hope

Joy in the Morning

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“Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”

When I was a girl we went to a little country church where our aging pastor stood behind a huge walnut-coloured wooden pulpit and reminded us of these words from Psalm 30. He would say it once with as much passion as he could muster without raising too many eyebrows, pause, and then repeat it in quiet confidence. It may have been the only phrase that brought murmurs of “Amen” out of a tight-lipped group of unflappable farming families steeped in tradition.

Out of all the forty-five minute sermons he preached, this sentence took root my heart like no other.

Weeping may last for the night.

The holiday season has come to an end and we’ve moved into a new year with all of the old sorrows and struggles. Grief ebbs and flows, new challenges arise as old ones fade, and as we navigate the changes and make space in our life for the unexpected, we weep for the losses we’ve experienced in the past 12 months.

Joy comes in the morning.

Struggles never resolve at the same time, do they? The night may be fading away and morning joy is dawning in many places we once waged war with the darkness, and yet there are other places in the thick of inky blackness with terror on either side, awaiting first light.

And the peaceful places under a rose-gold dawn remind us that one day every bit of dark will have the full light of the sun blazing on it, bringing beauty from ashes and life from desert wastelands.

Isn’t this the good news of Jesus?

As I tread softly into this new year with all of its unknowns, these words bring me comfort:

The desert and the parched land will be glad;
    the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;
    it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
    the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;
they will see the glory of the Lord,
    the splendor of our God.

Strengthen the feeble hands,
    steady the knees that give way;

say to those with fearful hearts,
    “Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
    he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
    he will come to save you.”

Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
    and the ears of the deaf unstopped.

Then will the lame leap like a deer,
    and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness
    and streams in the desert.

The burning sand will become a pool,
    the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
In the haunts where jackals once lay,
    grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.

And a highway will be there;
    it will be called the Way of Holiness;
    it will be for those who walk on that Way.
The unclean will not journey on it;
    wicked fools will not go about on it.

No lion will be there,
    nor any ravenous beast;
    they will not be found there.
But only the redeemed will walk there,

    and those the Lord has rescued will return.
They will enter Zion with singing;
    everlasting joy will crown their heads.
Gladness and joy will overtake them,
    and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

(Isaiah 35 NIV)

What a promise! Strengthen my hands, steady my knees, Lord. Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.

Sunrise Beauty (image: mine)

Light and Life

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Everything feels upside down this year. 

A green Christmas may be the norm for our neighbours to the south, but up here it’s strange to be able to walk barefoot on my front lawn five days before Christmas.

The other day as we were driving I observed the lack of snow. 

“It doesn’t feel like Christmas,” I sighed.

“Mom!” My oldest daughter began, “Don’t you know? It’s in the singing of the street corner choir! It’s going home and getting warm by the fire! It’s true, wherever you find love, it feels like Christmas!” 

I laughed as she quoted the lyrics of a song from one of our favourite holiday movies and for a moment, I forgot that December 25th will likely not be a scene from Currier and Ives this year.

This morning I heard the distinctive weathered-gate-hinge squeak of a blue jay from somewhere nearby. My eight year old and I instantly flew to the window, searching all around for a glimpse of the brilliant blue bird. The rusty-pump-handle sounded again, and suddenly he bolted out from the neighbour’s yard to take refuge in the tall evergreens across the street.

“There he is!” She shouted. “Wow!”

A fleeting glimpse to be sure, but a glimpse nonetheless. My heart warmed.

Like the surprise blue jay, Christmas cheer seems to come on unexpectedly this year and only lasts a moment before it disappears into the wind. Death has upended our family celebrations, and the grief is palpable as we prepare to gather together, fully aware that things will never be the same again. It’s one thing to objectively state that death is not the end and that we have hope in the Lord Jesus, and another thing entirely to sit with so large a gap in the room that once was filled with a beloved person and their unique personality, gifts and talents, and all the shifting dynamics that come along with loss.

The light has gone too quickly.

And yet…

In just a few short hours, daylight will fade into the longest night of the year, and the soft glow of candles and Christmas lights will fill our home as we once again witness the remarkable truth that darkness will not last forever. The words from an old hymn I haven’t thought of in years float through my head.

For the darkness shall turn to dawning
And the dawning to noonday bright
And Christ’s great kingdom shall come on earth
The kingdom of love and light.
-H. Ernest Nichol

For the Christian, Christmas is the moment when the Light of the World broke through the darkest night, bringing the hope of resurrection and the promise of new life. It is the moment when we no longer need to crawl around alone in the pitch black feeling our way through briars and thistles. It is the moment when our eyes are opened to the wondrous truth of Emmanuel, God with us, whether on mountaintops of jubilation or in deep valleys of grief.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
(John 1:5 NIV)

Lord Jesus, as we enter into this year’s Christmas celebrations, may we know Your healing presence in ways we never imagined possible. May we discover Your peace that passes all understanding, guarding our hearts and minds and reminding us of who You are and why You’ve come.

Light and life to all He brings
risen with healing in His wings.
-Charles Wesley

Merry Christmas, friends.

(image: mine)

With Joyful Praise

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“With joyful praise in all things.”

The sign hangs in the living room, a constant reminder of the call to choose joy anyway. I couldn’t have known when I put it up months ago that I would need it so much this year.

And now, Advent is near, inviting us to participate in a season of longing for the deliverance only Christ can bring, reminding us that there can be no true hope, joy, peace or love without our beautiful Saviour.

Can I see Him in all things?

The recycling truck rumbles down the street in the slow light of dawn. Kids work on various projects, inspired after a good night’s sleep. I can hear one’s pencil on her paper, bringing characters to life and crafting wild adventures for them, page after page. The other three bring me piece after piece made of felt and pompoms, carefully fashioned as Christmas surprises.

“Mom, look at this!”

The excitement of this season is still palpable in our home. Although things are different now in many respects, some things remain the same, grounding us in the familiar, reminding us of who God is in the midst of it all.

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.

Lamentations 3:22-26 (NIV)

Lord, may these words wash over me in this season. Give me eyes to see Your new mercies every morning. May I remember that You are my portion, that You are good, and that it is good that I wait quietly for Your salvation.

With joyful praise in all things.

(image: Stocksnap)

Hope

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Late October never disappoints.

We enjoyed a lingering fall with brilliant colours and warm weather long into the month that typically turns cold rather quickly. Flowers stood tall and even re-bloomed with the warmth of fall sunshine!

Then, as if on cue, the first big snowfall of the season blew in and with it, a mix of excitement from the kids and moods from the grownups. It’s always a bit of an adjustment to the extra time it takes to get up early, shovel a path to the vehicle, scrape a layer of ice off the windshield and then get on roads like glass to get where you need to go safely.

Sometimes it snows in the morning and melts by the afternoon, but this particular snowfall has stuck around thanks to the arctic air that settled in behind it. The skies are still grey and lifeless, bringing the realization that winter is on its way and in short order.

With it, the darkness. Last year I decided that whenever I felt the heaviness of the shorter days of November and December, I’d light a candle and enjoy that cosy atmosphere only winter can bring, but this year feels much heavier. As a family, we have loved deeply and lost significantly in the past several months, so grief mingles with joy in nearly all aspects of our life.

Will the dim flicker of a small candle on a cold, dark November evening help me rediscover the beauty of a soft glow?

Whether or not it does, I will choose to light the darkness with a simple flame of hope because we are not alone.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.”

(2 Corinthians 1:3-7 NIV)

Image: Stocksnap

Dust Settling

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The zinnias are coming up and the sunflowers are standing at attention. Blush pink, bright red and orange-yellow roses are in bloom. We’ve enjoyed more than a few handfuls of Saskatoons and our sweet little strawberry plants have given us about three beautiful ripe berries altogether this summer. They’ve found refuge from hungry birds under the shade of the hollyhocks, which is probably why we’ve found any at all! Deep purple pansies nod their heads in the wind, grateful for the bit of sunshine cast their way for part of the afternoon.

We’ve had more rain this July than in years past so things are still looking quite well but the long, dry, hot days of summer are upon us and soon shades of yellow and brown will fill the horizon.

The dust is settling in our world, but not the way we had hoped. May and June surprised us with some deeply sad and extremely hard things, and now we are left with the pieces that remain.

“Dear Lord, thank you for today. Thank you for this food. And please help us because we don’t have a grandpa anymore. Amen.”

Our six year old son prays this daily as we gather around our old dining set. We are wading through the thick reeds of grief and loss, but like catching a glimpse of a stunning marsh bird in flight, or hearing its song, our experience has been peppered with the heart-lifting joy of a child’s perspective.

What a gift.

Tomorrow would have been my father-in-law’s 71st birthday. We wanted more time. We planned for more time. We knew the sudden diagnosis meant less time in the long run, but four weeks felt much too fast.

He loved good ice cream. 

Tomorrow, we will eat the best of the best, and we will remember.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing 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 12:1-3 NIV

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)

With a Yawn and a Stretch

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Winter isn’t quite ready to let go, is it?

In springtimes past, a blast of warmth would settle in like an early alarm and in mere hours winter faded into memory. The natural world was instantly alive with tiny rivers rolling through the neighbourhood while golden rays raised new blades of grass and nudged the bearded irises awake. Bumble bees began to bumble and ants poked their heads out to see what all the fuss was about.

This year our late freeze is reluctant to relinquish its dominance. Crunchy deep snow remains in shadows where the temperature remains barely above freezing even when the sun is shining. The melt feels more methodical and calculated, with stubbornly chilly overnight temperatures keeping the ice and snow in place and modest daytime sunshine slowly shrinking the piles in the places it can reach.

We went for a walk near sunset yesterday and watched thin layers of ice form on the surface of the daytime puddles as the temperature dipped below freezing. Frozen diamonds stretched across the surface of the water, settling in for the night. We knew that in the morning we’d hear the water run again, but for now the world goes back to sleep when darkness falls.

We’re winter-weary, but we live in a place where spring snow brings the moisture we need for our growing season. It’s a mixed blessing, really, when March flurries begin to fly. We know the snow won’t stay, so we sigh and pull on our boots and hats one more time before heading out into the spring chill. One last round of tobogganing, one last cup of hot chocolate, one last winter memory before the muddy season.

Hope remains, though. The days are getting warmer and the spring sun is doing its annual work of revelation, displaying what’s been laying under layers and layers of late February snow. Rocks that need to be removed from the grass. Trash that blew into the yard before the snow flew. Decomposing pinecones and leaves from fall. 

The ugly things.

One afternoon, after basking in the glorious sunshine pouring into our front room, I looked out the window to see an old coffee cup lid laying on the flat, brown lawn. Clearly it had been there for weeks, buried under the snow. The sun had melted the snow away, leaving it behind.

It was ugly.

Easter is near now. With a yawn and a stretch, the world is slowly waking. Is my heart waking too? Do I find that I am moved by the things of God? Or is there a layer of icy self-protection? Is sin hardening my heart and weighing me down? 

What ugliness will the warmth of the Holy Spirit reveal in me?

“Not everything has to be a life lesson,” a friend joked to me several weeks ago.

“I can’t help it! It’s how I see the world,” I laughed in return.

Ordinary everyday life pricks my heart with parallels to the spiritual. I learn lessons from garbage laying on the lawn. Like a dirty, discarded coffee cup lid, sin lies hidden from view until the Holy Spirit does His revealing work in our hearts, melting away the denial and self-deception that prevents us from growing and thriving in His image.

Lord, do your work in me. Though it is painful, I surrender to Your gentle formation of my heart. Break the chains that bind me and the banish pride that blinds me.

This Easter season, wake me up to the truth that the cross isn’t just for everyone else – it’s for me.

Wake me up to your grace and goodness. Wake me up to your deep, incomparable love. Wake me up to the forgiveness and freedom You bring by Your death and resurrection. Wake me up, Lord, not only so that I benefit, but so that those You have placed in my life will bask in the glow of Your love poured out through me.

Soften my heart so that I might love others the way You have first loved me.

1 John 4:9-11 NIV

“This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.”

(image: Patti Black/Unsplash)

Stunning

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Stunning.

A young woman sitting on the summer grass in a white strapless party dress with a black stripe, legs hidden under her large skirt. Her dark hair was swept back in a classic early 50s style, dark lips curved into a slight smile.

The first time I ever saw the faded black and white photo I couldn’t believe it was the same sturdy woman who served me the best homemade perogies fried in onions and butter and always had ice cream in her freezer. I peered closer. It was definitely her, just not the way I knew her.

Our grandmothers weren’t always grandmothers, were they?

Decades after the party dress was gone and only the family album remained, a gaggle of grandchildren ate carrots straight out of her garden, dipped fresh rhubarb in a dish of white sugar from her kitchen and clambered up into the dusty hayloft while she mucked out stables in her tall rubber boots, jeans and t-shirt, cropped bleached blonde hair blowing in the prairie wind.

A stark contrast to the figure on the lawn.

Strong childhood memories are tied to pickled beets, beet borscht and finely crafted doilies, and her signature classic fragrance was Estee Lauder Youth Dew. She moved away when I was still young and distance kept her from the day to day of my life, but I still wrap my family in blankets made with the crochet skills I learned from her strong, well-manicured hands.

Hardy and hardworking, sharp as a tack, quiet but feisty, she loved classic country music, Scrabble and her “Story”, a particular soap opera with a 50-year run. She was a bit of a dish fairy with a penchant for abandoned coffee mugs. At least, she thought they were abandoned. Every time you’d put down your coffee mug for more than a few minutes, regardless of how full it was, you’d blink and she had whisked it away to the sink full of warm, soapy water for a scrub. “Where’s my coffee mug?” you’d say and she’d chuckle and shrug in her way.

Despite a remarkably challenging life, her faith formed her and held her. She rarely spoke of the difficulties but the lines in her face revealed more than words ever could. In recent years, she found herself in a more restful season living closer to family, and I’m so thankful my children came to know and love her, sharing Christmases together in our home. Over the past nine years we visited her at the seniors lodge, then in long-term care and finally, her hospice room where we sang her favourite song while and my eldest daughter played violin, like her great-grandfather had so many years before.

Tears would slip down those finely etched cheeks, her words barely intelligible as she sang along.

This weekend, she passed into the loving arms of Jesus, finding the true rest and peace she so longed for. On my final visit, I leaned close, kissed her cheek and told her I loved her and that I would see her again. Although her speech was muffled by her illness, I could still hear her say, “I love you too”.

I come from a long line of determined women.

Some would say stubborn, I would say tenacious. 

Some might say bullheaded, I would say unshakeable. 

Some could say unbending, I would say steadfast.

She was the first of us all.

She was stunning.

Image: mine

Merry Christmas, Indeed

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“Let’s get outside,” I say. We walk around the backyard late in the afternoon, watching the full moon rise. Faint but huge, the orb brightens in the dusky December sky as she tells of latest art project and a story she had just been reading. Her bright eyes sparkle with mischief and her infectious laugh fills the air. I’m amazed at the person she is growing up to be.

***

6am. A headlong dive smack in the middle of our bed, followed by a snuggle. A warm little body invades our space, with one little arm draped over my shoulder. I feel a nudge. “Mom, stop snoring,” comes a whisper. The cosy morning routine will be missed when it’s gone for good, but for now this is our daily alarm.

***

“Mom, don’t you have to do something in here?” A sly smile crosses her face. I realize that for some unknown reason, these kids don’t want me to come out of my room just yet so I busy myself with a few things. Then, a knock on my door. “You can come out now,” she announces. Surprise! The whole living room is clean and ready for a party. She beams with pride as I hug her tight.

***

“Here you go,” she says. “I made this for you.” She holds out a small, handmade character with googly eyes. “You did? Wow, amazing job!” I gush. Her face lights up. This one always seems to know when someone needs a boost. Her quiet encouragement is an incredible gift to our family. “Thank you sweetheart.” I wrap her up in my arms.

***

We collapse onto the couch after a particularly demanding few days, finally finding a quiet moment together. In the soft light of the Christmas tree, tears of disappointment roll down my cheeks and I share my heart. With his gentle presence and steady reassurance, I know I am not alone. 

***

This week has been a lesson in “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be good”. Life swept in with a vengeance, as it often does, waylaying all our final Christmas preparations and plans. And while the weight of the imperfect always threatens to crush what is very good in our lives, the good prevails because the best gifts don’t fit under the tree anyway. The good prevails because no matter our circumstances, we welcome Christmas and all that it means.

Whether or not the stockings are stuffed and the presents are wrapped…

the house is tidy and everyone is healthy…

the family is whole and relationships are happy…

Christmas comes right into the mess. Regardless of the imperfection that rages around us, we have true hope, lasting peace, deep joy and perfect love because we know that Christ has come! And He has promised to return to make all things new. He is good and His love endures forever, and His faithfulness continues to all generations (Ps. 100:5).

It’s never lost on me that we mark the longest night of the year and birth of the Saviour mere days apart. Even the rhythm of the seasons points us to the Light of the World! The people walking in darkness have seen a great light. The people stumbling around in the black of night, desperate eyes searching the heavens for a glimpse, a twinkle, a spark… the people losing courage with every passing moment… the people who are convinced they have been utterly forgotten and cast aside… 

into their world… 

into our world…

the Light has come.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.

The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

John 1:1-14 (NIV)

How can we stay silent, when salvation is finally here?

Sing to the Lord a new song,
    for he has done marvelous things;
his right hand and his holy arm
    have worked salvation for him.

The Lord has made his salvation known
    and revealed his righteousness to the nations.

He has remembered his love
    and his faithfulness to Israel;
all the ends of the earth have seen
    the salvation of our God.

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth,
    burst into jubilant song with music;

make music to the Lord with the harp,
    with the harp and the sound of singing,

with trumpets and the blast of the ram’s horn—
    shout for joy before the Lord, the King.

Let the sea resound, and everything in it,
    the world, and all who live in it.

Let the rivers clap their hands,
    let the mountains sing together for joy;

let them sing before the Lord,
    for he comes to judge the earth.
He will judge the world in righteousness
    and the peoples with equity.

Psalm 98 (NIV)

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.