Well Worth the Weight

Behold the well crafted water tank!

The ridiculously heavy tank had been in the back yard since I moved it last summer.  It belonged to a 1920’s pump house, where it sat on a concrete slab perched atop a well.  It had a good view of that hole in the ground, I know because I dismantled the pump house myself last summer.  Perhaps it is more accurate to say I hastened the pump houses’ demise, as it had fallen half way down when I started to take it apart.  If factual accuracy is the goal, I would have to confess I didn’t move the tank as much as I dragged that sucker across the lawn until it became wedged in the grass, where upon I would switch ends and push the tank until I collapsed.  Commencing a 5 minute reflective pause, I would look up at the sky from my horizontal position until I regained the strength to stand up again and restart the process.   Taken one step further it would be honest to say I was pushing the wretched beast across the lawn when my neighbor caught sight of me and came running over to help, lest he be the first to witness death by fury: me spontaneously combusting due to sheer frustration at the shockingly fabulous construction and astonishing longevity of that hunk of metal.  My neighbor is a nice man, whom I have known since high school.  Fortunately he knows my family long enough to not to question our behavior, and shows up whenever “accidental death by project” seems imminent.   Small towns are nice that way. 

After my neighbor and I carried the tank the remaining distance in a civilized manner, it sat in the garden and waited to be taken to the scrap yard.  I secured it in a safe spot until the time came to remove it. Whenever I looked outside, I would see that big old tank and sigh.  “I will get to you soon.” I wanted to remove that thing countless times, but there were other things to do before its removal.  So there it sat. 

As I was getting ready to move the tank last week, I was met with an unexpected delay, which got me thinking this week about the subject of waiting.  Waiting for God to remove that which causes us distress can be an agonizing experience.  Unanswered prayer brings with it issues of God’s sovereignty and the mystery of suffering.  When God doesn’t remove distress it can be distressing.  If you think that sentence ridiculous, I would challenge you to waltz through the praystagram world, where suffering is wound up with a bow and a side of spiritual unicorns.   Wait patiently, drinking coffee from your Jerimiah 29:11 scripture cup until God removes that which has blocked your freedom, and persevere until you attain a higher level is a crap message stemming from crap theology friend.  For those who are locked in prolonged suffering I would say, if you have friends who swim in this stream of saccharine positivity, it won’t be long till they leave you by yourself because watching someone struggle, watching someone who can’t read their coffee cup, is a real inhibition to their solid breakthrough.  On a positive note, if you are left alone, you will swear at them less, I guarantee it. 

I’m feeling a bit spicy - yes.

But dear suffering friend, please remember that even if you are left with a situation you cannot remove, a situation that has you powerless, if all your happy-clappy friends are gone, taking their expensive slogan t-shirts with them, please remember that your God is kind.  He might seem like a monster but he is kind.  When the unanswered prayer weighs on your mind like my ridiculously-heavy-but-ever-so-well-made** water tank there is one thing left to do. 

You must bow.

Bow with all your rage, disappointment, and dismay.  Get on your face and tell him he is God and you are not.  Wrestle with the issue of sovereignty until you are exhausted.  Stay there repeating every scripture your mind can grasp about the goodness of God.  Struggle. Cry.  Wash your face and stand up again. 

Seasons come and go and it is likely that although you feel like you will never recover, in time, you will.  This does not mean you won’t experience loss.  Despite the burden, God will bring new life.  Sometimes, it comes from unexpected places and unexpected ways, but nothing stays the same forever.  Hold on.  Do not give up.  Keep on.  God is for you.

My water tank?  The one waiting for the scrap yard, I tried to move it last week.  Looks like I have a bit longer to wait. Sound on.

xoxKaren

** I couldn’t point it out earlier, but I hope you got that clever pun.  Well made… did you catch it?   Water tank for a well? Didn’t even have to make that one up.  It just flowed…

Oh Deer

 

Not seen in this photo, but very present, off to the right 
is the blue tarp covering the deceased deer awaiting 
its reunification with nature. 

One beautiful evening last week, I finished the dinner dishes and decided it was too lovely to be indoors.  Grabbing a cardigan and my tea, I headed for the back garden.  An unusual warm front meant temperatures 10 degrees above normal.  In response, springtime vegetation celebrated by stretching, blooming and putting on a show I had waited all winter to see.  The scent of apple blossom danced in the air, I couldn’t inhale it like I wanted too, but it played around the fringes on the night breeze, adding to the general awesomeness of the moment.

Admiring the blue bells, I turned and caught another scent before I saw the upsetting scene.  A deer was lying dead on the ground, having been hit by a car; it made it as far as my yard before dying.  I groaned, struck by the juxtaposition between the night and the sight before me.  Grabbing a tarp I covered the body, anchored it with rocks and resumed my now subdued reverie.  I continued, appreciating the flowers and new leaves while simultaneously wishing death didn’t exist.  The presence of a dead animal under a blue tarp wasn’t helping my mood, so I walked to the front yard to admire the non-deadness of the scene.  “I will deal with this poor animal in the morning,” was my last thought on the matter before getting ready for bed. 

The next day my bed was displaying a gravitational pull it reserves for Monday mornings.  I contemplated going back to sleep when I remembered the tarp in the back yard; more specifically what was under the tarp.   I had no idea what I was supposed to do with a dead deer but hoped someone in conservation could tell me. 

I reached a person in Animal Conservation about 20 minutes later.

“Good morning, this is Jim.”

“Hi Jim, I’m wondering if you could help me.  I have a deer in my backyard that was struck and killed last night, could you let me know how I am supposed to dispose of it.  It is clearly too big for the garbage service.”

“Well Karen, I have good news and bad news.  The bad news is that if it dies on your property you are responsible for disposing of the body.”

“Oh darn it.  What is the good news?”

“Well, the good news is the deer on the island are much smaller than the ones on the mainland.  So you have less to lift.”

“Jim, regardless of that fact, I still have a bunch of deer to get rid of here. What should I be doing?”

“Well you have a few things you can do.  First option is the bury it.” 

I look at the boot cast on my foot. “Sound advice Jim, supposing that wasn’t the easiest option, what else have you got?”

“Okay then the next thing to do it to throw it in the back of your truck…”

I sighed heavily…

“ …and whaddo you drive?”

“A Firefly.”

“…throw it in a friend’s truck and drive it to the outskirts of town and reunite it with nature.”

“Jim, this deer is really and truly dead, it isn’t being reunited with nature or anything else at the moment.”

“Ha, ha, ha, yes I get that, what I mean is, you drag it a good ways off the road and it will return to nature.  And there is one more piece of good news.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“You don’t need to dismember it or cut it up at all.”

“Jim, I am beginning to think that your version of good news is very different than mine.”

He laughed for real this time, “you can just let nature do its thing!”

“Okay Jim, so far this is really appalling. I don't think you have a lot of friends.  And if someone sees me and thinks I’m a murderer?”

“I am going to give you a file number and if a good upstanding citizen tries to get you arrested you tell them Jim knows what you are doing.”

“Delightful.  So to summarize, I am to take the corpse of this deer, throw it on the top of my car, drive through the town to the outskirts, drag its body into the bush and if someone tries to arrest me I can give them your number.”

“Yes, mam.”

So you might understand Beloved Friend, why I felt that my Monday morning was off to a rocky start.  I shared my research with my better half, and he immediately got his man-i-tude going and rescued me.  He wrapped the deer in tarps and threw that critter in the back of the car and accompanied me on the next part of the adventure of reuniting the dead dear/deer with nature.

I would like to tell you that the whole thing went off without a hitch, but in a new and surprising marriage-first my husband and I ended up squabbling over where we were going to dump the body.  Friend, believe me when I tell you the discussion was like being caught in a very bad movie.  Perhaps you will understand why I was praying strange prayers as we pretended to look at our phones as two joggers ran past as we parked on a semi deserted road.  When they were out of sight, my man dragged the dead animal off the roadside, only to disappear neck deep into Oregon Grape.  I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it out again.  I was worried the joggers were not only healthy but were upstanding enough to find us suspicious.  What if they had enough oxygen coursing through their systems to make a phone call?  What if they were ultra-marathon folk who were capable of chasing my firefly home?

Suffice it to say I was in a pretty bad mood when I returned from my noble, yet illegal feeling act of environmental reunification.  Frankly, because the experience was very corporeal (and the slightest bit traumatizing) all I could think about was that death in movies was far easier to deal with.  Corpses are heavy, and murder on tv is way more stylish than lugging something dead into the middle of the bush.  Deciding my thinking was getting kind of dark, I focused on thanking Jesus that I wasn’t a murderer.  And because all that thinking of death had landed me on the subject of loss, I decided let myself consider some of the losses I was grieving on the quiet. 

Specifically, I was thinking about a relationship that was as dead as the deer I had left to decompose.  Stuck by a friend without warning, and the blow was fatal, it killed a relationship that had taken years to build.  My once-friend was like the driver who kept on going, leaving me to deal with the fall out.  As I sat in my car, windows open to lessen the stench of death, I was profoundly thankful that Jesus cared about me.  The losses of the past few years had been great, the strains of the pandemic so difficult, I cried.  I wished I had a friend to call, and when I realized there wasn’t anyone, I cried some more.   

Now, lest you be tempted to think I’m pathetic and don’t know how to have a good time, I have to tell you that were you in my “little-blue-faintly-smelling-like-death-mobile” in order to drop a rather large dead animal in the woods to decompose, at moment you would have seen me smile.  In fact, I might have suggested we go find and overpriced chocolate in one of our fancy chocolate shops to celebrate the crap morning we were having.  Because in the mess and muddle of it all, I knew that God really did care.  It was one of the first real victories I had during that grief soaked string of years; years that I wondered if God cared, why he seemed to have withdrawn and if He could grow a faith as frail as mine. 

He does.

He didn’t.

He did.

Sometimes, I am amazed how sticky the prosperity gospel can be.  Death and loss are part of the human condition and it takes a mature heart to accept these realities.  My love of miracles and easy answers, my desire to be saved from the battle leads me people to think my prayers are being ignored when the preferred answer does not come.  Yet sometimes, the victory is in coming through loss knowing his goodness.  This heart change cannot be faked; it is won in the battle to trust God when things are far from perfect. 

It is won by his grace.

So friend, if by chance you are trying to move on from a loss that has left you broken, from the death of something or someone you held dear, or trying to recover from the unexpected and unwanted: let me remind you that you are still on the road of faith.  You are not less because the miracle you wanted did not come.  You belong to God, you are not forgotten and that road will get you home.  The season you are in will turn in time and eventually we will find our way home.

Praying for you this week,

Be safe and drive carefully.

xoxKaren

A Cemetery Kind of Day

thank you Waldemar Brandt for the photo

It was sunny but cold, a neat trick of life on the coast, when the blanket layer of clouds pulled back and allowed the sun to cross the sky unobstructed. It was a nice afternoon, the whimsical combination of errands and treats dictating the route.  I found myself staring at the blue sky when I realized where I was and made an unscheduled stop.  Pulling into the parking lot behind the church, I immediately turned off the stereo and peered through the trees.  The graveyard lay in an Oak grove and as my feet touched the ground, my shoes crunched on the acorns and leaves the winter left behind.  Gingerly walking across the grass, dodging clusters of grape hyacinth sown generously by nature, I made my way to the headstone.  It was beginning to look like spring but it felt like winter, I shivered and pulled my coat tighter.

I have never woken up and thought, “Today is a cemetery kind of day.”  So I was a bit surprised that my errands had landed on this side of town.  The cemetery itself is one of the oldest in the area and less fashionable than the perfectly manicured cemetery grounds less than a mile away.  The ground is uneven and undulating, caused by a century of root growth from surrounding trees.  The overall effect is one of cozy, timeless neglect. 

There was broken glass around the grave, which immediately kicked off an internal dialogue of criticism.  “Drinking in a graveyard? Classy. I hope your ancestors haunt your dreams to remind you to stay out of here. Clearly you need your great, great grandma to show up and set your lame-self straight.”  I listened to myself for a while, marveling at the boldness of those who don’t yet have the life experience to view such ground as holy.  

Picking up the glass, my thoughts turned to remembrance.  He would have disapproved of broken glass that could have inured deer or other graveyard creatures.  He loved nature, sometimes more than people.  And dear friend, if you have lost someone, you might understand when I say that I spent some time with thoughts that were as sharp as the shards of glass I was holding.  Loving people isn’t always easy, losing them can be equally as difficult. 

It was a tiny stab to my finger that brought the sting of tears to my eyes but the lacerations to the heart caused them to fall.  I spent a while intentionally thinking about the lovely things, until the tears stopped.  Sometimes I miss the past, when life seemed simpler, less complicated.  It is hard to take the good with the bad, the remedied with the unresolved or the finished with the incomplete. 

As this pandemic continues, with all of its impact and force, I have been thinking about those who have been left feeling incomplete by the things they have lost.  Those who didn’t get to say goodbye: funerals that didn’t happen, business that closed, friendships that ended, the graduations suspended.  The list goes on and on and on.   Perhaps you are experiencing the frustration of being deeply impacted by loss yet entirely powerless to bring about a remedy.  Friend, I hope that you are being patient with yourself.  Recovery takes so much longer than anyone wants.  Grief is a time consuming process and avoidance isn’t a short cut.  Spend too much time stuffing your grief and you might end up being snippy with the Costco employee who tells you can’t look at your daughters face without her mask for 2 seconds when buying new glasses frames even though you are more than 10 feet away from everyone and the woman is behind Plexiglas on the other side of the store. 

Strictly hypothetical, of course.

So I am praying and cheering you on this week if you are feeling inadequate, and like you want to stay in bed.  Get up and do the next thing.  Accept the good with the bad.  Try not to lose it and put yourself in time-out if you need too. 

I'm in the time-out corner, come visit, I'm here for a while.

xoxKaren

    

 

It's Enough to Make Your Liver Shiver...

Gummy Lions and Tigers and Bears oh my!

It was a rough morning.  So rough, I suggested a trip to Bulk Barn to push back the gloomy cloud that had settled on our home.  When Bulk Barn is your idea of a good time, you are definitely having a bad day.  But Bulk Barn was all I could think of, so my middle and I (middle child, not middle chubbiness), used it as an excuse to get out of the house.  To clarify, my chubbiness came along for the ride, but I’m not so far gone as to personify my weight gain.  That being said, stay tuned, you never know.

I have observed that some peoples’ lives seem unaffected by Covid; they are working and getting out daily much like before the pandemic started.  For those who have lost employment or family members to this awful virus, life is far from normal.  In our community, most everything has slowed to a crawl and there isn’t a lot happening to keep oneself entertained.  Unless you are a rules-be-darned 60 or 70 year old pickle ball player; that group is pretty much impossible to stop in any season.  They go to the courts each morning, breathe and sweat, then head for the nearest coffee shop, social distancing be damned. 

Alas my girls and I are made from more compliant material, so donning double masks, we got into the car and headed for the shops.  If you live in the States, imagine the bulk section of Winco expanded into a store.  Then make it as clean as you could possibly imagine, without a stray gummy worm or pistachio to be found anywhere.  The store here is ridiculously clean and we are eternally grateful. We sanitized our hands at the door, checked the customer count and walked inside.

The joy of window shopping with anyone is the conversation to be had during the process.  My girl and I chat easily, and we had a host of comments and quips to make regarding pasta noodle shapes, nut butters and spices.  Frankly we had been cooped up all week and were enjoying the sights of so many products on display.  My middle and I, (middle chubbiness, not middle child) sped through the chocolate section so as to resist temptation and ended up in the candy isle.

Jelly candies to be more specific. There are a heck ton of jelly candies in Bulk Barn friend, makes the mind boggle.  Jelly sharks, worms, bears, bugs, rings, or babies: if you want a edible gelatin, this is the place.  I must have been looking around with some amazement because a 60 something man in a mask said, “That is quite the load of colourful candies isn’t it?”  And this, Beloved, is where something in my brain short circuited. 

To start, I hadn’t talked to anyone outside my family for about 5 days: which is coincidentally, about as long as my family can exist without needing something from the store.  Secondly, I am ridiculously lonely.  This pandemic started about half a year after I moved countries.  I have no friends and this guy was actually starting a conversation with me.  Clearly we weren’t best friends yet, but maybe he would invite my husband to play tennis or perhaps his wife would want to go for a walk with me one day.  I beamed. I thought. I replied.  “Yeah, colourful candies…..”  What was I saying?  Where am I going with this? “to make…” Jesus help me I have forgotten how to talk! “your liver..”  Liver? What the actual hell? Pull out a rhyme woman, there is no saving this now; it is your only hope at redemption. “shiver.”  I smiled weakly under my mask and began to feel mildly nauseas as he laughed politely.  “Ha, yes.” He replied confused and kept walking.  “Colourful candies to make your liver shiver.”  My one conversation in 3 months and that is what I come up with?  I scurried over to my middle, (child not the chubbiness),

“Oh my word, I just rhymed at someone,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

“Rhymed? At a stranger? Why on earth did you do that?”

“Because he said the candies were colourful and I didn’t’ know what to say, then I got worried and the best thing I could think of was a rhyme!”

“Wait. What? What did he say? What did you say back?”

I told her and she shrieked with laughter.

“Good grief mum, you sound like a demented character that escaped from a Candyland game.  What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” I groaned and began to giggle.  “The sad part is, today I learned there is a part of my brain that thinks rhyming is  a good idea!  Think about the therapy needed to undo that one!”

“Wow. Just wow.  This is what years of homeschooling get you.”

“I homeschooled you so you would be a kind person! Clearly it didn’t work!” I shouted and we collapsed again, in a fit of giggles.  It was the kind of laughing you can only do when you have spent the morning crying, begging God for a ray of hope on a dark day.  I laughed till I couldn’t breathe. We toured the rest of the store, bought dog treats, and gasped for air when we replayed the scene in our minds.  It was entirely ridiculous.

Of course, middles will rat you out given the opportunity, (the children and the chubbiness.) and soon we were home with my daughter recounting the meeting.  “Dad, she was just like a demented wizard!” She did a demented wizard walk across the room and offered colourful candies to her sister.  I could only laugh helplessly, “I didn’t mean to sound that strange,” I replied weakly. The teasing and laughing went until my girls shut themselves in their rooms for a few hours.  After dinner I found my girl showing her Dad her afternoon’s artwork. "Honey you have been captured in cartoon!” He shouted across the room.

“Well isn’t that perfect!  I do make a good wizard!” I quipped, looking at the picture.  “And I love my cape!”  

  Behold, my cape!

thank you @anunnymoose_arts

I have reflected on this goofy encounter a few times this week and how glad I was that I shared the moment with someone who loved me.  It is easy during stressful times to say the wrong thing.  Social situations have become high pressure lately, with restrictions, imposed upon a frustrated and tired population.  I can’t tell you how many times I have been scolded by a member of the working public for standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.  “Please move forward.  Mam please move over here.  You can’t stand there!”  All this and I follow those arrows on the floor at every opportunity.  Except the time I was searching for marmite at the end of the baking isle and instead of going an extra loop around the neighboring isle I walked backwards so it looked like I was pointed in the right direction.  I’m not afraid to admit it was a rebellious moment.   

Embarrassment and shame tends to melt in the presence of caring hearts.  So I am praying my friend, as we weather the last of this dark season together, that there will be moments of joy mixed in the difficulties and grief we face.  I hope that I will be kind to those who find themselves overcome and at a loss for words, outclassed by their situation and feeling foolish and inadequate.  Praying that the words I post or speak will bring peace to those around me because what we say does matter.   

But I tell you that everyone will have to give account on the day of judgment for every empty word they have spoken. Matt 12:36

That one really makes my liver shiver……

Thinking of you this week,

xoxKaren

Thank you Amit Lahav for the photo on unsplash!

 

WREATH WRAITHS

 

Simple and clean green. 

I would call my friend’s home décor style minimalist, but I haven’t been to her new flat yet.  However, I know her to favor clean lines and uncluttered spaces.  I personally think it is because her brain is such a busy place she likes a change of scenery but I won’t say it out loud.  She is tidy, loves Christmas and starts to pray for snowfall in September shortly after school starts.  Like many, she pulled out the Christmas décor early this year in an effort to beat back the darkness of the times.  Her tree went up and strings of lights were strategically placed on shelves and plants.  The Christmas mugs were unwrapped and official permission to watch endless hallmark movies was granted.  Her little flat is ready for Christmas and has been since shortly after Remembrance Day.

Her front door sports an artificial wreath that she bought some years back at Michaels.  It was the bargain of the week for $8 and when she added a set of simple lights from Canadian Tire, she was more than pleased with herself.  Like many single mum’s, the thrill of a sale deepens the joy.  After she hung her wreath on the front door this year, she felt pleased it gave the hallway a festive yet elegant bump of holiday cheer.

Life in an apartment isn’t always easy and meeting neighbors can be difficult.  My girlfriend met hers in the summer by tracing a neighborhood cat back to the owner and ended up meeting the lady next door.  She met the husband as well and exchanged a smile and a wave here and there, until recently when the husband met the wreath.  My friend didn’t introduce her neighbor to the wreath directly you understand.  That would have been weird, but he did notice it when they encountered each other in the hall.  He wasn’t to be faulted for not understanding this wreath was an example of living faith.  Purchased for only $8 on sale at a time when money was tight, illuminated by fairy lights bought at Canadian tire, where you can knock tens of cents off the dollar if you hoard the Canadian Tire money they give you.  Neighbor man did not understand the fierce joy this wreath provided or else he wouldn’t have said it was “nice.”  He would have called it fabulous. 

However, my friend did not hold it against him.  She chatted, thanked him for the compliment and went on her way.  She didn’t think much more about it until Friday morning when she walked out her front door.  She walked out her door with confidence, knowing that when she closed her door she would see her simple, elegant wreath and would lock her door knowing that the wreath would be there to greet her when she returned: humble, unassuming and beautiful.

Imagine her surprise when she shut her door to lock it and found this…

Just wow.

Unbeknownst to my dear friend, her sweet, potentially inebriated neighbors decided to decorate her wreath in an attempt to bring her fully into the festive spirit they perceived her “nice” wreath lacked.  They turned fabulous wreath into fabulous-wreath-gets-decked-up-to-go-out-even-though-we-are-all-under-covid-restrictions-wreath.  It was amazing and so surprising and so not at all her style all she could do was blink. 

Blink and choose to be thankful and to enjoy the differences between them.  She called me with the story of wreath massacre/decorating and immediately sent me a picture.  I could only giggle.  In return for the terrorist wreath decorating, my friend was going to surprise her neighbors with hot chocolate bombs (don't know what those are?  Google it).  Such an unwanted, surprisingly lovely act  that lead to another act of kindness, was a welcome relief from the strife and the stress the pandemic has created between neighbors.

So many people are filtering their lives through layers of disappointment as financial instability, sickness, and isolation are part of the holiday trimmings this year. In truth, many people find holidays difficult, but the pandemic has created an unusual level of stress for many who have been affected.  I was reminded that grace and kindness will be more important than ever this season.  I am praying that I will be able to do these holidays well and with integrity.    To pretend the birth of Jesus erases suffering and pain is to miss the point of the season entirely.  We have been given a hope that one day, things will be made right.  For now, we are to watch and wait, to encourage and love our neighbors and enemies, as we travel the dark road toward the light at the end of this dark tunnel.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned. […] For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this.  Isaiah 9:2, 6-7

xoxKaren

Deerest Friends

Most Darling Friend and Good Sir,

This letter finds you almost 10 weeks overdue I fear.  My texts tell me that your storm started at the beginning of September.  I ask you would forgive the lateness of my reply.   My greatest hope is that your community is still loving on you in these painful times. 

It was with distress that I heard of Good Sir’s cancer diagnosis from our mutual friend.  To be frank, it had been a crap day with each of my children in tears for one reason or another.  When I added my care giving trials to the mix of our unemployment saga, I was ready to swim into the strait with hopes of getting eaten by an Orca.  When our friend texted, I sat down under an apple tree and had a sniffle.  I am truly sorry you are in the middle of such a storm.  What a trying time for all of you.

I thought perhaps I should write to you in the spirit of encouragement to express my extreme fondness of your family. I am not writing much these days but thought I could manage a letter after I walked the puppy. However, at 10:45 this morning, I left to take the dog for a walk and the following events ensued…

10:45:05  Child 3 heads to the car as she is my designated walking buddy.

10:45:25  I let the dog out the back door to join Child 3 in car.

10:45:27  Child 3 gets diverted by the sight of 5 deer and goes into the back yard.

10:45:48  Dog goes to Child 3 instead of car because Child 3 smells like toast. 

10:45:48  Dog finds Child 3 and catches scent of deer.  Dog decides deer smell way better than toast and starts to chase deer family across the back yard to hug them with her mouth.

10:45:50  Child 3  starts shouting for Dog to return.

10:45:52  In the kitchen I hear Child 3 screaming and run outside, upsetting the cockatiel, who was resting on my shoulder.

10:45:53  Bird, terrified by my erratic behavior commences emergency shrieking to inform Child 2 (his owner) that the world as he knows it is ending.

10:45:55  Husband jumps up to rescue Bird who is headed for the chandelier and the 2nd floor where Angus the Persian cat lives.

10:45:57  Child 1 hears commotion and runs outside to assist Child 3 who was last seen running into neighbor’s yard.

10:45:57  Wasp outside is terrified by Child 3 running past his house and commences  emergency shrieking to inform hive the world as he knows it is ending.

10:46:00  Child 1,  running valiantly after the dog and sister, in stylish yet mildly impractical heels, dashes through the garden and knocks head on badly placed lower limb of a tree.

10:46:07  Child 2, having retrieved the cockatiel from her father, places bird in time out and heads outside to assist sisters, both of whom are staggering through the neighbor’s yard.

10:47:00  Child 3 is classified as an enemy combatant by wasps and is stung 4 times.

10:47:01  Child 3  commences emergency shrieking, shouting “Those bastards got me! They got me! Bastards! Bleeping hell!**”  While careening across neighbors beautifully mown grass.

10:47:04  Dog wonders what her human sisters are screaming about and turns for home.

10:47:06  Child 1  catches Dog who is determined to save her human sister from an unknown foe.  Due to momentum and lack of sensible footwear, Child 1 immediately falls over and is dragged behind rescue dog.  Seeing the evil wasps on her little sister, she screams at Child 3 to take off her shirt.

10:47:07  Husband looks out the window in time to see his 14 year old daughter ripping off pieces of clothing, streaking across the garden in her bra in broad daylight followed by wasps, Child 2, Child 1 and Dog.   

10:47:15 Child 1 manages to grab dog in death grip and shouts encouraging pre-nursing program advice to Child 2, who has managed to grab a nearly naked Child 3,  and is leading her past her stunned father, upstairs to the shower.

10:47:45 Husband and I are left downstairs in the living room, secretly blaming the other for most of what just transpired.  Dog blames management and eats the cat’s food while she thinks no one is looking. 

All of this actually happened.

So my dear friends, you can see why I wonder if I am the best person to encourage you, when my entire existence has been reduced to fighting to get through the next 30 minutes.  The irony is, some trials are so hard and they require so much energy, but they come when all personal resources seem to be in short supply.  It is in this place of lack that I find myself praying for you today.  

I wanted to remind you both how precious you are.  You are the type of folk who exist in the lives of others as a source of stability, generosity and kindness.  Your legacy is well and truly alive in your children and it possesses the weight and momentum of eternity.  You are doing such a good job.

You are both simply wonderful people.

And so my prayers Good Sir, are that God will grace you with every healing and a knowledge of his presence.  That on the days he seems very far away, that your mind might hold onto the truth that he is near, and loves your family deeply.  The _____ family was created by God to bless others and make his name shiny.  I am praying that God will see fit to lengthen your days and that you will hold your grandbabies. You are a kind man, so rare in these times.  We are asking God to heal you.

And darling Friend, I am praying for peace for your heart.  You are lovely and so wonderfully practical… and short.   I am praying so many things for you my in heart I could trip over my thoughts.  Sometimes God seems far away in our times of suffering.  I wish I could make you tea and remind you how wonderful you are. 

Lord Jesus,

Please bless my friends with great courage.  We ask for healing grace to flow from your throne to Good Sir.  That you would keep them both in your shadow, so that the valley does not seem so frightening.  I ask for signs of your fingerprints all over everything, because they love you and they are your people.  Restore them Lord, I ask in Jesus name.

Thank you for being wonderful people.  We are praying for you and thinking of you often.

With every fiber of my aching heart,

xoxK 

When Lament Lingers

June's art:  she used to draw stick men.

They were equally as awesome.

Hello Friend!  

What are you doing on this quarantine Sunday?  My eldest just brought me fresh baked cookies and a cup of tea (best thing ever) so I am taking another run at writing you.  I have been sitting at my laptop for an hour now and all I have to show for it is one lousy paragraph and a head ache.

Today, I want to talk about well-meaning church folk, but if I write from my own life experience, I’m bound to make someone cross.  So in a refreshing bout of self-preservation, I would like to introduce you to 2 lovely women, whom I respect and admire for their tenacity and perseverance. 

I met June when she was 3 months old.  Cute, bald and bright eyed, she was a precious little thing.  Not surprisingly, it was also the day I met her mother Jamie, a friend of a friend who had come over for prayer. The way I remember it, I was curled up on the right end of the couch with a pillow on my lap.  Within half an hour, this young woman was lying across the couch with her head on the pillow and I was stroking her hair.  She was sobbing.  I was praying.  After an hour of heart breaking conversation, I was imploring the God of heaven to help, to do something, anything to bring hope to this crushed soul.  Abandoned by an abusive husband, left with two small children, this young woman had no idea how she was going to survive the evening, let alone the next 20 years.  I remember pressing Kleenex into her tear soaked hand and asking, “What on earth do you want me to do, Lord?  What are we supposed to do now?”  Looking at the car seat where June slept quietly in her pink pajamas, I remember sighing, I had no clue.

If you have ever experienced the joy of discipleship, you know how many hours it takes to teach and train a willing heart.  Add to that poverty, single parenting, and limited resources and you will have an understanding of my last 17 years walking alongside June’s family.  My hours on the phone with Jamie have been endless.  We have prayed though fevers and friendships, fatherlessness and firsts, family and feuds.  We have prayed through it all.  We have wept, screamed and laughed late into the evening and in the early morning hours, shivering outside as we talked where children couldn’t hear.  I have prayed for June as she grew up without a father, and said “amen” as Jamie asked Jesus countless times to “shore up the lack” in June’s life.  “Lord Jesus, shore up the lack,” Jamie would pray, “I can’t be a dad; I need you to cover that base for June.”

So the years have passed.  As Jamie went back to school, June’s life improved and then became strained due to sibling dysfunction.  Through it all, June persevered.  She put her head down and worked hard, kept her grades up and attended church, staying accountable when she could have tried on the robe of rebellion and caused herself a whole world of trouble.  But she didn’t.  She kept going, often on scholarships, known as the child of the single mum, which is code for second class citizen in many of our churches. 

Then something amazing happened.  June grew up.  She left behind a toxic school and graduated early with online learning. She realized she had brains.   She got a job in a new environment and found out she was hard working and competent.  Her hours behind her desk and keyboard have meant her artistic talents are developing. Her mum got a great new job and June is experiencing life in new ways without some of the limitations that plagued her childhood.   

It is all lovely to watch but from my viewpoint, some parts are simply astounding. 

Like this week, when June came home from being out with friends and found herself a bit blue.  The young women were church folk and were sharing church thoughts about their church lives. 

Which is a good thing: except when it isn’t. 

The friends were discussing deep truths about how a person needed to be filled in order to minister to others.  They discussed how you needed to overflow in order to reach those around you.  June sat and listened, until her heart couldn’t take the subpar metaphors anymore and she spoke from her experience and from scripture.  “It doesn’t always work like that you know. Sometimes, God shows up when you don’t have anything and you can still give to others.”  And June started to explain to her friends that she grew up without a father, but that Jesus covered that loss.  She explained how she had been given good role models and how God had provided for her over the years when she had no dad; ways she had been blessed and taken care of.  She explained that even though it was painful, God had provided.  It was then she testified to her friends, “I didn’t suffer lack.”

When Jamie recounted this I could have jumped from my chair and run around the block shouting “glory.”  “I didn’t suffer lack.” How many tears did that family shed the night before father’s day? “I didn’t suffer lack.”  Yet June felt the sting of poverty for over a decade.  “I didn’t suffer lack.” The hours her mum cried over the loss of stability and the death of a dream.

I did not suffer lack.

What struck me about the statement was the reality of lament and victory, sitting side by side.  Without a doubt June’s childhood would have been easier if her Dad had stepped up to the role of fatherhood.  But he didn’t and June has cried over the wake of his devastation many times.  Yet still she sees the provision and the beautiful things God did in the emptiness.  She knows that although the cup was empty, Jesus met her there.

When June had finished her little testimony, do you know what her friends said?  Nothing.  They had no words.  It got awkward.  No one said, “That is amazing.  Jesus met you!  How encouraging.”  Nope.  Religion often doesn’t have anything to say when Jesus shows up.  That type of religion promotes victory only: suffering means you didn't pray hard enough.  So June came home sad and needed her mum to tell her she wasn’t crazy.  God does show up when we are low, hurting and in pain.  When we are weak he is strong. You can still win even though your eyes are filled with tears.

For many in this difficult time, the lament lingers.  Their hearts are saddened by their circumstances.  They are empty and they know it, unclear how to cope and what to do next.  All that seems certain is heartache and pain.  If that is you friend, may I reassure you that you can come to Jesus when your cup is empty.  Do not give up.  Do not lose hope.  There is a God who loves you, who is willing to work on your behalf.  He does not look at your pain as something that disqualifies you.  He doesn’t look at you as an empty cup.  He will continue to walk you through the darkness.  He has a plan though you have nothing.  He will shore up lack in the midst of your pain.

You weren’t wrong June. 

I have loved watching you grow up.

xoxKaren

P.S.  I first introduced you to Jamie 10 years ago!  My word I am so old.  It was before I knew how to export pictures.  She is responsible for so much of my grey hair.
Here is the link to that post.
https://itstartedwithalion.blogspot.com/2010/09/you-would-like-jamie.html

Dear Doughnut Friend

Happiness in doughnut form

Dear Doughnut Friend,


That is what I call you, is that okay?  Not being certain of your life accomplishments, I hesitate to reduce you to a baked good but your kind purchase has indelibly marked you as the source of sugary goodness.  It’s late, but I wanted to thank you for buying my doughnuts last month.  When I drove up to the window, debit card in hand, the young woman handed me a box and said, “Have a nice afternoon.”  “Wait,” I exclaimed holding up my debit card, “I didn’t pay yet.”  “You don’t have too,” she explained.  “The person in front of you paid for your order.”  “They what? Really? Oh how kind…”  The server smiled and waved me on, I smiled too, though she wouldn’t have known.  My face mask rendered me emotionless.   


I did the only reasonable thing to do after a stranger pays for your doughnuts; I sped across the parking lot as fast as I could in order to catch up to you.  I wanted to mouth “thank you” while donning a face mask and sunglasses.   It wasn’t a well thought out plan.  Unclear of what car had actually preceded me through the drive thru, I sped recklessly, swerved a couple of times until I realized I didn’t know who I was following. I decided to pull over, pretended to thank you in person and promptly burst into tears.   


I wish I could explain, Doughnut friend, how tired I was that Thursday afternoon.  I left the house at 10:30 and I needed to hit 2 stores: Costco and Home Depot.  Costco is always busy, but I wasn’t prepared for the socially distant line up to extend across the back parking lot onto the street.  Nothing moved very quickly but at that point I didn’t mind.  I was ready to shop.  Did I mention I carry a spray bottle of bleach solution?  You haven’t known me long enough to know that, but rest assured I am ready to bleach spray the corona off anything. The inside of my car is lined with plastic and towels, which sounds worrisome, unless you have seen me in action.  Car uncontaminated, anything coming into the vehicle is sprayed, excluding the children but I wasn’t shopping with them anyway.  I live with immune compromised people and am gravely concerned that I might do something to put them at risk.  It is an exhausting burden.


Needless to say my Cruller Companion, I get some looks.  However, I don’t let that stop me, head down I mind my own business, spraying every surface in front of me as groceries go from one area to another.  Once I was done with Costco, the sun came out in earnest and almost instantly my car reached 90 degrees, I was perspiring and feeling mildly nauseous by the time I drove over to Home Depot.  It was there that I started to lose it.


Maybe you saw me at Home Depot?  I was the middle aged woman with the boot cast, face mask and sunglasses on, hobbling across the parking lot.  When I exited the car, you would have seen a plume of steam and wondered if the swimming center across the street was shocking their pool that weekend.  They weren’t.  It was my groceries steaming in the sunlight, creating a fantastic hot box effect for anyone interested in getting stoned off bleach fumes. I like to think my mask mitigated any negative effects the bleach but it wasn’t true.  By the time I got a cart and made it to the front door, I smelled like I had been in tussling the back seat with Mr. Clean.


The line-up at Home Depot was long, too.  Making matters worse, in order to maximize how many people could use the store, they split the store in two.  This meant if I wanted to go to the garden center, I had to purchase my items and line up again.  Social distancing within the store meant the employees were giving patrons as wide a berth as possible.  To the extent that some were jogging out of people’s way as they shopped.  Problem was I needed help, which meant every employee within 50 feet instantly disappeared.  By the time I found an employee, 7 isles from where I needed help, I literally had to chase him down.  Don’t expect anyone to be able to read facial clues when decked out in Covid attire.  My mask meant my calls for help were muffled and the fact that I didn’t take off my sunglasses (prescription) meant I was giving off no facial cues what so ever.  The 17 year old male I was hunting did exactly what any normal person would do when being followed by a casted, mask wearing, sunglasses donning, 50 year old woman, smelling of bleach and carrying a spray bottle. He ran.  Maybe you caught site of this Doughnut Friend?  Did that spark compassion in your soul?  By the time I finally caught the fellow, my foot had started to hurt, boot cast be damned. 


It was exciting to repeat the same dance a second time in the garden center.  The problem over there was everyone in my neighborhood is gardening and needed horticultural assistance.  I was waiting to get into the store with 50 acutely and chronically indecisive friends, all whom had to rethink every item they purchased.  From rhododendrons to rooting hormone, every decision was painstakingly discussed.   I was in such a bad temper by the time I hit the cash register I groaned when a woman decided to change her mind on the type of lawn food she was buying.  I sighed and put my head down on the handle of my cart.  Realizing it was audible, I lifted my boot cast and shook it a bit in order to make people think my foot was giving me trouble.  If they knew how close I was to murdering Mrs. 20-20-10 they would not be sympathetic.   I felt horrible.  How did I hurt my foot anyway, you ask?  Gardening.  Oh the layers of irony were too deep.  I sprayed my face with bleach and took a deep breath.    


Back to the parking lot with my haul: more bleach was sprayed: car doors, keys, and gloves.  You name it, I sprayed it. Desperate to go home, I wondered if the day might be less painful for the girls if I came home with doughnuts.  By then I was tired, bleach stoned, and on my last $20. I fussed over whether or not there was money for something as frivolous as doughnuts.  I decided there was and bought a dozen, thank you Tim Hortons.


This, Doughnut Friend, brings me back to you and why I was crying in the parking lot.  My family hit trials 18 months before the pandemic and I cannot stress enough what a bad timing that was.  About the time I expected things to get better; they have gotten worse in ways I could not have imagined which was why it was so lovely to have something nice happen.  Thank you, Doughnut friend, for buying doughnuts for my family.  It was kind of you and it meant a great deal to me on a very tiring day. 


In truth, lately I have felt that the good times are gone and I’m going to remain awash in loss forever.  At times like these, it is good to remember that life comes in seasons. 

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: 2 a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, 3 a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, 4 a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, 5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, 6 a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, 7 a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, 8 a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. 9 What do workers gain from their toil? 10 I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. 

Ecc 3:1-11

The problem with many churches is that they tend to deny suffering exists.  That is until recently.  When the world ran into Covid, many happy, clappy churches have needed to review their theology: except for the nut bar ones that are blowing on things and declaring the end of the virus.  I’m not certain how we lost the message of suffering, but I’m certain that aspiring to new levels of breakthrough and declarations of victory have something to do it.**   Times of suffering cause you to wrestle with the sovereignty of God.  In moments like these, it is easy to forget that small, simple kindnesses make a world of difference to those in pain.  Doughnut friend, your gift was worth so much more than what you spent.  It was a boost of morale, a moment of being seen and I am very grateful.  I am certain that those doughnuts were, in fact, calorie free and my only regret is that I didn’t order an extra dozen. 


Thank you Doughnut friend, I pray you and your family stay safe, and that the Lord blesses you in return.


Wishing I could have shared them with you,


Karen


**Yep.  I said it.  I went there and there is more where that came from. 

Crop Failure

It was a cold but sunny day when I saw him across the garden.  Strangely, I was thinking about him the day before when clearing winter debris from the lawn.  This was a couple months before the Covid crisis had grabbed the headlines. I smiled at his silhouette, a unique shape in his beekeeper garb.  Thinking back to the years before Alzheimer’s robbed my family, I remembered my dad would spot Mark and say, “There’s Mark, he does a bit of everything that guy. A clever fellow, he deals with the bees and honey and his wife makes the candles.”  I sighed, sniffed and reached my hands into the dishwater pulling another tea cup off the bottom of the sink. 

Watching Mark move around the white cubes, I noticed he was crouching behind the hive.  He stood, took a deep breath and slumped against it.  Something wasn’t right.  I finished the last of the mugs and put them on the draining rack.  Walking to the back door I found my shoes, grabbed my cuppa and headed into the garden.

“Mark!  I was thinking about you yesterday and here you are.  How are you? How are the bees?  Do you need anything?” 

He looked at me and smiled sadly, his grey hair hanging over his forehead.  “I’m afraid they didn’t survive the winter.  They are all dead.”  Only then did I notice the hive frame in his hand, scraper in the other.  Dead bees and bees wax in a pile at his feet.  “What? Oh no, wait.  What went wrong? Did they need something?” I was distressed, wondering if I should have tarped them, visited, done something to keep the creatures alive during the winter months.  “No,” Mark replied, sighing again.  “It was invasive wasps.  I’ve lost all my hives and my partner did too.  Lots of keepers round the valley did.  It was a bad year.”  And then, like he has for the past decade, he began to explain to me the life of the honey bee and what had gone wrong in the hive.  Bless his heart, he took the hive apart and showed me the forensics of his misfortune.  It was all I could do not to cry.

Running inside I grabbed my girls and fetched the wheel barrow to help Mark dismantle his gear.  Hives needed to be cleaned and stored and he walked my girls through the whole process.  Teachers gotta teach, regardless of being blessed or broken.  We did what we could to ease the burden and watched Mark load the truck.  Ten years he had raised bees in our back yard.  Ten years of hard work, love and passion now taken apart, put in a van and driving away.  The loss felt acute, intimate and hard to observe.

You might have noticed friend that I have been missing for a while.  My Sunday posts ceased when the storms in my life became overwhelming.  It has been a very difficult 18 months and it doesn’t look that the winds will cease anytime soon.  But I felt compelled to write today, because I’m grieving.*

Grief has a strange effect on the soul; it makes one all too sensitive to the misfortunes of others.  Many are sailing into storms of loss and some will take a while to recover.  Others will never recover. They will lose something precious.  They will struggle.  They will heal but some losses change you forever.  The death of a loved one, the death of anyone, alters our world.  We will experience loss. 

Today I wanted to thank those of you who are experiencing what I now call “crop failure.”  I like to think I coined the term but the first hit on google  defines crop failure as,

an absent or greatly diminished crop yield relative to expectation, caused by the plants being damaged, killed, or destroyed, or affected in some way that they fail to form edible fruit, seeds, or leaves in their expected abundance. (also known as harvest failure)

Are there any unexpected losses in your community my friend? Any disappointed hearts as this virus sweeps the globe?

Mark and many like him, invested in a passion and worked hard to make it succeed.  From the beekeeper to café owner, they have struggled and sacrificed; labored and devoted themselves to building a better community. From the teen that will lose a graduation celebration, to community actors whose plays will not run, to the bride who stayed up late with a glue gun working on some hideous crafting project involving tulle. Hours of unseen investment is seemingly going to waste as life takes a turn and robs the fruit of their labor.  Perhaps you are one of these people, bailing hard to keep your boat afloat during this storm.

Scripture houses a tiny book written during dark times.  The author, priest turned prophet, starts by asking God where he is in his time of need.  Does God see?  Does he intend to help?  The book progresses and details the authors struggle as he watches the rise of unscrupulous powers set to overthrow his people.  It voices the reality of loss and injustice in a difficult season.  The favored scripture often quoted by believers is found in the last of its 3 quick chapters. 

Though the fig tree should not blossom,

    nor fruit be on the vines,

the produce of the olive fail

    and the fields yield no food,

the flock be cut off from the fold

    and there be no herd in the stalls,

    yet I will rejoice in the Lord;

    I will take joy in the God of my salvation.

    God, the Lord, is my strength;

    he makes my feet like the deer's;

    he makes me tread on my high places. Hab 3:17-19

I believe that these hours are not wasted though they did not yield a harvest.  Even today my girlfriend received an unkind note from a beloved adult child.  I cannot number the hours we have prayed for this young man.  Yet I know the years of sacrifice and weeping in the dark are not lost, despite his anger and frustration. God knows all that was invested.  He sees it, remembers it and can number time spent to the second.  Such loving investment is not lost, it is written on the hearts of those who received it.  It might be beyond human memory but its effects change the world for the better. 

It takes a lot to worship in the dark my friend.  My hope is that we can comfort others who are in seasons of sorrow.  That we can speak honestly to the loss they are facing, lament and cry with them.  And when the brighter season arrives, to do what we can to support their gifts and endeavors and to build up their spirits again.

So I’m praying for you today.  That you would continue to reach out to those who are grieving, to listen to their loss and to walk with them. 

Be brave. Be kind. Be amazing.

xoxKaren

*Grieving and eating way too much chocolate if I’m entirely honest.  Quarantine has me locked in a room in my house as my husband has the children playing a smash bros tournament upstairs.  I’m on my own and about to don gloves and a face mask and commence hunting for the chocolate I know he purchased when he was at the store yesterday.