Hey Paige? Writing angsty blog posts & then leaving them all to sit in all their mellow dramatic glory in your drafts folder isn't exactly blogging... but whatever... that's beside the point.
The best writing probably has to thank the words that were not written (or that were deleted in time... or put in the purgatory of a "drafts" folder...).
Blogging can be tricky business - especially when your blog becomes for you a seeking place, a sharing place, a growing place.
It can be tempting to manipulate situations or want to be seen only in a certain light...
It can be tempting to omit the unpleasant - or to dwell blindly on *self*... It can be tempting to be cryptic or vomit a bitter spew of honesty... These are all things i strongly dislike.
It's such a delicate, tender balance, isn't it? - & there are so many who walk that road so deliberately & inspiringly.
There is so much to learn, isn't there?
It seems crazy to me that i've been blogging these 5 years already... & in that time, i guess there are a few observations that i have found to hold some truth in blogging the tougher stuff, the growing stuff, the tender subjects that have the potential to wound.. or tear down what required a gentle building up and mending...
One thing that i've done in those situations is to imagine someone that i respect and admire holding the opposite view. This is often very easy for me, since i know so many amazing individuals with differing opinions... i give them a voice in my head... what might they say that is reasonable and true? How might they respond to the words i've chosen? What would wound, what would convict, what could i say that would best represent the One i long to be like? Of course, i don't always know what they would say, i'm human and i'll make mistakes - and there are times where people will just plain disagree, but it gives me a more graceful starting point if i try first to understand.
The second thing that i try to do when i'm faced with uncertainty is to rip a post apart and work on each thought as an individual entity. i start with the piece that i know to be the most true (with whatever small amount of wisdom that God has given) - and proceed from there.
The final thing... is probably the most important... i wanna be teachable, correctable. i've noticed it helps me to receive correction in writing, rather than verbally (*love* challenging, thoughtfully worded comments!) i find i'm better able to sort out my own feelings to find what is true. i can pray about it & see if there is validity in what someone else is saying to me... (& sometimes, i'll find that it's just an attack & there is no truth - or other times, i'll find that there is truth & i need to respond accordingly). But regardless, when a rebuke comes - verbally, in writing, by insinuation or accusation, i want my response to be to look inward - not retaliation, but reflection... it's my *goal* :)
Anyway, a question that someone emailed me ages ago got me thinking on this topic & most of this post has been sitting in my drafts box since then... & then i read a thoughtfully worded blog post on what could be a tougher topic posted awhile ago (ahem... cairo), & i still didn't share, but maybe i will now.
What are your thoughts on blogging with honesty?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Monday, February 6, 2012
joy's birthday
i don't think i have ever in my life experienced the kind of high i had the day Gagey was born. i had struggled with anxiety in his pregnancy (more than any other) - & as i held him in my arms, i felt like i could explode with gratitude.
Cai remembers how i wouldn't let anyone else hold him... My face felt like it would crack from delirious cackling joy... & i wrapped & re-wrapped this tiny bundle who felt like a luxurious, extravagant gift. i counted fingers and toes... i gently pulled down his expressive lips, and looked and his pink toothless gums.
God has never allowed me to forget that joy. Still, 4 years later some nights as sleep is coming on, i tap Neil's shoulder & tearfully whisper, "thank you" for relenting and allowing those bonus boys who might never have been.
& i grin as i think of the boy my Father created for me to mother... His gentle smile, his soft heart and enormous belly laugh.
& my gratitude heaves and crashes on the shore...
Happy 4th birthday, sunshine boy.
Cai remembers how i wouldn't let anyone else hold him... My face felt like it would crack from delirious cackling joy... & i wrapped & re-wrapped this tiny bundle who felt like a luxurious, extravagant gift. i counted fingers and toes... i gently pulled down his expressive lips, and looked and his pink toothless gums.
God has never allowed me to forget that joy. Still, 4 years later some nights as sleep is coming on, i tap Neil's shoulder & tearfully whisper, "thank you" for relenting and allowing those bonus boys who might never have been.
& i grin as i think of the boy my Father created for me to mother... His gentle smile, his soft heart and enormous belly laugh.
& my gratitude heaves and crashes on the shore...
 |
| bonus boys sleeping beside our bed |
Happy 4th birthday, sunshine boy.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Health Care Charities
Wow.
Quite the week with all the uproar on the web about the Susan G. Komen Foundations supposed pull, then not pull - of funds to Planned Parenthood.
i'll be honest here: i'm obviously not a fan of Planned Parenthood - but here's the naked truth... i'm also not usually a fan of health care charities either. Neil & i made a decision several years ago to be extremely careful about donating funds to health care charities in light of their overwhelming support & lobbying of government for embryonic stem cell research.
Don't get me wrong... i want to see a cure for cancer, for diabetes, for kidney disease... i don't want to see my family or friends suffer with illness and death... but i think the creation and destruction of tiny innocent lives is too great a cost.
i do.
& i'm sorry if that seems cruel or sanctimonious... i know that a lot of people would roll their eyes at a statement like that, but when we begin to weigh the value of one human life against another, we've just gone too far.
Apparently, the SGK Foundation had decided this past November to stop funding embryonic stem cell research centers too - & this seems to me to be an indication that there are more people like Neil & i - who are choosing to be careful about health care charities until health care charities are willing to be more careful about created life.
This isn't political, it's a discussion about who we want to be as a society - and what kind of culture we're creating to pass down to our little ones.
Each life is precious. The little girl battling cancer, the unwanted child in the womb, the elderly man who has lost his will to live, and the teenager who is so depressed that he's begging to die. Let's not become a culture that applauds killing in the name of comforts or cures... It's shameful to be so passionate about the pain of one human being that we advocate the destruction of another...
Quite the week with all the uproar on the web about the Susan G. Komen Foundations supposed pull, then not pull - of funds to Planned Parenthood.
i'll be honest here: i'm obviously not a fan of Planned Parenthood - but here's the naked truth... i'm also not usually a fan of health care charities either. Neil & i made a decision several years ago to be extremely careful about donating funds to health care charities in light of their overwhelming support & lobbying of government for embryonic stem cell research.
Don't get me wrong... i want to see a cure for cancer, for diabetes, for kidney disease... i don't want to see my family or friends suffer with illness and death... but i think the creation and destruction of tiny innocent lives is too great a cost.
i do.
& i'm sorry if that seems cruel or sanctimonious... i know that a lot of people would roll their eyes at a statement like that, but when we begin to weigh the value of one human life against another, we've just gone too far.
Apparently, the SGK Foundation had decided this past November to stop funding embryonic stem cell research centers too - & this seems to me to be an indication that there are more people like Neil & i - who are choosing to be careful about health care charities until health care charities are willing to be more careful about created life.
This isn't political, it's a discussion about who we want to be as a society - and what kind of culture we're creating to pass down to our little ones.
Each life is precious. The little girl battling cancer, the unwanted child in the womb, the elderly man who has lost his will to live, and the teenager who is so depressed that he's begging to die. Let's not become a culture that applauds killing in the name of comforts or cures... It's shameful to be so passionate about the pain of one human being that we advocate the destruction of another...
Friday, February 3, 2012
in the hearth
The bleak light from the cloud covered sun slips through her windows and lays a dappled print upon her floor.
It is nearly evening. He has been gone many, many days.
They provided against his absence with heaps of wood - food for the Homefire that ever blazes in the safety of their hearth - and she feeds it, watching carefully amidst the day's glories and pain. The children are clean and happy - two little ones rolling like puppies on the rug in front of her, an older one in her lap with a heavy head upon her shoulder. There is a pair whispering over the thick pages of a treasured book and another pair carrying on a secret meeting under the kitchen's sturdy table.
The wind attempts to climb down the chimney, but the heat from the hearth refuses to allow it - it gently chides the icy threatening howl with it's blast of warmth, and those within are protected from winter's chill.
As the sun sinks ever lower, in a last brilliant display of twinkling, dwindling daylight, night climbs into the sky to take it's place.
There is a sudden sinister rap at the window, causing the children to jump.
The flash of an eye in the window, before the beating on the door.
With a sigh, the mama recognizes the voice of her neighbour calling out to her from the dark.
The door is opened; and cunningly disguised as concern, the questions appear... tired, old questions, always in different wrapping paper... always containing the same poison...
"Don't you think he probably gets lonely when he's away for so very, very long?" the voice whispers... "i know my husband likes to be closer to us - yours must not mind being away from the warmth of the hearth... i know i wouldn't allow..."
Crafty eyes peer behind her - into the dim comfort of her home. Children blink wearily, ready for sleep as the neighbour's eyes take their time roaming around the one room home.
The neighbour finishes her call, and hurries back to her own homefire, and the mama gratefully closes the door behind her.
As her little ones pull their nightclothes over tiny blonde heads, she kneels at the hearth, and with the palm of her hand, touches it's very edges. It's hot. It's covered in soot and ash - evidence of it's daily use. She rubs clean the corner where the night they wed, he scraped their names into the stone with happy, broad strokes.
Deep in thought, she is startled by the click of the door shutting behind her. His face is wild and woolly and his eyes are twinkling at finding her leaning into the fire, palm upon the hearth. Tired children no longer, as the tiny hut fills with squeals of delight and laughter...
Little ones cling to his arms and tug on his boots - willing his stay to be long and his absences less frequent... He glances at the Homefire, bobbing merrily in the hearth - and adds another stick to the blaze.
read HOMEFIRES here.
It is nearly evening. He has been gone many, many days.
They provided against his absence with heaps of wood - food for the Homefire that ever blazes in the safety of their hearth - and she feeds it, watching carefully amidst the day's glories and pain. The children are clean and happy - two little ones rolling like puppies on the rug in front of her, an older one in her lap with a heavy head upon her shoulder. There is a pair whispering over the thick pages of a treasured book and another pair carrying on a secret meeting under the kitchen's sturdy table.
The wind attempts to climb down the chimney, but the heat from the hearth refuses to allow it - it gently chides the icy threatening howl with it's blast of warmth, and those within are protected from winter's chill.
As the sun sinks ever lower, in a last brilliant display of twinkling, dwindling daylight, night climbs into the sky to take it's place.
There is a sudden sinister rap at the window, causing the children to jump.
The flash of an eye in the window, before the beating on the door.
With a sigh, the mama recognizes the voice of her neighbour calling out to her from the dark.
The door is opened; and cunningly disguised as concern, the questions appear... tired, old questions, always in different wrapping paper... always containing the same poison...
"Don't you think he probably gets lonely when he's away for so very, very long?" the voice whispers... "i know my husband likes to be closer to us - yours must not mind being away from the warmth of the hearth... i know i wouldn't allow..."
Crafty eyes peer behind her - into the dim comfort of her home. Children blink wearily, ready for sleep as the neighbour's eyes take their time roaming around the one room home.
The neighbour finishes her call, and hurries back to her own homefire, and the mama gratefully closes the door behind her.
As her little ones pull their nightclothes over tiny blonde heads, she kneels at the hearth, and with the palm of her hand, touches it's very edges. It's hot. It's covered in soot and ash - evidence of it's daily use. She rubs clean the corner where the night they wed, he scraped their names into the stone with happy, broad strokes.
Deep in thought, she is startled by the click of the door shutting behind her. His face is wild and woolly and his eyes are twinkling at finding her leaning into the fire, palm upon the hearth. Tired children no longer, as the tiny hut fills with squeals of delight and laughter...
Little ones cling to his arms and tug on his boots - willing his stay to be long and his absences less frequent... He glances at the Homefire, bobbing merrily in the hearth - and adds another stick to the blaze.
read HOMEFIRES here.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
toilet paper
Ahh, it's the little things in life that bring clarity to the big sometimes, isn't it?
He had called me, but i missed it so i called him back, but he didn't answer, so he called me again & i missed it again, & finally i caught him when i parked our monster van at the college dropping off my big girls for violin.
& i don't know why his voice is all warm sounding over the phone... the deep richness of it in my ear was enough to make me feel just a little bit desperate. We talked about our day and i ended by saying, "ya, the toilet paper situation is pretty grim over here..."
i had found the last roll hidden in a sodden mess under a dripping hand towel before we left. And i don't know what i expected, giving my husband this information. Did i think he was going to fly home and pick some up? Was i more likely hoping for some sympathy & crooning love & attention? Was i hoping he would feel bad that there was so much to do & so little of me?
Instead, i heard the familiar smile in his voice & he asked, "Babe, don't you know how to go to the store & buy some?"
Fleshy, from the gut, stomping foot feeling of selfish wrath....
'Cause i wanna be coddled & cared for. i felt like Ephraim feels when he's denied my arms, reaching & crying for what would bring him comfort.
i didn't want to go buy toilet paper.
But i did it anyway, because 8 people in a house with no toilet paper is so totally not a good idea. i scrounged around for a loonie, knowing i should probably grab few other things too & i'd need a cart. i picked, "that cart"... you know the one that you only pick when you're already a little bit angry? It's the one that can't turn corners & makes a loud rumbling sound every time you try to turn one, using all your body weight, till you feel like it might just be easier to hoist the whole thing on your back as you peruse the dried fruits. i found out that 7pm is a popular time for couples to go shopping, as that was pretty much all i saw as i picked through the oranges, remembering my sweet honey boy asking me with his hopeful blue eyes several times this week, "morange?"
"WHY?" i asked no one in particular... maybe it was a prayer... maybe i was just asking myself... but i raged on... "why does my husband have to be gone so much? i'm not the type of girl who loves her independence. i like it when he's close, when i can feel him, smell him... i like when he helps me, when i have someone i can lean on, when we do things together..."
& over the muffled speakers playing ancient muzak, came suddenly the familiar strain of Phil Collins... i kid you not...
& i felt just the gentlest rebuke...
Gentle, because i know i've been doing the best that i can... but a rebuke none the less because my love for Neil is big enough to carry the home side. My love is big enough to cover these absences, my love is strong enough to get in that huge van and *go* and *do*... when i want to *stop*. My love is selfless enough to see the bigger picture... & wise enough to know when to cheer instead of whine...
& i know that i know that i know... that this isn't something that i'm to rule over. i know that these travelling days are pruning some ugliness, growing some beauty and teaching me to run to the arms of my Father. i know that i'm supposed to resist that temptation to control. i know that i'm to tend to my teeny garden of children. i know that i'm to bring my beloved - carrying him in my very arms, to my Saviour...
i have my assignment - & last night...
it included buying toilet paper.
He had called me, but i missed it so i called him back, but he didn't answer, so he called me again & i missed it again, & finally i caught him when i parked our monster van at the college dropping off my big girls for violin.
& i don't know why his voice is all warm sounding over the phone... the deep richness of it in my ear was enough to make me feel just a little bit desperate. We talked about our day and i ended by saying, "ya, the toilet paper situation is pretty grim over here..."
i had found the last roll hidden in a sodden mess under a dripping hand towel before we left. And i don't know what i expected, giving my husband this information. Did i think he was going to fly home and pick some up? Was i more likely hoping for some sympathy & crooning love & attention? Was i hoping he would feel bad that there was so much to do & so little of me?
Instead, i heard the familiar smile in his voice & he asked, "Babe, don't you know how to go to the store & buy some?"
Fleshy, from the gut, stomping foot feeling of selfish wrath....
'Cause i wanna be coddled & cared for. i felt like Ephraim feels when he's denied my arms, reaching & crying for what would bring him comfort.
i didn't want to go buy toilet paper.
But i did it anyway, because 8 people in a house with no toilet paper is so totally not a good idea. i scrounged around for a loonie, knowing i should probably grab few other things too & i'd need a cart. i picked, "that cart"... you know the one that you only pick when you're already a little bit angry? It's the one that can't turn corners & makes a loud rumbling sound every time you try to turn one, using all your body weight, till you feel like it might just be easier to hoist the whole thing on your back as you peruse the dried fruits. i found out that 7pm is a popular time for couples to go shopping, as that was pretty much all i saw as i picked through the oranges, remembering my sweet honey boy asking me with his hopeful blue eyes several times this week, "morange?"
"WHY?" i asked no one in particular... maybe it was a prayer... maybe i was just asking myself... but i raged on... "why does my husband have to be gone so much? i'm not the type of girl who loves her independence. i like it when he's close, when i can feel him, smell him... i like when he helps me, when i have someone i can lean on, when we do things together..."
& over the muffled speakers playing ancient muzak, came suddenly the familiar strain of Phil Collins... i kid you not...
& i felt just the gentlest rebuke...
Gentle, because i know i've been doing the best that i can... but a rebuke none the less because my love for Neil is big enough to carry the home side. My love is big enough to cover these absences, my love is strong enough to get in that huge van and *go* and *do*... when i want to *stop*. My love is selfless enough to see the bigger picture... & wise enough to know when to cheer instead of whine...
& i know that i know that i know... that this isn't something that i'm to rule over. i know that these travelling days are pruning some ugliness, growing some beauty and teaching me to run to the arms of my Father. i know that i'm supposed to resist that temptation to control. i know that i'm to tend to my teeny garden of children. i know that i'm to bring my beloved - carrying him in my very arms, to my Saviour...
i have my assignment - & last night...
it included buying toilet paper.
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