The end

I originally began this blog so that I could have an outlet to talk about what was important to me. It was a place to rant and discuss and process my thoughts. For 1 1/2 years it has served that purpose well. When I was at home almost all the time and short on face-to-face community, I found this type of blogging to be helpful. However, I'm now in a different space and I'm grateful to be able to have in-person conversation about meaningful topics. And so this blog is coming to a close.

I will still be blogging at my ministry website Together We Pray, where I do more resourcing, talking about ministry and reviewing materials for faith formation. And hopefully not having two separate blogs will allow me to blog more frequently!

Thanks all for your interest!


The End

One foot, two foot

One foot, two foot

During this time of transition that's pretty much where it's at for me. Just putting one foot in front of the other and hopefully paying attention to where I place my feet. :)

Alicia and I got everything packed up in Winnipeg and on July 6th the movers came. In four hours the truck was packed and we were on our way. As we left, our landlords' grandson yelled after us, "why aren't you flying, it would be much faster!" Yup, totally. It would have been far faster to fly. But while flying gets you there quickly, it also short circuits the transition process. At least for me. I need the time. I need time to shift gears, to let go, to ... I don't know. Maybe I just need to get bored enough in the car that I want to reach our destination! I'm kind of notorious as a restless car traveler. Regardless, I knew I was going to need the 24 hours in the car (which we spaced over four days) in order to get myself ready for this new adventure. And I also knew that along the way I was going to need some waterfalls.

I am a waterfall junkie. Which is totally weird because I have never really enjoyed being outside and I have always been terrified of any creatures that might startle me in the wild. I want to love the outdoors, but I just don't. I hate being hot and sweaty. And I hate bugs and crawly things. I would like to say I just dislike those things, but that would be a lie. I truly hate them. But I love waterfalls. I love rocks and moving water, and they have to be together. It truly is a testament to how much I love waterfalls that I was willing to hike through provincial parks, covered in mosquito repellent in 30C to see them. Waterfalls ground me. And when I'm transitioning, I need to be grounded. Simple as that. 


So this is how I prepared myself for a new home and a new ministry position.

 

 

 

  

 

 

And now we're here. We're in our place in Kitchener-Waterloo. We spent a lovely few days with friends as we waited to move in and now we're camping out in our house, starting to make it a home. Our things should arrive this week, fingers crossed. And then we continue the work of settling into this new space. The fun stuff (painting Alicia's bedroom and visiting farmer's markets) and the not so fun stuff (changing insurance and banks).  So, it's one foot, two foot for now. Just living in the present and taking things as they come. I'll save looking back and looking forward for another day...or maybe not. :)

The greatest gift we can give our children

The greatest gift we can give our children is not good schooling, name brand clothing, holidays, their own bedroom, cool toys, pets, or even a strong work ethic. The greatest gift we can give our children...

is to deal with our own crap.

Each of us has it. We all have some kind of baggage, hurt or pain that we carry either from our own lives or from the generations that have walked before us. It's the baggage that weighs us down. The baggage that prohibits us from living fully and forces us into a holding pattern where survival is the best option. It's the baggage that drives us to seek out distractions, coping mechanisms, and substitutions as we seek to ignore the weight that we carry.

And I know that dealing with our own crap isn't easy or quick. It's a lifelong journey with a timing and a path that is unique for each one of us. But I believe that it's a journey worth taking and it begins by simply starting to be aware. Aware of what we are doing, aware of what is happening around and within us and then simply being curious. Not judging, not fixing, just attending.

When we attend to our own souls we show our children the path to wholeness. A path that is worth taking.

We show our children that each one of us is worth attending to.
We show them that brokenness is part of life.
We show them that admitting brokenness and seeking help is strength.
We show them that patterns can be broken when we stop and pay attention.
We show them that when we care for ourselves, we are better able to care for others.
We show them that everyone's path is different. 
We show them that we can live in this moment, without needing to escape.
We show them how to offer themselves comfort rather than simply distraction. 
We show them that a posture of love and curiousity leads to transformation.
We show them what it means to become, to live into our identities.

And most of all, we show them that living, fully and authentically is a worthwhile endeavor.

Living fully is worthwhile. It really is. It takes work and vulnerability, and risk, but so do lots of other things, that are honestly, a whole lot less worthwhile.

And maybe you're wondering why I'm writing this, or what authority I have to make these claims. And those are valid things to wonder. I'm not very old, I haven't walked this earth very long. But I have seen the incredible transformation that can happen in the lives of individuals, families, and groups when people are brave enough to tend their souls. Change and healing are possible. And honestly, nothing has impacted my life more than seeing others live into their callings, their identities, doing their own work. They show me what healthy looks like. They show me how to mourn and how to be joyful. They show me what it means to be fully alive. And because they have tended their own souls, they aren't threatened by mine. They don't need me to be something I'm not. They can fully support me in my journey, allowing me to change and explore without their own sense of identity being shaken.

There is so much more to life than climbing the corporate ladder, achieving the flattest abs, buying a dream house, and Pinterest. Let's show our children what that more, really is.

Some days my heart aches

Some days my heart just aches. It aches for the brokenness I see all around me.

In particular my heart aches for young children and youth who suffer.

In 2006 my sister died. She died because...she was sick. Because she had mental and emotional illness that ate away at her. Because she had experiences that triggered her biology. Because...I don't know. There were just so many things. I never felt like I could place blame. There were just too many contributing factors.

But underneath all of those contributing factors there was a basic truth, I believe. Or rather, a basic lie. At her core, for whatever reason, my sister believed that she was not good enough. That she was unlovable. That she was insufficient. And she believed this at the deepest level of her being. It was a lie that formed a foundation for her life I think. And it's a lie that I see everywhere and it makes my heart ache more than anything imaginable.

I spent years believing this lie. Years and years. And it's not something I was explicitly taught. My family loved me. I went to a good school. I knew kind and loving people at my church and in my community. And yet...I learned to embrace the lie.

And I meet people every single day who believe this lie. I meet little children and youth and young adults and the elderly who think, though they don't necessarily say it outright, that they are not good enough. I hear it in their words, I see it in their eyes.

All of us think or are told that we should be taller, shorter, thinner, smarter, faster, more assertive, less assertive, kinder, gentler, stronger, more trendy, more successful...

When all we really "should be" is loved. That's it. That's all. That's all that is required. And ultimately, that's not something that we do, it's something that we are.

I know our culture, and in this I include my church culture, teaches explicitly and implicitly that we are to continually grow and improve and become more perfect throughout our lives. More wise, more holy, more just, more peaceful. But I choose to believe that the only thing that is required of me is that I become more aware of the fact that I am loved beyond measure. If all I do in my life is learn to recognize that I am loved, then that will have been enough, I think. At the end of this life when I fall into the arms of God I wish to do so with the fullest knowledge possible that I am loved.

Perhaps this sounds lazy, or irresponsible, or reckless, or self-centered. Maybe I should aim higher. Jesus said the greatest commandment is that we love God and love our neighbours as ourselves. But I can't help but think that if each of us spent our lives simply learning to live into our belovedness, that this world would be a different place. After all, is it not essentially the same thing to know love as to be love? I imagine that if the individuals who put together ads for AXE products recognized their belovedness, that their ads would take a sharp turn. If our young girls knew at their core that they were loved, maybe they wouldn't hurt themselves anymore. And if each one of us could look into the mirror in the morning and see love radiating...who knows what might be possible.

I wish my sister could have looked into the mirror and seen love. More than anything in the world that's what I would have wished for her. That's what I wish for you, that's what I wish for me.

I know that I am loved, but each day there are still moments when I catch myself holding the lie before me. The lie that I am not enough. The lie that I should strive to be something that I'm not, or strive to be more than what I am. The lie that masks my own belovedness. But I am grateful that I'm learning to recognize the lie for what it is. I'm learning to see when the lie stands between me and my belovedness, between me and God. And when I recognize it, then I have a choice. I can choose to keep holding the lie, or I can tell the lie where to go and how to get there. Most days, I choose the latter. And each time I kick that lie to the curb and recognize my own belovedness, it get's a little bit easier.
 

A change of title is in order!

No longer unemployed! 

Staring on July 16th I will begin ministry at Stirling Ave Mennonite Church in Kitchener, Ontario. And I am grateful, and excited, and nervous, and terrified, and tired. The time has come...but we're not quite there yet.
 
Right now we're in the midst of packing and finishing things up. Transitions are exhausting things I find. Especially when it feels like part of you is here and part there. Most days I'm feeling like all my planets are spinning off axis. Which I know is just par for the course. Being mid-transition is like that. Finishing up things in one spot while starting in another. I trust that at some point a few months from now, I'll find that my body and spirit have caught up with each other and I'll feel centered again. 


Our hope is that our things will be loaded up in the moving truck between July 3rd and 6th and it will arrive on July 11th. We are grateful we have a home (at least for the first year) that is waiting for us. We will be renting a house from a family from the church who will be out of the country for the year.

We are about 1/2 packed with not much more than necessities left. Well...a bit more, but we ran out of boxes. So a few more trips to the liquor mart (they have great boxes!) and other random stores is in order.

And once we're there, who knows. We're off on an adventure!

Sometimes I get angry

Sometimes I get angry. I don't get angry a lot. I really don't. I mostly get annoyed. And that's a different beast entirely. A much smaller, less significant beast and usually a beast that is fed by lack of sleep, low blood sugar or general whininess. When I actually get angry you know it's something big. At least it's something big for me. I save anger for the big stuff like poverty, war, injustice, gender expectations, gas prices and...the Bible. 

Not the Bible per se, I'm not actually angry at the Bible. What I'm angry about is how we present the Bible.

I get angry when we present the Bible like it's a plumber's manual. A how-to guide for fixing whatever's got you plugged up. The Bible is a story and its purpose is to pass on the collective stories and wisdom of people of faith throughout generations. It wasn't meant to be used like a search engine where you just type in your dilemma and up pops the solution. 

I get angry when we present the Bible like the stories are clear and straight-forward, needing no interpretation and containing no mystery. The biblical narrative is an ancient book with ancient wisdom. These words are meant to be savoured, pondered, wrestled with...kind of like the many trendy quotes I keep seeing on fb from Rumi and Ghandi. It was written by real people and so there are inconsistencies and contradictions. It was written by many people and so it's multifaceted. It was written in a different time and so there are contextual cues that we need to explore. If it was just a straight forward historical account of what some people did, then there would be absolutely no point in reading any of it more than once.

I get angry when we create artwork depicting biblical characters or scenes that are one-dimensional, simplistic, or just "happy." I see this most often in children's materials, but I find it in books for adults as well. Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar look like acquaintances who happened upon one another at the park, rather than ...not sure how to even describe what they are. But clearly some emotion is required.  Jesus is stiff and passive, hardly the energetic, passionate and radical teacher that the Bible describes. For goodness sake, put some energy into the man who is weeping and calling Lazarus to come out from the tomb! For some reason the sun seems to be perpetually shining and everyone looks simply...okay. Just fine. Just going to the mall to pick up a jug of milk and on the way I might stop and listen to an incredibly tense dialogue between Jesus and a group of irate religious leaders, but I won't let that impact my placid expression. And just for the record, I get equally frustrated by graphic novels that make Jesus look like a sex god and everything is all thunder, lightening and bloodshed. But within these extremes, with all the art forms that exist, there must be room for some honest, dynamic expression. Some edginess, some life?

I get angry when we read the biblical text with less enthusiasm than the meteorologist giving the weather report. I believe all people are invited to participate in worship and all people are invited to read scripture. But if you don't care about it, if the text is meaningless to you, then please decline the invite. Don't read scripture just because it's something to check off on your "I participated in church" to-do list. Don't read scripture because it gets a worship leader off your back or because you feel guilty. When we read scripture we are holding someone's story. Perhaps we can think of it like standing in for a friend, telling the story of their devastating illness or miraculous recovery, or their encounter with the Divine. We tell the stories of others with respect for their experience. I think we can approach scripture with that same respect. We may not know the person, but we have their story, their wisdom, their experience of God. Let's treat it with some respect. And by respect I don't mean solemnity, but integrity. 

For years I've had an image in my mind of what it might have looked like for Jewish elders to tell the stories of their ancestors. And maybe my image is all wrong, but it's life-giving for me. I imagine a family, not one of our nuclear families, but a tribe, gathered around the fire. All waiting expectantly for the elder or the story-teller to begin. And then being drawn into the mystery, regaled by the highs and lows, the tensions, and then perplexed by the ending. I imagine the children begging their elders to tell them what it all means, and their elders smiling and shrugging, knowing in their hearts that none of us will ever truly know. And I imagine they curl up in their beds with images from the story in their heads, and hearts warmed by the hearing.

I know this all sounds rather idyllic and perhaps even a bit silly. But this is the image that reminds me that the scriptures were stories about real people and they existed, not as plain black text on thin white paper, read alone in quiet secluded places, but as a living story shared orally and in the context of community. I don't think that the Bible has existed all these years because of sheer determination or because Christians just had a lot of power. I believe the Bible continues to exist because the story is alive. 

And I get angry when we treat it like it is dead.

Just had to get that out.

Harry Potter and a Mixing Bowl

One of my favourite non-fiction books is Living into Focus by Arthur Boers. I love lots of things about the book, but specifically the emphasis he places on finding, what Albert Borgmann calls, "focal practices -- activities that center, balance, focus, and orient one's life" (10). This is far more than finding things we enjoy, or finding hobbies, or even finding activities that help us to grow. These are the practices that bring all things into alignment, that pull us into a centered space where it is possible to truly live, where the ordinary becomes sacred. At least that's how they feel to me. 

There is the potential in the next few weeks that my life (and Alicia's!) will change quite drastically. There is the potential of a ministry placement and a new home in a different province (and, some have pointed out, a new blog title!). All of this will mean a whole lot of change in a very short period of time, and I'm expecting it will mean at least a year of transition and adjustment. Change is disorienting and if focal practices are important in our everyday busy lives, they become even more important in the midst of change. When I'm feeling disoriented, I know I need to hang onto all those focal practices that continually re-orient.

Some practices that orient me are quite obviously designed for that purpose. I try, most days at least, to spend some time engaged in a particular spiritual practice. I've found over the past decade that the spiritual practices that nourish me tend to come in seasons and so I move from one to another as necessary. At least I do now. It took awhile to get over feelings of guilt that I couldn't maintain practices! I've found that forcing myself to engage in a particular practice (without listening to what my spirit needs) is very different than being disciplined and so I try to practice awareness in discerning what is life-giving in a particular season. 

And while I know prayer or particular spiritual practices are necessary for my orientation, there are other focal practices that are, for me, at least as central to my well-being.

Many people who know me well, or perhaps not even that well, would probably identify baking bread as a focal practice for me. Kneading dough is incredibly orienting. There's just something about the process, the tactile sensations, the smells, that center me in a particular way. At first I thought it was just about kneading bread dough and being connected to my heritage, but as I've worked more in the kitchen I'm starting to realize that this focal practice has more to do with starting out with individual ingredients, and especially those that initially don't seem capable of forming anything at all cohesive, and working with them until they become something that initially seemed impossible. Making BBQ sauce, yogurt, pulled pork, and hearty soups have the same orienting affect. There is nothing like seeing mushy flour, water and yeast become golden freckled buns, or a raw hunk of meat with a bit of liquid turn into savoury pulled pork with crispy caramelized bits around the edges. It's like magic!

Which brings me to another focal practice that I have engaged in almost every day of my life...reading fiction. People used to tell me that some day I would grow up and it wouldn't be possible for me to read fiction every day. Hah! Not true. And not even healthy, at least not for me. There have been a few times in my life when I placed fiction on the back burner and tried to read more "edifying" material, and the results were, quite honestly, disastrous. I adore magic, adventure and mystery. It feeds my soul and my imagination. It makes it possible for me to think and dream in colour. It is crucial to my own emotional health, and to my ministry. And nothing, nothing at all, orients me more quickly than picking up a book that is an old friend and diving into the story all over again. Each time I move, my books are some of the last boxes packed and the first to be opened.

These are just a few of the focal practices that I have identified as most grounding in my own life and perhaps as I journey they will evolve and more will be added. But for now, I know that if/when we move that I will do so with Harry Potter in one hand and my mixing bowl in the other, holding tight to what orients me, to what gives me life.

What are your focal practices? What orients you in the midst of disorientation?