We need songs of declaration of God's glory, of His grace. We need songs of warfare. We need to cry. We need to shout and stomp. We need to stretch our arms. Songs are attached to our spirits, our hearts. They bring memories and are stories of our churches. We need the times of softening hearts. We need the times of joy after the overcoming ends. We really need to sing more freely. It breaks the darkness .We don't need constant sameness. We need realness. We need scripture declaration. We need "O, my soul" calls. We need to break the heaviness.
I love a new word. I love a new picture of God's love. I love a fresh encouragement. I love a new story of God's goodness. I love a creative melody of scripture poured out. Our God is creative. We are created. I love when I can't resist to stretch my arms wide in agreement from the inside of myself. Great are you LORD. I am not singing just words. I am worshipping. I feel the wind rushing in my spirit. An intimate encounter with the Holy Spirit. You know He is renewing you as you lean into Jesus himself. Seriously, we need to let each other be free. We need to let each other be real. We need new songs.

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.

We are all the same.

We have been feeding poor people. It all started at Tim Horton's after swim lessons one day. There was a girl there who had a sign that read that she just wanted some food-  she would take anything. I wanted to invite her in for lunch but it is a tricky thing with children, and I was not sure about my husband's reaction. There was also a little fear there, I am sure. Instead I bought a gift card for her from that Tim's, but when we left she was already gone. It was then that we started a discussion about helping people and why they even needed help in the first place. Days later, we were in the city and there was a man on the corner with a sign asking for food. We gave him the gift card and told him that it must have been for him. From then on, I have had many talks with my kids about people in need- why they may be in need, that they are just like us but may have made bad decisions, or maybe they have not have been loved well. Anyways, I am not making this admission for my own sake. This is just the back story for today. Today my mother's heart soared to know that the message is getting through.

After church we were going for lunch, when once again we saw a woman with a sign, asking for change this time. We went and got our lunch and bought her some too. I also had twenty dollars in my wallet and gave her that. When I handed it to her, I saw her face, and knew she must be taking drugs with all the sores I saw. It was sad and I later thought to myself that I wished I could have stayed awhile, heard her story and told her that she is loved. I thought maybe I shouldn't have given her the money since she may use it for harm, but that is up to her now. When we drove away up the highway, I asked my kids what they thought and felt about helping poor people. My son spoke first, "It makes me feel happy and sort of creeped out."
I talked to him about the creeped out feeling and I asked him why it made him feel happy? He responded, "Because we are helping someone."
"Why would you feel happy about helping someone?" I wanted to know. "Why would you care about someone you don't even know?"
"Because we are all loved by God," was his simple reply.

He gets it.

Do we get it? I love his answer. I want that to sink in.

We are all the same.

I WILL NOT STAND STILL.

Maybe we should be going out instead of gathering. I have always felt like you can only grow so much until you desire to do more. Isn't the purpose of gathering to make a plan? Isn't the purpose of gathering together, to build each other up for good works. Not just for ourselves. And I would dare to say, not even just for our children. How are they to know how to have servants hearts if we are not serving? How are they to know the joy of selflessness for the sake of others? I have the best memories, the kind in which my heart soars, in simple ministry.
My Aunt and Uncle used to run a place called the Hope House. I remember that they would open these big doors and let in whoever would like to come off of the street. It was a time for a free, hot meal. It was also a time for getting to know people and being together. I loved to sit and sing with my Uncle as he played worship songs. It was where my desire to learn guitar was first formed. I loved the feeling of doing something beyond and I still love the thought of worshipping amidst the poor and broken. How awesome to break some heaviness. Music and mingling. My Aunt, she loved to serve, feeding the physical hunger. Church lived out.
I do not have a strong spirit. Although, that could be debated, I never feel it. But in these times I am brave. I want to feel more bravery. I will not stand still. I have to do more. I feel blessed in the intentional going. I want the times of sitting, of gathering, to develop a burning in my heart for serving. I need both; filling and pouring out. I don't want to be dry and I don't want to be stagnant. So, oh Lord, give me clarity. Let decisions be separate and one side of my frustrated thoughts be stronger than the other. I know what is valuable and I know what is ultimate. You are the forefront of my wanting, but I cannot see clearly. And, I am not the only one choosing in all of this. Let me not be leaning to the wrong side or pushing for the wrong outcomes, or with the wrong intentions. Your will be done.

Thankful for women of truth.

A hot soak followed by a hot chai tea, and at dusk, yes please. Tonight, finally, some retrospective thoughts. *think deep breathe here* I have closed out some options and am finally seeing pieces of conformation, that my choices have been prayerfully well thought out. Sometimes we just have to trust that eventually God will show us the why. One part down tonight, many to go. *add wink here* I am thinking that I have stepped far enough away to see more clearly. Life is weird.
This afternoon I was thankful for the beautiful drive, the drive that also exhausts me so, and began a prayer for clarity. While two of my little clan slept, I prayed for one side of my indecisive thoughts to become clearer so that I would know which way to hope upon. Ultimately these decisions are up to God and Garry, as I have told the kids. I only want the good. These times of restless stirring come with that. They bring about change of the heart and change our positioning. I don't want to stay the same so I have to thankfully accept the catalysts that come to guide me/us into the new. I hope for some rest in this piece of knowledge. And, I am thankful for women who speak truth and are willing to offer encouragement.