All is Not Lost

May 31, 2024May 31, 2024 / stephanienicole / Leave a comment

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).

Always Learning

April 30, 2024 / stephanienicole / Leave a comment

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.

Not So Fast

February 29, 2024February 29, 2024 / stephanienicole / Leave a comment

Grey skies and gusty winds.

Something chilly this way comes.

We had a taste of spring last week. The sun soaked up all the snow on the front lawn and the grass peeked out. I spied the irises poking up from underneath last year’s batch and excited birdsong filled the neighbourhood. All has gone back to sleep now. A fresh dusting of grainy snow has come, with a wicked windchill to boot.

February is reminding us that winter isn’t quite finished. We need the moisture desperately so I have vowed not to complain about any of the snow from now until June, even though I’m sure a late May snowstorm isn’t anyone’s idea of great fun. Living in the shadow of the mountains, we can get snow in just about any month of the year.

This is the hard part, though. We’ve had our winter fun with skating, tobogganing, hot chocolate, puzzles, board games and movies and we’re ready to seed our veggies, watch for the first leaf bud and listen for our favourite winged migrants to fill the neighbourhood with song.

Not so fast, says late February. Time for the shoulder season.

The freeze-melt-freeze-melt-freeze-melt cycle of late winter. Warm days mean cloud arches that block the sun’s rays and the sweet smell of fresh mud, and cold days mean cloudy skies that threaten more flakes and thin, nearly-invisible layers of ice in unexpected places. We know could be in a days-long, bone-chilling, teeth-chattering, finger-numbing polar vortex climbing the walls with cabin fever, so instead of complaining, we choose embrace this shoulder season and make the most of each day, whatever it brings — be it sun or cloud, mud or ice, or both in the same day.

It’s coming at the right time. The tension of the now and the not-yet and the longing for the warmth of spring reflects the nature of the Christian season leading up to Easter, as we prepare our hearts to celebrate the promise of new life in Jesus. We sense the change in the natural world, but it feels too slow for us. We want the warmth of April at the end of February, and it is never to be. We may catch a glimpse as the sun returns, but the journey has its own pace and it will not be rushed.

The journey has its own pace, and it will not be rushed.

I need to hear that again and again heading into the month of March. We know that the snow will return many times before late spring, so we embrace the pace of the natural world, learning to wait patiently for warm breath to draw life from the soil and hope from our winter-weary hearts. In the meantime we persevere, praising the Lord for the pleasant days and praying for patience on the tough ones.

Even here in the shoulder season the echoes of the Incarnation are heard throughout our lives: Emmanuel, God with us. When we’re not quite where we want to be, or where we hope to be, we rest in the knowledge that we are not alone.

Spring always returns.

For this God is our God for ever and ever;
he will be our guide even to the end.
(Psalm 48:14)

Joy in the Morning

January 31, 2024 / stephanienicole / Leave a comment

“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.

Hope

October 28, 2023 / stephanienicole / Leave a comment

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)

The Real Harvest Moon

September 30, 2023September 30, 2023 / stephanienicole / Leave a comment

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.

Shades of Autumn

August 28, 2023 / stephanienicole / Leave a comment

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.

Lament

June 24, 2023 / stephanienicole / Leave a comment

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)

Roots

May 20, 2023 / stephanienicole / Leave a comment

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

Growing

April 22, 2023 / stephanienicole / 1 Comment

My poor sweet little plant.

In the late days of fall, I received a beautiful little gift of red blooms to brighten my days. It was lovely for the first week or two, and with some watering I prolonged its life. But a short while later, it withered away to almost nothing. The stems were black and death hovered above its roots.

In years past I’ve simply tossed a plant like this into the compost with a shrug, but this year I wondered if it could be brought back to life. I cut it back, re-potted it, watered what was left and then waited. Nothing seemed to be happening, but I gave it a spot in the pale winter sunshine and watered it when needed. The Christmas season came and went and once the tree was down and the decorations were away, there stood the little plant, a slight bit of green poking through the dirt.

Amazed at its resilience, I faithfully cared for it and watched it grow and expand into a pretty little burst of green on the top of the piano. One day, half the plant died! So I cut it back again and nurtured what was left. As the weeks went by and spring crept closer, it was joined on the top of the piano by pans of vegetable seedlings, a pretty little succulent, some sunlight-hungry hollyhock sprouts, a mini-rose bush on a plant stand and an experiment that has us attempting to grow sunflowers in a small zip-top bag.

After already watering it once this week, I noticed this morning that it was shrivelled and sad. To my surprise, the leaves dropped at my touch. Disappointment set in. I had a plan for this little plant and we were nearly at the finish line! I was hoping that if I could keep it alive another month, I might be able to transplant it to the front planter outside and watch it bloom in the summer sunshine.

Can this little November plant be saved yet another time? I got to work pruning the sections that were definitely dead, gave it deep drink and found it a new home with more direct sunlight away from all the other plants. Only time will tell if my plant CPR will work, but the consistent work of checking, watering, re-potting and pruning was a necessity to give the two remaining stems a chance to survive.

After over a decade of trying my hand at growing things, I still have so much to learn, not only in plant care but in lessons that transfer beyond the soil to my heart.

Jesus’ words in John 15 come to mind (John 15:1-8 NIV):

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.”

With Stephanie Nicole

life, faith, family… one day at a time

Encouragement