Little Flowers, Weird Hymn Lyrics, and Prayers Where I Brace Myself

 

1. 

   Scilla Luciliae

   Glory of the Snow

   
   

   Before we get to things, there's something you need to know about these small purple flowers that are popping up behind our house.  The gizmo ap thingy I have on my phone tells me they are called Scilla Luciliae, or "Glory of the Snow."

   
   

   Whatever they're called, they shouldn't be there.  Or at least, as far as it would have depended on me.  These are plants that have a more or less wild and unintentional beginning in the yard far before anyone in our family has lived there.  

   
   
2. It could very well be that the previous owners of the property planted them on purpose.  But it's more likely, judging from the mature yard just behind us, that they have migrated towards us on their own.  
3. 
   
4. Also, and this is significant, they have survived the construction project that resulted in our new little house being all cozy and quaint back here.  But before it was that, it was a mess. Yet all the tromping and digging and upheaval; none of it has deterred this small but feisty little lovely.  
5. 
   
6. And I, the non-gardener, marvel because I know that I do not deserve it.  I have done nothing to create this little bit of springtime joy, but here it is just the same.  
7. 
   
8. This needs to be said, before we get to the hymn.
9. 
   

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,

Sung by flaming tongues above;

Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,

Mount of Thy redeeming love.

1. 
   
2. by Robert Roberston
3. In the category of "why didn't I ever notice this before?" a phrase in an old hymn we sang at worship service on Sunday caught my attention.
4. "Tune my heart to sing Thy grace."
5. I guess I'd always thought it was 'sing Thy praise,' which not only rhymes a little, adding to my mistake, but would also be a more expected way to end that thought, I think.  We sing praises, sure. More than we sing grace, right?
6. But noticing it on Sunday, it got me to wondering what it actually meant to 'sing grace.'  Not just sing about grace, but to sing grace itself.
7. Grace is a pretty big deal in the Bible.  And this hymn will keep circling back to it.  A thorough study would certainly yield much, not the least of which is the role of grace in God's big story of reconciling us to Himself.  And speaking of old hymns, how amazing grace is, in all its astonishing, soteriological layers!  For now, and at the risk of oversimplifying it, let's just define grace as being bestowed gifts or blessings or favour we most certainly didn't earn or deserve.  Like my little purple flowers out back.
8. And if that's the case, to sing grace, in a poetic sense, sort of sounds to me like we might spread that around a bit.  Share it into the spaces around us.  Just as we have received grace from God, we now pass that along to those in our orbits.  Like little splashes of springtime joy migrating from one yard to another.
9. Interestingly, the first examples of 'singing grace' that come to mind have to do with simple interactions with strangers.  Allowing space for that car that "didn't see" the lane closed sign way back there and is now trying to nose in.  Being extra friendly and patient with the cashier who's obviously tired and just a little bit grumpy.  Staying pleasant with the customer service associate on the phone, even when you're calling in a legitimate complaint.  Those are the easy songs though.  I can do, and write about, these and feel quite full of grace in my own little heart.  (Or full of something, anyways.)
10. The tune can get a little off key when things are closer to home, it seems.   Like when someone doesn't respond to an email and I am tempted to assign not so nice motives.  Or the repetition of a small but annoying habit begins to wear a groove in my patience. Or a well stated boundary is overstepped, yet again.  All of these things require relational attention for sure.  But with what song? 
11. [And here is interject a nod to the big and awful things that happen that require the kind of grace that can only happen because there is a God.  But this is not about that.]
12. Then there's the part about 'tuning.'   I'm not assuming to know the meaning Robertson gave this phrase, but I like this image a lot.  It speaks of spiritual formation, I think; that process of listening and adjusting and listening again.  
13. If my heart was an instrument to be used of God in His grand mission of making things 'on earth as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:10),' of moving us ever closer to a state in which His will is perpetually carried out and all the tears are wiped away (Revelation 21:4) and no one is afraid (Micah 4:6), and oh how glorious it will all be by then!!!....If that's what my heart is being tuned for, then it would sing of grace.
14. Out in the backyard yesterday, when I discovered my little glory of snow, I felt the Spirit make all the connections.  The little blue flower that I didn't deserve.  The grumblings of my spirit when wronged (perceived or real).  The way my heart is still off key and needs Divine tuning to help me sing His grace when it really counts.  
15. I hum the hymn.  I pray the prayer.
16. "Tune my heart, Lord, to sing Thy grace."
17. It's one of those dangerous prayers, of course, so I best brace myself.
18. 
    

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!!  

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

 

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

It's not.

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

And today we took out the trash.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Also, in unrelated news....

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

Yay for early morning paddles with ginger snap cookies!

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

Beautiful, Dangerous Prayers

"Search me, God, and know my heart;

test me and know my anxious thoughts.

See if there is any offensive way in me,

and lead me in the way everlasting."

Psalm 139:23-24

We're at that stage of preparing our house for showings. We've already had the Stager go through to help us see our home with a 'buyer's eye.' She worked with us to make a list of everything that might be done to bring the place up to snuff.

No dates are set quite yet, and that's okay. Because while we feel the Stager's list was quite doable, and we're fairly on track, it was a long list and, well, we've needed the time.

I'll admit it's hard on the psyche when you work hard to clear out a lot of unnecessary things and start to feel good about the extra space, and then you start on some of the projects, like painting, that just disrupt it all with a big fat mess.

It occurs me to me, as I step carefully over paint cans and drop sheets, that the pursuit of a maturing faith can be the same.

Just like the gracious and professional Stager could see things we were blind to simply because we'd become accustomed to it, my soul needs a similar kind of deeper scrutiny. And if I want to keep moving forward in this journey towards Christ-likeness, I need to do far more than make things look pretty.

In fact, I have to have the courage to pray the more dangerous prayers. And then I have to be ready to do the work, despite the mess that ensues.

I don't have to go very far into things to find what needs my attention. Let's just do a simple listing of the 'fruit of the Spirit', that list of virtues Paul lays out as evidence of a maturing faith in Galatians 5:22-23.

Love, joy, peace, patience -- oops, we have to stop there.

Recently when I invited the Spirit to 'search me,' this thing about patience came up. Uh oh. I had thought of myself as a patient person. But then I began to notice how I responded when technology didn't work the way I expected it to. Or when all the wires on my desk would get so tangled. Or actually when anything that I think is going to require a matter of seconds, ends up slowing me down in a complicated, annoying kind of way.

Like I said. Uh oh.

That's just one example, just one paint can I have had to step over a few times of late.

A brief balancer caveat is needed here, because some of us more introspective types can overdo this for sure. No need to sit in self-analysis paralysis desperately searching for something wretched inside of us. God is faithful. If we are praying the dangerous prayers, He will bring something to our attention when we are ready and if it's the right time.

But in the right state of expectancy, a beautiful, dangerous prayer can be offered. In fact, it's necessary. That is, if we are intent on working with the Spirit in this process of spiritual formation.

And of course, the results can be so beautiful.
Like a fresh coat of paint....once all the furniture is put back in place.

Back to the move. Folks are asking so I'll just restate that we are NOT moving out of KW. The plan is to build a smaller dwelling that will be on shared property with our son David. This has been in the works for two years already, but is only requiring the concrete (pun intended) steps now.

More on that later. since I'm sure there are oh so many things to write about as we go through this stage of life transition.

Have a wonderful Wednesday everyone.
Take care for the big swing in the weather.
Personally, I'm enjoying the fact that usually on Wednesdays I'm out and about going all sorts of places.
But today....I get to stay in.
Maybe I'll even get to painting the trim.

Right-Sizing

Ken and I took in the Boat Show in Toronto on Monday afternoon.

We were there primarily to purchase a promised Christmas gift; a large and sturdy inflatable to drag behind the boat and fling screaming grandchildren around on the water for an afternoon.

We were able to find one at a reasonably discounted price. So after that we mostly just walked around and looked at boats of all sizes, and everything else that goes with boating.

Apparently fudge goes with boating. A LOT of fudge. But never mind.

Stationed around the very, very large halls of the Enercare Centre at Exhibition Place, were these oversized Muskoka chairs in various colours. For fun, I had Ken take my picture.

We would have tried to get a shot of both of us, but there weren't that many folks around at the time we were there. And also we were failing miserably at getting selfies with the two of us. I'm not posting any of those shots. You're welcome.

But, hey, this one's not too bad. And then, with the size all out of proportion and it looking all silly like it does, I realize that's how I'm tempted to feel about a whole lot of things in life.

Things get out of proportion.

Perhaps a pathway to better mental health and spiritual wellness could be framed as a practice of right-sizing.

Right-sizing my problems with the faithfulness of the Father
Right-sizing my ego with the humility of Christ.
Right-sizing my responsibilities with the leading of the Spirit.

It's Wednesday. For me that typically means a string of meetings that will take me out of the house. It's a good rhythm for the week, actually. I LOVE working from home, and especially so in the winter. And enough meetings happen either here or over Zoom, to be sure. But it's also good to be up and out seeing folks face to face, nicely spaced in the middle of the week. It's a good fit.

Hope your day fits you well.
I will say, it's apparently a bit foggy and slippery out there, so if you do have to go anywhere, take care.

By the way. I did NOT buy any fudge, which, if you know me, is quite an accomplishment.

Observing the Sun-Fast

 

Yesterday afternoon, working contently at my computer, I happened to glance over my right shoulder and out the window.

Gasp! What was all that bright goodness out there????

Sunshine!!!! Yes!!!!

I don't even think I finished the sentence I was writing. Like a wild thing, I scrambled to layer on the clothes and get myself out there before it disappeared.

I was not disappointed. Yes! I so need this!
These days I find every cell of my body,
every neuron in my brain,
every bit of cold O2 sucked into my lungs,
even my very soul,
is hungry, hungry, hungry for the sun.

Longings are good things I think.
They help us be grateful.
Guard against taking anything at all for granted.
Keep us humble.
Help us prioritize our lives.
Remind us of what's most important.
Remind us that we are not in charge.

And while a true fast is usually something we choose for ourselves, I've been trying to interact with these long dark days in a similar way. A sun-fast, if you will. Not on purpose, but with just as much to offer in terms of spiritual perspective and the opportunity to be formed more and more into the image of the Jesus I claim to follow.

On Sunday at Highview we sang:
I need You, Oh I need You.
Every hour I need You.
My one defense, my righteousness
O Lord how I need You."

Yes. Like I need the sunshine after days without.
Desperate.

"As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, my God."
Psalm 42:1

Desperate longings.

May I never fall into complacency, Lord!
I need You.

Wishing you vibrancy, and longing, and deeper things this Tuesday.

Not Without You

 

"I rejoiced in the people who said to me,
'We are going to Yahweh's house."
Psalm 122:1 (Goldingay)

That whole thing about being an extravert or an introvert was so liberating when it was first explained to me. Okay! Yes! This is why I so badly crave those times of silence and solitude! This is why being on my own is so restorative!

It's why I post so many pictures of sunrises, and flat water, and teeny flowers close up. These are moments when, all by myself, I am so very connected to who I am and Who He is.

And.

There's a literary feature in Psalm 122 that's kind of fun. It's called 'enjambment' and it describes an on-purpose run-on sentence, usually in poetry, that builds in intensity. It evokes a sense of breathlessness while the reader is brought along in anticipation of the pivotal thought.

Verses 2 to 5 follow that pattern, and it's all about the big feelings of joy the author exudes about going to Jerusalem to - and here's the pivotal thought - worship. And they are heading to Jerusalem, not Zion, which is more about a religious entity than a place. Instead, Jerusalem, a city 'joined together to itself' (v3), is about the bricks and mortar; a physical space.

And yet it's not. Because this is where the people are all heading, together. Not as individuals, but as tribes, or clans (v4). This means there were whole big groups of people. And a lot of them. Crowds. Masses.

So here's the thing. And as clearly as I a an introvert, this is truth.
I desperately, desperately need you.

I need you to point out my blind spots and hold me accountable.
I need you keep my heart oriented towards God and not self.
I need you to affirm and welcome my spiritual gifts as I serve among you.
I need you to forgive me, show me grace, extend your mercy.
I need your help and support when life gets crushing.
I need your acceptance and guidance and correction.
I need your love.
And I very, very badly need to worship with you.

I need to gather in the same physical space together with you, to 'praise the name of the LORD, according to the statute given to God's people' (v4).

Yes, I am aware that admitting this is contrary to our Western mindset of independence and individuality. I do realize that confessing this need opens me up to no end of possible disappointments and pain.

But it's still true.
Even as an introvert.

So let there be rejoicing.
Let there be breathless enjambment anticipation of worship!
Because I can't do this 'living for Jesus' thing without you.
I can't do this 'spiritual formation' thing without you.

I wouldn't even want to try.

Harvest Here We Come

 

Now that I'm out for my walks again, I couldn't help but notice the corn.

Two things about this. One is, as I've said often enough before, I love living in a part of Waterloo where I can literally walk past a corn field every morning! This Scarborough girl will likely never stop loving this.

The second thing is how tall the corn is!

Last spring I deliberately took a picture of the cornfield from a certain vantage point with every intention of taking comparison shots throughout the season. These three pictures are the result.

Picture three was taken yesterday. The stalks are so high! Maybe seven feet! And what you can't see (because I'd have to stomp through some mighty weeds to get close enough for the shot) is how ripe the husks are getting.

Reflecting back over the course of this summer, when I wasn't walking but kayaking instead, I am deeply grateful for the time and space not just to rest and spend time with family, but to receive regularly and beautifully from God's Spirit in a way that I would describe as Him 'growing' me.

Spiritual formation is defined by M. Robert Muholland Jr. as "the process of being formed in the image of Christ for the sake of others."

And while I firmly believe in my responsibility to engage intentional practices to help make that happen, it's an imperative humility to understand that this is the work of the God in my life, not the results of my own efforts.

I think that's what I felt happening over this past season. Just like the corn, receiving the sky's sun and the earth's nourishment, and all the goodness God could pour out, and letting that grow me in quiet and hilarious ways.

And now? Coming back to this (for me) first in-the-city-at-my-desk work week? Well, I'm hoping to share that bounty and bring it to the table, so to speak.

There's a LOT going on this fall about which I'm early anticipating, but also realizing the demandingness of it all. I believe the Lord has brought to mind Luke 12:48. "To whom much has been given, much will be required" and is preparing me, encouraging me, bolstering me, exiting me for the months ahead.

And I love this about Him. I've seen this happen over and over again throughout my life. In seasons of exhaustion, He's there reminding me to rest and be restored by still waters. In seasons where much is required, He's right there providing me with everything I need for life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3).

It's the first full week of a new season, folks.

Hope it's starting all fresh and full and strong for you.

And if not, I hope you feel the Presence of grace and comfort, or whatever it is you need in this season of your life.

Messy Healing

 

If you've been following along, you likely already know that we are several seasons now into a property reclamation passion project that is all about restoration, legacy and family.

And it's a mess.

As well as posting pictures of the new buildings, the bunkie and the boathouse, I thought it might be more honest to let you in on some of the not-so-pretty parts of the progress.

This week it was an outbuilding we've always called "The Boys' Annex" that had to come down. It was caving in anyways, and was required by the building permit from the township to be removed before inspection next month.

Maybe it sounds easy to tear down a building, but it's not. There are so many piles you have to sort the wreckage into; asphalt shingles, fiberglass insulation, old paint cans and other hazardous materials.

Then there's the fact that despite our mocking of 'old building standards' when these structures were first erected, the silly thing just won't come down! All the disassembling, knocking out supporting beams, and cranking on the winch is only barely eventually enough to get three walls to collapse. And for that one wall, I'm convinced, due to timing, that it was a mighty sneeze from Ken that brought it down. (If you don't think this is possible, you haven't heard my husband sneeze!)

So we've done all the grunt work and sweat equity, and most of it is down. And now we have a mighty mess to clean up.

All towards the vision of having a tranquil place for the next generation of family and friends to retreat to.

If not for the vision, it would be ridiculous. And overwhelming. Moving towards reclamation is a crazy, disorganized, sometimes even dangerous process.

Maybe you know this.

And now, oh so many Scriptures come to mind about growing and how messy it can be. But I'll just touch on two.

"And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast."
1 Peter 5:10

After you have suffered. In the midst of the mess.

"I am confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."
Philippians 1:6

And in both these texts it's notable that it's Jesus doing all the reclamation work, not us by our own efforts. Yes, I think there is hard work involved in any kind of healing or restoration. But it's more on Him than it is on us. Good thing, because to be honest, in my own healing stories, it would never have happened if it was up to me.

So if you are in the middle of a mess right now, hang in. It's almost always like that on the way to something grand.

The water is ridiculously calm this morning, which is a lovely contrast to the messy job we will tackle again today.

 

Hope your Tuesday is spectacular in all the ways you need it to be

Half a Century on the Rocks

This feels bigger than one go at it, but for today I will simply mark this as being my 50th year on the Freddy Channel.

Yup, that's me. With Rusty, my very cool boyfriend's very cool dog.
It's 1973.
I'm 16.

Story goes that I arrived that summer to spend a week with my new [read: Only ever] boyfriend's family at their cottage. I took one look at the water, the trees, the rocks...the breath-snatching, astounding, sacred beauty of this place....and said to myself, "I gotta marry me this guy."

So I did.

[There's a joke in our family now, that before you get too serious with an prospective partner, you have to bring them here. If they like it, you can pursue the relationship further. If they don't -- ]

It is indeed much bigger than one post. I have filled volumes of journals, and blog posts, and Facebook posts, and sermon illustrations, and worked it into academic papers writing about all this place has meant to me. All the healing and learning and resting and living and being that has happened for me and to me and with me on these rocks.

I have swum here, waterskied here, honeymoooned here, kayaked here, learned to drive "the big boat" here, eaten way too many blueberry pies here, avoided bears and rattlesnakes here, recovered from a burnout here, recovered from numerous life's harsh realities here, worshipped here, preached here, fed chipmunks here, raised children here, spoiled grandchildren here, luxuriated in countless sunsets (each one unique) here, loved here, grieved here, figured out big decisions here, written countless words here, laughed myself silly here, played countless games of Scrabble here, celebrated 45 years of married life here, and made memories with the next generation to this receive incredible gift right here.

I can't even.

Not for one moment do I take this for granted. It is no exaggeration to say that, among all the life-shaping facts of my life, I am who I am in no small part because I have been given the deeply good gift of this place.

Gratitude has to go somewhere.
Abby, Zachary, Harvest, Jayden, Timothy...and Evelyn.
May this place shape you for as long as possible.
May the pictures we take this summer one day be posted somewhere to remember and mark.
May God be your true Rock, always.

Making Deeper Spaces for Love

Above all, love one another deeply, 

because love covers over a multitude of sins. 

1 Peter 4:8

To begin with, this photo is not doctored.

I know there's a lot you can do these days, with the right kind of programs on the right kind of computer, to make something look like whatever you want.  But that's not this.  I don't even know how to do that.

This is just what happened one evening down by the dock when I was in the midst of some earnest prayer asking for direction.  Not kidding.

A heart from heaven.

Love it when that happens.  (Wait for this in a second.)

Mostly though, my spiritual journey is not like that.

Love is not like that.  

Not so obvious and unusual and spread all across the sky and bordering on miraculous, 

like that.

Not mostly anyways.

Mostly, my spiritual journey, particularly into what it means to love like Jesus, has consisted of every day stuff, regular stuff, sometimes tedious stuff.  

Sometimes painful stuff.  

Like really painful stuff.  

And if you want the truth, it's not the wow stuff in the sky, or the little stuff in the grass that actually love-shapes me.                                                                                                                                                                

Don't get me wrong.  I 'love' it when that happens.  (See what I did there?)  Makes for good pictures and interesting Facebook posts.  Often as not it does provide a sweet reminder that God is fully present in the moment, that I am the object of Divine attention.  

Yes, I get that.  

But it's not what carves out the deeper spaces of love in me.  

The deeper spaces of love come from the every day stuff.  The regular stuff.  The stuff that's sometimes tedious and sometimes painful.  Really painful.

Because it's digging deeper, helping me find out what I'm made of what God is making of me.

"Love one another deeply," Peter says.

"Above all," he says.

Because.

Because why?  

Because there's a lot in me (and a lot in others) that wants to squeeze love out.

Sin, Peter calls it, like the good Bible word it is.

I know the word has been given a bad rap by folks throughout the centuries who have wanted to stamp it on a lot of external behaviours that, oh in a decade or so, are all of a sudden not considered so.  Like when my childhood pastor's wife said one Mother's Day message, "I was so glad when God finally said it was okay to wear make up."  Maybe growing up you had a list imposed upon you.  (Maybe, if we're honest, we have our own lists we impose on others, who knows?)

For right here and right now, just staying with Peter here for a moment, I'll just say that sin is clearly not-love.

So anything not done for love, especially not done for the two great loves Jesus talked about, Love God, Love people, (Matthew 22:37-40) - that's sin.  (I may get in trouble here for not hammering down on this more, but for now I'll leave it at that.)

Love.

Love that covers over a multitude of not-loves.

Wow.

So love one another - deeply.

Cover all those not-loves with love.

Deeply.

But do we?

Yes, I know we each have our relational circles.  

The people we are closest to.  

The ones who get most of our love, and rightly so.

But is there space for more love?

Broader love?

Wider circles of love?

Deeper spaces of love?

Or. 

What if we are all filled up with

fear

resentment

opinions

judgements

protectionism

perfectionism

ambition

competition

greed

worry

sexism

racism

oh and let's just ad

me-ism (or its more common name, selfishness)?

(Maybe we could call some of that sin?  You pick which ones.)

What if?

What then?

Where are the deeper spaces left for love then, if we're all jumbled up and filled up with the not-loves?

Love deeply.

I can't seem to get away from this.

It makes me reckless, actually.

To love deeply is to take risks.

Loving people who won't love you back.

Loving people who won't understand.

Loving people who won't recognize it.

Loving people who won't value your love.

Loving people who don't deserve it.

Loving people who barely have any capacity for love themselves,

and it makes them all pinchy.

Love like you won't get hurt, but you do.

To give yourself away....it's not safe.

It's not safe.

But we love.

Deeply.

If we can make room for it.

Spirit of the Living God, the God Who IS Love,

keep carving out the spaces in my heart.

Please come in and carve out the not-loves

so there's room for You and Your LOVE.

And if You want to do one of those things,

where You step in with the clouds or the forgetmenots

I'll love that too.

But please,

don't stop Your real work in me.

Carve away.

I trust You.

 

All the Words of Becoming: Growing Together Into the New Year

There are no better words to end a year than "Thank you."

And perhaps no better place to be than in a space of gratitude.

For many things.

But in this moment right now with you, at the end of a year that I know has held such a truckload of life for both of us, I want to thank you for the simple gift of reading my words.

I write a lot of them, I am aware.

So are you, if you are one who checks in on this blog or is connected with me on Facebook and takes the time to read to the end of my longish posts.  Thank you for that.   I might carefully call myself a word-crafter and a lexophile.  So, in a Youtube/TikTok/video-streaming, TLDR* world that seems to me increasingly illiterate, anyone who engages with what I'm putting out there (in sentences with all the words actually spelled out) feels like a kindred spirit and a welcome companion in my own spiritual formation journey.  

And to offset my edge of (hopefully uncharacteristic because I find it mostly unkind) sarcasm just now, I should say that I know there's a lot of great information out there, and that people absorb it in different ways, grow in different ways.  And that's really the point.

For me 'all these words' are windows into what it means to be in a 'process of being formed into the likeness of Christ for the sake of others' (Mulholland).  It's a journey via the development of thoughts and ideas, reflections and (for lack of a better term) arguments that help shape, inform, redirect, categorize and bring humility to my own theology and practice of life.  

And putting 'all the words' out on social media seem to me an opportunity to use my voice in ways and about things that matter to me.

So thank you.

You have been an important companion to me as I figure this out.  

And, of course, my hope is that some of these words have been at least a little bit helpful to you as well.  

Maybe, like me, you've needed the reframing and mental postures of positive hope to press against the harsh realities and tedious press of some of 'those days' this year.  I pray you have been enriched, reminded of who you are and Whose you are, and cheered on in your own journey of growth and formation.

We embark together now on a brand new year, my word-faithful friend.  

I want to write more.  I want to read more.

Words that shape my soul.

Hope we can journey together still.

Gratefully,

Ruth Anne

*"Too long, didn't read"

 

Waiting Softly in the Cornfield

There's a softness to waiting for yourself if you do it right.

I often don't.

More likely I'm pressing impatience into it, worrying it to go faster, be sooner, come more quickly.  The waiting becomes something to conquer, and if not that, endure.  The waiting becomes its own tyrant, oblivious of the soul that needs the time.  My soul.  My own self.  My own valuable, exhausted, treasured self that just.  Needs.  Time.

Softness comes in pausing in the moments when nothing is happening and letting that be okay.  Softness comes in turning down the noise of ridiculous expectation and outrageous demand. Softness comes in naming and embracing weakness.  Humanity in its frailer moments, being real.

To do it right you have to stop.  You have to give permission for less.  You have to ask for help.  And space.  You have to forgive if they don't understand and just be gone anyways.  To do it right you have to trust that the One who is softest of all knows what you need and is already providing exactly that.  Even as you wait.

This business of forming a spirit is a long thing.  It's drawn out and stretched out and works out its own ways of waiting and becoming in its own sweet (truly) time.

"Just be still.  Wait here with Me," He says, "And remember that I'm God, and I'm for you.  We'll get there when the time is completed."  At least, that's what I heard out in the cornfield the other day, under a wide sky of nothing.  Nothing, being everything.

And so, I wait softly.

The Lego Way a Soul is Formed

Supper is finishing when I arrive, which is kind of nice because, for a few minutes at least they'll all be in one place around the table.  Soon enough it will be time for evening chores, and Wednesday is garbage night, so the big kids will be busy with that, and then with homework.

Jayden, however, is required only to make sure his face and hands are clean, and perhaps to carry his own little plate to the counter.  This means he and Gramma can head down to the Lego bin.

It's our weekly routine, these Wednesday nights when Gramma is here to put people to bed.  And the Lego has become our first thing to do.  We'll likely get to a puzzle, and maybe even a board game that we'll play with a toddler's imaginative priority, aka a blatant disregard for any rules whatsoever.

But first, it's all about the Lego, and specifically, about the Lego people.



They are in disarray, most of them.  Heads pulled off, even legs and sometimes arms are gone, rent asunder in the past week of play.  It's our labour of love, to help put the people back together.  That's what we do on Wednesday nights, Jayden and I.  And we invest ourselves in this quite seriously, as demonstrated by the impressive duration of attention he is willing to give this every week.

He's not even three.  But his little hands rake through the tumbling, tiny blocks, slowly, methodically, looking so carefully, handing me heads, and pairs of legs, and torsos with arms.  When we find them, all the people parts are laid out on the rug in a line, anticipating their wholeness.  When we find a missing piece from the bin, we match it with the corresponding part laying on the rug.  And then, when we are able to snap together enough pieces - torsos, legs, heads -  we hold up the little Lego person and with joyful satisfaction, declare him or her 'finished', before tossing him or her into the small 'red pail of completion' we've set aside for their collection.


And once we're ready to move on to the puzzle, we dump them all back into the bigger bin, ready for the next week of adventures.  And yes, we know full well they will be pulled apart again.  But that's next Wednesday's job.




I like doing this with Jayden.  He talks to me about everything while we do it, but not in a way where he's expecting conversation.  Just the bubbling spill of toddler thoughts that happen when a Gramma is there to listen to them.

And also, I find the putting together of people, even Lego people, rather therapeutic.

Life, at least my life, is often occasioned with forces that pull me apart.  I'd like to think that I can get my stuff all together and keep it that way, but it doesn't happen like that, at least not for me.  Instead, I find there's something of a rhythm to it.  I'm together, and then I'm not.  And then a loving process helps bring me back together again.  So I'm whole for a bit, yet I'm changed, not the same as before everything went nuts, but put together just the same.  And then, I'm rent asunder again by events that I would call anything but "play".  And then, in a loving process where I am, slowly, methodically, carefully sorted out, left waiting in pieces for a bit, and then rebuilt, I am 'finished' for a while.

And it goes that like.

And every time, I'm changed.  If I've cooperated with the process, with the Hands raking through the tumbling pieces of my life, I'm changed for the better.  Unlike the Lego pieces, the rebuilding of me is not drawn from a static stock of blocks.  It all morphs and becomes stronger, wiser, more beautiful, but in ways I didn't think were strong or wise or beautiful before.   It makes me better, if I cooperate.

I don't like it, the being pulled apart part.  I want the adventures, but I don't like how they scatter me.  Especially the ones that come out of no where.  The ones I actually don't want.  Not at all.  I don't like those adventures.

And there was a time when I didn't like the putting back together part either.  It's slow.  I've been left waiting on the rug for a long time, it has seemed, sometimes.  The snapping back of all the parts can be jarring, painful.

But, the stronger, wiser, more beautiful person I am becoming (in all those ways that didn't seem strong and wise and beautiful to me before), is learning to go with this.  To trust the process.   Trust the love.  Trust the Hands.  To know the Presence that sits listening to my own bubbling spill of thoughts, and to be curious and patient enough to see what He will do with me next.

One day there will be no re-dumping of the finished people back into the bin to contend with forces that render.  One day all the rebuilding of me will be done.



I wonder who I will be by then?

Jayden is done with the Lego people.  He's dragging a chair over to reach for the puzzles.

As I contemplate yet another metaphor, I am grateful for my little teacher, and for all the Spirit says to me these Wednesday nights when the three of us are together.