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.

The Not-So-Great Depression

It was reported recently that well-known pastor Rick Warren’s son died as a result of suicide. Matthew Warren was 27, and had battled mental illness for most of his young life. In the weeks following Matthew Warren's death, I’ve seen a number of blog articles about Christians and depression/mental illness, and what the Church’s response and involvement should (ideally) be. I found one article written by Ann Voskamp that particularly had an impact on me and caused me to think back on our own church experiences. Her article is a letter to the Church, and in it she tells the Church what she wishes they would say to the hurting.

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2013/04/what-christians-need-to-know-about-mental-health/

We left the organized church we had been attending over 10 years ago. There were a number of reasons for our exodus, but they included the response by the church to my husband’s major depression. The church we attended believed if you prayed more, if you read your Bible more, if you prophesied more, if you worshiped more, if you ministered more, [insert any other “spiritual” action here and do more of it] that was all that was necessary to achieve healing and wholeness.   News flash: Telling a depressed person they’re not good enough and need to do more, is like walking them up to the top of a cliff and pushing them over. Not helpful.

While we were still at that church, I was blessed to be a part of a small women’s group who studied the book “The Power of a Praying Wife” by Stormie Omartian. In that group, I felt loved and accepted, encouraged and bolstered. These women knew our story, and stood with me to support me as I was on my knees in prayer for my husband. At that time, those weekly morning times with those women were life to me.

I wish there had been some men in the church who, in the same way, had come alongside my husband to accept and encourage him. I wish there had been men who would have made the big commitment (and it is a big commitment) to stand with my husband in the pit of despair, and to walk alongside on better days. All through my husband’s struggle with depression, the unspoken message he has heard so often was that he wasn’t worth the investment.

I struggle writing this because I want to share some of my experience, but I don’t want to condemn or judge anyone in that church for what they did not do. I want to write these things to encourage the Church.  It's easy to love the loveable.  Loving someone who struggles with mental illness is hard.  It is a commitment of time and energy; it is being the hands and feet of Jesus to the suffering.

I like what Ann Voskamp says in her article,

“Jesus came for the sick, not for the smug. Jesus came as doctor and He makes miracles happen through medicine and when the church isn’t for the suffering, then the Church isn’t for Christ.”

“There’s no guilt in mental illness because depression is a kind of cancer that attacks the mind. You don’t shame cancer, you treat cancer. You don’t treat those with hurting insides as less than. You get them the most treatment.”

So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. 

Just as I have loved you, you should love each other.    John 13:34

 ... let’s not merely say that we love each other; let us show the truth by our actions.   1 John 3:18

He is risen!

Reported in the news this past week ...

"The principal of Heritage Elementary School in Madison, Alabama has banned the use of the word Easter in the school saying that it infringes on the rights of students.
Lydia Davenport explained the move, saying, “Kids love the bunny and we just try to make sure that we don’t say the ‘Easter Bunny’ so that we don’t infringe on the rights of others, because people relate the Easter bunny to religion. A bunny is a bunny and a rabbit is a rabbit.”

Huh? I’m sorry, which religion is the Easter bunny associated with? I’m pretty sure the Easter Bunny ranks right up there with Santa Claus as a secular institution with no religious affiliation. I did a quick word search at www.biblegateway.com and I’m just so shocked that there are absolutely no references to “bunny” in the Bible! (Oh, how I wish I had a “sarcasm” font.)

This is another example of political correctness at its best, or worst. People trying to bend over backwards so that they don’t offend anybody. As a person of faith, I’m actually not offended by this because the Easter Bunny and egg hunts have never symbolized Easter for me.

So what is Easter for me? Easter is the celebration of life, redemption, salvation, and the ultimate sacrifice.

On Good Friday, we remember that the Son of God, Jesus Christ was willingly nailed to the cross and crucified. He died as a sacrificial lamb, without blame Himself, taking on the sins of the whole world. He died for me.

On Easter Sunday, we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. Death had no hold on Him; the tomb is empty and Christ is alive. My Saviour is alive.

Do I live every day in celebration of the resurrection? Or am I stuck in “Good Friday” mode, grieving over my circumstances? My Saviour is alive. I want to live every day thankful for the life that He, Jesus Christ, has given me.

He is risen. He is risen, indeed.

Rich Mullins - Creed (Credo) from objektivonemusic on GodTube.