With or Without You (A Song to my Phone)

My phone is on the fritz and I'm trying to decide if it matters.

I think actually there might be a goodness in the absence of the gizmos. Realizing how many 'things' I use it for. If Ken and I can't sort it out on our own, it may mean a trip into town, and that can't happen until Tuesday.

Hmm....

This morning's paddle around the island begged a thousand pictures. The sky was vibrantly chasing away last night's storm over glass-flat water reflecting abundant cardinal flowers splashing red on the mirror.

No pictures taken.

Instead, on this loveliest of Saturday mornings, I offer a shot taken the other day. And it's okay.

No texts or calls until further notice, folks.
Not ignoring you.
Just figuring things out.
And I think there might be a goodness to it.

Taking Out the Trash - Or - What We're Doing When We're Not Having Fun

 

Serene sunrises on flat water make for much better pictures than bins loaded and ready for the dump. Therefore, it might be understandable, if one was only going by the photos I post, to assume that's the total cottage vibe these days.

It's not.

Right there in that first picture is 420 lbs of construction garbage, pressure treated wood, siding edges, and a few leftover asphalt shingles for good measure.

And today we took out the trash.

That's no small deal when you're on an island. The process first consists of loading up the bins from the unsightly pile beside the bunkie. That took us two separate work times on two separate weather-friendly days. Then we have to heave these things over uneven rocks and load them onto the boat. That was another day itself.

Today, another weather-friendly day, we drove this load into the marina, offloaded into the van, then heaved it all into the assigned bin at the dump. That's where we got it weighed, so that's how come I know how much it was.

While we have enthusiastic helpers for dump runs at other times of the season, when it's just the two of us, we are finding it wiser to spread the task out like that.

Just a bit of math. Each bin was about 70 lbs.

That's a lot of trash. And what with the ride out to the marina and back, plus the driving time to the dump itself, it took the whole morning.

Since the morning is my best work time, Ken mentioned that he was sorry it took so long. But I was glad to get it done. This was a very needed item to check off the list for this week. And the place looks so much better for it!

And I think it's like that sometimes. Sometimes what my deeper self needs is quiet contemplation on flat water. Restful, no pressure, just all beautiful and calm.

But sometimes what my deeper self needs is a good taking out of the trash. Honest confession, letting the Spirit and Scripture hold me accountable for the person I say I want to be. And that's harder, but necessary work.

"Search me, O God,
and know my heart,
test me,
and see if there be
any trash that needs hauling away."
Psalm 139:23-24 (Cottage Reno Version)

Each year I read through my journal from the last summer until this.
That's what this is about, mostly.

Avoiding the dangers of living an unexamined life.
The harder work of spiritual formation.
But badly needed.
And I'm so much better for it.

Also, in unrelated news....

I must make the grand announcement that this morning I finally achieved my goal of making it all the way around the island!!! Since I did this 37 times last year, you'd think it wouldn't be such a big deal. But my kayaking was seriously disrupted by recovering from surgery, so today did actually feel like a big ta da moment. Thanks to cousin Janet for accompanying me. It was only a tad breezy in the one spot, a a little dicey in the shallows at one point since the water's so low.

Yay for early morning paddles with ginger snap cookies!

Heading into the last long weekend of the summer season.
Looks like a mix of weather.
Whatever your vibe, I hope the weekend is a great one!!!

When You're Not Lost But You Might Be

 

Got out in the kayak this morning and did 4.69 km, according to my little watch gizmo. Two things about that. One is that my whole route around the island is just over 5 km, so I'm working towards that goal. I think maybe tomorrow I could go all the way around?

The other is that I actually went a bit further than I intended because at one point I got disoriented. Not lost, exactly. I've been exploring other shorter routes in my quest to build up my abdominal stamina, and this morning I ventured out and around a different island I'd never navigated before. It looked exactly farther enough away to push me just a little, but also close enough to home for me to easily make my way back. No problem.

But islands can look a very different shape from one side of them to the other. And the cottage properties, the docks and such, are not familiar to me, so no reference points there. The rising sun is a pretty good orientation, and I knew the general direction I should be heading. But I caught myself in a dead end that I expected to open up to where I wanted to be. It didn't.

You need to know that a fear I've had to overcome in my Georgian Bay life is getting lost in the array of islands that, when you aren't familiar with them, for all intents and purposes, look exactly the same. Water, rocks, trees. I don't think island dwellers who were brought here as babies have this fear. It's just instinctive for them. But for me, arriving at the post-instinct-absorbing age of 16 years, it was a thing.

Learning to get from the marina to our cottage all on my own (thank you MIL Mary B for insisting) really pushed me past that fear, and it's been a long time now since I've even thought about it.

But this morning there was a flicker. A moment of wondering if I really got lost, how would I make it back home?

Writing now from the comfort of my lounge chair on the deck, all is good. I was just fine. Had the presence of mind just to turn around and reroute myself until, oh yes, there is it, I found the other side of that island and headed for home all la-dee-da-nothing's-happening-here-that's-exactly-where-I-meant-to-go. And I had the guts to do it, and by this I'm talking again about my abdominal core (yes, still talking about that eight weeks out!), and not the risk factor involved.

Truth is, I take my phone with me. And I know Ken would, in a heartbeat, come find me (with those island baby instincts of his) with the Big Boat and bring me home.

And yes, there's a life lesson in there, of course there is.

Luke 15 is a trilogy of parables about lost things. One sheep out of 100, one coin out of ten, one son out of two. And in every story there is an all out effort to find and bring home.

In a heartbeat.

Got me some Monday morning blue jay action happening on the deck. I was hoping to post a picture of a very young one that is, for some reason, not as skittish of me as the others. At least I think he's young. Not quite as blue and still a bit scruffy around the edges. But even though he's a tad more relaxed, I still couldn't get him to pose for a picture. Kids these days!

So happy Monday to you!
I'll let you know if I make it around the island tomorrow!!!

Saturday's Simple Song

Psalm 98:1

Sing to the LORD a new song,

for He has done marvelous things.

Out under a moody sky this morning.
But never mind.
Already by now the clouds are clearing,
giving way to a spectacular Saturday.

No breeze yet, so the water is flat and quiet. Same with other cottages in our little bay. Quiet. Surprising for a Saturday, but I'm not complaining.

It's switch-back day. Our lovely renters have had a good week. But a little later today Ken will run them in to the marina, and meet up with Bill who'll be with us for the next few days. Bill, believe it or not, has been coming up here longer than I have, and I'm on my 51st summer! To me, it's such a gift of this season of life - those life-long friendships. And also, he brings steaks, so...

I am a tad concerned about Chester though. It's taken us the whole week to be friends. And now that he's quiet happy to come up the stairs for peanuts, I hope he can find me next store starting tomorrow. #usempathssheesh! #ithinktheresasupportgroupforthis

Otherwise, moving back and doing laundry will likely be all I do today. A good day. A simple day. A settling back in day.

But not before I linger here on our little deck singing all the new songs of right now.

Songs of joyful quiet.
Songs of marvelous things.
Songs of profound gratitude.
Songs of trusting unseen outcomes.
Songs of mindful contentment in present moment delights.

Hope your Saturday if full of new and simple songs.

Absence and Fonder Hearts

In this season of disciplined downsizing and letting go, I had not anticipated having kayak restrictions placed upon my bliss.

Out on the flat water this morning, I let it get kind of emotional. It's hard to describe the soul-effect of water and sky, unhurried dip of the paddle blade, rocks and trees and loon landing in a long, soft splash beside me. All and each sacred for their own unmeasurable worth.

All the longings for this cannot be met in one morning's ride.
But I try.

I supposed I've discovered a new level of fasting. And then it occurs to me that this whole big deal of our move to a smaller place, our being 'in between' for longer than looks sensible, our letting go and saying goodbye, of drawing small circles of 'necessary,' and the extra layer of physical, healing-from-surgery restrictions laid on top of it, all of it is like that. A fast from what I think I 'need,' to help me clarify my deeper longings.

I've so missed being out in the kayak early in the morning when it's quiet and the water is flat and my soul can be reassured once more that the One Who flung all this into place with a mere word, still speaks on my behalf.

"You, God, are my God.
Earnestly I seek You.
I thirst for You,
my whole being longs for You
in a dry and parched land
where there is no water."
Psalm 63:1

The irony of these words coming to mind as I rest lightly on the abundant waters of Georgian Bay is not lost on me. But the description of longing is right on the bean. That sense of being needy for something, with 'my whole being.'

This summer I will not accomplish my goal of beating my 37 times around record set last year. But maybe something else is being accomplished in me instead.

In other seasons of life, when the longings for things absent made my heart consumed with longing, I taught myself a 'breath prayer' (a spiritual practice that is pretty much self descriptive).

"Turn all my longings into longings for You."

May our hearts grow fonder, and softer, and wilder, and braver in the absence of all we long for.

Connections

 

Another coolish but beauteous morning.

Thursday, I remind myself. And as crazy as this sounds, it's the first day of the week where neither or us has anything on the calendar.

The combination of Zoom and technology, weekends where family is able to come for an unplanned visit, and friends and cousins here who love to have folks for dinner, has meant that for the past eights days running there's been something happening at a specific time for various reasons.

It's partly answering my question about connectivity.

I've been wondering how we will stay meaningfully connected with people even while 'isolated' on an island at a cottage that takes 45 minutes in a boat to get here.

This is a real thing for me. In our in between time of not having a home in KW, it's all fine and good for me to be grateful for a beloved roof over our heads here in this space that is truly sacred to us. It's all fine and good for me to focus on some recovery that still needs to be done from both the surgery and the move. It's all fine and good for me to hunker down into some of the more quiet and reflective work/writing this era of my ministry life requires of me.

But life is community. We were not meant to live in isolation. Not even us introverted types. We need each other. At least, I need you. And the richness of my relationships is not something I take for granted, or believe can run on autopilot for any length of time.

So it's been a thing I've wanted to be mindful of. Because I was concerned. But in these last days, I'd say I need not worry about connectivity.

Apparently, it won't be a problem.

Today Ken and I may do a dump run. That's to help take care of the piles of remaining construction leftovers and other unsightly corners of the property I don't usually take pictures of. (Perhaps that can be the topic of a future posting, because there's a few life lessons in that for me. But not today.)

Today we may or may not do the dump run. Because while it needs doing, it's not urgent. And even as we make sure to keep connected, it's also kind of nice to not have anything on the list for the day.

If I were to put anything else on this nothing-on-the-list day, it might be to take another step toward making friends with the chipmunk. I see my small offering of peanuts from yesterday is gone, and he just ran past on the rocks, stopped and looked at me, and carried on.

I shall name him Chester.

Hope your connections are good today.
Or you can just have a nothing-on-the-list kind of day.
Or that this Thursday just brings you whatever you need.

How to Frame Your Face and Other Instruction in Silliness

 

There's this thing our Thai kids do when they know you're taking their picture.

It consists of various finger poses at various angles around one's face.  This is something I've seen everywhere in Northern Thailand since I started going in 2008.  It's fun, it's quirky, and apparently it makes you look super cool.

Of course, when you're getting your picture taken in a more formal setting, for a group shot at school, or if you're in your school uniform, or any time you need a more sensible rendering of your person, then things can be all straight-laced and tidy.  No face framing happens then.

But if you're just kabbitzing around before or after evening worship, if somebody randomly points a camera at you and asks you to "yim" (smile), then no end of posing ensues.

And I love it.  I love that the children are free and comfortable and feel safe enough to be silly.  Safe enough with us as the "farangs" (foreigners).  Safe enough within our family.

I think before my exposure to the darker side of things for so many children in Thailand, and also other places around the world, I would have taken something as, well, silly as being silly for granted. 

Children play.  Children are carefree.  Children make faces and ham it up for the camera, or just do no end of antics just to be entertaining.  That's what children do.  Right?

Not all of them.  Some kids are too hungry, too lethargic, too anxious, too terrified to engage in the silly stuff.  And some of our kids, when they first get here, don't know how to frame their face for a photo.  They don't know how to have fun.  Life has been way to serious for them up until now.

Right now at Hot Springs there's an extra dose of silly fun, I think.  Perhaps because we have once again found ourselves with more younger children than older.  The age-wave changes as each group grows.  But for right now, lots of making faces, lots of big singing, lots of happy dancing and hilarity and joy.

Sometimes it occurs to me.

Every sad and awful thing that has ever happened in my life

is superseded,

and maybe even now makes sense

or at the very least just doesn't matter any more,

because of this.

New View

The temperature is hovering at around 13C this morning, but I am all tucked away in a shallow rock basin beside the bunkie stairs, sheltered from the breeze. You can tell there's very little wind here, because my close up today is of tiny blooms that stayed still.

It still feels coldish out here, though, given the hot summer we've had so far (not to mention Thailand). But I am determined to spend more of the day outside than yesterday, when the sun didn't really make an effort until after lunch, keeping me inside all morning.

In an arrangement made months before we knew what our closing date would be, others are renting our cottage for the week. Without a home to return to in KW, which is what we normally would do, our next best option was to experiment with actually living, not just sleeping, in the bunkie.

It's only about 300 square feet, and there's no real kitchen per se. That's plenty of room as a sleeping cabin, which is and remains its main function. But, it's been a bit tight to live in, especially around making meals and washing up afterwards.

Never mind. It's something of a fun challenge to see if we can make this work. And we figure that if we can do it here in 300 square feet, our new build of 625 square feet will feel like a palace.

It's been interesting to notice the effect downsizing has on my inner world; my perspectives, my expectations, my needs vs. wants, my levels of contentment. Externals tend to shape internals and also the other way around.

If I'm honest, some of that shaping feels more like squeezing, and I am noticing how much my love for having my personal space 'just so' affects my mood. This has been as much an experiment with contentment as with anything else.

Paul found his way to an impressive level of spiritual maturity in this regard. I dug into this a little in one paper I wrote about the Apostle, particularly in regards to how he experienced 'status inconsistency,' which is part of this but not all, and better left to another conversation.

But having experienced such a wide swing of living, from being mistaken for and worshipped as a god, to being dragged out of the city and beaten as a rabble rouser and heretic, he was able to find an anchoring point of identity that remained unchanged regardless of his situation.

Philippians 4:11-13
I've learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. I'm just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little...Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am.

Whatever, wherever, in Christ.
A rock solid identity to live into.

That's more than just a stoic stance on contentment. Personally, I'm finding it's going to take way more than just my own will power or character development to navigate the smaller physical spaces in order to grow me into wider spiritual horizons. Way more.

And just now, as if to bring me into the present moment and lighten up things a bit, a chipmunk has come by. Since he didn't come up close and ask me for breakfast, I'm assuming he might be a new friend I can try to get to know. Gotta' go get me some peanuts.

If I can remember where I put them.

Blurry Love

This is what happens when you don't have any special camera but you still try to take a picture of a very small cluster of tiny blooms, and it's breezy.

I was about to hit delete, when it occurred to me that this actually kind of represents certain seasons of my life.

Maybe I'm in one of those right now.

Only part of what is most certainly a beautiful and intricate frame of the bigger story is in focus. I can see the blurred outlines of something delicate and intriguing, but right now, when life won't quite hold still, so to speak, I can't quite lock into the whole picture.

Reminds me of the last little bit of Paul's famous chapter on Love, 1 Corinthians 13. In exhorting the Church to be sure to use their gifts and talents motivated only by Love for one another and for Christ (see chapters 12 and 14 for the fuller context), he reminds us that so much of what we give our focus to is temporary. Or at least only a dim version of what's to come.

"For now we only see a reflection in the mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." 1 Corinthians 13:12

And given Paul's words here, even in the seasons of life when I think I have the whole picture, I actually don't. Instead, if I keep it all in the context of Love, no matter the circumstances or seasons, I think I can stay focused on what's clearly obvious.

Love God, and love the people He's put in my life.

And that's not a picture I have to delete.

Hope your Monday has some good direction for the week ahead.

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4Yupa Chaing Mai and 3 others

Wan-la Nit, Wan-la Noi

 

Another quiet morning.

Things will be more exciting this weekend. Some family arrives later today. And also, right now, it looks like another stormy Saturday-Sunday combo, unfortunately.

And I hear in my head Timothy's sing-song, "Rain, rain go away, come again another day, everybody wants to play, rain, rain go away." And I'm tempted to try it to see if it works.

Also today begins a little fun (at least I hope it will be) experiment to see if Ken and I can manage actually living (not just sleeping) in the bunkie. A rental agreement made months ago for our actual cottage, yes, with the anticipation that we may not have a place to retreat to in KW at this point, begins on Sunday afternoon. Just for the week.

The bunkie is not equipped with a kitchen per se. But we have enough gizmos and gadgets, including a microwave and hotel-sized refrigerator, to match our ingenuity. So we'll see how it goes.

I'm most interested to see where I can set up my outside space to work and be, given the deck over there is more of a small porch. But outside the back there's a flat-ish space of rock, sheltered from the wind, and that might do just nicely.

I did get out in the kayak this morning, but not all the way around the island, if anyone is keeping track. It was just late enough to bring on some more robust waves out in the open, and I didn't want to push it.

It's interesting to be in the space of caution still. Normally pushing myself to the next thing is a given. That's how you grow. That's how anything of significance happens -- intentionally incremental.

In Thai there's a phrase that intertwines the word for day "wan", with the words for little bit, "nit-noi." And it comes out, "wan-la nit, wan-la noi" and means exactly that. A little bit each day.

And it occurred to me yesterday that this summer is doing exactly that. Big things, but bit by bit all the planning Ken and I mapped out at the beginning of June are coming to pass. Not always exactly as we thought they might for sure, but here we are and it August 16, and it a quiet morning before a fuller kind of weekend.

And I suppose, wan-la nit, wan-la noi can apply to how I'll get myself back around the island eventually.

Lots to do today. But I relish the sun on the back of my neck, the flat water out in front of me, and the simple joy bright red trumpets can bring. Especially if that includes a visit from the humming bird.

Happy Friday, everyone.
Hope your weekend brings you exactly what you need it to.

Time to Heal

Out again in the kayak this morning on glass flat water and feeling good. I think I might be ready to go all the way around the island now. On a calm day, where I won't run into heavy paddle work on the open water, and if I pack a little snack and have a rest if I need it, I think I'll be okay.

Today marks eight full weeks since the day of my surgery, and I would have to say I'm only feeling mostly myself by now. Four to six weeks is apparently a more normal recovery time. But this summer has been anything but normal. And, just as a reality check, being 67 has something to do with it. Most of the averages are based on younger people having their appendix out, so there's that.

We did an 'into town' day yesterday, which basically entails all the errands and shopping and banking and anything else one might do over a ten day to two week period, but all in one day. We bring in garbage and recycling too. And yesterday we even did a thrift store donation run.

All that was a LOT of walking, and I managed just fine. No walls of any sort were hit, although I did so a summer late afternoon mini nap once we got home.

It's not a bad thing for me to navigate a lesser energized way of doing life for a while. I say that obediently. I didn't like it at all. And I was grumpy and frustrated more often than I'd like to admit.

It's actually not that easy to take it easy. Especially when you are smack in the middle of big things like moving out of your house of 36 years, or taking your 18 year old granddaughter on her first missions trip.

Am I done resting from it all? Nope. Things might be all healed up inside my gut, but my spirit is just getting started I think. It was pretty intense for a rather extended period of time, and while it's happening you don't really have the chance to process.

The kayak helps. A lot. So does longish lingering times down at the dock after supper. And chipmunks and blue jays to keep me company on the deck. And my journal.

And hey, I realize I only had a 'little' surgery, and many of you have had to deal with far more medical chaos than a simple appendectomy. So I don't mean to make more of this than it is.

It's just helpful for me to remind myself, and anyone else who might need reminding, that healing takes time and that's okay and it's all part of the humility and strength of what makes us human.

Grateful for the time and space to keep on healing, keep on growing.

Creatures of Habit

 

"In the morning, LORD, you hear my voice;
in the morning I lay my requests before you
and wait expectantly."
Psalm 5:3

At this point the blue jays have figured it out.

They're out on the deck railing even before I'm all set up, calling for some breakfast. The chipmunks too, putting little paws on my toes and looking way up, even before I can get the canister of peanuts in place.

Ken, who observes all this creaturely interaction from an amused arm's length, says, "Your friends have stopped by."

It's a morning ritual, as I set myself up on the deck to pray and work and read and write every day, weather permitting. Arrange the lounge chair, quilt and pillows, crank up the umbrella, gather my computer, Bible and any other books I'm going to need, put down my morning shake....and feed my friends.

They know to come because it's the routine.

I found this comforting when we were at Hot Springs too; the regular rhythms of the day. Especially in the mornings. Early worship, hearing the kids sweeping and singing during morning chores (yes, singing, and I'm not making that up), breakfast with my cup of jasmine green tea.

Rituals to begin the day. Regular ways to begin a morning that help to set the tone, get things going, feed my friends....and my soul.

Perhaps it's because my life seemed so upended for so long that I am relishing the routines now. The simple steadiness of knowing where to reach for a pen, or to know for sure where I last left my toothbrush, or to be able to pause long enough for morning reflections, brings a comforting reassurance that all is right with my little world for the moment.

It is sometimes said in my circles that God has had to 'get my attention' in some extreme kind of way. Some unexpected and disruptive event, or something of that sort. I've even heard people describe it as "God hit me up the side of the head." I can't argue with other people's experience of God, to be sure. God does move in mysterious ways, and He knows what's going to work best with any one of us.

But I'm just wondering if there might be a correlation between a regular quiet habit of sitting still long enough (measured by something like the time it takes for blue jays and chipmunks to trust you perhaps?) and the experience of God's gentle presence and loving guidance in ways less dramatic.

I don't have this thing in the bag (or the peanut jar) by any means. This is just something I aspire to. Being spiritually available in a regular, ordinary kind of way, I might call it. And I'm so grateful for this time and space to revel in that right now.

We're hoping to get at some painting today too. Started all that back in June, and we just keep working it, section by section.

Happy Tuesday...I still had to think about what day it was just there. So jet lag is almost done, I'd say.

Wishing you some good soul-quiet and whatever happy routines keep you grounded.

Church as a Love Affair

A dramatic sky and iffy radar readings make for some uncertainty as to whether or not (weather or not) we’ll have church this morning. Such is the reality when you don’t have an actual building but instead meet outside with the sky as your cathedral ceiling. It’s glorious when the day is bright, but less practical when intermittent and blustery showers are blowing by.

I’ll be sad if service is cancelled.

I don’t think you have to be a pastor-type to be all into Sunday mornings and the gathering of God’s people the way I experience it. This was part of my spiritual DNA long before I knew any sense of vocational calling to it. Even as a child, my family was not just dedicated to every-single-Sunday, but the whole deal of this being a Monday to Saturday community as well. I didn’t resent it. I loved being there early to set up chairs, and staying a bit later while the adults finished off conversations and the children found all the best hiding spots in the building.

Later I would fall in love with the capital C of Church that includes believers all over the world. Last Sunday I was preaching to a vibrant group of beloveds just 45 km east of Chiang Mai, and it was home. This morning another home-church of my heart will gather in the southwest corner of Kitchener. If the weather holds out, there will be a gathering of faithful Cognashene cottagers to worship with. And to me, all of this is a beautiful thing.

Not a perfect thing, but a beautiful thing just the same. I grieve with all of us in the reality that harm has been done within what it supposed to be the safety of the gathering of the saints. I have been harmed. And I live with the knowledge that, despite my best intentions otherwise, I have done harm. Let no fallible human being ever to step foot inside the doors of the Church fall under the illusion that they are immune to or incapable of doing real damage. We are not called saints because of our own merit or imperfection, not by any means.

Yet for some inexplicable reason, Jesus set us up to live in community like this. And, quite astonishingly He calls us His Bride. Cherished. Beautiful. Revered. The object of all He can offer. Please, dear fellow-followers of Christ, if we need to have hard and honest conversations, let’s do so, and let the healing be done in the name of Jesus. But let’s be very cautious about neglecting, rejecting, casting aspersions on and offering generalized criticisms of what the Bridegroom holds as precious.

Just something in me needed to say all of that this morning.
Hopefully I've done so with grace and love and respect.

Ironically, the same weather conditions that might cancel our service on the rocks this morning also interferes with the signal that might bring Highview’s online service to my computer. So, I’m not really sure how this morning will pan out.

Either way, I pray good things for you this Sunday.
Good and healing and loving and vibrant things.

Wrecked a Little

I really think 'sort and file trip pictures' needs to be a separate segment of my job description. Or maybe it's a part time job all on its own.

Capturing the moments of any given visit to Hot Springs is a happy component of every trip when we're there, without question. There's so much I want to remember, so much I want to share with family, friends and supporters. It's especially important, it seems, to at least make an attempt to convey some of the vibrancy and essence of our family life together, even though only a smidge of it gets through in pictures, or even videos.

But every trip I try.

It takes time, though. Partly because there's always so many! (And this year I have Abby and her four-camera passion to add to the mix.) But also because I stop and relive each moment, reveling in it, feeling it, hurting a little from missing them so much already. This, despite my intention to just 'tidy up the downloads.'

Yet while, I might complain a tad about how 'feeling every picture' isn't all that efficient, there's really no other way for me to go about this. At least, I wouldn't want it to become anything less.

I was with a group of pastor friends one day, and we were talking about the emotional impact of mission, and of mission trips in particular. One of them, who at that time had had much more experience leading cross cultural teams than I, made the comment, "If anyone comes back unmoved, unchanged, unaffected, they probably shouldn't have been there in the first place. It's supposed to wreck you a little."

I've honestly lost track of how many times I've done this. Sixteen years of one to three trips per year. And, yes, I'm wrecked a little every single time.



The good thing about sorting pictures is that it can be done in the wee hours of the morning when jet lag has you up way too early. It's quiet then; gives you the space to feel all the feels.

Having said that, I'm not finding things too too difficult in the readjustment department. My body is glad the travelling is done. I had such attentive care when I was there, for sure. They genuinely want me to be rested and strong, and provide for that beautifully. And also, I'm now here by the water, yielding gratefully to the restoration of my soul.

Brace yourselves for more pictures.
I haven't finished sorting and filing them all yet :).

All Glorious

 

First time out in the kayak since June 16!

The implications of a rather complicated summer, including an emergency appendectomy and subsequent recovery thereof, have kept me on the dock, full of longing.

But this morning, with calm waters at sunrise, and fully six weeks post-surgery, and jet-lag notwithstanding, I ventured out to see if my body could handle what my soul so badly needed.

And yes!

All glorious sunrise, all beauteous and stunning, and reminding me again of the faithfulness of God and the spectacular order of creation.

To ease my husband's wise concerns, I did not attempt a full go-round the island. Only just down the channel past the church to where it opens up. Here the water was not quite so calm. But that's okay, because the breeze and flow brought me gently home again.

Home again it is.

Our arrival back on the Freddy yesterday signals the next phase of the aforementioned complicated summer. I'll call this the resting phase.

After the painful and urgent trip to the hospital ending in an emergency appendectomy....
and after the frenzy of closing date and the last push of packing...
and after the abundant and crazy-joy of a full cottage with family...

and after a robust trip to Thailand and the crazy-joy of the family there (including introducing Abby to that part of my heart)...

After all of that, there is now. Welcoming the day out in the kayak, out on the deck with friends who like peanuts (including a very young-looking blue jay), the quiet of August by the water.

This is now.

All glorious.

Also, I might call this the finding-stuff-and-putting-it-properly-away phase. While most of what we will need once our new small home is completed is in storage, we've brought boxes and bins up here with us for what we'll need in the next three months of living. And as organized as I tried to be, there are more items than I'd like to admit that I really have no idea where they are!

So here's to more days of kayaking, and sorting and putting away, and just being quiet for a while.

I miss all the children at Hot Springs.
Just needed to say that too.

Happy Thursday, folks.
I think that's what day it is, anyways.

Soon on Our Way

 

Breakfast is about 30 minutes yet, and I've completed all the tidying of teaching and craft supplies, as well as all my personal items I keep here in a bin. Bags were mostly packed last night, and also weighed. Just all that last minute stuff that always happens, well, last minute.

So I'm sitting in a morning that's quiet but for the distant crowing rooster, and the sounds of morning chores getting done. Other birds, and crickets, and the fan.

By 8 a.m. (Tuesday morning Thai time, 8 p.m. Monday night Canadian time) we'll be in the car heading for the airport. We've checked in on line, got the best seats we could for this first, shorter flight, packed the carry ons with all the comforts we'll need for the longer flight, and have our passports at the ready.

Two weeks. And two unusual weeks. The effect of recovering from surgery and the subsequent lack of time, energy or head space to write very much at all other than daily reports of out activities, leaves me with a tinge of regret. There's so much more that happened in hearts. So much learning, so much growing.

Perhaps, instead of regret, I'll just leave with the anticipation of more reflection and processing once we're back on Canadian soil. By then perhaps I will have downloaded more pictures! (My phone has been complaining of not enough space for about 3 days now.)

I especially want to talk more about how it was to share this experience with Abby. For right now I'll just say that it was amazing and wonderful to watch her melt right in to life here, as if this wasn't her first trip, as if she's been here many times before, as if she already knew the place very well.

For who've been praying and supporting us in all the ways you do, thank you! Thank you already for all the messages wishing us a safe trip home.

We'll keep you posted as we go.