A New Ambition

 1 Thessalonians 4:9-12

I used to enjoy writing. Spilling truth from my fingertips like water for a thirsty world. Teaching as one who had authority. Then social media came along and now everyone’s an expert in everything. Always right. Always certain. Oblivious to grammar and spelling.

I used to enjoy photography. Capturing reality and beauty frame by frame, sharing it with the masses. Editing and post-processing like a boss in Lightroom and Photoshop. Then smart phones, filters, and Instagram came along and everyone’s a photographer, uploading an indiscriminate barrage of unedited, blurry images. Selfies ad nauseum and grotesque facial expressions. On purpose.

I used to enjoy singing. My first solo in front of a congregation at age three to people intrigued by a family with seven boys, and then one little girl. Competed in high school. Obtained my university degree in the discipline. Directed ensembles and choirs, and took groups across North America and Europe. I did my best, but as is true of all of life, there’s always someone better (and someone not as good). I am generally somewhere in the middle.

I used to enjoy games. Scrabble in particular. Always competitive, often triumphant, but finally realized ridiculously high game averages eventually didn’t hold a candle to nearly losing friends who didn’t like losing. (Who does, really?)

Running on the adrenalin of constant competition meant I was forever fearful of losing place, losing face, and it left me at loose ends, running on empty. Criticizing others became the rule of life. They just weren’t doing it the right way (my way). And yes, I realize there’s still an edge of that in this piece. What you may not see, is that, like many, I am most critical of myself. (That’s a whole other post.)

I’m pleased with what I’ve experienced and been able to accomplish, but now, well into my 63rd trip around the sun, it all begins to fade. The years reveal that winning, being the best, standing in the spotlight, only for the sake of ego? It is an empty well. A cracked cistern that can’t hold water.

I'm tired. Tired of sharing, tired of shouting, tired of needing everyone to look at me, listen to me. Tired of falling short. Tired of alienating others. As I look at the list: writing, photography, music, games… these are primarily hobbies. Only a few people are able to maintain successful careers in these fields and even they are continuously scrambling, marketing, striving. The rest of us do stuff we don’t enjoy from 8-5, then we fly and do what we love till the wee hours. Most never realize that dream of “Do what you love and you’ll never ‘work’ a day in your life.” Because there are just some things that have to be done. Like eating and paying the hydro bill.

Now I’m retired and have more time but less energy to engage. The bills are paid. Most days I have no need to be seen. Prefer to stay home. New to the idea that wholeness isn’t about perfection, but rather an acceptance of all that I am: the healthy and the broken. I remain a strong witness to the fact that relationships trump everything, so I’d better keep them healthy.

Relationships require me to give and receive, collaborate and cooperate (not compete), realizing we have all been gifted with something to bring to the table. And it’s a very big table. Look at the one beside you and carefully cultivate. Listen. Ask questions. Draw out.

“Bigger, better, best” is no longer the measure. “Fight, flight, or freeze” is no longer the response, but rather in the years, days, or moments I have remaining, I’m leaning more toward “bend, tend and befriend.”

Bend my head and knees in prayer. Bend to lift another. Bend my ear to listen.
Tend my heart, my home, and my own business. Tend to my friendships.
Befriend the outcast and the incomplete parts of my own life.
This is the invitation to awaken to all of life.

This I shall enjoy.

Count the Cost

Teach us to number our days,

that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

(Psalm 90:12)

I understand some people on the autism spectrum have a compulsion to count. While I haven’t been diagnosed on the spectrum, I wondered what it might be like to number how many different items I touched to prepare my daily breakfast (26). Then it expanded to include the multiple times I touched each item and finally the end list of counting each individual action right through to clean up (74):

1. Open the fridge

2. Pull out blueberries

3. raspberries

4. coconut milk

5. and gluten-free bread

6. close the fridge

7. Put two slices in the toaster

8. Open the cupboard

9. Get a bowl

10. and a plate

11. close the cupboard

12. open the drawer

13. get a spoon

14. and a knife

15. set the plate and knife by the toaster

16. set the bowl and spoon on the island

17. open the pantry

18. pull out granola

19. and raisins

20. close the pantry

21. to the bowl, add granola

22. add raisins

23. add blueberries

24. add raspberries

25. add coconut milk

26. open the fridge

27. return the coconut milk and berries

28. close fridge

29. open another cupboard

30. get a mug 

31. close the cupboard

32. put mug on the kuerig

33. open the brew compartment

34. remove the used coffee k-cup 

35. put it in the k-cup recycling box

36. insert a fresh k-cup

37. close the brew compartment

38. get a pitcher

39. fill it with water from the fridge dispenser

40. refill the kuerig water reservoir

41. choose cup size to brew

42. push the brew button

43. open the pantry

44. put away the granola and raisins

45. close the pantry

46. take the toasted bread out of the toaster

47. put it on the plate

48. take the lid off the butter

49. use the knife to butter the toast

50. put the lid back on the butter

51. open the honey

52. use the knife to add it to one slice of toast

53. close the honey

54. cut the toast slices diagonally

55. pick up the plate

56. the bowl

57. the coffee

58. set it all on the table 

59. sit down in the chair 

60. and eat

61. collect the bowl & spoon

62. the plate

63. the knife from by the toaster 

64. set on counter

65. open dishwasher

66. put dishes in dishwasher

67. close dishwasher

68. pick up the dishcloth

69. turn on the faucet

70. wet the dishcloth

71. wipe the counters

72. rinse the dishcloth

73. wring it out

74. drape it to dry on the sink

I realize these are the privileges of a first-world, middle-class, retired woman. I am generally healthy, can move easily and have the financial resources to enjoy fruit even when it is out of season. I’ve lived 58 years and never before “counted” this type of daily ritual. I likely never will again. 

These simple actions are difficult or impossible for someone crippled by pain or injury. The ability to list them may be beyond the reach of someone with short term memory loss or mental illness. A depressed individual might not even be able to get out of bed. A homeless person wouldn’t have means to store perishables or to clean and store the dishes. A person with a demanding job might not have time to sit and eat in peace and certainly wouldn’t be mulling the idea of counting how many motions it takes to prepare breakfast. 

The request that God would teach us to number our days is from Psalm 90 – which also includes this beautiful appeal – one that has comforted me during times of very significant heartbreak:

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,

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

Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,

    for as many years as we have seen trouble.

May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;

    establish the work of our hands for us—

    yes, establish the work of our hands.

So what is the point?

I have just listed numerous things for which I can be grateful. I am teaching myself not to take the simple things for granted. I am numbering my motions so that I can number my moments and my hours and my days so that I can be wise in how many ways I expend my energy: serving myself, serving others. This is one way the work of my hands is established.

Some people knit or craft, I prefer to think philosophically and write. I am learning to never stop learning. To never take life, food, mobility, comfort, privilege (or even coffee) for granted. To be grateful. And to keep on doing what really counts.

Tomorrow, I go help clean the home of someone who can’t clean for themselves because they are planning a family member’s funeral. 

I won’t be counting anything but my blessings. I am wiser every time I do that.

What have you counted that has made you wiser?

I want to remember these moments

Rebecca asked if I could be in Langley by Monday before their Friday wedding. Less than a year before, she had stood by Andrew’s side at my wedding. Strange and wonderful, knowing we were all going to be family. Beside her stood her parents, my son’s soon to be in-laws, who really have been filling the gaps left by the distance between Calgary and Langley since Andrew first met them five years ago.

I love Bill and Karin. I love them for how they’ve loved on Andrew from the very beginning but I also really like them as individuals and as a couple. How they helped me out before we’d even met, getting Andrew’s vehicle from Salmon Arm back to Langley in August of 2011 (long story). Further, I respect them as business people and craftspeople and artists. Karin is a baker, working both for the restaurant they own and another early morning job elsewhere. Bill has been a restaurateur for many years, having spent a large part of his career setting up the restaurants in new Ikea stores. They now own Porter’s Bistro, a coffee and tea house, café, housed in a historic turn of the century building at Five Corners in historic Murrayville (on the east side of Langley). Bill is also an accomplished jazz musician, playing drums in a professional jazz trio and hosting live music every Friday and Saturday night at Porter’s.

Their hospitality comforts me and their faithful work ethic inspires me. This became even more evident in the months and days leading up to the wedding, on the day itself and the days afterward. Yes, it was their daughter’s wedding, and the bulk of the planning and coordinating had to be left to them because I was too far away to be of any practical help, other than holding a wedding shower in Calgary and helping with errands the week of the wedding - which I will get to in a future blog post - but first, the prep and pre-events.

In addition to the immediate family, including Julia, Rebecca’s sister, their aunt Ricky had volunteered to help coordinate many items related to the wedding and another extended family member on Bill’s side, Aunt Beverly, offered her assistance as a floral designer. Side note here: Beverly was using succulents as the primary “flower” in the décor and bouquets. Many of these were grown in her own garden and the gardens of other family members and four of them spent several days the week of the wedding gathering these from various gardens and putting together the floral décor. A labour of love, a beautiful result!

When I attended the family wedding shower for Rebecca and Andrew a few weeks prior, I got my first glimpse “behind the curtain” of the legacy of family and faith that have brought me to understand, even more, how and why Bill (from his Dutch ancestry) and Karin (from Danish parents) have become the amazing people they are. The entire experience has developed into a panorama of experiences that bolsters my belief in the legacy and constancy of loving family who set aside their personal preferences to come together to help and contribute to landmark events.

It started with an invitation in the mail, a hand made card. The shower was held in the home of Ricky, one of Bill’s sisters. The floral designer pinned a corsage on the bride to be, and we had a buffet of sweets, fruit, veggies and sandwiches to enjoy. One by one we shared one word we felt described Rebecca, each of these a blessing, a mirror back to her of what her life has meant to ours: as our lives have gathered these blessings like wildflowers, walking along life’s path with her. Aunt Elsje, Bill’s other sister, will incorporate these words into a wall hanging to remind Rebecca of the love shared around this intimate circle.

Gifts were precious. The ones that struck me were the more sentimental keepsakes: an elaborate and beautiful scrapbook from Elsje, filled with traditional family recipes. The first version of this gift had been destroyed in a tragic fire only a few weeks before. Her aunt was able to save the computer that held many of the photos and documents used in the making of the book and she worked long hours to recreate this heirloom gift in time for the shower. The same fire destroyed the work done on centerpieces for the wedding reception and these, too, were recreated in time for the wedding.

Another gift was a box of family heirlooms both old and new. It included hand-embroidered and edged linen napkins made by an ancestor, hand-tatted doilies, sachets, candles, heirloom candle holder and a “bouquet” of collector spoons from every country Rebecca and Andrew have each visited so far in their lives, collected and donated by family and friends from across the world. The gift box included many more items of poignant significance in Rebecca’s family history. A treasure box, indeed.

A special surprise came from Karin’s mother, Else Jensen, Rebecca’s grandmother. She crocheted a beautiful white wrap/shawl for Rebecca to wear on her wedding day if it got too cool. None of the family knew she was doing this and the needlework was so intricate and beautiful, the yarn so delicate and soft, it was an immediate heirloom – a treasure to keep for the ages.

As I recount these moments I want to remember, there are many more details, many more gifts, many more significant people, some details and names of which I may not have gotten straight or remembered accurately. If I have made any errors, let me know so I can correct them.

In recording these moments, I echo again what I did in an earlier post surrounding the events of the wedding: “Here I raise my Ebenezer, this far by God’s help I’ve come.”

So grateful,

Joyce

…to be continued

Surrender

I love swimming. Dad gave us opportunity to learn early in life, taking the family many Friday nights to Family Swim Night at the Springfield YMCA. We did far more splashing and play fighting as siblings than we did swimming, but in the process, I learned a little about swimming. I got to visit a couple swim lessons with a friend along the way, so I learned enough to be comfortable and proficient as a swimmer.

Being in the water is a full-body sensory experience. It is my favorite sport and most relaxing activity of all time, even when pushing myself to swim laps at my local YMCA pool.

My sister-in-law, Wanda, was a lifeguard and swim instructor. When my brother, Steve, introduced us, one of our activities together included some time at the outdoor pool. I was in my mid-teens, she a college student. We talked about swimming as we swam and floating as she floated and I tried but failed, my feet always sinking to the bottom.

“I can’t do this. How do you float like that?” I asked, impatiently.

“There’s a trick that helps,” she said. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“Stretch your body out straight, then tuck your chin against your chest and look toward your toes,” she coached. I listened with great care to her instruction as she supported my body to keep me on the surface.

“Don’t lean your head back. Keep your lungs full of air and that will help give natural buoyancy.”
She let go and stopped holding me up. I tried and she would coach. Eventually, I got the hang of it and have never had a problem floating since that day. I spend many relaxing moments floating when I’m in any body of water.

Joyce and Sam were snorkelers. Sam was also a scuba instructor. We shared a trip to Kauai, Hawaii, not long after my late husband had died.

As we planned, Joyce said, “We spend lots of mornings on the beach snorkeling. You might want to buy your own gear in Canada rather than rent when you get there. That way you know it’s a good fit before you go and it saves time.”

I’d only played around with snorkeling on my first trip to Hawaii in 2007, so upon Sam’s wise suggestion, I also booked snorkeling lessons in Calgary. I felt a little sheepish at first even signing up. At my age, mid-fifties, shouldn’t I have learned how to use a little snorkel? But, I was honest enough to know I didn’t really have a clue.

We practiced with the mask and snorkel, filling and clearing it safely. No problem. Then I tried on the monster flippers and launched myself across the pool.

I didn’t move.

Basically, no matter how hard I kicked, I stayed in the same spot and just churned up the water. Odd, I thought, since I swim fine without flippers. It took me half the lesson, with the instructor’s help, to get the hang of the proper use of flippers. To me, it seemed completely opposite of the kicking motion I use when swimming barefoot. I had to retrain my mind to use the kicking motion the instructor modeled, and once I did, I rocketed across the pool. Ah, relief.

Once in Kauai, there was no need to rocket. The first beach we visited was full of all sorts of underwater life and I simply had to float. I’d use my arms to propel me until Joyce coached otherwise.

“Let your arms relax by your side and keep your flippers below the surface to move through the water. The fish get spooked by too much thrashing.”

Finally, I found the zone. The salt-water ocean added its own buoyancy and I could simply lay, relax and surrender to the ebb and flow of the water as it held me.

The beauty was stunning. So many vivid colors of fish and coral. Such unique and bizarre sea life. I had discovered a new world. In one sense, I became part of this world, going with the flow, like the fish. Like a fish.

Dr. David Benner, in his best-selling book, Surrender to Love, writes that we need to learn to “go with the flow” of life, almost like a fish…

To be human is to be carried along by the river of life. The river is our source and the essential dynamic of our being and becoming. The river is God’s providential love. 

Faith is trusting the river. It’s allowing ourselves to float in it rather than thrashing about as we try to swim against the flow. 

Early Christian writers often imaged the Christian life in terms of living in water like a fish. Tertullian called Christ the “Heavenly Fish” and Christians “little fish” who take their name from Ichthus (fish). Christians, according to these writers, are born and live within the divine waters of the Spirit. The Christian life is learning to be supported by these waters. 

We hear the same theme in the ancient Sufi allegory of fish that spend their days anxiously swimming around in search of water. Sadly, they fail to realize that they are in the midst of what they seek. Their distress is suddenly eliminated when they open their eyes and see where they really are. 

So it is with us. We need to stop searching and see that we are surrounded by the sea of Love. But we also need to stop our panicky thrashing about in an effort to float. 

Paradoxically, our efforts to stay afloat usually lead to sinking. Every time we start to panic and think we need to do something to stay afloat, we lift our head out of the water and no longer rest in it. As soon as we do we begin to sink. Our efforts to stay afloat may keep our head above the water for a while, but eventually we tire, and eventually our efforts to keep afloat will drown us. We float only when we stop trying to do so. And we never discover that we do not need to do anything to stay afloat until we let go. That is surrender. 

Surrender is the discovery that we are in a river of love and that we float without having to do anything. Apart from such surrender, we always are in the grip of some degree of fear. Apart from such surrender, we will always thrash about, trying to stay afloat by our own efforts. And apart from such surrender, we remain self-preoccupied as our willful attempts to stay in control cut us off from life itself. 

From Surrender to Love, (2003) ©Dr. David G. Benner ~ http://ow.ly/vdobx

As I read this excerpt, it was timely, as I have just been thinking of myself as a fish, based on Albert Einstein’s famous quote:

Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish by his ability to climb a tree, he will spend his life thinking he is stupid.

All my working life, I have been a fish in a tree-climber’s world. I’ve been an administrator in some capacity in most of my jobs. Last week, I realized with startling clarity that it is simply not a strength. I am a writer, a poet, a singer, a photographer, most anything on the creative arts side. Those of you who know me have seen these areas in my life and how they energize me. In contrast, having to organize others, pay attention to detail, juggle multiple priorities while multi-tasking in a high paced, deadline-driven environment (all those catch phrases on administrative position descriptions) – these completely suck the air out of my sails. I can do it – or at least I used to do it – to varying degrees of success. But it’s not my strength. No wonder I felt like a fish out of water.

I was overly optimistic about my capacity to return to work full time after dealing with the death of my husband, adapting to life as a widow and finding myself 18 months later in a new relationship that led to marriage. This all compounded my ability to focus at work. The trauma affected how my brain worked, my ability to focus, to concentrate, to absorb what I was reading. When the majority of my job is done via email, you can imagine how much longer a normal task would take.

It was a perfect storm. I was in a high-paced environment, in a career that did not use many of my strengths and regularly challenged my weaknesses. I always felt like I was swimming against the current. I forgot the necessity of self-care, rest and boundaries.

Last week in a moment of clarity, I realized I couldn’t do the job. I couldn’t meet the expectations. There is no shame in this. It was a poor fit for me. My efforts to stay afloat led to further sinking. It was, literally, making me sick.

So, after conversations with my boss and her boss, I have resigned my position, relaxed into the river of God’s love and now am breathing a sigh of relief, planning to rest for a while. No fear. God is my provider, the source of the river. I am going with the flow, following the lead of the Spirit.

You will probably see more blog posts as I begin this journey back to the heart of who I am, to the person I have been called to be. I’m not sure what all this will include, but you can be sure there will be writing, dancing and singing. I’ll keep my lungs full of air, stop thrashing around, and perhaps I’ll even join the YMCA.

It will, most likely, be something along the line of what Frederick Buechner suggests, "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

Thanks for journeying with me.

Keep Calm and Work Like Crazy?

"A hurricane wind ripped through the mountains and shattered the rocks before God, but God wasn’t to be found in the wind; after the wind an earthquake, but God wasn’t in the earthquake; and after the earthquake fire, but God wasn’t in the fire; and after the fire a gentle and quiet whisper. When Elijah heard the quiet voice, he muffled his face with his great cloak, went to the mouth of the cave, and stood there. A quiet voice asked, “So Elijah, now tell me, what are you doing here?” Elijah said it again, “I’ve been working my heart out for God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies..." 1 Kings 19:12-14 MSG

I am immersed in work. I like it. I like the people. There will be times when we may not quite see eye to eye (that is pretty normal, isn't it?), but generally, we're all mature and loving and able to work through those differences. I worked late today to finish a task and realized how easy it is to fall back into that mode of giving my all at the office. I remember that feeling even though it's been 22 years since I last worked full time.

If I'm being open, I have to admit it's a bit of avoidance. Tuesday is a free night. There's no one home but the dog. It seems more important and valuable to finish work for which I am being paid. However, I do not want this to be a habit and I treasure the ability to leave at 4 p.m. when office hours are over. Most nights the dog won't be able to hold it, after holding it all day. Today, however, she had no accidents.

I believe as I get used to the rhythm, ebb and flow of the office, I will find my footing and my boundaries. Prioritizing, ignoring the allure of rabbit trails, being willing to say "That's good enough," instead of being so thorough and perfectionistic that I force the need to work extra time to meet an impossible standard I've set for myself. The A-student syndrome. Even though saying "That's good enough" sounds like blasphemy to a recovering perfectionist, I am forcing myself to practice saying it and living it. Oh, but it's hard.

Guarding my personal time is an essential step in proper self-care. If I give all my extra energy and time at work, then the tasks at home don't get done. Then I don't feel I can relax and just unwind. When I do, it feels like a guilty pleasure instead of the necessary restorative practice it is. Am I alone in this?

I also have used the "no time" excuse blatantly in my spiritual life. I take a Soul Care class on Monday nights. As we learn the art of Spiritual Direction for others, we first have to learn to practice these disciplines for ourselves. The 15 minutes we spend in contemplation at the beginning of each class is a taste of heaven. It would be a simple thing to engage myself accordingly at home, but I don't. Why do I resist something so healing that creates a spacious place where I can encounter my spirit being open to God?

Lent is coming. These are the questions I need to sit with. To speak about with God. To consider Jesus, who though there were hundreds (perhaps thousands) of needy people pressing in to see him, to touch him, to ask his help and his healing, to hear his teaching, still... he withdrew often to solitary places to pray. He didn't work overtime and go to bed depleted.

I want to go to the Source.
This blog is my prayer.

Keep calm and stop carrying on.
Be still.

Some Days are Diamonds, Some Days are Coal

I know that's not how the song goes, but it fits. Today I was a coal miner. The pressure wasn't quite intense enough to produce diamonds, but it was a really, really hard day at work and I just felt like I spent 18 hours in the pitch black with only a pick axe and my weakening headlamp to light the work. I kept my mouth shut pretty much and just bore down and pressed through. I nearly coughed up a lung when the stress made my hiatal hernia bring up supper.

I am still going to name gifts, though I'm skipping Ann's list today because I didn't see anything bloom.

275. My son's crippled MacBook Pro was repaired, thanks to the discs I sent via Priority Post arriving today and a kind soul at Apple Care walking him through an obscure restart option that enabled him to repair the errors. Maybe Mom couldn't fix it, but I helped. And I prayed. Best fix ever.

276. I finally had the courage to say no to someone who sideways-delegates work they had been asked to do. Yes, I know grammatically I should specify he or she but I prefer to not make this too easy to identify. Let's just say it wasn't a staff member. I stood my ground because I'm already doing two jobs. Taking on another task was impossible. There are times when saying "No" is the right thing to do, even if it makes someone else's life a little bit more complicated.

277. I cooked quinoa for my supper. Alongside lemon-dill salmon, it was lovely. I love my rice cooker. Finished the quinoa perfectly, with two additional servings left for lunches.

278. I spoke out generally about those who lose their sanctification when cheering for their sports team. Sometimes you need to shine that dimming headlamp so someone else can see they are just making them selves look dirty.

The Joy Dare, Day Whatever

No sarcasm really intended. Joy comes as I reflect on the good in my life, but it's a human battle against the "list" and the listlessness that seems to be part of my temperament. A lifelong habit, of first looking at what's wrong with the world, is not easily broken. I admire one friend who has faithfully blogged each day on the prompts from the February list. But I write about whatever, whenever. I will not be legalistic and beat myself up because I'm not writing every day or not following the suggestions.

Today I'm asked to write about three gifts in working. I add them to the gifts already numbered.

116. Autonomy: I can go, at midnight, to finish what I couldn't on Friday. The gift is the freedom of autonomy. I know what needs to be done and I do it. No one is telling me or policing me. I should hope not, at my age, with my level of experience. I self manage. I worked more than my paid 36 hours. I usually do.

117. Purpose: In the wrong job, I could not say I was self-motivated. Here I am, even though some of the work is mundane, most of it is satisfying and stimulating, and it is mine to do. It is a gift given and (mixed blessing) it never seems to run out.

118. Mastery: I had three separate, unrelated, unsolicited affirmations this week of those who really appreciate my contribution. One even described me as patient. It is a gift when someone holds up a mirror and I see something in myself that displays the glory and grace of God: patience is a fruit of the spirit. I haven't always had it, in fact there are times too often when I still lose it, but I try to hide from people then so no one gets hurt feelings. I am grateful for spirit control. A gift from Him I simply receive.

What gifts do you receive in working? Even if you aren't paid for it. Share your thoughts in the comments below or link to your own list.

The Lord's Day

This weekend I was privileged to sing in the worship band for weekend services at my church. When I sing, I feel strong. No other activity satisfies my being so completely. God inhabits our praise; and we are changed.

After a great message about our identity in Christ (don't we all need to be reminded of where our true worth is found?) and a leisurely connection with several special people, I enjoyed a long lunch at De Dutch Pancake House. They were down to one grill, so everyone practiced patience while it took twice as long to prepare orders. A blessing in disguise, we redeemed the time with rare but good conversation between the adults and the teenager. Because love is patient, God opens our hearts to hear each other.

After we arrived home, my husband graciously allowed me to nap while he thoroughly cleaned the basement. Then together we tackled a big, slimy job which could no longer be postponed: cleaning the waterfall fountain. The fountain is a feature fixture on a prominent wall in our home. We acquired it because of its beauty, unaware of the level of maintenance it would require. We've gotten rather inventive about the mammoth task, using the combined weapons of CLR, scrubbing rags, the wet ShopVac and a garden hose. There is much noise and splatter and I am now nursing an injured thumb, but it is done and the waterfall gently trickles. I feel like I'm beside a mountain creek. When we apply ourselves to the duty of maintenance, we can enjoy the rewards of beauty.

This past week, I evaluated my commitments for the fall. My life must be defined by praise, patience and maintenance. I have withdrawn from two commitments and declined the invitation to two more, yet the schedule is still very full. My challenge is first to be a home manager - a job which comes with rather mundane and sometimes distasteful duties. Yet, it is my calling and commitment. Could it be that I need to complete these duties in an attitude of praise? What if I sing while I work? There will be no spotlights, no microphones, no crowd singing along. But the Audience is still present. The only One whose approval matters longs for me to look to Him. To be with me. Listening, watching, waiting to inhabit my praise; to dance me through my duties in His strength.

Every day can be the Lord's Day if I will simply choose to praise.

Revved up

The deadline may be over but I want to keep writing. I'm attending a writers' conference at the end of September. Cool. I always wanted to write but it was more of a romantic notion that looked a lot like work.

Now I have a job that is all about writing. Go figure. I'm getting paid to write.

And design.

Do you know how much fun it is to design? In the past two weeks, I produced a 24 page magazine, including the cover design. Today I created an index, altered a logo, removed a background from a portrait, and printed the contents of the catalogue.

I also had great conversations with most of my coworkers and finished in time (the last two nights) to watch my son at hockey tryouts.

Tonight was the goaltending skills evaluation.

I am so proud to be watching him play at this level. He played his best tonight - allowed no goals against during his stint in the game, and then pokechecking and stonewalling the shooters trying to score on him during evaluations. He's not a standout star, but he's solid and he's passionate. Growth continues.

I love that he's found his own strength and is finding his way.

Why is it called a dead line?

It's finished. The 24 page magazine of opportunities. I had the privilege of writing and/or editing it all and I loved every minute of it.

There is a weariness in work well done that is its own poignant reward for extensive labour. Sacrifice is softened, frustration forgotten in the glow of "You did a really good job on this."

Moving beyond relief to satisfaction, the affirmations are my reward:

"You bring good words to life,"

or from the one who said with incredulity:

"You've given us more input than we've ever had before"

and from the man in charge:

"You need to know that you are doing a great job and I for one am grateful for your willingness to take this on."

Ahh, the glow in my face over the weekend may not be just from the late summer sun....

No Higher Calling

Motherhood.

Yet, my husband had to take my son to his first orientation at high school today because I couldn't get away from work. And I've missed his first two tryouts for hockey because I have a deadline at work. And he's eating frozen dinners he's cooked on his own because I'm at work.

Okay, so this is just a season. A temporary setback. A deadline I have twice or three times yearly.

And it's work I like doing. Enough to go in from 9 am to 11 pm on my day off.

But my son doesn't have me around.

Temporarily.

I'd better go to sleep before I think too hard about this one and quit a job I love. Unusual. I wanted to quit up until only 10 days ago but knew I was supposed to be there. My friend prayed for me and I felt a burden lift so tangibly it was almost like a whoosh physically.

Since then I've loved my work.

Now I need the burden adjusted about being a mother....

Canmore

I am on retreat with the staff. We had an encouraging sharing and worship time before diving in to dinner and then on to reality game show, church style. We had a Veggie Tales dance pad, PS2 guitars, and Karaoke. Pastor did Louis Armstrong. Very well. I did Alvin the Chipmunk.

I had an hour of free time and drove up to the base of Ha Ling peak. I plan to climb it as early as possible in the spring. It was a glorious late afternoon with the sun setting behind Banff and casting its glow on the mountains in the Bow Valley corridor on the far side of Canmore.



The Spray Lakes road took me winding up to the top along the reservoir far above Canmore (that would do some damage to the town if ever the dam broke) and right at the base of Ha Ling are several popular hiking trails. It was deserted since it is late winter - only a couple of cars passed by in the time I was there.

No camera available, I had to settle for the lower quality snapshots from my phone. It was beautiful. A personal retreat.

Myers Briggs

The reason I am tired.



I had two of the four letters in the personality type that were "too close to call" and had to wade through the 4-5 page descriptions of the four possible type combinations: ENTJ, INTJ, ENTP, INTP; in order to determine which sounded most like me.



I did this in the wee hours Saturday night/Sunday morning. We are discussing them and doing group activities at the staff retreat tomorrow through Thursday. After seeing the schedule, I'm more tired. On a retreat, we have to be up and at 'em BEFORE normal working hours. Yikes.



I'm leaning towards the "I" in Myers Briggs BIGTIME.



Not really. I am an extrovert. The idea of introspection intrigues me because it smacks of quiet and that is so unusual in my life. I get energized by interacting with people. Even my blogging, done in the quiet of the night and bent on navel-gazing is still another form of interacting with others.



Back to Myers Briggs...



ENTJ. More like me than most of the others. "The Leader" screams the title. It will be interesting watch us being paired up in groups of similar types. Who will take charge in the "Leader" group? No wonder at work I find myself in such tension always - in my support role. I get to organize others, but I'm not in charge. Whether or not my organizing succeeds depends completely on their cooperation. Sort of like success at parenting depends a great deal on your child's cooperation.

(He's a teenager. Nuff said.)