Song of Solomon is a lyrical poem praising the virtues of love between a man and a woman. The book is a love song that takes the form of a dialogue between a woman and a man with complimenting choruses from her friends, often presented as the “Young Women of Jerusalem.”

I disagree with the oft proposed notion that it is a linear progression of a man and woman from courtship through marriage. Nor do I believe it to be love confined within our modern Christian ideal of marriage. Rather, I would argue that Song of Solomon belongs to the category of Hebrew wisdom literature, and as such, was written to teach about the beauty and purity of human sexuality. It also extols the virtues of monogamy. The teachings of this book could be seen as a response to David’s sexual sin and Solomon’s idolatry.

At the corner of Mercy and Grace

I’ve had an open blog post sitting on my screen since Monday. It was all about how frustrating traffic is, how it infuriates me, and how, as I was driving, I thought of this VeggieTales song that my kids love, “Stop, and go with mercy.” It’s all about how when we feel wronged, we should stop, think about the mercy shown to us through Christ on the cross, and show some mercy. Forgive. Be full of grace.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the day in the Christian calendar that marks the beginning of the season of Lent. A season of preparation leading up to the death and resurrection of Christ, Easter. This preparation is traditionally done through prayer, penance, repentance, almsgiving, and self-denial. I try to also use it as a time to practice grace and mercy. To forgive, as God has forgiven us, and be an example of Christ’s love in the lives of those around me.

In the past I have done various things, however for the past two years I have made a commitment to pray for others during Lent. This has grown to be an important part of my life that extends beyond Lent, though during this period I will again become more intentional about it and commit to praying for people every day.

In addition, I will also be giving up meat as a form of self-denial and am committing to daily meaningful reading of my Bible. I read my Bible most days, but rarely is it for illumination or revelation; there isn’t a lot of reflection outside of what I needed to read it for (a paper, class, etc.)

And most importantly, I am going to try and be a light in the lives of those around me. There is a word in Luke 1:28, κεχαριτωμένη, which is Greek and interpreted as “full of grace.” It is in reference to Mary, who is full of the grace of God, though I would say that through the resurrection of Christ we are all κεχαριτωμένη. So in this Lenten season I will try to embody this word and share it with those in my life.

Stop, and go with mercy.

“For dust you are and to dust you will return.” – Gen. 3.19
“All are from the dust, and to dust all return.” – Ecclesiastes 3:20

Journey Small Group

I am loving the Monday evening class I am taking this semester: Pastoral Care and Counseling. I’m only two classes in and I’m already learning tons. This last week we were talking about communities of care, people, friends, groups, in our lives that are there for us. There to support us when things go bad. There to support us in times of need and in times of crisis. There to help with what we need, when we need it. These are also often groups in which we can be authentic, be ourselves. Groups in which we feel comfortable; where we don’t have to wear a mask. We’ve all had or have these communities in our life. Sometimes they were short-lived, sometimes they span years or our entire lifetime.

When the prof asked us to break up into groups to discuss the communities of care in our lives, my brain went into overdrive trying to consider the options, consider the times in my life that I have had these communities. Do I have one now? Who would they be? What does it look like? What about in the past? What did that look like then?

And sadly, I actually found it a lot easier to think of all of the times when we went through things and didn’t have that community of support. My wife and I, before we got married, did the whole long distance relationship for just over 3 years. Sometimes it was really rough and I didn’t have many people around me for support. When our son was born, we didn’t have much of a community in place to provide much support. Transitioning away from our church last year but a lot of strain on existing communities of care in our life to the point that they lost a lot of their potency.

But then I started thinking about the communities of care that we have had, and one especially stands out in my mind.

Shortly after getting married my wife and I started to look for a new church, a church that was ours together. Not hers. Not mine. Ours. I can’t remember how long we looked, or even how many different churches we went to, but I remember our first couple of Sundays at Journey.

They met in the gymnasium of a local school, and we saw a sandwich sign on the side of the road one day and decided to go check it out. There were just over 100 people or so that met on a Sunday morning. They had a great little worship band (with an awesome worship pastor), a pastor whose sermons I enjoyed, they did communion every Sunday, and were overall a friendly group.

We got involved very quickly and were playing in the worship band and helping with setup almost weekly. We connected with the people there, got involved with a small group, and quickly made friends.

One aspect of our community of care there was the worship team. It helped that some of us were also in a small group together and the worship pastor was an awesome guy that we got along with quite well. It was nice having the weekly practices and then playing together on Sunday. It builds a relationship different from your average friendship. I guess it’s kind of what band friendships are like, you get to know about each other in different ways than your typical surface level relationship. I appreciated that. We connected with the other band members. We connected with the worship pastor. I learned a lot playing with them. I grew a lot too, both as an individual and as a bass player.

And then there was our small group. I loved our small group. I love the people that were in our small group. For us, that evening that we would get together, once a week, was easily the highlight of our week. Mama Bean and I were in our first year of marriage, each working two jobs, stressed, and rarely saw each other. But getting together with our friends was vitally important. And what great people they were, and diverse too.

I think telling people about the diversity of our group is my favorite part. :) The group consisted of the host couple, a couple that were our age, but with a baby and a toddler. Us, mid-twenties, newly married. A single lady a few years older than us who had gone to Bible college. A single mom with a toddler. Another couple about our age with  a baby and a toddler. And a single guy a few years younger than us. And it wasn’t just on the surface that we were eclectic, but within as well. We all came from different backgrounds, different theologies, different thought processes.

Seriously, they were/are such a blessing to us. (I say us, because I know they were extremely important to Mama Bean as well) They tolerated accepted my questioning. My theology that came from out in left field. My potty mouth. My questionable thought process. They were a group of people with whom I could be truly authentic. I never felt judged (at least, not in a negative way). I never felt unwelcome. I never felt unaccepted. Even when our theology really didn’t mesh, I never felt like my opinion wasn’t heard or wasn’t important.

They were exactly what we needed at that point in our lives.

Then we moved away, relationships began to fade. We still have Facebook, we still occasionally chat. We try and see them when we are in town, but even that has gotten harder. It’s not that I love them any less, but time and distance fade relationships. Life moves on. And that is okay. It does not diminish the extraordinary role they played in my life. I still miss them dearly. I wish we still got together on a weekly basis and had interesting discussions, fun discussions, deep discussions.

When it comes to communities of care, that church, those groups, those people, are what I think of.

Breakfast with Bean

This morning I had breakfast with my son. Just the two of us. Sprout was still sleeping and Mama Bean was just waking up and getting ready for work. I was rushing around the kitchen getting ready for work with Bean underfoot and asking questions when I stopped and asked if he wanted to have breakfast with me.

I only had a few minutes because I had to get out the door to ensure I was at work on time, but I stopped, poured us each a bowl of mini-wheats and took the time to eat a bowl of cereal with my little boy. It wasn’t anything fancy and it took less than 5 minutes but it totally made my day. It is easy to get caught up in the busyness of everything and I was preoccupied with the fact that I had my first class of the semester when I arrived at work. I’m really glad I took those few minutes and spend them with my son.

Being 3 and living in the moment, I’m sure it wasn’t something he thought about after we left the table, but over the years the little things add up.

It was with the support and encouragement of this group that helped me restore fitness as a priority in my life. I was tired of being fat. I was tired of huffing and puffing when I went up stairs. I was tired of getting sweaty when I played with my kids. I knew I needed to make a change and it was with the support of others that I did it.

Not to say it wasn’t without its challenges. Losing weight is hard. Making exercise a habit is hard. Changing your diet is hard. Not long after starting down the path towards being #DadFit, on a day when I was feeling particularly discouraged, I had a friend say something to me that changed my life. She asked me if I liked being fat. And you know? I didn’t. I hated it. I was embarassed by my body and the state of my physical fitness.

It was that one little question that reinvigorated me and kept me going whenever I wanted to quit. When I wanted to skip a workout, when I wanted to eat more than I should, or crap that I shouldn’t, I’d hear her voice in my head asking me, “Do you like being fat?” And it gave me the strength to stay strong.

This isn’t to say that I didn’t slip up. I still ate junk, skipped workouts, and slacked off. But I paid for it, and when you realize how much work you’ve put into something only to have it quickly slip away because of a moment of weakness or laziness, it makes it that much easier to stick with it.

Since reaching my goal sometime mid-summer (my initial goal was to get down to 200lbs), I started to slack off. I had reached the goal I had set for myself, but knew that I wanted more. I wanted to lose more weight, get even more fit, but it was (and continues to be) a struggle. It’s easy to get caught up in the mindset that I’ve done so much, isn’t that enough? But it isn’t. I want more.

This year I cycled 160km in two days. I put in over 1500km on my bike this year. I raced my first season of cyclocross. I lost more than my goal weight – at one point weighing in at 189lbs. I can play with my kids without getting out of breath. I can run up stairs without getting winded. But I want more

For the coming year I’m working on setting new fitness goals. I’m in a great place, but I’m going to do more. I want to ride a century (100mi in a day). I want to do a road race. I want to place better in my cyclocross races. I want a real 6-pack.

These are my goals for 2013 and I will achieve them. I did some pretty awesome things in 2012 and I’m going to continue this pattern in the coming years.

Merry Christmas

This year we did things a little differently than normal – we stayed home.

Since moving halfway across the country 4 years ago, my wife and I have been traveling back to Calgary for Christmas each year. Both of our families are there, so it just makes sense. We’d go for a week or so and get to see family and friends. It was wonderful to spend the holidays with friends and family. We’d try to fit in as many visits with friends as possible, and arrange it around family events and schedules. We’d have a blast seeing people we no longer get to spend time with, but as everyone knows who travels to see family and friends, it can be a stressful time. Fun, but stressful.

I didn’t want Christmas to be like that. All the running around, the juggling, the balancing. There was very little relaxing, very little down time. It was wonderful to see those family and friends we don’t get to see often enough, but I felt like it was starting to take away from Christmas. So this year we decided to stay home. To start making our own Christmas traditions as a little family.

To be honest, it was a little strange. In the last 30 years, I have spent all but one Christmas morning at home with my parents and brothers. That was the year we moved out here (4 years ago) and couldn’t afford to go home. We’d wake up, open our stockings and presents, and then sit around with each other while my parents cooked Christmas dinner. To not be home for that was a little strange. But it was also kind of nice.

Bean came downstairs and woke us up like he does every morning. We went and got Sprout from her crib and together went into the living room to watch their faces as they saw the mound of presents under the tree. Mama Bean and I made coffee and croissants (Pilsbury), while the kids *patiently* waited for us to finish so we could start opening presents. We then gathered around, just the four of us, and opened presents. Sprout had a pretty spectacular toddler meltdown, “mine, mine, mine!” But all-in-all, it was pretty great. It was different, and I missed the company of my parents and my brothers, but I like starting to create out own Christmas traditions and rituals.

Mama Bean and I have been off since Friday and don’t have to go back to work until the 2nd. That’s a long time to spend at home with the kids, and I’m excited to see what this next week brings as we enjoy this Christmas season together. Less outside time than we’d hoped with it being sub-minus-25, but I’m looking forward to the downtime at home.

It was a trade-off. Less stress and a chance to start creating new traditions with my wife and kids at the cost of not spending Christmas with my family, a tradition I have always enjoyed. I missed my parents and my brothers this morning, but really appreciated the intimate atmosphere of the four of us huddled around our tree opening presents from each other and being thankful for the amazing family I have.

Today was a pretty awesome Christmas. I’m looking forward to many more and thankful for the amazing life God has blessed me with.

“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not: for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’

That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

We did have a nice turn of events this past weekend though. Without prompting, my daughter (20mo) came up to me indicating she needed to use the potty. I picked her up and rushed her to the potty where she actually went! We clapped and cheered and gave her a treat (1 smartie for pee, 3 for a BM, and if it is at their request, a hot wheels car/truck). She was pretty excited.

The next day she asked to go again, and did. (This is what passes for entertainment in our household these days)

My son, on the other hand, has lost complete interest. He hasn’t done much in the last few weeks, though I’m hoping she will prompt him to start again. He’s great at letting us know AFTER the fact, which is a step. Baby steps.

I’m trying hard to keep it from frustrating me. And have done pretty well so far. Some days it can get annoying, especially since I know he knows better. But I figure he’s not going to kindergarten in diapers, so we have a while yet. :)

With holidays coming up and my wife and I off from the 24th until the 2nd, we are going to step it up a bit and do a bit of an intensive potty training to see if we can kick start something. It’d be awesome to lose the diapers (and the money it would save would be a huge bonus as well). We’ll see how it goes. We’re going to stay positive, keep the frustration levels to a minimum and try to make it a positive experience for all.

I celebrated my son’s 3rd birthday, took the kids trick-or-treating on Halloween, had multiple visits from family and friends, made some friends, learned a ton about myself, my wife, and my kids.

I took two classes, a first and a second year course to try and easy myself into it. They were good: Third World Theology and Anabaptist Beginnings. I aced my Third World Theology class. A+ on my term paper, A’s on everything else. My Anabaptist class didn’t go quite as well. I managed to pull off A’s in everything except my final paper, my term paper that was worth 30% of my mark. Now, I don’t know how well I did on my final either, but I worked my ass off for that paper and to end up with a B+ (76%) is extremely disappointing. I’ll accept a B+ on my exam, even a B. I know I didn’t do as well as I had hoped on it, but to receive this mark on my paper was kinda crappy. Sure, a B+ is still a decent mark, but…

—————–

How does one become a better writer? A better academic writer. See, when I did my computer diploma it was almost all math. Calculus and physics made up a substantial portion of those two years, and I rocked them. I graduated 3rd in my class and worked hard to do so. But with math, improvement is easy. Well, improving isn’t easy, it’s hard work. It’s hours and hours of practice. It’s hours of sitting there and memorizing formulas, learning problems, and practicing until you know it. You can’t do that with writing. I can write, and write, and write, but still be writing at the same level I was when I started. How do I improve? Do I need to read more? If so, what? Are there exercises I can do? Things I can practice? Something I can memorize?

This is foreign territory to me. I’m the equivalent of a 3rd year university student and I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t want to just coast along. I just switched my path from a 3 year BA to a 3 year BA honors which means I am going to have to write a thesis. I can’t do that writing at the level I do now. So how do I improve? And how do I improve while working 40 hours a week and being a husband and father? These aren’t rhetorical questions, I’d really love to know. I’d love some advice and recommendations. Thoughts and suggestions. :)

Cuteness from last summer

Some days, when I want my heart to do funny things, I look at random pictures of my kids when they were younger. This was last summer.

Lest We Forget

Each year in November little containers with poppies start showing up on shop counters throughout Canada. Inspired by the poem “In Flanders Field,” poppies have been worn since the 1920′s to commemorate soldiers who have died in war. Money is raised in support of the Royal Canadian Legion who support veterans. The poppies come out two weeks before November 11th, Remembrance Day, and are typically worn on the left, close to the heart.

For some, the choice to wear a poppy has become a political statement. I do not want to get caught up in the political rhetoric, I just want to show that I won’t forget those soldiers whose lives were tragically shortened.

I wear this poppy, not with hollow remembrance, but with active thoughts of what these men and women died for. Some died for a cause, for an ideology, for freedom, for democracy. Some died because they were forced to be there. All who died were people. Real people like you and me. People with dreams and aspirations, lives and families. Some died because they thought they were doing what was right. Some died because the government forced them to be there.

I wear this poppy in remembrance of those soldiers who died in service to their country and I also wear it in support of those currently serving. I have friends serving all across this country; friends that I love and support.

I wear this poppy, not because it celebrates or glorifies war, but for the soldiers. For the men and women that served and died and those that continue to serve. For my friends. For my family.

I wear this poppy as a reminder of the wars and conflicts that have happened in the past and those that are happening now.

I’ve never been there. I’ve never participated. I’ve never experienced what it is like. I don’t know if Remembrance Day is the best way to remember their sacrifice, if it is enough, if it even matters. I don’t know if this poppy is the best way to show my support or if the poppy has gotten so wrapped up in controversy and political garbage that it has lost its original intent.

But I know why I wear this poppy. I know the intent in my heart. I am not just paying lip-service. I am actively remembering each and every day I put this poppy on.

I wear this poppy in active remembrance and on November 11th I will stop and spend a moment in silence with those around me to commemorate those fallen soldiers.

—–

For those that don’t know the poem In Flanders Fields, it is a poem written by a Canadian physician, Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae in 1915.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.