a talking to

recently I've lived through a couple necessary stretching conversations.  some imaginary, some real.  let me explain.

in the early summer i decided my jeans didn't fit anymore.  because they didn't.  i decided this was because i have a) gained weight because b) I am almost 42.  so, since b) is not something to be fought, i graciously allowed myself to just go out and buy bigger jeans.

i bought the first ones that gave me the slightest memory of high school jeans - jeans you just slipped into and they fit all over your jean parts and when you did them up you had a feeling of "ahhhhh" (as opposed to "AHHHHHH!!!").  high school jeans do not exist for me anymore it seems, at least not on my budget, so i bought "impressions of high school".

i brought them home and looked in the mirror
                               and had a talk with myself.
                       
"Janet, you are almost 42, but you are not this size.  it's time to start exercising"
"whhhaaaaaa.......???????? NNNNOoOOOOOOooooooooo!!!!!"
"Janet!  pull yourself together.  just do that Jillian Michael's 30 day shred DVD that's in the family room.  take those jeans back."

now, as you may well know if you have read some of my recent blog posts, i hate exercise.  specifically of the cardiovascular variety.  but i have just finished day 20 of the "30 day shred" (which has taken me at least two months to accomplish so i'm calling this my 100 day shred), and my old jeans are feeling better.  and my upper arms are wobbling a little less when i point at something (this is why it's not polite to point).

a close friend who read my post on exercise found out i was "shredding" and remarked "i thought you didn't believe in exercise".  i read over my previous post and can see where she got that impression, but let me be clear:  i'm not saying that exercise isn't important, healthy, wise, or necessary - i'm just saying that i hate it.

it seems i just hated those jeans even more.

i was considering buying some shorts.  i don't normally wear shorts - i'm assuming you've read the above paragraphs and I therefore do not need to explain why.  one day while considering shorts, i found i was having a conversation with my 80 year old self:

80: do you remember your legs at 20?
41:  yes.  they were beautiful.  i wore shorts all the time.
80:  that's how i feel when i think of my 41 year old legs.  put on the damn shorts.

it was a short (ha! no pun intended) but effective conversation.  i have been letting the legs out this summer.  i told one friend and her husband that i have labeled my legs "ombré".  he thought i said "hombre" and was naming my legs not after their gradual colour change from tanned to sparkling white, but after a spanish man.  i supposed either could work - if the spanish man is incredibly handsome and pale.

my 13 year old daughter went on a tour of the maritimes with her choir in july.  incredible incredible experience.  we picked her up from the airport, overwhelmed and excited and thankful to have her back.  i was looking over a program from one of their performances that she had the other choristers sign.  one of them wrote "you have the voice of an angel".  i said "awww...people used to say that about me!" to which she countered
       "way to make it all about you mom".

yes.  she said that.  TO MY FACE.
my first feelings were of the "i cannot believe....did she just?...." variety.
my next feelings were of the "wow.  nailed it" variety.

here's hoping she takes this skill of calling out the crap of another into her dating relationships!!!

so, i'm being stretched.  physically, emotionally and spiritually.  and it's good, though often uncomfortable.   i think the important journey of this stage of life is to listen to wisdom, even if it comes from your imagined elderly self.

i'm just realizing i should have asked that 80 year old what jeans to buy.

this dark day

i have always appreciated this day - this space between crucifixion friday and resurrection sunday.
for years i've called it "dark saturday" - which i know is not its liturgical name, but who's to stop me? i appreciate it because i empathize with it.  i can not fathom what it would be like to step out of a rocking boat and feel the water solid beneath my feet.  my imagination does not stretch far enough to deeply experience the fear and wonder of demons being thrown into pigs, or a man dead for days walking out of a tomb.  but this day i get.  i can easily place myself into the skin of peter.
shock.
guilt.
bewilderment.
despair.
anger.

an entire day of hiding and feeling and pain.

i am wondering this morning why Jesus waited a day.  why didn't he rise on saturday?  on the sabbath?  it would have thematically matched his many teachings about the sabbath being for man and not the other way around.  it would have saved the disciples this darkness and agony.

i am coming to believe that so much of the life of Christ is a consistent echo of these words "i understand your pain".

illegitimate birth.  refugee status.  menial labour.  sleepless nights.  burdening responsibility. discomfort, homelessness, betrayal.  he was seduced, blamed, accused, misunderstood.  he endured physical pain,  emotional torture,  spiritual abandonment.

a man of sorrows, intimate with pain.

and so much of the disciples' lives - the humanity he entrusted with his teachings and secrets and friendship - provide snapshots of my experience.  my passionate following, my gross denial, my thwarted intelligence, moments of deep faith and open betrayal.

enter into all this empathy the gaping hole of saturday.  this darkest of days.  no comfort, no safe harbour, no words or actions to diminish the helplessness and hopelessness.  and it makes me feel strangely embraced.  i am not alone in the darknesses of my life.  others have stood here with me - others with much more reason for encouragement - men and women who literally walked with Jesus, touched him, were healed and educated and fed by the man himself.  they were even warned, multiple times, in no uncertain words that this would happen, and that it would not be the end.  and yet, here they are, like i sometimes am - sitting for an entire day in the dark.

i wonder if there were any of them who tried to remind the rest. "hey, guys, remember when he told us he would die and then would come back to life?"

did it come off as an empty platitude?  a "God is good all the time and all the time God is good!" or "all things work for good for those who love him!" or "the sun is still shining behind the storm!"(notice there always seems to be an exclamation mark after these sentences)...... words that in and of themselves are perfectly true but make me want to slap the person who says them to me.

i bet they did.  i wonder if he/she was slapped.

however.

if the disciples had listened.  if they had remembered.  if they could truly treasure in their hearts the gift that sunday would be - the beyond-explanation-miraculous-global-gift that would forever change history and life and eternity - would saturday have been so dark?

and can i, in my darkest of days, somehow cling to the truth that God truly, TRULY, is good all of the time?  that he himself will make all things well?  that his faithfulness is as sure as the sun which remains steady at the center of our universe?

i appreciate this day because it gives a certain credibility to the fact that in this life of discipleship there will be days that feel a lot closer to hell than heaven.  that finding myself in a bereft state does not necessarily mean i have flung widely off course.

i also appreciate that it is a limited time.  and that brings me hope.

but what i appreciate the most is when i use my imagination and see myself visiting one disciple - let's say mary magdalene.  i hold her cold hands and look into her empty eyes and whisper to her - 'everything changes tomorrow'.

may we find the strength in our darkest of days to cling tightly to the truths that we know in our heads, though we do not feel them or see them in our experience.  may we take moments to visit ourselves, to look in our own eyes, and compassionately say "i am sorry this is a dark saturday. sunday is coming".

risky truths

i am going to tell you, whoever you are, a risky truth about myself.  here is it.

i'm just going to say it.

here goes.

maybe before I tell you this truth I should preface it with a little backstory because I'm stalling.  this is something I have felt for many years, and have told others, and am usually rewarded with an awkward smile - a smile that says "really" (awkward pause) "ha ha.....really?".  i have tried to overcome it, with success in various life stages, but it never lasts for very long and i've decided in my forties that i just need to embrace it.

i do not like exercise.
there, i've said it, and i'm not taking it back.  and i see you staring at your screen with that smile thinking "really?".   this is no lie.  and although i know that admitting this is akin to blasphemy in this day and age, especially here on the west coast, i know i'm not alone.  there are others out there like me, others who buy workout clothing to clean the house in, others who would much rather read a novel than go for a run, others who think that cardio is slow torture.

our family went on holidays with another family this spring break - a family of exercise junkies. these friends wake up before the sun, eager to strap on the lycra and get out in the rainstorm.  they had run a few K, made breakfast and had family game time before i even opened my eyes in the morning.
and that's awesome.  that is truly amazing.  but i don't want to.

my idea of exercise is a brisk walk with a friend - a walk that is more about the friend than the heart rate.  i will never own a fit bit.  i do not care how fit my bits are.  ok, that's not true - i do care, just not enough to get on a spin bike (aka hell torture).   i also enjoy yoga - slow stretching that ends with me flat on my back breathing deeply for 3 minutes to realign my spine.  yes - that is the exercise that calls to me.  and i still have to drag my butt onto the mat.

one of my best friends feels closest to God, closest to experiencing his love and beauty when she "has sweat dripping off her wrists" (that is a direct quotation).  if i ever see sweat dripping off any part of my body i can assure you heavenly glory is the furthest thing from my mind.

i don't want to go for early morning runs.  or late morning.  or anytime after noon.  i don't want to go for a hike (unless it's sunny but still cool and my friends are going and there will be snacks at the end and maybe during).  i don't want to bike up hills.  i don't want to skip rope.

there are reasons - first, i don't like the feeling that my heart is going to explode from my chest when my heart rate climbs - i truly feel as though i'm going to die - not so much "i am experiencing Jesus", more like "i'm about to see Jesus".   second, i have no gross motor skills, so sports are out.  OUT.  and i'm not being humble, i am being realistic.  i have lots of fine motor skills and you can't have everything in life. third, i am watching many friends and family members dealing with crappy knees/hips/backs due to sports and i would rather continue to not wake up early to feel like i'm dying so that one day i can have knee replacement surgery.

i choose sleeping in, gentle stretches, and happy knees.

i know that some of you are concerned for my health.  let me put you at ease.  i was just at the doctors and i mentioned having low blood pressure.  she said "that just happens sometimes with healthy people who eat well and exercise - you just have to be careful not to stand up too quickly".  i didn't have the heart to correct her.  sorry dr. forrester!  good thing i don't lift weights or my blood pressure would be like a deflated balloon.

while i'm at it i might as well also confess that i like to keep my house clean, wear dresses and cook (sometimes all at once!).  YIKES.  that was a lot.  if you're feeling a little frustrated with me at the moment might i suggest a quick run?  i hear they're perfect for blowing off steam.

enough for today

Scott just returned from a week away and just before he left a dear friend encouraged me to "keep my expectations low".  so, for 7 days i've been operating under the banner of "good enough".  cleaning, eating, and sometimes parenting...there have been many hours of movie watching with the kids (superhero movies to be exact because for some reason i'm the fan in this marriage),  nutritionally exempt choices (weiners wrapped in pillsbury croissant dough for dinner was a low point) and getting the dishes done was the extent of my cleaning (ok, i swept too).  i was explaining these good enough actions to my friend dawn yesterday and she said "oh how the mighty have fallen".  true true.  which is why it's never good to think of me as mighty.

i've had the song "enough" by Sara Groves looping in my head for days:

late nights, long hours
questions are drawn like a thin red line
no comfort left over
no safe harbour in sight
really we don't need much
just faith to believe
there's honey in the rock
there's more than we see
these patches of joy
these stretches of sorrow
there's enough for today
there'll be enough tomorrow

this song was a gift from my brother-in-law a year and a half ago, and truly pushed me through some hard anxiety-ridden days.  and there was enough.  there was always enough - enough compassion, enough tenderness, enough coffee and friendship and light for the next day.  sometimes more than enough, and sometimes scraping the bottom of the bowl.

yesterday i was reading in the Bible about the Israelites in the wilderness after being rescued from Egypt.  i remember reading these stories as a teen and thinking "what is their problem.... stop complaining and just trust!  i mean, God just literally parted a sea for you!!!" and that Prince of Egypt movie didn't help - the whale in the wall of water?!!!  come on!

but now i read these stories and think - i would totally do that.  i would forget, and fear, and see the hunger and thirst in my children's eyes and get angry.  i would totally have been up in Moses' face, complaining and questioning.  why are we here?  why did God bring us out here for this pain?  i know i would totally do that because i have done it, many many times.

then God sends manna.  just enough for each day - no more (except before sabbath which is incredible and worthy of a whole other post).  and we read that it's a test, a test of trust.  can these mothers and fathers collect just enough for one day and trust that in the morning there will be more? one day at a time.

i've heard about an orphanage during one of the world wars where they started allowing children to sleep with a loaf of bread.  these poor children were so afraid, they had lived through such destitution, scrounging around for morsels to eat until they were rescued, that the only way they would truly rest was in the security of knowing they would have enough to eat for the next day.  they slept with the bread in their arms, like security blankets, or teddy bears.

i feel like this is a season, again, of trust.  i find myself scrounging and need to remind myself of manna, of enough.  i am trapped by my responsibility - the belief i have to find a way to make some money and help keep this household afloat - and wake up in the mornings with my jaw screaming from clenching my teeth all night.  here's what God reminded me this week:  i am not responsible for this.  i am responsible for following the cloud, for warming myself by the fire, and trusting for the bread in the morning.

He has promised there will be enough.

and one more time (with feeling)

it's hard to know where to start.  because, well, it's been a while.  my last post was the fall of 2015 and my life is dramatically different.  not in the ways that count - still married to scott and mother of two and still committed to Jesus and painting and cooking yummy meals and laughing with friends.  still me.  but there has been a plot twist, and the setting has changed.

sometimes i feel as though the story of our little family has had too many climactic points.  just when we're settling ourselves into a prolonged denouement up goes the action and it's buckle your seatbelts for another wild ride.
the last climax was scott losing his job in north vancouver.  suddenly and painfully and honestly, without the needed character development that would have prepared me for it.  right before the climax hit scott and i were over at Barnabas camp - he was leading worship there and had fandangled me a night away with him.  we asked for prayer  and i had this image of being high up on a sailboat, in the crows nest i believe it's called.  we were in a raging fearful storm - i was being whipped around while up on this pole, and i looked down at the deck to see a man i knew to be Jesus holding the wheel.  "i've got this" he said.
i had to remind myself of that image countless times in the coming season: while watching my husband walk from shattering self-doubt and disappointment to a place of confidence again in his calling; while witnessing the grief of my children who lost not only their familiar church but eventually their house and neighbourhood; selling our home in faith that we would know where our next would be before the closing date; and through my own anger and fears for the future: "i've got this".
and, He did.
and, i believe, He does.

so, the next chapter for janet anderson is set in beautiful victoria, bc.  hallelujah!  i remember thinking "where could we go in canada that's more beautiful than north vancouver?" and tah dah!  enter victoria:  small city of history and beauty, with charming buildings and festivals and waterfront, small shops for miles and beaches and spring beginning in january.  i get a peek at the ocean from my kitchen window, have deer munching on my bushes in my front yard, my kids go to schools with great teachers who seem to have been tailor-made for each of them (He's got this!) and we are mere blocks from our new church: lambrick park.

it is a good chapter, and i hope that i can begin to write again.

a couple days ago i read psalm 142 and these lines seemed to sum up the past couple of years quite well for me:

when i am overwhelmed
you alone know the way i should turn...
i pray to You oh LORD.
i say, "You are my place of refuge.
You are all i really want in life"

i'm hoping for years of denouement - i mean, small points of excitement and intrigue and surprise, but nothing as climactic as the last 6 years have been.  it is good to have space to look back and see the lines of faithfulness drawn across your life, to notice the recurring plot rhythms - whether positive or negative, and the ways in which the action has changed you.  i'm looking forward to sharing what i see and learn with you.

and if your story is a storm today:

 He's got this.