Falling Easy

Every once in a while, I get it right.

There was something about this return from the cottage back into city life that made me feel as if I just needed to hold back for one more day.  Hold back in terms of not getting all fired up and wired up to jump right back into my long list of all the very important things that need my attention right at this junction of my ministry season.

'Take Monday off,' seemed to be the message.  

For those who do not share the driven personality DNA thing, this might sound like a simple thing to do.  But in truth, taking it easy isn't so easy for some of us.  When you love your work, and when productivity and getting stuff 'done' is your version of fun, holding back and waiting until Tuesday to tackle the tasks is a form of discipline.  Fasting, if you will.

But I did it!

Started the day with a sunrise walk.  Then came back to slowly, methodically decorate the house for fall.

I do love this seasonal decor thing.  Love how it makes me feel.  To have that change up in colour and scheme for a fresh look, and a fresh space to work and live in.  This year was especially fun, because it's the first time I've been able to do it up all autumn in our new house. 

Last year at this time we were still at the cottage, waiting for the timing on our new build.  Well, here we are, in the new build, building our lives, making new memories, forming new rituals.

And I think maybe I've stumbled on a new one for me.  Maybe I'll call it 'the discipline of leaving gaps.'  Between things.  At transition points.  From one season to another.  Upon returning from a time in Thailand.  At the end of a long haul of more intensive ministry, either planned or the life-just-happens kind.  Just...leave a gap.  Make a space.

Oh.  Maybe God's already thought of this.  He called is Sabbath, I think.  Meant for every week (Exodus 20), but also built into other ways of measuring time.  Leaving fields fallow (Exodus 23).  A year of Jubilee (Leviticus 25).  It was for at least two purposes.  One, to provide the rest all humans require.  The other, to remind us that we're not in charge and the world can go on just fine without us for a little bit, thank you very much.

Perhaps I shall establish for myself a transitional Sabbath kind of thing where I will fast from work for a day or longer before charging into the next round of everything.

Feeling pretty fine about the day, I must say.

And this morning?  Tuesday?  Ready, set, go.  

And am I not one of the richest women in the world?

Do Bees Sleep? And Other Questions on an Early Morning Walk

Caught this little beauty hanging perfectly still for a long time, on a cluster of golden rod.  He seemed unbothered by my presence, not moving at all while I tried to get his best angle.  Do bees sleep outside of their hive?   The answer, according to the many articles that popped up in my Google search, is yes they do!  This is a bumblebee, one of the kinds that rest like this, hanging upside down.  Fun fact and a good reminder of why my mind needs a morning walk as much as my body.

To be fully present in the moment before me.  To be able notice the small and remarkable things.  To wonder.  To be curious enough to take a side path up the hill a little further, just to try to get a better view of the sunrise, even when it will mess up the step count a little.

I'm glad to be back.  To re-engage in the spiritual-care routines of city life.  To catch a bumblebee taking a nap.  To welcome the day.

What a soft and unhurried way to begin a Sunday.  

All this, and worship with my faith family too!

Highview peeps....see you soon!

Settling In

It's been a back and forth kind of season, planned that way and having gone pretty much as planned.  

And while I'm never really 'finished' being at our cottage, I'm also up and awake this morning all awash with that 'new start' kind of feeling.  

Fall did only officially begin this past Monday, after all.   And despite the lovely lingering of summer weather, I'm ready to sharpen the pencils, organize my desk, and put all the things on the calendar.  On Monday I'm hoping to decorate our front porch for autumn, the first time doing so in our new little house.  Sorry in advance for all the orange-ish pictures.

At the moment I'm getting ready to join in on Anchor's Grow Day via Zoom, grateful for the option not to get back in the van and drive out of town after yesterday's physical demands in closing up and getting back to the city.  Other than that, and of course worship on Sunday morning, I'm giving myself the weekend plus Monday to 'settle in.'  That's my first priority before diving into all the other joyful work that's unfolding for me this fall.  To be honest, just doing the laundry might take that long anyways.

It's been fun, in this back and forth kind of way, to be surprised upon each arrival by what's growing in our yard.  The spring emphasis on beautifying what had been a significantly messy construction zone, including a new shed and paving-stone pathways, also included the kinds of plants that lay close to the ground and do not required mowing.  This late-season bloomer was fun to come back to this time.  I wonder what other autumn surprises our new neighbourhood holds?

Wishing you a happy Saturday and happy fall, and happy whatever helps reorient and inspire and motivate!

 

If He Finds Me Feeding the Blue Jays

Apparently it's been a prophetically busy week.  Yet another prediction about the end of the world, or in this case something about 'the rapture,' has been buzzing around social media, marking Tuesday or Wednesday as when it was all going to go down.

And here we are on a Thursday morning.

While I am dismayed that the Bible and Christians at large lose great hunks of credibility when this sort of things happens, I am glad at least for the way the recent surge of online videos, and the correlating responses provided some clarification this time, specifically about the term 'rapture' and it's rather recent arrival on the eschatological stage.  In other words, it's an idea that wasn't part of the theology of the historical church, and isn't widely embraced by modern theologians.  

With respect to my brothers and sisters in Christ who think differently on this, and if you are up for a longish but thorough article on the subject, you can always check it out in more depth here.

To be clear, I do believe the Bible describes a time when Jesus will return to usher in a restoration of all things, a time and place where God's will is perpetually being carried out, where perfect peace prevails. I'm pretty sure, actually, that one of the reasons I love it up here at the cottage so much is that there are elements here of the serenity and 'all things being right and good' here by the water that hint at God's ultimate plan.

 And now I can rhyme off my own favourite texts that happen to support my own understanding of how it will all go down, as best my puny exegetical efforts might discern it.  Micah 4, Isaiah 11, Revelation 21 and the like.  Much to the disappointment of some of my more rigorously eschatological friends, I do not hold to any 'trib' position (pre, mid, or post).  I am more inclined to read 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 metaphorically (see reference below) toward a purpose of encouraging us not scaring us, as Paul explicitly states.

But in all of what the Bible describes, one thing seems clear.  We won't know when it will happen.  We're not supposed to know.  Jesus was fairly straightforward about this in Matthew 24:36.  So when anyone puts a date on it, I'm not getting too worked up.

And.

It does make a difference.

My Christian belief that Jesus will one day return to usher in His kingdom, does make a difference in how I live out my life.  It should.  

Because it begs the question:  What do I want Him finding me doing when He gets here?

There was once a time in my life where I took that to mean I'd better work my butt off doing all the obviously 'good' things I could possibly cram into any one day, any one lifetime.  Try like crazy to be as busy as possible doing 'the Lord's work."

Yeah.  That didn't go so well.  Only led to being fear-driven instead of Spirit-led, which led to exhaustion and anxiety and being useless anyways.  And it's certainly not the abundant life Jesus said He came to give me (John 10:10).

I'm still learning this, for sure.  But by now I find a quieter confidence in simply doing and being what and who God calls me to do and be in the ordinary things of life.  Nothing too flashy really.  

Yes, I get to be in Thailand a lot, and I know that to some that seems exotic.  But the truth is that when I'm there I'm reading to children, or teaching a new song, or doing a puzzle.  I preach to about 35 faithful believers there at the church on Sunday.  I struggle with my Thai language skills.  

When I'm here in Canada, I'm doing the mundane ministry stuff of administration and fundraising and communication, to help ensure these amazing at risk and orphan kids have a chance.  Not hundreds of them, mind you.  Just 25.  

And also, my days can be with my own kids and grandkids here.  Or with folks who need some simple encouragement and listening.  Or preparing a sermon or a series of sessions to hopefully enrich participants in a spiritual formation seminar, again no big crowds.  Or working through communication challenges in my marriage and being tenacious about the vows I took 47 years ago to do just that.  Or recognizing underlying anger issues in my own soul.  

Or feeding the blue jays.

And yesterday, when so many of them visited me, on the day the 'rapture' was supposed to happen, I thought that if indeed Jesus was to come right then, I'd be okay with Him finding me feeding them peanuts.  

I realized that despite my younger-years' shadow mission to make a 'big difference in the world,' most of what I do in any given day is quiet, and ordinary, and nothing that will make me famous.  I don't want to be famous.  But I do want to be faithful.

And a fun little happenstance right this minute, as I was writing these words.  A blue jay came and sat on the railing, looking straight at me through the window, and bawled me out for being a little late in putting out this morning's peanuts.   Not kidding.

So...however your non-raptured Thursday morning is going, I truly hope you know the holiness of the good and purposeful ordinary things you do to contribute to God's plans and purposes.... 

while we wait together.

[Holmes, Michael W.  The NIV Application Commentary: 1&2 Thessalonians. Grand Rapids:                                 Zondervan, 1998, pp 146ff.]

Like This

 We arrived back to the cottage yesterday afternoon, grateful for good driving weather, both on the road and on the water, following that crazy big storm Sunday night.   I'm not sure, but I think Kitchener-Waterloo got the brunt of it.

This morning is overcast but not too cool and perfectly calm.  Even on the open water, which is a rare treat when it happens.  I did not see any other human being, and only heard two boat motors but way off in the distance.  I did encounter some forest friends, however, and one graciously posed for a picture.

The summer of 2025 will certainly be remembered as the year of the deer.  So many visits this season.

The deep quiet and changing colours puts me back to last fall when we were 'homeless in KW' but tucked in all safe and warm here.  And when I think of all the stress of our big move last year, which I still do often enough to tell me I still have some uncoiling to do, I am again utterly grateful that we had such a place of serenity in which to wait it out.

This is our last little bit here for the season.  Closing up and on our way by Friday.  So you can be I will be greedily taking in as much as I can before heading back into all the things waiting for me back in the city.  They are good things, don't get me wrong.  And even last week, with it's focus on the Garage Sale which always is demanding, physically and otherwise, was vibrant and connective and so very encouraging!  

But for right now, I'm just going to be here, paddling around the island, taking pictures of the deer, and maybe even a dragonfly, just because.

Autumn Aware

Nothing says fall fresh morning like some red leaves, a wooden fence and a little wedge of blue sky.

Just moved the van onto the street because we're expecting delivery of materials to finish off our driveway/patio project this weekend.  That'll be Dave's deal, with a hard-working, stone-hauling-and-mini-excavator-operating experienced crew of his buddies called in for the task.

Ken and I, also starting today, will be in full-out Garage Sale mode for the next three days.  And just in case you haven't seen the bajillion posts I've made on Highview to Thailand about it:  Saturday, September 20 from 8 to 1 at 295 Highview Drive KIT ON N2N 2K7.  

So!  Much! Stuff!  And it's been tricky because we haven't wanted to clutter the basement of the church up as much as we usually do so the Alpha Course can run undisturbed by our wonderful mayhem.

Wonderful mayhem might also be a good descriptor of these first fall weeks.  I'll admit, it's been an adjustment between our 'home-away' and our 'home-here.'  It's all the places you need to be, at a certain time, driving there in the car, with a whole lot of other cars around you, and then you get there, and there are a whole lot of people there, and you talk to them all.  It's the thing were you are now available and accessible and there's expectations around that.  

Because of the way I'm wired, it's important for me not to let all of this wonderful mayhem wind me up too tight.  Not to lose the soul care that's so much more available to me out in the kayak or down by the dock.  It's sunrise walks, and eating lunch outside, and saying no (even though I'm available), and stopping to notice the red leaves against the wooden fence with a little wedge of blue sky.

To be aware of all that autumn offers, and find and guard my city-life balance, for the sake of my own soul, but also for those I love and serve.

That being said, I'm so looking forward to Saturday.  The crew that's doing this are generous, hard-working souls that inspire me.  With the proceeds we can help four young women in northern Thailand continue their post-secondary education, an opportunity that wouldn't be their otherwise.  And the weather forecast is promising, meaning we can be outside, which always translates into more money raised.

So Happy Thursday, friends.

As the patio project progresses, I'll try to take some pictures.

And if you're close enough and can stop in on Saturday, we'd LOVE to see you!!!

 

When Your Soul Won't Let You Avoid the News

My politically-reluctant soul is squirming.

In the social media wake of recent events involving the tragic assassination of an outspoken political activist who also happens to profess himself a believer in Jesus, I find myself surprisingly, painfully, and altogether refreshingly caught between who I truly want to be, and who my reactions reveal I actually am.

I won't include names, only because I hesitate to get dragged into some algorithmic media entity, the likes of which I neither understand nor want to feed.  I wasn't even going to comment on the event, except I was reminded today, from a voice unlike my own, how essential it is to guard my heart against the insidious evil that is 'us and them.'  And upon reflection, I realized how easily I have been provoked to decide my 'camp' is right, and to feel the strong desire to distance myself from my brothers and sisters in Christ who are reacting in ways and saying things I completely and utterly disagree with.  

Ironic, since one of the criticisms I have with much of what I'm reading on line is how divisive the voices can be.  Yes, the Christian ones!  How harmful it is, how confusing, how much it seems to perpetuate the factious arrogance I find so unlike Jesus.

Yet, here I am, in the midst of it, tempted to 'divide' myself away from them.  To distance myself.  

(Pause to let the crazy of that sink in.)

A firm atheist at one point in his life, C. S. Lewis talked about something he found unmistakable about Christians. 

"Even when I feared and detested Christianity, 

I was struck by its essential unity, which, in spite of its divisions, it has never lost.  

I trembled on recognized the same unmistakable aroma 

coming from the writings of Dante and Bunyan, Thomas Aquinas and William Law."

Without diving into a history lesson, let's just say that the pairings he mentions are folks who claimed a faith in Jesus, but who came at it with widely different perspectives and contexts.  C. S. Lewis said that despite their difference, they 'smelled' the same.

I wonder, if Lewis were still alive, and had social media to read along with the classics, would he think we still do?

And I doubt we have to wonder what Jesus Himself thinks all the rhetoric out there.  Or, bringing it uncomfortably closer, of my tendency to stay separated in my own 'camp.'  

By this, everyone will know that you are my disciples; 

if you love one another.  

John 13:35

The problem now, and what makes it painful and altogether refreshing to be caught here is, it's one thing to recognize it.  It's entirely another to decide to humble myself and listen.  To chose an open posture.  To respond with the grace and empathy I so wish the Church was famous for.

I'm not saying I can't or shouldn't thoughtfully hold my positions on how best the message of Jesus is communicated, or what the gospel actually looks like.  I can form my own opinions of what makes someone a hero or a martyr, or not.   I'm not saying I can't or shouldn't disagree, and respectfully engage in dialogue.  There is a place for asking questions, and sharing opposing opinions, of course there is.  And then, yes, there is a place for calling out something that is clearly unethical.  Not every thought is equally permissible to sustain human well-being.

But if I want to be a person of unity;  if I want everyone to know that I am a disciple of Jesus; if I want to stay true to my belief that love remains the main thing, always, what will that look like?

I'm trying.  Don't have a handle on it yet, because too much of it is still making me mad, and tempted to write heated retorts proving my position is correct.   

Sigh.  

Wrote this instead.

Awkward Kayaking Stories, Brought to You By Dollar Store Swimming Shoes

A kayaking story, just for fun.  

Or maybe it's a story about fashion.

Or being awkward.

I'm not sure.

Anyways.

Tuesday morning things looked fine for a spin around the island.  On our little bay here, not a ripple.  Sun was just coming up.  A fair bit of beach was under my boat, so I was pretty sure it would be the slightly longer route today, avoiding the portage altogether.  

These last few days, mornings like this have helped enormously in my hope to surpass last year's times around the island.  That was 28.  After a slow start this season, I have managed to at least match it,  Twenty eight times around for 5 km each means I've paddled 140 km this year so far.  

I go in the mornings before the wind picks up.  But in these first weeks of September, another factor weighs in; the water level.  It's extremely low right now, lower even than the comparatively low it's been all season.  This means my regular route, which has already required a very short, easy portage over a small sand bank, may or may not be available to me.  The rest of the shallow part, past the sand bank, is just too long and marshy with mud and large sticks at the bottom; okay to float over, but not so nice to wade through.  Besides, the water is cold by now.  And the air too.  It's only been 9 degrees when I start out! 

A note here.  While I'll never be known as a fashionista, something I'm just fine with by the way, my fall kayak get up would push me closer to a different kind of style distinction.  Might be called 'cottage grunge,' or 'boating dork.'  There's my Tilley hat, then the life jacket.  And now in the cooler weather, long pants and snug warm socks. But the best part is my bright blue swimming shoes from the dollar store.  Kayaking, and portaging actually, is best done barefoot.  But not right now.  Not in that early morning chill.

Back to Tuesday morning.  Off I go, and things are all bliss and serenity...until I nose out past The Shadow and head into the small bay that will open up to the bigger water.  I'm surprised.  There really was no indication of this in the more protected channels, as there usually is.

The waves are already splashing over the covered bow, and I'm really having to pull hard for each stroke.  I'm able to hug the shoreline for a bit to block the swell, but coming out around the point, let's just say, it's a thing.

It's not like I'm anxious about it.  By now I know what my kayak can handle, and we're nowhere close to being swamped.  But the grunt work of this particular time out is going to require more than I care to put out this morning.  I make the decision to go for the portage.

Remember, I'm wearing long pants and socks.  Remember the bit about the dollar store swimming shoes.  I come in to the sand bank and stabilize the boat.  Time to hike up the pants, and remove socks and shoes.  Feels a little awkward to do this in the kayak, but later it will seem like the easier part of this.

The water IS cold!  And the levels are low enough that I have to push the kayak much further into the muck than I'd prefer.  But there it is, that moment when there's enough buoyancy, and back I climb in and settle myself into the seat and paddle-push myself over the rest of it.  

I leave my socks and shoes off until I'm really clear, because I half expect to the need to get out again over some of the shallower parts, but no.  I manage instead with a semi-gondola effect, and now I'm clear!  Floating for real.

And my feet are cold!  So the thing to do is to put my socks and shoes back on, right?  

Do you have any idea how hard it is to put snug warm socks on wet feet, while in a kayak, wearing a life jacket?  And that was the easy part.  These swimming shoes, honestly!  The opening is small and stretchy.  Of course they are.  They're meant to stay on while you're in the water.  But it is almost impossible to point enough of your toes into that small, stretch opening, and bed over enough when - have I mentioned this - you're in a kayak, wearing a life jacket.

I struggled for many minutes doing this.  Drifted up against the shore and almost got myself grounded again doing this.  I grunted and huffed and complained while doing this.  Nothing graceful about it at all.  Nothing of the kayak's reputation for bliss and serenity was present in these ridiculous moments.

I thought about that philosophical question, "If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to hear it, does it still make a sound?"  Only I wondered, "If you struggle with wet socks and swimming shoes in a kayak, and there's no one there to see you, are you still a dork?" 

[The ironic answer to this question is likely, "Not unless you write about it."  But never mind.]

When it was all done, I took a deep breath, readjusted myself on the kayak seat, and picked up my paddle to continue, as if nothing at all happened.  Off-we-go-isn't-this-lovely-beautiful-morning, and all that.

It is my hope, temperatures and wind and water levels notwithstanding, to achieve at least two more times around, making for a nice neat number of 30.  

We'll see.

Transitional Overlapping Fallness

This was the first of the September weekend turnarounds where we are planning to be at the cottage during the week and home for the weekends, mostly anyways.  When Ken said he wanted to get some sausage from the market, I decided to tag along and we made it a Saturday morning date.  

While Ken runs up to market frequently, I realized when we were there that my last visit was in October of 2023 when Suradet, Yupa and Bell were with us.  It made me miss them more than I usually do, so I snapped with very hurried selfie and sent it to them.  Within minutes I got a response. 

It's such a crazy thing, really, to be this far away and yet able to connect so easily.  Helps a little.

Back home, it was also fun to see how things were in the 'new' garden.  

And to realize that, even when we have to close up the cottage, there are lovely fall things to look forward to here.  It will be the very first time I've decorated this porch for fall.  And the landscaping we had done earlier in the spring, plus the new shed we added at the beginning of July are providing the background for more we'd like to do before the snow flies.  [Oops, pardon my language, I just said the s-word there.]

The meteorologists call fall a 'transitional' season.  That's code for anything can happen weatherwise, so be prepared.  Sometimes it's going to feel like summer.  Sometimes it's going to feel like it's time to start the pre-hibernation rituals.  Flip flops or woolen socks?  Summer dress or hoodie?  And to take it further than the weather....Market trip or kayak around the island?  This fall offers both, and I like it.

Do I like transitions?  Not that much, not usually.  But it was good to step back into the delights of our life in the city these past few days.  And that's not even counting the yet to be had opportunity to worship together with our beautiful Highview Family this morning!!!  Can't wait.

We'll take Abby back up with us for this second to last little cottage stint.  Who knows, maybe she'll see the bear that's been visiting us this season.  Hope so/not.

Community and Belonging and Being Away for a Long Time

These were the gathering clouds just before supper.  By now the sky looks greyer, in anticipation of the four days of rain that's predicted to begin this evening.  

What incredible weather we've had, though, for the past several days!  Cool enough for a good sleep overnight, then warming up to about 25C without any hint of humidity.  I've been set up out on the deck for the whole day several days in a row.  September really has begun with a last dance of summer that invites me to be fully present in these moments.

Likely, it will still be raining in the morning, so the kayak is turned over for now.  Probably good for me to take a rest day anyways.  The fabulous mornings have had me out so many days in a row that I'm actually almost caught up to my 28 times around last year...right now I'm at 26.  Slow start this summer, as I wrote about before.  But all the August conditions were much more favourable.  Got me some decent callouses too.  

And maybe, who knows, maybe Ken and I can put aside some work and break into a game of Super Scrabble.  And if you don't know what that is, I won't be surprised.  We are, after all, fairly well entrenched in the nerd category when it comes to the Scrabble thing.  Super Scrabble, like a rainy day game of Monopoly, is something of a commitment, not to be rushed, and requires a table or a surface that you can completely take over for a good portion of the day.  

There is a bit of a concern, though, that with the rain comes loss of connection.  Just part of the deal of having our internet hooked up to a satellite dish, and the interference factor when it rains hard.  We both have the need for either Zoom or email for a bit of the day, so hopefully...

It will be a back and forth thing for us starting Friday.  September will have us here some and there some, since life in the city ramps up, even as summer lingers over Georgian Bay.  We'll see.  This is our first 'true' here/there summer since the big move last year.  This is the year where we have put into play the plan of living in our small house for the winter, and up here for as much of the spring, summer and fall we can get away with.

Honestly, I've barely been in KW since June 4 when we first arrived; five days in June, overnight once in July, then four days just before and then over the August Civic Holiday weekend.  And that's it for me.  Ten days in the last 90 or so.  Ken did the trip more often, mostly for work related errands that needed his actual person.  But generally, we been away for a fair chunk of time.

I think the plan is working.

We were away longer last year.  That was different.  And yet.  While I revel in the flat water and deer sightings and the sun's rising and setting glories, and even though there've been plenty of Zoom connects with friends, and actual time here with family, I am by now feeling that sense of disconnect.

It never gets boring, this.  This careful balance of introversion and community.  No matter how much I am away, I want to be with, even though I also love the away.  And no matter how badly I need to have enough time alone, I also very badly need my peeps.  Does that make sense?

I hope so, even if just a little bit.  

And oh, I am so, so, so looking forward to worshiping at Highview on Sunday!  And that's the plan.  Back in the city every weekend from now on.  

Cottage closing date?  Yet to be determined.  

Because...have I mentioned how quiet it is here in the fall?