Eclipsed by Glory

 When all of a sudden I am unaware of 

these afflictions eclipsed by glory,

and I realize just how beautiful You are

and how great Your affection is for me.

David Crowder

When the water is flat all the way around, that's golden.  That's the glory of God reflected in sky and water, a mighty hooraying of all He has created.  Breath-snatching, reorienting, right-sizing.

This morning was particularly perfect.

Seems fitting for a day set aside as "the Lord's day."  

Remember that phrase in the hymn Holy, Holy, Holy?  Describing the worship of the angles... "Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea?"  Scripture often uses the image of perfectly flat water to represent a place, a state where God's will is perpetually being carried out.  The kingdom of God, in other words.  "Thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven."  Like that.

It reminds me, again and again, any time I come out from the Shadow and the water stretches out like glass before me, that He is everything.  He is holy.  He is totally in charge.  And He is just so beautiful!

And then, like David Crowder captures in his song How He Loves Us by David Crowder, everything else kinda doesn't matter so much.  Whatever's bugging me?  Oh yeah.  This.

Big breath in.  Hold it.  Release.  You are God, I am not.  And all that's heavying my heart is (pause) lifted.  Lovingly.  Because...this.

"For our light and momentary troubles

are achieving for us and eternal glory

that far outweighs them all.

So we fix out eyes not on what is seen

but what is unseen,

since what is seen is temporary,

but what is unseen

is eternal."

2 Corinthian 4:17-18

Oh glorious last Sunday of the summer!

Hope you can find your own spaces of worship.  It really does help set things right.

Relational Resilience

This small green ball was an apology gift from my husband.  

True, most husbands, when they mess up tend towards flowers and chocolate.  

And yes, there was also chocolate involved.

But it was the ball that convinced me that some thought had gone into the apology.

What the mess up was I will leave between us.  Let's just say it was enough to warrant more than a good conversation and the words "I'm sorry."  And I will be quick to add here that in the forty-seven years of our marriage many mess ups with appropriate apologies have gone both ways.  And it is better if we can keep things small enough that a good conversation and the words "I'm sorry" are indeed sufficient.

But when something bigger has happened, an expression of remorse, acknowledgement, even embarrassment, and definitely a desire to change goes a long way to rebuilding anything that got broken.

So why would a small green ball with a fist on it be a good gift on this particular occasion?

Watch the video.

Just before Ken first whacked it down on the table, he said, "I really, really dropped the ball.  And I'm really, really sorry.  But you and I can recover!"  Then he whacked the ball down hard the table, and it did its thing.

I was shocked at first, expecting it to bounce of course, and leaning away from an expected trajectory.  But then it did what it does, so crazy like, and I gasped, then laughed so hard (much to Ken's relief since he wasn't sure if I would like it, or it would make things worse, as every husband who's trying to apologize for something might understand), just because it looked so hilarious and it was all so unexpected.

We did it over and over again several times, laughing and picking it up, and trying to figure out what its made of, then whacking it down again.  Then we sat down and I shared some of my/our chocolate, and we talked about "the thing" with an entirely different kind of energy.

Marriage is work.  It just is.  And it requires a kind of long-haul resiliency that defiantly defies the smack downs, and pulls you back together, time and time again.  It just does.  And Ken and I would both agree that it takes more than what we've got as individuals, or even together as a team to keep at it.  

I'll go back to Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 4:7, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay, that the all surpassing power is from God, and not from us.  We are hard pressed, but not crushed; perplexed but not despairing; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed."

The rewards of the work are proportionate.  To quote Steve Bell "There's a certain scope to that long love that constant spirits are the keepers of."

Forty-seven years ago, Ken and I promised each other we'd grow old together.  

Well here we are.  

By the grace and goodness of God.  

And with a little help of crazy splat balls.

This Time Last (Next) Year

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

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

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

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

But actually I want to talk about last fall. 

 

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

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

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

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

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

And those misty mornings.

And the incredible reflections of glory upon glory.

Flat water and fall colours.  No words.

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

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

We love our new little house.  

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

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

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

A wise counsellor of mine once said, 

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

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

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

we will be able to know the kind of peace 

normally experienced when problems are resolved, 

even before they are."

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

"Do you trust Me?"

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

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

And next fall?  We'll see.

Fall Feelings

 I am definitely not out in the kayak this morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And.

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

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

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

Whatever Monday means to you, have a good one!

Sunday Morning Glory Gifts

Every morning is a gift.

Sundays especially.

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

A reflective photo shoot while waiting for service to start.

Unusual sighting of four deer at the same time!

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

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

Dramatic sky.  

Leftovers from last night's storm.

Breakfast for the blue jays 

(or the chipmunks, whoever gets here first).

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

Haunting and beautiful.

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

A very happy little peppermint plant 

in my mini herb garden on the deck.

And that's all for now.

Readying ourselves for the last service of the season

for Cognashene Community Church

here on the rocks

on the Freddy Channel.

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

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

for I have put my trust in You."

Psalm 143:8

Kayak Count Confessions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay real friends.  And have a wonderful weekend!

Cottage Ramps and Wise Ways

Let your eyes look straight ahead;

and fix your gaze directly before you.

Give careful thought to the paths for your feet

and be steadfast in all your ways.

Do not turn to the right or the left;

keep your foot from evil.

Proverbs 4:25-27

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beauty day here.

Thursday!

Have a great, sure-footed day!

 

I Find Myself In August

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

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

And maybe August is the perfect time for this.

Hey Highview! I Miss You!

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And.

Highview, I miss you.

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

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

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

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

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

But the season itself will roll into fall soon enough.  

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

Love you guys.

There's Time for This

One of the 'less convenient' things about staying over at the bunkie is that I am without my kayak stabilizer.  It's a gizmo attached to the dock that provides a brace that my kayak rests on, and a pole for me to hang onto as I get in and out.  All safe and dignified, like Gramma's who still kayak are supposed to do it.

But no such gizmo over here.  What I do have instead are several natural spaces in the rock right down by the water.  It makes getting in and out poooosssssible.  Sooooorrrt of.  But it's tricky because even the slightest variance in water level changes the entire enterprise.  

Yesterday it was particularly bad.  I positioned the kayak in what had been a perfect spot last time; a space where the water came in around an elongated depression in the rock, making for what had been a perfect launch just the day before.

But this day?  Getting in (the first time) was actually no problem.  But because the water was down ever so slightly, with me in the boat now, I couldn't get over the rocks behind me.  I really pushed.  Tried a few different angles.  Nope.  Not budging.  

And now I'm in an awkward spot to get out.  Made two fumbling, fall-back-into-the-seat-loudly attempts before I accomplished it.  And now I can hear folks chatting on their deck having their morning coffee across the way, which is closer here than it is to the dock next doors.  So, adding to my growing frustration is a bit of embarrassment knowing I am very likely being observed.  This is not a graceful Gramma thing happening here.  I don't particularly want to be the morning's entertainment.

I'm out of the boat now though, and maneuvering the kayak into a different launch point.  This involves carefully repositioning my paddle and my waterproof phone pack so that I can reach everything once I'm in again.   More fumbling, readjusting, reaching and barely reaching for my paddle and phone.  One last adjustment of my position on the kayak seat so that the small of my back is well supported, and I'm off.  

Finally!

And what I notice most about myself in all of this is how annoyed I am with how long all of this takes.  What is normally a two minute process, quick and easy, took the better part of twenty.  More than the worry that I might slip or spill, more than the embarrassment of looking silly in front of cottage neighbours, more than the frustration of having to make several attempts, the thing that annoyed me the most was that is wasted my time.

Bear in mind I am living here by the water right now.  It's summer right now.  Slower pace of life right now.  I have no where I need to be by any set time.  Yes, I am working while here.  Yes, I have a list of things I should accomplished today if I want to stay ahead of deadlines etc.  But when all of this is happening, it's 6:00 in the morning.  The day is new.  I'm on my own schedule.

And maybe that's the problem.  I keep thinking that my schedule, my time, is my own.  Like -- mine.  That somehow I can map out and determine how each section of the day will go.  There's this illusion that I am in control.

I do highly value time and efficiency.  And I suppose that's not all bad.  Keeps things moving forward.  Makes for satisfying days when things go well.  And for the large part of it, it helps make me good at what I do.  But that sense of ownership of time is really, really hard to let go of.

When a little set back like launching the kayak can annoy me this much?  Because it wastes my time?  It was something I wanted to bring up later when I was down on the boat at sunset with my journal.  

It's a fascinating meditation to consider how an eternal God interacts with time.  And even more revealing to consider what He expects of me as I live within the confines of it.  "Someone should write a paper on this," she said, putting it in the file.

For now I'll keep it simple and go with Psalm 90:12, as maybe you were expecting.  I'll re-write it in the singular personal pronoun.

"Teach me to number my days, so that I might apply my heart to wisdom."

Often as not, this text is taught in such as way as to discourage laziness, which I think is a fine application.  In these moments, however, I am wondering if it might also be an exhortation to release my time into the hands of a God who is not constrained by it.  To let go of the illusion that it's my job to squeeze every bit of productivity out of every single moment.  To embrace the spaces not so much as a waste of time, but maybe as time well used to shape my soul.

One last point that I find amusing.  In my struggles yesterday, I actually ended up finding a much better kayak launch point for while I'm here.  So, there's that.

Have a great day, friends.   Spend it well.

 

Trash or Treasure?

It seems that Ken and I are just in that season of life.

We were all about this last summer as we were in the throes of moving out of our home of 36 years, into a smaller space of our new build set nicely in the backyard of the property we share with our son.  That was a big enough job, and whatever was accumulated in that space, that was all on us.

Now we find ourselves in what's starting to feel like the continuing saga of sorting and clearing as we ramp up a bit on the reclamation project of the cluster of rather 'vintage' buildings (plus one brand new bunkie and one brand new boathouse) that sit on the rocks next door to the cottage we actually live in when we're here.  This, my friends, is generational accumulation, and it's epic.

I'm talking about the task of sorting through very old, mostly rusty, sometimes dirty, and sometimes downright icky 'stuff'  on shelves and bins and in the corners of sheds and rooms closed off from the light of day for decades.  Or not.  Sometimes the items are newer, more accessible and not as trashed per se.  Just less than helpful or needed.  Or are they?  

One man's trash....

Everything's a decision.

At least in this clearing out of things there is no closing date to pressure me into rash decisions.  I can take my time a little, clean things off more carefully, to (perhaps) uncover some hidden beauty or (more likely) to declare something as outright garbage.  

But you don't know until you get right in there.  And everything's a judgement call.  Tedious and a tad overwhelming.   

I'll admit to the occasional bulldozer fantasy.  

But then I discover an entire bin of untouched, unopened plumbing supplies that includes that one part Ken really needed.  Or an old metal thing, filled with rusty nails cleans up real nice, and now I've got that added piece for the space I want to make look more like a country kitchen.  Oh, it's an antique can of English Wax!  Then a pile of large, heavy duty unopened tarps.  Okay then. It's probably worth picking through this stuff.  Bulldozing seems less of a desirable option. 

One of Jesus' parables, the one about the wheat and the tares in Matthew 13:24-30, comes to mind as I pick through.  It's not as well known as some of Jesus' other teachings.  But it's in a cluster of seven stories recorded by Matthew that start with the same phrase.  "The kingdom of heaven is like..."  And without getting too pedantic, we can simply define the kingdom of heaven as a process or course of events that moves us towards the realm where God's will, His plans and purposes for creation and specifically humanity, are being carried out.    God's ultimate ethic.  Everything the way God, in His perfect love, wisdom, and justice, wants it to be.

In this particular parable, both wheat and weeds are growing together in a field.  The good (which the landowner planted) and the invasive (sneakily added by an enemy) have roots intertwined, making the task of sorting it all out rather tedious and overwhelming.  The landowner wisely instructs the workers to leave it all alone 'until the harvest.'  Then things will get sorted out.  Right now, more damage than good would be done.

It is sometime asked why God doesn't just wipe out all the evil in the world.  Why wars aren't ended, and poverty and oppression and violence.  It's a fair question.  If it were up to us, we think we know what we'd do....and when.  Bring on the bulldozers.

But God waits.  And He's got His reasons.  And it's not a passive waiting.  He carefully, intimately interacts with it all, fanning smoldering wicks into flame, propping up broken stems (Isaiah 42:3), seeking (Luke 19:10), searching (Psalm 61:3), rescuing (Colossians 1:13).  There is a day of reckoning coming, but not yet.  The job of deciding what and when is God's not ours.  

I guess I just need to be reminded that my job is to root myself in goodness, strong and deep, as best I can and by the power of God's Spirit.  To be about the business of participating productively in the process, the course of events, that bring about the kingdom of God, on earth as it is in heaven, as best I understand it.  And to do all that even in this tedious, messy world where I don't understand so much of what goes on. 

And sometimes, a lot of time actually, there are treasures.

Anticipating August

Like many of you, most likely, I am welcoming August this morning with happy delight in some cooler temperatures, at least for the first day or so.

July was not only very hot, but also quite robust for us.  Family time, and with true summer weather that opens us all the summer things to do.  Swimming, beach time, fun trips into Midland, ice cream at Picnic island, huge breakfasts and a lot of food just in general (with the dishes to go with).  

We had chipmunks to feed, and frogs to catch, and snakes to relocate.  We had cribbage to play, and rainy day forts to build (but only on one day which was perfect), and loft Lego and Plus Plus to keep us busy.

We also did a lot of work together in general cottage maintenance, and the 'other' project of reclaiming the property next door.  Good family conversations about it all.  

It was big, and busy, and summer in all it's humid glory.

Now comes a different phase.  Quieter and cooler for the most part.  And I'm ready for that.

Ready to celebrate the birthday of our youngest family member, Timothy, shown here doing his happy-day-at-the-beach dance.

August, however, also comes with not one, but two remembrances of Thai family members whose absence is perhaps more keenly felt as the anniversary of their deaths collide upon the end of the month.  Beloved son Bee, and beloved father Pat.  So there's that.  And the fact that this is the first summer in a long time that I haven't been there for a visit.  So I'm missing them even more than usual.

Overall though, I'm glad for first days of things; of the week, of the month, of a phase of summer.  Like a fresh start full of no end of potential.

So, a prayer that's good for any time, but not a bad way to begin an anticipated month of quieter reflection, and, for other reasons, came to mind today.

"May the words of my mouth, 

and the thoughts of my heart

be pleasing to You,

O LORD, my rock and my redeemer."

Psalm 19:14

Broken and Beautiful

 

"Moses said to the LORD, 'Pardon your servant, Lord.

I have never been eloquent, neither in the past 

nor since you have spoken to your servant.

I am slow of speech and tongue.'

And the LORD said to him,

'Who gave human beings their mouths?

Who makes them deaf or mute?  Is it not I, the LORD?

Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say.'"

Exodus 4:10-12

We're at it again with the scraping and painting.  This time it's a fresh look for the front of the building that is the main structure on the property next door.  This is a new stage in the reclaiming project we've undertaken; a vision that is taking its time to unfold, but has many layers of depth for us.

Not unlike the layers of paint that needs to be scraped down before new paint can be applied.

When we first got here and I started the scraping on the other building, the only tool I could find was this rusted out one with a broken off notch on the one side.  I knew we had newer ones, but there are no end of places they could be; at the other property, in the boat house, in the back shed.  When the mood strikes and the day is good for it, you don't have time for all that searching about.  I grabbed this scraper and went to town.  

We did find the other better, more intact, scrapers, one of them brand new in fact.  But by then I had actually discovered that this broken one had a special feature.  The rusted out piece provided a hook that most definitely helped loosen chunks of old paint from the corners.  This particular scraper, with its imperfections, became my preferred instrument to get the job done.

Then there's Moses.  But back to him in a second.

Like most humans, I suspect, I can get quite frustrated with the bits about me that I consider defective.  I won't list them here, since they're quite obvious to those who know me anyways.  Or, by chance you might not agree and feel the need to correct and encourage me.  Or you might and feel relief that I've finally figured it out and comment that you've been 'praying for a long time that I would come to my senses' (which is actually what someone once said to me in a vulnerable moment, but anyways).  Or you might instead begin with a list of your own deficiencies for yourself and start feeling all down about yourself which is the exactly the opposite of the intention of this post.  And all of that would just distract us.

The thing is, there's enough in the Bible to suggest that a) God's quite intentional, b) He knows what He's doing, and c) we all have good work to do.  And if I put that together with what He said to Moses that day when Moses complained about his own defectiveness, then, I can't help but wonder if most of the time what we perceive as being deficient isn't actually something God considers a bonus.

I admit, the part about Him 'confessing' that He had something to do with folks who are deaf and mute has some troubling ethics.  This of course wouldn't just then be about disabilities related to communication only, which was the topic at hand in the conversation, but about anything we humans tend to regard as less than ideal.  But isn't it curious that our current attempts to speak in ways that do no label folks would have us now refer to such individuals as 'differently abled.'  Which may or may not have been God's point.

What if we could actually embrace ourselves and celebrate all the ways we aren't perfect, and the ways we don't live up to our culture's ideals of beauty or ability or achievement.  What if there were things about us that were both quirky and helpful to the good work God's given us to do?

It's hard to see it sometimes, I know.  And to be honest, I didn't really start to believe this about myself until recently, as in until I was well into my 50s.  So maybe it's something you can own only after you've seen the repeated evidence of God's ability to use you in spite of/because of yourself over a life time.  I don't know.  I wish I could have caught on to this sooner. 

And by the way.  Yay and hooray for my enthusiastic and wonderfully inspiring brothers and sisters in this wide and diverse faith we call Christianity that preach and experience unusual and dramatic signs and wonders, particularly in the realm of physical healing.  Thank you for your life and ministry and for bringing attention to the power of the risen Lord by means of the miraculous.  

And also, there are miracles of a deep and profound nature when people 'afflicted' refuse to be defined or restrained, and move powerfully in their world to affect change and bring about the kingdom of God 'on earth as it is in heaven.'   In my own life and ministry, I seem to have been witness to more of the latter kind of miracle.  And it is a powerful privilege indeed.

While I was meditating on these things, I came across this clip from The Chosen, where Jesus is explaining to James why James won't be healed.  It's quite moving.  Beautifully done.  Maybe it's something to encourage your own heart.

Okay, back to some scraping before this day gets too hot.  Let's see, where is that most useful scraper?

The Devine is in the Details

This Georgian Bay sky will always leave me breathless.  

Awesome. 

Holy. 

Worship.  

It's one of the ways I best connect with God while I'm here.  

The glory of God so right in your face.  

So, so much of it!

Any time of day or night, any kind of weather.

But I admit that sometimes my eye is pulled into those things that are much smaller.

Like an inchworm resting on a finishing nail.  

Or any number of diminutive blossoms.

The details.  The whimsy.  The precision.  The simplicity. 

Inside and outside.  

Surprising and mundane.  

Ordinary and beautiful.

Miniscule miracles.  

And I find God there too.

So there.

Breathless.

Awesome.

Holy.

Worship.

I can understand why

it's often said 'the devil is in the details.'

Especially these days,

when it doesn't take much to overwhelm

my short term memory

and make me forget something really

really important

in a long detailed list of things.

But I also believe

the Divine is in the details too.

That He delights in the small things.

Both in creation,

and even in what's small but important to me.

Even about me.

Jesus said so.

"Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies?

Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.

Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

Don't be afraid;

you are worth more than many sparrows."
Luke 12:6-7

Sometimes we need God to be all big and vast.

Like all the colours of a sunset's silent scream of glory across the sky.

Or maybe roaring

as Aslan

to deliver Narnia in an awesome battle.

But sometimes, 

if you're like me,

 I guess,

you need God to show up in the small spaces.

In the details.

In the mundane.

If you need more convincing,

or if you just need God to be small enough for you right now,

I've included a link to a Christian musician I've been fond of for quite some time now.

Take a listen, if you like.

And glory in the small things.

Small Enough by Nicole Nordeman

 

But Not Destroyed

Mandevilla (Rock Trumpet)

This is no ordinary flower.  In fact, of all the happy discoveries of every blossom I've ever posted, whether found wild along the way or bought at the grocery store garden centre, this new bloom on this particular mandevilla plant has surprised and inspired me most.  

Given all it's been though, I honestly didn't think it would make it.  There's been quite the series of unfortunate events to navigate.  First, it was me that bought it.  That alone should send a chill down the stem of any poor plant who finds itself under my care.  But Sobeys had a sale, and I knew that Rock Trumpets usually do so well on our deck, and we were soon enough heading to the cottage.  So I got two.

Then it had to survive out on my porch in Kitchener for about three weeks.  Again, under my care.  And it did! Both of them did!  Then it had to make the trip, not just in the hot van, but also on the wild and windy boat, to even get here.

Several large blooms and many small buds were flowering already for each plant.  I had high hopes for attracting the humming birds, and watching them fill out the containers in rich pinks and deep greens, as was my happy gift in seasons past.

Seasons Past

But alas, didn't those darn chipmunks decide to snack on the small buds!  I had been back in the city for just four days.  Four days!  As if it was a protest because I wasn't there with peanuts! They'd never done this before, chewed on my flowers.  And I have to say I was, and am, quite annoyed with them for this. They're cute, but...the nerve!

So that's when the plants had to endure yet another set back. 

And here I will reveal my utter incompetence as a gardener.  And I'm tempted to skip this part because I realize how stupid it will make me sound.  But it's important to the story so, here goes.  Laugh at me if you must.  I had a fleeting idea.  That's all it was.  While I was spraying bug repellent on my legs, out on the deck, and because some of it hung in the air and I got a slight taste of the stuff, and because it was rather horrible, and because the plants were right there, all nibbled on, I thought, what if I just gave the chipmunks something icky to have to deal with?  So I gave the plants a quick spray.

Horrifying, I know.  But, honestly, it wasn't very much at all.  Just a misting really.  But by the next day I realized what an awful, sad mistake that was.  Because now the leaves were turning brown.

Oh no!  Between the chipmunks and me!  These poor plants!!!!!

I was feeling so guilty that I couldn't just throw them away.  Besides three small buds, teeny ones, two on the other plant and one on this one, things weren't looking so good.  They were dying.  It sure looked that way.  I had to bring them inside.  More to provide palliative care than anything else.

But then, am I imagining it?  The small buds held on.  It took a while, but they started to look like something could actually happen.  With just a hint of hope, and because the family was arriving and we needed the table space, I moved them back outside again.  

This time, with plenty of peanuts and no end of folks to feed them and entertain them, the chipmunks left the flowers alone.  I was so excited!!!!!

But yet another calamity came the morning the bear visited the deck.

I was here alone.  Of course I was.  When else would a bear decide to show up?

I heard a thunk outside, early, about 5:30 a.m.  And I went out intending to shoo away the racoon who had been on the railing several days before.  Instead, the rump of a juvenile black bear was just heading down the stairs.  No pictures were taken, given I did the right thing and stomped on the floor and banged on the windows to scare him away.  

Here's the thing.  The thunk I'd heard was the bear knocking over the birdhouse we've been filling with peanuts for the chipmunks.  

[Insert here the stern warnings, and very understandable scowly frowns of everyone saying that's what you get when you have peanut shells lying about, and a note to say that we've hosed down the deck and taken a break on the peanuts for a bit.]  

But back to this bloom.

The birdhouse landed right on top of this bud, almost in bloom, and from the looks of it to me, broke off the stem!  Almost anyways.  And honestly, I was not so freaked out about the bear as I was about this last affront to this little bloom who had survived so much thus far, only to be knocked down once again in the end.

Such a sad ending -- or it would have been.

I propped it up, apologizing profusely and saying that I appreciated how much it had tried already, and wasn't it a shame that the bear had come by at all.  And when I propped it up, it kind of stayed up.  No supporting stick or anything.  Just stayed standing up.  So I left it alone, and went back inside because, well, I was still in my pajamas.

Then later that day, I saw it.  And just stopped.  And I am so impressed.

You tenacious, persistent, defiant, beautiful thing you!!!!!

You were purchased by a buffoon of a gardener, flourished in spite of me on my porch at home, survived the ride in the van and the boat, avoided being eaten by the chipmunks, hunkered down and waited it out after I poisoned you with bug spray, and did not let a bear and a broken stem keep you from opening up your beauty to the sky!

And yes this reminds me of something Paul said.

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.  We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair, persecuted but not abandoned, struck-down but not destroyed."  2 Corinthians 4:7-9

It's like the flower said, "So there!"

And without in any way wanting to diminish the horrific events Paul's readers, and some of us, have had to live through, there's something about this defiant delicate bloom that makes me believe I can do it too!  Not in my own strength.  That would be futile.  But in the all-surpassing power that God's grace keeps ridiculously pouring into this jar of clay.

My deck doesn't look as lush has it has in seasons past.  But maybe it tells a better story.  And I don't know who needs to hear about hanging on and letting God hold on to you right now, but maybe, if you do, go get a rock trumpet.  They are feisty!