Good Friday

today is Good Friday.
For some reason i prefer this day to Easter Sunday.  although, truthfully, i am always left disappointed at my inadequacy to enter into either fully.  Good Friday speaks to me of disappointment, loss, sadness; the revelation that sometimes the Christian life looks empty of God's presence, looks confusing and ridiculous and embarassing. 
maybe it's because of the frustration of my upbringing in the Pentecostal church - always encouraging me to find the joy of my salvation, to trust that everything will work out!  Blessing!  Health! Christ Conquers!    truths, but not the Truth.  How does one reconcile personal pain with such a belief system?  and habitual sin?  and crippling fear?
enter Good Friday.
and dark Saturday.

it is such a gift for me to see the Messiahs moment of absolute strength, His action of defeating sin and conquering death, clothed in humility, in humiliation, in pain and grief. 
If God is in the business of using such things for His beautiful purposes, then surely there's a chance for my life to mean something extraordianary.  As a Christ follower I don't have to put on a happy face, i don't have to pretend to have the 'joy joy joy joy down in my heart'.  I don't have to wipe over my sin and failures and feign perfection.  I am called to be real.  as real as a man bleeding and broken and desperate on a cross.
i am called to share my pain with others, so that I can share my healing with them too.  I am called to admit when I feel forsaken by God, so that He can awaken me again to the grace of each breath and heartbeat.  I am called to expose my wounds, so that others may see their woundedness in me, and follow me to the source of Life. 

pretending to forever live in the resurrection, while denying the reality of the crucifixion, and the dark day of abandoned emptiness, left me in a place of skin-deep religion.  once i removed the masks of happiness and confidence i forced myself to wear, i was amazed to find there was nothing underneath them.  and the amazing miracle of my life took place when i started to embrace my lack of trust, my brokenness, my fears, my idolatry - once i started naming these things and sharing them and taking steps away from them - i found the joy!  blessing!  wholeness!  Christ conquers!  resurrection can not happen without crucifixion.

so, dear friends and stranger alike: die today to the masks that you wear.  come clean.  and tomorrow you will live.

denouement

my in-laws were just in town for a few days, and now they've left and i have this dull after the climax feeling.  denouement.  who likes denouement?  maybe people who enjoy endings.  i, for one, am always saddened when i near the end of a book or a (good) movie.  i hate packing for a vacation early because that hour of waiting between the zipping of the suitcase and getting in the car seems to suck all the excitement out of me.   give me tension and drama and suspense!!
my in-laws walked out, i closed the door and turned around to.....silence.  i've been teetering over grumpy ever since.

i severely put my foot in my mouth the other day.  want to hear?
i took my guests to the saskatoon farmer's market and immediately hit a stall that was selling  sea buckthorn berries.  never heard of them?  well, they're the most tart thing you've ever tasted, and supposedly are the best thing in the world for your immune system and overall health.  you heard it hear first, don't forget.  well, i had just purchased a little bag of these gems for smoothies and happened to glance down at the literature on the table, with graphs and charts promoting the seabuckthorn for all it's glorious qualities.  i noticed the line:  president Betty Forbes.  i said "ha!  betty forbes!  that's funny!!" (thinking, of course, of betty ford) and immediately noticed a silence illuminating from the other side of the table.  i looked at this lovely woman, who was now staring at the floor, and quietly asked
        "are     you       Betty        Forbes?"
she nodded.
poop.
i tried to dig myself out but fear i was unsuccessful.

i had a friend invite me to be on the church's slopitch team.  at first i was flattered, then quickly realized she had never seen me play any sport whatsoever, which then quickly led me to remember that i suck at competitive sport.  the fact that i first read the invitation as "would you be interested in playing slop-itch" should have been the first clue.  i thought it must be a card game i had yet to hear of. :)  i declined the offer, stating that it was in her best interest.

my daughter's principal informed her school today that we are in the season of "sprinter".  translation: 'stop pretending it's spring out there and get your winter coats back on.'  the snow has almost completely melted however, and i have joyfully discovered a flower bed in my backyard, as well as some patio stones making little paths here and there and a firepit circle.  we are using the barbeque more than the oven and i've packed away the long-johns.  you don't scare me sprinter!

one of the most magical moments of my last week was holding my friend lindsey's newborn baby in my arms.  he led out a big poop - i was so happy!  it is always a breathtaking experience to be reminded again of how helpless we enter the world, how completely devoid of understanding, how completely dependant and fragile...and that this was the path Christ chose.  it speaks to me of strength in weakness, beauty in dependency, honour in parenthood, blessing in helplessness.  and what a gift to walk beside Lindsey.  this is her first baby, and it feels so fulfilling to be able to say "this is normal" - the words i so wanted to hear every hour in the first weeks of my daughter's life.  i often add "i'm sorry it's normal", because truly, the hormonal imbalance, the discomfort, the panic, the confusion, the sense of drowning and losing yourself....why oh why does this have to be the norm?

i tell myself it's because motherhood is a sacred and incredible calling that cannot be entered into lightly.  we literally tear ourselves open for our children, and should continue to for the rest of our lives.

yet, my son eskimo  kissed me tonight (sorry that's so not politically correct), and my daughter held my hand and taught me a song about elephants, so the trade off is comparable.  they will fill my denouement with new climaxes and adventures and tension, i'm sure.

thank God.    

a quieting

i feel quiet.
those of you who know me well, or have spent more than three minutes in the same room as me, will know that this is not an often felt feeling.  but tonight i have this desire to wrap myself in down and sit under the stars and rest in peace.  i can almost imgine myself back at camp as a teenager, the heavens displaying the glory of God, lying on top of a rough picnic table, the smell of campfire and lake and the feeling of slightly burned skin, the taste of salt and vinegared french fries lingering on my lips.  and crickets.

spring has sprung in Saskatoon, just when i was beginning to think it would never.  there are streams of melted snow running down the driveways and roads, expertly engineered to tilt into the waiting sewers.  there are also massive puddles, that freeze and thaw each night and day.  i was standing in one such puddle, picking up my daughter from school, when i began to notice that EVERY child on the playground was in rubber boots.  i didn't get the saskatoon spring footwear memo, and was holding the hand of my very wet son, in sneakers.  it will take a while before the rhythms become my own.

one rhythm that is becoming louder and clearer to me is that of Sabbath.  this week we experienced it.  it was a day of breathing deeply; no lists, no "shoulds", no demands.  we sunk ourselves deep into the day and joyfully explored it as it unfolded around us.  we finished putting together our new barbeque.  we held a newborn baby.  we sat and listened to God.  we played.  we even shopped.  it was lovely. 

here's what i'm seeing worked for me last week:  i vacuumed on Sunday and tidied the house so that i wouldn't feel like it was falling  in on me on my sabbath.  clean floors and a clear kitchen sink somehow give me the impression that my whole house is clean.  i didn't make a to-do list.  i didn't sleep in.  i spent time with God.  i spent time with friends.  i played with my children.  i prepared part of dinner the night before, and didn't bother with dirty dishes. i tried to be attentive to God's leading.  i let go.  i enjoyed myself.

i wonder if that's why i feel so quiet tonight, maybe my sabbath rest is lingering in my bones, calling me to sit and listen and reflect. 

i've been reading snippets of works by Charles de Foucauld this week, and here's one for us tonight.
When one loves one longs to be for ever in converse with him one loves, or at least to be always in his sight.  Prayer is nothing else.  This is what prayer is: intimate intercourse with the Beloved.  You look at Him; you tell Him of your love, you are happy at His feet, you tell Him you will live and die there.

je veux crier l'Evangile toute ma vie.
(i will shout the gospel all my life)

yes, Lord.  even in this quiet.