It's a Beautiful Life

Who Gets to Call You Beautiful?

2023-04-13T20:47:00.000-07:00

Who gets to call you beautiful?

Is it the man/ the woman/ the child/ the friend/ the co-worker/ the neighbour/ the random person you passed by on the street yesterday?

Who gets to call you beautiful?

The one who broke your heart? Who lied? Who left? The one who no longer stands by your side?

Why

on earth

would you ever trust the words or thoughts or opinions of THAT person –

you know, the one who hurts and harms and hates

the one who throws and casts out pain and prejudice, damage and deceit.

Why

on earth

would you allow yourself to be weighed/ measured/ valued/ inspected

evaluated

so that you determine your worth

through tainted eyes?

Why do we allow that one to decide our beauty, our worth, our value?

You know who gets to call you beautiful?

The man/ the woman/ GOD/ the child/ the friend/ the co-worker/ YOU/ the neighbour/ the random person you passed by on the street yesterday,

The one who built up your heart. Who loved. Who stayed. Who always remains by your side.

Why

on earth

wouldn’t you trust the words and thoughts and opinons of THAT person –

you know, the one who holds and delights in and supports

the one who cherishes and understands, who shoulders burdens and shares life.

Why

on earth

wouldn’t you allow yourself to be valued/ cherished/ loved/ held/ honoured

respected

so that you determine your SELF

through the eyes of one who loves?

Who gets to call you beautiful?

The one who sees and knows your heart.

- bv

Does Devastation Have the Final Word?

2023-03-16T09:41:00.007-07:00

It was every parent's worst nightmare!

It shocked our small town.

A nine-year old boy named Patrick - who played in the same small-town hockey league as my brother....had been hit by a drunk driver.

We heard he'd been playing ball hockey with friends when it happened.  

But then a drunk driver hit him and crushed his legs.
They had to be surgically removed from the knee down.

Can you imagine receiving this news?
About your child? Your sibling? Your friend? Your neighbor? Your team-mate?

Devastation comes at us in all forms.  Devastation ripples out and spreads shock and pain to the connected communities of people and families all the time.

And stuns us back into the realization that life is fragile and susceptible to sudden and devastating change.
In the blink of an eye.

Reminders like the accident that stole this young boy's legs are enough to make us stay in bed with the covers over our heads.
Who wants to face tomorrow if tomorrow brings with it the chance of pain and loss?

Not me.

But....

That nine-year old boy's life DID NOT END the day his legs were crushed and severed.
His story was NOT done.

Yesterday I was back in that small town and I saw a plaque beside the "Welcome to Fergus " sign.

The plaque proudly proclaimed that this little place was the home of Patrick Anderson - 3 time Paralympic champion and 4 time medalist.

What??!!

I remember little Patick....his devastating and the grief that flooded our community.

But Patrick did NOT stay down.

He healed, he grew more tenacious, a year after his accident he began playing wheelchair basketball and today he is considered to be the BEST wheelchair basketball player in the world.

Oh...and he's married, has 3 kids, is a musician and public speaker.

Which is a good reminder that devastation does NOT have the final word on our lives.

I'm not sure if Patrick is Christian, but I am sure that God is a God of healing and redirection who gives us the confidence to KNOW that when we look to and wait on God, we will ALWAYS rise again!

So....if you are facing devastation today, keep waiting on tomorrow.  God can redeem even this.

("But as for me, I will look to the LORD; I will wait for the God of my salvation; my God will hear me.  Rejoice not over me, O my enemy; when I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness, the LORD will be a light to me."  Micah 7: 7&8)
.
.
.
bv

#womenencouragers

The Trauma of SILENCE.

2023-03-16T09:36:00.002-07:00

**may contain trauma triggers**

Many years ago, she was assaulted.  In broad daylight.  She screamed, struggled, and ran home to hide.  Later, a neighbour knocked on the door to tell her parents that he had witnessed everything.

Her parents had no idea how to handle this, and so they decided upon Silence. 

"If we never talk about this, if we never bring it up with her or talk about it to anyone else, maybe she will forget!  Maybe it will make her feel less upset/scared/traumatized.  Let this never be spoken of again," they reasoned.

They loved her so much and they meant well.   

But their Silence hushed any chance of a full and healthy recovery.
And heaped shame, blame, and embarrassment upon an already traumatic event
.

Life seems so much easier if we don't talk about the tough topics, doesn't it?  If we skip over the obvious drinking problem or tendency towards violence or inappropriate behaviour, if we gently avoid discussion on the giant family issue that's tearing us apart.

Life and gatherings seem so much easier if we can just talk about the weather or the latest hockey game or the government or what's on Netflix.

(Shall we just avoid those HUGE and IMPORTANT topics like a faith crisis, like addiction issues, like betrayal and marital breakdown, like infertility or miscarriage, like disappointment or abuse, like pornography and church abuse, like suicide....?)

In doing so, we can talk around that Giant Elephant in the Room, sitting there all big and annoying and interrupting everything.

But why?

Why don't we talk about what's on our heart? Why don't we travel the dark roads with one another?  Why are we unwilling to  expose to the Light of Jesus the darkness of this world?

Silence stifles.  It stops conversations.  It shames and blames.  It invites judgement and stigma.

But when we break the silence, we provide a space for important conversations (we engage the Elephant!)  We invite compassion and healing and understanding.  We lay stigma aside and see people.....hurting people in need of Jesus love and kindness.

Friends, engage the Elephant and end the trauma of silence today!

.
.
.
.
#womenencouragers #trauma

Breaking the SILENCE.

2023-03-16T09:34:00.004-07:00

When they entered the church, an audible hush could he heard.  Their twenty-something son had suddenly and tragically died the night before. 
And they showed up at church grasping for the hope of Jesus and the comfort of His people.

They sat right beside me and I tensed.   I had no idea - NO IDEA - what to say.

Finally, I scootched over and whispered, "I'm so sorry for your loss...I just....I don't know what to say..."

She turned a tear-streaked face toward me and I looked into eyes hollowed by grief and pain.  

"That's okay.  Sometimes no words are the best," she whispered.  And then her cold hand clutched mine with desperation. As if I'd offered her a lifeline or anchor of hope.

We held hands and wept side-by-side for the duration of the service.

It was awkward.
It was uncomfortable. 
It was inconvenient.

But it was right.

How do we break the silence when we don't know what to say?

We say, "I don't know what to say, but I'm sorry about ______. "
Or
We don't even use words.

We offer a hug, a shoulder to lean on, a pat, a text, a prayer right then and there, an email, an emoji (for goodness sakes....it can be as easy as an emoji!)
What we do do....is break the silence.

Why?

When we wade into the awkward and break the silence, we :

1.  Acknowledge someone else's pain

2.  Offer space to talk about it.  Please don't assume that a person "doesn't want to talk about it".  Perhaps this painful thing is ALL they want to talk about.  You offer to listen and let them decide if they want to talk!

3.  Lessen someone else's burden JUST by being there.  Just by being WITH!

4.  Push back the darkness of pain and grief just a little bit....by extending Jesus love, light, and compassion.

5.  Encourage a culture where we wade into the awkward for the people we love.

Can you imagine a world where we talked each other through our pain?

Be the one to break the silence today.  
Talk.  Listen.  Love.  Repeat.

.
.
.
.
#womenencouragers #breakthesilence
#talk #listen #whensilencehurts

The STING of Silence.

2023-03-16T09:31:00.000-07:00

He loomed over me and screamed in my face. Spittle clung to the corners of his raging mouth. I stepped backward, afraid that any response would incite further rage.

I was in Costco with my four young children and years later, I'm still uncertain why the man was so angry.

Years later, I still feel panicked and shaky as I recollect the encounter.

Years later, I recall an EVEN GREATER HURT than the screaming man .....and that is the stinging silence of the people around me.

The day that man spittle-screamed in my face, my four young children hid behind me while I glanced around for help or support or anything.

A woman quickly glanced away and feigned absorbed interest in the socks she was holding.

Two men walked speedily in a wide berth around me, my kids and the screamer.

A Costco worker folded shirts with her head tucked down, working extra hard to not look our way.

The building was packed with men and women who were busily shopping for their bulk-sized groceries but not one - NOT ONE - stepped forward to intervene, or stop the abusive yelling, or ask me if I was okay afterward.

"Not my business", I can imagine them saying to one another, or 
"Not my place, or
I'm not good at confrontation, or
I just don't want to pick sides, or
It's just so awkward!"

My thoughts on this sort of silence?

Self-justified cowardice.

We live in a world where good and evil are always at war and we must - WE MUST - always stand up for, support, and intervene when wrong or injustice or sin is happening.

It is always our business and always the place and always the time.

If we stay silent, our silence picks a side because our silence CONDONES the wrong/sin/injustice, or at the very least lets the wrong/sin/ justice slide.

And

Our silence HOLDS BACK support, love, care, and battle for the victims of wrong/sin/injustice.

Imagine if Jesus said, "I just don't want to be awkward.  I'm really not into confrontation..."

Imagine if Martin Luther King Jr said, "It's not really the right time to speak up...."

My friends, Speak Up against injustice, 
because when you don't 
your Silence stings!

.
.
.
#womenencouragers #whensilencehurts

Us against You??

2023-03-16T09:29:00.001-07:00

Today, our team lost.

Even with the Before-Game strategy carefully reviewed in the van on the way over (Attack! Attack! Attack!) -

Even though there was passing and shooting and pucks pinging off the  boards -

Even though our goalie achieved contortionist status as he sat in goalie-padded splits and swiped a puck out of midair- 

Even though the coaches cajoled and coaxed and cheered and criticized and commanded - 

Even then, we lost.

And the other team won. 

 It was their first victory of the season and their end-of-game celebration rivaled the greatest Stanley Cup playoff victory of all time.  Sticks and gloves and helmets were thrown into the air and rained down like festive confetti.

Forwards and defense grabbed their goalie in a hug and they all fell to the ground in a communal embrace of joy.

They cheered and cheered and cheered whilst proud parents clicked pics to share with anyone and all who cared about a small victory in a house league in a tucked away arena of my hometown. 

My son's friend was on that team and he exited the dressing room proudly wearing an army tag necklace with the words "NEVER QUIT!" etched onto the back. 

"It's why we won!" he gushed to my son.

I expected disappointment or irritation from my child.  Possibly about one hour of hockey-loss despair. 

Instead he loaded his hockey bag and stick into the back of my van and said, "I'm kinda glad they won today. They deserved it." 

The game is so much more than Us against You, isn't it?

It's about a thousand thousand collective experiences.
It's about sharing the fight and the dream and the sweet hard-earned victories with others.
It's about communal despair for the losses. 
It's about teamwork that extends beyond the team.

 It's about Us AND You.

.
.
.
.
bv

#hockeythoughts #arenainspirations #womenencouragers #loss #win #hockey

The Good Old Hockey Game??

2023-03-16T09:27:00.003-07:00

The good old hockey game took a dark turn this past weekend...

I was rinkside in good Canadian style, decked out in my winter parka and toque, nursing a Tim's medium regular, cheering on my baby boy and his hockey teammates when I heard it:

Blood-curdling screams of raw rage ripped from the throat of the angriest eleven- year old I've ever seen.  His shoulders curled in and he thrashed and slammed his stick on the ice over and over and over again.

And again.

I stopped clapping over the winning goal that my son's team had scored.  I stopped because it was obvious that the screaming defenseman from the opposing team had lost control. 

His screaming and stick-slamming continued and suddenly I realized: he's stuck. 

This poor boy is out-of-control stuck. 

But before I or anyone else could think or do or say anything, his teammate swooped in.  Literally he skate-swooped in, slid a hockey-gloved arm around the screaming boy and HELD HIM. 
 It was part restraining hold, part hug and the screaming suddenly ceased.
His body slumped and relaxed in the tight hold, his stick clattered useless to the ice.

His teammate held him for a few more seconds.
"You good?" I imagine him whispering before letting go.

Then they both retrieved their hockey sticks and skated to the bench.

The moment passes so quickly and could have easily been lost and forgotten in a game that was nail-biting, exciting, and fast.

But, for me, it's the most memorable moment of the game.

The moment when one teammate is in DESPERATE need of help, and another one shows up. 

That's teamwork at its finest, isn't it?  Friendship at its best.  Hockey or any other sport showing its most beautiful side.

Because goals are important, assists are amazing; saves are special and penalties perhaps are best forgotten.....but it's the teamwork and showing up for each other and being there for one another when we need help, that's the stuff of memories!

The good old hockey game took a dark turn this weekend.  But, thanks to a teammate, the darkness was pushed back and did not win.

Kindness and teamwork and love did.

.
.
.
bv

#hockeygame #womenencouragers #hockey #teamwork #help #lovewins #sports

Raising our Daughters - FIGHT for her!

2022-09-10T11:31:00.002-07:00

Just to be clear....I'm not JUST talking to the  women who've birthed girls......I'm talking to the men and women who are PRESENT in the lives of the next generation of girls.  I'm talking to the teachers / counselors / aunts / uncles / mothers / fathers/ writers /pastors / neighbors / friends / grandparents.

You, too, are raising daughters.

So....FIGHT for her.  

There will be times when she cannot navigate this life because it's too heavy.  Talk to her, guide her, pray with her, get her the help she needs.

Be her voice.  Be her fingers tapping out phone numbers and making connections.  Be her boundary-guard and fiercely hiss at anyone who dares cross her boundaries. 

Unleash your inner adult warrior and fight for her.

There will be times when hormones or mental health struggles or physical health worries burden her or confuse her or make her mess up.  

Be the stability she needs.  Be strong and steady.  Be her anchor and anchor her to the unending steadiness that is Jesus.  

There will be times when she has forgotten her password or needs to figure out math or needs guidance traversing the social dynamics of high school.

Be present.  Be all ears.  Be gracious.  Be patient (oh....be so patient).   

There will be times when relationships are tangled and mixed up and messy.  When a sibling or a friend has ghosted her or cut her off or ignored her or sent her a nasty text.

Love her!  Tell her that you will be her army   on the battlegrounds of this relationship. Embolden her with your words and ways of love.

There will be launchings.  To kindergarten, Sunday school, high school, camp, college/university, and beyond. She will need you fight for her.....to dry her tears and teach her how to boil an egg.  

There will be mistakes.  She may lash out or call you names, she may question her faith, she may question other things you dare not repeat.  Ah....these are the sweetest moments of all!  Lean in, Warriors, and fight the hardest for her here.  

Fight for her, with her, and alongside her.  Fight over her and behind her.  

Just keep on fighting.  

She needs you.

.
.
bv
#womenencouragers #fight #raisingher

Raising our Daughters: Have MANY Conversations (Sometimes Talk).

2022-08-08T09:46:00.004-07:00

Raising Our Daughters: Have MANY Conversations. (Sometimes talk.)

Raising our daughters - and our sons, for that matter - means we need to be doing a lot of talking and even more listening.  

We need to talk about All The Things.

Talk about school and friends and relationships; talk about God and faith and a prayer life; talk about stress and healthy stress-relief options; talk about sex and sexuality; talk about social media and cultural influences; talk about mental health.

And ensure that more than half of these conversations involve you just listening.  Listen to your daughters (and your sons) talk about their worries, fears, and relationships.  Listen while she shares her hopes, faith journey, anxieties, passions, dreads, dreams, passions, friend-dramas, and doubts.  

Listen and let her ask questions.  Don't shut her down, silence her, shame her, say she shouldn't feel that way.  She just told you she does.  Be the safe place she needs to express her negative emotions.*

Listen well.  Listen quietly.  Stop what you are doing because the laundry/ dinner/ phone call WILL wait for you and this moment may not.  Let your ears be open and available for all those conversations that your daughters (and sons) need to have.  The most meaningful ones will happen when you are too busy or when it's too late at night or you have just made yourself a hot cup of tea and cracked open your novel.  Trust me.

Keep your ears open even then.

And practice your poker face.  Make eye contact.  Quiet your breathing.  Silence your rebuttals.  Practice your poker face and quieted body language because if you have NOT had at least one conversation with your child that you DID NOT WANT TO HAVE - that made you feel uncomfortable, or overwhelmed, or scared, or nervous about what the neighbours/pastor/your family might say - you need to ask yourself if you are even talking about things that matter.

Go to the hard topic places.  Let your child be intense and honest.  Let her spill her darkest thoughts and worries into your adult lap.  Let her ask questions and vocalize her doubts.

Because - trust me - if you are not the one having these conversations with her, SOMEONE ELSE WILL. 

Are you afraid you won't know how to respond well?  
Are you worried that you won't be eloquent enough to say what needs to be said?
Are you disquieted by the notion that you are not smart enough, trained enough, good enough to hear her out?
Well, join the club that's called Parenting!

It's okay to say, "I don't know."   You are not letting her down; you are honouring her just by hearing her out and then acknowledging that you might not have the answers either.

It's healthy to admit, "I never looked at it that way.  What a fresh perspective."

It's fine to respond with, "Phew, that's a heavy topic for midnight!  Let's talk for 10 more minutes then head to bed and go for coffees in the morning.  I want to talk more about this, but, dang, I am tired!"  

It's wise to reply with, "I don't agree with your line of thinking but I respect your questions.  Let's go talk to someone who can give us both some clarity!"

It's heartening to say, "Let's pray together right now about this."

It's necessary to share, "I love you so much and God loves you even more.  I'm honoured that you trust me to talk with you about these things.  I'm so thankful for this time with you."

Talk.  And listen.

It's okay that you don't have all the answers for her.  She just needs some help holding all her words.

May God bless you with shoulders to lean on, hands to hold her, and great big ears for all she has to share.

.
.
.
.
bv

#womenencouragers #raisingdaughters #talk #listen #listenallthetime #listenwell #praytogether #love

* Adam Young, "The Big Six:  What Every Child Needs from their Parents", adamyoungcounseling.com

Memoirs of a Family

2022-07-09T17:07:00.004-07:00

once there was two. Now there are 248. This is the story of my family.

Today’s family reunion saw about 248 renditions, combinations, and illustrations of our unique and beautiful DNA. We are a very tall tribe, strong-boned, and sturdy-hipped. Many of us behold this world with an intensely blue gaze. We are fiercely stubborn, passionately loyal, and decidedly tenacious. You might not want to mess with, argue with, or cross us!

Several years ago, our matriarch – Beppe (Dutch Frisian for grandma) – passed away and we’ve all felt a little disconnected and disjointed since then.

But today – today marked 70 years since my grandparents crossed an ocean with six children and a seventh baby on the way from the Netherlands to Canada - and we all needed to gather, remember, and celebrate.

About half of us could be there, because….well, you try to schedule something with 248 stubborn, loyal, and tenacious tall people and you know why only half of us could be there.

So we gathered under the pristine blue skies to share, talk, and reminisce. It’s something families can do well when they spend time together. My Aunt Susan stood up to share her 9-year-old memories of that Great Adventure that was their immigration story to Canada.

“We were so excited about this adventure on a boat that would take us to Canada. Because we couldn’t take much money over, our parents bought us new clothes and shoes before we left. We were so excited but also so sad to say good-bye to friends, family, church family, neighbours, and Oma. We knew we might never see them again,” she shared.

I couldn’t even imagine that kind of good-bye. I can’t even imagine that kind of adventure. But I’m so glad my Pake and Beppe did.

Once there were just the two of them, married during World War II. My Beppe wore a black dress, because that’s what Dutch brides did during the war. And now - even though Pake and Beppe no longer walk this earth - their legacy does in 248 variations. Their legacy exists in the lives of their seven children (one passed on), in the lives of their grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren.

Every single one of us has been touched, tainted, and tailored by joy and sorrow, life and loss, birth and death, healing and hurt. It’s shaped the tall, sturdy-boned, fiercely stubborn people we’ve become and as we live, breathe, and live out these days God’s given us, I’m curious as to what comes next. What stories will we create? What adventures will we embark upon? What connections will we make? What legacy will we leave behind?

Once there was two. Now there are 248. Let the story continue…

Silver Thread

2022-06-30T20:08:00.004-07:00

How

is it possible that in this place -

so temporary,

so transient,

so fickle and fraught with ugliness

and jagged-edged despair -

how is it possible that this place that we call

HOME

can simultaneously be so

terrifyingly horrible

and so tangibly beautiful?

Fiery-red sun sighing settles low,

Brittle snow and ice glitter and crunch beneath our feet,

black-eyed juncos flit and flutter

and the great arc of sky stretches and yawns above.

How is it possible that this place

which can tear our life apart in a moment

or the blink of an eye

so that we are shredded by grief

and sifting through the trauma-torn pieces;

how is is possible that this place that can feel like hell

can also make our hearts soar?

It must be the possibility and mystery

that can only be

GOD.

Bringing beauty out of gutted brokenness

And healing to ravaged hearts

and colour to bled-out lives

and hope to despairing emptiness.

Not

a silver lining around our sorrows

but the thread of

constancy

and

steadfastness

and

faithfulness

that runs right

through

them.

Of Foxes & Farewells (an open letter)

2022-06-24T12:13:00.003-07:00

You weren’t allowed to peek inside.

I’d been decorating the room for a month - secretly sneaking in an alphabet, a giant calendar, fun little music shakers, math manipulatives, a table, and chairs – but you and Don were not allowed to peek inside until that very first day of school.

And when that day arrived, so began our Homeschool journey together.

Over the years, our family grew. Our classroom spilled over to invade every single space of our home, our yard, our life. Books piled onto every horizontal surface, schedules taped to cupboard doors, a motto for education written in word art and hanging on the living room wall:

“A true education begins with WONDER and ends with WISDOM”.

For a while, every subject was taught and led and supervised by me. I sat by your side and traced letters with you, shaping the sounds aloud together. My fingers followed the words on the page that you read. We sang songs. We memorized Bible verses and poems.

We were tethered together. Side by side. Mom and son. Teacher and student.

But as you got older, you became more independent, more confident, more capable and, soon, I was sending you off to tackle subjects on your own while I traced letters with your siblings.

It wasn’t always magical.

There was a lot of mess. A lot of tears. A lot of times when I had to speak words of truth and encouragement to you. A lot of times when you had to speak words of truth and encouragement to me.

But the beauty of homeschooling is its flexibility; so your studies and learning ebbed and flowed around the broken, messy shape of our lives, our health issues, our schedules.

It was messy. But there was also magic.

You read books, wrote essays, multiplied algebraic expressions, coded.

But you also joined a homeschool hockey program, hiked, played in sport’s tournaments, joined in with co-op classes and school fairs, made new friends.

And as you grew older, you needed my help less. My supervision less. My teaching less. You were no longer tethered to my side, holding my hand to cross the street, asking for my assistance with every question.

I still sit beside you to wrestle through coding problems or give advice on how you drive or discuss theological topics; but there are times now when you teach me. (like: How to use a phone without throwing it! )

You know, parenting is this delicate dance of holding on and letting go. And as your parent and homeschool teacher of twelve years, I’m feeling the disquieting tug of this dance even more.

I want to hold on. To keep you by my side, in our homeschool bubble, and near.

But I want to let go. To see you grow, learn, and soar.

And then yesterday, your little brother finished his read-aloud….a story of a boy and a fox…..and the final scene reduced me.

"No,” commanded the boy to the fox, “I don't want you to stay. I'll always leave the porch door open, but you have to go."

It eloquently articulated the unsettled mixed-up feelings of parenting/ homeschool teaching….to want to hold on. To need to let go.

So, my son, next year you will walk away from the VanHuisstede Homeschool Academy and, God willing, attend Grade 12 at a local public school. It’s the next step that we’ve prayed over, agonized over, talked over, discussed over and over.

You no longer need me tethered to your side or holding your hand. And, even though I kinda want you to stay, its time to go.

Liam, I’ll always leave the porch door open, but you have to go.

Love always,

Mom

Expose Yourself (or The Great Unmasking of 2022)

2022-03-20T18:52:00.004-07:00

I wore a mask to church today. I sang at the top of my lungs, recited parts of the church liturgy, and even chatted afterwards with friends from behind it. I continued to exaggerate and concentrate facial expression with my eyes - dramatically raised brows, overly crinkled eyes, theatrically softened glances, elaborately furrowed frowns – because I’ve learned and adapted and grown accustomed to this masked world I’ve lived in for the past two years; a world forever altered by the covid-19 virus.

Today, I wore a mask, but tomorrow, I’m putting my mask away.

Heck, I might even wash the beautiful, flower-patterned one that I’ve kept in my pocket or in my purse or over my face for the majority of these last years. I might begin wearing lipstick when I go out again (okay, I never actually wore lipstick…but I might start!). I’ll have to learn how to reanimate the lower half of my face when conversing. It’s time for my teeth, lips, and tongue to take an active, animated part in all the socializing I plan to do tomorrow and the next day and the next. Because tomorrow, I’m taking it off. I’m exposing myself. The mask will be tossed into a pile of covid memorabilia that I’ve amassed over the past two years.

How about you?

Are you ready-set-going to expose that beautiful face of yours? Shock everyone with the mustache you’ve been secretly growing and grooming? Awe everyone with those gleaming white teeth? Impress everyone with smiles, grimaces, clenched or slack jaws? Or perhaps you’ve taken that mask off long long long ago.

Either way, tomorrow we collectively unmask. Lay bare. Expose ourselves.

And it’s time to do the same with our hearts.

What just happened? And who have I become?

I encourage you to take a good long look at yourself. I plan to do the same. Let’s call it “Me Unmasked”. Because we are skipping or running or limping or crawling out of a pandemic that has forever changed our lives and it’s time to reflect on how we’ve reacted to covid, how we’ve grown, and if this is a healthy place to remain.

There’s this thing that happens when trauma strikes; trauma can take the form of a pandemic, a war, social isolation, illness, death. There’s this thing that happens when trauma strikes; trauma erodes the world we know and recognize; it blurs the familiar edges of it even as it readjusts, alters, fashions the world and its people into a new place with brave new people that are rising up out of the ashes and ruins of the old.

Like it or not, this world has changed. Like it or not, we have changed.

How have you and I reacted to covid? Did you get sick? Did I adhere to policies? Did you get vaccinated? Did I wear a mask?

How have you and I grown? Are you angry? Am I sad? Have you destroyed relationships? Have I become obsessed with resistance? Are you closer to God? Is my faith stronger?

Are you and I in a healthy place? What have I learned ABOUT MYSELF? How have I grown? Am I happy with this brave new person? Is she someone who shows love to others and love to God?

There are different ways to experience hardship. We can resist hardship; adjust to hardship; succumb to hardship. Either way, we grow. Some of us are emerging stronger, more beautiful, and resilient. Some of us have become deformed, weaker, uglier, and rigid.

Today, as we collectively unmask, I encourage you to take a good long look at the naked truth.

What just happened and who have I become?

Good-bye, not Good Riddance. A Reflection on 2021.

2021-12-30T21:47:00.001-08:00

I confess: I spent too much time and energy wishing away the days of 2021.

When lockdowns happened, I eagerly looked ahead to their ending.

When group sizes were reduced, I bemoaned their tiny gathering sizes and planned parties for the future.

When things got cancelled, shut down, or re-arranged, I had adult-sized temper tantrums that may have included ugly crying.

There were fires, there were floods, there was the discovery of mass, unmarked graves of indigenous children; there was division, there was unrest, there were families and churches dividing and I kept looking ahead to the time when this would All. Be.Over.

And in the process of wishing away the bad and the ugly, I’ve also been wishing away the good.

Covid, natural disasters, and the revelation of horrible historical moments have not been the only things and events that have defined 2021.

In 2021, my family continued to grow older; we celebrated birthdays and anniversaries, healed from surgery or injury, lost teeth, got a driver’s license. My church continued to worship God online and offline; we sang new songs, prayed together, and continued to find creative ways to reach out into the community. My neighbours continued to walk their dogs; to share baking and books and stories. My homeschool group continued to hike, explore, study, and play sports. My sons played hockey. My daughter rode horses. My husband worked more often from home. And, even against the backdrop of so many challenges and hardships this past year, there have been pockets of joy and much to cherish.

So I won’t say Good Riddance to 2021. Only Good-bye.

Though many parts of 2021 were messy and difficult, I don’t want to wish away this one wild and precious life that God’s given me. I want to live. I want to cherish all the moments: the good, the bad, even the ugly.

And I encourage you to do the same.

Life is way too short to be wished away.

Instead, let’s abide by the words of Psalm 90:12: “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.”

Every single one of us – from the 94 year old great-grandfather to the tiniest newborn baby – are sojourners of this earth. We’re born. We live. We die. Our stay is fleeting and temporary, so let’s live our lives well. Let’s live trusting that God is in control. Let’s live confident that God walks alongside us through trials, troubles, and joy. Let’s seek out and share beauty, kindness, encouragement, and love. Let’s live abundantly. We have only one lifetime to do so.

And as the time-sands of 2021 dwindle away, let’s look back and reflect before moving forward into 2022. Let’s each look to ourselves and ask: what have I learned and how have I grown in the last year?

1. What has been hard?

2. What been wonderful?

3. What tools helped me through difficulties and enabled me to celebrate the good?

4. How have these experiences shaped me, my relationship with God, and my relationships with others?

My friends, this past year was not a waste of time. This past year was not a furtive unfolding that existed outside of God’s control and plans, nor was it an accumulation of days to be discarded or dismissed.

Instead, 2021 was a monumental year of memories and moments that challenged us, strengthened us, weakened us, grew us, revealed our hearts.

So, don’t say Good Riddance.

Instead reflect on 2021 – number your days, gain that wisdom - then say Good-bye.

The Best Way Forward

2021-12-07T05:58:00.002-08:00

Can we find our way back to each other?

Is it possible for us to reach across our cavernous divides and be together again?

Some of my best friends are vaccinated. And some of my best friends are anti-vax.

We’ve shared awkward moments and conversations that got heated. I went home and asked my husband, “Can I be friends with someone who thinks so differently from me? Can our friendship survive?”

Without skipping a beat, he said, “Of course.” He is so wise.

So, today, with equal confidence and assurance, I want to tell you that OF COURSE you can find your way back to each other, even reaching across your cavernous divides of differing opinions and stances on ALL THINGS COVID.

Of course you can still be friends, family members, a church family, neighbours and co-workers. There is a way back to each other, but it must be a way that is deliberately chosen. It will take work and effort.

There is a most excellent way, and it is the way of love.

“Love is PATIENT, love is KIND. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It DOES NOT DISHONOR OTHERS, it is not self-seeking, it is NOT EASILY ANGERED, it keeps no records of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It ALWAYS protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love NEVER fails.” (1 Corinthians 13: 4-8a)

When we chose the way of love, we are patient and kind with each other. We listen to what the other person has to say. We lean in and say, “tell me more, I’m curious about why you feel that way” even when we really want the person to stop talking.

Love gives space and grace for differing opinions rather than hiding out and hunkering down with our comfy and easy homogenous groups. Love is not easily angered because it understands that we are all a little scared and anxious and uncertain; love sees that we are all grappling for footholds of truth that will allow us to clamber out of our pits of despair. But the Bible doesn’t tell us, “Thou shalt not be vaccinated” or “Ye shall be vaccinated” . It really doesn’t; I checked.

But the Bible does tell us that the most excellent way forward is with LOVE.

The truth in all this COVID mess is that we’ve completely lost our ability to love through differences. We’ve lost our way and it’s threatening our fragile and tentative holds on one another.

Let’s chose love.

How?

1. Recognize that we are all more than our COVID stance.

2. If you talk about divisive topics (ie. vaccinations, masks, church as essential and other hot topics. I can provide more if you need to amp up the heat.) If you talk about divisive topics KNOW WHEN TO STOP.

a. Establish ground rules. Perhaps set a timer and say, “Okay, let’s chat about this for 15 minutes” and go for it. Stop when the timer goes.

b. Do not attack each other. “You’re so stupid” and “You just think this because you’re an idiot” should not factor into this conversation.

c. Listen to one another. Be curious about WHY people think what they do.

d. Laugh/love/pray it off. “Whew, that was heated! Let’s pray together and drop it.”

e. Drop it. We really don’t need to keep beating this horse. Honestly. He’s pretty dead.

f. Remember the other things you have in common: Books. Work. Cheering for The Leafs. Go ahead and talk about them.

g. Go ahead and say, “Wow. I don’t agree with you at all. BUT I do love you very much.” We can all use this assurance.

3. Respond and React better. Someone who is angry and attacking is almost always hurting or afraid. Can you absorb some negative energy today and respond, instead, with love? We really don’t need to keep volleying our angry words. Be gracious. Let words drop to the ground and step right over them.

Friends, it’s a hurting world out there. I’ve seen families torn apart, churches broken up, friendships divided and all because we’ve allowed this to happen.

Today, let’s stop.

Of course we can find our way because Jesus has shown it to us time and again. Go forth into this day and with all your beautiful relationships and CHOOSE the way of love.

(dedicated to all those who are hurting from loss and angry words.)

The Art of Convalescing Well: REST!

2021-10-29T08:23:00.000-07:00

Years ago, I read a book* about genetically mutated humans that NEVER needed sleep.

As a result, they were able to accomplish more, do more, be more than the rest of the human race. They were the "Sleepless" people who regarded the "Sleepers" as lesser than.

After reading this book, I aspired to be a Sleepless person.  
"It's so genius!" I remember thinking.  If I could eliminate sleep, just think of all I could do, see and accomplish!!

But.....we were not designed this way.

Humanity has been specifically fashioned to NEED sleep and rest.

Isn't that interesting?  

Doesn't it seem like our Almighty Creator God could have developed a more efficient and sleeker design when He made us?  One that didn't need to stop-drop-and-rest every few hours?

But he didn't and so we need sleep EVERY single day.  We need rest and time to recover, recoup, and renew.

We come to the outer limits of ourselves, I think, so that we remember we are NOT doing life on our own.  We are reminded that we need to be plugged into Someone or Something that recharges our bodies, souls, and minds.  
And that Someone is God.

It's a little like my phone.  It works great until the battery runs out.  And then it doesn't work at all until I've left my phone plugged into it's charger for a while.

The need for rest keeps us plugged into God.  It keeps us connected on a regular basis because we need that Every-Single- Day connection and reminder that we are never alone in this life.  

Truth be told, I'm terrible at Resting.  I resist and fight it tooth and nail.  But in my life, I've been forced MANY times to REST....and it's done my body, my soul, and my mind good.  

Doesn't it awe you that the best way to convalesce and heal is to rest?  Not doing more, spending more, thinking more......just rest?
It reminds me that humanity has limitations and a great need for God.  

So, today, may you and I find rest.  May we be recharged and renewed for the day ahead.  And may we always seek our daily connection to a God who provides our rest.  

.
.
.
 BV

#womenencouragers #rest #artofconvalescingwell 

*"Beggars in Spain" by Nancy Kress.

The Art of Convalescing Well: ASK FOR HELP!

2021-10-28T06:29:00.000-07:00

Why is it so incredibly hard to ask for help?

Is it pride?  

Is it that deep-rooted sense of separation and individuation developed in toddlerhood; the sense that insists, "I can do it myself!?"

Is it shame?  We don't want anyone to see our mess.
Is it guilt?  We don't want to be anyone's burden.
Is it fear of being vulnerable, truly vulnerable around others?

We all want to be viewed as someone whose got their stuff together, who's capable and strong, who's independent and able-bodied.

But here's the thing:  every single one of us experiences moments of inability, suffering, and hardship in our life.  Probably many times over.

And these are moments when we NEED and MUST ask for help.

God has created us for community, after all.  He created us to be in relationship with and helpmates for each other.  

It's God's way of wrapping his loving arms around us in our times of need....the physical, tangible presence of God in the form of family, friends, neighbors, small group members, co-workers gathering around to help.  

But we must ask.
People are not mind-readers.

Did you know that it takes greater courage and strength to ask for help that it does to give it?

When you ask for help, you admit you cannot do this on your own and your vulnerability takes Great Courage and Strength.

So...ask.
Be clear of your needs: I need help with this and this.
Be willing to ask more than just the "expected" people; so often God brings help from unexpected places.
Be thankful and gracious.

In asking for help, you will learn how it feels to be this needy person.  You will experience this side of life and become more aware of how to better help others...someday when you are well again.

Ask for help.  
We were never meant to convalesce alone.  

"All praise to the God and Father....He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so we can be there for that person just as God was there for us."  2 Corinthians 1: 3-5 MSG

.
.
.
BV
#womenencouragers #convalescewell
#askforhelp #help #community #cascadeofcomfort

The Art of Convalescing Well: REMEMBER

2021-10-27T09:17:00.000-07:00

The Art of Convalescing Well: Remember

There's an important part of healing that we often forget.  
In order to convalesce well, we must remember.

Whether we are healing from physical injuries, emotional distress, spiritual trauma, or psychological hurt, we need to remember.  

Remembering reminds us of where we've come from and a state that we can get to.

Remembering reminds us that bones knit together, flesh scars, bleeding clots, injuries heal because our bodies were supremely designed by God to heal.  

Remembering brings things to the light  that would otherwise fester and grow in the darkness.  

Remembering can be hard.
Remembering can hurt.
Remembering can be the thing we neglect because we think we are unnecessarily "dwelling on things" or "wallowing".  

But remembering the past helps us reflect on the present and remind us how to live better in the future.  Remembering helps us recognize where we are coming from and why we are heading in a certain direction.

And I think we must remember in order to understand the person that God is shaping us to be.  

So...remember your broken arm.
Remember your incarceration. 
Remember the pain of infertility or loss or emotional trauma.
Remember the suicide in your family.  Remember the cancer or depression or financial hardships.

And, mostly importantly, remember that God has supremely designed our bodies and minds and lives, our hurts and our hearts to heal.  And recover.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer in August 2015.  I had chemo, a single breast mastectomy, and radiation. I also had to have a hysterectomy.   Years later, I had a reconstructive surgery and yesterday, I had the final reconstructive tweak.  I'm feeling all "mic drop!  It's over" but I know my story's not done yet.  Not while there's breath.

And neither is your story over yet.
So don't forget that in order to convalesce well, we must remember.

"

Dear God:  "I remember the days of old;
I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the work of your hands.
Psalm 143:5

.
.
.
BV

#womenencouragers #remember #convalescewell #healing #cancercantstealmyhope

Jesus, am I doing Enough? (Of Running and Rations)

2021-09-26T16:07:00.000-07:00

I’ve elbowed, maneuvered, and shoved my way to the very front of this crowd. Behind me are the mothers-with-strollers, the adventure runners, and the kids. But I’m up here at the very front because I’ve been super serious about my training this time.

This is where I need to be, I tell myself. I’m running my very first 10 km run and I want to gain every advantage to achieve a personal best time. I bounce lightly on my toes and shake out my hands. I take deep steadying breaths and think thoughts of endurance and speed.

“Runners, are you ready?” squawks a voice from over the loudspeaker.

The people around me tense, bystanders cheer and clap, my heart thuds loudly. Suddenly, a man from the crowd leans toward the men beside me. A whistle dangles from his neck as he shouts final instructions at them, “I wanna see you finish the first 5km loop in 15 minutes!” he barks and my heart falters.

5 km in 15 minutes? What!? I’ve literally never run that fast before in my life.

In the final seconds before this race begins, as the crowd counts down the 10 seconds before we start running, I glance over at the men beside me. They are young, fit, lean, and wearing matching maroon and gray uniforms with the words McMaster Men’s Running Team emblazoned across their chests.

Uh oh, I think, just before the starter gun blasts and the crowd of runners lunge forward.

Automatically, I match my pace to the people beside me – these maroon and gray clad runners – but I cannot keep up. Their stride is much longer, their pace much quicker, and their ability to endure much stronger.

I remind myself of all the running tips I know…..set your own pace, regulate your breathing, focus on your stride and think positive thoughts.

But for the next half hour, one runner after another passes me.

I’m not good enough to do this race.

The running group from McMaster has long since passed me, several young kids sprint by effortlessly, an old man with bare feet (!) dashes lightly past and I feel my throat tighten. I feel sick. I feel a black, sobering cloud settling over this sunny running day.

I’m not good enough.

I thought I could compete here. I had trained well. I had devised and followed a running plan to succeed, but, apparently, I wasn’t good enough. A sea of sneaker-fitted men, women, and children was evidence of this truth rushing past me:

not good enough not good enough not good enough not good enough not good enough

That was my most humbling race to date. I was clearly not the fastest runner in the group and this was a serious blow to my sense of self-worth.

Have you ever had a moment like this? When you’ve felt like you were not enough? Not fast enough, not smart enough, not experienced enough, not educated enough, not successful enough, not good enough.

In moments like this, it seems that others have more to offer than you and you falter, stutter, and stop. Not enough, you whisper to yourself. Paltry! Pittance! Insufficient! Small!

What do we do when what we have to offer is not enough? When we are limited by ourselves?

Do we tuck that meagre amount away?

Once upon a time, Jesus was offered a meagre amount. He had been teaching and preaching to a huge crowd on a mountain beside the Sea of Galilee and his words were so engrossing, so healing, so enlightening that many people stuck around for three days. After feeding the hearts, minds, and souls of the gathered people, Jesus realizes that their bodies needed food too. He had compassion on them. So he called his disciples over and shared his plan.

He wanted to feed all these men, women, and children before sending them home. In fact, the Bible says he was unwilling to send them home until they had been properly fed. He didn’t want them to faint on their way home.

Imagining the disciples’ reaction to Jesus’s plan makes me laugh. They must have been aghast and incredulous.

“What?! You want us to feed ALL these people?!? Jesus, there are, like, four thousand people here! What are you thinking?” they must have wanted to say; but what they actually spluttered was, “Where are we going to get enough bread in such a desolate place to feed this crowd?”

And Jesus answers calmly and wisely: “Well, how many loaves do you have?”

What do you have to offer?

The disciples present a meagre amount: seven loaves of bread and a few small fish. What was that in the face of an entire crowd of people who have not eaten in three days? It’s a mockery. A drop in the bucket. Crumbs when the crowds are screaming for a feast. It’s hardly enough to feed a couple of teenaged boys. Trust me, I have two teenaged boys who are always hungry and they eat A. Lot. Of. Food. So seven loaves of bread and a few small fish wasn’t really a great option to put together a meal for this massive crowd.

It was not enough.

And yet, Jesus doesn’t disregard this offering with impatient disgust. He doesn’t snort disdainfully in Peter’s general direction and state, “Seriously, Peter? What are you thinking? We need, like, thousands of loaves and thousands of fish to feed this hungry throng.” Jesus doesn’t sigh or mutter about the meagre amount, he doesn’t send James and John to search for the nearest local Fortinoes, or beseech Andrew and Philip to quickly run down to the Sea of Galilee and fish for an hour or two; he doesn’t ask everyone to turn out their pockets so that there’s enough money to order pizzas.

Nope.

Jesus takes the offering.

Jesus takes the offering!

Most likely he could hold the amount in both hands. Crumbs. Insignificant in the face of such great need. It was not enough; not nearly enough.

But Jesus accepts the offering, and he gives thanks. Thank you, God, for this tiny amount of food. Thank-you, God for these seven loaves and small fish.

Thank-you, God, for this offering.

It is enough for what I need to do.

Thank-you.

And only after giving thanks does Jesus begin breaking apart the food and handing it out. And this must have just kept going and going because apparently all the people in that great crowd ate and were satisfied. All the men and women and children who had not had food for three days, ate and were filled up. And I mean, they must have been starving, salivating at the mere mention of food, wanting to stuff great handfuls of it into their empty mouths. This would not have been a crowd that would have been content with hors d’ouevres or canapes arranged in an artistic pattern on a platter! This would have been a people craving steak and potatoes with all the fixings! They were HUNGRY! But the food keeps on coming, passed around by the disciples as if they are twelve caterers handing out the delicacies of the evening.

And they all ate – munched, gobbled, snacked, devoured, nibbled, chewed, and licked up the residual crumbs and grease left behind – they ALL ate and were satisfied.

Maybe small burps of satisfaction followed this feast. Maybe the men rubbed their full bellies with contentment and the woman sat back on the grass with a sigh. (After all, this was a meal they didn’t have to prepare!) Maybe the children were re-energized from all this food and were running around happily. I don’t know how the group reacted to their meal, but I do know that they all ate.

And were satisfied.

It was, after all, enough.

Actually, it was more than enough. Once everyone was done eating the bread and the fish, the disciples cleaned up what was left, and there were seven basketfuls of food left over.

There was an overabundance of food left over. More food leftover than the amount begun with. Clearly, this was a miracle worked by Jesus.

And the not enough became more than enough.

You see, Jesus can work with meagre amounts. He’s JESUS, after all! He’s the miracle worker who raises the dead, heals the sick, multiplies the bread and fish, changes water to wine, and makes the blind see. I think we forget this so often in life. What we bring to the table or the drawing board or the racetrack is not the point; our willingness to offer up our gifts to Jesus is.

That changes everything.

When we offer our time and resources and talents to Jesus, the not enough becomes enough time and resources and talents to accomplish that which Jesus needs to accomplish. He can work with our palty and meagre amounts and this is where I think faith gets tested. Do I believe this? Do I really think that Jesus can do something with this little amount sitting in my pocket? Do I believe that Jesus can work with my limited education or speed or time or resources? And am I willing and brave enough to step forward and offer this not-enough to him?

Here it is, Lord. Here’s what I have ..…. my money (it’s not much), my education (my degrees are unimpressive), my running ability (apparently, I’m slow), my heart (it’s fickle and fragile), my life (it’s a mess, Lord.) But here it is. Here I am.

We need to hear this again and again: what we offer is not the point. The point is our willingness to offer what we do have to Jesus. He will take care of the rest.

So, what do we do when all we have to offer is not enough?

We offer it to Jesus.

We offer it anyway.

In the Name of Jesus

2021-06-06T07:53:00.004-07:00

Isn’t it incredible what harm can be inflicted in the name of Jesus?

The residential schools in Canada were funded by the Canadian government and were run by churches.

In the name of Jesus, they were established to forcibly convert and assimilate First Nations, Métis, and Inuit children; to convert these children to Christianity and to assimilate them to English-speaking, Euro-Canadian culture.

In the name of Jesus, Indigenous youths as young as 3 years old were torn from the arms of their parents, removed from their homes, and denied the comforts of familiar language, customs, clothing, and culture.

In the name of Jesus, the first residential schools were established by Catholic missionaries. The Roman Catholic Church operated many of the schools, and the Anglican, United, Presbyterian, and Methodist churches were also involved.

In the name of Jesus, over 130 residential schools operated from the 1830s to 1996 and they existed in every province and territory in Canada except for Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, and Newfoundland & Labrador. There were 15 in Ontario alone.

In the name of Jesus, the first residential school – The Mohawk Institute - was established by the Anglican Church in 1831 in Brantford, Ontario. It is now run by the Woodland Cultural Centre; I’ve driven past it many times on the way to soccer practice with my kids.

(The Mohawk Institute; photo credit: Wikipedia.ca)

Isn’t it incredible and horrible what pain, trauma, hurt, and horrors can be inflicted in the name of Jesus?

Today, many Christians will be attending worship services – online, in person, via zoom, at drive-in church – and I pray that this sobering truth is considered. In the name of Jesus, Christians are capable of inflicting great pain and, in doing so, can gravely and seriously misrepresent Jesus and his beautiful, life-giving gospel message of hope.

Jesus gave the Bible to teach us how to live; He even gave summaries because He knows that humanity is prone to misunderstanding. He summed up His law and directions in this clear, direct, concise way:

LOVE GOD

LOVE OTHERS. (Matthew 22: 37-39)

Micah 6: 8, reminds all Christians that God requires us to DO justice, to LOVE kindness, and to WALK humbly before God.

Christians, MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE, must represent the love, kindness, compassion, and self-sacrificial tenderness of Jesus to others.

Jesus always had time for the little, the lost, the lonely, the rejected, the despised, the outcast. He called the little children to come and be with him. He spoke to a Samaritan woman when no other self-respecting Jewish man would; he touched lepers and the dead to bring healing and health; he gave up his life to bring hope to humanity.

Jesus would never have hurt or abused Indigenous youth.

Christians must stop misrepresenting Jesus; must stop making the gospel message repulsive to their neighbours, communities, and nation.

So today, I’m calling myself to represent Jesus well.

To show love like he showed love; to extend grace and kindness as he would have; to write and speak words that are winsome, and beautiful; to live a life that illustrates a gospel message that is always always always healing, hope-filled, life-giving, and full of love.

Sources:

· https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/residential-schools

· An Overview of the Indian Residential School System - by the Union of Ontario Indians based on research compiled by Karen Restoule

· Wikipedia online

We Need to Talk About This Dark Secret

2021-06-04T06:11:00.001-07:00

We need to talk.

We need to talk because I’m pissed off, sick, and sad.

About a week ago, I first heard about Canada’s unearthed tragedy. I’ve been processing it, grieving it, and researching it ever since.

The remains of 215 children were discovered in a mass, unmarked grave on the grounds of a former residential school in BC.

I’m sure you’ve read or heard about this news, but can we just let the horror of it sink in for a minute?

The remains –

The remains of CHILDREN –

The remains of children in a MASS, UNMARKED grave…

These are words and these are realities that should never be strung together. These are words and realities that make me feel sick and deeply deeply sad.

I hope you feel the same way.

I hope you are upset, sickened, and disturbed.

The remains of these children were found buried on the grounds of a residential school and the more I learn about these schools, the more I realize they are a macabre part of Canada’s dirty, dark, sinister past.

Former Kamloops Indian Residential School. (Photo credit: BBC Canada)

Residential schools were established to forcibly convert Indigenous youth to Catholicism or Protestantism as well as assimilate them into what the European settlers were deciding was Canadian language, culture, and customs. The ultimate goal was to “kill the Indian” in every child. The schools were federally funded and church directed. They operated from 1831 - 1996.

(photo credit National Post)

I was attending school during those last years. I graduated from High School in 1996, but the teaching techniques at my school were nothing like those used at the residential schools.

Children attending the residential schools were forcibly removed from their families and everything that was familiar. They endured beatings, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, and rape. According to the Department of Indian Affairs (1907 report), 90-100% of children suffered physical, emotional, or sexual abuse and there was a 40-60% mortality rate.

Now, my school had the strap hanging in the principal’s office where it hung ready to smack any errant student. I even remember being slapped full across the face by a teacher in front of my entire class, but our school NEVER ever had a mortality rate.

And the more I learn about these residential schools, the more I realize how much I DON’T KNOW. I did NOT learn about the residential schools and their attempts at Indigenous cultural genocide. I was too busy going to my private, Christian school where I was allowed to maintain any custom carried over from my dutch motherland. No one took me away from my parents, beat me, sexually assaulted me, despised me or tried to “kill the Dutch” in me.

I asked my husband if he remembers learning about the residential schools. He did not. His first exposure was through the 2016 album released by The Tragically Hip called “The Secret Path”, a 10-song album dedicated to the story of Chanie Wenjack, a 12 year old Anishinaabe boy who had run away from a residential school in 1969 in Kenora, Ontario. Chanie died attempting to walk the 600km home.

(photo credit: amazon.ca)

I asked several friends if they learned about the residential schools. One remembered two short paragraphs in a thick history tome. That’s it.

My son, however, knew about the schools. “We learned about them in our history class last year,” he told me. I threw up my hands and rejoiced. Good!

WE NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS.

In the words of Martin Luther King Jr., “Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.”

Let’s not be part of the danger or part of the problem.

Let’s not be ignorant any longer.

In light of this, I will be dedicating several days to researching, educating, and calling myself (and you, if you want to join me) to action.

My friends, let’s keep talking.

#womenencouragers #nomoreignorance #residentialschools #grievingourpast

#letstalk

From Languish to Lavish

2021-04-23T06:31:00.004-07:00

What happens when a LANGUISHING heart taps into LAVISH love?

Last night, I read the word “languishing” in an article written in the New York Times. This morning, I read the same word – “languishing” - in the book of Psalms in the Bible. When a word I haven’t heard before or in a long time is suddenly repeated around me, I sit up and take notice. I believe it’s God giving me a cosmic tap on the shoulder and I’ve learned to pay attention.

Languishing means to be weak, to droop, to be exhausted, to feel forlorn or depleted. It’s how many of us are feeling right now as we trudge slump-shouldered into our second year of Covid lockdowns and isolations. We feel stuck, cut off from the life we want to be living. Our days have lost their lustre.

“Hey mom! What are we doing tomorrow?” my kids will query night after night.

“Same as we did today, guys…” I drone wearily night after night.

Adam Grant’s article* nailed that feeling I feel; Yup, I’m languishing. How about you?

If I were an electronic device, I’d plug myself in and charge up my batteries. If I were a gas tank, I’d glug gas into me real quick. If I was a cluster of drooping yellow tulips, I’d scream for water.

It’s quite obvious that I am in need of a fill-up, a charge-up, a replenishing. But batteries, gas, and water won’t suffice. So where on earth should I turn? Where on earth can I go? Where on earth is the answer?

There are many distractions on this earth that may give us some energy, lift, and thrust but are they enough to let us fly? To truly grant flourishing and prosperity at a heart and soul level?

Nope. Though the distractions of good food, great company, a solid education, engrossing entertainment, sensual sex, happy holidays, amazing art and literature will hold and fill us up for a time; they are all finite. They end or run out and cannot sustain us through the whole season of our complicated, messy, constantly-changing, roller-coaster life.

Which is why I am suggesting we plug our languishing hearts into the lavish abundance of God’s love. His love is profuse, extravagant, sumptuously rich, unreasonable, and endless. It never runs out and when we fill-up with His love, our cup runs over. That means we will have more, more than enough.

God’s love can hold and fill us up for all time. And it fills us with this strength-inducing thing called HOPE.

Not so much a hope that our circumstances will change; not so much a hope that covid will end and we can collectively rip off our masks and hug and congregate once again; but, rather, a deeper and longer-lasting HOPE that no matter what happens, we are loved and looked after. A HOPE that even if Covid goes on for forty more years, God has a purpose and a plan for all this and for every single one of us. For me and for you. A hope that God will see us through this time.

And I get it, hope might feel risky right now. Many of us have had our hopes dashed over and over again over the past year. Hope for that surgery that was planned. Dashed. Hope for covid to be over. Dashed. Hope for this birthday to be celebrated with friends. Dashed. Hope to sit bedside in the hospital with our loved one. Dashed.

Hope might feel risky right now because we’ve been anchoring it into the slipperiness of circumstances. What we need is a firm and secure holding place to grow our hope from. What we need is the rock-like solidity that is God and his beautiful, glorious, lavish love.

My friends, let’s tentatively tip-toe our languishing hearts and drooping shoulders into the lavish abundance of God’s love. Let’s plug in here and wait for the fill-up of HOPE to happen. It may take a while to charge up, fill-up and renew your strength so just keep plugged in and wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it.

And, even if covid continues, let the HOPE growing out of God’s love allow you to flourish today.

“Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am languishing; heal me, O LORD, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O LORD - how long?” Psalm 6:2,3

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God.”

1 John 1: 3a

“I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heart my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God.” Psalm 40: 1-3

*New York Times article referred to: “There’s a Name for the Blah You’re Feeling: It’s Called Languishing” by Adam Grant

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/04/19/well/mind/covid-mental-health-languishing.html?smid=fb-share&fbclid=IwAR1OeLi1YWzF_6LIKzGZqWtFRycrVNuMv2LoEviXF4P14Ywy9EZV-sNf15o

The Sound of Snow

2021-04-20T19:09:00.001-07:00

What sound does a snowflake make as it swirls toward the ground?

Rain pitters, patters, splashes, and sloshes.
But a snowflake lazily drifts, floats, spins in a silent lavish audacious dance toward the earth.

White blanketing the pear tree blossoms; burdening the daffodil heads with glistening weighted drops; coating miss kim lilac branches with intricate lacy cold.

Today, it snowed and more snow is on the forecast for tomorrow.  

What do you get when you cross a spring snow storm with a lockdown, I wondered in annoyed and frustrated irritation today.  It all seemed like a cruel joke and in retaliation, I decided to not go outside any more today.

"Take that, Outside!  No walking with you!" I sneered.

Every year, I laughingly count on that One Extra Surprise Snowstorm that arrives late in spring.  Every year I wait until mid May to wash the winter gear and fold it all away for next year.  But every year, Spring lures me in with her seductive flowering trees and bulging green tree buds and shy lily shoots.  And this year, it happened again.  

After all, the maple and willow trees had adorned their green haloes; the magnolia trees were bursting with pale pink blooms; deep purple hyacinths clustered fragrantly in gardens; and bold yellow forsythia flowers colored bare branches. 

Plus, it seemed Iike a warm and gently arrived spring would be a wonderful trade-off for our current pandemic-flavoured, locked down state of existence. 

But, no.  Snow seemed to be the cruel joke of the day and I scowled fiercely at it all day.

Until tonight, when Outside beckoned.
I love love love being in nature;  it's my Outdoor Therapy because when I'm in nature, I'm surrounded by God's creation, I feel so close to him, and I spend much of my walk talking with Him (well, when I'm not chatting with the neighbors.   Hi, Linda!)

On my evening walk, snowflakes swirled around me, coating my eyelashes with wet cold.  
And it was so peaceful and beautiful and wonderful that I wondered what sound does a snowflake make as it swirls toward the ground?
Do you know?
It makes no sound.  No sound at all.

And with the loud silence, my heart felt peace.

.
.
.
.
 #womenencouragers #snow

Covid Can't Steal My Joy

2021-04-07T19:21:00.002-07:00

I hear them before I see them.
Actually, I'm sure the entire neighbourhood hears them because they are loudly laughing and shrieking with delight. They run outside on stocking feet to bounce boisterously together whenever they can. All four of them.
I watch for several seconds from behind the screen door before I sneak out into the sunshine to shoot a video.
It's important that I really see and remember moments like this. It's important that we all do.
Why?
Because we can get laden and weighed down by the negatives, grievances, and general suckiness of this world. It's easy to be heavy-hearted after hearing about the Provincial emergency and stay-at-home order here in Ontario. It's easy to become frustrated, angry, and depressed. I know I am.
And all that negativity sucks the air out of the room, doesn't it? It distracts us from seeing the raw beauty that is still there, from witnessing moments of exuberance and unbridled laughter, from glimpsing snapshots of delight.
Covid has stripped down and stolen so much from us over the past year; but guess what? It doesn't get to steal our joy!
Nope-on-a-rope!
Joy is rooted in an unshakable and audacious confidence that God is still in control of all these things, all these days, all this covid. Joy is a condition of the heart that overflows and spills over into the words we say, the things we do, the thoughts we harbour. Joy is not slippery like happiness because it doesn't hinge on our circumstances looking a certain way. This means that even if you and I are not happy about the lockdowns and stay-at-home orders dictated by covid, we can still find joy.
Listen for the laughter. Look for the beauty. Seek out the signs of spring. Experience the delight. Remember these moments and two-hand cling to joy.
.
.
.
"Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning." Psalm 30:5b
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths." Proverbs 3: 5,6
#womenencouragers #seekjoy #covid2021 #StayAtHomeOrder
#gotthejoydowninmyheart #joy

All Shook Up! (an Easter Reflection)

2021-04-01T06:07:00.001-07:00

It’s April 1^st, but I’m not laughing.

The sun’s out, a long weekend stretches ahead, but I’m unsettled. I can’t stop thinking about a tale of two cities.

There’s the city of Jerusalem circa 33 AD that's "all stirred up" when Jesus rides into town.

And, in a vast contrast, there’s my city which is currently in a grey-lockdown level of shut-down due to covid-19.

A city stirred up and a city shutdown.

I worry that all our Easter celebrations will be cancelled for the second year in a row and my heart feels heavy. There have been rumours of people quarantining; of schools closing early; of numbers in Ontario rising and these feel like the ominous precludes to the impending doom of further shutdowns.

And I wonder how to get stirred up about Easter when my sentiments feel like such a far cry from the long-ago sentiments of those who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem. They were loud and boisterous. They were exuberant and joyful. They waved palm branches - a beautiful symbol of victory and peace - and shed their cloaks to lay before Jesus and the donkey colt he rode in on. They cheered "HOSANNA" and welcomed Jesus as if he was a conquering hero.

They were not despondent, discouraged, or disquieted.

So, I do a little word study because word studies make me happy (also cheerful, gleeful, and delightedly jovial).

Some etymology work unearths the fact that the "stirred up" in the story of Jesus' Triumphal Entry comes from the Greek word seiō which means to shake, agitate, tremor, or quake. The Bible uses this same word (seiō) to describe the earth shaking after Jesus died or the guards trembling when an angel appears to roll away the stone from his tomb.

If being stirred up means to be shaken up and agitated, then I think Hamilton just might be a city that is simultaneously shutdown AND stirred up.

In Jerusalem, the source of the agitation was Jesus. He was ushering in hope and victory at a time when there was oppression and defeat. In Hamilton, the source of our agitation is covid-19. It ushers in despair, uncertainty, and divisive opinions at a time when there was seeming comfort and peace.

In both cases, people are unsettled, and this is always a good time to sit up, take notice and seek answers.

Covid has exposed the transience of this world. It is susceptible to sickness and death.

Covid has exposed our love of the comforts in this world.

Covid has exposed our argumentativeness and inability to listen to one another.

Covid has exposed the fact that our hope cannot be found in this place called earth.

Covid has unsettled us, shaken us up, and caused despair.

And the wonderful thing about all this agitation is that it makes us look long and hard for hope, peace, and comfort.

Which was ushered in by Jesus long ago.

Jesus gives hope for humanity.

Jesus died for the sins of all who believe in him and then he rose again.

Jesus conquered sin and death.

Jesus promises peace and rest and an end to despair.

Jesus is the point of our Easter celebrations even if church is cancelled, dinners are postponed, and we can only see loved ones while masked and standing 6 feet apart.

The Easter weekend is almost here. Are you feeling shaken up?

There is hope for you and me today and it’s certainly not found in this covid-contaminated place. There’s hope today and it’s found in Jesus.