peace

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

Not Quite Ready

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Scrolling through the November camera roll, I see that this is the month where we switched from fall to winter. Early photos feature long shadows on the golden grass, dark silhouettes of leafless trees against the gradient colors of dusk, foggy moonlit nights, and neighbourhood bunnies turning white.

And then, “snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow…”

Photos of mostly white, with every bough, branch and twig outfitted in Narnia-like fashion. It’s own kind of magical beauty, taken in during long sessions of shovelling and scraping, or through the window from the warmth of the indoors.

We enjoyed a long, warm autumn and the refreshing blanket of winter has brought the Christmas season into focus. It’s much easier to get in the mood when we’re surrounded by a white wonderland! Glimmers of lights and ribbons are slowly beginning to appear in our home, but we have yet to officially deck the halls. Tomorrow is the first Sunday of Advent, and tonight we’ll spend time preparing and bringing the season alive in our space. Favourite ornaments will be carefully selected and placed on the tree, the little village will fill the top of the piano, and stockings will go up in their usual place.

In my heart, I don’t quite feel ready. But as I noted on Easter this year, you don’t have to be ready for Jesus for Jesus to be ready for you. 

This whole Advent season is a time of preparation for the joyous celebration of His first arrival to bring salvation, while looking forward to His Second Coming to make the world right again. Tomorrow we’ll focus on Hope, next week it’s Joy, followed by Peace and finally, Love. And then, Christmas Eve. The rhythms of the Advent season have offered me space and time to fully prepare, to enter into worship again and again with a sharp focus on the reason we celebrate. It’s not a mad rush to cram in all the fun in less than a month (although I do love the fun!), but a thoughtful and intentional opportunity to turn my eyes upon the only One who can bring true hope, joy, peace and love to a world in desperate need, and to discover His active presence in unlikely places that are wildly despairing, brimming with sorrow, steeped in conflict and coldly apathetic.

Lord, this is my Advent prayer:

Bring me back from the edge of the pit. Turn my mourning into dancing. Heal the wounds that cause me to lift my fist. Warm my heart again. And in this season where I long for your Second Coming, may I bring this very same hope, joy, peace and love to those I meet, including those who I assume do not need me to do so. Open my eyes to Your work in the world, and show me how to participate in it in ways that bring You glory.

Since ancient times no one has heard,

    no ear has perceived,

no eye has seen any God besides you,

    who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.

You come to the help of those who gladly do right,

    who remember your ways.

But when we continued to sin against them,

    you were angry.

    How then can we be saved?

All of us have become like one who is unclean,

    and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags;

we all shrivel up like a leaf,

    and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

No one calls on your name

    or strives to lay hold of you;

for you have hidden your face from us

    and have given us over to[b] our sins.

Yet you, Lord, are our Father.

    We are the clay, you are the potter;

    we are all the work of your hand.

Do not be angry beyond measure, Lord;

    do not remember our sins forever.

Oh, look on us, we pray,

    for we are all your people.

Isaiah 64:5-9 (NIV)

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

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)

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)