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.