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

Marking the Moments

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October is winding down, ushering the darkness and chill of the in-between season. Bare branches and brisk north wind are setting the stage for a snow white world, although not quite yet. The freshness of the freezing weather feels extra cold at this time of the year, not to mention the adjustment to the slower pace of getting where we need to go.

Pulling on jackets and boots. Finding hats and mittens. Scraping frost and brushing off snow. Warming up the vehicle. Navigating slick roads. It’s the great re-learning of how to manage our time. A reset, of sorts, though not unwelcome. November used to be my least favourite month for all its inky black evenings and bitter cold mornings, but in the past few years I’ve discovered the joy of early stargazing and skywatching, the delight of a flickering candle to light a long evening, and the return of some of our favourite cold weather fun.

I’ve said it many times before: there is beauty in every season. And although November tends to feel like a bump on the way to the season of Advent and Christmas celebration, I refuse to waste even these moments. 

Lord, give me the wisdom I need to live out your love this month, even when the darkness and cold threaten to cover me. Help me make the most of what’s before me, counting my blessings over and over again until they are deeply woven into the fabric of my heart.

This week we gathered around Psalm 27, with its amazing reminders of God’s presence in our family life. We have nothing to fear as we seek His face and see His goodness in the land of the living.

The Lord is my light and my salvation—
    whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—
    of whom shall I be afraid?

When the wicked advance against me
    to devour me,
it is my enemies and my foes
    who will stumble and fall.

Though an army besiege me,
    my heart will not fear;
though war break out against me,
    even then I will be confident.

One thing I ask from the Lord,
    this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the Lord
    and to seek him in his temple.

For in the day of trouble
    he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent
    and set me high upon a rock.

Then my head will be exalted
    above the enemies who surround me;
at his sacred tent I will sacrifice with shouts of joy;
    I will sing and make music to the Lord.

Hear my voice when I call, Lord;
    be merciful to me and answer me.

My heart says of you, “Seek his face!”
    Your face, Lord, I will seek.

Do not hide your face from me,
    do not turn your servant away in anger;
    you have been my helper.
Do not reject me or forsake me,
    God my Savior.

Though my father and mother forsake me,
    the Lord will receive me.

Teach me your way, Lord;
    lead me in a straight path
    because of my oppressors.

Do not turn me over to the desire of my foes,
    for false witnesses rise up against me,
    spouting malicious accusations.

I remain confident of this:
    I will see the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living.

Wait for the Lord;
    be strong and take heart
    and wait for the Lord.

Psalm 27 (NIV)

The northern lights made an appearance this month. Amazing! (Image: mine)

Thanksgiving

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My favourite tree is glowing gold, signalling the end to another warm season. It’s much later than usual, but I’m not complaining. Every year it puts on a short but brilliant show, like a matchstick going out in a blaze of glory. Soon after, the second act: tall weeping birch and poplars with their yellow leaves popping against the dark blue early fall sky. Then, the bright yellow and rusty orange of the lilac and Saskatoon bushes and the cotoneaster’s signature red and orange fire. Absolute fall perfection.

September is one of my favourite months of the year for its blend of warmth and chill, brilliance and coziness. The colours are usually the brightest over the next two weeks heading into October, as greens fade to yellows and oranges, ruby reds and deep purples. Amid the harvest scene, bright pink roses and happy sunflowers are having their centre stage moment.

The glory of the Lord is all around us!

It’s also one of the busiest times of the year for our family, with school and church and activities, plus the start of cold and flu season. Could be the worst time of year for a holiday that calls us to pause, gather together and be thankful for all we have been blessed with. Maybe that’s why we need it so much!

The fall decor is out at the dollar store and the pre-made grocery store cupcakes have orange and white frosting, but it’s hard to feel like Thanksgiving is anything more than a quick sale on turkey, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, with a few fake orange leaves and some fancy napkins on the side. So I fight the tide in my own way with Three Weeks of Thanks. We’ll take time over the next three weeks to intentionally celebrate the blessings we’ve been given by the One who holds it all together.

Psalm 103 anchors our season with the reminder that it’s not just the stuff we’ve been given, but the Giver Himself who is worthy of our praise!

Praise the Lord, my soul;
    all my inmost being, praise his holy name.

Praise the Lord, my soul,
    and forget not all his benefits—

who forgives all your sins
    and heals all your diseases,

who redeems your life from the pit
    and crowns you with love and compassion,

who satisfies your desires with good things
    so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

The Lord works righteousness
    and justice for all the oppressed.

He made known his ways to Moses,
    his deeds to the people of Israel:

The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
    slow to anger, abounding in love.

He will not always accuse,
    nor will he harbor his anger forever;

he does not treat us as our sins deserve
    or repay us according to our iniquities.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
    so great is his love for those who fear him;

as far as the east is from the west,
    so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

As a father has compassion on his children,
    so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;

for he knows how we are formed,
    he remembers that we are dust.

The life of mortals is like grass,
    they flourish like a flower of the field;

the wind blows over it and it is gone,
    and its place remembers it no more.

But from everlasting to everlasting
    the Lord’s love is with those who fear him,
    and his righteousness with their children’s children—

with those who keep his covenant
    and remember to obey his precepts.

The Lord has established his throne in heaven,
    and his kingdom rules over all.

Praise the Lord, you his angels,
    you mighty ones who do his bidding,
    who obey his word.

Praise the Lord, all his heavenly hosts,
    you his servants who do his will.

Praise the Lord, all his works
    everywhere in his dominion.

Praise the Lord, my soul.

Amen! May our Thanksgiving season be filled with the knowledge of the Lord and His goodness, and may we learn to praise Him in all things, for all things, even when we don’t have the full picture. May we trust Him more and more with each passing season, and may we discover blessings in places we would never have imagined.

Image: Stocksnap

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