Like the Morning Sun

 

The path of the righteous is like the morning sun,

shining ever brighter till the full light of day.

Proverbs 4:18

Got out nice and early this morning, after a good night's sleep.  Love it when the day starts that way, all quiet and incremental.

The sun knows what it's doing and where it's going, with intentionality and brilliance, but it is in no hurry.   And along the way, some later lilacs are just arriving to the spring party, and a very small rabbit says hello...

while the moon makes a quiet, understated exit way on the other side of the sky.  Slowly.

Nobody's rushing yet, not this early.  And it reminds me.  Oh yeah.

He who began a good work in you

will carry it on to completion 

until the day of Christ Jesus.

Philippians 1:6

I don't need to rush either.

This process of being formed into the likeness of Christ takes its own time.

Like the morning sun heading towards noon.

Just a little at a time.

In the mornings I remember this.  

And then after my walk, I will head back to my desk and, yes, press into the work before me.  I will interact in simple ordinary ways with my husband, and family, and friends, and colleagues with varying degrees of intensity and engagement, as required.  I will check things off a list, and give space for reflection, and make a meal at the end of the day.  I will water the plants and refill the bird feeders and refresh the birdbath.  All in good time.  And it will all be a part of it.  

And maybe today I will be just a little more patient, or a little less inclined to worry, or a little more grateful, or a little less determined to get my own way.  Perhaps I will see growth in my ability to trust in the midst of unknowing.  Maybe a new insight from Scripture will make its way deeper into my soul, with intentionality and brilliance.  Maybe I will love a little better.

All in good time.  

And we all, who with unveiled faces 

contemplate the Lord's glory, 

are being transformed into his image 

with ever-increasing glory, 

which comes from the Lord, 

who is the Spirit.

2 Corinthians 3:18

June and Soft Beginnings

 

It's a quieter step into June this morning.

The past thirteen days since the Victoria Day Weekend have been something of an all out sprint, pressing from one big thing to another, with days of meetings, preparation, packing and unpacking slipped into the betweens. 

Time to stop all that good and honorable nonsense.

I flip over the calendar and welcome the new month with a soft sigh. 

Today, this first day of June, if I get to the end of it feeling more rested and clear headed -- that will have been a satisfying and successful day.  And even now, over the next few days in this first week of June, I'm keeping the volume on low in keeping with the obedient, rather relaxed expectations I have of myself for right now.

June.

And then there's the thing about June holding so much remembering.  Just in this first week, these first few days of it, there is the marking of five beloveds who left us.  Years have past but their absence remains.  And it gathers like a misty aching that I need to leave room for.

Then, my birthday.  This one is 69, and I'm amazed.  How did I get here so fast?  And how is it that life continues so abundantly upward, despite the rather persistent covert messaging of it all being downhill from here?  Not for me.  Not at all.  Steady on we go.

So much gratitude.  What a gift it is to step softly into this particular June.  Sunlight early, because it's June.  Lilacs, because it's June. Birds at the birdbath, because it's June.  Space to be, because...it's June.

Happy new month day to you.

If you share a June birthday, happy anticipation of cake to you.

If you need to pause and rest a bit, hope it can happen for you soon.

If you are grieving and remembering, I'm with you.

   

And Then Maybe Blueberries

 

This is just a quick post to check in mid point in a two week high-gear press of goings on.

After a deliberately calmer March and April, May has proven to be the catch all month, with these last two weeks particularly packed.  Can't complain.  Love everything I'm doing.  Just hope I can keep up with myself.

Part of the 'all things' was opening the cottage over the weekend, with the help of our strapping younger family members who love the place enough with us to wrestle with the plumbing.  It was rainy and cold, but we cozied up by the fire, got almost everything up and running, and enjoyed one of the best games of Rummoli I can remember!  

Also, there are a LOT of blueberry blossoms over on the other property in a patch I don't remember being so productive in the past.  If things stay wet enough....it's looking pretty good so far.

Okay, that's all I've got for right now.  Except maybe for this shot of a blue jay having breakfast.

And no pictures but, it is crazy that I love it when the chipmunks remember me?  No coaxing necessary.  Took a peanut from my hand first thing.  

So I will fully embrace the robust energy of this coming week....and eagerly anticipate what's in store for this summer by the water.  

Happy Tuesday, wherever you are.

Morning Stroll Through the Psalms

 

This is the perfect time of year for a sunrise walk.  

I can get out there and get back and still start my day in good time.  In a little bit, say, closer to the end of June, the sunrise will happen a bit too early, even for me.  Although...I am so looking forward to getting out in the kayak on that flat misty water that mostly only happens at the crack of dawn.

Meanwhile and either way, I remain that annoying person who is most alert, awake and alive as the day begins.  It's fresh and full of potential out there!  And of course, with the heat we've been having these past few days, it really is the best time to do any form of activity.

I think by now I have approximately a bazillion pictures of sunrises.  Here's one from this morning.  It begged a Bible verse to go with, so I started looking.  Just in Psalms for now.  And here's what I came up with, all of them singing praises in the morning.  Perhaps David and the other psalmists were morning folks too?

Interestingly enough, I've listed them in order, and it's the last one, Psalm 143:8, that seems to caption this picture best.  But I'll just leave them all here and let you decide.

However and whenever your day begins, hope it's a great one.

In the morning, LORD, You hear my voice;

in the morning I lay my requests before You

and wait expectantly.

Psalm 5:3

Weeping may stay for the night,

but rejoicing comes in the morning.

Psalm 30:5

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,

that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.

Psalm 90:14

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,

for I have put my trust in you.

Show me the way I should go,

for to you I entrust my life.

Psalm 143:8

When Grace Lets It Grow

 

In the spirit of using what you already have at hand, our son has set up a good-sized garden plot to the side of our yard by the fence, using sections of one of the trees we lost in constructing our new little house.

This is where a garden existed in the pre-construction era of the property.  And, to happily remind us of that, the rhubarb made its way up through the straw bed to help get things started.  

Nothing else has been planted quite yet, what with all the frost warnings still lingering about this May. But soon.  Maybe this coming weekend.

What I'm loving about the look of it, though, is how David, like I said, has taken sections of one of the trees we had to chop down to becomes the walls of the garden box, as it were.  

Even before any seedlings are planted, it's got a solidly organic vibe to it, all rustic and natural looking.  And while there's still random yard waste to clear away, and decisions to make about other corners, the overall look of this back/side yard space we share is more and more a reflection of the easy, give-and-take, live-and-let-live culture of our intergenerational living arrangement.  

Last year we were able to install the second shed, and had flagstones placed around the fire pit making pathways between everything.  Harvest's comment was that it looked like we were building a little village back here.  I like that.

This is the second spring season for us here.  So it's fun to see the morphing of ideas and effort and creativity in using what we have on hand, and the different skills, and passions, and resources we bring, as we build our lives together in this space.  

And it's deeply satisfying.  And not a little surprising.

Our family's story is complex, and, if you know it, you know that a lot of grace has been granted to us to make this work. So many answers to so many prayers are spread out around this yard.  Having just come through another Mother's Day and its usual ordeal of all the self-evaluative reflections, I am ever so grateful we are who we are, and that we still get to grow together.  I know I don't deserve this.

I should make it clear; the garden is all David.  One of the values we are owning here is that we make way for those who know what they're doing.  Hence, I am staying well away from the vegetables.  I'll stick to making our little front porch pretty.  And there are more plans underway for the space directly behind the house, which includes the original shed.  Of course, there's the ramp to build along the side of the porch up to our main door.  

Lots to look forward to.

Lots to grow into.

Under an Iffy Sky

 

It's a 2 km walking route I'm doing these days, along one of the many paved trails that crisscross through our neighbourhood.  Takes me about 20 to 25 minutes.  There's a little creek that runs parallel for some of it, and then a wooded area.  This time of year there are various blooms showing up along the way.  Based on the weather, and especially if I'm dressed for it, the walk itself is quite pleasant.

But here's the deal.  I really don't care to get rained on.  That's why I'm always checking my weather aps; one on my phone and a different one on my computer.  That, and the sky itself.  

Most days it's an easy decision.  It's either dry enough and likely will be for the next half hour, or it's not.  I can tell.  I'm going out for my walk, or I'm not.  I can tell.

But the other day it was on again, off again, and hard to know.  My two aps were giving different information.  And the sky itself wasn't helping.  Really dark clouds, but with sudden and brief bright sunny intervals.  I'm usually fairly decisive, don't like to waste time dilly-dallying about things.  Yet the simple decision as to whether or not I would go for my walk plagued me for most of the afternoon.  

For most of us, decisions are easy to make when the data is clear.  Even when there's a lot at stake, when the outcomes are reasonably controllable, we usually go ahead and make that big purchase, accept that job offer, head off to further our education, or marry that person we're so drawn to.

And of course, it's preferred and considered wise to muse over all the data ahead of time.  As much as we can in any given situation.  We want to close the gap between what we know and what we don't know before deciding to move ahead.  And when we can, we should do just that.  No faith required, really.  Just weighing the data points and using common sense.

But sometimes we can't see the way ahead so clearly.

Sometimes we are pressed into moving forward way before we feel we have any control on the outcomes at all.  It's like we are out under an iffy sky, with no way of knowing for sure if we'll get drenched. 

Or, as Isaiah describes it, we're out walking in the dark.

Who among you fears the LORD and obeys the word of His servant?  

Let the one who walks in the dark, who has no light, 

trust in the name of the LORD and rely on their God.

That's from Isaiah 50:10.  And this first part I like well enough.  Sounds so reassuring to have God right there, guiding me along when the way isn't clear.  It's the next bit, though, that reads a bit rough for me.  Verse 11 goes on to say:

But now, all you who light fires and provide yourselves with flaming torches, 
go, walk in the light of your fires and of the torches you have set ablaze.  

This is what you shall receive from my hand; you will lie down in torment.

Wait, what?  Such harsh consequences, natural or logical either way, just for finding a flashlight so you can make your way in the dark?  

In context here, and in keeping with the poetic nature of Isaiah's prophecy as a whole, we can't miss how these two images are purposefully put in contrast to one another.  The one idea is that we make our way in the dark by trusting in God's reputation.  That's what trusting 'in the name of' means.  Also, when we see LORD capitalized like that it's an indication that in the original Hebrew the name being used was Yahweh, the One and Only God every Hebrew person gave their exclusive allegiance to.  This is Who they were to rely on.

By contrast, there are those who try to take control of the situation by their own means.  By lighting torches, in this poetic imagery.  Finding their own solutions, taking matters into their own hands, indicating a profound lack of trust in God, in Yahweh, to take care of things.

Poetic prophesy being all that it is, I do not for a minute believe God wants us to forego reasonable wisdom gathering when we have decisions ahead of us.  There's too much elsewhere in Scripture that talks about counting the cost, and thinking things through, and seeking advice, and the like.  

But I do think we are prone to lighting our own torches.  Well maybe it's just me.  When the pressure is on and the way ahead is dark, I feel the impulse to take matters into my own hands, and move ahead based on how it all fits inside my own little head.

Lighting my own torch might look like;

• Failing to stop and listen and pray
• Rushing ahead without clear guidance from Scripture
• Getting all flustered and anxious and pushy for somebody to 'do something!'
• Landing on one solitary 'solution' and getting so fixated on it that I don't listen to other options
• Acting outside of my proven circle of counsellors 
• Forgetting to hold myself accountable to the appropriate parties
• Thinking all the solutions and all the outcomes begin and end with me
• Believing I'm the only one who knows what we all should be doing
• Forgetting Who it is that's actually in control

I'm not quite sure what torment Isaiah is thinking they'd like down in, but I do know that trying to light my own torches can lead to a whole string of long and tortuous sleepless nights.

That iffy-sky day, I didn't end up getting rained on.  And if I had, it certainly wouldn't have been all that disastrous.  But the back and forth of it brought to mind other ways I feel like I'm walking in the dark right now, not being able to see the path before me clearly at all.  Mostly, I'm thinking of the way ahead for some big ministry plans to build our very badly needed new facility for all those amazing kids in Thailand, and how the global fuel crisis has laid heavily on those plans.  And other stuff where I can't really see the way ahead.

And so.

Yahweh...lead on.  

In the dark, under an iffy sky.  

I will let You hold on to me 

and take me where we're going.

The Awkward Mother's Day Thing

Not every time, but sometimes this Mother's Day thing feels awkward.

What I want to tenderly ruminate about is all the warmth and goodness of my own mothering experience; to encourage and inspire Moms who are in the thick of it right now; to celebrate the nobility and dignity and strength of what it means to be the feminine parent; to honour the memory of my own Mom.  

All that stuff.  

Like what's in the Mother's Day cards.

And sometimes I can do that.  

Sometimes, though, I feel the weight of all the legitimate and deeply regretful mothering mistakes I made, and what seems to me such an unfair system where you get handed a vulnerable human being that you're not only supposed to keep alive, but are expected to raise into a competent, thoughtful, contributing member of society.  I want to register a complaint somewhere because it seems ridiculous that, when my body was best suited for childbearing, my life experience was sadly lacking.  But if I waited until I was wise enough to actually know how to raise a child with minimal damage inflicted, my physical self would thwart all those good strategies.  Awkward.

Sometimes Mother's Day is awkward because of the absence of a child.  Due to loss, the gut-punch likes of which my family has experienced first hand.  Or due to infertility or other life circumstance, a soul-sinking pain carried by friends, and you can't help but feel it with them.  Especially on awkward days like today.

Then there's the unique awkwardness of sorting out the complexities of my own little girl story, and what it was like to be raised by a Mom who, through absolutely no fault of her own, had suffered a traumatic brain injury as a child, the effects of which brought both blessings and challenge, and also contributed to the oldest (that's me) being shaped into a parentified child at a very early age.  Those blessings (such a gentle, sweet, never-said-a-bad-word-about-anyone-until-dementia-set-in woman) and challenges (assorted and nuanced and not necessary to describe here) followed us in our relationship until her passing, now more than 10 years ago.  That was, even at the very end, so awkward, since I was half a planet away.

I will most certainly not get hired by Hallmark for writing this post (although I have often thought there should be a section in the card racks entitled "Honestly Speaking," but never mind).   And I run the risk of spoiling it for readers who are actually having a perfectly lovely Mother's Day.  Sorry about that.  Please enjoy your day.

I have already been lovingly and appropriately remembered by my children, and even my husband this Mother's Day.  So none of this is coming out of any sense of being overlooked as a Mom.  Not by any means.  They give me far more credit than I deserve.  

But these feels were really feely this particular Mother's Day.  And I wonder if anyone feeling similarly awkward might just need to know that they're not alone.

Which is probably the best gift any Mom in any stage and any situation can be given.  It takes a village to raise a child....and to help lessen all the honest awkwardness of motherhood.

However it's going for you this year, keep it real.  And I hope you get whatever your soul needs to mark this day.