Glassware

Hello Friend!

Are you having a good summer?  Have you eaten your body weight in Popsicles yet? Today I am feeling morally virtuous because i folded laundry and bought groceries.  This means I didn't finish my writing so I'm pulling out a post I did on a rough day when I wanted to speak my mind to someone who was a bit of a toad.  I hope your summer is free from toads and that you are spending time with people who build you up and whose company you enjoy.   

Behold: My gift in action!

It was early morning and I was plodding around my dark kitchen doing tasks that should have been done the night before.  I unloaded the dishwasher, swept the floor and started to put away dishes beside the sink.   Reaching for a mug, I felt something sharp slice my finger.   I squawked, hushed myself and grabbed my hand.  Crimson trickled from my finger onto my palm as I turned on the light trying to understand what I had done. 

“Ow, ow, ow!” I fussed.  I was cross now, few things make me as angry as being confused.  I growled at the draining board and furrowed my brow.  What had I done?  I would have missed it if I hadn’t shifted slightly and seen the light catch.  A broken piece of glass sat nestled between the cups.  With surgical skill, I managed to slice myself on its edge.  What on earth was that doing there?  Where had it come from?

I didn’t need to think too hard.  I have a special skill that only my housemates know:  I break glassware.  I break a lot of glassware.  I break a lot of glassware a lot of the time.  My husband and I first noticed this skill when we got married.  We received a great set of glasses as a wedding gift and six months into our marriage, I had reduced the set to half its original size.  I view it as an ability, a continual quest to find long lasting glass products.  My husband doesn't agree.  Over the years, he has taken to feeling somewhat persecuted by my gifting because he likes to have nice glasses.  We all want what we can’t have.  It isn't like I break things intentionally, I just find the stuff really slippery….and fragile.  Why make something that can be broken that easily anyway?

It isn’t just drinking glasses either.  I can smash almost anything.  Mason jars, wine glasses, vases, you name it, and I've broken it.  Examining the shard of glass, I realized it came from a wine glass I had murdered the day before.  Filling the sink with hot soapy water, I swished a glass back and forth when the entire top inch of the glass broke away in a perfect circle.  Not technically murder, more like manslaughter, I think it was poor manufacturing.

I reached for a tissue and wrapped it around my finger.  Slowly, the white turned to scarlet as the bleeding slowed.  Feeling melodramatic, I grabbed a second tissue and waited to bleed out.   When I realized that wasn't going to happen, I marveled that I could be minding my own business one minute, then in pain the next.  Reflecting on the incident made me think of a phone call a few days earlier that seemed similar.  I made a call to an acquaintance to get their opinion on a matter.    The call seemed pleasant enough, but suddenly and without any warning, the person on the other end of the line got angry and fired off a volley of sour comments and was off the phone before I could even catch my breath.  There I sat, surprised and cut to the core trying to figure out what to do with the fall out. 

Ever been there my friend?  On the receiving end of sharp words and a cutting tongue, holding your heart and bleeding?  Ever been the one who did the dicing and slicing?  Have you ever been so heated you let loose a torrent of anger that was intended to silence and flatten the recipient?  I've been on both sides of that sad equation.  

Sometimes, when I want to experience the fear of the Lord, I google the term “the power of words, scripture.”  What I find always makes me stop and think.  Here are a few of my favourites.

There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing. Prv 12:18 

I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak, Matt 12:36

Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble. Prv 21:23

Friend can I remind us both today that our words hold power?  I have within my face, the ability to seriously mess up someone’s day.  I have the power to damage my marriage in ways I never intended.  I have the ability to gossip, and ruin friendships that have taken years to build. 

Conversely, you have the ability to bring someone comfort today.  You hold the ability to bless and to bring joy.  You have the ability to cause someone to thank God. 

It’s fairly amazing really.

I'm not sure if you've noticed the abundance of negative and nasty words flying around the internet lately.  So,  I'm starting this week with prayers for the grace to build up and not tear down.  Maybe you would like to join me in asking the Lord for an opportunity to apply the balm of kind words to someone who is hurt.   Tell someone you like them, be kind, and make a friend.  Have someone over for tea, feed them a glass of something delicious, enjoy their company.

I’m praying for joy this week,

xoxKaren

Love and Mite

Perplexed Chickens

Travelling to my friends’ farm always makes me happy.  I fill my suitcase with my oldest clothes and smile all the way to her front door.  It is one of the few times I actually sit still.  An hour after my arrival the tea was poured, the chocolate unwrapped and my girlfriend said, “I have a project maybe you can help me with tonight.”  “Sure,” was my affable response because I’m not going to bite the hand that provides my mental health retreat.  “What are we doing?”

Sometimes, when I review situations, I have a hard time understanding which of my actions precipitated disaster.  In this instance, I can safely conclude that getting involved in my friends’ “project” was the beginning of the end.  So certain am I, that I made a life rule of it:

Projects with farm friend will cause you to question your sanity: proceed with caution.   

Turns out good intentions had made farm girl's life more complicated too.  After a stroll through Craigslist, farm girl found chickens looking for a new home.  Despite denial,  truth is she likes chickens, which is why she invited the orphan chickens to her farm.  What she did not understand was the condition of orphan chickens when they came to stay.

Can you say scaly leg mites?

(Don’t, because you will get grossed out and we haven’t even gotten to the part where I’m fixing anything yet.)   

Turns out they were on the neglected side and had a condition that was both icky and contagious.  Which brings us back to my question, “What are we doing?”

“Well, it turns out the new chickens have leg mites but it is curable.  I’ve been reading.  I need to treat them and the process is a bit involved.  I was thinking you could help me now that you are here, it will be educational for us both.”

At this point I should have said, “I’m sorry, I just realized you are insane and I’m going to swim home now,” but I didn’t.  I looked at her, she smiled and then a little came in the room saying something about a dead mouse and we got distracted.

I missed my opportunity.

Which was how, 2 nights later, I found myself running around the deck preparing storage bins of dish soap, vinegar and hot water siphoned from the hot tub.  Turns out chickens can get mites that attack their legs.  The idea is to get rid of the mites without causing trauma to the chickens.  Humans who aid in this process are on their own, no one gives a damn about their trauma, so quit whining. 

I was informed by farm girl that the right time to engage in leg mite therapy was at dusk.  I assumed it had something to do with vampires but was reminded chickens like to roost at night and might be less agitated if we performed leg therapy in the near dark.   That proved to be an astonishingly stupid idea as doing anything in the near dark only makes the vampires laugh harder. (I was 90 minutes away from Forks, could have happened).  Sadly, I missed another opportunity to swear at my friend because I was still trying to be helpful.

I will spare you the hour it took us to get ready because it was long and involved and I said some bad words and made inferences about my friends intelligence that were unfair and premature.  They weren’t inaccurate mind you; I just should have saved them for later.

But the time we were ready we had three stations. 

Station 1: Large tub filled with 6 inches of warm soapy water.  Chickens would be deposited in tub which was covered with a screen.  Chickens would spend 15 minutes in tub.  Their leg skin would get soft, mites would drown and chickens would feel cared for and astonished.

Station 2: Large tub filled with 6 inches of vinegar water.  Chicken would be dipped in tub and swished around in order to wash off soap and introduce legs to a mildly antiseptic environment. 

Station 3:  Chicken would be held, feet up in the air, while their legs were swiftly scrubbed with a toothbrush and a mixture of melted coconut oil, cayenne pepper and various essential oils would be rubbed on their legs in order to sooth their skin and further suffocate and season any remaining mites.

I want to pause here a moment so you can reflect on this set up.  Read it again.   This was the best plan we had. 

In a moment of self-discovery I met a personal boundary I never knew existed.  There was no way under heaven that I was going to massage the chickens legs with oil which meant farmer girl put on the rubber gloves and was in charge of station 3.  Once you start messing around with cayenne pepper, you don’t get to take rubber gloves on and off.  This meant I was in charge of station 1 and 2.  I recruited two children to be in charge of the screens so that chickens could enter and exit their spa treatments without drowning or escaping.  We were ready.

Full of enthusiasm, farmer girl went to the coop to get her first client.  She dropped a startled chicken in soapy water and headed back to the coop.  Turns out the spa bins could sit 4 chickens comfortably, if comfortably is a word you can use to describe aquatic chicken conditions.  The chickens did pretty well all things considered, until chicken number 4 was added.  This chicken did not like spas.  When she was placed in the water, she promptly started flapping and climbed onto her neighbors head.  That upset a just about everyone, including me, who got a pretty good wing in the face. 

After 15 minutes, things started to pick up, because we now had 2 stations on the go and the chickens, who started out alarmed, were now cross if not outright angry that their human overlords had completely lost their minds.  Farmer girl headed for station 3 to arrange chairs and the coconut, cayenne scrub while I fished a damp chicken from station 1. 

Chickens are pretty wiggly. They might not look it, but it took a fair amount of strength to get the reluctant hen in both hands.  I pulled her out of the soap and headed for station 2.  Taking the lid off the vinegar station resulted in a plume of vinegar steam hitting my nostrils and the beak of Ms. Bird.  Talking to the bird the entire time I assured her she had done a fabulous job and dipped her bottom end into the vinegar water and swished her in a figure 8.  Then I pulled her out and headed for the chairs on the deck where farmer girl threw a towel over my lap and I sat down with Ms. Bird.   Farmer girl grabbed a chicken foot, started scrubbing it with a tooth brush and after offending the chicken completely, massaged cayenne infused, orange scented coconut oil on every available surface. The colour of the coconut oil was outrageous as was the amount of oil that was being sprayed about as a damp, angry chicken decided to fight back.  Mission accomplished with chicken one, I grabbed her firmly, ran back to the coup, dumped damp mite free chicken and grabbed the next available bird and ran to station 1.

Throw new chicken in with three soggy soapy chickens in station 1 tub, take a soggy chicken out and run to station 2.  Dip soapy chicken in vinegar steam bath. Swish in a figure 8 for maximum antiseptic effect.  Pull soggy damp vinegar chicken out and head for the chairs at station 3.  Insane friend throws a filthy towel on me while I wrestle chicken into feet up position.  Friend accosts chicken with toothbrush and holistic, naturopathic, aromatic chicken treatment.  Friend speaks sweetly to irate chicken. Finish vexing chicken.  Everyone apologizes to everyone else and I head for the coop.

Twenty one times. 

Farmer girl has twenty one chickens and I don’t think I have every hated her more bless her sweet soul.  All this fun under the darkening evening sky, the soundtrack of dismayed, astonished and ticked off birds ringing in our ears: it was quite a night. It could only have been improved by the arrival of the vampires but between the vinegar and cayenne pepper I don’t think they liked the odds.

By the time we were finished everything hurt.  My stomach from laughing so hard, my eyes from vinegar steam, my dignity… nothing was left unscathed.  It got me to thinking about the lengths we go to care for those we love when they are in pain or unwell.

You might not have been plunged into soapy water and a vinegar rinse, but I’m certain you have experienced the roller coaster of emotions that accompanies the grief of a loved one or the pain caring brings.  When emotions are high, nothing seems easy.  Sometimes caring isn’t instinctive either: it is intentional, awkward and messy.  That doesn’t mean you are doing it wrong it just means that instead of love being hearts, swans and music, this time it’s feathers, chickens and squawking.

So I’m praying for bravery my friend.  That we will grip tight, plunge in and bring relief to those who in need; that you will be guided by caring and protect the worth of those who are hurting.

xoxKaren 

PS. Scientific name for chickens? Gallus gallus domesticus, how fabulous is that?  

PPS.  Twighlight? never saw it.  Total pop culture exploitation.

Longing for my Land

Happy Birthday to my home and native land.
Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux!

Hello Friend! 

I’m thinking of you today as I sit under my duvet with my cup of tea and my hot water bottle and fuzzy socks…and parka.  The light in through the window is more reminiscent of fall than summer.  The rain has kept a steady rhythm for about half an hour now.  My girlfriend sent me a Canadian care package a few years back and I have dug it out this morning to keep me company.  Happy Birthday Canada, I miss you.  

Today I’m homesick.

Homesickness is easily defined as a longing for home and family, but I don’t find that definition satisfactory. I have memories of homesickness when I was little that I can still visit if I take the time.  The above definition does not convey the ache in one’s stomach and the inability to breathe that descends when homesickness strikes.  It comes with a taste in my throat and a longing that is akin to grief.  It’s horrible.

Homesickness comes with the desire to be in a place where I feel accepted.  It is the longing to have a burden lifted and to be reunited with a location that is able to erase the pain in my heart.  When I am away from my country, I feel like I am the outsider, away from those who understand me best.  The most effective way I have to combat the unwanted emotion is to imagine myself returning home, visualizing the sights and sound that greet me.

Lately though, I’m beginning to feel something more disturbing than homesickness, it’s a weariness of the enmity and conflict that accompanies my life online.  Not that I go looking for bad news, I don’t, but it seems that bad news is everywhere.  Hardly a web page opens without a broken heart taking centre stage, or the arrival of a story so egregious that it can only be described in terms of evil.  It’s making me long for heaven, not the harp playing heaven where angels eat cream cheese on clouds but the one where bad guys burn, wrongs get righted and tears get dried. 

God willing, most of us are many years from moving into an eternal home where there will be no more crying and hearts will be restored, so in the meantime it makes sense to try to figure out how to live without sobbing into my maple syrup every morning.  (Yep.  Canadians drink maple syrup every morning; it’s how we get so nice.  Our blood is liquid sugar.)  I think that might be where homesickness fits in.

If I assume that others on the planet are trying to live their lives and have somewhat similar goals (a desire to live with minimal strife and a sense of belonging) it makes sense that I would try to be mindful of others.  Though it isn’t fashionable, kindness and respect can go a long way in human interactions.  Love for others isn’t always a feeling, which is why I find scripture so amazing.  When the world would reduce loving others to some kind of cliché, scripture jumps in and gets to the nuts and bolts of how to behave.

 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 NIV 

So I’m praying this week.  That I can use my sense of longing to build a home for myself and others, that alleviates the discord we are all sensing.  That being intentionally kind might undo some of the damage selfishness creates and that in serving others, our hearts may be lightened as we long for home.

xoxKaren

PS. Chickens next week, I've needed time to recover from my last farm visit.