Summer Wonderings

Yesterday, I closed my eyes and listened.
I listened to the tears, to agony remembered, to anguish still fresh, even after ten years.
I heard with my heart a tragedy that brought so many close to God, as tragedy often does.
And, I wonder, are we still as close to God as that ash-filled day, and its aftermath brought us?
Or, have we ever so slowly bought into the lie that we are in control. We are the ones that hold our security, we are the ones who decide right and wrong. It has been left up to us to judge, to execute judgment, to defend our rights, always our rights.
We remember, we will not forget.....but do we, really?
I am guilty. Guilty of the knowledge that God is so merciful and gracious, that He will wait. He will wait until there are no longer any little people demanding something of me. I will soon be caught up on the housework, the business, the emails, the phone calls, the paperwork, the errands....then, then I can spend some time with my God. Then, He will be waiting for me.
Logical, yes, except, ...I am never caught up, so the days, the weeks, the months, the summer goes by, and He is still lovingly waiting.
Our pastor has been repeatedly teaching us the grace habit of "the 3 S's"...Solitude, Silence, and Stillness. Three things that are seemingly beyond my reach. Things that we yearn for, however when reached, we are uncomfortable.
Solitude...it is only when we are alone, that we realize that we are never completely alone, God is always with us.
Silence....it is only when we are quiet that we realize that God's first words to us are always.."I love you!"
And, stillness...it is only when we are still that we realize that our worth is not found in what we do, or how much we get done, or how busy we are.
Yes, I need to hear that again, and again. And, maybe, just maybe I will remember, the good, the glory, the grace that arises out of ashes.

There was this moment...

There were words.

Sharp, painful words that came far too naturally.

There was the deliberate placing of plates on the table.

There was rushing around, loud sighs that took my breathe away. May have possibly been the throwing of hands in the air, the refusal of any offer of help, and all of this for what?

to remind him of how important my role is in this house, this home.

There was pride, pride in the control I believed I was displaying, when my insides wanted to shriek, to somehow get his attention, to make him see how wronged I was, how right I was.

I was aware, aware of little eyes watching me. Pride reared again, pride that I was together, there it was again, that I was controlled in front of my little ones.
My little ones, who do what I do, not what I say, who learn how to respond to others, how to control their feelings, from me?

From me?!

I sent them outside to play. As if this made my demands, my relentless pushing of self to the top, as if this was all ok.

Later, much later, as the dark clouds in my mind were being dispersed by truth, by love, my daughter called me outside. I gasped as I saw what was laying on the table. She had taken pieces of her daddy's scrap wood. She had placed them together in the shape of a cross. My eyes flooded, as she explained to me what my heart already knew.

"It is a cross, Mommy"

"I made it so when we forget, we can look at it and remember Jesus. We all forget, and sometimes we just need to be reminded of Jesus!"

training for...

My heart was pounding as I rounded the corner. I could feel the perspiration sliding down my neck. My arms were pumping, and each time my feet hit the ground, I could hear the mud, the water, the snow, slapping at the backs of my legs.
I was home for spring break, visiting my family in Idaho. My wonderfully disciplined sister, and my forever enthusiastic brother had just signed up for a half-marathon. I will be completely honest, I wasn't sure if I could run around the block. So, here I was, feeling the pressure, out of excuses, and determined to deceive my body into believing this was a good thing.
As I ran, scratch that, as I huffed and puffed, my eyes were drawn to the crocuses peeping out of the snow, and to the robins flitting in and out of the trees The sun was warm on my face and I could almost, almost be persuaded that spring was here.

Spring is a wonderful thing. For me, it is the end of winter. Here in Canada, that would be at least nine months of our year. Here in the Rockies, winter is accepted as a possibility for any month. Coats, toques, mittens, and boots are never put too far away. Nevertheless, spring is life, birth, a long, deep breath after hibernation.

Spring brought beautiful, precious life to the Falconer family. Four years ago, Samuel Forest Falconer was given to us, and has blessed our family with laughter and a sweetness akin to honey. This particular spring, we celebrated the gift of life with our little flower, Willow Anne. She is one.
When her slippery little self was placed into my arms for the first time, my feelings were much like my first spring run, exhileration, awe to be in the presence of such beauty, and such a strong sense of being so overwhelmed. There was no way I was going to be able to be a mum to four children. I can't. Life must have a rewind button....somewhere.
I looked down at the screaming little bundle in my arms. The crying suddenly stopped, and big, clear blue eyes stared back at me. Maybe she saw the fear in my eyes. "You can do this, mom." I swear she spoke to me. "I know you don't have the strength, but God does. You can do this with Him."
I have learned not to have high expectations. I have learned to set small goals. I have learned, and am still, to be content. There are now days when chaos is not reigning, or at least all day. Those days, I want to stand on a table and beat my chest, barbaric, I know. However, I realize that those victories do not belong to me, but Christ within me.

The discipline of gratitude must be practiced, like running, must be trained for. I wish for thankfulness to bubble to the surface naturally and instantly. I want to see the completed picture, the finish line. I want to somehow make the now, me, smaller.
I believe this is something worth training for, worth training my children for.

Never alone

The morning was normal, as far as I could tell. When I look back on it, I find myself analyzing the little details. Was there something that I had missed, something that would have told me to stay at home today?

I was startled awake by my youngest son climbing on top of me, trying to squeeze in between his dad and I for an early morning cuddle. I pried one eye open, just enough to peep at the numbers on the clock. Groan...it wasn't that early, it was time to get the kids up and ready for school. Forest curled up behind me, ok, maybe five more minutes.
Meadow's voice awoke me next, "Mom, who is taking me to school?"
Ok, time to get up, my brain was telling my body to move, but nothing was happening.
"Mom?"
Ok, I am coming. It is wonderful to have such a responsible five-year old in our home. The next forty-five minutes swept by in the usual madness of lunch prep, breakfast, getting dressed, brushing teeth, hugs, kisses, and goodbyes.

Whew...waving goodbye to Ocean's bus is almost always followed by the refill of my coffee cup and a collapse on the couch. I am never there for too long however, before either Forest or Willow, or both, is tugging for my attention.

I do remember looking out the front window to the wintry scene outside. Nothing unusual, the same scene that has greeted me every morning for the last four months, but today I was struck with the fierce, pure beauty of it. This beautiful thing called snow, that falls so gently and quietly to cover the ugly, the dirty, of winter. I paused for a brief moment to thank God for sending beauty, for sending His Son to cover me.

My youngest daughter, Willow, has been a challenge for me. She is very much a "mommy's girl", and though at times, I relish in the love she showers upon me, at other times, she can be a bit stifling. This morning was no different.
As I was getting ready, her crying and clinging to my leg, was causing severe anxiety on my part, so I placed her in her crib.

Blue and I had decided the night before that I would take Forest and WIllow into town with me for my Monday morning torture, I mean, Crossfit session. Blue had online modules to finish for his preparation to be hired by Calgary Fire, so he needed a little peace and quiet, a rare commodity around our house, but relished in if found. However, I digress.

Several times, I would complain to Blue that I wasn't going to make it. Sometimes, I believe that just getting out of the house should be considered a work-out.
As I prepared to gather Willow into her car seat, I realized that she had fallen asleep. I glanced sheepishly at Blue, after all, it wasn't like I had planned this.

He shrugged, "You might as well leave Forest too."

I smiled and ran out the door, "love ya!" May sometimes sound as though an afterthought, but always meant, for I do love that man.

I backed out of our driveway and realized our lab, Kiska was still in the front yard. I should go let her back in....no, Blue will do it. I stopped at the stop sign at the end of our street, what if he doesn't realize Kiska is out, I will call, .....ugh, forgot the cell. I really should go back for the cell....but I am already late.

I pulled out onto the highway, struck once again by the crystal beauty of winter. There was snow on the road, snowflakes were fluttering lazily, nothing to warn me of any danger. Nothing.

Intense, strength training today. One would think that my muscles would eventually adapt to such evil brutality. As a punishment for continued stubbornness , I put them through the additional interval session on the rower. As a result, I left the gym a little later than usual.

The snow was falling heavily now, the wind had picked up, the sky was white, completely white. I saw some friends with their brand new baby walk into their business next door. I walked over to say hello, and meet the beautiful little new one.
After the oohs and aahs had been said, the conversation drifted to the weather and road conditions outside.

I quietly slipped out the door, and ducking my head against the whirling snow, walked back to the van. I have driven in these conditions a thousand times, I am fine, I grew up with winter, I know winter, I love winter. This is ok.

I can't see. Everything is white. I strained to see some color, to see anything but white. I only have to drive very slowly and carefully for fourteen kilometers, that is all, just fourteen. As I peer into the whiteness, I recall a conversation I had had with my daughter the week before.
"Mom, is Jesus with me when I go to school?" Yes
"Is Jesus with me when I go skiing?" Yes
"Mom, is Jesus with me when I am all alone?" YES!
"He will never leave me, right, mom?" Right!
"Is he always with you too, mom?"
I hugged her and looked her in the eyes, "Jesus has promised us that He will never leave us, and He always keeps His promises."

I smiled at the memory, and I realized that I was gripping the steering wheel, and that I was actually afraid. I had no reason whatsoever to be afraid, because Jesus was with me.
My last thought before I slammed into the rear of a semi that I did not know was there, was that I was not alone. The air bag deployed in my face, again, more white. I glanced up to see the back of the truck at my windshield, more white. Several seconds passed before we came to a complete stop on the side of the road. I had attached myself to the truck bumper, and the driver had conveniently pulled me off the road, away from any more danger. The driver of the truck pulled my door open, blood was pouring out of my nose, finally, some color. I was ok.
Over the next few hours, I continually heard how lucky I was. That is easy, an easy explanation when our minds cannot comprehend. I am so glad that my life was not left to luck that day. I believe in something, Someone, far more trustworthy than luck. My God has promised that He will never leave me, I am never alone.

When things get a little harder..

"Meadow-good, Ocean-not so good" - this would be the text that I received from my man when I asked how ski lessons were going. Brief, to the point, this texting business, but, oh so vague. Now, I had a million questions.

I patiently waited until the end of the lesson, then immediately called him up, "What do you mean Ocean's is not good?" I started firing my million questions at him in that calm wifely/motherly manner. I am not sure which question I was on, when I realized that he was repeating himself, "Can you wait until we get home?"
Sure, I was already calculating in my head exactly what time that should be.

Meaningless tasks formed the next hour until, finally, my little boy walked through the back door.

This is when it gets a little harder. Communication is a human need nearly as strong as the need for nourishment. Some have the ability to string words together to form a beautiful melody that is breathtaking in its own right. Others may speak very little, but their actions are worth volumes. Words have the power to heal, and to wound. My human nature cries out to have someone to listen, someone to care. Isn't everyone the same? Isn't Ocean?

I ask Ocean how he is, if encouraged, he will give me the thumbs up, "good". However, it will be his father who tells me of this stubbornness to put on his skis, his lack of cooperation with his instructor. Thus begins the guessing game that has made up much of Ocean's life. Do his boots fit? Was he scared of the grade of the hill? Was he timid with his new instructor? Was he experiencing any pain?

We conclude that my presence may be helpful to him the next week.
On our return to the hill, I am fairly confident that I can persuade him to ski. So, I tuck his skis under my arm, grab his little hand, and walk over to the beginner area to meet his instructor, Adam. I spend the next few moments filling him in on a bit of Ocean's history, all the while I am intensely studying him from behind my sunglasses. I have my doubts. He is young, and a man of few words himself, maybe not a good match for Ocean? Well, we are here, let's give this an effort. I bend over to help Ocean snap into his skis, when a sharp crack to my shin from his other boot causes me to cry out. What in the...?! Before I can truly respond, my sweet gentle Ocean has become another child. He is screaming and kicking, and hitting?! My shock is squelched by the need to defend my shins, and out of the corner of my eye, I see his instructor calmly watching us. I am sure he is wondering what wise course of action I am going to take to calm down my son. However, I am wisdomless, but I am stubborn. I grab his boots, snap them into his skis, pick him up, still screaming, by the way, and carry him to the magic carpet. Adam follows us, probably wondering if he gets paid enough for this job. I am wondering what it is inside me that doesn't allow me to let my son sit on the sidelines, which is what he would love to do.
As Ocean begins to settle on the magic carpet, I look over to see Adam come up behind us. Without a word, he steps up behind Ocean, places his skis on either side of Ocean's skis, bends over and wraps his arms around Ocean. Ocean looks up, his face covered in post-tantrum, shall we say, nasal residue, a turn-off even to his mother. Adam doesn't even appear to notice, I hear him whisper, "it's ok, Ocean."
As they glide off the carpet, I immediately step forward inquiring what he is going to do next. He doesn't answer me, he turns around backwards, once again placing Ocean between his legs, bends over so that he is eye level with Ocean, and whispers, "look at my eyes, Ocean." I can see the fear in Ocean's eyes as he grasps Adam's arms. And, I gaze in amazement as Ocean's body relaxes, and he never takes his eyes from Adam's until they are safely at the bottom.
I catch Adam's eye, and nod towards the lodge. Clearly, he is fully capable and trustworthy. In such a short time, he has found a way to communicate with a little boy who cannot form words.
This last week, I watched from the lodge window, as Ocean held onto Adam's pole and skied down the hill. I watched him give Adam a high-five at the bottom, and slide his way back over to ride again.
I smiled.
This is when things get a little better.

Here's to more soup...

We have been eating a lot of soup lately. Maybe this eternal cold that I have had since...well, forever, is keeping soup recipes at the forefront. Or, maybe the -30 temperatures, that is Celsius for the Americans out there, are making me crave nothing but soup, and perhaps the occasional latte. May we say chinook anyone?
Anyhow, we slurped our way through the usuals at our house, hamburger-vegetable soup, peanut-curry soup, a minestrone or two, and still feeling a bit unfulfilled in our soup mania, we sought out more.
My man made us an extra large pot of Zuppa Tuscana, delicious, although a little less creamy than anticipated, due to laziness on both of our parts to go to the store for more cream. A keeper still, I think.
I came across this sweet and spicy chili. A touch of cinnamon, and cocoa jazzed up one of my already favorite veggies, the sweet potato. Topped with sour cream, shredded cheese and tortilla chips.....yummy! Found this on Real Simple, added a little hamburger, not too many vegetarians in our family.

Oh, and did I mention I made this in the crock pot, definitely a keeper...

Weekends away

There was no watching of TV this weekend. There was not any Internet connection, or cell phone coverage.
There was only the sounds of skis sliding on the snow, of giggles, and of kiddie conversation.
There was the sleeping in sleeping bags, "just like camping", but with a spacious cabin in place of our crowded tent.
There was the the playing of more games, "chutes and ladders", "memory", and "uno" being on the present favorites list. Uno was a greater joy, because Ocean played with us, and won!
There was coffee, always coffee....
We could mention the sore necks from sleeping on the pull-out sofa, or the bit of whining on the ski trail, or the baby crying at 4:00a.m......but we are focusing on the good, and there was a lot of good.
Yes, I believe we will go back there....

Weekends

The snow fell this weekend.
The kind of snow that makes the loudest day seemed muted.

The espresso machine hummed happily with constant usage. The aroma of freshly ground beans filling the house with an aura, an essence of coziness.

The doors were shut to the world outside, not purposefully, for anyone who came would have been welcomed, and most likely offered an espresso.

Books came off the shelves in piles. Words streamed and hung around us, forming stories, fiction and non.

Games were played. I can no longer allow my mind to drift when playing my daughter, not if I want to win.

Pyjamas were worn until...well, the time doesn't really matter. We unanimously decided not to get dressed unless absolutely necessary, and it never was

There was the eating of warm soups and fresh bread.

Maybe next weekend, we will venture out, but, this time, for now, we are content to just be....

the best gift ever...

I am a martyr, I know it, I will admit it. I have this constant, "woe is me" attitude, that no matter how hard I try, this conscious thought pervades. It is the hare looking back at the tortoise, taunting the person that I want to be. Except for the tortoise wins in the fable, my tortoise seldom wins, but when he does, there is victory dancing to be done.
This very morning, as I awoke to my husband's painful coughing, and laboured breathing, my thoughts were on myself, and how I really "needed" to sleep in. Of course, his illness was ruining my plan. I could go on, with more twisted stories of my selfishness, but, really, would that do any of us any good?
So, that brings me to my Christmas present to my sweet husband....you may not think that much thought went into this gift. Would O. Henry have written a story about the deep love and sacrifice that went into this gift? Maybe, if he knew my heart.
Being the mother of four small children, I have to admit that I am guilty of not giving my man the attention that he deserves. I have to confess that I often don't even think that he deserves it. Can't he see how hard I am working and how exhausted I am? Once again, that martyr surfacing, down with you! So, before I can allow my inner self to take control, I force myself to dwell on one of the most precious things in my life, my marriage.
This past year, we have received news from several of our friends that their marriages were crumbling. The pain, the devastation, the loneliness, were so apparent. What if that were me, what if it could be me? What if when my children are grown, and leave home, and they will, what if I look across the table, and realize I no longer know the man sitting across from me? As a result of all of these dreadful thoughts, I realized that I love this man, and want to spend as much time with him as possible.
My gift, drumroll please...is 52 dates, one date for every week in 2011. A selfish gift, you may think, yes, maybe. Our dates in recent years have been great, me talking a hundred miles a minute about anything and everything. This year, I hope to listen, listen to his thoughts, his plans, his dreams.
Our first date was on January 1, 2011. We went to the Olive Garden, and ate lunch. I have to admit, I think I did most of the talking, but, hey, I have 51 more to work on that.

Reflection

It is a new year. We are at the beginning of a new day. The word "new" holds so much promise. The unknown can be scary to some, a challenge to others. For me, I have learned to take one day at a time, each day being a gift, a fresh start. Whatever transpires during the day, I know that God is God, and I am not. I know that if I open my eyes, each morning "will bring me word of His unfailing love." And, so, I reflect.
The beginning of any new year brings resolutions, even for those who resolve to not have any resolutions. My dad told us once that if you know something needs changing, you don't need to wait until the new year to do it, do it now. So wise, my dad is. Other words of wisdom from my family include my sister's resolution for this year, "survival". She is a pastor's wife, and the mother of four homeschooled children. She is fabulous, by the way, and does way more than survives, she shines!
As I glance back into 2010, I remember thinking survival might be the only item to be crossed off the "to-do" list. Yet, here I am peering into the future of 2011, wondering what it may hold, and how best to prepare.
I have set some of the usuals to paper, run a half-marathon, pull the dusty guitar out of the closet, read more, eat more vegetables, drink less coffee? seriously?....I could just copy off last year's list and paste it to 2011.
No, this year is going to be different. I have been challenged by several experiences. One, I read a book last year. Actually, I read it several times. Those middle of the night feedings do come in handy. It was called, "The Heavenly Man". This book was about a pastor, Liu Zhenying in China. His story is remarkable, to say the least, and will literally take your breath away. The part that challenged me the most was his memorization of the Bible. Whenever he had one in his possession, he did not take for granted the treasure that he held. I have several Bibles in my home, and, to my shame, these precious words are often left alone for days at a time. This pastor would memorize as much and as quickly as he could, whole books at a time, knowing that his time with the Bible would be short. When he was imprisoned for years at a time, God would enable him to recall passage after passage that brought him great comfort, physical healing, and miraculous escapes from prison. Wow. My goal for 2011 is to memorize more, as much as I can, so that when those hard times come, God's words will be foremost in my mind.
The second experience that challenged me in the same area, was a visit with a really close friend. God has allowed a time in her life that is so painful, words cannot describe it. Numbly, I sat, listening to her try to describe all that she has gone through.
Hurt, so much hurt. Then, her tone softened, and she began to tell me how God's word had been such a comfort to her. As she lay, curled up from the pain, friends had read the words out loud. As the darkness, so heavy it took her breath away, was lightened by the memory of certain verses she had memorized long ago. As the fear overtook her thoughts, robbing her of much needed rest, only the reading of God's Word brought her peace.
Yes, it is a new year. I do not know what it holds. For me, it holds some memorization of my Bible. I believe I will start with Psalm 101, our pastor calls it the prince/princess prayer...