Autumn Aware

Nothing says fall fresh morning like some red leaves, a wooden fence and a little wedge of blue sky.

Just moved the van onto the street because we're expecting delivery of materials to finish off our driveway/patio project this weekend.  That'll be Dave's deal, with a hard-working, stone-hauling-and-mini-excavator-operating experienced crew of his buddies called in for the task.

Ken and I, also starting today, will be in full-out Garage Sale mode for the next three days.  And just in case you haven't seen the bajillion posts I've made on Highview to Thailand about it:  Saturday, September 20 from 8 to 1 at 295 Highview Drive KIT ON N2N 2K7.  

So!  Much! Stuff!  And it's been tricky because we haven't wanted to clutter the basement of the church up as much as we usually do so the Alpha Course can run undisturbed by our wonderful mayhem.

Wonderful mayhem might also be a good descriptor of these first fall weeks.  I'll admit, it's been an adjustment between our 'home-away' and our 'home-here.'  It's all the places you need to be, at a certain time, driving there in the car, with a whole lot of other cars around you, and then you get there, and there are a whole lot of people there, and you talk to them all.  It's the thing were you are now available and accessible and there's expectations around that.  

Because of the way I'm wired, it's important for me not to let all of this wonderful mayhem wind me up too tight.  Not to lose the soul care that's so much more available to me out in the kayak or down by the dock.  It's sunrise walks, and eating lunch outside, and saying no (even though I'm available), and stopping to notice the red leaves against the wooden fence with a little wedge of blue sky.

To be aware of all that autumn offers, and find and guard my city-life balance, for the sake of my own soul, but also for those I love and serve.

That being said, I'm so looking forward to Saturday.  The crew that's doing this are generous, hard-working souls that inspire me.  With the proceeds we can help four young women in northern Thailand continue their post-secondary education, an opportunity that wouldn't be their otherwise.  And the weather forecast is promising, meaning we can be outside, which always translates into more money raised.

So Happy Thursday, friends.

As the patio project progresses, I'll try to take some pictures.

And if you're close enough and can stop in on Saturday, we'd LOVE to see you!!!

 

When Your Soul Won't Let You Avoid the News

My politically-reluctant soul is squirming.

In the social media wake of recent events involving the tragic assassination of an outspoken political activist who also happens to profess himself a believer in Jesus, I find myself surprisingly, painfully, and altogether refreshingly caught between who I truly want to be, and who my reactions reveal I actually am.

I won't include names, only because I hesitate to get dragged into some algorithmic media entity, the likes of which I neither understand nor want to feed.  I wasn't even going to comment on the event, except I was reminded today, from a voice unlike my own, how essential it is to guard my heart against the insidious evil that is 'us and them.'  And upon reflection, I realized how easily I have been provoked to decide my 'camp' is right, and to feel the strong desire to distance myself from my brothers and sisters in Christ who are reacting in ways and saying things I completely and utterly disagree with.  

Ironic, since one of the criticisms I have with much of what I'm reading on line is how divisive the voices can be.  Yes, the Christian ones!  How harmful it is, how confusing, how much it seems to perpetuate the factious arrogance I find so unlike Jesus.

Yet, here I am, in the midst of it, tempted to 'divide' myself away from them.  To distance myself.  

(Pause to let the crazy of that sink in.)

A firm atheist at one point in his life, C. S. Lewis talked about something he found unmistakable about Christians. 

"Even when I feared and detested Christianity, 

I was struck by its essential unity, which, in spite of its divisions, it has never lost.  

I trembled on recognized the same unmistakable aroma 

coming from the writings of Dante and Bunyan, Thomas Aquinas and William Law."

Without diving into a history lesson, let's just say that the pairings he mentions are folks who claimed a faith in Jesus, but who came at it with widely different perspectives and contexts.  C. S. Lewis said that despite their difference, they 'smelled' the same.

I wonder, if Lewis were still alive, and had social media to read along with the classics, would he think we still do?

And I doubt we have to wonder what Jesus Himself thinks all the rhetoric out there.  Or, bringing it uncomfortably closer, of my tendency to stay separated in my own 'camp.'  

By this, everyone will know that you are my disciples; 

if you love one another.  

John 13:35

The problem now, and what makes it painful and altogether refreshing to be caught here is, it's one thing to recognize it.  It's entirely another to decide to humble myself and listen.  To chose an open posture.  To respond with the grace and empathy I so wish the Church was famous for.

I'm not saying I can't or shouldn't thoughtfully hold my positions on how best the message of Jesus is communicated, or what the gospel actually looks like.  I can form my own opinions of what makes someone a hero or a martyr, or not.   I'm not saying I can't or shouldn't disagree, and respectfully engage in dialogue.  There is a place for asking questions, and sharing opposing opinions, of course there is.  And then, yes, there is a place for calling out something that is clearly unethical.  Not every thought is equally permissible to sustain human well-being.

But if I want to be a person of unity;  if I want everyone to know that I am a disciple of Jesus; if I want to stay true to my belief that love remains the main thing, always, what will that look like?

I'm trying.  Don't have a handle on it yet, because too much of it is still making me mad, and tempted to write heated retorts proving my position is correct.   

Sigh.  

Wrote this instead.

Awkward Kayaking Stories, Brought to You By Dollar Store Swimming Shoes

A kayaking story, just for fun.  

Or maybe it's a story about fashion.

Or being awkward.

I'm not sure.

Anyways.

Tuesday morning things looked fine for a spin around the island.  On our little bay here, not a ripple.  Sun was just coming up.  A fair bit of beach was under my boat, so I was pretty sure it would be the slightly longer route today, avoiding the portage altogether.  

These last few days, mornings like this have helped enormously in my hope to surpass last year's times around the island.  That was 28.  After a slow start this season, I have managed to at least match it,  Twenty eight times around for 5 km each means I've paddled 140 km this year so far.  

I go in the mornings before the wind picks up.  But in these first weeks of September, another factor weighs in; the water level.  It's extremely low right now, lower even than the comparatively low it's been all season.  This means my regular route, which has already required a very short, easy portage over a small sand bank, may or may not be available to me.  The rest of the shallow part, past the sand bank, is just too long and marshy with mud and large sticks at the bottom; okay to float over, but not so nice to wade through.  Besides, the water is cold by now.  And the air too.  It's only been 9 degrees when I start out! 

A note here.  While I'll never be known as a fashionista, something I'm just fine with by the way, my fall kayak get up would push me closer to a different kind of style distinction.  Might be called 'cottage grunge,' or 'boating dork.'  There's my Tilley hat, then the life jacket.  And now in the cooler weather, long pants and snug warm socks. But the best part is my bright blue swimming shoes from the dollar store.  Kayaking, and portaging actually, is best done barefoot.  But not right now.  Not in that early morning chill.

Back to Tuesday morning.  Off I go, and things are all bliss and serenity...until I nose out past The Shadow and head into the small bay that will open up to the bigger water.  I'm surprised.  There really was no indication of this in the more protected channels, as there usually is.

The waves are already splashing over the covered bow, and I'm really having to pull hard for each stroke.  I'm able to hug the shoreline for a bit to block the swell, but coming out around the point, let's just say, it's a thing.

It's not like I'm anxious about it.  By now I know what my kayak can handle, and we're nowhere close to being swamped.  But the grunt work of this particular time out is going to require more than I care to put out this morning.  I make the decision to go for the portage.

Remember, I'm wearing long pants and socks.  Remember the bit about the dollar store swimming shoes.  I come in to the sand bank and stabilize the boat.  Time to hike up the pants, and remove socks and shoes.  Feels a little awkward to do this in the kayak, but later it will seem like the easier part of this.

The water IS cold!  And the levels are low enough that I have to push the kayak much further into the muck than I'd prefer.  But there it is, that moment when there's enough buoyancy, and back I climb in and settle myself into the seat and paddle-push myself over the rest of it.  

I leave my socks and shoes off until I'm really clear, because I half expect to the need to get out again over some of the shallower parts, but no.  I manage instead with a semi-gondola effect, and now I'm clear!  Floating for real.

And my feet are cold!  So the thing to do is to put my socks and shoes back on, right?  

Do you have any idea how hard it is to put snug warm socks on wet feet, while in a kayak, wearing a life jacket?  And that was the easy part.  These swimming shoes, honestly!  The opening is small and stretchy.  Of course they are.  They're meant to stay on while you're in the water.  But it is almost impossible to point enough of your toes into that small, stretch opening, and bed over enough when - have I mentioned this - you're in a kayak, wearing a life jacket.

I struggled for many minutes doing this.  Drifted up against the shore and almost got myself grounded again doing this.  I grunted and huffed and complained while doing this.  Nothing graceful about it at all.  Nothing of the kayak's reputation for bliss and serenity was present in these ridiculous moments.

I thought about that philosophical question, "If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to hear it, does it still make a sound?"  Only I wondered, "If you struggle with wet socks and swimming shoes in a kayak, and there's no one there to see you, are you still a dork?" 

[The ironic answer to this question is likely, "Not unless you write about it."  But never mind.]

When it was all done, I took a deep breath, readjusted myself on the kayak seat, and picked up my paddle to continue, as if nothing at all happened.  Off-we-go-isn't-this-lovely-beautiful-morning, and all that.

It is my hope, temperatures and wind and water levels notwithstanding, to achieve at least two more times around, making for a nice neat number of 30.  

We'll see.

Transitional Overlapping Fallness

This was the first of the September weekend turnarounds where we are planning to be at the cottage during the week and home for the weekends, mostly anyways.  When Ken said he wanted to get some sausage from the market, I decided to tag along and we made it a Saturday morning date.  

While Ken runs up to market frequently, I realized when we were there that my last visit was in October of 2023 when Suradet, Yupa and Bell were with us.  It made me miss them more than I usually do, so I snapped with very hurried selfie and sent it to them.  Within minutes I got a response. 

It's such a crazy thing, really, to be this far away and yet able to connect so easily.  Helps a little.

Back home, it was also fun to see how things were in the 'new' garden.  

And to realize that, even when we have to close up the cottage, there are lovely fall things to look forward to here.  It will be the very first time I've decorated this porch for fall.  And the landscaping we had done earlier in the spring, plus the new shed we added at the beginning of July are providing the background for more we'd like to do before the snow flies.  [Oops, pardon my language, I just said the s-word there.]

The meteorologists call fall a 'transitional' season.  That's code for anything can happen weatherwise, so be prepared.  Sometimes it's going to feel like summer.  Sometimes it's going to feel like it's time to start the pre-hibernation rituals.  Flip flops or woolen socks?  Summer dress or hoodie?  And to take it further than the weather....Market trip or kayak around the island?  This fall offers both, and I like it.

Do I like transitions?  Not that much, not usually.  But it was good to step back into the delights of our life in the city these past few days.  And that's not even counting the yet to be had opportunity to worship together with our beautiful Highview Family this morning!!!  Can't wait.

We'll take Abby back up with us for this second to last little cottage stint.  Who knows, maybe she'll see the bear that's been visiting us this season.  Hope so/not.

Community and Belonging and Being Away for a Long Time

These were the gathering clouds just before supper.  By now the sky looks greyer, in anticipation of the four days of rain that's predicted to begin this evening.  

What incredible weather we've had, though, for the past several days!  Cool enough for a good sleep overnight, then warming up to about 25C without any hint of humidity.  I've been set up out on the deck for the whole day several days in a row.  September really has begun with a last dance of summer that invites me to be fully present in these moments.

Likely, it will still be raining in the morning, so the kayak is turned over for now.  Probably good for me to take a rest day anyways.  The fabulous mornings have had me out so many days in a row that I'm actually almost caught up to my 28 times around last year...right now I'm at 26.  Slow start this summer, as I wrote about before.  But all the August conditions were much more favourable.  Got me some decent callouses too.  

And maybe, who knows, maybe Ken and I can put aside some work and break into a game of Super Scrabble.  And if you don't know what that is, I won't be surprised.  We are, after all, fairly well entrenched in the nerd category when it comes to the Scrabble thing.  Super Scrabble, like a rainy day game of Monopoly, is something of a commitment, not to be rushed, and requires a table or a surface that you can completely take over for a good portion of the day.  

There is a bit of a concern, though, that with the rain comes loss of connection.  Just part of the deal of having our internet hooked up to a satellite dish, and the interference factor when it rains hard.  We both have the need for either Zoom or email for a bit of the day, so hopefully...

It will be a back and forth thing for us starting Friday.  September will have us here some and there some, since life in the city ramps up, even as summer lingers over Georgian Bay.  We'll see.  This is our first 'true' here/there summer since the big move last year.  This is the year where we have put into play the plan of living in our small house for the winter, and up here for as much of the spring, summer and fall we can get away with.

Honestly, I've barely been in KW since June 4 when we first arrived; five days in June, overnight once in July, then four days just before and then over the August Civic Holiday weekend.  And that's it for me.  Ten days in the last 90 or so.  Ken did the trip more often, mostly for work related errands that needed his actual person.  But generally, we been away for a fair chunk of time.

I think the plan is working.

We were away longer last year.  That was different.  And yet.  While I revel in the flat water and deer sightings and the sun's rising and setting glories, and even though there've been plenty of Zoom connects with friends, and actual time here with family, I am by now feeling that sense of disconnect.

It never gets boring, this.  This careful balance of introversion and community.  No matter how much I am away, I want to be with, even though I also love the away.  And no matter how badly I need to have enough time alone, I also very badly need my peeps.  Does that make sense?

I hope so, even if just a little bit.  

And oh, I am so, so, so looking forward to worshiping at Highview on Sunday!  And that's the plan.  Back in the city every weekend from now on.  

Cottage closing date?  Yet to be determined.  

Because...have I mentioned how quiet it is here in the fall?

Eclipsed by Glory

 When all of a sudden I am unaware of 

these afflictions eclipsed by glory,

and I realize just how beautiful You are

and how great Your affection is for me.

David Crowder

When the water is flat all the way around, that's golden.  That's the glory of God reflected in sky and water, a mighty hooraying of all He has created.  Breath-snatching, reorienting, right-sizing.

This morning was particularly perfect.

Seems fitting for a day set aside as "the Lord's day."  

Remember that phrase in the hymn Holy, Holy, Holy?  Describing the worship of the angles... "Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea?"  Scripture often uses the image of perfectly flat water to represent a place, a state where God's will is perpetually being carried out.  The kingdom of God, in other words.  "Thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven."  Like that.

It reminds me, again and again, any time I come out from the Shadow and the water stretches out like glass before me, that He is everything.  He is holy.  He is totally in charge.  And He is just so beautiful!

And then, like David Crowder captures in his song How He Loves Us by David Crowder, everything else kinda doesn't matter so much.  Whatever's bugging me?  Oh yeah.  This.

Big breath in.  Hold it.  Release.  You are God, I am not.  And all that's heavying my heart is (pause) lifted.  Lovingly.  Because...this.

"For our light and momentary troubles

are achieving for us and eternal glory

that far outweighs them all.

So we fix out eyes not on what is seen

but what is unseen,

since what is seen is temporary,

but what is unseen

is eternal."

2 Corinthian 4:17-18

Oh glorious last Sunday of the summer!

Hope you can find your own spaces of worship.  It really does help set things right.

Relational Resilience

This small green ball was an apology gift from my husband.  

True, most husbands, when they mess up tend towards flowers and chocolate.  

And yes, there was also chocolate involved.

But it was the ball that convinced me that some thought had gone into the apology.

What the mess up was I will leave between us.  Let's just say it was enough to warrant more than a good conversation and the words "I'm sorry."  And I will be quick to add here that in the forty-seven years of our marriage many mess ups with appropriate apologies have gone both ways.  And it is better if we can keep things small enough that a good conversation and the words "I'm sorry" are indeed sufficient.

But when something bigger has happened, an expression of remorse, acknowledgement, even embarrassment, and definitely a desire to change goes a long way to rebuilding anything that got broken.

So why would a small green ball with a fist on it be a good gift on this particular occasion?

Watch the video.

Just before Ken first whacked it down on the table, he said, "I really, really dropped the ball.  And I'm really, really sorry.  But you and I can recover!"  Then he whacked the ball down hard the table, and it did its thing.

I was shocked at first, expecting it to bounce of course, and leaning away from an expected trajectory.  But then it did what it does, so crazy like, and I gasped, then laughed so hard (much to Ken's relief since he wasn't sure if I would like it, or it would make things worse, as every husband who's trying to apologize for something might understand), just because it looked so hilarious and it was all so unexpected.

We did it over and over again several times, laughing and picking it up, and trying to figure out what its made of, then whacking it down again.  Then we sat down and I shared some of my/our chocolate, and we talked about "the thing" with an entirely different kind of energy.

Marriage is work.  It just is.  And it requires a kind of long-haul resiliency that defiantly defies the smack downs, and pulls you back together, time and time again.  It just does.  And Ken and I would both agree that it takes more than what we've got as individuals, or even together as a team to keep at it.  

I'll go back to Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 4:7, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay, that the all surpassing power is from God, and not from us.  We are hard pressed, but not crushed; perplexed but not despairing; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed."

The rewards of the work are proportionate.  To quote Steve Bell "There's a certain scope to that long love that constant spirits are the keepers of."

Forty-seven years ago, Ken and I promised each other we'd grow old together.  

Well here we are.  

By the grace and goodness of God.  

And with a little help of crazy splat balls.