About Me

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I live on the North Shore in BC, after a (too) brief time in the prairies. Working as an artist, mother and wife (not necessarily in that order), i am striving to live well, to find the truth of God in all things, and to pass on this truth to others.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

new beginnings

it's a new day, Hallelujah!
the sun is spilling into the kitchen where i sit writing.  i have just picked no less then three vases worth of flowers from the garden.  the dehydrator still needs cleaning from drying tomatoes yesterday.  we just planted a dogwood in the front yard.  my kids are off playing with neighbours (my son is literally catching crayfish right now in the stream that runs through our property) - i hear their laughter or screeches every once and a while wafting in through the open windows.  or the open door.  the door that has been largely open all summer.  "come in, come in, come in!" i want our home to say. and it has.  neighbours and friends, but mostly this summer, carpenters and painters and dry-wallers, plumbers and electricians.
because on june 12th our house flooded.  
picture this:  i arrive home from zipping out with my friend marsha, who's visiting from Saskatoon with her three girls under the age of 5.  we've just been father's day gift shopping.  i show her older girls the lavender in my front yard as marsha unbuckles the baby from the carseat.  i show them how to hug the buds with your hands and then smell your fingers afterwards - heaven.  we walk up to the front door and i notice water dripping off of one side of the house.  "why is it only raining on that side of the house?" i wonder out loud.  i look at marsha and it hits us.  the water is coming out of the house from INSIDE the house.  
it takes me forever (10 seconds?) to get the front door open.  i rush up to my bedroom's ensuite and find that the water line which connects the toilet to the wall has snapped off and there is water spraying, like a power hose, out the ensuite door, into my bedroom, where it hits the light over my bed and shoots out all around the room.  
that was june 12th.  three days ago we got our bathroom back. two days ago we got our new mattress.  yesterday bedroom furniture.  today i feel like i'm walking out of the crazy.  which is why i'm saying, it's a new day, Hallelujah!
this summer has taught me some things about myself that i don't really like.  first, it seems my happiness and sense of sanity are directly correlated to the state of my home.  this isn't a total surprise, but i still don't like it.
second, i like to be in control.  it gives me a sense of, well, control.  and i like that.  i like to be in control when building ikea furniture with my husband.  i like to be in control when picking tile and replacement flooring.  i like to be in control in the kitchen, even when my husband is cooking (!).
if there's two things that a house flood will do for you, it will rip out your sense of control by the knees and make your home a total and utter disaster for months on end.  thank you, house floods everywhere, for helping us humans come to grips with our own depravity and need for Christ.  now that i've obviously learned these lessons, you may leave and never return.
back in june i do remember praying that God would use our home in the lives of all of the workers that would be coming through it,  and  i really feel that He has answered that prayer.  we've had hugs and thank you's and "it was a gift to work in your home".   we've tried to treat everyone with kindness and respect, we've introduced ourselves and offered coffee and chatted about dentures and churches and bus routes.  in truth, we have only offered a minimum amount of decorum, so it must be God's spirit at work.  but i also have to think, how are these hard working trades men treated in other homes that they seem so shocked when i want to shake their hand hello?
i do have a classic janet embarrassing moment to share with you.  i know, now you're all excited.  i see you Marilynne!  
the flood had ruined out bedroom and ensuite, but also the rooms below it - my studio (yes, but no paintings were ruined which is absolutely a miracle and makes me a little teary and possibly puts thoughts in my mind of God blessing me as an artist...anyways) and the bathroom and hallway in our rental suite.  so, scott and i had to sleep on a mattress on the floor in our family room for the summer.  the only working bathroom was upstairs, so we had to grab our clothing in the morning and carry it to the shower. no biggie.  so, one morning i've just grabbed said clothing and i'm heading upstairs, past the front door and in walks a carpenter that i haven't met before.  so, i introduce myself, shake his hand, walk him upstairs and ask what he's hoping to accomplish.  suddenly, in the midst of this conversation, i realize i am holding my bra in my hand, inches from his face (this is not the embarrassing moment, it gets worse).  so, i turn around and put my clothes on the couch and hide my bra in my shirt.  you know the drill.  
i turn back to talk to him, but now i'm flustered and feeling awkward and YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I FEEL THIS WAY.  i say "hey!  i like your beard" (as these words are coming out of my mouth i'm reflecting on the fact that i do NOT like his beard.  it is one of those stringy long whispy things.  my hairdresser calls the style "lumbersexual").
he answers "thanks.  most women don't like it"
and what do i do?  i'll tell you.  i say "oh NO!  it's great!  you're a carpenter and it says "carpenter".  it's doing it for me!"
it's doing it for me.
i said that.  
to his face.
at this moment i turn my body around, grab my clothing from the couch and walk to the bathroom.  when scott walks in a moment later i am standing staring in the mirror at myself.  i say to him
i just told the carpenter that his beard was "doing it for me".  
scott says
awesome!  he's going to work hard for us today!  i'm going to go hit on him too.
and he leaves the bathroom.
and i love my husband.  he is truly the most amazing man i have ever known.  he could not have said a better thing to me in that moment.
(and now you can all pray for me because this carpenter is scheduled to be here tomorrow and you KNOW WHAT HAPPENS when i feel flustered and nervous.  Lord have mercy.)
ok, off to go unpack some boxes and ogle some crayfish and make waffles for supper! thank you God for a husband who trusts me and neighbourhood friends and dinner plate dahlias and walls in my bedroom.   

Saturday, March 21, 2015

for many reasons

today is the eleventh birthday of my daughter, and i am thankful for a great many things:

  • that i do not watch horror movies
  • that i have two eyes
  • that i have a brother
  • that i have healthy children.

that might seem like an unusual list, but let me tell you about the last month of my life.

the phone rang at work, a strange trilling ring, and looking at the display the call seemed to be coming from my boss' office.  he was standing beside me.  "don't answer it" he said.
i answered it.
"hello this is ...... from .............. returning your call"
"oookayyyy.....i'm sorry but it looks like you're calling from inside the building"
"i am not inside the building"
"okay, but i heard about this horror movie where the guy keeps calling and then they find out he's inside the house....."
"i assure you I'm not inside the building"
"of course you're not.  sorry.  thank you for returning my call"
"no problem.  i've seen that movie"
"alright then you know that i'm about to get murdered at any moment"
"i assure you I am not inside the building...."

need i remind you that i work for a financial adviser?  and that it was a bank calling?  thank God i didn't actually WATCH that movie and was just told about it in hushed tones during grade 9 biology. what kinds of crazy would come out of my mouth if i had a whole two hours of images to choose from?

a few weeks ago my eye was hurting.  at first i thought it was my contacts, so i stopped wearing them for a few days, but when things got progressively worse i went to the doctor.  she looked into my eye. hold on, let me describe this doctor to you.  do you remember the show "talking sex with sue"?  a little healthier looking, but that's close.  she looked into my eye and diagnosed that there was a speck of something on my......on the......"iris?" i said.  "yes, that's it".  (warning bells should be now ringing in my brain, and were, but who am i to judge?).  she decided that she should freeze my eye with some drops and then "flick it off with a needle".  yes, you read that right: a needle.

i know you.  i know that right now you are cringing, your toes possibly curling in your socks, and you're thinking, "Why janet?  why would you let her?"

that is a good question.  let's think about that.  she seemed sincere i suppose.  she seemed like she wanted to help me.  i did ask if she had steady hands (stop rolling your eyes).  i do feel a great sense of inferiority when talking to a medical professional.  i mean, they go to school for a LONG time!

so there i was, with my head where countless backsides had lain, staring up into the gyno light with a frozen eye and dr. sue with a needle in hand scraping my iris.  it did not tickle.  it also did not help.
she sent me home and told me that she was going to get me in that afternoon to see an ophthalmologist.

as i walked home i quickly convinced myself that i had eye cancer and would be wearing a glass eye within the month.  i was greatly comforted by the fact that my friend Jenna is a one-eyed beauty, and she could inspire me to greatness.

no ophthalmologists were available.  i went to hospital emergency. they told me i had an ulcer and would have to see a specialist the next morning.

an ulcer.
in my eye.

sounds pretty brutal, and i got some lovely pity (why do i seem to be the only one out there that loves pity?) until the next morning when i was told the treatment for an eye ulcer is two weeks of drops.

but here's what i learned.  if i wasn't such a ridiculously imaginative hypochondriac i would not have felt the immense gratitude i experienced for the following few days.  i would not have looked into the faces of my prayer group and said enthusiastically "i'm so thankful for both of my eyes!!!"  see the good in this?

a few days after this hospital trip my brother was admitted into an Ontario hospital and diagnosed with gillian-barre syndrome.  he had had a flu and missed a couple days of work, and woke up the next morning feeling a bit better, stepped out of bed and fell on the ground.  by the time my sister-in-law returned from work he couldn't feel his feet or hands or face.  this syndrome can happen when you're body catches a virus - it stops your body from recognizing that the virus is gone, and your immune system starts attacking your healthy cells (at least, that's what i understand).  at one point the doctor said my brother's heart could stop at any moment.

to further complicate matters, my parents were hours away from flying to cuba, bringing much prayed-for medical supplies and other necessary items.  what a journey of faith and trust for them to get on that plane, knowing their son was battling a potentially deadly illness.  a week later, on my parents birthdays (they have the same one) they sat in a school of cuban evangelists, surrounded by men and women calling on God for the healing of my brother.  and He did.  my brother was sent home that day, with most of the feeling back in his hands and feet.  he did not need the walker the doctors prescribed.  he drove into his small Ontario town a week later.  this is a miracle, and i am so thankful that Jason Laing still walks the earth and makes people laugh and cares for his family and works with his capable hands.  i am SO thankful today to have a brother.

and to see my children, healthy and playful, my daughter getting birthday hugs from her brother and a card in his grade 2 penmanship that said "you are loved for many reasons by me".  i took her to see Cinderella and when the prince appeared i asked if she thought he was cute. "sort-of" she replied "but not as good as dad".  priceless.  what a gift to hold her hand in a theatre and remember her hand as a newborn, curling around my pinky.    

in all of this gratitude, the silly and the profound, there is a sadness, a current of grief that is tainting these moments of beauty.  tonight our cousin sits vigil beside her young daughter who lies in a hospital bed in Vancouver.  the leukemia that has been fought by countless prayers, a battery of drugs, and months of sacrifice and tenderness, has now appeared in her bones.  i think of her brothers being tested for bone marrow transfers.  i think of the hopelessness that must be scratching at the hearts of my cousins:  Shauna, a mother of multitude mercies.  David, a father of tenderness and grace.  and little Thea, tiny in her toque and discomfort.  please pray for them.  for healing.  for sleep.  for cancer-free blood and a hospital free life.    i am thankful for the privilege of knowing them, of standing with them in prayer and sharing a portion of their sorrow.  will you pray with us?

so much to be thankful for.  i am coming to believe that a full life is a life full of thankfulness.
may we have ears to hear all that calls us to gratitude.  

Monday, January 19, 2015

perfectionism is for losers

i was asked to speak at our church's mom's group - called "littles" - last week.  it always feels a little surreal when i'm asked to share somewhere; i mean, do people really want to listen to me?  and do i really have something to say?  especially on the topic of parenting...a subject matter that envelops a wide array of emotions for me.  i was asked to share what i have learned as a mother, and it was suggested that i frame the talk in chapter headings.  so, chapter 1:  perfectionism is for losers.  here's a snippet:

early on in my career as a parent, I realized that the term “perfect mother” was an unachievable notion.  it is sadly, one that is thrown about, but what would a perfect mother really be like?  how could you do this job perfectly and keep you sanity?

when my daughter was quite small I started seeing a counselor due to fits of uncontrollable anger I was experiencing.  she quickly diagnosed my perfectionism and asked me “would you want your daughter to have to live up to the ideal of perfection?  would you want to be friends with a perfect woman?”.  those were life-altering questions for me, because I realized that I would never want to lay the burden of perfection on anyone I loved, especially my child.  and I would never want to have a perfect friend.  how could I ever relate to her?  how could I share my struggles with her?  or complain with her? 

I started reflecting on the things I was doing as a mother because of the various voices in my head telling me that these actions were hallmarks of a “good mother”:  my mom had once said “a good mom makes chicken soup once a week”.  actually, what most likely happened is that i made the soup, told her about it, and she said "you're such a good mother". which, in my perfectionistic baby-brained sleep-deprived state, translated to become "make chicken soup every week from scratch if you want to be a good mother".   so I would make the freakin' soup and my daughter would refuse to eat it, and I would lose it because she was inhibiting me from being a ‘good mother’.  didn't she understand that I made the freakin' soup for her?!! ....!!!!! 

my mother-in-law had made a passing comment on how my house was so clean, so I kept it as spotless as possible, and had these horrible conversations in my head while I was cleaning, of her praising me, or of how my house was so much cleaner than this woman who was being mean to me, etc...  and then my poor toddler would dump her raisins on the floor (on purpose!) and I’d rage.

I realized that my desire to be a perfect mom was making me a horrible one.

a friend of mine who I really admire serves her family popcorn for dinner on Sundays so that they can relax and watch little house on the prairie together.  I have yet to reach this level of nonchalance, perhaps because if I don’t eat meat in a meal I’m ravenous an hour later, or perhaps the Canadian food guide is like a chain around my neck.  but I aspire to popcorn dinners.  or something akin to them. 

the goal of our parenting is not to raise perfect people, but healthy ones.  people that know both their flaws and God’s grace.  I want children who will laugh at themselves instead of others.  who practice gratitude daily.  who enjoy life deeply and see God’s best.  who trust their imperfections and the world’s imperfections to a perfect God.  and here’s the secret:  my children will not achieve this healthy state if they have a ‘perfect’ mother. 

it was a good talk for me to have to speak out loud.  a beating away of the voices that circle my head like crows, a murder of crows, calling me to guilt and shame and slavery to perfectionism.  there are these life-long battles we fight that can feel so long and hard and dreary, sloth-ing our way through the mud, hesitant to look back on how long the road is behind us, terrified of looking forward at all that is to come.  tired.  then you speak, and bring things hidden back out into the light, and for a while you are carried by the prayers and understanding faces and tearful eyes of others.  

and i remembered that some of my most profound moments of mothering have occurred when i am apologizing.

i wish for you a week of healthy choices, silenced voices, and cherished friendships.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

mirror mirror

there's a magical mirror in the first harry potter book - the mirror of Erised.  the person who looks into its shimmering depths will see themselves reflected with their hearts deepest desire. Dumbledore warns harry that many a man has wasted their life sitting in front of the mirror.   i think i may have had a glimpse of this dark magic myself yesterday - in the mirror of Anthropologie.

i walked into the change room, glancing at the floor to ceiling mirror beside me, and was struck by feelings of pride. "man, these jeans look good on me" i thought.  my sporadic work outs must be doing something good.  i turned to face the reflection:  my hair looks great today, wow, my legs look long.  wait a minute....my legs look long.

that was my first clue that there was trickery afoot.

i called out to scott "i think the mirror in here stretches me up" and the woman attending the change rooms called back "yah, they do that.  if you want a true image of yourself you can look in the mirrors out here".

well, well.

i called scott in "you have to see my legs in this mirror"...i confess i was entranced.  of course, my husband being who he is, came into the little room angry, using words like "manipulation" and "deceitful".  i just stared at those long legs of mine and smiled.

i suppose it surprises no one that he's the dumbledore and i'm the harry in this relationship.

now, in the comfort of my own home with my truthful mirrors and not-long legs i do feel a little miffed.  how mean to put that image in front of me - an image that no amount of working out or eating well could ever produce.  unless the rack is brought back as a beauty regime, the anthropologie image will never materialize.

and what about the population of women who are tall?  do they look in the mirror and see a behemoth?  do they cringe at the sight?

ah well, i bought the dress anyways, despite the crappy lying mirror and the scented candles that gave scott a headache.  i'm such a sucker for a sale.

usually at this time of year i like to write about looking back, remembering the lessons learned in the previous 12 months, practicing gratitude for all that i have been offered and experienced.

this year, i allowed myself a few peeks behind, but the last few months made me so annoyed that i have snapped my head forward.  ahead!  i will not depress myself with writing out the details of september to december, but let's just say that my role as mother has been requiring many hours of overtime.  sometimes i just have to look at my parenting as a job:  jobs have seasons of high intensity, jobs are not always enjoyable.  somehow this encourages me.  and then i think about all of the perks my job as a mother entails - i get to work from home, frequent snacks, hugs and kisses, no dress code...pretty cushy career!!  (just don't get me started on the lice and 9 weeks of flus and puke on the walls and crabby bored little people constantly complaining....)

as i said, let's look ahead!

2015 sounds like a year from the jetsons.  maybe we should get a pet this year and call it "elroy". wait a minute, did i just say that?!  when i wrote "pet" i meant "plant".

i will turn 40 this year.  that sounds like a number from the golden girls.  no, no, i'm just kidding.  but it is a number that makes me pause, and think "really?!".  mostly because i should be a total bonified legitimate adult by 40.  i always thought i'd be a lot more mature by this age, more calm and demure, finally quiet at parties and able to resist exposing personal information in moments of discomfort.  again, the dream is not the true reflection.

good thing i like the short, loud, inappropriate me.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

get me off this ride

this summer has been a bit of  a roller coaster emotionally.  some breathtaking highs and some plummets that pull your stomach up into your throat.  all in all a good ride that's left me a little shaken.

and, as a shining jewel to top it off, my summer ended in my 39th birthday last thursday.

last thursday was one of the best days of my life.  i woke up at 8, grabbed a delicious coffee and my robe, and scooted downstairs to paint for two hours.  it felt like a dream.  my son quietly opened the door to my studio and threw in a paper airplane with birthday love written on it.  my husband made me breakfast.  and i painted and sang and sank into the goodness of my family and my gifting and my life.  later i went shopping with the kids and bought some new plants and gardened in sunshine.  then i headed off to my dear friend leah's birthday party - it was perfect!  an amazing party that i didn't have to plan or execute or clean up after, filled with close friends and delicious food.

at this moment you might hate me, but remember:  the roller coaster.

the next morning i brought the kids to the doctors because i had this insanely itchy scalp.  i had looked up symptoms of candida on the internet (candida is something i'm dealing with, hence the annoying sugar free diet), and confirmed that an itchy scalp is totally related. scott is the one who basically forced me to go to the doctor, so i explained everything to her, in a tone that was saying "i'm sorry i'm wasting your time, since i've self-diagnosed my issue, but my husband made me come...". She smiled and gently pointed out there are many reasons for itchy scalps.  she had me pull my hair up off of my neck and she shone the light on the back of my head.  i think it was instant.  no, i'm almost positive it was instant - her reaction i mean.  she stepped back.  she said "oh, yes, your head is infested with gnats".


i calmly yelled "GNATS?!!!!" and then immediately realized i had just informed the entire waiting room of my condition.  i confess i fleetingly had the thought that maybe gnats weren't the same thing as lice.  maybe they were a higher more rare breed or something.  the caviar or infectious head-biting diseases.  no, no, they're not.

let's just get it out there:  my whole family has lice.

so, friday, the day after one of the best days of my life, was filled with chemical treatments, lice combs, laundry, vacuuming, more laundry, and sticking hats and dolls and one of my favourite dresses in quarantine.  this was a plummet my friends.

by monday, we'd gotten into a groove as a family.  scott and i would get up, make the coffee, and sit on the back deck in the rising sunshine and nit-pick.  not "i hate it when you leave your flat iron on the counter" nit-pick.  no, the reason the entire phrase was invented.  we pick little spider-like bugs and their eggs off each other's heads (and you know how much i love spiders!).  scott wanted to add "professional de-louser" on his linked-in profile.  actually, truth be told, he's very good at it.

anyways, on monday we're in the groove, no longer completely grossed out, and trying to find the beauty in early morning shocks of sunshine.  it could even be romantic if it wasn't completely disgusting.  i decide, after i've been cleaned, to workout.  to not just do yoga this time, but a weight-lifting routine.

and i put my back out.

and i was lifting three pound weights.

and, yes, now i feel like a louse-y old woman.

do you see what i'm saying about the roller coaster?  don't get me wrong, i know it could be a pit, i know there's worse things than being on this ride, but i still want off.  give me a prairie field of flat predictability.  at least for a few days.


Tuesday, July 8, 2014

oh to be wise!

I've been thinking about wisdom the last few days.

on sunday Mike, a pastor at our church, preached a sermon about spiritual gifts.  usually a sermon on this topic touches on the different "gifts" (teaching, encouraging, serving, exhortation, prophecy, etc.), then explains how you know you have these gifts, or how they should be used, and a "spiritual gifts inventory" is sometimes handed out, and a passionate plea is given about how each member of the church needs to use their gifts in order for the church to work effectively.

this is what i was expecting.  this is not what i heard.

instead, Mike, got right down to the root of the matter - why does God's Spirit gift us in certain ways?  what's the point?  sometimes we have gifts that come naturally to us, sometimes we have them for a specific time or place - but all of us are gifted in some way to do something, or be something.  short answer:  the reason we have gifts is to give them, to use them as a means of extending the grace we have received to others.

there's no ego here.  no comparing my gifts with another's.  there's no need - every gifting has the same purpose.  we, each of us, are a gift to God's people and the world in unique ways.  we are each presents, put in place for the good of all.

therefore the question isn't "what's my gift?", but "how am i giving myself?".

i apologize for the little sermonette there, but that is the context to my ruminating on wisdom.  and the short story is: i want to be wise.  i want wisdom to be one of my gifts to my community.

as i was gardening on monday, stewing on this thought, i glanced up at my husband.  he was sitting in the front yard reading theology.  i thought about the fact that he loves, (LOVES) to read theology.  he loves to read autobiographies.  he loves documentaries. my husband is a gleaner of information and the wisdom of others.

i glanced over at the book i'm reading.  no, that is a lie.  i'm not reading it, i'm listening to it as an audiobook. i am not even making the effort to use my eyes to decipher letters.   it's from the "young adult fiction" section at the library, and is about a future distopian society where everyone gets plastic surgery to make them beautiful at the age of 16, thus making everyone "equal" and eradicating crime.  i won't say this is as far from theology as you can get, but it's definitely past the mid-line between wisdom and stupidity.

suddenly something became clear:  i may want to be wise, but i'm not drawn to gleaning wisdom.

i'm drawn to story and beauty and romance, to delicious smells and tastes, to laughter and colour and lilting melodies and complex harmonies.  i can honestly stare at the colour of our kitchen walls and feel this great sense of thankfulness.  i will shove my nose inside a rose and feel pleasure ripple through me.  i paint for an hour and feel restored, or sing with scott and feel blessed beyond measure.

i am gifted with the arts.  i love the arts and the arts love me.  they rejuvenate me and push me to praise.

i thought about this while weeding around our japanese maple and came to the conclusion that i need to just let go of my wisdom fantasies.  surely harry potter and van dyke brown (my favourite brown) and the indigo girls will not end in me being wise.

and then today i was talking to scott about the whole internal process and he said - "you're kidding!  you'll never believe what i was reading while you were thinking that "and he started to read to me from his theology book:
one of the urgent needs of our day is to recover an understanding of the interplay of wisdom with the arts - to speak to how the arts are vital to the formation of a Christian mind, the cultivation of a Christian imagination and the nurturing of a deep love for the good, the noble, the excellent and the worthy of praise. (Gordon Smith, "Called to be Saints").

well, would you look at that!  the arts are vital to the formation of a Christian mind.  hallelujah- i'm not a lost cause after all!!  and maybe (maybe) my young adult fiction isn't an embarrassment - at least it's an inventive and interesting story that's not filled with sex.  and maybe my dream of my paintings pulling others closer to God is not a fantasy.

maybe the Spirit of God is using the arts to build wisdom in me.  a love for beauty, a passion for imagination, a gratitude for creation:  a trust in my Creator.

i must hear more of Gordon Smith!  i'll get Scott to read the book and give me a summary.  maybe in the form of a dance, or a haiku.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

holiness and husbandry

yesterday i puked my guts out.  or, at least, the entirety of my stomach contents.  in truth,  it felt like some guts snuck in there as well.  perhaps a little spleen?
but let's not dwell.  instead, let me tell you about my incredible husband.
there i am, lying on the floor, half in the en-suite, half in the bedroom.  i am clutching a green plastic bowl at my side, as though it is a flotation device.  i am covered in sweat.  my hair: a rats nest halo.  lets not even mention my breath.  i'm moaning and would be crying if not for dehydration.
scott stands above me, having just saved me from passing out.  the dear man looks down at me and says: "Janet, you are not dying".
(for those of you who are not familiar with my tendencies to over-dramatize my illnesses, feel free to read my past blog post entitled hypochondria).
he then tucks me into bed, washes out the bowl (unbelievable!), researches and buys something sugar-free to re-hydrate me, and sets up netflix on a pile of blankets beside me.
i mean, seriously!!!.

i once read this book. ok, i once read the first few chapters of this book (as is my practice with non-fiction) called "sacred marriage".  the thesis was that marriage is not primarily for personal happiness, but as a means of building holiness.  (i know, that's a slap in the face to popular culture, and me, quite frankly).  the author encouraged his readers to pray something along the lines of "God, help me to find my husband the most attractive man in the world.  may my definition of beauty be all that he is.  may my eyes be for him alone".  so, i pray this every so often (possibly after watching james bond).

as i lay on the floor, my legs stretching into our bathroom, literally wondering if i was at death's door, and he said those words "Janet, you are not dying" i thought "he is the most beautiful man in the world".

answered prayer!

and now i'm typing on my laptop as he sits across the family room, guitar in hand, singing a worship song he wrote when we were first married, and my heart is bursting.

the catch for this marriage-for-holiness thing is that holiness breeds happiness.  when scott was serving me he was acting out the character that God has been forming in him.  who else could make him into a man that deals with his wife's puke and hypochondria but God in heaven?  my hope and prayer is that I am being transformed into someone that reflects Christ too.  that scott will see in me what i see in him.  for the closer to Jesus we become, the more deeply we will love each other, and the happier we'll be.  (which makes me think i'm in this for my personal happiness... perhaps i should read a few more chapters of the book).

oh dear, now he's doing handy man jobs.  this man needs to be kissed!  i must go.