Laughing Myself Sensible

My husband Ken and I have a saying for when something happens that's hilarious but is rather on the intimate side and wouldn't be appropriate to share with anyone else.  "Well that's a joke we can't tell anywhere."

This might be one of them.  

But with Ken's permission, and hopefully some polite interpretations, here goes.

For this story to make sense you need to know that a feature of our 45 years of marriage is that we have remained, to this day, quite flirty with each other.  Often as not this is heavily laced with innuendo and double entendre.  Ken is much worse better at this than I am.  We usually keep it on the down low, but every once in a while....  

We're in Canadian Tire during a day trip into Midland, and the only items on our list for this store is a rather particular garbage receptacle for the new bathroom in the bunkie, and a measure of electrical wiring to finish hooking up the septic pump.  These two items are related given we do not flush toilet tissue into the septic system here (ahem).  This is not the intimate part yet.  

These two items are, of course, on the shelves of entirely opposite ends of this standard sized Canadian Tire.  Of course they are.  I suggest we divide and conquer, but Ken wants to stay together, and makes like he couldn't bear for us to be apart.  A slight roll of the eyes from me.  But also....Aww.  So off we go for our romantic big box store hike, me in the lead.

About half way to our destination towards the garbage cans, I can hear Ken right behind me, rather loudly panting!  Like a dog!  Doing a rather bad imitation of it, to be honest.  Just this loud, open mouthed panting!  Come on!

There aren't that many people in the store, but really?  Does he have to be so loud?  And so fake-sounding?  Oh brother!

So I turn sharply around to offer a quick glare as wives do when in public with husbands who are embarrassing them.  And there, right behind me, is a woman.  With her dog.  A large dog.  A lab I believe.  Who is panting.  Loudly.

She pulls back, and we stare briefly at each other, all three of us; me, the woman and her loudly panting lab.  It's an awkward moment because all I can think to say is, "Oh sorry, but I thought your dog was my husband."  Gratefully these words stay in my head, and I pretend I had only just changed my mind and wanted to head back in the other direction.  Which now I did.  Want to.  Head back.  To find Ken.

Where is that guy?  He's ducked into a completely random aisle because furnace filters were on sale. By the time I finally locate him, I'm not annoyed at this extra, totally unannounced excursion.  All I want is to tell him what just happened.

But I can't.  I get into one of those uncontrollable fits of laughter where you try to start the story but you can't even get past the first two words.  I try, but it's suddenly way funnier than it actually was.  I am laughing so much I have to stop and breathe, and wave my hand in front of my face a bit.  Tears.  I compose myself and begin again.  But I can't say it, because it's too funny.  This goes on for minutes.

Ken's turn to be embarrassed, and rightly so.  A man walks by slowly, glancing at us sideways, wondering what's so entertaining about the furnace filters.  Which makes it even funnier, and off I go again.  And now Ken can't help it.  He doesn't even know the story yet and he's laughing too.  At me.

I'm finally able to compose myself a little (probably because in the midst of all that I found myself suddenly wondering where the bathroom might be) to tell him what happened.  His response?  He opened his mouth and panted loudly, like a dog.  And actually, he was more convincing than the lab.

This happens to me a lot while I'm up here at the cottage.  Not the mistaking a panting dog for my husband thing.  The laughing myself silly thing.  And usually it doesn't take much.  Our little adventure in Canadian Tire, yes that was funny.  But often as not, just the smallest of triggers will set me to gasping.

Ask my family.  They love it when this happens.  Me not so much.  It feels out of control somehow.  Which is probably why, except for the guy in the furnace filters aisle, mostly only my family has seen me in such a state.  And usually only at the cottage, once I've been here long enough.

Maybe I don't laugh enough in my 'regular life'.  My kindergarten teacher observed on my first report card, "Ruth Anne takes life too seriously."  True.  Kind of how I'm wired.  And for a measure of what I'm called to do, I carry sorrows.  So there's that.

Don't worry though.  God has also given me so many joy-filled people in my life to help me lighten up, grandchildren being among the best at it. They bring me the good medicine of a joyful heart (Proverbs 17:22).  Laughter is good medicine, supposedly reducing blood pressure, boost immune systems, and even burn off a few calories.  If you wan to check it out:  What Happens to Your Body When You Laugh.  Perhaps, actually, it's a very sensible thing to laugh ourselves silly.

So here's to hilarity.  To laughing ourselves sensible.  To joy and fun and all things ridiculous.

The long weekend is here.  Have fun and be silly.

Lapis Lazuli in the Morning

I think I may have taken a different route and ended up in heaven somehow.

Sun rising.
Mist on the water.
Not a hint of a breeze.
Air clearer than it has been in days.
And so silent.

I am the noisiest thing out here.
So I hold my paddle for a while
and receive the stillness.

 

All the way around.
Even on the open water.
So, so still.
So, so quiet.

A loon diving.
Two ducks paddling.
The heron unmoving and invisible as I glide respectfully by.
A doe and two fawns!
No pictures please, they all said.
I am obliged, since I am here in their space.
And they are so welcoming, thank you.

The water is so still.
So still.

(pause to be still on the still water)

Heaven is described in various ways throughout Scripture.
One is this image of a 'glassy sea'.

"Also, in front of the throne there was what looked like a sea of glass, as clear as crystal." Revelation 4:6

This is reminiscent of when Moses and more than 70 elders "saw the God of Israel. Under his feet was something like a pavement made of lapis lazuli, as bright as the sky." Exodus 24:10

The water is that still, yes.
Precious gemstone polished and spread out.
The powerful, perfect Presence of peace.
Perfect peace.
Shalom, shalom, it would render in Hebrew.

"You will keep in 'shalom shalom'
those whose minds are steadfast
because they trust in You."
Isaiah 26:3



"Something of heaven touches earth," we sometimes sing in church.
Yes, like that this morning.

I will tuck this away against the chaos.
I will speak this into places that so badly need it.
Into hearts riding out waves of real life.
Because sometimes when we get a peek of it
we need to just sit still in it.

Sending this out to anyone riding treacherous waves today.
Or just dealing with the general chaos of life.
May you know still waters soon.

Half a Century on the Rocks

This feels bigger than one go at it, but for today I will simply mark this as being my 50th year on the Freddy Channel.

Yup, that's me. With Rusty, my very cool boyfriend's very cool dog.
It's 1973.
I'm 16.

Story goes that I arrived that summer to spend a week with my new [read: Only ever] boyfriend's family at their cottage. I took one look at the water, the trees, the rocks...the breath-snatching, astounding, sacred beauty of this place....and said to myself, "I gotta marry me this guy."

So I did.

[There's a joke in our family now, that before you get too serious with an prospective partner, you have to bring them here. If they like it, you can pursue the relationship further. If they don't -- ]

It is indeed much bigger than one post. I have filled volumes of journals, and blog posts, and Facebook posts, and sermon illustrations, and worked it into academic papers writing about all this place has meant to me. All the healing and learning and resting and living and being that has happened for me and to me and with me on these rocks.

I have swum here, waterskied here, honeymoooned here, kayaked here, learned to drive "the big boat" here, eaten way too many blueberry pies here, avoided bears and rattlesnakes here, recovered from a burnout here, recovered from numerous life's harsh realities here, worshipped here, preached here, fed chipmunks here, raised children here, spoiled grandchildren here, luxuriated in countless sunsets (each one unique) here, loved here, grieved here, figured out big decisions here, written countless words here, laughed myself silly here, played countless games of Scrabble here, celebrated 45 years of married life here, and made memories with the next generation to this receive incredible gift right here.

I can't even.

Not for one moment do I take this for granted. It is no exaggeration to say that, among all the life-shaping facts of my life, I am who I am in no small part because I have been given the deeply good gift of this place.

Gratitude has to go somewhere.
Abby, Zachary, Harvest, Jayden, Timothy...and Evelyn.
May this place shape you for as long as possible.
May the pictures we take this summer one day be posted somewhere to remember and mark.
May God be your true Rock, always.

All About Me and Not About Me

 

It's raining, and I haven't been out in the kayak two days in a row, and the internet's just a tad wonky at the moment.

But I'm really okay with all of that, because -- it's raining.

Maybe I'm just feeling guilty for so thoroughly reveling in the 'total summer' weather we've had up here since we arrived June 18. All out sunshine and bring on the heatwave. Can we keep up with making the ice? Glad we brought all those freezies -- for when the kids get here!

I'm a summer girl all the way through, so all this glory makes being up here that much more idyllic for me. Plus, in the good weather, I'm all set up outside with my work station, just soaking in all the 'outdoorsy' I can. The deck becomes another 'room'. So much space and quiet and little chipmunk friends.

But today it's raining and I'm inside, and none of that is happening....and that's okay.

 

Because everywhere we need the fires to stop.
My whole life I can't remember a time when I can see and smell the smoke like this!

And while I'm enjoying all my bliss on the deck, there are valiant women and men fighting in the thick of it, putting their lives on the line to keep us safe. You are not forgotten. And we extend all gratitudes to those who have arrived from other places to help us beat back the flames.

And I think today I'm just resting in a deep state of contentment, remembering all the bigger things around me that compel me to welcome the rain.

And this is, of course, all about the rain and not about the rain.

Discoveries - Forty Five Years of Partnership

This is going to come up a lot this summer.
Ken and I will celebrate 45 years of marriage on August 19.

I know!

We are beyond grateful and truly amazed at the story that's still unfolding for us. It's been anything but idyllic, and truth is, our humanity still irritates the heck out of the whole pursuit of a godly union on a regular basis. (I read this to him just now and he said, 'Yup.')

But also.

Suradet captured this moment when Ken was last in Thailand in the fall of 2019. It's not customary for husbands and wives to show affection in public in Thailand, even holding hands. They were not offended when we did. They thought it was endearing.

I absolutely LOVE this picture. The story of our lives together begins and ends in Southeast Asia in ways so intricate it could only have been orchestrated by a God with a fair sense of humour and a whole lot of love to lavish.

Wong Wai Ching Angela from Hong Kong, in writing about the struggles of Asian women to be heard and the effort made to rethink the way women and men work together in general, says they ...

"came to understand the idea of partnership as an 'open-ended' discovery of life together." (Wong Wai Ching Angela, Hope Abundant: Third World and Indigenous Women's Theology, Orbis Books, 2010).

I LOVE that!!!!

Of course, as in the context of the partnerships Wong Wai is writing about, this applies to the whole gamut of human beings joining hands and moving together toward common preferred futures.

Open-ended, because who knows where God is taking this?
Discoveries, because there's so much out there to still figure out.
Together, because alone we can do so little, truly.

Monday on the bay and the sky is cluttered with generous clouds looking like they might give us more rain as the day goes on. We need it. Everywhere needs it.

And, happily, I have much to get at to be ready for Ken and I to leave for Thailand July 25, plus a few other things happening before and after.

So happy Monday everyone.
May your partnerships be open-ended and full of joyful discoveries today!!

Not There - Longings and Gratitudes

 

This is a rarified Sunday morning for me, not attending worship service.

Yes, yes. Of course we can still worship, anywhere, and on our own. That's very much part of what my morning paddle around the island is about, Sunday or any day.

But it's not the same thing and we all of us know it.

And today I feel it.

Odd this, since I left the city more peopled-out than I care to admit, and have been soaking up the solitude in a similar way dry wood soaks up a fresh coat of paint (warning: working on a project so painting analogies are more likely in the next little while - more later).

So very peopled-out.

And yet.

This morning, it was my first thought.

That I missed my peeps at Highview.

And then, as I made my way through the hazy sunrise around the island this morning, I was all full of affection and melancholy for all three of the beautiful communities of faith to which I can claim I belong.

The main reason I'm not heading to a church service this morning is that our season at Cognashene Community Church doesn't start until next weekend. And a side note: It's been my great privilege to lead the opening service each summer for coming on 20 years or more, following the legacy of Ken's cousin Herb Breithaupt who did the honours before me. So next Sunday morning will feel very different for sure. [Kids, get ready for a parade, just sayin.]

On the other side of the planet, Hot Springs has had service already 12 hours ago. Truly, when I get to be there worshipping with these enthusiastic brothers and sisters of mine, I am without a doubt with family. How crazy is it that this old white lady gets to be called "Pastor Mom" to these brave and prevailing people? One of the great mysterious joys of my life.

The writer of Hebrews seemed pretty convinced that there was something important about the practice of gathering, and puts it this way.

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on to love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another -- and all the more as we see the Day approaching."

Hebrews 10:23-25

And here I'll add the necessary caveat. Especially in a world traumatized by virus and the ongoing threat that holds for those whose health needs require the grace of authorial intent and context. Even mature and faithful followers of Jesus have to adapt from time to time, and these certainly have been 'the times'.

So Highview, I miss you.

Cognashene, I can hardly wait.

Hot Springs, July 30th can't come soon enough.

Happy Sunday everyone, regardless of your faith

or practices thereof.

Embrace and enjoy and nurture your communities, friends.

Hope, love and good deeds to all.

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Legacy - Ruth Bowman Celebration of Life

Thinking today of this Incredible Family and the joy and sorrow of celebrating that amazing lady in pink, pictured here.

Blessings on you all as you mark a long and faithful life.

Ruth Bowman, you left a legacy.

Feeling All Friday, Maybe

 

"Be still,
[sit down]
[stop talking]
[stop striving]
and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10
[expansions added]

It's raining now, and we badly need it.

My poor potted impatiens, not as suited to the bare heat of the deck, will be glad. I do water them, and move them around a lot to give them some shade, but still. Today's going to be a good day for them. And the blueberries. And the trees. And everything.

Just got back from around the island before the first light showers started. That's now seven times around this season. (If you look closely, you can see the kayak tied up to the dock between the slats of the railing behind the flowers. See what I did there?) I'm aiming to beat last year's record of 33, so I've got a ways to go.

Is it really Friday already? Is this the weekend coming up? I can't quite tell.

I still have some things to get at before I can say my "work list" for the week is done. Today I have a phone meeting and a Zoom call in the morning. Then I'd like to see what else I can clear away before I close up shop.

Or -- maybe I won't.

There's just a different, easier vibe working from here. If tomorrow is another rainy one, so what if it's Saturday? I might be in the mood for some of the more absorbing study and writing and such that this season of life allows me to do. Is that work? And if it is, is that okay?

I confess, many times throughout my working adult life I've fantasized about doing what I'm doing right now. Being away, all quiet and unhurried, and listening, and digging deeply into "work" I love.

Never fear. It's just for a time.
But a deeply good time it is.
Like a gentle steady rain for the impatiens.
And the blueberries.
And the trees.

And everything.

Along for the Ride

[Dear Blog-Only Friends.  I'm beginning a new experiment here, with my personal blog.  Just realized that since the first lockdowns of the pandemic, I've been blogging daily, but calling it a Facebook Post.  So many folks, for various reasons, are not hanging out there, and sometimes I wonder if I'm circumventing my own purpose in writing somehow.  Inspired by a book I'm currently reading (The Blogging Church, Bailey, 2007) I'm hoping to expand the spheres a little bit, starting here.  Let's see how it goes.  Thanks for reading, and riding along with me.]

While I'm glad for the rain prediction for tomorrow and even into the weekend, this lovely long stretch of perfect days, especially the still mornings, has been a beautiful bonus to begin our summer sabbath.

Read somewhere that it's really helpful for folks in their 60s to get a dose of sunshine early in the morning. Something about resetting our body clocks I think. Well, I'm getting a good bit of that.

Out in the kayak every morning so far.

This morning I had a little companion join me. Didn't see her land, but noticed she was there, and let her be. My Gramma called these darning-needles, and I've also heard them called damsel flies. Either way, they are a more winsome relative of the already delicate dragon fly.

Even before her arrival, I was reflecting again on how fragile I still sometimes feel after all our collective trauma during the most intensive times of the pandemic. I go there from time to time, remembering it as if it was a bad dream that somehow I now struggle to remember the details of, even as the disturbing mood of it remains.

Never mind. Who can dwell on all of that too much when buoyed up by the very soul of this place, and in the company of a delicate friend. I let it take me to gratitude, these ruminations. Today is a new day, a good day, a strong day.

And even now in these times when it does all seem like one very long, very bad dream, we so very much need to take care of each other. If you need to ride along with me for a while, I understand.

And deep thank yous to all who let me ride with you,
then and now.
I need you so badly.
I hope you know who you are.
I hope you know how amazing you are.