Day One

I am welcomed this morning by Heron, a family of Canadian Geese, and Beaver (who did not give permission for his picture to be posted on line, but was quite cordial otherwise).

It's cool and quiet, the early morning rain starting to give way to a somewhat brighter sky and the sunny breakthroughs promised for later this afternoon.  Fire is on, tea kettle is on, sweaters are on, and it all makes me even more grateful for the glorious summer teaser day we were given yesterday to make our way across the water.

Despite the usual physicality of packing and unloading and schlepping any trip up requires, let alone the first of the season, I am awake this morning feeling stronger and better rested than I have in the past six to eight weeks.  I'd say I slept like a baby, but I had a few of those and I know that's not how they sleep, so.  No, I slept like someone breathing in Georgian Bay air for the first time in a long time, laying down deep into the comfort of the cottage bed, profoundly resting in the peace of this place.

I am filled with the anticipation of 'all the things.'  And there is joy and energy in imagining it.  And also a gloriously unrushed sense to it all.  There's time.  There's time for putting on the fire, and drinking tea, and writing family times on the wall calendar, and making project lists, and receiving the welcome of friends.

Last season I counted 103 days.  That factored in our big move, an appendectomy, a trip to Thailand and an extended cottage time into the fall.  There's not enough math room in my brain to make any estimates or predictions for this year, even if I was so inclined.  

Right now, here on day one, I'm more inclined to pay attention to how it unfolds before me, and what the Spirit wants to do to form my soul while I'm here.

Easing Into Summer Mode

Soon.

The goal is Wednesday morning.  

It has always been the intention, the dream, in this little-house-not-yet-retired-but-getting-there era of our lives, that we would experiment with living and working in two seasonal locales.  We've finished our very first winter/early spring in the new house.  And now we get to head back to our other home on the Freddy Channel in Georgian Bay.

Because last year was the big move year, and then we had to wait for construction deadlines and all that, we stayed a gloriously long time up at the cottage well into October.  What a beauty!  But it was because we had to.  Now that we are free to come and go as we please, this really feels like the launching of that grand both-places experiment, for reals.

Good news is that, as much as I can't wait to be there, out in the kayak, reveling in the sunsets, I'm also not desperate to get out of here.  Our small home isn't too small at all, and back here in the far corner of the yard, away from the street, it's actually mostly quiet.  Even those hot days we had in May (we did have some if you can recall with how chilly it's been more recently), we felt the benefits of top-of-the-line insulation and well-placed ceiling fans.  Everything here is quite comfortable.

Still, there's a very different pace of life on the island.  It's part of being more isolated, with few if any  social engagements, and the absence of human-noise, particularly first thing in the morning.

There's times around the island to count, and blueberries to gather, and chipmunks to befriend.  Can I convince the jays to take from my hand this year?  And I'll write.  So much to inspire my heart when I'm closer to the Creator's creation, and it heals me to write.  It does.

And there's the bunkie ceiling to finish off, and the old kitchen next door to restore into usability, and always wood to chop and stack.  Stuff to do, for sure.

In all of it, thanks to the wonders of technology, we can stay connected, send and receive emails and texts, even join in on Zoom meetings.  We do not abandon the good work entrusted to us.  But we can do it from home; working from home, but just in a different place. 

I do not take any of this for granted.  Especially right now as I continue to listen to my body in its healing phase.  I am also grateful that, while there's plenty of good work to do, right now it's much more behind the scenes and advance planning, nothing urgent necessarily, so I can pace myself and dig down deep into the work free of any pressing deadlines.  That's a sweet spot I intend to thoroughly enjoy.  My doctor completely approves.

And, hey, an added bonus.  Now when we leave the house for a while, it's not really left alone, as it were.  Mail can be brought in easily, the landscaping can still happen when we're away, all under the convenient watch of our son, who's back door is literally 3 meters from our front porch.

So the next few days will be packing.  But even in that, it shouldn't be too difficult since the opening crew hauled up a lot of supplies last weekend.  It could be chilly I'm thinking.  But that's what the wood is for, and we figured out how to stay warm last fall anyways.  And it's June now.  Summer is most certainly on the way.

What a full spring it's been.

Summer fills in different ways.

We sang this yesterday at Highview's Anniversary Service.  There's a lot of cottage in this verse.

Summer and winter and springtime and harvest,

Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,

Join with all nature in manifold witness,

To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

And to all my Cognashene friends....Looking forward to reconnecting really soon.

A Love-List for Highview on our Anniversary

The Lord has done great things for us

and we are filled with joy.

Psalm 126:3

Twenty eight years ago God did a unique and amazing thing when the community of faith known as Highview Community Church came into being.  

I was there.  

And I will always remember it as a wild beginning, an exhilarating ride, a moment in time that would be indelibly defining.  Banding together with folks who were all-in, passionate about making the astonishingly good news of Jesus accessible to all, especially those who had become disenfranchised by the Church.  Willing to do 'whatever it takes,' making sacrifices, pouring themselves out, ready to make a difference.

The pathway to all of that led us to some surprising destinations, both in terms of what it meant to be that Church on the Roundabout in Kitchener, and also where else on the planet risky faith would send us.  As others joined us on the journey, we pursued visions and set strategies and were all intentional about it.  And we also stopped and listened and hoisted our sails expectantly when the wind of the Spirit pushed us in completely different directions.  It was sometimes hard to let go of some of what we imagined we might be, and step instead into who God was shaping us to be, but we were tenacious in love and worship, and kept adjusting and morphing until it became very much part of who we are to just keep growing with creativity and grace.

Somewhere along the way, and for a decent period of time, I found myself serving as the pastor of this beautiful community God was fashioning.  It wasn't my original intention at all, but, simply I think because I kept saying yes to the next thing God asked me to do, I looked up one day and that's what I was doing.  And Highview, it is no stretch of exaggeration when I say that walking with you in that capacity has been one of the single more amazing gifts of my life.  

And so today, as we mark 28 years of this journey together, Highview, I just want to list all the reasons I love you so much.

• For your genuine, organic care for one another that is evident in oh so many practical, obvious ways.
• For taking the risk that it was at the time to embrace a female senior pastor.
• For the incredible, faithful generosity that has allowed us a long-haul love for widows and orphans in places far away from where we're planted, but close to the heart of God.
• For always seeking ways to engage our immediate neighbourhood, with gardens and concerts, garage sales, and even bus parking!
• For sharing our building with other faith groups, even when that means working through logistics.
• For showing up on clean up day!
• For being respectful to our Canadian geese couple who take over the bottom entrance every spring!  That may seem silly to say so, but that kind of gentleness for God's creatures speaks volumes.
• For finding creative, sustainable ways to nurture our children and youth.
• For being "Small But Mighty" in so many authentic, impactful ways.
• For always doing the very best we can with what we've got.
• For allowing me to remain among you when my role changed.
• For embracing the imperfect in each other, and being a safe place to be real.
• For loving me and my family through some of the worst of the worst life has thrown at us, and for how I see you doing that all the time for anyone who needs it.
• For being such a hugging church!
• For the great food you bring to potlucks!
• For upholding and respecting biblically responsible preaching.
• For being so generationally integrated.
• For vibrant, God-oriented worship.

• 

And honestly I could go on, but I'll leave it at that for now.

I love you Highview, truly, with all my heart.

Looking forward to celebrating together on Sunday!!!

Long-Lingering Kindness

 "White coral bells, upon a slender stalk,

Lilies of the Valley line my garden walk.

Oh don't you wish that you could hear them ring?

That can happen only when the fairies sing."

We are standing on the porch holding hands, my first friend Kathi and I, ringing the doorbell and hoping for tea time with Mrs. Atcheson.  It was a different time back then, in that we were quite young, likely 4 or 5, and on our own.  I don't remember this being an invitation or even set up by our parents, but rather, I think we just showed up on the whim of two little girls who were pretty sure this would be a good way to spend part of an afternoon.  We'd done this before.

An older woman greets us, all smiles and happy surprise and the door is opened and we are shown to the table.  Plain biscuits are quickly and easily brought out of the cupboard - were they Arrowroot or shortbread, I'm not sure - and 'tea' is served (which is really apple juice in tea cups).  We chat about our day, and she asks us questions about what we've been up to.  And we are listening in fascination to her gentle Scottish burr, and drawn in by her sincere interest.

Mrs. Atcheson could play the piano really well.  So after tea, we're taken into the front room, all warm and decorated in rich, dark colours, a little like a Victorian era parlour, quiet and comforting.  We are given our positions on each side of the piano bench.  A flourishing intro, and we sing together the song about coral bells and fairies.  She plays it beautifully, and tells us both we have lovely singing voices.  I can't remember if we ever accomplished it as a round, but we might have.  We might have sung other songs at other times too, but this is the one I remember.

This would be one of those songs that I learned the lyrics to before I understood them.  Honestly, I don't think it was until much, much later when I actually put the tiny white flower together with the song.  As in 'Oh!  These are the white coral bells!"  I only remember that at the time I really, really wished I could hear the fairies singing and the little bells ringing, and listened for it for a long, long time.  And Mrs. Atcheson's genuine kindness.  I remember that.

There is so much kindness in this memory for me.  And reminiscing with my still-friend (who now goes by Kate and isn't it kind of incredible that we're still in touch more than six decades later, thank you Facebook) it's the same for her.  She remembers too.  And I have to wonder at the power of kindness to make a memory go so deep and indelible.  And the feelings of it; of being seen and delighted in and invited into life.

I have no idea what other important things Mrs. Atcheson had to do on any of the days we came to visit.  If you had asked me, I would have told you that Kathi and I, and our little visit for tea and biscuits and singing a song, was the singular most important thing for her in that moment.  Because likely it was.

And here I am, all these many, many years later, happily discovering Lilies of the Valley in our new yard at the back, hearing the song in my head (or is it the fairies?), and remembering Mrs. Atcheson, and feeling important.  And quiet inside.  Yes,  Quiet.  (pause to clarify) I'll call if safe.

Friends, we have this.  We have the same power to make things better and it's really so easy.  In a world of complicated politics, and taking sides, and anxious economics, don't we all need to know we're safe and important right now?  We might not have much we can do about all the big things, but we can do this.  

Kindness is no small thing.  It can make a difference that could linger for a long, long time.

Thank you Mrs. Atcheson.  I think I can hear those coral bells ringing now.

In the Middle of the Mess

I'm fairly certain that this is the pair of robins who have nested under our eves by the side door.  One is looking for worms under the wood platform, and the other is perched above, maybe keeping watch.  Is it odd that I am finding so much joy in the idea that these expectant parents feel safe in the little space I've arranged by the fence?

The other thing I notice is the yellow flowers -- buttercups I believe -- also finding a place to be nurtured back here.  There's more, growing up along the kitchen window side as well, all bright and serendipitous.

If I pan out a bit, here's another little discovery.

The bush generously hanging over the fence of the neighbour's yard and covering my small rock garden is a honeysuckle.  A fully grown, abundantly flowering honeysuckle.  

And the reason that's important is that I left a brand new, teeny attempt of a honeysuckle back at the other house; something I'd planted on purpose about three years ago, knowing it would be a long time before it flowered well.  And, in that small and silly way we miss these sort of things, I was missing it.  Until, here I am, without any effort of my own, enjoying the work of someone else who has nurtured this for obviously a long time.  Just there, hanging over my little back space.

And under the honeysuckle are lilies of the valley.  (I LOVE lilies of the valley because of Mrs, Atcheson...but that's another story.)

And this same kind of 'coincidental' beauty is sort of happening all around me, even in the midst of the bigger mess that is our yard awaiting its redemption.

Construction, while constructive can also wreck havoc.  We've got some work to do for sure.  And there are plans.  There are plans.

But in the meantime...

...what sweet and unexpected gifts are given.  Without my doing.  

Barely without my knowing.  

Did I mention how much I also love lilacs?  So that's buttercups, honeysuckle, lilacs, bleeding hearts, and lily of the valley.  And forest friends.  And sunrises.

Did you ever notice how the whole big story starts in a garden and ends in a city with an extraordinary garden?  Genesis to Revelation, check it out.  In the middle it's a big mess.  Redemption is coming.  And meanwhile, all this.  Sweet joys, safe spaces, unexpected gifts.  

It's wonderful to begin Monday with some sunshine and some renewed health and strength.  Last week of May.  How did that happen?  Still working 'carefully,' but there's a lot of fun stuff on the list, so I'll have to watch myself.  

Happy Monday all.  

Hope you discover your little gifts along the way.

Be The Rabbit (Or the Turtle Or Whoever You Need to Be on a Given Day)

The morning walk companion 

who posed so nicely

to help illustrate my fable.

What follows probably needs an explanation.  It is my attempt to rewrite and rewire a well-known fable first penned by a skilled sixth century storyteller named Aesop, and told to me often as a little girl.  I do this, not because I disagree with Aesop's original moral to the story, that being "Slow and steady wins the race."  But instead because somehow, somewhere my own wires got crossed and now it seems prudent, perhaps even healing, to write a different story for myself.  

Rabbit was not feeling all that great that morning.  He hadn't slept well, had too much to do, and had been running hard for the past several weeks already.  Even the invigorating morning routines that normally set him up for a good day of bounding, weren't.  He was twitchy and irritable.  Even feeling a little hard done by, if he was honest.  Being all muscular and fast was all fine and good, but he was getting tired of all the expectations.  But since he was expected to show up, he did.  He was The Rabbit, after all.

He arrived to the race resigned to do his part, faking a smile and going through all the usual warm up motions, only half listening to the instructions this time.  Turtle was his normal dejected self, scuffing in the dirt a little, barely looking up.  He was like this every morning.  He was The Turtle after all.

"Okay, you guys know how this goes," said Coach Calvin.  "We've set up an impossible situation with only one possible outcome.  Rabbit, you win.  Turtle, you lose.  That's just the way it is, because that's just the way you are, and that's just the way we've done this time and time again.  Our mission is to normalize the ridiculous acceptance of obvious differences, and to do so in a way that ingrains the psychological programs called "overachiever" and "learned helplessness."  Ready?

Turtle sighed, like he always did.  But this time so did Rabbit.  It caught them both off guard, and they glanced at each other, and made uncomfortable eye contact briefly before quickly looking away.  

Coach Calvin raised the starter pistol.  Each of them took position at the starting line.  "Ready!  Set!" And BANG! went the pistol.  Rabbit shot off.  Turtle plodded in his dust.

Later, Rabbit wouldn't be able to tell where exactly he was on the course when it happened.  He'd been launching forward in strong, intentional bounds, feeling the familiar adrenaline, and the usually-invigorating wind in his hair.  But somewhere, around a familiar bend, he noticed the dandelions.  

It's not like they were new.  They were always there, off into the meadow away from the well-worn path.  But this day, this twitchy and irritable day, he stopped.  Stopped running.  Stopped racing.  And he did something he'd never done in the middle of the race, ever.  He sat down.  He sat down and sampled the dandelions.  And they were so wildly refreshing, he had some more.  And then he actually laid down.  And then he actually felt so good NOT racing, with the sun on his face and the sweet scents of the forest lingering all over him, he fell asleep.

A good twenty minutes later, pulling along the course, Turtle found him.  He was so shocked to see Rabbit, all quiet and resting and still, that he didn't recognize him at first.  Then he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.  Then, remembering their mission, Turtle poked Rabbit awake.  

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I think I'm resting," Rabbit replied, sitting up.  "I've never really done it before, but I've heard about it.  And, yes, I think that's what this is."

There was an pause.  It wasn't awkward this time, but neither of them said anything for a moment, just feeling the strangeness of the situation.  Then Turtle lifted his head a little.

"What should we do?"

Rabbit paused, glancing deeper into the woods.  "Well, personally, I think I need to take the day off."  A short pause.  "Why don't you go on ahead?  I'll check in at the Finish Line before the end of shift."

"But."  Turtle was genuinely confused.  "But then I'll win the race."

Rabbit got all the way up now, brushing himself off.  "That you will, my friend.  And I'm perfectly okay with that."

Turtle smiled, catching on.  "They'll have to rewrite the story," he said.  

"Let them," Rabbit replied, giving Turtle a playful thump on his shell.  "I'm sure they will come up with a new mission statement easily enough.  You just keep on going, slow and steady, and you can win the race."

"Thanks!"  And Turtle started down the path again with a renewed sense of purpose.  But he stopped for a second and turned his head back.  "As long as the story is never told as if you just got lazy."

Rabbit laughed.  "Maybe someone will spin it that way," he shrugged.  "But more probably, I might be remembered for being too proud to think I needed time off.  Today I want to change that."

And that's exactly what they did.  Turtle went on to win the race, much to the surprise of Coach Calvin.  And Rabbit thoroughly enjoyed his day off, eating dandelions and taking naps and regaining his sense of self beyond what he was good at.  

And now when they tell the story, two morals come to mind:

"Slow and steady wins the race."

And.

"Every bunny needs a day off once in a while."

With a nod to RH for the inspiration.

Seen in the Rain

 Let us acknowledge the LORD:

Let us press on to acknowledge Him.

As surely as the sun rises,

He will appear;

He will come to us like the winter rains,

like the Spring rains that water the earth.

Hosea 6:3

This latest string of rainy days doesn't really surprise us.  It's Spring in southwestern Ontario, after all.  Some rain, although more usually associated with April, is still very much expected in May.  Expected.  As in, it kind of wouldn't be Spring without some rain.

I didn't go out for my walk this morning.  Some of you are far more disciplined and would have put on the rain gear and gone out there anyways.  But this morning I'm feeling all the rainy day vibes of staying indoors and just going slow.  Could also have something to do with the improving-but-still-there side effects of the medication I'm on, due to the improving-but-still-there, easy-does-it GI issues I'm recovering from (quite nicely according to my doctor).  

But mostly I think it's this another-rainy-day thing that's giving me this gradual ramp up to my day. Not sure if I like it or not.  On one hand, I have to have realistic expectations of myself right now.  On the other, it feels like I just wasted those solid early morning hours when I am usually so productive.

 And in that not-yet-ready-for-work-so-avoiding-getting-started-and-a-little-frustrated mood, I was randomly looking up Biblical references for rain, and reminded of this part of Hosea's prophecy.  And this time reading it, I was intrigued by the word 'acknowledge.'

In Hebrew it's 'yada'  [And for the linguistic nerds among us, I'll include the Hebrew spelling יודע].  This is both a common and broadly defined word in the Old Testament, AND an important idea for Hosea.  

Without getting too deep into it,  I will just say here that it means in part "to know deeply, intimately."  Or maybe "to understand completely."  To add a science fiction nerdiness to this, compare it to the Na'vi greeting "I see you," as depicted in the James Cameron film Avatar.

If you're still with me at this point, what struck me in this morning's reading was the repetition-plus-intensifier of the idea to "acknowledge," then "press on to acknowledge" God.  Hosea's audience had begun to take Him for granted, perhaps even forget about Him entirely, perhaps even - and this was the scandal of the prophet's own life - betray Him outright.

God's faithfulness is not in question.  Just like we can expect Spring rains, He always shows up.  

And I wonder if two things might reveal a lack of "deeply knowing" this. 

Worry.

And/or...

Living as if it all depends on me.

So slow start to the day notwithstanding, and with this important reorientation in place, I'll get to my work now.  I think.  I hope.  And either way, God shows up.  I am seen.  The rain reminds me.