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A day to celebrate mothering has become a difficult and controversial day in our society.

It can be offensive or hurtful to those who are not mothers (especially those who wish to be), to those who are single parent dads, to those whose mothers have died or who left deep scars from their mothering (or lack thereof).

I, too, have had this second Sunday of May roll around and felt the weight of my empty arms, after the inter-utereo death of an much anticipated child.

Yet, the celebration is really one of thanks and recognition for those who selflessly give to, and feed into our lives, making our existence possible and meaningful. Really, it is not about those of us who feel personally empty or sad.

Mother’s Day is a day to express gratitude … for others.

The woman known as the mother of Mother’s Day, was never a mother herself. In 1908, three years after her own mother died, Anna Jarvis held a church service in honour of her mother, of all mothers.

Many of us have a mother who loved us, and whom we love. Those of us who have not had such a blessing, have certainly had at least one woman in our lives who fostered a mother-like bond for us.

Though today I am honoured to hold the title of mother, what makes this day most special is that I can honour the woman who gave me physical, as well as emotional, intellectual and spiritual life. My mom is simply the best lady I know, and I am thankful, every day, for her. I can also honour the women who have fostered in me a love for thought, for life, for this world and what is to come after.

I have been blessed to have been mothered, and I am not one who will choose to shy away from celebrating this day, and those who have mothered me along the way.

They deserve this day!

 

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A couple of weeks ago, driving down a Vancouver street a vision of delicate pink hues caught my eye and took me twenty years into the past.

It was an early Pacific West Coast spring. The air warming the Earth, the air and the hearts of the locals.

Screen Shot 2017-03-12 at 9.38.18 AMAs I looked outside my window the sky was the brightest blue, and the street lined with so many pink blossoms that I felt I could almost smell their scent through the window.

The magnolia is the picture of delicate fragility, yet their petals are dense, slow to open, long lasting yet never long enough. Theirs is the scent of spring itself, floral and fresh and sweet.

In my arms lay a bundle of pink, wrapped in a white blanket.

Twenty years ago!

This copper-haired, pink bundle was a miraculous answer to prayers too numerous to count.

I sat on the hospital bed, feeling the awesome presence of the most creative being, who was revealing his nature to me, from the vision in my arms to the one blowing gently at the street.

“Then Esau looked up and saw the women and children. “Who are these with you?” he asked. Jacob answered, “They are the children God has graciously given your servant.” (Genesis 33:5)

The miracle in my arms … she was always mine … she was never mine.

It is hard to find the words to adequately express my love and hopes for you (imagine, me being without words).

I will use the words of the apostle Paul to do that:

“I have never stopped thanking God for you. I pray for you constantly, asking God, the glorious Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, to give you wisdom to see clearly and really understand who Christ is and all that he has done for you. I pray that your heart will be flooded with light so that you can see something of the future he has called you to share. I want you to realize that God has been made rich because we who are Christ’s have been given to him! I pray that you will understand how incredibly great his power is to help those who believe him.
Ephesians 1:16-19

As we celebrate twenty years of life and breath today, I want you to know that wherever you may go, whatever you may do, you are still in the creative and loving arms of your creator … who loves you more than anyone else.

Love,
Mom

 

 

 

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Come-Alive-–-The-Moving-Forward-Series-–-Part-4-Pocket-Fuel-on-Jeremiah-1-5-longWith each day, each assignment and event our youngest son (and our family) is moving closer to the end of his high school years.

This weekend was such for him, as he worked to complete what is known as a Transition Plan (T Plan). It is a presentation which he does for a a group of family and friends, as well as a school staffer.

Though I, as a mom, and a school staffer, love to hear and view these presentations and to learn about the past, present and future of the lives of the students, I have not loved the pressure that this puts on the students (my own as well as the others).

Perhaps it is because it occurs in the final year of high school, when there is already so much pressure on the students to have their futures figured out.

Of our own three kids, this T Plan assignment has been much work, with little joy.

Our oldest, a perfectionist (kinda goes with being oldest) worked for weeks ensuring it fulfilled all the intended goals, and was amazing in every way. The evening of her presentation she ended up with technical difficulties, resulting in great stress and little joy as the presentation had to be viewed from her computer screen.

Our youngest daughter simply did what needed to be done. It was just another assignment to her … she did it and crossed that hoop off her list.

Our youngest son … he, well … this assignment was a constant reminder that he doesn’t know what his future plans are yet, and so it has just been a reminder and pressure to get it all figured out.

Finally, yesterday, I sat him down, and communicated more clearly to him that it is okay to not know what the future holds, for the heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps (Proverbs 16:9) anyway. I assured him that many of the plans of his peers will change, even in the next year.

Then I encouraged him to tell the truth about his future plans …

that he does not know what they will be,

that he simply cannot imagine next year without the community he has spent the last thirteen years with.

Then I reminded him that God has plans for his life, for next September, for his future. There is a plan, there is a hope, and when he is ready, it will be revealed.

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It’s that day … Valentine’s Day.

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The day of love, unspoken expectations, and loneliness … what a great conundrum of experiences!

While I understand that this day is one which some avoid, love is something which we should celebrate … but not just one day each year.

Here’s a few of my mature, though not necessarily Earth-shattering, thoughts of love:

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My most favourite experience, which I only share with my hubby, is weekend morning coffee, each in our own chairs, toes periodically touching, with books and computers around us, dog at our feet, few words spoken … priceless. Neither of us really drink coffee other than at this time of day, but it is the thing that, on the day one of us awakens without the other in our life, we will mourn this loss greatly, for it is ours.

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Now, of course, my hubby and I are never angry with each … and if you believe that, have I got a swamp to sell you! We are pretty passionate individuals, and when we are angry with each other, I’ll be the first to admit that my anger can make me feel like I am a living, ticking time bomb. But, we do still care for each other … hubby still looks after my vehicle, I still make dinner. This act of caring, in the midst of anger, is the foundation of self-sacrifice. Even though we may be angry and not like each other, we still care for, and love each other.

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When you first meet a soft touch, or even making eye contact can be the most thrilling of experiences. What we often forget is that those cheap thrills don’t have to be relegated to the past, and they can even be more delightful years later, when we frequently forget to simply admire, to softly touch or kiss in such common ways.

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Want to feel like a young couple again? Laugh over the stupid things you have done together. That old man/woman who you live with is the same person who you have a shared history of a multitude of ridiculous memories. Drag them out, like people in the past brought out the photo albums. Heck drag out the photo albums … they might be the best spark to remember your shared silliness. There is a little shack cabin, on a twisty road in Vermont, that can make us smile at each other knowingly, for we have a memory that only each other knows.

flat800x800070f All of us who have done life with another have a shared history. We know things about our other that make us beautiful, or ugly. But, guess what? We both have flaws, skeletons in our closets, make bad smells, and have obsessive compulsive behaviours (of course mine aren’t diagnosable, like someone … just joking).

I think that, just maybe, Bob Marley said it best:

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As I walked down the grocery store aisle a young man caught my attention. He looked to be in his mid twenties, shopping with an attractive young woman. I knew, as soon as I saw him, who he was … for I could never forget him.

I met him almost ten years ago, at a place I’d never been, to leave my son, for a week, in the care of people who I had never met.

He was a friendly teen with a big smile and friendly eyes. He was so welcoming, so wordlessly comforting to this momma dealing with the pending separation anxiety.

Hubby and I bid farewell to our son, with big hugs and reminders that we would see him at the end of the week. Then we walked away from him, surrounded by his school friend, a handful of other boys, and his two, fearless leaders. We were both feeling hopeful and fearful all at once.

About six months earlier, the mom of our son’s friend called and asked if our son would like to go to summer camp. It was a church camp that their family had been attending for at least two generations. Though he would only be six years old, he was keen to spend five sleeps with his school buddy, so we decided to say “yes” and allow him his first week at summer camp.

The day we were to drop him off, I was so unsure.

Days later, we arrived to pick up son. He was filthy behind the ears, exhausted, and totally joy-filled. He gave his new friends high fives, hand-shakes and hugs good bye. But it was his farewell to this one cabin counsellor that tugged at my heart. There were few words said, yet communication that pierced the heart.

What this teen didn’t know (nor did I at that time) was that our son had been bullied at school for the two previous years. Having unconditional care and friendship from this cool teenager greatly encouraged our boy … rebuilding and repairing what had been torn away.

The following year, as we drove onto the camp grounds, this councillor greeted our son, by name. Our son had this young man as his camp counsellor again, and he was thrilled.

A few years later we saw him at a concert, and again, he greeted our boy by name.

There are few things I know, that I know, in this life, but this I know for sure, that young man introduced our son to Jesus, because he always made him feel welcomed here on Earth.

I stared, as inconspicuously as possible, to be completely certain it was him.

Soon I was close enough to be so bold as to greet him. Before I fully had the question “were you a counsellor at camp …” off my lips, he said, “you’re Ben’s mom” and I smiled, and nodded.

He told me that they follow each other on Instagram, that he planned to visit him this summer at camp … Ben’s tenth summer at camp … as a camper and as a counsellor.

This young man may never fully know, this side of heaven, that he had opened a door to eternity …

until, maybe, he has a child,

and he takes his child,

hopefully, fearfully,

to camp for the first time,

and some teenager welcomes his child

as though he were welcoming God himself.

 

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As my son and I were going through his photos from childhood, this week, I became keenly aware that those pictures illicit different responses from each of us.

With each picture viewed, I smiled, or laughed or sighed.

With each picture that my son viewed, he asked questions, to fill in the void of memory of the people, the place or the situation depicted in the image.

It surprised me when he didn’t recognize the house we lived in up until he was four … until I realized he was only four when we moved.

Or the dear friends who threw a baby shower when he was born … until I remembered that he was not even one when his dad started working at another church, and the regular connection to those friends slowly diminished.

Or photo after photo with his sister, just two year his senior, and he commented that he didn’t remember that they had been such good friends.

Or the comment, “mom, you looked (past tense) so young” 😳

As we flipped through picture after picture, he asked questions, and I shared story after story. These were shared stories, yet he held only a snapshot, I held the mental recollections of of the past times and places and people.

In essence, though we shared the same history of his lifetime, I had a view of a bigger picture than what he could see. I could see the whole, whereas he could only recall the most recent parts.

Psalm 139:13-16 is probably one of the most known Psalms:

“For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

I looked up this scripture in various translations, and love how The Message words verse 16 (underlined, above):

“Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
all the stages of my life were spread out before you”

It is a reminder of who our Creator is, how very intimately he knows us and that he has always known us.

God holds the photo album of our life. He can see all that is past, and all that is to come.

We only hold a snapshot of our life. Maybe we need to get out the album of our lives, and ask God to remind us of the past, so that we can walk into the future on the foundation of his faithfulness to us in the past.

 

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I love the debates I have with my son, for we both share our opinions with conviction and passion, yet, because we are not of the same gender, we are able to walk away from such discussions with no bruises.

That said, we had such a debate recently, and after thoughtful consideration, he was wrong.

I was watching the movie, Young Victoria, and specifically her coronation. It was this scene which birthed a debate.

My son said, “she looks scared to death”

To which I replied, “she probably was, as this event diminished her human rights and replaced them with duty to her country, and all that went with that.”

Then he said, “it was a choice. All of life is about choice. Choice is what God gave us all.”

And I pondered (but kept quiet because I really wanted to watch the movie) his words for days after.

I have come to the conclusion that he is right, and wrong. And it is because of my mother-child relationship to and with him that I have found his words to be such.

For I am the woman who loved him from before he was born. I am that one who believes in him, who pushes him, who would die for him. I am bound to him through the experience and responsibility of motherhood. I am duty-bound, for though our relationship was born from love, I must often choose to put my care of him, above myself. That is my duty.

Though individual choice is a common-heard mantra, duty is bound to choice … every choice.

Though it may not be popular, our opinions and our expressions through our appearance are not our own in the workplace. While we are ‘on the clock’ we do not represent ourselves alone, we also represent the organization or business that is paying us. During work hours we are duty-bound to represent our employer. We can wear what we like, but we always need to keep our duty to our position in mind.

We have choice to accept the love of God. Though he pursues us for all of our lives, he does not force his love on us. Once we do receive what God offers to all, we are then duty-bound to him, and to his teachings. In Matthew 4:19, Jesus said, “come follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” There are two steps to this commitment, following (accepting) him and then doing the task (duty) that goes with the commitment.

In keeping our duty to our workplace, our family, our God and community we become leaders … maybe not leaders by position or rank, but leaders in the hearts of the men and women around us.

Duty is part of choice,

“Leadership is not a rank.
Leadership is not a position.
Leadership is a decision.
Leadership is a choice.
It has nothing to do with your position in the organization.

If you decide to look after the person to the left of you, and to look after the person to the right of you, you have become a leader.”
Simon Sinek

It is not just our employers, our government and our family members who are duty-bound to work for the good of all. We are all bound, by duty, to diminish so that others might thrive alongside of us.

To do this may lessen stress and anxiety in our family members and co-workers, by giving them a safe and caring community.

To do this may decrease our focus on differences (race, religion, etc.) and bring people together to share in common human experiences.

To do this may result in senior citizens and those with special needs feeling part of the community that they live in, rather than feeling like (or being treated as) burdens on society.

To do this may result in less homelessness, abuse and substance abuse.

I realize, even reading my own words, that this sounds so pie-in-the-sky, Mr. Rodgers esque. And to do that, to look after those around us, is our duty as members of a workplace, a family, a community.

“The price of greatness is responsibility.”
Winston Churchill

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It had been a  L  O  N  G ,  non-stop, action-filled Monday, and I was just finishing a task and looking forward to even half an hour of reading my new book.

“Mom, can you help with my lines?”

I turned around to see my son entering the room, with his script, for the school play, stretched out towards me.

but I really wanted to have down time

he needs me

but I was so tired

this is his last school play

but my cup was almost dry

he graduates high school in June

I pause …

And so, for the next half hour, I read for Jo, Laurie and Mrs. March, as teenage son read the lines of the patriarch of the March family.

In less than six months, he (our youngest) will complete high school.

In less than nine months he plans to go to college.

This is the ending of a season, an era, and it causes me to pause.

As the months have been creeping by, I am noticing that I pause, often. I am asked for a drive to camp (an hour away), to watch a shared TV show, to wake him at an earlier hour, to study for a test, to go through lines for the school play, and I pause …

In that pause I can choose to say yes, or not now. But with each day that slips by, I am more aware that if not now, when?

We all have causes to pause. When we hear of the family whose child died in a house fire, we pause. When a co-worker’s spouse died after she left for work, we pause. When a friend is battling cancer, we pause. When a loved one’s career takes them far away, we pause.

And so yes is more often my, our, response, 

because we realize that soon the requests will be few, rare, gone forever.

Now is the time to pause.

 

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I sat on the bed, ready to have a mini (or not so mini) petty party.

“Christmas is impossible!” leaked from my lips.

I am trying to be mature, really I am, but my individual desires are in the forefront of my mind.

facts:

Our family is growing up …

Christmas is but once a year …

I am trying to honour everyones wants, schedules, needs while at the same time, balancing my own desires.

I have been realizing for a year that this Christmas may, indeed, be the last one with all five under one roof. So my expectations of this Christmas together have been over the top. I want to ensure that we do it all, eat it all, love it all.

As a mom, Christmas day is my most favourite of the year. The phones do not ring and buzz, there is no place that we need to go, we often enjoy our Christmas dinner in our pjs (thus the lack of Christmas dinner photos). It is a day of quiet unity and togetherness.

Then I discovered that Christmas day falls on a Sunday …

Now, don’t judge me too harshly, folks. As a follower of Christ, I am intimately aware that Christmas is all about the birth of Jesus, and I would have not have it any other way.

Yes, we can roast our turkey any day. We can carve another day of togetherness out of the calendar.

But, well, I am human, folks, and my momma heart just wanted one more Christmas day of quiet unity and peace with my chicks (and the big, bearded rooster).

But, it got harder! As I spoke to my daughter on the phone, we tried to pick another day (around her work schedule, which currently included Christmas Eve and Boxing days, with Christmas Day a possibility too), I sunk just a bit lower. I hadn’t even tried to entertain when daughter number two will join her boyfriends family.

UGH!!

Christmas is impossible!

And it is … and it was.

A world in need of redemption from sin that we could not overcome on our own.

A baby, conceived by a virgin.

A baby, a most innocent, fragile being, born to save the human race.

Jesus came, whether the human race was ready of him, or not.

Whether it was convenient timing, or not.

So much of the Christmas story is impossible. And he came, anyway.

I think, this Christmas, I need to follow the example of Mary, and treasure all that is impossible at Christmas, and just let it happen as it will. For when we bend our will to that of God, the impossible becomes possible!

“In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.” Luke 2:1-20

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Ok, I admit …

may choose blog post titles simply because they are somewhat risqué (today’s title, for example).

But, as with much in life, there is truth and real marital experience in those words!

W   A   Y   back in the stone ages, when hubby and I said the I dos, we received a book about marriage as a gift. The only thing I remember from that book was one line:

“making love starts in the kitchen, in the morning”

and non-verbal joking about that line continue to this day!

The thing is, like my risqué blog post titles, there is truth and real marital experience in those words!

You see, what that one-liner is communicating is that affection for each other does not start over a candle-lit dinner, but it starts the moment a couple awake, and continues each and every moment of the day.

Just this week, while at work, I look up to see my hubby, at the classroom door, holding a cup of hot goodness (aka a London Fog). He stopped at a coffee shop to pick up my most soothing, favourite hot drink, just to show kindness and affection for me.

Though I loved every sip of my beverage, what I loved more was knowing that, in the middle of the day, hubby’s thoughts were of me.

It is when I know that hubby’s thoughts are of me, whether we are together or apart that I feel loved. Perhaps that is because this sort of mindfulness is the way Christ loves us?

“For husbands, this means love your wives,
just as Christ loved the church.
He gave up his life for her.”
Ephesians 5:25

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