Sorry - I can't talk now - my mouth is full of cookie dough

Ummmmm... I LOVE cookie dough. When I was a kid, I used to wonder why we had to waste time baking the cookies when the dough tasted so much better than the cookies. So it's not hard to imagine that, now that I'm a mother, I don't have much trouble indulging my kids when they want to reach in and snatch a little cookie dough. In fact, we bought some white chocolate macadamia nut cookie dough from a school fundraiser, and none of it has gotten baked yet. Yes, that's the container above and it's nearly empty. After supper for the last several nights, the girls and I have gathered round with our spoons and enjoyed a little cookie dough dessert. Yummm! (Yeah, I've heard that it's not good to feed your kids raw eggs, but there are worse things they could be consuming - like, say, cocaine!)

I'm sure I'm not the only mom who indulges her kids in the things that are closest to her child-heart. In fact, my mom set a good standard in that regard. She was great at indulging us now and then in the things that other moms might have turned their noses up at. Her house might have been messy now and then, but she'd ignore it and sit down with us and read stories. Or, on a hot summer day, she'd bring a big bucket of water and some cups into the front yard and she'd join us in a water fight. She'd also let us eat a little cookie dough now and then (though I don't remember ever gathering around a bucket of it for dessert.)

There might be lots of things my kids will find to complain about me when they're grown, but at least they'll say "she let us eat cookie dough."

Sometimes

Sometimes I am a weak and foolish person.
Sometimes I hurt people because I jump to conclusions.
Sometimes I am impatient with my children.
Sometimes I approach motherhood like a duty and forget that it is a privilege.
Sometimes I don’t try hard enough to understand other people.
Sometimes I’m a know-it-all with too much pride.
Sometimes I forget to listen.
Sometimes I am lazy and slothful.
Sometimes I take people for granted and forget to appreciate them.
Sometimes I think only of myself.
Sometimes I gossip and forget that it hurts people.

“But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Sometimes it’s hard to imagine what can be done with so much weakness.

One of my favourite books is The Gift of Being Yourself: The Sacred Guide to Self-Discovery. It was a pleasant surprise, because I expected it to be just another feel-good-self-help book. Instead, I was challenged, because one of the most important lessons that I took away from it was that, to fully be ourselves, we need to recognize our weaknesses. I’m working on that.

A bird in the hand

This little fellow came to visit us tonight. After a collision with our window, he was a little stunned and quite docile. Anyone know what kind it is? He has a lovely greenish colour to him. (We'd just biked home from a soccer game - hence the bike gloves. The girls were brave enough to hold it with a glove on their hand.) We put him on a bench while we ate supper, and now he's gone. Hopefully, he flew away to a happy long life.

Just say no

Sometimes, it feels like the only thing I say to my kids is “no”. “No you can’t buy a gameboy.” “No, we’re not going to the store so you can foolishly spend all your birthday money.” “No, we’re not renting a movie tonight.” “No I’m not buying a bag of chips.” “No, we’re not going to a restaurant for supper tonight.” “No we’re not driving to your soccer game when it’s within biking distance.” “No you can’t take your tamagatchi to church.” “No we’re not going to 7-11 for a slurpee tonight.”

It feels heavy and, at times, curmudgeonly – like I’m forever denying them of their wants and desires. I know they’re happy and well provided for, but I get tired of the endless “wants” and the endless stream of “no’s”. Some of the parenting books say that you should avoid the word “no” and try to replace it with less negative words like “maybe later” or “I’ll think about it”. But that doesn’t really satisfy – it usually means that their requests just get prolonged even longer until they get the eventual “no”. I prefer to let them know up front that there’s no chance they’ll get what they’re asking for. If I’m open to negotiation, I let them know, but usually I reinforce the fact that “no means no”.

I don’t like it, and I wish that they would ask for less things that I have to deny them of, but then I think – perhaps it is “by my no’s that they shall know me”. Perhaps the no’s are important. Perhaps this is one of the ways they’ll learn what I stand for – that I (I should say “we” since Marcel is in this too) don’t believe in endless streams of plastic junk, electronic games that destroy their social connections, too much junk food, instant gratification whenever they have a hankerin’ for something new, burning too much fossil fuel when it’s easily avoidable, and spending too much money on ourselves when there are so many people with less.

I remember an Anne Lammott story about her son, when she commented that he just seemed so “entitled” – like he assumed that he would always get what he wanted and that someone would provide for him. We’re trying hard not to raise “entitled” kids. Trust me, they don’t live in abject poverty (we DO occasionally treat them to junk food, they have lots of toys, they get slurpees on the weekend, and once every six months or so, we eat in a restaurant). But sometimes I really have to be determined to stand my ground and not give in to the requests, especially if it’s something that is easy to give them (but might not be a good idea).

Take the other night, for example – Nikki was determined to spend some of her birthday money (which she doesn’t spend foolishly, by the way – her birthday was in February, and she still has most of it) on a Webkinz. She wanted me to take her to the store THAT NIGHT. I wasn’t opposed to what she wanted to buy, but I just didn’t think she needed to expect instant gratification. So I made her wait until the weekend. It resulted in tears, and part of me thought – good grief, why wouldn’t I just give in and take her? I could even bike to the store with her, so it wouldn’t mean burning gas and it wouldn't cost ME anything. But I stood my ground, because it was the principle of it that mattered. It doesn’t kill them to wait sometimes.

I have to admit – they don’t whine and complain a lot about the things they don’t have, even though most of their school friends have A LOT more than they do. So maybe we’re doing alright. Maybe they’ll turn out to be well adjusted kids with healthy attitudes toward material things. Maybe they’ll even be inspired to live more radically than we do – choosing a deeper level of simplicity to live out their belief systems. Who knows?

For now I’ll keep saying no when I have to. But I won’t say no all the time, because sometimes it’s nice to surprise them with a “yes”.

I just gotta ask...

Are there REALLY professional competitive eaters? And they have an international federation?? Huh?

If this 4 year old child can run 65 kilometres, why does MY 4 year old child whine about walking 2 blocks to the store?

Does anyone REALLY need a vibrating razor blade with five blades? (Wince. Sorry Marcel :-)

Snakes on a blog? Huh? People obsessed with a movie (Snakes on a Plane) that hasn't even come out yet? Nothing better to do with their time?

Is disposophobia for real? Are there really people living with that much junk? Aren't you glad you're not one of them?

If I get one of these kitschy Jesus figurines, will it wash all our sports worries away?

Why do so many spammers think I need to enlarge my manhood? And what's up with the green tea lately? If I had a large "manhood" and drank more green tea, would the spammers leave me alone?

If there are professional eaters and disposophobics, isn't it pretty clear that we have an overconsumption problem in North America?

A day away

Yesterday I took myself on a date. Partly because I needed some time and space to prepare my talk for church on Sunday, and partly because I’d promised myself I would do it before my 40th birthday (see 40 days ‘til 40), I went on a personal retreat. Villa Maria is a beautiful Catholic retreat centre in lush green park-like surroundings along the Red River. For a small donation, they give you a room with a bed, a desk, a sink, and a big window with an amazing view of trees, grass, and lots of dandelions. And they feed you lunch and let you sip tea in their dining room.

I’ve done this before, and each time I do I think “man, that was so good, I really need to do this on an annual basis”, and then I get busy again, and suddenly realize it’s been a few years since the last time.

What do I do on a personal retreat? Well, for starters, I sit. And then I sit some more. I meditate. I wander around the grounds. I sit in the grass and write in my journal. I listen to frogs. I watch the grass wave in the breeze. I meander past the stations of the cross. I let the sun shine on my face. I read my Bible. I read a few chapters of a good book. I visit the chapel and sit some more. I do some centering prayer. I contemplate. I write poetry. I eat lunch alone and stare out the window at dandelions. I drink tea in the afternoon and talk to one of the friendly nuns. I think. I rest. I let time tick by. I write in my journal again. I entertain creative thoughts. I get refreshed.

Sounds delightful, doesn’t it? If you haven’t done one before, I highly recommend it. If you’ve done one before but haven’t found the time lately, sit down with your calendar, block out a day, and git yo’ ass to a retreat centre.

That perfect tranquillity of life, which is nowhere to be found but in retreat, a faithful friend and a good library. - Aphra Behn

Did anyone tell YOU?

Nobody told me about this. Nobody warned me that sometimes parenting could feel like you'd yanked your heart out of your chest, tied it to your arm, and let the world whack it with an axe. Nobody took me aside and said "hey, sometimes, you'll be sitting on the sidelines, watching them play soccer (or baseball, or even piano), and the intense feelings it will evoke in you will make you want to run away and never watch a soccer game again." (Okay, so maybe they told me and I didn't really hear them.)

It catches you by surprise, that intensity of feelings. Every failure they make dredges up your own childhood failings. Every time the rather agressive coach hollers at them because they're not playing their position or they're not aggressive enough, you feel it deep in your hidden child-heart. And when the coach sends them into goal, and you know with every fibre of your being, that they are not ready to play goal - not ready to get in front of the ball with any type of bravado on their first game - you sit on the edge of your seat praying the ball will stay on the other side of the field. Then the ball goes in - the star player on the other team kicks it past your daughter - and the failure of your child becomes your own failure. Every mistake you've ever made becomes compounded in that one moment and you feel like somehow your own mistakes are manifesting themselves onto your child.

Suddenly, you're back in the ball diamond at Arden Park, you're in the outfield, you've missed the ball, and the opposing team scores a home run. The mean girl in centre field yells at you for missing the ball, and you're sure you're the worst failure on the team. You go home crying at the end of the game, and your mom says you don't have to go back for the next game, but because you're more stubborn than that, you're determined not to let the mean girl win. You go back, and you try again, even though you know you'll never be the star player on the team and you know there will be more mean girls to point out your failures.

And then, thirty years later, when you think you've almost grown out of those moments of self-doubt, it all comes back to you like a tsunami wave. You watch them - your children - with such intense love and connection that you feel their hurt almost more deeply than if it had been you standing in that goal, watching the ball fly by. You feel it and you want to fight the tears for them. You want to take the shame you're sure they're carrying - shame that they've let their teammates down.

I dreaded the car ride home tonight - dreaded her tears and self-doubt, dreaded her proclamation that she would never play soccer again, dreaded the feable attempts I knew I'd have to make to comfort her. But then, she bounded off the field, smiled a half-smile, and said simply "I thought I'd try goal, but I don't really like it. I don't think I'll play goal next time." That was the end. No tears, no intensity. She's a trooper, my strong, beautiful, normally intense Nikki.

It's probably a good thing nobody told me about this. I might have baled out before it began, and then I would have missed the moments of redemption and triumph, when you see their incredible character and strength shine through even their moments of failure, and you know they'll be alright. Better than alright. You know they'll be incredible.

Whatever pops into my head

I had a speaking engagement in a small prairie town yesterday – similar to the small prairie town I grew up in. (I was in Boissevain, for those who know Manitoba.) I love living in the city, and I don’t ever plan to go back to the country, but sometimes I get a little nostalgic when I drive through a small town, see the old school, old church, and the little country store at the centre of town. The church I spoke in was a beautiful old stone structure with stained glass windows and a magnificent steeple. I’m sure sometimes it frustrates the locals to be in such an old building that needs so much tender loving care, but when I visit a place like that, I’m always so glad there are people who put their hearts into maintaining it.

When we arrived at our destination, we drove onto the farmyard of the people who were hosting us for supper. The woman came out of the house and told us her husband was in the shed, helping their nine year old daughter clear a corner of the shed so she could convert it into a summer playroom for herself. We wandered out to the shed and found them in there shuffling things about. The young girl had salvaged a set of old school house benches for her playroom corner. Again, I got a feeling of nostalgia. Sometimes I’m a little sad that my kids can’t grow up on a farmyard where there is so much space for exploring and building and playing. (D&L, expect our visit this summer!)

On Saturday, because we’d gotten an insurance rebate and had a little extra spending money, we took the girls out for supper. Of course, they probably would have been satisfied with Joey’s Only or the Olive Garden, but I was determined to make it a little more interesting. Since we can only afford to go out for a meal once every six months or so, I wasn’t going to waste our opportunity on some chain restaurant. We drove out of the city and ended up at Pineridge Hollow, a wonderful character place out in the woods. It was everything I’d hoped for and more – a nice evening with the family, AMAZING food, a pleasant environment, a lovely drive out to the country, and even a few deer spottings on the way. Oh, and of course, there was that inevitable restaurant moment when Maddie charms complete strangers and makes us wonder when she’ll end up going home with a new family.

Julie had her first soccer game yesterday. They say there’s something about a man in uniform that makes a woman’s heart skip a beat, but I say there’s something about a kid in uniform. My kids aren’t really big into competitive sports yet (I doubt whether they ever will be), but I do enjoy seeing them all dressed up in their soccer outfits. Look for pictures soon. I didn’t get to watch much of the game (because of the speaking engagement I mentioned earlier), but this morning I got the report that they’d won.

Nikki is getting SO tall. She stood next to me in church, and when I put my arm around her, I was caught by surprise how high my arm had to reach. She’s nearly as tall as I am. Seems like the little girl has disappeared and been replaced by this maturing young woman.

The girls and I visited the annual Children’s Hospital book sale – a booklover’s dream. It was the last day of the sale, so we got some great bargains – a whole bag of books for Nikki and Julie for only $5. (That was a HEAVY backpack to carry home from the mall!) I was hoping that would last them most of the summer, but since Julie has already read 2 of them, she thinks it won’t even last her UNTIL summer. Good thing the library is within biking distance.

We attended my nephew’s first communion service on Saturday. The service was all in French, so the content was lost on me. But despite that, if it hadn’t been for three bored children with me in the pew, I think I would have had quite a worshipful experience. Our church meets in an old supermarket (in other words, it lacks in worshipful ambiance), so sometimes I quite enjoy a visit to a grand cathedral with high ceilings, stained glass windows, stations of the cross, art work, etc. What I particularly loved were the magical moments the sunlight would stream through unseen stained glass windows high above the stage and cast an interesting pattern on the wall and the statue of Christ. Maddie was quite captivated with it too, and kept exclaiming each time the clouds would move away from the sun and the light would appear. The other moments I loved were the moments when the old woman behind us, who caught on I couldn’t speak French, would occasionally lean forward to explain something to me in the most friendly, grandmotherly voice.

Today is my Brother and Sister-in-law’s anniversary. Happy Anniversary B&S! Wow! Twenty-four years! I remember the day well – my sister and I wore yellow frilly floral floor-length dresses (a vision of loveliness!), and we were the candle-lighters. As I ascended the stage, I tripped on the hem of my skirt and had visions of burning the church down with the candle I was carrying. Fortunately, I was able to catch myself before I fell. At the time, B&S seemed so OLD. I was almost sixteen, and they were the ripe old age of 20 and 21. Now I think – what KIDS they were! I’m so glad they’ve had a successful marriage for so many years, because my sister-in-law is one of my favourite people in the whole world. (AP – thanks for forgiving me for insulting you when Technobrother brought you home to the farm :-)

It is also my Mom’s anniversary. It’s rather surreal having a brother married twenty-four years and a mother who’s been married only one. It’s been a whirlwind year for mom, and it’s nice to see her so happy. They’re off to Holland soon – she finally gets to do a little more of the traveling she always longed to do (yes, I inherited my wanderlust, as did the rest of my siblings).

That should be enough random bits to feed your curious mind (and perhaps to bore you to pieces). And, in case you need a little visual random bit, here’s a lovely, flattering picture of me speaking in church. The not-so-strategically placed cordless mic box nicely compliments my frumpy housewife look. (Oops - Blogger doesn't want to cooperate, so you'll have to wait for the picture.)

I am from

Inspired by Owlhaven (a recent addition to my blogroll), I wrote an "I am from" post. What fun! If you want to join in, she has a template here. It's a great excuse to take a little walk down memory lane. Here's mine...

I am from horses without saddles riding down road allowances on sunny afternoons, from John Deere tractors with broken seats and Heinz ketchup cans full of old tools. From bumpy rides on school buses down gravel roads, and from snow forts in winter and bale forts in summer.

I am from the little green house with no bathroom and cold running water heated on the stove for baths in the tin wash tub, from the new house with real bedrooms, from a living room with a different furniture arrangement nearly every week, and from the pig barns with squealing weanlings under heat-lamps.

I am from the chokecherry trees, lilac bushes, wheat fields and willows, the sandy soil, mud puddles, snow storms, and the smell of pigs. I am from the prairies, both harsh and friendly, from tiger lilies and crocuses, from quack grass and weeds as tall as the barn. From bitter cold winters buried under the snow, and sunny summers with breezes dancing through wheat fields and stands of poplar.

I am from springtime picnic lunches on the field next to Dad’s tractor, and Sunday morning scrambles to get to church on time, from Arthur and Margaret, Bradley, Dwight and Cynthia. From the grandpa who died on our front lawn, the grandma who liked to giggle and feed us chicken noodle soup, the grandpa with the dry sense of humour, and the grandma who was tiny and strong and who travelled to Africa when she was eighty.

I am from the family that didn’t go to community dances or bingos but never missed church on Sundays. From faspa on Sunday afternoon with aunts and uncles, friends, or the visiting minister. From a visit to the neighbours to watch the Sound of Music on their TV, and from bicycle rides with my best friend Julie.

From “don’t chew gum in church”, “clear your plate – there are children starving in Africa”, and from “bad things always happen in threes”. I’m from “you COOKED it? But that bird spoke seven languages” and “that hag Madam Yvonne with her chicken fat”.

I am from faithful, hardworking, peace-loving Mennonites who shun alcohol and love their neighbours as themselves. From a mom who loves water fights and tells the best children’s stories in church, and a dad with bushy eyebrows, a Bible tucked under his arm, and a question always on his mind.

I'm from Russia where my ancestors fled for their commitment to pacifism and their resistance to war, from a hospital in Steinbach where my mother nearly bled to death, and from Arden, a little prairie town with an elevator, a grocery store, a post office, and a swinging bridge over the river. I’m from “forma vorsct” and “vereniki”, from “plooma moos” and “rollkuchen”. From the smell of fresh bread and the sound of my Mother singing when I walked in the door after school.

I am from the day my sister nearly burnt to death and I came home from a field trip with only Mr. Bateman to give me pieces of the story, from the high school band trip to Toronto that my brother Dwight paid for so that I didn’t have to miss it, and from the tree house behind the barn that my brother Brad built with his friends.

I am from the stories my dad told with a chuckle - of working in the bush and shingling houses, the scrapbooks full of sympathy cards in my grandma’s coffee table, the dusty suitcase in the attic full of Dad’s mementos of youth, the hat box in Mom’s closet with the blue hat from her single days in the city, the Gilbert and Sullivan records, the shelves of books on the wall of mom’s sewing room, the cubby hole full of soft blankets perfect for hide and seek, the old tape recorder with the tape of Grandpa singing “A few more days shall come”, and the red mixing bowl Mom always used to mix cookies and cakes.

I am from the northern lights dancing in prairie skies, newborn calves frolicking in the field, family gathered around the table, and story time before bed. I am from home.

Few people are as stupid as I

Most people, when they know they have a dentist appointment in half an hour, stop to brush and floss their teeth.

But not me - oh no, not I. I stopped to pop a chocolate in my mouth on the way out the door.

Why? Oh, mostly absent-mindedness, I suppose. But maybe I figured if I'm gonna sit there and listen to them scold me for not flossing, I might as well have a sweet taste in my mouth to go with the bitter taste of guilt.

Some things long to be written

Call it "the muse". Call it "the writing that has a mind of its own". When you're a writer, and you know that you must write to have any kind of life or sanity at all, you satisfy the muse in any way you can. You feed it bits of yourself, and, like someone once said, occasionally you sit down at the page, open up a vein, and let the blood flow.

Sometimes there are experiences we have that we just KNOW have to be written about (or painted, or danced - whichever art the muse demands of you). Sometimes it's enough to write about it in your journal, but other times the journal is not big enough for what needs to be said.

I've been fighting with the muse lately. It's asking for more of me than I want to give. It's hard to explain, but there are pieces of me that are still well secured behind closet doors and I don't want to let them out. But there's a faint clawing at the doors of that closet lately, and I'm afraid I must open it soon.

I know this post doesn't make much sense, but I felt like writing it anyway. Sometimes it's easy to write, when you can hold the words at arm's length and pretend they are only lightly attached to who you are. Other times, it's wretchedly painful, when the words tear open your soul and reveal all the dark places you've kept hidden.

I've started writing a piece that is the hardest thing I have ever written. It's about an intensely personal and painful experience, and I have no idea if it will ever surface. For some reason, I need to write it. So far, it's called "My Trip to Crazy Town", and by that title, some of you who know me fairly intimately may know about the day the title references. It seems the muse won't let me shake the need to let this surface.

Feel free to ignore this post until I make more sense again.

Nine wheels, ten pedals, and this family is on the road!

This is our latest aquisition - Maddie's tag-along-bike. She is SO proud! When we got to church on Sunday morning, she had to show it off to anyone who would stop to look.

There's an incredible scene in American Beauty, when Ricky Fitts is showing the girl (can't remember her name) the video of a plastic bag floating in the breeze. He says, as his eyes fill with tears, "Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in." That's how I felt this weekend on the numerous occasions when we went out for family bike rides. Pedalling my bike behind my husband and three daughters on a perfect spring day felt almost overwhelmingly beautiful - so beautiful I felt my heart would cave in.

It's hard to describe when you have a moment in time that feels as close to perfection as you can imagine. The sun shining, the warm Spring air, the man that you love ahead of you, Maddie saying hello to people on the sidewalk as she bounces along behind her dad, Nikki racing to try to beat her dad, Julie's earnest look on her face as she pours her heart into pedaling... it's almost more than the heart can take. We biked a couple of times to St. Vital park, watched the sun begin to set on the overflowing river, tossed breadcrumbs to the ducks on the duck pond, climbed the rocks - basically had an amazing time.

My life is full, and I am happy. May I live to see many more bike rides with my family.

Caught the bug

I know I’m a little slow on the up-take, but Gina infected me with the Indie Virus, and unless I pass it on, I’ll be stuck with this pesky bug forever.

You see, Pearsonified has started a small, casual social experiment, it's called "The Indie Virus." Here's how Pearsonified describes this experiment: The experiment, henceforth referred to as "The Indie Virus," has two goals:
1) To bring exposure to lesser known blogs (especially those outside of Technorati's top 100);
2) To explore the metrics behind a viral linking campaign launched by the 'little guys' (less popular blogs).

Part of the reason it took me this long was because I couldn’t decided whether to give the nod to the people who inhabit BOTH my blog world and my non-blog world (like ccap, ap, linda, or michele) or those whom I’ve met through blogs. Because I didn’t want to appear too biased (sorry family and friends), I chose the latter. So here are my pics…

1. Anvilcloud over at Raindrops was one of my first blog friends, so I remain loyal to him. But it also helps that he’s entertaining, interesting, funny AND a good photographer. I’m also rather fond of his wife Cuppa, who exudes warmth and comfort. (I only wish she'd post more often :-)

2. Stephanie at Creature Bug not only has one of the most beautiful sites I visit on a regular basis (she’s got a great masthead that she changes fairly regularly), she’s also one of those people that I’m POSITIVE I would click with if I met her in person. She has similar interests, similar values, and she’s an entertaining and thoughtful writer.

3. Dale at Musings from Mimico is one of the most genuine people I’ve met in blogland. He’s incredibly honest – letting you into all the parts of his world, not just the pretty bits. I love his vulnerability, his ability to enjoy simple pleasures, and his kindness. Dale is also one of the most faithful and encouraging commenters, and I love him for that.

If Gina hadn’t been the one who’d passed this to me, than she’d be on my list too, ‘cause she’s definitely one of my favourites too.

Now run along, pay them a visit, and tell them Heather sent you :-)

I found it! I found it!

Remember my rant about women's magazines? Well, it turns out 2 women in Saskatchewan read my mind, because they've started a magazine that sounds EXACTLY like the one I said I'd start. Even the title sounds refreshingly original... Cahoots.

This is what they say in their submission guidelines...

Please DO NOT send us:
Empty, regurgitated pieces about losing weight, pleasing men in bed, finding a man, makeovers, 7 steps to happiness, fashion that is priced way over anything an average woman’s income will allow…we know you know what we mean.

Sounds just about perfect, doesn't it? I read the first issue cover to cover, and they live up to their claims, and my expectations - including a beautiful piece of artwork on the front cover. :-) Colour me impressed! Now if only I could find it in airport kiosks!

My husband is SO smart

Twenty-six years ago, Marcel dropped out of school without a high school education. He thought he’d drive truck for the rest of his life.

Eleven years ago, when he realized he wanted more out of life than driving a truck forever, he went for some upgrading and got his GED (grade 12 equivalency). Around the same time, he got his first office job.

Three and a half years ago, he quit his job. Much to the surprise of everyone around him – especially his trucking buddies – he enrolled in university. It took incredible courage to do so.

Yesterday, he finished his last exam, completing enough credit hours to earn him a Bachelor of Arts degree in History and Political Science.

In a couple of months, he’ll wear a cap and gown – for the first time in his life. At the age of 41. Next year, if he gets in, he’ll start his second degree so that he can teach High School. Imagine the irony – a high school dropout becomes a high school teacher.

I couldn’t be more proud of him than I am now. Not only did he complete his first degree, he did it with pretty impressive marks too. He is so much smarter than he ever gives himself credit for. And he'll be a GREAT teacher.

Favourite Easter moments

Maddie, sitting on my lap during Good Friday Ekklesia service. Corrie says “all those who are Christians can participate in communion.” Maddie whips her head around, beams at me, and says with delight (loud enough so that Jayne sitting behind me could hear it and share the beauty of the moment), “I’M A CHRISTIAN!” I’m not sure how much she understands, but she believes, and yes, we let her take communion. I wish we all could proclaim it with such joy.

Julie, going through the stations of the cross with me, reaching down to the white paper in front of us and, with black paint on her gloved hand, writes “love”. Yes, this girl is all about love, and I think she understands that part of the Easter story. Something about seeing her write it made this mother heart swell with pride. I had to brush a tear away from my eye.

Don, singing “this is not the same, it’s another thing all together - this is love” about as well as Steve Bell does. So glad I got to hear it twice – both times it sent shivers up and down my spine. The God of beauty gave Don a voice and taught him how to use it.

Corrie, tearing off my blackened glove and saying “your sins are forgiven”. I didn’t anticipate the feeling of refreshment on my hand after the rubber glove was removed. I didn’t expect to be moved by how clean and able to breathe my hand felt. It was like the water in the centre of the labyrinth, after being covered in dust.

Nikki, giving one of her prized Tamagatchis to her sister. You have to know Nikki to know how much of a big deal it is for this girl to give away something she treasures – especially to Julie. But this weekend – maybe it was the spirit of the season, or maybe she just figured out it was more fun to play together than alone – she gave it away entirely on her own accord. There’s a little bit of Easter in that moment of graciousness.

Children – mine and others – running around hunting for colourful Easter eggs. Perhaps an egg hunt has nothing to do with the “real” Easter, but there is something about watching children run delighted through grass hunting for treasure that speaks of beauty, renewal, and hope. THAT has everything to do with Easter.

Sunshine. There was so much of it this weekend. Hours and hours of sunshine. And warmth. I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate the resurrection.

So many good moments this Easter weekend. I wish I could put them in a jar like little fireflies so they’d light up the night. But I suppose, just like fireflies, they’re better left floating out there in the universe to be enjoyed by all.

Easter is redemption and hope and resurrection and re-birth. Easter is love. I don’t always understand why Jesus had to die, but sometimes I’m content to live with my questions and just let the little moments of clarity be enough.

Listen

Driving home from the bookstore on Thursday night, I took the long way home because I liked what I heard on the radio. CBC radio was playing a re-run of Tapestry, and I was so moved by what I heard, I had to pull over and jot some notes in my notebook. It didn't occur to me until later how delightfully appropriate it was that I'd stopped the car next to a shadowy graveyard and a lit cathedral.

The program was an interview with Alan Jones. His book, Reimagining Christianity: Reconnect Your Spirit Without Disconnecting your Mind is now on my wish list. You can hear the interview here.

Here are a few of the things I jotted down...
- the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty
- religion doesn't answer the questions, it deepens them
- religion is meant to be uncomfortable - it will piss you off if it means anything
- "mine must have been the slowest conversion in history - I have an enormous capacity for missing the point"
- Christianity is a "way" not a "state"
- you can't opt out of belonging - if you opt out, then you belong to those others who have opted out
- the universe is made up of stories, not atoms
- imagine the beautiful irony of Jesus, who is the "word of God" but was born as a baby, unable to speak - word and silence must be part of each other

It also helps that his voice is like ear-candy. I think I could listen to it all day.

Mindful

sun settles
pink joins hands
with periwinkle blue
cotton candy sky
clouds lend canvas
to paintbrush of incandescent light
mystery unfolds soft
music in the heavens

god of beauty
do you whisper to the angels
"gather round look
at this our masterpiece"
do you brush
sadness from your eyes
when we, distracted,
close doors and
forget to bear witness

Start with an apology

Our mayor, Sam Katz, is in hot water for making idiotic, sexist statements at a ceremony meant to honour our city’s Olympic champions, who all happen to be female. He made a variety of comments, calling them “beautiful girls” and “special ladies”, but the one that tops them all off is when, standing on the stage with them, he said he felt like Hugh Hefner. Now, I don’t think I have to explain why that is completely inappropriate, patronizing, and sexist.

What really bugs me though, is the fact that Katz won’t apologize for his statements. He says that people should just “get over it”. Clearly, he hasn't tried to understand how patronizing his comments sounded. To compare gifted athletes to playboy bunnies is just… well, I hardly have the words to say how idiotic it is.

Getting back to my point though, sometimes an apology can be a powerful thing. If Katz owned up to his mistake, accepted the criticism, and made a public apology to the athletes and to all women in this city (especially those young girls in the crowd who showed up to see their athletic heroes, and had to be subjected to one more example of sexism), I suspect that most women would be much quicker to “get over it”. As it is now, there are people calling for his resignation. I guess next time you should think twice about revealing your fantasy of lounging in a bathrobe next to a pool full of buxom babes, Mr. Katz.

I read a couple of things lately that reminded me of the power of an apology. First of all, I read Don Miller’s book Blue Like Jazz. At one point, he was one of only a handful of Christians on a very secular campus. There was a big annual party planned for the campus, and that party was known for its extreme hedonism and “anything goes” atmosphere. The group of Christian students were contemplating what they should do during the party, and Don, rather jokingly, said they should put up a confessional in the middle of the campus. Much to Don’s horror, one of his friends took him seriously, and went with the idea. But he had a different twist on it – instead of taking confession from party goers, when people entered the booth the CHRISTIANS would be the ones to make confession. So they did it. When people showed up, they apologized for many of the past and current sins of Christianity – judgementalism, racism, sexism, causing wars, etc. – and they apologized for their own sins too. Wow. Powerful stuff.

Another thing I read was a piece about Tom Fox, the member of the Christian Peacemaker Teams who was executed in Iraq. Once, at a meeting of the Langley Hill Friends, Tom Fox was asked, “What do you think the U.S. should do? (about Iraq)” He was quiet for a moment and then said, “I think we should apologize.” Again – a powerful thought – the superpowers of the world apologizing to the people they’d bullied. Can you imagine George Bush walking into the home of an Iraqi peasant family who’d lost their children and their livelihood to the American invasion and said, simply, “I’m sorry”?

In a twelve step program, one of the steps is to make an account of the wrongs you’ve done, and another one is to make amends where appropriate. Without following these steps, they believe that you can’t fully overcome your compulsive, damaging behaviour. An apology is not only powerful for the person receiving it, but for the person humble enough to give it.

Apologizing can be the hardest thing in the world to do, but it can also be the most beautiful. I’m not very good at it, I confess. I spend a lot of time trying to justify my own actions rather than own up to them and apologize for them. I wish I were better, but pride gets in the way. Plus I think empty apologies can be more damaging than none, so I’m reluctant to do something unless I really mean it.

Sometimes, I’ve gotten it right, though, and most of the time, the rewards outweigh the pain. More than once, I’ve apologized to friends or family, and found that by doing so, it deepened my relationship with them, and brought us to a new place of honesty. Once I had to learn a hard lesson in apology. I was speaking in church about relationships, and I knew that I couldn’t stand up in front of people and be honest if I didn’t resolve one of the relationships in my life that had gone wrong. I made a very difficult decision to phone a friend I hadn’t spoken to in ten years and I apologized for my part in the dismantling of our relationship. I hated it, but I’m glad I did it. She said she was blown away by my call. She responded with her own apology.

I’m trying to get better at it especially in my marriage and my home. It’s especially hard to apologize to my children, but it’s probably the best example I can give them.

If only Sam Katz would recognize the power of a genuine apology, I think he’d be a better mayor. I’m afraid it’s too late though. Anything he does now will only be seen as a political back-step.

The many signs of Spring

Irises poking through the earth in my little garden
Earthworms on the sidewalk after the rain
Maddie in her alligator boots wading through puddles
Little frog jumping across my path
Bike tires on pavement
Unzipped jackets
Soccer practice
Geese flying overhead
Pork chops on the barbecue
Daughters in capri pants
Hotdog vendors on the street corner
Slurpees
Car windows rolled down
Waking to the sound of thunder
Lawnchairs on the front lawn
Rollerskates
Robins under the evergreen tree
Open-toed shoes
Chorus of frogs at dusk

Aaahhh! Breathe deeply. It’s Spring!

Sometimes I dream of living in a place with warm weather 12 months of the year, but then I live through another spring, and I remember why I love to be here.

Happy Birthday, bbb!

Today my Big Brother turns 45. I had no idea 45 could be so young until I got this close myself! (Yes, that's him and me in the pic. Sorry, I thought I'd done a better job of scanning it.)

He’s a cool guy, my Big Brother. Here are a few of the things I like about him:
- He is fearless. I think he’d try almost anything if he had the chance (except for a few kinds of exotic foods, perhaps).
- He is generous. He’s probably given away more money (and other stuff) than I’ve made in my life. I remember calling him in a panic when my sister and I were wandering around Europe and couldn’t access our funds and he said “why would you feel badly about asking ME for money?”
- He’s a great dad. To watch him with his kids is to see a thing of beauty.
- He is adventurous. I both envy and admire his ability to leave all earthly possessions behind and backpack around the world for a year.
- He’s smart. In our family, he’s the “go to” guy for all kinds of questions like how to fix a computer, what’s the best stereo equipment to buy – you name it.
- He’s fun. He loves to drive fast, go on adventures, seek out new places, watch movies, climb to ridiculous heights to get the best picture, throw caution to the wind – basically, he’s a bit of an experience junkie, and he likes to take along anyone who’s willing to join him.
- He’s wise. He doesn’t accept things at face value, and he dares to ask the deep questions. He’s a little like our dad in that way.

I could think of other things, but I don’t want to swell his head TOO much. :-)

You’re my hero, Big Brother. Happy Birthday!

40 days 'til 40

Seriously, do I look old enough to be turning 40?

In 40 days, I will turn 40. I thought it would freak me out. I thought it would depress me. I thought I’d feel a little panicky about being old and settled like I did when I turned 30 and had just bought our first house, given birth to our first child, and bought our first minivan. But in an odd sort of way, I welcome it. Forty sounds like a good age to be. People take you seriously when you’re forty. You’re young enough to still think youthfully, but old enough to have gained some wisdom along the way.

I feel content. I’m at a good place to be approaching a milestone like this. I’ve gotten good at a few things, had a few accomplishments along the way, learned from lots of mistakes, continued to find opportunities to be foolish and carefree, traveled to some interesting places, had some great relationships, found my soulmate and worked hard at making our marriage work, watched my children grow into interesting little people, had some interesting and challenging jobs, followed my passions, and found ways to touch people and let them touch me along the way. Don’t get me wrong - there have been lots of road bumps, some tragedies and really dark places, fear, loneliness, and more than one utter failure, but all of that has only helped the molding and shaping of me into a person I quite like to be.

One of the greatest things about getting older is that you get more comfortable in your skin - you’re more willing to learn from other people and less concerned about proving that you have stuff figured out, you know yourself better, you’ve figured out some of the things that make you happy, and you get better at discerning which risks are worth taking.

Not long ago, there was an article in the paper written by a woman who was turning thirty with much dread and resistance. She lamented the lines on her face, the grey hairs popping up, and all the other physical signs that she was not as young as she once was. Short of plastic surgery, she was doing almost everything she could to stop the aging process. The woman who wrote the story is a friend and former employee of mine. I hired her for her first “real” job, and I mentored her and had an influence in her life. I like her – quite a bit – but the article saddened me. I was sad that she hadn’t learned to embrace the aging process. I was sad that she fought what nature had in mind for her. After I saw the article, I looked in the mirror at the deepening lines in my face and decided that I would embrace them, whatever the cost. The lines in my face tell a story – they map my history. They make my face more gentle and maybe a little more wise. I don’t want a twenty-year-old face when I have a forty-year-old soul.

As I look toward the next decade of my life, I feel incredibly hopeful about the future. The little bits of wisdom I’ve picked up along the journey have helped me see the future through clearer, more interesting lenses. At thirty, the future looked a little scary and heavy. With a new mortgage, a new baby, and a fairly new marriage, I felt like I was picking up the world and placing it firmly on my shoulders. I felt so unprepared and inexperienced. I didn’t feel quite ready for the next ten years. Now, ten years later, with our second mortgage and our third child, I feel so much more experienced and more prepared for the next decade. Life gets easier with experience.

At forty, I have so much to look forward to. I look forward to having more time on my hands as my children get older and need me less. I look forward to needing less money to survive (or at least not being the sole bread-winner in the house) and being able to do more things because I’m passionate about them and fewer things because I get a pay cheque for doing them. I look forward to learning more things from interesting and creative people. I look forward to teaching more people some of the interesting things I’ve learned in my 40 years. I look forward to trying new things – like painting – I’ve always wanted to learn to paint. I look forward to watching my children figure out what their gifts are, and I look forward to letting them teach me things. I look forward to reading more, playing more, creating more, learning more, seeing more, doing more, teaching more, eating more, loving more, and understanding more.

To help me bring on this hopeful future, I’ve decided that, for the next forty days, I will go on a bit of a personal pilgrimage. You could call it a belated lent season, I suppose. To be more prepared for all the “mores” I have ahead of me, I want to spend a little time making sure I’m healthy enough, both physically and spiritually, to get the most out of them. Here’s what I plan to do:

1. Spend at least 15 minutes a day doing something for my physical health. Mostly, it will probably be walking or biking (this morning was a good start!), but I think I might try a few new things. I’m thinking of signing up for yoga. Sometimes I’ll do things with the kids – like swimming on a Saturday afternoon. In the meantime, I’ll try to eat less compulsively and more mindfully (I’m still waiting for the book I ordered – Eating Mindfully).

2. Spend at least 15 minutes a day doing something for my spiritual health. I want to read the Bible more, pick up some good books that inspire me, pray, meditate, listen to spiritual teachings, etc. If possible, I’d like to walk the labyrinth again. I’ve been doing a little reading on mindfulness and meditation, and I want to make it more a part of my life.

3. Spend at least 15 minutes a day refreshing my creative spirit. I’m dusting off my copy of The Artist’s Way, and picking up the follow-up piece, Walking in this World that I bought a few years ago but never got around to reading. I’ll try to do some morning pages, maybe go on some “artist’s dates”, listen to good music, write some poetry, and try my hand at some new forms of creativity (like maybe some collages – something my daughters will probably enjoy participating in too).

4. Take a day (or at least a portion of a day) for a personal retreat. I’ve done this before and it’s a wonderful way to regroup and refresh. I may head out to St. Benedict’s again, or find another worshipful/peaceful place to spend a day.

I’ll be gentle on myself along the way. I won’t be too strict – sometimes the above activities will be combined (like a meditative walk through an art gallery, perhaps), and mostly I’ll forgive myself if I slip up. I’ll be gentle on my family too – I’ll look for opportunities to include them on the pilgrimage. And at the end of the 40 days, I may or may not continue – for now I only commit to the 40 days.

When I turn forty, forty days from now, I plan to indulge myself in something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. I want to jump out of a plane – with a parachute attached, that is. I figure that will be a fitting way to round out my 40 day pilgrimage. Hopefully, it will be an energized, invigorated me jumping out of that plane and drifting down to earth. Whatever the case, at least I’ll have one more thing to add to the “great moments in my life” list when I turn 50.

(By the way, if anyone wants to join me for the jump, either to watch or participate, let me know!)

Slow and steady wins the race

I made it to work this morning. On my bike. And I'm still alive! My legs feel like they've been replaced by tubes of jell-o, and I kept company with Mr. Turtle along the way (at least I didn't stop to flirt with pretty rabbits, like Mr. Hare), but I made it. Another summer of biking has begun. Yay!

Oh - and I saw a FROG! It really IS Spring!

Dandelions and sheep

It’s not a picture that would stop you in your tracks if it were hanging in a gallery. In fact, you’d pass by and probably wonder if you could get your money back for this exhibit. No, it’s not exhibit-worthy or even frame-worthy. If you had taken it, in fact, it might be one of the pictures you’d cull rather than place in your photo album.

It’s a completely ordinary picture, but it’s hanging on my office wall in a place of honour – right next to my computer where I can see it while I work. It’s a picture of a patch of sunny yellow dandelions, growing near a wall. In the bottom corner of the picture is a shadow – clearly the shadow of the person who leaned over to take the picture.

Why is this picture on my wall? Let me explain.

Two and a half years ago, my Dad was killed in a farm accident. His death tore a huge hole in my life, and left me reeling from the pain. It’s true that “you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.” My Dad had always been a constant in my life – a source of wisdom, humour, stability, and inspiration - but I didn’t fully recognize any of this until death snatched him away.

When we were cleaning out the farm house, in preparation for the sale of the farm and mom’s move to the city, we found something that Dad had left behind – a camera. It was an inexpensive disposable camera and the film inside was full of the last pictures Dad had taken before he died. At the time, it seemed almost too much to cope with, so we set it aside and nearly forgot about it. My sister held onto it, always with the intention that she would eventually develop the pictures and share them with the rest of the family. I don’t believe my brothers even knew it existed.

A few months ago, more than 2 years after Dad died, I got an e-mail from my sister. She’d developed the pictures and scanned them. They were all attached to the e-mail. I sat there staring at my computer screen, knowing that I was about to open Dad’s last gift to us, his family. At the same time, I was a little afraid to raise my expectations – the pictures might prove disappointing.

I didn’t open them right away. I had to give myself time to process and prepare. I waited until my children were in bed and I was alone at the computer. I knew the emotions would overwhelm me.

When the first image opened, I breathed in sharply. The now familiar pain of memory poured over on me. It was almost more than I could bear – seeing Dad’s world through his own eyes. The tears began to flow as I clicked slowly from picture to picture.

If ever there was a sacred moment, this was it. It was almost mystical how much those pictures revealed the man we’d lost. Every picture told a little story about his life – what was important to him, where he found beauty, what inspired him, and where he spent many hours of his days.

All of the pictures were taken on the farm, a place he loved to be like no other place on earth. Every picture tells of his love of creation and his respect for the earth. The range of pictures spans a whole year – showing a view from every season. There are growing gardens, flowering trees, sheep, geese flying over the water – these are all things that my dad loved with almost a child-like enthusiasm. I remember times when he’d drag me across the yard, just to see a new bud poking through the earth or a new calf taking its first step. I remember the calendar entries in the Spring – “first sign of geese”, “frogs croaking.” This was a man who knew how to enjoy the beauty and surprises in creation.

Some of the pictures are of people he loved. One picture shows Mom with her bicycle, one of her favourite possessions. Another one shows two of my daughters in the garden. In one winter picture, I’m standing beneath a tree, peering into the branches at someone I believe is my nephew.

A few of the pictures must have been taken by mom, because Dad is in them. My second favourite picture (also hanging on my wall) portrays him carrying a yellow bucket, amidst a herd of sheep. Dad loved sheep. He owned them just because they fascinated him so much. He particularly liked the imagery in the Bible where followers of Jesus are compared to sheep with a shepherd. In Dad’s sheep pasture, near the highway, was a sign that read “My sheep hear my voice and they follow me.”

That brings us back to the dandelion picture. What makes this one special? Well, just like sheep, Dad had a special love affair with dandelions. He thought they were among the most underappreciated gifts of God’s creation. He believed that not enough people stopped to look at dandelions – to really appreciate them.

Now you can understand why a picture that shows a shadow of Dad leaning over to take a picture of dandelions is one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received in my life. And the gift goes far beyond the picture. The real gift is having had the privilege to be raised by a man who taught me how to marvel at little things like dandelions, to see God’s hand in everything, and to let even those things that others call weeds teach me something valuable.

Here, for your reverent viewing pleasure, are my favourite pictures. The next time you see a dandelion, think of my Dad, and breathe a little prayer of thanks. (Cuppa, I still remember the tribute you did last year - I was so touched!)

Fun things happening

I’ve got a bit of a buzz going today, ‘cause there have been lots of fun surprises lately. Sometimes in life it just feels like a door opens up and the world starts throwing little gifts through it. I’ve been on the receiving end of that door lately. All of them are fun and most of them are exciting because they may open up even more doors. Here are a few of them:

1. I got my advance copies of Geez Magazine today – dropped off by the editor himself. On page 87 of this fun and irreverent magazine (whose subtitle is “holy mischief in an age of fast faith”) is an article by yours truly! Here I am doing that dance again!

2. Yesterday I had a very cool lunch with Steve Bell, who’s an awesome singer-songwriter (who also happens to be a Juno winner – that’s the Canadian equivalent of the Grammies). It looks like Steve and I will probably work on a music video project together. What fun! Steve is a really amazing person to talk to – full of passion and ideas and lots of deep thoughts.

3.Steve put me in touch with another guy, an editor of another magazine who’s working on building a community/network of people involved in arts/faith/creativity – something I’ve been longing to be involved in for awhile. After lunch, I e-mailed him, and we’re getting together for lunch next week! More fun!

4. When I got back from lunch with Steve, I got an e-mail from my old friend Ian Ross (also known as Joe from Winnipeg). Ian and I used to write and produce plays together back in the day. Since then, he’s gone and gotten himself famous (won the Governor General’s award for playwriting – the highest award you can get in this country) and we’ve lost touch. I ran into him last year, and now we’re finally getting back in touch. I think we’ll do lunch soon.

5. Earlier this week, I also had lunch with a very cool writer, and one of my best friends – Michele. Michele is busy writing her second text book. I only wish text books had been written by cool people like Michele back when I was a student.

So you see I’m on a bit of an artsy/creative buzz after all these serendipitous pieces started falling into my lap. (It also sounds like I’m doing a little name-dropping, but I really DO know all these cool people!) I love it when I get to hang out with people who inspire me and make me want to be more creative. All of the above moments had that affect on me.

Hope

Forty great moments in my life

1. para-sailing in Mexico
2. seeing my babies for the first time (I guess that’s technically 3 great moments, but who’s counting?)
3. learning to do a 360 on a kneeboard (pulled behind a boat)
4. hiking to the top of Sulfur Mountain
5. taking the incline railway up to the misty top of the mountain in Interlachen, Switzerland and hiking back down
6. sleeping in a tent on a farm in Kenya
7. hiking to the ocean in Washington State and watching my dad carve his name on the boardwalk (and carry home some rope washed up on the shore)
8. sneaking into Green Gables on Prince Edward Island
9. taking a boat out onto a very deep lake in Montana on our honeymoon
10. boarding my first flight on a family trip to Edmonton
11. saying “I do”
12. riding the tram-car in San Fransisco and shouting “Oh no, not the bunny cuffs!” to the street performer (along with other members of my somewhat crazy family)
13. watching my brother Dwight eat a six-inch high canned-meat sandwich somewhere in a park in B.C.
14. riding the ferry from England to Belgium and meeting up with my sister, ccap, at the ferry station
15. sitting on the beach at White Lake watching my children play
16. eating at the Russian Tea Room in New York City
17. sitting on the side of Norquay Mountain watching the meteorite shower with my husband
18. watching my brothers and husband jump off the waterfall at Rainbow Falls
19. eating crepes in Quebec City (I won’t mention the OTHER things we did in Quebec City, but suffice it to say, it was a very romantic weekend!)
20. seeing elephants and zebras and giraffes and lions in the Serengetti
21. backpacking in Banff with my sister-in-law
22. watching fireworks at Ile des Chenes
23. eating watermelon with extended family near the playhouse at Mom and Dad’s farm
24. sleeping on the deck of a ship on the Mediterranean
25. riding horses with my brother and closest childhood friend, Julie
26. laughing about magic soap on a snowy trip to Denver
27. sitting around the campfire at Carberry Bible Camp
28. a cooking class and a bottle of wine with Linda, Michele, and ccap
29. seeing my name in print the first time I got published (and every time since)
30. our first weekend in the camper, at Hecla Island, when we told family members we were expecting Maddie
31. sitting on a quiet beach at Korfu, Greece after everyone else had gone home for the day
32. eating butter chicken and listening to good music at the Folk Festival (again, multiple moments, but I can’t pick one particular favourite)
33. sleeping on the rocks on an island in Lake of the Woods (until it started to rain)
34. riding a glass elevator up the CN Tower while on a high school band trip
35. riding down into the Royal Gorge in the snow
36. hearing the word “mommy” for the first time
37. stepping across the finish-line of a 20 mile walk-a-thon when I was six years old
38. watching my dad win the stooking contest at Austin Thresherman’s Reunion
39. going to the Sarah McLachlan concert with ccap
40. sleeping next to an open window in a hostel in Venice, with the sounds of party boats floating down the canal

Ah, it’s been a good life so far!

Cradle

Today I returned the cradle. Ed's cradle. The one he lent me when Nikki was about to be born. "I want it back," he said, "when I have grandchildren."

Today I returned it to his widow. There is no Ed there now. There are no grandchildren to rock in that cradle. There may be grandchildren some day, but Ed won't be there to hold them.

The house was quiet. Ed's house, without Ed. His wife looked empty. Holding up, as best she can, but empty. They were supposed to have a long life together. They were supposed to spoil their grandchildren together.

I feel this sadness I can hardly name. For Diana, for their sons, for the grandchildren that will never know Ed.

He used to call me Heather-bell. He would have been a good grandpa.

There are so many things in life that don't make sense.

Let the river flow

"In storytelling, the teller of the story is never the individual author. The idea of copyright is a western idea. For example, I was taught that when you speak about wisdom, one should not say, 'I know,' because it conveys arrogance, that knowledge originated with me. Instead, one should say, 'I understand.' Knowledge and wisdom did not originate with me; I merely moved into a river of understanding that was flowing from the Creator and had flowed through many others before me." - Roy Aldred, Cree Nations theologian and teacher

Join me in the river. We'll share the stories that flow through us.

For Gina

Here's the fun and funky bag, made from the purple batik fabric I bought from a street vendor in Kisii, Kenya...

Weekend randomness

It was a lovely weekend. Here are some random bits.

- I did a lot of walking this weekend. Spring is finally upon us, and the weather is perfect for walking. The sidewalks are still a little treacherous – lots of puddles and some slippery bits – but it was worth the effort. On Saturday, the girls and I walked to the mall and back (about a mile one way). On Sunday evening, I walked to church and back (almost 2 miles one way). This morning, I walked half way to work (almost 3 miles). My feet are a little surprised to be put to so much use, and they’re protesting a bit, but they’re just gonna have to suck it up!

- On Saturday, I walked into Wal-mart for the first time in about a year. The girls thought I might break out in hives, ‘cause I have such a strong dislike for that place. I dislike what they stand for, I dislike the way they treat people, I dislike the way they exploit people in developing countries, I dislike the fact that they gleefully shove consumerism in our faces, AND I dislike their yellow smirky-faced logo that implies I should be HAPPY to be there. Fortunately, I was just returning one of Maddie’s birthday gifts (that didn’t fit), so, for a change, THEY had to give ME money. At least I can find some pleasure in THAT.

- Yesterday, I sewed a funky purse/bag out of some batik fabric I’d bought in Africa last year. I also sewed a skirt, but I’m particularly fond of the bag. I carry it with pleasure and pride. I think I may have to find some more funky fabric to sew a few more bags.

- Have you ever walked a labyrinth? Our awesome church painted one on the floor, and yesterday’s service was a time of meditation, music, and labyrinth-walking. I can hardly describe it. It was incredible – peaceful, worshipful, sensual, and transformative. I want to do it again.

- Nikki and Julie got their report cards late last week. (Warning – bragging about children ensues.) Julie, as always, is astonishingly school-smart. She counted 44 “Excellents” – out of approximately 50 categories. The problem is, she’s bored with school and I’m not sure how to make sure she’s challenged. She rarely does homework because it’s a waste of time (why practice your spelling words if you get 10 out of 10 on the first try, or why do “homereading” if you devour a more challenging book almost every night?) Nikki, on the other hand, is not as “school-smart”, but she’s smart none-the-less. Not surprisingly, the places where she excelled were things like “takes responsibility for her own work”, and “diligent and dependable” (this is the kid who tells her friend, on Saturday afternoon, that she can’t chat on MSN because she wants to do her homework – which isn’t due for another week). The comment from the teacher that she showed particular interest and aptitude in the unit on politics thrilled me to no end – she is her father’s daughter in more ways than one.

- Did I ever mention how much I love bookstores (or at least GOOD bookstores)? An hour or two in a bookstore is about as good a way to spend time as any I can think of, and I got to do that this weekend. Yay!

- I like Friday nights. Every Friday night, whichever members of my family are in the near vicinity at the time get together for supper – usually at our house. This time is was just ccap and her boy, and the cutest-baby-on-the-face-of-the-earth. I like them. They make me happy. I also like the OTHER members of my family, but I don’t get to see them as often.

Picnic

Earlier this week, I phoned home from work and talked to Maddie. She told me that she and daddy were getting ready to have a picnic lunch in the play tent in the basement. Now if that doesn't warm the cockles of your heart, then you must be heartless. Or at least cockle-less.

When I got home from work, I discovered that they'd taken pictures. C'mon, surely it's GOTTA be warming those cockles NOW...

They're free!

This morning, when the alarm reminded me that it was time to roll out of bed, the first thing my foggy brain registered was the voice of Terry MacLeod telling me (and all the other listeners out there in radio-land) that the three members of the Christian Peacemaker Teams had been released by their captors in Iraq. Hurray! What a long and painful time it must have been for their families, waiting, hoping, and praying for this day to come. I can hardly imagine the anquish. At the same time, their day of celebration must be somewhat bittersweet, knowing that one of the four hostages did not make it out alive.

Perhaps because it was my waking thought, it's been on my mind for much of the day. I had a striking thought. In the spirit of John Lennon's song, "Imagine"... imagine if all the countries involved in the "war on terror" were willing to spend as much money, and send as many people overseas to work on peacebuilding (the kind of work the CPTs were doing) as they do for their armies and warfare. Imagine if their policies were less about "protecting our citizens against the axis of evil" and more about working toward global peace. Imagine if there were as many people willing to serve with CPT as there are in the U.S. Army. Imagine...

Yes, I know I'm a bit of a dreamer, but wouldn't it be a powerful thing if we all had the same dream? In that spirit, I plan to sent a donation to CPT. I figure if I'm willing to pay taxes, some of which goes toward supporting our army, then I should be willing to spend a little money supporting peace too.

Magazine

I like magazines. Or at least I WANT to like them. Especially when I have to spend alot of time in airports and airplanes where I have a bit of time to read, but I'm not really focused enough to get lost in a book. That's why it's so frustrating for me to stand in front of rows and rows of magazines in the store and realize that there is a dull and predictable sameness to them. I suppose they're not ALL the same - I could pick up Popular Mechanics or Motorcycle Repair - but those that are marketed for women sure look homogenous to me.

Seriously. Here's a list of the headlines you can find on the front of almost every woman's magazine:
"Spice up your love life"
"The diet that will change your life"
"Dr. Phil's relationship tips"
"Tips for managing your household budget"
"Fashion feature - clothes for the real you"
"Simple exercises to fit into your busy day"
"Five meals you can make in under half an hour"

If I were to start a magazine, I would call it "Smart Woman", and this would be my list of criteria for its contents:
- There would only be ORDINARY women featured on its pages. NO airbrushing
- There would be NO fashion tips - or if there were any, they would include SENSIBLE SHOES
- There would be smart articles for women with IQs higher than Paris Hilton
- Dr. Phil would NEVER be quoted. NEVER.
- The word "diet" would be banished from the pages. Anyone who dared to use the word would be forced to do penance by eating the whole magazine, cover to cover.
- The index would be easy to find - on the FIRST page (now there's a novel concept!), not buried in the middle of sixteen pages of advertisements
- There would be book recommendations by ordinary people, not those who'd been courted by big publishing companies
- There would be less assumption that women are self-centred, egocentric airheads and more assumption that they are smart and worldly-wise, caring about things like the environment, the millions of people dying of hunger and HIV/AIDS, and the world outside their walk-in closet
- If there were any celebrities featured, they would be the people who had shown strength in the middle of adversity, lived a moral and ethical life, made a difference for social causes, or proved that a marriage and family can stay together even in Hollywood - REAL inspiration
- It would NEVER mention anything about the assumed battle between stay-at-home moms and working-outside-the-home moms because it would assume that women are REALLY smart enough to respect each other's lifestyle choices
- In every issue, it would include some piece of writing that was of literary value - a poem, essay, or short story. Again, it would assume that women are smart enough to want to read that kind of stuff.
- It would also include artistic images - photographs taken by someone other than the fashion photographer, paintings, etc. There would be visual surprises throughout - things that made you just stop and stare at a page for awhile.
- It would not assume that EVERY woman is interested in scrapbooking and stamping
- Some of the recipes included would be about SLOW cooking, not just about FAST cooking

Anyone want to subscribe to my magazine?

A post for Maddie

Sunday morning at church, I was in the middle of a conversation before the service began when I felt a little hand slip into mine. It was a familiar hand, but an unfamiliar gesture. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it was my little Maddie, just turned 4, who’d slipped her hand into mine. For no particular reason, she wanted to hold my hand. It caught me off guard.

If this had been either of my other 2 daughters at 4 years of age, the gesture would have been familiar and expected. But this was Maddie. In her 4 years of life, she has RARELY slipped her hand into mine.

She’s my little independent one. She likes to cuddle now and then, but it’s usually on her terms and it’s rarely because she needs me. Or anyone else, for that matter.

From a really early age, we saw the confidence in her. She “made strange” only 2 or 3 times in her life. She went happily off to nursery, barely looked back when first dropped off at a babysitter’s, and told her Daddy quite emphatically that he shouldn’t hang around long on her first day at preschool. When she hurts herself, she runs to her room to cry, and doesn’t even like it when I go to try to comfort her. “Go away,” she has told me, on many occasions.

She has always assumed people will like her – probably because they usually do. She knows how to charm people. I’ve often commented that if I don’t keep an eye on her at the beach (or other public place) she’ll happily adopt another family and go home with them. Many times, at the beach or park, she’s made herself at home with another family, plopped herself down on their blanket, and shared their snacks. She doesn’t even cast a backwards glance to make sure we’re a safe distance away.

She’s quite convinced that now that she’s 4, she can stay home by herself. Once, when Marcel had to drive me to church, she was emphatic that she’d stay home alone. We played along, got in the car with the other 2 girls, and drove down the road, as she stood at the window and grinned. When we back-tracked and went back to get her, she got mad at me for coming back.

She has a certain quality that draws people to her. When she was smaller, strangers were forever showering her with gifts. She’d go out for coffee or breakfast with her daddy, and almost inevitably someone in the restaurant – a waitress or another patron – would give her a stuffed toy or colouring book. I always worried that this would start going to her head, and she’d become one of those annoyingly precocious kids, but I don’t think she has (perhaps those of you who know her think otherwise?).

She’s an imaginative and fanciful child. She has invented more imaginary friends than anyone I know. She creates little scenarios for all of her imaginary friends, as well as her dollies and bears. Since she discovered the wonders of the digital camera, one of her favourite things to do is videotape herself singing and dancing. It’s quite entertaining when I download the pictures and discover what she’s been up to when no one was watching.

I sometimes wonder if her confidence comes from being so surrounded with love all her life. Being the child who follows a loss has its advantages – we treasured her more than we probably would have otherwise. She was also a bright spot for my mom (and the rest of us) when my dad died. Plus, she had the advantage of always having a stay-at-home parent. Her daddy dotes over her and she gets his undivided attention more than her sisters did.

She’s four now, and yes, she has a bit of an attitude (oh – she’s far from perfect) and she’s a little bit spoiled (yup, it comes with the territory when you’re the youngest), but she continues to delight and amaze me. I hope her confidence carries her through life. I hope she will always be surrounded with love. I hope I get to watch her grow into an amazing, confident, and beautiful woman.

Home again

I'm home - have been since yesterday afternoon, but I've barely had a moment to catch my breath since then. We babysat little Abigail last night, and today I went shopping, cleaned the house, went to watch Julie's last skating lesson, cleaned the house some more, hosted Maddie's birthday party, made photo shirts for the party girls, and, last but not least, made four big pans of lasagna for potluck and party tomorrow. I'm exhausted.

There are lots of posts swimming around in my head, but I'm too tired to entertain any of them right now. Here are some of the things I may blog about in the next couple of days, if I can get around to it. (Tomorrow's another busy day, so it might not happen.)

- Maddie's birthday post. She turned 4 today. She had her first friends birthday party. My big girl.

- My trip pics. I covered quite a few miles on this trip - a road trip across part of Alberta, and then a couple of days in Abbotsford, surrounded by the mountains.

- Observations in an airport. Airports are the best places to people-watch.

- My idea for a new magazine. After staring at walls of magazines in various airports, trying to find one that would interest me, I decided I might have to come up with my own.

- What it's like to walk into an auction mart that's so much like the place Dad spent 25 years of his life that for a moment I could barely breathe.

- The story of the 8 year old boy who decided to give away $236 because he heard stories of hungry children.

Yes, I'll try to find some time soon, but right now my brain needs a little rest. In the meantime, here's a little taste - the morning view from the house where I stayed in Abbotsford - taken just before we left for the airport yesterday. Can you imagine waking up to THIS every morning?

Let this be a lesson to you...

Next time you go on a trip, REMEMBER to read over your itinerary carefully ahead of time. Don't just check the time of your flight. Check the date. Make sure that, if you THINK you're booked on a flight on Monday morning, you don't show up at the airport early only to be told you're REALLY booked on a flight for Sunday, the day before. 'Cause if this happens to you, you'll be really, really bummed. Especially if it's 7:30 in the morning, you can't reach anyone in your office or the travel agency, or the people who are supposed to pick you up in a few hours.

And if it happens to you, don't say I didn't warn you.

And that's all I'll say for now. I ended up in Alberta, all-be-it at a different city than I'd planned, but I'm here, some appointments could be arranged (yes, I made it onto the evening news in Red Deer), and now all I can do about it is laugh.

Tomorrow I fly to Abbotsford. Yes, I checked the date. I am DEFINITELY booked on a flight to Abbotsford tomorrow.

Sweet dreams.

Go west, young woman

I'm heading west again. The fourth time this winter. (It's been a bit much, but the staff situation has been resolved, so it should slow down after this.) I'll be in Alberta and B.C this time around. (Sorry B&S&D&L, no stops in your neck of the woods.)

In Alberta, I'll be spending a bit of time with the new staff I hired - just getting them a little more oriented. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll be on TV in Red Deer - talking about what's going on in Kenya and what we're planning to do about it. The food situation's pretty severe there right now - another dry year after about five dry years in a row. I think of the people I met there last year, and my heart aches for them. I wish the rains would come.

On Wednesday I fly to Abbotsford to attend a major fundraising event there, and meet some of our volunteers. This is my first trip to B.C. in this job.

Four nights away, and then I'll be home again. Since last year's three week trip, the kids barely bat an eye over four nights. They don't love it when I'm away, but they've gotten used to it. It helps that Marcel's home with them - there's stability in that.

Now I have to go finish the laundry so everyone has clean clothes to wear while I'm gone. And then I'll ice the cupcakes for Maddie's preschool birthday party on Tuesday. Fortunately, I'll be home in time for her birthday on Saturday.

I probably won't be near a computer much. I'll catch up with you all later. Cheers!

A good time was had by all

My 100 nouns

house
book
tree
bicycle
candle
peace
friend
path
sight
moment

office
feet
country
art
food
mountain
container
camera
colour
daughters

farm
horse
earth
horizon
airport
window
fire
tent
box
design

words
road
music
ticket
city
lawn chair
fabric
tea
children
flight

monkey
family
rock
journal
poem
wood
blanket
chair
cheese
car

journey
sun
texture
room
justice
bath
leaf
pen
bible
conversation

newspaper
fence
costume
river
door
light
festival
cloud
feather
hand

rain
paper
covenant
wing
zebra
cacophony
daffodil
community
water
butterfly

silence
home
spice
suitcase
challenge
cup
bookstore
depth
kindness
globe

independence
laughter
hike
computer
creativity
downtown
growth
scarf
traveler
summer

International Women's Day

Today is International Women's Day. Rachelle, over at Notes from a Truth-Seeker initiated a Grid Blog for International Women's Day. Since I already posted about a similar topic a couple of posts ago, I wasn't going to bother joining. But after reading several of the blogs she links to, I was inspired, so here's my contribution.

Instead of writing about some of the challenges I've faced as a woman in a male-dominated world (and faith tradition), I'm going to choose instead to celebrate the people - women AND men - who have inspired me, encouraged me, prodded me, affirmed me, mentored me, trusted me, and lit the path for me in my journey as a woman trying to live out my giftedness. I am thankful for the roles all of these people have played in my life. Here they are, in no particular order...

Doreen, drama and music teacher in college - Doreen was unique, quirky, bold, fun, creative and non-traditional. She lived life on her own terms, took risks, didn't worry about what other people thought of her, dared to be different, and lived life out loud. She taught me to trust my own creativity and let the world see my uniqueness.

Gisele, boss, mentor, friend - Gisele was the first person who gave me a shot at leadership. She believed I could do it even before I believed it myself. She gave me a shot and then stood by cheering me on while I fumbled my way through. She celebrated me, challenged me, coached me, and taught me that the old style of management didn't have to be the only way.

Other amazing mentor/bosses/friends I've had - Ellen, Cathy, Susan, Diane - They've all influenced my style of leadership. They've taught me that the greatest leaders learn to serve. They've made me want to strive for excellence.

My sister - I don't think anyone has shared the journey as much as ccap. She came through life with the same baggage, and along the way we supported each other, encouraged each other, taught each other, and challenged each other. When we hear a sexist comment, a simple glance between us is enough to affirm that we both "get it".

My dad - it's a bit of a surprise that he made the list, since, in many ways, he epitomized the traditional, patriarchal male. Yes, he made some mistakes along the way, and I could choose to resent him for them. BUT he did some things right too. He wasn't afraid to admit that he had great respect for smart women (eg. Barbara Frum) and he never doubted that I WAS one. AND when I wanted to learn to drive the tractor like my older brothers, he let me. It may seem like a small thing, but in a strange way, it affirmed me.

My brothers - They have always loved me, trusted me, set a good example for me, and treated me like an equal. They affirm me and let me know it when they're proud of me. What more could I ask for?

Some of the strong women I watched while I was growing up - Eleanor, Marlene, Mrs. Rainka, Irene (to name just a few) - They eached showed incredible strength in unique and profound ways.

My powerful and compassionate friends - Michele, Linda, Yvonne, Suzanne, Jayne, Julie, Laurel, Sue, Lorna, Kari, Diana, Lenora, Eveline (to name just a few) - They have been no end of inspiration to me. They've shown me what women are capable of, they've challenged me when I went off track, they've taught me that boldness needs to be balanced with compassion, they've shared creative moments with me, and they've made life a heck of a lot of fun along the way.

The incredible men I've had the opportunity to co-lead with - Rob, Wes, Jim, Dan, Larry, Ron, Bob (to name just a few) They've never assumed they had any more right to power than me. They've dared to be different - to build a new model for a godly man. They've been vulnerable, shown compassion and honesty, and fought for truth, respect and honour - for ALL of us.

The woman I met at Act II restaurant back in 1988 (or thereabouts) - She was the first woman pastor (from a Mennonite church) I ever met. She opened a door for me and showed me that a different way is possible.

The incredible 70ish woman ccap and I met hiking in the Alps - She epitomized the woman I want to be in 30 or so years - adventurous, bold, and still excited about looking around the next corner.

My mom - She taught me compassion. She showed me what it means to be a servant. She didn't always understand my goals, but she didn't stand in the way of me reaching them. She believes in me and loves to brag to her friends whenever I get something published.

My daughters - They make me want to be bold - to make the world a better place for them. They make me believe in possibilities.

My husband - What can I say? I saved him for last, because in some ways, he's had the most profound influence. He never ONCE assumed that he was the only head of the household. He approached our relationship as a partnership right from the start and defied anyone who suggested he should do otherwise. He trusted me and believed in me and pushed me to be all that I could be. He never batted an eye at some of my ideas that could have been dismissed as "silly" (like getting him an engagement ring, or keeping my own name). He took a risk and chose to become the primary caregiver, even though it wasn't the trendy thing to do. He affirms our daughters and teaches them that they are capable of anything.

I am woman, hear me roar! But not just roar, I hum too. :-)

Thank you to all those who've been a part of my incredible life.

Ideas

I love ideas. I could eat, sleep, breathe, dream ideas. I wish I could make a living just coming up with ideas. Of course, if I did, the source of them would probably dry up and I'd run out of money, but I can dream, can't I?

I have lots of ideas right now. Poems, articles, projects, books, freelance stuff, workshops, websites - you name it. I don't know if it's the season - awaiting the coming of Spring - but for some reason, my mind seems full of stuff I'd like to try.

If only I had the time. And the opportunity. I love my life, but sometimes it's a little frustrating - being so tied to routine and practicality. I have to go to work every day. I have to be an involved mom and wife. I have to participate in cleaning the house, paying the bills, doing the laundry, making sure there's food to eat... in between, there's so little time to let ideas take root.

Someday, there will be more time again. Someday, I will quit my job and attempt to be a freelance writer and consultant. Some day...
____________

With child

I’m staring at the white page
pregnant with ideas
waiting for birth
feeling the labour pains before they come
yet longing to see the child emerge
longing to introduce her to the world
longing to breath deep the scent of her
longing to hold her and watch her grow

I want to find a cocoon
of space and time
to settle into birthing
to let these ideas take shape

But there are so many things
life, motherhood, a paying job
that get in the way
that stop me from retreating
into that cocoon
to wait for metamorphosis

These unformed offspring
wrestle within me
fighting for their right to life
fighting to be heard
and seen and touched

They have no choice
but to await
another season, another time
I will remain an expectant mother
hopeful they do not die
before their chance at life

I've come a long way baby

Tomorrow, I will facilitate a workshop with about 12 people (mostly men) who are all high level representatives of different church organizations - either executive directors, or senior level bureaucrats. They're letting little ol' me stand in front of them and lead their discussion. Not only that, but they've asked me to start the day with a 15 minute "Biblical framework". In other words, at the beginning of the day, I get to stand in front of 10 churchy big-wigs and preach the Bible to them! Hehe! It's a little heady, I have to admit. Many of them have been to seminary, worked in overseas missions, preached in pulpits, and lead large ministries. But they're trusting ME to interpret scripture for THEM.

About twenty-five years ago, I was a teenager in a small conservative church. Because there weren't always enough people to fulfill all the duties, I offered to read the scripture one Sunday morning. I wasn't allowed to. Wrong gender. What would people think, letting a woman read the Bible aloud in church?

A few years later, I was in Bible college and wanted to serve in a leadership position. But I could only go so far. I was elected student vice-president. I couldn't be president. Wrong gender. School rules. A woman can't lead the men. (In the end, as my friend said, I "lead from behind", since I had more natural leadership ability than the male elected president.)

All I can say is "I've come a long way, baby!"

Yes, I think women still have a long way to go in terms of having their leadership abilities affirmed in some Christian circles, but thank God I've found some circles that affirm mine. I can't fit into a Christian paradigm that won't let me live out my giftedness.

Tomorrow, I will continue to live out my calling. It may not be the most inspired thing this group of leaders will hear in their lifetime, but it will still be valuable. Even though I'm a woman.