Daring Daybreak

A brief but broad splash across the sky at sunrise just now.  Friday begins as the week winds to an end.

I am grateful and in a relatively calm space, checking off 'all the things' and staying glad in the last preparations before departure in a little more than seven days from now.  

It's nice to just stand out here for a minute.  Even the city sounds welcome the day.  And there was a rabbit around here somewhere a few seconds ago.  

Brilliance.  Stillness,  In its own way.

And back inside now.  

I have things to do, and a day to dare in.  Even, steady, pacing myself, bracing myself against the temptation to add any more things just 'because I can.'  Letting enough be enough, and that being perfect.

I send daring blessings to you, friends.  Whatever the sky is bringing you today.  May it be brilliant and still, in its own way for you.

Keeping it Real: The Sneaky Contempt Thing

Seems odd to launch into a reflection on contempt on such a spectacular day.  And most certainly, I intend to end on a positive note here, much like the beauty sunshine that I relished in on my afternoon walk Tuesday afternoon.

But this is about what else I'm letting into my mind and spirit these days, as political posturing floods my newsfeed.  And how gradually, gradually so much of it has become full of all kinds of nasty.  

Where is it all coming from?

I'm talking about memes, 'breaking news,' or anything that remotely looks like a credible report of any kind, but is actually a below-the-belt whammy on someone, usually a well-known someone, using inflammatory language without any apparent attempt at civility or perhaps even accuracy.  The problem with it is, and this is something of a confession, as best I understand these things, what I'm seeing on my feed is very likely because of other things I've clicked on or looked up previously.  Meaning, I'm getting all the nasty things that are directed at what I'm already indicating is likely my opinion or leaning.  

And another level of transparency.  More than just taking the click bait, sometimes I find myself registering an inner agreement, cheering it on.  

I know it's not okay.  Not if I claim to be a person who follows the Jesus who taught us the dignity of every human being.  But I had let is become normalized somehow.  Just scrolling on through all the vitriol.

Then this.  In a chapter called "Places we go when we feel wronged," in Rene Brown's Atlas of the Heart: Mapping Meaningful Connections the the Language of Human Experience.  In considering the experience of contempt, she talks about something I'd never really seen articulated before.  

"'Motive attribution asymmetry' -- the assumption that your ideology is based in love, while your opponent's is based in hate..."  Then, quoting Arthur Brooks in a New York Times piece entitled "Our Culture of Contempt: "Contempt makes political compromise and progress impossible...It also endangers the contemptuous person by stimulating two stress hormones, cortisol and adrenaline.  In ways both public and personal, contempt causes us deep harm" (page 218-219).

And yes, you should read the book.  Because the detailed level of Brown's research is worthy of thoughtful pursuit.  And there's way more involved, and all of it fascinating, than what I will deal with here.  But I was moved by the definitions of contempt, and the correlation to beliefs of superiority, and how easily I can attribute hateful motives to those I find myself at odds with.

This reaches beyond my Facebook feed, of course.  But I'm starting there.  You know, there's this little feature called "Block."  Ima just gunna use that a bit more often, me thinks.  Don't need to pour contempt into this heart I've been instructed to guard 'above all' (Proverbs 4:23).  

It's all part of a journey I've been on for a few months now.  How to think, feel and behave as a Christ-follower in such a dichotomized world.  Desperately desiring unity in His Church while still wrangling with justice, and realizing again that it starts with what's beating inside my own chest.

Really looking forward to digging deeper into Brown's work with our theo-discussion group Thursday afternoon.  

Another beauty day, I think.  

Hope it's a good one for you!

Between Thanksgivings

 "Give thanks to the LORD, for He is good.

His love endures forever...

Give thanks to Him who by His understanding made the heavens,

spread out the the earth upon the waters,

who made the great lights....

"the sun to govern the day, 

and the moon and stars to govern the night.

His love endures forever."

Psalm 136:1,5-9 (compressed)

It won't do to finish out the Thanksgiving Weekend without at least a little something from Psalm 136.

A unique feature of this ancient hymn of God's people is the resounding repeated phrase, 

"His love endures forever," 

as if every item listed throughout the 26 verses was evidence of this.

Also, I can't help but be mindful, this Thanksgiving Weekend, of where we were last year at this time.

Not just geographically, which was on the Freddy Channel, still at the cottage; but also emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, which was 'homeless in KW."  And the contrast between then and now....

It was a big deal.  You can tell because I'm still writing about it a year later.  

And I think one of the things I'm more grateful for this year, more aware of enough to be more grateful for at least, is the enduring love of God that brings it all home (pun intended).  Because last year at this time I didn't know how fabulous our new little house would be, and how dramatically we would go from being all disrupted and unsettled (anxious), to sweet and safe (content).  

And since right now I'm struggling against some pretty daunting responsibilities, looking into the future with a mixture of yay and yikes (talking here about getting the land deed for the Property Development Project), this contrast between last Thanksgiving and this, gives me hope for the contrast between this Thanksgiving and next.  

Because...

His love endures forever.

And I know He loves our kids in Thailand.  And I know He'll bring us home.

Just to be clear, our extended time last year up at the cottage up to the end of October was, on it's own, an incredible gift.  The quiet was deeply healing.  The colour and water and sky could not help but provoke a rush of worship just by glancing out the window.  The unique opportunity to celebrate a Thanksgiving feast with our foodie cousin Janet at her well spread table was sensational.  To be cosy by the fire on those cool mornings, feeding chipmunks and blue jays well into the season, was all kinds of lovely.  And we were thankful in the midst of it.

And right now, even with all that's dauntingly before me, I am well aware of all the goodness that surrounds me.  Right here, right now, I am grateful beyond being able to fully grasp it, let along articulate it.  

Later today we will gather here, in the city, with the family members we more normally celebrate big things with.  Even in our new way of living (in a house too small for a large dining room table so we're going to be at Kristyn and Mark's) this will feel more normal.  And wonderful.  And reassuring.  

And they'll be pumpkin pie, so all is right with the world, let's just say.

Sooooo much to be grateful for.  Then and now.  Now and then.

Wild and Wide Open Thanks-Full Saturdays

I am awake and immediately awash in deep-joy-sighing gratitude.

Yes, it's thanksgiving weekend, but that's not even my first thought.

It's that wild freedom feeling of a Saturday with absolutely nothing written on the calendar!  The first one in what feels like a long, long time.  I linger in bed for many minutes more to savour it.  To let it wrap around me like an enthusiastic hug.

This space, right now, this weekend, this wide open Thanksgiving weekend, bridges a very demanding September, and the final packing and prep for my next trip to Thailand.  And it feels like someone opened the window in a room stuffy with expectations, and let all the gratitude pour in.

Yesssss!!!!!

My list of thanksgivings then (in no particular order):

• For a weekend that actually feels like a weekend.
• For the anticipation of pumpkin pie.
• For the timely and effective attention I received this week when some GI issues flared up again.
• For reassurances from both the travel clinic doctor and my own family doctor that I am cleared to go.
• For getting the final load out of the storage bin, and how that feels like the last of the to dos on the big thing that was our move.
• For the help of our strong son who took his day off to do that with his Dad.
• For being ahead of the game in preparations for teaching and preaching in Thailand.
• For being ahead of the game in gathering and packing.
• For challenging conversations about the delicate space between seeking unity and compassion, while still standing up to what's actually wrong.
• For not just having grandkids, but being able to nurture connective, unique and dynamic relationships with them.
• For lunches with steady friends who are good for the soul.
• For the cardinals in our yard.
• For the responsive generosity of long time faithful friends, and brand new interested friends in helping to meet unexpected needs at Hot Springs over the past weeks.
• For carrot cake recipes that turn out.
• For forgiveness, because who could be anything without it.
• For the anticipation of Thanksgiving Worship on Sunday.

 

And I could go on and on and on.

But it's time to get up and do the slow and easy things there are to do, and immerse myself in the day.

Thankiest of Thanksgivings to you, friends!

Wishing you long lists of your own.

Sports Fan Wannabes

 Can't help myself this morning.

Go Jays Go!

Apparently the Jays, Leafs and Raptors all won their games last night.  It's a very good day to be from Toronto.  

Confession though:  Both Ken and I wouldn't call ourselves sports fans....until any specific Toronto Team gets close to something big.  Ken's even wearing his Jays jersey this morning.  

And the sun is shining!  And it's fresh out there!  And Thanksgiving weekend is on its way.

Seems like a good time to list the gratitudes.  Which I will.  For tomorrow morning, if all goes well with meetings and the like today.  So very much to be grateful for.

The Plenty

Feeling fall and feeling fresh.  Lovely walk this morning.  Thanksgiving weekend is almost here.

Just a simple word of encouragement and cheer this morning.  A reminder, maybe, as we gather around a table with family or friends in the days to come.

"He has not left Himself without a testimony:

He has shown kindness by giving you rain from heaven

and crops in their seasons:

He provides you with plenty of food

and fills your hearts with joy."

Acts 14:17

Gratitude always.

And can I just say, 

as I make my list of thankful things, 

you my friends of wide community,

are beautiful.  

Tuesday's Moody Turning

I miss the kayak, now that we've closed the cottage.  But this long stretch of vibrant weather has made the morning walk a beautiful thing, even in the city.

These pictures are from yesterday's daybreak stroll.  Beauteous.  Cool enough in the morning to be fresh, before the lingering summer heats things up.  That's the way it's been, more or less, for the past several days.  

No sunshine this morning.  In fact, they are calling for rain.

I'm actually okay with it, and am even hoping for rain today.  It's been a long hot summer, and I guess I'm with the ground, waiting for in the relief of precipitate blessing.  And when it comes we'll all say to each other "We really needed this."  

Besides all that, a rainy day makes the kind of work I need to be doing right now - packing, prepping, thinking through all the lists in anticipation for an upcoming trip to Thailand - more cozy, more focused.  A quieter space to concentrate maybe.  Glad I don't have to be anywhere today.  Just all safe and dry, inside, doing my thing, and feeling grateful.

If it gets as cold as they say it will, I will be grateful for that too.  I'm a summer girl.  But even for me, a crisper feel is welcome eventually.  Reminds me of my Mom, who couldn't wait for the weather to turn, and then, that first energy-restoring frost of the season.  Mom was more of a winter girl.  Me, not so much, generally speaking.  Even so, today's likelihood of rain, and the predicted temperature dip is welcome.

It's common, of course, for folks to feel differently about different kinds of weather; for hours of daylight, or varying temperatures, or the sound of the wind and rain, and perhaps especially extreme weather to nudge us towards certain moods.   

We often enough use weather metaphors to describe our feelings.  "Rainy day blues."  "You are my sunshine."  "Under the weather." "A breath of fresh air."

And what a crazy incredible thing, I think to myself as I sit here and write this, that my life is such right now that I can talk about the weather and how it makes me feel.  That my circumstances are such that a Tuesday turn in the weather, can prompt a conversation.  I do not take it for granted, this space in my story where life is this 'every day.'  Not boring, not at all.  Not without issues and concerns, certainly.  And I process all the big bad things going on globally as best I can, and am not unaware of how far away things affect those I love right here.

But mostly, in the 'normal' mapping out of a week, a month, life is steady, solid, unfolding fairly quietly.  For now.  That can change, I know.  

I know what it's like to have no head space for weather talk at all.  To be oblivious to the sunshine or the rain, either way, because you're right in the middle of a different kind of storm, and you are holding on, or climbing out, or just white-knuckle surviving.  I've been there, where my 'mood' is so much more complicated than the weather forecast.  

So for today, when my thoughts are simply on the weather, I will revel in more than just the rain.

Today's blessing then, comes in the form of lyrics written by a Quaker named Joseph Brackett (1797-1892).  May it be your gift today, whatever today is turning out to be for you.  

Even if you don't know the tune, it helps if you picture something like a square dance going on.

Edit:  At the recommendation of my daughter, here is a link  to a rendition by Alison Krauss and Yo Yo Ma.  Enjoy.

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.

‘Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return,
‘Tis the gift to be taught and a richer gift to learn,
And when we expect of others what we try to live each day,
Then we’ll all live together and learn to say,

When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.

Public Domain.

Little Holy Places

Little surprises.  

I am finding that, as I attempt to process (not ignore) all the 'big things,' everything from global news to the way some responsibilities weigh heavy at times, there's an essential balancing in stopping to notice something small and lovely.  Like this Wild Sweet William that confidently pokes out from behind an evergreen, not caring if it actually belongs there or not.  Just being happily pretty.

Or the box of 0.8 mm extra fine blue pens Ken found for me when he was at the stationary store for something else.  Oh how picky I am about my pens!  The very specific type I like is really hard to find now.  And the extra fine ones that I bought a bunch of last March when I was in Thailand are all run out or lost.  I'll buy more when I'm there later this month, but this will be perfect right now.   And when a husband goes to that little bit of extra trouble, it means something.

Or how excited I am that the little boys are coming to visit this afternoon, because over the summer we got to spend that amazing time at the cottage, but otherwise, I was away so much.  And then, as our regular routines of autumn fall into place, it's the big kids that I see more often.  And we'll walk over to the Dollar Store and they will be so happy to be able to choose something to bring back to Gramma's (that Mom likely won't want them to bring home, gee I wonder why), because they are young enough for this simple thing to still be a fun adventure.

And of course, before that.  It's Sunday.  The essential balancing of worship.  

Which actually is not small thing.  A focus, a reorientation on an enormous, beautiful, holy God.  

Isaiah, the prophet, speaking to people who were dreading the big bad things around around them.

Isaiah :11-14

"This is what the LORD says to me with his strong hand upon me, warning me not to follow the way of this people:

            'Do not call conspiracy everything this people calls a conspiracy;

             do not fear what they fear, and do not dread it.

            The LORD Almighty is the one you are to regard as holy,

            he is the one to fear, he is the one you are to dread.

            He will be a holy place.'"

And then Elijah, all worn out and feeling sorry for himself, because big bad enemies were pressing.  And God gives him a chance to have a nap and get something to eat.  And then...  

"Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind.  After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake.  After the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.  And after the fire there was a gentle whisper."  1 Kings 19:11-12 (emphasis added)

Interesting.  Everything blustering around him, but Elijah only hears God quietly.

And in the bigness of it all, and in the smallness of the noticed things, and in the whisper of a still, small voice, I do actually, yes, find myself in those holy places.  And yes, it does balance me, reorient me, hold me.

So this Sunday morning, I am keeping things small.

Small enough to notice.

Small enough for joy.

Falling Easy

Every once in a while, I get it right.

There was something about this return from the cottage back into city life that made me feel as if I just needed to hold back for one more day.  Hold back in terms of not getting all fired up and wired up to jump right back into my long list of all the very important things that need my attention right at this junction of my ministry season.

'Take Monday off,' seemed to be the message.  

For those who do not share the driven personality DNA thing, this might sound like a simple thing to do.  But in truth, taking it easy isn't so easy for some of us.  When you love your work, and when productivity and getting stuff 'done' is your version of fun, holding back and waiting until Tuesday to tackle the tasks is a form of discipline.  Fasting, if you will.

But I did it!

Started the day with a sunrise walk.  Then came back to slowly, methodically decorate the house for fall.

I do love this seasonal decor thing.  Love how it makes me feel.  To have that change up in colour and scheme for a fresh look, and a fresh space to work and live in.  This year was especially fun, because it's the first time I've been able to do it up all autumn in our new house. 

Last year at this time we were still at the cottage, waiting for the timing on our new build.  Well, here we are, in the new build, building our lives, making new memories, forming new rituals.

And I think maybe I've stumbled on a new one for me.  Maybe I'll call it 'the discipline of leaving gaps.'  Between things.  At transition points.  From one season to another.  Upon returning from a time in Thailand.  At the end of a long haul of more intensive ministry, either planned or the life-just-happens kind.  Just...leave a gap.  Make a space.

Oh.  Maybe God's already thought of this.  He called is Sabbath, I think.  Meant for every week (Exodus 20), but also built into other ways of measuring time.  Leaving fields fallow (Exodus 23).  A year of Jubilee (Leviticus 25).  It was for at least two purposes.  One, to provide the rest all humans require.  The other, to remind us that we're not in charge and the world can go on just fine without us for a little bit, thank you very much.

Perhaps I shall establish for myself a transitional Sabbath kind of thing where I will fast from work for a day or longer before charging into the next round of everything.

Feeling pretty fine about the day, I must say.

And this morning?  Tuesday?  Ready, set, go.  

And am I not one of the richest women in the world?

Do Bees Sleep? And Other Questions on an Early Morning Walk

Caught this little beauty hanging perfectly still for a long time, on a cluster of golden rod.  He seemed unbothered by my presence, not moving at all while I tried to get his best angle.  Do bees sleep outside of their hive?   The answer, according to the many articles that popped up in my Google search, is yes they do!  This is a bumblebee, one of the kinds that rest like this, hanging upside down.  Fun fact and a good reminder of why my mind needs a morning walk as much as my body.

To be fully present in the moment before me.  To be able notice the small and remarkable things.  To wonder.  To be curious enough to take a side path up the hill a little further, just to try to get a better view of the sunrise, even when it will mess up the step count a little.

I'm glad to be back.  To re-engage in the spiritual-care routines of city life.  To catch a bumblebee taking a nap.  To welcome the day.

What a soft and unhurried way to begin a Sunday.  

All this, and worship with my faith family too!

Highview peeps....see you soon!

Settling In

It's been a back and forth kind of season, planned that way and having gone pretty much as planned.  

And while I'm never really 'finished' being at our cottage, I'm also up and awake this morning all awash with that 'new start' kind of feeling.  

Fall did only officially begin this past Monday, after all.   And despite the lovely lingering of summer weather, I'm ready to sharpen the pencils, organize my desk, and put all the things on the calendar.  On Monday I'm hoping to decorate our front porch for autumn, the first time doing so in our new little house.  Sorry in advance for all the orange-ish pictures.

At the moment I'm getting ready to join in on Anchor's Grow Day via Zoom, grateful for the option not to get back in the van and drive out of town after yesterday's physical demands in closing up and getting back to the city.  Other than that, and of course worship on Sunday morning, I'm giving myself the weekend plus Monday to 'settle in.'  That's my first priority before diving into all the other joyful work that's unfolding for me this fall.  To be honest, just doing the laundry might take that long anyways.

It's been fun, in this back and forth kind of way, to be surprised upon each arrival by what's growing in our yard.  The spring emphasis on beautifying what had been a significantly messy construction zone, including a new shed and paving-stone pathways, also included the kinds of plants that lay close to the ground and do not required mowing.  This late-season bloomer was fun to come back to this time.  I wonder what other autumn surprises our new neighbourhood holds?

Wishing you a happy Saturday and happy fall, and happy whatever helps reorient and inspire and motivate!

 

If He Finds Me Feeding the Blue Jays

Apparently it's been a prophetically busy week.  Yet another prediction about the end of the world, or in this case something about 'the rapture,' has been buzzing around social media, marking Tuesday or Wednesday as when it was all going to go down.

And here we are on a Thursday morning.

While I am dismayed that the Bible and Christians at large lose great hunks of credibility when this sort of things happens, I am glad at least for the way the recent surge of online videos, and the correlating responses provided some clarification this time, specifically about the term 'rapture' and it's rather recent arrival on the eschatological stage.  In other words, it's an idea that wasn't part of the theology of the historical church, and isn't widely embraced by modern theologians.  

With respect to my brothers and sisters in Christ who think differently on this, and if you are up for a longish but thorough article on the subject, you can always check it out in more depth here.

To be clear, I do believe the Bible describes a time when Jesus will return to usher in a restoration of all things, a time and place where God's will is perpetually being carried out, where perfect peace prevails. I'm pretty sure, actually, that one of the reasons I love it up here at the cottage so much is that there are elements here of the serenity and 'all things being right and good' here by the water that hint at God's ultimate plan.

 And now I can rhyme off my own favourite texts that happen to support my own understanding of how it will all go down, as best my puny exegetical efforts might discern it.  Micah 4, Isaiah 11, Revelation 21 and the like.  Much to the disappointment of some of my more rigorously eschatological friends, I do not hold to any 'trib' position (pre, mid, or post).  I am more inclined to read 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 metaphorically (see reference below) toward a purpose of encouraging us not scaring us, as Paul explicitly states.

But in all of what the Bible describes, one thing seems clear.  We won't know when it will happen.  We're not supposed to know.  Jesus was fairly straightforward about this in Matthew 24:36.  So when anyone puts a date on it, I'm not getting too worked up.

And.

It does make a difference.

My Christian belief that Jesus will one day return to usher in His kingdom, does make a difference in how I live out my life.  It should.  

Because it begs the question:  What do I want Him finding me doing when He gets here?

There was once a time in my life where I took that to mean I'd better work my butt off doing all the obviously 'good' things I could possibly cram into any one day, any one lifetime.  Try like crazy to be as busy as possible doing 'the Lord's work."

Yeah.  That didn't go so well.  Only led to being fear-driven instead of Spirit-led, which led to exhaustion and anxiety and being useless anyways.  And it's certainly not the abundant life Jesus said He came to give me (John 10:10).

I'm still learning this, for sure.  But by now I find a quieter confidence in simply doing and being what and who God calls me to do and be in the ordinary things of life.  Nothing too flashy really.  

Yes, I get to be in Thailand a lot, and I know that to some that seems exotic.  But the truth is that when I'm there I'm reading to children, or teaching a new song, or doing a puzzle.  I preach to about 35 faithful believers there at the church on Sunday.  I struggle with my Thai language skills.  

When I'm here in Canada, I'm doing the mundane ministry stuff of administration and fundraising and communication, to help ensure these amazing at risk and orphan kids have a chance.  Not hundreds of them, mind you.  Just 25.  

And also, my days can be with my own kids and grandkids here.  Or with folks who need some simple encouragement and listening.  Or preparing a sermon or a series of sessions to hopefully enrich participants in a spiritual formation seminar, again no big crowds.  Or working through communication challenges in my marriage and being tenacious about the vows I took 47 years ago to do just that.  Or recognizing underlying anger issues in my own soul.  

Or feeding the blue jays.

And yesterday, when so many of them visited me, on the day the 'rapture' was supposed to happen, I thought that if indeed Jesus was to come right then, I'd be okay with Him finding me feeding them peanuts.  

I realized that despite my younger-years' shadow mission to make a 'big difference in the world,' most of what I do in any given day is quiet, and ordinary, and nothing that will make me famous.  I don't want to be famous.  But I do want to be faithful.

And a fun little happenstance right this minute, as I was writing these words.  A blue jay came and sat on the railing, looking straight at me through the window, and bawled me out for being a little late in putting out this morning's peanuts.   Not kidding.

So...however your non-raptured Thursday morning is going, I truly hope you know the holiness of the good and purposeful ordinary things you do to contribute to God's plans and purposes.... 

while we wait together.

[Holmes, Michael W.  The NIV Application Commentary: 1&2 Thessalonians. Grand Rapids:                                 Zondervan, 1998, pp 146ff.]

Like This

 We arrived back to the cottage yesterday afternoon, grateful for good driving weather, both on the road and on the water, following that crazy big storm Sunday night.   I'm not sure, but I think Kitchener-Waterloo got the brunt of it.

This morning is overcast but not too cool and perfectly calm.  Even on the open water, which is a rare treat when it happens.  I did not see any other human being, and only heard two boat motors but way off in the distance.  I did encounter some forest friends, however, and one graciously posed for a picture.

The summer of 2025 will certainly be remembered as the year of the deer.  So many visits this season.

The deep quiet and changing colours puts me back to last fall when we were 'homeless in KW' but tucked in all safe and warm here.  And when I think of all the stress of our big move last year, which I still do often enough to tell me I still have some uncoiling to do, I am again utterly grateful that we had such a place of serenity in which to wait it out.

This is our last little bit here for the season.  Closing up and on our way by Friday.  So you can be I will be greedily taking in as much as I can before heading back into all the things waiting for me back in the city.  They are good things, don't get me wrong.  And even last week, with it's focus on the Garage Sale which always is demanding, physically and otherwise, was vibrant and connective and so very encouraging!  

But for right now, I'm just going to be here, paddling around the island, taking pictures of the deer, and maybe even a dragonfly, just because.

Autumn Aware

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Happy Thursday, friends.

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

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

 

When Your Soul Won't Let You Avoid the News

My politically-reluctant soul is squirming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even when I feared and detested Christianity, 

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

I trembled on recognized the same unmistakable aroma 

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

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

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

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

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

if you love one another.  

John 13:35

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

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

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

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

Sigh.  

Wrote this instead.

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

A kayaking story, just for fun.  

Or maybe it's a story about fashion.

Or being awkward.

I'm not sure.

Anyways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We'll see.

Transitional Overlapping Fallness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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