Doggone it!! (repost 2012)

This dog looks nothing like my mother in law's.

Hello My Friend!

I am cleaning my garage!  I found a Costco sized bag of lemons that I misplaced somehow and now my storage space smells of rank citrus.  So I'm pulling out an old post from 6 years ago to keep us all company while I clean.  I was at the farm this week, so next week I will post another farm adventure.  Spoiler alert: holistic veterinary medicine.  IT WAS ALARMING. 

I do hope you are getting outside and enjoying time with those you love.

xoxKaren

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I like to think I was holding it together fairly well until they called and asked for money to kill the dog.  The dog in question is a delightful fellow, a morbidly obese, epileptic, diabetic creature who was the apple of my mother in law’s eye.  Somehow, an extended family member phoning my husband in order to obtain funds to secure his canine brother’s inevitable demise, a mere four days after his mother’s funeral caught me by surprise.  What was more surprising was the volume at which the request was made and all the additional comments that adorned the twenty minute yell fest.   The net effect of the horrendous encounter was interesting.   Days later, I am still shaking my head.

There are seasons when life becomes very difficult.  Seasons when every time you turn around, another crisis descends and you are left feeling inadequate and perplexed.   My family has been fighting stormy weather for two years now.  The last 6 months have been some of the most difficult I have experienced in my 42 years on the planet.   It wasn’t the death of a precious family member that had me frightened this time, it was the bizarre behavior of family members I had known for years that had me reeling.

Disappointment is defined in the dictionary as, “the feelings of sadness or displeasure caused by the nonfulfillment of one's hopes or expectations.”    Unmet expectations are difficult to avoid if you are going to live on this planet with any success.  Sooner or later, we all must deal with disappointment.  It is one thing to have an unrealistic expectation of a person regardless of how self aware you might be.  It is another to have an expectation of basic decency dashed by those we care about.  

Following the example of the righteous through the ages, I shut myself in a bedroom in order to pray.  I was having a crisis and the best thing to do was to get Godly and seek the face of my Lord.  I would like to report that after 2 hours of prayer I was feeling cleansed and peaceful; except that would be a blatant lie.  It didn’t work.  I could not sit still.  The desire to jump in my car and accidentally on purpose run certain people over was too strong.  After five minutes, my attempt at Godly behavior failed and I jumped in the shower.  When the going gets tough, the tough get in the shower.  It wasn’t as righteous as my first attempt at finding peace of mind, but it would do in a pinch. 

Do you sing in the shower dear friend?  I don’t want to get too personal too quickly but it is proven fact that those who can sing loudly while naked live longer and happier lives than those who cannot.  Truth.  There is an art to singing in the shower.  You have to pace yourself and keep an eye on the hot water levels.  Because I was angry I started with a rousing chorus of”Highway to Hell” and swapped out all the “I’m” and “Satan” lyrics with the names of family members.  I was starting to feel better.  It was at that moment of smug and naked satisfaction that I felt a gentle nudge from the Lord.  It was as if He tapped on the shower curtain and said, “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money. ” I was suddenly aware that unless God moved powerfully, what I was singing was true.  Certain family members would be going to hell.  Their lack of loving behavior was a true indication of the condition of their hearts.  What vanity to take such a distressing situation personally. I stopped singing turned off the shower and returned to my room to pray.

Prayer came much easier this time.

8 We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 10 We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 11 For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. 12 So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you….
 16 Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17 For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 2 Cor 4: 8-12, 16-18

Lord Jesus,
It is so easy to be overcome by the troubles and suffering you allow to knock on our door.  Have your way Lord and help me not to become the victim of anothers' unkindness.  I ask for the grace to see them as you do and to allow my emotions to drive me to prayer.  Forgive me Lord, where I want things to be easier.  I do not value the same things as you Jesus. 


Give us strength Lord Jesus, this road is hard.  Help us not to take offense and to fix our eyes on eternal things.  Remind me what the eternal things are Lord; I rarely remember to look up.  Help me to rejoice through tears, because you are still lovely.
Amen.

A Sure Foundation

When was the last time you wrote a letter?

I’d have to say my day improved immeasurably when I got home and turned my underpants around.  The trip to the store had been quick, yet surprisingly uncomfortable.  When I heard the front door click as my husband left for work, I decided to run to the store before the girls woke up.  Bumping around the bedroom, I grabbed my husband’s sweat shirt threw on knickers and a skirt, stepped into flip flops and jumped into the car.

The first indication something was horridly wrong came when I got out the car to grab a cart.  Sensing a strange imbalance in coverage, I hopped and wiggled hoping a quick shimmy would fix the problem.  It didn’t.  About that moment, standing in Fred’s, I came to full consciousness and realized what I had done.  There are dark moments in everyone’s life and I have to confess I was struck with a sense of hopelessness about my future.  Why had my creator made me so fearfully and wonderfully?  Was my entire life’s purpose to serve merely as a warning to others?*

My phone rang.

“Hey there!  I didn’t expect to get you this early.”  It was Judith, my friend in Victoria.  I’ve known her for about 25 years.  “I’m really glad I caught you.  What are you doing?”

“Well truthfully, I’m shopping for milk before the girls wake up.  I’m at the store and my skivvies are on backwards so I’m pretty uncomfortable and impressed with myself right now.”

Judith gave a few moments of respectful silence before she said, “I beg your pardon.” 

This was the point I wondered why I view relational transparency a virtue.  No idea why I shared, but I think it was because I figured she might be as impressed with my idiocy as I was.  I can’t explain myself; I’m just trying to survive.  The wise among us would leave this anecdote alone and not venture application lest something go awry in Christendom.  However, I would like you to bravely hold the ground of foundation garments while I run over to the next paragraph and tell you another story. 

I wrote a letter this week, to someone I like.  She has great hair but that isn’t why I wrote the letter.  I wrote the letter because her heart is burdened by a situation in her life and I wanted her to know I think she is amazing.  She is praying for a loved one who is in rebellion against everyone who breathes.  In order to be aesthetically pleasing I bought expensive paper with matching envelopes and even broke out my fountain pen.  As I wrote the letter, I was stuck by a sentence I penned in the middle of the note.  (A word to my pagan friends – I’m going to go hard core Christianese for a minute, bear with me.)

This was my sentence:

Being profoundly aware of sin, yet praying for Jesus’ mercy is such a victorious place to be.

My dear friend was crippled by the wrongdoing of her loved one and to every responsible step she knew how to take, she added prayer, yet she was feeling ineffective.  My point was, when you are overwhelmed by sin, praying to God for mercy is effective and a wise thing to do.  We believe that there is mercy for those who are aware they have done wrong; prayers of repentance are heard and accepted by God.  Without our repentance and God’s forgiveness through Jesus, it isn’t Christianity.  It is in fact, one of the foundations of our faith.

If repentance isn’t part of your faith walk, your foundation is off. 

Allegorically, if you know your knickers are on backwards you’re going to be uncomfortable until you get things straight.  Same with sin, distract yourself all you want: wiggle hop and shimmy but until you repent and get those things turned around, you’re going to be uncomfortable and that’s a good thing.  Sin is real.  Repentance is a gift.  Forgiveness is divine. 

So I’m praying for my friend with the winning theology and great hair. I’m praying for those of us who are uncomfortable and need to make some changes: for those who want to turn things around and need the gift of repentance and for all those who are in need of forgiveness.

I’m praying something major gets healed this week.

XoxKaren

PS.  It is Father’s Day!  This is not a Father’s Day entry.  Or maybe it is.  Call your Dad before the sun goes down if you can’t do that, draw a picture of him and post it on your fridge. 

*I wish that were mine but it’s on a demotivational poster at despair.com

Hooped! (repost:back next week!)

Not the hula I was thinking

Why didn’t you leave when you had the chance? I scolded myself.  I was staring into a wall length mirror with 5 other women.  Good job Karen, really nice work.  I stuck my tongue out at my reflection.  The woman on my right caught my eye and looked over her shoulder.  “You ready?” Her accent was thick, Russian perhaps?  I smiled weakly, “Sort of!” She leaned in, “Don’t worry, you are going to love it!”  She turned back to the mirror and started clapping, “Come on now!”  Hopping up and down, she pumped her arms to the music, “Let’s go.” 

She was clearly a keener.* 

Friday afternoon was grey and rainy.  The girls and I spent most of the day inside, reading and staying busy.  By tea time, they were getting restless and my oldest suggested we go to the YMCA for a quick workout.  “Really?  The Y? Now?”  One of the challenges of raising children is the constant demand to model functional adult behavior.  When a teenager says they want to exercise, health experts recommend you drop whatever you are doing and join them.  However, today I was sorely tempted to talk her out of it.  The fantasy of crawling into bed and having a nap was evaporating, I gritted my teeth.  “You know what?  That is a great idea.  Healthy!  Let me finish my tea and we can go.” 

I considered my options.  Running on the treadmill seemed too ambitious.  I was so tired if I got in the pool I would sink.  “Someone pass me the exercise schedule,” I shouted while I packed my gym bag.  “Maybe I can grab a class.” 

“The only class is hot hula fitness!” Yelled my daughter.  Hula fitness? I flipped through my mental dictionary and came up with nothing.  Dashing from the room I glanced at the class description “total body workout, isolates larger muscles groups…. Works your core. Sounds good,” I declared to the room and gathered my things.

There, my friend, was my first mistake.  Somewhere in my head, I was visualizing a gathering of people using hula hoops to workout.  People at my YMCA are an enthusiastic bunch of community-minded folk.  Exercising is a big deal to them and I have grown used to the myriad of ways they try to raise my heart rate.  I’ve even done some prayer work and forgiven them.  So when I read hula fitness, I didn’t even bother questioning it.  I just assumed I would be in a room full of women whose tank tops matched their water bottles.  I would be wearing one of my husband’s tee shirts and someone named Cheri would hand me a hula hoop.  We would do strange crunches together, sweat and I’d spend an hour feeling mildly self-conscious.  No big deal. 

That isn’t what happened.  

The small class size should have been the second tip off.  It wasn’t.  Walking into the almost empty studio I felt awkward and reverted to my best Canadian self.  I walked up to the instructor, apologized for being on time and introduced myself.  She was ridiculously happy to see me, suspiciously so. (Third sign seen flying right over my head.)  Four more women walked in the room, “Oh great, another dancer!” said a senior citizen in a tank top. 

Blind panic.

“Karen, if you would like, some of the ladies use a sarong tied around their waist.  It makes it easier to see your hip moments.”  The panic passed quickly and was replaced by delightful, euphoric hysteria.  I started laughing.  I was trying to pull it back but it was too late now, I was grinning like a dolphin and managed to reply, “Oh how kind of you.  My… that is yellow and …flowers...  Goodness!  I think I will stick with plain clothes today thank you so much for offering.  Oh look that one matches your sneakers, wonderful!  I don’t want to call attention to my beginner status.”  My protests were met with rounds of affirmation and then the music, which featured mostly drums, started to pound. 

I was learning the Polynesian hula.

Polynesian dancing is amazing.  It has been taught for countless generations and has been a means to pass on stories, legends and cultural identity.  Expressing the environment of the islands, the moments are fluid and representative of earth, sea and sky.  It is beautiful.  I knew this in my heart and despite this knowledge I was begging God to let me do crunches.   I can’t say I have heard the audible voice of Our Father, but I’m pretty certain I heard him laugh.  Let me be honest, Polynesian dancing is really about moving your hips…a lot….non stop really.

(isolates major muscle groups works your core – IDIOT!  How did I miss this!)

Turns out, I was about to destroy the hula.  I started by turning beet red.  It is not physically possible for me to gyrate in public without feeling some form of shame.  I think this is a good thing.  Not like I gyrate in public much, but you understand my point.  However, the tiny woman with the microphone was starting to teach the dance, I had to put aside my mortification to keep up with her.  She was fast and really wiggly. 

I did a great job of matching pace with the instructor during the teaching part.  Then the tempo increased and things began to get dangerous.  My instructor sounded like she was calling sushi orders, “Ami, ʻAi ʻami, Ami ʻôniu!” It was horridly awesome.   All the time, hips are flying everywhere.  The instructor looked fabulous, sensual even, radically inappropriate but amazing.  I on the other hand couldn’t recall the last time I had tried to move like this. 

(Totally untrue.  I had a flash back to being 20 and intoxicated, tripping over a sprinkler while being chased by geese on my sister’s friend’s farm.  Half of me was rolling down the hill and the other half was staying still due to a hose that had me pinned.  This was mimicking the pain and humiliation quite nicely.)  

Every now and then she would shout out confusing requirements like, “Make a square with your hips!”  What does that even mean?  I wondered to myself.  Nothing about my hips are square.  In fact, there are no angles on my person whatsoever.  I’m mostly curves and wrinkles.  I tried to turn off all self-analysis.   I was in it to survive. 

Sixty minutes I endured.  I could write you through the entire mortifying class but it would be unfair. There are some things you can’t share with people.  Things you don’t want to share but you end up sharing because wherever there is an embarrassed middle aged woman in exercise gear there is a 14 year old boy peeking in the window and mocking her (demon child, I hope you trip.).  

By the time the hour was finished, I was euphoric.  My time of penance was over, I had conquered.  Oxygen deprivation will do strange things to your self-esteem.  The instructor assured me I was fantastic and she was thrilled to have another dancer in her class.  I lied my face off in order to get out of there. I was so delighted to be done I thanked God as I staggered to the waiting room to find my girls.  “Wow, Mum!  That was a totally weird class, were you actually doing the hula?”

“Yep, pretty much, did you watch it?”

“No, it was too embarrassing.”

“Chicken!  You should have stayed and learned something.  I was totally amazing.”

Praying that you too, are totally amazing this week.

xoxKaren

Hooped= caught in a situation that has no obvious solution

*Keener= Canadian term informal

a person who is who is extremely eager, zealous, or enthusiastic.