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.