advent

i don't know about you, but for me Christmas came deliciously slow this year.  i'm starting to feel as though "Christmas" is becoming an entire season for me, rather than just a day.  it begins with advent, moves through St. Nicholas day, dances around parties and school productions, takes a deep breath Christmas eve and then explodes the next morning.  but it doesn't end there - the liturgical calendar celebrates twelve days of Christmas.  twelve days to continue to ponder the mystery of the incarnation, the humility of the shepherds, the poignant gifts of wise men.  i love it.  

last year i started a personal tradition of painting an advent piece, which also marinades me in mystery for a while.  

this year i wanted to explore the adventine (adventian?  chose whichever made-up word you enjoy better) concept of waiting.   waiting for clarity.  for direction.  for detail.  for truth.  i wanted to communicate the reality of how we all see dimly, through muddied waters, tired eyes, broken lenses.  how we are all waiting for the focus of God's revelation.  

here's what i wrote in my journal in November:  

I can see how my eye has been moving to the background, to the obscured light, to bokah, refraction, blur. the delicious excitement of detailing what has no detail.  the challenge.  the beauty of colour, repetition, fuzzy line, blended shade.  this is exciting.  a new step.  an intentional step.  a step that makes sense to my hand, my eye, my heart and mind.  a glorifying step.  

so, my first semi-abstract painting. 

i'm really proud of it.  it makes me think of how i can look backward at my life, or forward, or even around me in the moment, and everything is so obscure.  and then i ask for God's help to see - my purpose, my next step, the path behind me - and there's a tweak.  a turning of the lens.  lines become a little more crisp, the turmoil contained, muddied areas clarify - some beautiful godly perspective.  clarity.  never complete, but enough to understand a little better. 

i'm considering painting a series along this line.  calling it the 'not yet' series. 

our new church has many traditions - one of its many endearing qualities.  traditions like every child getting a little present the sunday before Christmas.  and a candle-lit Christmas eve service.  and the sunday after Christmas - a consolation and desolation service.  consolations are moments in our lives where we see God clearly, we experience the joy of knowing and trusting Him better, we celebrate, we taste the goodness. desolations are the opposite.  moments of pain and fear, moments of wandering and wondering.  as a church we took time to look back over our year, at our personal moments in both categories, and then the mic was passed around for people to share their stories if they'd like.  i didn't share.  i was on the stage, having led worship with scott, a mic at my fingertips but i didn't trust myself to speak.  i knew if i started sharing a torrent of tears would awaken.  

but i can share here.

my greatest moments of desolations this year were hugs.  goodbye hugs where friends shook with tears on my shoulder.  hugging my despairing daughter the first few weeks of school.  hugging myself as i wailed out my grief on our bottom stair.  

and my greatest moments of consolation?  also hugs.  hugs from new friends.  from perfect strangers.  hugs around casserole dishes filled with food for our arriving family.  an enormous group hug from our church the morning scott was commissioned.  hugs from my mother-in-law and father-in-law, welcoming us back to bc. and hugs from my children, bubbling over with stories of new friendships, or sleepy hugs of contentment.  

i was struck with another moment as i was thinking in church this morning.  a saturday morning a couple months ago.  scott was still sleeping and i snuck out of bed to have my journalling/prayer/coffee time.  i opened our bedroom door quietly and slipped through.  my eyes caught sight of our oak floor jutting up against the wide white baseboard my dad installed, and the warm grey wall we had painted our first day in this home.  floor, baseboard, wall.  and i thought "beautiful".  and it struck me - i love our home.  this house that made me want to weep the first time i walked through it - a continual visual assault of dirt and ugly colours and needed projects and neglect.  so much work.  and that morning the lens shifted.  i saw my house a little clearer.  i saw that it was my home.  and as my childhood friend marilynne told me would happen - i love the house all the more for the sweat involved in changing it. 

so, friends and strangers, may this year ahead bring us all a wee bit more clarity.  may the "now" of God's comfort and compassion, His presence and unfailing love, supersede the "not yet" of our agonies and confusions.  God bless you.

how to make a healthy Janet.

all is calm.  all is bright.
the sky is grey, but the snow on the ground gives a beautiful glow to my home.  my empty home.  i just vacuumed so there are still those gratifying streaks in the carpet.  a basket of yarn sits on the couch.  my planter of succulents still thrives somehow by the window.  the wreath is up, the tree is lit.

i can not put into words how full i feel today, for the past number of weeks really.  this season of resting has been sheer gift.  it has given me the space to begin cultivating some amazing rhythms in my days.  i get the kids off to school and then i sit with my coffee (sugar-free dairy-free, but somehow still delicious thanks to soy cream and xylitol).  i journal.  two pages of whatever is running through my mind.  sometimes i start and think "there's nothing running through my mind" and then two pages later i have unearthed hopes and fears and longings and frustrations that i didn't know were there.  and because i do this almost every day, it's like a daily brain purge, heart purge, soul purge.  sometimes i write prayers, sometimes i write things i will never say out-loud - but the beauty of it is, because i've written it down, i don't need to!  i put down my journal and pick up my Bible or my prayer guide. it is incredible how often the psalm or scripture or the prayer for the day directly correlates with what i've just spewed out in my journal.  i mean, freaky incredible.  like the God of the universe whispered words in a man's ear thousands of years ago for me to read... today.

and He did!

i am wondering how i will keep this morning rhythm when i stop the resting and start the working.  i think, and i can't believe i'm writing this....i think i'll have to wake up early.  i honestly have " i think i can i think i can" looping through my mind at the moment.  waking up early is not my forte.  it's not even my pianissimo.  but there have already been a couple mornings where i've actually done it.  a number of saturdays where i have actually left scott in the warm cozy bed and transferred my sleepy self to the couch with the coffee and journal.

this, my friends, is nothing short of miracle.

but as i'm lying there, hearing the kids bustling downstairs for their saturday morning hour of television (is someone out there judging that?  really?!), contemplating whether to allow the sleepiness to pull me back under, i picture my journal, and the catharsis of writing.  i think of how much healthier i'll feel throughout the day having taken the time to sit with myself and God.  and, let's be honest, i think of coffee.  and i magically arise!

for the past number of weeks i have sat with my pen and fresh piece of paper and have asked "how do i feel?".  and i feel calm.  i feel grounded.  i feel health.  i feel intense gratitude.  i feel hope.  and Brene Brown* is teaching me to sit in that, to open up my heart and breath deeply the incredibly joy that surrounds me, to understand the vulnerability of such joy, and the desire to protectively squelch it with a "it can't last" thought.  i ignore fear and enjoy the moment.  i enjoy the two pages.

i enjoy the day.

so, we'll see what is to come.  i mean, truth is, the longing of my heart is that this season will lead me into a season of more of this season!!  and who wouldn't want that.  but i know that i'm called to more.  i'm called to help with the financial burden of living in North Vancouver.  i'm called to intentional relationships of mentoring and being mentored.  it's possible, quite possible, that i'm called to a bookclub.  i think i'm called to teach in some capacity.  and i'm most definitely called to gathering and encouraging and collaborating with the artists in our church.  what that all looks like?  Lord only knows. but thankfully, He actually does - know.

my list of essentials is this - no matter what comes next:  i need to daily spend time with God, i need to prioritize self-reflection, i need to exercise, i must continue to eat in a healthy manner, i must sabbath, i must be intrinsically involved in the lives of my children and husband, i must have time for deep friendship, and i must paint.  

i think that's my recipe for health. no measurements needed, just eye-ball it.


i pray for calm and bright to be your experience today.  that you would take time to look around and in, to practice reflection and gratitude, to recognize God's unyielding love and presence.  may this advent season lead us all to a new birth in our dirty stable lives.  amen.

*Brene Brown is the writer of "the Gifts of Imperfection" and "Daring Greatly".  She is a sociologist who has studied the areas of shame, vulnerability, and whole-hearted living.

invitation

Come out and see my current works, meet new friends and old, have some snacks and fill your heart up with some beauty.

OPENING RECEPTION 

Sunday, December 8th, 1-5pm

at Alexander Homes, 

6611 Royal Avenue in Horseshoe Bay

with a little help from my friends

it is the day you would expect when i say i live in North Vancouver.  grey skies.  falling rain.  cold and wet and a little dreary.  but GREEN.  verdant, luscious, eye and soul enriching green.  my heart goes out to all of you who look out onto white today.  i will try and drink in the colour for all of us.

it's been a wild few weeks.  i shared my story at church last sunday and have since been thrust into the awaiting arms of the cap community.  so far this week i have two lunches, a coffee date and a driving date, where a friend is going to steer me around the north shore and help me find myself a little more. my dance card is full!  (even for you Mr. Darcy).   if you'd like to hear my voice, and the story of God's action i my life, click here.

i also ripped my art down from all over the house and hung it at our realtor's office in Horseshoe Bay. it looks great, hanging on white brick.  poor scott keeps looking wistfully at the empty nails over the bed and in the living room.  i told him "you can't have me selling art and it staying on our walls - you can't have it both ways!" (read that in my most annoying matriarchal voice).   still, he slumps.  


my friend, actually let's call her my dear friend, i think she's made it to that level - my dear friend Emma took photos of me the other day.  i'm trying to be savvy and make some promotional material for myself - which is akin to running my sharpened fingernails down my face.  the photo shoot was enormous fun though - here's some of the images she took.  what you're not seeing is her adorable 2 year old girl in the periphery, talking about poop and playing with calico critters and the golf-ball eyes we had for our jack-o-lantern.  which made the shoot all the more merrier.  it's amazing what moms can accomplish.

let me take this opportunity to publicly thank jillian michaels and leah hagerty for that arm muscle.  

the last two weekends we have also been treated with friends from saskatoon coming to visit.  my daughter's little heart is currently in raptures as she plays with one of her prairie besties, and i look forward to a trip to whole foods with one of mine tonight.  last weekend we dined on pork loin and champagne with another visiting family, and took them down to the lynn valley suspension bridge.  i could see them trying to soak up the beauty in every way possible - breathing deeply, running their hands over the rocks and touching the trees and opening wide their eyes.  i was struck with how quickly i can accept these views of mountain and ocean as 'normal'.  how i want to somehow cultivate the continual awe that living here should inspire.  

the recent past has also proven, once again, that God holds my life.  I have been scrambling and spinning trying to figure out how i can sell my art.  do i meet with some galleries?  do i get an agent? do i connect with interior designers? no matter what, the steps are vulnerable.  scary.  each morning i give myself to God, and slowly through the day i finger pick my way back to control, to worry, to scheming. I  go to bed confused and uncertain, and wake up to start the process again. 

stop it Janet.

then i have the opportunity to share at our new church.  now, as you've probably guessed, when i share i SHARE.  i live with this principle that if i share my worst with you, maybe you'll feel comfortable enough to share your second-worst with me, and then we'll connect and heal together.  i can't be the only one that thinks this way.  it seems normal to me because, well, it's me.  but ever since i shared i've had countless people express thankfulness for my vulnerability.  i've had lots of affirmation with the words "brave" or "courageous" i them.  i don't necessarily think i'm those things, i just want connection.  i want healing.  i want my darkest parts to have some meaning and use. 

and now, within a week of sharing,  i have an art show.  i have had countless words of encouragment.  i have a business card.  i have a wee bit of momentum, and all of it graciously offered by my church.  of course!  of course God would work this way.  of course i can entrust myself completely to His care.  what a forgetful girl i am.

may we take the time to mentally stop the spin of life, and place ourselves again, and then again, in the still hands of Christ.

i hate to say it, but these non-fiction books do work.

i am currently reading three (that's 3)  non-fiction books.  if you know me an inch, you know this is a stretch.  and here's the amazing thing- all of these works, though focussing on different subjects, seem to be leading me in the same direction.  yes folks, i think i'm learning.
here's what's trickling down.  as much as you may think this is a no-brainer, i actually physically pause before writing this sentence, because it is difficult and fraught with a lot of inner wrestling.  here it is:

i am an artist.

deep breath.

i am an artist.  art is not my hobby, it is not a side-game, it is not an additive.  art does not just enhance my life and my home.  i do not have these skills for decoration or to accessorize my real vocation.  i have been created by my Creator to create.

that, in all honesty, has brought tears to my eyes to write for the world to see.

now, as i said, you may think this is no new news.  i make art, ergo, i am an artist.  well, being seen as something and accepting yourself as something are completely different things.  let me share this weeks aha moment from non-fiction number 1, the artist's way, by julia cameron.

Most of us harbour a secret belief that work has to be work and not play, and that anything we really want to do - like write, act, dance - must be considered frivolous and be placed a distant second.  This is not true.  We are operating out of the toxic old idea that God's will for us and our will for us are at opposite ends of the table... 

Most of us equate difficulty with virtue - and art with fooling around.  Hard work is good.  A terrible job must be building our moral fibre.  Something - a talent for painting say - that comes to us easily and seems compatible with us must be some sort of cheap trick, not to be taken seriously.  On the one hand, we give lip service to the notion that God wants us to be happy, joyous, and free.  On the other, we secretly think that God wants us to be broke if we are going to be so decadent as to want to be artists.  Do we have any proof at all for these ideas about God?   

Looking around God's creation, it is pretty clear that the creator itself did not know when to stop. ..This creator looks suspiciously like someone who just might send us support for our creative ventures.

okay, that's long.  i hope i haven't trampled on some copyright laws, but reading that the other night, sirens were blaring in my head.  i struggle every day with guilt.  i think of my friends slaving away as nurses or teachers or stay-at-home moms with little ones, and believe that i am not doing enough.  even though i clearly heard God calling me to rest for a few months, i question it. i question and question and question.  and then i think about what comes next, and it can't be more of the same.  it surely can NOT be that i get to be at home, creating paintings, meeting with friends, caring for my children and house, entering and sustaining intentional relationships, hosting and puttering.  how can it be that i get to do what i love?

and then, there's another voice that tells me i'm not a good enough painter to sell works anyways, so i better start job hunting if i want to financially contribute. i do not have the luxury to do what i love.  here's the dry goods:  i have sold one painting in 2013.  i've had paintings auctioned off, and have traded work for renovations, but have only once deposited money in the bank account.  this makes me feel....like i'm painting just for my own pleasure, and therefore it's not all that important.  i feel like my work is not worth what i think it is.  i feel like to continue to be an artist is selfish and irresponsible and foolish.  i am just not good enough at either painting or marketing myself to have this as my career.  enter non-fiction number 2, on the way, by Gordon smith.

A Christian mind is necessarily informed by two crucial attitudes:  humility and gratitude.  Growth in faith is dependent on growth in humility and growth in gratitude.   

Humility is simply living in the truth - recognizing the reality and character of God and living in personal dependence on God as Creator and Saviour.   However, humility also has a social dimension:   how we see ourselves within human community....humility is just as much opposed to self-abasement as it is to self-exaltation.  to be humble to is refuse to make comparisons.  We can engage the task we are called to do without the bondage of making comparisons.  This means that we are now freed form the crushing blow of criticism and from the headiness of flattery.

yeeouch!!  to refuse to make comparisons.  to paint because of the simple truth that i've been called and created to do it.  (i'm underlining that because i'm yelling it at myself).   

work "as though working for the Lord" 

(Col. 3:23).

yes, there are financial considerations.  but i am not called to carry that burden - i'm called to follow.  to live wide-eyed and open-eared daily to the direction God's taking me.  me.  not other artists or friends or strangers.  i must humbly work, with gratitude.

non-fiction number 3 is daring greatly by brene brown.  which is pushing me to be vulnerable and courageous, which is why i'm writing this post.  and why i will continue to place little bits of my heart on the end of a paintbrush and smush it across a canvas.

i am an artist.  today i have an empty house and a full easel.  off i go to bravely follow.

giving thanks

i was listening to adele this morning while journalling.  my 6-yr old son was dancing around me - now he's got this funky leg twitch happening with the beat, now he's spinning and moving his feet like a break-dancer, now he's catapulting himself off the couch - pretty incredible stuff.  anyways, i'm listening to the words "we could have had it all".  and i think to myself 'i have it all'.
i have it all.

i have love that i daily give and receive.
i have purpose and calling and meaning.
i have friendship and loyalty and kindness.
i have comfort and compassion.
i have understanding.
i have laughter and silliness and rest.

tonight, during the thanksgiving feast, i looked around the table at friends new and old, at family, at my husband, and when it was time for me to answer the annual question "what are you thankful for?", i told them:  "i have it all".

i'm feeling nervous that i'm starting to make you hate me.  so let me explain further.

i'm currently (slowly - because it's not fiction and therefore a challenge for me to read, sigh) reading Daring Greatly by Brene Brown.  i picked this book as one of my fall reads because it's all about vulnerability and it's necessity for wholeness of life. in one of the early chapters she talks about our culture of scarcity.  how one of our first thoughts in the day is how we did not get enough sleep, how we don't have the right outfit, how we don't get enough vitamins, or sunshine, or exercise...our society of consumerism and perfectionism leaves us lacking.  always lacking.

it is thanksgiving though.  and i think, as a gift to ourselves, we should have a scarcity-free day.  a day where we focus on gratefulness.  on generosity.  where we push away the "not enoughs".  where we are not miserly with our care for others or for ourselves, with our love, with our encouragement, with our laughter.    where we ignore the not good enoughs or smart enoughs or pretty enoughs or funny enoughs.  because, seriously, no one is.
there's the secret - no one is enough.  and that's where vulnerability comes in.  we take our places of lack and turn them inside out - into moments of connection with others, into vehicles for growth or forgiveness or compassion.

so, while journaling with my dancing son and Adele's sweet sweet vocals, i pictured myself as a cup.  a full cup.  an overflowing cup.  i thought of all of the amazing things my life holds, all of the beauty and grace.  i prayed that i would live my life as an outpouring of that overflow.  that i would give extravagantly, outrageously.  because, although in and of myself i am nowhere near enough of what i should and could be -  i am loved.  i am accepted.  i am forgiven.  i am called.  i am redeemed. because God is in my life, there is enough.  

more than enough.

and for that, Lord, i am truly thankful.

diagnoses

i have a diagnosis.

the other day i was explaining to my friend lindsey how i have such a hard time with dirt and mess.  when i see something that is disorganized or obviously needs cleaning it is like visual noise.  it is gnawing and unforgiving and compels me to act.  to react.  so i clean.  and i tidy.  and, to be frank, i'm glad i do.

there are times however....times when a friend is coming over and i pull out the broom and pause.  i think "it would be much kinder if i did not sweep the floor.  it would express my ability to be in a messy home, to be hospitable when things don't look perfect, to be laid back.  it would help my friend who has a newborn and is a walking zombie, who i'm positive has not had a chance to sweep in a dog's age, that she is not alone.  that she is okay.  that she can invite me over to her house and i will be perfectly comfortable."  and all of these thoughts are true.  i really do not care if my friends have clean homes.  and i love it when people "drop by" and surprise me, dirty floors and dusty dressers and all.

but then do you know what i do?  i sweep.  because the floor is like a shrill scream to my eyes.  and although i love my friend, i will not be restful until the screaming stops.

lindsey said "there's a term for that - when senses cross.  it's synesthesia."  so, there it is.  i suffer from synesthesia.  next time you come over and notice my pillows have been fluffed, think of my poor synesthetic brain and have pity.  i'm sick.

and no, this effect does not seem to happen in other people's homes - just my own!

this afternoon i was standing at my kitchen sink, singing the words "i give it all to you God, trusting that you'll make something beautiful out of me" (do you know that song?).  i looked up to the sky and there was an eagle, soaring from the tall trees down the street and right over my home.  where do i live?!  i am currently looking through my front window to mountains pink with the setting sun.  across the street the japanese maples are gearing up for a brilliant showing of fall red.  the hibiscus is ending but the yard is still green green green.  when i read in the psalms the term "the land of the living", it is hard not to think i've arrived.  maybe i have.

i went to see a counsellor last week.  and another diagnosis, one slightly more medically sound than the synesthesia, is that i'm grieving.  i'm grieving the move from cloverdale to saskatoon that happened almost three years ago.  i did not allow myself to grieve it then because, as you read, i was so happy!  so blessed!  so surrounded by beautiful expressions of God's faithfulness on every side.  i shoved down the pain of the goodbyes.  of leaving family.  of leaving a place i knew how to get around.  of leaving being known.  down it went.

and then i moved again.  and up up up it came.  and with it, new grief.  old pain in new circumstance.

recently grief looks like me hiding.  i want to be alone.  i am sad.  i am emotional.  sometimes i wake up angry, or i walk through the day totally fine and then snap!  i'm so mad i don't know what to do with myself.  and tired.  bone tired.  i procrastinate as much as possible.  i watch tv.  i add another 'to-do' to the list, and procrastinate some more.

obviously, if you've known me more than 3 minutes, you will agree that this is not me.  i have become unrecognizable.  hence, the trip to the counsellor.

and things are better.  much better.  i have had some great time with friends, new and old, recently.  i have pushed myself out of the house.  i have rested well.  i have tackled some to-dos.  i have experienced joy and wonder and gratitude.  it feels good.  like taking a deep breath after months of shallow existence.

i seem to have needed permission to grieve.  from a health care professional.  from my husband.  from friends.  permission to be a little self-absorbed and hermit-like and escapist.  and now that the permission has been granted, i think i'm moving out of it.  maybe i'm just starting to expect less from myself.  i'm being gentle with my bruised heart.  recognizing that my desire for a nap and a movie could actually be a need.  and maybe it's okay to procrastinate the trip to walmart for another day.  walmart is not healing, no sir.

i give it all to you God, trusting that you'll make something beautiful out of me.

there be spiders......

this has been my day so far.
wake up, ask scott for 20 minutes more sleep.  he graciously agrees.  as he's quietly trying to get some clothes out of his bottom drawer, something drops.  my eyes fly open
"what is it?  is it a spider?!" (i'm thinking he has surreptitiously dropped his pants on a spider so that he can quietly kill it without alarming me)
"shhh"
he goes into the bathroom.  he grabs his toothbrush.
"it's a spider right?!!" (i'm thinking he has the dead spider in his pants and is now trying to get rid of it with me being none-the-wiser)
"there's no spider!  close your eyes!"

i lie in bed for half an hour longer, trying not to think of spiders.

i get the kids off to school, journal, pray, eat breakfast, work out and shower.  i think about spiders whenever i move to a new location, open anything, or adjust any objects.

i am writing this for the world to hear:  i have a problem.

why?  you ask...i'll tell you why.  this province is crawling with friggin ginormous arachnids!!!!  almost daily for the past week one has made it's appearance.  last night it was in the bathroom sink when i walked in.  huge.  hairy.  huge.

when i try to think logically (which you can probably tell, is difficult in this matter) they do appear shy.  they timidly creep across the floor, or up the fireplace, or across a painting (must this be suffered?!!).  i'm sure they don't want to be on my carpet, they want to be spinning a web and eating mosquitoes.   which is why God made them, i tell myself.  i'm thinking i should educate myself more on the beauty and marvel of spiders.  i can see that there is a children's book on that precise topic sitting at the top of an unopened box in the family room.  can i open the box and take out the book that has a drawing of a spider and its web gracing it's cover?  no.  so far, i can not.

i am telling you. i have a problem.  this is not a drill.

okay, let's drop that topic.  on monday, as i painted, i listened to the Mumford and Sons album in it's entirety for the first time.  i know, you're wondering what musical planet i've been on - other good planets.  however, i must say that these men, and supposedly their offspring, took me on an emotional roller-coaster ride.  at one point i was thinking about joy, and wondering if my current joyous state transmitted somehow into the flora and fauna around me and out into the world.  the next minute i was fighting back tears thinking of scott dying.  up and down and around and around went my feelings and my brush.  it was artistry in community.  it was awesome.

i don't remember which songs brought me to the esoteric joy thoughts, but i'm pretty sure the frantic strumming and banjo picking had something to do with it.  do you remember that scene from one of the matrix movies that was supposed to depict heaven or utopia or something along those lines?  it was a giant dance party/orgy.  people crashing against each other, an ecstasy of rhythm and skin and sexuality and pleasure.  garbage!  and then hell in the movie was basically the same thing, just without the earth-toned clothing and some sadist elements.  both had these driving dance-bar rhythms, deep bass (unse unse unse...), and, from what i remember, a lack of melody.

heaven, in my opinion, will be like a square dance.  stick with me here!  i'm not a country music fan per se, but the idea of a ho down - the swirling and laughing and joyous strumming and fiddle and stomping and bowing to your partner and unified movement and harmony and teamwork.  and the banjo!  it sounds like heaven to my stunted gross-motor skills.  in fact, it sounds like heaven to my heart as well - a giant, celebratory ceilidh (pronounced "kay-lee"), filled with health, refreshing breezes, and a laughing Christ calling out the steps.

(maybe this all stems from grade 5 when i got to be michael campbell's corner and he had to hold my hand and oh!  he was so cute!!  one of the very few days i remember enjoying gym class)

but, truly, feel free to bury me with a banjo playing.
in a spider-proof coffin.

and one more time with feeling

Lady Bracknell: 35 is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained 35 for years.  (Oscar Wilde, "the Importance of Being Ernest")

                                                 
today i turned 38.  
again.
earlier this year i spent a solid two days firmly believing i was already this age.  i was doing dishes after dinner and finally exploded to Scott "i can't believe i turn 39 in a few months!!  i am so close to 40!!!".  he cleverly replied "you're turning 38".  
"no i'm not"
"yes you are.  i'm 35.  you're 37".
   (pause for thought)                        
"awesome!!"

i can tell you, there's nothing like believing you are already an age to dispel the sadness you may feel when actually turning it.  i looked in the mirror this morning and thought "not bad!"

today is also the auspicious occasion of both my children starting full-time school.  i celebrated with:  a nap, lunch with a friend and painting.  painting!  i haven't touched my paints since June and man, does it feel soul-satisfying to push colours around a canvas.  i did face a bit of the september jitters - you know, like when you had to write your first essay after summer vacation and were terrified you'd forgotten how.  i think i sojourned through it.  i'm a little afraid to look.

i woke up this morning with a beautiful birthday surprise of 6 bites ranging from my legs to neck.  i seem to have slept with a spider.  there are two on my neck, just below my jaw, a few centimeters apart.  i showed them to scott and said "do you know what i'm thinking?" and he said "spider?" and i said "vampire!", and rolled my eyes like "how could you?".  he didn't even pretend to be jealous.  

my daughter made me a beautiful card and inscribed it with words like "you are my saviour, you rescued me".  yikes!  she must have been thinking of a worship song for birthday inspiration.  must chat about that at a later date....  my son grabbed some stray wires (not connected ones) and quickly whipped me up a "rocket ship".  ah, the love of my children. 

i bought flowers for myself at the market on Granville Island - something i've wanted to do for over a decade.  my husband was quite willing to let me pick my birthday bouquet myself, and it is a beauty.  new friends stopped by with gifts today, and old friends phoned and mailed and texted love from the miles between us.  truly, truly, a lovely day.

so, goodbye 37.  again.  you were a difficult year.  you were a stretching year.  you had moments of intense beauty and friendship and love, and moments of wrenching sadness and loss and exhaustion.  you did not leave me at 36, and for that i'm thankful.  

now, on to 38! 

sabbatical

listen.

i can hear rain falling.  it's falling on my roof, hitting the myriad of petals and leaves in my front yard, splashing into the creek that is filling filling filling.  it's loud.  it's romantic.  it's the soundtrack of my life now, living in what is basically a rain forest.

i can also hear my children calling to the neighbours.  riding their bikes in the ally.  dropping sticks and leaves into the creek and watching them float under the bridge.  they hear a call for deeper freedom, for independence and space, and so do i.

next wednesday is my birthday.  not only will the day mark my 38th year, but it will also be my first day of having both of my children in full-time school.  suddenly my life is folding open, like a crumpled piece of paper that's been pressed in on all sides and then finally released.  the thing is, even though i feel like i've been looking forward to this moment for years, i find that i have no idea what to do with myself.  i've been tossed in the air with this move across country.  i have no committees or bookclubs or ministries.  i have baby friendships.  i consult my gps to get to walmart.  i feel like a fragile newborn.

so, last weekend was my annual weekend away with four girlfriends of mine (though only 3 could come). we shopped, we ate, we watched a movie, we hiked a mountain, and we prayed for each other.  it was, as it always is, delightful in it's purpose and in its silliness.   we practiced listening prayer together, where we each took turns bringing our lives to God and asking Him the tough questions, and then listened together for His answer.

this was my question for God:  "what's next?",
and this was my answer from Him:  "rest".

even speaking the word out to my friends brought tears to my eyes.  i feel profoundly tired.  weary in soul and body and emotion.  i think the stress of the move, and the overwhelming nature of the house renovations, have beaten me bloody.  i am in desperate need of restoration.

which is the problem.  "rest" for me lately has truly been "escape".  i sleep.  i watch tv.  i read fiction.  i do nothing that truly restores, but i feel such a compulsion toward forgetting life for a period of time.  good thing i don't do drugs.  no, seriously.

when i think of next wednesday i picture myself alone on my couch and wondering what the heck to do, and i must admit it's a little terrifying.

so, here's the plan:  i must paint.  i must listen.  i must read some non-fiction AND fiction :).  i must pray.  i must meet with friends and find a mentor (or two).  i must remain honest with God and others about how i'm doing (that's where you come in!).  i must enjoy the beauty of my new home and homeland.  i must say no. and, sigh, i must exercise.

i must not wallow, turtle, give up, procrastinate, or sign up for anything.

this is my sabbatical.

 

waking janet

sometimes i have days where i feel more alive.  my senses are buzzing, my mind is clear, my eyes seem to open a little wider (yes, it's possible), my heart is joyful and trusting, my body calm.   i walk through the day filled with thankfulness and wonder, and fall asleep feeling overwhelmed with blessing.

i haven't had a day like that in a long time.

it's amazing what stress will do to a human, how the body, mind and spirit will cope.  i feel like i have been forcibly hibernated.  not completely turned off, but placed on a sleep setting.

we just returned from 5 days at camp homewood.  this was our 10th year at family camp, and usually driving onto the grounds is such a rush of feeling and excitement, but this year...nothing.  we were driving on quadra island, getting closer and closer, and i pictured the staff.  i used to picture them tense with anticipation, so looking forward to the arrival of another pile of campers.  but this year i saw them pulling up their figurative boot-straps, mentally coaching themselves, sighing and staring at each other with those "you can do it!" expressions.  i was self-projecting i'm sure, because we were greeted with the usual enthusiasm and extravagant kindness that we've experienced every year.

but i was
     just
     so
     tired.

the good news is, each day of camp i could feel myself waking up a little more.

my dear friend Marsha has been journeying through food sensitivity issues that she now realizes she's been battling for years.  for the first few months of this journey she would weekly say to me "i've never been this awake before!  is this how you feel all the time?!!", which i would just smile at because she had said the same thing not 7 days prior.  but now i get it Marsha, (i get it!) you were slowly waking out of a food-induced slumber.  and now i'm waking out of a stress induced one.  and it's not a fast process.

i'm coming to enjoy beauty more, to laugh sincerely, to have that warm sensation of awe and wonder spread across my chest.  i feel genuine gratitude for the life that is blooming here, for our new home (which has been one of the major stress causes), for this beautiful neighbourhood and the city of north vancouver.  for our new church family.

one night at camp a group of us put our kids to bed and went down to 'the point' - which sounds all romantic, and it probably would have been if there wasn't 6 of us - and we lay on a wooden platform, usually used for campfire skits, and stared at the stars and tried to remember christian songs from our childhood.  i saw 5 falling stars, one of which was like a flaming comet streaking across the sky.  we musically traveled through michael w. smith, striper, connie scott, psalty, petra, russ taff....it was awesome.  phosphorescence were glowing below us, the milky way above (at least, i think that's what i was seeing), and we sang our hearts out.  something in me woke up a little bit more.

we skipped chapel one morning and took a family canoe ride over to this island pass where we usually spot a few sea stars.  this year we saw hundreds, and crabs and sea cucumbers, jelly fish, sea worms with these bright red flowery-looking tongues, hermit crabs and even a mink slinking along the rocky shore.  it was magical.  there are worlds above and below that are so vast i cannot begin to grasp them, and my God holds it all, sustains it all, loves it all.

and loves me.

it is good to wake up and find this truth has held me in my sleep.

we have been here for a month now and have done too many renovations to tell.  the lower level of our two-story home is still in chaos.  new walls are still being finished, then we paint it all, then somehow move all the boxes out and re-carpet.  hopefully it will be done for september so that we can have a tenant move in, and i can finally unpack my paints.  i don't even know where my easel is presently.
 
the upper level of our home has been transformed and is truly lovely.  there were moments when i despaired, i'm not going to lie.  but thanks to the help of our parents, it is really a beautiful space.  my kitchen is so big i actually have a drawer just for water bottles (!!!!!!).  and our property is a garden paradise (which will soon loose some of its paradisaical qualities if i don't get weeding).  i picked a bouquet of dahlia last week - what grace! the doorbell rang last evening and it was three neighbourhood girls, wanting to splash around our creek with my kids.  it doesn't get better than that.

please pray for my waking, that i don't rush the process and that i'm wise with my work and my rest.  this week will be scott's first full-time one as the lead pastor of Capilano Christian Community, which means my first full week back to work as a stay-at-home-mom.  (don't worry, i won't stay at home :) ).

may we all awaken to the myriad of voices surrounding us daily, calling out the truth of God's goodness and reality, inviting us to participate in this great adventure of life with Him.

arrival

i'm alive!

i'm sitting in my new living room as i write.  it is time to make dinner but i'm not - the church has had scheduled meals dropped off for us every other day since we arrived.  i picture all of my friends out there, barbecuing and slicing and stirring and i am SO thankful to be sitting.  behind my back is a new pillow i purchased at ikea this morning.  i feel like the ikea glow is just leaving my cheeks, my eyes are losing their wide-eyed wonder.  time to return.

it has been an exhausting couple of weeks.  let me give you a list of the high-lights and low-lights:

• after tearful goodbyes we packed the car to the brim with all our left-over belongings, hermit crabs, suitcases, children, plants and travel games and headed out.  our first stop was edmonton, to stay for two nights with scott's aunt and uncle and visit some family and friends.  my son puked in bed and promptly asked for a prize because he "puked six times but only hit my pillow!".  i was tempted to give him one because he was in our aunt's bed at the time and the pillow was the only thing that was actually ours.  cleaning up the pillow slowly eked out the desire for prizes however.
• the next morning i woke up feeling ill and spent the day hanging out aunt judy and my sick little boy, learning about the evils of slugs and the joys of killing them in myriads of ways.  did you know that slugs are hermaphrodites that can just randomly lay up to 100 eggs a year?  and that they live for 2-6 years?! and that even though they don't need sex, sometimes they choose to have it for up to 90 minutes!!!!!  makin' love like a slug....
• we left auntie with bags of gluten-free baked goods in hand, and headed to canmore.  after enjoying a free showing of kung fu panda, we were looking forward to snuggling the kids into their beds and relaxing for the evening when low and behold, the keypad wouldn't work!  long story short, we were locked out until just after 11pm.  the kids stumbled into bed in an empty room wearing their clothes while the hotel staff CUT off the door.  scott then shuffled our belongings over and we fell into bed robbed (again!) of our peaceful night.
• after the canmore debacle we headed to salmon arm for 5 days at scott's uncles cabin (good thing scott has extended family!)  five days of swimming in the lake, eating under an apple tree, reading and lounging and napping.  glorious.  this was a cabin of healing for me - finally stopping and realizing that i was really very sad, and incredibly tired.  it was a gift of abundance to have the time and a beautiful space to make the emotional transition from goodbyes to hellos. 
• we drove into white rock and saw the ocean as a family returning from a very long journey.  i looked over at scott and said "do you feel emotional?".  he didn't.  but a little voice from the back said "i do!" - my 6 year old son.  my heart constricted - was he okay?  was he missing saskatoon?  was this too much for him?  i said "really?!  what emotions are you feeling?".  there was a pause "oh" he said, "i thought you said 'do you want a marshmallow?'"
• we got into the house two days earlier than we anticipated.  i walked through our new home for the first time and was torn between thankfulness and the desire to curl up and cry because of all of the work needed.  we stumbled out, wide-eyed and fearful, into our front yard.  an oasis.  my front yard is like one of those gardens you pay to enter - beautiful flowering shrubs, a wisteria-laden bridge, a babbling creek, green and lush and extravagant.  i'll let you in for free though.
• last friday the moving van arrived, along with the process of trying to meld our home with this house.
• one night scott pulls me outside to sit on our front steps for a while.  we eat chips and chat and just enjoy a mosquito-free outside.  we hear the garbage bins across the street being rattled - "it must be garbage day tomorrow, we'd better get our bins out" i say.  then we see a bear.  you read that right:  a BEAR, lumbering across our neighbour's driveway and back into the forested area that's beside their home.  "was that a....?" i ask.  "bear" scott says. 

my parents arrived a few days ago and we are in the throws of renovation, hopeful that the house will be ship-shape by September.  scott starts work August first.  i feel torn between wanting to get everything done while dad-the-handyman is here and wanting to explore the beauties of north van while the delicious sunshine lasts.  balance is not my strength at the moment.

i am filled with thankfulness, it's beginning to push out the anxiety.  i'm thankful for neighbour girls who are fun and kind and love my kids.  i'm thankful that yesterday we found out our children were finally admitted into the school that's just around the corner. i'm thankful for an incredible church (sunday morning was definitely a highlight that should have been a bullet above, but i'm getting tired of typing!).  for health and sunshine and little fish in my front-yard creek. for my hard-working parents and ridiculously generous in-laws and for all of you who have been and are praying for us - thank you.

and most of all, i'm thankful that i am not in control of my life.  as crazy as the last month has been, i am being daily shepherded by a loving and good God who sees me, in all of my frailty, and supplies all of my needs. the Lord is my shepherd, i lack nothing.

i'm using you

i'm supposed to be packing my kitchen, but the thought of doing so makes me nauseous, so i'm choosing instead to procrastinate with you.   i think you're a healthier choice than scrubbing the bathroom or eating chocolate or watching another episode of vampire diaries.  do you mind being used?

the days have arrived.  we've been semi-packing for a month now, with the clear understanding that this week, wednesday to friday, the real packing would begin.  i stayed in bed as long as possible this morning trying to eek out every second of normalcy.

we've endured many goodbyes already.  the church had a lovely going-away bbq for us, and lindsey did a speech - a tribute if you will - for me.  she re-wrote proverbs 31 as she sees me living it - a blessing, an honour, a surprise really.  my favourite part was "she rises in the night to dispense tylenol, then goes back to sleep until a more reasonable hour".  that girl knows me!  i remember reading the famous "woman of noble character" verses as a teen, committing to be that woman someday, utterly clueless as to how i would ever get there.  it's a gift to think that my friends see me as having arrived in  at least a paraphrased sense :).

the church gave us a painting by lindsey of a picture that scott took a few weeks ago on his run.  it's of the river, at the bend right before it heads into the city, with those delicious rolling clouds filling the sky.  it's gorgeous.  i find that i'm trying to soak up the sky as much as possible lately - which might be a little hazardous when driving.  i will so miss seeing the thunder storms off in the distance.  there are moments when you can stand in sunshine and see multiple storms raging on the horizon, circling you.   you wonder which one's coming and which one's going, and the air is electric and exciting.  i love thunder storms.

we have had lots of rain, as you all know, and the river has swollen up over some pathways, but no flooding.  multiple people have said something to the effect of "God's just preparing you for BC".  sometimes i just smile, and sometimes i answer "then i have a lot of apologizing to do to some people in Calgary".   seriously?  for once i hope this is NOT all about me!

our baby robins flew away last weekend.  i was coming into the house with my son and was literally dive-bombed by one of the parent robins.  we were plastered up against the wall of the garage and the two birds were squawking away at us.  alfred hitchcock anyone?  it did feel a little like a horror movie - good thing i wasn't making out with scott anywhere outside - it's always the lovers that die first.  anyways, we left, and when we returned - an empty nest!  those baby birds were probably fluttering around our front yard while i was living out movie paranoia, and i missed it!  sneaky robins!!!  i need to take a lesson from them.  next time i don't want anyone seeing what shenanigans my kids are up to i'll go for the eyes.

speaking of leaving the nest, it is time for me to attack the kitchen.   i can put it off no longer.  please pray for us this weekend as we say our goodbyes to our closest friends.  we drive off monday morning into the wide and wild future, the four of us in our little nest on wheels.

i will close with some verses i was reading this morning:

God did this so that...we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged.  We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.  It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain...

                                                          Hebrews 6

home, and leaving it.

it's a slow goodbye.
like ripping off the bandage at a painstaking pace, and i feel every inch.

this week the sight of my back-splash brought me to tears.  not just because it's a beautiful rustic tile that was given to me by a dear friend, but because my husband and father installed it.  i remember creeping up the stairs after some time in my studio, nervous at the state i would find my kitchen and the male members of my family.  i was imagining furrowed brows and frustration, but was met with two giddy men, running off to the garage to cut the tiles, celebrating each proper fit with glee.  it was beautiful.  it was magical.  and therefore, i don't want to leave it.

what makes a house a home?  during the process of buying a house we've toured many, and found quite a few devoid of "home".  is it paintings and photos on the walls?  a well-worn couch with blankets thrown on the arms?  is it the sense of memories seeped into the floors, the pictures taped to the fridge, school newsletters pushed in a pile?  a well-loved garden, a well-used oven?

my heart lies in the grout, my sweat in the clean bathrooms, my intentions in the balls of yarn peppered around my living room.

i will miss this home, or, at least i expect to.  i anticipated missing our last home in Cloverdale, but i didn't.  maybe as soon as the new house becomes filled with us i will be able to let go of this little one on the prairie.  and i will only miss what i missed the last time - my friends.

today the spring heat turned to humidity and climaxed in a thunderstorm of epic proportions.  the kids were out in the backyard when it hit, and they hid under the fort, taking tentative trips out of the shelter when their sibling sent them on a 'mission' to retrieve an item from the lawn.  the missions became more and more complicated, requiring longer lengths of time in the deluge, until finally they gave in and ran screaming and dancing through the rain drops.  there are moments when i feel that my life is achingly beautiful.

i've packed up my studio, leaving out a few art supplies just in case.  heaven forbid an artistic emergency arises and i'm caught with my paints down.  the basement is in boxes and this weekend we start the main floor.   i am loathe to live in an empty home: we'll move out a bookcase and i'll hang a painting.  it seems silly, but also imperative - i need beauty to last as long as possible.

someone asked me the other day "are you looking forward to anything about the move?", which made me realize that i've been a little dour as of late.  of course i am.  i truly emphatically am.  i am dreaming of our new church, of the new friendships that await, of the creative adventure that comes with buying a home, the beauty of North Vancouver in the summer, the redemption of old friendships.  i highly anticipate God continuing to show off His faithfulness and generosity, and i can't wait to again watch in amazement as He cares for my children.  i am hungry to see my husband return from work excited and satisfied.  i am hungry for my giftings that have been lying dormant to be resuscitated.  \

i'm looking forward to it all!

however, this is my time to mourn.  so i will.   soon enough my cheery reflections will again fill the page.  in the mean time i'll cry over my backsplash and my bleeding heart in the front yard will bloom my insides out.

this week our robin's eggs hatched.  four little chicks with heavy heads and lidded eyes. a friend told me they will take three weeks to mature and then will leave the nest.  which puts their departure the same time as ours.  a mass exodus.  a flight.  a beating of our baby wings into newness and needed maturity.  we'll all jump together.

tears

well, June has arrived. 
i was beginning to think we would perpetually live in May, the month felt like it lasted for years.  but, no, it seems the world is still spinning despite my stress level, and our last month here has come.  and with it, the count-downs.

less than four weeks to pack the house.
four more sundays.
three weeks of school.
one more bookclub.
one more prayer meeting with my girlfriends.
and countless tears to cry.

on sunday afternoon i was feeling manic - twirling like a dervish around my house, cleaning, packing, organizing...i saw the look of fear in my husbands eyes, my children creeping around me hoping i would pass them by.  i made myself sit down and work on a puzzle, and then i felt the tears coming.  at first my eyes would start welling up, and i'd think "here it comes", and then the tap would dry out.  this happened a few times, and with each dry well experience came a deeper clarity that i really needed a bawl.  a good shoulder-shaking, ugly-faced, snot running precariously close to my mouth break down.  finally my husband asked if i was alright, and he held me a little, and shazam!  open the flood gates!!!

this was my first good weep since we announced our resignation, and let me tell you, it was well overdue.  i have since felt so much calmer and normal (if there is such a thing as me being normal).  i remember hearing in university about this experiment where they fed tears to rats or mice or something and they all died of horrible diseases.  have i blogged about that before?  i'm feeling deja-vu.  anyways, obviously our tears are our body's way of releasing not only sadness and pain but toxins as well.  which scares me for my husband, who rarely has a drop leak out.  maybe i should "accidentally" slam his hand in the car door or something, for the sake of his health.

despite the sadness and sense of impending loss, there have been some delightfully beautiful moments in our lives this last week.  my son has finally released himself from the tyranny of training wheels, ushering in a new kingdom where we can actually bike to school!  on monday scott and i biked over and picked up both the kids, and we rode through the back pathways home, skirting around the zoo and forestry farm, and cheering mightily at the finish line of our garage.  i have dreamt of biking with the kids to and from school for a long time now, and it was quite an accomplishment.  I looked around at my little family, and down at flavia (that's my bike), and couldn't have been happier.

i have taken a few opportunities to lie on my hammock in the backyard, and have fallen asleep to the rustling of the neighbours poplar trees.  i watched excitedly as my very first iris bloomed in the front yard.  we daily check on the robins nest to see if the eggs have hatched, and i can look out my front window and watch the mama robin sitting on her little blue bundles. 

amid the boxes and tape and lists and phone calls and reminders and good-byes, this beautiful world keeps peeking through.  little gifts to look for.  praises to be offered. 

and toxic tears to shed.

confession

forgive me readers, for i have sinned.
it has been a week and a half since my last confession.

on monday morning i snuck out of bed.  monday is scott's day to "sleep in" until 8:30, so i get up with the kids and get them breakfast, pack the lunches, comb the hair, make the coffee and wake him in time for him to drive them to school.  then i go back to bed.

or, at least, that was the plan.

i snuck out of bed and turned on the fan in the bathroom to mask the morning noises.  i donned my robe and walked down to the kitchen.  the kids were smiling, reading on the couch.  i thought fleetingly of how beautiful my life was.  then i heard a noise.

a noise like a whirring, a pulsing, a pitch not high, but not low.  a noise that i remembered hearing the night before as well.  i thought it was the air conditioning.  i thought it was the dishwasher.

it wasn't.

with trepidation i realized that neither the air conditioner nor the dishwasher were presently in use.

i looked out the front window.  and gasped.

the front sprinklers were on.  the front sprinklers that we had turned on the night before.  the front sprinklers had been on

                               for
   
                               12

                            hours.  

there was a little river running down our road.  there were birds galore feasting on drowned worms.  i ran to the door, mentally preparing myself for an onslaught of ridicule and scorn from my neighbours, but when i opened it the only dirty looks i received were from said birds.  i quickly shut off the tap and barricaded myself back inside.

on the edge of my mind stood a sign that read "children die every day from lack of clean water".  i averted my attention, but to no avail.    what a truly disgusting waste.  i hesitate telling you, because i am ashamed of myself, but i thought "hey janet, if you can't be honest on the world wide web about your sinful nature, where can you be?"

i think scott and i were waiting for the knock on the door from the city of saskatoon for the rest of our sabbath.  but hey, what are they going to do, kick us out? :).  we really should be fined though.  i suppose the water meter will expose our guilt in time.

on another note, i was thinking yesterday about how i wish you could capture a smell like you can capture an image.  i would definitely bottle the aroma of my front yard in early spring.  blossoms, sweet and fresh and inviting.  lilacs are used as hedging around this city, so every so often their purpley scent will smash into you, but i don't think that's what i smell out front.  i think it's the neighbours crab apple, and my laurel, and maybe the hedge as well.  whatever it is, it mixes into this truly intoxicating perfume that i can't get enough of.  

two lovely fat robins have built the most beautiful little nest-home in our cedar right beside the front door.  today scott looked inside and was rewarded with the sight of three perfectly blue eggs.  i went out and took some pics but had to cut the photo session short due to some very angry bird parents sitting on my roof.  i'm pretty sure that the father gave me the stink-eye, but it was hard to tell because, well, i was nervous to look squarely at them, and with eyes on the sides of their heads it's a little difficult to know exactly which direction they're focussed.   i wanted to remind them of the monday morning worm feast, but felt it best not to bring up the indiscretion out-of-doors.

thank you for being my confessional.  i don't feel better having told you, but it does feel right and good to share my sins.  i have a movie downstairs from the library that has the tag-line "hope begins where secrets end".  amen to that.

and take it from me:  set an alarm when you turn on your sprinkler.

barbeque

I decided today that heaven will smell like barbeque.  which will be ironic since there will be no death, but maybe God will somehow make cauliflower taste like steak for my benefit.

i was washing dishes at my kitchen sink as this thought was sliding through my brain.  right on it's heals was another:  a scene from 'Bones' where they're tracking down a cannibal and she's told to follow the smell of barbeque. 

did I go too far there?  sorry.  I think the show may be changing me. I watch it while I paint - because it's entertaining and I don't feel like I have to have my eyes glued to the screen to follow what's happening - and, frankly, I love the unrequited love, the lingering glances, the body language of longing and fear and desire....i'm a total junkie for romance.   especially long-drawn out painful ones. 

anyways, I think it's changing me because yesterday we introduced some friends to a magical place here in Saskatoon.  it's called the chief whitecap park and it's a forest that you have to hike through, branches flying back in your face, traversing swamp and stream, prickly sticks and bugs.  you come across this clearing that's heavy with wild grasses, dotted with birch and ash (okay, i'm totally making that up, but it sounds authentic right?  I have no idea what kind of trees they are, but picture something lovely).  just when you think you're going to punch your husband in the nose if he makes another comment about your lack of direction and how you're never going to get there...voila!  you find a river.  and a river bed.  and the most intoxicating white sand you could ever ask for.  it's like Florida sand.  and there are little shells to find in the sand and crayfish claws and clean crisp water. and the whole time you're thinking "what?!"  "how?"  "what?!". 

unless you're me.
i'm thinking "if I killed someone this would be the perfect place to stash the body".

maybe I should cut down on my Bones consumption.

but back to barbeque.  we are in full summer swing here in the prairies.  a month ago I was freezing, literally.  and now it's all sprinklers and weeds and the constant drone of lawn mowers.  Saskatoon is magical in the spring.  the first warm day everyone shuffles out of their houses, teeter-tottering on their bicycles down the road, roasting weinies by the river.  we are all gleaming white (except for those who were lucky enough to hit a hot destination in the last few months, but they're only a shade darker), sneezing and wiping our eyes and deliriously happy.  it's amazing how dear my winter coat looks to me in October, and how much I want to rip it to shreds in May.  I just might.

we look at our neighbours over the hedge, dig out gardening tools we forgot we bought in the fall clearance bins, celebrate every green shoot and blossoming tree.  we made it!  we're alive!!! 

but the real magic of this season in this city is this- it makes us fall in love so deeply that we stay through another winter!  last night scott and I had a date and we ended up down by the river, sitting on a bench wrapped in a quilt, watching the sun set.  there were people having a ballroom dance class just down from us, a kayak silently slipping past, and a duck, asleep, drifting downstream.  perfect.  I asked scott "what will you miss the most?".  we decided we won't really know until we're in North Van, but conceded that on thing we will probably, remarkably, miss is snow.

tomorrow we sign the papers to buy a home across the country.  we had it inspected last week and I cringed when the inspecting referred to as, yes, a "fixer-upper".  and he's right, there are quite a few little jobs to do.  but no cat-urine-soaked carpets or cigarette smelling walls, so i'm happy!  we feel immensely blessed, cared for and protected in this whole house affair.  what a gift to have the God of the universe looking out for you.  immeasurable gift.

I went to home depot today and came out with a literally arm load of paint swatches, and I got a book out from the library on trim (as in the trim around your doors and windows).  this is how I mentally prepare to leave the home I love and travel to a distant land:  I plan home renovations.  renovations that I have no idea how to perform (except the painting), and will probably never come to fruition, but it comforts me to plan.  maybe it helps me feel connected to our future home, or gives me an illusion of control.  I will be lying awake in bed at two in the morning thinking "could I live with a mustard yellow wall?".  sigh.  i'm not painting a pretty picture of myself in this blog entry am I?  a mind bent on murder and home décor. 

on Sunday my son found a loonie and gave it to scott "to help us buy the house".  it was scott's loonie, but it was still sweet.  he showed the first signs of sadness at the thought of moving yesterday, because I told him we're not taking the carpet with us.  I don't blame him.  I told him i'm sad to leave it too.  I imagine myself the day we leave, lying prone on my bedroom floor, soaking up the last moments of it shaggy softness.  don't laugh unless you've touched my carpet - you have no idea.

well, the smell of barbeque has faded from the neighbourhood, but I can guarantee that little piece of heaven will return tomorrow.  the next time you turn on the propane, think of me.

life line

yesterday morning I read psalm 107:

some wandered in desert wastelands,

finding no way to a city where they could settle.

They were hungry and thirsty,

and their lives ebbed away.

Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,

and He delivered them from their distress.

He led them by a straight way

to a city where they could settle.

here's the part that struck me:  God leading by 'a straight way'.  I thought about the Israelites wandering for 40 years in the desert - not my definition of "straight".    I thought about our journey from Parkside and through unemployment, the journey here, and now the journey away.  not my definition of a straight line.  more, as my son would say, "ziggity-zaggity" - which is how he likes his ketchup on his kraft dinner.

I bet that God sees things differently (no surprise there).  when He looks at my life He sees the line of experiences and people and growth I needed to get to this day.  He sees all that I need to get to tomorrow and next year, to be the mother and wife I need to be, the artist I want to be, the daughter, the friend, the mentor... 

and that's the straight line that matters.

I prayed yesterday that God would lead us to a city where we can settle.  I want to be a "lifer" somewhere.  I want to grow old digging into a community and neighbours and church body.  I want to swing my hips wide and sit down deeply, surrounded by place and people that I've come to know over many years.  when I die I want it to be a no-brainer where I should be buried. 

I sincerely hoped the city was going to be Saskatoon, and I daily grieve that it is not.  two and a half years here, and I feel like i'm just starting to find places of influence that resonate with my passions.  it's exhausting to think I have a number of years ahead of me where i'm the newbie, trying things out, trying friendships out, figuring out where people live...ah, I need to stop typing about this.

the good, the amazing, news:  God heard my prayer.  last night we bought a house. 

and it's not a fixer-upper, or covered in cat pee, or almost what we wanted.  it's wonderful.  it's got a little creek running through the front yard - with a tiny bridge on the path to our front door.  it's half a block from the school grounds.  it has room for a guest room (!) and a studio (!!!).  and....wait for it...a chef-grade gas stove, with a salamander (not the lizard -  a small oven for broiling things like nachos and crème brulee)  and a ginormous fridge.  start booking your holidays at chez Anderson today!

it has all that we prayed for, and we got it for the price we wanted to pay.  we placed a bid and heard that another bid was expected last night.  this happened to us last week and the house we bid on sold for 45 thousand more than we offered.  but last night the other bid was the same as ours.  so, instead of jacking up the price, it solidified how reasonable our offer was.  amazing. 

God is in charge of my life-line.  and I can't tell you how grateful I am for that.

I now have less than 7 weeks to enjoy my little house on the prairie.  my in-laws gave me money for flowers for mother's day, so I planted geraniums and petunias in my garden, and filled some pots for my front step.  I have a multitude of green sprouts (SPROUTS!) all over the place - plants I harvested last summer from the gardens of friends.  I don't have a clue what they are, but i'm so excited!!  it is bitter sweet to finally have perennials growing - I hate to say goodbye - but i'm pretty darn proud of myself.  I've come a long way baby!

may we bear witness to God's guidance, to his hand drawing the paths of our lives with gentleness and accuracy.  to live in trust for tomorrow, straining for a larger view of our lives, a bigger faith, a sweet surrender.
and thankfulness that no matter how  L-O-N-G the winter, (and folks, I mean lo-ong)
                                                   the perennials break through.

puke, real estate and bombs: my life this week

what a week.  on monday i put my husband on a plane bound for vancouver, with the expressed instruction "don't buy me a fixer-upper".  once again, he's buying a house without me.  my mom sees a trend - I sell our homes alone, and he buys them alone.  well, the buck stops here!  i'm praying that our next home is of the 20 year variety.

that night my son puked all over his bed.  thankfully the only thing he had eaten was an apple, and I have to admit that as far as vomit is concerned, apple is the way to go. 

Tuesday we (both kids and I) all woke up feeling sick.  so, we mustered enough energy to go to the library, check out an enormous amount of books, and sit on the couch reading.  around 6pm I said "kids, do you know what we've accomplished today?  we've all bathed.  that is our only accomplishment".  they weakly nodded their heads and went back to reading.

wednesday night i held my daughter as she cried herself to sleep - probably because she's picking up on the stress her parents are under. 

Thursday we prayed for a miracle.  we prayed that a house would pop up onto the market that would be perfect for us.  well....a house popped.  the exterior reminds me of a swiss chalet (which hearkens back to the sunday lunches of my childhood ...ummmm....chalet sauce), and the interior is covered with cigarette smoke and cat pee.  DEFINITELY a fixer-upper (refer to paragraph 1).  however, it's large, with a solarium for a studio, and space for a guest room, and a big yard, and could be (after lots of work) an amazing home.  is this our miracle?  i'll let you know.

friday was my son's sixth birthday.  he climbed into bed with me for morning snuggles and I asked him if he felt bigger.  "oh, yes!"  he said, then i could see his little mind was working on something - "get out of bed right now mom!"  "why?"  "I have to measure how tall I am!".  he has always used my body as his means of self-measurement.  i remember when he was so proud to hit my belly-button, and now he's well past. 

we opened presents and I made his favourite "pescetti" (trans. "spaghetti) and broccoli for dinner.  he jumped up in the middle of the meal and clasped his hands together and said "thank you God for such a delicious supper!".  thank you folks, my job here is done.

 i spent the evening creating cake bombs for his birthday party.  he, like his sister, was having a spy party.  what kind of cake do spies eat?  I suppose the kind with files or bullets hidden in them, but that is just a little beyond my comfort zone.  fake bombs though....I can handle.  scott finally staggered into the house around midnight.

Saturday was the party.  six six-year-old boys descended.  I have come to the conclusion that I love to plan parties, but the execution of them is a little overwhelming.  here's where my hubby comes in - this whole marriage thing is a lovely strategy for life: teamwork.  he had the boys using him as a moving target for water gun practice, he made a multi-level obstacle course which included them navigating through a laser web (not real lasers) and jumping down the stairs into a pile of pillows (real pillows).  I ran the finger-print analysis training and made the ID badges.  we're a good team.


but here's how we look after a birthday party at the andersons - "like death warmed over" - one of my moms best descriptive lines.  i'm still recovering.   I think the combined stress of this week has sent me into a bit of a tailspin.  so, please pray for us.  pray for physical health, for the ability to calm our minds and our bodies and trust in God's provision and timing.  buying a house from across the country is difficult.  buying a house from across the country that needs renovations before its inhabitable feels gargantuan.  my gift is that I can let go of control and recognize God's sovereignty and goodness - but that is also proving to be a gift I keep refusing. 

here's hoping the week ahead is filled with some normalcy (or, at the very least, no puking), and a miracle or two would be nice.  yes, a normal week with miracles - hear my prayer Lord.

 

team prairie

In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan,

earth stood hard as iron, weather like a stone.

Christina Rosetti

 

 

I didn't blog last week because i had nothing to say, other than "i'm cold".

 

I'm not sure there's all that more to say this week, but here goes.

 

picture me here, on my couch in my living room, surrounded by paintings of flowers, a bouquet on the glass table in front of me.  i'm wrapped in a blanket, and you know why. i'm wracking my brain from something interesting to say.

 

outside i can see my lawn, but not all of it yet.  this week our bush magically reappeared after its long hiding, and we actually had to stick the "for sale" sign in the ground rather than in the snow.  we bought popsicles at costco, in great anticipation, and i've begun reaching for shoes rather than boots.  so, there are hopeful beginnings. 

 

but i'm still freakin' cold. 

 

in my favourite books by Louise Penny, there's a little Quebec town that is filled with delightful characters, and they love to talk about the weather.  i get it.  i am literally salivating at the mouth thinking about warmth.  last night i was in that wakeful dream state before finally taking the plunge into slumber, and i was imagining actually having to take off a blanket because i was too hot.  i dream of heat.  and i'm not alone, and that is why here in the prairies we talk about the weather.  it is our common enemy, or common triumph.  sometimes, it is truly capable of killing us, so we have to stick together.  we commiserate over pushing shopping carts in inches of slush.  we pass understanding looks at the gas station while shakily refueling.  we make sounds of exclamation when exiting or entering buildings.  we are team saskatchewan, and team winter is kicking our butts.

 

but at least we're a team.

 

which is why, despite what people keep saying to me, i will wholeheartedly miss the prairies.  i will miss the camaraderie and the kindness, the simplicity and pace.  the expectation that strangers will be helpful, or at the very least polite.   

 

and some day i will even miss the snow.

 

but today is not that day friends.  on saturday i was looking out the window at beautiful puffy snowflakes billowing down.  it was the perfect Christmas snowfall.  in late april.  it was at the same time visually magical and terribly depressing.  scott quickly checked the forecast and tentatively announced that "yes! this is the last snowfall".  i knew he was just saying that to keep me from completely breaking down, but it worked.  i stared out at those gorgeous flakes and thought "i may not see this again for years".  that really perked me up, and made me sad for reasons other than missing my lawn.  

so, for those of you who read my last entry where i asked for prayer for the colour green - you may want to search your lives for some unconfessed sins because those prayers have not been granted.  just a heads up.

come to think of it, i'd better do a moral inventory because my prayers are seemingly ineffective as well.  could this entire winter by my fault?  could God be using the snow as a means of his refining, the cold as a measure of my worth?  have the last 6 months been a trial so that i can leave this province a little bit easier?  does the world actually revolve around me?  has my mother been wrong all this time?!

possible.  but unlikely.

at the very least, this winter has made me even prouder to be on team prairie.  and i'll be on this team no matter where life takes me.

green is the colour

i miss green.  i live in a world of brown and white and, thankfully, some blue sky.  but green?  i have taken to holding onto the "greenery" from a bouquet of flowers for months.  who needs flowers?  well, i do actually, but what i need more is GREEN.

i was thinking about this deep desire of mine, musing on the fact that i am more than a little nuts, when a newsletter from a renowned artist (Robert Genn) on the topic of creativity appeared in my in-box.  let me quote:

when do ideas happen?....When we see green: Green surroundings, whether green-painted walls or the green outdoors, suggest new growth, rebirth, fertility and renewal--just one of the reasons why a walk in the park can be so fruitful. Feeling non-creative in the studio? Squeeze out some green.

and there it is.  confirmation.

i have been feeling very lack-lustre in the studio lately.  i thought it was just the stress of selling the house, but now i'm thinking it's living in winter for almost 6 months that has sucked the creative juices out of me.  Robert also suggests moderate drinking and daydreaming.  well...if i must.

all of you who don't live in the prairies could send up a prayer for us flat-landers.  the 21st of April will mark 6 months without seeing my lawn.  i would really love to look outdoors on that day to a world devoid of snow.  well, not a world (sorry polar bears!), but my neighbourhood would be lovely.

there were some positive developments for my little family today - my son and i went to pick up my daughter from school sans coats!  (we did wear mitts).  and we actually barbecued for dinner!!!  it was very encouraging.  there's nothing a cave girl likes more than grilled steak - except for maybe chocolate and cheese.  my naturopath has given me the green light to start introducing said items into my diet again.  i had a teaspoon of mascarpone (which is cheese that tastes like whipped cream) on my salad yesterday at lunch and yikes!  it seems i definitely have a dairy intolerance. 

which means i'm just going to have to work at it - i wouldn't want to be labelled as intolerant.

so, i'm going to stare at my turquoise pants (that's close enough to green right?) for a while, drink some cider and dream of boursin...i'm sure that will spark some creativity. 

When students were given creativity tests, those whose test-cover pages had a green background gave more creative answers than those whose pages were white, blue, red or grey." (Sue Shellenbarger, reporting in the Wall Street Journal) 

if you're interested in the Robert Genn twice-weekly newsletter, which delves into all matters relating to artistry, go here.