swipe swipe SNAP!

I love Christmas.  For me, the mention of Christmas conjures up the smell of hot apple cider and fresh Christmas baking around the fireplace, a cold nose from Christmas tree hunting in -35 degree weather, Dutch Blitz and 1000 peice puzzles.  But I know that for some people, Christmas doesn't have all the warm fuzzies attached.  For some people, it's all about dodging the purse-swinging lady on the escalater as you compete for the last Cabbage Patch doll on the shelf.  It's about stretching the limit on your credit card for the grumpy, thankless children who you'd love to send back to school two weeks early.  The spirit of the season could sometimes better be described as stressed out, frazzled, hassled, beleagured... etc.

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Take the gas station cashier as an example.  After putting thirty-and-some litres in my tank last week, I handed my neglected credit card to the man behind the cash register.  (I say neglected because as a student heading back to school, my credit card has spent a lot of time in the wallet and is only invited out for necessary purchases... there's no way I was over my limit.)  The cashier swiped it once.  No luck.  He swiped it twice.  No luck.  He looked at the uncooperative Mastercard with a look of disgust and frustration that would cause even the most heroic credit card to tremble in terror, and snapped the poor card in half.  Then he gave me a conciliatory look and held my traumatized credit card out to me with a hint of uncertainty, "My machine is no good and your card was damaged, so it broke."  Uh... okay.  Merry Christmas?  I couldn't do much except hand over my fearful-for-a-good-reason debit card and hope the Snapper didn't go serial on me.

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I hope your Christmas was a merry one; that you've found a rest stop and pulled out of the rat race.  But if you've reached the end of your sanity and are on the edge of your own personal SNAP! then consider my personal favorite when it comes to de-stressors: find a snowglobe with an idyllic winter scene.  Take it out back.  Pick up your hammer...

And stay away from my credit card.

jenni is...

trying really really really hard to focus.  on finishing paperwork.  and documenting all the shenanigans (yes... shenanigans) that go on at the youth shelter on any given day.  my shift began at 1100... and being a good employee i was here at 1045 (today... yesterday i was not such a good employee and was late).  this is the first moment since 1045 that i have stepped out of crisis mode... taken a deep breath... and reminded myself that it's all going to turn out okay in the end.  (although no doubt okay for some of these kids, isn't what i'd actually call okay).  now i get to tackle the paperwork.  according to my calculations, i spend approximately 3 minutes documenting each minute that i spend in significant interaction with a youth.  [speaking of significant interaction... i would like to mention that one of my fave kids called me G today.  it's been a long time since someone has called me G.  made my heart warm inside.]  back on track after a minor rabbit trail.  so by my calculations, i should finish paperwork right around 2300... which is when my shift ends.  that is... if the kids stay out of crisis mode, and no additional crises (plural) requiring additional documentation occur.

get back to work, G... the day isn't over yet, but your break is.

junkyard Art

If any of you has stared into the abyss that is your own heart, realizing how black, broken, hopeless, and hurting it is, then this is for you.  If you have questioned God's grace for the places of shame and despair that exist in your personal Mess, then your thoughts may mirror what I've written.  Thanks for sharing in this piece of my journey.

my life is messy.

i struggle.

i mess up.

i hurt people.

i get hurt.

i carry my own baggage.

and sometimes the baggage of others.

i'm ugly inside.

if only you knew

every piece of the pie

you'd throw the whole thing back in my face.

so i've carefully divided it up.

entrusted small pieces

of the mess

to a handful of people

to test their response.

trembling inside,

i recoil and withdraw

until i know if their reaction will be rejection.

i'm a mess and i know it.

but they know only a part.

if you knew, would you love me?

if you knew, would you accept me?

if you knew, would you embrace me?

would you call me sister, and friend?

i'm a mess, Lord,

through and through

i surrender to You,

surrender to the hands of the Junkyard Artist.

afraid, reaching, desperate,

hungry for grace,

dreading the moment i reach the bottom

of your ocean called grace...

you know... will you love me?

you know... will you accept me?

you know... will you embrace me?

will you call me daughter and friend?

will you make art of the landfill of Mess in my heart?

i want to know You.

i want to be known.

i want to learn

to love well.

my lamb, I love you,

I accept you,

I call you to Myself as beloved daughter,

as friend.

I embrace you,

hold you near Me,

laugh and cry,

grieve, rejoice with you, child.

you are Mine.

I love you.

May you, as the king of Kings draws you into His arms, find hope and joy in the journey.

can't

can't get online class registration to work.

can't decide why they're doing round 3 on my transcripts to figure out how much credit i actually deserve.

can't deal with the frustration of not knowing... seeing as i'm moving halfway across the country for a school that said they'd give me credit.

can't figure out why the financial aid department hasn't responded to me since october 9th about my bursary.

can't help but wonder why their staff turnover is so high that in my relatively brief career as a potential student at the college, i have been through three directors of admissions, two registrars, two associate registrars, and two admissions counsellors.

can't figure out why i'm letting an afternoon slip away with frivolous worry when i'm sitting by the fireplace in a beautiful chalet, looking out over a foot of fresh powder blanketing the Rocky Mountains.

i can't live like this.

can't truly live life if i choose to live like this.

i choose... to go back to my puzzle. with my friend. to watch the sun set. to call the college tomorrow.

the sum of it all

trying to sum up what God has been doing in my heart this year as i wrap up this season at Crystal Peaks. today as i was preparing for the farewell conversation (aka exit interview) i'll be having with two of the staff later this week, it came to me that the crux of it all could be called PERSPECTIVE.

imagine walking through life with thick, skewed lenses in your geeky glasses. i don't have glasses. i always thought they made people look smart, but imagine the stupidity of wearing glasses that warp the world you see. glasses that distort reality. the one wearing the glasses believes that reality is what they see from behind the lenses.

yet every day, i see a skewed perspective because i wear untrue lenses. the belief i choose is the lens i choose. i see the world through the set of beliefs about myself, others, and God that i, either by conscious or unconscious choice, have allowed to shape my worldview.

so Christ has brought me back again and again to two questions...

who do you believe that I am?

who do you believe that you are?

how i answer these two questions defines my thoughts, shapes my feelings, motivates my actions, is at the root of my habits. i know the right answers... the question is, which answers do i truly believe? the evidence is obvious - the evidence is the life that i live, the thoughts that i think each and every day.

who do you believe that I am?

who do you believe that you are?

edit

although a single awkward moment would often suffice, repeated moments of that variety make for much better stories.

has it ever occurred to you?

...that the only thing between you and an outrageously ridiculous, beautifully hilarious story is a single awkward moment?

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sometimes i think we take ourselves too seriously.

A Fading Brunette: The Sad Saga of the First Two

Two wazungu, as we call the white skinned ones with pale faces, appeared in my village today. Before, we were a tightly packed throng painted in rich shades of brown... milk chocolate, sticky toffee, and black coffee browns. While the browns wave and curl in a diverse dance like gypsy women around a fire, the wazungu hang limp, their faces stiff and unyielding, having forgotten the dance of their people.

I see the ways of my people begin to slip away, drawn in and destroyed by the colorless charisma of this new people whom I do not understand. The invasion has begun, and they will not stop their slow march until only the white ones remain. Some of my brothers will try to blend in. Many will flee altogether - driven away as if by the Sahara winds of a wazungu assault. I see the future, stark and pale against the horizon. Between here and there stands a sea of brown faces, slowly fading until they are undistinguished from the faces of our adversaries.

But today I choose hope. I choose to believe that our people will be strong. We will withstand any infiltration. No wazungu influence will be tolerated. Yes, we will pluck it out at the very root!

A Person's Measure

If I were to express in a single sentence who it is that I was created to be, I would say that by God's grace and in His strength, I am a woman of integrity who tenaciously shepherds people to live life and love others fully.

I occasionally find stories of those whose lives reflect my passion and am inspired to model my life after theirs. If, then, I seek to shepherd, let it be with a tenacity of this sort; may I find my worth where he found his... read on.

Archbishop Osar Romero was assassinated while conducting mass on March 24, 1980 for his bold defence of the rights of the poor during a bloody conflict in El Salvador that the UN Truth Commission called genocidal. Reacting to the archbishop's stubborn advocacy for repressed El Salvadorans, right-wing groups were leafleting the nation, "Be a patriot, kill a priest."

Moments before a sharpshooter felled him, reflecting on scripture, he said, "One must not love oneself so much, as to avoid getting involved in the risks of life that history demands of us, and those that fend off danger will lose their lives." --Archibishop Oscar Romero, March 24 1980

We have never preached violence, except the violence of love, which left Christ nailed to a cross, the violence that we must each do to ourselves, to overcome our selfishness and such cruel inequalities among us. The violence we preach is not the violence of the sword, the violence of hatred. It is the violence of love, of brotherhood, the violence that wills to beat weapons into sickles for work. --Archibishop Oscar Romero, November 27, 1977

If we are worth anything, it is not because we have more money or more talent, or more human qualities. Insofar as we are worth anything, it is because we are grafted on to Christ's life, his cross and resurrection. That is a person's measure. --Archibishop Oscar Romero, March 4 1979

More on Oscar Romero

More quotes by Oscar Romero

Joyce is back, Button Tree and all! This may not be a big deal to you yet, but I frequented Bags for Darfur (and Joyce's personal anecdotes at Chronicles of Blunderview) so regularly that bags4darfur appears in the title bar if I so much as tap the b key with my left index finger. Besides the fact that I'm attached at the hip to one of her beautiful creations, I am also inspired by Joyce's tenacity and creativity in taking on one of the world's biggest issues. May we all learn to, like her, grow where we're planted and give what we've got.

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Check her out at http://www.bags4darfur.blogspot.com.

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Re-joyce. I've always been a scrounger. Raised by a frugal prairie farm woman who reduced, reused, and recycled long, looooong before it was trendy; I've come into the concept of re-purposing honestly. I am silly-in-love with anything vintage-ish, and am powerless against it when I discover it stacked on card tables in someone's garage, or stale and lonely in a thrift shop. As a responsible consumer, here's what you can feel good about: *the bags are primarily made from recycled fabrics purchased at thrift shops, garage sales, and fabrics donated by generous supporters. * Most of the thrift shops are themselves humanitarian aid fund raisers. *while keeping this stuff out of the landfills, you get to enjoy little pieces of history. Fabrics that used to function as tableclothes, aprons, bedspreads, sheet sets, coats.... Well, you get the idea. *the proceeds of the project are intended for food aid to people in camps in Darfur, Sudan via the United Nations World Food Programme.

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I would also like to take a load of fabric to this lovely lady when I move to Manitoba in January. Move?!?! Is that news to you? Mwa ha ha... more on this later.

I’m back! After a looong hiatus. I considered apologizing, but I’m not really sorry. It needed to be that way. I was busy. Climbing and hiking, playing with horses and kids, kayaking and watching sunsets, hanging out in the sagebrush and exploring in the Cascades, drinking tea with friends and marinating in others’ wisdom. Milking every moment for all it was worth. Soaking it all in until now… when I’m about to burst with all the things inside my head and heart. Before I started blogging, I often chewed on a thought – a single sentence – for days before I put it on paper. Ruminating. I often consider my words in quiet, sometimes impatiently like one watches a butterfly strain to be free of its cocoon, knowing that my assistance in its struggle would forever cripple its wings. I am learning (among other things) to savor the struggle. It adds richness to the journey. . So excuse the silence. Why I feel the need to explain it, I don’t know. It won’t be the last silence. It hasn’t been the first. Don’t take it personally.

Silence is the teacher that illuminates most clearly the areas of my heart that most need the wisdom of the Teacher, the touch of the Healer, and the guidance of the Shepherd. It exposes fear, pride, lust, and anger. The willing student will allow truth to demolish this darkness, and will find in exchange peace.

. Silence is a fence around wisdom.

~German Proverb . Silence is medication for sorrow.

~Arab Proverb

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To silence another, first be silent yourself.

~Latin Proverb

. Still waters run deep. ~English Proverb

five years ago today

Five years ago today...

I lived in the apartment second from the left - Hanshin 206.

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In the middle of the "apartment sea".

Moonjung did the macerana for Yeshu just in front of Baskin Robbins, just kitty-corner from the brick church.

And I watched the cherry blossoms fall from the trees at Yeoido with my friends from Myungsung.

For the life of me, I can't figure out how that photographer got a picture with so few people, because this is what the traffic looked like.

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"Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory..."

Jacob and Jonah looked at each other over the rim of the cup that held their morning tea. Frost had left webs of crystallized ice in the corners of the windows.

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"Jacob," asked the boy, "is my being in the bakery a burden to everybody?"

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"Who among us is not sometimes a burden to others?" answered Jacob.

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"Even you, Jacob?"

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"Even me," said Jacob.

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~Jacob's Ladder (Noah BenShea)~

am i driven by lust for the summit - the pride of accomplishment - or am i motivated by love for the journey? ~ in His love, He allows the refining fire called difficulty

to ravage our pride. plant the seed of humility in the ashes of knowledge, and wisdom will take root in our souls. ~ wisdom is knowledge refined by love and put into action. ~ ~the south sister 10358 ft ~deschutes river trail and townsends tea shop ~july 2008

"are you ever afraid of the dark?"

i don't scare easily. but i was afraid tonight. i chewed the fingernail on my middle finger, right hand. my worry finger. sometimes the darkness that i see in the lives of the people i serve overwhelms me. sometimes i am fascinated by the resiliency of people who have been broken and broken and broken, and yet continue to live. sometimes i grieve. sometimes i sit in my car and scream or swear because i have not developed a vocabulary capable of expressing my anger and fear and pain. sometimes i just hurt - and try to numb the stubborn ache that sits clenched deep in my chest. sometimes i am scared. i almost never cry - until later, when i can feel again, and the tears wash the darkness from the windows of my soul.

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Jonah and Jacob lay in their beds, thinking.

"Jacob," asked Jonah across the dimness, "are you ever afraid of the dark?"

"The darkness illuminates our fears," said Jacob.

"How can the darkness be a light?"

"It shows you your fears," said Jacob.

"Then it is a trap!" stated Jonah, sitting up in his bed.

"We are the trap," said Jacob.

"How is that?" asked the boy.

"All of us have caught ourselves being afraid," said Jacob. "All of us, at some point, have taken our fears to bed with us."

~Jacob's Ladder (Noah BenShea)~

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i'm afraid that their darkness will consume my joy. afraid that they'll die in their pain. i'm afraid of loving too much, because then losing them will hurt too much. i fear failing to help. being incapable to help; the moment they discover how impotent and broken i am. afraid because their darkness sometimes closely reflects my own. i'm afraid that my darkness will overcome me. i am afraid of the dark.

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If I say, "Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,

And the light around me will be night,"

Even the darkness is not dark to You,

And the night is as bright as the day.

Darkness and light are alike to You.

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Where can I go from Your Spirit?

Or where can I flee from Your presence?

~Psalm 139:7, 11-12~

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my hope rests on this - not in becoming fearless, but in knowing that the Light of the world goes before me into the dark. and when i catch myself being afraid, and carry my fears to bed with me, i am secure knowing that even "if i make my bed in the depths, You are there... even there Your hand will guide me, Your right hand will hold me fast." and my God won't let me go. not even to chew His middle finger, right hand. i don't think He has a worry finger.

are you listening?

"Job, are you listening? Have you noticed all this?"

"Stop in your tracks!" "Take in God's miracle-wonders!"

"Do you have any idea how God does it all? "If you're wise, you'll most certainly worship Him."

-Job 37:14-15, 24 (MSG)-

Jenni is overwhelmed.

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Time Management Tip #1

Try prescheduling when you will work on each project.

Color coordinate and highlight so each area of life is a different color.

Resist the urge to over-schedule your days.

Then git'er done.

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I ran out of highlighter colors.

And I ran out of hours.

Out of energy to get it all done.

And do the simple important things like going out for a run.

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Good tip though. It highlights the small colored box that I most dread opening. And procrastinate. Blog blog. Procrastinate.

juggling

i am a talented circus performer. when i'm busy

i attempt to juggle a dozen flaming torches.

simultaneously.

around the planet called Me.

and drop all the flames when the first one spins out of control.

and the entire planet gets scorched.

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when i'm busy

i am skilled with a scalpel.

juggling a dozen apples.

simultaneously around Me.

my planet Me.

i stop to dissect each apple.

sliced into quarters. or eighths.

because if it won't make the juggling easier.

at least i will better understand each apple.

. i'm delusional, yes.

i'm not the juggler but the ball:

i fly through the air

and cling tight to my marbles.

through cracks in clenched fists

they sneak out one by one.

and slip from my grasp

gravity drags them away.

i fly through the air.

toss. fly. gravity.

catch.

toss. fly. gravity.

catch.

trust.

and trust.

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*Thanks Schberg... stole the pic. I love it!

"You can't get a cup of tea big enough or a book long enough to suit me." ~Clive Staples Lewis~

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Operation Amputation

I was writing an essay today, and after way too many minutes of painstaking word-crafting, paragraph 4 read like this...

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Trustworthy: "Never, even for a moment, forgetting how valuable and vulnerable __________ is, and always treating him/her like that." Though I often fall short of meeting this standard, this is the touchstone by which I strive to measure the quality of my interaction with people. This means that at times, I must surrender what I perceive to be my personal rights, out of respect for the community. I choose to take responsibility for my choices, live above reproach, and respect authority. Above all, I choose to live as a grace-dispenser in a world that is thirsty for generous grace. . Great. Got it. Awesome. But what does that mean when the people you love are making disastrous choices and it’s all you can do to keep yourself from throttling their sorry necks? Or when a hurting friend makes hurtful choices out of the hurt they have experienced, and your first instinct is to justify the pain they inflict on others because of their personal woundedness? What then? . My roommate has been hacking up a lung for days. For several minutes each day, she retreats to her cloister - a tea towel tent over a bowl of steaming water - and serenades us all with the staccato notes of her phlegmy song. After fighting the nasty bugger for a week, she traipsed over to the doctor to get a prescription for antibiotics. Brand new and experimental, these antibiotics really get to the root of the problem by eliminating the source. The lungs. Voila! Problem solved. . Or not. “Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into Him who is the Head, that is, Christ. From Him the whole Body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.” . 1. Protect the injured/infected Part. 2. Attack the infection, not the Infected. 3. If you’ve gotta do surgery, cut deep and get the whole darn life-sucking malignancy out at once. 4. Never be ashamed of the scars. They are the memories of battles, whether lost or won. .

Didn't know the hacking was inspiring, did'ja? Get well soon, Chrissy. And if you can help it, don't pass it on to me.

. Quote by: Greg Smalley and Robert S. Paul, The DNA of Relationships for Couples (Wheaton: Tyndale House Publishers, 2006). See also http://www.smalleyonline.com/

I Am In Control Day

I wrote a post here. Relatively insightful, vulnerable, and honest - even for me. I highlighted it to change the alignment. I hit a key. And it was gone.

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Today is I Am In Control Day.

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But I'm not.

My Del Monte Pineapple Hat

"No one person can wear all the hats all the time. I myself have 12 hats, and each one represents a different personality."

~Unknown; Margaret Atwood~

thirsty for generous grace

If I did not believe that I am, to some extent, responsible to help those who are not willing to help themselves, I would not work where I do. Almost every day, I am faced with any of a dozen variations on the same pattern: . Mary ran away from home because her mom called her a slut. Her mom didn't like the way she was dressed, her makeup and piercings, the fact that she skips school three times a week to smoke up with a few new friends, and the fact that money goes missing out of her purse even though Mary always denies taking it. The fights at home are mostly verbal, although it's not unheard of for either party to fly off the handle and slap or push the other. Mary says she hates her mom's boyfriend and won't go home unless he leaves. Mary's mom says that she's tired of the behaviours, and Mary is not welcome back home until she is willing to change. Mary's dad is out of the picture. Her mom left him six years ago because he tended to become violent when he was drunk, which was often. . John was kicked out of his house after a fight between he and his dad became violent. John says that he won't go home until his dad agrees to go to anger management. John is no longer attending school - he quit three months ago, saying that he hated school because of the bullying. He hangs out downtown with a bunch of guys he met at the shelter (he's been here for a few short stays after previous blow-outs at home). He's been picked up by RCMP a few times for mischief, theft, and has also gotten a few smoking tickets. More recently, he was arrested and charged with assault. One night he returns to the shelter high and staff address it with him. He says, "F*** you all. I'll just leave then." . I am challenged daily to choose to believe that change is possible when it doesn't appear probable. I am challenged to choose to change daily, continuing to grow and mature. If I want to see youth make changes in their lives, I must have influence - I must have a relationship with them. A relationship is only possible if I am respected by them. Respect is granted if I am trusted. And trust? Trust is only offered if I am a trustworthy person - a person of character with integrity. . I choose... ...to believe that change is possible. ...to change so I may inspire change. ...to remember that each one must also choose, and I cannot choose for them. ...to give grace generously out of my experience of grace. . We live in a world thirsty for generous grace. . *The names and stories of "Mary" and "John" are in no way intended to reflect that of any individual youth, and simply reflect some of the components common to the stories of many of the youth I cross paths with.

Philosophy 101

Today deserves a question... painfully thought provoking and convicting if I actually intend to act on the broader implications of my stated belief -

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To what extent am I responsible to inconvenience myself for the benefit of others?

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More questions. Should all my action be directed toward achieving the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people? Am I responsible to help those who are not willing to help themselves? Do I believe that people get what they deserve?

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What motivates me to give? Is it true generosity if, after I have finished giving, I feel impoverished rather than intangibly wealthy? Do my possessions own me? Am I possessed by them?

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Is it better to give than to receive? Why do I find it difficult to receive love from some people?

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No answers today. Only questions. The answers to these questions make me uncomfortable, no matter how I answer them.

"I feel," said Jacob, "like a man who has spent his entire life swimming through a vast body of water. When I was younger and raised my head from my effort, the horizon seemed to forever disappear into the distance. That horizon, before me, no longer grows more distant. It has, in some ways, drawn closer. But what I have discovered is that the water beneath me is deeper than I have ever known."

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"Yes," said Samuel, letting his head drop to his chest. "Life has depths that only time explores."

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"And time," said Jacob, once again beginning to stack the bakery boards, "time does not wait for us to learn every lesson before it moves on to the next."

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-Jacob's Ladder-

today's biggest small pleasures.

waking up before my alarm goes off. with a smile on my face. having stepped out of peaceful dreams. into a crisp snowy morning. ~

hearing the quiet hum of the dishwasher.

it means all the kids are asleep.

or at least drifting in that direction.

and i can wrap up all the loose ends uninterrupted.

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opening my email from the boss.

to find a get out of jail free card.

for a month in the summer.

so i can go to oregon.

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getting a phone call from my dad.

at 11:03... that's 2303 in work time.

just to make sure i'm coming home.

because that's where he'll be tomorrow too.

AA for a Recovering Balloon Chaser

My uncle used to drive a balloon chaser - a big red truck with "Balloon Chaser" splashed proudly across its side, made and marked to track and retrieve hot air balloons as they surf along the wind and slowly drift back to earth. I don't remember us ever having chased a balloon, though I always thought it would be a grand adventure, and dreamily traced the bold white lettering with my grimy fingers each time we visited their home.

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I attended Missions Fest this weekend - kind of an annual tradition for me. Wander through the rows of booths, making casual inquiries of a variety of missions agencies about the opportunities that they offer. Fly off to Namibia or Burkina Faso to rescue prostitutes from their lives on the street. Live village life in volatile southern Sudan with people who know war because they've experienced it. Teach in a rural Kenyan school and adopt a precious Kenyan child. Those were the dreams... the balloons I've chased. Not out of certainty that God is leading me in that direction, but out of the need to go somewhere and do something adventurous and meaningful. North America has always seemed dull, boring, second-rate, less significant.

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I felt like a misfit this weekend. I did not fit in my own skin, like a reptile molting, its outer skin having grown stiff and brittle, slowly flaking away. It was uncomfortable and awkward. I found myself robbed of my ability to make casual inquiries of ever-patient mission reps some of whom have now heard my casual inquiries several times over. The balloons had vanished, and I didn't know what to do without the thrill of the chase. I tried really hard to resurrect an old balloon or two, but I couldn't. Like it or not, I have lost the desire to go balloon chasing on an adventure to some far-off land.

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I finally stopped. And now I hear Him ask me from His position beside a barely anchored balloon, "Want to go up?" I have never had a hot air balloon ride. My dad was a pilot - wings, a prop, and landing gear - these are reasonable pieces of equipment. Balloons seem like they might just be full of hot air. Invisible, untouchable, weightless air.

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Where are we going?

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Wherever the wind blows us. You know well enough how the wind blows this way and that. You hear it rustling through the trees, but you have no idea where it comes from or where it's headed next. Want to go up? Stop pretending obedience to Me. Open your mouth wide and I will fill it.

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How blessed is the man whose strength is in You...

No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly.

O Lord of hosts,

How blessed is the man who trusts in You!

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Want to go up?

Fear of Falling

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. -Helen Keller

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Early on Sunday morning, clutching a go-mug of lukewarm tea like a still-drowsy toddler not quite ready to relinquish their blanket, I showed up at the arena like a good aunt to watch my nephew's 8 am hockey practise. My brother-in-law and I stood and watched, chuckling every once in a while at the zealous efforts of the four to seven year-olds. Not many words were exchanged - too early in the morning, at least for me - for that.

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Just staying upright on their skates was an accomplishment for these kids, and many times, I saw one of them lose their footing as if someone had pulled a rug out from under them, and land on their backsides, looking surprised as if wondering whatever in the world had happened. Shooting practise was multi-tasking... create some forward momentum, control it, and use that awkward stick to somehow guide a small black slidey thing toward a net, where the goalie is steeling himself to be plowed through unless the forward momentum is redirected. More than once, in their enthusiasm for scoring, a wobbly seven year-old took a swing, connected with the puck, sending it hurtling (in slow motion) into the net, only to find that they had so fully committed their body's momentum to taking the shot that they had, again, landed themselves on their sorry rears.

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In the course of forty minutes, I am certain that I witnessed upward of 200 falls had by the six players on the ice. Each time, they picked themselves up and tried again. No hanging onto the boards, no crying or quitting or sulking or self-doubt. Fall, up, fall, up, skate, shoot, fall, up...

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Failure scares me. There's nothing like the fear of falling to send me straight to the boards or back to the locker room, because of the dreadful possibility that my feet may slide out from under me.

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When did I forget how to fall and get up again? Somewhere along the line, I lost sight of what it means to risk, fail, and get off my bruised behind to try again. And when I lose sight of this, I lose the joy of playing the game.

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When you fall, get up. When your team mate falls, help them up. Relax. Have a little patience - life isn't a test to be perfected, but a game to be played. Staying upright isn't the point of the game - playing is. Learn to enjoy the game. Falling is part of playing. Laugh. Play.

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That's where God met me this weekend.

Procrastinating... procrastinating... Wishing I knew exactly how to say what I am trying to express. Procrastinating... Click on the x in the top right hand corner of the page that says http://www.youtube/... Pour another cup of tea. Back to work.

Know and Be Known

I hate small talk. The kind that happens at wedding receptions when you're assigned to a table full of people you've never met, or in church foyers and small town grocery stores. The "so where are you from what do you do where did you go to school and my isn't the weather lovely" small talk that lasts all of five minutes - if that - and discloses absolutely nothing about the kind of person you're talking with. The kind of small talk that's forgotten no more than five minutes later because it's so irrelevant. I love to know and be known. You? - If we really want to know and be known, then the real question is: Are we willing to share parts of ourselves that leave us a little bit vulnerable? I'm not talking about our skeletons. Everyone has those, and airing them for the general public is generally unpleasant for all parties involved. But sharing the experiences and beliefs that define us as people. - The other important question is: Am I ready to slow down enough to really see the people that I cross paths with today?

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I got tagged. About ten times. You've probably been tagged too. Slightly begrudgingly, because it felt a little like I was giving in to someone's demands (sometimes I'm still a 13 year old black sheep at heart), I wrote a list of 25 random things about myself and posted them on Facebook. Choose to know and be known, right?

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Long blog posts don't get read. [Edit: Long blog posts tend to lose my attention about two paragraphs in - congrats for making it this far.] So I copied the list into the comments section for your perusal there. And since you have the dubious privilege of hearing about me, consider yourself tagged. Just because you can - share a few things that you otherwise would not share, with a few people who you would not normally permit past the small talk check stop.

Will he do, do you think?

"Pardon me," he said, "if I have overheard words that you were saying. I don't pretend to understand what you are talking about, or your reference to burglars, but I think I am right in believing that you think I am no good... Tell me what you want done, and I will try it, if I have to walk from here to the East of East and fight the wild Were-worms in the Last Desert." (The Hobbit, p32) -

I have often fancied myself a Burglar. Not in the sense that I wish for the opportunity to sneak unseen and unheard into a dragon's lair and, unsinged, steal away with his treasures. It's just that, like Bilbo, I've always dreamed about what it would be like to be more than I am. As an eight year-old, my life plan was as follows: marry the man of my choice (I had a list of the top ten candidates), and live on a ranch with horses and lots of animals, eating apples and pears. -

My first problem was that I had not seen or eaten an apple or a pear since my family's last trip out of Zaire, as it was then called, to Nairobi. My greedy eyes devoured a dozen of those golden apples before I could get my hands on one. -

The next, and bigger problem surfaced when Aunt Jane found the list. I am so glad that it was Aunt Jane that found it... if it had to be found. She was the dorm mom of the junior high dorm at the boarding school my sister attended (I was just visiting), and being absolutely compassionate and discrete, she has graciously left this incident unmentioned since that day. (My sense of shame is, admittedly, grossly inflated.) When my mom found out, as moms are apt to do, she informed me that Nathan was more of a city guy, and not the ranch type at all. I was heartbroken. -

Horses... I could fore go the apples and the cowboy, if I could cling to this part of the dream. But horses are hard to find in eastern Africa. Long before the Hutu and the Tutsi had it out in Rwanda, the Tsetse fly set about systematically annihilating Africa's horse population. And on our return to Canada, I received the final blow. We moved into a house in Sundre. Hickville, Alberta. In the heart of cowboy country, I was relegated to the status of a town kid. At grade five camp, I finally got my first ride. After overdosing on Benedryl in preparation for the big day, I was assigned to the back of the line on a so-bomb-proof-he's-may-as-well-be-dead horse. I guess the wrangler found out that I was a town kid. And allergic.

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Did I only want what I knew I could not have? I thought so, until I was given the chance to taste the dream again. Armed with Claritin and second hand cowboy boots, I gained a glimpse into what can happen when a broken hearted child meets an understanding equine friend. In part, I was that broken hearted child, allowed to invite all the others into my experience of grace and acceptance. My heart came alive and I knew in an instant that some desires, however simple and childlike, are planted in our hearts by the Creator of dreams.

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Today held a few moments of doubting self-conversation, a subtlely sarcastic "dream on..." to my dreams. I'm choosing - carefully - my response. In any case, I'd willingly take on the wild Were-worms of the Last Desert, knowing that the Creator of dreams does indeed say... -

"That's right," said Galdalf. "Let's have no more argument. I have chosen Mr. Baggins and that ought to be enough for all of you. If I say he is a Burglar, a Burglar he is, or will be when the time comes. There is a lot more in him that you guess, and a deal more than he has any idea of himself. You may (possibly) all live to thank me yet. Now Bilbo, my boy, fetch the lamp, and let's have a little light on this!" (The Hobbit, p33) -

Not that I'm any good at burglaring. But Gandalf is the Master of the trade. Life by its nature is constantly changing and evolving, and I don't know where it will lead. But I travel in the company of "him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us". -

To Him be the glory!

Waiting for sleep

The wee hours of the morning are keeping me company. I have no wisdom (or folly) to share at this hour. Only the bleary wakefulness that comes from a mind full of... well, nothing really. Full of thoughts waiting to be acknowledged. Like much neglected pets waiting to be fed, they whimper and beg for my attention. Knowing what will be unleashed if I choose to open that door, I studiously ignore the pitiful whining. Nameless and undisclosed, they're easier to contain and control. Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow I'll think about it. Sleep eludes me and the nagging grows more insistent.