Delicate Strength

Psalm 18:32-34

It is God who arms me with strength

and keeps my way secure.

He makes my feet like the feet of a deer;

he causes me to stand on the heights.

He trains my hands for battle;

my arms can bend a bow of bronze.

Just outside my window as a work this morning, this friend shows up.

We do see deer here from time to time, but coming right down in front of the cottage like this is a bit more rare.  

She came up even closer to the south side, and I was able to take these shots through the window.  Yet even at this distance, I was again reminded of just how strong these creatures are.  I think I often regard them as being so delicate.  But they are quite muscular and sure-footed, and can bound away in great leaps tails high if threatened.

I remembered this psalm, where the writer was himself feeling threatened, and the comfort that God's equipping presence can bring.  

I was tempted to cut things off at verse 33 and leave out the battle and bronze bow reference.  But even though I lean very much on the pacifist side of things when it comes to actual, physical warfare, these days I feel certain events and their arising injustices might require me to rise up and take a stand.  

And also.  For right now.  I am grateful to be in a place so peaceful, a deer thought it safe enough to come and get a drink this morning.  

Fully present in the moment.
 

Abby All Over Again

The very first summer Abby came to spend time at the cottage with Gramma and Grandad all on her own she was six, and everything was magic.

In later years her brother would join her, then a cousin and a two more brothers, until the cottage time with 'just the kids and no moms and dads' took on a rowdy, wonderful space of its own.  All sensational, and we wouldn't have it any other way, mess and noise included.

But there was something soft and indelible about those first two (I think) years when it was just Abby.

Because....she's Abby.

Our times on the deck so early in the morning, feeding Scout the seagull, and the chipmunks.  I still have the same purple housecoat that used to wrap around us both on the chair in the chill of the morning while we waited for customers.

Endless afternoons hunting for the frogs she was not afraid to hold in her hands and carry safely to the little day habitat we'd built.  Always letting everyone go right before bed.

Stories we made up together, and swims to the shoal, and little picnics down the channel.  She was all cottage confident, especially in the water.  When I complained about not really wanting to climb up and actually go onto the shoal, an awkward heave-ho even before I was a Gramma, she cheered me on.  "Come on Gramma!  I know how to get up there.  Follow me!!"

And in those times, all the Gramma spaces in my soul filled right up.  Just because she was there, so little, so gentle, our sensitive girl with the fabulous imagination, and shoal-climbing super powers.

That first year, when it was time for her to go home again, I waved from the dock until I couldn't see the boat anymore.  Then I came back up to the cottage and had a good cry.

And then this year.

All on her own on the GO Train, with two transfers no less!  Up earlier in the season because in July and August she'll be a working woman, and will not be able to come for the whole family fun.  

So right now, just us.  Like before.  Still magic.  Only she's older and mostly kills her own spiders now.

And she paints.  And she plays Scrabble with Gramma and Grandad.  And she goes out to with a net and comes back with clam shells, because there weren't any frogs to be seen.  And she loves to be here.

And I can't even explain how this is beautiful to me, how beyond gifted I know I am to have this particular human in my life, and her wanting to be here with me.  And I can and will say and feel amazing things about the other four, for sure.  But this time, right now, right here is with Abby.  And it's quite wonderful, and lovely and surprising.  

I'm not exactly sure what I expected it to be like, this Gramma thing, when they were older.  

This is more than I expected.  Much more.

[Pictures and content posted with permission.]

Let the Morning Bring Me Word

 

A cloudy morning with rain predicted for most of today, and I don't mind.

There's an essential goodness to the rain, and sweet and slow cottage vibe when it does that whiffs of safe seclusion.  I have a lovely list of happy things to do; a mixture of ministry, and cottage projects, and reading, and a little bit of research, but none of it urgent.  So I pause before beginning any of it, to just be glad.

And open.

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.

Rescue me from my enemies, LORD,

for I hide myself in You.

Teach me to do Your will,

for You are my God;

may Your Spirit lead me on level ground.

Psalm 143:8-10

A good prayer to begin any day, I think.  

Ever-Praise: A Birthday Song

Psalm 71:5-6  

For you have been my hope, Sovereign LORD,

my confidence since my youth.

From birth I have relied on you, 

you brought me forth from my mother's womb.  

I will ever praise You.

Today I am 68.  

What a gift!  

And while it's true that more recently 'my doctors find me ever so much more interesting' (thank you Parker Palmer), the positives far outweigh the negatives for me at this point.  Without minimizing some of the challenges that any of us Boomers might be facing these days, I find myself approaching this birthday with hope and optimism and delight.

So, in the spirit of "I will ever praise You," I offer a 68th birthday song, in the form of a list of sorts.

Things I love about this era of my life that I could not say were true or even possible for my younger self:

• The richness of life-long relationships.
• The happy surprises inherent in new friendships.
• Having friends in every age-bracket, different cultures, and with a wide variety of philosophical, political, and religious views.
• The depth of a long, long love (47 years this August).
• Seeing my adult children engage meaningfully in their lives, and how honest they've been in the face of their sorrows.
• The indescribable joy of grandchildren.
• The wonder of also being an adopted Gramma to so many more of them!
• Less tethered to geography; more tied to people.
• Finding that work-life sweet spot of doing what you love.
• All that there is left to learn!
• What comes around has gone around a few times before, so there's less to fret about.
• Being better friends with my body.
• By now I know so many songs!
• Finding out that sunrises and sunsets never get old.
• The freedom to simplify.
• Not as afraid of bees and spiders (or creepy things in general).
• More aware of and less threatened by being wrong.
• More able to self-advocate without losing my cool.
• I've had enough time to practice it, so there's more gratitude and less complaining, which is such a nicer, lighter thing to carry around.
• With nothing left to prove, I'm more free to become myself.
• The faithful presence of God is more real even as it becomes more mystical, and I love Him more and more because of it.

And oh the list could be longer, but I'll leave it at that for now.

On to all the delightful traditions of a cottage birthday.

And yes, there'll be cake.  Of course there'll be cake!

Here On the Deck

A quiet morning with the promise of some warmer temperatures later in the day.  For now I am content to be here on the deck, glad in the cool stillness, waiting for the hummingbirds.  

The flowers have been chosen specifically to invite them.  

I'll soon be joined by some chipmunks no doubt.  Yesterday, there was one along the pathway to the bunkie that, if I didn't know better, I would swear he recognized me from last fall.  Didn't scurry away in a panic, but stopped and came back a little towards me while I promised him peanuts if he visited me on the deck.

I haven't been out in the kayak yet.  

The water is so low that my launching spot at the dock needs some adjustment.  And I want to clear out the driftage before I set that up.  But this morning would have been perfect for it.  Maybe later.  For now I'm happy, just here on the deck.  It's a good way to start the day.  Not needing anything.  Not wanting anything.  Just being here, on the deck.

Surely I have stilled and quieted my soul,

like a weaned child with its mother;

like a weaned child I am content.

Psalm 131:2

It's not quite warm enough yet for me to set up my work station here outside.  So I'll go inside, refill my teacup, and try to get at a few things on the list.  But I'll be back.  

And, oh yeah!  It's Friday!  So happy that.

 

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.