Christian Life

In the Waiting

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Not done yet, I guess.

We were walloped with several centimetres of snow overnight, but the warm spring sunshine is making quick work of the melting process as tiny rivers have begun to appear along the street outside.

For some reason, it’s always a bit of a surprise when the snow comes outside the months of November, December, January or February. We have this idea that March is kinda spring and April is definitely spring, and May, well that’s practically summer, but the truth is that we will likely see snow in each of those months, whether we want to or not.

By now, though, we’re pretty tired of it. We don’t want to shovel and scrape, bundle and trudge, slip and slide our way to our destination. We want to be free of the cumbersome barriers of adding extra time to travel on slick and messy roads, cleaning up melted slush at the front door, and tripping over winter boots and jackets.

It’s getting old. 

And yet, we need it so desperately— this “poor man’s fertilizer”, this moisture that brings life to the parched ground and awakens the places that have been asleep for months. The sun sparkles on the spring runoff and blades of brown grass begin to appear as the heat of the late-day sunshine eats away at the layer of white. In just a few hours, the sun will go down and the sounds of the melt will cease, but in the meantime, we welcome two seasons in one day, thankful that spring snow doesn’t stick around for too long.

So many times we find ourselves in a place of waiting, wondering if we will ever see the warmth of spring or a season of growth in a particular area of life. We feel like we deserve a favourable turn of events, a smoothing over of difficult situations, a situation with all the ends neatly tied up — or at the very least, a hint toward it.

But all we seem to get is more spring snow, at least for now. 

Lord, as we wait upon You and look toward the hope that Easter brings, may we not waste these moments that threaten to overwhelm us. May we put our hope in the truth that You are with us no matter the season — and that You will bring new life again!

Isaiah 61:1-3 (NIV)

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
    because the Lord has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim freedom for the captives
    and release from darkness for the prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
    and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,

    and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord
    for the display of his splendor.

Image: Stocksnap

A Thousand Little Moments

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“You want to work on this with me, Mom?” 

The invite came from my eldest, last Saturday after breakfast. 

A partially finished puzzle of Jane Austen quotes was laid out on the folding table in the living room. The older two girls had begun it earlier in the week and day after day it stared up at us, patiently waiting to be completed. I’d been intending to sit down and work on it with them at some point in the week, but of course life kept popping in with its more pressing demands.

My mind scanned the list of things on the to-do list. “Puzzle” was not on it. And yet… 

“Sure, let’s see how far we can get,” I agreed as I took my post and slowly began to piece the quotes together, paying close attention to fonts and colours and patterns. I felt a little lost as I tried to make sense of parts of letters and segments of words that could have come from any one of the several quotes on the reference image. It was painfully slow but we made a little bit of headway before other tasks drew us from the table, leaving some sections complete, others partially finished, none connected to the rest. I was a little disappointed, to be honest. I thought we’d get farther in the time we spent on it.

Maybe that’s why I was so surprised when I returned from an errand later that day to discover the puzzle was nearly complete.

“Wow! This looks amazing!” I exclaimed. “How did you finish it so fast?”

“Well actually most of it was done. We just needed to connect the parts together,” my daughter answered as she placed the final few pieces into the puzzle with satisfaction.

Just needed to connect the parts together. The words echoed in my mind. How often have I felt like I just needed to see the whole picture so I could make those seamless connections between the parts of my life that feel like they’re never going to come together and the ones that are looking pretty good from my vantage point. Most of the time, I simply don’t see how it’s all going to work out until long after it’s over and I gain some distance and perspective.

I am learning to trust that the Lord is always at work. And as I get older, I am spending less time trying to predict where things fit and more time marvelling at the finished product, most often absolutely stunned and surprised by the goodness and faithfulness of a God who is always mysteriously at work, bringing beauty from ashes in one way or another.

What an amazing thing! A puzzle goes from one thousand individual little pieces to one exquisite, unified image: an ever-present but very ordinary reminder that the Lord is working a thousand little moments together to bring about something beautiful in my own life. Even when I can’t possibly imagine how the pieces fit, they always do. 

Thanks be to God.

Ephesians 3:16-21

I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.  Now to 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 glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Image: mine

Not Finished

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The sun is setting much later these days. We find ourselves enjoying dinner in the glow of the sunset instead of the silvery moonlight. They say we’ve made it through the darkest weeks of the year, and it’s noticeable. 

Darkness comes after dinner now, and these winter evenings, although they are gradually growing shorter, bring such delight as we try to spot the parade of planets, recognizable constellations and the familiar phases of the moon.

It never gets old to me.

January has been mostly warm with days of temperatures far above normal, and sunrises and sunsets painting the skies with the most incredible rose-gold and lavender hues. The hollyhocks got confused and mistook the mild conditions for the month of March, their leaves poking up out of the ground in the warm winds and sunshine. But of course, it’s January. We know winter is not finished with us yet. The whiplash weather patterns used to bother me, but after so many years I’ve begun to look forward to the relief of a spring-like day in the dead of winter.

Last night, the snow and cold returned, as we knew it would. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. I really despise winter driving conditions, and the cold makes everything just that much more difficult. I ran through all our weekend plans in my mind, making a checklist of all the ways the ice and snow would complicate things.

This morning, shrieks of delight took me by surprise as they filled the house. “SNOW! GUYS! IT SNOWED! FINALLY!”

I didn’t realize just how much the kids were missing the classic winter weather that bring us out into white, open spaces to sled and skate, and make hot chocolate taste simply divine.

Perspective is everything, isn’t it?

I saw bothersome inconvenience I’d been dreading; they saw fantastic opportunity they’d been awaiting.

No matter what weighs on our hearts today, we have a choice: we can be ruled by the fear of the unknown, embittered by the loss of things that once were, filled with anger at the things we cannot change.

Or we can choose the life-giving perspective of worship and praise of the One who holds the future, the One from whom all blessings flow, the One who can be trusted to bring beauty from ashes. 

Lord Jesus, please change my perspective!

Psalm 121:1-2 (NIV)

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

Image: mine

The Last of the Year

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The waiting and longing of Advent has given way to Christmas. With the lighting of every new candle, the anticipation grew. Excitement filled our hearts for the night when we would finally celebrate the coming of a Saviour who changed everything, and will one day change everything again! We have not rushed through this season as if it’s a series of events to be endured, rather we’ve embraced it as a loud, lingering celebration of the only One who can truly heal our hearts!

We would be fools to pretend that things are not complicated, even and especially during the holidays. Sorrow and grief. Conflict and frustration. Strained and broken relationships, realities that we almost cannot comprehend, the sinister coldness of apathy gripping our hearts. There are those who are not with us this year, and we feel the gap acutely.

Jesus, be near!

In our home, the tree lights still glow as carols softly fill the living room. The halls are still decked as we gather around the table filled with once-a-year treats. Snow is finally falling and the north wind is rushing down from its Arctic home, bringing the conditions we’ve been waiting for to enjoy sledding, skating and warming fires.

Tonight, in these last moments of the year, we’ll reflect on God’s goodness and grace in these past twelve months, marking those moments as evidence that He is faithful and holding them as beacons to remind us that He is able to carry us through the year to come. May this be a time of growth into a deeper understanding of the Lord, and the transformation power that comes from yielding to His work in our lives.

A Covenant Prayer in the Wesleyan Tradition

Father in heaven,

I am no longer my own, but thine.

Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt. 

Put me to doing, put me to suffering.

Let me be employed by thee or laid aside for thee, 

exalted for thee or brought low for thee.

Let me be full, let me be empty.

Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and heartily yield all things

to thy pleasure and disposal.

And now, O glorious and blessed God,

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,

thou art mine, and I am thine. So be it.

And the covenant which I have made on earth,

let it be ratified in heaven. Amen.

-John Wesley

Happy New Year, friends. May the Lord’s presence surround you.

Image: mine

Remember Again

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Sunsets on the beach. Ice cream cones. Milestone celebrations. Long drives, late nights, lazy mornings, laughs with friends and family, moments of rest in beautiful places… this summer has been filled with so many gifts to our family. After a particularly difficult year navigating the channels of grief, we have felt the warmth of God’s mercies in so many places. 

My mom calls them “bouquets from the Lord” — things throughout the course of the day that draw your attention to God’s goodness and care for you and yours. Coincidences that, in hindsight, seem to be more than just happenstance.

I need to take the time to remember, because I can be a forgetful person. It’s a human thing, I guess. A stormy season can erase memories with monstrous waves that threaten to wash us out to sea. We become fearful that God really isn’t who He says He is, and we forget the things He has done in the past.

“Don’t you care if we drown?”

Our hearts begin to echo the disciples’ question of Jesus in Mark 4:38. In the moment of our peril, we cry out to Him and wonder if He sees, knows, cares. But more than that, can He really save?

“He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, ‘Quiet! Be still!’ Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, ‘Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?’” 

(Mark 4:39-40 NIV)

Yes, He can save. And yes, He does. Time and time again, I pray that He would help me remember the end of this story. The One who commands the winds and the waves does the same in me, and I don’t have to look too far to see Him working in and through my life. What a bouquet from the Lord! He is worthy of our praise! And He is full of mercy, caring for us in all seasons.

I will remember the deeds of the Lord;
yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.
I will consider all your works
and meditate on all your mighty deeds.

(Psalm 77:11-12)

Image: Stocksnap

Tossing and Turning

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One night last week, I tossed and turned for hours. I’m usually down for good within moments of my head hitting the pillow, so this felt like a strange new world.

Could have been the impossible heat; could have been the looming what-ifs pressing down on me. Thoughts darted across my mind, the kind that don’t make a whole lot of sense by the light of day but seem highly plausible at 3am. 

Why am I awake? I wondered. Was I feeling okay? My arms ached immensely from the Saskatoon berry harvest the day before, but other than that I felt fine. I refused to look at the clock, a little trick I learned to help keep myself relaxed, but when the early birds began their song I became concerned. How long has it been? I wondered. My heartbeat quickened. Felt like forever.

I’ve learned over the years of raising my babies that counting the hours until rising time isn’t helpful, so I laid still in the dim, early morning light with eyes closed, hoping sleep might settle over me before I was out of time. What a lovely Sunday afternoon nap on the beach, I told myself, using my imagination to lull myself into a state of relaxation, hoping the remaining moments of sleep would materialize quickly.

I must have finally dozed off eventually, because the next thing I remember is the guitar strum of “Carolina in My Mind” by James Taylor, pulling me into a new day with all its demands. The day was marked a general sense of tiredness, but considering the night I had, it wasn’t too bad. When bedtime came back around, though, I was gripped with a sense of dread. What if I can’t sleep again? I thought. Lord, help me sleep! 

I slept soundly and awoke with a profoundly grateful heart and an effervescent outlook in the morning.

These days it’s not tiny babies keeping me awake, but tiny fears of what might be, or worse, what might not be. My daily burdens become too heavy for me, waking me up in the dead of night, growing in the silence of the house, tapping on my heart in the darkness.

I’m learning that I wasn’t meant to carry these. In fact, it’s essential to learn how to roll my burdens onto Jesus each day. So every morning I open my eyes and learn how to let go all over again. 

A couple of mornings ago, my feet hit the floor with a temptation to carry my own burdens once again. Then, a verse I memorized as a child floated into my mind, softly, gently and with great timing:

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4:6-7 (NIV)

Thank you Lord for daily bearing my burdens. Thank you for your loving care. Thank you for your peace, guarding my heart and my mind today.

Image: Stocksnap

Sweet Summer

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This week marks the first anniversary of the sudden and unexpected loss of my father-in-law.

Twelve months of firsts. Twelve months that haven’t gone exactly as planned. Twelve months of shuffling, adjusting, making space for a new reality. Twelve months that have brought moments of pure grief, pure joy and everything in between.

And a new awareness: twelve months of the faithfulness of God in dark, unfamiliar places.

For the Lord is good
And His love endures forever
His faithfulness continues to all generations.
(Psalm 100:5)

Yes, Lord, You are faithful. 

As our family moves into the fullness of the sweet summer months, we are experiencing the goodness of the Lord in a thousand little ways, in a thousand little places. And while we intentionally remember what He has done, we recognize there are many things we don’t understand. Living in the tension between the two, our hearts are tuned to His love and care.

Even in the gift of a fresh, late June morning, thick with humidity, at least as much this arid city will allow. More than we’re used to, anyway. Lilacs and roses soak the air with heavy, sweet fragrance as bees bumble from bloom to bloom.

Summer is fleeting in this part of the world, so we tend to make the most of the warmth and sunshine while we have it. Responsibilities give way to relaxation, but we’re learning from the story of the Grasshopper and the Ants! Committing to completing the tasks on the to-do list feels like a sacrifice when we know that before long, autumn will appear for a big colorful show, ushering in our regular tasks and routines.

The weaving together of work and play is an art! Striking that beautiful balance of completing some big jobs and kicking up our heels for some fun seems to be the challenge of these short summer months. I am praying for the strength to do the hard things and the wisdom to make space for the best things. 

I watch my friends and family as their birds leave the nest, knowing that our time is coming. We’re not quite there but we know that soon we’ll be into the “everyone doing their own thing” season of life. We’re catching glimpses of it. The inevitable shift is in motion, and it’s all brand new. I feel like a first-time mom all over again – but this time instead of bouncing a sweet babe on my hip, I’m juggling social plans and big emotions. I’m relearning many things as my role moves from teacher and trainer to coach and cheerleader.

Amid the shifts in family dynamics, the gravity of the passing of time grounds me. I am fully aware that we have just a few years left before our own birds start spreading their wings and heading out.

Lord, stamp eternity into my eyes. Help me not to waste the difficult moments. Help me to trust that You know all things, and in Your time You make all things beautiful.

These past twelve months have driven me even deeper into the perfect love of God. I have discovered that no matter where the road leads, no matter what season we are in, He is good. He is a refuge in times of trouble. He cares for those who trust in Him! (Nahum 1:7). It is only by His grace that I wake each morning, ready for what the new day holds. And by His grace, I can confidently say: Praise be to the Lord, to God our Saviour, who daily bears our burdens (Psalm 68:19).

Image: mine

All is Not Lost

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My favourite tree across the street is finally leafing out.

This one has grown up with my babies. Years ago it barely peeked over the fence. Now it reaches tall and broad, filling out the space between the others in the yard with outstretched branches. For the first time ever, it eclipses the 40 foot evergreens that tower in the distance, its leaves unfurling and glistening in the spotty spring sunlight, the same favourite leaves I know will glow brilliant gold come autumn.

“My, how you’ve grown,” I thought to myself this week. Like a cheek-pinching auntie, I marvelled from a distance at its stature. “So much bigger than last spring!”

The neighbourhood is slowly changing. It’s one of the gifts of living in the same place for many spring seasons: you begin to notice time and trends making their indelible mark.

Several mature trees have been removed in the past 12 months from the familiar little block we call home. Some may have come to the end of their life or met with disease, others removed for utility work and infrastructure upgrades, and still others were cut down for more curb appeal as the real estate market burns bright.

I am sad to see them go, although others have been planted nearby, as if to replace the ones we have lost. These will take years to grow into maturity, if they make it at all, and it will be decades before they bring the same shade, colour and beauty of their predecessors.

Trees for my grandchildren, if the Lord is gracious.

As I shake my head and return to tending my own yard, inspecting the well-established rose bushes in the front bed, wrestling out the quack grass and removing last season’s rose hips and dead leaves, I realize that I may have very well become the neighbour who greeted us somewhat begrudgingly when we first moved in years ago as the only young couple on the block.

“We need a Welcome-to-the-Neighbourhood Barbecue so we can teach you how we do things around here,” she warned. I picked up on her strong desire for things to stay the same forever, although to this day, I am still waiting for the promised lesson. 

I laugh at myself as I dig down into the dirt next to the rose bushes once again to get something, anything, to grow in the south-facing desert under my front picture windows — the place plants go to die. The perennials I chose last year weren’t hearty enough to survive, so this year it’s sunflowers and hollyhocks with their promise of big blooms, heat tolerance and nostalgia.

Every year I try something new, hoping that it will take. I haven’t given up yet! Between the repeated attempts to bring life from a barren patch in my flower bed and the beautiful growth of my favourite tree across the street, I realize that all is not lost. In spite of the unavoidable changes in my life, the promise of the next generation, deeply rooted and reaching ever higher, reminds me that there is beauty for ashes, gladness for mourning, peace for despair (Isaiah 61:3).

Jesus, help me not to become bitter with the changes life brings. There are so many places marked by circumstances beyond my control but I know You can be trusted to bring streams in the desert, to breathe new life into what seems lost. You are before all things, and in You all things hold together. (Colossians 1:17).

Image: Mine

Always Learning

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The rhythms of the year are more and more precious to me with each passing season. Birdsong floats over a carpet of green, buds appear on otherwise barren branches and tender shoots poke up through the earth. The sun plays hide and seek with layers of clouds, peeking its head out now and then to cast shadows.

Spring snow brings moisture, although we would rather it fall as rain, but we are well-acquainted with the changeable nature of the season. Even so, the first lines of Psalm 24 echo in my mind… 

“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it,
    the world, and all who live in it…”

Time drifts along, rearranging the space in my life to suit the season I am in. I am the first to tell my friends that “life is seasons” when the waves of change roll. I’m telling them, but in reality, I’m preaching to my own heart.

I’ve never liked endings, even necessary ones. Even though I know how it will go, I can’t help myself. I’ve shed tears over the break-up of the Beatles, the final minutes of Return of the King, the closing pages of Pride and Prejudice and Anne of Green Gables. I always wish for just one more song or scene. My 9 year old appears to have inherited that trait. The other day she said to me, “Sometimes I don’t finish books because I don’t want them to end.”

Oh honey, I feel that deep in my bones. I don’t want this season to end so I hold on with an iron grip and refuse to open my white-knuckled fingers for fear not that I will drop something but that I myself will be dropped. Is it trust that I am forgetting? I know the One who holds it all together. Can I not trust that He will sustain? That He is enough?

In holding on so tight, I’m trying to hold back the sands of time grain by grain.

Impossible task.

Every time we reach a new stage, a new milestone, a new season, a piece of my heart goes with them. It’s just another version of the same lesson we begin to learn the moment they take their first breath.

Yet, in my heart I hear the gentle whisper, reminding me of the One who is always good.

“Let them go. Let them experience and learn and grow and discover the very good God that you know. The God who sustains, rescues, forgives, saves and love so deeply. The God who is with us, and will be long after you’re gone.”

Oh Lord have mercy on this mama who is always learning to let go! Give me the grace to keep moving through these ages and stages, knowing that You are good and Your love endures forever, and that Your faithfulness continues through all generations.

Help me to trust them, but most of all, to trust You with them, Lord.

Image: Stocksnap

Ready or Not

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You don’t have to be ready for Jesus
for Jesus to be ready for you.

A whisper in my heart today, with so many things left undone before we begin our Good Friday observance and Easter Sunday celebrations. Let’s just say that the fresh cut flowers, dyed hard-boiled eggs, treats for the baskets and bread and juice for family communion are not exactly ready to roll.

I’m sure the disciples weren’t ready for the events that unfolded before them, wide-eyed and wondering how Jesus’ betrayal and death could possibly be happening. 

Completely unexpected. And then something even more unexpected. Unimaginable, really. Although they had seen Jesus raise others from the dead, they never considered that He Himself would rise again.

This story from John 20 is resonating today:

Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.

They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” 

At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.

He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

Jesus said to her, “Mary.”

She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”).

Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”

Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her.

Mary, wrapped in her grief, eyes red and puffy from crying for days, mistaking Jesus for the gardener, begging to be told where His body has been taken.

Then He says her name.

Everything changes. Mary instantly knows who He is and she wants to hold on and never let go, but Jesus has other plans. Instead of embracing her and settling into a visit like old friends, He sends her out to tell the others what is about to happen. The unexpected, once again, disrupting her grief and bringing hope to an otherwise devastating situation.

“I have seen the Lord!”

Have you seen the Lord? He knows you by name, and He is always ready for you.

“Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.”
John 1:12 (NIV)

Image: Stocksnap