Frost on the Boat

 

More often I post pictures of this view, across from our side of the channel, at sunset. But this morning's sunrise on clouds, all reflected in the still water, makes me want to share with you what greets me this morning. This is taken from our kitchen window.

You can't see it from here, but -- there's frost on the boat this morning.

Here, I'll give you a close up.

Yup. It's now officially "after Thanksgiving."
And I'm still glad to be here.

It's definitely on the cooler side of things yesterday and today. My phone's weather app says "4 feels like -1" and I'd have to agree. We're all warm and cozy under the blankets all night, so no problems there. It's that transition from pj's to clothes, and the waiting for the main room to warm up after the fire's on.

For some cottagers who are here all year, or at least for three full seasons, this is all a familiar part of the experience. But for us, who have all our lives closed up before the end of September, we are just now stepping into new ways of cottage life that are fresh (pun intended) and fun.

I mean, just look at those colours! If I step out on our deck and point the camera just a little to the right. Stunning!

And it strikes me that all of this is only happening because something else we wanted to happen hasn't happened yet. That if plans had gone according to plan we would have planned to be gone by now. I'd be missing all this.

And not just the experience of stunning October skies, and frost on the boat, and valiant efforts to keep ourselves warm. I'd be missing the prolonged solitude, the extra times around the island in the kayak, and the chance to really get at some of those more tedious little projects on the property.

More importantly, I'd be missing the sense of being absent from loved ones that only serves to reaffirm affections, and the enormous place they have in my life.

And most importantly, I'd be missing the opportunity to experience that place of deeper intimacy with God that only those faith-pressing spaces can provide. Spaces of uncertainty. Spaces of waiting. Spaces of not knowing how the story will go, but trusting the One who invites me to co-author it with Him.

So here we go into yet another spectacular week, shortened for most of us. I hear the weekend is supposed to warm up a bit, which will be great for getting back out onto the deck.

Hope whatever is ahead of you today is full of fresh and fun possibilities!!!

Gratitude Triptych Panel 3 - Landscapes

 

Can I still say thank You when nothing's happening?

Proverbs 16:9

In their hearts humans plan their course,

but the Lord establishes their steps.

Or does gratitude grind a little while I'm waiting?

Habakkuk 2:3

For the vision awaits an appointed time; 

it speak of the end and will not prove false.  

Though it lingers, wait for it, it will certainly come.

Is there added irony and increased temptation for frustration when

it's the same deal on both side of the planet?

Ecclesiastes 3:1

To everything there is a season,

a time to every purpose under heaven.

All landscaped and ready.

2 Peter 3:8-9

With the Lord a day is like a thousand years,

and a thousand years like a day.

The Lord is not slow in keeping His promise,

as some understand slowness.

Instead He is patient with you, 

not wanting anyone to perish,

but everyone to come to repentance.

A build on property 45 km east of Chiang Mai.

To house our children and grow them into a secure future.

Ecclesiastes 3:11

Everything is beautiful in its own time.

A build on property in central Kitchener

to house ourselves without burden in the last decades of our lives here.

1 Timothy 6:15

For at just the right time

Christ will be revealed from heaven

by the blessed and only

Almighty God, 

the King of all kings,

and Lord of all lords.

But no digging yet.

No momentum, nothing happening, nada.

It's all just sitting there, 

waiting.

Psalm 130:5

I will wait for the LORD,

my whole being waits,

and in His word I put my hope,

I wait for the LORD

more than watchmen wait for the morning.

Can I still say thank You when nothing's happening?

This Thanksgiving weekend,

waiting like this,

I press towards the yes.

I choose what I can't lose.

I must trust.

Because this is the gratitude that comes 

speedily in the slowness of it,

when God's come through before.

He's famous for that, 

for coming through.

Rarely in ways I expected,

but exactly how it was meant to be.

So thank You for all the goodness of Your plans for these two properties, Faithful Father!

Thank You for the love that holds things back when I would rush forward, for the wisdom of it.

Thank You for providing everything we need right when we need it.

Thank You for the waiting.

This time when I get to learn to trust You over and again.

And I do know,

that when it looks like nothing's happening,

it's only because

I can't see what You see.

Gratitude Triptych Panel 2 - Brushstrokes

Thanksgiving at Hot Springs, October 2019

Confession.  Orange is a colour for which I have only seasonal affection.  This time of year, bring it on!  Make it pop.  Be generous with the hues of pumpkins and gourds and leaves.  Any other time of the year, however, well just never mind.    

Except.  

Orange is a strong, deliberate brushstroke in every sunrise.  

So there's that.

I remember an exceptionally welcome rim of orange one sunrise following a night that will only ever be remembered as brutal.  It's odd that this comes to mind for me, this particular Thanksgiving.  I can see no direct prompts or triggers.  Only except that there does seem to be some space this year, given where we're at in all our transition and the quiet of this place, for letting certain thoughts visit a little longer than I might normally allow.

I will tell the story here, as part of my Sunday morning thanksgiving offering of worship.  But fair warning.  It's a rather subjective retelling of unverifiable things; perceptions really, of how I experienced what some might call a 'vision.'  If that makes you uncomfortable, which it sometimes does me, then let's just call it a particularly personal experience of God's comfort where my human imagination seemed inspired by the Divine.  Not unlike we might attribute to certain pieces of art and the artists that create them.

It begins with a real life drive across the 401 eastward that started in Waterloo at midnight, during the kind of late March snow that requires a blast of windshield wiper fluid on basically every swipe.  I had to make frequent stops, not just to refill the fluid, but also because I was passing a kidney stone.  

I was only on the highway that night because my Mother had fallen and broken her hip, and there was nothing for it but to brute the drive and get there as soon as I could.  It's another awful real life story why she lived this far away.  I had begged her not to do it in anticipation of this very scenario.  But here I was, feeling so anxious for Mom, and not a little sorry for myself too.

To help keep me alert, and also mentally and spiritually oriented on things bigger than myself, I had a collection of CDs with me (yes, this was back then).  And it so happened, near the end of that endless night drive, that Chris Tomlin's "Sovereign" (see link and lyrics below) began ever so gently just as I rounded a bend facing eastward atop a hill that gave a broad view of the horizon.  The sun was barely rising.  Ever so slightly orange at first, and ever so slowly becoming brighter.

I sucked wind, it was that beautiful, and that co-incidentally coordinated.

Then, in the mist of that moment, Jesus stepped in and took my hand and led me to a broad white canvas.  He moved behind me and took each of my wrists in each of His and moved my arms in sway with the music.  First, from my right hand came colour and vibrancy and shape, flowing down on the canvas in broad, bold strokes.  And it was immediately apparent to me that this was depicting the story of my life so far.

"In Your everlasting arms, all the pieces of my life, from beginning to the end...."

And I could see unsightly blobs and tangled layers of blacks and browns and sour greens mixed in with all that was being laid out on the canvas.  These were the deep times of sadness and confusion and fear of my childhood, my teen years, and the beginning of my adult life.  At first I didn't want them there, ruining the wonder.  Yet it soon became obvious that they were intrinsic to such a dynamic, interesting tableau, adding to the texture and strength of what was unfolding.

And Jesus is right there behind me, speaking words of comfort and affirmation, encouraging me to keep going.

The the horizon brightens, the music swells.

Red for Thailand, White for Canada

"In Your never failing love You work everything for good, God whatever comes my way..."

And now, with Jesus still orchestrating all the movement of this, my left arm is in play and new and exotic shapes and colours are forming on the other side.  I see Suradet and Yupa as children, cold and hungry and shivering in the mountain air of their own story of poverty.  And Jesus is making a beautiful thing of this as well.  Other children, once held down in the lethargy of learned hopelessness, get up and start to dance.  And there is unspeakable joy in my heart at being witness to this.  Somehow, some crazy how, this seems to be connected to all the unhappy stuff that's already been painted on either side of the canvas!  And it's all coming together in the middle, where a beyond-my-imagination landscape is coming into focus.  

Before it is finished, the whole thing ends.  

Yes, I am still driving.  I'm still alert to my immediate surroundings.  It's just, with the music and the lyrics and the visual of the sunrise in front of me, this particularly personal experience of God's comfort where my human imagination seemed inspirited by the Divine presented itself to me like this.  And this is the best I can describe it.  

Like I said, there's no specific reason for me to tell this story again this Thanksgiving.  Except, I realize that these reminders of the bigger brushstrokes of my life are actually very essential for me now.  Bigger than any medical issues (with kidney stones or appendicitis).  Bigger than the weighty responsibilities of care (for Mom or at-risk and orphan children).  Bigger than nature itself (whether smudgy later winter storms, or catastrophic flooding).  Bigger than where I lay my head at night (here at the cottage, in my set apart room at Hot Springs, in our temporary room with our son starting in November, or in our own new little house sometime early next year).

"All my fears, all my dream, held in Your hands... All my hopes, all I need, held in Your hands..."

And Thanksgiving Weekend isn't even over yet.

Sovereign, Chris Tomlin (1:51)

Sovereign in the mountain air
Sovereign on the ocean floor
With me in the calm
With me in the storm

Sovereign in my greatest joy
Sovereign in my deepest cry
With me in the dark
With me at the dawn

In Your everlasting arms
All the pieces of my life
From beginning to the end
I can trust You

In Your never failing love
You work everything for good
God, whatever comes my way
I will trust You

All my hopes
All I need
Held in Your hands

All my life
All of me
Held in Your hands

All my fears
All my dreams
Held in Your hands

All my hopes
All I need
Held in Your hands

God, whatever comes my way
I will trust You

Our Thanksgiving Cottage Mantle

Gratitude Triptych Panel 1 - Contrasts

Yesterday.  Friday.  A day of different.

Different to be out on the water this early but not in the kayak.  Ken and I are heading into town for groceries and errands and banking and a haircut (for me).  And unlike the work week just passed, this day is warm and sunny.  A great day to be out and about.  Feels good, like gratitude does.  And I tell God, "Thanks."

On the way things are different, but probably only in contrast to what we've been enjoying this whole fall in terms of being quietly tucked away on the island.  Because....there's boat traffic!  What?  Probably people coming to spend Thanksgiving at the cottage, we guess.  And then in Midland there are lots of cars.  And we laugh because, well, it's Midland and one rarely describes these delightful places as bustling or busy, even in the summer seasons when lots of city folks like us mill about.  But to us, not-so-city-folks-right-now, it felt all bustling and busy.  Not in a bad way.  Only to make me realize how much I am enjoying this prolonged time away from 'normal' city 'stress.'  And I pause while we're waiting a long time to make a left turn, and tell God, "Thanks."  But this time, I say that one word a little more slowly, as if the gratitude has expanded a little.  Because I'm comparing that with how anxious I was about doing this extended cottage thing.  And, honestly, I've needed this.  And I am so grateful.

Christmas in the stores!  Okay, not to start that whole big argument, and I'm not even sure there's a point of gratitude here.  But I mention it only because already it was weird for us, when we came in to town in early September, and there was Hallowe'en and fall merchandize everywhere.

This is a summer thing for us, coming into Midland.  For over fifty years it's been that way.  And now, here we are watching the seasons retail before our very eyes.

And actually, if I think of it, and I do think of it, there is a thankfulness in the weirdness of it all.  Like I said before, we didn't really know for sure how our autumn would all go.  So when I see the fall stuff, and then the Christmas stuff in the stores here in summer-cottage-usually-Midland, it reminds me that it's working, this crazy plan of ours.  So far, so good.  Feels good, like gratitude does. 

Longer pause.  Then... 

"Thank You."

And we find the right lumber to finish a project, and I get my haircut, and we have a stamp already for that letter we want to mail, and we get some good bargains on our groceries at Giant Tiger, and we find just the right little photo books for the Bible Lessons at Hot Springs in November, and there's lots of pumpkin pies left at Zehrs so we'll be good for bringing one to Janet's dinner the next day, and we eat a light lunch in the van, and I have my ice cap, and the ride back in the boat is warm but invigorating, and we're all back and done our day into town by 3 p.m.

I want to sit in the sun.  

So I do, for about an hour, all warm and kept company by my very own blue jays and chipmunks who ask where I've been the past few days.  And in my journal I start to write about what I'm grateful for.  Because, well, it just all kept coming to mind all day.

But I get ambushed, and I mean that in a good way, by the Spirit Who, as I now really engage in the deeper spaces of gratitude He's been opening up in me all day, now brings to mind all the beloveds of my life.  

I stop writing.  

Because...oh the bigness of this all of a sudden!  All their faces!!!  I am bombarded with images, moments, memories, smells, hilarities, love, all in rapid fire and frozen in time all at the same time.

How did I ever come to have so much of this?!

And this is not at all what I ever expected in the early years of my life.  Not back then when things, for various chapters of how my story goes, were just not okay for this little girl who felt like something was really not okay with her most of the time.  Then to get to this era of my life, and, by contrast -- Well, it could not be more different.

Maybe gratitude is most alive in the contrasts.  Maybe we need the deep greens of the pines to show off the colours.  Maybe we need the real and present dangers, to know indescribable peace.  The sorrows, to sing out the joys.  The uncertain future, to bring about the security of being fully present in the moment.  The harsh noises, to know what soul-sweet silence even is.

And it all feels so good and so overwhelming, like intense gratitude does, that I weep it several times over in choked whispers, sitting there in the late afternoon sun, with Him pressing in on me in that undeniable way of His.

"Oh my God!  Thank You!"

I sit in the embrace of that for many moments.  

This is then interrupted by a chipmunk who jumps onto my shoe, runs up my leg, and peeks around my journal to inform me all the peanuts are gone.  From the sublime to ridiculous cuteness.  I wipe my face and gently let my friend know that's all there is for today.  Time to go inside and start supper for the humans.

================

And the weekend of Thanksgiving is just begun.

 

How to Befriend a Bluejay

This thing with the blue jays started by accident.

It was the chipmunks I was friends with first.  For so many years now, part of the charm of being up at the cottage was that you could make friends with the chipmunks.  Some members of our family are more enamoured with this endeavour than others.  But there's enough of us who makes sure there are peanuts, and who sit out on the deck quietly enough for long enough to eventually get our friends to take them from our hands.  In the warmer weather, when I'm working out on the deck, I usually have some peanuts nearby.  Those little guys are cute, and they keep me company.

Truth be told, the blue jays kind of crashed that party.

I was surprised at first.  I hadn't seen that many blue jays around in past years, which was sad because they're magnificent and vibrant, and sighting one had been a rare thing.  But all of a sudden, on a day in late August, there were what I counted as no less than thirteen birds, all trying to see who was brave enough to jump down on the deck with me to snatch a treat.

Well.  If you beautiful creatures want to be part of this arrangement with the peanuts, that's just fine by me.  

And for the next few seasons it's been like that; mostly about the chipmunks, but with a seasonal visit from the jays.

Until this year.

Something just clicked this year.  They became regular visitors.  To the point where I have to find a way to protect the jays' peanuts from the chipmunks' peanuts, since the chipmunks are still far more comfortable with me, and will quickly take away anything I've left for anyone else.  Even if I thought leaving peanuts on the deck railing was a good way to keep the peanuts separate.  A big pile on the deck for the chipmunks, and some spaced out along the rail for the blue jays.  But nope.  Chipmunks found their way up there and started stuffing their wee faces.  Literally.

The big difference is that the chipmunks aren't eating the peanuts, they're storing them.  The jays are here for breakfast.  That means the chipmunks can haul away a lot more peanuts faster than the jays can swoop down, pick up a peanut, fly back up into the trees, break it open, have a snack, and then swoop down again.  If the jays take too long, the chipmunks are up on the rail, helping themselves.

I don't blame them.  It's not like there are signs or anything.  But largely, the blue jays lose out.

And then the weather changes and now I'm working from indoors, looking out over the deck railing to the water, around at the front of the building.  This is not where I've put peanuts out before.  But the jays, they see me through the window.  And the come and sit on the rail right in front of me.  And they make some noise.  "Where's our breakfast?" they ask.

In case you think I'm making this up, people who know way more about these things than I do confirm that blue jays are very intelligent, and actually recognize human faces when associated with a food source.   And while I am not interested in gaining a pet per se, not in the chipmunks or in the blue jays, I do enjoy the interactions.  Quite a bit actually.  Some of it is because, well, it's all the fun factor, with out having to clean any cages.  But a lot of it is just how simple and good is the joy of connecting with God's forest friends.  Sounds sappy perhaps, but it honestly lifts my spirits.

And here's a feature of our deck.  The chipmunks seem to have more difficulty getting up on the railing of the front deck than they do the side deck where I had been leaving peanuts for the blue jays previously.  The result is, over the past few cooler days, I've had lots of happy company.

Jesus talked about birds sometimes.  In one part of His greatest sermon, known as 'The Sermon on the Mount,' He compared God's care for the birds with His care for us.

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?  Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not much more valuable than they?  Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life."

Matthew 6:25-27

And I'm putting out the peanuts and the Spirit brings these words to mind, adding:  "Ruth Anne, if you can care this much, and find this much joy in the jays and the chipmunks, how much more do I care for and find delight in you?"

Oh yeah.  Right.  Slow breath.  

All the while I've been writing this it's been raining rather heavily.  But just now it stopped.  I've been waiting until someone comes calling to put out any peanuts, so as to reinforce the connection between their 'asking' and my providing.  No customers just in these first few rain free minutes, so we'll see.

Hope this Wednesday leading to Thanksgiving Weekend finds you safe and grateful, and finding joy in all the little spaces of life.

In Case I Forget

 

Humble yourselves, therefore,
under God's might hand,
that He may lift you up in due time.
Cast all your anxiety on Him,
because He cares for you.
1 Peter 5:6-7

Any worries that cooler temperatures might not be good for getting out in the kayak are thus far proven unnecessary. The proper clothing, plus the layer of my life jacket, plus the sun itself all provide ample warmth, especially as I get going.

Anyways, who could resist the flat water and open sky? As long as it's not raining and the wind isn't too enthusiastic, I'm on.

Made it to 25 times around this morning. And it only matters to me, to keep count like that. But it becomes a point of gratitude when, at the beginning of this season, I was waylaid by the physical limitations of recovering from abdominal surgery. My all time personal record for a cottage season is 37 times around. We only have 19 days left to be here, so I'm not hoping to beat that. Not this year. I'm just truly happy to have been able to get out as much as I have when, at one point, I was worried I might not get out at all.

And I come back in from my paddle and Ken has the fire going. And I realize yet another worry isn't even remotely coming true in that we were worried we'd be cold this fall. We have very limited options as to where to lay our head right now, and the cottage is the perfect place to be for the summer months, for sure. But we're not entirely set up for other seasons so much. So, we wondered. And then, an unusually warmer than usual autumn and a rather efficient fire place insert has taken care of that one too.

These little worries are not match, of course, for the bigger ones.
Hurricanes and floods and painful medical conditions all affecting people I love and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Many cares are on my heart these days. Lots that's happening in ways I don't want them to. I have no end of imagination for outcomes, if I forget to Whom I belong, and Who invites me to cast all these things on Him.

I just want to say here, how grateful we are for the outpouring of love and prayers and practical support that have already come in just since my Highview to Thailand: When It Rains, It Pours yesterday about the flooding in Chiang Mai. We are keeping up to date at least once every day, and will keep you posted if there are any significant changes.

Blessings on your Tuesday.
May whatever is laying heavy on your heart feel lighter in the hands of God.

Storm Day Interruptions

 

"I was glad when they said to me,
'Let's go worship together at the house of the LORD.'"
Psalm 122:1 (paraphrase)

We're still online right now, obviously, or you wouldn't be reading this. But the wind has changed and we can already hear the distant rumbles of a rather major storm coming this way.

The radar map looks quite impressive. All the colours. The kind of weather system that very likely will take us off line for the duration. Due to land where we are right around 10 a.m. or so.

With sensational weather and great connection dominating our fall so far, one can hardly complain about a stormy day here and there.

Except when it's a Sunday morning.

We are still hoping for the best, but it doesn't look too good for joining in for the online service. And it doesn't look good for participating remotely in the congregational meeting we call our Family Chat.

Both Ken and I were to give reports this morning. We thought it through enough to have others read for us if needed, so there's a back up for that. But we'll miss the worship, the teaching, and the overall updates on the life and vitality and mission that is our faith community.

Or maybe not. Maybe we'll be able to connect.

I guess I'm writing this morning mostly to my Highview beloveds.
I miss you.
It was so great to be there last week in person.
It's been important to me to tune in on Sunday mornings.
I'm so glad for all the connecting points throughout the week.
I'm eager to hear about all that God is doing amongst us.
(Don't worry. If we can't connect today, I'm chasing down all the ministry reports!)

Sure, the fire is on as we're all cozy up here.
But it's not the same.

I hear more thunder.
Better post this while I still can.