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!

Rainy Day Ramblings

After an entire string of days with blistering July weather, all of which we enjoyed in all it's summer glory, we are every one of us happy to hunker down into this rainy day cottage vibe.  And even though it's not a steady rain, it's overcast and blowy, and I can already see another dark mass of clouds coming in over the bay.  So we're inside today.  

We've done so many things outside already!  Swimming, kayaking (even out to the Lizard and back), frog catching, reading, fishing, snake hunting (even a rattlesnake which was safely relocated), painting, feeding chipmunks, journaling down on the boat.  

We've been to Picnic Island and to Midland for ice cream and everything else respectively.  

We've seen the sun rise and the sun set and the blue skies and stars in between.  All our towels and swimsuits have been thrown haphazardly over the deck railing.  

All the life jackets and sun hats are everywhere and nowhere, depending on if you're trying to make your way across the deck or need to find them for the next boat adventure.

And it's all happened outside and wild-like.  And lazy,  because it's been so hot.  All the fans are going, and all the freezies are being slurp-crunched down, and not just by the kids.

So now, today, time for bed forts and board games and puzzles and reading out loud to people who can already read but reading out loud makes for such great memories anyways.  Time for s'mores maybe, now that we can finally tolerate the idea of putting on a fire.  Time to just be quiet and silly and inside together.

These family times in this place have come to mean so much to my heart that it is literally not possible to measure their worth.  Memories, bonding, growing up together, telling our stories and writing new chapters.  

Proverbs 17:6 says that "Grandchildren are the crown of the aged, and the glory of children is their parents."  And I feel like I'm living that dream.

We didn't coast here on an easy road.  Our story is deep and painful in some of its wretchedness.  Parenting is impossible to do perfectly, and it's easy to make mistakes that wound and require long patience and slow, meaningful forgiveness.  I, myself, am keenly aware of all there is about me that makes these cozy, safe rainy day realities nothing but a grace upon grace that I don't deserve.  

So there's nothing for it but just to sit and be grateful in it.  In the close way of it.  In the overwhelming love of it.  Holding on to it, but with a loose grip, knowing these moments are fleeting, and don't really, truly belong to me anyways, except for the gift it is from the Giver of every good thing.

All In!

David James

Happy Birthday David!

A bit late, but I can quite easily blame it on all of the 'full house' goings on here at the cottage this week.

Everyone arrived on the 12th, just in time for David's birthday on July 13th.  His actual day of birth being a Friday so, so much for that bad luck thing, because this guy is truly one of the best things ever bestowed upon me.

I love this picture of his two year old 'all in' approach to swimming, because it was how he engaged with the world in his growing up years, and how he does now.  Fully present in every moment, wide with expectations and loving the surprises of curious spontaneity.  

These days we are together reclaiming and redeeming the very same space by the water where he so exuberantly splashed himself in face first, over and over, that summer so long ago.   There's so much story in between then and today, but/and we could not be in a better chapter right now.  It means so much to me that we figured out how to do this.  And that we both waited for it.

I'm glad you could spend you birthday here, David.  It only makes sense.  

I'm so proud of you who are...in spite of me.

And On It Goes (And Comes Off)

There's just so many things that are happy for me about this picture.

I should say first, though, that we are already well past half way through the "no parents" week with Zachary, Harvest, Jayden and Timothy, and it's going so very well.  [We miss Abby, since this is the first year she has a 'real job' and can't join us for family cottage time.  Hence the earlier time with just her.  Like paint, things change, then come around again.  So I'm told, so I've lived.]

But this picture.

As a reminder, because it's even hard for us to keep track of it all, that we have two properties side by side.  Nothing fancy, believe me.  We're prone to referring to our cottage as 'quaint,' or 'rustic,' or perhaps 'vintage.'  And that's the good half.

Still, it's a two for one deal, with one side quite comfortable and livable, and the other in transition between derelict and reclaimed.  The second property is where the bunkie is.  And where Jayden and Timothy are here scraping paint.

First happy thing - The boys are still at the age where helping Gramma with anything is fun!  Bonus!

Next happy thing - They are working with me on the water-facing outer wall of what we call the 'main building' on the second property.  In the process of our reclamation, it's going to be a big encouragement to us all if we can just slap on a badly needed fresh coat of paint. 

 

Next happy thing - Creating memories attached to ownership.  All of us have our own youthful memories of various iterations of the buildings here; when we got indoor plumbing, when the deck was added, when the plank floors were liberated from the linoleum, when we changed the outside paint from green to grey.  It's part of the tradition.  

I didn't arrive until I was 16, but still.  In 52 years a lot of paint comes off and  goes on.  And I guess I'm just hoping to pass in on and on.

The boys with their scrapers did good work, and we made a solid start on this part of the reclamation project.  I thanked them robustly, and suggested that one day they might be there with their grandchildren, telling the story of how they scraped the old paint off with their Gramma.

Overall, they felt good about their contribution.  One suggestion from Timothy though.  "Gramma, next time let's bring our water bottles and we can work longer."  It was hot, yes. But you gotta' love that work ethic!  With all that's to be done, we're going to need it!

On Saturday the parents arrive.  

More fun then.

 

Birthday Girl

Kristyn Ruth

On this happy day we celebrate all you are 

and all God continues to work in your life.

Your arrival on this planet rocked my world.

I have never been the same.

And now, watching you raise your own,

I am all the more grateful 

- if that's even possible -

to have you in my life.

May you find in equal measure,

the joy you bring to so many,

just by being you.

This mother's heart is full.

If they asked me to pick just one....

Mom

 

Zachary's Turn

Taking the chill off a coolish, post-thunderstorm, stiff-breeze kind of morning.

Zachary's here to help with some of the cottage projects. What a conscientious worker, and a great companion for his Grandad...especially those heavier jobs where Gramma just can't hack it any more.

And we were just realizing, this is the first time ever, in his 16 long years, that he's been up here on his own with just Gramma and Grandad! Doing the one-on-one thing is so much fun. He even beat me in Scrabble last night!

This whole grandparenting deal just keeps evolving and morphing and bringing new ways of being wonderful.

With All Due Respect on Canada Day

 According to the confederation of 1867, Canada is 158 years old today.

As I paddle my kayak around the island in the mornings, however, I am very aware of how much older the land actually is.  

It's the rocks, mostly, that remind me.  And also the words of the Land Acknowledgement I will read, as is the custom, at the opening service of Cognashene Community Church, this coming Sunday, (weather and God permitting).  It begins like this.

"We would like to acknowledge and to honour the land and waters that we live on, and our relationship to Indigenous peoples.  We do this because we desire to share a place that is just and equitable, and because we recognize and respect Indigenous peoples' prior and continued claims to the land, and to our share responsibility for caring for the land, water, and our relationships."

I am also reminded of how predated Canada's origins are by the copy of the bill of sale made out to Ken's Grandfather Albert Liborius Breithaupt, all written out in beautiful calligraphy, of the land on which our own cottage sits.  

And this phrase in small print, that you can't really see in the picture, that acknowledge this land was set apart for the use of the (actual words) 'Chippewa Indians of the Huron and Simcoe', and suggest the sale of this property will somehow benefit (actual words) the 'said Indians.'  And I wonder if that was actually true.

I hope so.

As I paddle I imagine others doing the same, but much longer than 158 years ago.  And I feel the need to bring all of this into my Canada Day reflections.  Feeling all Canadian even though I am a descendant of settlers from England.  Feeling humbled by that.  With all due respect.

Feeling a new sense of this, somehow, with the bitter aftertaste of recent remarks from someone calling us the '51st State,' and how violating that is, to even suggest we'd just relinquish our land like that.  

How ironic, I think, as I paddle around an island much older than 158 years.

I am sad and humbled to realize I can't go back and undo the harm.

But I am hopeful, and even defiantly proud to believe I can be part of building a vibrant future together, all of us, those who just got here 158 years ago, and those who've been here all along.

Happy Canada Day to all of us!