A Love-List for Highview on our Anniversary

The Lord has done great things for us

and we are filled with joy.

Psalm 126:3

Twenty eight years ago God did a unique and amazing thing when the community of faith known as Highview Community Church came into being.  

I was there.  

And I will always remember it as a wild beginning, an exhilarating ride, a moment in time that would be indelibly defining.  Banding together with folks who were all-in, passionate about making the astonishingly good news of Jesus accessible to all, especially those who had become disenfranchised by the Church.  Willing to do 'whatever it takes,' making sacrifices, pouring themselves out, ready to make a difference.

The pathway to all of that led us to some surprising destinations, both in terms of what it meant to be that Church on the Roundabout in Kitchener, and also where else on the planet risky faith would send us.  As others joined us on the journey, we pursued visions and set strategies and were all intentional about it.  And we also stopped and listened and hoisted our sails expectantly when the wind of the Spirit pushed us in completely different directions.  It was sometimes hard to let go of some of what we imagined we might be, and step instead into who God was shaping us to be, but we were tenacious in love and worship, and kept adjusting and morphing until it became very much part of who we are to just keep growing with creativity and grace.

Somewhere along the way, and for a decent period of time, I found myself serving as the pastor of this beautiful community God was fashioning.  It wasn't my original intention at all, but, simply I think because I kept saying yes to the next thing God asked me to do, I looked up one day and that's what I was doing.  And Highview, it is no stretch of exaggeration when I say that walking with you in that capacity has been one of the single more amazing gifts of my life.  

And so today, as we mark 28 years of this journey together, Highview, I just want to list all the reasons I love you so much.

• For your genuine, organic care for one another that is evident in oh so many practical, obvious ways.
• For taking the risk that it was at the time to embrace a female senior pastor.
• For the incredible, faithful generosity that has allowed us a long-haul love for widows and orphans in places far away from where we're planted, but close to the heart of God.
• For always seeking ways to engage our immediate neighbourhood, with gardens and concerts, garage sales, and even bus parking!
• For sharing our building with other faith groups, even when that means working through logistics.
• For showing up on clean up day!
• For being respectful to our Canadian geese couple who take over the bottom entrance every spring!  That may seem silly to say so, but that kind of gentleness for God's creatures speaks volumes.
• For finding creative, sustainable ways to nurture our children and youth.
• For being "Small But Mighty" in so many authentic, impactful ways.
• For always doing the very best we can with what we've got.
• For allowing me to remain among you when my role changed.
• For embracing the imperfect in each other, and being a safe place to be real.
• For loving me and my family through some of the worst of the worst life has thrown at us, and for how I see you doing that all the time for anyone who needs it.
• For being such a hugging church!
• For the great food you bring to potlucks!
• For upholding and respecting biblically responsible preaching.
• For being so generationally integrated.
• For vibrant, God-oriented worship.

• 

And honestly I could go on, but I'll leave it at that for now.

I love you Highview, truly, with all my heart.

Looking forward to celebrating together on Sunday!!!

Long-Lingering Kindness

 "White coral bells, upon a slender stalk,

Lilies of the Valley line my garden walk.

Oh don't you wish that you could hear them ring?

That can happen only when the fairies sing."

We are standing on the porch holding hands, my first friend Kathi and I, ringing the doorbell and hoping for tea time with Mrs. Atcheson.  It was a different time back then, in that we were quite young, likely 4 or 5, and on our own.  I don't remember this being an invitation or even set up by our parents, but rather, I think we just showed up on the whim of two little girls who were pretty sure this would be a good way to spend part of an afternoon.  We'd done this before.

An older woman greets us, all smiles and happy surprise and the door is opened and we are shown to the table.  Plain biscuits are quickly and easily brought out of the cupboard - were they Arrowroot or shortbread, I'm not sure - and 'tea' is served (which is really apple juice in tea cups).  We chat about our day, and she asks us questions about what we've been up to.  And we are listening in fascination to her gentle Scottish burr, and drawn in by her sincere interest.

Mrs. Atcheson could play the piano really well.  So after tea, we're taken into the front room, all warm and decorated in rich, dark colours, a little like a Victorian era parlour, quiet and comforting.  We are given our positions on each side of the piano bench.  A flourishing intro, and we sing together the song about coral bells and fairies.  She plays it beautifully, and tells us both we have lovely singing voices.  I can't remember if we ever accomplished it as a round, but we might have.  We might have sung other songs at other times too, but this is the one I remember.

This would be one of those songs that I learned the lyrics to before I understood them.  Honestly, I don't think it was until much, much later when I actually put the tiny white flower together with the song.  As in 'Oh!  These are the white coral bells!"  I only remember that at the time I really, really wished I could hear the fairies singing and the little bells ringing, and listened for it for a long, long time.  And Mrs. Atcheson's genuine kindness.  I remember that.

There is so much kindness in this memory for me.  And reminiscing with my still-friend (who now goes by Kate and isn't it kind of incredible that we're still in touch more than six decades later, thank you Facebook) it's the same for her.  She remembers too.  And I have to wonder at the power of kindness to make a memory go so deep and indelible.  And the feelings of it; of being seen and delighted in and invited into life.

I have no idea what other important things Mrs. Atcheson had to do on any of the days we came to visit.  If you had asked me, I would have told you that Kathi and I, and our little visit for tea and biscuits and singing a song, was the singular most important thing for her in that moment.  Because likely it was.

And here I am, all these many, many years later, happily discovering Lilies of the Valley in our new yard at the back, hearing the song in my head (or is it the fairies?), and remembering Mrs. Atcheson, and feeling important.  And quiet inside.  Yes,  Quiet.  (pause to clarify) I'll call if safe.

Friends, we have this.  We have the same power to make things better and it's really so easy.  In a world of complicated politics, and taking sides, and anxious economics, don't we all need to know we're safe and important right now?  We might not have much we can do about all the big things, but we can do this.  

Kindness is no small thing.  It can make a difference that could linger for a long, long time.

Thank you Mrs. Atcheson.  I think I can hear those coral bells ringing now.

In the Middle of the Mess

I'm fairly certain that this is the pair of robins who have nested under our eves by the side door.  One is looking for worms under the wood platform, and the other is perched above, maybe keeping watch.  Is it odd that I am finding so much joy in the idea that these expectant parents feel safe in the little space I've arranged by the fence?

The other thing I notice is the yellow flowers -- buttercups I believe -- also finding a place to be nurtured back here.  There's more, growing up along the kitchen window side as well, all bright and serendipitous.

If I pan out a bit, here's another little discovery.

The bush generously hanging over the fence of the neighbour's yard and covering my small rock garden is a honeysuckle.  A fully grown, abundantly flowering honeysuckle.  

And the reason that's important is that I left a brand new, teeny attempt of a honeysuckle back at the other house; something I'd planted on purpose about three years ago, knowing it would be a long time before it flowered well.  And, in that small and silly way we miss these sort of things, I was missing it.  Until, here I am, without any effort of my own, enjoying the work of someone else who has nurtured this for obviously a long time.  Just there, hanging over my little back space.

And under the honeysuckle are lilies of the valley.  (I LOVE lilies of the valley because of Mrs, Atcheson...but that's another story.)

And this same kind of 'coincidental' beauty is sort of happening all around me, even in the midst of the bigger mess that is our yard awaiting its redemption.

Construction, while constructive can also wreck havoc.  We've got some work to do for sure.  And there are plans.  There are plans.

But in the meantime...

...what sweet and unexpected gifts are given.  Without my doing.  

Barely without my knowing.  

Did I mention how much I also love lilacs?  So that's buttercups, honeysuckle, lilacs, bleeding hearts, and lily of the valley.  And forest friends.  And sunrises.

Did you ever notice how the whole big story starts in a garden and ends in a city with an extraordinary garden?  Genesis to Revelation, check it out.  In the middle it's a big mess.  Redemption is coming.  And meanwhile, all this.  Sweet joys, safe spaces, unexpected gifts.  

It's wonderful to begin Monday with some sunshine and some renewed health and strength.  Last week of May.  How did that happen?  Still working 'carefully,' but there's a lot of fun stuff on the list, so I'll have to watch myself.  

Happy Monday all.  

Hope you discover your little gifts along the way.

Be The Rabbit (Or the Turtle Or Whoever You Need to Be on a Given Day)

The morning walk companion 

who posed so nicely

to help illustrate my fable.

What follows probably needs an explanation.  It is my attempt to rewrite and rewire a well-known fable first penned by a skilled sixth century storyteller named Aesop, and told to me often as a little girl.  I do this, not because I disagree with Aesop's original moral to the story, that being "Slow and steady wins the race."  But instead because somehow, somewhere my own wires got crossed and now it seems prudent, perhaps even healing, to write a different story for myself.  

Rabbit was not feeling all that great that morning.  He hadn't slept well, had too much to do, and had been running hard for the past several weeks already.  Even the invigorating morning routines that normally set him up for a good day of bounding, weren't.  He was twitchy and irritable.  Even feeling a little hard done by, if he was honest.  Being all muscular and fast was all fine and good, but he was getting tired of all the expectations.  But since he was expected to show up, he did.  He was The Rabbit, after all.

He arrived to the race resigned to do his part, faking a smile and going through all the usual warm up motions, only half listening to the instructions this time.  Turtle was his normal dejected self, scuffing in the dirt a little, barely looking up.  He was like this every morning.  He was The Turtle after all.

"Okay, you guys know how this goes," said Coach Calvin.  "We've set up an impossible situation with only one possible outcome.  Rabbit, you win.  Turtle, you lose.  That's just the way it is, because that's just the way you are, and that's just the way we've done this time and time again.  Our mission is to normalize the ridiculous acceptance of obvious differences, and to do so in a way that ingrains the psychological programs called "overachiever" and "learned helplessness."  Ready?

Turtle sighed, like he always did.  But this time so did Rabbit.  It caught them both off guard, and they glanced at each other, and made uncomfortable eye contact briefly before quickly looking away.  

Coach Calvin raised the starter pistol.  Each of them took position at the starting line.  "Ready!  Set!" And BANG! went the pistol.  Rabbit shot off.  Turtle plodded in his dust.

Later, Rabbit wouldn't be able to tell where exactly he was on the course when it happened.  He'd been launching forward in strong, intentional bounds, feeling the familiar adrenaline, and the usually-invigorating wind in his hair.  But somewhere, around a familiar bend, he noticed the dandelions.  

It's not like they were new.  They were always there, off into the meadow away from the well-worn path.  But this day, this twitchy and irritable day, he stopped.  Stopped running.  Stopped racing.  And he did something he'd never done in the middle of the race, ever.  He sat down.  He sat down and sampled the dandelions.  And they were so wildly refreshing, he had some more.  And then he actually laid down.  And then he actually felt so good NOT racing, with the sun on his face and the sweet scents of the forest lingering all over him, he fell asleep.

A good twenty minutes later, pulling along the course, Turtle found him.  He was so shocked to see Rabbit, all quiet and resting and still, that he didn't recognize him at first.  Then he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.  Then, remembering their mission, Turtle poked Rabbit awake.  

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I think I'm resting," Rabbit replied, sitting up.  "I've never really done it before, but I've heard about it.  And, yes, I think that's what this is."

There was an pause.  It wasn't awkward this time, but neither of them said anything for a moment, just feeling the strangeness of the situation.  Then Turtle lifted his head a little.

"What should we do?"

Rabbit paused, glancing deeper into the woods.  "Well, personally, I think I need to take the day off."  A short pause.  "Why don't you go on ahead?  I'll check in at the Finish Line before the end of shift."

"But."  Turtle was genuinely confused.  "But then I'll win the race."

Rabbit got all the way up now, brushing himself off.  "That you will, my friend.  And I'm perfectly okay with that."

Turtle smiled, catching on.  "They'll have to rewrite the story," he said.  

"Let them," Rabbit replied, giving Turtle a playful thump on his shell.  "I'm sure they will come up with a new mission statement easily enough.  You just keep on going, slow and steady, and you can win the race."

"Thanks!"  And Turtle started down the path again with a renewed sense of purpose.  But he stopped for a second and turned his head back.  "As long as the story is never told as if you just got lazy."

Rabbit laughed.  "Maybe someone will spin it that way," he shrugged.  "But more probably, I might be remembered for being too proud to think I needed time off.  Today I want to change that."

And that's exactly what they did.  Turtle went on to win the race, much to the surprise of Coach Calvin.  And Rabbit thoroughly enjoyed his day off, eating dandelions and taking naps and regaining his sense of self beyond what he was good at.  

And now when they tell the story, two morals come to mind:

"Slow and steady wins the race."

And.

"Every bunny needs a day off once in a while."

With a nod to RH for the inspiration.

Seen in the Rain

 Let us acknowledge the LORD:

Let us press on to acknowledge Him.

As surely as the sun rises,

He will appear;

He will come to us like the winter rains,

like the Spring rains that water the earth.

Hosea 6:3

This latest string of rainy days doesn't really surprise us.  It's Spring in southwestern Ontario, after all.  Some rain, although more usually associated with April, is still very much expected in May.  Expected.  As in, it kind of wouldn't be Spring without some rain.

I didn't go out for my walk this morning.  Some of you are far more disciplined and would have put on the rain gear and gone out there anyways.  But this morning I'm feeling all the rainy day vibes of staying indoors and just going slow.  Could also have something to do with the improving-but-still-there side effects of the medication I'm on, due to the improving-but-still-there, easy-does-it GI issues I'm recovering from (quite nicely according to my doctor).  

But mostly I think it's this another-rainy-day thing that's giving me this gradual ramp up to my day. Not sure if I like it or not.  On one hand, I have to have realistic expectations of myself right now.  On the other, it feels like I just wasted those solid early morning hours when I am usually so productive.

 And in that not-yet-ready-for-work-so-avoiding-getting-started-and-a-little-frustrated mood, I was randomly looking up Biblical references for rain, and reminded of this part of Hosea's prophecy.  And this time reading it, I was intrigued by the word 'acknowledge.'

In Hebrew it's 'yada'  [And for the linguistic nerds among us, I'll include the Hebrew spelling יודע].  This is both a common and broadly defined word in the Old Testament, AND an important idea for Hosea.  

Without getting too deep into it,  I will just say here that it means in part "to know deeply, intimately."  Or maybe "to understand completely."  To add a science fiction nerdiness to this, compare it to the Na'vi greeting "I see you," as depicted in the James Cameron film Avatar.

If you're still with me at this point, what struck me in this morning's reading was the repetition-plus-intensifier of the idea to "acknowledge," then "press on to acknowledge" God.  Hosea's audience had begun to take Him for granted, perhaps even forget about Him entirely, perhaps even - and this was the scandal of the prophet's own life - betray Him outright.

God's faithfulness is not in question.  Just like we can expect Spring rains, He always shows up.  

And I wonder if two things might reveal a lack of "deeply knowing" this. 

Worry.

And/or...

Living as if it all depends on me.

So slow start to the day notwithstanding, and with this important reorientation in place, I'll get to my work now.  I think.  I hope.  And either way, God shows up.  I am seen.  The rain reminds me. 

Icing on the Cake

I am on my own for the entire day, and that's quite okay.  

Ken has left early to lead a paint-crew at the church, finishing off a big part of the kitchen reno on this cool and rainy holiday Monday.  I stayed home, out of respect for the 'rest' part of the advice of my doctor regarding my recent introduction to the world of the kind of GI issues that heal quickly if you do as you're told, and get nasty if you don't.  Since I'm on a positive path so far, I thought I'd be smart and actually take the day off and be quiet.

And then, just now, sitting quietly in the house as I am, I realize this is a rare thing these days. to be completely alone for a whole day.  And then I realize how much I'm looking forward to it!  It's been a really great weekend so far.  This is just icing on the cake!

Both Ken and I work from home now; have been since COVID.  We get along fine most of the time, and find we can give each other enough work space during any given week, even in our 'smaller' space. Even if one of us is out of the house, there's lots that happens for me in the course of my work that has me meeting up with people, in groups or individually.  It's really quite rare for me to have this many hours in a row on my own.   

So I'm curious to see how this day will unfold.  Open to whatever this quiet space might bring me. 

And.

I realize I am writing from a very different space than some.  For some, being alone all day is the norm, and a bit of company would bring the needed refreshment.  For others, especially families with younger children, or caregivers in other demanding circumstances, the idea of even an hour alone seems desperately out of reach.  So I want to acknowledge you.  I've been there.  Different seasons of life, different responsibilities, different life choices, beget different realities.  Life is not, it seems, evenly spread.

Sometimes I wish I had a way of smoothing out the 'too much' times into the 'not enough' times; like a giant spatula leveling icing on a cake.  Spread things around a bit.  Make each bite of life more consistent.  It wouldn't make the bitter times any sweeter, but it might make it easier to swallow.

But since life isn't like that, and since I trust there are good reasons, I wonder if the thing is to just embrace what's before us, resist the urge to control the things out of our control, do our best with any given day, and rest in the spaces we are given.

I'm hoping to get a walk in later, since moderate exercise is good for what ails me.  But I'll wait until the sun comes out, which seems more likely this afternoon.

Happy Holiday Monday friends.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

 

"I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, 

but God has been making it grow. 

So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything,

 but only God, 

who makes things grow.  

The one who plants and the one who waters have one purpose, 

and they will each be rewarded according to their own labour. 

For we are co-workers in God's service, 

you are God's field, God's building." 

1 Corinthians 3:6-8

I'm all about the garden again today.  Which is interesting since I don't really have one.  And I don't even really call myself a gardener, not at all.  Except something is gradually starting to take shape in a few little spaces around the house, and so I guess that counts for something.

Remember, this is our first spring/summer season on this property.  Plus, the construction itself fairly decimated whatever else was in the backyard.  Mostly we're dealing with a bare sandy base on which various organic and inorganic 'stuff' is piled, a lot of it sorted, but not entirely.

Before

That's a bigger job, best left for the landscapers we've connected with who listened to our ideas and drawn out a map that will guide us over the next few years.  First stage work is happening soon, and I can hardly wait.

Meanwhile, I'm just putzing around on our front porch.  And also just this one section of the back fence that I see out my bedroom window.  That's the 'before' picture above.

With the huge help of some flowers I received for Mother's Day, and a bit more added under the creative guidance of my art-inclined, colour-and-placement-wise granddaughter Abby, something is actually happening back here.

After

The non-flowering pieces are an eclectic gathering of what was already lying around in one of the various piles mentioned earlier, and garden accents from the other house.  It still needs a birdhouse or two, I think.  And likely something written, maybe the English and Thai words for Garden, a suggestion I'm seriously considering, especially since in Thai the words for "garden" and "heaven" are so similar.

But what I'm also thoroughly delighted by, in my "I'm not a gardener" garden, is the other spring offerings that are coming up in spite of themselves.  Or rather, in spite of me.

They're everywhere, valiantly rising up out of the construction carnage, doing their thing whether anyone sees them or not.  And I so admire them for that.

 

And here's the thing.  I am all about intentionality and taking agency and being responsible for my own growth.  Especially spiritual formation.  That's really important to me.  But I am also keenly aware, and my not-really-a-garden=yet reminds me, that regardless of what I do or don't do, I'm not the one making it happen.

Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthian church, made sure to give a fellow-teacher all the credit deserved.  He recognized his own part in the formation of the folks there (and elsewhere he served as a spiritual leader).  But there was no question Who was in charge.  

And it only makes sense.  Because what needs to be formed in me is not humanly possible to accomplish.  What still wrestles in the deeper places of self and ego is beyond my agency to deliver me from.  It needs the Divine components of grace and redemption and love-like-no-other.  It needs the touch of God, and His longsuffering patience with me, His power working in me.

Looks like we have a beauty day ahead of us.  Maybe a few more storms over the weekend.  I am so looking forward to doing some more putzing outside.  If I find any more little surprises in any little shady, hidden spaces, I'll take some pictures, don't worry.

Happy growing, whatever you're working on!!

And Happy Long Weekend!!  

Morning Mercies

 

There's a part along my walking route where I'm on top of a small hill.  This morning I turned around to this.  And while I much prefer a more natural setting from which to view the dawn of day, it seems to me that even cityscapes with large metal towers can't help but be brought into the glory of a sunrise.

That's two in a row now.  Morning walks that is.  In a 'before the move' season, a sunrise walk was a given once the weather was warm enough and the timing was good.  Usually that would have started way before now, but...here I am well into May and only out twice for a first in the morning go at it.

I gotta' say, being greeted by all the morning glory, and whatever shy company peeks out from the brush, is very motivating.  And something of a needed reminder.

It's quite a well-used trail during the day; back and forth to school, lots of bikes, a nicer way to get to the many businesses along Highland just before it meets up with Westmount.  In the mornings, however, it's just me and my forest friends.

I'm glad for the extra motivation to start my day this way.  More importantly, I needed the reminder of the holy hush embedded in the early hours.  There's something about the sky - at any time and in any state - that reminds you that you're not in charge.  That productivity is good but not God.  That lists might help organize your life but they are not Lord over it.  That I have so little to prove, and so much to be.

Forgetting these things over the past several weeks has left me tired in ways familiar and worrisome.  My body is suggesting to me, in various and obvious ways, that I may have asked too much of it lately, given a 'complicated' root canal was included amongst the other 'extras' on the calendar.  I don't think I took this into enough consideration, at least not enough to make adequate adjustment.  

As a result, it's not just my body that's tired.  My spirit struggles to keep up with unrealistic expectations.  My mind looks for a place to sit down and rest.  I'm just not the me I want to be. 

So yesterday, and today, I'm taking it easy.  Which isn't so "easy" for some of us.  But needful and good, and another way of honouring the humanity God has so lavishly gifted.

I don't know why, exactly, I keep needing these review lessons on my way to 'being formed into the likeness of Christ for the sake of others' (M. Robert Mulholland's definition of spiritual formation, and I like it a lot).  You'd think by now I would get this work/rest balance bit right.  But sometimes it sneaks up on me.   And that's when I am ever so glad for grace.  

And new mercies every morning.

My Spring Not Garden

Our yard is a mess so I gather some green and some colour for strategic placement --  

Outside on the porch, inside by the window, or here on social media -- 

to 'pretend' like it's spring.

I should say that out front there are pockets of pretty.

But mostly we have sandy dirt and piles of construction mess still.  

And, yes, in truth, this is all part of the goodness of this beginning.

It's coming.  

And we have plans.  

And some of the work has already begun.  

Like digging out old fence posts.  

That's a brute!  

Good thing we have extra hands and strong backs close by!

And that in itself cheers my heart the same as any spring garden.  

Because it truly is a gift to a Gramma's heart 

when she sees her family mucking about together.

 

It's Enough

"The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;

surely I have a delightful inheritance."

Psalm 16:6

Woke up longing for a Cognashene sunrise.  

Plans are underway for opening weekend.  

So I tell my heart, "Soon enough.  Hang on."

Still, I'm left with the longing, and in spite of the work ahead of me today, I find the need to sit in in for a while before I begin.  

Psalm 16 is a go to meditation for me, in these in-between moody moments.  In reciting it again, I land on verse 6 and this bit about the portions of the Promised Land allotted to each family.  Interesting, this idea of boundaries being "pleasant."  We often think in terms of restrictions, and not letting anyone hold us back from our freedoms.  And there is that.

But these words also describe the deep contentment of having 'enough.'  There is a lack of neediness; a lack of restlessness; a delight in knowing I am well taken care of.  

I sit for a moment in that gentle reality, like brilliance splashed on glassy waters quietly.

Breathing in.  Breathing out.

And yes, now I can bring a more grateful spirit to the day ahead, and all it might delightfully require of me.

 

Evelyn's Magnolia

Evelyn's magnolia was so much more in bloom this year.  May 3rd is early in the season, but I think this spring has had enough days with sunshine and higher temps to coax more colour from the small tree planted in Parkview Cemetery in Waterloo.

We were gifted this tree in memory of our little girl, with us so briefly in 2019.  She would have been six years old.  

Six is so much fun.

We gather here each year on her birthday, to light a candle and take some pictures and stand still in the reality that she's not here with us but we can't forget her.  

And we can't and don't even try to make any sense of it all.  We don't pretend we're okay now, because it won't ever be okay.  We don't pretend we understand because we don't.  We don't say anything trite or comforting, because that's not what this annual gathering around the magnolia is about.

The little boys blow bubbles.  That's part of our ritual.  And that's the part that brings the balanced reminder that life is fragile but good.  That our story isn't over.

One song says:  "We will dance on streets that are golden, the glorious Bride (that's us) and the great Son of Man (that Jesus)." [David Ruis] And I believe with all my heart that Evelyn is dancing now.  And that one day she will reach out her hand and say, "Come on Gramma.  Dance with me."

But that's not this day.  On this day, we leave the magnolia and go back for birthday cake.  And tell funny stories about how hard it can be to blow up balloons, and who's going to Zachary's band concert this week, and that Gramma will come to put the little boys to bed that night, and we play a game with Timothy's Bluey cards, and talk about our plans for the cottage this summer.  

Because life keeps unfolding in meaningful, hopeful, careful, joyful and tentative ways before us.  Ways we walk gingerly, knowing what we know, and trusting Who we trust.

And before we leave we make sure to hug everyone we have.

 

Root Canal Ruminations

 

Grateful for this valiant burst of colour outside my front door at sunrise before the clouds set in. Some cheer to begin this day as I anticipate part 2 of the first of two root canal procedures later this afternoon. Oh the joys.

Still, I found myself listing the glad things as I got ready for the day.

For yesterday's walk in the sunshine.
For a good night's sleep.

For today's sunrise.
For a clear morning ahead to finish up what's left of the list.
For vanilla candles to keep me company while I do that.
For a productive week thus far (in case recovery steals Friday).
For the fact that skilled dental care is available to me.
For learning how to make Cao Tom (savoury rice porridge) last time I was in Thailand (thanks Yupa Chaing Mai) because it's easy and delicious and fits the 'soft foods' recommendation.
For the *finally!* planned lunch with a good friend, before the root canal, to help distract me.
For the opportunity this afternoon to lay back, be tended to, and spend some time praying, something I've found helpful and calming to do while undergoing unpleasant medical procedures. I mean, why not? And it can't hurt to be praying for your dentist while he's working on you, right?

So however your day is panning out, hope it brings unexpected joys, opportunities to pray, and something warm and delicious to eat.