road trip

It was an impromptu road trip.
Neil and i were chatting over coffee in the morning that my mom would be flying to edmonton that afternoon for the funeral of a long-time friend and staying at my sister's house for a few days.
"Why don't you go pick her up at the airport and have a little visit too?" he suggested.
His suggestion made me uncomfortable. i get anxiety driving and i worried that i would barge in - when there is so much to be careful about in my family these days - and i'd make a mess where i long for peace...
But he pushed...
And so i texted my mom and my sister who both excitedly encouraged me to come... and by the time my little chickies rose from their beds, the trip was planned and Mollen was the thrilled child who got the golden ticket to come with mama for a 24 hour trip away. We finished our morning school and packed our bags - i anxiously went out to Neil's office for a kiss goodbye and he gruffly laughed at my obvious nervousness for a trip that he sees as a simple outing.
Then we were off.
Molls got to dj our trip and she started us off with the Les Mis sound track - and then she read Stories From Grandma's Attic out loud to me as i drove. We chatted and she made a comfy nest with her pillow and creature comforts as i watched the road and the beauty of the pastoral landscape around us. Her sweet chirrupy company was the most fragrant gift.
We were almost in Red Deer when we got the text from my mom that her flight was delayed so we took a little detour to Michael's craft store and found a frame that was on sale for a painting i had been intending to hang.

(Isn't it lovely? My brother in law bought copies for his wife and each of his sister in laws... if you look carefully, you can see the babe in the womb...)
And y'know... it wasn't a dangerous trip - it was a little blessing. A sweetness to laugh with my mom and my sister and watch Mollen get folded right into my sister's gaggle of girlies.
On the way home, at a turn in the road that brought back some tough memories from a previous trip, i put on my sunglasses and cried. My auntie had sent me a burned CD of the tape my family had made when i was in grade 3. i recognized every harmony, every pluck of guitar string... i remembered eating oreos in the recording studio and being moved by the song my mama wrote...

And their voices twined like fruitful vines - singing, "Although i cannot see your face today, i'll trust you Lord, and though i may not feel your strong support i'll lean on you for i have found the only source of peace is trusting you..."
And so very many, many years have passed since they sang those songs onto that recording... and as i listened to our voices decades later with my own little third grader sitting in the seat beside me...
i realized that even though so many, many things change - the thing that won't - is still my Source of peace.

Oh, Papa - Your peace is here. It's not anything i deserve, or i've earned... it's just somewhere you've brought me these days.
And i'm so very grateful.

space

i've always been a lover of the water.
As a little girl, i'd dive deeper in the lake - deep enough that i could feel the subtle change in temperature as i reached for the bottom and could feel the pressure of the water around me. It blocked out the noise of the other children's laughter, the blaze of the sunshine, the necessity to breathe, my desire to open my eyes . The only sense that seemed to accompany me with my sun streaked blond head to the bottom of the deep, was the sense of being.

i was.

And the seam splitting on the side of my worn pass-me-down bathing suit mattered little. My 9 year old matted hair could wait to be brushed. My big sisters and my parents wouldn't miss me in those moments beneath... and then finally i'd break the surface and hurriedly gasp, cheeks exploding with hoarded air as i submerged once again to the peaceful depths.
Now, i'm a mama with matted hair blondies of my own.
Seven of them... well... eight if you count the tiny son growing in my womb...

And i do.

The house we live in is a smallish one in the suburbs of a bigger Canadian city. There are no delightful depths here during the harsh winter with all those little bodies laughing and shrieking - slamming doors and needing mama. And so i have had to learn how to create that space - that peace of only needing to be.
It happens each time we see those double lines on a pregnancy test. My husband and i look at each other and wonder, "Where will we put this little one?" And as this little son grows - i grow - both physically and spiritually... to accommodate him in my body, in my life, in our home, in this family...  and we carve out a small space for him in this house of ours too...
"We don't really need this, do we? We can get rid of these things to make room for a tiny person, can't we?" And through this physical purging - i dive a little deeper. Fingers outstretched, i feel the cool of the water beneath me.

People... not things...

We'll buy less - and i'll read to them more. We'll need a bigger fridge - and have a smaller bank account. No more bedrooms - who will bunk up this time? Those tiny frayed blue jeans have enough wear left in them for one more son's babyhood... don't they?
The space isn't literal - but the freedom from possessions, from the pressure to have and to look and to own - offers a peace all it's own.

i am.

And it's enough.

the air i breathe

Last year was a good year. A hard year, yes - but hard is often good when there's growth to gain and i do feel like i've grown.
i took my parent's divorce really, really hard. i lost a precious relationship. i lost a tiny baby... And then a myriad of insignificant struggles that just added to the weariness of the continuation of the journey.
And a lot of the year i felt like i was in a sandstorm. Just little bits of things flying in my face, taking out pieces of exposed flesh and making me cover my eyes and face, trying to protect myself.
It made for less blogging - more clinging.
i was talking to my friend the other day - it seems to me, she has been in a bit of a sandstorm this year too - and i said, "Do you ever just want to say to God, 'Hey, i already learned this bit, remember? i've got that one covered - you didn't need to take again to show me, i didn't need this pain to teach me... i had it already - this sorrow is a bit of a pointless sorrow, isn't it, Father?'"
And my friend kind of sighed a bit in recognition of that questioning emotion, but then spoke a deeper, less arrogant truth...
"It reminds me how desperately i need Him. It reminds me how utterly broken, unable and prone to sin i am."
And i know it's so - but it took a few more days for it to really sink in for me.
We were in church - and the youth leading worship sang the song, This is the Air i Breathe...
And i couldn't get out the first word.
Oh, sustaining Air i breathe, Daily Bread, One who rescues me in desperation... Only a year like that; with a constant sandstorm - could so beautifully illustrate my minute by minute need for my Saviour.
i opened my mouth to sing the second verse, but no sound came out and i gave up, sank to my seat, and acknowledged that without Him... i'm bankrupt.
Almost feels like a corner turned with this Christmas season... A season of painful anniversaries was over - and i kept repeating to myself the truths that i had uncovered in the dark year - even when they didn't feel like the truth.
i welcomed the New Year with a sigh of relief and joy; with a deep, profound sweetness that comes from knowing i love - and i'm loved too.

And so i'll learn it again, if you choose to teach it again, Father. i'll be reminded over and over of my brokenness and how desperately i need you. And when you bring me into the sandstorm, i'll remember to go back again and again to my source - my sustenance...
the air i breathe.

you know what i love?

i was thinking today as i watched my little hatchling happily climb out of the car - what a beautiful balance there is in humanity between what we choose and what is chosen for us.
My big daughters seem to be changing every day - physically, spiritually, emotionally... growing in every imaginable way...
And there are parts of their personalities that were designed by a very creative God when He knit them together in the secret place. There might by a certain shyness, or bubbling creativity, propensity to anger or an overwhelming compassion. There might be knit right into the very fabric of their DNA - an illness that we know nothing about - or the right combination of genes for a long, healthy life. Their hair colour was chosen for them, as was their stature, the shade of their skin, the flecks of colour in their eyes... And all of these big and tiny things were not things they chose - but things that were bestowed upon them... welcome or not. Burden or gift. To bear or to enjoy.
And then, along side these parts hand picked by their Creator... i'm noticing more and more that with grace and age and maturity... there are parts of them that are emerging that were not given... they've been chosen.
These are the parts as a mama that capture my attention and make me furrow my brow in rapt interest.
These parts are really, really hard to put into words. i've sat here typing out the beginnings of thoughts several times and every one was a fail... Maybe partly because i don't want to expose my vulnerable littles at a time of exquisite growth... and partly too, because the choices i see them making can hardly be named - they're so minute (sometimes only a degree or two...) - and yet i know that these choices have the capacity in a journey of miles and miles... years and decades... to ultimately bring them to a vastly different countryside than they would have arrived at had they not *chosen* to make the 2 degree change in their compass now - at such a fragile stage of development.
i've seen pride deliberately deconstructed and set aside.
i've seen truth displayed that might easier have remained hidden.
i've seen internal battles - wars waged - epic roaring engagement with the enemy... when i - as a child - might have just chosen to play dead... or wish myself dead... or believe myself dead...
i've seen self-pitying martyrdom recognized and rejected in favour of work ethic.
i've seen softness chosen when hardness is felt.
i've seen gratitude become a lifestyle in a world of entitlement.
i've seen joy and confidence overcome fear and rejection.
And i'm realizing now as i type this that it might sound like i think my kids are perfect. They're not. They struggle and make poor choices too... they lose battles and get beat up and live defeated....
But not always...
And i'm finding that raising these little ones has caused me to reflect on the truth that i too, was born with certain qualities determined for me. My laugh is an enormous cackle, my feet are really tiny, i have a little birth defect in the middle of my spine...
But there are things that have been left up to me too... i can live free, i can see the good, i can choose love, i can cling less to what i'm owed and more to my Saviour... can't i?  i can smile more, i can pay better attention, i can let hope win over despair, i can choose to see the unlikely truth over the likely lie... won't i??  And the choices that i've recently seen my teens making inspire me as a mama - as a beloved child of God - to press on and daily allow those delectable choices to carry me to places i'll only get to see... because it's been up to me.

hero worship

i've always been a little prone to hero worship.
i grew up the youngest of three girls - i was born with average smarts to two really brilliant parents.
There was always so much to admire - so much to aspire to - so many beautiful qualities in so many available heroes!
This morning, in church... i was remembering the little girl i was. i had poker straight pale blond hair - cut blunt for most of my childhood. i had enormous glasses and a gap between my front teeth that my mom told me looked glamorous.
Our pastor was talking about how faith is such a necessary part of the Christian walk... He described faith as "choosing the eternal over the temporal..."
And i thought of that little girl - worshipping the temporal, the human, the frail and the sinful. And i wanted to whisper in her ears; "Just a little higher... fix your eyes a little higher up, farther in... The eternal is there.  HE'S the one worthy of your hero worship, HE'S the never-failing, HE'S the consistent, HE'S the one who sees your soul and knows your very being. HE'S the One whose love is real and whose promises never fail."
And i think too, of my own blondie girls and boys - looking to their mama and papa and siblings and maybe finding a hero - an imperfect, fallible hero who instead of absorbing that praise, wants to reflect Him and point continually to the only One worthy...
God, give us the faith to choose the eternal over the temporal! 
And it's not that there aren't qualities in humanity that aren't admirable - it's not that these qualities don't point us to our Father, who bestowed them as gifts on the broken human vessels who bear them... but worshipping the temporal will only bring you pain. Thinking that other human beings are capable of flawless agape love will devastate you when you see that it's not true - that they lie, their promises get broken, their words are true sometimes - and at other times they're empty and false, so it's like you're walking along one of those wooden bridges in movies with half the boards missing. 
And i smiled at God as we talked during the service and i asked Him, "So, what's the point then? i know that relationships are important, *people* are important... How do i reconcile that knowledge with my desire to just give up on all humanity - to shut my eyes and my heart to everyone around me and to only love You?"
And i see myself clinging to my Saviour... starting with just the tiniest threads that i know to be true - and in faith, building from there.  i see myself opening up again, trying again, failing again - because in this life we'll have trouble, and being a believer is a life of sacrifice. i see myself believing with faith that Truth will prove to be better - the the eternal can be chosen over the temporal and that my Papa will continue to grow me.

joy

She's little and feisty, joy.
She's laden with sopping masses of a Hard Year - and yet she writhes and struggles for freedom.
i cry for her more often than for the other these days, as this most interesting fall season has unfolded around us. Big kids running in the right direction, passions unhindered, relationships unfolding, growth beginning to blossom and bloom, prayer coverings by faithful friends sent by God, tiny boys learning obedience as mama learns to be more consistent, lessons in church, lessons in quiet time, lessons everywhere i turn.
And He's there.
Slipping that feisty little joy into my hands and watching me fumble and grasp until i felt like maybe i had a firm hold on her.
And He's there.
Whispering directions into my ears and gently leading me.
And He's there.
Hearing my desperate prayers to break generational curses - and allowing me to see His Hand as my daughter confides in me that the profound happiness she is experiencing, must be a direct result of the deep and unrelenting knowledge that she is Loved by God.
Oh, Father... You are Good.

Dear mama - the end - part 6

So i have finally made it to the end of this particular little series. This post is more of a "post script". It is my heart that my story will serve only to bring truth to light, and glory to God. :) i know... pretty high aspirations for one girl's story, but i know my Papa - and He can make feasts out of loaves and fishes, and so i brought Him mine. If you want to read the other pieces, you can find them here:


PART 1 - courage

PART 2 - rescue

PART 3 - life

PART 4 - bereft

PART 5 - truth

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Dear parents,
There are a few things my parents did right that are worth expressing here for others to take from what they will. My parents raised me knowing and understanding the intrinsic value of human life. i have no doubt that's why when a friend tried to suggest that i abort my precious baby, i literally felt the vomit rise in my throat and i stopped them before the words could be uttered. i knew that despite my desperate circumstances, my baby had as much a right to her wild and crazy life - as i had to mine.
Parents, raise your sons and daughters to value life.

To my boys (and my girls),
i want you to read my pain. Your daddy used to play that Blue Rodeo song, "i never meant to make you cry..." and i know that he regretted the way that the decisions we made together caused us (especially me - as the one carrying the little one) so much sorrow. If you love her, prove it by waiting.
Gently,
mama

Dear pastor,
My pastor - in his wisdom - asked me to refrain from being in ministry in the church for a while after our wedding. We needed his gentle discipline and rebuke. i am grateful that he talked to us about our sin - rather than ignoring it (which i'm sure would have been easier). He allowed us to bring truth to the surface and begin healing by first cleaning our wounds and putting on fresh dressing, y'know?
Pastors, tend your flocks.

Dear church,
So many women reached out to me as i stumbled from being a girl to a married mother. i thought that every time one did, she needed to see my shame - to see that i wasn't proud of myself - to understand that i knew i was dead wrong. Church, this is a heavy burden for a girl full of repentance to bear. If she misses you in her long line of apologies, have grace for her. If she can't stand to bring it up again... and again, and again, and again... understand that her Father is dealing with her - and your kindnesses won't spoil her. She doesn't need to be beat down. Trust me. She needs your mercy. Be the hands and feet - this is one of those times to just *do*. My sister jess calls it, "the gospel in boots"... Can you be the one wearing them?

Friends and family,
i remember a phone call that i got from my uncle. He chose not to give me a sermon that night (though, believe you me; i got a few really good sermons in that time of my life that were invaluable to me). Instead he spoke in a slow low tone - as though to a wild animal - pretending not to hear that there were only horrible choking sobs on the other end of the line, he kept up the conversation all by himself. He told me how my grandma goose sure loved babies - and it didn't matter how they came into being or under what circumstances - but that she was always excited for a new one. He was sure she would have been excited for mine too, if she had been there. He told me that his wife would have given an arm... or a leg too... if she could have had a child - and that i was sure blessed to be having one. He gently prodded me about neil - telling me we were lucky to have that kind of love....
And i didn't record that conversation in my journal.
But i remember it.
Those types of kindnesses were rare. Honestly? Most people ignored us, unsure how to proceed (this was true both for me and for Neil)- i don't blame them. The awkwardness was of our own making. But to have someone gently reach out - and not even allow the guilty apologies to begin to be spoken, but instead to speak love - was a  balm to my hurting lonely heart at a very difficult time in my life.
Friends? If you can, be kind.

Dear pregnant, scared, single mama -
i know.
i'm crying again even now writing this.
Maybe we can cry together.
i want you to understand that the baby? The baby is not the sin. The baby - your son or daughter - is a gift from God. Yes. A gift. From God. The little one you're carrying - was conceived by the will of God - and was created in His very image. How amazing is that?
The sin? That can be taken care of - washed clean and healed... But you need to begin now - to take away the ugly rotten lies that want to cling to your wounds and make them fester and rot. You need to acknowledge your sin to your Papa. He loves you, precious daughter of the King. There can be sorrow with this repentance... but it won't last forever - just watch what He will do. He has plans for you, and one of those plans is for you to carry this little one. i can't pretend to know where He will take you beyond that - but know that if you allow Him to cleanse your wounds - you can have an intimacy in your relationship with Him that will only grow until you think you could burst. Maybe you've been told that if you carry or keep this baby, your life is over. i want you to know that this bend in the road isn't the end of your life... but it is the very sweet beginning of your child's. Your choices right now affect you both - be wise and compassionate. You won't regret it.
You are a mama.
i don't know if you will choose, like me, to be the best (broken, imperfect) mama to your little one as you can be, or if you will choose adoption for your darling child - but i do know that God has a plan for your little one, and that your loving protection right now is life-saving, life-changing, life-sustaining.
You are a humbled hero.
You have the character to do this hard thing.
You do.
If you need help, or don't know where to turn - contact your local crisis pregnancy care center... even... contact me on this blog - and i will do what i can to help you find the help you need.
You are not alone.
i love you.
And so does your Creator.

Truth - part 5

ok. i'm almost finished. Too many tears and probably too little coherence. i'm worried in a million ways about telling this story wrong, but it will be what it will be. Today is part 5, and the final piece, part 6, is almost ready to go. You can read the other parts here:

PART 1 - courage

PART 2 - rescue

PART 3 - life

PART 4 - bereft

*********************************

When i was 8 weeks along, i told the program director at the college i was going to that i was pregnant. i was starting to get tired of hiding. Truth began to peek. i don't know why i didn't just pack up and move to Kelowna. There were a million reasons, for one; it felt like i was in the twilight zone - and as much as my loneliness cried out to be with Neil... i needed a moment to catch my breath, to make sure he really wanted me, that we weren't compounding mistakes. i wanted to finish my program - thinking that in some ways it would be the last accomplishment i would ever have. (Little did i know that the accomplishment i was undertaking next would be bigger than any others to date). And then, Neil and i both wanted to prepare ourselves for the other... (i just typed out about a dozen sentences trying to explain what i mean by that and i realize that i'm going to have to leave it out for now because there aren't the right words.) ;)

doesn't everyone keep their diploma in their piano bench?

i wanted the diploma i had been working so hard on - even though all my plans had been changed in an instant. i wasn't going to go to UofA like i thought i might... i wasn't going to gig over the summer... i would go back to Kelowna, marry my 18 year old boyfriend (who i loved) and have a baby in September. 

"Y'know, if i had to try to think of something that'd be harder to go through than this, i don't think i could. It's very lonely because i don't want to talk to people about it. i cry alone. It's strange, but i don't even trust this journal enough. i feel so completely inside of myself." -february 1996

February 16th, i went home for reading week - and despite my protestation that i didn't want or need a ring, Neil felt better putting one on my finger and we found ourselves officially engaged. Everything felt different when i went back. i wanted to be done. i was divided as i prepared for finals and year end. i tried to focus on school, on getting enough fruit and veggies for the tiny one who was changing my body daily, studying and singing - but my heart was gone. It stayed behind in Kelowna with Neil. i remained divided for the rest of the school year. i cringed seeing my maiden name on my medical records - i hated knowing that i had put my tiny daughter in such a precarious position by being careless with my own body. As gross as the comparison is - when i look at my attitude towards that part of my life, i was like an animal scratching dirt over its own mess. i wanted to cover it, leave it behind and disassociate myself from the foolish girl with the tear stained journal.
Neil sent me love notes full of promises and declarations - and i read and re-read them, folding them into that journal that has survived these 16 years...
My mom gently prodded my sorrow - sending me Oscar Wilde and sewing me two summer maternity dresses covered in butterflies.

i worried about my 4th tri jury, exams, my wedding, my husband not liking my quickly changing body, gaining weight, not having any energy, my own lack of maturity.

"i'm not showing at all yet, but i can feel my uterus if i push my belly." March 1996

(It's so strange to see my awed, inexperienced perspective as a first time mama)...
And then more of the same... the aching loneliness - the longing to be loved and the cry to be known - but despairing that anyone other than my neil and God would ever want to bother... and thinking and hoping that these two would be enough.

"i'm sad. i already tried to sleep and that didn't work. Maybe i could just lay here for a while and hope that i'll drop off. G'night vent. Hey, vent is wind in french... now i see why..." March 1996

The next few pages contain little other than the sentiment, "i'm tired." expressed ad nauseum in the same used up sentences scrawled in untidy ink across pages that deserved better. "Wheuf i'm pooped," "Sooooooo tired." "Can barely keep my eyes open." But every so often, i would summon the strength to try harder to express where i found myself:

"My jury is done, but i still have to finish my professionalism paper, an arranging assignment, my jingle, my scale jury and then little things like the annex concert, preparing for the banff trip and a few things in the recording studio... and then prep for the wedding. Ack. i need to be done and over with this section of my life. Know what? i'm tired. Not necessarily physically, but just in every way." March 1996

"i wish sometimes i would die." March 1996

"my life... i've made it suck. i would give anything to change the last few years of my life. There's so much i would take away. i'd sure keep neil. Oh, God, i wish that i could wake up. i wish that i would die or run away or disappear. i wish, i wish, i wish. There's always so much that i wish and want and need." april 1996

"i lied to someone about being pregnant. Someone i don't even know told someone else who told someone at school that i'm pregnant. She asked me and i said no... i panicked... but really i am. i'm sorry. i lied. i feel dumb. i'm going to tell her the truth." April 1996

And i did.

Slowly over the next weeks, months and years - Truth became my banner. People have often asked me why i am so open about my first pregnancy... Don't i know i'm forgiven? Don't i understand that i'm free? And i feel a little bit like Paul when he boasts about his weaknesses - because when he does so, it shows the glory of God.

God has been so very, very good to me.

Graduation melted into home-going melted into wedding melted into life... and time passed and separated me from the time of my my rescue, but i remained rescued. i would forever be the girl who had been rescued by a Father who loved her so very, very much. Time wouldn't change or soften that truth - it would only make it more precious.
i still remember those months after my wedding - when i found i couldn't sing. i would sit down at the old piano my young husband had bought me - and my voice would break and crack and i would moan my songs of gratitude to God with tears streaming down my face. i soon learned to not even bother standing when we would sing in church. i would just sit- hands circling tender belly - and listen and cry. i remember thinking at one point that i would never be able to sing again. Every song reminded me of my Redeemer - every melodic turn reminded me how i needed Him. Every word pointed to His careful tending of my unworthy heart.
i have never, ever, ever gotten over it. To this day, when i lead worship in my home church - i find i can hold nothing back. My praise is raw - my worship, "unveiled"... It's not pretty - but i know that when i sing, it's something different than it ever was before He rescued me. It's different than it was before He broke down every stronghold so that i could declare Truth victorious in my life.
And i'm still grateful.

PART 6

mama's little baby

i was the baby of my family growing up. 
The song that i remember most distinctly my mama crooning into my ears during my growing years was, "mama's little baby". 
i probably took advantage of my 'littlest girl' status & climbed into her arms when i was too big to be doing so - big enough that i can still remember doing it now that i'm a mama myself.  i still remember my favourite of her dresses - it was red and plaid and had three quarter length sleeves.  It was made of shimery, slippery fabric and she wore it with red heels.  i thought she looked pretty in it, but mostly it felt like the softest dress ever when i'd snuggle up beside her in church.  My mom has a low voice - kind of like mine - and at night, her lips would fairly brush my earlobes as she sang so softly and slowly and lowly that inevitably i'd find my sleepy eyes weighted and my body limp and sagging. 
i loved that song. 
The way she always sang it like a lullaby...
And then one day, i remember climbing into her arms. 
"Sing me, 'mama's little baby'..."
And maybe my mom was in a goofy mood, but she wrapped her arms around me and sang a raucous upbeat version of my lullaby.  She swung me back and forth in her arms, and growled on the line about the coffee too. 
It was all wrong. 
"No.  Sing it slowly..."
And she laughed at me, "Don't you like it that way?"
"No.  i like it slow. Sing it slow."
And so she did.