In the bleak midwinter ...

“In the bleak midwinter” ...  I heard this Christmas song over the radio this past week and it kind of stayed with me.  Not all of it, mind you, as unfortunately the only words I can remember are “In the bleak midwinter”...  I do know the last verse of the song though:

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

This last verse has always been a favorite of mine.  I actually thought it was a song on its own and only just recently realized that it is the last verse of the song"In the Bleak Midwinter", actually penned as a poem long ago by Christina Rossetti.

But this year, I’m having a hard time getting past “in the bleak midwinter”, as that’s sort of how life feels right now.  Bleak.  Cold.  Winter. 

I seem to be stuck in my own bleak midwinter, but the truth is, in that bleak midwinter long ago, God of Heaven came down, the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.   He didn't come to a palace, or a top-notch hospital, befitting the birth of a King, but to a lowly stable, surrounded by hay and animals.  

And in my own bleak midwinter, the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ, wants to enter in and reign.  He doesn't care about the mess and disorder in my life.  He's been there before; he's been in the lowly stable.

In my bleak midwinter, I wonder what I have to offer the King of Kings.  In my weariness and the aches and pains of life, it feels like I have absolutely nothing in the well and the reserves are running on empty.  

What can I give Him?  What do I have to offer?  Nothing, really.  And yet, He loves me and wants to live with me and have a relationship with me.  All He wants from me is my heart.

So what can I give Him?  I choose to give Him my heart.   And in doing that, I will trust Him to walk with me through my bleak midwinter.  

In the bleak midwinter

BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI; Music: Cranham, Gus­tav T. Holst

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.

In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,

Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;

Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,

The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,

Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;

But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,

Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

A Season of Hope – Part II

Lately I have been clinging to hope like it’s a safety rope.  Hope, as in I hope that my truck-driving husband gets back on the road and gets some good miles under his belt so we can pay the bills.  Or I hope that my furnace keeps heating and makes it through the winter ... without any more repair bills.

This past week, apparently God needed to shake up my “hope” and re-focus it. 

The good news is that my husband got back out on the road and got a long trip to Florida.  The bad news is that he had mechanical issues with the truck that needed repair and spent 3 days waiting in Georgia for the truck to be fixed.  Thankfully he’s back on the road.

It was good news when the furnace repair tech that came out a week ago got my furnace working again.  The bad news was that when the fellow came to clean the furnace this past Thursday, he discovered it wasn’t working again.  Thankfully a new furnace was installed on Friday.  That’s actually very good news, especially with the cold temperatures we’re having right now!

I had been clinging to hopes that were intertwined with my fears.  That’s not really hope at all, but more like desperation. 

In the words of a classic hymn I grew up with,

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. 
I dare not trust the sweetest frame, 
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.
On Christ the solid Rock I stand, 
All other ground is sinking sand; 
All other ground is sinking sand.

My hope shouldn’t be on anything or anyone; not that truck, my husband or the furnace repair guy.   My hope needs to be grounded on who Jesus is and His great love and care for me. 

Psalm 25:5 says "Lead me by your truth and teach me, for you are the God who saves me.  All day long I put my hope in you."

The focus for the second week of Advent varies depending on the denomination and liturgy, but “Preparation” follows “Hope”.  It’s not a “getting ready” by shopping, wrapping and baking, but a preparation of the heart to celebrate Jesus during this season of hope, love and peace.

My preparation already started last week when we had obstacles and difficulties come our way with the truck and the furnace.  It seemed that every day I was reminded in small ways to be thankful in all circumstances and to have a heart of praise even when I wanted to cry in despair.  I chose to thank God for taking care of us, and believed He would.

My Hope is Jesus, and I will continue to make my heart ready to celebrate Him this season with thanksgiving and praise.

We may not have a lot of gifts under the tree this year, but we will be together as a family, sharing in the gifts of love that we have for each other.  And with our newly installed furnace, we will be warm!

A Season of Hope

It's the first Sunday of Advent today, and the first candle is lit.  

It's a season of expectancy; a season of waiting. 

A season to remember what it is we celebrate this time of year;

We celebrate the birth of a King.

So long ago a baby was born and in a lowly manger laid.

He was named Jesus, as the prophets foretold,

Immanuel, meaning "God with us",

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

In that baby born there is hope for all people;

Hope for redemption, salvation and peace.

Come, Thou long expected Jesus, Born to set Thy people free;

From our fears and sins release us;  Let us find our rest in Thee.

Israel's strength and consolation, Hope of all the earth Thou art;

Dear Desire of every nation, Joy of every longing heart.

Born Thy people to deliver, Born a Child, and yet a King.

Born to reign in us forever, Now Thy gracious kingdom bring.

By Thine own eternal Spirit rule in all our hearts alone;

By Thine all sufficient merit, Raise us to Thy glorious throne.

I just happened to check out Ann Voskamp's blog.  She puts it so well.

 http://www.aholyexperience.com/2013/12/advent-devotionals-week-01-hope/

Isaiah 40: 28-31:
Do you not know?  Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;
But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary,
They will walk and not be faint.

Personal space

I’ve been using public transit to get to and from work ever since I started working in downtown Winnipeg, 25+ years ago.  That’s a lot of bus tickets.  I’m realizing that I’ve grown far more aware of my personal space, and perhaps the lack thereof, especially while riding public transit.  I’m just not comfortable being in close proximity with total strangers.  Given the option of standing in the aisle or sitting in a space where my thighs are touching the people next to me, I’ll stand every time.  In my opinion, “cheek to cheek” should refer to dancing with a special someone, not sitting “cheek to cheek” with people I don’t know.

The other day I got on an already full bus in the morning and while standing in the crowded aisle, I had a woman on my left who chose to keep her two large handbags over her shoulder while she was holding on to the bus handrails and simultaneously texting on her phone.  On my other side was a man who placed his duffle bag on the floor at my feet.  The texting woman’s bags were constantly being pressed into my back and I had little room to move away because of the duffle bag at my feet.  That’s just too close for my own comfort.  Thankfully, on an express bus with very few stops, the ride downtown is a quick one.

It was during those uncomfortable moments on that bus ride that I began to wonder if I prefer people at arm’s length in my relationships too.  It’s never been an easy thing for me to initiate relational connections. Obviously there are less chances to be wounded emotionally by another person if you choose not to be vulnerable and open yourself up. 

I do have friends that I don’t mind being “cheek to cheek” with.  Maintaining that circle of personal space with total strangers is one thing, but I know I don’t want to keep the people that I love and enjoy being with at arm’s length as well.    

A Facebook friend of mine happened to post the following C.S. Lewis quote yesterday, which I thought was quite timely and challenging in view of my recent musings on my personal space and relationships:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal.  Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.  But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

Volleyball Lessons

The school volleyball season is nearing its end for two of my boys.  Needless to say, it’s been a busy couple of months with one son on the varsity team, and the other playing junior varsity.  But it’s been a good busy.  My leaves aren’t raked yet nor the autumn yard clean-up done, but that will just have to wait ... maybe until spring, depending on when the first snow flies.

In my limited volleyball experience (limited as a parent only, with no playing experience to speak of), I’ve learned a few lessons and made some observations.   

Lesson #1:  It’s really just common sense, but as a spectator, if you want to have a coffee at the game, you need to either be hyper-vigilant, watching in all directions and at all times for waywardly-hit balls, or you need to bring your coffee in a travel mug with a sealed lid.  Just saying ... I've seen my share of spills.

Lesson #2:  Friendships form, as do rivalries.  Sometimes rivals may even become friends once they become teammates.  Keep cultivating those friendships, even when you’re on opposite sides of the net.

My boys have played for their school teams as well as for club teams, which means they’ve had a number of different teammates.    It also means I’ve met a lot of other volleyball parents and made some great friends over the years.

Photo Credit:  Kim Olfert Photography

Lesson # 3:  “Mental toughness” applied to volleyball means shaking off a bad play, a shanked pass, a missed serve, a fumed hit, and re-focusing on the next point. There's no time for wallowing and reflecting on what just happened. Move on right away.  

A few years ago, when our son Brendan started playing club volleyball, my husband made it his personal mission to educate Brendan, and our other sons too, about “mental toughness”.   By the end of that season, I think Brendan probably hated hearing the words “mental toughness”.  But I’m fairly certain he’s thankful for that learned lesson now.

Lesson #4:  Passion is key as a player, but not always healthy as a fan (it is, after all, derived from the word “fanatic”).  A passionate fan can be a great encourager and a spark plug to individual players and to the team as a whole.  Alternatively, a passionate fan who spews negativity is perhaps more of a hindrance than a help.

What kind of fan am I?  What do people hear in my words?   What kind of attitude do I bring to the game?  While I’m passionate about encouraging my boys and their teammates and friends, I’m discovering I have a low tolerance for whiners, poor sports, "hot dogs" and divas.

In a team setting, players have the opportunity to learn sportsmanship, team spirit and cooperation, and respect for authority.  I’m very thankful for many of the coaches my boys have had who have taught them these lessons in addition to their volleyball skills and a love for the game.

Photo Credit:  Kim Olfert Photography

Laundry Lesson

Last week I did my usual 5 or 6 loads of laundry and discovered, to my dismay, that a blue ballpoint pen had found its way into the washer and in the load of whites.  Couldn’t have been in the load of darks with the blues and blacks?  No, it was in the load of whites where the blue spots were quite noticeable, and somehow those blue spots were mostly on my clothes.

In the words of Lady MacBeth, “Out, damned spot! out, I say!”

I’d love to be able to hide my character flaws in the dark too, but sometimes, just like those blue spots on my white clothes, my flaws are exposed. 

I had a conversation with someone last week, and as the words were coming out of my mouth, it was as if I could see them in a conversation bubble above my head. As soon as they were out there, I wanted to erase them and take them back.  I wanted to pop that conversation bubble and re-write the words.  I immediately felt horrible.

But words, once spoken and heard, can’t be un-spoken and un-heard. 

A few days later, the person I had that conversation with spoke to my husband and expressed some surprise at my words because she thought I could usually find the good in people and situations, and parts of our conversation (my words) had been rather negative.

What kind of “bleach” can be applied to wash my character flaws and spots?  I managed to bleach most of the ink spots out of my clothes so that the blue is barely noticeable.  What about the “spots” in my heart that colour my thoughts and words?  
  

Philippians 4:8 says “Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.” 

My faith is a fairly simple one.   I believe that God knows my heart, He saw my internal anguish and remorse and heard my confession, and He has forgiven me.  I need to continue to keep my eyes fixed on Him, and my thoughts true, honorable, right, pure, lovely and admirable.

Luke 6:45 (New Living Translation):

⁴⁵ A good person produces good things from the treasury of a good heart, and an evil person produces evil things from the treasury of an evil heart. What you say flows from what is in your heart. 

I Need Thee O I Need Thee - Acapella Arrangement (Sam Robson)

   

"He who laughs, lasts"

Someone told me recently that they thought I had a great laugh.  I can’t say I really pay a whole lot of attention to how my laugh sounds, but I do know that I like to laugh and depending on what tickles my fancy, the laughs bubble out.

I think I have a fairly good sense of humour, however if you polled my kids, they may or may not agree.   One’s sense of humour is as unique as the individual it is attributed to.  I know that what makes my kids laugh doesn’t always make me laugh.  I’m just not into “The Hangover” brand of humour.    We had some friends who always watched “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” every Christmas, and they thought it was one of the funniest movies out there.  I’ve watched it and I just don’t find it that funny.  What makes me laugh are shows like “Big Bang Theory”, “Leverage” and “Duck Dynasty”.  Duck Dynasty has a certain kind of humour that makes me “happy, happy, happy”.

My kids are funny ... funny “ha ha” in a good way.  At times they are goofy and sometimes they surprise us with a very clever wit.  I’ll never forget the time one of my boys answered the phone and responded to the telemarketer on the other end of the line in an East Indian accent.  I wish I could have heard both sides of that conversation, but just hearing my son was enough to double me over in laughter.

The first time I was formally introduced to my husband was on a blind date with another couple.  We went to the Red River Ex and wandered around the exhibition grounds and rode the carnival rides, and then went out for coffee and dessert afterwards.  I can’t recall another time in my life when I have laughed as hard and as continuously as I did that night.  My face actually hurt by the end of the evening – in a good way, of course.  It was all just wacky silliness, light-hearted fun, and lots of puns. 

Perhaps that’s what started knitting Eric into my heart – he could make me laugh.  He’s always been able to make me laugh.  I have heard some of the same jokes from him for nearly 25 years, and I still laugh at them.  Even on the tough days, those days when he was mired in depression, and the days when we weren’t quite sure how to hit the curve-ball life was throwing at us.  Even on those days, somehow Eric and I have been able to laugh.  I treasure that. 

There's a proverb that says "He who laughs last, laughs best", but I like this saying:

"He who laughs, lasts."  (Mary Pettibone Poole)

© Inherit the Mirth. All rights reserved. www.inheritthemirth.com  www.facebook.com/InheritTheMirth.

Oh the People You’ll Meet ...

A new school year has begun, and this year represents the first year at a new school for my oldest and my youngest.  My oldest son is starting University at age 21, and my youngest has reached Grade 10 and is officially in high school.   I’ve asked my youngest a few times if he has met any new people, to which he replies, “Of course, Mom”.  And then I ask if he remembers their names.   Usually I just get an eye-roll as a response.

One of the reasons I get excited about the new school year is not just that the boys are back in the classroom and out of the house, but it also signals the start of the school volleyball season.  I don’t understand absolutely everything about the sport (I still can’t look at a lineup on the court and tell you if someone is out of rotation unless I’m sitting at the scorer’s table), and often my kids just shake their heads and give me a look that says “Oh Mom, please stop talking because you don’t know what you’re saying.”

We have been volleyball parents for about 7 years and in that time have met so many quality people that we consider friends.  As the school volleyball season starts, we look forward to sitting in the bleachers with many of them, whether our kids are on the same side of the court or not.  I will cheer for their kids too!

As I was thinking about my boys meeting new people and about seeing our volleyball friends again, the words  “Oh the People You’ll Meet...”  were looping through my brain and I thought for sure they must have been penned by Dr. Seuss.  I wasn’t too far off.  Dr. Seuss wrote “Oh the Places You’ll Go!”  I should have known that, because it was read at each of my sons’ elementary “graduation” celebrations by the Grade 6 teacher, Mr. ... can’t recall his name, but I can picture him clearly with his arthritic knees and cane.

To borrow from Dr. Seuss:

Oh, the people you’ll meet!  There are faces to see!

There are lives to catch up on; people to greet!

And then comes that horrible moment of shame,

When you abso-posi-lutely cannot recall their name.

It’s wonderful meeting and re-connecting with people.  But what’s not so wonderful is my inability to remember names!   This evening as I dropped off one son at the gym, I bumped into another volleyball mom that I’ve known for a number of years and actually conversed with several times.  After chatting for about 5 minutes, we parted ways, and as we walked away, she was braver than I to ask, “What was your name again?”  I didn’t feel nearly so bad after that, and it opened the door for me to ask her to refresh my memory too.  Thank you, Chris!  I just hope I remember her name the next time I see her!

This really is an excerpt from “Oh, the Places You’ll Go!”  By Dr. Seuss:

You'll get mixed up, of course, 
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

So...
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!

What if ...

“ ... "What" and "If" are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: What if? What if? What if? ...” 

That’s a quote from the movie “Letters to Juliet”, which I think is a really well-written movie line. I’m not haunted by too many “what if’s” from my past choices, but do on occasion wonder “what if” about what is to come. 

• What if ... I can’t lose that 20 lbs I have been trying to lose for much too long?
• What if ... I bought a winning lottery ticket?
• What if ... one of my boys goes off the rails and starts doing drugs or something similarly self-destructive?
• What if ... my husband wasn't living with depression? And What if ... his depression is a battle we wage for the rest of our lives?
• What if ... cancer knocks on my door?

It’s easy to become discontent with life. Often we want what someone else has. What if ... I had their bank account ... lifestyle ... house ... vehicle. I’m guilty of that. The grass always does seem greener somewhere else.

Ecclesiastes 1:8 New Living Translation (NLT)

Everything is wearisome beyond description. No matter how much we see, we are never satisfied. No matter how much we hear, we are not content.

This may sound a little unbelievable, but I knew that I was going to marry my husband before we even went on our first date (which happened to be a blind date!). Something in my spirit knew that this was the last guy I was ever going to date, and I have to believe that was God, already putting Eric in my heart. I have never had any “what if” moments about marrying Eric, in all of our 24 years of married life, because I knew that God’s plan was for us to be together.

I have found contentment in knowing that I am with the person God destined me to be with. Being content in that knowledge doesn’t mean life is a piece of cake (gluten free or otherwise); life still has its challenges, difficulties and heartaches. But knowing this is where God wants me, and who He wants me to be with, means that He will meet all my needs, whatever comes my way. He has the answers to all my “what if” questions. 

Philippians 4:6-8, 12-13 New Living Translation (NLT)

6 Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. 7 Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

8 Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.

12 I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. 13 For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.

You’ve Got Mail!

This summer, my husband and son worked together and constructed a new mailbox for our house.  I had wanted an old fashioned mailbox on a post for quite some time and it finally got done!  I believe the ultimate plan was to put the house number on the mailbox too, which might be helpful, but I’m quite pleased with my new mailbox just the way it is!

I’ve always loved getting mail.  I moved away from home to go to Bible School when I was 18 and writing a letter home became a weekly exercise for me.  My mother and I wrote letters back and forth to each other every week for a number of years.  These were actual pen and paper, envelope and stamp letters, before the days of e-mail, texting and chatting online.  Once my mother got her computer connected to the internet, we embraced e-mail.  I hardly ever have stamps on hand now. 

I have shoeboxes filled with letters that my mother wrote to me, stored away in a corner of the basement.  I also have an envelope of letters that my father wrote to me; these were fewer and far between, and all of them fit into one envelope.  I loved getting the letters from my mother where she shared what was going on in their lives day to day, but getting a letter from my father felt like winning the lottery to me.  These letters were words from his heart, and the words he wrote then are still precious words for me today.

Written March 11, 1984:

“I just got home from male choir practice and we are learning a new Spiritual called “Keep in the Middle of the Road”.  I always need guidance for that for everything – how about you?  Spiritually, we all need the guidance of His Word and the Holy Spirit to walk in the middle of the road – so many don’t know that they are playing into Satan’s hands by walking to one side or the other with the possibility of slipping into the ditch easily – spiritually.  I trust you make every effort to live and walk in such a manner that the possibility of going off the Spiritual road of life is reduced to zero. 

So much for my very personal message (preaching) to you is concerned.  I love you very much and always pray and hope that you will experience God’s richest blessings for you.  Walk in Him in total obedience and you will honor Him and He will constantly guide you.”

I miss getting those letters from home.  I am trying to be more diligent reading “letters” from my Heavenly Father every day.  He has good things to say too, and I know He loves me very much.

Sentimental Value

In our basement is a large wooden toy box that we have had since the boys were quite young.  It has housed all manner of toys and books, from Lego to stuffed animals to Nerf guns to puzzles and just about everything in between.  Over the years, and as the boys outgrew certain toys, I’d go though the toy box and clean it out.  Oftentimes the boys would be watching and certain toys always seemed to find their way back into the toy box.  Either the boys weren’t quite ready to part with that toy, or they hadn’t seen that toy in awhile and their interest was renewed.

Saturday morning Nathan asked if he could go through the bottom of the toy box and clean it out.  Toys had been evicted from the upper shelves a couple of years ago and those shelves now house a library of books, but the bottom of the toy box still contained miscellaneous incomplete card decks, game pieces and other random items.   Nathan was very productive, and I have a nearly full trash can to show for it.    I’m not sure what all made its way into the trash, and maybe it’s better that I not know.  I recalled a few things that were trash-bound, like the old kerosene lamp, and asked Nathan to please plug the telephone back in.

A couple of plastic bin units in bright primary colours were emptied of their assorted contents and removed from the basement to the backyard by the trash bins.  They were in relatively good shape (save for a couple of removable wheels having been removed and subsequently lost), so I placed them on the front boulevard and figured somebody might be interested in picking them up.  A couple of hours later, the doorbell rang and a woman asked if they were “up for grabs”.  She wanted to check first before taking them since I hadn’t put a sign out that said “Free!”  I told her “Yes!  By all means, take them!”   I thought that was extremely courteous of this woman and she ended up taking both units, missing wheels and all.  I wish the person that had come into the back yard last week and took Nathan’s bike would have been as courteous and asked first.  Of course I would have told them “No, you can’t have the bike”. 

  

Nathan was rather ruthless in the way he attacked the job, taking no prisoners and expressing very little sentimentality.  The only thing saved from the trash heap were the stuffed animals, and even those were bagged up to be given away.   The goal was to clean up the clutter, and he got the mission accomplished.

Too often when I try and clean up the “clutter” I get distracted by memories and “what if’s”.  “I remember when we got this ...” or “What if I need this yet?”   I seem to have far more sentimental attachments than Nathan has, so he was probably the right man for this job!  I am still holding on to an old wool cardigan of my father’s that I just can’t part with, 20+ years later.

Sentimental value.  Or as my pun-loving husband has always liked to say, semi-mental value.    If I really think about it, “semi-mental” might actually be a more accurate definition, as sometimes the attachment, or value, is more in my head than my heart.

Matthew 6:19-21 (Translation:  The Voice)
¹⁹ Some people store up treasures in their homes here on earth. This is a shortsighted practice—don’t undertake it. Moths and rust will eat up any treasure you may store here. Thieves may break into your homes and steal your precious trinkets. ²⁰ Instead, put up your treasures in heaven where moths do not attack, where rust does not corrode, and where thieves are barred at the door. ²¹ For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

An Attitude of Gratitude

I consider myself to be a fairly quick learner, although as I get older, my ability to retain pertinent information seems to get shorter and shorter.  I’ve always maintained I have a short little attention span, although I usually just applied that to my hairstyle or hair colour.

Over the last month or so, it seems that I have been getting hit over the head with the same message.  Be thankful.   Give thanks.  Have a thankful heart.  Be thankful in all circumstances.  OK, Lord, I’m sensing a theme here.

Two weeks ago my husband came home from a trip on the road and basically crashed – not the truck, thank goodness - but he was an emotional wreck and in need of rest, restoration and healing. 

So in the midst of my husband’s depression, and his announcement that he needs time off and isn’t sure when he’ll be able to return to work; in the midst of my anxiety over our finances because I don’t make nearly enough to support the family and pay for the truck payments too;  in the midst of my crying out to God, asking again why my husband needs to suffer so long; in the midst of it all, I wonder how do I go about having a thankful heart, and what can I be thankful for?

Just this week, I read Ann Voskamp’s blog “A Holy Experience” and the article was actually a letter to Kate (Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge) giving her some advice on parenting.  The whole article was great (read it here: A Holy Experience,) but what really jumped out at me were these words:

Breathe. It’s how life works. It’s the way beauty is always born —

Breathe in: Lord, I receive what you give.
Breathe out: Lord, I give thanks for what you give.

That’s it right there.

That’s the prayer for people who can’t remember to breathe, the prayer for when you think you might hyperventilate, the prayer when you can’t remember what comes next — just these 7-8 syllables that perfectly settle into the rhythm of breathing.

It’s the syllables of sanctuary, a surrender to His sovereignty.

It’s the only cycle of sanity:

Breathe in: Lord, I receive what you give.
Breathe out: Lord, I give thanks for what you give.

And then, on the hard days, you know — when the transmission falls out of the car, when life turns you and you feel sucker punched, when the kids are all yelling and bickering at once, when the phone call turns into a crisis of faith, when you want to pull your hair out, pluck out your eye, or lay down and cry like a baby —

the perfect prayer can do this thing where it gets real short, fits right into your panicked, shallow breaths and quiets even them:

Breathe in: Lord, I receive.
Breathe out: Lord, I give thanks.

These are the words I have been praying this week.  When the moments of life wash over me and I wonder just how survival is possible.  

Breathe in:  Lord, I receive.

Breathe out:  Lord, I give thanks.

Lord, I receive ... Your love – because I need Your love in me to fully love my husband.  Your grace – because how can I extend grace to others without receiving a portion from You.  Your strength – because clearly I can’t do this on my own.

Lord, I give thanks ... 

Weeds in my Garden

As I walked around our neighbourhood the other day, I couldn’t help but admire so many beautifully groomed lawns and gardens. Some people take such exquisite care in their home landscaping; I am duly impressed and at the same time, completely embarrassed by the sorry state of my front flowerbeds. If long, tall grass had brightly coloured blooms, I would certainly have an impressive garden.

So yesterday I finally tackled one portion of my front flowerbeds, attempting to completely pull out all growths and overgrowths, and rake it to a clean slate. On the whole, it wasn’t a bad job. The most distasteful part for me was cleaning up the petrified cat poop in the flowerbed. Oh yeah ... we don’t have a cat.

I harvested all of my rhubarb (a somewhat productive way of clearing up that weed) and put 24 cups' worth in the freezer for future pies. I’m hoping to attack my other front flowerbed (pictured) with the same industriousness, but it is larger, weedier and a little more daunting. If you don’t hear from me in the next week or two, send a search party.

Is outward appearance any indicator of what’s going on inside? If I were to step foot in some of these homes with beautifully manicured lawns and gardens, would the inside reflect the same care as shown on the outside?

I have weeds and overgrowth in my front flowerbeds and yet I work at keeping the lawn cut and relatively trimmed, so there’s a dichotomy there; a combination of neatness and mess.   On most days that’s how the inside of my house is too. Some rooms are kept fairly neat and tidy, while others demand a closed door to shut out the visible reminder of the mess inside (referring to one son’s room in particular - not going to name names, but he knows who he is).  On most days that’s how I feel internally; calm and at peace with who I am, yet also very aware of the messes and weeds in my life and feeling so completely inadequate.

Life will always be messy and full of weeds, so to speak, no matter how hard I try to keep things ordered (weed-free) and under control. What I’m learning is that God really wants to be with me even in the midst of all my messiness. Sometimes “messy” is a good place to be, because it is then that I really acknowledge just how much I need Him in my life.

• Am I willing to do the hard work of weeding those areas of my life that are messy and sinful? 
• Am I willing to be vulnerable and let people see the mess in me, or will I always put on the mask of control and contentedness?
• Am I willing to trust God with my mess?

More questions than answers.

I’m a work in progress. Generally gardens need to be weeded more than just once.

Boys to Men

My four sons are growing up in stature … and growing more mature.    I’ve never considered myself to be a short person, being 5’9, but I can see that in the very near future I will be the shortest in our family.   My youngest son stands beside me on a daily basis checking to see if this is finally the day that he is taller than me.  He is very nearly reaching his goal of no longer being the smallest in the family.  My three older boys are all fairly close in height right now, hovering around 6’1 or 6’2. 

I often wonder, as a mother, if I have done a decent job of raising our sons.  Some days, I have just done the best I could with what God gave me.  Some days, it’s a lesson in prayer and trusting.  Some days, it’s joy and thankfulness for God’s love and goodness.  I am blessed watching our sons grow into fine young men.

Son No. 1 has been working full-time since graduating from high school and has become comfortable with his life, which has been a cause of concern (and much prayer) for us.   But he is at a point right now where he is entertaining moving forward to something new and is pursuing a return to school in the fall, for which we are encouraged to see.  That may or may not have something to do with the ultimatum we gave him that he either go back to school or move away …  Whatever the motivation may be, we are relieved to see him taking steps to move forward and out of his man cave comfort zone.

Son No. 2 recently returned home from his first year away at College and I have been so impressed with the way he has grown up and matured over the course of the school year.  Having lived in residence, he has become far more independent when it comes to making his own food and cleaning up in the kitchen after himself!  There is a maturity about him in the way he views responsibility and life, and I’m really quite proud of who he is becoming.

Son No. 3 just finished up his first club volleyball season as an assistant coach, helping to coach Son No. 4’s volleyball team.  It was a really neat experience for me watching Son No. 3 interact with the players and flourish in a new and different way.  Son No. 3, to me, has an incredible understanding of the technical aspects of the game and I believe he thoroughly enjoyed his season as part of the coaching crew.   The first time I heard one of the players call him “Coach”, I had to give my head a shake realizing he was addressing my son!

Son No. 4 has always disliked being considered the youngest and smallest of the bunch, so it is no wonder that he so desperately wants to be taller in stature than somebody!  I’m more than happy to be that somebody.  Son No. 4 wants to be the best at something (and would prefer that something be different than anything his older brothers are good at!)  Although Son No. 2 plays volleyball at a college level, Son No. 4 has all the makings of being equally as good, or better, than his older brother.  What Son No. 4 doesn’t always realize is that he is special and unique in his own way and there is no comparison.

This past weekend Son No. 2 was quite industrious, fixing up a table that we had in the back yard.  The makeshift table was used for storing firewood, but also as a work-table for outdoor projects.  Son No. 2 found a piece of wood to recycle as a new table top and he fortified the legs.  After the appropriate measuring, sawing, hammering and sanding, the table was pronounced finished and sufficiently sturdy.  I was quite impressed with Son No. 2’s work ethic and the way he encouraged Son No. 3 to get involved and help him out.  I applauded Son No. 2 for his accomplishment, to which he proclaimed that the table was now ready for Beer Pong.

Sigh.  Boys will always be boys.

Spring is in the air!

It’s nearly May and some stubborn patches of snow that have not succumbed to the spring thaw still remain in our yard.  It’s probably not for a lack of trying, but these mounds of dirty white snow are unlucky enough to be in perpetual shade, so they’re always the last to ebb away.

The long winter, or late spring, seems to be a topic of conversation everywhere.  I think it’s safe to say that we’ve all had enough and the reality of warmer, sunny weather is a real morale booster.   I was picking up a package at the Sears catalogue counter on Friday evening and the Sears employee was practically bursting at the seams waiting to tell me that she had taken off her cardigan sweater.  Not in a creepy way ... she was just so excited that it was actually warm enough to need to remove the cardigan!  I reciprocated her excitement and shared with her that I was out and about without socks in my shoes.

There are certain sights and smells to spring that I love.  I work in downtown Winnipeg, in one of the buildings at the iconic corner of Portage & Main.  You know it’s spring when the hot dog vendors are out on the corner and you smell the BBq’s firing up and the smokies cooking.  Last week we had some precipitation (wet snow), and the distinct smell of wet cement that you only smell when it rains in spring or summer hit me and I knew we were getting close (even though it was still just wet snow). 

When the mercury climbs, more people are out and about.  No need to bundle up and stay indoors; now is the time to start getting out into the fresh air.  I did see an interesting sight the other day ... I saw an older couple and the lady had an odd hat on her greying, dirty-blonde shoulder-length hair.  As I walked past, I realized it wasn’t a hat as I had thought, but a short brown woman’s wig or a man’s toupee.   I'm fairly certain that’s not a new look for spring or a new fad, at least I hope not!  I guess it was too warm for a toque, but cool enough to warrant some sort of covering on the head.

I don’t, however, like that period of time when the snow starts to melt until it warms a bit and the green starts to emerge through the brown.  I’m not a fan of the brown.  My youngest son once said that if he could, he would move away at springtime, to get away from the “snirt”, but would come back when everything was green again.  “Snirt”, as I learned from my son, is that brown, gritty stuff left behind at the end of winter; a combination of “snow” and “dirt”.

The sun was shining earlier this morning, but the clouds have moved over again.    This past Friday we (Winnipeg) hit our highest temperature since October.   It was a beautiful day and the temperature was actually in the mid-teens.  But 6 months is a long time to be out in the cold.  I never used to think that I was one of those people who were affected emotionally by a lack of sunlight, but as I grow older, I think I feel it more.  I find it interesting that the acronym for “Sunlight Affective Disorder” is SAD, because that’s sort of how I feel when the sun is behind the clouds.

I’m glad spring is finally emerging.   I don’t want to be SAD anymore.