2010

For the chance to see all the pennies in one jar
For a gentle home-going for Dad
For the gift of another time in Thailand
For two months of bliss by the water
For books read
For new friends and what they teach me
For the privilege of studying Hebrew
For the arrival of an abundant Harvest
For the lessons of letting go
For the lessons of release
For the deepening still of life long friendships
I am grateful

For known opportunities to become more than I am
For the unknown challenges that will shape me
For the joys that will delight me
For the prayers that will be answered yes
For the prayers that will be answered no for reasons He won't tell
For new friends yet to meet
For still friends who will help to grow me
I am hopeful
And humbly anticipating
All He will do

Us In The Van

It happened because we decided we could all fit in the van.

When it comes to having adult children with partners and families of their own, being together at Christmas has been something we've tried to give realistic balance to. Naturally, especially with grandchildren, gathering is extremely important. It makes us "us" in a way that only being at a table together can do. But being anywhere merely to fulfill an obligation is never more than that, and defeats any noble purpose of family.

To honour that, it has become our gentle policy to ask for and hope for at least one gathering during the Christmas season, with no fixed date or expectations. Anything more than that, I consider bonus.

So when Ken and I, and the two we bore, and ones they chose (minus the one in waiting) and the three they bore, can all fit into one vehicle, car seats included....and when that occasion is the SECOND all together gathering of "us" in this one Christmas season....it's all gravy (turkey pun intended).

And it happened on the way home.

We had spent the afternoon at the home of Ken's generous sister and her husband, with those of us who make up Ken's siblings and who live close enough to make being at that table possible. Shrimp for starters and gifts and kids and phone calls from those who live too far and silly paper hats following loud snaps and way too much food and a dog parked closest to the youngest and messiest of us. And then, when it's all done, we fit ourselves back in the van for the drive home.

And that's when I realized. We weren't all there. Not all of us who should be. But all of us who could be were. And as we wait for the one in waiting, it was enough for me in that moment. For the two of us who chose each other, and the ones we bore and the ones they chose, and the one they bore...us and our kids and their partners and their kids. The "us" of us.

And how many times had we make that drive, too full from turkey, quiet now after all the noise? First just Ken and I, then one at a time our own babies in car seats, and then bigger children, and now new car seats. Thirty two years of driving home from Christmas with Ken's family.

It happened in that moment that I felt contentment and blessing and rightness. And it registered with me as something important because I know I shouldn't be feeling it. Too much is not as it should be this Christmas to make it feel less "us". First time without Dad. Mom moved away. A son-in-law yet to rejoin us.

But there was still an "us" gently, strongly. In the van. And it was very good.

And I wanted to sing.

Kristyn and David have both told me that one of their favourite childhood memories is rides home from family things and me singing.

I should have sang. Next time.

The Holy Hush of Readiness

There comes a time in the happy rush of preparation when it all comes to hush in a holy readiness. When that happens, it is best to sit still for a bit. Feel it. Joy in it.

I am sitting in that hush right this moment. It smells good, this hush, like freshly baked cookies. It feels warm, like your thickest, newest fleece wraped around your shoulders, folding down to your feet. It sounds big and full and hushed and worshippy, like the candle-lighting rendering of Let It Be swirled around a carol. No-el, it says. Israel's King is born. Awe.

And I'm ready. Ready to let it be Christmas, and to joy in the now of it. Ready to lay down the work and weight of a confusing, pressing fall, and Sabbath my soul for a quiet string of days. Ready to just be with those I love so. Ready to receive - again - all the unspeakableness of the Incarnation, and revel in the fierce loveliness of the new born Child who turns out to be God Almighty.

I wish you readiness, and the strength of spirit to receive it deeply. I pray you will hush yourselves in its smells and sounds and warm wrappings. Be comforted. Be re-filled. Be re-born on this Birthday.

Because He heard you asking. And He came.

Waiting for the Story

I admit to a certain addictive fascination to my current studies in the Hebrew language. The decoding of construct chains and perfect strong verb paradigms bends my brain in new, albeit agonizing ways, stimulating (I hope) new synaptic pathways that will help me know my Bible better. That's the idea anyways. It's the whole point of pursuing these seminary academics - to understand more of the story of God.

I was feeding my addiction at the dinner table on Saturday morning. Grandkids were playing happily in the chaos on the floor around my feet, while I laboured over the translation of a passage from Exodus 1. It's slow work. Strange markings. Complicated grammar structures. Any given text only comes clear after tedious effort with lots of trial and error along the way.

Leaving her farm animals, Abby climbed onto my lap to see what I was doing.

"And a new king will rise up over Egypt who will not know Joseph, and he will say to his people...." I read aloud the part I had worked through so far, and stopped, squinting. Was that a vav consecutive? Abby sat quietly, looking at the scribbles, both Hebrew and English, sprawled on the page in front of us, expecting me to keep on reading out loud. When there was too long of a pause, she said, "I'm waiting for the story, Gramma. What comes next?"

"I don't know yet, Honey. I'm trying to figure that out."

Reading God's story is like that, I guess. Not just the written Hebrew words. Not just the words in my English Bible either. Although careful translation and diligent study do give us an understanding of the whole big story God has written down for us. And like I said, that's why I'm studying.

But it's the honest doing of it that writes another story. My story. God's story for me. And to be honest, at various points along the way, and especially right now, I don't understand that story very well either. It seems at times to be composed of strange markings with complicated structures and foggy interpretations. I labour to make meaning of the events and interactions that make up various "sentences" of the story, squinting to try to piece together anything that sounds like something I might understand, anything that might make sense.

We have been told in class, over and over, that this Hebrew thing will happen for us if we're patient, diligent and consistent to work at it a little bit every day. And it's true. Remarkably, I find I'm actually getting it. I can actually read simple Hebrew sentences by now. And eventually I was able to finish the sentence Abby was asking about.

So I guess if I'm not "fluent" in the story God is still writing for me, especially in the middle of the complicated parts, I shouldn't be surprised. It's still being written, only coming clear a little bit every day. I can wait for the story with God, my Author, patiently, diligently, and consistently, and only in the little bit He gives me for this day.

One day my story will be complete. I will read all the words of it and it make sense enough to me. Then I will speak it fluently. And I will rest in it fully.

Coming Up For Air

I felt it on the way home tonight -- that lighter sense of my spirit, lifting mostly off my chest and shoulders. I was playing a song on a CD that a dear and spiritually sensitive friend has loaned me because he knows I've been heavy of late. This wasn't the song he marked for me. I am blessed and enthralled by it too. But at this moment, it was one song that opened up the space between me and the release.

The music was loud. Sometimes I need it loud in the car.

He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane
I am a tree, bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy

All of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory
And I realize just how beautiful You are and how deep is Your affection for me

And Oh, how He loves us
Oh, Oh how He loves us
Oh how He loves

The artist is David Crowder but the Voice of the Spirit speaks deeply into mine through these words and melodies, and I am suddenly unaware of my afflictions because of the glory strongly around me in the moment.

These past seven weeks have provided for me again those opportunities to press hard into God and find out what I'm really made of. It's been smothering at times, washing over me in pounding waves of confusion and anger, and I am not at all pleased with myself. Not at all. The stresses reveal the best and worst of me it seems. The taking away of something fragile and treasured that is now not safe, is infuriating and terrifying and wrong. I have been lain flat with helplessness, crushed.

But Oh, how He loves me. Some days it's been all I could hang on to, this knowledge that my God loves me. My God loves me. When nothing else has any sense to it, this does.

My treasure is still not safe. But loudly in the car on the way home tonight, my spirit drank in the power and presence of God Who is healing me and Who is bigger than any force that would come against me or the ones I love.

And I breathe in lightly and deeply and loudly this love.

Love wins.

Love Wins

This precious face is that of my brand new grandson with a completely sensational name.

Harvest Nelson Louis Breithaupt Stallard

That's him. Sweetness and serenity. My son is a dad! His lovely lady Lauren mothers so gently.

He has arrived in the middle of something messy and nasty that I'm dealing with elsewhere, far away, thankfully, from this new family. But for me, he's a reminder that when it all settles down, love wins.

So welcome to our hearts Baby Harvest. Be and grow and smile baby smiles.

So Many Books, So Little Time

"Please Remember," the sign says. "The entire Library is a quiet zone."

Remember? That's why I'm here! I have established a 'new' Monday place to be, and it's here, surrounded by the books at Heritage Seminary Library. I know. You can call me a geek but you wouldn't be the first, and likely won't be the last. But there's a soul-filling quality to the noise- protected, word-filled, info-lavish environment that is this place. And I'm making a declaration for my Mondays to be spent here, whenever possible, and making it so.

Since coming back from eight weeks away, I have noticed some differences in me. One is a lack of being completely tanked at the end of something that normally would have spent me. Friday nights, Sundays at noon, a particularly challenging meeting, a non-Highview speaking engagement, a people-filled event. Even with fully four weeks of real life behind me, I am benefiting from the rested-to-the-core energies that remain. This is the extent of the gift I was granted this summer, and I am so grateful still.

I have also noticed something about how I should be spending my Mondays. Perhaps I'm more aware now, in a post-loa head space, of what I need. And what I need is to be alone on Mondays. Running errands, medical appointments, and other very good and necessary tasks of life, even playing with grandchildren, will have to wait until another day. Monday is mine. And I need to be alone.

So, after my swim, after sitting by the water, weather permitting, I will head here on Mondays and rest in the quietness of the books and the light and the space and the easy chairs, to read and think and write and study and be.

I miss the dock for sure. But how cool that God is providing little spaces of cottage right here in the midst of my city life.

Even Better

Tried another place this morning for my personal reflection time. This is just off Westmount at Columbia (that's in Waterloo for any out of town readers). There's a spot right by the water - no dock - but I took the camping chair there this morning to watch the sunrise. It's quieter, in terms of no joggers or bikers going by, like there was at Waterloo Park. But what you can't hear by looking at the picture, of course, is the morning traffic noises.

Just the same, it was a close facsimilie to my morning on the deck with my tea. Even had a blue heron swoop majestically past to land in the marsh nearby.

Been pondering on the reality of sin these past few days. I know. Hardly sounds positive, but us pastoral types, by virtue of our occupation, come face to face with it more often than normal people do. The particular situation that prompts these ponderings makes me mad, but mostly just deeply sad for all those involved.

The Apostle John brought comfort to me this morning by the water, through these familiar words.

If we say we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and refusing to accept the truth.
But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us and to cleanse us from every wrong. If we claim we have not sinned, we are calling God a liar and showing that his word has no place in our hearts. 1 John 1:8-10

I was encouraged, because in the situation at hand confession has been made and things have been brought to the light. This is good. Honest confrontation of wrong is exactly what John is talking about. Healing can begin. Forgiveness can be received. Cleansing can happen. Good thing. We're all of us badly in need.

A new day. That's what I love about a sunrise. New mercies, fresh start, a brand new slate on which we can co-author the story God is writing into our lives.

It's Not the Freddy Channel But.....

I may have found a new place for some quiet reflection that has an almost-dock by some water.

Realizing again how much better I connect with my own soul and with God when I'm outdoors, and wanting to take advantage of this ongoing summer weather, I went searching after my swim this morning for a greenish, quietish place in a park somewhere.

I landed in Waterloo Park and discovered the waterside boardwalk. Since it was just after daybreak, it was just me and two ducks under the shelter. I spent about an hour there, reading and journaling and looking up occasionally when I heard a large splash. Never did see the fish jump, just the ring of ripples on the flat, murky surface. Sounds big enough to be a little scary, actually.

I think I'll try again tomorrow morning. Won't be a swim day, though. With the Waterloo Swimplex still closed for repairs and maintenance, I am doing my laps at the Breithaupt Pool (no discount, rats!). They are only open for lane swims Monday, Wednesday and Friday. But it's still three days out of five regularly, and that will have to do. Nice pool, good showers, and some of my swimming buddies are there, plus a new fellow-swimmer who was kind enough to help me out when the lockers kept eating my quarters.

Back to the almost-dock by the water.

I'm reading through Jeremiah right now. Got to admire that dude. Kept on preaching even when no one would listen. At a few points, the people actually wanted to kill him! A pastor these days would definitely count that as reason to retire. I need Jeremiah. He's real honest about his frustrations, but he doesn't quit. He inspires me.

Going to take a camping chair tomorrow though. The bench, while new and clean, is also a bit hard and a bit high (for my stumpy little legs).

And I'll have to think of a name for those two ducks.

Jeremiah 1:5
Before I made you in your mother's womb
I chose you.
Before you were born, I set you apart for a special work.
I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.

First Sunday back.
Big morning this.
Wonder if I remember how to preach.

There are lots of hugs of welcome.
Mean more than I could explain.
And a church welcome just before I started the sermon.

And this morning the worship really rocked!
I love to worship in the quiet on the Freddy Channel.
I love to worship with my friends at Cognashene Community Church.
I love to worship in the joyful, skillful noise that is our offering of music at Highview.

And I'm back, and it's all okay, and not nearly as hard to readjust as perhaps I feared it would be. Crawling up out of the mellow, as my friend Bill would say, hasn't been too hard.

And in this returning there is a stronger sense of calling again.
I'm no Jeremiah.
I don't have the "prophet to the nations" assignment.
But I do have an assignment
And I do believe God's pre-chosen strategy is fairly standard issue.
And I do believe I have been prepared for something new this season.

It's time.
And I have been poured into
To get ready

So here I am
Doing what God figured out a long, long time ago
But making it new and fresh and real and pressing and big and special work
To come home to.

Which feels good.
And is good.
And will be good
In His goodness.

All This And Summit Too

First week back has been so good!

Following the counsel of two pastor friends who have done sabbaticals themselves, I am not racing back into insanity. "Easing back in" would be more descriptive. Of course, this is only possible because of the amazing people at Highview who know their stuff and commit their hearts to building bigger hearts. I have come home to a smooth running ship and glad but not desperate welcomes. What a gift.

And...the end of this week includes the Leadership Summit, out of the Willow Creek Association. Members of our Staff Team are attending the London satellite site. Day one was yesterday.

For me personally, it just feels like a different kind of dock experience. God's presence, plus my full attention, plus impeccable timing, plus great company and dialogue (that's not part of the dock thing but...), equals more learning, more ideas, more excitement for the future....more building into my soul.

My Dad often used an expression. "All this and heaven too!" Mostly he said it looking at his dessert, especially if it was pie. I guess that's how I'm feeling about my first week back and how it has included the power packed experience that is the Summit, and how all of it is coming together after such an important, restorative time away.

And it's not even Sunday yet!

Saying Goodbye to a Perfect Morning.

Sunrise on flat
Quiet.
My tea and me and my Bible waiting for today's holiness to unfold.

The wren stops to perch on the rail, chattering her good morning. Somewhere not too far away, a woodpecker is drilling out breakfast. The humming bird makes a quick buzz by, hovering to check again on the red of my dress, just for a second, then off she goes. A chipmunk has already bounded little bounds up the deck stairs, taken a peanut from my hand, and run off to store it against the winter.

This is it. My last ritual of cottage before letting time move me forward and into all that's about to be. Time of resting and away is rested and gone. Soon I will climb into this boat and journey back to joining the journey with all the wonderful everyones of my amazingly connected life.

But right now He has given again this gift of the perfect morning. I revel in it this one, last, this-year time, feeling many things but most of them all, grateful.

I revel in the gratitude of this waking home-going day.

I am not so sure that when my entire time on this planet it done, I will leave wherever it is that I have just left my body and step through a warm haze to a place that looks suspiciously like our marina.

Jesus will be there, in t shirt and jeans and bare feet, rope in hand, smiling and waving me over to the boat. I'll get to Him, and He'll be crying and I'll be crying, and we'll be hugging, we're so glad to see each other. Then we'll pull it together and He'll invite me me to get into the boat.

The ride will be wild and freeing, the wind ridding my soul of any earthly leftovers; all the stress and sadness and the ugliness blowing hard away. We'll move through the channels and it will all smell so good and the colours will be piercingly vivid, and it will be all open space and sky and water.

Then we'll come out into that opening just after Tomahawk Island, where I can see Giant's Tomb Island, and it will be rough like it mostly is. But just for fun, Jesus will look at me and laugh. and He'll say, 'Be still!' And suddenly we'll be gliding the rest of the way across on glass.

But it won't be until that final approach into the Freddy that things will get really quiet. Deeply quiet, and building. From the roar of the full out, to the pulling back of the way you make no wake. Slowly we will make our way down and around, past the docks of the church, and into our little bay as it opens up.

My heart will feel like it always does when I do this ride the first time every year; trembling with a big joy that won't sit still, only I think this will be much, much worse.

We'll get to the dock, and pull in slowly. I'll be crying again already. Jesus will get out first, I think. He'll offer me His hand and I'll climb out to stand beside Him. With His arm around my shoulder, He'll point up to the cottage, and say, "Here Ruth Anne. Well done. This? It's yours.

"I've been getting it ready just for you."

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Almost

Between two worlds, I am right now.

Resting done, except for that which has been promised to my soul for better self care going forward.

Reading done, except for the two books I'm in the middle of and likely won't finish.

Beauty observed, except for what waits in regular life, always surprising.

Quiet received, except for that which will be eagerly pursued and can still be found in the normal noise of life.

I am here, fully, yet my heart is being pulled home. Ideas for a preferred future won't leave me alone - in a good way. People I've maintained contact with for eight weeks away are saying they miss me. The life God has called me away from these past weeks is still the life He's called me to. And in a clearest way I have heard Him say, You are MY servant and you are NOT done.

So I linger in these last hours by the water, weeping from the gratitude, breathing in the sweet Georgian Bay air, lavishing in His lavish love to me.

Thank you, everyone who did, for letting me go this long.

Thank you.
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A Swimming Lesson

Isaiah 49:3-5 He told me "...you are My servant. I will show my glory through you.". But I said, "I have worked hard for nothing; I have used all my power, but I did nothing useful.". But the LORD will decide what my work is worth; God will decide my reward.

Being away from what you do for a while is a good thing for everyone. It's good for mothers and caregivers. It's good for teachers and coaches. It's good for those who work hard with their hands and those who work hard with their brains. It's good for pastors, and it's good for their congregations.

One of the things a break is good for is taking stock. Evaluating your work and how and why you do what you do, and what you are or are not accomplishing. I've been doing a LOT of that these past two months during my LOA. I'm coming up to five years in my current ministry position, so the timing is right for it.

Like a lot of people, I work hard at what I do. I spend myself quite thoroughly most weeks, using up a lot of emotional and mental and physical energy. The spiritual component is there too, permeating everything. You know this. When you work hard you want to know that it's accomplished something.

Problem is, when your work is in the abstract arena of spiritual transformation, the results aren't always that obvious. Churches and the people in them don't follow a precise growth chart of tangibles. A lot of it is very private. Most of it you don't hear about. Sermons especially. They require hours of concentrated effort every single week. Do they make any difference in anyone's life? Hard to tell. How do you tell?

And of course, there are so many variables in the growing of souls that are entirely outside of your control. Hard work in itself gaurantees nothing.

Regardless of our profession, I think all of us, at times, can echo the sense of uselessness expressed by "the servant" in Isaiah's prophecy. Sometimes it's just really hard to see any fruits of your labour. Five years.

But an interesting thing happens in Isaiah's dialogue. It's as if God interrupts "the servant's" self evaluation with a holy "get over yourself". "I'm in charge of outcomes," He says. "I'll decide if your work has value or not. And I will reward you, not the growth charts."

This doesn't mean we don't consider the facts and carefully and prayerfully make changes where change is necessary. The Bible is full of effective strategy and growth-oriented goal setting.

But it does redirect my focus. Oh yeah. It's not about me.

I thought these thoughts while swimming back and forth to the channel marker 16 times, to make my kilometre for the day. The benefits to my mind, body and soul are unquestionable, but you wouldn't see any of that on me as I climbed out to towel off.

I'd just look wet and unglamorous and a little too chubby....and satisfied by that one swim.

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Holy Simplicities

Warm rocks on bare feet after the sun's gone down and the air is cooler.

Flat water and a quiet soul with a cup of tea on the deck in the morning.

Flat water and a communing soul with jujubes on the dock in the evening.

Baking cookies, just enough to send some home and ruin supper with the rest.

Blueberries the size of marbles hiding in the under side of a patch that's keeping me quietly occupied for a long, long time.

The loon, silent and majestic, or calling and majestic, aware of but unconcerned with my nearness in the canoe.

The hummingbird, who hovers over me for a brevity, just saying hi and maybe thank you for what we've put in the feeder.

Cross stitch.

Warm water and swimming in it and that overwhelming sense of wellbeing and gratitude that makes me cry as I towel off.

This shady spot on the deck with the lounge chair and a glass of pop with ice cubes in it and the sound of the ice chinking when the pop is finished.

Hanging laundry on a day so hot and breezy that the first load's dry by the time the second load's ready to hang.

Clean and pretty feet.

After swim showers and the time to lavish my skin with coconut oil, including my feet.

Beavers that swim so close to your canoe that you can tell he's looking at you.

Reading and reading and reading and reading.

Waking up to a nap and the screen door is open and the sun and wind and leaves are mingling in the joy of a summer afternoon that has naps in it.

Nothing urgent and no tryanny of it.

The chance to remember who I am separated from what I do.

Father of simple holiness, teach me in all of this. Teach me to see You more in it. Call my heart with Your songs of holy simplicities.

I have ceased my strivings to know that You are God.


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Happy Birthday David!

It's not hard to celebrate this day. It's the day you were delivered to the planet and the party started.

For some astounding reason, God saw fit to let your Dad and I be the ones entrusted to the raising and releasing of your personhood. Lucky us, poor you on many levels, but then again lucky all of us to be the family that got to ring the bells and blow the whistles and dance the dance that was life with our boy.

Remember how you were always inventing new superheroes that were saving the world from certain disaster? More often than not, those adventures caused their own disasters, and anxiety-producing, loud crashing noises from various and sundry places around the house. There'd be a pause, and then to reassure me, you'd call, "I'ne okaaaaay!"

I see you now, my man son, past the crashing noises of an adventurous adolesence, loving on his gentle partner and the baby she carries. And it occurs to me that you are very okay.

You live by your values even when it costs you something, which is a sign of moral maturity. You give yourself fully to others in conversation and engagement, paying attention to the whole person, which is a sign of relational maturity. You hold to and articulate strong opinions in politics and ecology and how those two entities interact, and you do so with well reasoned thought and respect for differing opinions, and that is a sign of intellectual maturity. And you give of yourself to those who need you with gentleness and respect. This is a sign of a strong and honest human being.

Which brings me back to the surprise of being given the Mom-assignment for the person who turned out to be you. Thank you for growing up to be you in spite of me. Thank you for being strong enough to do that, and still love me on the other side of it.

I can't wait to hold and know the child you and Lauren are making. A new party is about to begin. I am just so grateful that I get to dance with you still.

My son, I love you so much.



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Blueberry Therapy

It started with a smattering of blue on green last weekend, but today it was all out blueness on the bushes. The blueberries are here, and there's LOTS!

With the welcome addition of a slight breeze to the sudden summer weather, it was a perfect day today to get out there for some pickings. Warm, sunny, ripe. I had just finished a particularly moving and intimate conversation with God on the deck, and looked up to see that it was just before lunch. "I think I'll go get me some blueberries", I said as sort of the last part of my prayer.

Takes a bit to get ready to go blueberry picking. A hat to keep off those tenacious deer flies. Insect repellent to keep the mosquitoes at bay. Long pants, socks and shoes (the only time I wear them up here) to avoid juniper, or the odd nest of red ants. Shoes also gives a better layer of protection against the rattlesnakes. Let's see what else? Right. The air horn just in case I meet up with the bear. Got my berry bucket, and off I go.

I guess you really have to love blueberries to put up with all that. And I do enjoy eating them. In fact we plan on having blueberry pancakes this weekend when friends are up for a visit, and I can hardly wait.

But when it comes to blueberries, there's more than just the taste factor for me. Truth is, inspite of the annoyances and cautions, I do love the therapy of actually being out there picking them. Yes, I've been driven to near madness by dear flies, eaten alive by mosquitoes, pricked by junipers and startled by rattlesnakes. Not every time and not all in one venture. Oh, and I forgot to mention the spiders. But that's not the point.

There is something very therapeutic for me to have my little bucket, find the safe dry space to plonk my behind, and gather with joy this goodness that has come from the earth free of charge. I'm outside and the air is fresh. The simplicity of the action. The simplicity of the concept. The repeated little motions reaching for the fruit, and the slow, unhurried movement from one choice spot to another, gradually filling to a deep blue mound of goodness and grace.

I've said this before, but blueberries remind me of God's grace. I have not done one thing to earn or deserve these berries, or the joy of their gathering. I did not plant these bushes or prune them or weed around them. I did not water or fertilize. I didn't even purchase the land on which these berries grow. I only go out to get them on beautiful summer mornings. Undeserved. Yet I am rich in blueberries!!

Likewise, I am rich in being forgiven and accepted. The intimacy I can experience with the King of the Universe comes through grace. I don't earn it. I did nothing to deserve it. I only reach out to take it; in the blueberry patch, on the deck, in my soul.

Okay, because I know you're wondering. My only encounter with a bear was me inside and him outside. I saw him through the window, and not out alone in a blueberry patch. He was easy to scare away, a good indication that he is not an agressive bear, or so says that nice lady from the Bear Wise hotline.

Still, my berry picking will be rather restricted this year. Only our shoreline patches will be visited. And closer to the middle of the day rather than early in the morning or any time after supper. But no matter.

The abundance of berries doesn't require foraging any deeper.

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My Daughter The Hero

Kristyn, it's your birthday today.

Joan Rivers has been quoted as saying that the best thing about having a daughter is that one day you look up and realize that you've given birth to your own best friend.

For me it goes one step further. I had no idea, that summer morning 28 years ago, that I was delivering to the world a human being so spectacular that I would one day regard her as one of my heroes.

This has come with such a price, I know. We don't get to be heroes without doing something heroic. This requires something more than the average person is not willing or perhaps able to give. But you have. You have risen up and out of what would have crushed and destroyed so many others.

More astonishing still is that you have not done this by drawing from reserves of anger and hatred. To have done so would have been completely understandable. Instead, your strength has come from a clear consistency between what you say you believe and who you actually are.

You have chosen love and goodness, even toward those who have wounded you. You have refused to be defined by the outside forces beyond your control, and have instead determined what IS in your control, and then marked out a path for you and your family based on hope and beauty and strength. How remarkable!!

So, my Hero Warrior Daughter, I celebrate the day God gave you to us! He is already mightily using you for His plans and purposes, for there is no more noble calling than to show the world how God loves.
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Half Way Day

It's as if God has lavished on me a perfect cottage day to mark the half way point.

Today is exactly the middle of my eight weeks off. And it was everything a day on Georgian Bay is meant to be.

Summer has most certainly arrived. You can tell from the first sense of it as you wake up. I took advantage of the sun and breeze and got two loads of laundry on the line, which were fresh and dry by lunch.

Blueberries are coming! I ventured out not far from the cottage, given our bear visit earlier. Even though it's more likely we'll see him around 9 pm, I still had my air horn with me.

After the blueberries I got to work on cleaning the boat. It had collected a growth of moss in the carpet over the winter, but it honestly hasn't been dry and hot enough for enough days in a row, until now. Only got half done before the sun came up over the trees. It was hot work already.

The rest of the day I read and napped. And around 7:30 pm or so, I went out for a canoe on flat water into the gathering gold of the sunset. Perfect. And then, just for added enhancement, our loon joined me, swimming quietly off to the side of the canoe. Just the two of us, floating silently on the peace together.

Now the sun is setting with a fierce beauty on breathless water. My soul is still, like the water.

He leads me here, to restore my soul.

Half way. With such a gift of time, I find myself in that anomally of not being able to tell if it feels like months or days. How long is four weeks in the absence of life's normal measurements and markers? How long is four weeks, when you're not looking at a watch but at a stack of books you've read so far? How long is four weeks when the only meetings you've been at, have been on the end of a dock, with God, and He seems to have no pressing agenda for you but to delight in sitting with you, watching the sun go down?

At this point of turning I feel as though I am only just now evened out from the deficit with which I arrived. I have come up to zero. Now I can start to get filled.

What a gentle God we have. One of the major themes of my journalling this summer has been yet again the willingness to let go of everything I try to lay claim to and open up my hands in total surrender. I am being challenged again to recklessly follow God into a bold future. To take the risks to do whatever it takes to be all He's called me to be. He is far from finished with me, He says. There is much more to do and be and become.

I am undone with amazement. That I get to do what I get to do is more than I ever would have envisioned for myself. How could there be more?

But that's the way He works. Always completing the good work He began.

Which is what I expect will happen some more.....in the next four weeks until I'm home.
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Peace Be Choppy - On The Wild Side of the Water

It was supposed to stop blowing.

The local vernacular is to call it a "three day blow". The marine forcast said it was going to die down. But this morning was day FOUR and it was windier than it has been the last three.

Kristyn, Abby and Zachary were to arrive mid morning at the marina. And I was to bring the boat to fetch them.

I LOVE driving our boat! It's an adrenaline rush of fresh air and power mixed with the stark beauty of the 30,000 Islands, upon one of which sits our cottage. Hence the need for fetching.

Which I LOVE to do ---- IF it's not so blowy!

There's this one stretch in particular that's across the open, and you really have to know how to manage the waves on a day like today. Which I can do. But add the precious cargo of your grandchildren and suddenly I'm feeling rather nervous.

The ride into the marina was seriously rough enough for me to decide to use "the back way" home. It's not a route we use often because it's scattered with random shoals. As well, it opens up again on the other side with a narrow passage known menancingly as Hell's Gate, so named because the narrowness is enhanced by more but larger random shoals.

I love the marina reunions. Someone you love has made it to the dock. Happy hellos, and this morning, a non-stop smile from Abby, waving, as I got out of the boat and came up the ramp for a knock Gramma over hug.

We loaded the boat carefully, and I warned Kristyn to prepare for a rough ride. And prayed simply, "Lord, please take my babies safely to the cottage".

The back channels between the marina and the main channel were bad enough. Worse, I thought, than coming in, although it did help a bit to be going straight into the waves now. But the main channel was as rough as I've ever seen it. Large boats, less intimidated by the waves but still requiring some speed to out manouvre the wind, were adding to the churn. I had to make a tricky break for it, over the wake of one bigger boat in order to get into the channel that would take us into the back way.

As soon as we came around into it, the difference was immediate. While still blowy, there was way less buffet factor. I breathed in big, and settled myself for a slightly more relaxed ride.

That's when we ran out of gas.

It's okay. We had a second tank, and I knew how to switch connectors. We were on our way again in less than 5 minutes. But here's the thing. To have had to do that 30 seconds earlier when we were in the throes of the chop of the main channel would have been extremely precarious. As it was, we had a sheltered spot for the change over. Couldn't have been timed more perfectly.

On our way now through the back way. Do I recognize where I am? Think so. Yup. There's that set of shoals. Stay out and around until you get past them. Then cut into shore and stay close to avoid that other set. The wind is still strong in here. I can't imagine the waves out in the open stretch now!!!

Hell's Gate is right in front of us. To the right I see two fine young men on their dock. Good. If I hit a rock and am dead on the water, help is not far away. We proceed.

The trick to Hell's Gate is that you have to go through fast enough to keep you from being pushed against the rocks on your port side while all the time avoiding the hidden rocks on your starboard.

I didn't. Avoid the rocks on the right, that is. I heard the thud and waited for the motor to stop being able to move us forward, fully expecting the propellor to be toasted.

Kristyn looked at me. We were still going!!! I pushed the lever down and pressed us through the last stretch.

For those last few minutes of this wild ride I joked with God about wishing I could just say "Peace be still" and slide home on glass. And then I was reminded. "Peace is about the presence of God, not the absence of trouble."

Oh yeah. It's what I'm preaching on this coming Sunday morning at Cognashene Community Church. "And this will be a place of peace," God says through the prophet Haggai to a people facing a huge project with little resources and some neighbouring enemies ready to thwart their efforts. I'm going to talk about the powerful presence and fierce gentleness and wild love of the God Who's right there, even when waves are choppy.

I fully believe God was in our boat today. He pushed the gas through the lines until we were in a more sheltered spot. He held His hand between the rock and our propellor. He answered the prayer I uttered as I started up the boat to begin the wild adventure that was our ride back to the cottage.

It's peaceful now. Babies are asleep and Kristyn is relaxing in her cottage puzzle ritual. Tea is brewed.

And the wind has died down.

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Gratitude

I've been seriously sobered this week, considering some frightening events of the past weekend. Three very important young people in my life were in a significant car accident that included their vehicle rolling three times before coming to a stop.

Remarkably, injuries were minor. On top of the obvious protection granted, there are fabulous God-stories about who He sent to the scene in the form of skilled passersby, and other "co-incidentals" that are anything but.

The whole of the story and the details of things, I will leave to those who were there.

All I wanted to do this morning was to express my HUGE thanks to God that the girls are safe and to ask for ongoing healing of the relatively minor physical injuries, and the healing of whatever emotional and spiritual components that accompany such experiences.

My friends, take your time and know that people who love you are very, very grateful.
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My Girl Turns Four!!!!

Happy Birthday Abby!

Oh joyful day to celebrate the lavish love of God to fashion for us such a cherish. It was wonderment enough when you were an infant, and wrapping you up and reciting whispered lists of everyone who loves you, and gentle pieces of God's Word into your baby ear to feed your mind with truth right from the start.

But, now. Look at you! A girl of spunky joy, who's crazy about dinosaurs and caterpillars and kittens and purple - preferences not imposed upon you, as best we can tell, but coming from the uniqueness of you, spilling out in afternoons of enchanting expeditions in real and imagined places.

I love how generous you are with your affections. You have no idea how deeply your little voice of love-saying feeds my Grammasoul. Excited jumping and a smile that won't quit, all because I walked in the door? Who gets that, except those of us blessed with the undeserved adoration of a small child? And when I got back from Thailand last time, and you sat on my lap for two days, no matter what I was doing, and just hung on, without saying anything....

Unusual, that not saying anything part. Because normally you're talking. If you're awake, you're talking. And the ideas that are forming in that fantastic brain of yours keep me on my own mental toes. Don't stop talking to me, sweetheart. I will always want to know what's going on inside of you.

So happy birthday. God is leading our family into a strong and grace-filled future, reclaiming what should be into what can be because of Him. Hang on to Him always. He has placed you in a unique position to learn how to be mighty for love. We will do our best to teach you how, even as we ourselves stumble through our own lessons, learning from you as so often we do.

So my wonder child, on this day of days, you are beyond word beautiful.

And I will try to do the impossible -- to live up to the enormity of the gift that is being your Gramma.
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Alone With the Bear

Well, almost 48 hours later and no further sightings of our bear. My fishing friend got in safely that night, and for the most part the biggest challenge was getting me to settle down.

Next day Ken drove our friend back to the marina to head home, and he stopped in on the way back to the cottage to get me an airhorn.

This recommended "bear gear" is helping me feel just a little more okay about sitting quietly outside, particularly on the dock with my back to the wooded shore. And actually, when I see how easily the bear was frightened away just by banging on the window, I'm even more inclined to be wiser but less freaked. (I really wish I had never watched that thriller made for TV movie back in the 70's, about those giant mutant bears that devoured a remote cottage community. :). Why do we watch that stuff?)

So now I am alone again. For the next three days it will be me and only me here in my space away. And while I enjoy it when others come and go, and particularly revel in the alone time Ken and I are having this summer, I know in the deepness of my self that there is still much healing that needs doing there; the kind of healing that can only happen when I am completely free to take care of only me.

There gets to be a rhythm to it that I find very centering. I settle into sync with the daylight and dusk, wind and stillness, water and rock. My soul opens up to each new day with unhurried arms, ready to embrace the learnings gleaned from slow ponderings, and gluttonous reading, and slow ponderings some more.

Within the comfort and clarity of all this aloneness, and without the pressures of immediate detais, I have the freedom to dream into big futures. What isn't good that needs to go, even though, in the stupid hurry of my life it seems unshakable? What are my longings too long unheard that need a voice, not just now, but need to be given volume above the din that has become my living's normal noise? What story of meaning and greatness (God's definition of meaning and greatness) is still waiting to be written by the decisions I will make in these moments alone, weeks left here, months to come?

Community, I need you. Obviously, here I am blogging on my LOA! You're my "peeps", how could I possibly have come through these past two, five, ten years (pick the crisis) without you? Those who have stood by me in the ugly moments, you've shown what you're made of. Some have not been able to stomach it with me. I am so grateful for those who have, and there is a prfound healing there as well.

But maybe it's like this for you too. There's a way of healing that can only happen when, alone, you are forced into a selfness (not selfishness, that's something entirely different) that gives you the space to be fully you. And when it's all laid out like that, Jesus can touch it more easily, more deeply, more painfully well.

And there it is. Of course. I'm not really alone. And I'm not just talking about the bear.

I'm surprised and alarmed when a bear shows up. I am not surprised in the least when, every time, God comes to sit beside me on the dock.
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I Just Saw My First Bear!!

I'm not kidding!! No metaphors people. I am inside the cottage having just come in due to a quick rain shower, otherwise I would be still out on the dock.

It's 9:15 and I've abandoned my journalling to report this breaking news! Unfortunately, I did what I've been told to do and scared him away with a loud noise - rapping on the window. That sent him scurrying up the back hill.

Hey! I didn't get a picture!!!!

He's a juvenile black bear. Got a good look at him out the side windows of the main room, just on the other side of the deck. Not sure what he was after, but we did bbq steaks for supper earlier tonight.

Ken has just now arrived and we got him in safely.

Problem now is, my friend who's visiting is still out fishing.

Once everyone is inside safely, I might be able to settle down!!!!
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Father's Day Without Dad

This is the first.

When someone dies, the firsts are hard. and this is the first Father's Day without my Dad. He left us gently and mercifully on February 27th this year.

I think of him at odd times. Like when I went to fetch Mom for my birthday supper at our house, earlier this month. There was a small poster in the elevator for a fund raiser selling Pies for Father's Day. And I looked over all the different choices, wondering which one I would get for Dad. He loves pie! And then I remembered. Oh. Right.

Or when I'm looking at the loon, lonely and lingering long in our bay, just last night. And I think, I'll tell Dad about our loon. He'd loved to hear about our loon. He is fascinated by their elusive beauty. It' s something he really misses about being at his own cottage. And then I think, oh. Right.

It's good that he's gone. Eleven years in a stroke-broken body is more than enough for an active doer like Dad. And he did that so well, with dignity and love, being broken like that. Not everyone can. It's an excruciatingly hard thing to do. Abby is still convinced Great Grandad is playing hide and seek with Jesus, because now he could run to find all the good spaces, where before he just had to sit a lot. And if he does sit now, I imagine it's to eat pie and look out over the water to watch a loon be beautiful. So it's good he got to go Home.

But Father's Day this year.....a first.

Dad, I am so glad we got to finish well, you and I. There were so many things, so many times when I was growing up that went bad on us. I wasn't sure our story could have such a strong and noble final chapter. But it did.

And it's because you took something meant to destroy you, and you let it make you more of who God created you to be. Your body was crumpled but your spirit stood strong. As each year of those last eleven crawled us through them, you did not cave in to resentment or self pity. You refused to entertain grumblings or demandingness. Instead you kept smiling. You encouraged and blessed others endlessly. You lavished praise on me and prayed for me and my family and my ministry. You showed a fearless faith to anyone you came into contact with. No one could spend 10 minutes with you, without knowing you loved Jesus. Dad, you let that ending decade make you more and more the godly man your heart so wanted to be.

Thank you Dad.
You fulfilled your purpose and beyond.
I am humbled to be called your daughter. I am honoured to call you Dad.

Tribute

Zachary and the Geeee-Grin

It's my grandson's first birthday.

That would certainly be reason enough for a party. Bring on the cake! Gather friends and family! Take lots of pictures! He's a charmer, and is often the centre of attention anyway.

Twelve whole months! Vivid memories of a short night of labour and the strong and gentle way his mother delivered him to us.

The strong and gentle way God brought him to us, sort of when we were least expecting him, but completely expected by bigger plans in heaven than we could know.

And in this year God's greater plans are still largely hidden to us, except His plan to inject a joyfulness into our home we needed so much. That we know. That we can tell.

Zachary smiles and laughs out loud like every baby. But he also has this thing he does that seems to be part sheer delight and part completely pleased with himself, that is unique to the babies in our family so far. He tilts his head back and squeezes his eyes shut tight and makes this 'geeee' sort of sound from a wide, wide grin. It's impossible not to feel happy when he does that. Like trying to keep your eyes open when you sneeze. I've tried. I've tried to stay sad and serious, but he turns on that geeee-grin and - boom - happy - every time.

Currently I am spending long and relaxed times on the end of a dock answering deep questions in my journal. I have this lavish luxury because I am on an LOA from my real life, and get to play in this cottage life for a while.

One of today's dock questions, posed by a wise friend, was: What's your 'gut reaction' as to why you were created? It's a good question, geared to making me think and feel more deeply about what it is I want to accomplish in the "last third" of my time on earth, so to speak.

I'm still working on the answer for me. And of course, for Zachary it's way, way too soon to start guessing. Except for this. And it's not a guess. I am convinced that Zachary was generously given to us to remind us that in the midst of sorrow there is joy.

"You turned my wailing to dancing....and clothed me with joy" the psalmist claimed (Ps 30:11). You brought the geeee-grin of delight, and this brand new wonderful person into being, and we celebrate him this day with deep, deep gratitude.

Zachary,
May this day and many days, somehow register in your new tender psyche to tell your soul how valued you are.
May God shine His face on all you are becoming.
And may your wonderful, sugar conscious mother let you eat cake.

Happy birthday little man.

Love, Gramma

Giving Way

What is this, day three? It always takes me more than just a few days to slide into sync with the paradox that is my existance at the cottage.

First is the sleeping phase. That's what I'm in now. Early bed times and no alarms and naps for as long as my body tugs me. Without the normal start times of life, it all slips quietly by in a new and familiar slow dance of rest.

I am remembering last year. Three weeks of rain and cold and disturbing thoughts that would not be banished from my brain, did not provide the respite I so desperately needed from the harsh realities of my life that past year. So in some ways I feel as though I am now in recovery mode from two years of relentless responsiblity

This is not to dismiss the amazing love and support I am honoured to know through the many strong and gentle friends God has granted me. But the truth is that what I've had to do is what I've had to do and it's been heavier than anything I've carried so far in my life.

And it is such a gift to be allowed to put it down for long enough to remember who I am and not just what I do. Here by the water, what I do gives way to who I am.

It's good timing for this. Any sooner and I would not have been able to truly lay it down. But by now something feels more finished, even in its constant reinvention. Right now, I can lay it down. I can give way.

Give way to God's way with me. Riding down the channel on Friday as we arrived, there was such a strong sense of His welcome. As if He had been eagerly waiting for me to get here. As if there were surprises and gifts in store, and He was so glad I was finally here to receive them.

Which I will. When I wake up
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Asking

Earlier today I received an email from Debbie Flinchum who serves with Asia's Hope in Thailand. Baby Michelle, granddaughter of Tutu Bee who is Director of Asia's Hope Thailand, has been having seizures and has been hospitalized for tests. Three months old.

My gramma's heart is gripped with memories of Abby in hospital with severe pneumonia. My connection with Tutu, already strong, has increased with the arrival of her granddaughter and that we can now talk "gramma" "eyi" with each other.

So I'm praying tonight. Like crazy. For strength and stamina and peace and medical acuity and courage and healing. For a very young baby girl, who has one of the world's most amazing women for her grandmother, and an army of faithful believers all over the world, praying her whole.

It Works!

While I'm away, it is my hope to keep on blogging. Expect updates on sunsets and chipmonks.
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Getting Ready To Be Gone

This is a test post to see if I've been successful in linking my black berry to my blog. If it works, thanks George!
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A Needful Thing

Believe me, it's not easy for me to do this.

I am getting ready to take an extended time away from my responsibilities as pastor of Highview Community Church - a church of extraordinary and astonishing people with extraordinary and astonishing hearts for God, and a pulse of movement and mission that makes her just one of the most favourite things in my life. She has a plan and a purpose to make a difference in our city, and in Regions Beyond, and in the hearts and lives of anyone within our collective circle of influence, for eternity. She is a place where coming together to engage in corporate worship with a phenomenal God, is a strong desire and a weekly reality. She has weathered storms that should have demolished us, and refused to give up in the face of the evils that have come against us. She is not a perfect place, but, when needed a contrite place, an honest place, a place where stumbling spiritual-journeyers like me, can stumble and journey in the company of grace and love.

And I'm going away from all that. For eight weeks. And it's not easy.

Last fall I requested and was granted a four week unpaid study break to be attached to my allotted four weeks of vacation time. That will have me away from Highview from June 7 to August 2 inclusive. The impetus for me making such a request was a growing understanding that the demands of pastoring Highview, and her particular story of the past two years, were accumulating in my spirit and psyche in such a way that some time away was going to be necessary. Really necessary. Necessary to regroup, rethink, refocus, refresh.

But believe me, it's not easy.

I LOVE Highview and all that I get to be and do as her pastor. It's not easy for me to leave for this long because I love what I do. It's a dream come true that I get to spend my day and my spirit fully engaged for the kingdom. And that's as true as I can speak it.

And then, the last 10% of truth? It's not easy for me to leave because, despite some serious soul work in this department, in the less traveled places of my soul, I still hold on to some kind of perverted thinking that the world needs me to run it. There, I said it. And that part of it makes it really, really good for me and for Highview that I go away from time to time.

So, it's not easy, but it is necessary.

I'm tired. I'm tired in deeper places, places that warn me it's time for time.

Pastor and author, Gordon MacDonald once said, "I came to realize that the most important gift, I could offer my congregation was a well-rested soul." I am currently not well rested. I have no gift to give you right now.

So even though it's not easy, I'm going away. Don't get me wrong. I fully intend to enjoy and receive what God's got in mind for me during this time. Most of it will be spent at the cottage, a place of holy quietness where I will read and sleep and cross stitch and study and feed the chipmunks and pick blueberries and go out in the canoe in the mist of the sunrise.

I will quiet my soul, let Him restore me.

I am beyond words grateful for those, so many of you, who will be making it all happen while I'm gone. For Derek and Paula and Renee and Ian, especially, in their Staff roles and how their own spiritual energies are devoted to Highview. For our Elders and their role as Shepherds. For the Creative Planning Team and all the Front Line Leaders who know how to do what they do so well and serve our church so faithfully. For every single volunteer in every single ministry role, who make up the extraordinary and astonishing place of grace that I know is Highview.

And while I'm gone, here's what I promise you. I will rest. I will listen. I will receive. I will sit down and shut up. And I will let God orchestrate whatever music He chooses, to bring me back to kingdom responsibilities, and bring me back to you, strong and ready and real.

And, oh yeah, I will eat jujubes.

Overnight Wisdom

I've been reading through 1 Kings and 2 Chronicles again, and that whole deal about Solomon. Gotta love that guy. Overnight he gets wise. At least that's how it reads. I'm pretty sure God did a combo thing for him, though. Part God-endowed - the overnight gift - and part just pain old learning from life.

Most of us acquire what wisdom we might attain from that last part. Which reminds me of the wise words of an important counselor in my life, Dr. Robert Lehman, who commented one day that most of us want wisdom, we're just not willing to go through the pain of life that brings it.

Or at least when we are going through the pain of life, we don't even recognize it as the wisdom delivery system that it is.

Tomorrow I will be in a meeting that requires much wisdom. Or maybe it will be one of those painful experiences that delivers the wisdom, I'm not sure. I just know that I'd rather do a whole lot of unpleasant things than do this meeting. I most certainly don't feel wise enough to navigate the relational/emotional landscape of it.

So, overnight Lord. Got anything for me?

Sunrise over Wiang Pa Pao

You will keep in perfect peace
Him whose mind is steadfast
Because He trusts in You

Isaiah 26:3

Yupa - Mountainside Mom

I looked up gentleness in the dictionary.

Here are the pictures.





Mom to 15 kids.
Taking it all in stride.
Giving it out in buckets.

Gentle spirit.
Mountainside Mom.

I catch a glimpse
Of what it means
To be an orphan
Welcomed in
Because you welcomed me
And mothered me
When I arrived on your doorstep
Too withered to know
How much I needed you
To help take care of me

May God grant you the stamina
And expand your heart even more
To keep on loving the homeless ones
Who aren't homeless any more
Because you opened your arms

To the Mountains

I life up my eyes to the hills --
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD
The Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip --
He who watches over you will not slumber;
Indeed, he who watches over Israel
Will neither slumber nor sleep

The LORD watches over you --
The LORD is your shade at your right hand;
The sun will not harm you by day,
Nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm --
He will watch over your coming and going
Both now and forevermore.

Psalm 121