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.