faith

The Real Harvest Moon

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We watched with bated breath. 

To our complete amazement, round and glowing orange, it quickly ascended from behind the blue clouds of dusk to reveal its fullness.

“It’s the REAL Harvest Moon!” A small voice shouted with glee. “Just like in the books!”

I lifted my youngest up so he could see over the fence. Next year, he’ll be tall enough to see it without my help.

His face lit up with complete astonishment. “It’s like a pumpkin! An actual pumpkin!”

We’ve been talking about this moment all week long, watching the waxing gibbous moon with images of a cantaloupe moon above a field full of ripe wheat dancing in our minds.

This year’s Harvest Moon did not disappoint. The size was impressive, the colour was just right, the brightness was astounding. After a few more oohs and ahhs, my small crowd dispersed and darkness brought an end to our day.

We’ve seen that old moon year after year, haven’t we? And as the decades roll by the wonder is lost on us. Other things capture our attention, like to-do lists, projects and responsibilities. Oh look there’s the moon, we might think to ourselves, if our minds aren’t already chock-full as we drive from one end of the city to another to accomplish our task list of programs, plans and errands.

And then we encounter the world through the eyes of a child and their gift of noticing. At around 12 months, they begin to point, drawing our eyes to things we otherwise would have overlooked. Then words form, and as they grow up they begin to notice more of the world around them. With eyes to the dusky sky, mouths agape with amazement, they declare, “Oh LOOK! There’s the MOON!”, as if they’ve only ever seen it in books. It’s a celebrity of sorts.

They marvel at the zinnias in bloom, the sunflower finally opening its petals, a bumblebee lazily humming about the yard, a small grey bunny hopping in the dim morning light, a dark chocolate-coloured moose standing on the edge of a small wood with its golden trees reflecting in the still pond below.

The wonder of creation is not lost on them. I pray it remains long into their adult years, remembering their mom sharing glimpses of flowers and bugs, trees and skies, drawing hearts and eyes up toward the One who made it all.

In years past, we’ve spent the three weeks before Thanksgiving intentionally making time to count our blessings in some tangible way with handprint leaves on the wall and a thanksgiving tree of sorts. I often felt as if Thanksgiving was a drive-by turkey dinner and a slice of pie sandwiched in the middle of a busy school season and the onset of the inevitable illnesses of colder months, so I intentionally made a way for our family to participate in activities that would orient us toward gratitude and in praise of the One who gave us everything. Three Weeks of Thanks has been a wonderful way to make sure that our Thanksgiving meal isn’t just a blip on the calendar on the way to a candy-saturated holiday.

As our stage of life shifts, I’m finding new ways of intentionally creating space for gratitude and thanks in our home. Every Thursday for over a year, we’ve taken time at the breakfast table to share something we’re feeling thankful for that morning and I’ve noticed a pattern even in this practice. Most of the things are tangible blessings like home, food, family and friends, but from time to time they’ll venture into the intangible and hit on something that stirs me.

“Thank you for that hard thing we had to go through as a family because it brought us closer together”.

It brought 2 Corinthians to my mind:

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.

2 Corinthians 4:7-10 (NIV)

Are we listening to our children? Are we discovering what makes them who they are? Are we delighting in them? Granted, alongside the listening, discovering and delight there may be an equal or greater amount of difficulty or discipline, but we cover all in prayer, confident that the Lord is at work in our homes. 

As we prepare for Thanksgiving in the next week, may we continue the good, hard work of learning to love our kids well and point them to the One whose goodness knows no bounds.

(image: Stocksnap)

Shades of Autumn

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Golden shades of autumn kiss green treetops as we sail down the open road. 

A last-minute weekend away took us through the hot, dry prairies and up into craggy mountains and lush valleys, along turquoise lakes, bubbling creeks and shady, tree-lined highways.

At night, the frogs and crickets sang with the sound of the river running far down below. In the morning, the bees began their busy work flitting from flower to flower and squirrels chattered in branches high above.

So much beauty in such a short time.

Isn’t summer just like that? Maybe life is too, in some ways. Raising four littles, I’ve often heard the saying, “The days are long but the years are short”. No kidding. Heading into a new school year with these four, I can see that we’re well into the next season of life. Cute sayings and silly happenings, spills and fights, laughter and tears — they happen differently now than they used to, and that’s okay.

We find ourselves entering the dance with big kids and young teenagers. I’m learning as I go, and sometimes it feels like I’m flying blind. More often than I’d like to admit, I’m clumsy and don’t always get the steps right but praise the Lord for His grace in each moment as I learn the lifelong lesson of letting go.

Shades of autumn will give way to the silvery touch of winter. I can see the edges of it in my eyes and in my hair. What will become of the home we once had? What will become of the relationships forged in the fires of this family? Will they grow together or apart? Will they remain deeply rooted and established in the love of Christ? Or will they forget their first love after all?

As we begin a new school year, my prayers are going far beyond friends and schoolwork to the growing-up of these young people God has placed within our care. So many things in life are beyond my control, but I know the One who holds it all together, so I turn to Him with my heart’s cry:

Lord, in Your mercy, hear my prayer. 

Tend to my sweet children today. Protect them in every way. Remind them of Your deep love for them. Draw them in to take hold of life’s true treasure, and cover them with Your grace. Give them courage and wisdom as they learn from their own mistakes and the mistakes of others. Open their ears to good counsel, and help them discern the lies that entangle. May they find their strength in You. Jesus, be near each one today. Bless them and keep them, make Your face shine upon them and be gracious to them. Lord, give them peace. Help me to love them well, the way You have loved me. And when suffering comes, remind them of who You are, and who they are because of You.

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Autumn in view (image: mine)

Lament

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I’ve written these posts for years with the hope that one day my children will be grown and interested enough to read them. So this, my dear children, is for you.

When a whirlwind of grief descends upon you, upending the life you once knew, put your hope in the Lord. His love never fails, even when suffering surprises you with its coldness.

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
    the bitterness and the gall.

I well remember them,
    and my soul is downcast within me.

Yet this I call to mind
    and therefore I have hope:

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for him.”

The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
    to the one who seeks him;

it is good to wait quietly
    for the salvation of the Lord.

It is good for a man to bear the yoke
    while he is young.

Let him sit alone in silence,
    for the Lord has laid it on him.

Let him bury his face in the dust—
    there may yet be hope.

Let him offer his cheek to one who would strike him,
    and let him be filled with disgrace.

For no one is cast off
    by the Lord forever.

Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
    so great is his unfailing love.

For he does not willingly bring affliction
    or grief to anyone.

(Lamentations 3:19-33 NIV)

Image: Stocksnap/NASA

Roots

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Long have we waited.

The frozen fingers of a cold spring have finally released, and early summer heat has breathed new life into the neighbourhood.

We’ve witnessed the return of nearly all the winged migrants in the past few weeks, flying back and forth over our backyard as they build their nests and prepare for another season of fledglings. The unseasonable temperatures have coaxed the leaves from the trees and the early-blooming flowers up out of the ground to bob their heads in the warm wind.

My irises stand tall in full bloom, two weeks early. The strawberries are coming up, the Saskatoons and apples are full of blossoms and the hollyhocks I sowed last year are returning with great enthusiasm.

My life feels tied to the rhythm of the seasons. Maybe it’s because I spent the first part of my life in an agricultural community centred around seeding and harvest. You can take the girl out of the country… 

I don’t mind. In fact, I welcome the week in May where we prepare the ground and plant the garden. As I was turning soil and pulling weeds in the front bed last night, a sense of calm came over me. The job felt insurmountable, but with my two helpers, we made quick work of the quack grass and mixed the soil for some new perennials. I’ve often joked that after fifteen years of trial and error, I should just read a book about gardening and learn how to do it right, but trial and error seems to be my gardening style and I’m making peace with it.

My arms bear the marks of weeding under the rose bushes that I planted one year just to see if they’d take. They’re my favourite addition to our yard. They bloom from June to the first snowfall without fail, and their ruby red rose hips bring a cheerful pop of colour in the late days of fall. Our Saskatoons have barely ever given us enough berries to make a pie, but we enjoy daily handfuls in late July. The apple tree is a saga in itself, and after eight years we’re seeing enough fruit to have a taste. It’s more of a hobby garden than anything else, but it’s lovely. I battle critters all season long, so I guess we can consider it a pretty good year if we get anything out of it at all!

So many times I’ve wondered if I’m wasting my time and energy trying to grow things in less-than-ideal conditions on a shoestring budget, but I’m amazed at the beauty I’ve witnessed in this humble hobby garden. I’m even more amazed at the things the Lord is teaching me through this simple summer pastime, and at how good it is for my soul. Every year is different, and every year I’m changed by it.

I wonder if there are other areas of life that I am pouring into, areas that feel like they are a waste of time, areas of costly investment that one day will reveal fruit I cannot even imagine!

“So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.”

Colossians 2:6-7 NIV

Every gardening year I’m reminded that sending my roots down deeper into Christ is the only way to truly thrive.

“No family will always be there. No talent will always be there. Your looks will certainly not always be there. Whatever it is you put your anchor down into, if it’s a circumstance, it’s like putting it into the water. Everything but the promise of God is water.” – Tim Keller

My roses. (Image: mine)

The Old Year List

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This morning I made a list.

It wasn’t a list of goals or dreams. It wasn’t a list of things I want to improve in 2023. It wasn’t even my usual practice of a list of items that needed attention this weekend. My tendency is to forget the good and remember the bad, so I put pen to paper and listed the things I loved about our holiday season. Amid the challenges, and there are always challenges, there were some truly beautiful moments that I don’t want to forget.

As the list grew longer, I realized that we are starting off the year from a place of abundance! When my eyes are on my problems, I’m blind to my blessings. If nothing else changes in my life this year, I’ll keep on remembering the goodness of God. I never want to be dismissive of my own difficulties, burying my head in the sand on things that grieve me. My hope is always that I would learn to hold the two in tension: deep sorrow and inexplicable joy. One does not negate the other. In fact, the deepest sorrows of my life remind me that I have a joy that cannot be taken away, a joy that will last forever, a joy that only Jesus can give.

Fast forward a few days. I’ve stashed the Old Year List away now in a bin of ornaments so when the time comes to decorate again, I’ll remember. More and more, I find I need the intentional reminders of the things that matter most so as I carefully packed up our baubles this year, I decided to leave one ornament out: an unfinished slice of a thick branch with the word JOY in black.

A bright and hopeful word burned with a 900 degree pyrography wand into a small disc of cream-coloured wood. It hangs at eye level in a common room, so that every single day I have a reminder that true joy comes with a cost. This little decoration was once a living branch full of buds and leaves and although it has changed shape and been marred by fire, it has a new kind of simple beauty that touches my heart.

Nothing stays the same, does it?

This is my eighteenth year of keeping a blog. I’ve been plodding away at this for nearly two decades, fully aware that social media has now become the preferred method of sharing bite-sized pieces of one’s life, but unwilling to let go of this long-form personal web log of snapshots of my life thus far. When I first put my fingers on a keyboard to write out my feelings, social media was just a baby.

So why, in 2023, am I still doing this? 

Why don’t I move everything over to the interactive spaces that will grow my platform and prove my worth as a writer to any publisher I aspire to impress one day? 

Perhaps it’s because I’m satisfied with a simple journal of sorts, one that that does not require membership and login information to read. Maybe deep down, I know that the process of turning a hobby into a career is a long, arduous, time-consuming venture that my current season of life has no space for. Most likely it’s because I know that one day I will be gone, but my voice will remain in these words for my loved ones to return to from time to time.

May they know the inexplicable joy that comes from trusting in Jesus, even when sorrows like sea billows roll. 

Whatever my lot, You have taught me to say: it is well with my soul.

That’s true joy.

(Horatio Spafford, “It is Well With My Soul”, 1873)

Image: Negative Space/Stocksnap

November Light

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The chatty summer birds are mostly gone now, seeking warmer nests to fluff their feathers, and the winter birds have centre stage. These are not nearly as petite and delightful, but rather clumsy and comical as they lumber around the neighbourhood scratching out their living.

Leaves have dropped, snow blankets the ground and nights are finger-numbing. The night is long and dark, but it’s worth it to see the morning light come in with such brilliance.

The first rose glow gives way to orange-gold radiance, then blinding light, and finally, the pale sunshine of a November day. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows as it speeds toward the western horizon, slowly revealing a stunning late afternoon colour gradient which fades as darkness falls. The silhouettes of the towering neighbourhood evergreens that stand guard over our street, begin to blend with the night sky full of twinkling stars and planets. We like to play a guessing game: is it Mars? Jupiter? Venus? The moon is late to the party these days, rising in the middle of the night and sticking around long past sunrise, another November treat.

Each November day, with its vivid dawn, reminds us that “…the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”
(John 1:5 NIV)

This comes as a complete surprise to me, but I’m developing an appreciation of the very month I have long dreaded for its challenges with frigid weather, constant childhood illnesses, and long hours of darkness. There are gifts to discover in the gradual shift from a world alive to a world asleep until spring. The in-betweenness brings moments to breathe deep before we wander into another season full of anticipation and celebration, one quite unlike any other we’ve had before. Cuddles on sick days, candles in darkness, calm evenings – these are the blessings of a month that I’ve often cast aside as bleak and dismal.

November begins with a somber day of remembrance, considering recent history and struggling with the reality that the world has not changed as much as we would like to believe. As we wandered among decommissioned planes, tanks, torpedoes and naval mines this year, the grief of war stirred up a deep longing in me for true peace, the kind that only Jesus can bring.

Come, Lord Jesus, and make all things right.

In our world and in our own shattered relationships, Lord, make all things right. Bring the kind of healing only You can. Let this in-between season stir our hearts as we dare to hope that You are able to do what no one else has ever been able to do in the history of the world.

Help us embrace the tension of the now and the not-yet. Help us grieve our losses, adjust our expectations, and rest in Your love. We know that we are still in the middle of this story, and we trust that You are faithful.

It seems fitting that November ends with the dawning of the season of longing and anticipation of our Saviour. We look forward to celebrating His first coming and we anticipate His second coming, knowing that He has promised to return and make all things right.

November is the space we need to prepare our hearts, dare to hope, and trust that He will do what He says He will do. It’s the space we need to learn not to grow weary and lose heart. It’s the gift of the in-between, the time to anchor our entire holiday celebration to the One who is worthy of our praise before the sparkling of the season begins.

Now is the time to fix our eyes on Jesus…

“…the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.” 
Hebrews 12:2-3 (NIV)

For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given,
    and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the greatness of his government and peace
    there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
    and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
    with justice and righteousness
    from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord Almighty
    will accomplish this.
Isaiah 9:6-7 (NIV)

Glorious November Light

When Darkness Falls

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Morning dawned with the first snowfall and a flurry of activity. Even before I rolled out of bed, requests for help to find warm winter wear rang out from the hallway.

“Mom! I need warm socks!”

“Does anyone know where my boots are?”

“Mittens please!”

I blinked at the clock. Impossible! It might as well have been Christmas morning! The kids buzzed with excitement as they layered on their snow pants, jackets, toques, mittens and boots and tumbled out the door and into a chilly wonderland.

A deep layer of pure, white, heavy snow pressed the branches of the neighbour’s trees toward the ground. This one had yet to drop its leaves, much later in the season than usual. We’ve had a long, warm autumn with days upon days of sunshine, blue sky and t-shirt weather, but it’s giving way to the days of hot chocolate, sledding and snow angels.

And darkness.

November ushers in a pre-dinner sunset, with long, dark evenings and plunging temperatures. In years past, it has been my most difficult month to hold onto hope in all things. The combination of colder weather, longer evenings, and the urgency of the approaching year-end tempts me to slip into my grumpy pants for a while.

This year, though, I am determined to light a candle when the nights get too long for my liking. When the light fades into early darkness, I’ll lean into the hope of a flickering flame and rediscover the beauty of the soft glow. But more than that, I’ll remind myself of this:

“For you have been my hope, Sovereign Lord,
    my confidence since my youth.

From birth I have relied on you;
    you brought me forth from my mother’s womb.
    I will ever praise you.

I have become a sign to many;
    you are my strong refuge.

My mouth is filled with your praise,
    declaring your splendor all day long.”

Psalm 71:5-8 (NIV)

Image: Stocksnap

These Things I Know

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August has a way of reminding me that summer can’t last forever. The heavy scent of harvest is in the air, with its sweet promise of abundance. Most years a north wind blows through in the third week and abruptly ends the warmth of summer but this year the sun is standing its ground. Amid the heat, we’re catching glimpses of shorter days with a post-6am sunrise and a few leaves turning here and there, and we’re making the most of these final schedule-free days.

Amid summer’s dying embers, fall looms in the distance. Routines, requirements, responsibilities — all await a fresh energy and positive attitude built up over the months of rest. We’re preparing for the new school year and the rhythm of life that September brings, with all its challenges and opportunities. I’m steeling myself and praying that the Lord would remind me of a few things as we launch into this fall.

Work is a blessing

Whether I deem the work to be meaningful or not, I am formed in the process of carrying it out. The excitement of work I love reveals God’s goodness to me. When I have the opportunity to do the things I enjoy and do well, I live out His design in my life and reveal His glory. The drudgery of tasks I don’t enjoy reminds me that not everything is about me. The toilet, the laundry pile, the dishes in the sink – each one is an opportunity to live out a love that costs me something by laying down my pride, leading by example and serving others well. Either way, the blessing remains.

Rest is essential

When I push myself past the point of no return, it’s not only I who suffer but those around me who bear the weight of my foolishness. My irritability and inability to manage well becomes a sharp sword in my hands, hurting the ones I love the most. Repairing the damage is a painful and lengthy process. When I rest well, I submit to the limits of my body and mind and enjoy the good gift that God has designed as nourishment for myself and my relationships. It becomes an essential part of what it looks like to live well.

Consistent times of worship and prayer are non-negotiable

It’s one of the easiest things to neglect – but also one of the costliest. How quickly I forget who God is! The only One who made me and knows me inside and out, who can bear the weight of the heavy things I’m carrying, who is sovereign over all and yet walks with me step by step, whose mercies are new every morning – He is the One who holds it all together. When I am rooted in Christ’s love through worship from the Word and time in prayer, I am grounded and ready for the temporary challenges that stand in front of me. My perspective shifts from the struggle of the here-and-now to the promise of the what-will-be and I live with my eyes wide open to God’s work in my life. It must be a daily practice.

Community is a gift

As much as I like to fly solo, I am learning that it is unwise to consistently attempt to go it alone. Accepting help is not my forte, but in His great wisdom the Lord has graciously placed people in my life to gently walk along with me in every area. The insecurities left over from previous rejections and hurts are slowly transforming into confidence and strength. Learning how to be a contributing member of the circles we inhabit is crucial for our growth, offering us much more than we can obtain in isolation. We need this.

Lord, let these truths settle into my heart as we prepare for September. Help me stand my ground against the distractions and temptations to go my own way, and keep me on Your path.

Psalm 121

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.

He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;

indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;

the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;

 the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore.

The glory of an August sunset on the Prairie (image credit: my dad)

Slowing Down to Savour

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A temporary relief from the stifling heat of summer is so welcome! Dark clouds hang overhead, yet to give us the treasure within. We’re waiting for the rain to fall after a week of bright blue skies, blazing sunshine and hot, sleepless nights.

Summer is sailing along now, heavy with the scent of life in full bloom. All the things we’ve planted are showing their resilience in the face of hail and heat. Some stand tall regardless of what comes, others are crushed beneath the weight of the elements or become food for critters and birds bent on survival.

Saskatoons are slowly ripening, but the sparrow stole my only strawberry of the year. Though the plants are young and the soil likely needs more nutrients, I have hope that in future years we’ll have more berries. Maybe I’ll expand the patch in a few more years if the plants are doing well.

Amid all the flowers and fruit, our kids are engaged in the very serious business of backyard play. With four between the ages of 5 and 11, there is no shortage of ideas on how to spend the day. Morning ’til night, with short breaks for food and responsibilities, they play. And play. And read. And play. I believe in the gift of a rather boring summer, with loads of space in the schedule to literally do nothing, if that’s what they want to do. Of course, the responsibilities are always an expectation, but otherwise, we aim for a rather carefree summer pace.

I glance outside. The much-needed moisture begins with sprinkles at first and then turns to a steady, gentle rain. The thirsty ground is soaking up the blessing of a long, cool drink. Trees bend in the wind and robins impatiently pull the surfacing worms out of the ground.

The kids wander around for a while before becoming thoroughly soaked and chilly. In the back door they tumble, asking for a late snack, although lunch is nearly ready. It’s our daily reset button, a gathering around an abundant table, filling their hungry bellies and setting them on track for the afternoon ahead.

I don’t want to forget what it was like in this season of life. I am learning to slow down and savour the small, ordinary moments of each day. These scenes are mainly for me, snapshots of what life is like in these good old days, moments captured on paper and in photos, and mostly, in my mama’s heart.

All four kids, home together, more of a gift than I can fully appreciate, I’m sure. That old cliche rings true: “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.”

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom….
Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.”

Psalm 90:12, 14 (NIV)

The pansies are doing alright this year. Grateful.

Marking Milestones

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And now, summer.

A change in rhythm, a welcome break from the beautiful things that fill our calendar through fall, winter and spring with more space to breathe deep the sweetness of the season, more time to explore new places, more freedom to linger a little longer.

In the coming weeks, we’ll reach another milestone in raising our family: our youngest will join his three older sisters as a school-aged kid with a whole new world to discover. For more than a decade I’ve carried and cared for our babies, toddlers and preschoolers and it has been worth all the blood, sweat and tears so far. Perusing older posts with the stories of life with four kids under the age of six, I’m in awe of how the Lord has provided what I have needed in the moments I needed it most! I found these words I wrote four years ago when the pressure of raising small children was at its peak:

The other day, the older kids were fighting and spilled blueberry applesauce all over the carpet. After cleaning it up, they trotted outside as friends again (nothing like a shared chore to encourage sibling bonding), where one promptly did a trick on the swings and ended up with a possible fracture. I heard the shrieking from inside the house where at the very same time the baby was having a meltdown while I was cleaning up a potty accident from our three year old who was ill. 

While we’re in the thick of a challenging season, we don’t even know that the whole time He is carrying us! It’s only when we find ourselves in between the waves and we have a minute to breathe that we realize we’re still afloat.

In a world that values filters and highlight reels, I’m thankful for authentic reminders of God’s goodness to me in times past. As we mark this family milestone with a celebration of our youngest, I’m praying that I won’t forget these lessons I’ve learned in these early years. We have a long way to go before they’re grown, and I may have no idea what challenges lie ahead, but I know the Lord and I’m confident that He will hold me fast throughout the journey.

Image: Bob Richards/Stocksnap