This Time Last (Next) Year

If you're like me and prefer to hang on to summer for as long as possible...

And feel like all the pumpkin spice hype comes way too early and is, quite frankly, a little ridiculous...

And you don't put up any kind of fall decor, on your porch or anywhere, until at least October...

Then my apologies to you for this post, and please feel free to skip this altogether.  Because I'm going to go there...into the fall.

But actually I want to talk about last fall. 

 

Last fall we stayed at the cottage until the end of October.  This was unprecedented for us.  We had always closed up for the season by mid September at the latest, mostly because of the weather challenges associated with island living, and also because the place is not insulated.

But last fall we had no choice.  We were 'homeless' in KW, between the closing date of our house on Blythwood and the completion of our new build, our small house, on Sandra.  So we had to stay here.

I'll state the obvious.  We didn't mind.  In fact we didn't need too much convincing that, if we had to be 'homeless' anywhere we'd pick hunkering down and being at home at the cottage any day.  We thoroughly embraced the reality, and experienced a glorious September-October gift we'd never been given before.

We loved waking up and putting on the fire, and the challenge of keeping it stoked just right to stay cozy all day.  It was novel and fun to navigate our laundry around good drying days even when it got cooler, me feeling all virtuous for not running a dryer that long.  And the whole seasonal community gets so very quiet once the 'season' has ended...for most everyone else.  So. Very.  Quiet.  No human noise at all.  There might not even be a boat go by for days at a time.  Just.  Breathe.  That.  In.

But best of all was being right here in the midst of things as the colours changed.

And those misty mornings.

And the incredible reflections of glory upon glory.

Flat water and fall colours.  No words.

I'll state the other obvious.  We were in a season of transition and uncertainty.  The last little bits of building pragmatics, permits, dealing with various municipal offices all ended up being quite straightforward.  But this time last year, we did not know any of that. We were being told a finishing date of January 8th, and that sounded too far away.  We just weren't sure how it was all going to go, especially as we were now talking about winter months, and we needed someplace else to be by then. So the extended cottage stay wasn't entirely as serene internally as it was out on the water most mornings.

As the temperatures have dipped this week, and it's starting to feel like fall (sorry, but I said it), I can't help but dip into that psychological space of 'mood congruent memory.'  I remember how it was this time last year, how I felt, what I worried about.  And how things, in the end, turned out to be more than we could have ever asked for.

We love our new little house.  

We love the way it's laid out inside.  We love that everything's brand new.  We love where it's situated in the yard.  We love that our son and grandson have adjusted so well to our presence there, and love the close-yet-still-separate living arrangement this provides us.

It's all so much more wonderful than anything I worried might ruin in, when I was all wondering about it last fall.

Last night, down by the water, this came up.  The trust thing.  Because each new season brings its own challenges, uncertainties, ways things could go bad, and some of that is in the works right now.  As I move into this fall, fall 2025, there's reason to wonder how I might be looking back on it come August 2026.  And last night, as the sun was setting and the breeze was dying down, He asked me again.  "Do you trust Me?"

A wise counsellor of mine once said, 

"To the degree we trust in the faithfulness of God, 

to do what He's promised and be infinitely wise and loving 

to lead us through to the best He's planned for us, 

we will be able to know the kind of peace 

normally experienced when problems are resolved, 

even before they are."

We were talking about Paul's words to the Philippian church in his letter to them, and the phrase "peace that passes understanding" (4:7).  In other words, without trust it wouldn't really make sense to be chill.

"Do you trust Me?"

We won't be here as long this year, and that's okay too.  I am so grateful for last fall.  All of it.  The way we got to be here.  The way it pressed me into that deeper intimacy of trust.  

And I'm also okay with getting back to our sweet little house, and our incredible community of faith at Highview, and to seeing my grandkids in person, and tea on the porch with friends.  And to all that such a good God might deem to grace me with in the ebb and flow of life.

And next fall?  We'll see.

Fall Feelings

 I am definitely not out in the kayak this morning.

It's more of a morning to snuggle under the blankets for a few minutes longer, because....I can.  And while the rising sun still made an angled appearance under the clouds to make for a dramatic sky, that wind is strong, and the next band of showers are definitely on their way.  It's supposed to be on and off rain all day.

Ken has started a fire, one of very few we've had all summer.  This morning is very August, unlike August has been up to now.

I'm all good with this.  I don't mind trading my usual work station out on the deck for the indoors set up at the table, facing the wrap around windows that look out on the water.  It's actually nice to be 'cozy' after such a long hot and dry summer.  

Starting this last week of August with a rainy day suits what I am hoping for from this week anyways.  As crazy as this may sound, I have not been able to arrange one string of five days (one solid work week) since arriving in June where I haven't been hosting, meeting, preaching, dedicating, Zooming, visiting, or otherwise connecting.   As such, I have declared this week a 'no meeting week' where I hope to be able to finish off some lingering projects that I had high hopes for when the summer began, and which require the kind of long and unhurried concentration usually available when I'm away from the city.  

Don't get me wrong.  The connections are very important, nurturing my soul in different ways.  And largely all of it is my own doing.  

Also, it should be said that truly, I am beyond grateful and do not for a moment take for granted the incredible gift it is, in this era of my life, to have this much time here each season. 

And.

I did notice yesterday that my thoughts are more and more about getting back and resuming city life.  Cooler temperatures has something to do with that.  And also...we have such a cute house to return to!

But for now, this Monday, I'm staying cozy watching the sky and enjoying the space that provides a quiet place to hunker down and focus on good work.  Let's see what I can tuck away before fall is really here.

A little, totally unrelated bonus.  While I was writing this post, my new friend I call Buddy, a very young blue jay who hasn't figured out he's supposed to be afraid of me, just sat on the deck rail and bawled for his breakfast.  So I've put out some peanuts and come back inside.  We'll see if I can get a good pic of him to post later.  

Whatever Monday means to you, have a good one!

Sunday Morning Glory Gifts

Every morning is a gift.

Sundays especially.

Thought I'd share a bit of the glory of this particular Sunday morning up here.

A reflective photo shoot while waiting for service to start.

Unusual sighting of four deer at the same time!

And since I saw two others on the other side of the island,

that makes for a record sighting of six deer in one trip around.

Dramatic sky.  

Leftovers from last night's storm.

Breakfast for the blue jays 

(or the chipmunks, whoever gets here first).

This must be who I heard calling at 5 a.m.!

Haunting and beautiful.

And actually, not at all a bad way to wake up.

A very happy little peppermint plant 

in my mini herb garden on the deck.

And that's all for now.

Readying ourselves for the last service of the season

for Cognashene Community Church

here on the rocks

on the Freddy Channel.

More worship, more glory, more gifts for a Sunday morning.

"Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,

for I have put my trust in You."

Psalm 143:8

Kayak Count Confessions

The sky this morning as I paddle around the island.  This is only 19 times around.  My record is 37.  This is August now.  Things are not looking so good for any kind of bragging rights.  Especially since I've been here since the beginning of June.  And especially since doing the 5 km trip around the island in the morning is basically my only form of exercise while I'm here.  

I'll admit, it's disappointing.  And I could list some excuses, and you might even sympathize if I did.  But I'll refrain from doing so, because the point of this post is that I'm trying to keep it real.

We live our lives in real time, not in the fragmented splinters of what we post online, or in the space between our true selves and the masks we are tempted to wear.  Of course I want you to think well of me - remembering the bit about bragging rights? - but the truth is, not all of me is well.

Also, 'over-sharing' is a good conversation on the other side of things.  And while I'm confessing to a degree of laziness and lack of discipline this summer, there are matters in my life that don't get posted, of course.  They fall into that category of the appropriate information with the appropriate people at the appropriate time.  Again, keeping it real.

Now, the other thing is that I was actually happy to get to 19 today.  Makes 20 doable which, after the kind of summer it's been, I'm just going to just decide for myself is not bad at all.  And now I'm setting another goal of 25.  And when I reach that I'll bump it up to 30.  Who knows?  We hope to be here, at least during the week, a fair bit into September.  So I still have a chance.  I'm hopeful.  

Despite the cloudy skies earlier, it's turning out to be another glorious day here.

The humming bird has been by a few times already.  No blue jays quite yet, but the chipmunks know where to come for breakfast.  See him there on the box by the birdhouse?  I'm washing all the comforters this week, so it's time to go put the next one up on the line.  Looking like a great Friday.

Stay real friends.  And have a wonderful weekend!

Cottage Ramps and Wise Ways

Let your eyes look straight ahead;

and fix your gaze directly before you.

Give careful thought to the paths for your feet

and be steadfast in all your ways.

Do not turn to the right or the left;

keep your foot from evil.

Proverbs 4:25-27

One thing about the terrain around here -- it's not level.  Making your way around means you have to be ready to navigate the rock-solid randomness of the Canadian Shield.  Thank you glaciers.

This makes for stunning landscapes and rugged vistas, as often depicted in the work of The Group of Seven, some of whom frequented our little corner of it all here in Georgian Bay.  But with it comes a great deal of uneven terrain.

Most of us manage it well, building on the most level of the spaces, finding the natural pathways between our cottage and the dock, or between buildings, all of which have been situated in submission to what will not move.

But in many spaces where things are particularly treacherous, ramps are built.

Between our bunkie and the shoreline, in the most direct line of things, we have two ramps.  One is more of an elongated sideways step, and the other is basically a bridge over a deeper crevasse.  As I was getting into and out of the kayak over the two weeks while we were over there, I've wondered if we might not be good to also build a bit of a deck over the particularly jagged formations closest to the water.  Every step down there is tricky!  One misstep and there could be some serious damage.

Regardless, wherever you're going, you want to be watching your step.  

The text quoted above comes to mind.  Giving careful thought to paths and looking straight ahead and all.  It's a matter of wisdom, says the Teacher in Proverbs.  The way can be treacherous if you're not sure footed.  

Of course this metaphor is meant to keep us safe from our own folly.  That's the Bible's term for the opposite of wisdom.  It's not talking about avoiding adventure or never taking risks, both of which are wildly and wonderfully present in the stories of the majority of the folks we read about in the Bible.  And their stories are great.   Personally, I think risk and adventure are just going to be part of the story of anyone following Jesus wholeheartedly.

But when it comes to making big decisions, or considering important options, or weighing out certain investments (financial and otherwise), or even just the repeated practices of our daily lives, we're smart  to build ramps over pitfalls.  Those ramps might be called research, advice, prayer, accountability, lessons from past experience, lessons from others' experience, study, pacing, patience, or any number of straightforward steps we might put in place in order to "be steadfast in all your ways."

And, like the ramps we build at the cottage, the more treacherous the way, the smarter it is to make the path forward more secure.

In all of this I find myself so grateful this morning for 

• the many wise mentors and counselors I have had and still have in my life.  
• the experiences of my life, many painful, that have taught me so much.
• the wealth of good material there is out there to read and ponder and study (so many books, so little time!).
• the beauty and depth of the Word of God to guide and direct and steady my feet.
• the intimate presence of God to walk me through every step of the way.

A beauty day here.

Thursday!

Have a great, sure-footed day!

 

I Find Myself In August

Is it just me, or does half way through August always start to feel like summer is almost over?

I know.  I'm sorry.  Some folks don't like it if you even start talking about it.  And, like them, I am guarding my words, and my thinking, and doing my best to stay present in these right-now-not-over summer moments.  And I have to say, this particular August is being all super-summery to the max.  Hot, hot, hot!  Great swimming.   Out early in the kayak, and I still work up a sweat.  No end of sunshine.

So, it's not like it feels like fall yet, not at all.

But that dang calendar!  And the emails (some I'm generating myself!) that alert us of what's ahead in September.  And -- here's where it's bugging me the most -- that long list of all that I had hoped to accomplish when I snuck off early (beginning of June) to the comparative 'isolation' of island living, but I haven't done enough of it yet.

In my defense, or perhaps this is a confession, there hasn't actually yet been one single week since arriving June 4 where something isn't 'going on.'  Comings and goings of family and friends.  Meetings online and dinner invitations in person.  A few trips back and forth to the city in the mix.  And other opportunities to serve in a profession that does indeed have an understood component of responding when a need arises.  

I'm not complaining, although I suppose it could easily sound like I am.  I said yes to all of it.  And there's good joy and connection in all of it.  And, as best I can tell, it was all needful and in line with the bigger purposes of my life.  

But I'm just surprised.  Summer's almost over, and I might need to pull up and take stock here for a second.

I've been at the cottage all this time, but I still might need to push back a little and declare a 'no meeting week.'  Sounds ridiculous, I know, being 'away' and all.  But I confess that just I was writing that, my body did one of those involuntary deep shudder sighs.  Oh, okay.  I'm listening.

[Long pause to just be quiet for a bit.]

I suppose it's true what they say.  "Wherever you go, there you are."  Being 'away' doesn't mean I've shed the habits and idiosyncrasies of my temperament.  Doesn't mean I can abandon the practices that help keep me balanced and healthy and sane.  And while the environment here by the water does have an overall calming effect, I'm still accountable for how I steward my energies and time.

It's still new, this working-from-home-but-not-at-home-in-the-city thing.  Last summer we had the big move.  This summer there've been other challenges to deal with to distract us from a true summer mode.  I'm not really sure I can say I've had a good 'baseline' to go by yet, if such a thing exists.  But putting that excuse aside, I am glad for these mid-August moments of taking stock, of being humbled, and of surrendering myself again to the grace and compassion of a God who doesn't give up on me.

  

He's tender in these moments.  Holy hush.  With my calendar open before me, He doesn't say much.  Just - we observe it together.  Oh, yes.  There it is.  And then, gently, make the changes that make for space.   I hold my breath in His nearness.   Feel the openness wash over me.  Then breathe again, more deeply.

And maybe August is the perfect time for this.

Hey Highview! I Miss You!

 

If any moments remain where I'm especially aware of my 'new' ministry realities, they happen in August, and because I'm still at the cottage.

For decades I preferred to have my vacation very early in the summer.  Frankly, by June I was fairly spent from the demands of the work - Sundays happen every week! - and very ready to be away.   But come the end of July I was also eager to return to the city so that I could be back worshipping with my beloved faith community, and to get back to work and pick up all the exciting preparations for the fall.  There were clear seasonal markers in those years; an ebb and flow of church life very closely tied to the school year. 

And now it's not like that at all.  The ramp-up-then-rest cycles are instead very tightly connected to trips to Thailand, the prep, the being there, then the return.  Much of the Canadian component of what I do is not tied to a specific locale the same way it is when you are the pastor of a local church.  

And yes, I realize it's been seven years already, and I am grateful that this new ministry life allows for longer time here in Cognashene (what a gift!).  But here it is, approaching half way through August, and here I am.

And Highview, I just want to say that I miss you.

There is a truly delightful faith community here called Cognashene Community Church.  Ken and I have been part of this seasonal congregation for as long as we've been coming to the cottage.  The sincerity and faithfulness of this group of folks is inspiring and affirming, and adds enrichment to our souls without question.

And.

Highview, I miss you.

It's such a benefit that we have so many good ways to stay connected now.  I'm grateful to be able to join in on Prayer Times over Zoom, have one on one conversations by same, promote some fall fundraisers on the go, conduct meetings, send and receive emails, and say hello in many kinds of ways.  I'm glad for Facebook regardless of it's 'quirks', because it still allows for quick touch points, and to let me see everyone's garden and vacation pics!  And I appreciate the feedback on how my ruminations  (on this blog, Facebook, and elsewhere) has perhaps been helpful or inspiring.  Thanks for that!  It all does help keep us connected a little.

But, Highview, I miss you.  I miss your hugs, your humour, and watching you take care of each other.  I miss hearing what's on your heart in person.  And mostly I miss the rich experience of being gathered with you - all of you specifically - tuning our spirits together in worship directed towards our astonishing God.

Whenever I'm not with you on a Sunday, I feel it.  And in August I feel it more.  

I will say it here again, without even apologizing for how many times I've said it before.  It has been such a good and unique gift to be allowed the honour of remaining with you in this not-so-new ministry role of Missionary in Residence.  Thank you.

I was asked the other day when Ken and I might be returning to the city.  The answer is, we don't know yet.  Spiritually, I feel I have some matters to deal with still that are best done down on a dock at sunset.  And to be honest, it's been so hot, and I'd rather be without AC here than in the city, let's just be real.

But the season itself will roll into fall soon enough.  

We will definitely, most certainly, without question, God-willing, be back for Sunday, September 7th.  Wouldn't miss it!

Love you guys.